Saturday I listened to cool sounds at the Oranjezicht City Farm Market , including “Oh Susannah” Sunday 05:15 I started a 42.2km marathon. Laid-back open air, beautiful.
Marathons are just marathons: I run enough and have the genes to run most inside the 5-hour limit. Except they always are special.
The thing is I have to pay for and run one each year. To run still longer means we (not the cheats) have to show we ran 42.2 km.
Of course running talk is cheap. Sweat, chafe, foot-slog get the medals, satisfaction, grins, and, what I like: marathon logic and magic.
Marathon logic. If you can’t, you can’t. The first half is easy, otherwise what are you doing there? If you get too cocky, Nemesis lurks.
Nemesis hangs out past 30 km unless you have a bad hangover, the aid-stations run out of water, you trip and whack your head.
At about 25 km the kerb tripped me as I jumped onto the pavement to bin a few plastic water sachets. I’ve learned to roll too; so got right up, a bit sandy.
Falling broke the monotony, started a I-km conversation. Spilled half my crunchie – sugar, oats, coconut – my spell against Nemesis.
Ah, a marathon life: wind in hair, a dash of adrenaline, camaraderie, even a bit of empathy, sometimes espresso at the Olympia Café.
After 31 km I looked for signs of Nemesis in the headwind, sunburn, foot-grind, behind the distance markers, on the others’ backs.
By 35 km, I knew I had passed her. Maybe she’d had her fill. My legs trundled a lilting rhythm. I sprayed water on me, took electrolytes.
My run-beat evoked the swing-lullaby beat of Saturday morning’s song and its line “goin’ to run all night, goin’” to run all day”.
As I get older I can resist more temptations. The last to go will be the lingering songs of the gorgeous ultra-marathon Sirens.
Marathon Magic turns my Nemesis into
- a couple of naughty Sirens
- a beer
- an ultra-entry form
- a deeper resolve
and feeds the life-fire in me.