IT'S OVER! We did it!
It has been a little while since we actually survived the ordeal, but I needed a little bit of time to not only recover, but to revel in the feeling of actually having a life again. You know, to human.
Here is pretty much how it all went down...
ONE WEEK BEFORE THE MARATHON:
"oihdifhslafkjnalkjbhnlWHATTHEHELLHAVEISIGNEDUPTOijasdfljhabluewbflanjwef".
Erm... Ok, I'm good. I think.
I was riding a rollercoaster of emotions this week.
If I was insufferable before, the pain of my company just reached "nek level". I am hyper and motivated one minute, then depressed about my coffee the next. You could look at me the wrong way and make me cry, and then next minute I may be listening to your story with direct eye contact and I haven't heard a word you've said.
Everything that Rhi and I have worked for since October last year has all come down to this week; this moment.
I haven't experienced severe taper madness like I thought I would, but I can understand where all the talk about it has come from because this last two weeks has been a constant internal battle of doubts versus hope versus determined conviction of our success.
Am I running too much? Have I run enough? Yay only a 5km taper run today! We are going to die this weekend. Should I run again tomorrow? Maybe I should I sleep in tomorrow? I definitely need to watch my diet. I definitely need to eat this pasta for carb-loading. I ate way too much pasta. I'm not drinking enough water. Why am I peeing so often. Fuck. My. Life.
I was basically filled with the madness of feeling like I am not doing enough, closely followed by the relief of getting home within daylight hours and having some of my life back. Lol, "Life".
TWO DAYS BEFORE THE MARATHON:
By this stage, every single waking thought is preoccupied by all the horrible things that are going to befall me in the coming weekend.
What is the terrain going to be like? What will the weather do? What am I going to wear? What happens if one of us get's injured? What if I sleep in or get sick or can't finish the race?
I compensate the anxiety by making as many lists and checklists as I can possibly think of, even for things I have already done, just so I can tick them off.
I become so obnoxious in my nervousness that I begin to annoy myself. Nothing new there.
I am not alone in this. Rhi is also nervous, and anxious and itching to get out there and get it done. At least we have each others insanity.At least
Rhi and I start regularly drinking electrolyte and re-hydrate solutions. I start needing to pee every fucking half hour because of the amount of water I start to guzzle in the hope that I might actually be hydrated enough.
Thursday is our last day at work and I would be lying if I said I accomplished anything. I don't even remember being there.
I simply attended and survived the day.
This also happens to be the on-going strategy for the next few days. Attend, survive.
We were catching the ferry over to Kangaroo Island and I happened to think, so many months ago when I booked the ferry, that the early ferry would be the best option to give us time to look around once we got over there. Genius.
So Chris and I had to be out of bed at 4.30am in the fucking morning.
We drove down to Rhi's place, packed her things into the car and then headed down to the ferry terminal - an easy 2hr drive from town.
I loaded the car onto the back of the ferry and then we quickly climbed out onto the bow of the boat to get a good (minimal vomit inducing) view of the water ahead.
We made it to the island in one piece, all piled back into the car and headed down to Kingscote to check-in for the race.
I know we have been planning this... for EVER, right?
I know we have been visualising the race, planning appropriate nutrition, learning endurance, and breathing, and fueling and buying stupidly expensive sports wear in anticipation for this event. But shit did not get truly REAL until I had to walk into that registration room.
Although I didn't pass out like I thought I might, we did happen to be able to meet the Race Director, Nathan, whom I have been completely harassing with questions since we signed up so long ago. He even remembered who we were and after a quick chat, we got our names ticked off the check-in sheet, received our race day packs and were on our way again.
Race Day Packs - probably the most exciting part of the entire race. Seriously.
Who doesn't want a goody bag filled with freebies and advertisements for things we will never read.
Regardless of the infinite value, Rhi and I were super pumped to get a KI Race t-shirt and quickly decided we would both wear it for the race, regardless of the advice that you should NEVER wear anything new on race day.
After 'Stop Kingcote' we decided we would make our way down to Flinders Chase National Park to see if we could terrify ourselves any further by actually checking out the race route.
Nathan had given us a heads up as to where the half-marathon start point was, so we paid our (daylight robbery) park entry fee and confidently started driving through the park, marveling at the beauty of what the island had to offer in raw, untouched flora, but also in quiet denial of the fact that we were going to have to cover this part of the road on our way back to the finish line which was at the park entrance.
About 5min drive into the park and we finally came upon Bunker Hill Lookout, a.k.a start point, a.k.a a great viewpoint of your looming and inevitable death.
Rhi and I were completely stunned and before long were buzzing with the nervous energy that comes from "what the fuck have I done" thoughts.
We jumped back in the car and, not without a little dread, slowly started driving/analysing/memorising every hill and valley we would inevitably be hiking over the next day.
It is safe to say that I felt a little sick.
We had realised a couple of weeks back that we would be only running down the Admirals Arch, instead of down to Remarklable Rocks, unlike the original advertisement of the race features. The remarklable rocks turnoff was reserved only for full-marathoners.
We decided we would drive down there anyway, to be tourists, but also out of curiosity to see what a full marathon looked like.
I was happy we weren't going that way.
The entire bloody route was ridiculously riddled with hills and valleys, and the descent into both Admirals Arch and Remarklable Rocks was so steep it made me ill just looking at it.
I am reminded of the multiple occasions that Chris has tried to take me out on hiking expeditions, only to have to console me out of my hysterical crying because I couldnt walk up the fucking hills.
What the fuck have I done.
After we had sufficiently terrified ourselves and finished touring the entire route of the park, we all decided it was probably time we find our accommodation and set up for an early night.
We were lucky enough to find an AirBnB 3-bedroom home available for the weekend down in Vivonne Bay. Not only an amazing beach and holiday location, and a lovely cozy house, but also 2 mins from the last bus stop to the race in the morning. Convienient!
I don't remember much of what happened that night, but I can confidently confirm that we would have spent most of the night obsessing over what we were going to wear for the race, and nervously fidgeting and fussing over everthing. Poor Chris.
4.30am and my alarm goes off.
Actually, Chris's alarm goes off. I curiously check my phone and realise I didn't even fucking set an alarm. First crisis averted.
I get up, get dressed and go out the kitchen to make me some oats and have a coffee while I am waking up.
Rhi slowly emerges with a similar zombie outlook.
It's here.
The day is finally fucking here!
Everything we have done, every decision we have made, all the sacrifices we have made, have all been for this day.
And I wanted to go back to bed.
Can't raincheck this one, apparently.
Protein bars. Check.
Pre-race Water. Check.
Post-race Gatorade. Check.
Race Number Badges. Check.
Nervous Wee. Check.
Since we had already obsessively organised everything the previous day, we made good time getting ready and were all piled in the car with our race packs and on our way down to the local General Store in no time.
At 5.30am, in the freezing cold and pitch black, alongside 3 other cars filled with nervous runners, we eagerly anticipated the arrival of our pre-race transport.
5.45am. Bus is scheduled to be here...... now. Ok, now. Maybe... now!
5.50am. Oh, I see headlights! Oh, its a another car. I wonder if they're running too?
5.55am. Maybe its late. Maybe its broken down. Maybe its Maybelline.
The other runners start to get out their cars and begin to converse quietly amongst themselves and I am torn between wanting to know what the verdict is, and if anyone has any news, and wanting to melt into the car heater.
One of the guys looks over our way and then trots over to our car window to let us know that if the bus doesn't arrive in 5mins, they are all going to start driving down to the park anyway.
More and more cars are driving past the General Store in the direction of the race, and the runners finally decide to jump back in their cars to drive themselves when a bus comes hurtling past and then suddenly slams on its breaks 100metres down the road. He appears to sit there for the moment and I hear Rhi quietly claim that she is not going to run for the bus.
Yes. Energy, we must conserve.
Much to our pleasure, we see the bus start to reverse back up and pull off the road.
A quick good-luck kiss goodbye for Chris who will be driving down a little later and I race the catch up with Rhi who is already trying to get the front seat on the bus.
The driver claims he was told a different pick-up location, but at this stage we don't care, we just want to get there.
We all pile on and start the journey down to the park, still in the pitch dark of early morning.
Some people are still trying to sleep on the bus even though the driver seems intent on happily chatting to us about nonsensical things through his crackly microphone.
Rhi and I are keeping our eyes on the road, trying not to get motion sickness, and praying like all hell that the stupid wallabies that clearly party all night long on the road won't be collected in some kind of ritualistic bus vs marcupial pre-race bloodbath. While I might have felt a little ill at the sight, Rhi and I both knew that if Rhi had to witness that, she would be in a hell of a state.
Thankfully, we made it to the park without murdering anything cute (second crisis averted) but then had to race everyone to the toilets for another nervous wee.
6.30am and the toilet paper is already running out in the womens toilets. You'd think they would be prepared for this.
Rhi and I aren't really sure what to do with ourselves because its too early to warm up, but we can't go anywhere until the Full Marathoners start, and then the bus will take the Half-Marathoners down to the start point.
7:ooam and we finally say our goodluck cheers to the "Fullers" as they head off, and the "Halvies" all pile back into the buses, quietly nervous.
We are all sitting there in the parking lot waiting to leave, when the other bus full of people suddenly starts to disembark and load up into our bus as well, even though people need to stand in the isle. Apparently the other bus has broken down. Thankfully we all fit. Just. Third crisis averted. These things come in three's, right?
The bus slowly pulls away from the visitor centre, and the dreaded finish line we will be making our way back to later, and we start to make our way down through the park, occasionally passing a "Fuller" struggling along the road-side.
The bus finally makes it to Bunker Hill Lookout, and from the surprised tone in the murmuring on the bus, Rhi and I can tell that most of the runners must not have checked out the race route prior to the race.
Honestly, when I first saw it, I thought I regretted knowing what I was in for, but Rhi and I were able to mentally prepare for the shock of seeing that start line, and being terrified a day in advance was totally worth it just for that.
It turns out, we actually weren't going to start at the top of the lookout, but just a little ways down and around the corner, so we all piled out of the bus and walked down and around to the marked start line.
7:55am. We had time for a couple of start line selfies and then were told to hustle up and the countdown began.
3....2....1....go!
We all took off, Rhi and I ceremoniously at the back, with the sounds of sneakers slapping on tar-seal and the beeps of sports watches in the crisp morning air.
200 metres down and then we start climbing our first hill. The main pack of girls are about 100metres ahead of us by this point, and most of them are already walking.
Let's think about that for a second.
And let's assume we are all well prepared, fit and able runners.
3oo metres in and people are already walking. What the hell have we done.
Rhi and I might be slow, but we take encouragement from this and tell ourselves that because we will still be running, there is a good chance we are going to be passing a bunch of these girls who are already walking!
4 hills in and while Rhi and I have stopped talking and are concentrating on the burn of our lungs and calves, the majority of the girls ahead of us are all walking.
But even though they are walking, they have longer strides and are still pulling away from us. Bastards.
20mins in and we have finally passed over the first mountain, and have a small flat spanse of road that reminds me why I actually decided that I like running.
The "Fullers" have begun to catch up to us and pass us at this point, so even though we have lost the majority of the "Halvies" group, there is always someone in the distance ahead of us.
Up a hill, down a hill. Up another hill, down another hill.
We are both dawning on the realisation that this entire track is literally just up and down. None of this gently undulating shit that we have trained on, but serious peaks and troughs of hell.
We finally make our way over the second mountain, still running, and see that we can see the long span of road ahead of us all the way down to Admirals arch.
Rhi and I are both running on a high at this point, and even though we both know we are going to have to run back up this giant fucker, we are both feeling pretty great and making most of the decline, snapping a few photos and videos of sarcastic despair.
We stop for a quick drink at the aid station and a pit stop at the toilets and then head down the last massive decline to Admirals Arch and around the loop and back up.
We had both made a promise to eachother before this, that no matter what, we were not going to stop running. We couldn't stop, even if we had to shuffle inch by inch, we knew that if we stopped, then Rhi may not be able to start again because of her injured foot.
We made it about 50metres back up the Admirals Arch cliff-face of a hill before we both had to stop. I don't even know how to describe to you how steep this short piece of road was, but it was 200 metres of... just... up.
Luckily, that is also where all the photographers were, so Rhi and I had to start running again as soon as possible to at least give everyone the impression we were actually trying.
We stopped again at the aid station to refuel and have a drink and then continued on our way up the giant hill of death.
We actually managed to run most of it, and before we knew it, were back to the top of the fill hill we climbed seemingly so long ago, looking down upon where we started.
I am on a full runners high at this point, but by the lack of agreeing enthusiasm I can tell the Rhi might not be where I am yet. Maybe I was just going crazy. Maybe I had already died and was living in some sick running loop of eternity.
The run back down to the start point was fairly easy, and then we started the trudge back up to the lookout.
Every Fuller that passes us at this point is having a quick chat as they pass and giving us words of praise and encouragement.
I just want to pass out and magically wake up at the finish line.
We are only 14km in.
3rd mountain down and Rhi and I agree that we will start walking up the hills and run the rest. We are so done.
Every time we come around another corner, there's another hill. Up the hill, around a corner, another hill.
It feels like its never going to end.
We make it to the last aid station and Rhi is limping so badly she can barely walk and I am ready to nap under the hydration stand.
Our fuel plan goes out the window and we skull everything they have to offer including flat watered-down-redbull, which tasted magical. Yeah, I dunno.
19kms in, and Rhi and I start trying to guess how far we have to go.
Even though a half-marathon technically qualifies as 21.5kms, each race is different and more often than not, the race is longer than that.
We round another corner, climb another hill. Maybe two corner left we tell ourselves.
We are almost there, surely.
We finally are able to hear something on the wind. People. People cheering.
Holy shit, we are actually almost there and haven't found ourselves lost in some never ended horror movie loop of insanity.
I am starting to think maybe I imagined hearing the crowd since more and more twists and turns of road seems to be bringing us to only more road when I finally recognise the stretch of road ahead of us.
Even better, I can see a person on the road holding up a sign. Something about "KI Marathon now, Netflix and chill Marathon later"
Rhi and I round yet another corner and the finish line arch finally blooms into full view.
Rhi makes a sound of pure desperate relief and I almost burst into tears. We fucking made it.
The crowd starts cheering when they see us, and everyone's encouraging us to the finish line.
I hear our names being called out and I raise my arms in the air as everyone is whooping and yelling out their cheers and we cross under that arch of champions.
Rhi disappears into the celebration throng and I desperately start looking around for Chris, who is filiming us from the sidelines.
I am genuinely about to just run straight to him when I realise that I am supposed to be getting a medal.
I turn around and Rhi is there laughing and holding up her medal and a race volunteer walks up and places one over my head. Don't cry, dont cry, don't cry!
I collect Rhi up in a giant bear hug and am trying not to bawl my eyes out.
Honestly. I can't believe we made it. I can't believe its over.
You know what really bugged me about this picture? We snapped this literally within 5 mins of crossing the finish line and we don't even look like we are sweating.
The majority of the comments were about how fresh we looked and I just wanted to punch everyone in the face. You don't even know. This is what death looks like.
And then, I felt a little pleased. Fuck yeah we just ran a marathon. And we still look good!
Rhi and I stuck around for the presentations and to watch the majority of the "Fullers" finish and then made our way out of the park.
We ceremoniously ate like champions, then went back to our AirB&B and set ourselves up on the couch and watched movies for the rest of the day while Chris fussed over us and made us dinner.
Both of us in were in some kind of shock. We couldn't believe we made it.
It has been 4 weeks since that day and it all still feels surreal.
Lessons learned?
Know your race route. Seriously, train on it if you can, or at least drive it so you can train on similar terrain. We died because we didn't prepare for our terrain.
But, dont be hard on yourself! We died, but we loved it! If someone has a go at your race time or pace, ask yourself what they were doing when you were making tracks on a part of the world you may have never seen before. They might have been eating cheetos on the couch at home. You were making memories.
Take your own hydration. Again, we thought we had prepared for this, and there were plenty of aid stations, but because the race was in a National Park, the volunteers wouldn't allow us to take the cups with us so we had to stick around to sip water, or skull it if you wanted to keep moving.
Wear what's comfortable. The weather changed on us a couple days out, and promised to be a lot hotter than we expected. We still wore our winter training gear even though I almost wore summer gear at the last moment in the morning. I am glad I didn't. We were a little hot, but there is nothing worse than being stuck on a run in gear that you are not comfortable in.
Talk to other runners! Rhi and I have been a few other races, and find that most people are keen for a quick chat as you pass each other - especially on trail runs. These are your passion peers! Enjoy yourself!
Have a post-run pack ready. We made sure we had post run bags made up and got Chris to bring them down to us. This included a change of clothes and shoes (in case you go straight out to lunch or have to stick around for presentations in cold weather), protein snacks, gatorade, water and pain killers. Could be lifesaving, seriously.
And finally, take loads of pictures and even videos! This might not be for everyone, but I am so glad I filmed us on the run and took loads of pictures, because the race photographers only released a couple of shots of us on the run, and without my own snaps, I wouldn't have been able to to produce this fine film that will help me re-live my torture for years to come.
Thank you to everyone that put up with me while I was training for this, and for our amazing employers that actually paid for us to go. Champions don't come cheap!
But especially, thank you to my work colleagues and friends who had to listen to me talk about training whenever I could slip it into conversation, my Mum who barely saw me (sorry Mum), my fiance Chris who was basically our slave for the Race Weekend (you are literally my favourite human, ever) and of course to Rhi, who, if not for your equal stubbornness and ambition, I wouldn't of even made it through my training.
In honor of our achievements, I decided to make a short film of the day to show everyone the amazing scenery of the race.
Enjoy :)