I knew I was beaten at the half-way mark- I could barely keep up with my two other running buddies and I was finding it diffcult to catch my breath. The sun peaking over the treetops of East Coast Park sent shafts of pure incadescent light through the darkness. In the distance, the silhouettes of my friends, wearing our unit's yellow singlet, gradually got smaller. A minute later, I was the only one left wearing the bright top in a throng of reds, blacks and whites. In that moment , I closed my eyes and got lost in the patter of jogging feet. I did not know it then, but I had crossed the 12 km mark.
Some had called me mad. To exchange a 12 km run for a 21 km one . A simple switching of numbers for a totally different journey. It was one that, for me, began at the briefing on the friday before the run.
" Those who come in before 2h 45 mins will receive a medal, " our RSM told us to conspiratoral whispers.
"Yes.. that was what I was told," he continued , consulting his long list of things to tell us.
Medals were just not in my blood to get. In fact, the only medal I got was from a telematch involving soaking wet sponges being strapped to unsuspecting participants. That one still rests, under layers of dust, on the top self of my cupboard. I suspect that if scientists were to examine the dust layer by layer, they could actually tell me how the air quality in my room had changed over the years.
I remember telling myself I could do it. The problem was, I didn't believe it.
When I opened my eyes, they stung from the prespiration that seeped in . Up ahead, signboards told us to turn left . Each breath I took was laboured. My shirt and shorts were totally drenched by now. Then, a totally unfamiliar signboard loomed in front. One that was brillantly white.
" 16 km "
I was actually going to make it. I had about three quarters of an hour left.
I remember running for something, anything that told me how much further to go. If there was a 17 and 18 km signboard I missed it. When I saw the Fullerton after enduring an agonishing muscle ache, I knew the end was near.
The finish line encouraged me like no one could. I practically dragged my feet towards the hordes of people there, laughing and drinking. I lifted my head and there, in clear yellow was my time.
It read 2 h 30 min.
The impossible is nothing
Jared and I ( Don't let the smile fool you - I was grimacing inside )
Now I look more like what I was feeling ( To some people no kick la 21km)
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