While we’d all love to think that our best race is still ahead of us,  for most runners there’s a race or a couple of races that already stand out as particularly memorable. Not necessarily the fastest you’ve ever run, though it might be. Not necessarily a race that you won, though it might be.

What it tends to be, is a race that was deeply satisfying because you achieved what you were hoping to…or surpassed the big hairy audacious goal that you’d set yourself. They’re the kind of races where you sit back later in the day and think, “I may run faster one day but, on this day, in the shape I was in, that’s the best I could have possibly done…my best race so far”. That’s a great feeling. 

It’s a sad thing if we can’t enjoy what we’ve already accomplished or are so driven by the pursuit of the goals we have ahead that we miss the opportunity to say ‘that one? that one was really good’.

These are the stories of a bunch of different runners from BT RunClub and their best races so far.

We hope these stories will inspire you as you chase your ‘best race so far’.

Here’s to the best races ahead…and running the race marked out before us.

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FEBRUARY:
STEPHEN McALPINE AND THE 2014 PERTH 32K
“My Lake Wendouree”

Steve Moneghetti claims his best race was a 16:10 effort in the six kilometre Lap of the Lake 23 years ago, a picturesque circuit around Lake Wendouree, near Mona’s home town of Ballarat.

Lake Where-douree? Big call for a bloke with two Commonwealth Games marathon golds. What about Berlin? What about Tokyo?  What about his record-breaking Sydney City to Surf? Nope, Lake Wendouree.

Wendouree is thought to mean “go away” in the local indigenous dialect, because that’s what the aboriginal lady said to the early settler who enquired as to the lake’s name.  And in a case of lost in translation, runners have being going around Lake Wendouree ever since.

Last May’s Perth 32km was my Lake Wendouree.  A mere reference on a running map.  Not even a stop over. 156 runners, prepping but not peaked. The real destinations were Perth Marathon, or Gold Coast, or City to Surf, perhaps all three. The 32km is little fanfare, no headlines, and a cup of Gatorade at the finish.

Gold Coast (GC) was my goal. Nine weeks in my long runs were coming together nicely in.  This was the test. A practice race halfway through my laminated, fridge-magneted  programme. Good shape, but not great. Nervous, but not excited.  Great and excited were still nine weeks off.

It was a perfect morning.  Cool, cloudy and calm.  The start from the WA Marathon Club rooms was almost incidental, quiet and orderly, save for the clatter and early breathing.  It practically screamed out “negative split”.  And that was my aim: 4:20 per km for the first half and see if could bring it down in the second.

I watched as the rabbits bolted, including the BTRC trio of Pete, Rob and Jarrad.  Grant was off too, with Kelly somewhere behind us.   Six of us in a BTRC running shirt, a nice little touch.  By the time we were crossing the bridge down in East Perth we were still mixing it up.  I had a chat with a young woman looking to do 4:45s.  We compared notes, before I almost apologetically had to pull away.

Six down, and I’d gotten into an easy 4:15-4:20 rhythm.  Comfortable even. Not a lot of runners around me, with two faster groups well up front.  Still, I was enjoying the view, which had to mean I was going well. I’d done this route as a training run a few times, but I was noticing landmarks I’d never seen before.

I  glided; first over the Causeway, then under and over The Narrows, before rounding on to Mounts Bay Road. It felt surprisingly easy. Metronomic even.  At the Old Brewery I pulled up and passed Jon, an excellent runner whom I would never pass. We chatted. He’d been ill for six months, had no expectations, and was just looking to finish.  He did, just, I found out later, but in a fair bit of pain. Not sure I am that runner yet.

The river was giving nothing away. Flat and neutral grey, it was my constant companion out and back, simply swapping shoulders at the turn. I consider myself an in-betweener.  Not seriously fast, and not achingly slow. Often I find myself alone in races.  I resisted the urge to catch the groups in front.  I was running my race. If someone else wanted theirs to mirror mine, so be it, I wasn’t for changing.

Suddenly, at the 18km mark it got busy. The Nedlands turn-around. The fast blokes were on the way back, led by the magnificent Busi.  He flew past me; nostrils flared, long legs taking impossible strides,  determination and sheer pace – the true Italian Stallion.  Others followed in his jet-stream, but by morning’s end it was Busi first, damp, grey daylight second.  Exhilarating stuff.  A few other pacey youngsters, then smiles and thumbs up in turn from Pete, Rob and Jarrad; all running on target.  A shout of encouragement from my ParkRun friend Tony who was tacking the 32 onto his marathon distance for the day, and suddenly I was at the top of the road, turning right.

Back up past the university on to Mounts Bay Road again and suddenly the marker said 23.  The home stretch.  And that’s when I started to pass people.  Not the odd one or two, but groups.  Twos and threes.  I did my quickest kilometres, with a few in a row under 4:10. Watch it.  Still a way to go, don’t want to burn out. I was picking runners off all the way over The Narrows, back down under the bridge and into familiar South Perth territory.  Sweetest of all, I gobbled up one of those distant packs and was still feeling good.

I had a fun little struggle with a big unit called Sasha for the final few ks, before he pulled away by twenty metres or so.  But we passed a few more together in the process.  By the 30 sign I knew I was home, but I also knew I was about done.  I remember wondering, Could I do ten more?  Maybe not this week. Maybe not rounding off a 100km week as I was now doing.  But I didn’t need to do ten more. This was halfway remember.  I had paced this perfectly and as I picked my way to the clubhouse finish past the Sunday walkers I was smiling.  A thumbs up for a photo, and I was back where I’d started, 2:17:37 ago. No stagger onto the grass, no keeling over, just a minute or so to catch my breath and then more smiles, more photos with the lads.

A WAMC member came through a minute or so later, coming over to congratulate me on passing him because he never gets passed on that home stretch. That was as good as gold for me.

GC never happened.  Three weeks later an ITB injury put me out for four frustrating months.  It became a vicarious experience as I urged my wife Jill to her first ever half, and Jarrad to a sub-three marathon.

But even if I had run it,  even if I had exceeded my expectations, even if injury had never struck me down, my personal Lake Wendouree would still take some beating.  Not because of the event profile or even because of my pace, or the negative split, but because something clicked. Something came together, mind, body and spirit, that, even if it is not the essence of running, feels like it should be.  And I like to think that Mona would, for this one time, be with me on the same page at the end of a race.