“Run for 14km - where’s the fun in that? ” my friend grinned at me as I told him I had signed up for the 14km fun run, an integral part of the very popular Great Ocean Road Marathon weekend. What he didn’t know was that this particular run started and finished in the outrageously pretty Apollo Bay, which was a good enough reason alone to sign up, never mind being a great way to escape the tedium of the treadmill.
That was about 2 weeks before the race, and having just completed the last of my gruesome training runs with pain burning from my chest, I could see now that he had definitely been onto something. Maybe it was the nerves, but I had a vision of the race ahead, of me collapsing to the ground just yards from the finish line as pensioners over took me with a sympathetic smile and gracious wave.
With five events in total over the weekend, including the shorter races on Saturday, and the marathon on Sunday, I was anxious enough to double check that I had entered the right race on the right date, and thankfully with a sense of calm restored, I completed my final pre-race checks and route planning, and headed off for an early night.
From Point Cook it’s a scenic 175km drive to Apollo Bay, with a couple of excellent route choices. One follows the magnificent and iconic Great Ocean Road; the other sends you inland from Geelong along the Cape Otway and Birregurra–Forrest Roads. With time on my hands and a willingness to explore, I chose the latter less travelled route inland.
It’s 8.30am when I bounce out of the house, with kit and refreshments in tow, and jump in the car. I am definitely buzzing today. Easily passing by Geelong, my route cuts a straight line through open farm land for some 50km, before rising into the ancient rainforest of the Cape Otway National park and the village of Forrest. With my tummy feeling a little anxious about the event ahead, I stop for a stretch and water break by the West Barman Reservoir lookout. It’s a clear day, and the glorious view extends for miles, down through the flat valley floor cut open by the reservoir, and overlooked in the distance by the Brisbane Ranges. There’s a fresh autumn breeze and a calming peace to the landscape, and I feel suitably relaxed as I continue on.
The next 20km of the route are stunning; the road tunnels through the giant Eucalyptus canopy, rising to a majestic peak, before slowly winding down to magnificent views of the Great Southern Ocean. I join the Great Ocean Road at the Skeynes Creek intersection and stop briefly by the beach to admire the surfers and for another stretch.
I don’t stop for long, the race is imminent and when I finally arrive in Apollo Bay at 11.30am, this small pretty bay town is already a mass of activity, colour and anticipation. Party fever is in the air, banners and tape waft in the breeze, there’s the excited chatter of people, and children dashing amongst the picnics. Even If I wasn’t running, this would be just a great day out. The main road is already blocked off, the cafes are bustling on one side, and the lawns lined with stalls on the other. It is a perfect grandstand for the race. At the end of the view is the imposing start line, dangling over the street and my immediate future.
Parking just off the Main Street, I head off to find the registration desk. I am struck by how many runners there are, how early they too have arrived, and how energetic and fit they look in their multicoloured sneakers, figure hugging leggings, and muscle rippling vests. There are also such a disproportionate number of women; I do a double check on the schedule to make sure I haven’t mistakenly entered the ladies race, which I haven’t, a part of me looking for an excuse to avoid the next 14km....
I am pointed towards the Apollo Bay Hotel for registration, a mass of bodies and officials’ booths where you collect your timer, race number and pins. As I leave, the nerves are dancing inside me. I have ran 10km before, but suddenly I can feel every single one of my leg muscles, from the soles of my feet, through aching calves, to heavy laden thighs. My legs have the build of what I can only describe as a 15 year old schoolboy, so why my legs now have the pretence of belonging to a pounding rugby player, I have no idea. I just hope I find my own legs again and soon.
I head to the start line with 20 tense minutes to go, athletes are stretching and limbering up, others are jogging up and down the grass. I join them for a warm up, where I find myself out of breath after 100 yards, oh my god. Self doubts creep in. For many, myself included, the enormity of the next 14km finally sinks in; you can see it on darkening faces. The announcer comes forth calling all 750 runners to the line, and with no apparent sense of irony, he welcomes us to the 14km Paradise run. He explains our circular route takes us to Paradise Reserve and back. Ahhhh I see. There’s an instantaneous rising in noise levels, a nervous energy ripping through the crowd. I secretly pray that my first few kilometres are easier than my warm up. The last 2 minutes fly by, there’s a ten second countdown, the gun shot blasts, the crowd cheers, and we’re off. We all beat to the same drum as we leave the town, and onwards, towards Paradise.
The pre race tension leads to a sticky first few kilometres, but the togetherness of it all keeps me going – the children lining the route, the having breathing of runners alongside, the bouncing patter of the road, the overwhelming sense of occasion. The first drink station comes not a moment too soon, ‘You’ve done 4.5km’ someone cries out over the tannoy ‘keep going, you’re doing great’. As I scoop up the cup, and in one sweeping movement, empty it into my parched mouth, I smile as I hear the same voice shout ‘What a beautiful take!’ Thankfully he didn’t see the rest of the water mercilessly land up my nose.
Choking over, I am still at the same pace, with the same bunch of people, but they seem now to be getting to Paradise quicker than me, ‘it’s a marathon not a sprint’ I remind myself, before realising the jokes a little on me, because it is now starting to feel like a marathon.
Ahead I see the race car coming towards me, the 2 leaders on their way back and actually sprinting, with still 7km to go, (are they crazy?) – I encourage them and clap, as do others, and wait for the chasing pack to appear, which takes an eternity. This encourages me a little; the rest of us are mortal after all I think to myself.
I reach another drinks station and then the turning point at Paradise, I have been running for some 40 minutes, but I actually begin to feel a little more energetic. The sight of a 70 year old at the back of the race with such determination on his face inspires me, and I slowly up my pace, and begin to overtake a few runners, this is definitely getting easier. There are cheers along the roadside which are a massive boost, and I high five some youngsters and another runner, before emerging from the river drive back into Apollo Bay, and towards the finishing line.
As you turn the final corner into the town, the atmosphere is electric, and I realise at that point, I don’t want it to end, and even with a last minute race to the line lost, I cross the home line exhausted yet exhilarated. The finish line is a buzz of activity, the commentator’s voice, doubled over runners, faces lined with the pain of achievement, and everybody proudly clutching their certificates, like kids on a school sports day.
After the prize giving ceremony for the winners, most runners leave for their cars and long journeys home, but for me a quick change, some fluids and a gentle stroll to the beach to share the sunset with the soft breakers and the fresh sea air. High above, the hills roll down to the bay, leaning and folding sympathetically to the ocean to picture frame this truly fabulous and peaceful setting. It’s a perfect way to seal a truly fantastic day.
Before the race and reflecting on what my friend had said, I had found myself wondering why we entered ‘fun runs’. Of course 14km is nothing compared to a marathon, yet it is still over an hour’s painful running for any normal being. Maybe it’s the chance to test just how good you are, or to see if you can actually do it. But now that I had finished it, I could see that maybe it is something else.
For one hour plus, you truly live and breathe the world of a pro athlete – the flashing lights of the race car, the gun shot start, policemen holding up traffic as the drivers admiringly watch you, the water stations, the cheers of people lining the route, the ecstasy of the finishing line. I realise for me this is it. How many sports can you actually emulate your heroes, in their own stadium? And so what if you do finish over 30 minutes behind them, I did it and for that one hour 12 minutes, I felt part of their world. And it felt great.
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