Breaking through

Last blog I talked about some of my self-doubts in my recent running performances. Most of this was fuelled by knowledge that I was training better than I had in 2024 but still had nothing really to show for it. Racing both half marathon and 5k distances resulted in no movement in my PBs (personal bests). In fact, on similar courses and routes I was performing the same if not worse. 

I didn't mention my one "excuse" for this, and that was almost all of those runs were not target races, during which I was cranking up training, and could be a reflection of some tired legs. I would usually train the week of these non-target races pretty much the same as any other week, with some challenging pace workouts, but with Friday off, a short run on a Saturday and then the race on the Sunday. 

The recent two weeks though were the taper period, where my training volume decreases from its peak before a big race. The biggest race is the Christchurch Marathon on 13 April, so to show you what a taper looks like you can see it this way:

- Week ending 23 March: 123km run

- Week ending 30 March: 100km run

- Week ending 6 April: 80km run, including the Waterfront Marathon.

- week ending 13 April 67km planned, including the Christchurch Marathon.

Today's Waterfront Marathon was after two weeks of much less training volume (but still some pace), and that should put me in good stead to run stronger. After all this training my Garmin watch was claiming I had it in me to run a 1:25:15 half marathon which sounded overly optimistic, but persuaded by that I was strategically thinking of aiming for 1:26, more in hope based on the previous performances than actual confidence.

This morning's conditions couldn't really be any better: dry, sunny, negligible wind and I got to the venue early for all the necessary pre-run stuff. Unlike last year, I got into the start chute early, too, which meant not much dodging and weaving in the first kilometre, and before I knew it we were off.

As with every race, I start far too fast without even feeling it being fast, and then dropped myself to my planned pace, 4:05mins/km. Usually in training, I wouldn't usually go this fast for more than a mile, perversely after four kms, my pace started to pick up. Somehow during the middle stages, there was a 5km period that I ran in 19:51 (less than 30 seconds slower than my 5km race last weekend), and not long after that, I ran my fastest ever 10km stretch (39:50), faster than any 10km race previously. While this all happened I was worried that I'd pay for this speed towards the end, but while I was fatigued, I held on without a dramatic slowdown and cruised to the finish in an official time of 1:25:55. I am astonished at myself for being able to have a time starting in 1:25, it is a 1 minute 30 second personal best, and easily makes up for the frustration at the other events.

With the success in the bag, I can open up more about the dilemma of how to run this event. The conservative view is that one week before a marathon you shouldn't do an all-out race as there is a risk of injury, and also your body will take time to recover; that it would be better to use it as training with shorter efforts focussing on marathon effort rather than going hell-for-leather all the way for 21.1km. The liberal side might advocate for a race because at least you will truly know your form as close as possible to the race. I did choose to race this rather than use it as training, mainly because I felt I wanted to achieve and get confidence back. I now know I can run at speeds close to and under 4:00min/km and that is something that encourages me to think I could hold 4:15min/km for a marathon, which would have me doing a potentially sub-3hr marathon in Christchurch, or sometime soon. 

Anyway, I can finally celebrate a bit and get my head ready for my first marathon since November last year.

Consistency

Everyone who knows me reasonably well knows I'm a runner. Not all know that I only started really trying to be a regular runner in 2016 when I plotted to run my first half marathon. It was a learning experience for me, making lots of mistakes, learning about ITB syndrome (Ilio-tibial band), different kinds of run and the basics of hydration and nutrition on the hoof. 2017 was when I really started to race a bit more, running my first marathon and scrapping over 2000km for the year on new years eve, but it was 2018, just seven years ago when I really got the hang of it. One month I got to 400km which was unfathomable in 2017 where even in my runniest week of them all before my first marathon, I didn't break 300km. 2018 which is the first lump below was a fun year but not necessarily hitting goals. It ended with hernia surgery shortly after getting a 3:29 marathon PB. But it set the foundation for what for a long time was my best year, 2019, the second bump. It had me breaking 1:30 for the half marathon, 20:00 for the first time and brought my marathon PB down to 3:26 then 3:23. 2019 ended with me slipping on a boardwalk injuring myself and then Covid happened. There was only one solid year of running in 2021 with injuries and niggles blighting any consistency until late 2022.

The end of 2023 started the most consistent period of my running life, and consistency is one of the most key factors in running success. The body makes changes over time to be more efficient and stronger. With strengthening exercises and rest, it should be possible to run regularly without injury (apart from face-plants on concrete paths). 

The far right of the chart shows my training to prepare for Christchurch Marathon that will be in two weeks' time. It has some monstrous numbers: February I cracked 400km, and March will be over 480km with some running tomorrow, a new record month of mileage. 

This consistency has brought me to a new plateau: while my best before 2024 was 3:22 in the marathon, my three marathons were all 3:16 or under in 2024 including a 3:10 best; while my best half marathon before 2024 was 1:29:56, I have now run under that three times with a best of 1:27 and crucially never over 1:31 (even a "poorly paced run" has been a pretty good time). And in the seven 5km parkruns I've since Jan 2024, I've run six under the 20 minute ceiling that took me so long to break. (For the record, the only one over 20 minutes was done within a 33km long run and was a pretty respectable 21:28.)

But there has been something irksome in the numbers. I ran a 1:27 and a 1:28 half marathon in the middle of 2024 but have run all four halves since that between 1:29:30-1:30:46, metronomically consistently slower than my best. Since my 3:10 marathon breakthough in June 2024, my following two were 3:14 and 3:16 respectively. My watch tells me I have the fitness to break 19 minutes in the 5km but my parkrun times are as follows: 19:25, 19:51, 21:28, 19:42, 19:23, 19:36, 19:44; the 19:25 was yesterday morning and I felt pushed to my limit and with my current fitness should have been a PB, but wasn't. 

So I'm in a plateau despite the hard work put in. Next weekend is the Waterfront Half, which just like yesterday morning's race should by any measure be a good time, at least better than the same event last year where I got 1:28, if not a PB. And the marathon the following week should be better than the 3:10 that is my best in Hamilton. But both may not be, too. 

How the body performs can be so fickle. I hope that with a good taper and a smooth few days before, both will reach expectations.

Life and death of the villages

My return to the Waangleng village coincided with a ritual known as Daazaai. This is a Daoist ritual that summons the soul of the deceased, cries for them, brings the soul through to the underworld, then pays tribute and sends useful items to them. The soul in question was my grandfather-in-law who passed away last year in July. I was a bit surprised that such a ritual would be done over a year after a death, and didn’t ask whether a soul would linger so long for this ceremony. When I spoke to an out-of-town friend I learned that even he thought it was unusual to wait so long, but he was an urbanite and the ways of the village can be quite different between regions, and even within regions.

In the past 18 months, the Chinese villages who shape the family have lost our 99-year old great-grandfather (Aa-Gung), a paternal uncle (Daai Guzoeng), a maternal third uncle (Saam Kaufu) and a great uncle (Aa-Baak) who was a frequent visitor to the living room and others. Most of these bereavements happened in my absence from China but being remote made me very sad, not just for their passing as I knew these men and they knew me and that they were a part of my Chinese life, but also because they were a part of the life of the communities. 

Aa-Gung in particular was an amazing presence who I have already spoken about in a previous blog. But Daai Guzoeng was also a remarkable figure. We’d been to his home in the neighbouring village many times. He seemed an elder who chose his words carefully and meaningfully, just like Aa-Gung. When we visited last year before his passing, even in a barely conscious state, he recognised me. Village-style, he spent his final days at home.

Saam Kaufu, third uncle, was the older brother of my wife’s mother. He had battled with cancer for many years and while the cancer wasn’t what took him, the battles with it weakened him to the point that it was probably only a matter of time. I was close to his brother fourth uncle who was immediately open to talking to this weird foreigner. Saam Kaufu for quite a few years didn’t really know what to say to me or how to look at me, but by the end was very relaxed and we could talk. He was also a village producer of some really good, really potent baijiu, even though he himself was teetotal. Just like Daai Guzoeng, he too spent his final days at home. 

Aa-Baak was a good character. In the village where it’s quiet so often to have someone just “pop in” for a chinwag is essential. He was that guy. He often went barefoot, which was a bit rare, and a bit like Fourth Uncle, never hesitated to talk to me. His death was out of the blue – maybe because he didn’t want to talk about his unwellness. 

Driving down the roads of the villages at night you might be struck by how many homes do not have the lights on, that is, they are no longer inhabited. But the Daazaai ritual brought out the clan in force. The ritual itself was an overnighter; people started appearing in the early afternoon; things started in the evening and went throughout the night till sunrise. Almost all of the clan came and a lot of the associated family members, too. I finally put a face to quite a few names that I had heard so often. The village once again appeared the centre of culture and bustle.

End of the season

Turning off Mangatāwhiri Road into Rāhui Te Kiri reserve, I ran to the end of my 2024 campaign running. The final dash was along a particular boardwalk that I had enmity towards, with a familiar pacer turning back and encouraging me for part of the way along the 500m home. Whether it was his encouragement or just the sight of the finish line I managed to make to pick up speed and complete the mission of the Omaha Half Marathon in 1:29:27. 

It was my third fastest half out of five this year - not great but also a tricky one to be motivated for. It was a race I have really been too busy to think about, with Christmas events, family matters, and general summer fatigue getting to me. 

Omaha is also a deceptively difficult flat-out half. Everyone thinks they can do well but with 2km of sand, changing surfaces and the early summer warmth, it is also the one that catches people out. I may have gone out too fast but my slow-down late in the second half wasn't too bad. I did run pass two runners who were much better than me, who clearly "blew up". One I passed with a few kms to go and finished over 10 minutes behind me, showing he was exhausted to the point of walking. Others did do well too showing self-knowledge and mastery of those conditions. As it was, after the first third, I didn't feel confident of meeting my targets and by half-way, I knew that the main goal had to be keeping it below 1:30, which thankfully I could.

Omaha, as I have mentioned before here, is my bogey race, having got lost near the finish in 2017 and running a total of 27km trying to find my way to the end, then slipping on "that" boardwalk pre-race in 2018 and being a bit crippled after the race as an after-effect. And then after six years of not going there, I have finally run it the way it was intended. It wasn't completely uneventful - even with planning I still arrived late, queued for the portaloos but had to abandon them as there wasn't enough time, dashed over to the start line, forgetting my plan to take a gel pre-race, and instead being stuck near the back of the starting area. 

Now what? Well, some relaxing runs before I go to China, where I plan to do occasional runs to maintain my fitness and work on pace. Then in early February we have the first run of 2025, the Coatesville Half, which I hope is a starting point for a campaign that will lead to a good time at the Christchurch Marathon in April. 

Running that final straight

Today I ran more in 2024 than I did in the whole of 2023, which had been my biggest year of running. With another couple of reasonable weeks and I'll complete my goal for last year, 4,000km in a year, and I am pretty sure I'll make that. This running year is coming to a close. In two weeks, I'll have the Omaha Half Marathon and then it'll be a trip to China with some occasional runs and then it'll be 2025. My first race next year will be 9 February so it'll be quite a break after the frenetic running I've been doing this second half. 

The busyness of the last few months was increased by me getting an entry into the Auckland Marathon transferred to me from an injured runner. It's a weird situation because if I had decided to do it earlier, North Shore Marathon would have been a B-race, and I would have structured training for it. Instead, I had just a month to rethink things and motivate myself for a race that I could potentially PB. 

About a month before the marathon, and not long after accepting the entry, I proceeded to hurl myself head-first into the footpath, messing up my face and causing deep wounds on my hands and knees. It was on a morning with pretty comfortable dry conditions; I had done the hard part of the run and was just jogging my cool-down along a cycleway about 1km from home, and then I was crumpled on the ground. I lay there a while I waited for pain reports from the various branches of my body. I knew from the warmth in places that I had lost skin and was bleeding but not much pain. I initially thought I'd written off my new glasses because things were quite awry around my head, but it was just my headband and glasses getting mixed up together. I got up and walked - mechanically I seemed fine - and then jogged the last kilometre home. At home, I got to see the full extent. I was bleeding from my forehead, my nose, my upper lip, my shoulder, my hands and knees. We went to the doctor and had the damage properly dressed, and a tetanus shot to boot. With all the luck that I'd avoided a concussion, dental damage, joint damage, and other things, I was just annoyed because it wrecked my lead-in. The dressings could not get wet, which meant I couldn't shower, which meant I wasn't going to be running without being stinky and unhygienic. So I waited for dressing changes to go for a run, but it was never really more than just keeping my muscles loose and ready, and never readying myself. Seven days after the fall I got back to proper runs, which was already at a time that I should be tapering, not doing too many workouts. 

Despite all that, come the morning of the Auckland Marathon, I felt pretty good and was going to aim for 3:08. It was my fourth Auckland full marathon after 2017, 2018 and 2019, the latter being my PB of 3:23 that lasted until earlier this year when I ran 3:10:59 at Hamilton. 3:08 would be a lifetime PB, but I based that on the fact that Hamilton was a really tough course - Auckland wasn't easy, but not as challenging as Hamilton. I also believed I'd improved since June. But Auckland is hard to pace because the first half has all the hills, and then it's flat till the end. After some thought I decided on the pace I'd like to be at at the halfway point.

And come the day, we had almost perfect conditions and I had an uneventful morning. The only issue was a headwind on parts of the course including the crossing of the Auckland Harbour Bridge. As it was the first half went completely to plan and at the halfway point, I had managed to keep in the range that I'd planned ahead... However, it appears my plan was flawed - it was still too fast for my fitness for the first half. As the second half started I noticed fatigue dragging me slower and slower. From kilometre 32 to 42.2, I struggled to keep pace. Eventually I dragged myself home at 3:16, eight minutes slower than I had hoped. And I was not in the best way, I was exhausted to the point of nausea and struggling to keep food down.

The irony of the three marathons of the year are the comparisons of my time at the 30km mark and at the end:

- June 2024: Kirikiriroa Marathon (Hamilton) - 30k: 2:15; 42.2k: 3:10

- September 2024: North Shore Marathon - 30k: 2:14; 42.2k: 3:18

- October 2024: Auckland Marathon - 30k: 2:13; 3:16

That shows that I've been pushing myself faster in the first 30km in each race throughout the year, but my two later races always struggling for the final 12km.

I have always attributed my success this year to my focus on speed at the end of last year, and that's how I plan to spend the rest of the year. Even in China, I'm going to do speed sessions rather than long runs. 

My A-race for next year is the Christchurch Marathon in April 2025. Unlike every other marathon I've done, Christchurch is unsurprisingly flat. It should be the easiest to pace. With the platform I've built these two years, I hope I can get close to, or go under, the much admired 3:00 mark. It'll take a smooth first quarter of the year to do it, but not outside the realms of possibility. 

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.