Never poke an angry snake in the eye, and never start a marathon with an injury. 2 pieces of advice that every child growing up should have drummed into them at the earliest possible moment. I'm too scared to mess with snakes, but was perilously close to starting on Sunday with an injury. My ability to derail marathon attempts is well documented in this blog (2 years in a row, rolled ankles, on almost the same weekend of the year...). 7 weeks out, and I pushed rehab and the return to running with evangelical zeal, the result; a previous adductor injury flared about 3 weeks out. My final week of training consisted of a 5k run completed but as a series of minute on, minute off intervals. I didn't really declare myself right to go until Thursday evening, and even then, there was a degree of uncertainty. Race day dawned, I felt good to go, with the idea of running at a decent pace, to see how far I could get.
Catch-22: According to the novel, people who are crazy are not obliged to fly missions; but anyone who applied to stop flying was showing a rational concern for their own safety, and was sane. Ergo, they could fly missions....
Marathon Catch-22: People who are crazy are not obliged to run marathons; but anyone who decides to not run is showing a rational concern for their safety, and is sane. Ergo, they should run....
The marathon. Why? 42.195 kilometres, on-road, anywhere from dead flat to quite hilly. It has lured runners for many decades, for some, the ultimate running goal. For me, for many years, it was never a goal. Early 2013, running with some friends on our regular long Sunday runs, a whispering campaign started up to get a mate to run Melbourne that year. Little did they realise it would miss it's mark, and lob firmly in my brain! I ran 2013, this blog came about because of the result from that race. Whilst it wasn't a disaster, it fell short of the expectations I had set myself. The blog was to document my return, for redemption/revenge, call it what you like. Did I achieve redemption? Not quite, but then again, maybe. Read on....
(Section headings are paraphrased quotes from the film, Apocalypse Now)
(Section headings are paraphrased quotes from the film, Apocalypse Now)
Everyone gets everything he wants. I wanted a marathon, and for my sins, they gave me one.
Race day, 18th October, 2015. 7 weeks previous, my chances of getting to the start line looked very remote. But here I was, walking in the dark from my digs in East Melbourne to the MCG, the G lit up, cars parking in the surrounding grounds, other runners strolling towards the epicentre. As I walked, I was conscious of the tape applied to my inside thigh, and hamstring, the result of a physio visit the Thursday before. It identified issues with my hamstring, that were overloading muscles around the thigh, the adductor longus being the the problem child.
Got to the bag drop, last drink, catch up with a few LTR members, and take on a gel as I head off to the start line. I had arranged to meet some friends at the Rod Laver statue outside the arena that bears his name. As I has decided to leave my phone in my bag, I was a bit clueless as to where the others were. What the hell did we do before mobile devices? Finally caught up with Chrissy, Nigel and his daughter, and Belle. Photos, hugs, farewells and good lucks exchanged, then I went off in search of the 3:30 pace group.
Excitement already building, standing around at the rough point where the sign indicated they should be, I heard a shout behind me. Andre and Cheryl, 2 good trail running friends, were on the other side of the barrier, also looking for the 3:30 pacers. There was some irony in Cheryl spotting me. In 2013, we had never met in person, but had chatted through Facebook (specifically, the Melbourne Marathon group). That year, she was late to the start line, immediately spotted me, but was unable to say hello as the gun went, and we were off. This time, we were able to say hello, hug, and banter about the race ahead. Soon we were joined by another friend Fiso, who, like me, had an interrupted prep for this race. We had agreed a few days earlier to start together with this pace group, and see how we went. On such subtle decisions, do race strategies fail....
National anthem, countdown, then we are off. First k of the marathon goes up Batman Avenue, a gentle climb, but a nice heart starter for a marathon. It is congested, and it is easy to lose contact with the pace group. Fiso and I negotiate the chaos, and sneak ahead of Kellie and Ruth (2 women pacing this group, along with Brett), as we turn at Fed. Square onto St. Kilda Road. Rather than trying to stay close to them, like everyone else was, we ran our own pace, along the undulating road, chatting at intervals, saying hi to fellow runners we knew etc. Always love going down here, relaxed, bundles of energy, the anxiety at the start line replaced with the relief of just getting on the road. I watched Andre and Cheryl slowly wind it up, and head off in search of a 3:15 time.
Just before we left St. Kilda Road, and headed into Albert Park, I had the first of 2 encounters that left me thinking that I either have a distinctive running style, or am easily identified from behind! As I am crossing Queens Road, a voice on my left shoulder says, "Les Corson?". I nod vacantly in his direction, my mind a complete blank, nothing, no memory of this person. Turns out Michael and I follow each other on Strava, but how he recognised me from behind? Mystery. The 2nd was a female. About a k into Albert Park, same thing, off the left shoulder, "Les, is that you?". Turn and see an old friend from Launceston, Debbie Pauna. For years, Debbie would banter with everyone who ventured north to the marathon, "Why would you want to do that, are you people crazy?". This thought floats through my mind, as she runs past me. Found out later, she'd run one 10 years ago....
Albert Park saw the crowds thin out a bit. Along here I started to pay more attention to my HR. Initially along the first 5k, it was safely in the 145 zone, very happy with that. But here, it was climbing towards 150+. Far too early in the marathon, for me. I felt good, relaxed, but also noted that conversation with Fiso was reduced to shorter, and shorter sentences. Soon it would be phrases, then monosyllabic grunts. 10k aid station was the first one I didn't grab a drink from, far too congested, and chaotic. No problem, my bottle drop station was at the 13k station. Whilst a lot of runners dislike the section here (it loops around several times), I love it. You get to see other runners, shout out to your friends etc., gives you a boost. Spotted Andre and Cheryl, they looked great, and they gave me a huge yell in return. In fact, it was one giant meet n greet of friends for the the entire 8k's in the park!
As we turned onto Fitzroy Street, and the one section of good downhill for the last 24k's, I was starting to come to the realisation that the pace was not sustainable for me. Turned onto Beaconsfield Parade, spotted the Spirit of Tasmania way in the distance, and realising that was close to my turnaround point before heading south again, that I was going to have to slow down, and still dig deep for the remainder of the race.
The only notable thing that happened along here, was that the 3:30 pace group that Fiso and I had gradually moved ahead of, now ploughed me down, with ruthless efficiency. Quick word with Kellie Emmerson as she ran passed, to let her know I was okay, just throttling back my pace (and thus, my expectations). Passed under the 20k banner in reasonable shape, then the official halfway, 21.1k, in a tad over 1:45. At this stage though, finish time was not important, just finishing was....
One final moment of triumph though. In 2013, at the 22k mark, I had cramped, and hit the wall, all in one go, marking the start of what was a horror 20k slog back home. This year, albeit going slower, and not exactly pretty, I sailed through 22, no cramps, no wall, just the onset of fatigued, and stiff legs.
Got to the bag drop, last drink, catch up with a few LTR members, and take on a gel as I head off to the start line. I had arranged to meet some friends at the Rod Laver statue outside the arena that bears his name. As I has decided to leave my phone in my bag, I was a bit clueless as to where the others were. What the hell did we do before mobile devices? Finally caught up with Chrissy, Nigel and his daughter, and Belle. Photos, hugs, farewells and good lucks exchanged, then I went off in search of the 3:30 pace group.
 |
| Andre, Fiso, Cheryl and myself at the start line, all smiles! |
National anthem, countdown, then we are off. First k of the marathon goes up Batman Avenue, a gentle climb, but a nice heart starter for a marathon. It is congested, and it is easy to lose contact with the pace group. Fiso and I negotiate the chaos, and sneak ahead of Kellie and Ruth (2 women pacing this group, along with Brett), as we turn at Fed. Square onto St. Kilda Road. Rather than trying to stay close to them, like everyone else was, we ran our own pace, along the undulating road, chatting at intervals, saying hi to fellow runners we knew etc. Always love going down here, relaxed, bundles of energy, the anxiety at the start line replaced with the relief of just getting on the road. I watched Andre and Cheryl slowly wind it up, and head off in search of a 3:15 time.
Just before we left St. Kilda Road, and headed into Albert Park, I had the first of 2 encounters that left me thinking that I either have a distinctive running style, or am easily identified from behind! As I am crossing Queens Road, a voice on my left shoulder says, "Les Corson?". I nod vacantly in his direction, my mind a complete blank, nothing, no memory of this person. Turns out Michael and I follow each other on Strava, but how he recognised me from behind? Mystery. The 2nd was a female. About a k into Albert Park, same thing, off the left shoulder, "Les, is that you?". Turn and see an old friend from Launceston, Debbie Pauna. For years, Debbie would banter with everyone who ventured north to the marathon, "Why would you want to do that, are you people crazy?". This thought floats through my mind, as she runs past me. Found out later, she'd run one 10 years ago....
Albert Park saw the crowds thin out a bit. Along here I started to pay more attention to my HR. Initially along the first 5k, it was safely in the 145 zone, very happy with that. But here, it was climbing towards 150+. Far too early in the marathon, for me. I felt good, relaxed, but also noted that conversation with Fiso was reduced to shorter, and shorter sentences. Soon it would be phrases, then monosyllabic grunts. 10k aid station was the first one I didn't grab a drink from, far too congested, and chaotic. No problem, my bottle drop station was at the 13k station. Whilst a lot of runners dislike the section here (it loops around several times), I love it. You get to see other runners, shout out to your friends etc., gives you a boost. Spotted Andre and Cheryl, they looked great, and they gave me a huge yell in return. In fact, it was one giant meet n greet of friends for the the entire 8k's in the park!
As we turned onto Fitzroy Street, and the one section of good downhill for the last 24k's, I was starting to come to the realisation that the pace was not sustainable for me. Turned onto Beaconsfield Parade, spotted the Spirit of Tasmania way in the distance, and realising that was close to my turnaround point before heading south again, that I was going to have to slow down, and still dig deep for the remainder of the race.
The only notable thing that happened along here, was that the 3:30 pace group that Fiso and I had gradually moved ahead of, now ploughed me down, with ruthless efficiency. Quick word with Kellie Emmerson as she ran passed, to let her know I was okay, just throttling back my pace (and thus, my expectations). Passed under the 20k banner in reasonable shape, then the official halfway, 21.1k, in a tad over 1:45. At this stage though, finish time was not important, just finishing was....
One final moment of triumph though. In 2013, at the 22k mark, I had cramped, and hit the wall, all in one go, marking the start of what was a horror 20k slog back home. This year, albeit going slower, and not exactly pretty, I sailed through 22, no cramps, no wall, just the onset of fatigued, and stiff legs.
Tailwind, son. Nothing else in the world smells like that.
So, where was that aid station with the bottle drops? Having collected one at 13k mark, drunk most and ditched the remainder, I had survived on water (small sips), on the subsequent aid stations, but was struggling enough now to realise I needed my next bottle of Tailwind. Watching the runners come back up from Elwood, along Marine Parade, I was recognising a number of faces. The shout-outs had been replaced by nods, and grunts, but the sincerity was all the same.
Travelling by myself, unable to keep pace with anyone as they slowly streamed past, my head dropped, as I stared at the few metres of road ahead, not daring to look how far into the distance I had to go to Elwood. Fiso had left me, swept up in the 3:30 pace group, and I was happy for him to do that. He'd been very encouraging along the first 15 or so k's, but I didn't want to hold him back, and I didn't want to push myself so hard I couldn't complete the race. A few minutes later, Chris Burton from DTR came up beside me, and enquired as to how I was going. Not great was the reply, but thanked Chris, and told him to have a good run.
Another shout-out, this time Andre and Cheryl again, so good to see familiar faces as they passed in the opposite direction. Andre asked if I was okay. Most likely because this was the first time they had seen my behind the 3:30 pace group, and significantly behind as well. Cheryl peeled away from Andre, ran across the traffic island, frown plastered all over her face, to eyeball me from close range. "I am fine,", I said, "just fatigued, I'll be right". I marvelled at her selflessness as a friend, and later on found, just how far that selflessness extends. A quick hi 5, and she was on her way, both still within the 3:15 pace time. Another runner, Glenn Sullivan, fellow RD from Inverloch, ran past, called out. Later on he told me, he had yelled out to Tony O'Connell (Inverloch parkrun Event Director), "5 parkruns down, only 3 to go", as a bit of banter. He was going to do the same to me, took one look, and decided best not! I looked that good, did I Glenn?
Along Marine Parade, I had made the decision to run aid station to aid station. Break the race down into small chunks, stop at the station, grab water, or my bottle drop, and move on. But either the organisers stuffed up, or more likely in a haze of marathon stupidity, I missed my bottle drop of sports drink. It wasn't until I turned back at Elwood, did I realise I may have run past an aid station. Heading back up Marine parade, I realised just how many runners were still behind me, thousands it appeared.
I gamely ran on, stopping at aid stations, or trotting through with cup in hand. As I approached St. Kilda, Luna Park on the horizon, fellow DTR, Warwick King, started running beside me. He could see I was doing it tough. Subtle encouragement, offers to grab water for me etc. He ran until I was close to Fitzroy Street, then said see ya later as I continued on my way. Remember Fitzroy Street, that nice downhill at the 14k mark? At the 30k mark, it is a complete prick, hated it...
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| Beaconsfield Parade, starting to get a bit serious along here. |
Another shout-out, this time Andre and Cheryl again, so good to see familiar faces as they passed in the opposite direction. Andre asked if I was okay. Most likely because this was the first time they had seen my behind the 3:30 pace group, and significantly behind as well. Cheryl peeled away from Andre, ran across the traffic island, frown plastered all over her face, to eyeball me from close range. "I am fine,", I said, "just fatigued, I'll be right". I marvelled at her selflessness as a friend, and later on found, just how far that selflessness extends. A quick hi 5, and she was on her way, both still within the 3:15 pace time. Another runner, Glenn Sullivan, fellow RD from Inverloch, ran past, called out. Later on he told me, he had yelled out to Tony O'Connell (Inverloch parkrun Event Director), "5 parkruns down, only 3 to go", as a bit of banter. He was going to do the same to me, took one look, and decided best not! I looked that good, did I Glenn?
Along Marine Parade, I had made the decision to run aid station to aid station. Break the race down into small chunks, stop at the station, grab water, or my bottle drop, and move on. But either the organisers stuffed up, or more likely in a haze of marathon stupidity, I missed my bottle drop of sports drink. It wasn't until I turned back at Elwood, did I realise I may have run past an aid station. Heading back up Marine parade, I realised just how many runners were still behind me, thousands it appeared.
I gamely ran on, stopping at aid stations, or trotting through with cup in hand. As I approached St. Kilda, Luna Park on the horizon, fellow DTR, Warwick King, started running beside me. He could see I was doing it tough. Subtle encouragement, offers to grab water for me etc. He ran until I was close to Fitzroy Street, then said see ya later as I continued on my way. Remember Fitzroy Street, that nice downhill at the 14k mark? At the 30k mark, it is a complete prick, hated it...
St. Kilda Road... shit; I'm still only on St. Kilda Road... Every time I think I'm gonna wake up back in the G.
in 2013, this was my Hearts of Darkness moment, crawling up St. Kilda Road, wondering why the climb up wasn't recognised as any sort of descent on the way out a few hours earlier! Quick check of the GPS activity after the race, revealed the elevation changes along here. No wonder.
Runners were streaming past, as if I was stranded in quicksand beside a busy motorway. My legs ached, not just tender to touch, but seriously aching. At one stage I stopped to massage my quads, only to find that any physical manipulation created more pain, ran on (well shuffled), trying to recall how far it was to the Arts Centre. On St. Kilda Road, the marathoners were on the main road, the half-marathoners separated on the service road. Despite having run nearly 15k's more than them, we were going faster, as this was near the back of the pack for the half runners.
So far, my only stops were really at aid stations, but along here I had to stop several times. Rather than sheer exhaustion, it was the fact my legs were losing power, and the relentless slog up the road was taking it's toll. I just couldn't get going properly. After what seemed an indeterminate time, I finally spotted the tower that marked the Arts Centre on St. Kilda Road, and the point we turned off to go back through the Domain. There is something perverse about a course that will take you close to the finish, then direct you away (or back the way you came), to add kilometres to the run! In addition to this, was the inclusion of a nice little rise up Birdwood Avenue to the 37k aid station. On Alexandria Ave. I passed by someone who knew me (hi 5'ed me), but to my eyes was a total stranger. Call it mid-race marathon brain fade, later on when he ran past me supporting another runner, did I realise it was ultra runner Andy Turner! I really was shrinking my brain down to the very primal core, dealing with finishing....
Turned off Alexandria, and onto Birdwood, and the climb up. And again, along here, my friend Warwick popped up. Running beside me, once again giving me encouragement as I started the climb to the aid station. Desperately wanted to grab my bottle of sports drink, if nothing else, than to think that I was trying something, anything to keep me moving, and get me home. I took heart that the 4:00 pacer group hadn't passed me yet, a small but vital victory, so far.
Finally got my bottle from the 37k aid station, and really couldn't stomach much of it. Somehow it seemed far more concentrated than the first one. Drank as much as I could, as I ran up the last of the climb in the Domain, then thankfully, the run down Domain Road. I say, thankfully, but the pain in my quads made my legs useless going downhill. Brief stop to grab some Gummy Bears from Catherine Hocking of LTR, (and a lovely smiley face), and then finally St. Kilda Road, and the final push for home.
Just before I reached Princes Bridge, I became aware of someone running and talking. This can only mean another pace group, the 4:00 pacers, bugger.... Sure enough, the human tide of runners passed me by on the narrowest section of road before the bridge. All I could do was hold my pace, such as it was, and not get buffeted, and pushed around. Fed Square was next, and a group of photographers was stationed here. Every year they are there, taking pics of runners with iconic Flinders Street Station in the background. Lots of spectators along here, gave all of us a boost as we turned the corner into Flinders Street. Mug for the camera, then push on up the road, only 2k's to go!
The final turn off Flinders into Wellington Parade South, the street either side now lined continuously with runners from other events, clapping and cheering us on, I had one final stop. Turning the corner into Jolimont Road, I cut the corner with other runners, and stumbled on the kerbing. Nearly fell over, stopped, collected my thoughts, and then set off, one final push to the finish line.
And finally, after what seemed an eternity, I crossed under the entrance to the MCG, and entered onto the hallowed ground. Plastic mats on the grass had been placed for the runners, strict instructions to run on them, not the grass! I spied the finish line chutes, and gritted the teeth to get home. As I approached the finish, above the general noise of the crowds, I heard familiar voices. My friends Chrissy and Belle were screaming their heads off, cheering me on. It was so wonderful to hear above the noise of everyone else.
Finished, and strolled away from the finish line, utterly exhausted. Met Kellie again, had a brief chat and then went off in search of food and water. Bumped into Andre, and heard a story that reaffirmed my faith in the human race. Both he and Cheryl had been zeroing in on a 3:15 finish, when a fellow runner collapsed and hit his head on the road. Cheryl, a medical doctor, stopped immediately to administer first aid. 20 minutes later, they rejoined the race, finishing around the 3:35 mark. This selfless act was the best story on a day full of great stories.
Fiso was there, having come in 12 minutes ahead of me. Could have sworn he'd gone on with it, hanging in with the 3:30 pace group for a sizeable chunk of the race. But no, his race was a mirror image of mine, pace then dramatic slow-down! We were both very happy to have finished...
Collect medal, photo with Andre and Cheryl, food and drink, then head back topside with other friend Josie, to catch up with many other runners. I was walking like Frankenstein, and the thought of a kilometre trek back to my unit was amusing. Thankfully Chrissy offered to give me a lift back, where I was able to collapse in a cold bath, beer in hand, finally off my poor weary feet!
Runners were streaming past, as if I was stranded in quicksand beside a busy motorway. My legs ached, not just tender to touch, but seriously aching. At one stage I stopped to massage my quads, only to find that any physical manipulation created more pain, ran on (well shuffled), trying to recall how far it was to the Arts Centre. On St. Kilda Road, the marathoners were on the main road, the half-marathoners separated on the service road. Despite having run nearly 15k's more than them, we were going faster, as this was near the back of the pack for the half runners.
So far, my only stops were really at aid stations, but along here I had to stop several times. Rather than sheer exhaustion, it was the fact my legs were losing power, and the relentless slog up the road was taking it's toll. I just couldn't get going properly. After what seemed an indeterminate time, I finally spotted the tower that marked the Arts Centre on St. Kilda Road, and the point we turned off to go back through the Domain. There is something perverse about a course that will take you close to the finish, then direct you away (or back the way you came), to add kilometres to the run! In addition to this, was the inclusion of a nice little rise up Birdwood Avenue to the 37k aid station. On Alexandria Ave. I passed by someone who knew me (hi 5'ed me), but to my eyes was a total stranger. Call it mid-race marathon brain fade, later on when he ran past me supporting another runner, did I realise it was ultra runner Andy Turner! I really was shrinking my brain down to the very primal core, dealing with finishing....
Turned off Alexandria, and onto Birdwood, and the climb up. And again, along here, my friend Warwick popped up. Running beside me, once again giving me encouragement as I started the climb to the aid station. Desperately wanted to grab my bottle of sports drink, if nothing else, than to think that I was trying something, anything to keep me moving, and get me home. I took heart that the 4:00 pacer group hadn't passed me yet, a small but vital victory, so far.
 |
| Do I detect the hint of a wry smile as I finish? |
Finally got my bottle from the 37k aid station, and really couldn't stomach much of it. Somehow it seemed far more concentrated than the first one. Drank as much as I could, as I ran up the last of the climb in the Domain, then thankfully, the run down Domain Road. I say, thankfully, but the pain in my quads made my legs useless going downhill. Brief stop to grab some Gummy Bears from Catherine Hocking of LTR, (and a lovely smiley face), and then finally St. Kilda Road, and the final push for home.
Just before I reached Princes Bridge, I became aware of someone running and talking. This can only mean another pace group, the 4:00 pacers, bugger.... Sure enough, the human tide of runners passed me by on the narrowest section of road before the bridge. All I could do was hold my pace, such as it was, and not get buffeted, and pushed around. Fed Square was next, and a group of photographers was stationed here. Every year they are there, taking pics of runners with iconic Flinders Street Station in the background. Lots of spectators along here, gave all of us a boost as we turned the corner into Flinders Street. Mug for the camera, then push on up the road, only 2k's to go!
The final turn off Flinders into Wellington Parade South, the street either side now lined continuously with runners from other events, clapping and cheering us on, I had one final stop. Turning the corner into Jolimont Road, I cut the corner with other runners, and stumbled on the kerbing. Nearly fell over, stopped, collected my thoughts, and then set off, one final push to the finish line.
 |
| Myself and Andre dwarfing Cheryl! Despite my tough race, this was a great moment. |
Finished, and strolled away from the finish line, utterly exhausted. Met Kellie again, had a brief chat and then went off in search of food and water. Bumped into Andre, and heard a story that reaffirmed my faith in the human race. Both he and Cheryl had been zeroing in on a 3:15 finish, when a fellow runner collapsed and hit his head on the road. Cheryl, a medical doctor, stopped immediately to administer first aid. 20 minutes later, they rejoined the race, finishing around the 3:35 mark. This selfless act was the best story on a day full of great stories.
Fiso was there, having come in 12 minutes ahead of me. Could have sworn he'd gone on with it, hanging in with the 3:30 pace group for a sizeable chunk of the race. But no, his race was a mirror image of mine, pace then dramatic slow-down! We were both very happy to have finished...
Collect medal, photo with Andre and Cheryl, food and drink, then head back topside with other friend Josie, to catch up with many other runners. I was walking like Frankenstein, and the thought of a kilometre trek back to my unit was amusing. Thankfully Chrissy offered to give me a lift back, where I was able to collapse in a cold bath, beer in hand, finally off my poor weary feet!
Sir, I am unaware of any such Strava activity or operation ... nor would I be disposed to discuss such an activity if it did in fact exist, sir.
After the dust had settled, and I was able to look at my plot on Strava, it was very clear how my day had panned out! First 15k, nice even pace, bang on 4:55/5:00 pace for the entire way. Then a gradual decline after I had decided to voluntarily slow down, then, as the body slowly shut down, an increased rate of decline that ended up in the visual representation of de-fibrillation! At this point I had struggled to hold any pace whatsoever. A 2:20 second 21.1k resulting in a 35 minute positive split! Not what I had bargained for.
But no wall to speak of, nothing that points to a catastrophic failure, just an interrupted training plan, and a half-arsed race plan!
 |
| The decline of my pace, the race ran.... |
Are my race plans unsound? I don't see any plan at all, sir
Some would say I should have run conservatively. But having the interrupted prep, meant I didn't really know where I was at. I could have run a conservative race, come in around 3:45, and then spent the next period of time wondering “if only”. So, race it I did. And I came unstuck, not worried, it was my plan, and my result, I will live with it. But, as I found out later, I wasn't the only one to have a day that didn't go to plan.
1. Dion Finocchiaro was racing for 2:22, but collapsing within sight of the MCG, being stretchered away to first aid, on a drip for an extended period, then gets up from his bed to complete the race and finish in 4:01.
2. My friend Cheryl stops for medical emergency and sacrifices 20 minutes. She is adamant that she would do that again, and we all believe her. I know others who would rue(?) that decision.
3. Another friend Serena, aiming for sub 3:00, gets a 3:10. Chatting to her after the race she said she’d had the best preparation ever, felt good leading in to the event, and despite really good weather conditions she just had “one of those days”.
There were countless others having days to forget, along with those who had a day out. It is the beauty of the marathon, there is no easy path to success.
1. Dion Finocchiaro was racing for 2:22, but collapsing within sight of the MCG, being stretchered away to first aid, on a drip for an extended period, then gets up from his bed to complete the race and finish in 4:01.
2. My friend Cheryl stops for medical emergency and sacrifices 20 minutes. She is adamant that she would do that again, and we all believe her. I know others who would rue(?) that decision.
3. Another friend Serena, aiming for sub 3:00, gets a 3:10. Chatting to her after the race she said she’d had the best preparation ever, felt good leading in to the event, and despite really good weather conditions she just had “one of those days”.
There were countless others having days to forget, along with those who had a day out. It is the beauty of the marathon, there is no easy path to success.
End Credits
So, have I found redemption? I think so. I no longer feel the need to go back to the marathon, nothing really to prove to myself. No, I didn't hit any targets, and no, I didn't run a strong second half of the race. But I made the start, when all seemed lost, and I finished, a victory in itself. Mentally this was the toughest race I've ever done, nice to know I can tough it out.
That is not to say I may do one again at a later date; only if I want to, not because I feel I need to. And the next year and a bit look to have some changes work wise, where I live etc. Running will be interrupted, racing will be throttled back as a result. Stay tuned...
This blog will live on, other races, other targets to hit. Maybe not as constant as it has been in the past.
That is not to say I may do one again at a later date; only if I want to, not because I feel I need to. And the next year and a bit look to have some changes work wise, where I live etc. Running will be interrupted, racing will be throttled back as a result. Stay tuned...
This blog will live on, other races, other targets to hit. Maybe not as constant as it has been in the past.
Apocalypse Now Quotes
The real quotes from the movie, in case you were wondering.
- Everyone gets everything he wants. I wanted a mission, and for my sins, they gave me one.
- Saigon... shit; I'm still only in Saigon... Every time I think I'm gonna wake up back in the jungle.
- Napalm, son. Nothing else in the world smells like that.
- Sir, I am unaware of any such activity or operation... nor would I be disposed to discuss such an operation if it did in fact exist, sir.
- Kurtz: Are my methods unsound? Willard: I don't see any method at all, sir.
