Pleasure and pain: A rookie’s race relief
Just as I neared the 9-kilometre marker, the goodluck texts from my hungover friends started rolling in. It had been a long slog. After my first training run in August, I knew if I wanted to finish my first
10-kilometre run – the ASB Summer Starter – I would need to seriously step up my game.
My stumpy legs and pigeontoed feet didn’t do me any favours and my parents genuinely laughed at the suggestion I would enter an athletics event, so I got off to a pretty rocky start.
Three months were spent pacing Christchurch’s roads, parks and hills in preparation (albeit sporadically) but, as is always the case with these things, my first running event rolled around far quicker than I would have liked.
After missing a BYO dinner on Saturday night to demonstrate my commitment to the cause, my flatmate – whom I had roped in to running two days earlier – and I took our spot on the start line somewhere between the runners and the joggers.
We’d snapped a photo to use as the after shot, skolled back enough water to later cause a fairly decent stitch, took three nervous pees and fumbled through a few warm-up exercises before the hooter sounded.
The first kilometre was rough, especially when after mentally running 5km I reached the 1km marker. Enthusiastic runners cheered as we ran passed, while I realised just how far I had to go.
The saying ‘‘Leave no man behind’’ clearly doesn’t apply to running. My colleagues pounded ahead, barely more than fluoro blurs in the distance. I could have fallen to the ground, broken a leg and been carried away on a stretcher and I’m sure no-one would have stopped. Kilometres passed, and once I joined the 4km group it became a matter of pride to beat them. Slowly, I reached the 7km, 8km, and 9km markers and my throbbing legs and rubbing shoes weren’t the only things playing on my mind.
‘‘I’ve just finished,’’ my flatmate’s text message said. ‘‘Good luck, hope the run goes well,’’ my friends’ text messages said. Bit late, but you can’t fault them for trying.
I’ve graduated from university twice and been lucky enough to do some pretty cool things in my life, but rounding the corner and seeing my second favourite golden arches (right after McDonald’s) of the finisher’s line was the proudest moment of my life.
Even vomiting on my cheering parents’ legs straight after didn’t dampen my spirits too much.
Running is hard. It’s boring, it’s painful and often it’s more mental strength than physical. Those who promised I would fall in love with it were wrong.
When my fellow race-running colleague piped up that she was signed up to a 10-kilometre run in
Seeing my second favourite golden arches (right after McDonald’s) of the finisher’s line was the proudest moment of my life.
Hanmer Springs next week, I couldn’t do much more than awkwardly smile. Good for you, but I’ve lived out my running goals. Until next year, anyway.