The Journey
The Indigenous author and activist faced extreme heat and desert winds as she ran a marathon on Arrernte land in the footsteps of ancestors.
Author Anita Heiss on the agony and ecstasy of a desert marathon
I was 48 years old when I began training for the 2017 Australian Outback Marathon. On 1 January, I ran six kilometres around Sydney’s Heffron Park with my friend Lisa Phillips. My legs moved reluctantly and my body was sluggish after too much Christmas cheer. I had taken on the greatest physical challenge of my life but I knew running 42.2 kilometres on Arrernte country with Uluru as my backdrop would be worth every sweaty step.
The seven-month training regimen was brutal. It required commitment to a program set by my trainer, Michael Hennessy, whose faith in my capacity to finish spurred me on. Training became a lifestyle. It meant quiet nights at home and incredibly early mornings. It demanded sacrifices to my diet. I would dream about carb loading and use guilt-free brunches as incentive when my legs were heavy as lead.
My running shoes were my constant companions and regardless of where I travelled for work, I ran. I pounded pavements in Sydney, Canberra, Adelaide, Perth and New York. Mostly I turned my legs over along the Brisbane River, on the shaded path of the Botanic Gardens and over numerous bridges. I did this over and over again. Running buddies joined me occasionally on foot or bike, providing company and support. But for the most part I ran alone to an ’80s playlist. I was often bored.
There were times when my toes were numb, my knees ached and plantar fasciitis caused a lot of pain. But the mind is a powerful tool when used properly and the words of Haruki Murakami were on a loop in my head: “One foot in front of the other. Repeat as often as necessary to finish.” His memoir, What I Talk About When I Talk About Running, remains a bible to me.
Two weeks before the race I was in Tokyo teaching at a summer school. I ran early in the morning in high temperatures and extreme humidity. The sweat was incredible yet so satisfying. And the heat prepared me for what the desert would soon serve up.
Come race day the mercury rose into the 30s. I ran the course with my friend Antoinette Braybrook. We ran into the wind for much of it. I could barely swallow by the 27-kilometre mark and began to weep. But we kept going. One foot in front of the other on red earth that Arrernte people have walked for tens of thousands of years. I believe the ancestors were with us that day.
Nearing the end of the course we were met by our teammates, who escorted us for the final stretch. When I heard my theme song, Ice Ice Baby, blaring out into the desert air, I knew it was almost over. The work I’d put into training had paid off.
I crossed the finish line with five young Aboriginal men from Clontarf Academy running behind me and offering words of support. It’s a moment that will remain with me forever. For the achievement, for the pride in accomplishment and for being true to myself on the journey of a lifetime.