I usually love running a marathon. The surge of people, the excited crowds and the feeling as I cross the finish line, but I don’t have any words horrible enough to describe my Hawke’s Bay Marathon experience. I shouldn’t be such a whiny pants as I was hardly alone in my struggles but I think the problem was expectations—isn’t it always?
For the first time ever the Hawke’s Bay weather let me down. I defiantly refused to acknowledge any weather reports that were clearly letting me know how chilly things were getting, because this was the Hawke’s Bay and the Hawke’s Bay is never cold… ever. So I jogged cheerfully down to the start line in only capris pants and a paper thin merino top. I was going to be absolutely fine because this is the Hawke’s Bay and, ya know… apparently never cold or something.
There was a lovely community feel with less than 500 of us starting. I did some jumping around and cuddling of boyfriend to keep me warm and counter the nerves. But only about 4 kms after starting my legs seized up with the cold. It was painful but didn’t appear to be affecting anything else at that stage so I trundled on. Then we hit kilometre after kilometre of stopbanks. I think running along the top of stopbanks would have been a beautiful thing if it was the Hawke’s Bay I was expecting. The brochure had sold me on vineyards, sunshine and an unending party atmosphere. What I experienced was a howling head wind, cold spitty rain, rocky tractor ruts and support crews trying to cheer me on from underneath a heavy barricade of wet-weather gear.
My spirits were a bit low by the time I reached halfway but the milestone did cheer me a great deal. Things started to brighten and warm a little. At this stage though I was running in a somewhat wobbly fashion with my cold legs, sagging energy and bumpy ground, so my twitchy calf muscle decided now was a good time to pop up and say hello.
I spent a large part of the next 10 kms trying to talk myself out of this injury. I kept thinking I had succeeded but we were basically just playing ping pong in my brain. With just over 10 kms to go I stopped and had a serious heart-to-heart with myself while I pretended to be doing some stretches. I really did try and convince myself to stop. I really did know that it was ok and that I had already won just by making it to the start line. I really did know I had already seen what a finish line looks like..but dear old brain just heard “blah, blah, blah, finish line” and so off we went again in a walk-a-bit-run-a-bit way. Rinse and repeat for the slowest, longest and most ouchy 10 kms of my life.
But I made it. It wasn’t the time I had secretly hoped for… it wasn’t even the time I was ok to tell people I was aiming for. But it was a time and strangely I feel more proud of this marathon than any other.
This was a true endurance race for me and I felt my confidence grow. For me, getting through bad times does seem easier knowing you can trust yourself to endure, and there is security in having some proof to fall back on. There was something about having myself as a friend out there in the pressing wind that had me come back feeling a little more tolerant and understanding of my own weaknesses.
Of course, despite never ever wanting to do another one, I went and signed up for Auckland at the end of October. Pfffft… eeeeejit!