Rumon's Edge2Edge Half Marathon Report

[Originally posted at http://rumoncarter.blogspot.com. For more photos from the Edge2Edge Marathon, Half Marathon and Relay, see Tony Austin Photography at http://www.pbase.com/autie.]

The results of my completely unscientific research are in:
there is an inverse relationship between a racecourse’s difficulty and the
kindness and conviviality of its participants and volunteers. Granted, my sample size is small (i.e. 1); but if a case can be made for my hypothesis, the Edge2Edge Marathon, Half Marathon and Relay is the race to do it.

Consider the evidence gathered at the 2006 edition of the E2E, organized for the first time by Bryan Tasaka and the rest of his MOMEC crew:

• It was hard. Really hard. More than once I was cornered after the race to answer for my preview that described the course as “undulating”. I promise to dust off my thesaurus for next year’s preview. And no, the alternative you suggested won’t make it to press, Donna – this site is rated General.


• Of the hundreds of participants in the half marathon, fully 99% offered a cheer in my direction as we crossed paths. To my dismay, many later clarified they were simply voicing their appreciation for my bright orange adidas Adistar Comps, but what the heck, a cheer’s a cheer!


• Though some of the volunteers needed a primer on the difference between Hydro Boom (the on-course sports drink) and Gatorade/Powerade/Rumonade…

Me (breathlessly): Hyrdo Boom, please.

Volunteer: [Blank look]

Me: Gatorade?

Volunteer: Oh, Powerade! [Dixie cup enthusiastically

hefted in my direction]

…to a man/woman/kid they were smiling, encouraging and enthusiastic. (And they always got me my needed coloured liquid.)

• My mother, who started running only 18 months ago but who has now run more half marathons than have I (Edge2Edge was her third in six weeks, crazy woman) and can consequently be considered an expert on such matters, enthused first about the Wild Pacific Trail and second about the “niceness” of the entire race, from registration to awards ceremony. She wasn’t alone, many of her accolades being echoed in Keven Drew’s Westcoaster article on the race.


• Did I mention the hills? My quads are still talking about them, mostly in Donna’s terms.


• After finishing, eating a well-earned cookie and going for a short cool-down, I was back at the finish line watching competitors finish their races and catching up with Jim Finlayson, last year’s Canadian Marathon Champion, Edge2Edge Relay participant and Coach of three Apex Runners relay teams. Just then, a recently finished runner tapped on my shoulder and asked whether she could have a few words. Those words – my overall highlight from the race – were the runner’s thanks for my “sincere encouragement” along the racecourse. She left one of us in tears and the other close enough to it. I’m not saying which was which.


• And then there were the hills…

I’ll keep you posted on my research into this hardness:niceness relationship as my data develops. For now, a little more on the half marathon as seen through my eyes and as carried along by my fancy orange shoes.

The day couldn’t have been a better one for running: west coast overcast, low double digits temperatures and not a puff of wind. After a pre-race morning that included watching a World Cup match in its entirety (oh, if only every race morning could offer the same!), Mum and I walked from our suite at the Tauca Lea Resortto the start in “downtown” Ucluelet. At that point I ditched poor Ma and began my pre-race ritual in earnest. Though I’m still a long way from peak fitness and was using the half marathon as a final hard training day before next weekend’s Half Iron triathlon, I nonetheless ascribe to athletes (a) developing a ritual that begets preparedness and comfort at the start line and (b) adhering to the ritual as religiously as possible. For me, this means a quiet solo run, heading away from the start line to a solitary area where I can work through my warm-up drills and strides. This morning was no different, so as I distanced myself from the bustle of race central, I took comfort from the familiar sound of the announcer warming up his microphone, welcoming racers and getting the crowd warmed up. (Only on my way back from my warm up, having noticed that the announcer was still warming up and in oddly consistent, oddly-accented drone, did I realize what I had earlier found familiar was completely novel to my racing experience. My “race announcer” was in fact a group of sea lions having a morning “conversation” on a nearby dock. I did my leg swings listening to their discourse with appreciation, if only for the massive bulk of the bodies barking out the “words”.)

Shifting gears through warm up paces, I fought with a nagging voice in my head. Having looked through the start list and not recognized any names of runners typically ahead of me (a long list, by the way), I had begun entertaining thoughts of taking a rare running W (= win). This little dream balloon popped when I spotted a young speedster who had put five minutes into me at the previous weekend’s Mt. Doug Gutbuster. From the remnants of this ruptured reverie spilled an internal dialogue that spun in tight circles around themes of anxiety, self-flagellation and defeatism. All this before I was a kilometer into my warm-up. So I stopped, a lycra-clad fruitcake in the middle of a secondary road in weather-hardened Ucluelet, and told my head to shut the f%&k up. It took a few attempts, but eventually the noise dulled and I was able to get back to my ritual, once again focusing on running honestly and well. For me. Only me.

At that moment of smartening up during warm up, I wouldn’t have guessed that “only me” would be the theme of my race, but that’s how it turned out. The gun went off precisely at 9 a.m. and I went out at a characteristically sharp pace in the interest of avoiding a stampede. Four hundred meters of this was followed by a look over my shoulder to check the state of the herd at which point I saw…nothing. I had a gap, my first outright lead in a running race since I was 8-years-old. And, as any man will tell you if truthful, life peaks for us at eight: So I ran hard to open the interval and hang onto this brief return to youth in some small aspect, cultivating a two minute lead by the turn-around at 8 km.

The next 4 km is a blur of the cheering and encouragement coming across the road that I mentioned above. It was glorious and truly appreciated. I nearly didn’t notice the lactic acid rapidly accumulating in my legs. Sadly, the end of the stream of distracting runners flowing in the opposite direction came just at the beginning of the Wild Pacific Trail. I was once again alone but for my lead bicycle escort, Team Velo-Bella cyclist and two-time Canadian National
Cyclocross Champion Wendy Simms.

Ah, Wendy. It's no secret I’m a big fan of the speedy Ms. Simms and her globetrotting drive to secure a spot on Canada’s National Mountain Bike Team. Following Sunday’s run, I find I must temporize: I am now a fan of Wendy-on-a-bike when it’s not Wendy-on-a-bike-in-front-of-Rumon. My god! Running through the Wild Pacific Trail was like a training session from a bad dream. Where I might otherwise have been enjoying the spectacular scenery, all I could see was Wendy, tantalizingly disappearing around each subsequent corner, over every next rise. It felt like a sick game of keep-away. That said it kept me honest, which was a good thing as a funny thing was happening to my legs right around the 1:07:00 mark.

After a little reflection, I’ve come up with an explanation for why my legs came off shortly after the hour mark. The Flying Finn, Jim Finlayson, and I are both sponsored by adidas. We have the same flashy orange racing flats. Our feet are nearly the same size. This is where the similarities end. Though I would ideally self-identify as a cross-country skier (albeit one tragically displaced from snow) I have more recently dabbled in triathlon and adventure racing. Jim is a runner through and through. My half marathon PR is 1:16:06; you need to wind the clock backwards more than 10 minutes to reach Jim’s. So, it stands to reason that Jim and I mistakenly swapped shoes before the start of the race and that consequently when Jim’s shoes – now on my feet – reached a running time that in their experience meant the race was done, they simply shut down – and took my weary legs with them. Too bad about the twenty minutes I still had left to run.

Thankfully, much of those last twenty minutes were spent on the Wild Pacific and, though the running was challenging (oops, heard the Undulating Police gathering arms there) hard as hell, the glances shot out to sea made it all worthwhile. I cruised the last 2 miles along the road in that euphoric/nearly catatonic state that only we long distance runners know and appreciate. With 200m to go, Wendy’s escort gave way to that of two bald eagles circling an aerial choreography above the finish line. It was pretty magical.

Edge2Edge Half Marathon Podium (Tony Austin Photography)

Thanks to my primary sponsors for this race, adidas and Frontrunners Footwear; thanks to Tony Austin for being untiring in his (and as yet fruitless) attempts to find my good side in his great photographs; thanks to the Edge2Edge race committee and the MOMEC team; thanks to the numerous local sponsors lending support to the race; and, most important, thanks to all the volunteers along the course and to all those runners with whom I shared the racecourse and who were as generous with their encouragement as the Ucluth Peninsula is generous with hills. Undulating hills, of course…