I'm sure there are those who consider a Marathon, that 42.2km test of fitness, stamina and maybe stupidity, to be just another run. No different to jogging to the shops for the paper. But to the rest of us lesser mortals, simply getting to the start line is a challenge in itself.
As I lined up at Milbrook Resort, on the outskirts of the little village of Arrowtown, I glanced across at my fellow competitors. The battle scars from three months of gruelling training were on display. I swear that some people were more strapping than person. For them, just lining up was a real achievement and at that very moment, before the events of the next four hours unfolded, they could proudly call themselves Marathoners. Or should that be Full Marathoners?
You see it's important to make that distinction in New Zealand. On more that one occasion I've been proudly informed by a fellow runner that they are doing the marathon this weekend, only to find out later that they are competing in the 10k. Even yesterday, on the bus to the start of the race I heard someone proudly boast that this was their fifth marathon. "Wow!" their partner in conversation exclaimed, "That's impressive". "Well I've done five marathons but this is my first full marathon." That is not to take away the achievement of completing a half marathon, that is a test in itself and something to be really proud about, but it's not a full marathon.
A Full Marathon, or to give it its proper title A Marathon, is a totally different prospect and not one to be taken lightly, for us non-super-humans anyway. To put it into context, in the course of training for a Marathon you will match or exceed the distance of a Half Marathon no less than ten times. In a typical training programme anyway. Everyone is an expert when it comes to training programmes and they all claim to be the best, tried and tested etc etc. There is no right answer, pick one and stick to it. Although, having said that, I'm not sure the guy next to me in the starting pen had chosen wisely. He was a bit.... well let's say he was not a thin chap but when asked how had is training gone he replied enthusiastically "Pretty good, although this is only my second not on a treadmill". Well at least he'll be fresh!
Yes, just getting to the start line is an achievement as anything can happen in the months, weeks and days leading up to the start. Mine, by way of an example, was far from ideal. I knew that this was going to be the case when, on my first official day of training, I was mowed down by a wayward cyclist, hurting my groin in the process. It all happened so quickly that I didn't even have time to respond wittily "Get off the footpath you f*cking stupid idiot".
Add to that, twisted ankles, several colds, unseasonally crappy weather and a bit of gastro enteritis and the whole thing has been a bit of an ordeal. And that is the real problem. Running used to be a pleasure but when you have to get out there and pound the pavement, especially when the runs are getting towards the 30km mark, it becomes a chore. A worry almost. Rather than be the stress relief it used to be, it becomes a source of anxiety in itself. Am I feeling as good as I should? Am I running fast enough? Can I afford to miss this session? Is that a niggle in my ankle? And so on and so forth. It's a blessing that I was not short of fantastic places to run and had some good friends to keep me company on parts of my long runs.
"Hmmm," he mused, "well I can get you to the start line, but the rest is up to you". And so two weeks of intensive physiotherapy, icing and rest ensued. I didn't dare tell him that I had entered a Half Marathon race the week after the Marathon. But he was good to his word and he got me to the starting line where I joined the aforementioned strapped casualties of the Marathon masses. It was now up to me.
I had a race plan and I doggedly stuck to it. During the early stages I could have gone faster but held back, conscious that there was another 32km to go. And with stunning mountain scenery all around what was the rush? I passed the halfway point, one of the psychological hurdles, just a minute behind my planned time but I was not feeling as good as I would've liked, or indeed expected. The sun was out and the headwind on certain sections was taking its toll. By the 30km point I was further adrift, only by ten minutes, but it was enough for me to realise that my chance of getting home in under the magic four hour mark was slipping away. Worse than that, I was beginning to really struggle.
With 8km still to run, I entered the final section and started my run alongside the lake. I had run this track before and knew it well - and knew that I could cover it in the time needed for me to still reach my goal. Five minute kilometres would not normally be an issue but on the back of having already run 34km I knew I was going to have a problem. The pain was getting worse and I was starting to feel really fatigued. I bashed out another couple of kilometres and soon I passed the 5km to go banner. "5k, is that all?" I thought to myself "That's only three laps around Western Springs lake. No problem, you've got this!". But I didn't. No amount of mental encouragement was going to banish the agonising pain in my legs. If I was going to finish this race and live to run another day I was going to have to commit the cardinal sin and walk. For a little bit at least. So for the next four kilometres I ran and walked in a desperate attempt to knock some of the distance off. I'd forgotten just how much Marathon running hurts.
Soon, but not soon enough, the 1km to go marker was in view and the cheers of the welcoming Queenstown crowd could be heard. "You can't walk through the crowd," I thought to myself, "come one, one final push to the end!". And so, with every aching muscle telling me to stop, I ran the last kilometre through the streets of Queenstown, up the last hill and into the finishing straight. Tears had already started to trickle down my face as I crossed the finish line in a respectable 4hrs 18min 30sec and by the time I was hugged by Sarah the trickle turned to sobs. Sobs of relief, pain, joy and pride in what I had accomplished. Happy to have finished the race but overjoyed that the Marathon ordeal was over. No more getting up a stupid o'clock on a Sunday morning to get a long run done. No more analysing every kilometre ran. No more club runs because they didn't fit the training programme. No more anxiety over having missed a training session because of one reason or another. And no more asking for understanding from your partner because either your too miserable or too tired to think about anything else.
Yes, I thought that I would've finished quicker and getting under four hours would've been a dream come true. But it's a tough course, stupidly beautiful but stupidly hilly with a huge 'wall' at 30km and it was hot and windy. I also know that I didn't leave anything out there and was physically and emotionally drained when I crossed the line. In the end, I gave it everything and that is all that matters.
So why, you might ask, am I telling you all this? Perhaps in case there is anyone out there who has completing a Marathon on their bucket list and needs to know what they are letting themselves in for. But mainly its for me, or rather my future self. This is definitely my last Marathon. I've done one in the northern hemisphere and now one on the southern side of the planet. And that's enough, for me at least. Let's call this an insurance policy. There will be times, possibly a year or so from now; when the pain has subsided and I can approach a flight of stairs without grimacing at the thought of the pain to come, when the conversation will inevitably turn to Marathons. Temptation will surely raise its ugly head and the prospect of completing another might sound like a fun way to spend the weekend. I just hope that I recall that I have written this and take the time to seek it out. Otherwise it'll be back to the early morning sessions and having a physio on my speed dial.
Nope, I'm done with Marathons. Never again, and yes this time I mean it. And besides, there's always triathlons.....
As I lined up at Milbrook Resort, on the outskirts of the little village of Arrowtown, I glanced across at my fellow competitors. The battle scars from three months of gruelling training were on display. I swear that some people were more strapping than person. For them, just lining up was a real achievement and at that very moment, before the events of the next four hours unfolded, they could proudly call themselves Marathoners. Or should that be Full Marathoners?
You see it's important to make that distinction in New Zealand. On more that one occasion I've been proudly informed by a fellow runner that they are doing the marathon this weekend, only to find out later that they are competing in the 10k. Even yesterday, on the bus to the start of the race I heard someone proudly boast that this was their fifth marathon. "Wow!" their partner in conversation exclaimed, "That's impressive". "Well I've done five marathons but this is my first full marathon." That is not to take away the achievement of completing a half marathon, that is a test in itself and something to be really proud about, but it's not a full marathon.
A Full Marathon, or to give it its proper title A Marathon, is a totally different prospect and not one to be taken lightly, for us non-super-humans anyway. To put it into context, in the course of training for a Marathon you will match or exceed the distance of a Half Marathon no less than ten times. In a typical training programme anyway. Everyone is an expert when it comes to training programmes and they all claim to be the best, tried and tested etc etc. There is no right answer, pick one and stick to it. Although, having said that, I'm not sure the guy next to me in the starting pen had chosen wisely. He was a bit.... well let's say he was not a thin chap but when asked how had is training gone he replied enthusiastically "Pretty good, although this is only my second not on a treadmill". Well at least he'll be fresh!
Yes, just getting to the start line is an achievement as anything can happen in the months, weeks and days leading up to the start. Mine, by way of an example, was far from ideal. I knew that this was going to be the case when, on my first official day of training, I was mowed down by a wayward cyclist, hurting my groin in the process. It all happened so quickly that I didn't even have time to respond wittily "Get off the footpath you f*cking stupid idiot".
Add to that, twisted ankles, several colds, unseasonally crappy weather and a bit of gastro enteritis and the whole thing has been a bit of an ordeal. And that is the real problem. Running used to be a pleasure but when you have to get out there and pound the pavement, especially when the runs are getting towards the 30km mark, it becomes a chore. A worry almost. Rather than be the stress relief it used to be, it becomes a source of anxiety in itself. Am I feeling as good as I should? Am I running fast enough? Can I afford to miss this session? Is that a niggle in my ankle? And so on and so forth. It's a blessing that I was not short of fantastic places to run and had some good friends to keep me company on parts of my long runs.
It almost all came to an end with just two weeks to go when a previous injury to my ankle decided to make a return. Not wanting to acknowledge this I took the most sensible option and ignored the growing pain in my right foot. Well I had another didn't I? Shovelling down ibuprofen like they were Smarties, I set off for my final short run. Blam! The dull pain became a sharp needle point and I couldn't finish the run. The next day my ankle had ballooned in size and even walking was painful. Time to see the Physio. Well, actually the time to see the Physio was several weeks ago but who's counting. Incidentally, that's another thing that they don't tell you. You and your physio will become almost inseparable. At least I was, and I was there so often that I considered asking for loyalty discount on more than one occasion.
"Hmmm," he mused, "well I can get you to the start line, but the rest is up to you". And so two weeks of intensive physiotherapy, icing and rest ensued. I didn't dare tell him that I had entered a Half Marathon race the week after the Marathon. But he was good to his word and he got me to the starting line where I joined the aforementioned strapped casualties of the Marathon masses. It was now up to me.
I had a race plan and I doggedly stuck to it. During the early stages I could have gone faster but held back, conscious that there was another 32km to go. And with stunning mountain scenery all around what was the rush? I passed the halfway point, one of the psychological hurdles, just a minute behind my planned time but I was not feeling as good as I would've liked, or indeed expected. The sun was out and the headwind on certain sections was taking its toll. By the 30km point I was further adrift, only by ten minutes, but it was enough for me to realise that my chance of getting home in under the magic four hour mark was slipping away. Worse than that, I was beginning to really struggle.
With 8km still to run, I entered the final section and started my run alongside the lake. I had run this track before and knew it well - and knew that I could cover it in the time needed for me to still reach my goal. Five minute kilometres would not normally be an issue but on the back of having already run 34km I knew I was going to have a problem. The pain was getting worse and I was starting to feel really fatigued. I bashed out another couple of kilometres and soon I passed the 5km to go banner. "5k, is that all?" I thought to myself "That's only three laps around Western Springs lake. No problem, you've got this!". But I didn't. No amount of mental encouragement was going to banish the agonising pain in my legs. If I was going to finish this race and live to run another day I was going to have to commit the cardinal sin and walk. For a little bit at least. So for the next four kilometres I ran and walked in a desperate attempt to knock some of the distance off. I'd forgotten just how much Marathon running hurts.
Soon, but not soon enough, the 1km to go marker was in view and the cheers of the welcoming Queenstown crowd could be heard. "You can't walk through the crowd," I thought to myself, "come one, one final push to the end!". And so, with every aching muscle telling me to stop, I ran the last kilometre through the streets of Queenstown, up the last hill and into the finishing straight. Tears had already started to trickle down my face as I crossed the finish line in a respectable 4hrs 18min 30sec and by the time I was hugged by Sarah the trickle turned to sobs. Sobs of relief, pain, joy and pride in what I had accomplished. Happy to have finished the race but overjoyed that the Marathon ordeal was over. No more getting up a stupid o'clock on a Sunday morning to get a long run done. No more analysing every kilometre ran. No more club runs because they didn't fit the training programme. No more anxiety over having missed a training session because of one reason or another. And no more asking for understanding from your partner because either your too miserable or too tired to think about anything else.
Yes, I thought that I would've finished quicker and getting under four hours would've been a dream come true. But it's a tough course, stupidly beautiful but stupidly hilly with a huge 'wall' at 30km and it was hot and windy. I also know that I didn't leave anything out there and was physically and emotionally drained when I crossed the line. In the end, I gave it everything and that is all that matters.
So why, you might ask, am I telling you all this? Perhaps in case there is anyone out there who has completing a Marathon on their bucket list and needs to know what they are letting themselves in for. But mainly its for me, or rather my future self. This is definitely my last Marathon. I've done one in the northern hemisphere and now one on the southern side of the planet. And that's enough, for me at least. Let's call this an insurance policy. There will be times, possibly a year or so from now; when the pain has subsided and I can approach a flight of stairs without grimacing at the thought of the pain to come, when the conversation will inevitably turn to Marathons. Temptation will surely raise its ugly head and the prospect of completing another might sound like a fun way to spend the weekend. I just hope that I recall that I have written this and take the time to seek it out. Otherwise it'll be back to the early morning sessions and having a physio on my speed dial.
Nope, I'm done with Marathons. Never again, and yes this time I mean it. And besides, there's always triathlons.....
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