The Kangaroo Fucking Island Marathon

So the day before I head over to Kangaroo Island for the Marathon, I managed to drop my wallet in the supermarket, double back, and by some miracle of human nature, someone’s handed it in. I don’t take this as a sign not to go or that the marathon is going to go tits up.

Two days into my week on the island, my car has a major mechanical failure and gets towed. I don’t take this as a sign not to stay or that the marathon is going to go tits up.

And then the day before the marathon I get super sick and can hardly breathe. Naturally, I don’t take this as a sign not to turn up to the start line or that the marathon is going to go tits up.

It’s such a shame the universe didn’t give me a sign this wasn’t going to be the race for me…

So…. I drive down to the start line (in my hire car) and so far so good. I’ve done this marathon three times before so I know what to expect. Some rollers, a few shithouse climbs out from Remarkable Rocks and Admiral’s Arch, and the same rollers back. I have a more than respectable PB on the course, and notched up a pretty decent time on my last marathon off of basically fuck all training about 3 or 4 weeks ago, so I figure I can push my luck and probably do that again – because I’m a massive fucking dickhead with my head up my own arse.

The start goes smooth enough, because it’s the start. Obviously. And I’m there in time. And even the line for the porta loos isn’t too long. And not much else can go overly wrong in the first 500metres of a race. Not counting the time I did the Angkor Wat Half Marathon and tripped over a speed bump in the first 100m in front of 100s of people and fuck that speed hump. But today I see a guy dressed as a banana which is always nice, and I make it through the first 500 or so meters before turning onto one of the two unsealed road sections of the course and you know how corrugated unsealed roads are shit to drive on? Well, it turns out they’re also pretty fucking shithouse to run on. In fact, fuck corrugations for all modes of transport and please don’t be afraid to run the grader over that motherfucker every now and then yeah?

Thankfully we’re back out on the bitumen soon enough and into the first of the rollers. I’m puffing like a bastard from the get go and some young guy says to me “you sound like you’re struggling already” or something similar and I want to tell him to fuck off and that he’s a cunt, but he also happens to be quite right. So he’s basically a correct cunt. I am struggling early. I want to tell him I had a fractured ankle not so long ago and fucked lungs the day before and I’m doing alright just to be out there, and instead I do the mature thing and don’t call him a cunt. At least not to his face. Just inside my mind. And possibly in this very public blog.

I manage to overtake someone and to be fair, she has one leg. Not figuratively or anything, but one actual leg. And yeah, yeah, I know there might be a more appropriate way to describe that, but she has one leg and I spoke to her after the race and she’s a fucking legend so it is what it is. I tell her she’s amazing as I go past, because she is, and do a virtual fist pump that I’ve at least managed to overtake someone.

Josh from LuLuLemon catches up to me next and I’m extra nice to him because they’re a race sponsor and he got me sorted with a new pair of shorts and their shorts are seriously amazing. I’m not sure where the designers at Nike keep their testicles, but I’ll hazard a guess it’s nowhere near where I keep my own because fuck. those. seams. LuLuLemon shorts, on the other hand, are super comfy and recommended by regular testicles everywhere. Including my own. Two thumbs, and nuts, up!

I let him catch me except not really, he’s just faster than me and we play leap frog a bit from about the 5kms mark to maybe the 35kms mark before he drops me and I’m not even gonna say anything bad about him because… shorts.

I also run behind two runners doing what I’m guessing is an unintentional recreation of the Wake Me Up Before You Go Go film clip, and for a while there, I’m right in my fucking element. Minus the shuttlecock down my shorts (it was a thing back in the 80s, google it), and Choose Life Tshirt.

At about the 17km mark we hit the nice big descent down to Remarkable Rocks and descents like that are usually right up my alley, except when I know there’s a turn around point at the bottom and fuck coming back up. I spot some people fucking about on the Remarkable Rocks taking pics mid-race and think what kind of fuckhead does that during an actual race and then remember I’m one of them. The climb back up is remarkably shit with the exception of Claire, who tells me that she likes my Instagram and why thank you Claire, such a lovely thing to say.

A lady with a ‘Running Sucks’ top passes me and fuck. yes. Some days it really does. Some days, like today specifically.

Without wanting to sound too smug, I actually run a pretty decent half marathon and that would be awesome if I was doing the half marathon, but I’m not, so it’s on the climb back out I think about how much smarter it would have been to do the half. I’d literally be crossing the finish line right about now, instead I’m dropping back down to Admirals Arch. Another descent followed by a turn around point that requires a stupid fucking climb back out.

Now, I know my trail runners are doing that whole “that’s not a climb” thing in their best Crocodile Dundee voice right about now, but shut. the fuck. up. It’s a climb. And did I mention it was like 18c when we started and courtesy of the bushfires there’s now precisely zero trees and shade on route and fuck it was hot, and by the time I hit about the 27km mark I realise I am very, very fucked. As in completely fucked. Coober Pedy Marathon level fucked.

I seriously consider pulling out because 15kms is a long fucking way to walk, and no disrespect to people who walk 15kms of a marathon, but that’s not what I’m there to do. I’m a runner. So I run. Except when I don’t. Like during the last fifteen fucking kilometers of this race.
As I’m climbing out of Admiral’s Arch one of my running mates asks how I’m doing and when I tell her I’m doing quite shit, she looks at me and says “but look around, how lucky are we?” and because making jokes about violence against women is never OK I won’t say I thought about telling her she’s lucky I didn’t punch her in the throat, and will just say I thought she was a bit of a poo poo head.

I did try and run a few times over the next 15kms, but honestly I reckon I probably managed to run for about 200m two or three times tops and instead just watched people pass me, including a lady with an assistance dog. And fuck I would not mind having a dog assist me running a marathon, especially if it could pull me along on a trolley or perhaps one of those really big dogs I could just ride.

Got overtaken by a fucking dog.

So banana man has well and truly passed me (and probably finished, and back on the ferry to the mainland by now), running marathon dog has gone past, Josh from LuLu Lemon has dropped me, and next I hear someone coming up behind me playing music out loud and let me just say, I fucking hate people who play music out loud during races and it gets even worse when she passes and the song ‘The things we do for love’ by 10cc is playing and I think to myself, you know what the things we do for love include? Not running marathons. Specifically, this one. Today. In this heat. And stupid fucking headwind. (Also, if you don’t already know, be sure to google why they’re called 10cc. True story.)

Wait, did I even mention the headwind yet? It was a 35-45-265km/hr headwind for the last 15kms straight which made running into it quite difficult. Which is only half true because plenty of people did. I just wasn’t one of them, which leads me to believe perhaps it picked up after they finished. Either that, or they are fitter than me, trained more than me, (or at all), and it didn’t slow them down as much as me. Losers.

As I approach the finish line I consider trying to break into a trot, but there’s no photographer there so fuck that. I’m basically a walker now. Not a race walker with that ridiculous technique, just more a regular stroller. Who feels like throwing up. Which I do when I make my way back to the car. I finally get back to my cabin at Western KI Caravan Park – the greatest place to stay on KI in my humble opinion, just tell Mark and Fiona I sent you. They won’t give a fuck but it will be funny if you do – and buy a tropical Paddle Pop and holy fucking shit, how good is the humble Paddle Pop?

So this marathon was my fourth KI Marathon, and if my calculations are correct, my 20th road marathon, and honestly, my last one for the foreseeable future while I pursue my new career as a professional stroller and Paddle Pop eater.

If after reading this, you think, he, I’d like to do that fucking marathon, you can find all the info about it here. And seriously, the marathon is awesome. It’s why I’ve done it four times. Go over, take your time, spend a few days, swim with the dolphins, go for a hike, go to the honey farm, and stay at Western KI Caravan Park. Because it’s awesome.

Celebrating the… ah… human spirit.