Cruel Runnings

The race starts with a surge as 10,000 bodies strive to cross the starting line all at once. I'm caught in the middle of the throng, trying to find my rhythm as we slowly press forward. I feel like I could walk faster than this, but with the crowd so tightly compressed there is nowhere I can go. I wait for the front-runners to race away and open us up like a concertina unfolding. The 2007 City to Bay fun run is underway and, after a sketchy preparation, I'm wondering if I'll make it to the finish.

We go about 200m before I can start to run at my own pace and I'm reminding myself not to go too hard too soon, as people of all ages race past me. I know that some of them will keep up the pace all the way to the finish, while others will be regretting their strong start by the time they get to South Terrace. We pass through Victoria Square at the 800m mark and I see two runners dashing off to the side to use the public toilets. Why didn't they go in Elder Park before the start?! I went before the start and I'm glad I did because I drank a bottle of Gatorade and a bottle of water before I left the house.

Just past the 2km mark we turn onto Anzac Highway and something feels very wrong. My lungs are burning and I realize to my horror that instead of controlling my rhythm by singing 'My Sharona' by The Knack in my head, I have actually had Fleetwood Mac's 'Tusk' running through my brain. My pace has been way too fast and I'm now exhausted with 10km still to go. Bother! Come on, focus! Shorten the stride. Get the rhythm right. "Ooh my little pretty one, my pretty one..." Try not to collapse.

By the 4km mark I'm feeling completely drained so I grab a cup from the water station. Drinking from a cup while running and struggling to breathe is harder than you might think. I don't think I actually got any of the water into my mouth; I did, however, get quite a lot of water down the front of my shirt, shorts and legs. Great! Now I'm exhausted, wet and cold and my calf muscles are starting to ache. Runners are passing me in great number. That stretcher at the SA Ambulance emergency aid station is looking decidely comfortable. But I press on.

At the 7km mark the pain in my legs has spread to my shoulders. I catch myself daydreaming about lying on the grass at the side of the road. Come on! Snap out of it! "When you gonna give me some time, Sharona?" What can I feel brushing against my leg? I look down and see that the bandage that was supporting my right knee is starting to unfurl. By the time I grab the loose end, about two thirds of it have come undone. Another two steps and it would have been gone completely. As it is, there is just enough bandage left to support the knee, but only if I hold it tight. Now I'm running with one arm swinging and the other one holding the loose bandage. I feel very lopsided. Two teenage girls behind me start giggling. I would tell them off, but I'm hyperventilating and incapable of speech. I've also just had another frightening revelation: I need to do a wee.

There are toilets at the finish line, but none along the way, so at this point stopping would actually be worse than continuing. I try to run with my legs crossed and I feel like I'm sort of run-hobbling, holding the bandage, trying to push through the pain which is now also in my elbows, and trying hard not to wet myself; maybe if I don't think about it it will go away. "Doo-doo doo-doo doot doot - MY SHARONA!!" Sweat is running down my forehead from beneath my hat and into my eyes. Ten-year-olds are cruising past me. Just...keep...breathing...

At the 10km mark I spot two ambulance officers with a first aid kit. Hallelujah! I stop and ask them to cut and tape my recalcitrant bandage, which they do, and I quickly rejoin the race. I guess that the stop took about 20 seconds, but I feel like I can easily make that up because regaining the use of my right arm has given me an amazing burst of speed. I've caught my breath a bit and I only have to contend with the pain in my chest, legs, shoulders, elbows and now my ankles, being cold and wet, and trying to suppress the increasing urge to relieve myself. There is only 2km to go and I want to cover them as quickly as I can. I pass a slowing ten-year-old and think "Take that, Girlie!"

By the 11km mark I feel like my entire body is going into melt-down. My recent burst of speed has drained the last of my energy and my entire body is aching. I even feel pain in my eyes as I try to peer through an ocean of sweat. My only thought is to keep putting one foot in front of the other without collapsing. 'My Sharona' has never been sung this slowly. Eventually, to my great relief, I see the finish line in the distance. I try to open my stride to give the impression of finishing strongly, but only succeed in losing my balance and very nearly falling over, but for an impromptu, flailing, pirouette.

I stagger across the line and a wave of euphoria washes over me as I feel my jelly-like body slam head-long into the ground. Two ambulance officers rush to help me but by the time they arrive I have already regained my footing. I brush aside their offers of assistance and bob up on my tiptoes to survey the landscape. My exhaustion, dehydration, aches, pains and bruises must take a back seat while I attend to something much more important. I call out in search of the man who has become the best friend of all those who have a pressing, desperate need. "Kenny!! Where are you Kenny?? Kennnnnnyyyyyyyyyyy!!"