12. Virtual Race, Real Run

The High Tech Campus race was only a stepping stone towards an old dream of mine: running a half marathon. It goes back more than twenty years. You may argue that if something takes this long you should still call it a dream but, for lack of a better word, let’s stick to it. 

As someone born and raised in eastern Europe, I had my choices of sports sealed very early in life: football. Sure, we were doing different other sport activities in school, including running (ended up even taking it for the end exam in high-school) but we always regarded those as obstacles to the real goal: playing football. How much would we wait for the last 10 minutes of the sports class when, after squats, tumbles, jumps, other boring stuff, we would be thrown a ball to play our beloved game. In high school, I had a chance to add a few new sports to my meagre selection: basketball, volleyball, and table tennis. Now, for both basketball and volleyball it helps if you’re on the tall side. That was easy, since I am only one cigarette length shy of two metres. What was not that easy, was the two essential things required to play these sports: hands. So, table tennis it was. You also need your upper limbs for it, but only one at a time. 

When I moved to the Netherlands, big big surprise: there were many other sports, both on television and in people’s preferences. Here I met men who didn’t like football, neither to play it, nor to watch it. Weird, thought I. On telly, extra frustration when I intended to watch some Champions League match and Eurosport had ...sailing on, for f*’s sake. However, what I realised soon was that many people DO a lot of sport, rather than watch it: running, cycling (race or  mountain biking), hockey, dancing, swimming, (roller) skating, football, tennis, sailing, cricket, basketball, etc. In the end, this matters much more than watching some millionaires chasing a ball, but let me not digress. 

It was then when I first met someone who said he’d run a marathon. I mean a colleague of mine, literally the guy next door, not someone from the Olympic team. He didn’t say marathon, he said half marathon, but to me it sounded like infinite anyway. After all, infinite divided by two stays infinite. He also told me about the second weekend of October, when the Eindhoven marathon takes place. We went to see him on the day, cheering for him, having some carbs ourselves (chocolate biscuits, I remember!), biking from place to place to spot the most of him. It’s impressive how you feel the energy of so many runners, even as a spectator. 

I don’t recall his time, but I do recall he arrived pretty tired, almost battered. And he was a fit guy! He told us something about km 16 being difficult, but I felt dumb, not even being able to count to that number. If a half marathon took such a toll on him, a healthy and sportive man, for a smoker (I was a serious one at that time) would just not work. And I stopped thinking about it. Stil, it got somehow on my bucket list, but more like: it would be nice to run one before turning forty, or whatever age. Also, it would be nice if it was running itself and I would only have to be there to cash in the glory. Needless to say, I did nothing to come even close to such a race. 

Until now… 

With the training progressing well and managing to stay injury free, I had only one thought: running a half in October. If someone organises one - excellent, otherwise I’ll run it on my own. The official one didn’t go through, but a virtual one did. Next to it, my gym club organised a mini one, for the club members. It consisted of a route of 3.5 km and you may choose whatever distance you want. Six of them and you’d run a half. No competition, just pure enjoyment. 

So there I was on a cold but shiny October morning, 4-5 degrees Celsius. Now I know that such days are just perfect for running but back then I didn’t and it took me a while to make up my mind on what to wear. I ended up changing clothes while running, thanks to my kids who assisted me, but details on how to do that - maybe on a different occasion. 

There were not many people lining up for the race (20, 25) and I am not sure how many, if any, went for the half. I started fast and continued the same so soon I was running alone, which diminished the feeling of a real race, but only a bit. In the end, in the race it’s you and your thoughts. Plenty of them...

In the beginning, when I looked at the people running there, some 10/15/20 years older than me, I felt a lot of admiration for them. Just to be there, be it even for one round, was an achievement. I was thinking of my ex neighbours, from my previous house. Lovely couple, always arranging their front garden and making it look impeccable, with a wide smile and a great zest for a chit-chat about plants, cruises, grand kids, you name it. It was more than 5 years ago when I met them at lunch time one day all dressed up in sports clothes coming home sweating and blushing. I was openly impressed. “We are 150 years old together and we run regularly. When we were young, my wife was in the national marathon team”, he told me. I moved from that house a few years ago, but I met them once while I was training myself. They must be more than 160 together now, they were looking somewhat frailer, but they were running! We crossed each other on a bicycle path, exchanged a few smiles, waved at each other, and continued our journey. Cheers to them! I hope I’ll be as active at their age.

Another thing that sprang to my mind was my choice of music. When one song goes “I walk alone”, only to be followed a few later by the famous “You’ll never walk alone”, I agree that I need to make up my mind regarding my preference for company. Just to avoid any inner confusion. 

What really kept me busy, though, was thinking of the next step. After the third round I began making lists and running numbers through my head (nothing much to do anyway besides running): shall I go back to 10k and try to run faster? Or, how about 5k for a change? Hit and run. Test my speed as well. Too short, still. Maybe 10 miles? How much is that in euros again, 16 km? Nah, that’s like a party when you’ve started to feel really good and loose but, just when you’re about to sing bray Bohemian Rhapsody, the neighbours knock on the door reminding you of civil behaviour. Party’s over. 

As the race is advancing, you’re left with one question only: whom are you kidding? You know what you want, what makes you tick, what makes your heart beat and what makes your crave for more. And you won’t rest until you go the full length of it. Forty two point one hundred and ninety-five it is.

After all, I didn't come this far to only come this far.