Race Week - Amsterdam Half Marathon
A taper week of sorts. Not the week I had pictured from May until the end of September this year, but the Covid curveball forced us to adapt our plans. I’m not mad. Genuinely. It’s a strange thing. I thought I would be devastated if something scuppered my plans, but the journey really is what keeps me getting out of bed in the morning. 8 more weeks to train, 8 more weeks to build even more speed. 8 weeks to (hopefully) make running 3:59-4:01 per k for 26.2 miles more comfortable/doable. I’ll take it. The only downside is having to run a Half Marathon. 13.1 miles is far more scary, to me, than 26.2 miles…
Monday started with an easy 6 miles followed, on Tuesday, by my final session prior to racing.
8 x 90 seconds at 5k pace off 1 min recovery followed by 3km at HM pace. The 90 second efforts were run outside and averaged 3:28 pace. The 3km was performed on a treadmill at 3:45 per k with an avg HR of 161bpm. Because of the treadmill getting up to speed and the HR taking a while to rise, I suspect this would be more like 167-168bpm when running a half on the roads.
Wednesday off.
Since I’m on my way out of ASICS, I’m a little excited to try out new brands for clothing and shoes. The truth is, I can’t see anything taking the place of my Metaspeed Sky or Superblasts. They’re simply phenomenal and, when I do have to fork out again for more daily or race shoes, I’ll likely stick with these, but it’s nice to have the option. I found a pair of original Nike Alphafly’s on Vinted the other day for a stupidly low price. I’ll use them for my long runs/long run sessions in the build to Pisa to save putting miles on my MSP & SB’s.
*Update: I’ve used them and can confirm it’s impossible to run slowly in these shoes.*
I also bought a ’26.2’ running singlet from Scullions website…
I’ve not had any interactions with the man before, but I like him. I like his channel and I like that he’s a human who wears his heart on his sleeve. His customer service, IMHO, needs a little work.
Evri managed to lose my vest. After chasing them for 5 days, they eventually concurred that the item of clothing had gone missing and that I should be refunded by the supplier, who they in turn, would reimburse. So I messaged Scully (he handles all queries)
The following isn’t verbatim, but the response was as follows:
“I doubt they’ll refund me. Maybe just the postage. To be honest I’m too busy to go chasing up every missing order and I only make X amount on a vest” … etc etc.”
Not the usual response you might expect. It felt like he was complaining to a mate about how much of a pain in the arse his job is, but, he immediately sent me out another saying that he couldn’t be bothered to go through the hassle of being sat on the phone with Evri and it was easier just to lose X amount of money. It’s bittersweet because I wanted to support his new business, but it seems I actually ended up costing him money.
Amsterdam
After the typical, boring delays associated with air travel, we arrived at our hotel in Hoofddorp.
I love Hoofddorp.
10 minutes or so by shuttle from the City, it’s a bit like Silicon Valley. A giant business park but very ‘Zen’. Modern, peaceful and attractive. We stayed in the Novotel and I immediately felt at home (although the wifi had cut out when we arrived and had affected most aspects of checking in, paying by card etc. The staff were clearly stressed out and made no secret of the fact that anything you asked, or made a request for, was a huge hassle for them. Which was weirdly novel and almost a little amusing. Not too dissimilar to my interactions with Scully, in fact.)
After finally falling asleep at 1am, we woke at 07:30 and sleepily made our way down to breakfast. Today’s goal was to carb load. 800-1000g of carbs with minimal fat or fibre. Upon seeing all of the incredible food choices, the plan went to total rat shit and I began by devouring crispy bacon, eggs and pancakes. In an attempt to redeem myself, I then opted for a large bowl of Sugar Puffs, followed closely by 5 more pancakes, maple syrup and some fruit.
With a heavy sugar coma setting in, we headed for the Expo. I’m not sure I’ve ever done quite so much walking the day before a race. By the end of the day my feet were actually sore and my carb load, post-breakfast, lost some momentum. In fact, my only source of food until late afternoon was a raspberry and chocolate bun. From a racing standpoint, I couldn’t have done things much worse. The one upside was that, on the busiest day of the expo, at the busiest hour, it took all of 5 minutes from entering to collect my number, switch to the half marathon and then go check out the stands.
When we arrived back at the hotel I managed to wolf down 2 currant buns, a banana and a 90g precision carb gel followed by an evening meal, at which my food arrived half an hour after ordering and then Hollys and Emers arrived over an hour after that. The burgers were totally raw. We were told to try to be understanding since the chefs priority was a party of 80 people next door.
Clearly things are done differently over here. As miserable as we Brits can be, we tend mostly to adopt a ’The customer is always right’ approach to our jobs, apologising profusely and flashing fake smiles to cover up seething hatred for arsehole customers. And we as customers appreciate this, despite knowing full well that the courteous employee clearly hates our fucking guts.
Race Day
With a late start at 1pm for the half, we were able to lie in after a solid nights sleep. We then spent the morning nervously waiting for 11am, when we could pack up and head toward the Stadium for the start of the race.
The build to the gun going off is horrible, and this one was no different to any other race. The large amount of bodies crowded into a small area sent the ambient temperature soaring as the announcer introduced various race-sponsor dignitaries to the stage, who the crowd seemed to largely ignore - their requests for cheers and whoops left awkwardly unanswered.
Finally, the gun fired and we inched our way to the start line, fingers on start buttons.
Instantly landing at 3:47 per k, the initial kilometre felt effortless, but I made sure to not get carried away. Kilometre two could be best described as ‘comfortably uncomfortable’, the hardest part being the thought of maintaining sub 4 minute kilometres for 13.1 miles (my brain still registers 3-something k’s as reps). Luckily, I saw a pack just up ahead who looked like they might be on 1:20 pace, so I latched on to the back of them. Running in a pack is supposed to make things feel so much easier. Aside from not having to regularly check my watch, I can’t honestly say it did. I had made the decision to not take on gels or water since, at this distance, they feel to me to be more of a hindrance than a help. At around 45 minutes I did take a cup of water and instantly regretted it. For the tiny gulp I managed to glean, my pace dropped and my HR went up. What made it worse was the debris left by the marathoners; specifically a sea of wet sponges. I did slip, it did jack my HR up, and all future aid stations were more carefully navigated.
The good news is that my HR stayed consistent and the level of discomfort did not increase. After losing the group I continued to then draft off individuals until their pace no longer matched mine and I’d move on to the next. Every single one I assumed was stronger than me, and my plan was to stick with them to the end. When their pace eventually dropped and I made the decision to move on, the psychological boost was huge.
My experience of racing hard is that I always go lactic in the final miles. That dreaded feeling where your legs shift from feeling good to heavy over the course of a few seconds and the realisation that, from this moment on, you’re in for a tough ride, dawns. The same pace requires nearly twice the effort and the real, psychological battle begins.
Happily, I didn’t experience the above at any point! In fact, when I reached the final five kilometres I made the decision to push on. This must come down to simply having more race experience, which is why we preach to our athletes, the value of racing throughout the year.
The last miles took us into the park as the sun eventually broke through, the autumnal leaves glowing and the crowds building in both size and decibels - what a way to end the race. I pinned myself to the heels of a guy named ‘Sam’ and we raced hard, dodging the remaining marathon runners, desperate, now, to hit the last corner and arrive into the stadium for a lap around the track before crossing the line.
The moment came and went so quickly I barely took it in.
1:22:26
A 6 minute PB and another lesson about racing learned the hard way.
Take the shortest line.
I had managed to run over distance by 200m, my Coros and Strava both clocking a HM time of 1:21:43. But, like our client Tommy said to me, “Every race is long”. And he’s right.
So I’ll just have to shoot for 2:48 in Pisa to be safe ;)
