Several Days Before
At Tasmanian Masters Athletics I feel a bit insecure and
overwhelmed. I hear some people are
talking about the Point to Pinnacle race. If I do the race then I will belong. I
will be part of the local community by participating in one of the local
community events. I check out the
website and it is advertised as the world’s toughest half marathon.
How much do I need to train? I normally run on the Domain. I’ll
keep doing that. It’s hilly, close and pleasant. And pretty similar to the
actual route.
I go to the local running shop to pick up my number.
They display splash jackets which temp me. The forecast is for rain. Do I need one? I buy one. It is very light
and well made. The equipment available is much better than in my previous life.
The display gels. The
packaging is impressive. Do I need food during the race? Do I need glucose?
Will I collapse due to lack of available glucose? I buy a couple. What harm
could they do if packaged so well?
And the other thing to do is check out the route. We drive
and look. It is incredible hilly. Nothing but up. I don’t think I will make all
this uphill. I could run and then walk the final bit.
The Day Before
Today the weather looks good. The forecast foretells wild,
wet and inclement weather for tomorrow. I believe the forecast not what I see
out my window. The website warns of the course changing. That will affect what
I wear. Which is what? I don’t know. I lay out my clothes. Every possibility.
I am asked what my goal is.
My goal is to proudly run across the finish line. To run
most of the way. Not to finish and talk about my muscles and joints. Not to
feel faint or dizzy. Not to collapse. Not to trip or fall or stumble. To run
past the ambulance.
Sunday (The Day)
I look at the bedside clock. It says 4:30. Too early. I close my eyes. I am not sleepy. I lie quietly for an hour. I listen to the
rain. Sounds very peaceful.
How do I feel? Good. No dizziness. No faintness. I get up
and check the internet. The course is changed. Due to rain and wind we will run
half way up and then down. What does
this mean? To me it means accept what is happening. I now know the course. I
don’t know what clothes to wear?
How can I dress safely? I chose long pants and overpants. And a couple of shirts underneath a splash
jacket. And a cap under the jacket. I
feel safe. I will be warm. How cares where I finish. It’s not my aim to win or
run a good time. It’s not my aim to look
good. My goal is to finish safely. No matter what.
We arrive at the start.
Nobody is dressed as me. I don’t care. I’m not defiant or embarrassed.
Where is the best place to wait for the start? I aim for the very back of the
group.
We depart as a group shuffling up the road through the
drizzle. I thought I was in the last group but some people run past me. I
settle down into a group shuffling up the road. I now think about my first
landmark. The Skyline Service Station 4 kays up the road. Everything feels
good. I don’t know any runners. There is little talk. The light rain continues.
I adjust my hat. The water has seeped through. What does that mean?
We arrive at my first landmark. And pass it quickly. I check my watch. Watch
is working. Time is okay. How can I get this hat better fitting? It feels wet.
We plod on until runners appear on the other side of the
road. They are going down as we go up. We cheer the first few; then stop
looking at them. They become a blur. I concentrate on the runners around me
going my way. We are in this together.
We go higher and wetter and the half way point suddenly
appears. That was easy. I could go on and up. I can now speed up. Push myself
as I go downhill. Drizzle has now become rain. When did that happen? The road
has streams of water which I try and avoid. The chamfer near the side is also
to avoid. This puddle. Should I avoid it or run through it. The same question
keeps arising.
The road bisects the bush. It’s the same road as uphill.
Uphill I was plodding looking at my next step; the next corner; checking my
watch. Downhill I am now trying to run fast. To dodge puddles. What is the best
way around these walkers? I must try and pass as many people as possible. Including
that lady wearing black leotards. She’s next.
Now down to the houses.
I am getting faster. It’s getting easier. Everybody is getting faster.
The rain continues. I adjust my cap again. I try every position. The water has
seeped through. I see a guy eating a glucose gel. That’s what I have
forgotten. I fiddle and find my gel.
Feels good. I don’t feel sick or nauseous or light headed. I can think of
nothing but which path to take?
And the finish line. It’s wet, gloomy and anti-climactic. A
man drapes a medal over my neck. I look at him. He doesn’t understand how much
this means to me. Twelve months ago my only physical activity was walking to
the hospital toilet. I didn’t know the way and I had to rest by leaning on the
other beds. And nobody gave me a medal when I finished. And now I have run 21 kays and I feel
fantastic.
But I still have the same problem. I need to go to the
toilet. Where is it?
I am now a runner. Not an invalid. I remember a few days
ago. At the supermarket a man greeted me and talked about running and the race.
He didn’t talk about my health. His chat cheered me and is fondly remembered.
Today, due to the course change, it may not have been the
world’s toughest half marathon. But the past twelve months have been the
world’s toughest and that twelve months is finished. Now I have a medal which
tells everybody I have finished a really tough twelve months.