Road2Hope: A tale of stubborn persistence

Hamilton Half Marathon 2019 Race Report

Faizan Jamal
Nov 7 · 9 min read

Please don’t stop the music! 🏃🏻‍♂️

When I got my previous marathon PB in STWM 2018, I wanted to take stock, slow down and celebrate. And boy, did I celebrate! All the ‘good stuff’ that I had stayed away from for so many weeks finally presented themselves to me like concubines to a Turkish sultan during the Ottoman era. Pretty soon, it started to show. And then, when it was time to decorate the tree, hang the lights and spread the cheer, I celebrated some more.

Winter-wear can be quite flattering. As it tucked away my newly acquired bulk under its folds, I found myself consuming yet another ‘treat’ that I hadn’t quite earned. And soon, it was time to bid adieu to 2018.

During training, the road is notorious for being brutally honest. Last January, when it greeted me with extreme prejudice, it taught me a valuable (albeit remorseful) lesson: Don’t over celebrate your goal race!

Fast forward to STWM 2019; another massive PB, yet another cause for celebration. But this time, I knew that celebrations needed to be brief and measured. As Einstein said, “Any fool can know. The point is to understand.”

If there is one thing I understand about myself, its that my motivations are goal oriented. Preparing for a race stimulates my discipline and focus. A race after my goal race would ensure I don’t go overboard again.

And so began my Road2Hope.

A curious case of man flu?! 🤧🤒

It had to happen during race week! After hardly running the first week after STWM19, I woke up to a scratchy throat which quickly escalated to a crippling flu. The little man in the house had suffered through the viral infection earlier, followed by the missus. Naturally, I would be next. I got zero sympathy from my wife who shared a meme about man flu with me (see above). Being ridiculed for having ‘a cold’ isn’t fun. Especially when man flu has been scientifically proven to be real.

Jokes aside, it created some doubts in my mind about whether I would even be able to run, and if I did, would I be able to finish? Realistically though, the regret of a DNS would’ve been far too great. The flu was temporary. The medal is forever. Let’s race!

Brrr! It’s cold… 🥶

A few hours ago, the clocks had been set an hour back. When I arrived at Confederation Park at about 6:30 AM, the immediate pressing thought on almost everyone’s mind there was, “Oh sh*t! This is f**king cold!” The wind had made the real feel sub-zero and nobody in the province wanted to admit that winter was well and truly here.

We lined up for our shuttle to the start line (in rural Stoney Creek), exchanged pleasantries and disembarked to find refuge in a warm school gym, only to line up again to empty our bowels. Warm ups and superstitions followed. Pre-race rituals!

All aboard the 1:40 Bus! 🚌

Lining up at the start, for some reason, I decided to stand with the 1:40 pacer bus. It was an outrageously mischievous thought. After all, I was on one of the fastest courses in Ontario. What the hell, let’s give it a shot!

It’s incredible how relaxed I felt knowing that I had showed up for this race without any expectations whatsoever. A week ago, I was sick as a dog. And yet, here I was, in freezing weather, with people who love running, because I love running too! What’s not to be grateful for?!

BANG!!

We were off! Two kilometres in, hanging comfortably with the pace bus, I turned towards Highland Rd. In our pacer bus, everyone was chasing an ambition. A young student on my left was preparing herself for a BQ. An already qualified, much older gentleman on my right was preparing to run Boston next year. After all, this is Ontario’s favourite Boston Qualifying race, with a 28% BQ rate.

My thoughts were interrupted by Garmin chirping 5 km (Time: 23:43. Pace: 4:39). Another kilometre passed quietly, as we turned on to Red Hill Valley Parkway.

Down Down Downhill! 🎢

Between 5 and 11 kilometres of the course, the elevation drops roughly 116 metres. This massive 6 kilometre downhill provides a great opportunity for a fast time, should one be prepared to leverage it.

Garmin chirped 7 km. Time: 33:04. Pace: 4:40.

In Feb 2016, in the emirate of Ras Al Khaimah, I was running a half marathon. A couple of weeks earlier, I had finished miserably in the 2016 Dubai marathon, getting injured in the process. Intent on making amends, and fuelled by a cocktail of defiance and frustration I started to race upon crossing the 15 km marker to finish with a 1:38:17 PB.

The memory of that day started to shimmer when Garmin chirped 10 km at 46:46. Pace: 4:40. Were the clocks being reset 3 years back instead of a mere 60 minutes? Could they be?

Without spending too much energy, I gently peeled off the pacer bus and built a bit of a gap. But it soon proved to be an over ambitious wager. Two kilometres later, my rustiness coupled with lack of downhill training caught up with me. By the time we hit Barton St., to turn onto Red Hill Trail, I knew the remaining 8 kilometres would be a battle of persistence.

Red Hill Valley Trail 🏞

At the turn off on Barton St., some folks were gathered cheering runners on. Their positive energy snapped my weary mind back into focus. Persevere!

Next, a race marshal motioned me to “follow the path” which led to the final stretches of the Red Hill Valley trail. The trail reminded me of a classic cross country environment. Into the woods, thumping the soft muddy ground, we ran over crunchy fall leaves and twigs, adding a drum-line to the whoop-whoosh rhythm of our lungs breathing in with our noses and explosively exhaling through our mouths.

One. Two. Three. Breathe in. Breathe out. One. Two. Three. Breathe in. Breathe out… Find your peace!

As my quads moaned and whined, the 1:40 bus caught up to me. “I’ll get back on the bus now, if you don’t mind!” I found myself saying to our pacer. “Hop on and we’ll take you home!” he replied. Grins all around.

Stronger. Together. That’s how we runners roll.

A Nuun station came and went. Welcome fluids. Garmin chirped. 14 km. Time: 1:05:44. Pace: 4:46. Hang in there!

A kilometre later, I was clinging on the bus as hard as I could. The gap was widening and my heart rate climbed. I wanted to smile and confuse my mind. I tried. But somehow, it didn’t work as well as I hoped.

15 km. Time: 1:11:12. Pace: 5:00. The struggle was real. Have the wheels come off? I wondered.

A few minutes later, the trail opened up to a pedestrian bridge. Race photographer! Come on, smile again. So what if your lungs are on fire?! Smile, wider. This is a preciously brief window of designed discomfort.

I must say that a few interesting support signs and posters made smiling easier. And even though I was slowing down, I entered the waterfront trail with one of my best smiles.

Waterfront Trail 🏖

As I turned onto the waterfront trail, it was like going through the tunnel at a football game; people on both sides, cheering, clapping, yelling, cow-belling, shouting your name. It’s an incredibly galvanizing feeling to be fuelled by a crowd.

I raised my hands to my ears. The cheers got louder. I raised my hands higher, motioning them up and down as if to say, “Is that all you got?” Their cheers echoed deafeningly in response. I HEAR YOU HAMILTON AND I LOVE IT!

Blowing kisses their way, I passed by a hydration station, foregoing fluids for momentum. 17 km. 1:20:26. Pace: 4:56

During the next agonizing kilometre, a couple of seniors passed me. Wow! is all I could think of as they made light work of the course. 18 km. Turn back.

All that agony. Again.

At ‘xactly’ the right time 🍬

Our brain is responsible for preserving life in our bodies. Part of that responsibility is to ensure there is enough energy to keep vital organs (heart, lungs, liver, kidneys, the brain itself…) functioning at all times. In an energy drought, the brain prioritizes these organs over muscles that are ‘needlessly being used to run unnecessary distances.’ In response, the mind sends a signal; stop! there is no more energy left to run.

But there is a way to trick the mind, at least temporarily. It’s well documented that the mind believes that more fuel is on the way if one just swishes around an energy drink in the mouth and spits it out, thereby releasing the ‘reserve tank’ provisioned for life preservation.

Where is an energy station when you need one!

I had foregone electrolytes at 17 km, and was busy doing mental math about how many minutes at current pace would get me back there, as we were on a loop, when I heard, “…. natural energy chews!….” A volunteer, holding out her outstretched, gloved hand, chews a plenty in her palm. Eye contact. Acknowledging nod to claim the chews. Eyes locked on the target, and like a diving peregrine falcon, I grabbed all 5 xact chews from her hand, in a motion so smooth and efficient, that it surprised both of us.

I yelled thanks as I heard her startled ‘Oh!’ in the distance behind me. Sorry! I yelled again.

She was there at exactly the right time, with fruit bars cut into chew squares. Or shall we say, she was there at xactly the right time!

I only needed one chew to signal to my mind that I needed the reserve tank. It seemed to have worked.

20km. 1:35:32.8. Pace: 4:56.

Let’s Finish Strong! 🏁

The final kilometre of the race was unique as we ran through the waterfront looking at people that were there, not just because of the race, but at times, despite it. A senior family walking their senior dog. A toddler’s birthday party. Life went on around us, and appreciating its various patterns and priorities gave me great perspective.

I heard the finish line before I saw it. Low pitched thumping of the music’s bass. Applause. A runner’s name on the PA system. Almost there, let’s finish strong! I thought remembering my friend Lee M. Ryan.

Accelerated to what felt like a sprint finish.

Finish: 1:40:56. Pace: 4:47

About Road2Hope

I wrote to race administrator to find out the story behind the name of the race. Road2Hope is such a beautiful name, there had to be a great backstory. Here’s a screenshot of their response:

You can find more about the charity here.


None of this would’ve been possible without the incredible love and support of my wife and my son. You two bring out the best version of me as well as put up with my worst with a smile. Most of all, you never stop believing in me. Your love, friendship and trust means the world to me and I owe this medal to both of you. Thank you from the bottom of my heart!

Faizan Jamal

Written by

banker. father. marathoner. feminist. hopeless romantic.

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