The Istanbul Marathon had all of 7000 runners in the marathon and it began without too much fan-fare. The run begins with crossing the Bosphorus which is so very breath-taking in its vast expanse of a calm but mighty river and tiny houses nestling on its banks. There are up-hills for the first 5K during which I kept a watch on my heart rate. There were no km markers and I was lost as to what pace I was running. I finally saw a km marker a while later and it said “7.5 kms”. I checked my watch and realized I was too fast. From here on there were km markers every 2.5K and I reached 10K in 54:16 – too fast Dan! I found my RPE was just about 6 and there was no need to panic. I then decided that I’d see how things turn out if I aimed for sub 4 hrs. I had no target time in mind when I came for this marathon and decided I’d play this one by ear. I had a horrendous travel schedule during my two week taper and I had one of the most unconventional tapers – with no runs for 7 continuous days, I ran a 29K on the Sunday before the race!
The rest of the course was flat and I ran strong enough to predict a 3:54 – if I could hold, what I think was a scorching and suicidal pace. I was running alongside side an elderly woman who was dragging her feet with a rustling noise and was surprisingly swift, despite it. I reached the half marathon mark in 1:57:26 – very impressive Dan! As you can see, if I double it, I’d get a 3:55; a slow down of only 1 min.
At the 29K mark, as we ran across the chip mats, a Parisian asked the volunteer as to what km point it was and the guy replied, “25 kms”. I laughed and told the Parisian that the guy didn’t know what he was talking about. The Parisian was surprised that I had traveled all the way from India for this marathon. He seemed to be running strong and surged ahead with a, “I wish you good luck”.
The first realization that the pace was taking its toll came at the 30K mark which I reached in 2:49 instead of 2:45. I was hitting the “wall” now because I reached 32.5K in 3:04 – the first sign that a sub 4 hr finish was slipping from my hands. It would be a tall order to do the balance 9.7K in 55 mins; not with my condition. My breath was raspy now and my calves screamed for me to slow down. Well slow down, I did because I was now doing 5:55/km as I reached 37.5kms in 3:35. It was depressing at this juncture to see scores of runners reduced to a walk. It was tempting indeed to join them because I was now wheezing and using my arms to drive my pace. The pain in my legs made me wince and screw up my eyes. Every runner alongside could be heard gasping for breath. We were still 4K away from the finish; an eternity at this juncture in the race.
The Parisian was now way ahead and I rued about the fact that this part of the race was a telling story indeed – about the ones that grooved and those (like me) that gasped. The 39K mark made me look up in consternation as I saw a huge climb and runners were now reduced to a shuffle. I was aware, from the elevation chart that this climb would do me in; however, it was enough to shift the balance and make 90% of the runners walk. I shuffled on with my chin buried into my chest and saw that my chances of even a 4:02 were evaporating. I trudged up the unending climb and cursed the organizers for this cruel joke. I reached a sign that said “500m to the finish” and I found a new strength to my stride. I saw Monsoon and Bryan and waved out; I’d not failed them after all. I crossed the finish line in 4:07:23. A memorable race in the lessons it taught me. I limped and hobbled around reveling in the aches that seized my limbs. They were nothing compared to the challenge I’d endured in the last 7K. It was time for some beers, the Turkish aperitif “Raki” that I’d taken a predilection for and a delectable spread of meats with pita bread. Well, I wouldn’t mind a Turkish bath followed by a look see at some belly dance:-)
The man who can drive himself further once the effort gets painful is the man who will win. - Sir Roger Bannister
The rest of the course was flat and I ran strong enough to predict a 3:54 – if I could hold, what I think was a scorching and suicidal pace. I was running alongside side an elderly woman who was dragging her feet with a rustling noise and was surprisingly swift, despite it. I reached the half marathon mark in 1:57:26 – very impressive Dan! As you can see, if I double it, I’d get a 3:55; a slow down of only 1 min.
At the 29K mark, as we ran across the chip mats, a Parisian asked the volunteer as to what km point it was and the guy replied, “25 kms”. I laughed and told the Parisian that the guy didn’t know what he was talking about. The Parisian was surprised that I had traveled all the way from India for this marathon. He seemed to be running strong and surged ahead with a, “I wish you good luck”.
The first realization that the pace was taking its toll came at the 30K mark which I reached in 2:49 instead of 2:45. I was hitting the “wall” now because I reached 32.5K in 3:04 – the first sign that a sub 4 hr finish was slipping from my hands. It would be a tall order to do the balance 9.7K in 55 mins; not with my condition. My breath was raspy now and my calves screamed for me to slow down. Well slow down, I did because I was now doing 5:55/km as I reached 37.5kms in 3:35. It was depressing at this juncture to see scores of runners reduced to a walk. It was tempting indeed to join them because I was now wheezing and using my arms to drive my pace. The pain in my legs made me wince and screw up my eyes. Every runner alongside could be heard gasping for breath. We were still 4K away from the finish; an eternity at this juncture in the race.
The Parisian was now way ahead and I rued about the fact that this part of the race was a telling story indeed – about the ones that grooved and those (like me) that gasped. The 39K mark made me look up in consternation as I saw a huge climb and runners were now reduced to a shuffle. I was aware, from the elevation chart that this climb would do me in; however, it was enough to shift the balance and make 90% of the runners walk. I shuffled on with my chin buried into my chest and saw that my chances of even a 4:02 were evaporating. I trudged up the unending climb and cursed the organizers for this cruel joke. I reached a sign that said “500m to the finish” and I found a new strength to my stride. I saw Monsoon and Bryan and waved out; I’d not failed them after all. I crossed the finish line in 4:07:23. A memorable race in the lessons it taught me. I limped and hobbled around reveling in the aches that seized my limbs. They were nothing compared to the challenge I’d endured in the last 7K. It was time for some beers, the Turkish aperitif “Raki” that I’d taken a predilection for and a delectable spread of meats with pita bread. Well, I wouldn’t mind a Turkish bath followed by a look see at some belly dance:-)
The man who can drive himself further once the effort gets painful is the man who will win. - Sir Roger Bannister
No comments:
Post a Comment