Go West

There is something not quite right about this sentence: This Sunday morning I got up at 04:20 to drive out to Sydney's Western suburbs and ran a marathon right next to a motorway. I am sure there was a time when, if I was man-alone, I would call the lads and we'd go out and drink beer or stay in and drink beer. Probably watch some sport, maybe play some cards. As Bucks Fizz wisely said, now those days are gone.

It was serendipity that brought me to the start line of the M7 Westlink Marathon. At least I think it was, I've not looked up the meaning of 'serendipity' yet. This week I was told our open house was being moved from Sunday to Saturday and 'DailyMile' Andrew had posted that he was doing the M7 race on Sunday. I think I read his post before the open house was moved, because I replied "I would if I could but I can't." And then I could. And then I couldn't when I was thinking about paying Sal a surprise visit. And then I could when it turned out that the whole household was fluey and should be quarantined.

Hmmm. I've not done any marathon training for a while, but I did have the base from Juneathon. I also had a bit of a wonky right knee and an unhappy middle toe on my left foot. I did a couple of very average runs in the week and then, on Friday, without being completely committed, I entered the race. There was a large element of "let's see how far you've come" about my decision. Could I do the distance on little more than a whim and while not 100% fit? One way to find out.

The wonderful build up continued on Saturday when I had only a slice of banana bread to eat before 3.30 in the afternoon and I spent 6hrs on my feet walking my dogs. Left toe still felt a bit bleugh. Not being completely stupid I did have a homebrew Gatorade and made sure I was well hydrated. The epic build up continued on Saturday night when I went out to dinner with the gang from the dog park, sans dogs. I think they took pity on the sad man-alone who was spending his time watching news and documentaries in a rather soulless house. Whatever it was, the food and company were great (Vietnamese, more on that later) and I was smart enough to leave at a about 9:15 so I would get a half decent sleep.

In bed at about 10 and up at 04:20. Toe? Bleugh. I ran up and down the street a bit and tried to work out what I should do. Google offered advice; look after your feet, you only have one pair, don't ignore pain. Pain? Not exactly, more an annoying throbbing blisteresque ache that I convinced myself would be easily ignorable after a couple of km. Bugger it, I'm up now and I've paid, might as well have a bash.

Armed with a map book published before the M7 existed and a GPS that had no knowledge of Blacktown Olympic Park I managed to get just a bit lost and was pretty sure I'd miss the bus to the start and miss the race. As luck would have it the bus drivers had no idea what time the race was starting and there were two buses still in the car park. I grabbed my bag and ran over.

It was about 06:40 when I collected my race number and got changed. 'DailyMile' Andrew spotted me (I am bloody hopeless at the best of times, which 06:40 on a really very cold Sunday is not.) He was with Jo, we said a quick hello and I headed to drop my bag off. On the way (other) Andrew, who runs around my street dragging a car tyre on a rope, spotted me and we had a quick chat. He was looking for 3:20 to qualify for Comrades. He appears normal but must be a little madder than most.

There was a nice size field of maybe 250 as we lined up and listened to someone say something. I clapped politely when other people clapped, the gun fired and we head off. The course runs along the bike path that runs along the M7 motorway and it is therefore just a little surreal, as most races tend to try and go for something touristy and spectacular. The sun coming up though the mist that hung over the fields was very nice; all rural and atmospheric. The smell of the battery chicken farm next to the tip not quite so. But it did appeal very much to my love of running in places that other people do not. Well, apart form the other 249ish who were, but you get my drift.

With little training for the race (well none) I thought I'd be happy to come in at under 3:30, so I set off ahead of the 3:30 pacer. If he didn't go past me - job done. After a couple of kilometres where I had been preoccupied with just how fucking cold my hands were I found myself up near the 3:15 pacer. I decided to stick with him (Chris) as any quicker would definitely be overcooking it and storing up trouble for the 30k+ section.

And that was pretty much what I did. I chatted to a few people who were at a similar pace - the Kiwi who gave me waaaay too much detail about his diarrhoea and the local who was telling us that he would point out when we got to 'Snake Hill' where he had pretty much stepped on a brown snake. It was a pleasant enough trundle, surprisingly challenging due to having a hill almost every time there was a bridge over the motorway. Plenty of bridges makes for a undulating course.

Remember that Vietnamese food I said we'd revisit? Well it revisited me at about 30km. I had to peel off and find a tree to squat behind, losing valuable time and my spot with the 3:15 pacer as I Radliffed. Rejoining the race I spent about a km trying to catch up but was concerned that if I overcooked that I would pay later.  My Garmin, which had died as soon as switched it on - low battery, apparently - was of no use. But hey, I figured I wanted sub-3:30 so I still had loads in the bank. Chris remained in sight for most of the run in, but as the km clicked over I did start to struggle a little bit. and gave up on trying to catch him.

At 34km I had my first emo moment and it was an odd one. I'm used to thinking of Dad and getting a bit teary, but this time I just wanted to have my dogs with me. I miss having them in our for-sale-house; even Rumpole - and he is a right pain in the arse. At 38km I shouted "MORE COWBELL!" at the woman with the cowbell, which probably means more to my brother than it would to her. Great encouragement though, cap doffed to her. I did have a quick Dad moment, but that was after 41km when I pointed skywards and told him I didn't need him on this one. Took the wind out of my sails for about a hundred yards, but the old bastard can have that.

I had ground out the final few km and came over the line somewhere between 3:17 and 18. No Garmin and I wasn't paying too much attention to the clock. It was 12mins quicker than I would have been happy with and I think my third fastest road time. I'l take that. I went over to have a shower and found myself incredibly cold. Finger tips yellow (circulation inherited from Dad) and shivering a barely controllable shiver. And my left little toe, I was fairly sure, had an enormous blister. I chose not to look and after my shower didn't put shoes back on.

Emo III came as I walked back over to the finishers area and I desperately wanted to speak to Alex. I called and Sal's phone went to voicemail. I could hardly get any words out to start with, but regained composure after a few seconds. Bloody high miles! Does it to me (almost) every time. I wandered about trying to spot familiar faces. I'd already thanked Chris for his great work on the 3:15 bus. I found 'Comrades' Andrew and he had pulled 3:12, well within qualifying. I then found the nameless Snake Hill runner (I told you I was hopeless, but thanks to DailyMile Andrew I now know his name is Ian) and had a quick chat before realising he was standing right next to DailyMile Andrew. In my defence, Andrew had been wearing black before the race, and a hat I think, but white afterwards and no hat. Mainly I am just hopeless. He was chuffed with his 3:28. I later discovered he had pulled a 33min PB which is mind blowing.

I would have liked to have hung around a bit longer, but I was feeling extremely cold and not at all my best, so I said goodbye and head back to the car and its heater. I'm no entirely sure driving while feeling so ordinary was a great idea. But hey, having this beer probably isn't a great idea, but I'm doing that.

Marathon 11 done and I feel no compulsion to do any more this year.

But that'll change.