Snowblindness

Hello all.  I thought I would write this down while I remember it, before it fades into a smeared painting of glory and joy that covers up the pain, so that I could read it and remember before I enter my next marathon.  The next marathon is inevitable as this running addiction has crept up on and taken hold of me.  I didn’t notice at first and perhaps it was slow to develop, but recently since I have been running at 5.30am in the pouring rain and autumn darkness, since I’ve come home and put my shoes on a pile of identical shoes that are all mine, and since I’ve started to feel “not quite myself” on days that I don’t run, I’ve had to admit it has me.  Maybe addiction is too strong of a word as it implies I have no control and paints a picture of a crazed, bug eyed, short haired super fast mad woman.  Perhaps I should go with the gentler word, dependence.  I need it now and am not sure how I coped without it.  Anyway musing about my need for running is for another time.  The Marathon.

We spent the day before the race feeling the twinges in our muscles, eating, resting and pondering what life would be like the next day.  Strangely I wasn’t nervous for the marathon, I  felt a sort of resignation to the fact that I would do it.  Unlike the halves I’ve done I didn’t have a finishing time in mind or any particular goal other than finishing.  Recently running has become therapy for me and changed from exercise into an enjoyable activity where I relax my mind, occasionally listen to music and feel the joy of being alive and healthy in my legs and lungs.  (oops, I even made myself vomit there, but it’s true, working with dying kids will make you say crazy hippy things sometimes).  So all in all I was looking forward to it.

The morning was cool, but clear, the predicted rain was late by a day.  Throughout the run there was a great vibe, and lots of supporters.  One of the nicest things was the route, straight out, straight back.  We started an hour after the half marathon which ran the first half of the same route, so we could watch them all on their way home.  The highlight was watching the amazing Kenyan elastic bands of humanity rocket past before I was even half way.  The distraction of people on the side and other runners was most welcome.  From 21 to 23 km I was waiting for the turn around point and that felt quite long, but I got to see Andrew soon after that as the path doubled back on itself, he fooled me by looking strong and happy, so I thought he was fine.  Then at 26km my left achilles started to hurt and from there things got a little harder.  I had to stop every few kilometres to stretch that stupid tendon but everything else held up well.  My fastest 10km on the course was 20 to 30km.  There was a glorious moment through  a section of suburban shops where I was running between groups and the spectators must have been bored for a few minutes because as I rounded the corner I had my own little group cheering for me.  It really makes a difference to have total strangers say you’re looking good, or to hear your name.  I will go and cheer on the sidelines of the next local marathon I don’t run.  Promise.

The last two kilometres were the worst for me.  I felt like the run wasn’t ending and that I was taking too long and couldn’t run as fast as I wanted to.  Fortunately/unfortunately the previous week had been filled with very sick teenagers at work and I just kept thinking about how they would never be able to run, or walk, or see the ocean or feel an Autumn breeze in their hair ever again and corny as it sounds I ran for them and even managed a moderate sprint across the finish line.  Well, there was the thought of the children as well as the music of Rhianna that I eventually started singing out loud as I ran/walked/hobbled.  Best of all was a group of  the cutest grannies ever with their silver windmills and glittery skirts dancing on the side of the road near the 40km marker.

So after 267 minutes it was over.  It felt so amazing and so sore that I cried a little in my confusion.  My body took a few days to make up the sleep and water it needed to recover and I feel back to normal again.

Tick.  I can turn 30 in peace.