Race Report - Adidas International Women's Day 5k, 4th March 2007

 

Well, in my last entry, I did say that I would try to run another minor race on top of the major ones I had planned for the year.  Somewhat on the spur of the moment, at the suggestion of my housemate Kylie, that race became the Adidas International Women's Day 5k.  "What a great way to kick off the racing season!" said I, thinking it would be a really good tune-up and give me an indication of how my training was progressing and what times I could expect to run in my later races.  Plus, I hadn't run a 5k race since 2003, so I was really interested to see what sort of time I could whip out of myself now that I've got some serious training behind me. 

 

And so, after my obligatory cup of morning coffee, Kylie and I laced up our shoes and walked along the river to Southbank for a 7am race start.  Or so we thought!  There was some major confusion at the start and we didn't end up getting underway until some time after 7am.  Despite the original premise of the runners starting before the walkers, when the gun went off we found ourselves trying to fight through a veritable ocean of very confused people whose opinion of the speed they should be going differed drastically from ours.  At first I attempted to considerately shuffle my way through, but frustration got the better of me and my polite shuffle became an elbow-banging, shoulder-barging charge through the groups of blissfully oblivious walkers that were standing between me and my 5k PR.  (Oh, PR means "Personal Record" for those of you uninitiated in the mysterious art of self-competition.) Thankfully I was quite close to the front of the pack so I was able to break through relatively quickly.  The horror stories told by other runners painted a frightening picture of being reduced to a painfully slow waddle, penned in on all sides by hordes of obstinate women that would not be deterred from their chosen speed or direction even long enough for the runner to sneak through.  For me though, once I had broken through I had a clear run.

 

For the first kilometre, I was steadily passing people as I accelerated to race pace.  I have to admit, there's nothing quite as exhilarating as powering past other runners.  It really does make you feel immeasurably powerful, like you can take on the world and, come to think of it, the entire universe better be ready for some serious domination as well.  Unfortunately, that feeling can get the better of you, make you push yourself harder than you probably should have, and most certainly it came back to haunt me in the following kilometres.

 

I was still feeling reasonably good at the 2km mark, though the fast pace was beginning to take its toll.  I was pathetically glad for my Ipod as it drowned out the sound of my own tortured breathing and gave my legs a beat to keep them going even as my brain started having second thoughts about the whole racing idea.  The 3km mark must have come and gone somewhere in there, though I don't remember seeing it.  The few little slopes through the Botanical Gardens felt like Mt Everest, and the worst was yet to come.  I had already crossed it once, but it sat there awaiting my return for a second painful, uphill crossing - The Goodwill Bridge.

 

There was no feeling of goodwill coming from that bridge for me that day.  In fact, it felt distinctively malevolent both on the outwards and even moreso the return trip.  I'm so very, very glad that I have trained that bridge though, if I hadn't it certainly would have defeated me as it did many others.  But, I put my head down, set my legs on autopilot and just kept pushing upwards.  Until you've run it, you really don't realise just how steep the Goodwill Bridge is, especially crossing Southbank-bound.  I've never been so glad to see a 4km marker as I was at that point!

 

1km may sound like a tiny distance, especially as I'd done 4km already, but at that point the 1km stretching ahead of me looked like a marathon.  My breathing was ragged, my legs were moving on willpower alone and I was seriously doubting my ability to continue.  In fact, had it not been for my obstinate pig-headedness and the spectators along the route I may even have slowed to a walk.  But no, stupidity prevailed, I put a faster song on my Ipod and kicked up the pace.  People were passing me, and while I wasn't terribly happy about the situation I didn't have the ability to change it.  I was running at maximum pace, and a pack of lions crazed with hunger and ravening for a taste of my voluptuous rump couldn't have made me go any faster.  I was ready to collapse when the finish line appeared.

 

Grinding to a halt I hit the button on my GPS watch, and looked down at it with a combined sense of hope and dread.  My goal time was 28:00, and while I knew I had pushed myself hard, I was concerned that even my best wasn't going to be good enough.  I needn't have worried, the face of my GPS showed four wonderful numbers - 27:45.  I beat my goal time by a whole 15 seconds, and I couldn't have been happier.  Bring on the rest of the racing season!