The Last Post.

As I write this, I’m sitting in the depressing environs of Dubai airport, waiting for my flight home, which has, annoyingly, been delayed for three hours. The airline has provided me with the crappiest McDonalds meal possible. I have spent two hours in the immigration queue. My butt pain is at God Tier.

By all accounts, I probably shouldn't be feeling as bloody happy as I do...

...In the pocket of the bag propped up next to me is the medal from today’s race.

Despite the brave face I have tried to project to the world, the last two months of training have been pretty unpleasant, to say the least. I have been wandering on the edge of serious overtraining, stressing endlessly over missed runs. The extended taper I did always felt like an even mix of 'too damned much' and 'not nearly enough'.

I flew to Dubai on 19th January with a mind full of contradictory thoughts.

At times, I felt so strong that a sub-3 time seemed in my grasp (ha ha, right?), and then, mere minutes later, for no apparent reason whatsoever, I would be convinced that I would be finishing just a minute too late.

This muddled mindset was something I carried with me almost until I stepped over the final mat.

I collected my race pack that afternoon at the ultra-luxurious Meydan hotel in a smooth, hassle-free, uncrowded five minutes.

Dubai is pretty nice at this time of the year, and I did a peppy 5k training run around the gorgeous marina promenade on the 20th, spent the day carb-loading with small meals... pasta, bagels, dates and yogurt... as I wandered around the city. Visited the Burj Khalifa. Spent hours at the Dubai Mall and the Mall of the Emirates, buying nothing but wishing I had more money. 

On the 21st, the carb-loading continued, and I spent most of the day off my feet, as suggested by prevalent running lore. I anticipated that I would be getting little sleep at night, but surprisingly, I managed a good seven hours before the alarm went off at 4 AM on race day.

An unhurried textbook oatmeal/banana breakfast, and a readily available cab to the start were the pre-race highlights of that morning.

In terms of crowd and festivity, the mustering areas on Umm Suqeim road  were very similar to the ADHM. There were no starting corrals/sections. The atmosphere was thick with the familiar electricity and expectations of thousands of runners. I felt right at home.

At precisely 0615 hours, I downed a gel with a gulp of water.

At 0630, we were off.

I immediately started overthinking every single aspect of my race. I wasn't going to make the mistake of starting out too fast this time, I told myself, and tried to keep a sober pace.

Until, of course, the 3rd kilometer, when I was suddenly telling myself... okay, slow...but not this damned slow! 

My kilometer splits accurately reflect what was going on in my mind until the halfway point. Every kilometer I maintained a 4:10 to 4:20 pace was when I was dreaming of a sub-3 hour finish. Every 4:20 to 4:30 paced kilometer was when I was berating myself for being stupid and trying desperately to save myself for the last 10k.

When I crossed the halfway mark in 1:32, I still hadn't settled into any kind of rhythm.

I have given up the idea of ever being able to run a negative-split, so my pacing plan did cater for a fade in the last 8 to 10k. But it started at km 30. It may have been because I had run the first half faster than I should have, or it may have been due to the fact that the much vaunted 'pleasant' weather of Dubai chose that stretch to disappear.

Suddenly, it was warm.

It was still much better than anything Mumbai throws at you, but it was unexpected for me. I slowed down, and this time, not by choice.

At km 32, Ash Nath, the well-known marathoner, came up alongside me, looking decidedly chill. I chatted with him for a bit about trying for a BQ.

"You'll get it easily," he said as he cantered past, "Just don't do anything stupid."

Anything stupid? I thought back and tried to recall a time during the race where I wasn't doing anything stupid.

Nothing came to mind.

The fade hit me in earnest at km 35-36, but somehow, by this time, even though I was not running the way I hoped I would be, I somehow knew that I would get my time.

I ran the Standard Chartered Dubai Marathon in 3:09:56. A bit close, but I'd be an idiot to complain. Physically, the run was comfortable, and I didn't feel dead and buried at the end... that's the way it should be. Most of the agony I suffered was in my indecisive, chaotic mind.

This, besides giving me a moderately comfortable BQ, has made the url of this blog redundant. 

I don't seem to have much left to say in the context, so it's time to bring 'Running It Down' to a close. I thank everyone who has endured through my flabbergasting prose over the past two years.

This is the last post.

Cue cheers and sighs of relief...