The Wellington Marathon - a great thing to finish

"Most people run a race to see who is fastest. I run a race to see who has the most guts."
-Steve Prefontaine

The day started out like any other day. Well, except for the fact that it started at 5:30. Went downstairs, put on all the gear I had prepared the night before, ate, yadda yadda blah blah. After the modified morning ritual, we all drove to the embassy and met the U.S. Marines, a few of whom were also doing the marathon.

The mood was cheerful and optimistic, in contrast to the gloomy weather (which we all said, optimistically, was perfect). I was certainly trying to make myself feel optimistic. Having a cough that had made me miss cross country practice, a rugby game, and get kicked out of chapel, it was more of a 'have a go' than a solid marathon attempt.

"What matters is not necessarily the size of the dog in the fight - it's the size of the fight in the dog."
-Dwight D. Eisenhower

Upon arrival at the stadium (the starting place), the place looked rather mild. No decorations, no supporters, few organizers, and runners that looked more like vegetables than the hardcore, stereotypical kiwis (admittedly there was a man dressed as a sunflower and a man in a diaper). There really wasn't a big drama, the 3,2,1 countdown was a duet and there were no gun jumpers. I could tell that this was a massive step up from any race I had done before.

"Pressure is nothing more than the shadow of great opportunity."
-Michael Johnson

The course was through scores of mostly flat bays, the rain subtle but evident. Passing 'hydration stations' felt like material gain. Ever heard of the wall? After the race I would have told you that I never hit the wall, but in hindsight I was plowing through it since mile 1. The cough that had plagued the last two weeks of mine wouldn't leave me alone. The only comfort I had on the subject was that I had four hours to forget.

"The gun goes off and everthing changes... the world changes... and nothing else really matters."
Patti Sue Plummer

The weather. It is often used as an excuse for producing sub-par times or measurements in various sports, but let it be known I am not claiming any excuses. At the beginning of the race, it was a drizzle, creating a humid scenario. As the marathon progressed, the weather deteriorated. After about 5km the waves in the bay and wind really picked up. About 10ft above the sea, getting concussed by waves was slightly unexpected (on the way back, the only way I could distinguish between a wave and the sideways rain was by taste). After the turnaround, (coming into Shelly Bay) the usual view I saw from the point (on a bad day) was obstructed by rain. The finishing point (now only 1.5 miles by air, 9 by foot) was invisible.

As if the gods were teasing me, the closer I got to the finish, the worse the weather became. I feared that if I took any longer the second biblical flood would come. My pockets were wells and my shoes felt like mud taped to my feet. According to my now pulpy race schedule, I was supposed to walk for a bit at 22 miles but I decided it would have been more miserable to walk for a second than to run for half an hour, so I kept going.

"Tough times don't last but tough people do."
-A.C. Green

Backtrack a bit. About 2 miles before the turnaround, I ran up behind a very muscely, determined-looking person. You guessed it, it was a Marine. After some salutations, we vowed to meet at the finish. Right before the turnaround there was an obstacle. The only hill worth its salt in the entire course. The Pass of Brenda. The only other time I had attempted this hill was two months into training, doing speedwork. The hill destroyed me. I ended up going so much slower due to the hill that my overall pace for that run stayed the same.

Looking it in the eyes, I put the motto of the entire race into action. As easy as that, I came up, I went down. On the other side of the pass, salvation. Well, not really. It was my equally determined father cheering me on at the base of the pass, having driven there endlessly due to road blocks. He had the whole nine yards. Support, encouragement, advice, and more Powerade. I had to leave him briefly, travelling about .5 of a mile to the turnaround and back where I started seeing all the faces who were behind me as opposed to those in front.

As my father had said, it's not the guys who win the marathon who really feel it like in other races, it's those guys who finish in six hours who are the real warriors. I paid my respects to those behind rather than those in front. After coming back down the other side of the pass, I set my sights on my second Marine, clearly identifiable as the guy with no shirt on.

On the back side of the 10k turnaround, the waves returned in addition to the sideways rain and the umbrella-snapping wind. The support crew at the water stations were sitting in chairs with waterproof ponchos at this point. This is when I decided not to stop for a bit of a walk - as my race strategy called for. The next half hour is a blurr, the basic cycle so monotonous, it made the rest of the race memorable in comparison.

The cycle I experienced was really tired, really cold, stiff muscles, don't give up!, really tired... As I neared the finish line I heard my name being shouted by my family. I made my way up the ramp to the stadium, which was now a river. As I was about to finish, I heard someone next to the finish line shout 'go mum!' and was subsequently chased by an annoying woman. I had come too long for too far to get passed at the last second. One more effort. One more sprint. I held her off.

Finished.

I could tell you how much it hurt. I could tell you the feeling of determination. But at the end of the day...

"To describe the agony of a marathon to someone who's never run it is like trying to explain color to someone who was born blind."
-Jerome Drayton