The Disaster that was the Sporting Life 10k

Yesterday was supposed to be a great day. It was the day that I was going to test the progress of my broken ass by taking to the streets of Toronto and completing my first double digit race in a year.

But the Sporting Life 10k was a total clustercuss.

When I lined up for my corral, I KNEW it was already off to a bad start. With the race directors being the same people that organize the Goodlife Marathon, I knew I was in for a race that would be disorganized at best.

Just walking up to meet jainey and some of my friends, I knew the race would be a mess. The sheer volume of people lining Yonge Street was crazy. I was starting pretty far back in the purple corral as I was afraid that I wouldn’t be 100 per cent back to  normal and run a sub-1 hour 10k. Lining up, I couldn’t tell where the corral finished or started and there were no volunteers to ensure that you were in your appropriate corral. For a race that was quite explicit about the importance of being in the right corral and the enforcement of such, it was sort of bizarre but I didn’t let it bug me. The lack of a volunteer presence meant that the Hulk could stay with me right until they led us up to the start line. This was also because we had no clue the race had even begun.

When we finally made that push toward the start, the purples got mixed in with the green bibs (the corral ahead) and oranges (the corral behind) were pushing past me to start. Some teenaged volunteer with a megaphone tried to let us know that purple had to stay back  but he was giggling and saying, “I think” after his directions. It made me wonder if they were serious or just there for their own amusement.

But I left the confusion there (or so I thought) once I stepped over the first timing mat, and I just ran easy. I was marking each passing kilometre with ease, not even realizing I ran the first 5k in under 30 minutes, a feat I haven’t been able to achieve in a couple of years At 6k I felt an ache start in my rear and slowed down just a little bit to ensure it wouldn’t be angry later. Just after that, I happened upon the second water station that was being manned by a group that runs out of my old Running Room. Despite their best efforts, the station was understaffed and was in no way prepared to accommodate the advertised 27,000 runners as I saw a few hurrying to replace the half full cups being quickly snapped up. I picked up a cup from one of my running friends, thanked him profusely and went on my way.

As I approached the 9k mark, I realized that only 53 minutes or so had elapsed since I had crossed the start line. I could have a sub-1 hour race! I decided not to push myself the rest of the way and if things were meant to be, I’d get there in time to make my A goal (B was under 1:10 and C was just to finish).

I did anticipate what happened at the finish. As I approached the inflatable arch, I looked down at my Garmin again to see that a 59 minute finish would be a reality. But looking at the finish, that reality quickly became a dream. There was a crowd of runners stopped before the arch and slowly walking over the timing mat.

Whisky. Tango. Foxtrot.

At first I thought it was those runners who have no clue about race etiquette and had come to a dead stop at the finish without a care for those behind them, but I soon realized it was an even bigger problem. Seemed as though the race organizers, in their attempt to funnel us to a park two streets south of the finish line, had not planned to give us unrestricted access all the way there. Instead, we had to wait for our turn to cross the streets as traffic zoomed by.

So there was no sub-1 hour but a 1:00:24 finish. Awesome.

(feel free to play “Where’s Marie?” in the picture to the right)

Once I got to the park about five minutes later, I ran into some other running friends who missed PBs thanks to the line up to finish and queued to pour my own Gatorade (once I found a cup). After a short game of cell phone Marco Polo, I found my lil brother, who had an AMAZING race and finished in 44 minutes, and high tailed it out of there to find a very frustrated Hulk. The poor thing got stuck in traffic getting to the finish and only found a parking spot way over at Ontario Place AFTER I had finished. Our speedy getaway was short on the speed though as we had to wait for crossing runners to make their way across Lakeshore to the park and had to squeeze left thanks to a bunch of asshats who felt they were entitled to park in the right hand lane to wait for other runners.

NEVER AGAIN.

I know I was only one of MANY runners upset with this race. One of my running friends Kenny has summed up all of the feedback and found great footage that shows just how screwed up the race was. If you’re looking for the best examples of how NOT to run a race, hop on over to his blog and if you were at the race, make sure to leave a comment.

Although I’m upset by my experience, I am THRILLED that I passed my test with flying colours. But I will continue to be bitter about the B that should have been an A.

Finish Lines, Fear & Moving Forward

The explosions that occurred at yesterday’s Boston Marathon shook me, hundreds of miles away from the finish line.

It took an event that celebrates so much, brings together so much positivity, and the best that the running community, as well as the greater Boston community, have to offer the world.

When people should have been raising their hands in victory crossing the finish line, they were covering their faces in grief, using their hands to help those who were hurt and comforting those who were in shock and disbelief.

I crossed that same finish line last year in the B.A.A. 5k and stood very close to where the first bomb went off to pose for this picture with my friend, the same friend who was running the race yesterday. Thankfully, she was far away from the finish line when it happened, as was her husband.

Although I felt relief to know she was safe and sound, the event rattles me to the core.

Are community events no longer safe? Should I be worried every time I get in a corral at a large race? Will I be safe at the New York Marathon this fall?

I have no answers. No one has any answers. Yet.

All that I know is that my heart aches for those who lost their lives yesterday, for those who were seriously injured and for those who experienced shock and sadness as a result.

The running community brings people together. I hope that something that was designed to tear people apart, will only bring us closer together and that it won’t ruin future events.

“Being the first to cross the finish line makes you a winner in only one phase of life. It's what you do after you cross the line that really counts.”

The Long Road to Recovery

So we’re a month into Project Repair the Rear and physio seems to be going well. It appears as though the cause of the pain has changed (or was always something else and just misdiagnosed), so I’ve been stretching and lunging and having my butt zapped to cure what ails me.

Sounds fantastic, right?

The pain in my ass comes and goes, but has been more of a dull ache than the stabbing pain it once was. I’m finally able to run a few times a week but have been afraid to venture beyond 30 minutes or 5km and haven’t run outside since June of last year.

Until now.

See, my little brother planted an idea in my head and now I’m pushing my limits. We always signed up for a 10k down Yonge Street and then the Pride Run since I started running. But last year I could only do the latter and still struggled to finish pain free.

So armed with a goal, I have a plan. A training plan.

I’ve been loosely following the Running Room’s 10k training plan in order to run the Sporting Life 10k in May. It’s technically not the same race as the one I’ve run before (as there was a huge kerfuffle over this race and now there are two), but it gives me more time to work on my butt so that I can run it without major issues/pain.

And that will hopefully get me on my way to training for the ING New York Marathon. Because who wants to pass up the opportunity to run that when my entry is guaranteed? Not me!

So with a couple of 6ks and an 8k under my belt now, I’m definitely beyond limiting myself to 30 mins or 5k.

I think I’m back.

 

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You Don’t Suck

I’d like to think that I have a thick skin, and I don’t just mean the extra layer that currently keeps me warm.

Criticism used bounce right off of me, especially when it came to writing pieces at work. I knew that every single piece I submit for editing will come back to me marked up in red (or in my case hot pink) ink and I was comfortable with that.  There is always room for improvement and I have a completely different voice than my manager and the people who work in this environment. That’s life.

But I find that my skin is paper thin of late. I  recently started searching for a more permanent position (I’m on contract) but have yet to receive a call for an interview, my suggestions for strategies and tactics are met with reluctance, fear or disapproval, and the simplest of supportive comments directed my way seem to make me tear up.

What the deuce has happened to me?

And no, I’m not knocked up.

The actions I used to slough off and not take personally are now affecting me deeply. They impact my actions and reactions and have sort of held me hostage. They even affect everyone around me. I feel like I’m in a holding pattern and can’t move forward, stuck in this strange waiting room or purgatory (hello, religious references!) The not knowing, the feeling inferior, my inability to grow, thrive and succeed is making me shrink, become meek and I feel like I’m dying a bit inside.

This is not a life.

For someone who has wavering self-confidence at the best of times, this is not the greatest situation to be facing. To be stuck with a cloud of unknown hanging over my head is totally the suck. But I’ve let the suck become what I am, or at least that’s what I think I am. But I have to remember that I’m not.

Despite what happens at a job, it’s just a job. Yes, it pays the bills, it’s where I spend the greatest amount of time and I do derive a great deal of joy from producing great work, but it’s not the be all and end all. It’s not my career job. It’s not where I want to be forever and ever, amen.

I can’t let this ruin my life.

I have a great life. I have people that love me.

It will unsuck soon enough.

Preaching to the Converted

I like to tell people that I have a red phone to God.

I’m fairly certain that I’m going to hell because of it but thankfully my mother prays daily for me so I’m probably going to be alright. To those who aren’t religious or faithful in any way, shape or form, feel free to bounce now as you probably won’t like the way I’m setting up this post, but I share this little tidbit with people because I work for an institution that is faith centred AND I’m a giant smartass. Because of that, I try to be very careful about what I write and share on every front and censor myself a wee bit. Some who look at my situation may believe that I consider “What Would Jesus Do?” before I take action. Well, they would be WRONG. I actually think, “Will This Make My Mother Shriek in Horror?” before I snap a photo, post something on Facebook, complain about something on Twitter or compose an entry here.

But I haven’t always been so careful or guarded and sometimes I still post a ridiculous photo for a laugh, but the shift has come with age, experience and knowledge, and is still evolving. I sometimes look back on previous posts and laugh out loud at the trivial matters that consumed my life, the issues that I felt were so important, that I felt the need to rant and rave about or climb up on a soap box and act as though I’m an authority figure on.

And I am sorely not.

Now a pulpit is a regular sight for me here at work and I listen to sermons and lectures from veteran ministers, tenured professors and students alike. I’m given a lot to reflect on daily, and not just on matters of faith, so when I come online to read blogs, I find it hard to digest words that appear to be written from up on high.

So many people speak from experience as though they are experts, have climbed up on lofty perches to spell out the rules that we all must follow to lead better lives:

Thou shalt not go to the drive thru!

Wheat is the devil!

Thou must turn thine life of couch potato-ness into one of fitness!

Marathon runners are gods!

Yeah, no.

But that’s all I read lately. People who are attached to some weird hashtag, getting free stuff out their ying-yang and telling me how to live my life because they’re sponsored by every company under the sun. What is that about?

I did a lot of reflection, introspection and transformation last year. I don’t need to tell anyone else how to live their life anymore, nor do I need to live up to any high expectations in order to be successful in achieving health and well-being by my own standards. I also don’t have to be the person I once was. Living in the past does me no good.

So, I have no secrets. I have no magic formula. There is no golden ticket.

Go find your own. No one is going to find it for you.

So I’ll be over here tracking every calorie in and expending every other one that I can. I’m making good choices, exercising my sore-ass, eating my veggies, taking my vitamins and saying my prayers.

Have to make sure Mom won’t shriek after all.

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