Meet me down by the jetty landing
Where the pontoons bump and spray
All the others reading, standing
As the Manly Ferry cuts its way to Circular Quay
These are the opening lyrics to the quintessential aussie song Reckless by Australian Crawl and they are the lyrics that play in my head almost every time I walk through Circular Quay in Sydney's port between the Harbour Bridge and the Opera House, They were certainly playing as I made my way from the finish of the marathon to my pub rendezvous in the Rocks. But I’m getting ahead of myself; let's rewind and I’ll tell you how it all went down. Be careful if you are reading on, it might cost you, because you might want to go see for yourself.
My plane touched down on Wednesday, giving me 4 nights to unwind my North American jetlag. However, my baggage decided that it didn’t need that recovery time and so declined to arrive with me. Normally I wouldn’t worry too much but when it wasn’t there by Friday my visit to the expo and race bib pickup turned into an uncharacteristic spending spree, including shoes, socks, vest and an array of gels, all at the special expo price of far too costly! The vital shorts with adequate carrying capacity were loaned from my good friend and host, Rich. Thank goodness we are about the same size.
As it happened my bag eventually arrived late Friday night so almost none of this hastily assembled untested gear was required. I say almost none because my suitcase had arrived sans-running shorts. It turns out that Miller, the experienced traveller, had packed a phone charger into his check bag and this had led to a bag inspection and subsequent confiscation of said illegal item. At the time of writing, I am not sure if this also led to confiscation of 4 pairs of grade A marathon running shorts or whether I will find them sitting forlornly at home wondering why they never made it into the luggage. Anyway, the upshot was that I was going to be running in Rich's shorts. This was kinda adding insult to injury given that he really wanted to run himself but didn’t get lucky in the ballot for entries.
Race morning was fresh with clear skies. The race start of 6:30 am ensured that the early start groups wouldn’t be at risk of overheating. However, this meant I needed a wake up at around 4am to get breakfast, take a train to the start and have time to queue for 30mins at the portaloos with 40,000 others. In an age where we hear of the USA world cup gouging visitors for transport costs, all public transport was free for anyone with a race bib. Good on ya Sydney!
Dawn was breaking to a cloudless sky as we squeezed out of the athlete’s village, in my case from the green assembly through entry chute E and loaded into the road to await our launch. The announcer signalled the start of our race, and we started to shuffle the several hundred metres before we reached the starting mat. I was nervous but hopeful for a good day.
A couple of things happened before I got to the actual start line. Firstly, someone behind me stepped on my achilles. I turned around, annoyed, only to find that it was a wheelbarrow, containing an Australian sheep dog, being pushed by a guy with a Columbian flag draped over him! Since he was the only wheelbarrow pushing person in the race, I recognised him immediately as the guy from the news who was running 7 marathons on 7 continents in 7 days finishing at Sydney. Not having much Spanish, I smiled and held up 7 fingers, deciding to ignore my chafed achilles in the cause of international détente.
The second thing that happened was one of those huge vertical flame thrower things that they sometimes have at rock concerts went off just next to me. I got a huge shock as I felt a wave of heat briefly wash over me. If I didn’t already have enough excited adrenaline in my system, I certainly did now.
We passed the starting gate, the road widened out and we immediately started on the steepest downhill of the course for the next 3k, straight over the iconic Sydney Harbour Bridge. 44000 runners all grinning like lottery winners, which in fact they were. I made a concerted effort not to run faster than my target pace of 4:40 per km which was quite challenging given my carbo-loaded adrenaline high, surrounded by smiling people joyfully bounding down the hill. I was a bit irritated by the number of runners that had their phones out and seemed more interested in documenting their journey than actually experiencing it. I reminded myself of one of my 2 mantras for the day, Run with Joy and shrugged the whole thing off, bringing the idiot smile back to my face. You do you and I’ll do me, I mused as the wide river of marathoners turned with the road into the tourist harbourside area of Barangaroo.
Have you ever had one of those early mornings where the sun is bright, but the air is still quite cool from the overnight. It creates a kind of misty haze almost like you are waking up with the day. It’s a promise of a glorious sunny afternoon to come. One of those days that can lift your mood just by being out in the natural beauty of it. Well, this is how I was feeling as I paced myself carefully around Sydney’s Harbour and headed out into the city. Run with Joy.
I started to notice that, quite sneakily, all parts of the Sydney Marathon were hills of some description. Sure, there was a big downhill at the start and, still to come, a tough uphill very near the end, but all sections in between had some kind of gradient. This is why its listed as hillier than Boston and why I started to struggle with my pace management. Around about halfway, on the long stretch on Anzac Parade, the easy starting pace was becoming more of a conscious effort to maintain. Time for mantra number two, Relax into your Speed. This was a mantra I developed with the help of an AI app called Marathon State of Mind provided as a free trial by the Sydney Marathon. After a chat with the aussie avatar Elzy we came up with this as a trigger to deal with my inner critic and doubts as the race got tough. So far so good, it seemed to be working.
As I relaxed into my speed, I ran a check over my form to be sure I was using as little effort as possible for the pace. Keep tall, shoulders down, elbows back, lean from the ankles not the waist, lift the foot slightly more to keep the stride open while still landing under you.
I was clearly tiring but all was going as well as I could expect. My pace was undulating with the course but generally on target. I took some time to reflect on what I was doing and had “a little moment”. To be 68 years old and healthy enough. To have the funds to be able to afford the trip. To be quick enough to bypass the lottery. To be retired and have the time, motivation and consistency to prepare. To be here, now on this glorious, bright day among all these like-minded souls. I felt truly blessed. Touched by angels if I believed in such things. A small tear of gratitude ran down my cheek. Run with Joy.
I took my 30k gel as we entered the Centennial Park circuit and past the famous Sydney Cricket Ground. The gel strategy had worked well, helped by staying hydrated alternating water and electrolytes at every station. I used 3 types of gels from different manufacturers to stave off taste fatigue and nausea. A gel every 6km whether I felt I needed it or not. Your body needs the fuel, but your brain can play tricks this late in the game. It was hard work to swallow the last one at 36k but felt good to know that was it, I was on the last leg.
I was also starting to feel I was on my last legs, as I exited the park and headed for the botanical gardens. I knew that I had 2km gravity assisted, down to the shoreline, then 2 km of gravity resistance before the triumphant redescent to the Opera House. I thought the first downhill would be like a freebie, but my hamstrings didn’t like it at all, and the right one started to announce an oncoming cramp. The crowds had been steadily building on our way back but now there were people everywhere, cheering for everyone and then raising it to crazy levels when they saw “their “person. My pace slowed on the last uphill climb but so did everyone else’s, our finishing times were basically locked in this close to the end anyway. Suddenly the Mexican guy next to me was discovered by his support posse. “VAMOS, VAMOS!” they screamed at him as he picked up his speed in an impressive fashion. Sadly, at the top of the hill I passed him walking. The initial enthusiasm generated by his support had worn off quickly.
Turning onto the descent on Maquarie St, I was in the last km. We could hear the announcer at the finish line, and everyone was picking up their pace. Was it the downhill, the cheering, or the call of the Opera House finish line? Probably all three. Just then, my right hamstring gave up the fight and went into a full-blown agonising cramp. I had no choice but to stop, hop over to the kerb and try and stretch it back into compliance.
“Don’t stop now, you’re almost there” came the call from the nearest spectators.
“Slight hammy problem, need to stretch” I explained calmly as I gingerly got back going at a more tentative speed. The slow down turned out to be a great investment as I got to savour the finishing straight in all its Australian iconic glory, the Opera House steps festooned with friends and family of the marathon fraternity.
As I crossed the line and congratulated the people nearby, I felt tired but satisfied with my performance both physically and mentally. With the medal around my neck in front of Sydney Opera House, I suddenly regretted not being one of the many phone carrying runners I’d seen at the start. Encouraged by the finish line euphoria I approached a girl with a phone and asked her if she would take my photo and email it to me which she agreed.
Then came the lengthy walk to the agreed pub rendezvous in The Rocks area. I knew the general location but had forgotten the name of the pub. Some tourists helped me to work out it was the Fortune of War. When you have a medal round your neck and you are still in running gear everyone is your friend. I was the first one of our 5-person group to arrive at the pub only to be informed that I couldn’t reserve a table until my people came. “No problem” said a couple in front of me. “You can sit with us”. Ian and Grace from Darwin became my new friends. I had no money with me, so they bought me beer and we exchanged marathon stories. Eventually my Garmin started receiving messages which meant that my phone which was in the care of my friend and running shorts provider, Rich, was within Bluetooth distance. Lo and behold he had sneaked onto the terrasse and was at the table just behind me. He was one of the few that could move around incognito because the barman would stop anyone with a medal and announce their achievement loudly to the whole bar who would then cheer and applaud.
After 4 hours we thought it might be a good idea to think about leaving. I was now with Jo and Brian who had arrived later to loud announcements from the barman. The others had gone home including my Darwin friends, but not until I had a chance to buy the beers. There was live music, as we ate our fish and chips on the pub terrasse on a perfect warm afternoon. The reality was that we didn’t want it to end.
