I was thinking.
A reprint, in memoriam, however inadequate:
I was thinking, I'm going to get him. I was thinking, this is going to be the ugliest finish line photo ever taken. I was thinking, that guy is stone cold, a runner. I was thinking this is beautiful. I didn't get him. I took a header across the line and managed to slap his shoulder before I got down on the ground to nurse myself a little.
I think the key to the Kadoorie race is kilometre repetitions. Long 1000s on the track to search your legs, strip the fat from your bones, and teach you courage. It's definitely a course that favours the thin. Malcolm weighs 160 pounds; I weigh closer to 190. I hauled an extra 30 pounds up those switchbacks into the sky. The new course is longer by 300m and more cruel, offering a blessed downhill within earshot of the finish line, followed by a sharp turn into a ski jump finish, 100m and very steep. That's where I started yelling like a goblin trying to make selection for 3 Para, that's when a Kadoorie photographer stepped out and snapped me, that's when Malcolm half turned and drew me a perfectly calm, considering look from deep in the clenched agony of his face and stepped across the line. That's where those hideous "yoga"* pressups I've been doing showed their worth. It was all about muscle by then, there was no air.
There was no air. 31 minutes something for seventh place. Last year, on the old 5k course, I ran 28.- something for sixth place. This year's winner- and so the new record- was 28.15. I'm miles away from a top 3 finish, but that's exactly what I want. Long repetitions. Uphill kilometres. Oh, shit, next year.
I was thinking, I'm going to get him. I was thinking, this is going to be the ugliest finish line photo ever taken. I was thinking, that guy is stone cold, a runner. I was thinking this is beautiful. I didn't get him. I took a header across the line and managed to slap his shoulder before I got down on the ground to nurse myself a little.
I think the key to the Kadoorie race is kilometre repetitions. Long 1000s on the track to search your legs, strip the fat from your bones, and teach you courage. It's definitely a course that favours the thin. Malcolm weighs 160 pounds; I weigh closer to 190. I hauled an extra 30 pounds up those switchbacks into the sky. The new course is longer by 300m and more cruel, offering a blessed downhill within earshot of the finish line, followed by a sharp turn into a ski jump finish, 100m and very steep. That's where I started yelling like a goblin trying to make selection for 3 Para, that's when a Kadoorie photographer stepped out and snapped me, that's when Malcolm half turned and drew me a perfectly calm, considering look from deep in the clenched agony of his face and stepped across the line. That's where those hideous "yoga"* pressups I've been doing showed their worth. It was all about muscle by then, there was no air.
There was no air. 31 minutes something for seventh place. Last year, on the old 5k course, I ran 28.- something for sixth place. This year's winner- and so the new record- was 28.15. I'm miles away from a top 3 finish, but that's exactly what I want. Long repetitions. Uphill kilometres. Oh, shit, next year.
posted by Jamie @ 22:54
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