After seven half-marathons, countless hours of training, hundreds of dollars spent on shoes, gels, shirts and socks not to mention physio, massage and yoga sessions, the start line always looks the same.

Only the outcome changes.

This year, humbled by an injury and coming off a wicked cold, my goal was to finish the race still running, not walking, period.

Pace band attached ready for race

Well, truth be known, I secretly harbored another goal – to finish, not at a personal best (I’m not that delusional), but as close  as possible to 2:05 – injury be damned. The night before, I prepared two pace bands and threw out the one for a 2:10 finish.

The gods were in my favour. I could feel it from the moment I stuck my head outside the door in the early morning to see stars, which meant no clouds or rain.

As the crowd jostled with excitement waiting for the race start, I knew I couldn’t have missed this morning. It truly was electric.

But my strategy had to change from previous races so that the pain in my IT band didn’t reappear and grip my right leg like hot tongs.

Thus the ‘strategy’:

“Own the line” – stay in the centre of the road so the camber wouldn’t aggravate my injury

“Take the breaks” – run nine minutes/walk one minute to keep my injury at bay.

“Slow down” – run slower than usual, also to avoid invoking injury

The first one would be easy with sharp elbows, the other two would require patience.

So when my running buddies looking to break two hours slipped ahead in the first kilometre, I let my ego go with them.

And when my watch beeped at nine minutes for the first walk break, I whispered “really?” in disbelief  feeling so strong, but I obeyed the plan.

And when wave after wave of people passed me (although this is not unusual), I stuck with the strategy to stay at a slower pace.

So I was pleased at the three-kilometre mark to find my time not far off my goal despite a stiffness in my lower right leg.

The strategy was going to work.

Star Wars music greeted runners coming out of Beacon Hill park

I reassured friends stationed in lower Cook Street village where the Star Wars theme music filled the air that I was on a sanctioned walk break, I hadn’t broken down.

I waved in pleasure at the folks on Hollywood Road playing Chariots of Fire and and made sure I smiled as I neared the 10-kilometre timing mat  at Ross Bay cemetery where the event’s official photographer was furiously snapping away.

At the turnaround point, I was moved to tears to see my friends Pat and Don cheering, along with my husband and daughter, and in the next kilometre even tossed back a dixie cup of beer offered curbside by the Prairie Inn Harriers running club members. “I’ve always been a party girl,” I called out.

And even though I wasn’t quite meeting my times at each kilometre marker, I gave thanks for whatever was working right on this Thanksgiving weekend. I even picked up pace ever so slightly.

Then came kilometre 15 and the pain.

I felt betrayed, tricked into enjoying this race on a pitch-perfect-weather day.

Stupidly refusing to stop and stretch, I slowed down to assess the pain on the outside of my right knee. If I had felt in any way lighthearted at this point, I might have sneered at my nemesis. I chose to ignore him.

For the next two kilometres, I remembered the strength after every tough day of training, the summit of every hill I grumbled my way up and how so many other people had overcome much worse.

Nearing kilometre 18, I decided the pain wouldn’t stop me. Needing help, I plotted my path along the road’s edge and encouraged spectators to give me a high-5. The energy was transforming.

I also ditched my three-point strategy for a simple motto: Grab the good stuff, shed the bad.

The toughest part of this route is the last 1.5 kilometres, starting near Fisherman’s Park where you think you’re around the final corner only to face another.

Here’s the good stuff I focused on each block:

1. My daughter Simone – speedy on the soccer field, full of mischief and love. I had painted her initial on my left thumb.

2. My husband Greg – unwavering in his support of my running (he knows how cranky I get if I don’t run). I carried an earring I wore on our wedding day in my pocket.

3. My mom Ollie -  for every time she showed up at my basketball games and told me as a kid to get outside to play. I had painted M for mom on my right thumbnail

Then it was a matter of pushing the locomotive to the finish line.

My bib number 6936 is also the number of the last remaining example of the largest diesel locomotive ever built.

Union Pacific 6936  is still in working order, like me.

I might be up on a hoist soon for some repairs, but I am already thinking of the next race. Same starting line, different outcome.

(finish time according to my watch – 2:11)

Race 6936 and daughter