Tender is the night

In F. Scott Fitzgerald's collection 'Tender is the night', one of the characters faces the realization that he can no longer waterski on one leg, as he did when he was younger. For me Jen's death is like a line that separates two stages - the before is when I was younger, and had Jen with me, and the after is now when I'm older and on my own. Alongside this of course is the desire to rage against any apparent decline in my abilities now that I'm 44 (I'm sure for those who are decades older that seems laughably young to be thinking about such limitations).

On Sunday I ran my fourth marathon, my first since 2008. I'm attracted to challenges, and indeed I find I need new goals to motivate my running. This year the main obstacle was whether I could fit in enough training in the period up until the end of May, and manage the long runs on weekends (building up to more than 3 hours in length). In January it seemed too hard to contemplate, but I did it.

As I wrote in a previous entry, I've come to regard running events as a motivation tool to keep me running, so that I can reap the benefits for my health and fitness. Nevertheless, the actual marathon is like water-skiing on one leg - can I still do this? Have I lost the will to push myself that hard?

Sunday morning was ideal for running -- cool but without wind or rain. The marathon field was smallish (about 200), so not too crowded (although other events such as the half-marathon and 10km would overlap with us later). Before this I've run the Great Ocean Road Marathon in three successive years, with times of 3:17, 3:23 and 3:23 (at the marathon distance, although that event has an extra 3km on the end!). After the first couple of kilometers, the race settles down, so that the people nearby are running at a similar speed. I found myself alongside a man who was aiming for about 3:10, so I kept up with him as much as I could. We passed 14km in 1:03 (the full marathon distance is 42.195 km), which was close to the pace for 3:10. The half-marathon distance came up in 1:35, which is only about three minutes outside my best time for that distance. At 30 km I was still in touch with the 3:10 runner. This was better than I'd ever run in a marathon so far. Maybe this was the day for my fastest time.

It's commonly said that in a marathon the real race starts in the last 10km, and so it proved on this day. The 3:10 man gained a bit of distance, as I struggled to keep him at least in sight. At the 34 km mark, in about 2:35, I was calculating that 5min/km would get me home in about 3:16. It was now that the effect of the faster start began to tell, and I was struggling. From the pace of about 4m35s/km, I dropped to about 5m30/km, the legs were really hurting, and I was fighting off an incipient stitch. From here on the mental is as important as the physical. In the lead-up days of calm contemplation I imagined that I'd be able to push my body harder as I hit the wall. It was all I could do to look ahead, lift my feet and maintain some vague kind of running form. I crossed the line in 3:23. When Primus (my older son) met me past the chute, and I'd found somewhere to sit down, I said "Never again". Just sitting still, my legs hurt.

But half an hour later, after pancakes, soup, fruit and water, and some slow walking, my body began to feel better. Yes I crashed and burned in the last 8km, but the overall result was about the same as five years ago. Getting older, I should be satisfied just to maintain my speed for a while longer, and not always want better times. Yes I went out too fast, but it was still an ideal chance to run a time as fast as 3:15. Perhaps it's not always the best strategy, but I'd prefer that outcome rather than an evenly paced race in which I ran 3:21. I'd rather not die wondering what would have happened if I'd run a bit faster. As I wrote in my 'Carpe Diem' blog entry, I do retain a sense of life's fragility and the limited opportunities that I may actually have.

So for now I can still 'water-ski on one leg'. If I can accept slower times, I could keep running marathons for years to come (there was one person in the 70-79 category on Sunday!). Will I run again? Although there are people in the world who run 50 marathons a year (or in the case of Dean Karnazes, the American ultrarunner, 50 marathon in 50 consecutive days), I don't think my body could take more than one or two a year. It's often said that you need a long enough break for your body to forget how bad it felt last time (childbirth attracts similar comments). The other practicality is that in order to train, I've taken time away from everything else, and now I need to give it back. Perhaps a half-marathon later in the year?