The story of my second marathon begins 15 years ago, when I attempted my first, in New York in 2004.
In the years when MBRC was just a twinkle in Joe’s eye, I followed a training plan off the internet somewhere, which involved running solo through the dark cold streets of south London several times a week.
Despite the unglamorous surroundings, I arrived in the Big Apple in good heart and by race day I thought I was ready.
All was going well until about 30km in, when I ran into the Mother of all walls. I crashed and burned in spectacular style. After 5 and a half hours, I limped, shuffled and sobbed my way to the finish line. To add insult to injury, I was over taken in the final stretch by a man in a full rhino suit. Someone from the crowd called out ‘Would you do it again?’. I didn’t have the strength to say ‘Not a chance in hell’. But I think he probably knew by the contorted look on my face that I would not be going through this ordeal again any time soon.
Fast forward to 2019 and I think the pain and indignity had finally subsided and I was ready to resume battle once again.
Armed with a far more thorough timetable from Joe and a couple of years of MBRC under my belt, I set about my Marathon Mk II. Location: Sydney. Date: 15th September. Mood: Determined.
It was my date with destiny, the chance to right my wrongs, and to make sure I wasn’t overtaken by any men in fancy dress.
Over 4 months, I followed the training to the letter, and married with some expert nutrition advice, I felt much more prepared than on that fateful day in NYC.
Race day arrived and I told myself to adopt a level headed approach; not get too high when things were going well, and not too down when I encountered some lows. Enjoy the moment, but don’t get too caught up in the excitement and rush of it all. None of which came naturally to me, but were characteristics I wanted to adopt if I was to get through this unscathed.
I also decided to run my own race; have a time in mind, but keep listening to the body and don’t worry about those pacers or runners around you. Staying in the Pagey bubble, was my plan of attack.
As I approached the start line, I took a deep breath, looked up to the heavens for some divine inspiration, pressed start on my watch, and hoped for the best.
Running over the Harbour Bridge is surely one of the most life affirming starts to any race in the world, with a general sense of nervous optimism in the air. Training had gone well by and large (apart from one 32km run where I suffered exhaustion, dehydration and heat stroke, but let’s not dwell on that) so I knew I was prepared, but there’s always that sense of the great unknown as you progress through the kms.
Half way approached in Centennial Park, a beautiful part of the run; an old haunt of mine, so there were plenty of great memories to draw on and as I left the park, heading back into the city, I said to myself ‘Half way Ad-you’ve got this’.
Without wishing to sound slightly unhinged, I was checking in with myself at various stages; ‘Hey heart, how you doin’? ‘Lungs, how’s things?’ ‘Legs, you ok down there?’ It was like doing an audit of my limbs and organs, and seeing as all the parts of me were operating in relative harmony, I ploughed on.
The hardest part of the race was undoubtedly the barren waste land of Pyrmont. Soulless and lacking in crowds, it was really a time to dig deep, especially with the race now kicking into the 30s, and beyond my longest training run.
Amazingly my legs just kept going. They were slower, but they were going. And rather than 10 or 15 kms to go, we were now in single figures and the countdown was on. As bodies started to seize up around me, and medical teams were kept busy, I also started getting nervous as I knew the end was in sight.
I tried to keep composed and focused, but deep inside I was going ‘Bloody hell, you’re nearly there’!
As the Opera House slowly came into view and the crowds started to build, the adrenaline gave me one last burst of energy. Widening my stride to get to that finish line as soon as possible, I went for broke. Weaving through Circular Quay and into the final straight, all that control I thought I’d had, started to dissolve away, to be replaced by a flood of emotion. All those people who had loved and supported me for the last few months burst into my mind and overwhelmed my senses. All that time, effort, sweat and tears had come to this: sweat and tears.
Focus and discipline were replaced by elation and euphoria, and as I crossed that line, I punched the air with a smile wider than the Harbour Bridge.
It was great to have a moment to take it all in, look up to that same blue sky as I had at the start of the race and think ‘Did I really do that?’
I realised pretty soon that the whole thing had felt a bit like an out of body experience. Being composed and calm got me through the race. But they’re not qualities I typically employ in every day life, so a very un-every day event asked me to find these characteristics from somewhere. Thankfully I found them just in time.
So I’m pleased to say the ghost of New York was laid to rest. No rhinos in sight, and if asked, yes I probably would do it again.
Many many thanks are owed to Joe for all his words of encouragement and helping me run a disciplined and dare I say, ‘intelligent’ race.
If I was to pass on any advice, it would be:
- Drink at every water station! I’ve never paid much attention to them and in the past, more water ended up on me rather than in me, so this time I really made sure I drank a whole cup each time. Plus it’s free, so go crazy.
- Cool down properly after the race. I didn’t, and couldn’t walk for three days! But you know what, I kind of enjoyed the pain. I had earned it after all.
Oh and the time? Well, if anyone’s still reading, I made it in 3hrs 32mins and 7 seconds; a 2 hour PB! So I was pleased. And hilariously I came 666th-! So I’ve now changed my son’s name from Oscar to Damien, but don’t let that worry you…
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