It's hard to get my head around the idea of a crowd of 85,000 runners, but that's how many entered yesterday's City2Surf 14km race ("the world's biggest fun run")... one of them was me. You probably didn't see me on the telly mind - although I
was wearing dark shorts, a white T-shirt and a white cap just so, erm, I'd be easy to spot.
Now look, normally I dislike crowds and will do my best to avoid them. The thought of joining over 80,000 of them, queueing for everything and then fighting them to catch a bus and two trains to get back home again afterwards didn't fill me with enthusiasm, I must say. In fact the only reason I
did enter was because my employer entered a team, generously subsidised our entry fees and gave us a free good-quality running shirt. That and the idea that it would be good to do the race "just once" for the experience was too good to refuse. So, enter I did.
I arrived very early. So early in fact that the Hyde Park starting point was nearly deserted except for huge teams of volunteers who all seemed bright and cheerful and very happy to help. I was there early to ensure I met up with my team captain (from the work-organised team) who had my team T-shirt to give to me (I was about the only one of the team of 57 who had failed to appear for the previous day's team photo shoot and shirt-handing-out). He arrived about 15 minutes later, along with thousands and thousands of others who began pouring in.
That was also about the time the rain started. Not heavy, but a soaking, drizzling rain that threatened, but somehow failed to dampen the crowd's enthusiasm. I sheltered under a tree for a while with a bloke in his late-60s, a veteran of eight previous City2Surf's and this year returning from knee surgery and thus "starting from the back" and "unlikely to break 70 minutes" for the 14km! My own aim was mainly to run a steady pace, finish comfortably and be happy with anything under 85 minutes ... wishful thinking time was locked in at 80 minutes. I wished the white-haired gent best of luck and went off in search of people of my own level. I seemed however to be surrounded by superb runners. The captain of my team (Andy) was aiming for 62 minutes (he managed 61). My next-door neighbour (another Andy) managed 63 minutes. Another bloke I got talking to on the way to start line was "caving in to age" and had "given up trying to crack the hour". Sheesh! Where were the Elvis Presleys and Roman Centurions drinking beer as they ran that the event is famous for?
Well, of course as I quickly realised, they weren't there yet. With 85,000 starters the field had to be divided into five starting waves spread over 90 minutes. Somewhat amazingly, my finishing time in the Sydney half marathon a few weeks back qualified me for the second wave. I was literally wallowing in a sea of bloody good runners. The Batmans and rhinocerous-costume runners would be there a little later - presumably they were at that moment sitting in coffee shops waiting for the rain to stop and wondering how superheroes ever drank coffee or had a pee in those ridiculous outfits.
Anyway. To the start. The rain had by now stopped and it looked like we'd in fact have ideal running conditions, albeit perhaps a little damp underfoot.
The wheelchairs took off at 7:55, followed by a huge crowd of "elite" runners (like my two Andys and all the pros) and then it was the turn of my wave (green group) at 8:10. Even though there were still another three waves to take off after us (at 8:30, 9:00 and 9:30) there were already many thousands of runners on the road - an impressive sight. I started (as usual) at the back of the pack and had the incredible sight of a six lane major road dipping and then rising in front of me totally log-jammed with runners for a kilometre or more ahead. Quite spectacular.
I started at the back partly because I wasn't especially looking for a fast time but also because I'd had a bad night with a crook back, and even struggled out of bed wondering whether it was a sensible thing to even attempt the race. However a couple of paracetamol tablets later things felt a little better and here I was.
The gun fired (metaphorically as it happened), we stood still, then startling shuffling and 8 minutes later I jogged across the start line and away we went.
As you might imagine, this race was a hugely tactical one - the tactics being how to avoid collisions with fellow runners and to weave a path through the wall of slower runners. However, for the most part it was six-lane road so there was a fair amount of room, but if you were looking for a fast race it would definitely have been a little frustrating at times. I certainly had to concentrate, and there were of course a few bumps and trips and lots of "sorry"s and "coming through"s. Everyone was polite and good-natured though so it was never a big problem.
The course runs from the city centre and through some of its most expensive harbour-side real estate, up the notorious Heartbreak Hill (something of a "mini-me" to the real thing in Boston, but tough enough) at the mid-point of the race and then down to the iconic Bondi Beach.
My first few kilometres were very comfortable and steady at around 5:30 - 5:40 pace. I was relaxed and just generally enjoying running through parts of Sydney I barely knew; enjoying seeing this part of town from a once-a-year perspective. I had worked my way through the pack quite well and then when we hit Heartbreak Hill really started overtaking large numbers. Not that I was going spectacularly well - it was damnably tough - but clearly many runners either weren't prepared for the 2km unrelenting uphill slog or had just gone out with the intention of walking it anyhow. The hill itself was only a few degrees of incline but it's a mental bugger as it seems to flatten out only to have you turn a corner to reveal another brutish climb. And it does this time after time after time. Even when you're certain you've reached the top and there's only blue sky above, it somehow contrives to throw another steep hill at you.
I'd slowed to 6:00/km pace or so up the hill, but still reached the half way point looking good and feeling my "wishful thinking" time was achievable if the last few kms weren't too crowded or hilly. Well they were crowded, but it was essentially downhill so I ramped it up as best I could...
except that I misclaculated and began my 2km final "sprint" erm, 3km from the end. Doh. However it was OK in the end. With 1km to go and my legs starting to fade the clock was showing 73 minutes and I knew then I could take it easy over the last stretch. I slipped across the line in 79:15 and was very happy with that.
Then began what I had thought would be the torment of the day - queueing for hydration, bags, buses, trains etc.
In fact the post-race organising was brilliant. Water and isotonic gloop were in abundance, I waited less than ten minutes for my bag, signs and announcements were everywhere and were clear and accurate. I walked to the bus area and hopped straight on; got a seat, it took us to the train station where we hopped straight on a train; again got a seat and before I knew it was back in the city where I caught another train home. I was frankly astonished how incredibly well organised and run this event was - simply the best organised race I've ever entered.
Oh, and as I got off the train at the homeward end of my return journey, I asked another runner how he had got on. "Brilliant!" he smiled, and then added "62 minutes!" Bah!
A week-long drought of alcohol was then broken as next-door Andy (63-minute man) came over for post-race drinks and analysis. Red wine never tasted so good.
It was a good day.