Hobart half Marathon

 I wake up. 

Beside my bed my running clothes and shoes wait.

I fumble in the dark. Now dressed for running.

“Can you drop me off as close as possible? A lot of the roads will be closed.”

Goodbye and good luck.

It’s cold. Below 10 degrees. I put on an old shirt. To wear for the last time. I walk behind a couple of young runners. Dressed like me.

“The marathon. Full or only half?”

“Half.”

“It’s not only a half. It’s a lot.”

“Yes.”

As we wander more and more people join our peloton. Which eventually becomes a crowd of people mingling on the docks. Runners wandering meet and greet. Volunteers stand in colorful jackets behind tables waiting. The start line is large and ignored.

Who can I talk to?

Talking happens when a man reads my bib and reads my name.

“Where you from?”

Most of the people are from Hobart or Queensland.

The banana benders are expecting a hard hilly course.

The announcer speaks and a crowd of jostling stretching anxious runners is formed and listens to the countdown. I head for the back. For me running to learn something. Not running to win. I can learn better if I am calm and relaxed. And completely aware of my surroundings and myself. Legs and chest feel good.

The front runners start running. Watch and wait for the millipede of running legs to flow back to me. I’m off.

Around Evans Street. Easy. Now up by the circus. Onto The Domain. Past my tennis club. Up a road. I know every bend. Every tree. Every bird. This is easy. I know where we are going. Around my deserted parkrun track. No flags or volunteers standing.

This is the highest part of the run. All downhill from here.

I seem to be running at the same speed as a guy in a wheelchair. I pass him uphill and he asses me downhill.

I say to him,” You’re going well. Keep it up.”

Perhaps they are right. There are a few hills.

Water cups and volunteers appear. I take two cups of water.

“Thank you.”

I pour one cup over my head and down my shirt.

Stay nice and calm and relaxed. I am not going to look at my watch until back at the docks. Until halfway.

My race begins at the docks. I have maps in my pocket of everything from the docks past the casino to the turnaround point.

Run past the 10k runners limbering up. A push bike and the leading 10k runners race past me. They are on another planet.

Gradually the 10k runners don’t seem to be running past me as quickly. I try and keep with them. They cause me to run faster. I am reminded of yesterday’s match. Surrounded by teammates playing well gives you confidence. You then play better and you give them confidence.

I run faster because I am surrounded by slightly faster runners.

I run next to a guy I talked to at the start.

He says, “Hilly course.”

I say, “See that mountain. Heard of the Point to Pinnacle. Now that’s a hilly course. That’s the meaning of the word hilly.”

We get distracted by our talk and The Docks appear. My prize is my wife and some relatives are by the finish line. The biggest cheer comes from my grandson.

I wonder if the winners got a prize as big as mine.

I search for a clock that tells me my time. Better than I thought. I must have done something right.