TCS Toronto Waterfront Marathon Recap: The Four Acts of the Marathon

Act I – When Plans Meet Reality

Something felt off before I even crossed the start line. I’d eaten my pre-game bread and jam, almost finished my Maurten 320, and was feeling calm, confident, and ready. Then, suddenly, it hit – a strange rush. Not excitement, not nerves. Something chemical. My body flooded with energy that wasn’t mine to spend. Within moments I felt weak and leaden, as if all the voltage had drained at once.
I lay down in the dark for a few minutes, breathing slow until it passed. I called it an adrenaline surge later, but whatever it was, it left its mark.

By the time I reached the start corral, I thought I’d reset. I had a plan – my 10 mile / 10 mile / 10K strategy:

• The first 10 miles (16K) under race pace (conservative end of my Easy)
  
• The next 10 miles at marathon pace (conservative end of my Race Pace)
  
• The final 10K: if the tank allowed, slightly faster or steady
  

But the body had other ideas. I couldn’t even hold slower than my Easy pace during the first 5K. My calves began tightening almost immediately – and the cascade began. One small failure feeding the next. I caught myself wondering, How am I going to last beyond 5K?

Then came the stomach distress. Throughout the training block, I’d practiced fueling with Maurten Gel 160s, taking one every 30–35 minutes in slow, steady sips. But by kilometre 11 or 12, I was desperately scanning for a Porta-Potty. I found one. It had seen better days. Balancing mid-race in there, praying not to drop a gel or my phone into the abyss, was a lowlight for the highlight reel.

Back outside, the questions started creeping in. What would it feel like to DNF?
Nearing halfway, I saw the Half Marathoners turning north on Bay toward the finish at Nathan Phillips Square. The temptation was real. What if I joined them?

Then I met an older gentleman also struggling, supported by a relative pacing him with hydration and gels. We shared a few words and a silent pact to keep each other moving. Before long, the Tailwalker Marshall joined us – the race’s last line of accountability. That’s when I decided: Stay with the Tailwalker and you’re still in the game.

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🧠 Coach’s Corner: Early Adrenaline and Its Consequences

That pre-race “rush” likely caused a premature adrenaline spike, leading to early glycogen drawdown, elevated heart rate, and the perception of effort far above expected RPE. Once adrenaline recedes, it often leaves the body feeling “flat” – low on glucose and muscle readiness.
Key Takeaway: Treat calm as a performance asset. In future races, reduce caffeine and pre-race stimuli; stay grounded through breathwork and low-light visualization before leaving home.

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Act II – Holding the Line

Following the Tailwalker felt both humbling and empowering – a mobile finish line of sorts. Each kilometre became its own small victory. I kept fueling on schedule, sipping Nuun at aid stations and popping SaltStick tabs every 30–40 minutes. I was still losing time, but I was still moving.

I could feel the marathon stripping away everything nonessential – ego, pace, numbers – until only the act of continuing mattered. I wasn’t racing now. I was surviving.

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What the Numbers Say

Metric	Value
Distance (Total)	43.3 km
Duration	7:15:34
Marathon Split	6:55:49
Normalized Graded Pace (NGP)	7:47/km
Pa:HR (Aerobic Decoupling)	5.41%
Avg HR	145 bpm
IF (Pace)	0.83
IF (HR)	0.69

Despite the pace slowdown, the Pa:HR remained remarkably stable – a sign that my aerobic base held. The problem wasn’t the engine; it was muscular and metabolic.

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Act III – The Longest Miles

Around 30K, I was joined by a friend from my run crew who’d been tracking me. She ran beside me for several kilometres – running, walking, and cheering – refilling my bottle as needed. Others in similar straits joined in, and suddenly, we weren’t a group of stragglers but a pack with purpose.

We made it to the 35K timing mat, my final officially recognized split. I knew support would soon be withdrawn, but I wanted to see how long I could hold on. Then over the din of my heartbeat pulsing in my ear, I heard a marshal shouting to us that we needed to reach the 39K marker by a specific time to stay on the official course. I glanced at my watch. Five kilometres in twenty minutes? Ain’t gonna happen.

We were ushered onto the sidewalk – the off-the-clock zone – but none of us stopped. We pushed on parallel to the route. The sweeper vehicles passed; we waved it on.

And then came the rain. Within minutes, the gutters were running like streams. Some sidewalks flooded nearly ankle-deep. But I smiled. I was drenched, exhausted, yet bubbling with the excitement, ready for the finish.

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Act IV – The Finish Beyond the Finish

When we finally reached the finish area, the official barricades were empty, but my spirit was not.

A member of the Caboose Crew – volunteers who bring in latecomers – cheered us, as if we were breaking the tape. And then I saw her – my wife – medal in hand, waiting with the family. That medal felt like both a trophy and a promise: You finished what you started.

“It takes a village to raise a runner.”

My family and friends – Team Plus50Fit – had tracked me, cheered, and shared the load every step of this marathon journey. That medal may hang on my wall, but it belongs to all of us.

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Post-Race Predictor Update

Interestingly, despite the marathon’s chaos, neither Garmin nor Strava punished me much in post-race predictions:

Perhaps a quiet acknowledgment that one bad race doesn’t redefine fitness – it refines resilience.

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Epilogue – Fearless Distance

I no longer fear the 42.2 distance, or the infamous wall at 30K. I feel like I lived the wall for most of the race – and pushed through.

The marathon didn’t beat me. It introduced me to my next version.

Recap, Recover, Relax & Ready.