My longest run yet..(2of2)

Things are getting harder here. I adjust my upper heart rate limit to 150. I walk all inclines. And the flats if my heart rate creeps over 151. We cross the gravel road we have become accustomed to on our drive to and from the camp. I know where I am on the map now. Oftentimes, after the event, I regret not knowing where I was on the map. On the RVO, the MTB event I took part in earlier this year, I had my head down, eyes on the head unit, paddle paddle paddle, following the magenta line without knowing where exactly I was. What a shame. I am lucky. I get to fly over the land I've had the privilege of being part of, either on foot or on the mountain bike. When I gaze downwards at the earth having done these events, I find I see more. It's a more personalized, more intimate look. The bond with the land has changed. Earlier today, flying north of Suswa, I had my head stuck to the window, and I gazed down. It was green. I remembered Day Two of the RVO. I was grinning. I wonder if this is how my son feels when he looks out the window on our road trips. Thanks Eric, for the RVO.

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There is a romance of looking at a paper map. With all its folds and tattered bits. Smudged, muddy paw prints of its previous user. Running your fingers along the intended route. Imagining what will be unveiled as I pass these paths. However, these darn iPads n Garmin's have made these maps obsolete. I haven't caressed an OSN since I was a teenager, and that was a bloody long time ago. Is this what nostalgia is?

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I digress. If you can imagine a bow tie. With the outer edges being my intended route, and the center being the start-finish point, I have run the right side of the bow, back to the center, which is 25K, I have just about completed the bottom left of the bow and am about to embark on the home stretch, the top left then the right, the last 12.5K of the loop.

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I can see the relay tent. A seemingly long downhill and uphill. I want to run the down and walk the up. It goes as intended. Thankfully there was a marshy patch on the down where I got an excuse to walk. Phew.

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I ask the lady at the tent what goodies she recommends. They have a couple of different types of energy balls, a chocolate-covered slice of something, and some crisp and cut pieces of banana. I pocket three of the recommended energy balls and a piece of banana. Scoff a single slice of the chocolate-covered thing, grab a fist full of crisp, and amble on. There is a downhill bit. Shame, I really wanted to enjoy the crisp. Can't walk downhill. That's the rule. I begrudgingly stuff my gob with the crisp and jog on.

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The support vehicles have made a mess of this piece of land. The main track is too slippery. It's black cotton soil after all. Folks have thus created alternative routes. As much as this seems logical, I wonder about the long-term impact on the grassland. The ethos of this event is to do good for the ecosystem. How much harm are we doing? I've been meaning to ask Tim, as they are one of the sponsors.

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Perhaps coz of the discomfort, these last few kilometers of the event I remember the most vividly. A lady with the race t-shirt overtakes me, on the downhill. She has the brightest of orange socks. Almost like soccer socks. She must be the last person on her one-by-four relay. Only they would trust wearing an untested race gear, the Marathon branded t-shirt given to us yesterday. I know I sound like a judgmental dick. I can't help but comment on her socks. I offer her my sunglasses to cope with the glare from them. She chuckles. I need this random banter to keep going. I've been at this for close to 6 hours.

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My fears of being an embarrassment to my son have subsided. Even if I were to walk now, at 5kph, I should be able to make it before the cut-off. I had wanted to finish it in under seven hours. For no particular reason really. The paper napkin maths suggests a realistic goal. And it's a nice whole number. 25K in 3:10, this was achieved, 4:50 for the rest.

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There are several tour Landcruisers, or tourist as my son prefers to call them, carving up the earth, ferrying folks back to the Start/Finish point from the last relay point. Besides the classic clatter of the 70 series Cruisers, its occupants cheering my fellow runners at my rear alerts me of their arrival. On the uphill, I hear another diesel approaching. It's not a Cruiser, however the sound is familiar. I hear it first before I see it. I am a bit shagged; I am walking the uphill, head down. I look up. It's my Hilux. I smile. My son is monkeying around in the back seat. I am glad to see the wife finished her 25K without any permanent damage. I caress my son, the best I can through the open rear window, aware that I must reek, also fully aware that my son doesn't give two shits about telling me off about my exercise-induced BO. At the end of the RVO, at the finish line, I wanted to hug him, but didn't, expecting a somewhat public rebuttal about my odor. My wife hands me a cold Coke. Bless her. Does this count as outside support? Am I allowed outside support? I pretty much neck it in a gulp. I tell my wife I should be done in an hour and a half and will see her at the finish. They are off to lunch at the lodge. I forgot to give my son the Cadbury chocolate from earlier. It's obviously in a molten state by now.

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My son saw me walking. Not running. I curse at myself silently. Had they seen me a 500m later I'd have been jogging. Not a gallop, but better than a walk. Hmm. Also, he saw me devour a Coke. It was magical, but how would I explain this digression to him?

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I crest yet another hill. I hear the taildragger approaching. Is it a Piper Cub or a Cessna 185? I really ought to know this. It has been flying about at a low level with flaps extended. I pull out my phone to make a video. Also, it gives me an excuse to stop. I pan on it, moving slowly anticlockwise from the 11 O'clock position. As I make this video, turning back to where I have just walked up, I see a slightly bubbly brown runner with a solid beard plodding along. He utters work that works like Redbull on me. With the widest of grin, he could muster in his panting state, he proclaims, "You ULTRA guys are crazy!!". These words stick with me. He has pinned me in a group I don't belong to, but who cares? There is a gentle incline remaining. I should be walking this bit, but my fanboy is watching. Fark, I need to leg it. I can't disappoint this man. I plod on.

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I see a bit of white in the distance. It's a tent. Could the end actually be here? Of course not. It's the last water point. Unlike the other water points, they have crisp. I grab a fist full. Again, there is a downhill. What are the bloody odds? I can't walk it. I pocket them. Must run. The road goes to my left, over a bridge, then a slight bend to the right. Then up a hill. Aggh. I solder on. I must make it under 7. Surly I can. Less than 3Ks to go, 45min or so to do it in. At the bottom of the dip, I sight Mary. Instead of going up the hill toward the airstrip she makes a sharp right along the river. Hurrah. A hill avoided. But this will kill me softly as it's a longer, albite gentler incline. To my right, down the jeep trail Mary is following, I see a heard of giraffe. They are walking gracefully. If go fast enough I should be well placed in front of them to make some Insta content. It's all about the Gram as my brother-in-law will claim. I try a run. It's uphill. My brain says walk. The Garmin shows a heart rate of 150. I should be able to run. I am 47K in. I try to will myself to run. No granny gear here. I try. There is a row of trees neatly trimmed by the giraffe to my right, running along the stream I've just crossed. I sight some commotion. Baboons are running. Could there be a leopard up those trees? Of course not. The organizers wouldn't have us here unsupervised if there was one. My body does not want to go any faster. My brain makes excuses to make the least effort.

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I've watched YouTube videos of athletes, who after running for close to 36 hours, fail to make the 36-hour cut-off by minutes. Literally minutes. How?! After so much pain and blood. I was gonna struggle to make my target of 7hrs. I couldn't believe it. I could not go- faster-than-a- than a walk. Like WTF. I was gonna shame David Goggins.

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I somehow make to orange sock Mary. She says she is glad I caught up. Congratulates me on my effort. I tell her she could be back at home watching TV, stuffing her face with mandazi, yet here she is. She mustn't undermine her efforts. I recall Guy mentioning how it helps when you end up finding someone to run with. I felt Mary was worse off than I. She was a distraction nonetheless.

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As a navigation beacon, the course is marked with wooden 'sikingies'. They are red and white at the top, or is it white and red? Either way, I had begun to fast shuffle to one sikingi, and walk to the next. We were on an upslope. I was supposed to walk. However, if I wasn't deliberate, I was going to fail to reach my target. I announce to Mary, we are going to execute my run walk sikingi strategy. She agreed. The sign said we were at the 48K point.

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We ran/walked, as agreed. Mary keeping up. We plod through a forestry part. Kind of part where if we were on a game drive we'd slow down, expecting to spot a pride of lions around the next bush. Obviously not now. We go past what must be conservancy offices and workshops. I saw a brand new JCB digger to my left. Wonder if my son spotted it? He would have been excited to see it. For sure. The road goes past a barrier, the one with a heavy weight on one end and a rope at the other. It was the classic green they use at the conservancy. It makes you feel warm from the inside. But just before the color brings you full joyfulness, the dullness chops the crescendo. That type of green. Past the barrier, the road comes to a T-junction.

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I make the right. In the distance, I see what must be the race village. It must! I spot some flags. People milling about. Still in a distance. It was less than a K. 800m may be. But obviously on an uphill. What else? I look behind to my right. Mary has lagged a bit. I face her, point at my watch, mumble SEVEN HOURS, and drop her. I run past an oldish white lady to my right, she is on her phone, I think. She cheers me on. I crest the hill. Past the crossroads, less than 100M to the left, flags line the finish line. I think I run to the finish. I look around for some familiar faces to embrace me. I don't see my son or my wife. I am sure my son must have insisted on waiting for the dessert at the lodge.

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I cross the finish line. Tim comes over and congratulates me. I look around expectantly for my son. No son could be found. Darn chocolate cakes.

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In the Mara, and during training, my son would ask, “PAPA, why don’t you just do thee 25keh like MAMMAH”. Those words would make me almost tear up, almost. I'd tell him, "Jan….it's good to do HARD things!"?????