spring
… and the joggerettes are back =)
1:10:00 ( unofficial )
It took almost 3 minutes to get over the start line after the gun went off, and I took a quick peek at my $5 disposable sports watch as I crossed the sensing loop that sets your start time. What followed was organised chaos, as faster, fitter runners ducked and weaved to get around slower less fit ones for the first kilometer. It’s all a blur, as you pass under cameramen in cherry pickers, jump nature strips to snatch a few meters of clear air, and try to visualize the unimaginably huge, surging wave of humans behind you. Running through the closed off city streets has a surreal feel to it, with the normal sounds of beeping horns and truck brakes replaced the sound of heavy breaths and thousands of thumping feet. You don’t just hear them… you can actually feel them through the road.
At the city perimeter I cut the corner as the hordes veered to the right like a giant serpent, passing beneath the morning shadow of the building I did my first contract job in. Now, for the first time, we were heading toward the coast, and the runners ever so slightly began to spread out. It was still close though - I was jostled several times, almost always by balding, hairy shouldered, forty-something men who seemed to have something to prove. Up ahead I saw 4 guys running in bright costumes, and as I got closer came upon Batman, The Joker, The Riddler, and Superman all sweating heavily through their rented lycra costumes. I considered making several wise cracks as I passed, but a newspaper cameraman flagged them down and the opportunity passed. I thought about the next person who might hire those costumes for a moment… and quickly tried to think about something else…
As we left the city I tried to settle into my rhythm, but it wasn’t easy. The air was stuffy and I still had to keep an eye out for kids who went off with the leaders and sprinted the first kilometer, but were staggering all over the road and gasping for air by the end of the second. Around this time I really started to notice how dry my mouth had become, and by the time I hit the first water stop at 3km my tongue was firmly glued to the roof of my mouth. I left the trestle table and waded into a sea of discarded white plastic cups strewn all over the wet road, trying desperately not to slip over on them. As the crunching sound of 500 feet crushing them faded off behind me I snuck a look at my watch - 8:17… which meant I was still on target to do the run in an hour.
We hit a long, slow uphill drag around 4km, and I came up on a panting little beardy weirdy man who looked like a troll. I slowly eased past him, but two minutes later he came back past me again… ever so slightly looking to his right as he did. I let him go, and just tried to keep my pace - it was too early for me to be squandering energy on races within the race. But with no change in pace I came up on him again about 1km later… and again I saw him sneak a look to his right and try to pick up the pace. Again, beardy weirdy troll man eased ahead and I let him go. At 6km we hit the half way drink stop, and this time as I poured two cups of water over my head I swear beardy weirdy was eyeballing me from the opposite side of the road. I set off slowly and he seemed to do the same, so I took another quick peek at my watch - 8:33 just after the half way point. The thought of making the magical hour fired me up, and I deliberately drifted over toward the gutter where beardy weirdy was running. I pulled up next to him for a moment - just long enough for him to notice me - then exploded into a sprint for the next 120m. I never saw him again.
The last km before the 9k drink stop was hard going, and it was here I started to suffer. There was still very little air and the road had started radiating heat upward on yet another uphill drag. I could feel myself slowing down, and opted for a running gulp at the drinkstop to try and lose less time. I didn’t look at my watch but hoped to do a timecheck at the 10km mark - praying it would be somewhere around 8:53. I was really feeling the heat and my left hip flexor was starting to ache - but I felt slightly uplifted at the sight of a huge plume of spray about 200m ahead. As I veered toward the large fan with a jet of water behind it I slowed down, instantly feeling my temperature drop and my strength return. As I hit the 10km mark I looked at my $5 disposable sports watch… to find the display read L9-S. I frantically brushed the water droplets off and blew on it a few times hoping to revive it, but my efforts were in vain.
As we neared the end of the main highway to the coast I fell into a sort of trance like state, before realising I had been utterly transfixed by the girl running just in front of me for quite some time. I tried to shut the pain out, tracing the thin bead of sweat following the finest of hairs down from beneath her blonde ponytail, under the little bridge between the strap of her tight little crop top and the bumps of her vertebra, down, down, past her tiny waist and between two tiny dimples in her lower back, all the way to her… oh god where the hell is the 1km to go mark! Why the hell is this taking sooooo long?????
Sexy croptop girl floated off ahead of me as I started to feel each and every millimeter of each foot as it pounded the pavement. But the heat was starting to get to everyone, and as I rounded the corner before entering the main street I watched 2 ambos administering oxygen to an unconscious guy right there on the pavement. As far back as 8km I noticed people suddenly veering off to vomit by the side of the road, and imagined there’d be plenty more by the end of the day.
Under the 1km banner I thought to myself, “from this point onwards is the furthest I have run in 20 years”, having only managed 11km in the hour for the first time last weekend. I kidded myself that I could put up with anything for 1km, but as it was I just had no more speed in me. It was impossible to tell how close the finish line was, and as time began to slow down it just seemed to recede off into the distance. My feet just kept on pounding, pounding, as my progress descended into what could only be described as a controlled stagger for the finish. As we rounded the last corner we suddenly came upon marshals, and I knew that the line must be less than 100m ahead. I ducked out from behind a tall lady and accelerated, catching a glimpse of the banner and large clock for the first time. As I got closer I could make out the time, watching in horror as the seconds ticked toward 1:12:00. I looked down and sprinted, then looked up… 1:11:41… then put my head down again and shut out the pain… and looked up one last time as I ducked under. 1:11:47. I subtracted the generous 2 minutes from my start time, giving me a finish time somewhere around 1:10:00… hopefully just under when the official results are posted tomorrow.
So all up, while a little disappointed that I wasn’t as close to the hour as I would have liked to be, I did OK under what were fairly arduous conditions. I figure the heat probably sapped me of a good 2 minutes over the distance, but the two weeks screwed up by my dicky knee and the orthotic fuck up also meant I was unable to test myself over race distance prior to the event - and made me fall short of the target. Still, plenty of lessons learnt, and a quiet sense of achievement ( and soreness… owwww! ). Miss R pranced across the line 12 minutes later - a pretty fine effort given how much time she’s devoted to Uni assignments over and above training these last few weeks.
But what of the jogerettes, I hear you ask? Well, I must say, the sight of sooooo much beautifully toned, tanned, wrinkle free flesh almost brought a tear to my eye. It was overwhelming, and I times I felt I was in danger of losing the power of speech. 24,000 people showed up, of which more than half were women - so I can honestly say that I have never beheld such an awe inspiring perve in my entire life.
The perve alone is enough to inspire me to do the event again next year…
40:53
It was hard today, averaged a better speed over 9km on Sunday ( 10.18km/h ) than the 7k today. *Sigh*. At least my limbs are standing up to the pounding better than they were on Monday.
Taking this opportunity to send a big, hearty “go fuck yourself” to Tinytown City Council, who last week erected new, barely visible signs in the previously free public carpark, and ran around issuing parking fines to everyone who’d parked there while they were out running the corporate cup.
Did I mention Tinytown Council’s logo is on the footer of all promotional material for the event as “proud supporter”? And Life Be In It suggests the aformentioned parking spot?
I feel a Generalboy “put the head fuckwit on” phone call coming up… but until then, more red wine please…
41:50
d’you wanna know where all the fit hotties are in you town right now? I’ll tell you… but you’ll need to bring your joggers… because they are all down at the corporate cup every second week until September.
I hadn’t been there 15 seconds when I was set upon by a very blonde, very ponytailed, VERY fit young thing frantically looking for the toilets. “I had a wee when I left work… but I don’t wanna be half way ’round and need another one!” she giggles. I chuckle and suggest she tries across the road, and avoids looking toward the fountain, and she titters at the thought. Miss R appears a moment later and they form one of those instant dunny buddy friendships that girlies do. I can hear them giggling from their respective cubicles as I wait outside. By the time they emerge they know each other’s full medical, credit and employment history.
On the start line I just struggle to find a direction to look in that doesn’t look like I’m a dirty perve… but it’s impossible. Miss R winds me up. “Legs up to her arse!” she exclaims as an athletic brunette bounds off gazelle-like down the path. “Hmmm” I agree in an utterly unconvincingly “Oh? I hadn’t noticed…” sort of way. I look at the start time and lurch across the start line in pursuit… but she’s gone… long gone. I settle into a comfortable rhythm behind a lanky, geeky looking guy who looks like his legs are being operated by someone else via remote control.
A surprisingly large number depart around the 3km mark, including ol’ “crazy legs”, turning off and taking the short 5km course. “Whimps” I shout at them ( under my breath, and while none of them were in earshot ) as I proceed off down the 7km path, alone. Sadly the isolation leaves a large portion of my run devoid of joggerettes, and I must admit, motivation is lacking at times. 1km into the return leg I find some inspiration as a wirey, race hardened chicky floats effortlessly past me. She has the whole look - the cap, heart monitor, wrap around sunglasses, and all over year round tan. I stick with her for a good kilometer or so and probably could have finished with her, but decide not to so I can log a slower time for my first run of the series ( your team gets points for improvement… not for being fastest ). Well, that’s my story and I’m stickin’ to it.
1k from the finish and I hit all the 5k run traffic, many of whom are now walking after dashing off from the start line so impressively. I weave in and out of them, trying to guess which way they will waddle as they randomly change direction in front of me. I try not to roll my eyes… but I find it hard… but eventually find a gap to make a reasonable dash for the line. I can just make out the time, and manage to sneak through 10 seconds before the minute ticks over.
Miss R trots over 5 minutes behind me, also pretty happy with her warm up 7k run. As we make for the water tent I cross paths with the big boss man from the three floors I worked on that day. He looks me up and down, and I’m dreading one of those Bridget Jones moments where he mistakenly thinks I’m on the corporate team… ( as opposed to running under my own business’s name as I was ) and says “good to see some IT people on the team. Always such a challenge getting them away from their screens”. Luckily he just nods politely, and strolls off.
We try to do the arithmetic… 17 minus 16… plus 22 seconds… minus 51 seconds… plus 37 minutes… and give up… and wander over to the timing tent to let them figure it out. “41:50″ says the timing lady, and I’m pretty happy knowing I easily could have knocked a minute off. Next target is 41:00, which will be a cinch, then I’ll try and crack the 40.
Of course, it’s all just a curtain raiser for the big big run in September - 12km and 7000 runners… 5000 of whom I hope to beat.
Oh, and I wanna do it under the hour.
Yeah… I know… I don’t quite believe it either…
5k: 28:04 ( unofficial )
The run was a bit of a quieter affair this morning, possibly attracting less of the city runner crowd because it was held down on the coast.
Most notable to me was the distinct lack of fit young jogerettes… I think I counted maybe three in total, and none of the hot basketball girls who whooped my arse last time. The rest of the numbers were made up of thirty-something mums trying to shake off a bit of flab, part time runner / gym junky guys all charging at the 1k mark and gasping for air by the 2k mark, wizened old career runner ladies, greying retirees, hairy forty-something men, and the core group of about a dozen die hards that consider 1% of body fat is 0.75% too much and pretty much wipe the prize table clean at every event.
The main bunch streaked off ahead of me at the start, as did the usual half a dozen teenage boy hanger ons- firing on adrenaline and hormones for the first 750m before surrendering to the harsh reality of 52 hours a week of PS2 and too many McCrappy meals. They were in my rear view mirrors by the end of the first kay… not that I knew where that was since the distance markers were near impossible to find.
The beachside leg was tough on the mind… a long uphill drag, with a turn around point that seemed to endlessly recede off into the distance. About half way up, a leggy blonde Scandinavian chick bounds by… with her dog… smiling all smörgen börgen at me as I sweat and pant and generally wonder why I squandered a perfectly good evening’s drinking to come out and do this. A short lady with short hair and no makeup passes me for the third time… before breaking into a walk at the first drink station. I round the turn point, and a short time later she edges past me again- the ritual repeating no less than six times over the next two kilometers .
Just under a kay from the finish I can hear some guy she knows behind me, running the 10k race, has caught her. He’s giving her all this coaching, and I’m thinking like, “hey buddy, back off! I don’t need no personal trainer to whoop her arse!”. Across the bridge I decide I gotta shake ‘em… they are pissing me off with their affirmations and breathing down my neck. I put on a 100m burst of speed that damn near kills me, and cut the corners round the next two zig-zaggy turns to optimise my advantage.
Onto the grass on the oval I can hear Mr Personal Trainer closing the gap and dragging the butch lady with him. I can’t let them pass… even if it kills me. I crank up the pace 15% and don’t look back… yes, it’s personal now! I can see their shadows over my shoulder as I mark the last 75m… breaking into the closest thing to a sprint I can manage. They hound me to the very end, but I cross the finish line a good 5m ahead of them. Take that! Ha!
Over the line I’m doubled up… gasping for air and thinking about spewing my crunchyhy nut cornflakes all over the recently manicured grass. But it passes, and by the time I hit the post race drink stand, I’m feeling fairly chipper. 11 minutes later Miss R bounds across the line, wrapping up the 10k run in a very respectable 1:08 given her lack of training over the last fortnight.
We’re home and sipping Cappuchino by 10:45am, our weekend exercise regime complete. So now it’s an afternoon stroll down the beach to the local Mediterranean Ristoranté, to spend a few hours undoing all that good work.
I mean hey… it’s all about balance, right? RIGHT?
the generalboy 7 day, 25 kay challenge
OK,
so miss R has signed us up for another one of these damn fun runs, and on Sunday I learn that it’s this weekend.
Eeep…
She’s put me down for the 5k, but even then the minimal amout of running ( and maximal amount of surfing ) I’ve partaken of lately is not gonna result in a stellar performance.
So Monday night, despite being utterly shagged from spending 7 hours in the water, I managed a very slow, very lazy 4k. I also swore off alcohol for the week ( stupid, stupid general boy ) … such is my level of commitment to utter masochism.
Tuesday I got up and there was still surf… so the run got pushed to the lowest priority… but on dusk I snuk in another sluggish 4k after 4 hours in the water.
As Wednesday dawned, I got up to go into the city a’contractin’, and quickly concluded I felt like I had been put on an overnight intravenous Vodka drip, wrapped in masking tape and dropped off a medium sized cliff. Every joint ached, my eyes were like pissholes in the snow, and I could not join more than two words. Of one syllable each. I emailed in crook to my keepers and threatened to make an appearance later… if I managed to get back out of bed by midday. Or at all…
I shook off my surf hangover around 11:45, lept out of bed and dashed into town, clocking up a moderately resepectable 4 hours of hardly quality work. Hey… it’s all about turning up, right? They thought I was such a trooper…
That night, despite feeling like utter crap, I pushed myself out for another, even more pathetic, 4k run. Sorry, did I say run? I meant “run”. Note inverted commas. I even managed to impress two girlies in a beat up Ford Laser with “P” Plates to the point where they tooted their horn and waved in support of my dedication as they drove by. Yes, clearly I had become delerious.
Tonight I went for race distance, but by about the 3.5k mark was ready to chuck it in. Luckily, a fit young joggerette appeared around the bend and lifted my spirits considerably by laughing smiling at me as she passed. I picked up the pace, and before long had the “finishing bush” in my sights - even managing a fantastic sprint finish ( read 5% increase in pace over the final 5m ).
So tomorrow it’s a light 3 or 4k, and then one single beer since it is, after all, Friday night.
Saturday is no alchohol, and early to bed.
Sunday afternoon I’m getting hammered.
So that’s the plan.
Wish me luck.
23:09
The start was a bit of a shuffle, and I made careful note of the 21 seconds I lost before I crossed the start line. I was fun to pick off all the “fast people” over the first km… most of them had held me up at the start as they jostled for a position at the head of the pack. Several of them were kids who bolted out of the blocks - only to cark it around about the first minor upward change in elevation. Around the 1.5k mark I could still see the leaders as they abruptly swung right and crossed the bridge over the river. I looked back to see some old coot approaching, trying to push back against the tide of the runners on his creaky bicycle, yelling “keep left!”, “keep left!”. This was, of course impossible when the entire width of the path was taken up with wannabe extras from the movie Chariots of fire. Did he not see the marshals spread out ahead of us? The 2km marker? The large corporate branding? Quickly dismissing him as a twit, I responded to his whines of “keep left” as he got within earshot of me. “It’s a running track, idiot” I yelled. The fit mum and dad in front of me running with their pre-teen boys looked back over their shoulders, laughing. I think I made their day.
I snuk past them soon after, and at 2k’s was happy that up to that point, no-one had actually passed me. Yeah, I know it’s supposed to be a “fun run”, but I just can’t help myself once that competitive urge takes hold. Over the other side of the bridge I picked off a couple more, and as I rounded the torturous u-turn spelt out with fluorescent orange road traffic cones I slipped by a slightly damp but reasonably fit looking young chicky.
Heading up toward the 3k mark I was starting to feel, well, pretty chuffed with myself if you must know. It was then I looked across the other side of the river, just in time to see the leader sprinting for the finish line. I watched as he floated effortlessly along, completely looking the part in his major sporting brand tank top, expensive pro runner shoes and those funny airy but brief shorts they wear. Then I noticed, 5 seconds behind him, a kid all of 11 years old, also bolting for the finish. The kid was wearing some old footy socks, twenty five dollar Dunlop joggers, and a daggy t-shirt. You’d swear he’d just run down from the park as a prank if not for the number pinned to his stomach. It was gold.
While I found this a tad demotivating I pressed on… until a blonde gazelle like creature drifted effortlessly past me and off up the next rise, followed shortly after by another. Around about this point the hot head wind and gentle incline were beginning to take their toll, and the sucker punch was some kids pushing their bikes up the rise toward the footbridge and blocking off the path. Sure I could have ran out through the trees, off the path and around them - but instead I took a short break and walked for about 40m until the obstruction had cleared.
Getting going again was a bit hard, and I must admit I struggled - but as I passed the 3k mark my spirits lifted slightly. Not long after a young, very fit, spectacularly assembled joggerette came up and passed me, her pert, purple lycra clad derriere motivating me for a good 100m or so as I tried to keep it in close visual range. Connoisseurs of the finest of perves ( Chickybabe I am looking at YOU ) could not have been more impressed, as she was equally spectacular to behold front on. 9.5 overall, 10 for the bottom.
My feet became heavy as I passed beneath the shade of the bridge, it was flat and the concrete was as hard as, well, concrete - and the escape from the blazing 36°C heat was all to brief. But just 250m ahead I could see the finish line, and I felt the adrenalin kick in and the pain disappear. Work retired volunteers yelled encouragement as I picked up speed, and I thanked them for giving their time. I sprinted the last 50m, checking the clock as I crossed the line.
I was handed my free bottle of water and “participants bag”, and staggered up the hill a short way to join the other recent finishers and recline under a large tree. Nearby I noticed the two Gazelles and the sexy joggerette, and recognised the two lanky blondes as Thunderbirds players. Suddenly I didn’t feel quite so bad about being overtaken by chicks, given that they were elite athletes.
The perving continued until a short time later when Miss R. bounced across the finish line, also in quite a respectable time. I waved to attract her attention, and she wandered up to collapse under the tree with me. We both sat there, sipping our water and savouring those fleeting moments when the breeze lifted and carried some cooler air from the nearby trees.
We recovered and sat around for a while, waiting for a few of the walkers from our team to finish. Later we all formed a big map of Orstraylia and they took a picture looking down from a crane. If you look closely at the photo, you might even see us. Me and miss R didn’t have flags, but we pulled thumbs ups in tribute to ourselves, and to the dearly departed Big Kev.
So all up a good day - I was reasonably happy with my time over the 4 k’s - not my finest performance, but overall not too far off the pace. Not too sore today either, so that’s good. Will I do it again? Yeah probably. God knows the fleshfest is enough to motivate me…