Having been caught short of the dunny destination on my first attempt, there was nothing for it other than to attempt it once more the following weekend, whence Rach was next working in the Hutt. This time my MP3 player was flat out of juice and I knew there was no time to charge it, so Gogol Bordello did not join me. However, a recently eaten tea did join me, which was a tasty mistake; more on that later.
Setting off I soon realised that I hadn't drunk enough water throughout the course of the day, not by a very long way. The slight uphill soon created a greater than expected ache in my calf muscles. This caused me to contract my stride more than usual, which made the whole aching thing worse. I tried bigger steps but my body refused, so I shambled on regardless, lurching along like a sweaty zombie, mumbling "water, water" as I went. Ironic when running next to a river.
Despite the fog of the run I couldn't help noticing that, compared with the previous week, there were a lot fewer folk around. No hockey was being played, no bunches of kids walking back from a day swimming in the river, no psychic name guessers, no girls walking past then laughing hysterically and no man on a mountain bike, out with his family, looking at me in a way which I couldn't work out - was it admiration for my pained running effort or jealousy that I could at least go at whatever pace I wanted. This is Wellington on a public holiday weekend, everyone leaves. Although, I did see two separate cars walking their dogs, in both cases small poodles. Yep, you read right, cars. The dog walkers were in cars, driving along a dirt track, with their dogs sprinting hell for leather behind, not, I might add, on a leash. I have been unable to decide if this was cruelty or abandonment. For sure, the dogs will have had awesome cardio workouts, but they may have whimpered all the way.
Despite the fog of the run I couldn't help noticing that, compared with the previous week, there were a lot fewer folk around. No hockey was being played, no bunches of kids walking back from a day swimming in the river, no psychic name guessers, no girls walking past then laughing hysterically and no man on a mountain bike, out with his family, looking at me in a way which I couldn't work out - was it admiration for my pained running effort or jealousy that I could at least go at whatever pace I wanted. This is Wellington on a public holiday weekend, everyone leaves. Although, I did see two separate cars walking their dogs, in both cases small poodles. Yep, you read right, cars. The dog walkers were in cars, driving along a dirt track, with their dogs sprinting hell for leather behind, not, I might add, on a leash. I have been unable to decide if this was cruelty or abandonment. For sure, the dogs will have had awesome cardio workouts, but they may have whimpered all the way.
After a lonely run I was up to the point I had turned back from before but, of course, kept running. In a matter of minutes I arrived at the sacred toilet spot. The sense of accomplishment was tempered though: I had been drawn this far as much by the belief that there would be a water fountain near the toilets as the sense of pride, but my hopes were dashed, there was no such facility, and the toilets were much more scuzzy than I had built them up to be in my head. Yes, I had been fantasising about this location for pretty much the entire run so far and the whole place was splendid in my head. Instead, all I found was a really rather simple single toilet brick building. Before setting off I had the feeling that I needed a poo. This had happened the previous week, which might have been why I chose the toilets as the turning point in the first place. However, once I was trotting along the sensation had abated. The same was true the second time around, which suggests that these longer runs make me a little nervous. I'm glad that neither time have I had to do a Paula Radcliffe and facilitate the gutter in full glare, although she can run a marathon in only 30 minutes longer than it takes me to cover 12 kilometers, so perhaps I should have a go at going. Anyway, with no water to be drunk I thought I might at least hop in the bog for a number one, and it's a good job I did, I had a full tank in there, no wonder it had been such a slog going uphill.
Lightened and thinking stuff like "hell, I was kind of banking on there being a water fountain, if I don't put some strides into this then my legs are going fall off before I get back" I picked up the pace. Going downhill and knowing I was past the halfway point made everything a little bit easier and I dashed away from the bogs with a new spring in my step. I'm not sure if anyone could see this from the outside, but it was there on the inside. As I sped (ahem) along the light faded fast, the previous week had been the last Saturday of daylight savings and now I knew it would be dark quite some time before I got to the end. The fading light can have a slight demoralising effect, but on the flip side it allows one to wear the ugly face of the exercise pained without fear of scaring small children. The increased speed also churned the undigested food in my belly, creating a wicked stitch. Not wanting to sacrifice speed I instead held the afflicted area with one hand, which seemed to do the job quite nicely. And the tyre of fat I cradled helped to remind me why I needed to go out running.
Finally I got back to the car and checked my time. Hmmm, the extra distance and slash cost me an extra 5 minutes on my time, which was a shock, I thought my return leg was faster than before, despite the lack of music. Clearly I had underestimated the power of a thumping tune. Thinking back it might have been the banging beat coming through the vent of the toilet from car parked next to it that had given me that spur, post potty break. Perhaps those lads could drive alongside me next time, that would save me some music device weight. Although they'd probably want petrol money, which they'd waste on pop and crisps, no doubt. The cheeky young tykes.
Finally I got back to the car and checked my time. Hmmm, the extra distance and slash cost me an extra 5 minutes on my time, which was a shock, I thought my return leg was faster than before, despite the lack of music. Clearly I had underestimated the power of a thumping tune. Thinking back it might have been the banging beat coming through the vent of the toilet from car parked next to it that had given me that spur, post potty break. Perhaps those lads could drive alongside me next time, that would save me some music device weight. Although they'd probably want petrol money, which they'd waste on pop and crisps, no doubt. The cheeky young tykes.
No comments:
Post a Comment