A visualization of the 2011 Bellingham Bay Marathon

The 2011 Bellingham Bay Marathon, 
a pre-race visualization


"You should try to talk to yourself constantly in a race. Assess how you're doing, how you might be able tot notch it up a bit, and continually tell yourself how well you're doing, what you've already accomplished, and what you have left to do. During my races, I talk myself through the whole thing. ... I don't think I'm a particularly tough runner mentally, but I've learned the tricks of the trade. You can beat people who might be as fit as you by talking yourself through a race with positive remarks." - Bill Rodgers in Bill Rodgers' Lifetime Running Plan

The Start Line

With a 7:30am marathon start, my alarm rings at 5:30am. Still in bed, I eat a vanilla-flavoured Powerbar and drink some water. Next, I get up, and make coffee, President's Choice Hazelnut Cream, in a plunger before having a shower. I used to not bother having a shower before a race but now it's part of my ritual as it helps wake up the body. Rubbing a heating cream on my glutes and calves, I put on a race top, a New Balance running short and white knee-high compression socks. The two back pockets of my race top hold two Powerbar double latte-flavoured gels each, while the back pocket of my shorts hold another two. I also get the two gels I will carry in my hand ready. Sipping on my coffee, I eat my second vanilla-flavoured Powerbar and have more water, making sure I drink at least half a litre before we leave the hotel.

Tim drives us from our hotel in Bellingham along parts of the race course to the race start on Lummi Nation reserve lands. We arrive just before the 7am sunrise. With a 7:30am gun, I start my warm-up of a 10-minute jog and four strides immediately, and make a final washroom stop.

The weather is perfect. And so is the energy among marathoners. There are less than the maximum 1,000 runners the race allows but more than the 376 athletes who finished the marathon in 2010. I position myself on the front of the start line, as I have a chance of winning this race, and am gunning to break the 3:04:26 course record, set in 2008. You never know who shows up. I am feeling ready, and cannot wait to start. The ceremony by the Lummi Nation people is awesome.

I always certainly check on all the details on where to start and how to get there, especially in a race that has more than a thousand runners or begins in a downtown area where parking and access may be tricky. I don't want to stress about such details on race morning, I only want to have to think about the race itself, and don't want to spend energy worrying about where to drop off my stuff or being cold, etc, because that ruins your focus. Your mindset on race morning, and in the pre-marathon race week, is crucial. A positive and determined frame of mind aimed at making each step the best it can be is what I need to have a solid race.

Your body, trained and prepared, needs the support of your mind, which should remind it that you are more than ready to tackle the challenge. Relax. And be excited that the goal race you've spent months preparing for is here now. It's going to be fantastic!  

Mile 1

Raring to go. Excitedly nervous. Dread, perhaps. The gun goes and we're off. Down the hill I stood on a year ago, with Luka, watching Tim start the same race. I fly down the hill with the other runners, turning the corner at the bottom to the left. It flattens out as soon as we hit Lummi View Dr to the tip of this peninsula between Lummi Bay and Bellingham Bay. I can see Lummi Island on my right, if I choose to look. But I am concentrating on my pace.

I am wondering, as always in the first mile, whether I am starting too fast. Everyone starts too fast. Almost everyone anyway. I know that I will see some of those ahead again at mile 20, or later. If I don't, they're faster than I. That might seem logical but logic is not a characteristic a marathoner possesses in great measures during the initial mile of the marathon, nor during any of the 25 that follow. In a larger marathon, such as in the Rotterdam Marathon with about 6,000 runners, the first mile is a traffic jam, with anxious runners looking for openings in the road as the crowd is running too slow. Don't hold me back, I've trained too hard for this.

That's why I like the smaller, boutique marathons. They provide freedom, the power to set your own pace. You can do as you please, and it's one reason I chose the Bellingham Bay Marathon. It's August 9, 2011 as I write this. The event's website tells me there are 46 days 23 hours 4 minutes and 49 seconds left until race day. My training program tells me that I've entered the Race Preparation phase. My body yesterday told me that my training is going very well. As I started a 90-minute medium-long run, I felt immediately awesome, a runner's high—though I dislike the term because it implies an artificial sense of wellbeing—from the first step in a session. It lasted the entire way, and I will remember it for a long time because feeling that fantastic doesn't happen often.

I often feel good, or even great, in my training or races. But the effortlessness that my body exuded yesterday is a rare treat indeed, and it's exactly how I plan to feel on race day. It takes a lot of work to feel that way. In the past five weeks I've boosted my training volume. I ran the Vancouver Marathon at the start of May in my second-fastest time ever, and only 31 seconds of the 3:10:07 marathon PB I ran in the 2008 Victoria Marathon on a training regime of, mostly, four days of running per week. It included one speed workout and one long run—I did five 3-hour runs—and I wouldn't have covered more than 85km a week. I enjoyed my training, which is the key to success.

I have been a runner for a long time, since 1996. I certainly didn't start out with performance on my mind. The first race I ever did was a 20-kilometre event, the 20km of Brussels, a race that has been held since the inaugural event in 1980, and now draws 30,000 runners. It was May 1997, and I was a month away from turning 27. It took me 2:00:18, though all I cared about was finishing. My pace was 6 minutes per kilometre, or 9:40 per mile. The first 10km I ran in September that year in 51:56, a respectable 5:11 per kilometre. I liked running, and I liked running distance, though I certainly wasn't very fast but that was not of any importance. I am not sure if I did any races in 1998, certainly none that I have a record of, though I know I kept running.

There was little to no structure to it, as far as I recall, or little guidance until I decided to prepare for my first marathon, the 1999 Ottawa Marathon. The race was held in May, and I was training for it with my boyfriend at the time. He'd started running because I ran. I think we used a training schedule from Jeff Galloway's Marathon!, though I don't remember and have no record of it. The lesson I learned from that first marathon was that it was very tough but that you could finish as long as you kept moving. After 4 hours 18 minutes 36 seconds, I could call myself officially a marathon finisher. I remember finding it tough and thinking about stopping but that the thought of having to face my colleagues on Monday without having finished was not appealing.

My average pace in that first marathon was 6:07 per kilometre, or 9:51 per mile, though I am pretty sure I ran the first mile faster than that, as I walked much for the final 7km. Today, I hit the first mile of the 2011 Bellingham Bay Marathon in 7:02, or a pace of 4:22 per kilometre, bang on target. The first mile of the marathon is about holding back, as the pent-up energy the body has stored during the taper is being released. I feel powerful and in control as the road turns to the left and becomes Lummi Shore Road, hugging Bellingham Bay.

Mile 2

It's great to have hit my pace in the first mile and feeling so comfortable doing it. There are still a couple of dozen runners near me but I know that will thin out in the next few miles. The female winner in 2010 ran 3:07:31, finishing 11th overall and only 73 seconds behind the 10th guy. The fastest man ran 2:37:27. I don't care what others are running, though I always enjoy company. In the Vancouver Marathon earlier this year, I ran at least 28km with a guy from Seattle, who I only met that morning. He'd forgotten his watch, and was looking for someone to run at a similar pace. It was awesome to run together for such a long time. We exchanged a few words but not many as we both saved our breath and energy for the task at hand.

I am used to running on my own, setting my own pace. I've come to know my body, and how it responds in races, very well—though I am always ready to be surprised. It's my 14th marathon, and my 10th in five years. Mile 2 has typically been one where I slow down, after realizing I ran the first one too fast. Not today, I am simply maintaining my pace. I glance at Bellingham Bay, and enjoy the peace and quiet along this flat road.

Breathe in, breathe out. My legs are light, fresh, and can't wait for the miles to follow. It's different to run 26.2 miles than it is to run 42.195 kilometres. Since we are in the U.S. this race uses mile markers, and offers signs every 5km, too, for those on the metric system. I'm focused on my mile pace, as there are fewer to count. It used to make me feel like I didn't get enough feedback, only being able to check my pace every 1.6 kilometres, but now I prefer it this way. It's more relaxing, and it's easier to run 26 miles than 42 kilometres.

Mile 3

This is exactly why I like miles because after the second mile you're close to having run 4km, and once the third mile is done you're almost at 5km. I still understand the marathon better in kilometres. It's like growing up in the Netherlands and moving to an Anglophone world. Initially you still need to think in translations mentally before the new language becomes such second nature that the original language was harder to talk in. By the third mile, you have a good gauge on your pace, you've found the rhythm, and the edge is off your nerves and adrenaline has subsided. You're settling in for the task ahead. I'm telling myself I feel fantastic, and I will keep doing so for the rest of the race. Relax, achieve the max, has been my main mantra for 11 marathons, ever since I first read about it in the superb Running From Within in the Australian winter of 2003 when I got ready for my third marathon at the Gold Coast in Queensland. It was the first marathon I finished in less than four hours, crossing the line in 3:24. That race was nothing short of a revelation as I'd walked often in the final 10km—I knew I could go faster.

Triathlon, still my focus then, and an injury curbed my preparations for the Honolulu Marathon which I ran in December 2003. It was a convenient stopover on our Christmas trip to Canada, where we visited Tim's family. I was pleased to run 3:36 in the race that starts at 5am, and draws many Japanese runners. It took another 18 months in which I raced 3 more Ironmans before deciding in June 2005 that I wanted to go back to being a runner, and train as one. After having been coached by age group triathlete extraordinaire John Hill for about five years, I wanted a change of pace and came across Pat Carroll's online coaching. The opportunity to be guided by one of Australia's best distance ever was too good to pass up—it turned out to be a good decision and he wrote my training programs for five years.

During that time I improved my marathon time to 3:07:10 and my 10km time from 42:37 to 39:51. He taught me the importance of rest, and helped keep me injury free (along with regular Active Release Technique treatments, though those have become less frequent over the years). Pat believes that the risks of doing long runs that exceed 3 hours are far greater than the potential benefits, and I have adopted this as my own rule, when it comes to road running for sure. On the trails, with walk breaks, is a different story. Having said that, last year I ran a 50-miler on trails and a 100km race on the road on a similar training regimen as I follow for a marathon, and won the 40-49 age group in both.

Pat also told me, many times, that he wanted me to focus on the task at hand on marathon day. "There is no September 26," he would have told me in preparation for this marathon today, September 25. So I focus on what I am doing right here, and right now. I take a cup of water at the aid station—I always drink water because I don't want to take the risk that another drink doesn't gel (pun intended) with my stomach and race nutrition, and I always have a sip at each aid station. The only one I might skip is one that is within 2 kilometres of the finish.

Mile 4

Even though I prefer to race in miles, I do convert them to kilometres, 4 times 1.6 is more than six kilometres. I'm feeling great, and remind myself that I am determined to have a great race. It's a mindset that I have found helpful, and self-fulfilling. It's important to not confuse this with thinking, "I'm going to run such and such a time, of, "I am going to win this race or my age group." By being determined on having a great race, I mean focusing on making each step the best it can be on that particular moment. That's how you take judgement and pressure away. It's too hard and overwhelming to think about having to run an entire 26 miles within a certain end time. It's much easier to make this moment the best it could be, and repeat.

It takes practice to run marathons. Some people get it right on their first attempt, but those are exceptions. Running, and particularly running marathons, is a skill that takes time to learn. It's a skill that involves mental and physical training. People often use the word 'gruelling'—it's so overused that it has lost all its meaning as far as I am concerned. Besides, everything worth doing takes effort. Gruelling means exhausting, very tiring or severe. Pregnancy sounds gruelling, let alone giving birth. Renovating a house is exhausting—I've been repainting the exterior of our two-storey house while training for the marathon, now that was gruelling. Nobody expects to be able to pick up, say, a guitar and play like Mark Knopfler. But, for some reason, many people expect to be able to run fast and far instantly. That's how it is with a marathon.

The other day I read a story in the Globe and Mail about a guy 'running' a marathon without training, on a dare. To me the implication was, see, it isn't that hard, I don't even need to train for it. The article finished of with this dude's tips on how to 'run' a marathon without training. He 'ran' it in 6:15, which means it took him almost 9 minutes to cover 1km, or about 7km in an hour. That's not running; that's called walking. There's nothing wrong with walking a marathon, it certainly isn't about speed alone, but I don't understand the point the article or this guy were trying to prove. That anyone can do a marathon? Every runner knows that. It's a shame the guy didn't have the guts to train for the marathon.

Because that is what it takes, it takes courage to do the training. You may be tired, in fact you'll likely be tired because you're not a professional athlete, but someone with a job, and you still have to do your training. Head out the door for a midweek 23km training run. But your mind can trick you—once warmed up, the body is fine, actually feels quite good.

Mile 5

After five weeks of increased mileage I can feel my body getting stronger and more efficient. Unless it is a recovery run. Oddly, though perhaps also logically, the recovery runs in the program, from Advanced Marathoning, are the most tiring. These are the sessions I am supposed to run at an easier pace than any of the other runs. It really seems to bring out the tiredness, though they are called recovery training for a reason, so it might also just be that those days I am more tired from the previous, harder, sessions.

I am in love with my new schedule of running six days a week, more than I have ever done. It's been a journey of more than a year to find the training that suited me best after I wanted a change from the guidance I followed for the past five years. It's been a matter of reading a lot, trying a few new things, and of trusting that what felt right was right. You change as a person, and as a runner. You learn which sessions suit you, which ones you like. It takes time for your body to get strong enough to deal with running, and slowly, over time, your body can deal with more or other types of training. It's easy to forget how much I dreaded 3-hour runs in the sense that I was scared and overwhelmed of running that far. Your mind isn't used to the idea, and your body isn't used to running that far.

Even when training for a marathon, you will only do three 3-hour training sessions in preparation. Few people will run more than two marathons a year, which means only six 3-hour runs a year. No wonder the mind is apprehensive; it rarely has to deal with running for such a long period of time. I found it very exciting when my previous coach upped the number of 3-hour runs over the years, slowly. And he added a second session in the afternoon, running an easy half an hour. Those always surprised me, as I'd always be tired and sometimes plain exhausted after that 3-hour monster in the morning. But that half an hour in the afternoon always felt great.

Mentally, for a marathon runner, half an hour is easy to deal with. It's a short session, and done at an easy pace is a great one to get your legs moving and your energy back up. I always enjoyed that second session. Today, I hit the 5-mile mark, or 8km, comfortably in a tad under 35 minutes.     

Mile 6

After an ever-so slight incline in the past mile, the course now dips slightly. I love undulating courses. One of my best marathons, the one that first made me think that perhaps, just perhaps, one day a sub-3 could be possible was the 2007 Canberra Marathon. The undulations allow for a reset of muscles, using different ones on the up hills than on the down hills, which limits muscle fatigue compared with running a marathon on a pancake-flat course such as the Gold Coast Marathon in Queensland, Australia which I have run three times (3:24 in 2003, 3:13 in 2006, 3:15 in 2007).

The Bellingham Bay Marathon course is more flat than undulating, but it is not as flat, so I am expecting to get the benefit of both. That's certainly what I am telling myself today. It's important to talk to your marathoning self, to encourage and cajole, to distract and steel yourself. You're the one who chose this—no one will do it for you, not the spectators, your competitors or fellow runners depending on how you choose to look at them.

The course now veers off to the left, leaving the Bellingham Bay until just past Mile 20—that's where the race really begins, as they always say. And it's the truth, every marathoner knows. We run slightly uphill again, and pass another aid station. I grab water from a volunteer, smile and thank them. While I am always careful reaching for a water cup, I don't slow down much, if at all, and have become very proficient at this. Whether you choose to walk through an aid station is a matter of both experience and personal preference. However, many experts agree that short walk breaks, taking from early on in a marathon, is beneficial. It's not optional is to be nice to the volunteers there, or anywhere along the course.

I hit the six mile-marker, short of 10km by 1 lap around the track, in 42 minutes, and a couple of seconds. The gels I'm carrying are not needed yet. In another mile or so, I'll take one. I like the consistency of the Powerbar gels. They're not so thick which makes them easy to swallow though I always try to take one with an aid station is coming up within the next kilometre. Drinking the water helps your body better absorb the calories of the gels. These days I have settled on taking 8 gels in a marathon. It is what works for me, that's about 880 calories.    

My weight and body used to be something that caused me stress while I was in my late teens and 20s. I would worry about gaining weight, about feeling that getting fat was something that was inevitable. As a runner I don't think about my weight, or at least not in the sense that I worry about the mystery of losing weight or keeping it off. As a runner, and triathlete, I look at the many commercials and testimonials on TV about various weight loss programs. While I was never huge, the highest number on the scale was 73kg, I knew it wasn't hard for me to gain weight. I have photos as a kid of being chubby. And as a teen in high school, the stress of exams caused me to eat piles of cereal (read: sugar), a food not in my diet growing up at all. It was the first time that I used food as a way to relief stress, worry, and I did again in university where drinking copious amounts went along with a bad diet.

It was part of changing from a child to a teen to an adult, and realizing that I felt I had no idea who I was or what I wanted. I felt not in control whatsoever, even though I had more freedom than ever since I moved into a house with two girlfriends, fellow commerce students, in a town that was an hour's drive from my parents. It seemed many of my friends were so self-assured, knew who they were, while I was afraid to speak in groups and draw attention to myself and what I said. Now I am a writer, and am trying to draw attention to what I am saying, writing, and am learning more and more not to care and worry so much about what other people think of me and what I say. That's where I find a great example in my grandmother: she has always found her own way, did her own thing.

Running has taught me where to look in searching for the truth, my own truth, who I am. I've often wondered about the selfishness of that quest, is that really all that my life is about: finding me, where I fit in the world? Isn't that navel staring? But it's important to me because for the past 25 years it has felt like the hardest, sometimes most impossible, thing to do. And it is such a great feeling that I am coming closer. I am a runner, I am a writer, though not in that order, as I do consider myself to be a running writer, rather than a writing runner. Becoming a runner, I think, has given me the strength and the tools to become a writer, rather than a journalist.

It's allowed me to find out what it is I want to say. As Lawrence wrote in Writing the Novel, many know that we want to write before we know what it is we want to write about. My legs helped me find my voice, a way to look at the world and discover the place it has for me. Weight is about a simple sum: calories in versus calories out—though I'd be the last one to suggest counting calories, as it matters what we choose to eat. But nearly of all of us are in control of our weight. Food is nutrition, not a stress reliever or a friend who comforts us. It's moving, whether walking or running, that helps us think through such problems. The better you feel, the stronger you are.

Mile 7

I feel skinny, at 60kg or 132 pounds. I didn't try to lose weight. My race weight is simply a result of the training. I eat well, and like a glass of red wine before dinner, or a beer in summer. Dark chocolate is also part of my regular fare, though I try to avoid eating too much of it—I've found that the more often I eat it, the more often I crave it. Twizzlers and Snickers are also among my sugar kicks of choice, though for this marathon I've eaten a lot less than, say, a year ago. Tim, knowing I love these treats, would always buy them for me. And I've begged him not to do so, as they get eaten when they are in the house. These days I have a great relationship with food, and I credit triathlon and running for that. Now I eat to fuel my body, whereas in my early 20s I would agonize over food choices in an effort to lose weight after a year of partying, read: drinking, and eating crap. With a diet avoiding plenty of foods, and alcohol, I got myself down to 58kg and was desperate to stay skinny. It made me feel good, look good, but the way I achieved it was not. Now being skinny is a result of running, it is not the reason I run and it bothers me when people suggest it is. I run because it makes me feel good and provides a lifestyle I very much enjoy. I love being fit and active. I love pursuing goals as a runner, and it has helped me be more determined in pursuing goals elsewhere. As I have found, your body adapts over time to your lifestyle.

On Nov. 27, 1998 I had an assessment done as I joined the Curzons Skydome Club, a gym in Toronto—I believe a key reason to join was to train for the Ottawa Marathon, my first, in May 1999. My weight, taken in the evening, is listed as 158.5 pounds, which is 72 kilograms. My resting heart rate (53 beats per minute) and flexibility put me in upper, athlete, category (there were five, ranging from unfit/fair//average/fit/athlete. My aerobic fitness put me in the upper end of the fit category. My biceps strength was considered just about fair. Both my systolic (128) and diastolic blood (80) pressure barely made it into the fair range. My body fat percentage was determined at 23 per cent, and the assessment indicates that is above the 18 to 22 per cent range considered normal for a 28-year-old woman. Four years later, a lactate threshold transition test at 9am on July 11, 2001, had my weight at 63kg. Now, a decade later that is still my weight, usually the upper end. In summer and training as much as I am, it's closer to 60kg.

I haven't had any fitness tests done since then. I love my body because it allows me to run. I aim to fuel it as best I can, without obsessing over my diet.

Mile 8

I can't help myself and do the math: 8 times 1 point 6 is 8 plus 4 point 8, almost at 13km. Doing a simple sum is still easy now. Often as a race progresses I try to do the more complicated ones. But as you need to concentrate on your running, it gets harder and harder to do the math the farther you get into the marathon. That's one reason I like to keep track of my mile pace (or kilometre pace, depending on which markers are used by the organizers). Early in the race, checking my mile split at every marker helps me from starting too fast, while later in the race it helps me to try to maintain my pace, as the speed that felt very easy in the beginning seems barely possible once you've passed Mile 20. The best marathoners are those that do not slow down in the last 10km.

I never wonder what to think about during a marathon—if anything, I try to make sure I don't think too much, other than focusing on the immediate task at hand. The most important thing is to remind yourself to be relaxed. Everything needs to be relaxed, from your face, to your shoulders, to your arms and hands (I shake them loose every few kilometres by dropping along my side and waving my hands along my body). While I try to avoid carrying stuff in my hands in races, I make an exception for gels. I used to have a Desoto top that allowed me to comfortably carry 10 gels in two back pockets, five in each. But that top is no longer made, and the final one of the three I owned is beyond scruffy looking, though I still haven't been able to throw it out.

The tops I'm racing in now have backpockets too; they're deep enough but they sit too low on my back. If I put more than two gels in each pocket, the weight of the gels has them bouncing around, which drives me nuts and also adds pressure on my tummy, a sensitive part when I'm racing. I've tried cutting up a T-shirt and tying it around my waist to prevent the top from bouncing around (in the 2009 Vancouver Marathon, breaking one of the cardinal rules: Don't Try Anything New on Race Day) but that didn't work. So now I'd rather carry a couple of gels in my hands for the first hour to 75 minutes of racing, as I begin taking them within that time period.

I've been running for 56 minutes now, so it's time for my first gel, as I see an aid station up ahead, and the course is easing off on a slight downhill slope. I always try drink water or suck a gel while on the flats or on a downhill, never on an uphill, unless it is an emergency. Your body has to work harder when running up hill, you need to breathe more deeply, and the last thing your body needs is another task such as swallowing fluid or having to absorb calories. 

Mile 9

The views are expansive as the landscape is flat and rural. The course is sloping downhill until the 9-mile marker. From there, it looks pretty much flat until mile 14. Often you can find out a lot about the course you're about to run, even if you don't have a chance to run the route beforehand. I had watched Tim run this race a year ago, so I had an impression of the start, and parts of the course, and heard that he found the course less flat than he had expected, especially in the last 10km. But it is not the same as having felt the course by running it yourself. The course has changed for this edition. The Bellingham Bay Marathon, for example, has a video of the course, displayed on YouTube you can watch the route unfold (before this year's course change), and there are maps that allow you to see both the terrain and the route.

While not a very detailed one, the Bellingham Bay Marathon also offers a course profile map. You don't need to use all this information but you can to prepare yourself for what's to come, so that you can think through how you are going to respond. Of course experience on a course helps. I did the Vancouver Marathon for the third time earlier this year and posted my best time on this course by 3 minutes. While there had been some changes on the course, those were all in the first 15km or so, I think, though to be honest, I couldn't remember from the previous years, as I often forget long parts of the course because I am focused on racing.

Importantly, however, the final 10km which are challenging on this deceptively flat-looking course, I knew exactly what to expect. I believe it helped me.

Mile 10

Ten miles, now we're getting somewhere, more than a third of the race is done and I am feeling fantastic. I love the ease of the math, too, 10 times 1 point 6 is 16km. We're passing Silver Reef Casino. It's a recommended viewing point on the course map and a few spectators are cheering us on. The road is flat, and follows a large curve toward the right. I am looking forward to the right turn onto Slater Rd as that is headed toward Bellingham, our final destination. Farmlands surround me. It's quiet, other than the odd spectator and the aid stations. I had another gel, my second at this aid station, as I aim to have the 100 kilocalories every 15 to 20 minutes. With my 7-minute per mile pace, I pass an aid station about every 14 minutes. I am relaxed.

By now I am well warmed up and have found my pace. I am feeling fantastic, you always do at this stage and it is about containing your excitement and resisting the temptation to go too fast, even if only a few seconds per mile. If you still feel good once you get past 30km, or even 20 miles, you can pick up your pace then. Of course you don't want to go too slow, but your training and the races leading up to the marathon have given you a great indicator of the pace you should expect to be capable of. At 10 miles, it is certainly not the time to try to go faster than that.

Mile 11

The marker is halfway along the kilometre stretch we're running on Slater Rd, which is perfectly straight, and I can already see the turn onto a road that takes us on a short out-and-back, which offers another aid station and the first gel station. I prefer to carry my own gels, as I want to leave nothing to chance. The race is offering Hammer gels, both at 11.6 miles and again at 19.8 miles. I've tried some Hammer products, and like them, but haven't trained with them. So I stick to what I know. While I don't expect to have any issues using this product, I don't take any chances. In a 15km race in the Netherlands in 2001 I used a brand I hadn't used before—whether it was the product or simply the effort of the race, as I ran a PB, my stomach was very unhappy after the race and I spent the remainder of the day in bed.

And after the experience of an upset stomach in the 2003 Ironman, I am rather safely paranoid than sorry. After analyzing what I did differently before that race, all I could think of was that I had an instant soup I never had before. Perhaps it wasn't that, perhaps it was weather- or exertion related. But every detail matters. My stomach can be sensitive when I am racing, so I do anything I can to avoid irritating it. When it comes to hydration and nutrition I stick to the tried and tested in the pre-race week and during the race, too. If I want to make changes, I try them before a race that isn't a goal event or, preferably, in training. Much about getting ready for a race is about doing things that make you feel comfortable and confident. In other words, if I believe it is right, it probably is—unless or until I am proven wrong.

When I start my pre-race ritual of cutting down on fibre in my meals, and start carboloading and hydrating with the Accelerade drink in the three days leading up to the marathon, it gets me in the right frame of mind. I am already starting to concentrate on the race, getting my body ready. While I've never written about visualizing a marathon, perhaps this will become part of my pre-race ritual. So far I've discovered many details that I hadn't before by simply looking at, say, the race course map such as the fact that there's a little out-and-back to the 12-mile mark.      

Mile 12

As I turn around on this out-and-back section, my mind moves toward the halfway point. I've been running for 84 minutes now—my pace is perfectly on target and I feel as I if am holding back. While it's OK for your mind to think ahead, you have to do it with purpose—that of making your effort right now the best it can be. In the past four months, I structured most all my workouts as an out-and-back course. With my midweek medium long runs jumping to about 24km, I enjoyed thinking of them as only running for 12km before turning around and heading home. Despite my love for, and experience with, running, I can still feel intimidated by distance even though I know there is no reason to feel that way.

Six weeks out from the marathon I did 7 straight days of running that had me cover 126km, an absolute record for me. The tail end of that week had a 10km time trial on Saturday, plus another 7km of warm-up and cool-down. Covering the 10km in a little over 41 minutes on tired legs, I felt pretty smashed immediately after (though stoked with the effort). Starting the 29km the next day, I pulled out all my mental tricks to avoid feeling overwhelmed by the solid 2-1/2 hours of running ahead. Thankfully, Tim ran with me for 27km which helped, too.

I started out at an easy pace, staying closer to the slower end of my 4:50-5:15 per km long run tempo range, and certainly not worrying if my Garmin showed 5:20 or 5:25/km in the first half. I have learned that coaxing myself gently through the workouts that scare me often turns them in great sessions, especially because of the fear I had starting them. Learning how to calm your mind, and realizing difficult sessions are manageable, often much more manageable than you had anticipated, is a very rewarding and helpful experience.

Mile 13

As I turn left on to Ferndale road, I am getting ready for the halfway mark that will follow the 13-mile marker. I think of it as being on the home stretch—there's only 13.1 miles left to concentrate on. It's also the perfectly easy sum to gauge the finish time I am on target for, simply multiply the 13.1-mile-time by two. I tend to run evenly paced marathons, and certainly always aim for that. Today I am feeling strong, and am aiming for a negative split, planning to run the second half a little faster than the 92 minutes I took for the first half. I am feeling strong, and am looking forward to the remainder of the race. The mile markers have flown by so far. I have very much enjoyed the rural quiet of the farmland but am now looking forward to moving toward the residential areas and heading into Bellingham from the west. First, I need to cover another two miles and I'd better focus as I am about to start running up the largest hill this marathon has to offer.

Thankfully, perhaps or perhaps not, it takes a little over 3 miles which will certainly give me something to concentrate on. And, rising 200 feet (about 61 metres) can hardly be considered mountainous, over 3 miles, even in a marathon but I know I will feel it. I make sure to take a gel now, loading up some extra calories and sugar for the ride. 

Mile 14      

I run across the Nooksack River, originating in the Mount Baker Wilderness, across a bridge and enjoy the water views to my left and right. I also take a gel, as there will be a water station on the other side of the bridge. We are on Marine Drive, which will soon hit Country Lane and before turning right onto Bancroft Road, which then meets up with Marine Drive again. The course is now clearly going up. That's OK—it's a change of pace, literally and figuratively. With a longer gradual hill, I aim to maintain my effort, rather than my pace. At just halfway, I am still feeling strong and energetic, and I don't want to push myself into the red here by pushing too hard. Of course I do want to maintain a strong pace. Tim described the hill as "fairly gently but steady".

Tim ran the Bellingham Bay Marathon last year, after hypothermia at about 160km onto the bike in Ironman Canada resulted in an ambulance ride and his first DNF after nine Ironman finishes. He refused to dwell on it, even though he'd been in his best shape ever and had had high hopes of besting his 10:09 PB and heading to the Ironman World Championships in Kailua-Kona for the second time. Instead, he opted to race the Bellingham Bay Marathon (which had been on my race schedule originally). Tim's plan was to go out hard, and see how long he could last. The 2010 course was different in that he hit this three-mile hill earlier in the race but he remembers the incline well. "I was running on my own at that point. I was going through a bit of a rough patch because I started so hard. For the first 8 miles I ran with 3 or 4 people including the woman who won the race [in 3:07], but then I lost them."

In the 2010 course there was a flat out-and-back section before Tim hit the incline I am now running at 14 miles. He told me, "It just seemed to be a long slow climb up the hill. It was raining. It was lonely. I was feeling slow. I was going through a low-energy phase because on the out and back you were totally exposed and I had to run through the headwind myself there, there was no one to focus on in front. And the occasional runner was going past me at what seemed like lightning speed."

My race plan this year is different from Tim's, and so has been my training and mental focus, which have all been geared toward the race today. It was helpful to have his take on this incline, and I feel better prepared for it.

Mile 15

Much of running, both in training and racing, is about trying to maintain your energy through patches of overwhelming tiredness. Much of that energy comes from the way you make, or allow, yourself to think. Often the easier option feels, well, easier and on some days that holds a strong appeal. It is then that you need to find the will to try to work past that. On a day when the thought of a simple training session feels like having to scale Mt Everest, I coax myself into trying a short run. Nine out of 10 times I find that my energy is a lot better than I had expected once I am running, and I finish my session, feeling extra happy because of the knowledge that I came close to skipping it. I remember that now as I continue my climb along the 3-mile incline that tops out shortly after the 17-mile mark.

The tiredness I feel is real but it is not an overwhelming one, it is simply a natural result of having run 15 miles, or 24km, at marathon race pace and the subtle yet noticeable incline on this part of the course. Most recently, my mid-week medium long runs were 24km. One Wednesday, 5-1/2 weeks out from the marathon I was tired. The whole 24km I kept thinking I know I can do this, trying to silence the doubts and the reluctance in my mind about that run. The first kilometres are always the hardest, as when you just begin you still have so much more to run. But as the distance increased, I felt better. By 8km, it was only another 4km until halfway.

And when the waves of tiredness came over me, I just reminded myself that in the race it's about getting beyond the tiredness, speeding up to stay ahead of the pace that makes you feel like you are worn out. That is a lesson I learned in the 100km road race last year where I ran the past 8km at 5:37 pace after spending most of the previous 20km walking and feeling very sore. But speeding up to run the fastest average pace of the entire race was possible.

On the outskirts of Bellingham, I am looking forward to seeing more people along the rest of the course. They won't necessarily be spectators but are simply going about their Sunday. When we went to Bellingham a year ago, I didn't expect much. Turns out it is cute and cool, with an appealing town centre with plenty of unique-looking shops and cafes. It has an artsy vibe, without feeling pretentious. But I am not there yet. I first must climb this minor hill. I remind myself how good I am feeling, and check that everything is relaxed, from my face to my shoulders, arms, and all the way down to my toes. This is what I learned from interviewing a 75-year-old Australian runner who was trained by the legendary Percy Cerutty when he was young. (See Powered From Within: Stories About Running & Triathlon). I always think about Ron Stuart's comments in each race.     

Mile 16

I am back on Marine Drive again. My mile splits are still very consistent, and I am on target to breaking the 3:04:26 record. I am feeling fantastic but it's still too early to move faster than planned, especially since the road's incline is against me. It doesn't feel that way, however, as my body—which has been covering more miles per week in the final twelve weeks leading up to this marathon than ever before—smoothly moves ahead. Gravity smavity. Planes accompany us. They are headed for and have just departed from Bellingham International Airport, which is on our left. It offers flights to Seattle, Palm Springs, Honolulu and Las Vegas, among others. I am now running in an area called Marietta-Alderwood.

Mile 17

I love reaching this point. The next 3 miles or so are all on a downhill slope, which means that I will have a smooth ride all the way to Mile 20 (or 32km), often referred to as the point where the real race begins. But I am not there yet. First the marathon course converges with that of the half marathon, but I don't see any runners yet. In fact, their race is about to start just about—now. It's 9:29am. The half marathoners cover about 4 miles before they merge with the marathon course. Last year's winner took 75 minutes, while the female winner ran 83 minutes, so the fastest half marathoner won't reach the finish until 10:45am. By then I will already be digging into the post-race refreshments.

Based on the 2010 winner's pace of 5:46 per mile (or 3:39 per km), the leader will hit the 4-mile mark at 9:53am. By then I will have passed Mile 19, which is the sixth mile for the half marathoners. I am now heading into the residential area of Birchwoods. A local real estate website describes the area as a family-oriented neighbourhood with large, deep tree-covered lots along wide streets—many of which were once small farms on the edge of the city. It's close to the Bellingham Golf and Country Club, established in 1912. Membership costs include a US$1000 initiation fee plus a $500 stock certificate. Then there are the monthly dues, $336 for a single golfer or $446 for a golfer and his family. Members are also required to spend at least $420 every six months at the club's two exclusive restaurants.

Running, on the other hand, can be a cheaper endeavour, though travelling to an exotic race can set you back easily a couple of thousand dollars. Tim and I tend to plan our holidays around races. This afternoon we are off to the Olympic Peninsula where we've rented a cottage in an area called Pacific Beach. We plan to do very little: we'll walk along the Pacific Ocean and gaze at the Olympic Mountains. However, I suspect that we'll end up exploring some of the lakes, waterfalls, rivers and rain forests in the area. We'll be very close to Olympic National Park, a designated World Heritage Site and Biosphere.

Two years ago, I ran—and won—a boutique marathon on the north of the peninsula, the North Olympic Discovery Marathon between Sequim and Port Angeles. It took me 3:10:39. Five weeks earlier, I had run the Vancouver Marathon in 3:10:19, the least amount of time I've left between marathons. Even so, I am registered to run the Victoria Marathon in two weeks from today. My goal for that race depends on my recovery from today. There's no need to think about that now, I am here to race as hard as I can. I am feeling great.

Mile 18

I am getting the full benefit of the downhill slope, and am enjoying every step of it. Whenever I hit a down hill, I repeat to myself, "Free speed", and let my body go as much as possible. Depending on the hill's incline, I pick up as many as 20 seconds per kilometre for no extra effort. I focus on breathing and relaxing my body, as I power down a steeper hill, or enjoy the more subtle increase in speed on the gentle slope like the one I am on now. My first coach, a triathlon coach, pointed out, both in cycling and in running, that it was all about steady effort, rather than pace, moving up a hill, about avoiding a slowing down before you crested it, and then making the most of the way down. As runners, we have a natural tendency to brake down the hill. It takes practice to let go. I have learned to let go, and am now doing so as much as I can, focusing on maintaining the same effort, and let the pace be what it is as a result of that.

It's a great time to focus on my breathing—sucking in some deep breaths, relaxing my body—shaking my arms loose, and for reminding myself how fantastic I feel. With another aid station ahead, I take another gel. I've been running for more than 2 hours now, and am less than a mile from the 30km mark, reached 400 metres before the 19-mile point. Often U.S. races provide kilometre markers every 5km, though I'd prefer they'd leave out the 30km one. Nineteen miles sounds a lot less dramatic than the 30-kilometres.

Once you hit the 30km mark into a marathon—it's a bit like entering the death zone, which in mountaineering refers to the altitude at which the amount of oxygen is not high enough to sustain human life. But I don't think about this now as the course turns south, heading for Bellingham Bay. I focus on the fact that I still have another mile of subtle free speed left.

Mile 19

The weather is perfect, regardless of what today is like. I have learned to consider the conditions to be exactly right. Once you accept that you can only control what you can control, you are completely in charge and also free to move with whatever comes your way. It would be fantastic if I had someone to run with at this stage, and I might. But I probably won't and that's fine by me too. The course reaches the top of Squalicum Creek Park, where it follows the Bay-to-Baker Trail to Squalicum Way. Spectators have followed the organizer's suggestion to watch and cheer both the marathon and half marathon runners here, the No. 2 spectators' view point on the race map. It is a smooth trail that was built on abandoned railroad and road grade, and it is a nice change from the road.

I always get a lift from cheering spectators, and return their encouragement with a smile which usually results in louder cheers, especially once you've passed the 30km mark. I am now approaching the second gel stations, which means I have almost reached 20 miles. Since there is also an aid station coming up, I have another gel before taking another cup of water.

Mile 20

With another 10km to go, it is very important to keep hydrating and fuelling, even though it is easy to forget about that. Mile 20, or 32km. Yet so close, and still so far. While I don't dwell on it, I always instantly think, "10km left to go." And in miles even less. Just six left to count, 42 minutes. And 90 seconds for those final 385 yards, less than a lap around the track, which is always run in a surge of the last ounce of energy. I feel great. Relax and achieve the max. I push away the signs of tiredness. This is not the time to think about them. Besides, they are not important as I know from my training that running tired doesn't mean I go slower. You simply feel different.

I am enjoying the final stretch of downhill slope as I approach the waterfront of downtown Bellingham where the course turns left. First, I must cross the half marathon course—it's about 9:50am. The half marathon runners I meet here are running 10-minute miles, or 6:12 per kilometre, which at an even pace will get them across the finish in 2hrs 11. Based on the 2010 results, 586 out of the 1044 half marathon finishers ran 2:10 or faster. As expected, I cross the half marathon course at one of the busiest times, with only half the field having passed the 2-mile half marathon mark. Thankfully, the volunteers allow for a smooth passage and I don't even have to break my stride.

I see Bellingham Bay ahead of me, and then follow the course toward the left, bringing the expansive water views on my right where they will stay for most of the remaining six miles. Like in many towns and cities including the one I have been calling home for three years now—Squamish, BC—Bellingham is also working hard on redesigning its waterfront from an industrial use toward one that includes residential and recreational uses too. "Waterfront cities all over the world are looking at ways to reshape and redefine their waterfronts. The industrial and resource-based development of Bellingham's waterfront in the early 1900's significantly shaped our community," according to the Waterfront Futures website.

I pass the Port of Bellingham, and then the Bellingham Marina. A group of spectators cheer me on at recommended Spectator View #3, and it doesn't take long until I smell coffee and omelettes passing Bayside Cafe—and Mile 21—shortly before another group of well-wishers at Spectator View #4. I smile at the encouragements and draw energy from them.

Mile 21

Having run for nearly 2-1/2 hours, I still feel awesome. Or so I tell myself. I concentrate on all things positive, on maintaining forward momentum. Only half an hour left, give or take a few minutes. The course slopes upward for the next mile, or so. I look at the water, and take in deep breaths. There is nowhere I'd rather be. This is where Luka and I cheered on Tim a year ago. The course was different then, and at this point he still had much farther to go. Tim is now training for the Victoria Marathon. He would have raced the half marathon today if it wasn't for Luka. That's OK, though, as he will have ample opportunity to train this week at Pacific Beach, which should be quiet at this time of the year—it was easy to find a dog-friendly place to stay. The course goes through the Central Business District as I take another gel there's an aid station just before Mile 22.

Mile 22

This is perhaps the hardest part. With only 4 miles left, I don't think about the other 385 yards at this stage, I run past the finish area. It's just after 10am. The 2010 winner, 17-year-old Olivier Bear Don't Walk, would cross the line in a few minutes last year, improving the course record to 2:37:29. The female winner was Kate Bradshaw, then 29, running the marathon in 3:07:31, a PB for her. In writing this pre-race visualization, I checked again if the 2010 winners were back. When I had done so a few weeks ago, Bradshaw's name wasn't on the registration list but today, August 21, 2011, it is. I am glad to read it as it means I should have someone to run with. It looks like she ran the Seattle marathon in June this year in 3:11. But as a 33-minute 10km runner in college, and 11 years my junior, I expect her to run a PB in Bellingham. And I hope that we can push each other. It made me wonder if I should rewrite this visualization. [I didn't have time to do that, and as it turned out she was running the half marathon this year.] The thing is, as I mentioned earlier, you can only control what you can control. It is out of my hands who shows up. It is out of my hands what day other runners have, nor do I have any idea what their training has been like. I can only assume that anyone would have  been working hard, like me. For all I know the $500 prize money has attracted fast runners and that is a good thing. I think that, especially in the marathon, it's important to derive strength from fellow competitors.

You can lift your performance by focusing on another runner but you still have to run your own race. When I won the North Olympic Discovery Marathon in June 2009, I ran without competition—the next woman finished 13 minutes later. While I had a few guys to run with for the first 20 miles, I knew I was far ahead. The only thing that helped me focus in the last couple of miles was the realization I had a chance to break the course record, which I ended up doing by 10 seconds. It is easier to focus and to keep pushing yourself if you have a clear target, either a competitor or a time. Without it, why not ease the pace slightly?

I steamroll past the finish area, and soak up the energy from the crowd already eagerly anticipating the winner, and friends and family—I will be back here soon. What's another 4 miles? I have run this so many times now. Besides, the good news is that I can enjoy a subtle downhill until Mile 23. Of course, since I double back this section I will meet this stretch again on my way to the finish, as an uphill stretch that may not feel as subtle as it did when gravity helped on the way down. But I don't think about that now. I concentrate on rhythm, and pushing my body as hard as I can.

Mile 23

I am so focused that I hardly notice the stunning water views on my right hand. On my left is Western Washington University, though I don't see it. At 37km, I enjoy the remainder of the gentle pull of gravity. As the water is now too close to not see, I am gearing up for the fight with gravity that is about to follow as soon as I hit Mile 24, the turnaround point where I will run the same 2-mile stretch back, gunning for the finish line. I am almost there. Yet there are still 3 miles and 385 yards, a touch over 5km, to go. It's all about not slowing down. The desire to take it just that little bit, only a little bit, easier is always there right now. But I don't give in—I have worked too hard for the past 2 hours and 40 minutes, fighting each second, to just let them slip away now. I concentrate on moving forward as hard as I can. I rush along a spectacular walkway across Bellingham Bay toward the Mile 24 mark, as I know it will get easier from there. But first I must climb a 50-metre hill with a 10 per cent incline.

Mile 24

This is near Village Books, a local independent book store I would like to visit after the race. The store's website describes Whatcom Country, which includes Bellingham, as a "hotbed of independent thinkers, writers, poets and dreamers." Two miles, or 14 minutes. Sure, there is that 385 yards but I don't think about that now. I think about rhythm, I think about pushing my body as hard as I can, beyond what I think I can, careful not to squeeze the last remaining ounce of energy until I am well past that 25-mile mark. Relaxing as much as I can, I start the final up hill, repeating to myself how light and strong I feel, even as my legs don't agree. Stay strong.   

Mile 25

At 25 miles, I do take the final 385 yards into consideration. At this stage I have almost 2km left to go. I want to pick up my pace as everyone always finds fresh energy when the finish line is within reach and especially when it is in sight. There is still some up, and I am fighting the desire to take it just a little easier. I resist. Almost there, stay strong.

Mile 26 & Finish

The lure of the finish is strong and as always a new fountain of energy arrives as I sprint the final metres to beat the clock. As soon as I cross the line, there is nothing left and everything is gained. Nothing feels as fantastic as the release of completing a marathon. I hurt and am ecstatic at the same time. The result is exactly what I wanted; a reward for focusing on the path itself, not the outcome, not this moment, though this was always the goal. I know I left it all on the course, and there is no doubt about whether I could have done more today. Of course I know I can go faster—but today I travelled as swift as I could have today, and there is nothing more I could have done. It's the most important lesson I've learned, especially in the marathon. It takes a huge effort to concentrate on getting the best out of yourself over 26.2 miles, or 42.195 kilometres.