April - Old Mutual Two Oceans Marathon

[Sweder]

A gentle leg-warmer in the summer sunshine.
I set off just before 10, approaching the start time for tomorrow's 27th Flora London Marathon, as much to sniff the air at that time of day as anything else. The sun warmed my back as I ambled easily through Landport Bottom and on past the racing stables, the dogs studiously ignoring the sheep scattered across our path.

We paused as Willow wallowed in the dew pond. Her condition, thought to be encephalitis, a potentially terminal infection of the spinal fluid, causes her temperature to soar. Perhaps she shouldn’t be out for five mile runs but a) that's what she lives for and b) the opportunity to cool off in the pond and the sheep trough at the top of the field is just too good to miss.

I never satisfy my thirst for the beauty of these glorious hills. The Big W gleamed and winked across the valley, the ridge above Kingston Village, home to so many winter Sundays, almost hazy at this balmy hour. By home I'd lathered up nicely, memories of Hout Bay and Constantia lingering at the edge of my mind. I smiled. I'll be back to see those brutes some day, but not without some adjustments to my training. Like mercenaries of yore I long for future battles, to spill the blood of my 'enemies'. Fellow Spartan Moyleman has taken up arms once more, pinning his colour to the Three Forts standard. I'll not join him; old wounds must heal before I charge once more into the heat of the fray.

As I stretched my tightened calf against sun-warmed brick Sue appeared in my driveway. Sue, you may recall, felt certain to withdraw from the FLM following a cruel bout of achillies trouble a few weeks back. Rest and care have seen her restored, and despite a hole at the end of her training she'll take to the streets tomorrow morning to claim reward for weeks under the Sam Lambourne lash. Taper madness had her in its grasp, the pent-up energy almost visible under her skin. We sat and talked over coffee, me dispensing my 'wisdom', assuring her she can get round if she shelves all thought of times, listens to her body and takes on plenty of fluid along the way.

She'll make it. I don't know too many people with her strength of purpose, and I'm sure she wouldn't start if she didn't feel deep down she could finish. I hid my envy well. Although I'll be there with a ringside seat up the hill from Mile 22 cheering on the brave JDRF troops there's nothing compares to taking your place on that start line.

I'll be packing my runners and shorts for the overnight stay in town.
Just in case.