It’s been a long time since I last updated this blog. It wasn’t that I haven’t been doing any races.
Since my last post, I’ve done a number of trail challenges in Beijing, Datong (3 hours drive from Beijing) and Shengzhou (in Jiangsu province) and completed my first Ironman 70.3 race in Xiamen. In between races, I travelled to Malaysia to see family, moved apartments and started a new job.
While I familiarised myself with my new work environment, I took the chance to do a stocktake of 2017 and give my body a much-needed time of R&R. I called it my off-season. I still swam, ran and biked during this time but I wasn’t in training mode. I attended a few yoga and functional training classes by way of Guava Pass. I went on hikes and did some strength work. For about 6 weeks, I focused on having fun and enjoying myself instead of hitting targets.
Some of my friends would call what I’ve described above as ‘doing junk miles’ or ‘a waste of time’. In the past, I would’ve agreed with them. I was convinced I had to give every workout, every race 110%, otherwise it was just a waste of time. I was always stressed that if I didn’t keep up my training, I’d lose my hard-won fitness and my VO2-max will fall. But after accumulating a bunch of injuries at the end of two race seasons in a row, I’ve begun to see the ‘light’ (read: my physio’s advice) and the importance of R&R.
It seems that my little off-season has paid off. My left knee and shin haven’t given me much trouble when I biked and ran. And if I’m to believe my stats on Strava, I’ve actually gotten a little faster in my swim, bike and run times. Now I just need to keep up with my (boring) strength work for the rest of 2018 and not get carried away only doing cardio.
With the start of 2018 came the start of race season prep. I’ve signed up to do Japan 70.3 in mid June, my first overseas triathlon. My goal is to finish in 6:30. This is a challenging goal for me since I finished my first 70.3 in November in a little over 7 hours, and my new job requires me to work long hours most days. I’ll need to be more disciplined and focussed in my training in the lead-up to the race.
After six months of anticipation, I finally boarded the plane to Nagoya on 10 March. I knew I wasn’t fully prepared for this race, having found out a couple of days before that I had a shin splint on my left leg, probably caused by running outside without properly warming up and not doing enough strength training. My physio told me I could still run the marathon but I had to listen to my body and not push too hard, so as not to exacerbate my injury.
I admit my ego was well and truly deflated after hearing this news, and kissed my goals goodbye, knowing I’d be lucky if I completed the marathon without aggravating the problem. It was tough giving up my goal of completing the marathon in under five hours especially after putting in time and effort to train amidst working long hours, trying to get all my work done before I flew to Japan. But experience (mine and others) told me that if I gave my body the time to heal, I’ll have another chance at achieving my goal, but if I didn’t, I might never get the chance.
By the time I checked into my accommodation in Nagoya, it was already late afternoon, so I decided I’ll go pick up my race bag at Nagoya Dome and check out the expo. Once I got to the Nagoya Dome subway station, I saw volunteers holding up signs in Japanese showing where to go to pick up the race bag. The venue was a mere five-minute walk and as it was still early evening, there was no queue at the pick-up stations. As I didn’t see any expo booths in the race bag pick-up area, I assumed the expo was not open that day and made my way to the nearby Aeon department store to get some dinner. All the sports stores in Aeon were cashing in on the marathon by having huge sales on running gear and I ended up stocking up on race gear before I carb loaded with sushi.
I woke up at 4 am on Sunday and tossed and turned trying to get an extra hour of shut-eye. I managed to sleep lightly until the alarm went off at 5:45 am. I ate breakfast as I got dressed and headed to the subway station. Along the way I saw other ladies in running gear and Nagoya race bags and decided to follow their lead. The organisers had requested participants take the metro from the opposite direction on the circle line to avoid congestion and I figured the locals knew best how to do that.
I followed the crowd as they exited the metro station and moved towards the Dome. As the signs were all in Japanese, I had difficulty finding the bag drop area and had to ask for directions at the help desk. The bag drop area turned out to be in the parking lot. After finding my zone and dropping off my bag, I stayed inside the Dome, doing some warm-up exercises and dynamic stretching until the volunteers shoo’d us all to the starting area.
After listening to a bunch of speeches in Japanese and a passionate rendering of the national anthem, the Japanese para-athletes were introduced and sent off to the strains of a live brass band before the elites and the rest of us started running.
This was the most civilised and pleasant marathon experience I’ve ever had. There was no pushing or shoving. The route was almost completely litter-free as the runners threw rubbish into designated bins and volunteers made sure bins were cleared before they overflowed. A volunteer even ran alongside me so I could drop my empty gel packet into the garbage bag he was holding. There were cheering squads and locals handing out drinks and snacks all along the route for the whole 6+ hours, and checking out my fellow runners in Pokemon and Disney costumes kept me entertained.
My favourite part of the race was the route. It comprised of two out-and-back routes, which not only took us past Nagoya’s major sights and landmarks, but also let us run past the elites and other runners. This was the first time I’d witnessed world-class elites in action at close proximity. Needless to say, I was inspired by and in awe of these tiny women calmly speeding away in the opposite direction and cheered them on together with the other runners.
As I’d expected, my left leg started giving me some trouble after 28 km, and I had to take walking breaks from 30 km onwards. When I finished the race and uploaded my stats to Strava, I was surprised to see I’d achieved a 30-km PR even though I didn’t improve on my full marathon time. I was happy that contrary to my expectations, my winter training did pay off after all.
After finishing the race, I spent the next two days in Ise Shima. I finally had the chance to visit an onsen. The hot water pools were bliss for my sore muscles, but I knew the cold water pool would help me recover quicker, especially my legs. I only managed to dip my legs in the 16-degrees-Celsius water, fearing I’d get cardiac arrest if my whole body went in. It was such a shock to my system! I felt my leg muscles contract instantaneously and I could only stay in the pool for two minutes each time. I did notice that I was hobbling less the next day and I was walking normally by Wednesday. In the past, I’d need five days to recover from a full marathon. Ice baths, though painful, do work.
I’d enjoyed myself so much running this marathon, I’d started researching the next overseas race to sign up for next year. I’m tempted to run another marathon in Japan, but could be convinced to go elsewhere, and there’s also the question of qualifying. Time to get serious about training.
I’m still counting my blessings for choosing last weekend to run a marathon in Qingdao when Beijing’s AQI levels went way over 500 (read: crazy bad).
I registered to do this little race when I found out the Beijing trail run I signed up for was postponed to an unknown date in the future. I was enticed by the idea of running 42 km along the shoreline of Huangdao, an island about half an hour’s drive south from Qingdao city centre in a slightly warmer climate. Having talked two of my buddies into doing the race with me, we made a weekend out of it, since it’d be their first visit to Qingdao and I haven’t been back since my last visit 8 years ago.
After taking the overnight train, we arrived in Qingdao’s north station on Saturday morning and was whisked to the Crown Plaza . Reception kindly let us check into our rooms way earlier than the designated check-in time so those of us who didn’t sleep well on the train could catch up on some shut-eye.
At my behest, we spent the first part of Saturday morning exploring Laoshan, a mountain range I didn’t get to see when I first visited Qingdao. Since we’re saving our legs for the marathon, we hiked the easiest route, the NeiJiuShui loop, which the signs said would take a maximum of 2 hours and 40 minutes to complete.
The good thing about traveling during off peak season (which in Qingdao starts on 1 November) was the noticeable lack of crowds. My first trip to Qingdao was in summer during the Beer Festival and the beaches and bars were so packed wtih crowds, it was impossible to take any pictures of just the scenery. As you can see from my pictures, we didn’t have this problem last weekend.
After a very pleasant hike and having our fill of mountain air, we made our way to Qingdao Beer Museum to quench our thirst and carb load with beer. I pre-bought admission tickets on Ctrip‘s app which included sausages and all-you-can-drink beer for an hour for the measly price of RMB55 (US$8) per person. After a whirlwind tour of the exhibits (origins, history, old brewing methods and a view of their current beer production facilities), we headed straight to the inhouse bar and proceeded to down 6 pints of beer in quick succession.
After filling up on beer, we continued carb loading with seafood, squid dumplings and rice before heading back to the hotel to turn in for the night.
We woke up bright and early, checked out and took a cab to the starting point of the race which turned out to be the furniture store sponsoring the race. After doing races with thousands of participants in Beijing, this little race with 260 runners was an amusing and heartwarming experience. It took us all of half an hour to pick up and put on our bibs and timing chips. Everyone did their own warm-up exercises then gathered for a big group photo before the organiser shouted for everyone to start running.
About half of the course was on roads lined with factories and ports while the other half ran along the shoreline of Huangdao. Traffic was light as it was Sunday and most drivers kindly let us pass when they saw us approaching. I found running on roads with nothing to see for the first 10 km mentally gruelling but didn’t give in to the temptation to speed up just to get to the shoreline.
When I finally caught sight of the sea, my spirits rose and I stopped a couple of times to take pictures. Listening and watching the waves as I ran was a real treat, and eased the pain of jogging up and down hills. The total elevation gain of the marathon was 299 m, something I only realised after looking at the race stats when I finished.
After running 25 km, my left leg began to feel the effects of the previous day’s hike. I contemplated DNF’ing countless times for the remainder of the race, especially when the medical aid volunteers drove slowly beside me as I ran to ask if I needed assistance. Each time, I turned down their kind offer, hunkered down and kept running, reminding myself this is my training run for next year’s Nagoya Women’s Marathon. The smell of pine trees and views of the shoreline kept me going. When I was about 2 km from the finish line, the race organiser ran alongside me to cheer me on, which I thought was a sweet gesture.
Even though I didn’t reach my goal of finishing within 5:00 (I finished in 5:39 according to my Garmin), I enjoyed this race immensely, not just for the views but also for the warmth and kindness of the local runners and volunteers. For a last-minute race (advertised only two weeks before) with the cheapest registration fee I’ve ever paid (RMB31/US$4.50), it was surprisingly well organised and executed. Doing this race also revived in me a desire to revisit cities in China I’ve been to before to see and experience how these cities and their people have changed over the years (hopefully for the better).
Now that central heating has been turned on in Beijing, winter has well and truly arrived.
After completing the Beijing International Marathon and going on a two-week holiday in Brisbane, I had zero motivation to return to my racing season training regimen. As the days got shorter, colder and greyer, getting out of bed early in the morning to cycle or run outdoors became a struggle.
The strange thing is, I’ve been plagued by two opposing voices in my head. The rational voice reminds me I’ve worked really hard over most of 2016, did way more races than I’d initially planned to, ended the racing season with an overuse injury and so I should spend winter recuperating. Besides, I broke my left arm this time last year, didn’t ride my road bike throughout winter and my cycling performance didn’t suffer much as a result. Since October, Beijing’s been having more bad AQI days, and this trend looks likely to continue through winter, which means working out in a gym. Though not completely averse to training in a gym (no excuse not to build some much-needed muscles), I just don’t look forward to running on a treadmill as much as running outside.
The less rational voice in my head appeals to my ego and Type A tendencies. It reminds me of my goals to go under 3:30 for Olympic distance triathlon and do my first Ironman 70.3 in May. It reminds me of my goal to get a sub-5:00 result for the Nagoya Women’s Marathon in March. Most importantly, it reminds me of how dramatically my life has changed since I started training to do races and how I felt every time I crossed the finish line. I’ve been eating better, sleeping sounder, thinking clearer and feeling happier. The weight loss is a bonus though I hardly pay attention to the number on the scales anymore. There’s been days when the last thing I felt like doing was working out indoors, be it the gym, the pool or on the trainer, but I’ve always felt better when I overcame my laziness and did the workouts. Like my brother said, I’ve become addicted to endorphins. To which I respond with a wry grin, There are worse things to be addicted to in life.
For better or worse, I’ve been giving in to the egotistical voice most of the time for the past two months, completing most of my workouts at the gym and cycling and running outside occasionally when the AQI levels were acceptable and the temperatures were well over sub-zero.
With the early arrival of the first snowfall last week, December and January will probably be very cold and icy. The 21-km trail run I’d signed up to do in Miaofengshan this coming Sunday had to be postponed as the trails were still covered in ice and deemed unsafe by the organisers. Needless to say, I was quite disappointed when I received this sms notification, even though I was expecting it. On the same day, I saw an ad for a full marathon in Qingdao, Shandong province, a little local race limited to 150 participants with a closing time of 8 hours. I was enticed by the idea of running 42 km along the shoreline with views of the sea, without having to worry about bad air or cold weather, and getting out of Beijing for the weekend. Luckily for me, it didn’t take much to persuade my buddies to do the race, so I’ll have some company too!
It’s tough staying motivated to train regularly over the colder months, and it’s frustrating when training plans and races are thwarted by factors outside of our control. But with a little patience, creativity, research and forward planning, I’m hoping I’ll do better than just maintaining my general fitness over the coming winter months.
I wasn’t planning on running a full marathon this year, so I haven’t been training specifically for it. I applied for a spot to run the Beijing Marathon without actually believing I’d get one, as it was one of the most popular events in China. The organisers upped the bar this year and only allowed runners who have completed certified full marathons in the last two years and half-marathons in the last 18 months to apply. I was vying one of 30,000 spots with over 60,000 applicants and I could only provide my half marathon result from February this year, so I had serious doubts I’d get a spot.
So imagine my surprise when I received confirmation that I’d won a spot to run the marathon in early August. Many of my local colleagues who loved running more than I did missed out. I later found out foreign passport-holders were subject to a different quota than the locals (read: it’s easier to get a spot if you’re a foreigner).
I knew the Beijing International Triathlon (BIT) was exactly six days before the Beijing Marathon even before I applied, and there was no way I could devote as much time to training for the marathon as I’d like, as I was doing a 9-day cycling trip around Taiwan in late August. When I told my triathlete friends about this, they warned me about potentially getting injured doing two races almost back-to-back. So I wasn’t even sure if I was pleased about winning the lottery, let alone excited to be running my first full marathon.
Completing BIT marked the last tri race of 2016 for me. I had so much fun racing with old and new friends, and was very happy to see many of them placed in their age groups. I came in 8th for my age group, having shaved 10 minutes off my run and 8 minutes off my total time, and was pleased with this little improvement I made from the last Olympic distance tri.
I only realised the next day when my inner left thigh felt stiff that I’d forgotten to stretch straight after the race. For the next six days, I foam-rolled, stretched and went on easy runs, testing out day by day if I was up to running 42 km. I’d swing from elation after completing a 14-km run to anxiety when my colleagues and friends noticed I walked with a slight limp. I still wasn’t sure if I was running even after I picked up my race pack.
I woke up bright and early on 17 September, having decided the night before I’d run the marathon for as long as my left leg allowed me to.
The good thing about doing a local race is that I could take the metro and be at the starting point in 20 minutes. There was an air of anticipation as I moved with the throng of other bib-wearing runners towards Tiananmen Square. This is the first time I was taking part in such a huge event, and I wasn’t sure what to expect. Even though I knew people who were also doing the marathon, it was impossible to find them in a sea of 30,000.
In the general chaos, I managed to find my starting zone, heard the gun go off and began shuffling my feet with the moving crowd. As I’ve already decided I’d start at a conservative pace, I was happy to follow the 4:30 pace, and speed up later if I felt up to it.
Unfortunately for me, the race didn’t go as I planned, nor did I enjoy it. Even though there were rubbish bins, the locals threw paper cups, sponges and plastic bottles everywhere, so I could only walk when I got to the aid stations, fearing I’d trip and fall. At the 7-km mark, I saw a middle-aged man shout and throw a 1-litre water bottle at a volunteer for running out of paper cups, even while the volunteer was telling him there were more cups 200 m ahead. That incident left a bad taste in my mouth, and it was at that point I put in my headphones and began listening to podcasts in a vain attempt to alleviate my mood.
At the 27-km, I did trip and fall, scraping my right knee and hands. Some runners kindly helped me up and directed me to the medical aid station to get my wounds cleaned up. My left leg was beginning to feel weak at that point, and now my right knee and left hand were bleeding. Most importantly, I wasn’t having fun. I had every reason to quit and go home. The medical volunteer told me I could continue running but if I didn’t feel like continuing, there was a shuttle just around the corner. It felt like everything was conspiring to make me quit and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel tempted to do so. But before I realised, I said to the medical volunteer as I pushed myself up that I’d like to continue for a little while longer. With that, I hobbled/walked/jogged to join the throng of remaining runners.
As I put one foot in front of the other, I kept asking myself why I was doing this, especially when my legs got heavier and heavier. I reminded myself:
I’m no quitter, and I always finished what I set out to do, regardless of the end result.
If I didn’t finish this race, I’d be put off doing full marathons in the future.
I definitely didn’t want to run the Beijing Marathon again after such an unpleasant experience, so why not get it done and over with?
When I finally caught up with the 5:30 pacer, a surge of confidence welled up within me as I realised I could very well finish this race before closing time. I jogged/walked as fast as my legs could take me and crossed the finish line with a time of 5:28.
For days after the race, I nursed conflicting emotions about this whole experience. I was relieved to have completed my first full marathon, but not happy with my time and how things worked out. After talking to several of my friends who’d done marathons and triathlons, it became apparent I’d underestimated the difficulty of running a full marathon, especially so soon after completing the BIT. I prayed for another chance to redeem myself and God has kindly blessed me with a spot to run next year’s Nagoya Women’s Marathon. Winter marathon training, here I come!
A week after my first Sprint distance tri, I did my first Olympic distance tri race at the very scenic Jinhai lake in the outskirts of Bejing. With lessons freshly learnt from doing the Wuxi tri, I threw myself into the preparations for the Sanfo tri, which I perceived to be harder not just from the perspective of distance, but also elevation of the ride and run courses.
On Friday evening, my tri girl friends and I drove up to the race venue straight after work to pick up our race bags and check out the race course. My hopes of cutting my swim-bike transition time were dashed when I saw the long transition area and the long flight of steps we had to climb straight after swimming 1500 m.
On Saturday morning, we woke up at 4 am to get ready (while grumbling about why we do this to ourselves) and got to the race venue at 5 am to set up our transition area. I was surprised to see nothing set up around quite a few of the bikes before the transition area closing time of 6 am. I later found out we’d get 5 minutes to go back to the transition area before the start of the race, and that’s when the others will be doing their set-up. I take my hat off to them.
After waiting for what seemed like ages, we were finally sent off in waves for the swim. All the men were sent off in age group waves, then all the women were sent off in one wave (there were only 55 of us in total) and then the relay guys went in. Compared to Wuxi, swimming in Jinhai Lake was a dream. The water was cool and clear, the swim course was a simple out-and-back, and there were practically no waves. I enjoyed the swim so much, I was a little sad when I got to the deck and was pulled out of the water.
I surprised myself by recovering from the swim within 30 seconds of getting out of the water, and jogged at a steady pace up the steps (past others who could only manage to walk) and along the long transition path to where my bike was parked.
The cycling route was a 20-km loop that we had to do twice over. It was fun riding up to friends, calling out their names and riding parts of the way with them. I found it even more amusing passing racers with TT bikes on slopes, who obviously thought just riding a fast bike will make up for minimal or no time spent in training. My assumptions were confirmed when I read fellow racers’ WeChat posts about their experience doing this triathlon. More on that later.
After completing my favourite parts of the race, it was time for the run, an activity I neither enjoyed nor looked forward to. For the first 3 km, I ran in the company of a rather loud, talkative American man who kept asking me questions on physics and biochemistry in between huffing and puffing up the slopes. After humouring him with my thoughtless answers, I told him I had to push ahead and did just that, thankful that I could focus all my energy on running.
The run was the hardest part for me not just because of the elevation but also the relentless heat. Kudos to the organisers who had drinks and cooling stations every 2 km. For such a short distance, I went through my own packet of coconut water, drank water and Pocari at every second station and took a cold sponge at every station I passed. I was thankful for volunteers who sprayed water on us along the way and the organisers who put out an ice bath at the finish line, especially after reading about a 37-year-old female relay runner who collapsed and later died from heatstroke about 50 meters from the finish line. Discussing this incident with my friends who did the race, it made me realise how fortunate I’ve been to have athlete friends who’s generously offered advice on how to prep and survive a triathlon in different weather conditions, and helped me the newbie enjoy the process of racing.
As an added bonus, I came in 8th in my tiny age group, smack bang in the middle of the pack. I’m happy with this result for my first Olympic distance race, but am motivated to work hard on improving my performance for the Beijing International Triathlon in September.
Over the Dragon Boat public holidays, I travelled to Wuxi in Jiangsu province to take part in my first sprint distance triathlon race.
The race venue was the scenic Ling Mountain and Tai Lake area in Wuxi. After checking into my hotel room, I had a quick lunch and made my way to the race hotel conference centre to go through registration procedures and pick up my race pack. The race hotel conference centre was a hive of activity when I arrived. As this was my first tri, the organisers required that I showed them my most recent health check-up report and do a test swim in the hotel pool to prove that I can actually swim in open water. Imagine my surprise when I bumped into my triathlon club swim coach at the hotel pool who’s just finished her test swim. She was part of a relay team (who eventually finished second). The volunteers manning the test swim desk told me to swim 400 m in the 25-metre long, 1-metre deep indoor pool which was partially filled with families with small children who were guests at the hotel, to ‘prove’ I can swim in open water. After living in China for a long time, I knew better than to question the organisers’ rationale and just got on with it.
After picking up my race pack, I went to the transition zone to pick up and test my rental road bike and familiarise myself with the whole area. I was very happy with the Argon Krypton road bike I was allocated, apparently one of the best rental bikes available for this race.
By the time my Beijing friends and I finished checking out the transition zone, it was time for dinner. After hungrily gobbling down Taiwanese beef noodles, we all made our respective ways back to our hotels to prep and turn in early for the night so we could get up early next morning and meet at the transition area at 5:30 am. I was so exhausted, I fell fast asleep at a quarter to 10 after putting my bib number on my race gear.
Race Day musings
Here’s the official video of the race which shows the actual race course and how the day unfolded. I make a very brief appearance at the 2:45 mark.
I’ve decided to lay out my reflection and thoughts from the race in this way so I can easily refer to it when I prepare for my first Olympic triathlon this coming Saturday. Even after four months of regular training, I still don’t feel ready. I know I should aim higher, but in all honesty, I’d be happy to finish the race before the closing time of four hours.
In hindsight, I’m very glad and grateful that the Wuxi Taihu triathlon was my first race. I gained some much needed experience, tested out my race strategies, mental and physical strength, and watched and learnt from top triathletes. Most importantly, I had a lot of fun. That’s all that matters for now.
Natural wonders, jaw-dropping engineering, delicious food, bustling cities, ancient temples, glamorous fashionistas, visionary thinkers. This is the site to meet China's icons - past, present and still to come