Never too old, never too late

Never too late, never too old

I have always liked running. Correction - I have always liked the idea of running. Unfortunately, for most of my life, (while my head may have been full of iron men and ultras), my body hadn’t actually moved a lot. A three kilometre trudge around the block was about the extent of my efforts. With the odd five km thrown in over the Xmas break. 

Still. . . the intention was always there.

One day I would run a marathon. 

One day. Some day. . .  When there was time and space. And inclination.

I obviously had the rest of my life to get to the start line, so there was no hurry. Right?

But as the years jogged on by it felt like the ‘rest of my life’ was drawing close. And by the time I reached my 50’s I felt an increasing sense of urgency. If I was serious about this marathon thing I needed to get my skates on. Or, at least, shake the dust off the old blue pumas lying in the back of the wardrobe.

And so, in 2019, with my 60th birthday looming, I ordered a training schedule online, traded in the ‘old school’ Pumas for some ‘new school’ Asics and waited in excited anticipation. I had decided to combine my marathon attempt with a trip to Auckland to visit a friend. That way I could run the race and relax for a few days whilst sipping champagne to celebrate in her outdoor spa. Perfect. 

I approached the upcoming training with a naive sense of optimism, thinking that if I followed the schedule, everything would fall effortlessly into place. Ha! I soon found that following a marathon training schedule wouldn’t be in the least bit ‘effortless’.  It would actually be quite knackering.

Needless to say the next 20 weeks went by in a whirl of exhausted attempts to keep upright and moving, whilst simultaneously resisting the temptation to collapse in a defeated heap on the couch. There was a lot to achieve. At the end of week one I would need to exceed my personal best ‘three km trudge’ record. At week two I would be bypassing the five km mark and at week six I would have to run for two hours without stopping. Yikes!!

While I tried not to look too far ahead, a sneaky preview revealed I would be running a half marathon at week eight and by week 15 I would be committing to a full 30 kms. 

Talk about challenging! 

Thankfully, some inner perseverance muscle miraculously revealed itself, just in the nick of time. I have no idea where it came from but it helped me to run distances I had never thought possible.  

if you are interested in reading the complete story of my marathon attempt -  the blog is still available online.

You can read all about it at oneoldladyrunning.blogspot.com

It starts with ‘Hello sixty’ and ends with ‘How I ran a marathon’

Spoiler alert -  I actually did run the Auckland marathon!! It took me five hrs and nine mins. And that’s how I became a ‘marathon runner’ at the ripe old age of 60! 

Wow! And Phew!

Mission accomplished.

After proving to myself that it wasn’t too late and I wasn’t too old I was now free to sit back and bask in the glory of my conquest. At least that was the plan. But once I’d recovered from the physical exhaustion of having run 42.2 kms something weird happened. With no running schedule to commit to a strange sense of unease began to take hold. 

The scary truth was -  I missed running. I missed the regular lacing up of the sneakers, the exhileration of running slightly further this week than last. I even missed the smug satisfaction I felt while heading out into the rain at some ungodly hour, knowing the rest of the world was still snuggled up in bed. 

Life just wasn’t the same with nowhere to run to. In a way it felt like my marathon attempt had become less like the completion of something and more like the start of something else. Like an ageing Forest Gump I had the urge to just keep running. Forever glued to a treadmill I couldn’t get off.

And so, for the next three years that’s exactly what I did . . . out the door, down the street, round the block, through the forest, along the harbour, up the hill and back down the other side - with each run slightly better than the one before. My confidence grew and life took on a different shape as my heart began beating to a more athletic drum.

But it was now 2020. And life had taken a strange turn. Remember?!

With Covid 19 on the loose my new found running habit gave me something solid to cling to as lockdowns loomed and normal activities came to a grinding halt. Running became my saving grace and when 2023 rolled around I was ready to tackle Auckland again.

My new goal was to run the Auckland marathon in under five hrs.

This time I had a different mind set. A more strategic approach. For better or worse, I knew what I was in for. I knew the course and I knew my capabilities. I knew how each and every kilometer might feel. The good, the bad and the ugly! I knew how intensely I would have to train and what I might have to give up. (Saturday nights at the pub and lazy Sunday arvos would be strictly reserved for ‘recovery weeks’). I also knew how exhausted I might sometimes be, especially now that I was almost 64! 

Still -    feeling like I might be up to the challenge of another 42 kms, I enlisted the support of my daughter Meg . . .  Meg had already run two (very successful) marathons and she had some coaching experience. Together we hatched a plan. We agreed that a more strategic approach was needed if I was going to come in under five hours. Something that incorporated stretching and strength training should help. To ward off injury I might need to master squats and lunges - wall sits and burpees. A spot of swimming at the local pool (cross-training) could also be factored in. And last, but not least I needed to eat more protein and start going to bed earlier.  

It all sounded potentially doable - on paper at least.

Of course. . not everything went according to plan. There were the usual difficulties. Things broke (toes and toe nails), things wore out (shoes, knees and sometimes motivation) and things sometimes veered wonkily off course. A lot can happen in the 20 weeks it takes to train for a marathon. 

In the winter months there are colds and minor ailments to contend with. There are also challenging weather conditions. Like ice, snow, wind, rain and regular sub zero temperatures. This was Dunedin after all. Sometimes, alongside family and work responsibilities, runs had to take second place - or even third or forth.

Still, under Meg’s expert guidance, hurdles were cleared and most runs were completed or almost completed on time. Together we made it to the start line. And when the hooter went it was just a matter of putting one foot in front of the other for around five hours (or hopefully less). Theoretically, I had done the hard yards and now I just had to perform the task. My dear friend Sonya, daughter Meg and grandson Alfie were there in support, rising to the occasion with gusto. 

The Auckland marathon starts in the dark (6:00 am) at Devonport, heads over the bridge to Victoria Park, weaves along the harbour all the way to St Helliers and then goes right back to Victoria park. My trio of supporters were absolute champions, enthusiastically stationing themselves at strategic points along the way. Don’t ask me how they did it but it seemed like whenever I was beginning to flag, up they would pop -  tossing me bananas and urging me on with a hearty ‘Go Granny go’! It’s hard to over-emphasise the extra ooomph a support team provides an old girl like me. Just knowing that someone gives a shit if you make it to the end can make all the difference. 

While I know that every marathon is different, every marathon (for me) follows a similar projectory. The first 5 km is full of self doubt and second thoughts, 10 km is the sweet spot (ahhhhh). 17 km is when it gets real and starts to hurt. 21kms is ‘phew’ - half way already, quickly followed by ‘OMG - only half way!’ and after that . . . well, . . . By the time you get to the 30km mark anything can happen.

This time I felt like my training was paying off. I was better prepared and determined to learn from the mistakes of the past. This time I would not be loading myself up like a packhorse, with every energy gel ever invented strapped to my person. As my daughter said ‘you don’t need all that stuff, Mum’ and she was right. I wasn’t heading out into the wilderness - I was, in fact, jogging along the harbour of a major city, with water stops and porta loos available to all.

I would also make sure to give the Metamucil a wide berth. In 2019 my plan to give the bowels a helping hand to empty completely backfired when I ended up making five convenience stops before I’d even hit the halfway mark.

Getting to the 32 km mark may have felt slightly easier this time around, but the last 10 kms were just as challenging. The legs felt like jelly, the hips hurt like hell and the muscles still howled in protest with each passing step. The focus of the last 10 kms is all about not giving up. For this final stage of the race you do whatever you can to keep moving - limp, crawl, hop, skip or stagger. . . 

I chose to stagger and amazingly found myself surging across the line 4 hrs and 51 mins later. Knackered but ecstatic. . 

I had made it. 

I’d run another marathon. And I’d done it in under 5 hrs.

Hallelujah!

So what next?

Spa and champers? Absolutely!

A few days R and R.

Yep. Siree!

Another marathon?

Absolutely NOT!

But now it’s 2025. Past pain memories have faded.

In August I will turn 66. 

So, to honour the occasion I’ve entered the Emersons Dunedin marathon on September ?

Is it too late?

Am I too old?

I have absolutely no idea.

But you’re welcome to stick around and help me find out!