Point to Pinnacle 2013

[Sweder]

Queue. Medal, handshakes, a mass grin-exchange. A knowing glance at Pony Tail as we passed in the lines, me with my medal, she about to receive hers. I'm not sure where Five Fingers finished, though I fear in my mad scramble for the line I may have left him.

Stepping out onto the mountain top I spread my arms to embrace the sun. That same, relentless orb, blaring out of a clear sky through thin air and little to no ozone. It had sapped my strength on the climb. Now it warmed my bones as I basked in the utter joy that comes from completing this trial.

I wandered over to the finish, dodging buses crammed with happy faces. Stephen lumbered up to the finish. I cried out and exchanged a palm-slap. I'd not noticed him on the road but that's no surprise. I'd been in my own private bubble of pain and concentration. He went off 'to medal' as I waited for Graham. I didn't have long to wait, that familiar white ABC Hat over the RC shirt bobbing through the human stream. We grinned our greetings and I yelled a redundant 'come on!'. Redundant because the man pouched a very tidy PB himself, of which you can read more very soon over in the MLCMMan diary.

We three united on the roadside to cheer home the last warrior. Suzie, looking fresh as a daisy, waving to the cameras and acknowledging the applause, floated up that final stretch. Now four, we gathered for our pre-planned shot under the TV tower, photo taken by Dan, a local friend of Graham's. We took out the special race number - 247 - that the organisers had kindly set aside, initially in honour of Antonio, who had hoped to join us, now also for EG who was mere days away from doing so before Berlin took its toll.

Running Commentary is an odd fish. Hard to define, as eclectic a mix as you're likely to find in hyperspace. Yet a spirit runs through its core, a tie that binds us even over half a planet's distance. We felt that bond as we gurned for the camera, our thoughts with our friends who would love to have shared the moment. You did.

Rehydration followed soon enough. A visit to Larks Distillery, something Stephen had wanted to do and, as he was flying out that afternoon, we readily agreed to. Their local dark ale was delicious, wholly appropriate for toasting our success and, once again, absent friends. That evening we met up with locals in the New Sydney Hotel for a few Guinnii and a meal. The feeling of completion, of a job well done, sank in with each pint, until the heads nodded and we took our weary bones to bed.

Monday morning saw Graham, Suzie, Jane and myself headed off to Seven Mile Beach for a restorative blast along the soft sand. Patterned cloud lay low overhead as we put sore muscles through their gentle paces, greeting dog walkers and fellow lopers as we chatted about this and that. A dip in the freezing waters followed. I could feel the nanobots knitting furiously as the chill did its work on my shredded fibres. Nature's massage. Delightful.