As the first effects of Delayed Onset of Muscle Soreness start to kick in my thoughts can’t keep but wondering about 55-year old Michael Freeman who was one of the foreign athletes taking part in the Vodafone Malta Marathon and who sadly passed away a few metres before the finish line.
Some might say, he died doing something he loved, others argue that marathon running negatively impacts the body. I say that everything should be done in moderation. Rest in Peace fellow athlete!
Every race has its own story. Here’s mine.
After a (too) long forced break from running due to a niggling injury in my shins, Sunday 28th February 2016 saw me return to my third half marathon (not counting the ones undertaken in the 6 Half Ironman races). Nerves, excitement, apprehension, proverbial butterflies, too many frequent visits to the loo all merge into an internal, tussle of feelings that engulf me before the start.
This race was going to be the result of months of frustration, lessons in patience and perseverance as well as discipline and determination.
It’s not difficult to fall into the trap of going to fast at the beginning. After all the adrenaline is pumping in your veins, you follow the flow of over 3,000 athletes vying to cross the Sliema finish line in their best time ever, yet it is a lesson in patience and discipline where you have to control your pace knowing that you have 21km to cover and that your energy and strength has to be well distributed along the way.
A friend from the sailing community wryly commented on a pre-race Facebook post, that he was going, through force of habit, wish us fair winds, as is the custom with crews going out on the water to race. The winds were definitely not fair to us. Strong southern winds, at times reaching force 7 and 8 hit us, being felt the most at the 10 kilometre mark. Apart from stating the obvious the danger of these conditions belied the fact that it was a warm day for February and that many people would end up suffering dehydration from not drinking enough and regularly.
As the kilometres were slowly being clocked up, it was the support of friends cheering loudly that kept many of us going. Nothing beats going up a particularly annoying hill to be greeted by a friend shouting with all the might in her lungs ‘go go go you are amazing, go, go go, see you at the finish’. Or your partner waiting at pre-determined points to hand over a bottle of energy drink. Might seem insignificant to some. To the runner, putting their all it means everything.
With the finish line coming close to sight, each step becomes a battle of wits – the proverbial devil on the left shoulder encouraging you to stop and walk and the angel on the right egging you on – pain is temporary, pride is forever.
Slowly slowly, you see the finish line. People you don’t know united in one voice of encouragement, clapping and making you give that little extra push, from that small spurt of energy that seems to come from nowhere as you cross the line and get your well deserved medal.
You might not have broken any records, your name might appear at the bottom rungs of the list, but nothing will take away the satisfaction of having given it your all, proven some people wrong in the process and looking forward to post marathon misery that is sure to welcome most of us the day after.
Dedicated to Michael Freeman, to all those who had to really dig deep to find it in them to finish and to all those who supported me along the way in various forms.
Largest cheer goes to Johann, for putting up with my unearthly hours and my somewhat challenging moods before a race.
