This is traditionally the first race of the year for me, and usually one I look forward to because of it’s gorgeous sunrise and the rolling views of the ocean as you bob over the hills from Dee Why to Manly on Sydney’s northern beaches. It started the same as all the others, collecting Slowlies at the foot of my driveway (we carpool), a chit chat with friends at the start line, a quick warm up and lots of camaraderie. I had looked up last year’s race times and decided I wanted to benchmark myself against that, and set out fairly hard to see what I had in the tank.

Well, let’s just say it turns out not much. Now, according to the meticulous stats in my TrainingPeaks profile I’m exactly the same fitness as I was this time last year. Yes, so I’ve had a big deload over the past few months and I’m nowhere near my marathon form but I’m still supposedly in 10km form. Right? Well, apparently not. 

Manly Sun Run starts with a climb. And even before I’d crested this I knew I was in trouble. I was puffing and hauling against the incline and really feeling quite miserable. Once I’d crested the hill I hoped that it was just the shock of the first big effort and settled in to enjoy the flatter sections, but even these felt like ‘work.’ I couldn’t find my rhythm and the hills kept rolling and the notoriously big mother%*&er at Freshwater was relentless. But even before then I’d given up on my hopes of a PB and decided just to do what I could with what I had on the day.

And that’s where the work started. At first, the critics rose up and crowded my head. ‘You’re too old, you’re too fat, you’re too ridiculous, you’re too slow…’ they chorused. ‘You had it good for a while but this demise was inevitable. You’ve eaten too many carbs and not done enough strength, your face is bright red and you look like a duck.’ But fortunately, I’m familiar with these assholes. I know them very well. And frankly I’ve had enough of their bullshit. So I did what I tell my clients to do all the time, and I tuned in to my inner allies instead. They’re a lot harder to hear over the noise but luckily they did have something to say. And once I gave them space they said this…

“Your body has carried you through every single day of the last fifty three years. It’s carried two babies, fought off countless illnesses, trained for six marathons and three ultras and it’s the one you’re using to run with today. Those eyes are showing you the beautiful ocean, your ears are hearing the cheers of your friends and strangers, and your legs are capable of 10 unbroken kilometers over hilly terrain even on a so-called bad day.” And that, I confess, was the reason for my smile as I crossed the finish line. Three whole minutes slower than I’d hoped but way ahead of every old version of myself and way out in front of the critics. 

It was a brilliant morning. Just enough of a reminder that there’s work to do, and also a celebration of how far I’ve come. Damn this running thing, it’s a masterful teacher.