Prince Edward Island Marathon 2010 – a bittersweet day

Last Sunday I ran my first marathon - 26.2 miles, or as they say in Canada 42km. I have been running for three years up to fifteen miles a week so reckoned I had built a good base from which to launch a sixteen week marathon training programme.

Despite injuries earlier in the year I had managed to raise my mileage steadily until I was covering thirty-five miles a week including long runs of sixteen and nineteen miles. Eventually however the training took its toll with sprains, strains and general exhaustion. I allowed myself two weeks of light training and the aches subsided but my ankles in particular were tender. Nonetheless by race day I was still hopeful of completing the marathon in four and a half hours, a realistic goal considering the times I had consistently run in training.

Sunday dawned cold, windy and raining and the surf on the north shore was boiling as we swung into Brackley Beach Car Park. Runners were milling around, stretching and warming up under the shelter of trees and in the lee of low buildings. The girls looked wet and bedraggled in the early morning gloom and must have wondered just why we had dragged them out into the wind and rain!

As 8am approached I lined up near the back of the two hundred and sixty five participants. This is a very small event – forget the tens of thousands of London, New York and Boston. At the gun we set off into the rain with the wind whipping at our backs. I discovered straight away that my iPod was stuck on repeat and, being blind as a bat without my reading glasses, I couldn't change the playback settings so stuffed it in the pocket of my drinks belt and ran in silence. What a bummer after crafting a fantastic fifty-song playlist!

I let faster runners disappear into the distance and settled into my own pace, monitoring my progress against a small laminated chart I’d made, showing kilometre split times. At the halfway point, twenty- one kilometres, we turned off the roads and onto the trail. I was on track at two hours and thirteen minutes and I reached the thirty-one kilometre mark spot on at three hours thirteen minutes...

Then I hit the wall. My knees buckled repeatedly and each time I limped and hopped until the pain eased. My pace dropped and runners began to pass me. The rain fell and the wind blew and at times it was all I could do to keep grinding away, one foot in front of the other with short strides. My knees, ankles and hips protested with each pace and I felt cold wet and miserable. I managed a weak smile for the thin groups of supporters who had valiantly turned out along the route.

By now I could see no one in front and no one behind me, yet I knew there must be more, trailing at the back. As I stumbled the final ten kilometres I lost huge chunks of time. Four and a half hours was no longer on and indeed I would drop twenty-five minutes in the final ten kilometres. Gatorade, water and energy gels were available at regular points. If nothing else, I should probably have drunk more.

I don't know how I finished the final drag of six kilometres from Sears into downtown. I limped and gritted my teeth and grunted in pain and watched stragglers pass me. I stopped to take a shoe off when some padding on a sore toe broke free in my sock but other than that and a couple of stops to stretch my legs, I ran the whole distance.

I finished in four hours and fifty-six minutes. My race number had long since blown away in the wind but my shoelace-mounted timing chip triggered a display in the commentator's booth as I approached the finish line and his excited voice boomed my name over the public address! Michelle and Cheryl were there to cheer me home and I all but collapsed into the arms of the volunteers handing out "space blankets." I limped to the car and when we got home my lips were blue and I was shivering. A half hour soak in a steaming hot bath followed by an hour in bed pulled me back closer to the land of the living.

This morning my muscle stiffness is bad and I can barely hobble from one room to another! I wish I could say running my first marathon was a profoundly uplifting, emotional experience but I can’t. It was horribly hard under nasty conditions and I just felt lousy, wet, cold and miserable. I hurt like hell and I am disappointed in my time which was dragged so low by being unable to jog above a brisk walking pace for the final ten kilometres. I know I was capable of a more respectable performance.

To balance this bleak summary I must acknowledge that this was my first attempt. At the ripe old age of fifty-three I accomplished something fewer than one in a thousand islanders did. (Of the two hundred and sixty-five participants over two thirds came from off island.) I completed the training through all weathers and despite injuries, I finished the marathon and I didn’t come last! I made a decision, committed to it and achieved my aim.

It’s still only a day ago that I ran forty-two kilometres. It’s too soon to make objective statements about the future. I want to say I hated it and I will never again put myself in such an uncomfortable place. I shouted those very words somewhere along the Confederation Trail with only the wind for an audience. It’s still a true statement as I sit and type this. When the pain has receded and the cold, wet memories have faded will I think differently? I might.

Lessons learned:
1. Set off even slower
2. Check iPod before abandoning my reading glasses
3. Drink more en route
4. Wear warmer clothes if it’s blowing a gale and raining
5. Run fewer runs in training but make the weekly long run longer and slower.

Thank you to Michelle for the amazing photos.



PS: belatedly I should add that two years on I trained again and put myself in a good position to retry. In 2012 I finished in four hours thirty eight minutes and felt much stronger. There is a full review here. My recovery after the second attempt was astonishing. I barely limped the following day and only a week later ran 10k.

i'm related to president george w bush

Quite how this discovery changes my life, I’m still trying to decide. The genealogical chart above opens quite blurred when you click on it due to the drastic reduction from its original size. Click the image again and it will expand but the size still just about shields identities. For the curious, I am in the lower left hand corner and my long lost presidential cousin is near the bottom right.

Some time ago I traced a distant line of ancestors by the name of Packard on my father’s side in the eastern English county of Suffolk but I lost track of them somewhere in the early 1800s. As is usual with genealogy, I got side-tracked on numerous other lines of enquiry and thought no more of the Packards until this week...

The beauty of the crumbling bones of long-dead ancestors is that they aren’t going anywhere in a hurry, so you can put them down and pick them back up much later and they’ll still be there. I returned to my Packards this month and discovered a fascinating pedigree online which included a prominent Packard in my own lineage. With me so far?

Out of sheer greed I copied the hundred or so names in this pedigree into my own records, pushing my Packard line back to a barely credible 1486AD! Out of curiosity I scanned the descending lines of this online treasure trove and the first one I followed led to a family of Packards who emigrated to The States in the 1700s where they threw down roots and thrust up branches up and down New England.

I continued to follow this line but when I reached the late Victorian period the male Packards had petered out. While I was idly fiddling with a dwindling female arm (so to speak) I spotted a Sheldon marrying in and fathering a daughter, Flora Sheldon. Bells of familiarity began to ring. I quickly realised Flora married Samuel Prescott Bush and they produced Prescott Sheldon Bush – the subject of many conspiracy theories ranging from the assassination of JFK to the Bilderberg Group to funding the Nazis.

This helpful online pedigree listed later descendants as "living" so dutifully withheld their names in the interests of privacy. Of course the next two generations are the George Bush's, senior and junior, as a cursory glance at Wikipedia will confirm!

My Family Historian software reliably informs me George W Bush and I are eleventh cousins once removed. Or in other words, we share a common ancestor fifteen generations ago. What all this means I am not sure. One thing is fairly certain, I am unlikely to be invited for cocktails at a leafy retreat in Rhode Island or Connecticut or wherever the bigwigs hang out these days. However, I might be spirited away to Quantico for interrogation.

the loneliness of the long distance runner

You might think this statement, borrowed from the title of a 1962 film, is a complaint. It's not. I enjoy the isolation of running alone and the self discovery it brings. On short runs I wear only a thin layer of Lycra, running shoes and a watch. There was a time when I regarded ten kilometres as an impossible dream but now that classes as a short run. For me ten kilometres now is fifty-eight minutes to unwind; to settle into a rhythm of stride pattern and breathing; to shake off angst and frustration.

Now I regularly run up to thirty kilometres. On the road for two to three hours at a time, I find controlled breathing and stride length becomes hypnotic. Setting off under the stars at 5:30am I can drift into a twilight world, only dimly aware of the passage of time and the rolling by of roads, houses, fields, woods and miles. Early in the run I chew over problems, decisions, anxieties until those thoughts begin to fade. After an hour or so my mind is almost empty. Even as dawn breaks only my footfall connects me to the planet. That's the point at which I really begin to absorb the fifty-song playlist poured into my ears by my iPod. Tracks that span the length of my life beat in my head. Each new cross fade brings a new decade and different fragments of memory...

Two years ago I ran my first half-marathon. When you enter the realm of long distance running you discover your body's natural limits. If you are not blessed with the physiology of an "elite" athlete you will need to drink during runs longer than one hour. Much beyond that and you will need to eat too. Standard issue muscles can store enough glycogen to power them for maybe ninety minutes to two hours before you slow to a crawl then stop completely. The first time I experienced exhaustion, headache and nausea after two hours of running I thought I was simply unwell. Cold and shivering, I walked the remaining mile home with barely the energy to drop into a hot bath. I took that lesson only once.

This year I developed the tentative idea of entering a full marathon. 26.2 miles is a special distance, well beyond reach without months of punishing training, building muscle and stamina, forcing your body to adapt to burning fat as well as glycogen to drive muscles. I had been running throughout our uncommonly mild winter (minus ten is mild by Maritime Canada standards!), covering fifteen or twenty miles a week so had maintained last year's conditioning. Michelle bought me the "Non-Runner's Marathon Guide" and after devouring it I calculated I could move seamlessly from my current weekly mileage into the sixteen week recommended training programme by the first week of July. I hadn't bargained on injury.

From a combination of over-training in April and a new pair of running shoes I damaged the arch of my left foot. Such was the pain, I couldn't run at all in May and June. I nervously watched the arrival of July and decided I would test the foot despite residual pain. I had lost some cardio-vascular fitness despite visiting the gym pretty much every day to use the "eliptical cross trainer" and it took me several weeks and yet more new running shoes to recover my stamina - but I did. The chart above shows the mileage I have run in the past three months - four runs a week, including one long run on Sunday morning. On long runs you need to take some of your world with you. I wear my iPod; a belt to carry my drinks bottle, energy gels, lip-balm, Vaseline and mobile phone.

For the past six weeks I have run a half marathon or further every Sunday with a longest run of nineteen miles. This has taken a toll on my ankles. Swelling has made the interior ankle bones red and sore. For the first time I missed a scheduled run this week and know I won't be able to cover the recommended miles before October 17th. I ran ten kilometres last night in my fastest time ever but my ankles are tender this morning. I plan to begin the taper early and reduce my mileage to one long run and one medium run for the next three weeks in the hope of reaching marathon day in decent enough shape to finish the race.

So, health permitting, I may be ready to tackle those 26.2 miles (42km) and it might take me around four and a half hours, a time frame for running that would have shocked me until recent years. Through sheer determination and hours spent ignoring the heat, the cold, the wind, the rain and the snow, I discovered that you can train yourself to do almost anything - even to run for hours and hours on end. I am on the brink. Only physical collapse can stop me. I know I can meet the mental challenge. I am comfortable with my own company and voyages deep inside my head while outside the hours are passing and the world is turning.

There is a start, there is a finish and in between you just run. That bit in between is where the loneliness resides. No one can do it for you, you are on your own.

synch your iPod with windows media player

... or how I shunned iTunes.



Apple has done all in its power to render their delicious iPods incompatible with Windows. Hardly surprising when you consider Apple is in direct competition with the Bill Gates empire. The only way to upload media to your iPod, whether it's music, video or spoken word, is by using iTunes.

That statement is only as true as Apple would have you believe. In other words test it and you might find an alternative way. I love the silky, sexy iPod but I am not a fan of iTunes. I find the interface clunky and the interference of Apple somewhat intrusive. Quite apart from trying to sell you music, you feel they might be amassing a database of people who download album art from them having acquired the music from some other dubious source. Well, they may be right but that's none of their business.

Google the terms ipod, synch and Windows Media Player and you quickly find there are a number of solutions available to those who have grown to almost enjoy Windows Media Player and who want to marry it to their new iPod. The easiest method I found was to download a plug-in called from MGTECH. The mysteriously named "dopisp" runs invisibly in the background and allows Windows Media Player to detect your iPod when you plug it in. Hey Presto, you can synch your favourite podcasts, albums and films as well as manage and delete files.

The solution is free to try but costs about twenty dollars to use permanently. I for one am happy to fork out the cash in order to keep my tried and tested method of stuffing an mp3 player.

You'll also need to download Juice, a pod feed retriever. When you've told Juice the address of your favourite streams it will look for them daily and save copies in your preferred Documents or Music folder where they can be automatically monitored by Windows Media Player for new material. Almost seamless really.

iPod nano 16gb

This is my new iPod Nano. For the past five or six years I have used a Creative Zen mp3 player which still serves me well but which is heavy and bulky by today's standards. It's hard to understand how they can make this thing so small, so wafer thin, yet able not only to store music but play films, shoot video clips, record voice memos, act as a calendar, alarm clock and general all-round indispensible gadget. I rather like it.

Since I began running two and a half years ago, I have run without music. This is partly preference because I do like to hear the ambient sounds but partly because my Zen doesn't respond well to the shaking and bouncing of a run as it operates from a traditional hard drive with all the attendant moving, spinning parts.

Apple has announced revised versions of their players and the new Nano will not be much bigger than a postage stamp. One unexpected sneeze and you might never see the device again! This week, before the fifth generation stocks dwindle, I treated myself to the old Nano and a slim neoprene sleeve with a Velcro armband.

Yesterday I ran with my new iPod for the first time and it was a nice experience. I ran sixteen and a half miles which took two hours and forty three minutes - long enough to listen to a playlist containing a one hour podcast on Jack the Ripper, two albums by "The Music" and a half hour BBC Radio programme, "Just a Minute." Time flew by!

old home week, charlottetown pei

Mid August is Old Home Week in Prince Edward Island. Charlottetown is bursting at the seams with tourists from the Far East, Europe, The United States and from almost every Province in Canada. So, a good time to showcase all that relates to Maritime family-run farms and rural life. Here are some photos of our day out.

We parked at my father-in-law's apartment and walked to the Exhibition Centre in blazing sunshine. For several blocks all around people have been renting out parking spaces on their front lawns, driveways and even back yards! Five dollars seems to be the going rate. Licence plates on glittering automobiles from New York, Tennessee, Georgia and even Florida jostle for position between rusting local Buicks and Mustangs.

We wanted the girls to see the livestock so headed first for the animal sheds. Sheep, goats and chickens held the interest for a while but soon we made for the larger beasts. However the overpowering aroma from the indoor cow and horse enclosures, not to mention the slimy floor, forced us to beat a retreat.

MJ was as busy as ever and we moved between exhibits and shows to keep the peace. Ever the extrovert, she joined the volunteers on stage for a kids' sing-along. The others were accompanied by parents but two-year-old MJ shot up the stairs alone and simply looked around for visual clues before joining in the clapping, and dancing. I have photos of her with both feet several inches off the ground!

I retreated to the indoor arena with KR in the stroller to watch a display of horse riding. At just six months old she was restless and in need of a nap. After that we took in a harness race on the attached Charlottetown Driving Park. I am accustomed to seeing racehorses in full gallop on British courses and at first I couldn't work out what was different about the gait of these horses. Then I realised that although they were moving pretty fast they were using the trot stride pattern. This made them appear to be walking but in fast motion. Odd too to see the driver perched on a tiny ledge behind the horse's bottom, suspended on thin wheels. Somewhat precarious whichever way you look at it!

After a leisurely stroll through the funfair under a baking afternoon sun, mesmerised by the gut-churning aerial rides and the crazy prices, we picked up the car and took two exhausted girls home.

gold cup and saucer parade, charlotte pei

One of harness racing's most prestigious events in Maritime Canada is the Gold Cup and Saucer held at Charlottetown's driving park. To celebrate and support the occasion roads are closed and a parade winds its way through town. Photos of the Parade are here.

We packed the girls in the car and snaked our way into town along with thousands of others, all optimistic of parking close to the parade's route. Arriving an hour before the start we managed to find a parking spot just a couple of hundred yards from a main road and set off carrying our folding chairs with MJ in tow and KR in the stroller.

By 10am the crowds lining the roads had swelled to five or six deep and a ten kilometre fun run raced past, with the loudest applause reserved for a five-yeariold who brought up the rear after running the whole way with his father.

We watched around a hundred floats grind slowly by, each one decked in bright colours and advertising a local business or organisation. Groups held giant inflatables, pulling on the guy ropes to lower their charges beneath Charlottetown's overhead power and phone lines.

MJ was pumped up by the sights, the sounds and the activity. She couldn't stop herself rushing into the road to join in the leaping and dancing of the cheerleaders and baton twirlers, or to march with brass bands and bagpipes. She is never a passive observer but wears her heart on her sleeve, pointing, shouting and faking fear as giants and clowns loomed in to view.

KR wriggled and fussed and squirmed in her stroller but eventually fell asleep. Flatbed trucks sounded their air horns making her startle without waking. After two hours the parade was over and we joined the rapidly dispersing tide of humanity hurrying for our cars.