1 year, a 1 year old & TNF100 – Part 5

Every Christmas I make a pilgrimage to visit my family in Tasmania. Cycling was a large part of my yoof growing up on the ‘mainland’ (which is how Tasmanians refer to the large land mass that the majority of Australians occupy), and my parents’ sea-change to the Apple Isle 10 years ago has facilitated some of what I reckon is the best riding this side of Alpe d’Huez. I like to make use of the roads rarely traversed by cars and the boundless selection of leg snapping hills to really put my lycra to the test.

I usually head out with a local bunch of gnarly, weather wizened, cycling dudes whose average age is probably above the speed limit through town. But despite the fact that most of them look more comfortable on a bike than walking, there is a lot of rugged strength in those collective bandy legs. You could be forgiven for thinking that a world championship is on the line each morning and that polka dot jersey points are on offer on every climb (they’re not, but I believe a little black record book is kept). Hence, some great intensity training can be done through some fantastic cycling countryside.

Admittedly I had done far fewer bike miles in recent months than previous years, electing to pursue this running caper, but I was hoping to make my guest appearance in the cycling bunch with my normal cycling alacrity. However, my first outing with the bunch saw me dropped more times than a meth baby and I arrived home feeling like I had ridden like a fat kid on a BMX. The next morning was marginally better, but only because it was not quite as far.

In other disturbing events, I have discovered that I have more than a passing resemblance to a Teletubby. I was recently really excited to have completed my first actual trail RACE at Manly Dam, as part of the Sydney Trail Series events. I donned a lime green singlet top (fluoro is the new black you know) and new Santa supplied running shorts, and joined one of the rear start waves (anticipating that my fancy trail shoes wouldn’t fool any ‘real’ runners). It took approximately 48 seconds for my inner competitive elite athlete psyche to take over and I was actually trying to run, rather than just complete the course al-la-suburban coffee shop shuffler.

The challenging, but awesomely fun, Manly Dam course has predominately single track (which means narrow with smack you in the face branches and ankle twisting rocks etc), and I found myself thriving on trying to catch, and then pass, runners who had trotted off in the earlier start waves. I felt…well I kinda felt a bit fast for a few moments. I made it to the finish line in a respectable time frame (I admit the pointy end of the field had probably already had a swim, got changed and had a massage by the time I arrived), but I had for the first time in ages, enjoyed working genuinely close to my physical limits in that satisfying athletic self-flagellation kind of way (my body is a temple of course).

As I counted down the km’s I imagined I must look a little bit ‘real runner-ish’, and that maybe the svelte Olympic athlete of 2012 was finally making a come back from my post baby frame. That was until I saw the race photos…. Alas, my flouro lime singlet only emphasized what I can only describe as an I- definitely-run-like-someone-who-doesn’t-run-much-beetroot-red-about-to-expire-face. The photo, caught mid stride, makes it look as though I may run in a crouch-hover position (imagine the kind of leg angle attained as when using a public loo with dubious splodges on the seat), and the placement of the square white race number across my tummy made me think instantly of the yellow Teletubby.

Despite my Teletubby hover-crouch revelations that I am not actually a graceful strider, I was on a high for the rest of the day. I completed the 10km course in under what I thought I could do, and placed a little above midfield. My hubby and baby Sol gave me a big hug at the finish line and I felt like I had got some of my athletic mojo back. I now have a running result out there (on the internet and everything!) and was able to compare notes with other traillies. I feel like I am now officially part of the trail running community (well, the tail of the trail anyway).

So, I’ve learned that ‘real’ running is not just for a select group. This trail running business is an all inclusive celebration of whatever you can do on the day, teletubbies included. I’ve done a race, I’m a real runner now.