This is why I run..!
The sign said "Exit 55 kmh", but my speedo said "100 kmh". Huh, the sign was clearly wrong - just like that other one a few kms back with the flashing yellow lights. That one had said "Danger! Frost and Ice". That was wrong too. The only ice I'd seen was on my windscreen when I left home, but the roads so far were clear.
I left the highway at an apparently dangerous speed and turned off toward Seven Mile Beach. I was late. Which is kind of odd because it was still very early in the morning, still dark and still very cold. According to the weather bureau web site when I checked there later, it had been 2 degrees when I left home, not super cold but a breeze was pushing the apparent temperature below freezing, hence the ice and frost warnings and iced-over windscreen.
Sunrise this morning wasn't until 7:36. I had a 20 km run to do
and I had to be at work by 9:30. If I wasn't on the beach running by 7 I was going to be hard pressed to make it. I'd woken at 6 and took too long to get up, too long to force some breakfast into me, too long to pack everything and too long to de-ice the car. Hence I was breaking the speed limit just a
little bit.
However I made it to the beach in reasonable time, threw the car somewhat incautiously into the car park, paused to snap a quick photo for my RC friends (that's
you 
) and took off down the beach just as a golden sheen started to grace the eastern horizon, and straight into a vision of splendour that is going to be hard to describe, but let's have a go, cos it was pretty darn special...
God! This was magical. It was cold, but I quickly warmed and was staggered by what I saw. There was enough light to make out the beautiful mirror imaging you get in the wet sand at dawn and dusk as the water recedes. Where the waves were crashing, the salt spray was causing a roll of fog to form, which then tumbled backwards as a gentle beeze blew it back to sea where it evaporated. The effect was incredible - the entire beach had a rolling coil of fog no more than a few metres thick forming just where the waves were breaking and then burning off as it rolled back on itself, giving the effect of the sea breaking waves of boiling water onto the beach. With the gold and red colours of dawn in the east (toward which I was running) and a carpet of stars still in the sky overhead, on an utterly deserted beach this was one of those rare and humbling moments of complete peace, serenity and indescribable beauty - and I had it all to myself!
I basked in this as I ran for what seemed like half an hour. But when I glanced at my watch it ticked over to 11 minutes, and I resolved not to look at it again until I reached the turn around point at the end of the beach.
Apart from two lonely looking pacific gulls, there was no other sign of life. This was a very special form of solitude, and I was glad that I had chosen again not to run with any music.
The run up the beach went very well. My knees were cold though and I was aware that it felt like bone on bone. Although there was no pain, I resolved to get a couple of knee wrap things to try and keep them warm for the next early morning run to see if this helps at all.
About half way along the outward leg more birds began appearing. Pacific gulls were now in abundence, flying in and out of the fog "rope" and feeding on something just off shore, while small groups of pied oystercatchers stood grumpily in the shallows, unusally for these normally shy birds not even bothering to move as I approached. They looked like they hadn't had their morning coffee yet and weren't particularly happy - despite the spectacular dawn - to be facing another day of the same old same old.
The sky was slowly becoming brighter, but there was still no sign of the sun. The fog was still forming along the line of surf and rolling back on itself and I continued to shake my head in amazement. The oystercatchers just looked sullen, as if they'd seen it a million times before and thought critically that there wasn't
quite enough peach vermillion in the dawn sky, or that the fog wasn't rolling at
quite the right speed...
The sun finally showed itself just as I reached the end of the beach and my turn around point. 59m55! I was on target for sub-2hrs, despite the cold. I felt good, and then as I turned I was greeted by the sight of Mt.Wellington looming in the distance, bathed in early sunlight and up which I must run next November. The fog quickly burned off as the sun rose, but now I was on the return leg and feeling brilliant and privileged and well, rather special really.
As the fog dissipated I could again see the entire beach, with my finishing point way, way off in the distance. So it was a kind of dichotomous sensation really - of having done 10 and a bit km in bloody good time, but now facing a long return journey. Pleasure and pain, pride and prejudice all in one simple vista.
Given the specialness of this run, it was inevitable I suppose that I ran the return leg even faster than the outward one. I did start to tire for a while there around the 13km mark, but on such a special morning there was no way I wasn't going to run a negative split.
Dog walkers finally started to appear near the end of the run - all of them dressed in bulky warm jackets and wearing assorted beanies, gloves and scarves. How I laughed! I felt far more affinity with the dogs actually, who were having a great time running up and down the beach, oblivious to the cold. Right near the end of the run one large woolly thing charged straight at me, not aggressively but just having fun with a fellow running beast. It caused me to stop and an apologetic owner called the dog away, but I felt an affinity with the woolly mongrel - this was 20.5 km of pure fun, and only us running animals seemed to understand.
A great run in the end - one of the best - and a PB in 1h57:45.
Even getting bogged in the soft sand of the car park didn't faze me. A couple of wet-suited surfer dudes gave me a push and I was away, still with enough time to get to work, towel down and change (not time for a shower sadly, but I had brought deodorant) - feeling very, very satisfied.
That is why I run. It's worth everything you go through to experience this. Even if you never run a marathon or any major race, you'll at some stage get a day like this.
Oh yes.
Week 4 total: 36.5km run.
The photo taken from the car park doesn't really show the fog that well unfortunately - you can just make out the very end of it at the right. That end of the beach where the photo was taken is quite sheltered so there was little wave action to produce the fog. But the sunrise was nice.
Adelaide Marathon Campaign - Week 4 of 16
