Aldric recounts his GCM experiences...
Yit Koon has written his story with parts of me mentioned in his well-scripted prose. Now it is perhaps time for me to complete the story with my perspective…
Prior to the Gold Coast Marathon, I have had a superb running year (the year hasn’t ended though). I broke 3 of my PB’s in different racing categories – 21.1km, 25km and 42.195km – and felt like I have sufficient reserves in my tank to do more. After performing a spectacular run in Sundown Marathon (May 28th) by slashing more than 34 minutes from my previous Full Marathon record, I was ‘ready’ for another 42.195km challenge in a month. I was on top form. Or so I thought. Well, at least that was the wave I rode into Gold Coast.
After one month of hasty tapering and mileage ramp-up, I managed to convince myself during the flight Down Under that I was ready. Don’t overtrain. Don’t overexert. You are ready. You are good to go. Just relax. The advices I have for myself were good in retrospect. I was however, plagued by mental milkshakes. My mind couldn’t focus; it was like I had foreseen an imminent disaster. Indeed.
Race day – 6:30am
Race day was nothing too spectacular. In fact it was freezing. I was jumping up and down pre-race in my desperate attempt to warm-up. I could hear the voice from my head “Feeble Attempt, bloke”. I gave up. I was freezing and I needed a way to thaw my stiff legs. I gave in to my coffee craving and shared one cup with Yit Koon. It was heartwarming. But I still couldn’t warm up. I was panicking. Why am I not sweating yet?
Race day – 6:50am
After several short sprints, I went to the sub-4 pens. It was COOL. I have never seen so many people getting ready at the sub-4 pens in Singapore. Australia must be doing something right as a running nation. I scanned. There are female runners in running tops and skirts. These must be the elite runners. They looked like they can run <2:30 anytime. I made friends with an Aussie by the name of David Craig. He told me this was his virgin marathon and mentioned his hype of attempting to complete a sub-4 marathon that day. “Wrong move mate. You are biting more than you could chew”. Of course, I didn’t say that. He was nowhere to be seen after 12km.
Race day – 7:05am
I searched for the 3:30 hour pacers within the pen and my pacer would be a lanky guy with his waist at my chest level. “How am I going to match this bloke’s steps for the entire race?”. I became slightly paranoid. Even before the race started.
Race day – 7:10am Start!
The gun sounded and the race began.
As I have envisioned, running 3:30 and faster would be a ‘pack’ run for amateurs like me. This is because we can feed off the momentum from the pacers and the running pack and immediately close up the gap once it starts opening. The run started the way I thought it should.
5km split – 4:57min/km. Beautiful.
10km split – 4:54min/km. Pretty.
Then things started spiral downwards. I needed to go for a dump and I did. I lost 1:15 minutes to the toilet. I freaked out when I was back on course because my pacer’s disappeared. Shit. I started picking up and reeling runners in as if I was a fisherman. I wasn’t fatigued as sweat beads started appearing only after 8km. That must be the beauty of racing in winter – and so I thought. I was naïve, and I would pay.
15km split – 5:07min/km. Damn the toilet.
I was still on the chase. As I was approaching the 15.5km turnabout, I begin observing the track in the opposite direction. It was a pleasant observatory.
- I saw the 3 hour pacer pacing no one. Normal. But he made running looked effortless. Impressive.
- Then I saw the 3:15 pacer motivating the pack of 12 runners. Not bad. That’s a hell lot by Singaporean standards.
- Then I saw my pacer. He was 1km ahead of me. He shouted across to me and asked me to catch up. Cool. And catch up I did.
- Then I saw the 3:45 pacer group 5 minutes after the 15.5km turnabout. Wow. Stunning. It was an unbroken pack of at least 20.
- Then I saw the 4:00 pacing group. I was bamboozled. There must be at least 30 pax in that pack. Now this must be a country that takes running seriously. The reverse might be true. Singaporeans take themselves too seriously as runners.
I gulped a gel and began widening my cadence slightly. I caught up with my pacer and pack within the next 10 minutes. Good day I thought. I am going to sit in the pack and let them carry me throughout the race.
At least, that was the plan.
20km split – 4:46min/km. Back on track! Damn the toilet still.
25km split – 4:58min/km. On time, on target. Hold back, hold back. The race is starting.
Things started falling apart when we are running back to the start point. At 28km, the long bridge that I have crossed at the 3km mark seems like a mountain. As I ran towards the bridge, it broke me. “What a long climb it will be”. I decided to fall back slightly to save my legs for the kill later. I made sure the pacer’s balloons were within my line of sight.
30km split – 5:43min/km. On track taking into account my buffer from the previous 25km.
What a long bridge. Damn. It was going upwards, upwards and upwards. I could feel the impact on my tired legs. I could see my pacer so I knew I was still on track. Downed another gel.
I broke again when I saw a second climb within the same bridge just 3 minutes after the 1st climb. It was crap. I wanted to take a walk break at the hydration point, take in some sodium and chill out and found out to my dismay that,
- Their sports drinks are magnesium based
- Their spectators are fiercely encouraging
I freaked out as I read the contents of the drink. Magnesium? Why the heck is it magnesium? I am so used to 100Plus that I have always taken for granted that sodium is the thing to drink. “Take today’s race as a reminder, Aldric”.
I wanted to walk a bit longer but failed to. The Aussie crowds were overwhelming. They blew me away. They were shouting my name and extending their arms for me to slap. They pushed me and pushed me real hard. I lost my pack slightly ahead but I managed to feed on the energy from the spectators. It was spectacular. Now I know why Ryan Hall loved running by the side.
I bit the bullet, conquered the bridge and I paced up to return to my pack.
The fun began at 34km. My quads started cramping. It started with my left quad. No problem. I started leaning on my right more. My right quads started complaining. Uh-oh. Then I felt busted. My pacer and the pack abandoned me.
Maybe, I have abandoned them.
35km split – 6:24min/km. Petrified, but still pushing.
I stopped to a walk. My quads were screaming murder. They were in dire state and they wanted instant gratification. No way I was going to DNF myself. I’m here to stay. But my mind was rebelling. “How’s that for a cold-weather race, punk? Thinking of a PB? Think again” I wasn’t able to maintain friendship with my legs and my mind that fateful day.
I hopped-slow run my way to the 39km distance marker. It was breezy and the familiar sunrays started hitting us like arrows. I loved it. Some don’t and I could tell that some runners felt the toll on their fatigued body. I felt normal and energized. And I kept placing one foot ahead of another.
The 3:45 pacing group passed me. Ouch.
40km split – 7:11min/km. Was I crawling??
The road towards 40km is an interesting one as I would realize. It turns out from a harbor to the main road which brings us back to the start point (which is now the end point). As I turned, I saw a line of spectators. Again. And this time it was on both sides of the road.
Fantastic (moans).
I bit my lips and started running my best run. I kept to the sides and cupping my hands over my ears to feed off the energy from the spectators. There wasn’t a moment I dared to let up. I allowed them to push me and push me as if their support was an invisible hand behind my back. To the hell with my body, I thought. I’m a warrior and I will make the best of my race even if I cannot supercede my previous PB set a month ago. I thought I would bust a rib. But I didn’t care anymore. I was racing for my pride and dignity as a runner.
Crossed the finishing line at 3:52:48 based on my watch. I was elated. It was a triumphant moment because I knew what I was against during the race. I was satisfied. I let go and allowed my mind and legs to breakdown.
And broke down they did. But I didn’t care. It was a spectacular performance and I know it even though I lamented to Yit Koon non-stop after the race. It was oxymoronic. I was happy within and sour in front.
Nonetheless, I was happy that Yit Koon did a PB. This race proved 2 things at least.
- Yit Koon is a good runner
- The bigger guys always bury the smaller guys in the cold
Take this as a reminder, bloke.
The hype is now over for Gold Coast and it is probably time to start ramping up for Stanchart at the end of the year. At least I have more than 4 months this time. Time for more training, punk.
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