My Sydney Marathon

A play by play of the day I ran a marathon and faced a couple of challenges.

It’s 3.45am on a Sunday morning, I sit eating my porridge, the dog at my slippers wondering why I’m up in the middle of the night and bating her with my breakfast. Both of us blissfully unaware of the stress that lies ahead on Sydney marathon race day. I’m ready to race, I can’t wait to roll around the streets of Sydney, soak in the vibes and to tick a second marathon off my list.

I have no idea that 60 minutes time, I’ll be sat on the train station floor, sobbing as my wheelchair has broken and won’t move…

Event

We took a risk. Knowing how often my wheelchair breaks it was always in the back of my mind how it could happen, so the spares were packed, we had a plan, there was “no way” it’d break before halfway.

To keep a long explanation short, my front wheels wobble, consistently, every time I try and glide they start to shake. It’s noisy, damaging and means I must work twice as hard when running in my chair. So when, by some miracle they stopped wobbling in the lead up to race day, we didn’t wanna ruin a good thing. Some would say stupid, I’m just going with naive.

I’ve spoken before about how as wheelchair’s users we plan plan plan, but never end up being prepared, and that’s exactly how the Sunday started. I could not of predicted that my front caster would snap on the way back from a toilet stop – underground and in-between trains in central Sydney.

What happens

So let’s start there. 5am and I am sat on the floor crying, my once carefully placed glitter now mixed into with mascara streaks and tears. It’s 30 minutes until my corral time, 60 until the cut off. My wheelchair won’t move, we don’t know anyone in Sydney and the only person I can call could sleep through an apocalypse. I had no plan and absolutely no hope.

But there were 3 people who did have hope. Two metro staff members who very quickly thought to get the station chair, they’d take me upstairs to try and get a uber, I’d go home get it fixed and be back on my way to the start line once again. It would be tight, but it might just work. And there was another runner, who looked at me dead into my teary eyes, calmed me down and promised they’d let me start late, these were loose starts times anyway and my 3 months training wouldn’t all be in vain. I would be doing the marathon that morning.

So off I went, I was taken upstairs to find an uber.  

One of the metro staff members waited with me whilst I cried some more, and the reality dawned on us both that there were absolutely no Ubers to be found.

8 minutes wait became 12 minutes and two cancellations later we realised this is not the way I would get back home to Bondi. The roads were closed and no one was coming near.

Worse still, was that as each minute passed by, more of the city shut down and along came a truck laden with tradies who literally started to fence us in. I haven’t felt that helpless or dependant on others in a long time. Absolutely no independence It was a different kind of reality check and a feeling that’ll stick with me for time someto come. But in that moment there was no time to dwell on my thoughts of feelings. There was a race to run.

It was at this time I looked at the lady kindly helping me and said there was o way I was having the likes of David Weir push past me whilst I was stuck at the side of the road. It was almost start time and those guys move quick. We needed to find a taxi and she was my only sliver of hope.

And again, the angels were at least being a little bit helpful, because in the distance was a bright orange light, the driver had took a wrong turn and ended up somewhere he shouldn’t of been, so we begged, pleaded and with the support of two event staff he agreed to take me back to Bondi. It was on.

Maybe you’ve started to notice the red thread throughout this speech. Strangers. My own super heores of the Sydney marathon. Kind people, who didn’t know me, who didn’t have to help, who went out of their way, or above and beyond the realm’s of their remit to support an individual who could only offer them tears and thanks. But we’ll come to that later.

Back to race day and it’s now 5.25am. After being let through a series of closed roads by people who chose to overlook the rules we were now truly on our way, the sea breeze of Bondi coming through the windows as the sun starts to rise.

22 missed calls later and two minutes before we arrive at our address, my one man support team wakes from his slumber, unaware of what’s happened and what we need to achieve within the next 30 minutes. It’s all go. We fix the wheelchair, grab EVERYTING for the day ahead including a second set of spare part and a bottle of prosecco – god knows we’ll it all. And off we go again, back up to Bondi junction where we’ll do the same route I’ve just done with hopefully with slightly less drama.

The trains are heaving, so many runners but so few doing the marathon. Then the only one woman wearing the same wave vest as me, I start to feel a glimmer of hope, that might just get there in time.

It’s at crows nest we get off, the north side of the city, where we are greeted by the steepest of hills to the start line - not even Jamie and I can tackle this together. But once again, in comes help, so we don’t need to. Another runner offers to tag team with Jamie to get me to the top, we joke his warmup before the work out. And just like I slot into the start lanes 7 minutes before the final wave sets off.

Taped up, more adrenalin than I’d like coursing through me and ready to tackle the next 5 hours head on, four wheels in tact.

As I settle into my rhythm and start to run along the bridge, just me, my thoughts, Sydney harbour and 40 000 other runners, I can’t help but start to feel overwhelmed.

I literally only got to the start line that day because of a series of strangers willing to help someone in distress.

So often in society, our heroes are people doing great things, achieving big dreams and inspiring us. But there’s something to be said about the everyday day hero too.

The person who might not always do much, but that one small gesture that helps someone else along the way, without expecting anything in return.

The characteristics of a superhero aren’t always grand personality traits, and it certainly isn’t about super strength, flying or fighting. It’s often the subtle, behind the scenes, what turns out to be a seven msn support team helping a distraught gal do something she’s been dreaming of.

And that was where my speech stopped, but of course a marathon only begins once you cross the start line. And after the overwhelm, surreal moment of Sydney harbour and the bridge began the slog. 42.2 kilometres of head wind, happiness AND hell.

It was only 10k in, that I face planted to the floor, second caster fork now also f****. But this time there were no hysterics, no time for tears, part of me still wanting to get the best time possible. I was instantly swarmed by others runners who supported me back up, found my phone, gels and then ran into the distance. One man handed me the wheel concerned as to how I was about to carry one. But fortunately a fully snapped front caster means I could keep going, because a wheelchair moves freely when there’s nothing in the way, it was only a matter of balance.

I quickly rang Jamie who grabbed the e-bike and rode the tramlines down the middle of the marathon to meet me, he was waiting at 18km, and most likely expecting my call. I was at 10K, some distance to cover as quickly as possible. The pace had to slow, I could just keep moving as best possible whilst trying to stay balanced on the wheels still in tact, another couple of face plants later we were reunited for repairs.

It felt like a life time, but the whole kilometre and fixing took a total of 14 minutes , according to strava anyway, so it wasn’t that long before I was back on my feet for what would be the hardest part yet. Oh My God.

I was now pretty near the back and conscious of the cut off. When a marathon loops on itself it’s a little de-motivating to see no one on the other side, knowing most runners are already wearing their medals. I tried to enjoy and embrace the incredible experience but there is no denying I had to dig deep. I was spent and unsure how many gels and jelly babys could help me through the final moments.

Since my marathon, I have had friends also complete their second, and it turns out it was just as hard for them. Which actually makes me realise, London really is unlike another. We were lulled into a false sense of security that marathon running is fun, you have your friends, family and it feels like the whole city is there to cheer you on. Sadly that was not my experience in Sydney. In the last 10k I expected the adrenalin to take over again and carry me to the finish line. I wanted to feed of a crowd that had finally formed for the final few kilometers, but try as I might, I had nothing to give, I could not push faster and was barely keeping going.

5k, became 4, then 3, 2 and 1 – I pushed past my office, and rolled down a hill towards Sydney harbour once more and the opera house ending.

A final moment that I do remember and the one is hold forever, its the roar from people on the final stretch. In London, the crowd literally banged the sides of the fence for me the whole way up to end, and the moment when I needed it most, it happened here too. A Mexican wave of sound that followed me in my wheelchair all the way down the hill.

I could not cry, because I could not breath, every finish line there is the same choice, shed some tears or keep going because the body does not let you do both. I could only keep it together to turn round that corner, see Sydney in her glory, cross the line, take my medal and sob into myself.

I never got my runners high this time. I think the day had taken it’s toll. And sadly it’s only writing this that I’ve really thought about the time again - the drama and emotions from the day I did my second marathon.

It ended with post marathon marg’s at the opera bar, before going home for a bath and a cry. My official post gun time was 6 hours 20 minutes. My personal time was 5 hours 18 minutes. Half an hour on London. I have no doubt in my mind, I’ll be back to  challenge that, hopefully taking on the lessons from the last time – always upgrade your wheelchair parts before wheeling a marathon.

Also a shoutout to my one an support team. Who followed me round Sydney on his e-bike, supplies and spares in the bag. Fed me gels and gaztorade and rang me in 10 minute intervals throughout the whole thing to provide words of support. Without seeing or hearing him so frequently it would have been a whole new level of hard.