Anatomy of a DNF

Sunday was my first (and probably not last, but hopefully not very often) "did not finish" in a cycle race. A day later, I'm still kicking myself over it -- not the actual DNF itself, but the way it came about -- and I guess the best I can come away with is that it's a learning experience if nothing else.

I had done a Surrey League men's cat 3 race on the Dunsfold circuit back in March and done pretty well to stay with the pack, though in retrospect that course with its twisty narrow lanes, short descents and draggy climb is pretty suited to my abilities and weaknesses when racing with guys. The Walliswood course where we raced yesterday... not so much. Leona was right to be a bit worried!

The story:

We did a recce lap of the course about an hour before the race (Jim, Leona, another guy and I) and even at a nice warm-up pace it was over 30km/h. Jim commented on that but it didn't occur to me that this should be a warning. Mistake #1.

The race began and after a near disaster in the neutralised zone due to some poor road surfaces and a pack of 60 riders trying to avoid oncoming cars, the pace sped up. A few attacks went off at the first climb, but nothing too serious. I was trying to stay near the front and having varying success; the roads were really busy with cars coming at us, making riding on the right/outside somewhat stressful. After a while I moved to the left/inside, which was a bit easier though more risky for getting caught out by accelerations in the group. Mistake #2.

The second half of Lap 1 was marked by a sharp turn followed by a twisty rolling bit, a fast steepish descent with a crappy road surface, then onto a busy major road with a slight uphill helped by a tailwind. Starting the descent in the front half of the group, I was near the back by the end, but the bunch slowed considerably on the uphill as things came back together. I figured this would probably happen every lap. Mistake #3.

Lap 2 was more of the same, though instead of getting up to the front, I was caught out on the first climb behind some slower guys. Wary of putting out too much energy too early in the race, I decided not to claw my way back to the front and instead try to sit on for a bit. It's sort of dangerous to be near the back in such a large group as it's hard to gauge whether you're 40th, or 50th or at the very very back (to me, anyway). I didn't want to look around behind me, but if I had I would have seen that I was literally sitting amongst the rear dozen riders, not a good spot to be! Mistake #4.

Then it happened. Sprinting out of the sharp corner cost me some energy, and the twisty rolling bit didn't see me gain any position back. Suddenly the swift downhill appeared, I hesitated over some rough road and everyone who was behind me shot past me, including Leona. "No worries", I thought, gritting my teeth and giving the powertap everything I could muster as we turned onto the main road. "They'll slow down any second now". Except they didn't. Jim's power data later showed that that was the hardest section of the entire race, that five minutes from the A29 up past HQ to the lapboard. Whether it was an attack or just a general sharp increase in pace, I don't know. I could only watch as the group powered away without me in it. A minute or two later I saw Leona coming back to me as the guy in front of her was gapped and she was unable to get around him. We looked at each other and shook our heads, stunned by our combination of bad positioning, bad timing and bad luck at being caught out. 40km/h became 35km/h as the two of us worked together for another lap (passing more than one disheartened guy who'd also been dropped, including Mr. Gapped). But that was the end of our day in the bunch.

Funny enough, my power data shows I averaged the same watts for the lap with Leona as I did for the first two laps with the bunch, but at 5-6km/h slower, our choices were to ride five more laps alone or slow down and be lapped by the main field and try to latch on as they went by. And as it was my third race in eight days and I'd also run over 44km during the week, my brain decided my legs weren't up to either task so I called it a day as I cruised by HQ. Turned in my race number, got some food, and sat to watch the rest of the race unfold while I not-so-silently fumed at myself for being so stupid. Leona joined me shortly afterwards.

The rest of the Wheelers didn't fare so well either. Damien spent a lot time bridging to the break, then cramped with a lap to go and couldn't hang onto them. Jim got near the front on the last lap with a top 10 in mind going up the final 100m climb to the finish line, but cramped and literally had to limp his bike over the line. Andy was nearly taken out by a rider who cut the final corner short and had to settle for a finish in the bunch. Mickael, the ghost Wheeler, sat in the break for some time then disappeared and was not seen again -- not sure if he even finished! At least the afternoon's E/1/2/3 race was a bit more successful, with Steve Saunders taking 2nd place, Luke Wallis 9th and James finishing in the pack.


Damien and Mickael in the break, photo from London Cycle Sport

Lessons learned:

-- always stay near the front! even more important for me in men's races than in women's, and especially important when coming up to a tailwind or downhill section. These guys outweigh me by more than 15kg, so even if I were the world's greatest descender I'd still have to work hard to keep up. To that end, Olympic rowing medallist Elise Laverick was also in the race and did a great job to finish in the bunch. She is quite a bit bigger and stronger than Leona and me though!

-- keeping to the right/outside is nearly always safer from a positioning perspective than the left/inside, particularly on uphills. And since the roadside is often soft and uneven by the edge, it's sometimes better from a safety perspective to be riding the white lane line in the middle, oncoming cars or not.

-- a fast recce lap means an even faster race and even more reason to STAY NEAR THE FRONT!

-- never assume that every lap will be the same, and certainly never count on the bunch slowing down, ever. Luck is something that happens unplanned. Planning for luck to come through is a sure way to fail.

-- sometimes life is just like that. Accept it, learn from it, move on to the next one. At least I didn't crash out.

Rotterdam Marathon DNF Race Report

Short version:

I DNFed. Before the start I thought I might, after 20km I resigned myself that I would, and now afterwards I feel somewhat annoyed but also realise it was probably the right thing to do. So my marathon goals and dreams will have to live to see another day, and more importantly, I've learned a thing or two about how to run one properly for next time.

Long version:

Jim and I were in Holland over the weekend to run the Rotterdam Marathon. We originally signed up for it last Christmas because we hadn't gotten into London and I wanted a spring marathon in the calendar to keep me running steadily throughout the winter. I'd done Rotterdam once before and while it's a fairly boring course, the support is good and it's flat and fast, good for a PB. Plus it meant a trip back to Holland to visit friends and go shopping.

Through sickness and other distractions Jim hadn't done enough training to run the marathon, so he ended up switching to the 10k when we picked up our race packets. (In fact, he did rather well at that distance, shattering all previous PBs and slaying the 40 minute dragon.) So that left me alone in the marathon, trying to make a decision that I'd been mulling over for the past few weeks: run the whole distance (for which I really hadn't trained enough, either) or try for a new PB in the half and drop out after that. In the end I picked the least attractive and more common third option: start out like you're running the whole thing, be on pace and target through the half for the full, but drop out a few kms later and call it a day with nothing really to show for it.

Note to self: drinking copious amounts of beer two nights before the race, and then eating a giant steak dinner the night before the race probably weren't the smartest things to do. The morning of the race, I woke up feeling less than 100%. After not sleeping well all week and then flying to Holland and sleeping even worse in the hotel, I had my doubts that Sunday would be my day. Nevertheless, we got our stuff together and took the train to Rotterdam. The weather at 9am was chilly and foggy, about 6 degrees. I hemmed and hawed in the changerooms near the start of the race about what to wear, finally going with a short-sleeved t-shirt and 3/4 length tights along with my calf guards, and lightweight gloves to take the chill off. We did a little warmup jog, then I left Jim to enter the sub-3:30 corral that I'd managed to get myself registered for. Somewhere between 10:45 and 11am, the sun came out and suddenly everything heated up, and I stood around in the corral and realised I should have used the portapotty one last time... sigh. One of these days I'll get that right!

The gun went at 11am and one minute 14 seconds later I had crossed the start line and was running down the wide Coolsingel. The first 2km passed with me anxiously looking for somewhere, anywhere, to stop and have a pee, but no such luck; the crowds were lining the streets and while I was desperate and this was Holland (where wildplassen is a national pastime), I wasn't about to completely embarrass myself. Thankfully just before the 3km marker there was an aid station and a single glorious, virgin portapotty. A minute later, I was out and running again with much relief.

The next 22kms passed pretty easily. I was clipping along at 4:50min/km pace, more or less on target for my sub-3:30, and feeling all right. Not pushing it but not dragging either, but completely and utterly... uninspired. Just blah. Thanks to the crowds and my little pit stop, the first 3km took me 16:30, but I gradually and mind-numbingly clawed all that lost time back: 5km went by in 26:14, 10km in 50:13, 15km in 1:14:56, 20km in 1:39:21 and 25km in 2:04:55. The mind games that had started before the gun even went off -- finish or no finish? -- were creeping into focus at 15km, niggling me relentlessly by 20km, and full on by 25km.

By then the sun had come out and I was getting more than warm. My shoulders and upper back were in knots. My legs felt all right but they were already warning that while finishing was possible, the next 17km and in particular the final 7km would be rough. Then I saw Jim, standing alongside the road having finished his own race more than an hour earlier, and I stopped running. With 25km on my Garmin and a 4:58min/km pace on the go, I just gave up and dropped out.

And at that I came to understand with painful clarity a vital part of marathon running (for me, anyway) that I'd previously missed: you need to go into the race with your bargaining power already harnessed and ready to go, or your body and mind will just talk you out of finishing it, and no comeback or argument you make up on the spot will be enough to overcome that. If you don't start the race with your motivation for finishing clear in your mind, you just won't finish it, period. The marathon is just too tough a distance to get through on mild interest and a distracted sense of obligation alone.

So with that, my third marathon attempt ended in a DNF. As the course was a figure eight in shape, the start/finish line was a mere 2km from where I dropped out, which made it pretty easy. Knowing that 25km was just enough to give me sore legs but not enough to keep me from training for the rest of the week made it even easier. Thinking that while I was on pace for sub-3:30, I might hit the 40km mark and crash and burn, making all that effort for nothing, was just the icing on the cake of reason. In fact, only three positive things came out of this whole experience:
- I got in a reasonable 25km run on Sunday
- I realised that I'm just too logical to run marathons without a heart-and-soul goal
- I'm not so mentally and physically spent that I don't want to even look at my running shoes for a month (as was the case after the last marathon)

Monday I was back on my bike and I'll go for a run probably tomorrow. And I've ordered myself a rubber bracelet with HTFU on it. While I think my goals for Ironman UK are pretty solid, I could use a reminder now and then to quit rationalising why I shouldn't do something and just get on and do it. Lesson learned.