Vancouver Marathon Memories;
and what we can learn from them.
By Roger Robinson
Feeling nervous about running your next marathon? You're not the first. Thirty years ago, in May 1981, I was shivering on the Vancouver Marathon start-line at Robson Square - wet, cold, jet-lagged, and anxious. I was in Vancouver for the first time, facing only my second marathon, and was under pressure to perform well. It was a privilege to be an invited overseas runner, but now I had to earn it.
Every runner feels pressured before a marathon, as well as excited. You're going into the unknown. Pain and disappointment may lie ahead. Even if your personal challenge is simply to finish, as it is for the majority of today's millions of runners, the prospect of 42k still scares the daylights out of you.
Once the race starts, it's different. Runners love the challenge. We love the excitement, the sense of an unrepeatable experience, the purpose shared with thousands of others. We love the drama of the race, the suspense, the demands on our courage, the buzz of being in the middle of the action and not knowing how it will all end. Don't say that's not true - listen to every runner telling their stories afterwards. But that's afterwards. Beforehand, it's all worry. That day in 1981, every one of the 1,600 runners (a huge field in those days!) felt like I did.
My role in the drama started quietly. A pack of about fifteen took off up Smythe and Nelson Streets into the misty rain, too fast for my taste. By the time we reached Stanley Park they were out of sight on some of the hills. Worse, they included two of my co-favourites for the masters division, Toronto's Bob Moore and my fellow New Zealander John Robinson (no relation).
The enterprising Vancouver organizers wanted their race to be genuinely "International," so they found sponsorship to invite three top young Australians, and also three New Zealand masters. In those strictly amateur days it was a rare perk to get airfares and a good hotel, especially for a runner over 40. Our Vancouver hosts had treated us generously, and I felt obligated to deliver. But even though I had represented England and New Zealand at cross-country, I had only run one marathon - New York the previous November.
That was enough to teach me the marathon's greatest lesson – nothing is certain. However well prepared you are for success, you are only one cramp or one pothole away from failure. Whatever your goal time, it's fatal to go out too fast. In Vancouver I got that right. It was those leaders, half a minute in front of me, who were most of them over their heads. By 12k, John Robinson had slipped behind. Soon after, I caught Moore. We ran stride-for-stride, just as we used to when we were students in England in the 1960s. I knew he was tough. He was looking good.
But I was feeling better. By halfway, Moore was gone, and I was leading the masters, in seventh overall, moving well. I was tempted to push but wisely suppressed it. In a marathon, the best decision is to wait. More stragglers drifted off from the front, and as we turned back towards the city again at 25k, I was up with two young runners, one Canadian, one Aussie, in equal third place.
Somewhere came a long expressway, but I can't remember where. In the second half of a marathon you turn inward, focusing on the task. Never feel aggrieved about the course. Or the weather. It's what it is. That morning it was what the "Vancouver Sun" called "brutal," with "rain like pellets."
But I was happy as a penguin. Before Stanley Park again (35k) I was clear in third place. Only the two best Aussies were ahead, and one, Lawrie Whitty, was in trouble. I didn't catch him, but apparently I took a minute out of him in the final kilometre. You can gain or lose a lot in the last few minutes of a marathon.
Vancouver left me with good memories. Marathons do that for most runners, however hard the race has been. Brian Morgan (Newcastle, NSW) won in 2:16:22.6. I was third, winning the masters by six minutes from Moore, with 2:18:44, one of the three best masters marathon times ever at that date. I did it by good preparation (including hills and rain), by accepting what the weather threw at us, and by relishing the marathon's unique double challenge – hot effort controlled by cool judgement.
Then came the rewards. My friend (and the Vancouver International Marathon's founder) Jack Taunton and his wife Cheryl had a spa pool in their Richmond garden. I spent a steamy afternoon up to my chin in hot water, sleet falling unnoticed on my head, a beer in hand and a lifetime best time to gloat over.
Roger Robinson set masters records at the Boston and New York marathons as well as Vancouver, and is now senior writer for "Running Times," winner of US journalism awards, and author of several books, available from www.roger-robinson.com. Both he and his wife Kathrine Switzer appear in the documentary film "Spirit of the Marathon."