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.
Injuries have a way of taking me by surprise. I lost some skin on my knees when I fell off my bike after skidding on large gravel about six weeks ago. As I didn’t suffer any muscle aches from the fall, I continued doing bike rides in the mountains, and training for a half-marathon. Because of the large and painful scab that formed on my right knee, I couldn’t do much stretching during this time. That’s when my left knee pain began.
Initially I was in denial, thinking the pain would go away eventually. I’d generally feel fine at the start of a run and bike ride, then I’d hit a threshold when my left knee would start ‘complaining’. This wasn’t such a big problem on a run as I could just stop and walk home. But it’s a real pain (literally and figuratively) when I’d cycled 40-50km away from home and needed to ride the same distance back.
After suffering for the return leg of a 100-km bike ride, I went to see my physio at Oasis Hospital.
Before I entered his consultation room, Dr Tam noticed the scar on my right knee. I told him I’d skidded off my bike and that wasn’t the knee that I was seeing him about, and pointed to my left knee. I proceeded to tell him about the pain and the sports I’d been doing. He shook his head and said I’d been doing too much, and proceeded to examine my left knee. After prodding and poking all over my left knee, he declared I had an irritated medial collateral ligament (an overuse injury), and I was to rest and do things normal people do for the next ten days.
I then asked him, “What do normal people do?” He gave me a look best described as a mixture of amusement and disapproval and replied, “Shopping, eating and moderate exercise”. He advised me to rest, and prescribed foam rolling, stretching and strengthening exercises. Running a half-marathon and long-distance cycling were both out of the question for the next ten days.
I left Dr Tam’s office feeling relieved that my diagnosis wasn’t as serious as I imagined, but frustrated that I’d have to shelve my weekend plans and find other activities to occupy my time for the next ten days. I’d work on my swimming, meet my ‘normal’ friends I haven’t seen in a while, go shopping and catch up on all the DVDs gathering dust at home. Ten days would pass like a breeze. Or so I thought.
By day 5, I was already suffering from a combination of cabin fever and boredom. While my friends were out cycling in the countryside, I went swimming (which made me happy), shopping (for essentials) then got a pedicure (to cover up my black toenails). The manicurist took one look at my toenails and worked out that I won’t be coming back for another three months. I spent the rest of the day feeling a little anxious as I wondered how I was going to get through the remaining five days.
On day 6, I gave myself a flimsy excuse (S’s birthday) to ignore my physio’s advice and cycled 40km. The ride was nothing special, but I felt like I was set free from prison. I got my shot of endorphins and my left leg felt fine. I was careful not to take this as a sign that I was completely well, and took it easy for the next four days.
The prize I’d set for being good for ten days was a 21-km trail run in beautiful Lingshan. Dr Tam said I’d be allowed to do this as long as I didn’t push myself too hard. I took it very easy, not looking much at my watch and savouring and appreciating the beauty of my surroundings. Thankfully my left MCL didn’t give me any trouble during the run.
During the ten days of normality, I had plenty of spare time to reflect on all the possible ways I could’ve irritated my MCL. Running 15 km the day before a 90-km bike ride was definitely a bad idea. I haven’t been stretching and foam rolling as diligently as I should. I was also stressed about my work situation, which didn’t help. Then there’s the fact that I’m physically aging and need more time to recover between workouts. I read an article about overtraining and realised I had half of the symptoms. In other words, I’ve been a bad, bad girl.
Even though I was bored and incredibly frustrated with myself over the ten days, in hindsight it was good that I discovered the problem before it got worse, especially as I plan to start training in earnest for my first Ironman 70.3 in Xiamen next month. There’s always a silver lining in every cloud.
A couple of Sundays back, I did the Sanfo Jinhai Lake triathlon for the second time. Having done a sprint and two Olympic distance races last year, I was feeling good about this year’s race. I’d trained with a swim coach for a few months, and I was going to do the race in my brand new dhb one-piece tri suit and my new Shimano cleat shoes, hoping all these would help with improving my race time.
As you can see from the title of this post, things didn’t go as planned on race day, despite my familiarity with the race course, prior experience and advanced prepping (training, nutrition, sleep, tapering). Bear with me as I reflect on what and how things didn’t quite go as planned on race day.
A bad night’ssleep
After sleeping like a champ for months, I took for granted that Saturday night would be no different, apart from sleeping in a hotel bed and having to wake up at 4 am on Sunday morning. I got into bed a little after 10 pm and pretty much tossed and turned until the alarm went off at 4 am. As I laid awake struggling to fall asleep, I regretted the late afternoon coffee and the beer I had at dinner, realising these were probably the reasons why I was having trouble falling into deep sleep.
Bad swim strategy
Swimming has never been my strong suit in a tri, and I haven’t trained swimming freestyle as much as I’d like to, so my freestyle swimming speed is often slower than my breaststroke. I was determined to swim freestyle as much as possible for this tri, and I did end up doing so. But for one reason or another, I ended swimming too close to the buoys and was often squashed between two or more other swimmers. This year’s swim took me two minutes longer than last year, which I wasn’t too happy about. I took comfort in the fact that my friends who did the race also found the swim tough going, though they’re all faster in the water than me.
I’d originally planned to wear my Nikes to run, as I’ve already put elastic lock laces on them. I decided on Friday night to wear my Mizunos instead, as they matched my new tri suit (oh vanity). I went out, bought a new pair of laces and put them on my Mizunos. They worked fine all of Saturday and looked ok on Sunday morning when I was setting up my transition area.
So imagine my horror when I found out during T2 that the ‘lock laces’ on my left shoe had come undone. The only option left for me was to tie it up the best I could and pray they don’t come off. The point of lock laces is that they don’t need to be tied up, which meant they didn’t remain tied for too long. I stopped four times just to tie my laces over the course of the 10k run, which was super frustrating.
Despite this, I still finished the run 13 mins faster than last year. I’d been most worried about running when I first started doing triathlons a year ago and have invested considerable time and effort getting coaching, training and doing marathons and trail runs. To see that my hard work paid off gives me great joy and satisfaction.
With that, I hope that my swimming speed will eventually improve. I’ve been taking swimming lessons to correct and improve my technique for a few months. Progress is slower than I like as the pool I train at has been getting more crowded and I’ve been cutting down my swimming volume.
What is your most memorable race day mishap? How did you deal with it?
I’ve always wondered why it’s taken so long for duathlons to come to a land-locked city such as Beijing. I’ve met so many exceptional local runners and cyclists who’d do a tri if only they knew how to swim or had the confidence to swim in open water. Ironically, I found out about Powerman China‘s Beijing race from a local cyclist who DNF’d on the swim leg of the Sanfo tri. He persuaded the organisers to let him do the bike and run legs of the race but didn’t get a ranking. He hasn’t done another tri since then.
I forwarded the Powerman China registration link to my local cycling group in early March. The organisers were doing a Women’s Day promotion, giving women who registered on 8 March a steep discount on the registration fee and a necklace with a ‘PowerQueen’ pendant. One of the girls in the cycling group wanted to do it, and a group of us followed her lead. Most of the ladies registered for the short race (5km run-30km cycling-5km run), while three of us signed up for the classic distance (10km run-60km cycling-10km run). More members of our cycling club signed up when official registration opened for everyone later.
Organising a race or any event in Beijing is usually fraught with uncertainties and difficulties. This race had the misfortune of picking the same weekend as the Belt and Road Forum, when Beijing and its surrounding areas were on high security. The organisers informed us in late April that the race was postponed to the weekend after, which meant quite a few people had to pull out due to scheduling conflicts.
After falling off my bike on a descent in late April, the left side of my body had been so sore and bruised that I couldn’t do any training for about ten days. By the time the pain and aches completely subsided, it was already a week to race day. I decided I will just be content with finishing this race and not concern myself with my time.
Race weekend finally arrived. The Saturday when we had to pick up our race packs, attend the race briefing and rack our bikes was also the hottest day Beijing’s experienced in years. After a week of receiving confusing instructions about race pack pick-up and bike racking from the organiser, we were not pleased to find out that the race briefing and transition area (i.e. actual race venue) was situated 8 km away from where we picked up our race packs. Due to construction in the park, the most direct route was obstructed and we had to do a detour to get there. We missed the race briefing by the time we arrived, so we just racked our bikes and got on the shuttle to head back to town. We ended up meeting the two Aussie elites who were doing the race and had a good chinwag about Powerman Zofingen, the different between elite and pro athletes and their full-time jobs back in Brisbane (yes, I was over the moon when I found out they were from the same city as me).
Race day arrived. Classic distance athletes started at 9:30 am and the short distance athletes started at the ungodly hour of 12:30 pm. Thank God the weather had cooled down overnight, but the maximum temperature was still 31 degrees. I started too fast on the run, and heated up very quickly. I slowed right down to keep pace with B, but my heart rate remained in Zone 4 throughout.
I was looking forward to cycling as the weather warmed up. The cycling course was basically a flat 10-km loop that we had to do six times. In preparation for the heat, I’d filled up my bladder with water and froze it overnight, hoping that by the time I started cycling, the ice would’ve melted and I’d get to sip on cold water while having a cool ice pack on my back. As I’ve never been skilled at drinking out of the water bottle while riding, this turned out to be one of the best decisions I made. I was relaxed and well hydrated throughout the race and never had to slow down to pick up one of the water bottles from the supply station.
The last run leg was difficult as I had tummy discomfort for the first 2 km and had to take it very easy. When I got to the finish line, I was very pleased to see that I’d finished 4 minutes before my anticipated finish time of 4:30. When the results were eventually posted for both distances, I was happy to see that almost all my friends placed either overall or in their age groups. There was only an award ceremony for the elites, while the rest of us received prizes sponsored by Northwave and Garmin. I came in third in my age group (10th overall female) and received a pair of Northwave ‘Women on Wheels’ cycling gloves. This was the first time I’ve placed in any race, and I was glad I got a practical prize rather than a(nother) medal or plague.
I haven’t decided if I’ll do another duathlon in the future. Apparently all top three age-group placers will get priority entry and a discount on the registration fee for the Powerman Zofingen race. I guess I’ll decide when I receive the email from the organisers.
I wasn’t sure what to expect when I toed the start line for the 50-km race at The North Face Ultra Trail Challenge on Easter Sunday. For a month before the race, I stressed out about running in the dark, staying awake during the race, whether doing the race will actually aggravate my shin splints and whether or not I should run with sticks. It didn’t help that I’d been suffering from allergies brought on by torrents of Beijing’s willow catnips and dust and I was on a daily diet of antihistamines, which kept me in a groggy state most of the time, despite sleeping 8-9 hours every night. My long outdoor training runs were cut short by fits of coughing and sniffles.
The evening of the race, I met up S for a pizza dinner, our final carb loading before the race. We then met up with three other acquaintances who were also doing the race at the metro station and took the organiser’s shuttle to the race venue. After an hour or so of prepping, checking and taking a couple of selfies, we took our spot at the start line and began doing warm-up exercises to the loud, pumping pop music and the shouts of the Chinese hosts. The music and warm-up exercises did little to stifle my yawning, and I wondered how I was going to stay awake for the next ten hours of so.
As it turned out, my worries were unfounded. Once Cinderella hour struck and I began shuffling forwards with 1700 other runners, I stopped yawning and was wide awake. It was probably the excitement of doing my first night trail run mixed with the fear of losing my way that fueled my sudden burst of energy.
I faced my first unexpected challenge after running for more than 10 km. I was caught in the middle pack at a narrow uphill climb, and couldn’t continue climbing at my own pace. It was stop-start for at least 30 minutes and I caught a chill when I reached the top of the hill. I suddenly felt a desperate need to use a toilet but was told there wasn’t one for at least another 8 km. I was on a narrow part of the route and it was impossible to relieve myself in the bushes without being seen by other runners. After taking a painkiller to relieve the cramps, I pushed on for another 3-4 km until I was too much in pain to continue. At this point, the volunteers directed me to the nearby bushes off the designated race route to do whatever I had to do. I’d never felt so relieved (pun intended) as I did at that time.
After this slightly embarrassing and traumatic episode, I wasn’t sure if I felt up to running the remaining 35 km, yet it was too cold to stay still. So I decided to continue running until the next checkpoint where there’d be sweeper vans then make an assessment if I was physically able to keep going.
I kept plugging on until I got to the 30-km mark, where I bumped into T. I was surprised to see him there as I was convinced he’d be at the front of the pack with the rest of my friends, as he’s a sub-4:00 marathoner. He told me his tank completely ran out when he got to this checkpoint and he’d been resting for the last hour or so. He admitted he hadn’t trained on trails at all and road running fitness was no guarantee of doing well on a trail run with significant elevation (we’d done 1500m out of 2300m). We discussed if we should both call it a day and just get on the next sweeper van, then decided to give it a go until the next checkpoint at the 42-km mark. After we started running, it was obvious T had gotten his steam back, and I told him to go ahead and I’ll try to catch up.
I never managed to catch up with T as my own steam ran out at around 40 km. I’d scrambled and clawed up Haohanpo for about half an hour, then concentrated hard navigating a long and tricky descent. I basically walked the remaining 7 km to the finish line. The finish line never felt so far away in my life. I was famished but couldn’t stomach any food. My hands were swollen from water retention and yet I was still thirsty but there was nothing left in my bladder.
I’m happy to say I completed my first 50-km ultra in 11:32:16. It took me quite a bit longer than I’d anticipated and nothing I was worried about actually happened. But considering the circumstances, I was surprised I even managed to finish the race. An experienced ultra runner (who finished in 7:48) advised me to take the race in chunks of 10 km and not stress about pace. It was her advice that kept playing in my mind when I felt like I couldn’t go on. It reminded me to never underestimate the power our words have on others.
For the first time after I started doing races, I actually swore I’m not doing another ultra for the rest of the year, and have not registered for another ultra to date. Memories of the pain and discomfort of the North Face trail challenge remained with me for two weeks until I fell off my bike on a descent and acquired fresh scrapes, bumps and bruises. That’s fodder for my next post.
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.
When it comes to peer pressure, I’m a real sucker. Peer pressure is often the reason why I sign up for races I don’t feel ready for, or I’m not sure if I’ll be ready for. The upsides are it motivates me to get out of my comfort zone, learn new things and train harder. The downsides — pre-race prep anxiety and stress, especially when I miss a session on my training plan.
In late January, a week before registration opened for The North Face 100 (TNF) in Beijing, I’d already made up my mind to register for the 25km. One of my trail running mates, let’s call him 612, had his heart set on doing the 50km and was cajoling others (including yours truly) to join him. As with most 50km trail runs in China, the race starts at midnight. The idea of running in the dark has put me off registering for an ultra for the last 6 months. But the race I’m collecting points to register, Ultra-Trail Mt Fuji (UTMF) 72 km, will start at midnight, so I will need to do at least a few ultras to prepare for it.
From what I’ve read online, TNF Beijing has been increasing in popularity over the years, so the organisers have increased registration numbers for the 100-km (to 1000) and 50-km (to 2000) races and added a 25-km race. Once the numbers are filled, the organisers will put other registrants on the waiting list. This year’s 100-km race was sold out in 3 hours, 50-km in 20 mins and 25-km in 10 mins of their respective registration opening times split over 3 days.
On the day when the 50-km race registration opened, I opened the registration page at 10 am, but was still two minds about actually securing my spot by paying the fee. My running friends egged me on, saying I’d run a couple of full marathons, I’ll at least be able to complete 50 km before the (generous) closing time of 16 hours. As luck would have it, my manager called me away to discuss a work issue, and by the time I got back to my desk, it was already 11:20 am. I decided to register first, as I could always pull out before 31 March if I didn’t want to do it. But by then, I was already on the waiting list, with more than 200 ahead of me.
Since then, I’ve been checking the TNF registration website almost on a daily basis. As of today, the queue has shrunk to 155. I view the shrinking waiting list figure with a mixture of excitement and fear, especially since I haven’t been diligently sticking to my marathon training plan as much as I’d like to. Part of me feels it’s not a big deal whether or not I get a spot, since there are many other races I can do in the next year that will give me points towards qualifying for UTMF 2018. The other part of me wants to get the spot so I’d be ‘forced’ to prepare and do my first ultra, instead of putting it off for the unforeseen future. I don’t know if I’d conjure enough courage to register for another ultra, especially since I haven’t been happy with my last 2 full marathon times.
There’s not much I can do in the meantime but to wait until the end of March to find out if I’ll be doing my first ultra in April, and continue training for the upcoming Nagoya Women’s Marathon. After spending three cold, busy and stressful winter months in Beijing, I am looking forward to spending a week in Japan, eating lots of sushi and sashimi, admiring cherry blossoms and wandering around aimlessly in Nagoya and Ise Shima.
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