Her Sister's A Runner

So my wee sister Hillary is a fan of the blog. That usually happens when you are a family member of the blogger. Apparently she brags about me all the time. When I received the email from her below, I decided that she was worthy of a guest post...

You are a good subject of conversation starters. "Oh you've taken up jogging? Good for you, bet you're feeling fab. DID YOU KNOW, that MY sister......" and cue me dominating any conversation ever.

Hillary ran her second half marathon last month and I've not really been running much so now seemed like a good time to introduce her. Her race report from the Wellington Round the Bays is below. I think that our love for food and weakness for swearing is genetic. Apologies for this. 

Carbo-loading? Tapering? I kept getting pestered by people a week before the race. Geez, they weren't even runners themselves! My version of carbo-loading was simple; add an extra chocolate truffle to every meal (and some extra sneaky ones in between). Chocolate truffles with coconut, chocolate truffles with cranberries... ones with pistachios. I was all about them. 

And thanks for asking about my tapering pals; it went great. I didn't want to "mess-up" my tapering up so figured three weeks before the race (when I got bored of the whole running thing) would be a convenient time to start this tapering fad. I felt a little guilty about this. Months of training and then I just couldn't be bothered. So I ate another truffle.

Race day. Boom. All felt pretty natural. Eat a banana, go to the bathroom, eat a banana, go to the bathroom. On the start line I was definitely sussing the pack out. My boyfriend Tom (blitz of a man) gave me a kiss and joined his fellow speedsters at the front of the crowd to gossip about splits, shoelace tying tactics and what-not. I stood well back in the field with my mate Bob and a couple of thousand others. Bob was a doing a bit of stretching and a bit of swearing. I was checking out two fellas in front of me in full wetsuits. Nice.

Wham bam. Gun goes. Off we all plod. In my head I like to nominate someone in front of me and just shadow them in a creepy fashion until I feel I'm faster, pass them, then find new prey. Google 'ghosting' for more details. I'm not actually THAT competitive about beating them,  I just get a bit lonely and like to find a running companion to match my pace. Let's call them my unaware pacers. Anyway, I go through quite a few pacers during the race. An interesting fact is that they are usually attractive men running alone. Huh. That will serve you right Tom for being so speedy.

I can't find any official pacers, so I don't know what speed I am actually going at but I am afraid it is not fast. Eat a jellybean. Mmmm a green one. Now the thing with my jellybeans is that they are obviously delicious (hence why I chose them over gummy worms) but they are heavy. Too heavy to have in my pocket, so I put them in a little resealable bag and put them in my bra. I admit, this was also for shock value and to up my chances of being photographed. Another media whore, I know... sorry Mum... but Antonia started it.

Turn around mark is suddenly ahead and I think that is just fabulous. Have another jellybean girl, you deserve it. After the turn around things get a little wild. I pick up the pace, have a little chat with the lady next to me and we discuss the great vibe of the day. It IS a fantastic event, people cheering each other on, lots of people dressed as batman and even a brass band to support us! My Dad always likes to make friends while running. He ran my first half marathon with me and we befriended people and shared our lollies. Bloody adorable, I know.

I'm still feeling comfortable so take it up a notch; pass a few people, smile for the cameras... I see Bob on his way outbound so I haul out my jellybeans (getting a tad sweaty now) and offer him some. He politely declines. Fair enough. 

I guess I've been going for about an hour a half now and although I'm still meaning business, I am bored. So to pass time I eat the rest of my jellybeans. 

Four hundred metres to the finish and it's a drink station. Dude in front of me gets a hose turned on him.  

Three hundred metres to the finish and we merge with the 7km runners. It is nuts. We are no longer running, we are a mobile mosh pit. 

Two hundred metres to the finish and I am well blitzing these 7km runners. Mostly because I am terrified. 

One hundred metres to the finish and shit gets real. Legs are pumping, arms are pumping, I look ridiculous but I think it's working for me. Then swish, over the finish line!

Excellent! Grab a medal, hit the loos. Now where's the beer at?

Hillary finished in 1:52 and looked fabulous in all the photos. Unfortunately not good enough for me to warrant $15.99 for the purchase of them so instead Scott has whipped up a couple of photos that are pretty much identical to the real thing and placed them throughout the blog. You'll notice Hillary went a bit cross-country for a road marathon. She's hardcore like that. It's another one of those genetic things.  

Her blitz of a man Tom ran 1:24. Unfortunately, he got chicked. Twice.  Better luck next time Tom. Nice t-shirt though.