We'll on April 19, was the Montreal Scotiabank half marathon. This was my third year doing the event, last year, being my personal best at 1:20. Over the winter, I was not very consistent in my running, so I knew my form wasn't at it's best.

In my first post this season, I mentioned about starting a bad habit, like enjoying the good life too much, and participating in events with a hangover. So for good style, the night before the half, I was at a small party with friends, that turned into a beer tasting event featuring great micro brewery hops from the province of Quebec. You cannot let that go by.

In endurance sports, I believe that when you do have some fitness, often the difference between an average race and a great race happens in the mind. You know, the mind over matter thing. I was in need of that mind over matter elevated state.

Just like on the bike, I hate gadgets that measure things like, time, pace, cadence, elevation, watts, or anything else, so I started the half at what I thought was a good race pace.

Two thirds into the race, I realize the my pace is unsustainable so I am at peace seeing herds of runners passing me... until I see this generous soul, who seems to be having a bad day, as he is stopped along the course. He notices, I'm somewhat struggling so he encourages me and starts running by my side.

So he tells me he's done many half's, and it is normal to feel lousy after 13-14 kilometers. So this good soul, decides to take me under his wing - literally, as we are coming up to a headwind section. Chat, chat, he tells me he is waiting for his girlfriend, and today he's taking it easy. He says, "come on, the group that just passed is on target for a 1:20 time", so just stay behind me and I'll pace you to them. So if he's taking it easy, I ask him what his usual time is on a half, and he tells me 1:09 is a good time for him. That's another league.

Sure enough, it looks so easy for him, by the 17th kilometer, we've almost bridge to the group in front. He tells me good luck, and turns around to catch up with his girlfriend.

At this point, the matter took over the mind, I had nothing left, and the legs just couldn't keep up. I fought the urge not to walk, so I survived the last few kilometers at snails pace, with dozens of runners passing me. Finally, I was happy to stop the clock at 1 hour and 23 minutes. Not a personal best, but on the effort scale, it may have been a PB. That is what counts.

So I learnt what I already knew, that faking a half marathon without proper preparation is tough, no matter how hard you try with your mind.

This picture must have been taking at the beginning of the race because I look way too relaxed.

And here is a picture that doesn't lie surely near the end of the race.