Training Log Archive: RoscoIn the 7 days ending Nov 2, 2009:
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Monday Nov 2, 2009 #
Note
(rest day)
Can't walk (Marathon Souvenir and Top of the Rock Day)
Sunday Nov 1, 2009 #
Event: New York Marathon
Running race 2:49:28 [5] 42.19 km (4:01 / km)
shoes: Asics Gel 1130
New York City Marathon.
And so, the Race of the Season. It felt more like an exam though, that night before the race. As I lay in my bed, in my apartment, in Midtown Manhatten, West 49th Street, just off 8th Avenue, I reviewed my studying. I had been conscientious, no doubt. Of course, I could have done more, but I had tried hard; on intervals and long runs I felt confident. But if, in tomorrow’s exam, testing questions arise on subjects like Niggle/Injury Management, Stretching, Not Having Two Days Off In A Row, or Rules Of Running In Ancient Kit my answers could be weak. If there were big, important questions on Pace Control and Running With Illness... Well, I just didn't want to think about that. Instead I thought about whether any of the 5 alarms we had set would actually go off at the appointed hour. Daylight Saving had caused some consternation in Apartment 2Y.
Our careful consideration of clocks was worthwhile, they alerted us correctly; but unnecessary, already awake. I slipped into my carefully laid-out gear and Jon and I, the marathon adventurers, set off for the subway at the intersection of 50th and Broadway. Leaving nothing to chance, we had checked this out, purchased our Metrocards, knew what we were doing, where we were going.
We joined a collection of skinny looking runners in random gear on the platform, heading for the 5.30am Staten Island Ferry. After a moment's hesitation as the Line 2 train arrived unexpectedly, we joined our fellow competitors and Halloween revelers on Line 1 to South Ferry. Into a great hall, with thousands of runners, marshals hollering instructions, before slowly boarding the great orange boat. Although we couldn't see it was orange; still dark. The ferry was packed and like refugees, we found a small square of floor, at the top of the exit ramp. As the boat shuddered its way across the bay, a terrifying creature, with fanged teeth and staring eyes, peered through the outer door. Pinching myself, I knew I was not dreaming, finally realising it was a mask on the back of a guy's head. He wore an excellent red pinstripe suit to complete his ensemble.
We were herded to the buses (baa), marshals shouting, "Keep going! Straight through! No Pissing(!) Oh, and Good Morning." We boarded the second or third bus and headed through the 'burbs of Staten Island, to the start area at Fort Wadsworth. As the sky lightened in the East, we spied the imposing towers of the Verrazano-Narrows Bridge. Our driver, it seems, did not: he had gotten lost. Very early, we did not mind; more time in the nice warm bus. Finally, we approached the massive line of portapottys from the correct direction and joined the throng through the security gates and into the Blue Zone. We headed straight for the centre of one of the big open tents and wrapped ourselves in everything we had: thermals, waterproofs, fleeces, hoodies, hats and gloves, foil blankets and bin bags and clear plastic bags. We snacked and snoozed, stayed warm(ish), listened to excited French babbling and repetitive tannoy announcements. Finally, the tannoy announced that, "Wave 1 runners should head to their corral immediately. Please head to the start corral now." We shed several layers, dumped our bags in the appropriate UPS truck and headed for the start location. There were thousands of runners swarming about, queuing for toilets and bagels and coffee, Gatorade, warming up and stretching, changing and panicking. Not panicking, stressing! Not stressing!, surely just excited, buzzing.
We enjoyed the buzz, buzzing; soaked it up, wrapped it in a little blanket, saved it for later, for boring days in the office, or trips to IKEA, traffic jams.
We walked a long way past all the other start sections, Jon to B, me to A. We shook hands and grinned, "Enjoy it!", split to our own personal battles, to the long strip of tarmac between us and accomplishment. The A coral, now closed, was quiet; runners perched on kerbs, contemplating. Stretching and jogging. I went to the toilet, again. Suddenly the corals were merged! We shuffled out towards the start line, some pushed in front. I let them; I did not want to go off too quick. We followed the line -through strategically positioned buses, designed to stop you joining the wrong color start - and approached the starting line. Finally. Finally finally. Next time, my race of the year will be a bit earlier! The mayor said his bit, the mama from the fire brigade sang the Star Spangled Banner, I fiddled with my watch and drank and stretched and discarded the final foil blanket. The elite runners were introduced and then...and then… the long line of the bridge stretched out in front of us, that black bitumen stream, overhead, aircraft, planes, helicopters hovered, a slight breeze blew from the north west, significantly, the buses, silently waited, the crowds anticipated, the runners, ready, aggravated, let's go, let's go. Bang! The gun went. Bang! The runners went, let's go! Let's Go!
We Go! We go, we get going before the line, sort off, a jumper, unwanted, lands on my head, comedy, I stumble on other clothing, and runners, I press stop, not start, but we are gone, going, this is it. This is the race of the year. This is actually it! I am going and I am confused: there are loads of punters in the way - who the hell are they? Where did they come from? A bit upset, I weave my way round, then settle into a nice easy pace, a steep uphill start, no need to rush. 6.42, eek, that's a bit slow, I leg it through the next mile, downhill, it is easy, but 5.15! What the hell are you adoin buddy?!
Back on track overall at least, I settle down, but realise I have absolutely no idea what 6.05, my chosen pace, feels like. This is clear, as I keep going too fast. It feels easy, I am with a nice group, but I still try to slow and I let plenty of runners pass. I am slowing, but not enough. Really struggling with my Garmin: set on instantaneous pace, it is just not quick enough to be useful. Paul later tells me you can set it to lap pace, a far more useful stat. Lesson learned. Meanwhile, the crowd is geeing me on, "Let's go Rosco!". After being a bit embarrassed the first couple of times, I am loving the personalised support; good tactics putting your name on your shirt. As the streets narrow, and the buildings crowd in on the roads, the sound is amazing, bells ringing, loud bands, bangs, cheers, shouts, amplified, a wall, a solid wall of sound. It's an amazing experience, but not really helping; I am starting to slow and not by choice.
Manhattan is beginning to loom large and as I cross the Pulaski Bridge, I am halfway and pretty much on schedule. I am already revising things down the way though. Especially when I see the Queensboro Bridge, high above. I take it steady up this and people are beginning to struggle; I'm still running slower than those around, but there are a few now running much slower than me. Or not running at all.... Over the bridge and the cries of the crowd soon reach you, inspiring, incredible, you've done most of it now. Onto First, and I plug my way up not running quick now, just keeping going. I've got the trowel out now, ready for digging, but it's not necessary yet. It's hard to pinpoint what's stopping me running quick. Really just a general feeling round my core, tightening, tiring. I pass Marie-Clare, but do not see her, only hear: I am focused only on the road ahead. Through the Bronx, things are vague here, they have been for a while. I'm just plodding away, passing more runners now, still getting passed loads. One foot, then the other, one foot, then the other. Pass MC again, I shake my head at her offer of gel, sick, but smile: it is the start of Central Park! Pretty much done now…. Or I know what to expect, at least. Along the crowds on Central Park South and towards the finish. I can see the 26 mile marker. I can hear the announcer. He's saying something about 2 hours 50. Oh my God! I've got to beat that! That wasn't even my slow target! I dig deep and "sprint" the last 400m. I need not have worried, I am "comfortably" under. My muscles immediately contract and I start the long shuffle to the last van on the left and medals and pictures and friends and food and beer and beer and beer and comfort and satisfaction.
So the time was rubbish, I ran a bad race, but I still got a 65 minute pb. And it wasn't a fast course, and it just wasn't about the time, it was about the experience, it was about living life and doing things and going places and being able to say, "I've done that."
Awesome.
Stats geek heaven, or A Picture of Decline:
5k: 18.14
10k: 18.21 (36.35)
15k: 18.44 (55.19)
20k: 19.11 (74.30)
25k: 20.06 (94.36)
30k: 20.17 (114.53)
35k: 22.07 (137.00)
40k: 22.36 (159.36)
First Half: 78.46
Second Half: 90.42
Mile 1: 6.42
Mile 2: 5.16
Mile 3: 5.51
Mile 4: 5.52
Mile 5: 5.56
Mile 6: 5.53
Mile 7: 6.01
Mile 8: 6.00
Mile 9: 6.07
Mile 10: 6.00
Mile 11: 6.21
Mile 12: 6.03
Mile 13: 6.11
Mile 14: 6.18 (1:24:17)
Mile 15: 6.32 (1:30:49)
Mile 16: 6.41 (1:37:30)
Mile 17: 6.26 (1:43:56)
Mile 18: 6.35 (1:50:31)
Mile 19: 6.48 (1:57:19)
Mile 20: 7.02 (2:04:21)
Mile 21: 7.08 (2:11:29)
Mile 22: 7.11 (2:18:40)
Mile 23: 7.12 (2:25:52)
Mile 24: 7.30 (2:33:22)
Mile 25: 7.19 (2:40:41)
Mile 26: 7.19 (2:48:00)
Last wee bit: 1.29
And so, the Race of the Season. It felt more like an exam though, that night before the race. As I lay in my bed, in my apartment, in Midtown Manhatten, West 49th Street, just off 8th Avenue, I reviewed my studying. I had been conscientious, no doubt. Of course, I could have done more, but I had tried hard; on intervals and long runs I felt confident. But if, in tomorrow’s exam, testing questions arise on subjects like Niggle/Injury Management, Stretching, Not Having Two Days Off In A Row, or Rules Of Running In Ancient Kit my answers could be weak. If there were big, important questions on Pace Control and Running With Illness... Well, I just didn't want to think about that. Instead I thought about whether any of the 5 alarms we had set would actually go off at the appointed hour. Daylight Saving had caused some consternation in Apartment 2Y.
Our careful consideration of clocks was worthwhile, they alerted us correctly; but unnecessary, already awake. I slipped into my carefully laid-out gear and Jon and I, the marathon adventurers, set off for the subway at the intersection of 50th and Broadway. Leaving nothing to chance, we had checked this out, purchased our Metrocards, knew what we were doing, where we were going.
We joined a collection of skinny looking runners in random gear on the platform, heading for the 5.30am Staten Island Ferry. After a moment's hesitation as the Line 2 train arrived unexpectedly, we joined our fellow competitors and Halloween revelers on Line 1 to South Ferry. Into a great hall, with thousands of runners, marshals hollering instructions, before slowly boarding the great orange boat. Although we couldn't see it was orange; still dark. The ferry was packed and like refugees, we found a small square of floor, at the top of the exit ramp. As the boat shuddered its way across the bay, a terrifying creature, with fanged teeth and staring eyes, peered through the outer door. Pinching myself, I knew I was not dreaming, finally realising it was a mask on the back of a guy's head. He wore an excellent red pinstripe suit to complete his ensemble.
We were herded to the buses (baa), marshals shouting, "Keep going! Straight through! No Pissing(!) Oh, and Good Morning." We boarded the second or third bus and headed through the 'burbs of Staten Island, to the start area at Fort Wadsworth. As the sky lightened in the East, we spied the imposing towers of the Verrazano-Narrows Bridge. Our driver, it seems, did not: he had gotten lost. Very early, we did not mind; more time in the nice warm bus. Finally, we approached the massive line of portapottys from the correct direction and joined the throng through the security gates and into the Blue Zone. We headed straight for the centre of one of the big open tents and wrapped ourselves in everything we had: thermals, waterproofs, fleeces, hoodies, hats and gloves, foil blankets and bin bags and clear plastic bags. We snacked and snoozed, stayed warm(ish), listened to excited French babbling and repetitive tannoy announcements. Finally, the tannoy announced that, "Wave 1 runners should head to their corral immediately. Please head to the start corral now." We shed several layers, dumped our bags in the appropriate UPS truck and headed for the start location. There were thousands of runners swarming about, queuing for toilets and bagels and coffee, Gatorade, warming up and stretching, changing and panicking. Not panicking, stressing! Not stressing!, surely just excited, buzzing.
We enjoyed the buzz, buzzing; soaked it up, wrapped it in a little blanket, saved it for later, for boring days in the office, or trips to IKEA, traffic jams.
We walked a long way past all the other start sections, Jon to B, me to A. We shook hands and grinned, "Enjoy it!", split to our own personal battles, to the long strip of tarmac between us and accomplishment. The A coral, now closed, was quiet; runners perched on kerbs, contemplating. Stretching and jogging. I went to the toilet, again. Suddenly the corals were merged! We shuffled out towards the start line, some pushed in front. I let them; I did not want to go off too quick. We followed the line -through strategically positioned buses, designed to stop you joining the wrong color start - and approached the starting line. Finally. Finally finally. Next time, my race of the year will be a bit earlier! The mayor said his bit, the mama from the fire brigade sang the Star Spangled Banner, I fiddled with my watch and drank and stretched and discarded the final foil blanket. The elite runners were introduced and then...and then… the long line of the bridge stretched out in front of us, that black bitumen stream, overhead, aircraft, planes, helicopters hovered, a slight breeze blew from the north west, significantly, the buses, silently waited, the crowds anticipated, the runners, ready, aggravated, let's go, let's go. Bang! The gun went. Bang! The runners went, let's go! Let's Go!
We Go! We go, we get going before the line, sort off, a jumper, unwanted, lands on my head, comedy, I stumble on other clothing, and runners, I press stop, not start, but we are gone, going, this is it. This is the race of the year. This is actually it! I am going and I am confused: there are loads of punters in the way - who the hell are they? Where did they come from? A bit upset, I weave my way round, then settle into a nice easy pace, a steep uphill start, no need to rush. 6.42, eek, that's a bit slow, I leg it through the next mile, downhill, it is easy, but 5.15! What the hell are you adoin buddy?!
Back on track overall at least, I settle down, but realise I have absolutely no idea what 6.05, my chosen pace, feels like. This is clear, as I keep going too fast. It feels easy, I am with a nice group, but I still try to slow and I let plenty of runners pass. I am slowing, but not enough. Really struggling with my Garmin: set on instantaneous pace, it is just not quick enough to be useful. Paul later tells me you can set it to lap pace, a far more useful stat. Lesson learned. Meanwhile, the crowd is geeing me on, "Let's go Rosco!". After being a bit embarrassed the first couple of times, I am loving the personalised support; good tactics putting your name on your shirt. As the streets narrow, and the buildings crowd in on the roads, the sound is amazing, bells ringing, loud bands, bangs, cheers, shouts, amplified, a wall, a solid wall of sound. It's an amazing experience, but not really helping; I am starting to slow and not by choice.
Manhattan is beginning to loom large and as I cross the Pulaski Bridge, I am halfway and pretty much on schedule. I am already revising things down the way though. Especially when I see the Queensboro Bridge, high above. I take it steady up this and people are beginning to struggle; I'm still running slower than those around, but there are a few now running much slower than me. Or not running at all.... Over the bridge and the cries of the crowd soon reach you, inspiring, incredible, you've done most of it now. Onto First, and I plug my way up not running quick now, just keeping going. I've got the trowel out now, ready for digging, but it's not necessary yet. It's hard to pinpoint what's stopping me running quick. Really just a general feeling round my core, tightening, tiring. I pass Marie-Clare, but do not see her, only hear: I am focused only on the road ahead. Through the Bronx, things are vague here, they have been for a while. I'm just plodding away, passing more runners now, still getting passed loads. One foot, then the other, one foot, then the other. Pass MC again, I shake my head at her offer of gel, sick, but smile: it is the start of Central Park! Pretty much done now…. Or I know what to expect, at least. Along the crowds on Central Park South and towards the finish. I can see the 26 mile marker. I can hear the announcer. He's saying something about 2 hours 50. Oh my God! I've got to beat that! That wasn't even my slow target! I dig deep and "sprint" the last 400m. I need not have worried, I am "comfortably" under. My muscles immediately contract and I start the long shuffle to the last van on the left and medals and pictures and friends and food and beer and beer and beer and comfort and satisfaction.
So the time was rubbish, I ran a bad race, but I still got a 65 minute pb. And it wasn't a fast course, and it just wasn't about the time, it was about the experience, it was about living life and doing things and going places and being able to say, "I've done that."
Awesome.
Stats geek heaven, or A Picture of Decline:
5k: 18.14
10k: 18.21 (36.35)
15k: 18.44 (55.19)
20k: 19.11 (74.30)
25k: 20.06 (94.36)
30k: 20.17 (114.53)
35k: 22.07 (137.00)
40k: 22.36 (159.36)
First Half: 78.46
Second Half: 90.42
Mile 1: 6.42
Mile 2: 5.16
Mile 3: 5.51
Mile 4: 5.52
Mile 5: 5.56
Mile 6: 5.53
Mile 7: 6.01
Mile 8: 6.00
Mile 9: 6.07
Mile 10: 6.00
Mile 11: 6.21
Mile 12: 6.03
Mile 13: 6.11
Mile 14: 6.18 (1:24:17)
Mile 15: 6.32 (1:30:49)
Mile 16: 6.41 (1:37:30)
Mile 17: 6.26 (1:43:56)
Mile 18: 6.35 (1:50:31)
Mile 19: 6.48 (1:57:19)
Mile 20: 7.02 (2:04:21)
Mile 21: 7.08 (2:11:29)
Mile 22: 7.11 (2:18:40)
Mile 23: 7.12 (2:25:52)
Mile 24: 7.30 (2:33:22)
Mile 25: 7.19 (2:40:41)
Mile 26: 7.19 (2:48:00)
Last wee bit: 1.29
Saturday Oct 31, 2009 #
Note
(rest day)
The training is done. Only The Race remains. And a little faffing....
Friday Oct 30, 2009 #
Running 33:45 [3] 4.29 mi (7:52 / mi)
ahr:144 shoes: Asics Gel 1130
After a good night's sleep, think I've nipped the cold in the bud thankfully. We head for the Expo, to pick up our numbers, soak up the vibe. New York is awesome. We meet Mister Yasso, then head out for our final piece of the training jigsaw: a little run along the last couple of miles, through Central Park. Lovely, it is too, although a little undulating. I'm not really expecting the last couple of miles to be the problem though.....
Watched some inspirational videos. The crowds look wicked!
Watched some inspirational videos. The crowds look wicked!
Thursday Oct 29, 2009 #
Note
(sick) (rest day)
Start spreading the news, I’m leaving today
I want to be a part of it - new york, new york
These vagabond shoes, are longing to stray
Right through the very heart of it - new york, new york
I wanna wake up in a city, that doesn’t sleep
And find I’m king of the hill - top of the heap
These little town blues, are melting away
I’ll make a brand new start of it - in old new york
If I can make it there, I’ll make it anywhere
It’s up to me - new york, new york.
I want to be a part of it - new york, new york
These vagabond shoes, are longing to stray
Right through the very heart of it - new york, new york
I wanna wake up in a city, that doesn’t sleep
And find I’m king of the hill - top of the heap
These little town blues, are melting away
I’ll make a brand new start of it - in old new york
If I can make it there, I’ll make it anywhere
It’s up to me - new york, new york.
Note
(sick)
Hmm. I seem to have a sore throat and a very wee sniffle. This will not become a proper cold I am determined. Loads of OJ and Strepsil-type things and hot lemony drinks. And sleep.
In the land of Hollywood blockbusters you've got to expect a wee twist near the end....
In the land of Hollywood blockbusters you've got to expect a wee twist near the end....
Wednesday Oct 28, 2009 #
Note
(rest day)
Packing:)
Tuesday Oct 27, 2009 #
Running 30:00 [3]
shoes: Asics Gel 1130
The intention had been to join up with the intervals posse to do their warm up and maybe a couple of easy intervals, but I was in a groove at work so didn't quite make that. In fact arrived just as Roger was leaving....
Instead, had a little trot round the uni then 2x2x track at marathon pace, then another wee trot.
Trying not to think about all the doubts, variables, things that could go wrong, niggles, things I've not done but should have, things I have done but shouldn't have, creaks, groans, tweaks, twinges, worn shoes and holey socks, blisters, aches and pains....
Instead, had a little trot round the uni then 2x2x track at marathon pace, then another wee trot.
Trying not to think about all the doubts, variables, things that could go wrong, niggles, things I've not done but should have, things I have done but shouldn't have, creaks, groans, tweaks, twinges, worn shoes and holey socks, blisters, aches and pains....