(Warning: Long post ahead)
I’ve just finished my first ever half marathon in the time of 2 hours 7 minutes 59 seconds. And it felt absolutely hellish.
I truly, hated every single moment.
I only decided to do it around three days before the event. My friends told me to ‘bandit’ the event which is to run it without registering and I was thinking to myself whether I was crazy enough to take up the challenge. I said I would consider it but when my friend got injured and passed me his bib, there was no turning back.
Just to give a bit of background, the first time I ran more than 2km was on 5 January 2013, when I joined my friends’ running group. I’ve always disliked running, finding it boring and tedious, and stuck more to team sports. But I’ve been finding it hard to find time to exercise in between work, church ministry and spending time with family, and this is where running came in; I can do a quick 20 to 30 minute run anywhere and still have time for other areas in my life.
So I ran with the group twice in January and twice in February. Then the day before the race, I foolishly went on another 10km run – my reasoning was to tire myself out so I could sleep before the super early start of the race the next day. I have to confess that I complete overcompensated in this – my feet and muscles were aching after the 10km run, and then I had a church commitments from 9am to 8pm, before I went for dinner. I was completely exhausted…hours before the event.
At the very least on Saturday, I did some carb loading for dinner eating two whole pastas myself. I then stopped by the running store to check on their power gels although I didn’t really intend to get any; the store salesperson was quite convincing and I ended up buying blister-proof socks for RM45, a phone armband for RM94 and two power gels for RM16. All in the span of five minutes…I’m never stopping by a running store ever again. I then dropped by the grocery and bought some bananas.
I got home at 10pm, washed up, put the baby to sleep and then tried to sleep. You know those days when you’re so tired but can’t fall asleep? That happened to me for awhile but thank goodness I still knocked off before midnight and resisted the temptation to watch the Barca-Real match. I woke up at 3:40am, showered and ate two bananas before heading out. I arrived at 4:25am because I heard stories about parking being a big congestion…no such thing (I could have had half an hour more sleep).
I then met up with my friends who were doing the same distance and watched them warm up with some jogging and stretching. I didn’t join them because I didn’t want to be tired before the race! We then slowly walked over to the starting line when the announcement was made and ended up near the back of a huge crowd. We were still taking pictures when the starting gun went off as there was no warning or countdown but we didn’t miss out on anything because it took three minutes before we even reached the starting line.
And then the madness started.
I think around 5,000 runners were packed in a two lane street and as I was near the back, I would either have to go at the pace of those in front of me or expend a lot of energy trying to zig zag through and overtake. As my ‘kiasu-ness’ was fired up by the competitive feeling of the race, I decided on the second approach. So for the first 3 to 5km, I was all over the place – left, right, up on the pavement, down on the road – as I tried to get through those maintaining a slower pace. And I found out that there are quite a few out there who want to run at a slow pace and yet don’t want to give way for you to pass. Malaysians, go figure.
Suffice to say, I spent A LOT of energy during that first stretch and by the time the crowd thinned out for me to go at my preferred pace, my breathing was ragged and my sweat was pouring out profusely. This was less than 5km into the race and there was a long, long way to go.
And then the hills started hitting.
I’m not sure if I can explain to you how much I wanted to hurt those hills. I’m not even sure if hate is a strong enough word to describe how I felt about them. My legs would already be burning and then a long stretch of hill would come up, and my heart would sink a little lower each time. If you’re ever intending to do the Brooks run in future, be aware that it is a hilly course – they’re not very steep but they can be for long stretches and they’ll keep coming at you again and again.
When I reached the 8km marker, this was when the pain really started to hit. The common trend when I join the running group is that from about 8km, my legs start to feel pain beyond the usual burn – my right calf starts to tense up with the feeling before a cramp and the balls of my feet also start hurting with every step. But since we usually stop around 10km, my body is used to getting rest around that distance.
As the pain intensified over the next two km, I seriously considered stopping at the 10km mark and treating this race as preparation for the Standard Chartered Marathon in June where I actually intended to do my first half marathon – which is why I’ve taken it so easy with my training so far with four more months to go! The recommendation would be to start with a 10km race anyway for my first ever race and build up from there.
At some point in the race, a middle aged man who was running side by side with me fell straight down, bumping against my hip as he went down. He didn’t even lift his arms to protect himself as he fell hard face-first into the gravel road; he was completely out cold with no indication of pain or discomfort one second before. I ran back to check on him and his eyes were open but he had clearly fainted and was not responding to anything. Quite a few runners stopped and others tried to find help by shouting medic and running towards personnel.
I stayed there for around 30 seconds wondering what to do. The man was already surrounded by many runners taking care of him and I knew there wasn’t much else I could do to help because I don’t really know CPR. I decided to run on but spent the rest of the race thinking back on whether he was all right. I found out later on that he had passed away leaving his wife and two children – may he rest in peace. He looked quite fit and apparently he had run races before so it was quite scary and shocking to see that sudden cardiac arrest still happened.
One thing I realised is that my estimation of distance is terrible. I was sure I had done around 14km when I hit the 10km marker and the trend continued throughout. It’s a heck of a lot further than you’d expect. My pace dropped significantly in the second half, especially during the hills, and this was when my ego took a real beating. So many older aunties passed me constantly…and there were times I felt embarrassed and tried to speed up to pass them again.
Unfortunately, I never caught up to a single one that had passed me. My legs just refused to listen anymore.
I decided to take one power gel at 11km just to test it out. It was delicious! I got the mixed berry flavour from the Viper brand and I loved it – it felt like I was having dessert in the middle of one of the most gruelling physical experiences in my life. From then on, I started alternating between my usual pace and a slow jog every time I needed to recover. I stopped thinking about getting a good finishing time and focused on not stopping at all to walk; as long as I could maintain a leisurely jog, I was satisfied.
When I reached the final third of the race, I could feel that I wasn’t getting oxygen efficiently around my body anymore. My hands and forearms got pins and needles as though all the oxygenated blood was being focused on my legs and not my arms, and I felt very lightheaded and dizzy.
Finally I reached the last drinks station – 4km remaining – where a big group of my friends had volunteered to man. It was such an encouragement to see their smiling faces and hear them cheer my name for the last stretch. My spirits lifted when I saw them but was unable to pick up my pace at all; I just knew I would push on to the end at the same laboured pace. I took my last power gel as I passed this point to get enough energy to get to the end.
The last 4km was the most painful yet most hopeful part of the race. Just seeing the signs indicating ‘3km remaining’, ‘2km remaining’ and ‘Last 1km’ gave me a burst of hope each time. I even tried to speed up a bit in the last km but I miscalculated my remaining energy and because the final 500m was a constant uphill climb, I ran out of juice right before I reached the end.
Usually, my friends tell me they get the most excited at the end and practically sprint the last 100m, feeling the excitement of finishing the race. When I hit the last 100m, I felt like I had used up all my remaining energy, and for the first time in the race, I walked…just metres away from the finish line. I walked for around 50m and then managed to jog the final 50m to cross the finish line – I couldn’t face the people cheering at the finishing line walking at a snail’s pace.
When I finished, there was no sense of joy or exhilaration at all. No feeling close to what my friends had told me. No profound sense of completion and fulfilment. It was just pain, pain and more pain. And a stream of constant complaints in my mind.
“Why do people subject themselves to this torture?”
“I’m going to cancel my registration to the Standard Chartered Marathon in June.”
“I’m going to cancel my plans to run the full marathon at the end of the year.”
“There are far more enjoyable forms of exercise than running.”
“Only people who are addicted to pain will do this.”
During that first half hour after I finished the race, I was completely sure I would never want to participate in another race ever again. I was considering quitting running altogether and just focusing on more interesting and less painful sports.
Writing this post a few days later, I think I’m almost ready to consider showing up for the half marathon in June but this time with a bit more training. I just hope I don’t lose any muscle mass preparing for it.
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