Running: Montreal Marathon Race Story

Monday, September 11, 2006 - 01:59 PM

It wasn't pretty, but I finished. Not in my dream time of 3:59, but according to the big clock at the finish line, it took me 4:27 to complete 42 kilometres.

What took me so long? The heat. Before embarking on this adventure, I said a hot, sunny day would be my worst enemy - and it was.

But it didn't start out that way. There was cloud cover and a slight drizzle as I joined approximately 3,000 runners, in-line skaters and wheelchair athletes behind the starting line on the Jacques Cartier Bridge.

I positioned myself well behind the three-hour pace bunny (an individual whose job it is to help keep runners on their pace) with the knowledge I would soon be falling in line with the runner holding up the 4:00 sign.

My running partner, Eyal Baruch, a veteran of several marathons, was at my side. We planned to keep each other company the entire distance. The first 20 kilometres were uneventful, both of us chugging along a couple minutes ahead of our projected pace. The spectators along the route were small in number but big in encouragement, especially along �mard Ave. the only residential area on the route.

At 22 kilometres, Baruch started to struggle. He was battling a cramp and needed to slow down. When the 4:00 pace bunny passed us, he urged me ahead.

By now, the sun was out in full force with no shade in sight. There were water stations every three kilometres, but keeping cool was tough. Especially hard was the long stretch of pavement along de la V�rendrye Blvd. in LaSalle, where the sun was unrelenting. Still, I stuck to the four-hour pace bunny like glue, feeling strong but worried I wouldn't have enough to finish.

It was here, at 26 kilometres, that I began to wonder whether I could even finish. Goosebumps covered my arms, an early sign of heatstroke, and despite having another 16 kilometres to go, I knew I needed to slow down and get out of the sun. I bid the four-hour pace bunny goodbye and made a new goal - to finish.

Amazingly, losing the pace bunny was liberating. I stopped looking at my watch, slowed to a walk and let my body cool down for a couple of minutes. I was in good company. Runner after runner cut their pace in response to the heat. Cramps were common and runners were desperately trying to get some life in their legs by stretching along the route.

Sponge breaks were too few and far between, leaving most of us no choice but to pour the water we were supposed to be drinking over our heads. Fortunately, my family was stationed at strategic points, ready to hand me a cool bottle of watered-down Gatorade as needed.

Not only was the refill appreciated, the sight of friendly faces provided a badly needed lift.

And when I really started slowing down at about 34 kilometres, my 14-year-old daughter Shannon joined me. On we trudged, taking frequent walking breaks as leg muscles grew tighter by the minute. Still, my resolve to finish was strong, and with Shannon by my side I knew I'd make it.

Were those last eight kilometres tough? You bet they were. But as we got closer and closer to the finish line, the spectators, volunteers and marathoners who had already collected their medals stepped up their support.

"Lache pas," they shouted, clapping and cheering until I crossed the line.

With my husband, Lance, and daughter Kaitlin there to greet me, and Shannon by my side, I collected my medal. Tired, hobbled with fatigue and thankful to be done, I became a marathoner.

Will I do it again? Ask me in a week, when the pain dies down and the thought of trying to keep up with that four-hour pace bunny starts ruminating in my head. Until then, congratulations to all those who crossed the finish line, no matter what your time.

And to those who didn't, there's always next year.