Cool runnings Part 2
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| Eating my medal |
Please Read part 1 if you haven't already cool-runnings-part-1, otherwise you're not going to get this story.
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| Those shoes are made for running |
The 22nd of June 2013 is one of
those days that I will never forget; on that day I got to scratch “ran a half
marathon race” off my bucket list. Believe it or not, I ran the 21 km Old
Mutual Victory race in an hour and 27 minutes. Which is very slow and three minutes
slower than my first 20 km race two weeks earlier and way outside my target
time of one hour but the sense of achievement inside of me was unparalleled. I
have achieved a lot of things in my life, but finishing that race took more
determination and grit than anything I’ve ever tackled.
That morning I was nervous, which is
unusual but if you saw what I saw then you’d also be nervous. When I turned up
to the stadium I was stunned and frightened, the Namibian Police and the
Defence Force were out in full force. They had bought a whole minibus full of
athletes; these guys looked like they meant business and a whole lot more.
Don’t mess with the Police or The Military when it comes to sports and
especially long distance running, they take it very seriously. Those guys run
faster than the wind, they run so fast that they can leave Forrest Gump behind
and Forrest runs very fast. I heard that during training they make them run so
fast that their shadows can’t keep up and turn up an hour later.
Ahem! Shall we get to the race? Two minutes
before the start, I quickly had to change numbers because the organisers had
given me a blue number (5 Km) instead of a red number (21 Km). If I wasn’t
already jumpy then the number mix up made me extra jumpy, I was a bundle of nerves
but determined in my own ability. I came to finish the race inside an hour and
not to race against the guys that killed Jonas Savimbi; I’ve heard that the
only thing that scares Chuck Norris other than Chuck Norris Himself is the
Namibian Defence Force and Police marathon runners.
So the race started with a lap around the
Swakopmund athletics stadium and out towards the highway to the Namibian
Capital Windhoek. From the first two Kilometres I could already tell that I was
going to be very slow in the race, my legs felt very heavy and lethargic. All
of a sudden I realised that I hadn’t warmed up properly and not having my buddy
Steven to warm up with me would bite me in the race. Steven had left town to
rush to Windhoek for the birth of his son, which now means I’m the odd one out,
the only one who hasn’t reproduced yet (the peer pressure, epic!).
Back to the race, having already struggled
to pick up speed over the first 3 km’s I was already outside my target finish
time and having abdominal cramps (throwing in the towel had crossed my mind).
The plan had changed, I was not going to look at the watch or even bother
catching the leaders who were already ten 5 minutes ahead. I was going to run
every Kilometre as it came and push myself till I got to the 10 Km mark because
I am always stronger in the second half of the race, as the rest tire over the
last ten Km’s I catch a second wind and finish strong.
From the 3 to 10 Km mark of the race, I was
just hanging on for dear life. My teammate Nakale whom I started the race with
for the first 3 Km’s had passed me and gone ahead, there was to be no repeat of
the sprint finish of two weeks earlier. As I neared the 10 Km mark, Nakale
saluted me from the other side of the road, he was already 3 Km’s ahead.
Throwing in the towel for the second time ran through my mind again. As three runners
passed me before I got to the 10 Km mark I started to feel my legs again, those
three had the upper hand but little did they know that I would have the last
laugh.It took me all nearly an hour to finish the
first 15 Km’s of the race, at which point I had made up the ground on the four
runners who had passed me earlier and was gaining speed again, I was going to
finish strong and well within the cut off time for a finishers medal.
At the 18 Km mark I had overtaken every
runner who was in my bunch from earlier in the race, I had the finish line
visualized in my mind already. To my surprise one of Swakopmund’s female junior
runners and the old timer from the Areva race two weeks earlier had caught up
with me at the 19 Km mark, the old timer had energy and surged ahead. I wasn’t
worried because I knew that as long as he wasn’t more than 30 meters ahead I
would easily sprint past him at the finish line. As I passed the 20 Km mark, I
passed another runner who was ahead of me throughout the whole race. The old
timer was ahead of me and I was starting to get cramp in the front of my upper
right thigh. With the last 1000 meters left, it looked like I wasn’t going to
catch him. I wasn’t bothered because I was more worried about pulling a muscle
or tweaking my hamstring in a senseless race to the finish. With less than 500
meters left the old timer and I both got a bit confused by which direction we
were supposed to take and the marshal’s really weren’t helping having laid out
the first 3 Km’s in the busiest road in town, as we crossed the road across
from the stadium entrance I put on the afterburners.
Now at this point, you’re probably thinking
that a fit 20 year old chasing down an old timer is pathetic right? Little do
you know that this old timer finished ahead of me in my first 20 Km race by at
least 3 Km ‘s. The old timer almost took the wrong turn onto the track but once
he got onto the track, he also put the afterburners on. With 30 meters between
us and only 300 meters of track left, I was losing the battle. Although I had
made up 15 meters at the 200 meter curve in the track, as we headed down the
straight he was surging ahead. With only 50 meters left I put on the after-after-burners
and sprinted to the line, the crowd went berserk. Usually runners lazily
stumbled to the finish line; the old timer and I were racing to the finish and
we were putting on such a show that the crowd was just lapping it up.
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| Trust me! the old man's faster than the picture makes him look |
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