It should bother me that I have been overtaken by this couple, but I am past caring. I am walking down Hickson Road, under the Harbour Bridge and I can see the ferries on the diamond dappled harbour, pottering in and out of Circular Quay. There, at last, is the Opera House where my journey will finish, down among the fluttering flags and cheering crowds and a pumped up announcer calling home the marathon finishers.
The day started in Milson's Point, on the other side of the harbour. Naoko Takahashi, the women's gold medallist marathoner at the 2000 Olympics fired the gun to send us on our way, first the wheelchair athletes, then the rest of us. I stood towards the front of the first self seeded group, behind the elites and close to the 3 hour pacers. Not that I had any intention of staying with them. My plan was simply to start a little ahead of the 3:15 pace group, then run slightly above that pace for a few kilometres, before tucking in with the 3:15ers as they ran past. After that, I would see.
They caught me less than 2kms into the run, still on the Bridge and their pace was too strong for me, though perplexingly I was running at 3:15 pace. I was determined however to be more conservative than I had been at the Canberra marathon and I let them go. I later found out that their plan was to have a 3 minute buffer by 30 kms.
I didn't really expect to achieve a sub 3:15 today. I didn't know what to expect, for I was not quite over a tummy bug that dropped me on Thursday. I had to leave work early, feeling quite awful and by the afternoon, I couldn't have run 10 metres, never mind a marathon. On Friday I had improved and was able to do some speed work, but only from the dining room to the bathroom. A 20 minute run on Saturday left me feeling weak, so naturally I decided to race the following day.
So, I let the pacers go as we headed off the bridge into the city, the Domain and a warm Spring morning. I eased off on the inclines, but felt reasonably good, though not fresh.
Oxford Street was subdued with most of the revellers seemingly in bed nursing their hangovers.
In Centennial Park, I struck up a conversation with a Canadian called Joe. Joe hails from Alberta and had arrived in Sydney on holiday just the day before and only then found out about the marathon. "This way," he said, "I can eat and drink whatever I like for the rest of the trip. He figured that he would do around 3:20.
At this point, I was probably a minute off 3:15 pace. It began to feel just a little fast and already my hip flexors bothered me. It occured to me then that a negative split was unlikely.
We ran along Anzac Parade and into Alison Road, past the race track and the Malaysian Community Centre where the faithful sang praise for the end of Ramadan. At the turnaround I saw Darren and Joanne and they give me a big cheer and a big lift.
Back onto Anzac Parade and Joe and I ran through the halfway point together, which I clocked at 1:38:30, still just a minute off 3:15 pace.
Joe dropped me on a slight incline turning into Dacey Avenue and up a slight incline and . Its not that he sped up, there just wasn't not much in my legs. Another u-turn and down to Anzac Parade again, a cheer from John Hill and back towards the city.
It was pretty flat since entering Centennial Park, but in the city hills appeared and Joe, who hadn't gained on me on the flat, is now nowhere to be seen. I felt like I had nothing in my legs. I couldn't even run downhill fast. At 23km I stared at my pacing wristband and felt a wave of dizziness. By 27km I realized that I have slowed by about a minute a km, but I couldn't raise my pace. There was even a hill on the approach to the Glebe Island Bridge, that I never remembered seeing before.
At the 30km aid station I collected my bottle of Red Bull, with a picture of Cillian flagging it. His cute little face lifts my spirits. The drink went down quickly, but didn't help. I wasn't really running anymore, just shuffling. It occurred to me that I should start walking through the aid stations, something I've only ever done once, even at Ironman, but even that proved too much. At the 32km marker I started to walk.
Juan was out near the turnaround. He listened sympathetically and encouraged me to keep going. He's off to Kona soon, and was spectating for marathon day.
I attempted to run at 33km, but it didn't last long. I tried again further along on a downhill stretch and lasted a little longer, but then the Immodium wore off and I also felt a bit light headed, so I walked, filling my bottle at every aid station and visiting a portaloo each time.
Robert, pacing the 4:00 pack, ran past and exhorted me to come along. I tried, but I couldn't so I walked again.
I cannot even walk fast, maybe making a km every 12 minutes and a woman in heels trots past me on Hickson Road.
But now I can see the finish. I team up with another walker who has been feeling nauseous and we travel the last couple of klicks together, raising a trot for the terrific finish line crowd and the cameras.
4:38:55. It's done, I'm done.
----
I'm not disappointed, I did my best. Perhaps I shouldn't have started and I probably won't if faced with the same circumstances again. Maybe Ironman vets can get a little blase about any race that takes less time than the working day, but the marathon is hard and it deserves profound respect. I relearned that respect this morning and again this afternoon as my blood pressure dropped suddenly; tunnel vision, tingly lips and rapid breathing. No doubt for the days and weeks to come will hammer the lesson home. Yet, just like Ironman, the marathon is a siren and I know I will be back, searching for that perfect race, even for just that one perfect moment, where I run with grace, unthinking, unheeding, but aware of everything.
Some stats:
5km - 22:40
10km - 23:55
15km - 23:40
20km - 23:04
21.1 - 1:38:30
25km - ?
30km - 51.25
42.2km 2:14:11
1st half: 1:38:30
2nd half: 3:00:25
Joe finished in 3:25.
Images from http://www.sydneyrunningfestival.com.au.
