Friday, April 2, 2010

A Suburb Far, Far Away...

It's shameful how much I've neglected this blog of late. After my last post I actually went running twice more that day - once at lunch time and then again in the evening. The idea behind this madness was to give my body such a shock that the dragon boating final that week would feel super easy. It kind of worked and it certainly shocked the hell out of my body. However, after the pressure of dragon boating abated with the hard fought festival day I continued to run but, I'll be honest, it seemed less important to push myself. I even deliberately took a week off at one point, which was a severe blow to the routine, although my knees were extremely thankful.

But, even when not running, I thought about it a lot. You see, the day after the dragon boat festival me and Rach were at a friend's house for a Christening and one of the other guests was talking about his training for an iron man triathlon event. I'm not sure how it came up but it was suggested that I run the Wellington half marathon in June, as the event helps you focus. Of course, I didn't really set my efforts to accomplishing the 21 kilometers of a half marathon, but I didn't stop pondering the idea.

So, after dropping Rach off at work last week I looked at the map we have in the car and picked a spot to run to, some public toilets, a spot much further away than any distance I had run before, and that was just one way. Of course, it didn't look all that far on the map. If I finished the run then the half marathon was on, if not then I could eat some chocolate, or something.

Away I went, running through a sports park (Fraser Park, where kids were playing football and a hockey match was in progress) at a pace I suspected I could manage for a while. I don't normally listen to music while running around but this time I had my MP3 player on me, loaded with some fine Gogol Bordello, a supreme Ukrainian band whose music forces you to dance. Frankly, it was too much for me and made me feel all panicked and weird, so I turned it off again and listened to the blood pounding in my ears instead.

I knew my destination loos were ambitiously far away but after a while I kept thinking that they must be just around the next corner. I thought they were near Stokes Valley somewhere, but when I got there I saw no toilets. I carried on jogging along, and Stokes Valley ended up behind me. All right, just one more corner. Eventually I came to the sign remarking the outer limits of Upper Hutt City, which is a fair trek from Lower Hutt, where I started. I was sure the toilets weren't this far, damn, I must have missed them. So I took note of my surroundings, so I could pinpoint them later, and wheeled around.

The journey back seemed even longer than the journey there and jogging along for that kind of time is, I must confess, kind of boring. Along that final stretch I could only see the big long track of where I'd come from and figured that, my legs plodding along far too slowly and in pathetically close step I should, once again, attempt to invoke the spirit of Gogol Bordello and this time they were much more value to my brain. Their gypsy punk joy rattled me into the same beat, which forced me to stretch my gate, although I probably didn't go much faster.

Of course, as is the way of the world, once you are listening to good music, someone wants to speak to you. Passing some kids one hailed me to ask a question "Is your name Jon?" she asked (she may have asked if it was John I guess). "Yeah, how did you know?" It turned out it was her friend that got it right, but he had simply guessed. I wished him luck using such skills to get rich and was on my way. While talking to the kids I did that dickish running on the spot thing, fearing my legs wouldn't start again if I stopped. It took ages to cross into Fraser Park again, and interminable age, I really need to get faster at this game.

Then my MP3 player ran out of juice, but I was nearly back. Vaguely pretending to accelerate towards the finishing line I noted people were still playing hockey, but I can't tell you if it was the same game though. And then the end. I don't remember feeling exhausted like I do after shorter runs, where I feel like I'm going to hurl. Perhaps because the end wasn't uphill, perhaps because I didn't sprint final 20 meters.

Hopping in the car I grabbed the map. Balls, I hadn't read it wrong, I had remembered it wrong. The toilets were at Silverstream, not Stokes Valley and I wasn't far off when I turned around. Satoru Nakajimaaaaa!

I did a quick guesstimate on the route though and the number seemed as big as it felt. several times longer than I'd ever run before. Really? Had I honestly been that ambitious. The only way to know would be to consult Map My Run. Once home I grabbed the computer and crunched the distance. Nearly 12 kilometers, wow, that really was about four times further than my longest effort. Well, I guess that does it, if I can do that without much training and just time and stupidity on my hands I reckon the half marathon is definitely possible. Perhaps even the marath- no, 12km might be four times longer than my previous efforts but 4x4x4 (ish) is probably just plane stupid. Oh...

Of course, it took me about one and a half hours to run this distance, which gives me a rate of 8km per hour. Record breakers? You should probably sit this one out Norris.

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