So, just because I can, I’m posting videos for Muse -- Knights of Cydonia and Silversun Pickups -- Subtitution.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G_sBOsh-vyI

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HcwX2TnsTPE

The race report and a photo of the medal follow after the jump.

Waiting in the starting chute was interesting.  There weren’t enough people to warrant the spacing they provided.  The members of my group and I were just chatting away when all of a sudden the crowd started moving forward.  There didn’t really seem like any big horn or gun or anything was used.  I mean, we certainly didn’t hear it from where we were.  I originally planned to do a negative split, which means that my back half of the race would be faster than my first half.  However, from the first kilometre I could tell that my body was going to do something else.  I was going fast.  I didn’t want to slow down because I didn’t want to regret missing my goal by a few minutes.  So, right then I changed my game plan.  Knowing that the average pace required to make a 2:30 half marathon is 7:07/km, I wanted to bring my average as low as I could early on, then ease up and try to keep the time from dropping below that point.  In the first few kilometres, I was really banking some good time.  I even ended up skipping a few of my walk breaks just to try to work in more distance.  Instead of walking, I reduced my pace at those breaks to a slow jog in an attempt to get distance while resting a little bit.  Yes, it sounds good on paper, but I had never done that before in training.  So, no, it wasn’t a good idea at all.

So, I drove my average pace down as low as I could muster without burning out early.  After a certain point though, I switched gears and went into a sort of maintenance mode.  I did my best to not let the average pace drop too much.  I knew that it’d go lower as I slowed down and eased up, but I didn’t want to let it go too far.  I kept telling myself: FOCUS!  It was all I could do to stay conscious about my effort levels.  That went on for a few kilometres, but then fatigue really started setting in.  At that point, I started walking properly during my breaks.  Every time I did I knew saw myself lose a second or two on average pace.  I didn’t let it get to me at that point because I anticipated all of that.  Thing is, it all got harder.  My average pace kept getting slower and slower.  I told myself: “you have to fight for every damn second!”  No one was going to hand the race to me.  I had to really work for it.  Due to the nature of the route, I passed by a lot of familiar faces along the way.  Either people I knew were calling for me, or I was calling for them.  I cheered loudly for every single person I came across.  I swear, compared to a few people that said hello to maybe one or two people I felt popular.  Hahah.

By 16 kilometres I wasn’t doing so well.  My timing was still OK, but I knew it could all slip through my fingers if I relaxed too much.  So, I did my best to keep up, however, the pace advantage I banked early on just trickled away.  Somewhere along the way I caught up to one of the pace leaders in my clinic who happened to be having a rough day.  I wanted to encourage him to keep at it.  At the same time, he encouraged me as well.  I was far too fatigued though to keep a good run going.  I had to walk a few times outside of my set intervals, and that was driving me nuts.  I knew that each time I did that I was creeping closer and closer to the limit I set.  It wasn’t good at all.  I was starting to lose hope and panic was setting in.  The person I was running with reminded me that everyone has off days and it just happened that our off day occurred during the race.  What bad timing.  He was really doing his best to get me out of my negative state.  It helped, and for that I’m thankful to him.  Eventually, when we got to about 19.5K we knew that there was no point in walking anymore.  Even though I was tired as hell I knew that I couldn’t stop.  I didn’t want to risk missing my goal, so I just kept going.  At one point we heard the roar of the crowd which just egged us on.  He eventually said that the finish line was around the corner, and that we should push harder, so I did.  As I went around the corner though I saw that the finish line was probably a quarter mile away.  Damn!  He was bolting off to the end but I knew I couldn’t follow.  I did push harder though.  I remember thinking about how my legs were burning the whole time: it’s not a normal feeling.  I was cheered on by a couple of familiar and excited faces in the crowd which gave me the push I needed.  When I crossed the line, I was completely pleased with myself for breaking 2:30 like I wanted.  I did it!  And this is the medal that we got from the race.

I was starting to get emotional over the craziness of it all, but I kept telling myself to “man up” and work through it.  I was really tired though.  I was breathing far too hard during that last stretch, and the burning in my legs took a while to clear up.  For a few moments I was actually afraid that I would collapse and pass out.  I didn’t, but if I had done something silly like bend down I probably would have.  No lie.  I spent time meeting people from my group who had already finished and greeting people who were in the process of coming in.  The general consensus I got was that the route was tough.  As much as the route was billed as a flat route, there were some decent slopes along the way.  I suppose knowing that I wasn’t the only one struggling makes me feel a little bit better. Yes, six minutes isn’t really a huge improvement.  I mean, it’s less than what I wanted, but I can’t be so hard on myself.  I worked hard for this.  I shouldn’t pretend like this was a failure.  That being said, I definitely need to work on not putting such expectations on myself.  Racing is so much more fun without the weight of the world on my back, know what I mean?

Anyway, that’s what happened this morning.  This ends the story of my half marathon clinic coaching stint.  I’m relieved that it’s come to a good end.  I really need a break though.  Daaaaaaamn.

So yes, I’ve been out late, drinking a bit, watching shows, and not being too nervous about everything tomorrow.  Anyway, it’s late, and I still have to get my gear in order.  Somewhere in there I have to fit in some sleep.

Graaaaaagh.  Tomorrow will be tough.

As for my right calf, I knew that I had a tube of some Motrin Active Pain Relief in my bathroom cabinet.  The cream was a full-sized sample that came in the race kit for last year’s Angus Glen Half Marathon.  Seriously, that’s one cool thing about Angus Glen (besides their awesome lunch offerings): their kits usually have full-sized samples of useful stuff.  Well, I popped it open and rubbed it into my right calf.  The thing smelled like a cross between toothpaste and a medicine cabinet.  It certainly worked rather well.  My calf isn’t feeling quite so bad, but I still feel the issue there.  Word of warning: if you ever use a muscle cream, make sure to wash your hands afterwards.  I didn’t after applying, and minutes later my was feeling both warm and numb.

On top of all of this, I picked up a strained left shoulder this morning.  I was talking to a colleague about my exploits last night, and during a moment of enthusiastic re-enactment I pulled something.  Honestly, I can’t help but feel like my whole body is sort of rebelling against me.  Sure, that’s kind of an exaggeration, but all of this pain is just poorly timed.  I still have tomorrow to rest and heal myself.  I have to trek over to Burlington to pick up my kit.  After that I have to get to my improv class.  I need to make sure I don’t over do it like I did last night.  No more mistakes.  This is it: I have to take things seriously!

After work, I went over to an Irish pub close to Yonge and Bloor to meet an old colleague.  I hadn’t seen him in months.  It was good to get a chance to bitch about the state of work and how everything is becoming a strange stage play of intrigue, possibilities, in-fighting and backstabbing.  Oh yes, indeed.  I started out with a pint of Strongbow, which was nice and mellow.  I didn’t intend on drinking all that much, but after we finished our first drinks I ordered a pint of Sapporo.  My colleague did the same.  After a while, my colleague peered over and saw a guy at the bar drinking from this big-ass mug.  We were both so taken by the size that we asked the server what the deal was with the mug.  She corrected us and informed us that it was a stein.  She said that we could order one of three beers with it.  I think my colleague was reluctant, but I decided to dive right in and egged him on to do the same.  Well, when the steins arrived we were in sheer shock over how big the damn things were.  Sure, they didn’t look so big when the other guy had it, but to us they were enormous.  To our Asian sensibilities it was perhaps a bit more than we could handle, but we were determined.  Those steins were our Everest.  We did eventually conquer them, but only after some hesitation.  By the end of the steins we decided to just end it.  After paying our bills we parted ways.  I decided to walk eastward to at least burn off some of what I had just ingested.

So what happened after drinking?  Why am I slightly sore and injured?  Find out more after the jump!

So, as I walked east I passed by a McDonalds.  Knowing that they had a free coffee deal going on I decided to take advantage.  I figured that it would help me sober up a bit.  The coffee was far too hot, so I spent some time in the restaurant just cooling the thing down.  When it was cool enough, I decided to bring it with me as I stumbled over the Bloor Viaduct.  So yeah, that mildly drunk guy swaying as we was thoroughly enjoying his free McDonalds coffee was probably me.

After crossing the viaduct, I checked my watch and saw that it was almost time for The Jam! over at Bad Dog Theatre.  That’s the show where the audience participates and plays all sorts of improv games.  I was still tipsy and trying to sober up, so I was thinking of just forgoing the event, but in the end my need to urinate drew me into the theatre.  Yes: again.  So, after peeing, I sat down in the lobby waiting with the other show-goers.  I don’t know if it was the alcohol, but I seemed to hit it off with a couple of people.  We all shook hands and were quite friendly with each other.  I think I brought out the Pepperpot accent in conversation here and there.  I think I would have suppressed it under normal circumstances–especially with strangers–but hey, I think the alcohol was still having an effect.  I told people that I was using the event to sober up.  It was accepted as a valid reason.  Why not?

Anyway, we all filed into the theatre and I sat down behind my new acquaintances.  I didn’t know what to expect, but the host was skillful in making us all feel at ease.  One of her first activities was to get us all to act excessively happy as she raised her arms.  That was OK, but I was more amused with the part where she made us act excessively angry.  I started off growling, and as she raised her arms I tossed in the heavy breathing and animalistic grunting.  By the end I had a couple of people staring at me, which amused me a little bit.

The first full activity I did was this activity where a pair of us would explain some vacation slides as depicted by the poses of the other people.  The lights would go out, and when they came on, the other performers would be in some pose.  The other two would describe what was going on.  I somehow got assigned to be a describer.  The suggested vacation was diamond mining in Afghanistan.  Ooh, that was tough.  I mean, I didn’t want to dive into stereotypes, but for the purposes of improv it seemed like the thing to do.  I mean, yeah, there were some “Praise Allah!” poses and some land mine references, but I think I got away with not having to be too offensive.  Nonetheless it was a strange activity.

Next game we played involved having groups of people go up and perform actions together in unison.  When someone modified the action, we all would follow and try to make it as seamless as possible.  For my group we started rubbing our noses and for the longest time we were rubbing our necks.  I was looking around waiting for someone to do something.  Then, someone made a loud step, so I made a loud step.  Someone repeated, so I reciprocated again.  And it went on and I started stomping harder and harder to a beat.  Then someone starting clapping so we all started clapping.  Somehow it all turned into some east coast hoe-down and I was all right with that.

So after that we got into the big activity which was long form improv.  I’d never done it before, but it seemed to be just like the scene activities that we did in class, so I just ran with all of the stuff I’d learned in the past.  I was fortunate enough to be part of three (and a half) different scenes while my group was up.  The audience offered up a suggestion of “cookies” as inspiration.

Scene 1

Two guys seemed to be crouching in front of an oven door, greedily peering into the oven and then grabbing the seemingly unbaked goods.  They were burning their hands.  I jumped in with as strong a British Pepperpot accent that I could muster and scolded them: “What are you doing?  I told you those cookies will be done in half an hour!”  They responded that they wanted the cookies right away.  I told them that if they did that they’d burn their hands.  “They’re already burned” whined one.  Then I just sighed and deadpanned: “Fiiiine, go ahead, burn your hands and see if I care.”  The scene ended there.

Scene 2

There was bit of a dialogue going on about oxygen tanks and a bunch of old people with walkers lugging them around.  Someone came in smoking a cigarette, but nothing exploded.  An old man in a wheelchair came in saying that he wanted to die.  Still, no explosions or no deaths.  So, I jumped in and looked at the lot of them.  I decided that I was a caregiver.  What came out was somehow in a southern accent: “What are y’all doing?”  I looked at the wheelchair dude “Mr. Johnston, you’re coming with me.  I’m taking you back to your room.”  I started wheeling him out, and as I did he exclaimed “but I want to die in the oxygen explosion.”  I replied with a sigh “Yeah yeah, I know, we all want to die…” End scene.

Scene 3

Don’t think I was directly involved with this one.  There were two guys on stage doing target practice.  One seemed to be an ace while the other was more unsure.  The first guy took a shot and it was OK.  The second guy then took a shot.  The guy beside me off stage had the same idea as me, and we both exclaimed in pain like someone got hit.  Thing is, he exclaimed like a guy got hit while I made a mooing noise.  The guy next to me recovered: “How the heck did you hit me and the cow?!”  We continued to wince and moo with every shot.

Scene 4

For the last scene for our group, two guys were up staring at an over door admiring some cookies.  I jumped in, stood walked by and pretended to be enthralled by the cookies.  “Hey, you guys…whoooooa…COOKIES.”  I stood between them and proceeded to start breathing heavily.  In my mind I wanted to almost make it into a sexual grunt, so I just started breathing heavily with strong inhales and a couple of “oh yeahs” tossed in.  The other two stepped back and told me to calm down.  I was just far too into the cookies though.  So I started breathing deeper and slowed it down to show that I was attempting to regain control.  They told me not to get too excited, but I meekly pointed to the oven: “but…cookie!”  “You have to calm down!” exclaimed one.  I was just too excited though.  I started feeling bad about it so I crouched and cried “I can’t help it!!!”  I really started pouring on the junkie vibe at that point.  I was walking away, pretending I had control but then I started diving for the oven again.  “COOOKIE!”  One of the guys held me back, so I used that moment to really go for the physical comedy.  I started crawling on the ground, but the guy was holding me back successfully.  I was really going for it.  This is totally where I hurt my left knee and right calf.  “I WANT IT!”  The other guy then said “OK, I’m going to let you have one.”  In disbelief and desperation, I asked, “Really?  Seriously?  You mean it?”  He nodded and gave me a cookie.  I took it in my hands and proceeded to lustfully snort the scent of the cookie like I was having some sort of transcendental moment.  I had no idea where the scene would go from there, but the guy that gave me the cookie said: “Yeah…it’s just a lot of fun watching him do that.”  The scene ended there.

Yes, so, by the end of all of the scenes I was a little bit more sober.  Gosh, that whole thing was a lot of fun.  Even with total strangers, I still managed to relate and find stories together with them.  Who knew that I’d end up on stage making a fool of myself in front an audience tonight?  Sincerely, I think I can get used to this, eh?  Though…I wonder if the alcohol was a factor.  Hahah!

Just a few days more.

I’m actually pretty nervous about this race.  It’s not really the act of racing itself that’s causing me stress, but more the set of expectations that I’m placing on myself.  Now that I’m lighter, and that I’ve successfully pushed myself harder, I just don’t want to come out of the race with a lack of improvement.  I realize it’s not good to put such pressure on myself like that, but I need to do this.  I’ve worked too hard and made too many sacrifices to just be complacent about it all.  Nope.  Complacency is just lame.

…

Just don’t ask me (jokingly or otherwise) “what have I gotten myself into?”  You know very well.

Ugh.

Now, this is all well and good.  There was one test though that kind of blew my mind.  She basically needed to take my height.  After checking, she told me the reading she got.  I was shocked.  I’m used to thinking that my height is X, but she measured something that was two inches shorter.  I asked her if she was serious.  She said she was.  I told her what I thought my height should be.  She laughed and said that whenever she measures people at my expected height she really has to talk up to them whereas with me she didn’t really have to look up that high.  I didn’t want to press it any further, but secretly I thought that she was just crazy.

Well, after checking my other measurements, my weight, and asking for a urine sample she was on her way.  As soon as she left I looked for a stubby pencil, stood against a wall and marked my height.  I then got a tape measure and took a look.  Wouldn’t you know it, I really was wrong all along: I really am two inches shorter than what I had originally believed. I suppose it wouldn’t be such a big deal, however, there’s kind of an unspoken stigma when it comes to shorter guys, is there not?  Back when I (believed I) was average height, it wasn’t a big deal, but now that I’m under the average it’s plainly annoying.  Interesting though.  When I look up the average heights of men in Canada, I’m under, but if I compare myself to the average heights of people in the Philippines I’m over.  I guess that makes sense given the difference in standards of living.  What the heck, man?

You know, I think that I’ll forget all about it in a few weeks.  I mean, physically nothing about me has changed.  If people around me treated me a certain way (subconsciously) because of my height they will continue to do so even after my discovery.  The only thing that could possibly change is my attitude, right?  If I suddenly act like there’s something wrong with me then people will just feed off of that energy, yes?  So, hey, it’s just business as usual.  Jason is still Jason.

I immediately had flashbacks to last year when I slipped on an ice patch myself.  We stopped, then walked it out for a bit.  She tried to start going again, but the discomfort was just too much.  I tried to be positive about it: at least we have a week to go before race day.  She has an opportunity to ice things down and get her feet back into good condition.  So, all isn’t lost, right?  Still, I recognized the sudden sense of panic that came over her.  I did my best to get her to relax and refocus.  Yes, we walked back for the majority of the route, but I think I did a good job getting her to not feel sorry for herself.  Injuries are a fact of this sport, yes?  We can do all of the preventative things possible, but every now and then something will sneak in there and throw you off course.  All you can do is just deal with it as best you can, then move on.

We still have a week left.  I do not want to be injured.

My biggest problem with all of the weird weather at the moment is the general fear of stepping on something that will cause me to lose my footing.  How, or why is this even a fear?  Well, I’m getting really close now to the Chilly Half Marathon in Burlington, and after last year’s disappointment I really don’t want a repeat of what happened.  If you recall, after months of dedicated training, I had slipped on an ice patch just outside of a subway station.  I wasn’t even running at the time.  I was just walking along minding my own business, then *BAM*.  I thought I’d be able to continue but the act of limping to the hotel to pick up my race kit on the day before the race was enough to make me reconsider.  And so, that’s why I have this fear this year.

As a result of me teaching the clinic, I’ve really trained cleanly this during this cycle, making the majority of the required runs.  I’ve put much effort into getting things just right, and I’ve made so many improvements.  We’ve been so fortunate weather-wise this year.  Instead of getting beaned continuously by volley after volley of heavy snow like last year, or like the United States this year, we’ve gotten off fairly lightly.  That’s part of the reason why I’ve been able to train like I have.  And now it’s getting so close to the time where I have the ability to test out how well I’ve trained.  Perhaps I’m putting way too much pressure on myself.  Sure, it’s rather normal to want to do well, however, more than ever I just don’t want to fail due to something out of my control.  I don’t want to be disappointed again.  Yes, maybe I could just hide out at my place and not venture outside for the next week, but that would just be silly, would it not?  All I can do is trust that I’ll be able to make it to next Sunday without any issues.  No injuries, right?!