Head bowed, but still high

A maxim is often cited: History doesn't repeat, but it can rhyme. Well, sometimes it does repeat.

A year ago I wrote a blog about my effort at the 2023 North Shore Marathon. In it there was a section: "One annoying thing was that my watch recorded 20.6km for the first half. This means either it was shorter than a marathon, or my watch hadn't quite tracked it accurately and I was actually running faster than I should have been." I should have really read that report before this morning's race because history did repeat: On Sunday, race day, I was comfortably holding my target pace (4:35/km) for the first loop but when I came up to the half-way point it was clear this was all a fiction. I had completed the first half in 1 hour 33 minutes, a respectable time for a half marathon but about over 3 minutes earlier than planned for my full marathon. It was equivalent to 4:24/km, which I would like to think I could hold on a flat marathon but not when you're running up hills and on sand. Unlike the Kirikiriroa Marathon, there weren't kilometre markers so nothing to counter the bad intel from my watch until the mid-way point, by which time it was almost certainly too late.

I pulled it back a little but by the 30km mark, the fastest 30km of my life, I knew I had overcooked it, and by the 36km mark I slowed down a lot and the temptation to walk started to become strong. That I didn't walk was very satisfying in retrospect. It was hard, steely work to complete the last two beach sections and the last ascent over the hill to Milford. Having lost my faith in my watch, I had to mentally estimate the distance to the finish line and knew that despite everything, I was still possibly going to finish in higher part of my target range of 3:15-3:20. The last part of the marathon is a 800m section of sand and about 100m at Craig Reserve to the finish line, which I crossed at 3:18:49.

I was shattered at the finish line, ducked straight in for a light massage on my burning, tight calves and then struggled out. I started to tremble in shock and sat down for an extended time. Fortunately, I had other people I knew and could talk to while I gave my body some time to get back to equilibrium, otherwise I would have just found some damp ground to lie on.

To have done it with so much struggle is never nice, and the calls for a new better watch, which I almost bought pre-race, are only getting stronger. But I still got my target, a 24 minute improvement on last year, and the fastest I've ever done the course by 14 minutes (in my unofficial running of the cancelled marathon event in 2019). It's also my second fastest marathon effort. I can't be too sad about it. I'll stand by my words and stay out of this event next year, although I might marshal and gain a free entry into 2026's event.

Despite the shakes after the race, there were no niggles or tightness. I could walk around our hilly block without much difficulty in the afternoon afterwards. I'll keep a low profile for a few days before I try some easy runs. I have three weeks till my reunion with Northhead in the Devonport Half Marathon, and at some stage I will make a call on whether to go into the Auckland Marathon in November.

Before bowing before Northhead yet again...

This is the pre-run post that will inevitably be followed by a post-run post. The North Shore Marathon is on the coming Sunday and out of the four different events I've run, it is the one that has been hardest to crack. I feel I've never done it well. Even the best time, my effort in the cancelled event of 2019, was still a crawl to the end (and then a finish line vomit). I've vowed this year would be my last attempt (at least for a time) and next year I should try some that I haven't tried before.

Why is this course hard? Even though it is simply running back-and-forth, back-and-forth between Milford Beach and the top of Northhead, it has 12 beach sections (four times doing the same three sections), 10 hills (including Northhead twice, and with 500m ascent over the whole course) and all this spread out over the normal 42.2km of a marathon in between. 

Another element is the placement of the second ascent of Northhead, which starts at the 30km mark. For those who haven't trained and run a marathon before, the rarefied air beyond 30km is when the "Wall" lurks. Even on the flat, you can feel like a champion at 29km, hit the Wall and then uncontrollably slow at 31km. Last year I mildly slowed down at 28km, and then was crawling after my second time up Northhead. In 2019, my best year, the Wall started to hit at 32km, just after Northhead, and that is still with three other hills and three stretches of beach to run over the last 10km. Any strategy for running this course has to be to fuel well for the race and pace so that you still have enough in the tank on the descent of Northhead. 

But these weeks leading up to the event I had to ask myself what my purpose was in running the North Shore Marathon. This is a very good question - and it might surprise some that many people don't "race" to do their very best. This is not the course for a Personal Best, and it's not an "A-race" for me (i.e. the main targeted event), so it makes sense to think about what running it can contribute to my running and a base for other events. And as it may well be the last time running there, I like the idea of just posting a solid time, better than the previous efforts, but not risk trying to do a maximal effort, which could result in me pushing too hard and suffering yet again on the final 10km. I believe I should be able, with a maximal effort, to get close to 3:10km, and if it were the last marathon I were to ever run, I'd aim for a time in the range of 3:10-3:15, but I think 3:15-3:20 is safer, and be happy to fall back to 3:20-3:25, which would still be a course PB. 

It's been an awkward period of training since the Kirikiriroa Marathon in June. I had four little enforced training breaks. Firstly, post-Kirikiriroa, I had an irritated quad which took some time to go, then almost as soon as it had come right, I had a gastro infection, and not long after that a touch of ITB syndrome, and then finally, just when I was on what was meant to be my longest run in the peak of peakiest weeks, I had a hamstring niggle again. But even with these, I have trained and run pretty well since then and there have been sessions where it is clear I am at least as strong as I am from the first half of the year.

Anyway, I'm looking forward to this run and seeing what my new fitness can do with this tough nut!

The speech that could have been and then was

Back in 2017, we had a party to celebrate my father's big 7-0. It was Peak Dad, Peak Warren, before the dramatic changes for him and the family. I spoke at that event and remember that, despite being a confident public speaker, that I didn’t really have the frame or the mind to really speak of my father from the heart. Maybe it is our stoic Scottish heritage. I find it dreadful that only in his passing does meaning clarify and the confidence to say something.

My father was a proud man. He was proud in his achievements, the life he had built, and I would have been proud too to have done in my adult life, the scale of transformation: He was first in my memory a sheep farmer, who became a market gardener. Then a market gardener who became an ice factory owner. He seemed tireless in finding new ways to be Warren, and to be Dad, whether it would be becoming a Drinkmaster franchisee or a liquor store owner, and then launching a take-over of the ice factory to own it once more. Call me traditional but I’ve been in the same industry my whole entire life, and to make these leaps I find extraordinary.

He was proud of family and, boy, his prodigiousness puts the rest of us to shame. Even though his love of family, and his idea of family, went too far at times, there was never any doubt that family is what made him whole and happy.

His approach to making a life and family was called “the Goudie Way”, which apparently was the name he first proposed for what became Goudie Road in Helensville. The Goudie Way was the disciplined, ambitious, and yes, patriarchal, approach to life that he could control with his judgement and wisdom. Unfortunately, his first three born Goudies were opinionated enough to challenge his views of the world, as soon as they were old enough, to whittle it down to simply, Warren’s Way. I felt bad that when I went to Ashburton the first time, that he prefaced all his comments with, “I know you won’t agree but…”

He was proud of his ability to bounce back. It was the habit of a lifetime. Even at the depths, at almost each stage of the last five years, you could see him calculating a plan, a way to restore order and his position. Even after his second major stroke and being put in hospital, he was keen to prove that he could live in the Chalmers Street home alone once more. When Christy and I were down last year, he insisted on visiting the house for old time sakes. We took him, but feared the whole time that he would refuse to leave; but no, he was really wanting to show that he could make it in the front door unassisted, a difficult right-hand turn and up a step. In that moment I knew he wasn’t proving it to us but to himself that he could have that autonomy once more, that he could come back.

Dad was a proud man, too proud to be disabled, disabled by a stroke, when there was no cure for the pain.

In his last two years, anyone could see he was not just struggling with his body, but his mind and his demons. It is a fault of the memory to have the recency of this time as the memory to represent him. It is not fair. He had the fullest life and happiness, and joy with being Warren and being with his family

The memories that I hold dearest is Dad’s exuberant laughs in the annual NRL rugby league finals parties at our Hobsonville home, swimming at the beach with him in Fiji when I was 15 - he liked to try things and be involved; his glee when hitting the oysters at Valentines restaurant, which I couldn’t understand then, but do now; seeing Dad with a cat at his side, and talking with him about his fruit trees at Redoubt Road. I never knew he loved plums!

In 2022 I used to call Dad from my work car as I drove between Auckland and Hamilton. That continued until his ears failed, and then the feeling of separation deepened, and it was only when I went down to Ashburton to visit him in his room that we could talk. But the topics remained the same. He was in pain but kept to Warren’s Way in his own obstinate fashion, refusing the food there, demanding his schedule and his freedoms.

Last Wednesday afternoon we knew he might not make it. I insisted on having a video call to see him and I thank goodness I did. Barely minutes after the end of the call, Brenda sent the message that he had passed and all hope of further Warren stories and memories ended too.

The last ten days have been difficult. I don’t want my father gone, but I know that the pain and confusion he was constantly in the thrall of was unbearable, and only getting worse, and that he was never going to escape that till his final day. That has come and I can only take solace that there is peace for him.

Winter words

This is our second winter in our "new" home. When we moved in last year, it was literally on the stroke of daylight saving switching back, we had dark, wet, cold evenings from the start, and the flaws of the house became evident straight away. 

Firstly, there were the leaks: one through the tiles of our roof, another from our washing machine pipes which soaked our garage, and the other into our lower floor lounge. Two of those were easy to address, the other is still a work in progress. 

Then there were the draughts. The joinery of the house was either aged or poorly done from the get-go, and when we lay in bed we felt moving air. In the bathroom, we felt moving air. In the lounge, we felt moving air. To think this was a renovated home, the original tenants must have put up with basically very little difference between the outdoor and indoor temperatures. I put in draught-stopping foams into almost every corner and tried my best to prevent cold moist air getting to the garage. 

During the worst of winter last year my wife was in China I did not really notice whether there was a big difference in temperatures because I am not that sensitive to it. But this year with the first of some really frosty mornings, I'm pretty happy with the general comfort of the house. Its advantage of unopposed sunshine helps of the good days and the general insulation and laminates mean that it never is too cold. We swing between thinking of further changes that we would like to make here as if it were going to be our "forever home" when in fact at a time that suits, we are likely to move on from here. Little changes and fixes are a stressor for me and weigh on my mind. Sometimes what seems like a straightforward thing like getting a shed requires a lot of work. Other things like pruning a neighbour's tree sometimes has more complexity than originally anticipated. Either way, some progress and wins are great, but there is always more to do.

Winter has me in a little bit of limbo. My general interest in current events has been dulled by my pessimism in the politics locally and abroad, specifically the US. While I have another academic administrator at school, there is more to do, so any advantage of time has gone, and there are always perpetual staffing issues, if not student concerns, which are still too early to have someone else attend to. We have an earnest, hardworking teacher who unfortunately likes to bring the topic of pay openly into every work discussion and conversation. It is a bit infectious with others and the talk constantly gets me down. I had hoped that with the relief of many of my duties, I would be able to think about getting back to competitive "over the board" (OTB) chess but it still hasn't happened.  

So pretty much my life is just working, resting and running and even running briefly was not happening. After the Kirikiri Marathon, I ambitiously tried to have a short recovery period, but after a gentle week had a hamstring issue, then had a nasty stomach bug, then just after I got back to it, I had my first re-incidence of ITB syndrome (Ilio-Tibial Band, aggravation of a band of fascia from the hip down to the knee). Fortunately, the later resolved itself with the guidance from youtube videos and I'm only seven days back into regular running, although so far it would appear that all systems are very much working, with three workouts going better than expected. I have resumed my plan of trying to beat my 10km personal best which rests just above 40 minutes. (To be clear, 10km is the only distance yet to be bettered in the last eight months.) I'll look to do a time trial at the track which will be the actual attempt to beat it, and then do a competitive 10km at Western Springs/Grey Lynn, which has a hill and where I'll try to get as close to 40 minutes as possible, but realistically won't be a PB. After that, I'll get back to preparing for the North Shore Marathon in September.

Fifth

A considerable monkey is off my back with a 3:10:59 time at the 2024 Kirikiriroa Marathon, my eighth official marathon. It wasn't the sub 3:10 I was hoping for but, in retrospect, that time was pretty ambitious on this course. Last year's 3:34 apparently was not fresh enough in my mind as I was again surprised with how much ascent there was. It is the second most hilly marathon I've run and I've run only marathons with hills (in order of metres of ascent: North Shore, Kirikiriroa, Auckland then Rotorua, last but famous for its hills). Compared to the others though Kirikiriroa's are insidious - there is no one peak to prepare for like North Shore's Northhead, or the Auckland Harbour Bridge; it just pummels you and your joints with a multitude of ups-and-downs.

The preparation and the morning of all went well. Despite occasional "why didn't I bring that" moments, I still had everything I needed just when I needed it. 

One of the slightly comical aspects of the morning was an incident with my collapsible cup. They promoted the event as a "cupless" event. For those not in the know, most events have water stations with volunteers generously offering runners cups of water or "electrolyte" drinks. Runners who need a drink would swoop in and attempt to drink it either on the hoof or with a brief walk, sometimes tipping it over themselves and almost always not managing to throw the cup in the collection receptacle. Anyone who has run at the back of an event knows that the wastage and incidental littering. Recently there have been more cupless events and fortunately I have a cup for the purpose. I wore a running belt with a zipped compartment and a "cupholder" part which has a particular bottle that matches with it, and in my gear planning chose this to store my gels and to put my cup in it for the run.

Anyway, literally on the starting area no more than 10 seconds after passing through the Starting arch, one of my fingers caught the cup flicking it out of the cup holder and onto the grassy area that was being trodden by my fellow competitors. I didn't see it happen but realised it straight away, quickly seeing it was gone, stopping suddenly and looking back to see it on the ground, then hesitating about going to get it: Did I need it? Yes, I did! And started heading back through the runners. Fortunately, I heard calls of "someone's cup on the ground" and people avoided it, and then one other runner swooped down with one had to bring it up to me, a really awesome act of consideration. (But did I need a cup? No, I didn't really. All stations had cups, but maybe just for the faster runners. And annoyingly they'd offer me cupped drinks instead of pouring it into my collapsible cup. I usually took their cups and emptied it into mine.)

With that start line faux pas behind me, I got back into the rhythm up the climb out of Hamilton Gardens and head south-east, up some more to a residential area and then down into a scenic boardwalked section away from the river. As was the case last year, it is hard to know whether you're running to pace because of the hills. But my problem was bigger than that: my watch's GPS tracking is next to useless. It was telling me I was going rather slow (4:45/km even when I was on the flats, and my target was 4:30/km overall). I was desperately scanning for kilometre markers but hadn't seen any during the first four kilometres. The 5km marker, however, gave me the news: I passed it after 22:00, that is 4:24/km pace, far too fast, especially considering I had gone up hills, too. My watch reported 4:51km, for comparison. So I tried my best to slow down and hope the damage was not done. 

It is said that the halfway point in the marathon is not 21.1km (half the distance) but 32km because that's when the struggle begins. And it was in this race after a weird speeding up at 30km mark triggered slowing and at about 32km dropped my splits below my target average pace of 4:30/km. With all my training and fitness, this slowdown was still to a pace faster than I'd run all my other marathons, but it was gradually eroding the chance of getting below 3:10. One of the quirks of this course is that from 36-39km it goes through the riverside section next to the CBD section which has the most rises and drops. I had hoped to make it through this with a little bit of a buffer to cruise the last flat 2-3km but by then my calves were on fire and I was stiffening up quickly. I did the maths and knew I was going to finish after 3:10 so didn't push it at all.

 

I pulled in for 3:10:59, which was 11 seconds ahead of the next runner who was steaming in trying to catch me. Little did I know I was actually the fifth finisher for the individual runners, although 15 minutes behind fourth place. There were four sub-three speedsters, and then a long gap before my pursuer and I crossed the line... then another ten minutes before seventh and then a lot of runners came in at that point. 

I was exhausted. Even with a bit of a walk around to get moving again, I felt nausea before getting in the car and had a lie-down in the carpark, before getting up and back to the hotel for a quick shower before our "late check-out". The weather which was threatening to rain on the event didn't turn up so we got out and home to rest. All in all, mission accomplished and one for the wall at home.  

T minus 6 days

And in the blink of an eye, I have arrived six days out from my first marathon for 2024, the Kirikiriroa Marathon, which has organically become my "A" race. For the non-athletes out there, an "A race" is the main target race that your training is geared to peak you for, but that is not to say it is the only race that is amongst your training. Huntly Half was a "B race" for me, a race that was to be an indicator of progress. There are even races that you could regard as "C races", which are half-workout / half- race. Coatesville Half for me was a clear C race. Waterfront was intended to be a B race, but due to the niggle turned into a C race. All the parkruns are C races for me because I haven't been specifically training for them, either. So despite I've been making pleasing personal bests in the 5km and half marathon in the first half of the year, none of those are with distance specific training with them as an A race target. I say it has organically become an A race because the scheduled formed around it late last year despite having booked it much earlier.

Last year was my first time running the Kirikiriroa course and I did it with a 3:28-3:30 target. However, my lead-in was pestered by niggles and then I paced it poorly and ended with 3:34. Looking back, the goal was probably about right: my 10km time trial indicated a 3:29 time, and a half marathon time trial indicated a 3:23 time. Looking back at the paces on race day, I did all the same silly mistakes. My pace for the first third was actually as if I were aiming for a 3:14 finish. I slowed down in the middle phases but was still on track for a 3:25 time at the 30km mark (but as I was slowing it was not going to be likely). All of that shows that I had gone out far too fast, well beyond even what the most optimistic target required. Suddenly I'm not as disappointed by my actual 3:34, though I was in a world of pain for the last 12 km, as I did hold on to a vaguely acceptable time after the earlier stupidity. 

This time round my Huntly Half effort indicates I should be able to run a 3:04 marathon which, based on my history, is almost unimaginably fast. It would be an 18 minute improvement on my personal best. But I feel like I've made a breakthrough in my running this year and things have been smoother than any other lead-in. Bearing in mind that Huntly was flat and Kirikiriroa has about 400m of ascents, I'll be strictly targeting 3:10 and if all goes well till the final 2.2km (after the last grinding slope) to make a clean finish below that. If things are more challenging, 3:15 would also be a pleasing B goal, which is still a 7 minute improvement on my best ever. 

Those are all the training factors for success but external factors are looking quite good. So far, the extended weather forecast is for a warmer morning than the frosty start last year. Also, last year I was a bit stressed and overworked during that period of the race, whereas this year with a new Senior Teacher, and just one school to manage, I am feeling less distracted. 

One final external factor is that I bought a new pair of carbon-plated racing shoes, also known as "super shoes". As mentioned before, these are de rigeur in racing these days. I found a sale pair of Saucony Endorphin Pro 3, which had recently been superseded by version 4 so the 3's were prime for the picking. I had only run 5km races and two half marathons (Coatesville and Waterfront) with my old pair of Saucony Endorphin Pro 2's so this would be my first marathon in super shoes. What effect could this have? Well, it could mean that my target pace will be easier to maintain and if I need to ramp up pace toward the end, it may not be as daunting as in normal training shoes. We'll see though.

Overall, for this last week of taper, I'm hoping just to feel fresh and able on the start line. My body, aside from a returning tightness in my right hamstring, feels great. My calf issue of a few weeks ago is all gone. I started my training with tight Achilles but there is no sign of them either. And the hip flexor discomfort I usually get at the later stages of a marathon haven't been evident in my training. This week will just being keeping everything pretty light, with lots of sleep and good nutrition. I have also decided to not have alcohol in this period, too, which will help with the resting and lowering any inflammation in my body. So all the controllable factors are in favour of a good run.

The Huntly Half

As a race that I'd never run, the Huntly Half Marathon was mainly in my imagination till this morning. It had an evocative presence even from the assonance in its name. Its reputation was a fast, flat half marathon where PBs were made. Through the wonders of the running app, Strava, every year I could see others going down and running it with fast times; running great, John Walker, had won it several times.

I cannot think of a year, though, that I planned to run it. It always clashed a bit with other plans and ideas, or simply didn't occur to me. As alluded to in previous blogs, even my entry this morning was a bit of a side project. I just wanted a race three weeks before the marathon to estimate my fitness and pace. Also, I did want to see whether my 1:28:28 at Waterfront was really the best I could do, or whether my hamstring concerns had impacted it. 

My training since Waterfront had been really good right up to this past week, when weather, a family health issue and general bad timing foiled my planned lead-in. Yesterday, I switched to my racing shoes on a "shake-out run" (the run you do the day before an event to keep things loose) but about 6km in my left calf became unusually tight. I ran on and started feeling the starting of pain and pulled the plug. This was not what I wanted the day before an event. I walked and rubbed it. Stretching seemed to make things worse so I just walked for about 20 minutes. I thought for a bit before deciding I'd try and run home. The whole way the calf was tight and on a few strides again I felt pain but not consistent pain. I threw in some pace and did not feel any worsening. I finally completed the test by running up the hill home and got in without trouble. Generally after symptoms like this, you'd have a day or three off to let things settle but with everything set to race in the morning it became a dilemma. In the end I decided to go down to Huntly and run, but with a mind that if it got sore I'd pull the plug and walk back. I decided not to wear the racing shoes and went with standard training shoes. These days, shoes can be the difference between a good run, a great run and a PB so carbon plated shoes are now de rigor, such as my racing shoes that I ran at the Waterfront Half. Here, I was going to run in conventional shoes.

I got there early and this is the best way to race. You have a double-hit of some portaloo action; you have your coffee; do a jog with a few strides; do general stretching and make your way to the start chute without trouble. And it was a great day to do so. There was some morning fog and an apparent overnight temperature of 2 degrees, but when I got there it was comfortable with the morning sun beaming down. In contrast to Auckland half marathons that have you starting 8am at the latest, Huntly started at 9am which was plenty of time for people to travel in to run and for the day to begin. My warm-up runs made me know that I'd be feeling the calf on the run, and when I tried pace I didn't feel like I was able to crank up speed.

Then a misfiring horn squealed and we were off. Gladly I settled into a pace but by the 4km mark, I realised, again, that my watch was not reporting pace correctly. I had thought I had been going a touch too slow but hadn't minded doing so in the early kilometres. But when I saw the marker and divided my time by four, I was at goal pace, or slightly faster. By the fifth kilometre, I casually inquired about the paces on all of the runners that were in our pack and got a multitude of answers. Fortunately, this rate had markers reliably every kilometre and visible so I tracked myself mainly through mathematics. My calf was tight and present in every step, as expected but did not hurt, even at what was a fast pace for me. 

With the early jockeying for position out of the way, the packs and bursts therefrom became the rhythm of the race. My early pack fractured with someone I called Orange Guy burst forward and became a perpetual mark. Later from our pack, Frontrunner (which was written across the top of the back of his shirt) also broke, and then it was a small pack with me at the front. No one particularly pushed, and I was on pace. The plan is always to run your plan and then reel in runners ahead who did not plan well for their ability. And it happened first with Frontrunner. He had a very strong pace from about 4km-9km and then we just mobbed him. The course was an "out-and-back" with a turn at the halfway mark. I felt myself breaking away from my own pack in the kilometres before the turn and when I made it, I realised I had made a reasonable gap indeed and was closer to the Orange Guy than I was to them. I locked in a faster pace and surprisingly Orange Guy must have faded because within a minute I'd passed him, but still on my own. New marks were ahead, "Blackman" (at a distance he could only be a colour) and a female runner who was with him to form a minipack. 

I might have thought I was going fast but another runner, possibly a later starter, "Wanganui", burst past me in a rush to finish. He passed the my two new marks but strangely seem to have slowed down to around my pace because he never really left my sight, about 100m ahead. The female runner stopped all together to take a gel. She must have been struggling and wanted some magic to get her groove back. The sugar from a gel takes quite some time to get into the system. Either way, I passed her in a blink and not long after passed Blackman. I trailed Wanganui for a while, around the same time I felt myself struggle a bit to maintain my pace and around the 19km mark, heard footfalls behind me. My tail kept with me before hitting the gas around the 20km. I tried unsuccessfully to stay with him but that pumped up my pace for the final stretch that brought me across the finishing mats at 1:27:23, a 1:05 improvement on Waterfront. 

I went through the finish line and removed my tracking tag from my show, and soon as I rose from my crouch, my calf turned to stone. The runner who blew through finish line at 15km/hr one moment, limped slowly to collect his bag the next. Compared to Waterfront I held my speed for much longer and the pace fade was only a small loss of time. I won't be doing another half for quite some time as the two full marathons take precedence. 

As for my calf, I think it's a temporary thing and I hope with rest and some treatment it resolves itself. It is a wonder that something that feels so debilitating one day cannot impact much a lifetime best performance the next day. I'm glad though. It is one for the scrapbook.

Believing in dreams

It is perhaps not surprising that some elements of performance can become a part of identity. Like I always say that I am bad driver, as if I haven't improved as a driver in all these years. Or that I am digitally literate even though my capability is rooted in technology that is years old, and I could be reduced to a novice by changes in AI.

For running, for a long time, 3 hours 30 minutes was a part of my running identity. It took me three marathons to hit it but was a goal from the beginning. Even with later efforts, it had the gravitational effects of a mean to which everything will regress to. It is essentially a marathon you'd run if you kept just under 5 minute kilometres, another mean value with extraordinary gravitational power for me. Early on, based on my performances at other distances, race calculators boldly said that I could do faster, well out of the orbit of 3:30, but when it came to race day I was always doomed to underperform the expectation. My personal best at the marathon is 3:22, which itself was an underperformance on a well-trained year. In 2023 with a pile of mileage under my belt, I could only do 3:34 in my best of two performances. 

It is safe to say I've been burnt enough from hope, and while I do think that I will better 3:22 at some stage, there is an assumption in my being that I'm a 3:30 person. And while the benchmark for a serious marathoner is 3:00, that's a cake that does not have a slice for me.

Even with this fatalism, 2024 has come to possibly be the Peppermint Patty who has put a time in front of me to kick to goal. Every metric is pointing to a much better time than I have ever had before. My 5km time indicates 3:11 is possible. My half marathon time suggests 3:06. The marathon, however, is quite different to these events and needs different training to actualise these times, but even my training is indicating it possible. 

Six weeks out from the Kirikiriroa marathon I ran a 33km long run with three roughly 5km sections that were meant to be in the range of "marathon pace", the last of which was to be after the 25th kilometre, when you begin to tire, and should be the fastest of the 5km intervals. This can be hard to judge if the terrain is hilly because, while you have the pace showing on your smartwatch, you never know how the ascents and descents affect pace. This can be fixed with apps which can make adjustments for different surfaces and give you an idea of your "gradient adjusted" paces (GAP) once you're home in the analysis. For this reason, I chose to run along the cycleway by the motorway and return via a flat river valley through Henderson, I had planned to run the first at 4:40/km, then 4:30, and finally 4:20. On the run, I felt I nailed the first two but struggled on the third as expected. Back at home, I got to unexpected news: when adjusted for gradients, the three 5km segments were 4:30, 4:26 and 4:23 respectively. Clearly, the river valley had more undulation than the others and made what felt like a difficult section reflect that I was putting in more effort than the other two. 4:30/km pace, if it becomes my pace for the marathon would be a 3:10 result. 4:23/km, the final pace from the training which should be more reflective of my ability, if it were to become my pace for the marathon would be a 3:05 marathon result. This training run was also apparently the second fastest 30km effort of my life, only achieved before in race situations.

Of course, there is plenty of room for chicken counting. There is still plenty of training to do and improvement to make. But also factors beyond myself could sabotage these possible outcomes. There are three more peak weeks of training and currently I'm still intending to do the Huntly Half Marathon which will be the best indication of a target time. 

If I were permitted to do some chicken counting and blue sky dreaming, I would like to think that I could hit the 3:05 time on a flat course, and with more training, perhaps by the end of the year, I could hope to crack the 3:00 time. But let's not get ahead of ourselves. Fortunately tomorrow is a rest day and it's time for me to let my body recover.