The Date Marathon Part II

So, there we were, all four thousand of us, huddled in a shivering group behind the Culture Center while a vicious, icy wind whipped in off Funka Bay and shredded through our 'Just Do It' day-glo running gear.

Me, I had gloves on. That and I had positioned myself near the end so that all those in front of me acted as a shivering windbreak. That's some of the 'age old wisdom' I have recently taken to distilling as 'youthful exuberance' no longer applies.
Bang! And we're off! And it was with a bang as they sent up a couple of fireworks to mark the start of the race. That or to scare off the crows that were beginning to circle over the vest-and-shorts wearing extremists who were already in the first stages of hypothermia.
Kilometres 1 to 3:
Anyway we're off in a sort of slow, slow shuffle as the initial 300 metres or so are along an access lane at the back of the Center. Eventually we reach the road and the shuffle turns into a faltering trot before finally settling down into a steady jog. Though I seem to be going backwards as everybody gallops past me. Maybe they're aiming the fireworks at us stragglers just to move things along.

Kilometres 3 to 10

This is where I begin to overtake the Coca Cola runners, those who shot off at the start but are now rapidly running out of fizz. They're wheezing, tongues lolling and wondering what the good feck they were thinking when they signed up for this. And 'this' has another 16 kms to go.

We are all jogging along an elevated three metre wide bicycle lane with a sharp drop to rice-paddies either side of us, so overtaking isn't really an option. So I resign myself to plodding behind the guy with the 'Chitose Track and Field Athletics Runners Pride - Never stop believing' jersey for the next while.

Kilometres 10 to 12.5

Finally we get off the bicycle lane and onto a road. I am keeping a wary eye out for small folk, armed and angry, but it is hard to see much in the wind ragged fog. There is a tunnel ahead, 800 metres or so long and I reckon that's where they will make their move.

Nope, nothing happens beyond me having a helmeted man with a whistle and a flashing red baton gesticulate wildly at me as I had inadvertently jogged over the white line when I was overtaking the elderly members of 'Team Toto'. I hum a few bars of 'Africa' but they don't hear me over the incessant peep! peep! peep! coming from apoplexy man.

Turns out that the dwarves up Mt. Yotei way have gotten themselves broadband and read my previous blog. So they stayed at home and watched the baseball.

Kilometres 12.5 to 21.071

This is pretty much a long, gentle descent back into Date city. Having started close to the back I pass a fair few runners/plodders. Most of them are a foot shorter than me and twenty years older, but I don't let that dilute my competitive spirit and make loud overtaking 'vroooomm' noises as I cruise past them. I even pat some of the more knackered ones on the head.

The Finish

The assembled spectators erupt in a frenzy of hysterical cheering worthy of a North Korean missile launch. I can hardly see for the blizzard of ticker tape and the bouquets of flowers being thrown in my direction. I spot Sanae and Cian weeping uncontrollably with joy and pride; without breaking stride I sweep them both up in my arms and we cross the finishing line together....

Cian, clearly bursting with pride at what his father is about to do.

An intimate, behind the scenes look at the innate glamour of long distance running.

Ahh, yes my time, I hear you ask. Well, ahem, it was 1:51 which is, ahem, 6 minutes slower than last year.

Now this can be accounted for by the record number of participants, the narrowness of the bicycle lane for the first 10km, the chilly weather and my evolved hirsute hairiness which increased my drag co-efficient and made complete shite of my aerodynamics.

It had nothing to do whatsoever with all those chocolate chip muffins I ate over the winter.

Put it this way, for the first half of the run it took me 1:06, and for the second half, 45 minutes.

Yeah, I know, whose eating humble pie down Ennis way now, eh? I'll see you in London, Mr. Keane.