I never had a good run in my previous Stanchart participation. Back then in 2007, I DNF’ed because I couldn’t bring myself to cramp to the finish. In the slightly recent 2008, I was DSQ’ed as one of the kind marshals directed me for an earlier u-turn at ECP. I must look terrible in such a way that she wanted to help me end my misery earlier.
Fast forward to 3 years later and the good ole’ recalcitrant me was standing at the start line for 2011 edition. This time, I wasn’t excitable compared to the ‘07/’08. I was at peace and was waiting for race to commence. I was simply glad to be ready for this year’s marathon as the finish line has eluded me time and time again. There was a target that I wanted to achieve and believed that it shouldn’t be a huge ask.
It turns out that the run would complete a disappointing and unfulfilling Stanchart Marathon Singapore Trilogy. Bella was unfortunate. I was tragic. And though I was mentally ready to fight a tough fight, there exists variables that I wasn’t able to dictate.
It all began with the ‘rah-rah’ 10 minutes prior to the gun-start. A drum performance was included by the race organisers to enhance the experience and the hype of cruising down one of the flattest courses offered by the Stanchart Marathon series. Apparently this performance has excited the birds residing in the trees just above the start corrals as well. As their adrenaline spiked, so did their urge to remove their bowels. I received 2 bombs. Courtesy of the bird(s) from the 2nd tree along the Mandarin Gallery stretch (2nd counting from the cross-road junction separating Heeren and Mandarin Gallery, facing Wheelock Place). The day spiraled downwards from there as you can already tell.
I couldn’t bring myself to run a marathon with bird poo on my head so I edged my way to the side of the start pen requesting for a bottle of Ice Mountain from the nearest volunteer. While doing so, the gun went. So did my time advantage as a sub-4 runner in the near front placement. The volunteer was kind, definitely. She wasn’t, however, very sensitive to my predicament and to the marathon setting. She told me that the nearest water bottles are placed at the road separating H&M and Mandarin Gallery and requested me to follow her (while moving along the start pen). If you recall, the start line was situated BEFORE the road between H&M and Mandarin Gallery. Looking into her doe’s eye, I began wondering if she was the kindred spirit who ended my misery much earlier in 2008.
I crossed the start line with utmost reluctance as I assume any marathon runners would. It wasn’t until another 4 minutes that the bottle was finally in my hands. When I finally began my run, I knew I had to look beyond the Gun-time and Net-time. I had to look at Net Net-time (Net-time minus 4 minutes) for my actual marathon timing. When that decision was made, I had to turn my attention to 2 things.
1. My watch – for the timing
2. The distance markers – so I can compute my pace
As the series of unfortunate events would unfold, I would have never – in my wildest – imagined that some distance markers were misplaced. As the run proceeded beyond the “12km” mark, I falsely believed that I didn’t have my legs under me. My “pace” was simply psychologically unbearable. There and then I told myself that the marathon does not end at the 10km, half-marathon or the 30km mark. It ends at the finish line. So I decided to surge gently to pick up pace.
Coming into the lagoon, I was besieged with a jabbing stitch in my gut. I was baffled. “That’s real early” was all my conscious mind could mutter. The stitch never went away. In fact, it intensified throughout the marathon. While I refused to come to a halt (allowing the bl**dy stitch to go away), I was sacrificing my pace. At the half-marathon mark, I was 3 minutes behind my target.
The journey from the half-marathon point to the end of the East Coast Parkway (ECP) was an arduous one. I remember feeling absolutely terrible. The jabbing stitch has now evolved to a higher intensity. I placed my right hand on my abdomen in hope that it will feel much better. By doing so, my arm-swing was, sadly compromised. That’s not all. I puked and saw galaxies of stars multiple occasions as I went along the return route of the ECP. The physical pain – at that point in time – was affecting me psychologically. At MacDonald’s, my mentality was “Let’s not waste this year’s effort. Let’s run through the pain. I’m prepared for this. Let’s run until we blackout”. Yeah, I was definitely deluding myself. I was prepared for cramps, not stitches. I recalled feeling horrible as I ticked 1 distance marker after another. My only hope was the distance markers would be honest with me.
The mental contest between my internal demons (to stop) and my conscious self (continue) has evolved to become a full scale one. It was like Ip Man vs the 10 Karate black belts. The demonS refused to back off. And the going got extremely difficult at the 35km mark around Marina Barrage. I thought I was in for a 4 hour marathon. I did not stop along the way and my legs are starting to make that decision for me. I could feel the lethargy. At the same time, my watch tells me that I am furthest away from the finish line at the 3 hour mark in any marathon this year. My stitch was still there. And I puked. Again.
It would take a Nike 10km performance for me to hit my original target and I don’t think I had that with me with 7km to go. So…… I made a cruel decision against myself in order to land myself anywhere between my target and <4:00. For that decision to materialize, I had to recalibrate my mental orientation from “Let’s run until we blackout” to “I will die only at the finish line”. After repeating that for 5 times, I closed my eyes and surged, with my hand over the increasingly painful stitch. At this point, I was running on pure willpower. I know my form was ghastly then as I couldn’t feel my glutes and quads firing. I was percolating and I have dug deeper than I have ever done because the mental recalibration was meant to support a cruel decision – to pick up pace. I forced my legs to take bigger steps. Pushing my mental frontiers to areas I have never been before, I was definitely blind.
I was laboring with 3km to go. My legs were having a mind of their own (but I was glad they continued doing what they are supposed to do) and my mind was preoccupied silencing the demons and the bl**dy stitch which never went away until hours after crossing the finish line. While passing the flyer with Esplanade in sight, I knew sub-4 was in view. But that was never my intention. I wanted something more. I expected a lot more than my sub-optimal performance today. I became angry and started picking up pace again. At the Esplanade Bridge, I had a cramp in my quads. I told my quads to stop the nonsense and proceeded running.
I was mentally and physically spent at the finish line. This was the first time I made so much effort silencing my demons and only stopping at 1 hydration station. I collapsed at the side of the road, crying. It was an outward display of paradoxical emotional doldrums encompassing innate disappointment and the ability to run my demons down. At the same time, I was experiencing an unprecedented level of pain. The cramps which came late at the 41km are now behaving like a full blown disease spreading from quads to my hamstrings. Not forgetting that the stubborn little stitch was still there. I probably cried for 5 minutes before leaving the race venue.
It was my toughest marathon this year and the toughest to stomach (with great certainty). As for the pain I have experienced most of the run, it was indescribable. The closest word is probably be…… excruciating. The marathon never appears to be easy even after several attempts.
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