Monday, March 21, 2005
I guess there aren't too many cities that are shown to best advantage in mid-March: certainly Hamilton isn't. The Utica of the Yukon actually is a lot like Buffalo, but not in a good way. The neighborhood where the convention centre and my hotel were situated is right in the heart of downtown, and is actually a little seedier than anything we have now-- more like Chippewa in the old days. The Expo where I picked up my packet was crowded, but there wasn't anything that tempted me particularly: sometimes I think I'd like some maple leaf running stuff, but I can never bring myself to pull the trigger, what with not being Canadian and all. A woman, obviously a runner, was chasing after her child. "Miles, you get back here," she said, and I immediately felt sorry for the kid's imaginary twin sister, Kay. I thought about driving the course after I picked up my packet, then thought better of it. I checked into the hotel instead, then went scouting around for someplace to eat. A. and I have been to a German place in Hamilton a few times in the past-- I happened on it, but thought that perhaps wurst was not the best plan.
The hotel was full of runners and a convention of Goth looking youth who apparently play at being vampires. It was an interesting collection of body types, and there was no confusing one for the other. I watched some hoops while I considered what to wear for the race. In an abundance of caution I'd brought a rather large selection, figuring that weather was going to be a pretty big variable. It had been surprisingly cold wandering around downtown, and the weather report was calling for snow or freezing rain. I got up a couple of times to stabilize my hydration status-- the wind was rattling the windows. When I woke up in the morning, the ground was white, and a heavy wet snow was falling. That decided me-- winter cap instead of billed cap, two base layers and the long sleeved grey tee shirt Golds was handing out at the Shamrock on to as a throw down.
There were pace groups all over the start: apparently the Canadian thing is to outfit them in caps with rabbit ears, and call them Pace Bunnies. The Pace Bunny I fell in with was a big Jewish guy, about 6'4", 280, with a chest length red beard. He looked like he could give Jacob a wrestling match, and made a point of running up on the sidewalk to goose every small dog he saw. He also ran like a metronome, and had a plan for the course.
The race is probably best thought of as three units: the first 10k runs through and out of the back of downtown Hamilton, the second runs more or less up to the QE then between the QE and the lake, and the third is what kills you. There wasn't too much to look at up to the halfway mark, just before the lift bridge: the neighborhood reminds me of the Old First Ward, working class, with the mills looming over it. At the halfway mark I thought to myself, "This isn't so bad. I could run at this pace all day."
At about that point, the hills begin. Really there is nothing so tough about the change in terrain to that point-- they sort of roll along, and for the first time the course becomes attractive, running through an upscale neighborhood, with the bay to our left, and the city on the other side. "These are just to soften you up," grunted one of the members of our group. There was one fairly tough climb, right after the half marathon point, and then it flattened out for about a mile. We were out of the wind, and it was flat: it felt glorious. We rounded a corner, and there it was. You could see the line of ants climbing it, and there was nothing about it that looked easy. We had a dip down into a valley, then over a wooden footbridge and up. I guess it is a little less than a full kilometer long, and about as steep as the Mother all the way up. I'd felt pretty strong going into it, but by the time I crested it I had nothing. I ran the final 2k on rubber legs, in a daze. It was like a body blow-- I don't think I've ever hit something quite like that before. I had been fine, and then I was wiped out. At the 28k mark a guy dressed as the Grim Reaper greeted the runners: "I'm ready for you!" The finish line bobbled in front of me, I grit my teeth, and pushed through. It was downhill at that point, or I don't think I'd have made it.
And then the toughest part of all: the four block walk back to the hotel. Wrapped in my space blanket like a big baked potato, I staggered along King Street. "Did you win?" asked the cigarette-breathed characters lurking in the doorways of the bingo parlors and adult bookstores. I had time for a shower, then drove back.
I'd do it again, but not by myself. I'd certainly recommend it. I was not as under-trained as I'd feared-- the challenge of the event is not the distance as much as it is the course.
The hotel was full of runners and a convention of Goth looking youth who apparently play at being vampires. It was an interesting collection of body types, and there was no confusing one for the other. I watched some hoops while I considered what to wear for the race. In an abundance of caution I'd brought a rather large selection, figuring that weather was going to be a pretty big variable. It had been surprisingly cold wandering around downtown, and the weather report was calling for snow or freezing rain. I got up a couple of times to stabilize my hydration status-- the wind was rattling the windows. When I woke up in the morning, the ground was white, and a heavy wet snow was falling. That decided me-- winter cap instead of billed cap, two base layers and the long sleeved grey tee shirt Golds was handing out at the Shamrock on to as a throw down.
There were pace groups all over the start: apparently the Canadian thing is to outfit them in caps with rabbit ears, and call them Pace Bunnies. The Pace Bunny I fell in with was a big Jewish guy, about 6'4", 280, with a chest length red beard. He looked like he could give Jacob a wrestling match, and made a point of running up on the sidewalk to goose every small dog he saw. He also ran like a metronome, and had a plan for the course.
The race is probably best thought of as three units: the first 10k runs through and out of the back of downtown Hamilton, the second runs more or less up to the QE then between the QE and the lake, and the third is what kills you. There wasn't too much to look at up to the halfway mark, just before the lift bridge: the neighborhood reminds me of the Old First Ward, working class, with the mills looming over it. At the halfway mark I thought to myself, "This isn't so bad. I could run at this pace all day."
At about that point, the hills begin. Really there is nothing so tough about the change in terrain to that point-- they sort of roll along, and for the first time the course becomes attractive, running through an upscale neighborhood, with the bay to our left, and the city on the other side. "These are just to soften you up," grunted one of the members of our group. There was one fairly tough climb, right after the half marathon point, and then it flattened out for about a mile. We were out of the wind, and it was flat: it felt glorious. We rounded a corner, and there it was. You could see the line of ants climbing it, and there was nothing about it that looked easy. We had a dip down into a valley, then over a wooden footbridge and up. I guess it is a little less than a full kilometer long, and about as steep as the Mother all the way up. I'd felt pretty strong going into it, but by the time I crested it I had nothing. I ran the final 2k on rubber legs, in a daze. It was like a body blow-- I don't think I've ever hit something quite like that before. I had been fine, and then I was wiped out. At the 28k mark a guy dressed as the Grim Reaper greeted the runners: "I'm ready for you!" The finish line bobbled in front of me, I grit my teeth, and pushed through. It was downhill at that point, or I don't think I'd have made it.
And then the toughest part of all: the four block walk back to the hotel. Wrapped in my space blanket like a big baked potato, I staggered along King Street. "Did you win?" asked the cigarette-breathed characters lurking in the doorways of the bingo parlors and adult bookstores. I had time for a shower, then drove back.
I'd do it again, but not by myself. I'd certainly recommend it. I was not as under-trained as I'd feared-- the challenge of the event is not the distance as much as it is the course.
