Snikers (Formally known as Marathon)

It's Sunday, 4:30 am, and your alarm is about to go off but it never will. That's because you're already awake to catch it, you've been awake all night. It's absolutely pissing down outside.

Get some breakfast then back to bed for an hour.

Taxi down to the stadium.

Normally by now there would be butterflies and all sorts of burrowing insects in your stomach by now but today your fairly excited. Probably because you've been training for almost six months for this day - four months following a dedicated plan, two months to get up to level required to start the training plan.

Everyone else here is the same; nobody seems nervous, most seem quite eager to get going - a fact demonstrated by the heckling aimed at the race announcer telling him to get on with it (good natured mind, nothing vicious). There's one guy dressed as a sunflower but everyone else looks serious and ready.

Foghorn: BLAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!

And it's all go into the wind and rain. Massively tempting at the start to gun it but you've got a plan and your fancy pants wrist watch will get angry and start beeping if you go too fast.

The first hour is mostly uneventful, groups start to form and eventually you're part of a small pack of like-paced guys and gals. I stayed in one such group for a bit until it transpired that - despite being the least aerodynamic of the bunch - I was the most able to maintain my pace in the wind, and so a smaller group was formed consisting of me and two slipstreamers who used my ample frame as shelter (bastards).

Hour two and the eventual race winners are already on the way back and pass you along Scorching Bay way. You on the other hand are sticking to the game plan and proving that the old adage 'slow and steady wins the race' is 100% wrong.

Hour three and the only hill of the race is climbed and you've just about to reach the halfway turnaround - which you'll be five minutes late for according to your schedule but you don't really care too much.

A bit of tiredness in the old legs, but not much, still enough to worry about what the next two hours will bring. The wind starts to seriously piss me off near Shelly Bay and I slow to a walk for a minute as running against it is wasting too much energy for little gain.

Hour four. Pain. Lots and lots of pain.

I'm pretty much on my own now, there are no more groups and I'm passing alot of burn outs and struggling athletes (the road signs along the course warn drivers: 'Caution Athletes' check it out I'm an athlete!).

Some more pain, and joy of joys, at the half marathon turn around there's a gelatinous glot of obeses sea cows collectively known as the Half Marathon Walkers. I wouldn't hate these guys so much if they didn't get in my way quite so obtrusively. I'm having to zig zag past these (mostly massive) people who are all lycra-ed up and carrying sports drinks just to walk 12 miles. By now I'm in a lot of pain and having to dodge, duck, and jump obstacles is not making me happy.

I'm still keeping to my pace mind, but it's hurting. At five KMs to go I'm really struggling and so decide to take ten seconds out of every remaining KM to walk and rest.

I keep going, and about half a KM away from the stadium the end looks near, then a sign appears saying 'Two KMs to go'. What! Are we going to have to do laps? Half a KM later another sign proclaiming one KM to go.

Finally I can see the finishing line, the short pedestrian ramp up to the stadium entrance is absolute agony but I do it. Resiting the temptation to slow to a halt I force myself onwards. Now at the final 50m or so I perform my end race ritual - Sprint Finish!!

I almost cry after passing the finish line. I get some water and the best testing apple that has ever been or ever will be and I'm done.

4 Hours and 15 minutes my time. My watch claims I ran 27.9 miles which may be true, or it may be false.

A chronological summery?

1. Excitement
2. Boredom
3. Blood
4. Pain
5. Tears
6. Apple.