So I surprised myself again this morning with a faster time than anticipated. After the initial euphoria of finishing the race and posting a good time wore off, I slumped into a mild state of panic. For the second time in a week I’ve underestimated my ability and done considerably better than I thought on a race. This could be one of three possibilities a) I’m peaking too soon and will be ‘over the hill’ by the time 1 June rolls around, b) I’m not capable of sticking to my race plan, and c) I’m not pacing myself well. Either way, it’s not good news. I need to give myself a hard talking to or rather as the South Africans like to say ‘pull myself towards myself’.

The forecasters estimated we were on for a 35˚ scorcher today. For the first time ever the race organisers warned us about staying hydrated, and the runners were buzzing with talk of a nightmare race. Everybody expected to post a crap time and to have to slog through temperatures that would have cancelled European races. It makes me laugh when I hear my mother tell me that the London Marathon is going to be the hottest ever at 24˚ and that they are bringing in tankers of water/more ambulances/the army/ in case someone keels over. Here, you just get a text message telling you not to forget to drink and you’re sent on your way. As a side note, the 2011 West Coast Marathon was run in 40˚ and a few people were forced to walk due to the heat, now that’s what you call ‘hot’ here.

Anyway, the gun goes on Somerset Road in Greenpoint at 5:15am, we trot off in the dark and by 4km in it’s so humid that we’re collectively leaving a trail of sweat on the tarmac like a snail with 2,000 pairs of legs. OMG, I’m not sure I can do another 38km like this. Luckily the heat that was trapped in the city bowl dissipated by the time we got to Woodstock. The wind kicked in and so did James Medcalf (an ex Quirk colleague of mine), he’d never run under 4 hours before so thought that the Carpenter bus was probably a safe bet. I’m not a huge fan of running with anyone on a race even if I’m taking it easy. I prefer listening to my own body, focusing on the distance and getting into the zone. Having to hold a conversation with someone for over 3 hours can be a bit much, although its a great fitness test in itself. If you can jabber on for an entire marathon it means you are working in your comfort zone which is where I needed to be.

Main Road, Lakeside, Muizenberg, Kalk Bay and Fish Hoek arrives. Temperature is climbing but the sea wind is masking the heat, I’m drinking more than usual, but i’m not suffering, in fact I’m feeling better on this race than any marathon I’ve run before. If you are having a shit day or racing for a PB it’s the equivalent of bleeding through your eyes (or any other orifice) it hurts that much. I’ve gritted my teeth and sworn my way around this precise marathon course before, it’s not fun, and I’ve scored my PW on it (4:29). Today though on my 5th outing, it felt like a training run. I loved it. James started walking through the stations and catching me on the other side. I didn’t see him after the 38km water table, and I coasted to a 3:50:15 finish. It was deceptively and worryingly easy today. Running psychology is fascinating. I spent years not getting close to my PB of 3:51:59 because I didn’t think it was possible. I smash it at Cape Town in September last year in 3:43:17 and now that I know I’m capable of it, I can cruise 42km inside my comfort zone nearly two minutes faster than I thought possible just a year ago. 45km done / 55km to go.

Running notes:
Route: Greenpoint – Woodstock – Wynberg – Lakeside –Muizenberg – Kalk Bay – Fish Hoek – Simonstown
Distance: 42km
Time: 3:50:15

I’m still in a state of shock.

I crossed the finish line and my first though was ‘WTF just happened?’. If you read yesterday’s post you’ll see that I ran 83km in training this week and I was hoping (but doubted I would) slip in under 50 minutes which I knew was a big ask on tired legs.

So I usually know when I’m going for something big because I can feel if I’m ready, I check my previous times so I know exactly what pace to set, I tell friends what I’m going for (because that helps to push me because I don’t want to tell them I missed the objective by 2 seconds), I think about the course, I visualise the finish line, I think about the time I’m going to see on the clock when I pass it and I push myself to the point of tears to get it. NONE OF THAT HAPPENED THIS MORNING.

So there I am last night with no food in the house. Hmm, I think, better eat some carbs (I’m avoiding this and sugar at the moment) so I’ve got some energy for the race. I jump in the car, stop at Texies on the Grand Parade and go and buy myself fish and chips (god I love fish and chips, but I never let myself eat it). Doesn’t matter, I think, its just a training race, it’s on 10km and you’ll be lucky to break 50 mins so have a treat. WHO KNEW FISH AND CHIPS IS THE FUEL OF CHAMPIONS? I munch along to the Sochi Winter Olympic opening ceremony and go to bed.

Get up at 4:45am, bimble around for an hour (as is usual with me), get in the car and show up 30 minutes before the race starts. I bimble around some more looking for anyone I know, bump into Janet and Rob Lanning who are quite frankly an inspiration (race every weekend and are in their 70s), have a joke about the Comrades Marathon which always goes something like this: Running Friend: ‘What race are you going for this year?’. Me: ‘Comrades’. Running Friend: ‘Ooooo, ha ha ha’. Me: ‘Yes, ha ha ha ha ha’. Why is it that things that aren’t appropriate laughing material are actually hilarious? ‘Ha ha ha ha, yes, I’m doing the Comrades Marathon this year! 89km, ha ha ha ha ha!’.

Gun fires, we’re off, it’s misty, cool with a light breeze, the absolute perfect running temperature. I clock 5 minutes exactly on the first km which is good to see that my pacing is spot on despite dodging the walkers (or should I say the ‘Walking Dead’ complete with the throaty rasping noises, god they are annoying, but at least they are getting out there). The next 4km go well and I’m taking off 10-15 seconds a km, go through 5km at 23:42 which is awesome as I’ve struggled to get under 24 on my time trials and I know I’m on for a sub 50 minute even if I f*** up the last couple of kms.

6, 7 and 8km  go past and I’m feeling okay, managing the pace, breathing is regular, posture is good, picking up the speed a little and I start to think that maybe I can do a little better than 49:59. 9km and I’m breathing harder, hanging on but I’m not dying. Now even with 500m to go I’m still not seeing a PB because I’m not feeling like I’m running with the horrendous effort necessary to get one. I see the sports field, I see the blimp looming out of the mist and I check my watch. OMFG, I round the corner and cross the line at 46:43.

Yes, 46:43.

How the hell did I do that and I didn’t even try that hard? I ATE FISH AND CHIPS FOR DINNER for god’s sake. I even forgot the Gu that was in my pocket. WTF? I’ll put this into perspective, my previous best was 48:50 last year on a flat course which I thought was pretty good. I crossed the line this morning and didn’t know how well I’d done because I hadn’t checked last night, I hadn’t done my homework. I knew I’d never been under 47 minutes, but I’d never been under 48 either.

As with most miracles, after 5 minutes has passed, you are never quite sure that they actually happened. I seriously hope the time on the clock wasn’t a trick of the light because I’m beginning to doubt myself.

> Have a look at my other PBs

Running Notes:
Route: Turfhall Sports Centre – out around the houses – Lansdowne – Athlone – Turfhall Sports Centre
Distance: 10km
Time: 46:43