At the difficult moments, sometimes you it's good to try something new.
Auckland Marathon
Sometimes desperate times call for desperate measures. Sometimes a challenge hits you so hard that you have no idea how to move forward. Sometimes what you thought you knew won't help you any further, and you must find a new way to get through.
Melbourne, Queenstown and Auckland. Three marathons in eighteen days. It was a goal I had, perhaps foolishly, set myself to make the most of my visit back home. If I could do this, that would be five on the board and the Hundred City Run would truly be underway.
This is the story of the day I discovered “The Waddle”, and without it I would never have finished.
The Land of Volcanoes
New Zealand's biggest city of Auckland presented something new. The snowy mountain peaks of the South now seemed a world away, replaced by a luscious, blue-green harmony between islands and ocean. As a country formed by rising eruptions of volcanoes out of the sea, the carved gashes in the rock told an ancient story of lava flows shaping land when they popped from the planet's pimples over more than a million years. The city is ever wary of new volcanic activity and government sensors are located all over to track and monitor any signs of future danger, yet the locals appear non-deterred by their impending doom. Though eruptions are around 500 years overdue, they continue to their daily life with a smiling “It’s-all-good" attitude that many in other countries would find baffling. It was truly a beautiful place to live.
Recovery had been my focus after Queenstown. In the eight days since my rainy adventure through the mountains, I’d done what I could to keep rested, stretch, and sleep. I felt optimistic as I rode the bus downtown on a rain-threatened morning. Perhaps it would all be fine. Perhaps my worries were unfounded. I tried to hold onto my positive attitude all the way up to the shoulders of Auckland’s downtown viaduct, where I started the watch to set off along the coastal path.
Along the Northern shore I ran, heading the ten-kilometre stretch to the beachy suburb of St Heliers, in a planned two-lap out-and-back. I started strongly, fast, and fit, powering through with confidence...
…for all of five kilometres.
And then the problems began.
Barely touch in and the hip tightness was evident. At seven kilometres, as the showers began, I was forced to stop and stretch my legs earlier than I ever had before, massaging the ligaments around me knees. It was clear in that moment what I was in for, and that my eyes of three-in-eighteen were far bigger than my stomach to handle it.
I set off again along the path, focusing on my gorgeous surroundings to distract me from the growing pain. The clear water stretched along my left outward to the sea, and when I reached the first turnaround I was met with views of the mighty Rangitoto. As Auckland’s largest and youngest volcano, it sits as its own island out from the main shore like a sleeping monster ever watchful over the city. I took a deliberate break again here to soak it all in and prepare myself to do it all again three more times.
The Waddle
It was a grim moment when, another hour later, I crossed the halfway mark back downtown at the viaduct.
Everything hurt. I was done.
But I was only halfway.
I stood for a moment, looking back along the North Shore trail. If I was to complete this run, I’d have to go and see Rangitoto – ten kilometres away – again.
I put the distance in the back of my mind. All that mattered was moving forward. So, I set off yet again in pain, unsure if I would make it.
In Queenstown I employed a “500-On-500-Off” technique. Inspired by the efforts of Rich Roll in his quest for five iron-distance triathlons in five days (please read his book Finding Ultra, I implore you, it is better than this), I would walk for 500 metres and run for the next 500. Over, and over, and over again so that each kilometre would tick by. But my runs slowed. My walks got longer. Each step jolted up my ankles and calves. By 25 kilometres I was thinking of excuses to stop. In the entirety of the Hundred City Run, I had never been more miserable.
Somehow, I made it to 30 kilometres. I barely knew how, but now I couldn’t bend my legs at all.
Three marathons in eighteen days.
I shook my head. What an idiot.
I didn’t know how much more of the pain I could take. Walking like this meant another two hours of misery. I could almost taste the Uber app on my phone, and it made me salivate.
As I thought of the excuses I might come up with, justifying why it was okay to stop, I saw a duck waddling by. The side to side shifting of its butt was comical as it raced to the water, eager for brunch.
Waddling…
The duck wasn’t bending its legs. But it was moving
Maybe…
I stretched my legs straight. I swung one of them out and around, twisted my hip, and then pulled it back in the front when I landed. I did it again with the other leg, and then again, and then again, shuffling side-to-side as I sped up. I was moving, now totally waddling like a duck, all power coming from my ankles and waist.
But would you believe it, it was working. I was propelling myself forward faster than a walk. The pain was there, but softer. My feet, calves, and quads had been given some help. Maybe like this I could go fast enough to withstand the pain. Maybe like this the kilometres could tick by quicker and I could get closer, and closer, and closer…
I was desperate, and this was something.
I knew how ridiculous it looked. I saw it on the faces of the passing joggers. My legs were swinging like a pendulum, my body moving side-to-side as if I were a puppet. If I flapped my arms I probably could have taken off.
But frankly I didn’t give a damn.
I was moving.
I was moving.
I waddled the final stages, pausing at the end of every kilometre. The pain built and the ankles weakened.
But still I moved forward.
My body had had enough of my bull. It was not happy that I had made the mistake of a third marathon in under three weeks. I deserved the punishment.
But still I moved forward.
And when I finally waddled the ending lap around the chairs of the downtown viaduct, I finally ticked over the finish line. I sat down there, at the bench, for a long, long time.
Reflection
Sometimes you have days that suck. Sometimes it’s your fault. Sometimes it’s not. You are certainly going to have days where no matter how you look, or feel, you just have to get to the finish line.
No matter what.
In Auckland I found my current limit. It was a sharp slap in the face. My ambitions outweighed my sensibility and I paid the price for it.
But I finished.
I did it.
Thanks to the Waddle.
It wasn’t smooth. It wasn’t flattering. It was ugly, painful and pitiful. But sometimes that’s what it takes. No matter how poorly I felt in the moment, the emotional pain of quitting would have hurt even more.
One day you will find yourself in a similar scenario.
The day is coming where you need to try something new to get through it.
My advice? Maybe try a waddle.
Quack!
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