Eating for Ireland

All I have thought about since about 1 O'clock on Saturday is food.  Especially hamburgers.  In fact, I have been OBSESSING about hamburgers.  The promise of this Hamburger to top all Hamburgers at the end of the Fitzroy Falls Marathon was what kept me going for the last 7km.  I imagined I could smell the onions wafting through the trees.

However, I digress.  Lets step back a wee bit.

It is fair to say that my marathon training was somewhat lacking in substance.  However, mainly because my friend Mr Turner talked me into it, I ended up standing at the starting line on Saturday morning to run my first proper marathon.  In hindsight, the extra large beetroot and carrot juice I had for lunch on Friday was possibly a mistake.  Between that and fear, I spent an inordinate amount of time in the bathroom, and was very nervous about the possibility of needing a poo on the trail.  Thankfully that didn't happen and everything behaved itself in that regard.  I will say that on Friday I had this kind of happy, beamy look about me, the look of someone who JUST FOR 24 HOURS can eat what she likes.  I found myself with salmon and brown rice anyway, but it was nice to dream. 

Anyway,  back to the run - the nice man who said I could start early took one look at the motley crew that was me, Tim and Marie-Claire and said we were too young and would have to start at the normal time with eveyone else, and besides, by then they would have drained some canyon from having waist high water.  I was quite excited about the waist high water bit, but we were told no, so we went off to do some more eating and some more visiting the bathroom and nervously fiddling with gadgets until it was time to start. 

The first 25 km went really quickly, we were chatting and laughing and it wasn't difficult or painful or anything, it was just a nice pace with some friends out in the bush and didn't really feel like a race.  At around the 25km mark we sort of split up in three groups, Tim and Kay up front, me on my own in the middle and Marie Claire and her new best friend behind.  By this stage, I was happy to be running alone, no wasting breath on talking and just time alone to think about what was happening and focus on the job at hand, so to speak.  So I was happy to plod along on my own, and was a bit uneasy when a man with a hunchback and a ten spits per minute habit decided to try and befriend me.  Eventually, after being told how crap my training had been (I know!!) and how inexperienced runners shouldn't enter trail marathons for their first, in between listening to him spit continuously I decided to fish out my iPod and politely get out of his way.  It took three aid stations to drop him - saved by the iPod and a good old lashing of "Love Metal".

I remembered all those things people say about marathons, like, it doesn't start till the 32km mark, you have to respect the distance, descriptions of "the wall" etc etc.  I was very surprised that my legs felt so good, yes I was getting tired, but nothing that was going to stop me.  The worst thing was my back, and funnily enough, my shoulders.  My back was hurting because it is just a crap back that has disc issues - I kept reminding myself to stay up nice and straight and keep the posture good, with the feet right under me.  Sounds stupid but it makes sense to me.  My shoulders were sore because I had a crop top on that was holding the girls in.  After about 32 km of carrying them along, the shoulders were easiest the sorest bit of me.  So - because there was no one around, I released the hounds, as it were, and gave the shoulders a little release.  This seemed to lessen the load on my lower back and after a little walk to settle everything down, I was able to pick up the running again.

There was so much mud and water and puddles that in the end I was going straight through the cleaner looking ones, and I think this blast of cold water every so often really helped keep any achilles problems at bay.  So, in summary, the legs held up fine, I just need to lose about a kilo off each boob and I should be fine for the next one.

Coming up that final hill at the end, my calves started to cramp, and I got really nervous in case I crossed the finish line looking like a twat having some kind of calf convulsion, but thankfully it was all ok and I managed to cross the line successfully without having to result to crawling, vomiting or falling over.  Having witnessed all of these end of race shenanigans, and been guilty of a good puke at the finish line, I was very glad to have avoided any embarrassment. 

The really good thing about running a marathon is the feeling of self satisfaction you feel afterwards.  I have been going around with a huge smile on my dial for the last three days.  I think my family think that I was swapped with a clone somewhere between Blaxland and Bowral.  Which is kinda nice.  Oh, and I LOVED everyone after the race.  We had some celebratory drinkies in our cabin after the race and I was advised the next day that there is a specific level in the bottle of wine where I start telling everyone that I love them.  So all in all, I have pulled up really well, don't feel sore at all, and am snooping around to decide on my next adventure!  Once I stop eating and discover I have put on a stone since the marathon, I will probably come back down to earth, but it is nice up here, so I plan to hang around a little while longer....!!