Why so hard?

This morning was one of those times when it feels like the world is actively conspiring to keep me from running.

I was all psyched for a long long-run of 34K, which would be my longest to date. I had checked the weather forecast obsessively, and all the places I checked said the same thing: light rain (up to 1 mm/hour). In Vancouver, that's considered good running weather. When I woke up, it was raining a bit harder than that, but I got my running clothes out of the dryer and suited up all the same. Then I realized I was out of Gatorade mix. A long long-run with plain old water sounded like a poor idea, so I headed off to the supermarket. Closed (for Boxing Day). So I went to a different one. Got it. Now I was a good half hour behind schedule.

Having got everything together, I was about to go out the door again, when I realized I had forgotten to put on my heart monitor: unzip the jacket, remove the fuel belt, untuck the shirt, put on the monitor, retuck the shirt ... well you know the drill, not exactly the suffering of martyrs, but still. And then I open the door. It's pouring. This is no one-millimeter-per-hour sprinkle. This is borderline biblical. So I stand there for a long time. On one hand, I've had this run planned for weeks, and I don't want to let my schedule be ruined by wimpiness. On the other hand, I run for fun. And 34 K in heavy December rain doesn't look like fun.

Eventually, I wandered back to the computer and check if the weather was supposed to be nice tomorrow. No. Nor the day after. Nor the day after that. In fact, this morning's promised light rain was the best weather forecast for the rest of the winter. At this point it seemed to me that the universe did not want me to run a marathon at all. I said "oh, bother" (or words with a similar gist) and I opened up some work on the computer.

A half an hour later, the rain was back to a pitter-patter and I decided to go ahead and carpe the diem. As I was going to be running under the Skytrain the whole way, I made a deal with myself that, if at any point it looked like I was going to drown, I could get on a train with my tail between my legs.

No sooner was I out the door when I realized that I had once again forgotten my heart monitor. Tough. As it turned out, heart rate was not going to be the issue on this run. As I approached the traffic light at the bottom of the first gentle hill that takes me to the park, I checked my pace. I like to keep it between 5:30 and 5:40/km on long runs. That's a minute below race pace and feels pretty well as comfortable as walking. It's usually something like a 65% heart rate. But I have a tendency to start too fast, especially going down hill, so I checked my Garmin. 7:10. Huh? I stopped at the traffic light and put on my glasses. I must have messed up the settings. Did I switch it to imperial units, or turn it to indoor mode? No.

Assuming this had to be one of those random satellite problems that will sometimes result in pace readings like 2:14, I kept going, but I picked it up a bit all the same. Next light. 6:45. For the next five kilometers (after which I gave up switched my Garmin from displaying pace to only displaying distance) it was not much better. Never less than 6. I still can't explain it, other than by noting that I took the previous days off completely. I can't remember when I last took two days off in a row. And when I do take days off, I am usually doing yoga. This time I lay on the couch a read a book. Can two days of rest and some Christmas food really have done this to me?

I did not obsess about my pace and enjoyed the music on my iPhone. I was running to New Westminster, and the scenery is not wonderful for much of it. Especially on a dark wet December day. There was also a coffee evacuation issue. In keeping with the day's theme of crushing me like a bug, after a few slow kilometers I realized that I had forgotten to get rid of the last cup that I drank before heading out, and when I got the only toilet between my place and New Westminster, a sign was tacked to the door reading "Closed due to vandalism." That was at kilometer six, leaving a mere eleven kilometers to cover with a turgid bladder.

 On the up side, it stopped raining. For most of my run there was no rain at all, other than a bit of drizzle for the last half hour or so. And having to use a bathroom in New Westminster gave me an excuse to go into a quayside pub and have a cup of coffee before heading back to Vancouver. Once I got home, I looked at the data and saw that my normal pace returned after about 8 km (though there were still some slow one's in there). I finished with an overall moving pace of 5:50. I'm not out to set any speed records on long runs, but it is still a bit weird.

The last five or six kilometers were kind of long and I did start to feel a bit of an ache in my thighs, but it was all basically fine. I was sore in my thighs for two or three hours after I got back, but that was about it. After a quick bath, I got back to work. I'm glad to see that there was no need for couch time. Basically, although I did feel it a bit more than the 29K, it's the same animal. It's more or less like a long hike, and I still imagine that the coming 38 and 42 will feel similar.