Sunday morning, 05:10. Skies clear, temperature cool to mild, absolutely perfect - I mean
superlatively ideal conditions for running.
Regrettably, although I am up and outdoors, I am standing on Gordon railway station platform 2 awaiting the 5:15 train which will take me to work. This isn't an altogether unusual scenario, except that this morning, instead of the usual three or four other early Sunday morning commuters there are nearly
two hundred lycra-clad commuters all waiting to board the train which will take them to the start of the Blackmore's Sydney Running Festival, all these people being either half-marathoners or marathoners.
As astute viewers will remember, I've forsaken this event this year, partly because I had to work anyway, but mainly because I wanted to remain focussed on my P2P training and not be distracted (or worse, injured, as last year) by other race commitments.
It had occurred to me the previous day that I was likely to share my train with a horde of runners this morning. A year ago I was there with them, on my way to completing my debut marathon, so it was not without a little melancholy that I shared my early commute with them.
To really rub my salty regret into the open sore I also watched the race on TV at work, all the while grinding my teeth in uncertain frustration, wondering if I shouldn't also be out there. I feel fit enough - I could have even had a crack at a half mara PB.
But ... well ... there you go.
The highlight of the race coverage had to be the end of the men's marathon. A Kenyan (of course) had run away with it in the last kilometres and belted away for a comfortable win. As he was approaching the finish line however, a remarkable scene unravelled itself. Now, the half marathon begins an hour earlier than the full marathon and has the same finish line at the Sydney Opera House. Therefore, the early marathon finishers are crossing the line at about the same time as the half mara stragglers. As it happened, a very, very large gentleman, quite young but clearly obese had managed to waddle his way around the half marathon and was now struggling to the finish line. He looked very determined and given his size had done remarkably well and this was obviously a genuinely triumphant moment for him. As the marathon leader was approaching from behind, the crowd really began roaring their appreciation, and this poor obese bloke thought they were all cheering him. He was just about in tears with gratitude when the motorbike escort zoomed past and he realised they weren't cheering for him at all (well, I'm sure at least some of them were). The look of embarrassment upon the realisation of his mistake was heart-breaking. The poor bloke had after all probably worked harder and achieved more (relatively) than the Kenyan elite.
Anyhow, that afternoon I took out my semi-frustration on a hard and fast tempo run. I had intended to take it easy and just "do the time", but I couldn't, and I had to go at it hard, clocking a solid 11.34km in the sixty minutes. Felt pretty damn smug afterwards, too, I can tell you.
Then this morning was back out to Lane Cove National Park for a scintillating, strong and fast 18km hill-fest. Well, that was the plan. In truth, I did feel fairly strong, but my time was pretty much identical to my last outing on this course, but I have been working and running hard of late (60km this week!), so a general weariness has set in which might account for my lack of pace. Not to worry, it's still a long hard run in the bank.
In all, I'd say it's going well.
11.34km, 60mins
18.21km, 1h57:02
YTD: 914.1km
Track du jour: Oh yes... brilliant!
September 2013 - The Fear Mounts
