The really long run

The really long run

(getting ready to go the distance)

This week I am preparing for the long run. 28 kms of it, to be exact. Which is a thoroughly epic distance for me. In honour of the occasion I have been preparing all week.

Actually, the main thing I have been doing to prepare is NOTHING. I have prescribed myself ‘rest and relaxation’. The injured toe has given me the perfect excuse to do not very much. 

But this weekend all that will change. If I want to run this marathon the long run is crucial. There is no escaping it. 

During the week my toe has been iced to near extinction, bound in bandaides, and dowsed with anti inflammatories. After such intense treatment  I am hoping it won’t let me down.

This practice run will be crucial in determining how my body will cope help with the 42 km challenge in October. Most importantly, it will help me sort out what I need to eat and drink to go the distance. So today I am shopping for supplies. 

First on the list is a camel-back. I figure having a constant supply of water on my back will be both reassuring and helpful.

“Can I help you?” asks the lovely assistant at Torpedo 7.

I tell her I plan to be running for a long time on Saturday and I will need water. 

“Can you show me the camelbacks?” I ask.

She shows me the options. It’s ridiculously confusing. 1 or 2 litre bladders. Single or double hosing.  After much dithering and, despite her well-meaning advice, I revert to my default setting and grab the one that’s cheapest.

Now for nutrition. There is a daunting array of gels and drinks to choose from. This includes energy bars and powders, shakes and tablets and all manner of ready-made energy giving magic potions.The gels have come highly recommended. 

“You’re supposed to take them every half hour.,” says the assistant.

I grab ten of the caffeinated variety, two chocolate energy bars and a ready mixed protein shake. 

So now its Friday night and I am settling in for a light snack and a few hamstring stretches. I feel a bit on edge as I replace my regulation merlot for Metamucil and muesli. I also scoff down half a banana, a hard boiled egg and some left over pasta salad.  Healthy, but not very appetising. My husband muches smugly on his ham and cheese toasty, dripping with butter.

“Aren’t you supposed to drink loads of water the night before,” he says, scooping the cheese from his chin. For the next 45 mins I sip on cloudy tap water while he swigs happily on his beer. Friday night doesn’t feel quite the same somehow and I notice that ‘Seven Days’ (the Kiwi comedy show) isn’t near as funny without the merlot. So, after a long slow calf stretch, I slope off to bed for an early night.

Waking at 6:00 am and, sensing no action in the bowel department, I whip up another brew of metamucil. I had planned to have a hearty breakfast but, in my nervous state, I decide against it. I have a cappuccino gel instead. Then I clean my teeth, fill the camel back bladder, organise the food and head for the car. I have my route mapped out in a way that means I can replenish energy supplies when needed. 

On the way down the hill I make an emergency stop for more muesli bars, a green gatorade and a bunch of half ripe bananas. I know have enough food for a small African safari. But, hey! Today I’m thinking ‘better safe than sorry’.

With the camelback sorted, and the second gel swallowed, I am finally ready to rumble.

In less than five minutes I realise the camelback is a mistake. The water sloshes about like baby’s bath water. It feels like I have half of Lake Waipori strapped on my back. Note to self -  stick to trusty water bottle in future.

I head towards the Otago Harbour where I will carry on as far as St Leonards before looping back through the gardens and around the University. It’s a run I’ve done many times before. Only this time I will be doing it twice. 

The second hour will be back along the harbour. It’s mild and sunny with a slight tail wind and I am determined to do this one small step at a time. (Actually, according to my new sports watch, I will be doing this 36,000 steps at a time!). As per instructions from Torpedo 7 assistant I swallow another caffeinated gel and wash it down with water.  The harbour views are stunning and I settle into a rhythm which involves trying very hard not to dwell on the distance still to be covered. I need to make myself stay in the moment. 

At ten kms I congratulate myself for being one third of the way through. 

“Only another 20  kms to go.”

 I am feeling a tad weary at this point and thinking a hearty breakfast may have been a good idea after all.  Running back past the car I grab the banana on the front seat, scoff down the muesli bar and another gel. I follow this up with a handful of gummy bears. The sun is getting hot now and I pour some gatorade into a bottle before topping it up with water. Fleetwood Mac are in town for a convert so the streets are busy with visitors. There is a festive mood, which is keeping my spirits up.

I am also pleased to report, at this moment in time, the toe is not giving me gip. Amazingly, the rest of the body isn’t feeling too bad either.

At the top of the hill I get a surge of energy. If I can do two and a half hrs, then maybe I can do three. Another swig of gatorade tells me  ‘Yes, you can.!’ I plod on for another wee while. It’s hard work. Bloody hard work, in fact. And a tad boring. But there are good bits. Bits when I kind of lose, not consciousness, but awareness. This must be the zone that everyone talks about. The ‘runner’s high’ maybe. Haha. It’s nice. But it doesn’t last for long.

My thoughts keep returning to how far I still have to go. I notice I have become a bit flighty in the brain department. One minute I can’t go another kilometre and the next I feel like another five is genuinely possible. On the positive side I have started thinking in thirty minute lots. Like ‘Surely I can go for just another half hour’. 

And then it occurs to me that, before I started all this training, thirty minutes was a whole run. Thirty minutes was even considered a LONG run. Now it has become a small achievable segment. 

That thought urges me on. Even though I’m knackered it’s good to know that my running has improved. I settle into the tedium. Up and over the bridge. Down past Platos and the Harbourside Cafe.  Three hours later  and, my watch tells me, I am almost at the 28km mark. If I manage this it will be my best effort yet.

Yay! Then I can stop. At the 28km mark I feel that I have about done my dash.  28 kms is sweet.  Except that now a little voice has started to nag. “Wouldn’t 30km be sweeter?” 

Just as I am considering this, suddenly, out of nowhere, a couple of ‘likely lads’ stagger.

 “Way to go, Stevie Nicks,” one of them bellows. (With Fleetwood Mac in town they have obviously been doing a spot of preloading!)

The guys chuckle and wave. It’s ridiculous. I know they are possibly pissed and have certainly left home without their glasses but the  ‘Stevie Nicks’ comment has spursred me on. Amazing what a well-placed compliment will do.

“Thanks guys,” I laugh. Now I can’t keep the grin off my face. 

Nothing like some flattery to keep a gal on her feet.

I manage another kilometre with a smile on my face and a spring in my step. I have now completed 29kms and I’m still moving. Wow! I have surprised myself. When I get to 30kms I am still a few blocks away from the  car.  

I figure I have two options. I can stop and walk or I can keep pushing.

I decide to keep pushing. 

Thirty minutes later and my watch tells me I have run 34.35kms. I have run for 4 hrs and completed 35,658 steps.

It’s the best run I have ever done!

And I couldn’t be more pleased!