The race

Details: 3:35:02

This was my first Boston Marathon, and heading in this wasn’t really the blog post I meant to write. It’s remarkable how quickly your perspective can shift.  This is what I wrote the day of – once in the safety of our hotel – and watching non -stop coverage of the tragic events of that day: “Crazy day. So grateful all family and friends are safe. So saddened and sickened.”

At the time of the explosion (s), I was actually still within the vicinity of the finish area (2 ½ – 3 blocks away).  I finished around 2 pm, spent the next 20 minutes being herded to medals and water, and trying to find my bag.  It had gone from hot to cold in a matter of minutes – I was freezing, and I had  finally managed to locate my clothes, find the changing tent and  change into dry clothes.  Now I was shoving my way to the family meeting area when I heard a loud boom. A woman and I looked at each other – “what was that?”  We shrugged it off – I thought thunder, apparently that was what my sister told me later on she thought it was.

At the moment, my most pressing concern was finding my sis and her friend in the crowds – desperately searching for the letter “C” in the designated family meeting area. The noise was quickly forgotten as we found each other.  It was only as we were headed to the trains, when a friends’ phone rang – her brother called asking if she was ok- and then we knew.  Still we didn’t grasp the gravity of the situation, until we got back to our hotel in the north and turned on the hotel television, 5 of us glued to the TV – watching horrific image after image.  Frantic text messages and emails began to come in. The phone began to ring. News stations had contacted my brother in law.  What began as a day of anticipated celebration and joy was quickly replaced by horror and disbelief.

Tuesday morning, reality started to sink in. My sister left Boston Tuesday morning. I thought about trying to get an earlier flight home.

My heart was and is so heavy.  It breaks for the victims, their family and friends, for race organizers, spectators – those who didn’t finish and those who did.  A heaviness hung over the city.   I didn’t want to sit in a hotel room alone, so I ventured out and ate lunch at a café by myself and talked to fellow runners. 

I was wandering the North End by my lonesome when an older woman came up to me. Seeing my Boston jacket, she asked if I ran – and when I said yes she apologized and asked if I would come back.  I couldn’t say anything.

The events that occurred the day of the Boston marathon, as they brought out the worst in some, seemed to bring out the best in others. Coffee shops refused to take my money.  The day after, left to my own devices, I  went to a spa to distract myself and the girl at the front refused to take my money – and apologized! I was speechless.  Strangers would walk up to me, asked me if I ran. I would say yes. Beyond that, there wasn’t a whole lot that could be said. There was a lot of silence.

I am still sifting through the reality of what happened that day and so many conflicting emotions.

Beyond the shock, horror, grief, there is gratitude that my sister and her friends avoided the finish line area, grateful that most of my friends had crossed the line already and were blocks away. I was grateful I was blissfully unaware for that moment – when I heard the explosion I didn’t know what it was. I think how easily it could have been someone I loved. Timing is every thing.

And it is, after all is said and done, not discounting the sheer violence and disregard for human life, the intangible wounds that hurt the most. Whoever did this not only physical scarred and killed the victims, but devastated their family and friends,  and traumatized the spectators, witnesses and dare I say runners.  One account was by parents, who along with their young children, were spectators  at the Boston marathon- they tried to shield their children– but in his words “they saw a lot.” 

I knew Boston would be memorable, but I didn’t expect it to be so bittersweet.  I look at the medal – tucked away – and my Boston jacket – and it’s hard to put into words what I feel. No pride and joy, but sorrow. Reminders that what what  was intended to be a day of celebration so quickly turned into a day of horror and mourning.  My memories of the Boston marathon will likely always bring mixed emotions. 

I want to remember the good things about Boston, the spectators, the crowds,  the race, the city and people – and I will. At the moment, all I can see are by graphic images that won’t stop replaying (Gotta love tv and social media) in my head.  At the moment all I can do is mourn with those who have lost so much, and be grateful that my loved ones have made it out unscathed, so to speak.

I’d lost  two and a half months last summer due to injury;  the fall, was spent basically trying to find my running legs again. All in all, I’d had about five solid weeks of training.  I had no doubts I would finish the race.  However, I couldn’t say much more.

I was trying to take a long term view, in approaching this race. l knew it would take time and mileage to regain my pre – injury speed, and strength, and to go from there.  For me, this race was a building block, and a stepping stone.

A euphemism for: a pb was not happening. Realistically, I  know that every race can’t be a pb, and there is no point comparing. But compare we do.  For last year’s first half, I was in shape.  I had run NYC the preceding November, and I guess I never really missed a beat.

This year, I didn’t have the same mileage, or same confidence going into the race.  Pre – race, part of me was regretting having signed up. I struggled to find the motivation.  I reminded myself, that 6 month’s earlier, I couldn’t run a step, and so being able to run a half marathon was a big deal.  This morning pre – race, I heard an announcement about how we were all winners regardless of our time.  Uh huh. I heard a racer beside me laugh – “how inspirational,” were her words.

Not to take anything away from anyone – but just finishing wasn’t really going to do it for me.  I thought if I could match the 1:45 I ran in 2011 – it wouldn’t be a disaster.  I thought if I ran sub 1:40, it would be a miracle:p.

I saw lots of familiar faces race morning, which was encouraging but did little to assuage my anxieties.  I’d made it to the race with plenty of time to spare, enough time, to line up for the washrooms x 2 (no small feat on race morning).    I did a warm up.  Legs felt okay. I was cautiously optimistic.

I positioned myself towards the back, in a sea of strangers. Anonymity is good.  And the national anthem was sung, the gun went off, and off we went.  I  saw my friend David ahead, but I wasn’t going to catch him today.   And seconds later, Pargol came flying by.  But today, I had to run my own race, whatever that was.

I deliberately tried to keep the first few km slow – didn’t help that my garmin was registering ridiculous times.  Just before entering the seawall, I saw Britt, which cheered me up greatly.  And then Alan comes by – “just jogging, ” he tells me.  And for him, it was jogging.  As a parting encouragement, he reminded me of the infamous Gully Run we had both run. Soon, he too was gone in a sea of racers.

Run your own race, I told myself.  Find your own pace.  I counted off km markers, stopped for water and got passed by tons of people.   At one point, pushed, barreled into? – without a word of warning by a girl wearing a VFAC bib. Don’t know if it was on purpose, but heck pushed back,  took off, ran my race, and never saw her again.  A small consolation.

I heard my name screamed out multiple times on course, and that was awesome.  Benefit of having your running club host the race.

I kept my pace steady, and was happy that I hit the half way point, only a couple of minutes slower. This race wasn’t going as terribly as I had feared.  I thought sub 1:45 was in reach. I was trying to do math as I ran.

Up ahead, I saw the Lions Gate Bridge – but not as close as it seemed. One bend after another. And then, I almost forgot we had to run the lagoon.  My stomach dropped. This was around the time, I got a side stitch. I slowed down my pace, and continued to run.  I told myself this trip around the lagoon was not nearly as horrible as last week’s 15km run.  And it wasn’t.  As I made my way around, I read the signs, drank in the cheers of the spectator, and tried to focus on holding steady.  With 3km to go, I let myself pick it up a bit…but not too much.  I knew the lovely little 10 meter “hill” was yet to come.

As I  climbed the not so little “incline” I finally let myself believe I was nearly home.  As I ran down Pacific, I left myself fly -  all the the way to the finish line.  Lots of familiar faces were at the finish line. I was happy.

No, not a pb – but a really decent run all things considering, and a heck of a lot better than I thought I would do coming into today’s race.  Best part was – I was still upright at the finish – didn’t feel like death, or puking.  And considering this was my first race in eight months, I can’t be too unhappy with the results. Just a little.

Pace was controlled, as our trusty clinic leader, managed to reign us in for the most part. As I ran along Angus, a gust of wind blew, and the uneven pavement was illuminated only by headlamps, I felt that everything was right, just for the moment. It’s been awhile since I’ve felt that way.

At times, we ran in a pack, at times, alone, I could hear footfalls, and measured breaths beside me.. Last night’s adventure even included an owl attack on a friend. Yep, her shrieks could be heard a block away.

Slowly, I am gaining motivation for Boston in April. These training runs have provided refuge and a haven from the busyness of life, the non – stop noise that seems to be constantly in my head. Running is the one place where the day doesn’t intrude, where everything falls away and the noise, if not diminished, at least subsides, Partly because I’m focussed on trying not to trip with each footfall. After all, my headlamp, seems to illuminate an area the size of a quarter, directly in front of me. But also, partly because when I’m running, I’m able to let go, I’m doing what I’m supposed to do. Post run, my sore muscles, flushed cheeks, and tired legs, remind me that I’m alive, that I’ve actually exerted myself, and I’m in a different headspace.

I’m not there yet, but maybe when April comes, I will actually feel truly ready to tackle Boston, whatever that may mean.

It’s been awhile since I’ve run, and even longer since I’ve run in the dark.  The first run back this week was in darkness and two blinking light on my running shoes did little to light the path.   Time for headlamps and reflective vests.  Last thing I need is to be hit by a car or any other moving object…

The runs -  A solo run to end off 2012. QE hill to start off the new year = murderous.  A nice flat 7km the next day felt harder than it should, and to top it off dragged myself around the seawall/False Creek for 16km on Saturday.  I kept looking at my Garmin, and finally, the Garmin was taken away from me:p.   Oh well, at least the company was good.

I have to confess, though I was less than excited to be dragging myself through training again, after a forced break, it is nice to be running with my gang again.  RR peeps have been awesome training partners, and the girls I ran with wed/thursday night will be my training partners as the majority are running Boston this spring.

Haven’t run with the girls in months and it was so good to run with them again.   We fell in step effortlessly, familiar with each others running rhythms.  We ran in silence, speaking up to warn only of ice or oncoming cyclists.  Running with the girls was like coming home again.

Will be interesting to see how training unfolds. I guess the coming weeks will tell the story…

While I finished off 2012 with a solo long run, I began the new year by rejoining my RR crew for my first run with them in 5 months. Gulp. Of course, I would show up the night the route was the QE hill.

I was tentative, the night was dark and the roads were icy, and by sheer grace I did not go down. It wasn’t pretty, but it wasn’t as ugly as I expected the run to be. I am hardly back to where I was pre – injury but clearly the little competitive spark inside me hadn’t been completely extinguished.
It was a relatively comfortable pace for the first half and I was pleasantly surprised. Having made it up QE hill, I was mollified.

On the way back, I was tempted to make some comment about how awesome it felt to run a comfortable pace. I didn’t. Clearly, I knew better. Soon enough, the pace inched up. The boys took off. Some girl took off after the boys and more than kept up.

I felt something stir inside me. Without thinking, I inched up my pace. I tried, but couldn’t quite catch up (and yep, I was a little peeved:p). They were just a few steps ahead – and a couple of us got caught at the lights (yes I’ll blame the lights:p). All the while a little voice inside my voice reminded me that it was a long road ahead, it’s early in the season, and more than anything I wanted to make it to Boston in one piece.

And it is a training run, one of many to come. It is not a race…yet.

But I have never been ashamed of who I am, or felt singled out. Yes, I am Asian, but I was born and raised in Canada, and went to school here. My friends come from diverse backgrounds and are of various ethnicities. I have dated Caucasian guys. I have never felt different, less, or inferior due to my race. The last racial slur – I heard was when I was less than 10 years old, when some neighborhood kids were singing a song which was distinctly racial. I guess I didn’t fully grasp the implications then – other than that I was being made fun of.

But today, today’s incident was different. I was headed to work, walking down Granville Street, when a well dressed guy in sneakers deliberately elbowed me, and called me a “chink”. I was furious. I couldn’t believe my ears. My first reaction was to call him “racist pig” loud enough for the passerbys to hear. I kept walking.

And then I felt hot angry tears sting my eyes, I have not shed a tear over being called a name in a very long time. And then anger – really, have we not progressed? Have we forgotten, that cliche as it might sound, Canada was built on the backs of immigrants, not to mention blatant disregard for First Nations rights>

I am not naive; I know racism exists, but it has been such a long time since I have had racial slurs hurled at me. And in a city with so much racial diversity no less.

We work, we pay taxes, we own homes, and dare I say, that it’s not often I see a Chinese panhandler????

I have been ashamed of of many things, but I have never been ashamed to be a Canadian, not until today. While I believe, and fervently hope, that individuals like the one I encountered today represent a small proportion of the population, the incident leaves a very sour taste in my mouth.

As for the guy today – maybe he was mentally ill? Maybe not. Perhaps his parents were ingnorant, taught him that racism is okay. Or maybe he needs someone to blame for a rotten childhood. I’ll never know but I don’t need to. There is absolutely no excuse for racism.

Prior to today, I didn’t actually think I would hear such racial slurs out of a grown man’s mouth, but I guess the world never ceases to shock. I will say that for anyone who believes racism does not happen in Vancouver, think again. I sure will.

And the answer is a resounding, thunderous yes.  I am beloved, precious in His sight. I am the daughter of a King. He whispers my name.  He watches over me, and He has and is fulfulling His promises in my life.

This has been a rocky few years faith wise.  A lot of wrestling, my fair share of mis- steps, a lot of soul searching, more than a few tears and as a dear friend M. put it, a few “dark night of the soul” moments. There was a time in my life, I was so sure of my faith that I couldn’t imagine a time when I wouldn’t be.  But life has a way of distracting you, turning your focus away from God.  And then little things, and sometime big things have a way of chipping away at your faith, of shaking what you thought was an unshakeable foundation.  Suddenly, I’m not sure anymore.  Events in my own life, and that of those close to me, have me questioning the set answers that I once accepted.

I am reminded that it is normal to question, to wrestle, and to struggle.  And in a way I welcome it, as it can serve to deepen my faith.  And as I journey through this life, I remind myself to live in the knowledge that I am deeply loved. At points in my life, I imagine how different my life would look if I lived God’s love, if it wasn’t simply head knowledge. Perhaps, then I can live a life that pours out, a life of overflow.

I have a lot of strength work to do, and I am still a  broken rag doll on the mend.  But I can run, and for the moment, that is all that matters.Taking full advantage, I went for a lunch time run around the seawall, and made it further than I have in two and a half months.  At the end of my run, I had run more than 6km. Baby steps, but I was happy.

Yes, I was passed by people I could easily have passed a few months ago, and was dropped like a hot potato by those I should be able to keep up with. It is humbling when it feels like starting over; it has been awhile since I have felt like a complete newbie.

But, trying to let go of my  competitive nature (at least as far as running is concerned), I soaked in the beautiful fall day, ran over piles of rich orange and gold brown foliage, and reminded myself, that it won’t come back all at once, but I will get there. I remind myself that in running, as in life, I am a work in progress.

Yes, I have races in the new year, but for now, I am learning to enjoy the journey, the fact that I can just run.

On the heels of a strong 10km race a month earlier, I had high hopes. After all, Summerfast was supposed to be a flat fast course, and surely I could run a better race than I had previously, or so I thought.

Race morning dawned, grey and ugly, but the rain held off. Perfect race weather. I get super quiet before races, and lost in my own world.  I checked my bag in, ran a short warm up, and wandered over to the start line.  Self seeding is a wonderful thing, or not.  Some ambitious competitors clearly had no business being in the front half of the starting pack.

The start was anticlimatic, and I spent the first few km running on the  divider separating walkers and cyclists.  I found open space within the first 3km and held my pace.  Some guy was hanging off my shoulder and breathing heavily.  I quickened my pace, simply to drop him, and settled into my pace again

My plan was to run fairly evenly and not do anything to er completely wreck the race before it began.  I settled in behind someone running a pace, similar to mine and held on for a bit. 

At the 5km mark, I realized that the chances of  running a real pb, or close to my pb, were going to be pretty tight – I would need to split a sub 20 minute 5km on the second half. I have never run a stand alone sub 20 minute 5km, so my goal was to make up as much time as I could.  And 5km is a long way to go.

I gradually inched up the pace, trying to gage how much I still had left in my legs. At the 7-8km mark, an official/marshall/volunteer? was perched along the seawall, yelling out 10th woman. 

For a fleeting moment, I thought “I don’t care,”  but I knew I would later.  I passed the guy I had been running with, and up ahead, I saw two women, one of whom was within striking distance.

But I still had two km to go; I wanted to be sure if I made a move to pass, I would not be passed, and so I waited about half a km, and then made my move, passing one of the two women.

A km feels like a long way, when you are hurting, and also when you can’t see the finish line… But I knew the end was near – and the volunteers were yelling out encouragement. I could see second beach pool ahead, and somehow mustered the strengh for a final surge.  I could see the finish clock, and I lunged – I crossed seconds behind one of the two woman I had been trying to catch.

In the end, I was seconds behind my  pb, but it was the best I could do on that day, so I could not complain.