Tuesday, May 29, 2007
Monday, May 28, 2007
Marathon!
So you want to run a marathon??
Here's my experience with the ING Ottawa Marathon 2007:
The morning started ominously enough, with a forecast of rain and a temperature of 10-19 degrees. Nervous, stressed-out, and with adrenaline pumping like crazy through my body, I did not sleep a wink the night before. I tossed and turned and thought about all the many things that could go wrong and keep me from finishing, or how I could injure myself and cut my whole season short, or if it would be too cold on my knees to wear shorts. Finally, I gave up trying to sleep… it was all I could do to close my eyes and try to keep my legs still. At 5:00 AM exactly, I got up and turned off my 4 alarm clocks before they rang.
I quickly showered and changed, following my marathon prep checklist to a T. After choking down an oatmeal square and a banana, and applying several layers of Bodyglide, I was finally ready to pin on my race number and fasten my timing chip. I had decided to wear a long-sleeved base shirt with a tech tee overtop, with the bib pinned to the top shirt and hence the option to remove the base layer if necessary. All went well until I started to fasten the chip onto my shoe with the single cable tie provided. While checking the diagram to make sure I had pointed it the right way, I neglected to see that one end of the tie had slipped outside the fastening loop. I tightened the tie and looked down in horror to see my mistake.
Well as you know, cable ties are not meant to be adjustable… and with that I began to panic. I ransacked my “bike box” to find the bag of cable ties I KNEW was still there somewhere… no luck. I threw the contents of several boxes onto the floor, but to no avail. It was only 40 minutes before the start time now, and what an awful way to miss my long-anticipated race!!!
Thank goodness my buddy saved the day (you know who you are!!!) with his spare cable ties, because although I saw after that some runners had used bungee cords or string, I had no idea how to secure that thing to my shoe.
Well… a few bathroom breaks later (nerves again! I was heading off to the yellow corral to await the gun, armed with Pepto Bismol tablets and another oatmeal square in my pocket. I saw the 4:00 pace bunny (complete with pink ears!) and I stayed with her for the first 2 or 3 km. She was leading the group doing 10’s and 1’s and I got ahead during the first walk break. (I personally hate breaking rhythm on long runs; walking at the water stations is more than enough). I am still wondering how she managed to run a marathon while holding a sign up in one hand... In any case, I never saw her again.
The first 10k through Gatineau was uneventful, other than several ladies being hollered at in French by (shall we say, “enthusiastic?”) spectators. As one of the only runners I could see wearing long sleeves, I worried about being too warm after all. Then I worried again about the rain, and about when I would reach the next Port-O-Let. But mostly, it was a relief to get running and use up some of that latent energy and anxiety.
The second 10k through Rockliffe/ New Edinburgh gave me the first real taste of the marathon experience. Throngs of cheering spectators lined Sussex: there was live music and the excitement was palpable. Medical volunteers on bicycles joked with the runners and hollered out encouragement. I just kept running, pacing myself at “one notch above my long training runs”, secure in the knowledge I am basically a 10.5-11 kph machine…
Near the 17-km marker I decided to make use of the Port-O-Let (seeing only one runner in line). Knowing I faced a 30-second wait, I decided to eat half my oatmeal square to make use of the delay. However, choking food down under pressure is hard, and the girl ahead of me emerged with “Phew, that stinks!” before I had swallowed. “Here goes nothing” I thought, as I pushed the food to a corner of my cheek and held my breath. I think what I experienced in the next 30 seconds was probably one of the most awful things I have ever experienced, but amazingly, I did not spit my food down the hole. Mind over matter. I emerged into the sweet fresh air, began to run, and then began to chew again. I stopped at the next two water stations for water and Gatorade respectively, and used a third cup to wash off my face and hands. All this served to make my second 10k the slowest split of the four, but only by about 90 seconds. When I passed over the halfway mark (21.1k) at 1:57, I began to think that I could break 4 hours after all.
Between 20k and 30k, I believe I only stopped once for Gatorade. Having stocked up on fluid between kilometres 10 and 20, and with the new hope of running my first marathon sub-4h, I wanted to make up some time! Near the Chateau Laurier, the streets were packed with spectators on both sides and it wasn’t hard to dig deep and find the energy to move up a bit in the ranks. By the 25km-marker, it began to get more crowded on the course since we were sharing with the half-marathoners… this was to continue to the finish, making the race more of a strategy game to avoid being boxed in by slower folks. We passed more bands, mainly college kids jamming under makeshift white tents… but hey, everyone out there made a difference to my tiring legs. When I crossed the 30km point, checking my watch and hearing the wild simultaneous “beeeeeep” of my fellow runners’ timing chips, I knew that I only had to keep this pace to make a sub-4hr marathon a reality.
Moving up the hill on the turnabout near Hog’s Back at 30km, the distance began to take its toll not only on my legs, but on my motivation. I remember that between 30 and 32km I was thinking: these are the transition kilometres. Everything past 32 isn’t physical… it’s all pyschological. Well I was starting to lose ground going up that hill, and looking too far ahead was demoralizing. So I looked around and saw this older guy who was running strong; he must have belonged to some running club, since he was wearing a team jersey and all I remember was that it started with “La Foule”. I moved in right behind him and followed his every move. If he passed, I passed; if he held on, I held on… I stayed right on his heels. I hitched a ride with La Foule all the way up that hill. Over and over to my glycogen-depleted self I thought: “I’m gonna hitch a ride with La Foule, I’m gonna hitch a ride with La Foule”. It was my mantra. It got me through.
Around 34 or 35k I picked up a Gatorade, but as I slowed down I almost staggered right into the volunteer holding out the cup. My legs had seized and were now in an acute stage of pain. I knew beyond a doubt that if I stopped to walk again I’d be walking all the way to the finish. So I gulped it down as fast as I could (which wasn’t very fast at all) and as I lurched back to a run the pain caused me to grimace and emit an audible groan. The med volunteer looked with some concern in my direction, but I only sped up, anxious to end this misery.
The most CRUEL moment in the entire marathon was the 36th kilometre… a detour around the arboretum at the Experimental Farm. I mean, here I am thinking it’s straight home from here, but no… a detour! I think I almost cried at that point... but instead I just pushed again. La Foule had dropped me after that Gatorade incident, so I found another pair of club runners from Quebec who looked to be pacing well. The woman in front, probably half my weight and two-thirds my height, was running easily – just another ho-hum run in the park for her I’ll bet. (In my daze I thought no-one was suffering as much as I was). I latched on to her and slowly we moved up through the ranks.
Near the 39-kilometer sign I caught La Foule and passed him. The street was lined with cheering spectators and wow, did we ever need it now. I was so happy they were there, and so happy to be almost done, that I did actually shed a tear this time. It took all my effort to concentrate on moving one leg in front of the other, just step after step through the pain. My head was pounding. The most awesome thing was running down the far left side of the road and being near enough for spectators to read my race bib. “Way to go April!” yells a complete stranger, then another. Buoyed even more, I take it up a notch when I hit 40, then 41 km’s. Now all I can hear is my own breathing becoming more laboured by the minute. I continue to fly by the trailing half-marathoners and continue to pass some of my fellow marathoners. I stay left to avoid traffic. I see the 750m sign, and I grin up into the sky and into the rain and feel this huge, HUGE joy and relief. I sprint. It’s all a blur. I hear someone say: “look at that”. I can see the finish line now. My head tilts up like I am praying. I want the pain to end, I want to get there now. I can see the screen on the right, see the finishers as they cross the line. I can’t see myself. The announcer tells us to raise our arms in victory but I can’t, I’m exhausted, I just keep moving my legs as fast as I can. I’m still looking up at the sky with this huge, dazed smile. The blessed beep of the chips and thank heavens it’s over.
I walk down the chute, gasping. Some guy walks over with a mylar cape and wraps me in it. He gives me water and asks if I’m ok. I am helpless, I can hardly move. I stagger forwards in the crowd. I put my foot through the bars and some kid with a knife removes my chip. I am dimly aware that he could cut my toes off. Within seconds I am freezing, my teeth chattering. My head hurts. Every muscle in my body hurts. Brutal! Remind me never to do this again!
But I am happy, because I did well. 3:55:38 gun time, which is much faster than I expected, and not bad for my first-ever marathon. Trashing my legs is the price I pay for that satisfaction, I guess. It'll be a week before I can walk up and down stairs again.
Next event: Olympic Duathlon, June 16th.
Here's my experience with the ING Ottawa Marathon 2007:
The morning started ominously enough, with a forecast of rain and a temperature of 10-19 degrees. Nervous, stressed-out, and with adrenaline pumping like crazy through my body, I did not sleep a wink the night before. I tossed and turned and thought about all the many things that could go wrong and keep me from finishing, or how I could injure myself and cut my whole season short, or if it would be too cold on my knees to wear shorts. Finally, I gave up trying to sleep… it was all I could do to close my eyes and try to keep my legs still. At 5:00 AM exactly, I got up and turned off my 4 alarm clocks before they rang.
I quickly showered and changed, following my marathon prep checklist to a T. After choking down an oatmeal square and a banana, and applying several layers of Bodyglide, I was finally ready to pin on my race number and fasten my timing chip. I had decided to wear a long-sleeved base shirt with a tech tee overtop, with the bib pinned to the top shirt and hence the option to remove the base layer if necessary. All went well until I started to fasten the chip onto my shoe with the single cable tie provided. While checking the diagram to make sure I had pointed it the right way, I neglected to see that one end of the tie had slipped outside the fastening loop. I tightened the tie and looked down in horror to see my mistake.
Well as you know, cable ties are not meant to be adjustable… and with that I began to panic. I ransacked my “bike box” to find the bag of cable ties I KNEW was still there somewhere… no luck. I threw the contents of several boxes onto the floor, but to no avail. It was only 40 minutes before the start time now, and what an awful way to miss my long-anticipated race!!!
Thank goodness my buddy saved the day (you know who you are!!!) with his spare cable ties, because although I saw after that some runners had used bungee cords or string, I had no idea how to secure that thing to my shoe.
Well… a few bathroom breaks later (nerves again! I was heading off to the yellow corral to await the gun, armed with Pepto Bismol tablets and another oatmeal square in my pocket. I saw the 4:00 pace bunny (complete with pink ears!) and I stayed with her for the first 2 or 3 km. She was leading the group doing 10’s and 1’s and I got ahead during the first walk break. (I personally hate breaking rhythm on long runs; walking at the water stations is more than enough). I am still wondering how she managed to run a marathon while holding a sign up in one hand... In any case, I never saw her again.
The first 10k through Gatineau was uneventful, other than several ladies being hollered at in French by (shall we say, “enthusiastic?”) spectators. As one of the only runners I could see wearing long sleeves, I worried about being too warm after all. Then I worried again about the rain, and about when I would reach the next Port-O-Let. But mostly, it was a relief to get running and use up some of that latent energy and anxiety.
The second 10k through Rockliffe/ New Edinburgh gave me the first real taste of the marathon experience. Throngs of cheering spectators lined Sussex: there was live music and the excitement was palpable. Medical volunteers on bicycles joked with the runners and hollered out encouragement. I just kept running, pacing myself at “one notch above my long training runs”, secure in the knowledge I am basically a 10.5-11 kph machine…
Near the 17-km marker I decided to make use of the Port-O-Let (seeing only one runner in line). Knowing I faced a 30-second wait, I decided to eat half my oatmeal square to make use of the delay. However, choking food down under pressure is hard, and the girl ahead of me emerged with “Phew, that stinks!” before I had swallowed. “Here goes nothing” I thought, as I pushed the food to a corner of my cheek and held my breath. I think what I experienced in the next 30 seconds was probably one of the most awful things I have ever experienced, but amazingly, I did not spit my food down the hole. Mind over matter. I emerged into the sweet fresh air, began to run, and then began to chew again. I stopped at the next two water stations for water and Gatorade respectively, and used a third cup to wash off my face and hands. All this served to make my second 10k the slowest split of the four, but only by about 90 seconds. When I passed over the halfway mark (21.1k) at 1:57, I began to think that I could break 4 hours after all.
Between 20k and 30k, I believe I only stopped once for Gatorade. Having stocked up on fluid between kilometres 10 and 20, and with the new hope of running my first marathon sub-4h, I wanted to make up some time! Near the Chateau Laurier, the streets were packed with spectators on both sides and it wasn’t hard to dig deep and find the energy to move up a bit in the ranks. By the 25km-marker, it began to get more crowded on the course since we were sharing with the half-marathoners… this was to continue to the finish, making the race more of a strategy game to avoid being boxed in by slower folks. We passed more bands, mainly college kids jamming under makeshift white tents… but hey, everyone out there made a difference to my tiring legs. When I crossed the 30km point, checking my watch and hearing the wild simultaneous “beeeeeep” of my fellow runners’ timing chips, I knew that I only had to keep this pace to make a sub-4hr marathon a reality.
Moving up the hill on the turnabout near Hog’s Back at 30km, the distance began to take its toll not only on my legs, but on my motivation. I remember that between 30 and 32km I was thinking: these are the transition kilometres. Everything past 32 isn’t physical… it’s all pyschological. Well I was starting to lose ground going up that hill, and looking too far ahead was demoralizing. So I looked around and saw this older guy who was running strong; he must have belonged to some running club, since he was wearing a team jersey and all I remember was that it started with “La Foule”. I moved in right behind him and followed his every move. If he passed, I passed; if he held on, I held on… I stayed right on his heels. I hitched a ride with La Foule all the way up that hill. Over and over to my glycogen-depleted self I thought: “I’m gonna hitch a ride with La Foule, I’m gonna hitch a ride with La Foule”. It was my mantra. It got me through.
Around 34 or 35k I picked up a Gatorade, but as I slowed down I almost staggered right into the volunteer holding out the cup. My legs had seized and were now in an acute stage of pain. I knew beyond a doubt that if I stopped to walk again I’d be walking all the way to the finish. So I gulped it down as fast as I could (which wasn’t very fast at all) and as I lurched back to a run the pain caused me to grimace and emit an audible groan. The med volunteer looked with some concern in my direction, but I only sped up, anxious to end this misery.
The most CRUEL moment in the entire marathon was the 36th kilometre… a detour around the arboretum at the Experimental Farm. I mean, here I am thinking it’s straight home from here, but no… a detour! I think I almost cried at that point... but instead I just pushed again. La Foule had dropped me after that Gatorade incident, so I found another pair of club runners from Quebec who looked to be pacing well. The woman in front, probably half my weight and two-thirds my height, was running easily – just another ho-hum run in the park for her I’ll bet. (In my daze I thought no-one was suffering as much as I was). I latched on to her and slowly we moved up through the ranks.
Near the 39-kilometer sign I caught La Foule and passed him. The street was lined with cheering spectators and wow, did we ever need it now. I was so happy they were there, and so happy to be almost done, that I did actually shed a tear this time. It took all my effort to concentrate on moving one leg in front of the other, just step after step through the pain. My head was pounding. The most awesome thing was running down the far left side of the road and being near enough for spectators to read my race bib. “Way to go April!” yells a complete stranger, then another. Buoyed even more, I take it up a notch when I hit 40, then 41 km’s. Now all I can hear is my own breathing becoming more laboured by the minute. I continue to fly by the trailing half-marathoners and continue to pass some of my fellow marathoners. I stay left to avoid traffic. I see the 750m sign, and I grin up into the sky and into the rain and feel this huge, HUGE joy and relief. I sprint. It’s all a blur. I hear someone say: “look at that”. I can see the finish line now. My head tilts up like I am praying. I want the pain to end, I want to get there now. I can see the screen on the right, see the finishers as they cross the line. I can’t see myself. The announcer tells us to raise our arms in victory but I can’t, I’m exhausted, I just keep moving my legs as fast as I can. I’m still looking up at the sky with this huge, dazed smile. The blessed beep of the chips and thank heavens it’s over.
I walk down the chute, gasping. Some guy walks over with a mylar cape and wraps me in it. He gives me water and asks if I’m ok. I am helpless, I can hardly move. I stagger forwards in the crowd. I put my foot through the bars and some kid with a knife removes my chip. I am dimly aware that he could cut my toes off. Within seconds I am freezing, my teeth chattering. My head hurts. Every muscle in my body hurts. Brutal! Remind me never to do this again!
But I am happy, because I did well. 3:55:38 gun time, which is much faster than I expected, and not bad for my first-ever marathon. Trashing my legs is the price I pay for that satisfaction, I guess. It'll be a week before I can walk up and down stairs again.
Next event: Olympic Duathlon, June 16th.
Thursday, May 24, 2007
Pomp and Anxious Circumstances
The School of Management has dealt its graduates a final blow. After scalping us with “student fees”, picking favorites with TA’s in “the Old Boys’ Club” who arrange cash-grab tutorials, assigning us professors who don’t even pretend to read our work or their own email, allowing cheaters and posers to steal copies of exams while administration turns a blind eye, and making us wait in long queues only to discover that our final required class or prerequisite is already full (sorry!) we are relegated to suffering through the long-awaited convocation ceremony at 9:30 in the morning on a weekday.
Did this “education” not prepare us adequately for the work world? Perhaps the administration doubts the ability of its graduates to find REAL JOBS. That is, real day jobs. Why do I have to book a whole Wednesday off for this? Why waste my precious vacation time? Why not schedule it for the evening or the weekend, or even 8:00 – a normal workday start – so that we can get back to the office after lunch?
Ah, you say, but the School might just assume that graduates put so much VALUE on this important event in their lives, that a missed day of work in the middle of the week is of no consequence. Oh yes indeed. So what will this ceremony offer to ME as a symbol of academic accomplishment (other than a single sheet of paper which I might easily have received in the mail?)
Let’s do some simple calculations. If the ceremony is 3 hours (9:30-12:30), we’ll allocate at least 30 minutes for grandiose speeches and other rhetoric aimed at past and current students, the bestowing of honorary doctorates on various presidents and generals, exhortations for world peace, and applause.
That leaves no more than 9,000 seconds for the other 652 of us, of which perhaps a dozen award-winners will clamor for a larger share in which to accept their cheap plaques. That’s an average of 13.8 seconds per person. How very sad.
Here's how I'd break it down:
* 5.5 seconds to walk from the back of the stage to the middle while your name is being called (for me, 3.75). That's a long time because the average girl is wearing high heels.
* 2.25 seconds to put your hand in the dean's hand and grab the diploma with the other and turn for the cameras
* 1.75 seconds to hold that pose for the cameras
* 2 seconds to walk to the top of the stairs
* 3.5 seconds to walk down the stairs
* Total = 15 seconds because during the final 1.2 seconds (while you’re halfway down the stairs) they are calling the next name and that is part of the next person's 5.5 second walk and name announcement.
Should I get a bonus for shaving off 2.25 seconds? Ennui! I’ll smuggle a good book under my robe.
Wednesday, May 23, 2007
Scavengers in the Night
First some business about recycling Brita water filters: it can’t be done. Not now, not in Canada anyways (see an explanation here). The University of Ottawa claims that the City will do it through the Take it Back program, however it's not currently listed and I assume that was a mistake. Altogether, considering that a Brita filter takes up substantially less landfill space than hundreds of plastic bottles, not to mention the new notion that filtered water is better for your health and the environment than bottled water, I’d still think it to be a wise choice.
I have used the Take it Back links before though, mainly to dispose of used clothing and shoes and do research on where certain batteries should be recycled. It's a great resource. Also recently, I've found that leaving your old furniture on the curb (at this time of year anyways) can actually be an effective way to recycle. I have observed - right from my window overlooking the street! - week after week, the most incredible household detritus being salvaged by students and others who've recently moved. Bookshelves that seem barely fit for firewood disappear into dilapidated pick-up trucks under the cover of night. A dresser, standing bare without its drawers, garners excited whispers as young couples promise to return later for its rescue. While I still would recommend using Take it Back and Freecycle, if you live in a busy neighbourhood that favours students and other bargain-hunters you might have an easy time of it.
Well the post title could also refer to my penchant for midnight snacking, even though...
It’s taper week before Sunday’s marathon. I should have lots of time now that my workouts are curtailed. But somehow I’ve managed to fill it with … reading. Eating, sleeping, reading, and chillin’ all week. Forget the usual fare: on global warming, rational mysticism, the looming energy crisis, world politics, city planning, other apocalyptic scenarios. It’s one whole week of FICTION, folks, and what a treat it is, what a relief!
So far in 4 days, 4 books:
* The Beauty Box (Bonnie Dunlop)
* The Broker (John Grisham)
* Kite Runner (Khaled Hosseini)… amazing!
* Veronica (Mary Gaitskill)
Interestingly enough, I have to moderate my food intake this week (no more carbo-loading for me) since my eyes are so much bigger than my stomach now. Amazing what cutting a few long workouts will do. I ate almost 1 lb (unpacked, that’s about one square foot in volume) of mixed salad greens & spinach last night (bad idea) in my chicken salad, plus half a bag of Farm Boy Tostitos & yogurt, which I would've handled fine on any other week. You could have rolled me down the street after. However I still made room for gelato.
The Skorpion gelato at Sugar Mountain is INSANELY good and I highly recommend it. As you may guess, it’s Skor-flavoured. Pair it with the dark chocolate and you’ve got a winning combination.
In other news, my apartment door is fixed!! It actually opens and closes smoothly now, sans le squeaking. There is a nice, soft thud when the door swings to a close. It even locks on the first try. I’m elated.
Now just to deal with those mysterious sounds coming from under the sink, add a bit more furniture, and it’ll be a real Par-tay chez moi.
Friday, May 4, 2007
My bike
Gratuitous shot of my recently tuned steed and the new (white) tires... yes, white tires... I know it violates the eurosport etiquette rules or whatever but I was curious.
And with lesser excitement I point out my new floors, new paint, and new apartment.... more on that later.
And with lesser excitement I point out my new floors, new paint, and new apartment.... more on that later.Thursday, May 3, 2007
Oven Bliss
Even though the week left much to be desired, I could forget about it tonight while making two carrot loaves... my first use of an oven in 4 years! I'm watching them right now; they look gorgeous, smell yummy, and I hope they taste good too... they still have 30 minutes to go and they're swelling right up over the dish so I kind of hope they stop rising....
The new place is coming along, slowly but surely. I am in dire need of some real furniture (the bigger pieces) to store the unsightly out of sight - ha! - before any wine-and-cheese housewarmings can occur. And I'm slowly building my pantry arsenal... everything from glassware to bakeware to cast iron skillets (still looking for a good cast iron skillet, no Teflon for me!) Thrilling event of the day was the vegetable/ cheese grater I bought at Loblaw's, or maybe second to getting two glass loaf pans at Sears for under $12.
One day I will even get an iron and ironing board... so I can iron my new, very wrinkled curtains!
<-- Sure could've used a jeep! 
--> I love my new tub!
Thanks to Paul, Ang for these photos. More "before" and "after" shots will follow!
The new place is coming along, slowly but surely. I am in dire need of some real furniture (the bigger pieces) to store the unsightly out of sight - ha! - before any wine-and-cheese housewarmings can occur. And I'm slowly building my pantry arsenal... everything from glassware to bakeware to cast iron skillets (still looking for a good cast iron skillet, no Teflon for me!) Thrilling event of the day was the vegetable/ cheese grater I bought at Loblaw's, or maybe second to getting two glass loaf pans at Sears for under $12.
One day I will even get an iron and ironing board... so I can iron my new, very wrinkled curtains!
<-- Sure could've used a jeep! --> I love my new tub!
Thanks to Paul, Ang for these photos. More "before" and "after" shots will follow!
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