I am writing this blog with my notebook resting on really sore quads and aching hip flexors. I ran the Sydney Half Marathon on Sunday morning and two days later I am suffering slightly.
Brett informs me that it is called D.O.M.S. - Delayed Onset of Muscle Soreness. Thank you very much DOM and thank you Brett for that insightful information; though new-found knowledge does not make the pain go away. In my role as M.U.M, Manufacturer of Unconditional-love and Manager-of-life, I don’t have the luxury of scheduled massages, doctors and physios on speed dial and platinum services like spas and ice baths.
I’m waffling and whinging… I shall move on.
So I’m up before the sun on Sunday morning in preparation for the 21km I was going to be running through the beautiful harbour city come 7.30am. I had my ‘morning prep’ instructions from my organised husband. He’s a wealth of knowledge with all things hydration, sustenance, etc etc.
Brett is also a morning person. I’m not so much. I’ll get up for a 6am spin class every now and then but early rising before the sun isn’t a part of my routine.
Brett gets up with the sun every morning except for the day after a night game. He has his morning ritual of yoga, meditation and a swim in the ocean.
I don’t. My ritual is in the early evening when the kids and Brett are eating dinner. That’s when I’m out running with our dog Presley and calling to the Flying Foxes to have a safe journey.
So it’s 6.30am and I am walking down Oxford Street towards Hyde Park with two drag queens in leotards and twelve-inch platform heels and as I sip on my Powerade and nibble my protein bar, they are chowing down on pizza - a slice in each hand.
And then from a group of all night-clubbers taking a cigarette break and laughing at us, one calls out, “Oh what a fabulous photo! The stumbling queens and the fitness fanatic!” I’m not sure which was more humorous - the queens, or me being referred to as a fitness fanatic?
I didn’t know anyone at the race (the queens left me at College Street), so as I often do, I just took everything in. What stood out to me most were the smells.
There were fetid smells of runners declining to use a deodorising agent for the run, the overpowering fumes of sports rub on rusting, ageing limbs and joints, and aromatic smells of the start of a brand new day and ladies wearing their lucky perfume.
There was the offensive scent of vomit in the gutter, the acidic Flying Fox urine around Mrs Macquarie’s Chair, cigarette smoke from those heading home from their ‘night out’, and then the unfortunate funk of someone dropping their own personal methane right under my nose as I struggle to breathe at the 18km mark.
But the sweetest smell was that of crossing the finish line. The kids think I won the race because I got a medal! I will tell them the truth… I promise. In my role as M.U.M I have a certain code of ethics to abide by and for those who know me, I’m a stickler for the rules.
Hayley Kirk
Also-known-as-The-Other-Half-and-just-for-this-week-The-Fitness-Fanatic!
