Crypticity's abound
A swampy blog of uncertainty, mud and mirth. Weaved together with lyrical reeds of true stories and imagined happenings. What is, may not. What's not, may be. Don't fall in.
Sunday, February 25, 2024
Another record falls
Sunday, February 18, 2024
Back on track
2023 was a strange year in my running. It on one hand was the year that I ran the most, 3850km, more than the 3,111km in 2019; yet on the other hand, a year where I ran only two events and did not run my best. To be clear, I wasn't looking for personal bests - I was looking for a consistent year of running, and had two goals: a mileage goal of 4,000km in the year (not achieved) and a climbing goal of 52,000m ascent for the year (achieved) and that good performances might be a by-product. When the mileage goal started to slip out of reach, I switched to a new goal: pace.
For most of the year, I had been noticeably slower at the fastest part of my range compared to other years. To put some numbers to it, at my best I could run 5km in less than 20 minutes, but in late 2023 I would not be able to go under 21 minutes; in a half marathon at my best I could go under 1 hour 30 minutes, but I would struggle to go under 1 hour 40 minutes in 2023. These margins might seem small but the work to get them down would usually take a long time. So, I switched to pace training in December. The implications of this are that mileage comes down a bit and very specific work-outs are used to sharpen up. Such an example might be 10x400m, or 3x2mile runs, where you run particular distances at fast paces with rests in between.
The surprising thing was that the fruit came quickly. I ran a mile in 5:49, a lifetime best. At the end of the year, I almost broke 20 minutes for the 5km park run (where humorously all runners had to squeeze past a van and its trailer on two parts of the route). My pace training continued into 2014 to prepare for my main target event, the Coatesville Half Marathon.
I have a lot of affection for this event. Early in my running in 2017, I ran the Coatesville Classic (8km), which I described here: Crypticity's abound: Comeback and then the Half in 2019 (Crypticity's abound: Mark). Quoting myself for brevity: "The Coatesville Half course is notorious. It is the hilliest course of the series with one significant incline at 3km, another at 10km, another at 14km and another at 16km." In 2019, I ran 1 hour 37 minutes, which was a solid performance in what would be my best year in running, so I was looking for the run this year to be a bit of a bellwether for the year ahead.
The lead-up through January was very good. In a time-trial I ran 1 hour 35 for a flat half marathon distance. On the Saturday eight days before the run, I ran two training runs that surprised me in pace that exceeded what I thought I was capable of, a 5x1mile and a 2x4mile. Unfortunately on the last one at the very end of the last 4 mile I felt a tightening in my hamstring and I jogged home very gently. I gave myself a two day rest and then did some light runs to test it out again. I felt OK so continued with my normal "week before" taper runs. And then we come to the day of the race.
After a poor night sleep, I woke naturally at 6:12am with a start. My shock at the time jolted my heart and mind into action. Somehow, my 5:30am alarm had not vibrated me awake. In fact, it claimed it had and was doing it every eight minutes, as if self-snoozing itself without any fuss. I had to leave by 6:30am to realistically get to the venue and be ready for the 7:30am race start, so I exploded out of bed, changed, coffeed and threw everything in a bag and left the driveway at 6:32am. So far no speeding tickets have been received, so my arrival in the Coatesville Pony Club car park at 7:07am can be said to have been smooth and without issue. I grabbed my racebib and then to the back of a very long queue for the portaloos. I tried my best to do some dynamic stretches while in the line, and then after a quick prep in the loo, jogged over to the middle of a tightly packed starting chute at 7:27am without any real warm-up.
Perhaps due to the adrenalinised chaotic start to the morning, I was much faster than my race plan, which was to aim for 4:30/km pace (which would have me on a 1 hour 35 min finish speed) until the downhill speedy finish and go sub 1:35. I had to first push through the mid-pack runners to the front 10% to find people of a similar pace, and that meant my speed at the start was a bit reckless. Fortunately for me there was an easily recognisable Zimbabwean female runner, Ketina, who usually is about my pace, so I used her as an initial measure where I needed to be and I caught up to her and dropped a bit of pace for the hill.
There began the very familiar pattern of my usual strategy: slow on this hills (letting my pace peers pace me) and then reeling them in on the flats before passing them on the downhills. Ketina disappeared after the first such iteration, and once I was at the top of the first hill, I sped up and didn't slow down. Looking at my watch, I was clearly in the 4:10-4:25/km range - too fast but feeling strangely comfortable. I kept going pulling past more pace peers to the halfway turn when I had a rather cruel realisation that I should have anticipated. My watch had measured my distance 200m short of what the marker was indicating. This was a problem because that meant I was going even faster than my watch was telling me. I could have been going 5 seconds per kilometre faster than I was reading off my watch.
For any race, the best indication of whether you are going too fast is your breathing (and also one of the best ways to know if your running companions might be entering into a struggle phase). I checked myself and thought I was still breathing quite evenly so I held my pace for the last few hills and then made the final turn onto the downhill home straight. It was then that I knew that it should be just a matter of cruising to the finish line, a certain PB, probably a couple of minutes under, and done on one of the more difficult courses.
It wasn't to be though. About 2km from the finish, I felt the tightness in my hamstring return. I couldn't but cut pace just a little; then, a pain radiated out from that point, and I shortened my gait and cut pace once more. By the time I had entered the Coatesville Domain I was not enjoying running and would have had a noticeable limp. Only one person passed me though and I got over the line at 1:30:12, my third fastest half marathon time.
For perspective, despite the niggle, I would say this is my best performance. My other two fastest times are 1:29:58 at the Waterfront Half, the flattest possible course. and 1:30:04 on the trickier Millwater Half. But none of them are like Coatesville. It's kind of amazing that after all these years though all three PBs are clustered within 14 seconds of each other after different 21.1km races.
I gave myself a break of four days from running and then ran 5km on Friday evening with hamstring sensations but no pain. This morning I ran 22km with only mild sensations that never amounted to anything and then a massage and some strengthening work. I hope the hamstring is just an oddity that with a bit of rehab I'll get back quickly onto a regular routine.
So the omens are bad/good. Bad that I picked up a niggle/weakness of some sort. But good in that I have the best foundation for a year of good performances. My next chances to race are:
- Hobsonville Point ParkRun 24/02/2024 (goal: under 19:30)
- Waterfront Half Marathon 07/04/2024 (goal: 1:27)
- Kirikiriroa Marathon 09/06/2024 (goal: under 3:20)
- North Shore Marathon 15/09/2024 (goal: under 3:15)
All with ideal training...
Sunday, November 19, 2023
“You’re not actually legally obliged to have an opinion.”
Thus spoke Bill Maher in his show Real Time. He claims that social media has forced individuals, and corporation, to feel like they need to have a thought and a stance on every current event, whether it be the Israel-Hamas conflict, the Russian invasion of Ukraine, the marital situation of Will Smith and Jada Pinkett Smith and Elon Musk's running of the app formerly known as Twitter. You could easily argue that any consumer of news was similarly exposed in pre-social media times. His point is that people for some topics it has become obligatory to have an opinion, even when there is no realistic need; worse, to not have an opinion, presumably in some circles, is to be not caring.
Having recently watched the New Zealand movie Uproar set in New Zealand at the time of the 1981 Springbok tour of New Zealand, you can imagine a time where this country was divided and those of an anti-tour opinion would see status quo or disinterested positions as actively supporting racism through a lack of a denouncement. But you could say that public opinion or making a bigger "scene" could trigger a symbolic cancellation of a tour or, more long term, political change locally, or even political change in South Africa. That was completely outside of the social media era but also it was a bit closer to home.
The topic of apartheid in South Africa was probably understood well enough by both sides. Pro-tour people justified themselves that sport should be separate from politics, and even could argue that if anything rapprochement through sport could lead to the ends of the anti-tour position. Uproar touches on the irony of that time that many of the anti-tour activists have been focussed on the South African apartheid and blind to racial discrimination at home.
The Israel-Palestine situation is one of the topics that Maher though was talking about, especially critical of university students in the US who protest against Israel in support of Palestine, without any condemnation of the 6 October attack by Hamas that "started" the current situation. Worse, the retaliation for the attacks have apparently reawakened the latent antisemitic tendencies in some parts of humanity. For New Zealand, while there are Israelis and Palestinians here (one of my colleagues of mine is half-Palestinian) and our Government at some stage will have to decide in what way it will support one or both sides, it seems strange to think that we must have a stance on the rights and the wrongs of it.
I regard myself reasonably knowledgeable on the history of the region where Palestine and Israel sit for an average guy but still I would not want to say any rights or wrong overall. The Hamas attack was abhorrent but the situation prior means that asymmetric attacks (and defence in the case of human shields) were always probable. The government elected by the Israeli people was unhelpful but expectable in the context. The government elected by the Palestine people was unhelpful but expectable in the context. Zoom back to President Clinton's attempt at Camp David, the decision by Arafat to reject the deal was unhelpful but expectable... and you can go back further and further in the karmic cycle. At the end of the day, choosing to support either side sounds like supporting a side in a toxic relationship for a couple who cannot separate or divorce, but may well kill each other. Any support is just based on limited knowledge of the rights and wrongs.
Tuesday, September 26, 2023
The magic ingredient
No, the magic ingredient is not alcohol despite the photo. I’ve had a breakfast of 肠粉 (rice rolls), 刀切糍 (not sure if there is a name for this) and 烧肉 (pork belly); then a lunch of fresh bamboo shoots fried with two kinds of pork, sautéed gaaichoy and two kinds of pork, friend together. It was something rather perfect. It might just be something latent in the crockery. But probably not. It is the taste of home.
Sunday, August 27, 2023
Strike three
The North Shore Marathon route is now equal with Auckland Marathon as the event I have done the most. The Auckland event starts with a bit of undulation through the Shore, a cruise along the motorway to the Bridge, then after the Bridge it is basically flat to St Helliers and back. The North Shore event is simpler: First you start along Milford Beach (beach section 1) then climb onto the road to Takapuna then run the full Takapuna Beach, then you climb out of there to Takapuna Grammar, then drop down to Narrow Neck Beach (fortunately not on the sand), then you climb out of there before dropping onto Cheltenham Beach for an interminable soft sand section, then you are rewarded with a climb up and around Northhead... and then you do it in reverse, and then back, then in reverse. Three beach sections time four, two Northheads. In some ways, it should be the easiest one to pace as you are fully aware of what is in store after you've only done a quarter... yet every time this event gets me.
My first attempt was in 2018 where I felt well trained and plunged in and started struggling after my second climb of Northhead (about 31km in), and even walked at around the 37km mark, and pulling into finish around 3:44. (My blog of it: Always crashing the same car)
Wednesday, August 09, 2023
Normies
Wednesday, July 19, 2023
Inevitability
2018 was the year when I fell four times on runs. The first was a pre-dawn fall in the Domain; a vehicle came up behind me with lights on and I moved to the verge, my own shadow making me oblivious about the drain I was about to put my foot in. That was interesting because I was fine apart from a bit of a graze at the time, but my knee swelled up a few hours later at work. Then there were the two minor falls on daytime long runs: one I was crossing a road while fiddling with my waist pouch and looking out for traffic; the middle of the road had a raised section which I clipped my foot on and had me in a heap in the middle as concerned motorists stopped on either side, but not grazes to show for it. Then less than a week later, my foot hit the base of a sign on a Great North Road footpath sending me again into the pavement but with some lost skin. Then what was the most catastrophic of the series, I was waiting for the Omaha Half to begin and jumped up onto a boardwalk only for my feet to slip out from under me and a heavy fall on my buttocks. I completed the run but the delayed effects of the fall put me out of running for some time; it took almost two months to get back to it. It was freakishly high to wonder whether I should really be out there running at all. Yet in all the years around it, 2016-2017 and 2019-2022, I only had one other fall, a wipe-out on gravel at a sharp corner in an event.
The forces of probability over a habitual action are worthy of us all to consider, just like speeding on a windy road, even one that you know, could eventually end in disaster. As a runner, and morning runner at that, there are many factors that raise the probability of a fall. There is visibility, which, even with the waistlamp I bought after the first fall in 2018, cannot illuminate every threat in a timely way. Little unevenness on the path is enough to catch a shoe and unbalance. Even with illumination, you can be dazzled by headlights, twilight can cause less visibility than in darkness, and rain or fog on glasses or in the lightbeam are dangers. The moisture factor boggles the mind: I don't know if it is shoe technology or sheer intuitive skill that means the many thousand footfalls on wet footpaths do not regularly result in slips. However, three of the four 2018 falls happened in broad daylight, some surfaces are perilous and distractions can lead to misfooting.
On the 29 July this year I had the fall that broke five straight years without hitting the ground. It was inevitable, thinking of the above, that I'd have another moment of grazed hands, but this felt almost unavoidable on a practical level: I entered a trap. On one of my regular pre-dawn loops I turned onto Portage Road crossing it earlier than usual. I would usually take a newer footpath on the outside by bus-stops but it hadn't yet started and traffic was coming, so I ran onto an older, inner footpath that passed businesses. It was a bit cracked and a copse of trees were to its side blocking street light illumination but I charged down it with only my own light. It was going to be tricky because I'd have a sharp right-hand turn at the end (so not to run onto the road) but not something I hadn't managed before. As I approached the turn my lamp revealed late that the end of the footpath was a stretch of shiny mud, but it was not like I hadn't run in mud before. I slowed and took it with caution but as soon as my first foot hit the mud it slide out and my momentum took me face first to the pavement, my hands fortunately bracing the impact. There was a half second of fright and then a half second to rise and run, and another half second for the burn on palms to register. I was still five kilometres from home and still had work ahead. The result once at home and in the light was several wounds, three on my hands, both elbows and a knee.
I ran the loop again in broad daylight and I can only conclude that running it if ten normal runners went through that path in the dark, at least five of them would come to grief. It allayed some worries; I knew it just had my number and now I had its.