and I'm spent

Well it wouldn't be January and this wouldn't be Sydney if it wasn't humid as hell to the very end of Janathon. Another sticky night last night was followed by another cloyingly close morning. I got back from walking Rowlf having read Facebook posts from friends bemoaning their bad night's sleep. Sally was up with the kids and  bemoaning her bad night's sleep. I'd had my own bad night's sleep, woken a couple of times from dodgy dreams - one featuring hordes of loitering teenage oiks and the other a rattlesnake. No idea where the oik dream came from, but the rattler will be because I watched Rango on Sunday. Good movie, well worth watching if you ask me. Before I forget - cracking sunrise this morning which this picture, taken with my Blackberry, does no justice. So you'll have to take my word for it.

Anyway, January 31st. Last day of January, last day that I have to run and it was the standard no-brainer to start the day. I dropped the girls at daycare and made way towards work. Blah blah like trying to breathe treacle, blah blah sweating my arse off blah blah. My legs felt super-heavy and all over the place, which I attribute to mental fatigue and what I call 'finish line anxiety.' I don't know if I read or heard that phrase or if it is my own, but it refers to my ability to feel like shit just before I get to the finish of an event.

I ran up the hill to Mosman and at the lights grabbed the water bottle from my backpack, just as I did yesterday. I took three big swigs, just as I had yesterday. My form had improved by then - at least it felt like it had improved. I rolled along to North Sydney and down towards the bridge.

Another jogger came in from a side path, ran along the grass and then ran a few steps on a garden bed. That annoyed me. I understand trying to avoid hard surfaces where possible - I'll try and run on an asphalt road if the pavement is concrete and I don’t think a bus will hit me - but running on a prepared garden bed is a bit rude. I thought I'd let it go.

At the bubbler I stopped to refill the water bottle. I watched the jogger take the steps two at a time and then disappear onto the footpath. I finished filling my bottle and said to myself "right, let's catch him."

I took the steps two at a time and at the top he had maybe 100m on me. He was moving at a reasonable rate. I picked my pace up a bit and started to chase him down. Silly - maybe, but it's the last day of Janathon, I had 718km under my belt and...well, fuck it, I'm sick to death of plodding.

Approaching half way I was close enough to contemplate overtaking. When competing in "The Commuter Olympics" I typically hold back until the last 100m or so and then blast past, not giving the opposition (who usually don’t know they’re racing!) much opportunity to bite back. But today I was spoiling for a race. With about 700m to go I eased past him. Then I sped up. I sped up some more. I resisted the urge to look over my shoulder. With about 100m to go I sped up again. It felt great. I ran down the steps damn near in tears. FUCK YEAH! Still got some left in the tank. I didn't look back; no idea if he bit or not, and I didn't care.

I ran down to the foreshore and eased to work with 14.5km for the morning and 722.5 for the month.

The fuller-figured lady can start to warm up her vocal chords.

It was surprisingly cool as I left the office and when I got to North Sydney the sign atop the RICOH building was saying 22C, a full 12C lower than yesterday. I ran up to North Sydney Oval and then took a diversion - shock! horror! strayed form the path! - to the field behind the oval. It overlooks the harbour and I stopped the Garmin to send Gary, Andrew and Cathy a friendly "gotcha" as I put 1km onto Gary's 2011 total. Despite the noise of the traffic on the freeway it felt quite serene and I had to snap myself out of simply standing there, alone, in a field, thinking about nothing and enjoying the cool breeze. Sydney, it seemed, had decided to turn the thermostat down - at last.

I restarted the GPS and trotted off towards home. I was chaffed from yesterday and it was a bit uncomfortable but I just wanted to get it over and done with. The math said I would clock up 733km by about Spit Bridge and that was about right. At the foot of the Gallipoli steps I stopped the GPS again. It was a shade over 25km and I decided that I could walk home from there.

That's all folks. Janathon 2011. Total of 733km, or 455miles in old money. One of my goals was to get to midnight with enough miles logged that I would feel comfortable that Andrew would not catch me. It's 8pm and I'm done with running this month.

Now it is just a matter of seeing what the lads in the old country can do in the next 15hours. I suspect I've done enough. The maths is on my side.

I'll count my chickens in the morning, but for now (and I do feel a bit bad about this next line, but I'll type it anyway) here is a fat lady singing. So it must be over.