Half Marathon with almost no Training

I detest running. I only started running as a way to keep in shape while I was off the bike due to bike-specific knee pain.

To me, running is the most painful, boring, worst, and hardest form of exercise. But I do it to keep in shape for road riding, which I do to keep in shape for cross-country mountain biking. That's the hierarchy. Running is only a necessity; a means to support my off-road habit.

Biking is thrilling. And fun. It is fast. You can coast. You can jump. You can skid. Cycling is awesome. Running is horrible. Or so I thought.

Over time, I started getting some degree of satisfaction from running: I set PRs on Strava, saw new things that I'd miss while cycling, and even did okay in the running leg of a triathlon with my brother and a friend.

Then Strava came out with their February 2013 Half Marathon challenge. When I saw this I figured I should give it a try. Running may suck, but here's another reachable goal, another key accomplishment, another physical limit - that I knew I could conquer. So why not?

The challenge

On the 1st of February, 2013, I had only done two runs the whole year (okay, the past month). The second of those was 13 km, the longest I had ever run in my life. An accomplishment at the time, but nowhere near the level I needed to be for a half-marathon.

So I went into the Runners World forum and asked around. At my age, with my level of fitness, and very limited background running, could I do it? The unanimous response was NO. There wasn't enough training time left for me, and I didn't have the base. I wasn't ready.

So the night of 1st February, before going to sleep and after a few pints, I made up my mind: I was going to run a half marathon the next morning.

I searched my Strava routes and found one that was perfect: 21.7 km, starting at my house, and ending at my house. A half marathon is 21.2 km.

I looked at my times and paces, and set a goal: 2 hours and 30 minutes. No stopping allowed, except for red lights or to eat/drink/take a leak. Walking allowed.

I had been experiencing excruciating knee pain for the past year, but it seemed to have subsided. I was very aware that it could come back during this run - during this test. That's all this was - a test.

I've been known to be a bit foolish at times in attempts to push myself too hard (see a previous post of mine where I describe how I put myself in the hospital in only 7 km). I knew I was at some risk. Risk of aggravating my as-yet-untested-and-maybe-unhealed knees, risk of dehydration, risk of twisting my ankle alone - anything.

The only support I would have was my Nathan running belt with two 10 oz bottles, $20 for a taxi, my phone, my Road ID, Hammer Endurolytes (electrolyte tablets), and the most important one: stashed water and food at the halfway point.

I woke up at 5:30 am, no alarm, and drove to the gas station by my house. I bought a banana, a bottle of water, and a sports drink. I also put peanut butter and raisins on a piece of whole wheat bread, and put it all in a plastic bag.

I drove to the halfway point, and stashed the bag under a giant tropical leaf by the side of the road. This was going to be my lifeline.

The start of the run was unremarkable. I suppose most half-marathons begin with a lot of noise, celebration, and hype. Like a bike race, there would be hundreds of other athletes, rallied into a frenzy, all competing for the best starting place, racing against each other more-so than the clock.

There would be checkpoints along the way with water, nutrition, and even medical support. There would be fans and spectators, cheering and encouraging the runners, friends and strangers alike.

For my run there was none of this, no medal, no placing, no encouragement. Just me, my shoes, and the road.

I tried to pace myself. In mountain bike races I can't help but get overly-fast starts, trying to secure a leading position in the pack. Pacing is not something I'm good at. But after 3 km, 5 km, and soon 10 km, I felt fine.

Ecstatic, in fact.

Immediately after my first half-marathon

The dreaded labor I associated running with had not even reared its ugly head. I was not bored. I was not tired. I was not counting miles, or wishing it to end. I had reached a running nirvana I had never experienced before.

And my mind was clear. No gears to worry about, or drafting to try to get right. I wasn't glancing at my Garmin every 30 seconds like I do on the road bike. I wasn't burdened with the thought and worry of traffic behind me, being on the sidewalk. Running, all of a sudden, became fulfilling.

At the 11th km, halfway, I retrieved my food and drinks. I refilled my bottles, strapped the banana to my hip pack, and started eating the peanut butter and raisin sandwich. It took me a good two minutes to stop, unwrap the bag, transfer the drinks, and start eating.

As I set off, I felt a tightness and burning in my hamstrings. I had cooled down too much. You can see in the image of my splits below how fast I was running up until km 11, and then how I slowed down. I believe it was because of that [critical] food stop.

Look how much my pace suffered after a 2 min food stop (km 11)

At around the 17th km, I felt my pace slow and the running became a lot harder. But I was almost home and knew I had it in the bag.

The last 2 km were the hardest, as one would imagine, but not the torture I had perceived.

I finished in 2:09, well ahead of my goal. My pace was 5:58 / km.

My new goal now is to do this in under 2 hours.

The final result

Strava have more challenges coming up. The next one is in March, and is a 20 miler. April will be a full marathon. Is there enough time for me to train up for them? Probably not, but I'll probably do them anyway.

Average Speeds in Strava and Garmins & Cheating Segments

Average speed can a good way to track performance over time, and also compare between riders. After all, how many of us are not a little bit competitive?

But average speed, if calculated in certain ways, can be very misleading. It can make you look a lot faster or a lot slower than you really are.

Example 1: Record only the fast parts
A group I ride with, which incidentally is very fast, likes to make themselves look even faster by only recording the core (fast) sections of their rides.

They don't start their Garmins until the ride has really begun - all the time coasting out of their driveways and around stop signs to get to the main road gets excluded.

Same goes for the end of the rides - they stop their devices before any cool-down, right after the final sufferfest and final sprints.

The result is high average speeds but low(er) total distances.

Don't get me wrong - there's nothing wrong with this. It's a matter of preference: Do you want faster or longer rides overall?

A real example. The ending is where the rider starts his slow section - the cool down.

These rides become apparent on Strava as the start and end are usually the beginning of the fast parts of a ride, not anybody's house. If the red line meanders into some small residential roads (the starting or ending of the ride) he's probably recording the entire ride, straight from home.

Or, like in the example above, the start and ending are at different places.

Example 2: Enable auto-pause
If you use a Garmin, you'll find the auto-stop feature under Menu -> Training -> Auto Pause/Lap. By setting "Auto Timer Pause" to "When Stopped", the timer will momentarialy stop when you are at red lights or stop signs.

The Auto Timer Setting in the Garmin Edge 705

With this setting off, at stop signs you will observe two things:
1. Your timer will continue
2. Your average speed will slowly erode. So if you are stopped for long enough, your average speed will eventually hit zero, or very close, even if you've been hammering it at 45 km/h for the whole ride.

Or, instead of selecting "When Stopped", you could use the "Custom Speed" setting, which will stop the timer whenever your speed is lower than the custom speed. For example, if you set it to 5 km/h, the timer will stop when you are going 4 km/h, for example. This is to eliminate any erroneous timing as a result of any minor movements while essentially stopped.

Protip: Some people claim is possible to cheat Strava by setting a custom speed and then completing a segment by moving slower than that custom speed. By doing so, you can get the KOM.

However, Strava's take differs: 

"...stopped time is included in segment time to keep leaderboards competitive. So using autopause does not allow for cheating on segments. We time segments based on the time stamp from when you enter a segment and when you finish it, it is not based on the "ride-time" that occurred on a segment but rather the elapsed time."

Source: Strava Knowledge Base

Personally, I record my entire ride, including the slow parts just getting to the main roads, and the cool-down coming home. This gives me a lower average speed.

I do enable the auto-pause; I don't think it's accurate to be recording stops, whether they are breaks or red lights.

However, if you are using Strava, most of this really doesn't matter. Strava will automatically crop out your stops, giving you that faster average speed. So you could have an average speed recording of 28.0 km/h on your Garmin, but 30.0 in Strava.

This seems consistent with the idea that you can cheat and get KOMs by completing a segment slower than your custom threshold speed. In fact, you can even set your custom speed to 99.9 km/h....

So next time you see a 40km/h average find out how it was recorded, and next time you see the slowest guy around getting KOMs which you know he's not capable of, ask him what his threshold speed is set to.

Knee Pain from Cycling

Background
Early in January 2012 I had a very painful knee injury, caused by too much low-cadence cycling in too hard of a gear (see Singlespeed and Knee Pain). So when I felt more pain in both my knees again, eight months later, I was worried.

The pain was different - this time it was a more bearable, dull, widely-spread ache. Almost like a mild headache, just in the knee. However, it was persistent, and not only when pedaling too hard like before. In fact it even hurt off the bike.

At about km 80 of a 128km ride last weekend, I suddenly noticed a [painless] clicking sensation in my right knee, and then later at home the same in the left, albeit less pronounced.

I decided to visit a doctor and have it looked at. What I was really concerned about was whether or not I'd be doing long term damage (and how to prevent this while still cycling), and whether or not I could still participate in the upcoming 8-hour endurance MTB race just a week away.

Diagnosis
I asked my friendly neighborhood GP who I should speak to - a sports doctor, a physiotherapist, a cycling expert, who? He said in a case like this it's best to start at the top and let him refer you to a specialist. So he told me to see an orthopedist, and suggested a good one.

The next morning I called him, and was happily surprised to be able to schedule an appointment with him that morning.

I explained to him my previous injury, and my cycling habits and when, how and what the pain is all about. He performed these few simple tests on me:

1. He pushed on the patellar tendon, directly below the kneecap, pressing up against the kneecap, almost under it. It hurt, suggesting damage to that tendon.
2. He put my foot on his knee and asked me if I could touch my toes. I couldn't even reach my ankles. This indicates a tightness in the hamstrings. The hamstrings bend the knee, and have tendons that connect to the knee.
3. He checked the lateral movement and pressed on the inside and outside and determined that the lateral ligaments were fine.

In short, my tight hamstrings are pulling the patella (kneecap) firmly - too firmly - against the femur and articular cartilage, creating unnecessary abrasion. This cartilage is supposed to be as smooth as glass, he said, and the scraping has roughened it up, making it bumpy, hence the clicks.

To me it's amazing to think tight hamstrings could be the cause of knee pain. But when you think about it, it's obvious, and just mechanics.

The pain comes from the patella rubbing against the articular cartilage too much, due to tight hamstrings.
Image source: Wikipedia

Solution

1. The first, and most obvious thing I need to do is stretch my hamstrings. A lot.
2. Next, I need to raise my saddle to keep the leg from having to be too bent too much. Think about it. The more my leg is bent, the more the patella will rub against the cartilage. When straight, the rubbing is minimized.
3. Last, he prescribed me some [expensive] glucosamine sulphate which will help repair the cartilage; 1,500mg a day.

I asked him if I should be taking chondroitin - as a few of my friends suggested on Facebook. He said that once you take chondroitin it is simply converted to glucosamine in your body. He said chondroitin is just good marketing.

My Riding Future
This is the thing I was most worried about. He told me to continue putting the same mileage in, no problem. Just stretch and take the medicine. He said if I can handle the pain it's OK (though not really good) and I could still do the 8-hour race next weekend.

Olympic MTBers on Strava

Following a post I did a while back about which Olympic cyclists are on Strava, which focused mostly on road, here's a full audit of the MTBers in the Olympics that are on Strava:

• Georgia Gould; American - Strava profile; Olympics profile - won bronze in women's MTB
• Lea Davison; American - Strava profile; Olympics profile
• Manuel Fumic; German - Strava profile; Olympics profile
• Nino Schurter; Swiss - Strava profile; Olympics profile
• Michael Vingerling; Dutch - Strava profile; Olympics profile

Here are a few more that have little to no Strava uploads or activity:

• Philip Buys; South African - Strava profile; Olympics profile
• Kohei Yamamoto; Japanese - Strava profile; Olympics profile
• Gerhard Kerschbaumer; Italian - Strava profile; Olympics profile
• Todd Wells; American - Strava profile; Olympics profile
• Periklis Ilias; Greek - Strava profile; Olympics profile

Training for an 8-Hour Enduro

The Challenge
In just four weeks I'll be racing in an 8-hour off-road enduro. It was just announced a few days ago and I'm not really prepared. This leaves little time to train, but enough time to develop a strategy.

I'm most concerned with the following:
1. Hydration & Nutrition
2. Pace Strategy
3. Psychological State
4. Training

Here I am finishing a lap in last year's 12-hour night race

Hydration & Nutrition
I tend to not drink enough water, which is a real mistake in this oppressive, tropical heat of Singapore. Last year I did the first few laps with no water - I felt fine - but then about 6 hours in I was too dehydrated to push on. The ultimate way to learn.

Lucky for me, I have a good friend to coach me and monitor me for this race who knows what he's doing. He'll be racing vicariously through me - he's down with a broken ankle (from being drunk in Korea I hear). He has been racing and riding for maybe 20 years (me - only 4) and if I follow his advice I'm sure I'll benefit tremendously.

Because this race is in the format of laps around a course, with the winner determined by how many laps he or she completes over the period of 8 hours, I'll see him each lap. We'll have a pit and he'll be there (drinking beer I'm sure) and ordering me to follow his instructions on what to eat and drink.

For my long road rides (100km or more) or off-road races (usually about 45km) I fuel myself with Hammer Perpetuem. It provides me with the sustenance to feel neither full nor hungry, and prevents me from bonking. I've tested it enough to know that I need one scoop (135 calories) per hour.

Hammer recommends drinking a few sips of water after each slug of Perpetuem; I consume about 600ml of water per 4 scoops, which would amount to 1.2 litres over this race. This is following Hammer's "Multi-Hour Bottle" approach. Obviously that's not nearly enough water for hydration, just to make the solution go down.

Another approach Hammer offers is "The One-Hour Bottle", which they say is best when racing with support. For me, (one scoop per hour) it'll mean I mix a scoop in a bottle, fill it with water, and drink one an hour.

The benefit of this over the "Multi-Hour Bottle" is that it fulfills more hydration requirements. The drawback is it will only last one hour, not four. But that's OK because I'll have the option of stopping in the pit every lap, which is 6.8 km long.

In addition, I'll need plenty of other liquids, specifically more water and some kind of energy drink with electrolytes.

Then I'll need some more immediate energy source, like gels or some other sugars.

Pace Strategy
For all the mountain bike races I've ever done, even one 12-hour night race (which I didn't finish), I've always thought the best pace strategy is to start hard and fast, and grab a good position early on, and hold it till the end, if possible.

However, for a race this long, I think I'll just treat it like a ride. I will not attempt to secure a leading position at any time. I will just pace myself, steadily and consistently. I hope that my first few laps are not much faster than my final laps. Unless, of course, I somehow find that I have energy during those last few laps. Then I can nail it. But I don't foresee this happening.

I know myself. I will burn myself out too early if I'm not careful. 8 hours is a long time.

If I really pace myself so consistently, I believe others will drop out towards the end and I will be able to finish (respectably - say, the top half)! I'd be happy with that.

Psychological State
This relates to the pace strategy, in that I need to be mentally relaxed, and not over-anxious to hammer it when getting passed by dozens and dozens of others.

Last year - at this stage, late into the night, my psychological state was bordering on delirious

I need to strike a balance between staying competitive, to place as high as possible, yet having fun and still enjoying it. Once it stops being fun it's not worth it.

Next, I need to leave all mechanical and nutritional burdens to my crew, and not let them weigh on my mind.

Finally, some athletes use imagery or visualization to imagine the course, the lines, the actions, from a first-person point of view. This is said to reinforce the pathways between the brain and the body and can result in better coordination and technique. I'm not too sure about it but I can try it.

Training
Given the fact that I only have one month, I won't be able to train to a state of being fully ready to complete this race, on form, at a high level of fitness. But I have built up a decent base of mileage over the past 6 months. Last week I only did 162 km (exactly 100 miles), and I lack the endurance needed for this race.

I'll raise my plan a bit to include more frequent morning rides, and even longer weekend rides. I normally only do two morning rides (35-45km each), and a 120km weekend ride. I should do three morning rides and 162km for the weekend.

This weekend I will recon the course with my crippled alcoholic coach and try to find out the exact course. This will help me in the earlier point - psychological state - in that if I am keenly aware of the turns, berms, boulders and flats - the whole topography - I'll have that much more of an edge.

Last, one bold thing I could attempt ("could" and "attempt" being key) is my own 8-hour ride. Go to the course one weekend and see how many laps I can complete! That would be the ultimate and would set a real, actionable and meaningful benchmark for the final event.

The Course

Olympians who use Strava

When watching the cycling time trials in the London 2012 Olympics I noticed some of the riders had Garmins on their bikes. My first thought was that these guys would go upload their rides to Strava right away - worried more about getting the KOM than the gold medal!

Notice the Garmin (at a funny angle) on Emma Pooley's TT bike
(July 31, 2012 - Source: Dan Kitwood/Getty Images Europe)

So I did a few searches within Strava to see which of these Olympians were, first of all, on Strava, and then whether or not they really uploaded their rides.

There are dozens of them who use Strava, which was no surprise. Like the rest of us, some use it more than others. Unfortunately, it doesn't appear that any uploaded their actual Olympics events.

However, I did find a few training rides just before the events:

• Clara Hughes; Canadian - Strava profile; Olympics profile - Group ride with Wiggins, Pinotti, and Cancellara at the Olympics
• Ina Teutenberg; German - Strava profile; Olympics profile - 3 QOMs on a final training ride before her race
• Taylor Phinney; American, 4th place in Men's Individual Time Trail - Strava profile; Olympics profile - 2 KOMs on a training ride before the race
• Marco Pinotti; Italian, 5th place in Men's Individual Time Trial - Strava profile; Olympics profile - Same group ride as Hughes above

Besides these four I found many others within Strava, most of them women for some reason. It's interesting to note that all of the Germans below and the one above (Teutenberg) live in California.

• Amber Neben; American - Strava profile; Olympics profile
• Evelyn Stevens; American - Strava profile; Olympics profile
• Lea Davison; American - Strava profile; Olympics profile (rides mountain bike)
• Lisa Brennauer; German - Strava profile; Olympics profile (rides track)
• Trixi Worrack; German - Strava profile; Olympics profile
• Charlotte Becker; German - Strava profile; Olympics profile
• Chloe Hosking; Australian - Strava profile; Olympics profile
• Ellen van Dijk; Dutch - Strava profile; Olympics profile
• Eilia Fahlin; Swedish - Strava profile; Olympics profile

It's pretty fun to study their ride stats, though if I were a professional racer I don't think I'd be putting these up for the public. And if I did, I'd certainly leave out my best rides. So don't take them too seriously.

And whatever you do, don't do the side by side comparison unless you want to feel really weak and slow.

Pushing the Limits: How I Ran Myself to the Hospital

The Race
I recently pushed myself too far, too hard, and too fast - so much so that I landed myself in the hospital. I didn't really get hurt, but could have easily. I've analyzed the circumstances and the data I have from my GPS to get to the bottom of this and come up with some conclusions that might help others.

This was a run, not a ride, and was only 8km, in a hilly part of Singapore. Not a very competitive race - most were there just for fun - but still a race, with trophies for the first five finishers. I had bib number 100 a few days in advance, which told me there were at least 99 others in this. No matter the competition, I will always try my hardest to for the best finish. There's no such thing as a take-it-easy race.

To ensure I could really do it, two days in advance, I ran 8.6km at about 5:30 am. It was nice and cool (which I should have factored in) and I finished in 46 minutes (see it on Strava here) which demonstrated that I'd be OK come race day. And I forgot to add - I didn't drink any water during the race - only before and after.

Anyway I knew I'd be able to do this race. I cycle enough and don't think twice about doing 120km on my own on the weekends, home before 11am to go swimming with my kids. What's 8km on foot?

During that early-morning training run I had my heart rate monitor on, and to my surprise it rose to 175 - the highest I had ever seen it. I thought (prophesied?) to myself, "If I hit 176 I will collapse." In fact I was amazed I had never seen such a high figure while cycling, and only then began to realise how different cycling and running really are.

I even appealed to the wise of Facebook about such a heart rate anomaly 

         

So Saturday morning, before the race, I drank a few glasses of water and set off, heart rate monitor on and Garmin in hand. My pace was good and I was in the top four for the first few kilometers, until I passed one, then another, and was in second place.

As I passed the few workers along the course they yelled things like, "Keep going, you're second!!" while other runners, still coming the other direction in the loop clapped and cheered for me. Running is hard for me, and not fun. Agony, really, but their encouragement kept me going and gave me some hope.

The course was poorly marked with lazy attendants at only some of the junctions leaving us to guess as to where to go. Once I went straight up a steep hill, through a group of tourists from China on a narrow sidewalk, and back down. Obviously this was wrong way, but I made it back down and maintained my position, though losing energy and time.

Amazingly even at the halfway point there was no water. When I cycle I carry a lot of water (probably not enough though). I can hold as much as 2 litres, which can last me 120km of road or 30km of off-road. But when running, almost nobody carries water. Bad idea.

It was not the hottest time of day, though the sun was out. I was drenched in sweat and humidity was high, as it always is in Singapore. So I was hurting for some water. And it was getting hotter. But in the back of my mind, I was thinking, "This is a short race, only 8km, and I'm almost done. I'll keep pushing on! I'm in the front and I want a trophy!"

Then somewhere around km 5 there was a water stand set up with small plastic glasses. I grabbed one, most of it spilled, and I drank the remaining hundred ml or so. At least in Malaysia in the mountain bike jamborees they offer 500ml bottles of water, already opened, that won't spill as easily as a cup, so you don't have to stop to drink them. They always have bananas, too, which are full of electrolytes.

Around that point I passed friends coming back the other direction in this loop, including my wife, whom I didn't even say hi to. At that point I realized I must have been pushing it pretty hard.

The Garmin agreed - I had been watching my heart rate, which had by this time exceeded 180. By the traditional formula my max was 182. I saw it hit 183 and was amazed. Amazed and excited and exhausted and encouraged all at once.

The run went over Henderson Waves and the Forest Walk. Henderson Wave is said to be the highest pedestrian bridge in Singapore (36m); Forest Walk is an elevated steel walkway over the jungle. Both were fun to run on - a change from the boring and dangerous roads.

Forest Walk
Photo credit: Soonhuat95

Making my way downhill along the Forest Walk, towards about km 7 or so, I suddenly lost my balance. I grabbed the steel railing, incredulous that I couldn't stand up. Another runner, not in this race, came to my help. He told me to sit down, but I refused. I was worried the guy behind me would pass me and I'd lose my position. I stumbled along, like I was extremely drunk, gripping the rail, with this fellow jogger telling me to take it easy. I kept trying to get up and run, but kept falling back down.

I couldn't see anything around me. Only my hands out in front of me. I don't recall him or his face. I don't know if anybody passed me. I was quickly losing it.

In the back of my mind was the slogan from RoadID, the bracelet for runners and cyclists that lists their name, next of kin, pertinent medical info and more. Ironically, I lost mine in a crash, one of the high-speed, super-muddy, downhill, Malaysian variant. That slogan? "Never give up" Bad advice.

The next thing I knew I was on a stretcher.

I felt extremely weak. I couldn't open my eyes or move. It took some effort to talk. One voice among all stood out. There must have been anywhere from 5 to 10 people there helping me, and this guy was a real leader. He was telling the others what to do, how to carry the stretcher, when to pick it up, put it down, to give me water, and more. He had the charisma, confidence, and leadership I needed.

He told me he's a rugby player, that he was recently in Vietnam for a match, that he saw a picture of John Wayne being depicted as a POW, and other things to get my mind off my condition. He told me about a team in the Bay Area (B.A.) whose chant prior to each game was, "I pity the fool!" In general he made me feel great. I never saw his face or got his name but he truly kept my spirit up when I needed it.

I thought he might be an experienced soldier; in fact more like a seasoned officer. When picking up the stretcher he'd count, "3, 2, 1, 0" and on "0" they'd lift. He had command of the situation. Something everybody knew was needed but nobody else knew how to do.

Somebody must have come along with some water, because I remember drinking some (I have no idea where they got it or how they got the water down to the Forest Walk - same with the stretcher!) Then for some other reason, they put me down, maybe to rest. I said, "Does somebody have a phone? I've got to call Earl!"

And I rolled out of the stretcher and put my face directly on the steel grill which comprised the floor, and proceeded to upchuck all that water and probably my breakfast (funnily enough, my breakfast was the cereal called "Fitnesse"!) It was convenient that my vomit could so easily pass through the floor and into the jungle canopy.

That's a kind of obvious metaphor isn't it? Me vomiting up all my Fitnesse?

Not long after that they said a medic had arrived. I assumed it was somebody associated with the run, but I learned later it was a team of real medics from an ambulance. They wanted to put me on their stretcher, but the Rugby Guy wisely told them that the ride would be too bumpy for me since their stretcher was on small wheels and we were on the rough steel grill surface.

The medic started asking me semi-comprehensible questions, including my name and other stuff. Too bad I had lost my RoadID. I demanded to have the Rugby Guy back in control, but wisely and respectfully, he deferred to the professionals.

I really don't know how long this whole thing took - maybe half an hour - but eventually the Rugby Guy said we were almost at the bottom. I finally managed to open my eyes and that's when I noticed a serious looking stretcher and the back of an ambulance. This was too much for me. I couldn't accept the fact that I really needed medical treatment. Not me.

Two Hours of Hell
Nope I'm not going in any ambulance. I never have been and never will. It's pathetic enough that I didn't finish this short race. I really look like a wimp now. I've never not finished a race. I guess I can get up and I'll be fine. I'll just drive home. My car's only about 50m away in the Hort Park carpark. But no ambulance.

Heart rate analysis - The orange arrow is where I shut down (HR at 186).
The purple arrow is where I was put into the ambulance (HR jumped from 143 to 161).

Anxiously, I proclaimed, "I'm OK! I am! But really I'm not. But if I know I'm not, then I am, and that makes me sane! But if I am right then I know I'm not OK."

It was reassuring to be able to admit that I knew I was not OK. It convinced me that I wasn't crazy, because I could objectively see that I was in bad shape. Yet I equated being sane with being physically ready to get up and walk away. I had totally lost it.

I went into a fatal loop of flawed logic and escalating delirium. I spiralled into a psychological abyss of erroneous conjectures and terrifying assumptions.

They loaded me into the ambulance, and my senseless babbling only increased. I remember thinking to myself, "I must forget this. I will be haunted for life. Nobody will believe me that I was actually sane enough to see that I wasn't OK, and that I was really OK. I am in serious trouble. They'll think I'm insane but I know I'm sane because I know I'm not OK. There is no escape."

Then I ordered the paramedic, "Document this! Send it in to the medical journals! You have to write all of this down!"

Naturally, they just ignored me.

The sheer horror of this is nothing I could ever faithfully recount. In my garbled-up brain, at the time, I was doomed and my hellish-like fate had been sealed. There was no escape, ever. I couldn't be a viable parent or husband anymore. That's really what I believed.

To get a reality check, I asked my wife, who was in the ambulance to talk to me. I needed reassurance that she was there and that she cared; I needed a barometer from her as to my condition. Was she freaking out or cool?

Thankfully, she responded, and was anxious but not out-of-control.

I felt like Jacob Singer in Jacob's Ladder.

I addition to my Jacob's Ladder-like nightmare, I was faced with the anxiety of going to a hospital. And with the Rugby Guy gone, there was no real leader to keep me from totally losing my marbles. It was a bit late for that though.

I was shocked and stunned. I couldn't discern how or why I reached the indescribable state I was in.

As I understand, from my psychology degree, the neurotransmitters in your brain need electrolytes (potassium, sodium, magnesium, calcium and I think others) between them in order to both send a signal across a synapse and to prevent signals from continuing to be sent. These signals, I believe, can be between nerves (your brain is pure nerves) or from a nerve to a cell (like a muscle cell).

So when you don't have any electrolytes, the 'wires' get mixed up or stop altogether both in your brain and to your muscles. Either they don't fire or maybe they do but they don't stop! In other words you go bat-shit crazy and you collapse.

Soon I found myself on a bed in the emergency room of some hospital; I had no idea which. I was surrounded by doctors and nurses, trying to figure out what was wrong with me. I was mad. I was confused. I was incredulous. I was delirious. At one point I even said, "This is fun!" I was loco.

"Are you allergic to any medicines?" a doctor or nurse asked.
"How would I know, I haven't tried them all," I sarcastically replied.

"Can you move your arm over?" another attempted.
"Yes," I said, but then didn't move my arm.

"We're going to put a needle in you, OK?" a doctor asked.
"No, I really have a phobia of needles, you can't do it," I insisted.
"But we need to check your blood to see what's wrong with you."
"What's wrong with me, I'm freaking dehydrated, can't you tell!"
"We also need to put this solution in you to give you electrolytes," she said.
I answered, "No needles! Go buy some Gatorade!"

Recovery
She eventually talked me into it, and they put one in each arm. I felt much better almost instantly. It was almost cathartic how the anxiety and horror dissipated into a laughable illusion. My confusion started to clear. I became polite. I apologized to the nurses and doctors. I became rational. My sanity returned.

Not long after that they took me to get a CAT scan to make sure I didn't have a stroke or any brain damage.

Here's how my brain looked turned to oatmeal

I kind of look like Homer Simpson here. Felt like him too.

Doctor: "This guy's here for some x-rays and stuff. Why don't you just do one of his chest for fun?"
Good thing I have insurance.

The hospital must have been really broke to want to x-ray my knee just because it had a scratch on it.
Nobody could have really thought it was broken.

This is the kind of scratch I get regularly when I mountain bike.
To treat it, they covered it in tetracycline, layers and layers of gauze, and a ton of adhesive waterproof covers.
I ripped all that crap off as soon as I got home.

They also X-rayed my chest (no idea why) and my knee, which had a tiny cut on it. (The cut is cool - it is an imprint of the metal grate we jogged on.) Of course nothing was broken.

My kids were happy to visit me in the hospital

After a few hours, I was taken to my room. There was really nothing to do - my wife brought me a few books and my iPad, and of course my kids visited. Some friends and colleagues visited, which was cool. But more than anything I just needed rest. Lots and lots of rest.

I was there just over 48 hours. Over that period they took my blood and did an ECG every 8 hours, gave me a tetanus shot, and took my blood pressure about once every 30 seconds it seemed.

They put layers and layers of gauze on my knee scrape, in addition to tetracycline, and about a half-dozen clear adhesive plastic water-proofing films. Seriously, the bandages were far more uncomfortable than the cut.

Fall precaution? What in the world could have ever given them that preposterous idea?

I had (still have) a giant bump on my head which everybody ignored. I had a headache for three days. And Paracetamol is useless to me.

Heart Rate
I've heard the saying that the only heart rate you need to ever worry about is one that's zero. If this is true, it means you won't hurt yourself by maxing it out. Anybody who uses a heart rate monitor probably has a good idea of what their maximum heart rate is. The common formula is HR = 220 minus your age.

But this so-called formula is only a rough gauge. It was devised in the '70s by a guy named Dr. Haskell and was based on 10 previously-published studies. The subjects in those studies were not representative of the population, and the estimate wasn't meant to be taken too seriously. But it was convenient and it came at a time when athletes and coaches wanted a figure to put to training levels, and technology was coming out that could incorporate these formulae, like treadmills and heart rate monitors. (Source: NYT article)

So it stuck, and we all seem to use it: 220 minus your age.

Also, we're all different - a friend of mine's heart rate easily hits 190 when he cycles but never goes above 170 when he runs. And he's 41. I, on the other hand, at 38, hit a max of 167 cycling but was recently able to reach 186 running. It doesn't add up. Your real maximum may vary by up to 20 beats per minute from Haskell's casual formula.

So not accurately knowing your maximum may result in you training in the wrong zones, either too high or too low, and not getting the most out of yourself, or overdoing it. And what I find amazing is that my maximum on my bike seems to be different than the maximum when I run. Perhaps my maximum when I swim is different too?

If the saying is true, and that you can't explode your heart from excess exercise, there must be other things that will give out first. For me, it's hydration and nutrition.

Conclusion
As with many emergency or unusual situations, a variety of conditions must be present simultaneously for them to occur. Some of these may be perfectly normal, but in combination, they can be deadly. Any one of these factors on their own wouldn't have had the same result. I'll do my best to list them out below.

1. I am not a trained runner and do not have the experience or physical capacity to achieve what I thought I could. My cycling fitness didn't transfer over to running as easily as I thought it would have. I overestimated myself.

2. I did not drink enough water beforehand or during the race. I had two glasses of water right before the run, and a fraction of one of the small glasses at the second water stop. The first one wasn't even set up by the time I arrived.

3. I did not have enough electrolytes. This would have been fine had I not run so hard. After all, probably the majority of the participants didn't pay any attention to their electrolyte levels, yet they finished.

3.5. And my last one, more like an excuse or a complaint, is the wrong turn I took.

The race crew were not on their toes. They didn't see our urgent need to know which way to go! We don't want to slow down and ask directions; we need to know at least 20-30m in advance so we can plan our line and where we run. One of them was lying on a bench playing on her phone. Another told me to go left when there were two lefts: a paved sidewalk that went into the jungle and a road. I didn't know which to take.

But the worst one was at the top of Mt. Faber where there's a very sharp bend, maybe 120 degrees, which leads back down or up even higher to some kind of monument. The guy just said "go right" but didn't say where, and by the time I had to make the choice he was out of sight.

I decided to err on the safe (hard) side and go uphill, as I remembered they said "to the top" in the pre-race briefing, but all I found was elderly China tourists. I found a stairway down the other side which led me back to the road, but I lost a considerable amount of time and exertion on that one.

I suppose I could have finished just fine had any of one of the first three been resolved. I bet even if I would have overestimated myself, but I had the water, I would have been fine. But believe me, I'll make sure I fulfil at least two out of the three from now on. I think it's fine to overestimate yourself, but now I know you need the proper safety net in place.

I will go back to that course, I will conquer it, and I will do it in a respectable time. It should not be hard given what I have learned.

But most important of all, I have to give all my thanks to the Rugby Guy. I must thank him for:

1. Having the selflessness to sacrifice his race finish and position for my health
2. Having the leadership to direct others in a time of confusion
3. Having the charisma to keep my morale up and get my mind of my pain

I'm trying to track him down and when I do, I'm taking him out for beer. Rugby Guys like beer right?

And if he wants to push himself too hard on the beer, no problem, I've got his back like a stretcher.

---------------------------------

Update
A few days after posting this entry I tracked down the Rugby Guy. His name is Ian, and he's a lawyer. I called him and thanked him for all he had done. Additionally, I got his home address. I ordered a dozen local craft beers to be delivered to his house that night, in appreciation for all he had done. Luckily, he is someone who can appreciate good microbrews.

We finally meet

Then a week after that we finally met up. This was the first time I had seen him, though I felt like I knew him. Over a few more beers, he explained to me how he got the stretcher to me (the organisers had one, and they yelled to the one of the marshals who got it), and a few other missing memories.

Throughout this experience, I learned a lot about my body and my mind, and it has only made me stronger and more prepared for the next race.

Ride hard or ride home.