Hilsen fra Brisbane Marathon
Min gode ven Paul fra Queensland, Australien, som jeg skal tilbringe halvdelen af min sommerferie med, er også ivrig marathon samler. Her i nat, eller rettere i morges, lokal tid, deltog han i Brisbane Marathon, og vel tilbage på hotellet skrev han følgende rapport fra løbet, en rapport jeg syntes var så fængende at den fortjener et større publikum!
What is it about the Bris marathon ... Always a poor performance by me and always badly organised by them. My excuse, and I have many to choose from, is that I am in the tail end of a flu infection, still coughing and with aching muscles. I have no idea what the organisers excuse is. Even Dale from Taiwan said it was the worst organised of any race he's been in, and he has 300+ to choose from.
And once again the devaluation of the marathon was very evident. The start (in the dark which was good), was a crush of real runners and thousands of half marathoners, using up valuable pathway and generally getting in the way at the drink stations. That's bad enough but the first km was along a 2 metre wide pathway and we were reduced to a shuffle for the first 500 m and periodically thereafter. And then we had to do the whole botanic garden thing again, so the leaders were fighting through the pack causing much agro and exchange of four letter expletives. It was not at all clear that you had to do two laps of the gardens and I am sure a few unscrupulous HMers just skipped the second loop. Marathoners would not, of course, dream of doing that.
The sun came out and it was blisteringly hot for the remainder of the run. There were silly people at the water stations making a hell of a racket in the guise of being supportive but one really just wanted to throw the water over them to shut them up. You see, already I was getting cranky by 5 k. When some bimbo suggested I did not have far to go, at 34 km mark, I just glared at her and bought her friends to laughter by the single word 'hopeless'.
There were no chip-reading pads anywhere on the course, which was a series of out and back loops and easily short circuited by the 'Rosa Motas' amongst the lesser runners.
So on and on I plodded, developing a routine of run a little, cough and vomit a little, walk a little. It worked quite well for most of the second half. And a monumental vomit just over the finish line had medics rushing towards me whilst everyone else was running away.
Eventually the HMers peeled off and I was largely alone, until of course, the path merged with the 10 k pack, with their dogs and strollers and funny hats. What hope! When one is in the dying stages of a marathon you don't need breast feeding women and 10 year old children overtaking you, it's just not good karma.
It came and went in a tragic 5 hr 24 mins. Not quite the PW I was expecting but not far off. Dale and Mrs Dale finished 5 mins behind me, not looking their 60+ years. Medics kept asking me if I was ok because I looked so pale. I replied that it's a marathon not a glamour contest.
Of course, neither medal nor T shirt have any reference to 'marathon', rather the event is syrupted over with phoney 'festival' baloney.
Me, cynical? I sincerely hope so!