I finished!

Well: Here I am - the day after.

It was huge - I mean literally, too! 71 000 entrants! The biggest time-chipped event in the world, apparently.

I got on the bus with the High School kids at 5:45am, and we travelled up for 2 hours. Finding our starting position was hectic. You can probably deduce that by the pictures. We were in the YELLOW section - otherwise known as "The Back of the Pack". This is for people with little or no experience, the elderly, disabled, and those dressed in chicken/gorilla suits.

Not about to be discouraged, my trusty team inched their way toward the starting line as the starter's gun went off, safe in the knowledge that there was no hurry - their time would be taken as their timing-chip equipped shoes crossed the line. Thank goodness for that, as it took approximately 20minutes of shuffling to get there. The experience can be likened to making your way out of the mosh pit at a Linkin Park concert. We all finally got to the starting line, only to be told that the race had, infact, been won already, by Canberran runner Martin Dent.

You had to laugh at the irony.

Anywho, the fourteen of us promptly crossed the line into the slightly less-dense crowd of the 'already started'. I saw a space and clapped the kids on the shoulders: "Go Kids! Run your hearts out - kick butt for your school! See you at the end!". And off they gambled like fawns, gliding easily in and out of the crowd.

That left me. With 14km between me and the bus. oh god.

I began my shuffle. And tripped.

Damn.

I began shuffling again, doing a little skip occasionally to make it look as if I meant to trip; 'yeah it's part of my warm-up...'

About 2km into the run, I ran through the city tunnel and a bit of space opened up around me. As my claustrophobia began to dissolve, I began to 'get into my groove' with my shuffling, and found myself smiling and enjoying myself immensely. It's an amazing race - the whole city turns out to either participate or spectate. And those with houses en route sit in their front yards with their kids, offering hoses of cold water, or plastic cups filled from garden taps. Student-types laze on balconies in bikinis sipping beers and waving at runners, and elderly couples stand alongside the road, in heavy knitted jumpers, holding their spaniels and clapping.

I trotted through the crowd, noticing people I passed, people who passed me, and the array of people running and walking. A group of men dressed as smurfs stopped for photos at every opportunity, gafawing and giving 'blokey' cheers. I noticed a red clown up ahead, and gleefully passed him at an extended shuffle; 'Sucked in, Clown. You may be sweating to death in that big red costume, but you can eat my dust!'

Three men came running through, pushing a severly disabled teen in a wheel chair. The boy was dressed as Luke Skywalker, the men as Jedi and Darth Vader, commanding runners to "make way for the force!". People cheered the boy as he was whisked-by; "Use the force, Luke!". The look on the kids face was priceless.

At the halfway mark is the aptly-named Heartbreak Hill. There are paramedics parked at regular intervals along it - for very good reason. I began to chicken out, and knowing at this point I was only halfway around, I thought best to conserve my energy and walk the hill (yes, I know; cluck, cluck, cluck). Arriving at the top, I was greeted with the red nylon wig of a very familiar clown. How the hell did he do that??? I swear I left him for dead back there! Oh well this time.... puff puff...THERE. Eat my dust, Mr Clown. Ha: That showed him!

A little after the hill, I began to feel a bit heavy. I wasn't sure how far we had to go, and it felt like I had been running...oh ok, shuffling for ages now. My feet were feeling pretty shuffled-out, and I could feel a blister developing on my left heel. I felt a slight chafe happening on my thighs so I adjusted my waist-band a little lower and had a power-walk. Surely it wasn't too much further... I could almost see the water.... I could see a sign just up there.... I could see...wait-is that...

A Clown???

How the hell did he get up there? Is it the same guy? Surely not!

Me: excuse me?

Clown: Yeah?

Me: is there more than one of you?

Clown: Umm...pardon?

Me: Like *puff puff* are there more red clowns running today?

Clown: Ah, not that I'm aware of...

Me: Cause I swear I left you for dead twice now, and everytime I look up: There you are!

Anyway, it was pure coincidence, as it turned out, and I spent a while chatting to the jogging clown, before his jogging over took my shuffling, and he trotted off on his merry way, red nose and all.

It was at this stage I saw the "You've run 10k's!" Sign.

What?! WHAT. I have 4 KILOMETRES to go? Are you sh-tting me?!

I'm done, people! My body feels like a wet sand-bag! I cant feel my feet, except for a huge blister grating inside my shoes! My arms hurt, my back hurts, my thighs HURT.

Shuffle, shuffle, shuffle. Walk, walk, walk. Shuffle, shuffle, shuffle. I was being overtaken by pensioners, amputees, snails, people MUCH fatter than me... oh god... where is the end???

About this time, I really started to look at the people around me. There I was, constantly feeling like the fattest, most unfit person in the world, completely incapable of physical activity, and as far as anything from that elusive concept: "Runner". And here I was. Running (ok, shuffling) and being overtaken by fatter people, and people in wheel chairs, and yet over-taking skinny women in lycra panting and bent over with tiredness. It really is a humbling experience - proving that each body is different. Everyone is capable of exactly what their body is capable of - no more, no less.

And here I was - the girl that always felt like the most unfit, overweight person on earth; "Running a Mini Marathon" (OKAY. Shuffling 14ks. Gawd let me dream a little!)

As I saw the "1k to go" sign, I knew I wanted to finish running. Dammit - sprinting. I wanted a time. I lengthened my shuffle, passing a guy collapsed near an ambulance with paramedics working on him, but waving runners past. Unfortunatley, the run has claimed its share of elderly and those with heart conditions, and I hoped briefly that the man would be ok.

200m to go. I turned on the speed. My lungs burnt, my legs screamed, as I tore across the finish line.

At exaclty the same moment as that familiar red Clown.

My pace-clown and I shook hands and slapped each other on the back as I vowed to leave him for dead next year, and he lifted his red wig in salute. The crowd milled about, removing timing chips and drinking Gatorade, and the feeling was of relief and jubilation. I tossed my chip into the plastic bin ("safe journey, Little Chip") and yanked off my shoes, shuffling down to cool my swollen feet in the waves of Bondi beach, and placing my particpants' medal round my neck.

I did it.

And soon, fellow Bloggers, I shall have a "TIME". That elusive thing. I have arrived, fellow elite athletes - I have: A time. Tomorrow I will buy the newspaper, and scan the column of finishers for my number (46 774) and find out my time. Today I dine on chocolate frogs and McDonalds McFlurries - Tomorrow, I will plan my next run. (Alright, ALRIGHT! "SHUFFLE")

It hurt so bad (still does) but it felt SO GOOD. I am SOOOOOO doing it again next year.

Oh and as a final note, the guy 200m from the finish with the paramedics: He didn't make it. His name was Lee Marriage, and he was 27 years old. He was thin. He was good looking. He was the same age as me. And he died of a heart-attack.

Look after your body - it may not be perfect, but it's the greatest tool you'll ever have.