I’ve been training for the Marathon for over three months now and I’m sick of it. Wish I had
never started. The race itself is still four months away but I am getting older every day!
The old equation dictates older equals slower. I’ve been averaging 80km a week but this
week my schedule says 100km. I don’t want to do it.
It’s around 9pm now and I’ve been on the road for an hour. 15 kms is behind me and just
knowing that I’m over halfway makes me feel good. Heading for the Seaway entrance to
the Broadwater along Seaworld Drive. There’s the ocean and yes, its low tide! I leave the
bitumen. On to the beach. Packed sand. No wind, not even a breeze. A billion stars. I’m
heading for Broadbeach. Waves crack and hiss. Silver platoons march towards the shore.
I’m feeling good now which is pretty weird. As with so many situations in life taking the first
steps is often the hardest thing. Less than an hour to go now. Easy. I’m drinking the night
in its perfection. Are my eyes deceiving me? Is that someone running in front of me?
Slowly I pull back the gap. He’s moving very well. Closer. I can’t see very clearly in the
blackness. A Giant. There’s a giant running in front of me! Now I’m only ten metres behind
him. He’s muscled like a brick shithouse, as they say in the classics. He is also black.
Now, in all my training I’ve had some silly moments. I’ve had large fish sent flying out of a
passing car and sail past me. Night birds have bombed me and dogs have nipped me.
Beer cans and bottles have been tossed at me and I‘ve fallen in a deep hole but this a
highlight. I’m tempted to leave the beach and sneak back on to the road under the lights!
“Letting you know that I’m coming up behind you. Wouldn’t want to scare you!” I swear he
jumped slightly at my words. We run side by side. A sideways glance tells me he looks a
little like Bob Marley but much bigger and his dreadlocks seem to be pinned up on the
side of his head. Talk a little but our pace makes it difficult. We play Q and A as we draw
closer to the 5000 golden eyes of the high rise towers of Main Beach and Surfers
Paradise.
"That’s an interesting accent."
"Yes. Mixed-up. I am Egyptian with Somali mother. Live in France and U.S.A."
"Why are you running on the beach in the dark?"
"I am kick boxer. Run for fitness and keep weight down."
"Why are you in Australia on the Gold Coast?"
"Here to judge some fights."
The kms unfurl. The lights loom closer. This bloke is increasing his pace! My two hour run
is turning into an efffing race! Kadir weighs 90 kilos but he wants to bury me. My head is
screaming “This is not a race, it’s a training run. Stop right now!” But I can’t allow it. Insane.
Can’t take much more. Just south of Surfers, Kadir suddenly slackens. Both gulping
oxygen. We are doing a merciful cooling – down jog.
John, that was great run.Thank you. But must tell you. I am World Kick Boxing Champion
and I am 41 years old. That is why I couldn’t match you!
It was a great run Kadir, but I am 55 years old.
I couldn’t see you in the dark John. I guessed you were about 30. You are inspiration,
John. Inspiration for me.
Kadir, you have inspired me also. To run like that at 90 kilos is unbelievable. Goodbye,
Kadir.
This was the Gold Medal I used to dream about. I couldn’t win my age category in any
marathon I’ve ever done even though I went close several times. But tonight the World
Light-Heavyweight Kick Boxing Champion called me “An Inspiration”. It’s far better than
any common old gold medal.
John A. Wilson, October 2013
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