Although I had a full day of work on my first full day in Ottawa, I took a bit of time in the morning to head to the convention center and register for the race. Since it was early, there weren’t lines for anything and I came out pretty quickly. Aside from the bib pickup itself, there were a few sports brands hawking various products. One thing did catch my eye though, signs for a bus tour of the marathon course that would be given the next day. I’d seen the printed course map online, but thought it could be nice to see the course itself so I knew exactly what surprises were in store for me. That meant I was up bright and early at 9:30 a.m. the next day after having a quick breakfast to board the tour bus. I was given a course map, and followed along from there. 

The ride started pretty smoothly, following the Rideau canal that we’d be running along. Even though the tour guide was mostly there to explain the course, she also spent a good amount of time talking about the city’s history itself. She explained the early importance of the Rideau canal, as well as the city’s beginnings being rooted in a history of logging. She even went over a period of lawlessness, when the town sheriff essentially gave free reign for anyone to shoot anyone else to resolve their disputes over a couple of weeks. Shocking for the capital of a country known now for its politeness! After leaving the canal, we bussed through suburbs for quite awhile, passing through residential and commercial districts alike. I was encouraged by all the houses we’d be passing, meaning that locals would likely come outside to cheer. We wound up the MacDonald expressway, a hilly expressway that was exposed to the wind. Our guide mentioned then how the course actually had to be rerouted over a higher bridge, as the original one had recently sunk too close to the current floodwaters of the Ottawa river. We crossed that bridge into Gatineau, the suburb in Quebec where the primary language switched to French on all the street signs. Still not much to worry about. We crossed the Alexandra bridge back into Ottawa, before heading northeast to the wealthy Rockcliffe Park area. This is where most embassies and their residences were located, with the US embassy in particular getting a shoutout. We were done after this hilliest part, but it was then that I noticed we’d been on the bus for 90 minutes! If the course took a bus that long… how long would us runners take?

I spent the rest of the day working but otherwise relaxing at my AirBnB. I slept early for a full 8 hours thankfully, despite fears that noise from nearby bars watching the Toronto Raptors beat the Bucks for a trip to the NBA Finals would be raucous. I took my time waking up, sipping on water and chewing through a couple bananas. One of the advantages of being so close to the start line is that I could saunter out of my AirBnB just 40 minutes before the start time to do my warm ups. Despite heavy rains the previous night, it was cool and dry this morning, great weather for a long distance run. I wrapped up my warm ups just 10 minutes before the race, as runners were starting to cluster in their starting zones. Just like in Hong Kong, I rustled my way through the crowd until I was near the front of my group, within sight of the elite runners. They were pacing with their final warm ups as well, and the announcer was talking about their ambitions for the race. Male pacers would go for a 2:06 finishing time, blistering by anyone’s standards, but a stretch even for this gold label course. I’d just be trying to finish within an hour of that as a stretch goal. Part of me hoped I could just run a perfect race and qualify for Boston right here. However, it was more realistic that I’d finish 5 to 15 minutes short of that, at a pace just above 7 minutes per mile. At 3 minutes to, a singer came on for the national anthem: “O Canada”. I really shouldn’t have been surprised that it wasn’t the Star Spangled Banner but I was, and as I took in the daunting task ahead of me, I felt my adrenaline start to surge. Canada’s national anthem still gives me chills because of this moment. Soon afterwards, the morning was shattered by a gunshot at 7 a.m. sharp that sent us on our 26.2 mile task!

Just like in the Hong Kong race, I felt good and started out fairly fast, even coming within reach of a couple of the elite female racers. However, I tried much harder to restrain myself after the chaos of the first kilometer and settle with some faster runners passing me. I settled into a pace around 6:45 per mile, and decided to just try to hold that and see when the 3 hour pacer would eventually catch me. I hoped it would be after the halfway point, and that his group would help energize me towards a fast finish for the rest of the race. I hit the 5k mark almost 30 seconds ahead of the 3 hour pace, so I was feeling pretty good about that lead. As we left the Rideau canal and headed into the suburbs, the crowds increased and most residents were watching from the sidewalk or front yards. Quite a few had even brought their leashed dogs to watch with them. Acknowledging the fast pace we were trying to maintain, they cheered “Way to go future Boston qualifiers!” and other references to that legendary race that we were on pace for. It was a much appreciated ego boost for sure! 

I was still cruising as we approached the 10K mark in Wellington Park, when I had quite the surprise. I felt someone taller looming on my left side, and they paced just behind me for a minute before gradually cruising a bit in front. I was shocked to see the bunny ears and sign above his head, and with dread I realized what the sign read: 3:00. This was the pacer I’d need to keep track of in order to qualify for Boston, and he’d caught me just a quarter of the way through the race! We crossed the 10k mark about 20 seconds ahead of 3:00 pace, but I was a bit miffed nonetheless. I still felt good, so I clung to the end of this pacer’s group and stuck with them. We continued churning through miles in the suburb before climbing on the windy, hilly MacDonald expressway. Despite the worse conditions, I was still able to stick to the pacer. I hadn’t budged at the 15k mark, and as we crossed the bridge near 20k into Gatineau I was starting to wonder if I could really do it! 

Here however, the pacer started to draw a little further from me, and I realized that I couldn’t charge forward and stick with him for much longer. I crossed the halfway mark still ahead of the 3 hour pace at 1 hour, 29 minutes and 30 seconds into the race, but I wouldn’t be sticking to the Boston pace any longer. I slowed up to just over 7 minutes per mile and started thinking about saving energy. It would still be quite some time before the 3:05 pacer caught me, and if I was disciplined I might even be able to prevent that from happening. Running through Gatineau itself was also invigorating, as the cheering and signs swapped from Engilsh over to French, and locals watched us from outdoor brunch cafes. Despite Gatineau’s rolling hills, I didn’t slow up much and even passed a couple runners on the bridge back to the Ontario side. Only the last third was left, and I was feeling ready for it!

However, that feeling started to fade after I actually made the turn toward the Rockcliffe loop. For reasons I still don’t quite understand, I went at Mile 18 from feeling like I could stay ahead of the 3:05 pacer to starting to wonder if I’d be able to finish the race. As if on cue, the 3:05 pacer passed me during Mile 20 as we ambled past the US embassy. After the ups and downs here, I slowed up further and started accounting for all the parts of my body that were in pain. My longest run to this point had only been 19 miles, so I was truly in uncharted territory and much less prepared than I’d hoped. I’d joked with friends before the race, saying that since I’d run those 19 miles the morning after 3 beers and a couple cocktails that the handicap showed I’d be prepared for a fully sober 26.2 mile race. However, this was starting to be a shaky theory as I headed, ever slower and unsteadier, on the final stretch back towards the Rideau. The 3:10 pacer passed me at this point, and I was no longer sure I could even stay ahead of the 3:15 one.

All of a sudden, as I passed Mile 23, a kid no more than 5 years old burst onto the course with an Otter pop in his hand. The top was cut off, and he came running right up to me to hand it off. Yes, I was going so slowly at this point that a 5 year old was capable of pacing with me for a bit. I tentatively took the otter pop, but I nodded and smiled as best I could to show my appreciation, and that he’d picked the right person. I slurped the thing down in seconds, and felt a sudden sugary jolt that lent me a bit more energy. My sore muscles became just a bit lighter, and although they didn’t feel like surging any faster, at least they didn’t feel like they were in danger of cramping for the time being. That could actually end my race, a painful couple of miles from the finish line itself. I tossed aside any more thoughts about my time, simply resolving to put one foot in front of the other until the finish line, now just 5 short kilometers away.

Those last 3 miles would end up being the slowest, and toughest, of my entire life. Pain started shooting up through my legs with every step, even my well padded shoes couldn’t prevent that anymore. And as I crossed the 40k mark, the cramps I had felt threatening me just before I received the otter pop started to make themselves known again. I started to run while massaging the back of my sore thighs, just hoping I could keep them going for the remaining stretch. I wanted above all else to not ever stop my running until crossing the line, if at all possible. Somehow, step after step, I continued to hold a steady 10 minute pace and amble onwards to the line. Past an increasing number of runners that had fallen by the side of the road, clutching various cramped muscles. One of which was the 3:20 pacer, who I hadn’t even seen pass me. The pain in my muscles intensified just as the finish line came into view, though. I had to stifle my impulse to just go for the line, and still focus on keeping my muscles from cramping up. I clenched my teeth and plodded forward, step after agonizing step, inching closer to the line and willing myself to not fall over until I’d crossed it. Finally, after 3 hours, 25 minutes and 23 increasingly brutal seconds, I crossed over and stumbled forward just 3 steps later. 

A staff member caught me on his shoulder and guided me to a railing by the side, out of the raceway. He propped me against the fence as I caught my breath and felt my adrenaline ebb, bit by bit. It took nearly 15 minutes, but the feeling eventually returned to my legs, and I was able to head through the post-race lineup on my own legs. There, I received the finisher’s medal for the race. It was a lovely maple leap emblazoned in dark red, with the parliament hall attached in the center, a section which would spin around on its own. It was the most beautiful medal I’d seen by a long shot, and I was so, so thankful to see it now. I collected it along with a bottle of water and a bag of light food, and collapsed onto the first bench I found. I watched runners, some now joined by their adoring family members, stream past me as I slowly recovered. It took nearly an hour before I could summon the will to rise from that bench. Even though my bib guaranteed me a finishing beer, anyone who’s ever finished a marathon knows that’s the last thing you want after 26.2 miles. You’d probably just throw it up!

Despite the happy ending, my Strava graph showed that I had a LOT to learn. Once again, my first mile was a blistering 6:14 which had grouped me with a couple elite runners at first. The first mile of a race can be crazy with lots of jostling, and going out fast helps me avoid all of that. However, the cost is having to recognize that and slow down significantly after we’re out of the woods, and I still have trouble doing that. Although I was able to clutch below the Boston pace for the first half of the race, it definitely wasn’t worth the marked decline I got throughout the second half of the race. Furthermore, my performance suffered dramatically once I got past the point of my longest training run, after 19 miles. I would have to train at the actual race distance, possibly beyond it, if I hoped for my practice to actually predict for my performance on race day. This race was a promising start towards one day qualifying for Boston, but it was not a predictor that I’d do it by any means. Once again, I was reminded that the ultimate goal is always, always to finish the race. I felt it much more urgently than I had in Hong Kong, as I finished this one with probably less than 10 steps left in me. That’s an extremely narrow margin of error for a 26.2 mile course! Even though I was 25 minutes behind my dream time, and 10-15 behind a reasonable goal time, I couldn’t have been prouder of finishing the race after holding such a fast pace for the first half. Although COVID has put the breaks on racing for the time being, I look forward to ramping up for my next marathon in the years to come. More than anything, I’m glad I got at least this one behind me before that tragedy changed all of our lives for the time being. It reaffirms my belief that you should take these opportunities as they come, especially as it comes to light now more than ever that they are not guaranteed by any means.