I’m not sure you realise it, but it’s the other cunt that’s the real loon in this blogger duo. She’s the one that’s going to spend this weekend running the ‘World’s Greatest Ultra Marathon’. Step after step for like 90-bloody-kilometres as testament to the glory and triumph of the human spirit. That’s almost a full 12 hours of triumph and glory, quite possibly covered in tears and some snot. I, on the other hand, will be drinking wine and eating oysters with my old pal, Chris. Now you tell me which of us is a bit mental?
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| Image found here |
It’s obviously too late for any of you, dear readers, to get involved in this testament to the mental-break that accompanies long-distance running, but you can still have your own little Comrades experience as a spectator or even worse – as someone’s second (read: person who holds the energy bars for those 12 hours).
As someone who has experienced the latter job (last year for my number one girl obvs), let me offer some insights and advice.
First things first, you need to get your runner/lunatic to the start. It’s going to be too early in the morning and it’s going to be dark. They might be having second thoughts. Well, it’s too late for that so kick ‘em out the car; be mean about it. It prepares them for the horror still to come. Now that you’ve gotten rid of the crazy, you need to get to your first viewing point. A good spot for some brekkie and to see the runners still fresh and excited come powering passed. Cheer for your person with gusto and offer them an energy bar.
Before I forget to go through this, remember you’ll be lugging all their shit around with you: Food, meds, other clothes and shoes are just the tip of the iceberg. If they need it, you better have it. And find it quickly too; this shit ain’t no pootle around the park.
Now you can set off to your next viewing point. While they’re experiencing up to 12 hours of running, you’re going to be enjoying the same amount of time in driving and parking. Remember, the runners are starting to tire and need support (as well as, can you believe it, cold potatoes!). Cheer lustily. Call out names as they go by. But seriously, don’t be that poes who says, ‘you’re almost there’. You’re almost about to get a spare running shoe inserted into one of your more useful cavity.
From here, I’d suggest a dash to the finish. Word of warning: Parking is going to be like Parkhurst on a long weekend multiplied by at least four Sandton City’s just before Christmas. Take no prisoners and ready your rude hand gestures. This is not the time for manners and tact.
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| Babes got her game face on |
And when you finally get to your runner there will be tears. This is okay. Maybe they finished, maybe they didn’t… You might even cry too. This is also okay. But remember the most important thing – whatever your runner wants, you make happen. If they want tequila poured into their mouth by a bearded lady, well you better start calling some circuses.
You’re gonna smash it, Lynner. On Sunday those almost-90-fucking-kilometres better be ready to do some serious arse licking.
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| Smash it |
