Karen writes: I'ts almost never about the race...
After a week of anxious nail chewing about the weather, Friday arrived, time for our trip to Wellington for their midwinter marathon. The bags were packed with everything we could possibly need (plus some stuff we surely didnt...I mean, 16 barbie dolls?), dog was in the kennel, kids picked up from school, we were out at the airport on-time and so ready to go. Then came 4 hours of sitting on the floor in the airport waiting area watching the morning flights still flying out in the afternoon to clear the backlog...will we go or wont we? The kids enjoyed watching the world go by, their attitudes aided by a continuous flow of novel food items, and I reflected that if that was the worst thing of the weekend it wasn't too bad, after all, there was Saturday to recover and get everything sorted out.
Arrive in Wellington at 10pm, passengers could't disembark, something about being unable to line up the door with the stairs, then finally it was off to say hello to the gloriously gigantic Gollum in the airport and pick up luggage. Standing there, standing there, nothing happening, oh, the luggage is still in the plane, they can't get it out, talk to that man over there. Imagine if you will a great long line of tired grumpy people, and the poor harassed man with a pile of boarding passes with notes written on them, all the time apologising and making frantic promises that the luggage would be delivered first thing in the morning. But the trip was about adventure, so a toothbrush from the hotel reception, and the novelty of sleeping in their undies kept the kid's moods elevated, and I tried not to think about the fact that this possibly coudn't be described as taking it easy in preparation for Sunday's efforts. There was also a bit of a worry that our breakfast and snacks were in the missing luggage, hmmm...unrefrigerated dairy, fresh bread etc might not be in the best of shape the following day.
Saturday morning, up bright and early, we watched Wellington wake up from our 5th floor window on a very wet but only slightly windy day. Exciting stuff, ok, still no luggage but yesterday's clothes were only slightly whiffy and since we all smelled just as bad as each other it wasn't such a worry. We got dressed and went to explore the big smoke. Well the girls had a wonderful time in the rainy inner city, they rode every escalator they saw, puddles were impossible to avoid so might as well be jumped in, but eventually they were dispatched to Te Papa with their dad so I could head off in the opposite direction to register and collect race packs. Not good, 2km in dress boots, I optimistically thought it will be ok, the luggage will have arrived by the time we get back, we can all get nice and clean and dry and I can repair any damage done to my feet with a soak and a rest. Not so. When I got back to the hotel I got on the phone and pretty much stayed on the phone pacing the hallways. I lost count of how many times I pressed 1 for English, 2 for Baggage, I spoke to automated voices saying "please repeat that" and just as frustratingly I spoke to terribly polite people somewhere else in the world who could only transfer me back to the 1 for English or "please repeat" lines. I tried the airport, I tried Australia, I generated plenty of emotional heat but that unfortunately doesn't dry the clothing and footwear of a now thoroughly pongy family.
It was 4pm by this stage, the afternoon before the race, I was now officially moving from mild annoyance to worried. The girls were in bed watching TV while clothes were strung all around the hotel room to dry a bit, but I had a race to get ready for, well 3 races actually, the 7yo and the 10yo were running in the morning too. The girls could skuttle along in what they had if they needed to, I was the bigger problem, while I had in my carry-on bag most of my running gear, I knew I didn't have that slightly essential item of equipment, well, pair of items actually, my running shoes. So executive decision, don't run, or hammer the visa and go and buy shoes before the shops shut? On with the wet clothes and down to the lobby...some complicated instructions and I was out on the road, I stopped rushing eventually when I realised I couldn't seem to find the landmarks I had been told to look out for. Cue helpful Wellington person (thankyou thankyou thankyou whoever you were), oh great, I was headed in the opposite direction, don't laugh Kate! Dash back, finally got to the first shoe shop, "HELP HELP Shoe emergency" and the shoe man did his best to be helpful, but that shop didn't sell Asics. Next shop, they had Asics, not the right model. Last shop, Asics Kayano, right model, WRONG SIZE. Ok, can do this, one half size up, thicker socks. I wore the new shoes back to the hotel telling myself I wasn't really breaking unbreakable rule number 1 which is "never ever wear anything new but especially new shoes in a marathon". All the way I was thinking this feels really strange, what's wrong with these shoes, I cant run 42km in them, then I realised I had been tramping round in moderate heels for so long that the change in height was making me feel off-balance. Getting dark, shops closing, back to the hotel. Time to put gear together ready for my early start, find some breakfast, and take it easy like I should have been all day. Fuelbelt with gels and race number attached...check, buff hat...check, clear glasses...check, raincoat...check, shoes...check, socks...check, zoot tri-shorts...check, anti-chafe...check, thermal leggings to go over shorts...check, thermal top...check, running singlet...check, sports bra...oh oh.
Sports bra in the missing luggage. Hmmmm. The only thing I could really say about the bra I was wearing was that it could have been worse, but not a whole lot. Can I possibly tell anyone I dropped out of my marathon because of...? Nope. Decision, simple, on race day Sunday, I would apply vast quantities of anti-chafe, wear the tight running singlet over the top of the thick thermal top to compress as much as possible and try to run...um...smoothly. Problem solved. Yeah right, not solved, but as close as I was going to get. Fortunately everything else went really well for the evening, an inhouse movie kept the kids occupied and had them happily ready for an early night, a trip to the all-night dairy over the road for weetbix and milk solved the breakfast problem, and I was ready for sleep with the alarm set for 4.45am. I drifted happily off into dreamland imagining the new medal for my collection, and being able to eat with insane disregard for calories for the week after.
At 10.30pm the phone rang, our luggage had arrived. Did we want to come get it now? Thanks Jetstar.
Arrive in Wellington at 10pm, passengers could't disembark, something about being unable to line up the door with the stairs, then finally it was off to say hello to the gloriously gigantic Gollum in the airport and pick up luggage. Standing there, standing there, nothing happening, oh, the luggage is still in the plane, they can't get it out, talk to that man over there. Imagine if you will a great long line of tired grumpy people, and the poor harassed man with a pile of boarding passes with notes written on them, all the time apologising and making frantic promises that the luggage would be delivered first thing in the morning. But the trip was about adventure, so a toothbrush from the hotel reception, and the novelty of sleeping in their undies kept the kid's moods elevated, and I tried not to think about the fact that this possibly coudn't be described as taking it easy in preparation for Sunday's efforts. There was also a bit of a worry that our breakfast and snacks were in the missing luggage, hmmm...unrefrigerated dairy, fresh bread etc might not be in the best of shape the following day.
Saturday morning, up bright and early, we watched Wellington wake up from our 5th floor window on a very wet but only slightly windy day. Exciting stuff, ok, still no luggage but yesterday's clothes were only slightly whiffy and since we all smelled just as bad as each other it wasn't such a worry. We got dressed and went to explore the big smoke. Well the girls had a wonderful time in the rainy inner city, they rode every escalator they saw, puddles were impossible to avoid so might as well be jumped in, but eventually they were dispatched to Te Papa with their dad so I could head off in the opposite direction to register and collect race packs. Not good, 2km in dress boots, I optimistically thought it will be ok, the luggage will have arrived by the time we get back, we can all get nice and clean and dry and I can repair any damage done to my feet with a soak and a rest. Not so. When I got back to the hotel I got on the phone and pretty much stayed on the phone pacing the hallways. I lost count of how many times I pressed 1 for English, 2 for Baggage, I spoke to automated voices saying "please repeat that" and just as frustratingly I spoke to terribly polite people somewhere else in the world who could only transfer me back to the 1 for English or "please repeat" lines. I tried the airport, I tried Australia, I generated plenty of emotional heat but that unfortunately doesn't dry the clothing and footwear of a now thoroughly pongy family.
It was 4pm by this stage, the afternoon before the race, I was now officially moving from mild annoyance to worried. The girls were in bed watching TV while clothes were strung all around the hotel room to dry a bit, but I had a race to get ready for, well 3 races actually, the 7yo and the 10yo were running in the morning too. The girls could skuttle along in what they had if they needed to, I was the bigger problem, while I had in my carry-on bag most of my running gear, I knew I didn't have that slightly essential item of equipment, well, pair of items actually, my running shoes. So executive decision, don't run, or hammer the visa and go and buy shoes before the shops shut? On with the wet clothes and down to the lobby...some complicated instructions and I was out on the road, I stopped rushing eventually when I realised I couldn't seem to find the landmarks I had been told to look out for. Cue helpful Wellington person (thankyou thankyou thankyou whoever you were), oh great, I was headed in the opposite direction, don't laugh Kate! Dash back, finally got to the first shoe shop, "HELP HELP Shoe emergency" and the shoe man did his best to be helpful, but that shop didn't sell Asics. Next shop, they had Asics, not the right model. Last shop, Asics Kayano, right model, WRONG SIZE. Ok, can do this, one half size up, thicker socks. I wore the new shoes back to the hotel telling myself I wasn't really breaking unbreakable rule number 1 which is "never ever wear anything new but especially new shoes in a marathon". All the way I was thinking this feels really strange, what's wrong with these shoes, I cant run 42km in them, then I realised I had been tramping round in moderate heels for so long that the change in height was making me feel off-balance. Getting dark, shops closing, back to the hotel. Time to put gear together ready for my early start, find some breakfast, and take it easy like I should have been all day. Fuelbelt with gels and race number attached...check, buff hat...check, clear glasses...check, raincoat...check, shoes...check, socks...check, zoot tri-shorts...check, anti-chafe...check, thermal leggings to go over shorts...check, thermal top...check, running singlet...check, sports bra...oh oh.
Sports bra in the missing luggage. Hmmmm. The only thing I could really say about the bra I was wearing was that it could have been worse, but not a whole lot. Can I possibly tell anyone I dropped out of my marathon because of...? Nope. Decision, simple, on race day Sunday, I would apply vast quantities of anti-chafe, wear the tight running singlet over the top of the thick thermal top to compress as much as possible and try to run...um...smoothly. Problem solved. Yeah right, not solved, but as close as I was going to get. Fortunately everything else went really well for the evening, an inhouse movie kept the kids occupied and had them happily ready for an early night, a trip to the all-night dairy over the road for weetbix and milk solved the breakfast problem, and I was ready for sleep with the alarm set for 4.45am. I drifted happily off into dreamland imagining the new medal for my collection, and being able to eat with insane disregard for calories for the week after.
At 10.30pm the phone rang, our luggage had arrived. Did we want to come get it now? Thanks Jetstar.
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