Ladies and Gentlemen, boys and girls, the 2009 Edinburgh marathon has now run its course. And, you’ll be glad to hear, four Hoopers and one near-Hooper successfully ran its course.
It was a already brightly sunny morning when powermom (mom), daddy-long-legs (dad), the ‘professor’ (peter), the runner-bean (emma) and first-try-tori made their way down the cobbled Scottish streets towards the start line, accompanied by their very own roadie, ErinDNC. It wasn’t long before they were split off into their separate starting pens, synching GPS and Nike+, making nervous conversation with Scottish Strangers in Trainers and waiting for the gun.
And then the gun went, and they were off.
The Professor was off to a strong start, carefully plotting and executing his 3’20-something pace. All was golden for the Prof, until, disaster! At mile twenty-two, a no-fun-zone for the best of us, snap! Some kind of tendon emergency in the poor Prof’s leg. Although he tried to adopt a Terry Fox style canter to accomadate, the pain was too much, and our learned friend was forced to walk in the last few miles. Landing him with a still very respectful time of 3 hours, 51 minutes.
The Runner-Bean was nothing if not consistent. Consulting the Nike+ compulsively, she stuck to her just-below 5.35min/km pace like a gel to the inside of your mouth. There was no wall, there was no bonk, there was just 5.35. And a bit of a comedy sunburn. She glided over the finishing mat at 3 hours, 43 minutes (a new personal best by seven minutes) sore and tired, but, apart from said sunburn, surprisingly composed.
Daddy-long-legs harboured no aspirations of grandeur. He has several upcoming use-a-bike-and-use-a-lake events and wasn’t about to let a bit of Scottish road render him out of commission for those. 4 hours and 4 minutes was just fine for him. And us too.
First-Try-Tori was, frankly terrified. The Runner-Bean had told her stories of knees-bending-backwards and grotesque chafing and, at race start, FTT was pale with negative anticipation. She did, however, have a brand new Edinburgeouis running shirt, which made her feel a bit better. Luckily, the Runner-Bean’s tales of woes failed to manifest themselves as true and FTT finished unchafed and with bending-the-right-way knees in a personal best (it was her first race, mind) of 4 hours and 35 minutes. Chin, chin.
Powermom had done her training with the Running Room Cronies; however, was still doubtful as to her ability to complete 42.2 without, “curling into a ball on the ground and crying [sic].” Oh, silly Powermom, hast thou forgotten thy family genetics? Of course, after making a whole slew of on-course-buddies, PM finished upright and smiling more than forty-five minutes faster than her predicted six hours, at 5 hours, 12 minutes.
Fun was had by all. And, for the record, although, yes, it’s more a personal accomplishment than a competition, Emma, I mean the Runner-Bean, won. Just saying.
