A Real Rib Tickler

It's lucky I enjoy it. It really is. If I didn't I'd have to wonder why I did it because when you think about it, you know from a distance and in the cold light of day, it's a bit odd.

Sorry? Oh, I'm talking about running of course. Yes we all run from time to time, but it is usually out of necessity; to catch a bus, to cross the road without getting knocked down or to catch up with someone ahead of you. Or conversely, to run away from someone or something. Which reminds me of a photograph of sign I saw in a magazine. This particular sign was nailed to the post of a field gate and posed the question "Can you cross this field in less than 12 seconds? No? Well the bull can!" Very droll but I have digressed.

Yes most of us only run when it us absolutely necessary. The more mobile option of the fight or flee instinct if you like. So how odd is it to get up early on a cold Sunday morning, begrudgingly eat a bowl of porridge before driving to a nearby forest and run around in circles for an hour or so with other like minded strangers. Odd? Yes, very. And this Sunday we had even paid for the privilege. Sheer lunacy.

And so it was that we arrived in Totara Forestry, a spit and a hip from Auckland centre, to run around the forest trails  looking like a pack of demented and lost hikers. Except wearing less clothes than would be ordinarily advisable. 

The 11k route was one of the more gentler races in this season's Xterra calendar so I was fully expecting to break the hour mark. That was my target and by george I was going to break it. About 6k in, it was all going reasonably well. It had been a slow start due to the sheer numbers of fellow lunatics on the course but the first incline of the morning had thinned the pack down and I was now making much quicker progress. Although it was going to be close, I was confident of meeting my target. Heck, I was even starting to enjoy myself; the sun was shining, the scenery was stunning and the horrors of an early alarm call were a distant memory.

After negotiating a few potentially treacherous cattle girds, I came to the top of a lovely, wide grassy downhill. "Now I can make up a bit more time," I thought to myself before launching myself down the slope. Picking up speed and passing less adventurous souls, or losers as I like to call them, I suddenly realised my mistake. There was a horrid muddy patch about half way down the hill and I was heading for it with wild abandon. I had no hope of stopping - I'd just reached a speed that would've made a particularly fast cheetah jealous - and was technically out of control. "Don't worry Graeme," I thought, "all those years of mountain bike experience will see you through."

It did. But I'd forgotten that "all those years of mountain bike experience" usually involved me hurtling downhill at high speed and hitting a less moveable object. Although I did once have to make an evasive manoeuvre and jump over a rather startled sheep. But that is a whole different story. 

Now I'm not the most graceful runner at the best of times, as some race photographs will attest, with my right leg seemingly having a mind of its own, but hitting a muddy patch at Mach 3 would test even the most highly trained and ballerina-esque athlete. Instantly my legs decided they wanted to go in a whole different direction to my upper body, whilst my upper body concentrated on staying upright. Meanwhile my utterly confused arms had decided to emulate a particularly energetic windmill. On speed. But I was upright and nearly halfway through the muddy slop. God knows what it looked like to the spectators - maybe they wondered if this was part of the entertainment - but my deranged ballerina act was getting me through. Then it happened. My feet found a stable patch of ground and immediately sent my legs in a different direction. My upper half just couldn't cope with this new instruction and resolutely stayed on the same trajectory. In objection my feet went sideways, presumably to teach my insubordinate upper half a lesson, and I lost balance and hurled through the air. "This is going to be interesting," I thought as I landed on my side and slid down the hill. "Well this is better then I could've expected," I thought, adding "and it might actually improve my time!" What I hadn't seen was that I was rapidly approaching a fence and that I was slowly turning sideways.... 

If there is one thing you should know about fences, it is that they are largely immovable objects. And if there is one thing you should know about the human body, it is that when faced with the aforesaid immovable object, the immovable object is likely to come off better. Significantly better as it turns out. I hit the fence with a sickening thud and came to an abrupt halt. Miraculously, although it did hurt, I was in one piece and not sliced Tex Avery style into hundreds of potato-like chips. My first thought was "Thank goodness. I haven't wasted a lot of time!" I got up, checked my feet were still facing the same way and commenced running once again.

The incident was soon behind me and the four remaining kilometres started ticking off. But there was a problem. My side, the one that had bravely faced down the fence, was starting to grumble. The grumble soon became an ache and, disappointingly predictable, the ache became a pain. It slowed my progress but I was determined to keep going. I was going to break the hour mark, no matter what.

I kept running and regularly checking my time against progress. But even before the tenth kilometre was completed I knew it was a lost cause. I crossed the line, winning a spot prize for the most painful expression, and slumped onto the ground. Rather than thank me for stopping, my ribs howled in pain for me being a total idiot. What was I thinking?

Fractured ribs are going to keep my out of action for a while. I thought this running lark was supposed to be good for you? Recovery is going to be slow and painful but at least I've got something to look forward to..... the next race is the series is only three weeks away and it looks like a fast course. Excellent.

Oh, and my time for the last event? 1 hour and 38 seconds. If only I'd slid a little faster....