I awake at 5am, a blessed night of sleep after a 20-hour+ transit, eager to make my way downtown to participate in the Melbourne Marathon. Well, not the 42km marathon, but the 10km run part of it, my first. I book an Uber for the first time, which is a game-changer (as everyone knows), at least as far as the guy can drive me before the roads are cordoned off approaching Flinders St. My toes still feel the phantom nibbles of the grey rabbit that shared last night’s abode, a friend of a friend’s place, in a neighbourhood in northern Melbourne called Travencore. The rabbit’s name is Tanpopo. There is also a girl who stays up all night listening-watching Celine Dion on Youtube. She was awake listening-watching to Celine Dion when I crashed early at 8:30pm. She was awake listening-watching to Celine Dion on Youtube when I awoke at 5am. She says she is nocturnal.
- Runners are a tribe. They wear tribal gear (luminous running shoes, moisture-wicking material, ankle socks). I join the tribe as they gather towards the starting line, striking up a conversation with a man who is also running the 10k (first wave). He tells me he ran the marathon once, and will never do it again. He explains that 35km is actually only halfway, because then you hit a wall. At speed. With force.
- My childhood friend Brad is running the marathon, because doing 42km while he is 42 years old is on his bucket list. Judging by how he looked after his triumphant arrival inside the MCG after 4 hours and 10 minutes of running, he also hit a wall, at speed, with force. He says he will never run a marathon again.
- I arrive in time to watch 6000 runners depart on the marathon. They come in every shape and size. There is a wonderful sense of anticipation in the air. A lady sings the Australian national anthem before the starter gun. It does not sound like Waltzing Matilda.
Marathon start at 7am, shortly before battery dies
- I hurry to the Melbourne Cricket Ground to deposit my warm clothes. There are line-ups. Since I arrived in Brisbane yesterday, missing my connection to Melbourne because of line-ups, I have decided that Australians embrace line-ups like Soviet-era Russians. It is very orderly, but hundreds will miss the start of the race because they will still be in line. I skip the queue.
- Fate and circumstance deposits me in front of thousands of 10k runners, right beneath the Start arches for the 10km run (second wave). The weather is perfect for running: cool, overcast and breezy. A pretty girl next to me (there seem to be a lot of pretty girls in the Running tribe) tells me the crowd will set the pace. The tribe is ten people across, going back as far as the eye can see. 32,000 runners participated in today’s Melbourne Marathon.
- Brad lent me an old iPhone 4 to take photos along the way. It runs out of juice shortly before the starting gun. The battery lasted 40 minutes. Apple and their “planned obsolescence” can once again go to hell.
- We start running. The sound of thousands of high-tech running shoes hitting asphalt in the early morning with nigh a giggle of conversation about is entirely unique. It sounds like butterflies flapping in a forest. I find myself smiling. It feels good to contribute to the tap-tap-tap of wing-running.
- Another man had advised me not to start too fast, a common mistake for beginners stoked o nerves and adrenalin. I keep my pace as hundreds of runners pass me on all sides. Serves me right for being at the front of the 10km group (second wave). Second wave means those of us who expect to do the run in over an hour, as opposed to under an hour (first wave). The guy who wins the marathon this year - Thomas Do Canto running his first ever marathon - finishes it in 2 hours, 20 minutes and 53 seconds. Virginia Maloney took the Women's title at 2:34.28.
- The streets are closed for us, and I quickly realize that we’re doing a tour of downtown Melbourne’s greatest hits. We will pass museums, theatres and parks. The city’s architecture is famously eclectic, with medieval, Victorian, baroque, gothic and ultra-modern facades. I’ve always liked Melbourne. It’s my favourite city in Australia.
Flossing teeth during my first visit to Melbourne, 2005
- At the first noticeable marker – 3km - fun runners begin to realize that 10km is not 5km. Some look emboldened (I feel great!) and others sink their shoulders with defeated resignation. I feel great.
- Every age demographic is represented, except young males ages 18–24. I would bet that most of the men are dads. They look like dads. It is inspiring to see the diversity. Giants run past me. A midget runs past me. Grannies run past me. Kids under 10 run past me. A guided blind runner, a runner with a prosthetic leg, fat runners and thin runners. Several wheelchairs past me too. I keep my pace steady and do not let pride get in the way. When you run these kinds of things, the only person you’re racing against is yourself.
- The wind picks up, along with the bugs. There are clouds of flies in some stretches. I’m pretty sure I swallow a couple. The sticky Australian fly never met an orifice it never loved.
- Lining the course are crowds cheering runners. I’m encouraged by their support, and decide that I will line the course of the marathon and cheer other runners in turn. Later, when I’m yelling out “You’re doing great! You’re on the home stretch!” I hope it adds a tiny boost of morale.
- My knees start creaking at 7km.
- Our numbered bibs have a small device that allows organizers to instantly track our splits and finishing times, uploaded to an app. Technology is awesome. Pity the iPhone died.
- It’s my first run since I started training 2 months ago without music, a podcast, or audio book. I decide it’s much better to run listening to music, a podcast, or audio book.
- There are water stations along the way, manned by volunteers, many of them males aged 18-24.
- The race finishes up in the Melbourne Cricket Ground, one of the world’s great stadiums. I sprint the last 400m. I pass at least a hundred of the people who I recognized passed me earlier. There’s a line-up to receive victory medals, and we’re funnelled out the stadium. I feel a rush of endorphins, walk across the road to the Pullman Hotel, where I meet Brad’s wife Tamar and kids, aged 7 and 5. They have made signs. One of them says: Go Esrock!
Finishing line inside the MCG
- I check the app on Tam’s phone and my time is 1:02:28, with splits around the 6:30 mark, and the final 2.5km under 6 minutes. It is my best time for the distance yet. Tortoise vs Tanpopo.
- We head down to the marathon course, about the 40km mark, and spend a half hour cheering runners on. I can’t believe these folks have run four times more than I have, and still have a couple to go. Some of them are clearly struggling, others look impressively strong. They are young and old, make and female, although most have the a slim, runner’s physique. You don’t show up for a marathon without a lot of training.
- Eventually we see Brad coming down the street. Mentally, he is clearly hanging on in his special place. He stops to hug his wife and kids, in a state of physical delirium.
- Outside the stadium are tens of thousands of people. They wear a red numbered bib for the marathon. A green bib for the half marathon. A black or grey bib for the 10k. And blue bibs for the 5k. I am perturbed how many people are wearing red and green. It is a wonderful exercise in humility.
- I bid Brad, who can hardly walk, adieu. They’re off to the airport to fly home to Sydney. The Running tribe is nothing if not committed.
- There are no cabs. Uber’s fatal flaw: A phone out of battery. It takes me an hour to get back to Travancore. I check in with a cheeky Nandos at the top of the street. Tanpopo is waiting for me when I walk though the door. He licks my sweaty feet. I love this rabbit.
- It is too easy to stay on the couch. Too easy to eat, drink and use another hole in the belt. Tens of thousands of people awoke early on a Sunday morning to run as a community. Some of them were raising money for refugees and charities. Others were racing themselves, meeting a dare, facing a challenge. Others were ticking off their bucket list. Oh yes, there are worse tribes to join.
This is Tanpopo
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