At the onset of the new year I decided to do a 10 year resolution instead of a new year's resolution, because let's be honest the only new year's resolution I have stuck to in the last 5 years is 'to stop worrying about my weight.' Which in turn explains the ease with which 'weight' has made himself at home along the lower half of my upperbody. I decided to do a close-my-eyes-and-see-where-my-finger-lands exercise to decide which one of my resolutions I will do first. As my luck goes, it totally skips the get a tan in Spain option and lands on run a halfmarathon. How that option even managed to get in there is still a bit of a mystery, but I decide to wear my big girl panties (not that I have any panties of a smaller size, mind you) and do it. I enter the Two Oceans Half Marathon, but because of the flu I have to find another one and decide to enter the Safari Half Marathon.
With 5 months of medium intensity training, topped with the fact that I finally found a sportsbra strong enough to support the girls, I feel sort of ready. It is a cloudy day in Wellington and it looks like rain. I give myself a pat on the back for wearing my dri-fit T - at least I look like I know what I am doing, but that's maybe just beacause we're not running yet.
The gun sounds and we're off, or are we? It is rather difficult to maneuvre your way around the odd 5000 people, so the first 400 metres we have to walk. I finally start a slow run which eventually turns into the medium pace I'm used to. At around 3kms the running is still good. I enjoy the on field banter between the runners and locals next to the road chiming; "hou bene hou." Some of the runners brought sweets for the children which they scatter on the ground as we pass. It's raining sweets, but that's not all. At the 5km mark the heavens open up and give us some 'holy water' as one of the onlookers says. Not much, just enough to cool me down.
At 7km I can feel that I have been running. There is a slight pain in my left thigh and I am drenched. In the meantime the slight drizzle turns into a shower. Even my new dri-fit T is dripping at the seam. The left part of my body is freezing from the wind coming from that side. No fun, I think, but it's only 14km and I still have a good 7km to go. There are 4 of the local kids yelling "nog 'n bietjie, nog 'n bietjie, nog 'n bietjie vorentoe." I swear a little in my head, but give them half a smile for the effort.
18 km - only 3 to go. I have lost all feeling in my legs. I think my lungs are about to leave my body. I try to walk but for some weird reason it hurts more, so I do a slow trot. A man passes me, he looks 90. Is this as fast as it goes? my body keeps asking my brain, but there is a notice on her door - 'gone fishing' - so no reply. At last I hear the microphone, the mc is trying to encourage one of the finishers - a 60 year old lady, apparently this is her 5th Safari - great company I'm keeping. I see the stadium, only one more km to go, hou bene hou.
I cross the finish line! It is done, my body checked out a while ago, but I have done it. I look like someone who just had a hip replacement as I limp my way back to the car where my friend Charl is waiting for me. He finished half an hour ago and already looks like he can run another one. Apparently my wet, limping figure is cause for amusement, because he is trying hard not to burst out laughing. I am, however, oblivious to all pain and to the fact that I can probably qualify for a place in the old age home with the way I am walking, because I made it. I ran a halfmarathon only six months after giving birth, I think I deserve a medal...oh wait, they gave me one.
Will I do it again? Ask me again in a week's time.
With 5 months of medium intensity training, topped with the fact that I finally found a sportsbra strong enough to support the girls, I feel sort of ready. It is a cloudy day in Wellington and it looks like rain. I give myself a pat on the back for wearing my dri-fit T - at least I look like I know what I am doing, but that's maybe just beacause we're not running yet.
The gun sounds and we're off, or are we? It is rather difficult to maneuvre your way around the odd 5000 people, so the first 400 metres we have to walk. I finally start a slow run which eventually turns into the medium pace I'm used to. At around 3kms the running is still good. I enjoy the on field banter between the runners and locals next to the road chiming; "hou bene hou." Some of the runners brought sweets for the children which they scatter on the ground as we pass. It's raining sweets, but that's not all. At the 5km mark the heavens open up and give us some 'holy water' as one of the onlookers says. Not much, just enough to cool me down.
At 7km I can feel that I have been running. There is a slight pain in my left thigh and I am drenched. In the meantime the slight drizzle turns into a shower. Even my new dri-fit T is dripping at the seam. The left part of my body is freezing from the wind coming from that side. No fun, I think, but it's only 14km and I still have a good 7km to go. There are 4 of the local kids yelling "nog 'n bietjie, nog 'n bietjie, nog 'n bietjie vorentoe." I swear a little in my head, but give them half a smile for the effort.
18 km - only 3 to go. I have lost all feeling in my legs. I think my lungs are about to leave my body. I try to walk but for some weird reason it hurts more, so I do a slow trot. A man passes me, he looks 90. Is this as fast as it goes? my body keeps asking my brain, but there is a notice on her door - 'gone fishing' - so no reply. At last I hear the microphone, the mc is trying to encourage one of the finishers - a 60 year old lady, apparently this is her 5th Safari - great company I'm keeping. I see the stadium, only one more km to go, hou bene hou.
I cross the finish line! It is done, my body checked out a while ago, but I have done it. I look like someone who just had a hip replacement as I limp my way back to the car where my friend Charl is waiting for me. He finished half an hour ago and already looks like he can run another one. Apparently my wet, limping figure is cause for amusement, because he is trying hard not to burst out laughing. I am, however, oblivious to all pain and to the fact that I can probably qualify for a place in the old age home with the way I am walking, because I made it. I ran a halfmarathon only six months after giving birth, I think I deserve a medal...oh wait, they gave me one.
Will I do it again? Ask me again in a week's time.
