HomeMy WebLinkAboutThe Times Advocate, 2004-10-13, Page 2020
Exeter Times -Advocate
Wednesday, October 13, 2004
Conquering the ultimate run "because it was there"
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Exeter resident Paul Ciufo with his wife Julie just
before Paul ran in the Toronto Waterfront Marathon
(below) and Julie ran in the Half Marathon Sept. 26.
(photos/submitted)
By Paul Ciufo
SPECIAL TO THE T -A
TORONTO — My recreational running career started
out fairly sensibly a little more than two years ago, with
few hints of the lunacy that would soon follow.
I didn't suspect a modest five km race would be just
the first step toward tackling a distance over eight times
longer, the ultimate goal for the distance runner: the
marathon.
In August 2002 I began to train for a new fund raising
event in Grand Bend called the Community Run for Fun.
By the way, the third annual race, now offering five
kilometre or 10 kilometre distances, is coming up Oct.
17.
For more information go to www.hay.net/-gbendrun/
or check out www.grandbendtourism.com and find the
link under Events.
To help promote the inaugural race, I asked the local
newspaper to track my training progress.
Martin Thuss, the race director, generously offered to
coach me. Martin had run dozens of marathons and
countless shorter races.
The newspaper published photos of me labouring
along trying desperately to keep up with Martin, or con-
torting my face in pain while stretching.
The updates chronicling my efforts were topped with
sensational headlines like "Paul hits the wall!"
Every week Julie, my wife, opened up the newspaper
and said sadly, "I'm so embarrassed for you."
However there was a method to my madness.
The goal of running a race helped me become a disci-
plined, focused runner.
Having my results tracked publicly was extra motiva-
tion to avoid slacking off. Over the course of a couple of
months my times improved.
Plus I lost weight and felt healthier and much more
energetic.
What I failed to realize, however, was that I'd fallen
victim to a very serious syndrome: I'd been bitten by the
running bug.
No sooner had I run the five km race than I started
planning to run a 10 kilometre race.
After a few of those I ran a 14 kilometre race.
I found myself checking my mailbox eagerly for my
monthly copy of "Runner's World" magazine.
I started using bizarre phrases understandable only to
runners such as "negative splits", "fartleks", and
"carbo -loading" (for those who are interested, respec-
tively running the second half a race faster than the
first; a sprint inserted in the middle of a slower training
run; and consuming lots of carbohydrates leading up to
a lengthy race).
In the spring of 2004 I ran a half marathon, a 21 kilo-
metre race.
As I sprinted across the finish line full of energy, my
mind turned to thoughts of tackling double the distance.
Could I actually finish a full marathon? I felt confident
that I could do it.
As I ratcheted up my training, that confidence soon
evaporated.
It soon became apparent that although running 21
kilometres required about double the effort of a ten km
race, running 42 kilometres (26 miles) was exponential-
ly more difficult.
When I tried to run the full distance in training, I com-
pletely hit the wall (runners would say I "bonked").
At 38 kilometres I sat down on the side of the road,
unable to continue. I must have looked pretty bad
because some kind passers-bys-their faces full of con-
cern — asked if I was ok and offered me some water.
Finally the day of the big race arrived. For several
weeks I'd been tapering, cutting back my running
mileage to rest my body.
I'd followed an ambitious carbo -loading regime, eating
pancakes and bagels and pasta (Atkins dieters were
appalled), and drinking litres upon litres of a sports
drink packed with carbohydrates.
The goal was to flood my muscles with glycogen, a
substance essential to their operation that gets badly
depleted during lengthy, strenuous exercise.
The failure to carbo -load and drink enough liquid had
led to my disastrous training run, and I was determined
not to Bonk again.
Downtown Toronto was abuzz even though it was
6:30 a.m. on a Sunday.
Nine -thousand runners milled about waiting for the
start of the Toronto Waterfront Marathon, and Half -
Marathon.
Everywhere people were stretching, chatting, taking
last-minute sips of water.
Julie was slated to run the half -marathon, which start-
ed a little later, so I wished her a good run and headed
for the marathon start line.
Seven -thirty took forever to arrive.
I checked my running bib, number 332. I checked the
timing chip attached to my shoelace. I stretched.
A runner standing beside me pointed to the clock and
said, "Hurry up and start already."
We chatted and he said this would be his second
marathon and his first had been nine years ago.
He said his goal was three hours and twenty minutes,
and I confided that I hoped to finish in three hours, thir-
ty minutes.
Then we were off. I reminded myself to stick to my
planned pace. It is easy to get swept up in the excite-
ment of the race early on and run too quickly.
Martin's words of wisdom came to mind, "You can't
win the marathon in the first few kilometres, but you
can lose it."
There was excitement in the air as crowds lining the
race route cheered us on.
As we headed west along the lakeshore, the Princess
Gate at the CNE grounds came into view.
A drum band infused my legs with their rhythm.
After a number of kilometres we doubled back toward
downtown.
The sun rose up into the cloudless sky above Lake
Ontario, it was going to get hot.
At every water station along the route I grabbed and
guzzled lots of water and Gatorade.
When gels were available, little packs of liquid food, I
took several.
My research had informed me that 30 to 40 per cent
of what my body needed would come from what I con-
sumed during the run.
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I also worried about heat stroke and dehydration.
I get heat stroke at the drop of a hat. My first and last
day as a golf caddy at the age of 14 ended with me sit-
ting in the back of a cart, compassionate golfers giving
me water and candies and a hat to wear.
As I passed the next marathon water station, instead
of taking one of the little paper cups they were handing
out, I grabbed a huge bottle.
I had some bizarre thoughts.
Seeing a "CSI: New York" billboard, I imagined the
detectives finding my body at the side of the road and
saying, "badly dehydrated, a crazed look on his face -
must have died from running a marathon."
Morbid, you might think, but the myth of the creation
of the event ends with the poor guy who ran from
Marathon to Athens reporting his news, then dropping
dead.
Several oh -so -encouraging friends and colleagues
reminded me of that fact during my training.
At about the 30 kilometre mark I really began to
labour and slow down.
I was filled with uncertainty about my ability to finish.
I wondered why I had ever decided to attempt such a
feat. I vowed repeatedly to never again run a marathon.
Some guy standing on the sidelines yelled, "20 miles is
the half -way point".
In other words, the last six miles are completely bru-
tal. Even though he was right, I had some unkind
thoughts about him.
To overcome the negativity, I thought about the impor-
tance of taking on difficult, personal challenges and per-
sisting through the tough parts.
I thought of the first man to climb Mount Everest, who
said he did it "because it was there".
I imagined all of my friends and family who were
wishing me well, urging me to keep going and succeed.
To be honest, I also thought about how embarrassing
it would be to fail.
Suddenly an encouraging spectator yelled out to the
runners, "You're looking good!" A nearby woman run-
ner retorted, "You lie!!" We all laughed.
The 35 kilometre mark was in The Beaches, and my
good pal Serge who lives in the neighbourhood showed
up to cheer me on.
His moral support provided me with a real lift. I gave
him a high -five and turned back west toward down-
town, the home stretch.
As the 38 kilometre mark approached I felt anxious as
I remembered the horrible experience of hitting the
wall.
However I broke right through the wall and kept on
going.
From 39 kilometre onwards, terrible cramps and
spasms coursed through my thighs and calves, but I
ignored them.
At 40 kilometres I started to believe I would actually
finish.
At 41 I knew I'd make it; the only question was
whether I'd have enough energy for my usual "finishing
kick" which was a sprint over the last few hundred
metres.
The finish line appeared and tingles of exhilaration
swept from my head down to my toes. I began to sprint.
Crowds flanking the street cheered me on.
I glanced at the people and could see the surprise on
their faces as they caught sight of me sprinting madly.
The big clock above the finish line was getting close to
three hours and forty-five minutes, so I picked up my
pace even more.
I crossed the line. "I did it! I did it!" I thought. A won-
derful feeling of confidence settled over me.
I had conquered the ultimate distance for long dis-
tance runners.
Despite my vows during the race to never attempt
another marathon, I'm planning to run my next one in
the spring.
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