By Soh Rui Yong

soh rui yong copenhagen world half marathon

Soh Rui Yong with a race official in Copenhagen, Denmark. (Photo courtesy of Soh Rui Yong)

Soh Rui Yong, 22, is a Singaporean undergraduate at the University of Oregon. He represented Singapore at the recent 2014 IAAF World Half Marathon Championships where he set a new personal best time of 68 minutes 18 seconds, which makes him the second fastest Singaporean over the distance. He shares with us a first-hand account of the race.

Continued from Part 1 …

Copenhagen, Denmark, Saturday, March 29, 2014 — Spectator crowds make up an essential part of sports. The excitement and emotion (or lack thereof) that supporters bring to the arena can transform a normal, run-of-the-mill sporting event into an unforgettable one for both athletes, spectators, and organisers alike.

The streets of Copenhagen were filled with them. Joyful, excited spectators were making noise, having a good time, and cheering our every move. Dubbed “the happiest country in the world”, I felt the exhilaration and adrenaline flowing through the Danish streets, as we blazed past families, tourists, and screaming blonde beauties.

Focus, I told myself, focus on relaxing. A big move now would thrill the crowd, but the pain only really sets in at the 9-mile mark. Then, the business end of the race would begin.

After two fast miles at 5:01 and 5:04, according to my trusty GPS watch, the pack that Mok and I were running in finally settled into a more reasonable pace at 5:09 for the third mile. The 5km distance marked out was passed in 15min 56sec. A time that a couple of years ago, would have been a great 5km race time for me. We were absolutely flying along.

The fourth, fifth and sixth miles were crossed in 5:08, 5:11, and 5:03 respectively, all this while, I was itching to push the pace, but told myself to be patient. I ran with Mok, sometimes by his side, sometimes, off his shoulder, sometimes directly behind, as we drafted off the lead runners in our group. We matched each other, stride for stride, breath for breath. His economic, efficient marathoner steps against my longer, middle distance stride. Different styles, identical pace.

As we finished mile 7 in 5:09, I sensed that the pack was not quite as energetic as before. I spotted beads of perspiration beginning to form on the necks of the guys in front of me. In contrast, I knew that I was still feeling relatively cool and sweat-free. Perspiration occurs when a runner’s body knows that it is working hard and releases water in an effort to cool the body off. I was sweating less, and was thus confident that they were suffering from the pace more than I was.

Mile 8 was clocked at 5:12. It felt too slow for my liking. Seeing a hydration station by the road ahead, I swerved right, sped up past the pack, panting, “Come on, Mok!” as I went past him. Grabbing a bottle of water, I took a sip, dunked the rest of it over my head, and tossed the bottle by the side of the street.

As most runners will tell you, the sensation of cool water running down your hair, face and neck in the middle of a tough race is one of the best feelings in the world. Feeling refreshed, I floored the accelerator and shifted gears. The pack was aware of my big move, but perhaps wary of the sudden injection in pace, made no effort to come along. Before long, I had dropped my pursuers, and was all alone on what was probably the steepest slope of the course.

My watch beeped. I glanced down at my left wrist. 9th mile in 5:07. I continue letting me legs carry me freely, paying no attention to pace control whatsoever. I was just letting it rip. I reached the summit of the slope and flew past an entire pack which includes the Danes Theis Nijhuis, Mads Boeson Tommy Neal, and Klaus Hagensen, as well as Asrat Mamo of Israel, Mert Girmalegesse of Turkey, and Arnar Pétursson of Iceland. Having paced myself better, I had a lot more in the tank, and there was little they could do about my aggressive move. I set my sights on the Uruguayan, Esteban Cuestas, and the Spaniard, Rafael Iglesias, who were 100m in front of me.

At first, it seemed that my eyes were playing tricks on me. The 100m gap was diminishing so quickly and it was like I was riding a bike towards my targets. Then I realized that it was really happening – I WAS going so much faster than they were.

As I flew past my Spanish and Uruguayan competitors, they suddenly sparked to life, as if waking up from a mid-race slumber and rising to a new challenge. My watch beeps again. 10th mile in 5:00 – my fastest mile of the race.

As we rounded a corner, I stole a look behind for the first time, and saw that Mok and my former pack were nowhere in sight. My turn of pace had propelled me far ahead, and the gap was only growing with every stride.

My duel with Mok was over. But now, for the first time in the race, my body began to hurt. My legs felt heavier than before, my mind started to look for excuses to slow down.

3 miles and change to go. A quick mental calculation told me that I had a good chance at Mok’s national record, but I would need to sustain a strong pace of a low 5min per mile. The duel was over, but the battle against myself was only beginning.

Read Part 3