South America-5th Continent

Rio Marathon

I Go To Rio
(5th Marathon Continent- South America)

I had a phone call the other day, an old friend from my hometown in Victoria, she was worried that I had died! She had been following all the ups and downs of my European saga and wanted to know why I wasn’t writing anymore...she made it sound like I was a Drama Queen.. Who me!!!

So I thought maybe it’s time to start the writing again, and what better way to start a marathon journey than to write about the worst day I’ve had this year (besides the horrendous last marathon I'm trying to forget), at least if I start on the worst day, things will only get better..won't they?

I have been training for a few weeks and not so happy with my running and fitness levels. I remember the first tip I gave out this year to my runners. I asked them if they could fit a marathon or half marathon into their life this year. I told them they had to look at what was going on in their lives as long distance running takes time and commitment...of course I never practise what I preach..I made and paid for my booking for the Rio marathon and then I proceed to move house, work seven mornings a week, build a new website, start up new clubs and then wonder why my running is suffering….

I moved to Coolum Beach last week-end, my sixth move in three years of living in Queensland, and yes I am over it.

I’m going to commence my South American Marathon Blog on Monday the 30th of March (the way it turned out you would of thought it was two days later). You may have heard of the classic tale The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe well I’m entitling this first instalment

The Bat, the Idiot and the Broomstick, (not as famous but just as scary!)

 I had moved, but there were so many things I needed to do on Monday. I had to go the agents with forms; back to Noosa to get more stuff; post office, bank etc you  know the drill. But first I had to wait for my new fridge to arrive, in half an hour (9.30am). At 10 am I got a call to say they were stuck behind a traffic accident on the motorway and they didn’t know what time they would arrive, but to wait for them.

That was Ok because I was sitting on hold for the past hour waiting for vodaphone to get my new internet package going.

The fridge arrived by 11am, great I thought ready to go, but then I had a call from a tradie wanting to fit a remote control device to the garage door, could I hang around for a half hour, which turned into an hour.

When he arrived he decided he couldn’t do his job as an electrician had to come and fit a power point, could I hang around...”No I couldn’t”….so he left in a huff.

Whew 1pm still enough time to do all my running around before school gets out. The girls were on new buses today so I had to be home to make sure they had it all sorted. Out to the car with a pile of paperwork in my arms and what I saw made me pull up short, a bat (not the cricket type, but the native, vampire  type) had attached himself to my roof rack and was hanging on the side of my car.

He was dead. there was blood all down the side of the car and he seemed to have wrapped himself around my roof rack and was hanging upside down as bats tend to do. I had to think for a bit, what to do...I turned around to see the brand new broom I had bought the day before next to the back door, ideal for dislodging a bat from the roof rack of the car. So I sidled up from a distance and started to poke him with the broom, he reached out a claw grabbed the broom, the wings went out, Ala horror movie style, he starting baring the teeth, screeching and he launched himself to about 10cm from my face… guess what? He wasn’t dead!
I have to be honest I was a whisker from the literal version of “Shitting myself”, for a few seconds time stood still, he kept screeching and baring his teeth, in my face and I honestly thought, in a minute I’m going to be joining Buffy and her friends (at least I can be a good vampire).

 So there we were, the bat had the broom in one claw, and the roof rack in the other, he stopped his screeching but he was still flashing his little fangs…I thought how to I get out of this predicament, and then I got angry...I mentally told him, he could have my car it's getting old and crappy..but surely he didn’t have to take my new broom!! Well possession is 9/10ths of the law and I then accepted that I cannot win a battle against this bat, I managed to throw my end of the broom onto the top of the car and start Plan B...so back inside…
Long story short...Australia Zoo were called by the RSPCA, then they rang  me to say whatever you do don’t go near him, a bite or a scratch from a bat can be very dangerous to humans, I didn’t mention the broom, they can work that one out when they get here.

Forty Five minutes later, Australia Zoo to the rescue, two very cute, nice boys in Khakis arrive.

Steve may be gone but his spirit lives on, I could hear him in them as they said “Oooh what a beauty, don’t be scared little fella “” unfortunately they were talking to the bat not me. They rescued him and wrapped him up and took him away, what an amazing service Australia Zoo provides. I know Terry cops a lot of flack for her commercial gains, but I saw the  fantastic work the Wildlife Warrior charity service that Australia Zoo provide today, so good on them..And more importantly, I had my broom (and oh yes the car back, albeit bloody).
I read recently that it’s the washing machine, not the pill that have liberated the modern woman, however, I challenge that. I think the humble broom has done wonders for the modern, single woman. Since we stopped riding them, it’s amazing the myriad of tasks the humble broom can do..except for removing bats off your car of course…but everything else is OK. 
My history of native animals and marathons is not good, whilst training for Auckland, I was chased into the sea by dingoes on Fraser Island, I'm sure if you look through enough webpages you can read that horror story as well.

Could it get worse...why not…Monday evening I run with some like minded runners who are training for the Gold Coast events. I had planned to run 20km and I was looking forward to it as I was way behind with my running. A good group turned up, we discussed how we were going to run the 20km, off we went, 500metres up the road, I tripped (on nothing of course) and down I went on the bitumen, ouch, I could feel a big graze on my knees, hands elbows, I picked myself up and kept running..as you do. The knee was stinging but that passed eventually, I went on to run the 20 with Dennis, but boy did I struggle with my fitness in the last 3km...very frustrating. We were glad when it was over, and on my first stretch, I had a look at the injured knee, to see blood all over my lower leg, I'm sure that bloody bat is having the last laugh.

But back to my Drama Queen question... surely it’s not my fault that odd things seem to happen to me constantly...are people getting tired of listening to my dramas…the reason I question this now, is,  I had to pick my daughters up after dancing, and when they got in the car I told them I fell over, my 13 year old in a monotone voice said “Which one this time?”, She was of course referring to my knees, “ Right”, I whimpered, “It’s always your right knee” she said with a bored sigh,  “I’m sorry", I said "Next time I will try to land on my head, just so as to make it more interesting for you”, she just rolled her eyes at that.. teenagers I thought, they only care about themselves, so I thought I will tell some one who really cares about me, I txt David with my drama, knowing that he would ring me and come straight away to comfort me, 15 mins later he returned the txt with, “That’s no good, I will see you tomorrow” !!!!, So a very sore, sorry girl climbed the stairs and had a stinging shower, went to set the alarm for 3.30am..life for the Lazy Runner goes on.

"What the Hell are we doing?"

You will be pleased to know that things have improved in my life since my last entry...not with my running of course, but the run of bad luck did end. I have bought a new car, I keep telling myself that it had nothing to do with the bat, but I must admit that it was always a very tentative trip to the car in the early, dark mornings after the bat incident. I’m not superstitious but surely a bat nearly bleeding out all over your car cannot be a good positive, energy sign!
As far as running goes I haven’t yet got out of the Lazy, ‘I don’t want to do another marathon’ bad attitude stage of the marathon training process, so naturally that attitude does affect your running.
However, one highlight is the Monday training sessions with other runners. You cannot beat company when you are miserable and unmotivated with your running. Usually the run goes like this, we start of  saying how crap we feel and we might not get through the whole distance, then we catch up on what’s been happening over our week, about half way through we start having a whinge and a bitch, not just about running but everything that’s been annoying us  recently, then we go quiet for a bit, then when we only have a couple of kms to go we liven up again and start having a bit of a joke and then the last km is usually head down, bum up and just finish the thing.
However, we often have a philosophical run or what I like to tag the “What the Hell are we doing here?” run. A few of us were cruising along Ok, chatting about our week that was until about 5km and then Lance caught up and joined in, and things started to slide, by that I mean a mental slide. I blame it on the  Mooloolaba  course …it is a stunning boardwalk and people seem to think the it should be used for strolling , picnicking, having a beer or two,  playing on the beach, dog walking etc..and there we are, worked all day, no dinner, no evening tipple, banging out a 20km along the beachfront, so it does the beg the question “What the bloody hell are we doing?”. It soon got to the point that every time we saw someone doing what we used to do, like the man strolling along with the baby in the pram, we thought how did we go from that to this… training for a marathon? When did nice, normal, leisurely activities go to mad, crazy nighttime running for hours?. I mean it would be ok if someone was holding a gun to our head, or if it was to save one of our kid’s lives or find a cure for diabetes, but we are just doing it for….well I can’t even answer that one.
It slowly deteriorates to us wondering why we were doing it hard while the people are eating the fish and chips and enjoying a beer. And the dog walkers please don’t get us started. Why couldn’t we just be walking the dog, even the dogs look down their wet noses at us...
And just when we thought the crowd could not be anymore relaxed and doing as little as possible, then we saw it...the absolute epitomy of good common sense. There was a guy (or should I say a Legend), he had a dog alright, but no he wasn’t walking him, he was just standing there looking at the sea, and to add insult to injury he had a stubbie in his other hand...boy...were we impressed, so much so that I’m pretty sure Lance was thinking “I’m going to ditch these two idiots and ask this bloke if he will write me up a training program”
Luckily after 10km we left all the happy, normal people so we could wallow in our agony together, however the discussion did turn to how did this craziness come about, what lead to this?
We did find some solace though in talking about how tough it is for runners (you know serious runners like us) and the lack of support we get from our beloved family and friends. The last comment I got when I dropped my daughter at dancing before I started the run was “Don’t get out of the car and come in afterwards, we will come out, your red face is so embarrassing, people think there is something wrong with you”, I said to her “I’m sure other top athletes don’t get that sort of response from their children”, I just heard her say as she slammed the car door.. “But your not one of them are you?” I can’t argue with that.
 Dennis had some lovely family quotes, like his dad’s “Show me a happy runner and I will take it up” and when Dennis told him he was running another marathon, dad said “God I hope you look a bit better than you did when you finished the last one”, come on Dennis surely it's not too much to ask to look brilliant and be smiling after running 42.2km! 
I know whenever I make the announcement to my mum “I’m running another marathon" she always does the exaggerated sigh and then asks "How far is this one?”, when I say the obligatory “same as last time 42.2km” she backs up with a bigger sigh and says “And how long is this one going to take?” , I now say 1 hour 45mins, because I realise that no matter what time I say the response will always be a very shocked “That long!”
Poor Lance on the other hand hasn’t broken the news to his Mother yet about his marathon, because he said after he announced he was running a half last year, she said “Do you really think you should be doing that?”
Why do us runners not command the same respect and appreciation as other sporting people in their families, why are we always looked on as being a bit crazy and not quite right in the head…we ponder this as we run for 20km in the dark!! Hmmmmm

I think race organisers went to the same schools as used car salesman and real estate agents. They are very good at highlighting the positives and hiding the negatives, from their race information. However, there is no way you can hide them on the day of the race. Have a look at the Rio marathon map above, doesn’t it look like a glorious run, the beautiful blue sea and sky (great if you are a bird or fish), the colourful beach umbrellas every 25km! (Gee they are going to come in handy) and how can anything go wrong with the big fella on the hill watching our every move.

I am getting more marathon savvy though, and just like people who have been looking to buy a house for a few years, I’m starting to cut through all the race jargon, here are a list of the definitions I’ve come up with for race descriptions.

Undulating=bring you altitude sickness pills; sea breezes=gale force head winds; Scenic= you see some stuff when you are running; Winding course= steer clear if you suffer from motion sickness; Cool climate= wear thermals (especially in Europe); Natural Beauty= trees, hills and dirt paths and maybe the odd animal; Road-=42.2km of blistering bitumen; Mostly downhill=mostly uphill; Good First Marathon-=you may survive; Plenty of Toilets= go before you leave home;

It’s taken 8 weeks but I can say that my training is right on track, in fact for the first time ever, I am ahead of myself. That was thanks to Lance who only got in front of the Fab Five once on Saturday morning but it had to be on the part where we were to turn around, that would end us at 28km. I could see the Minti Street bus stop it was as beautiful as the Taj Mahal to me after 2.5hours of running. I was watching Lance thinking when he turns at the bus stop then I will turn, he is just about there, he is going to turn, yes a few more metres and he will turn, he is at it the bus stop…now he will turn…he has gone past it....turn....he is still running…turn you bloody idiot. You don’t want to know what passed between Dennis and me at this point but it sounded something like this
“Grrrr ….F#$...arghhhh....F#!**....Lance”. I tried yelling, no avail I tried speeding up, but of course the legs were having none of that, so I had to keep running and pray he would come to his senses at the next half km. Dennis thought he may have been going to the 30km turn around point, the bridge, to which I thought well he may as well throw himself off it, the pain will be less than what I was going to dish out. Common sense prevailed, Lance turned at the 29km turn around, and started running back to us with a broad grin on his face and when he saw the daggers Dennis and I were giving, he just shrugged his shoulders and said “What”.We all turned and ran back...29km in all. I felt great afterwards; I even nearly forgave Lance for the extra km (nearly, not quite).

Now you would think that a 29km run starting at 5am on a Saturday morning would be enough activity for one day. But oh no, the day is but young...why not go home and get showered and drive 1.5hours to Brisbane to go Pole Dancing...yes you heard it pole dancing.

When I got married 25 years ago, I had what was known to be a Hen's party, the week before the big event. It involved an afternoon tea where I spent the day going around my aunts and grandparents with little cup cakes and real pots of tea, oh dear how things have changed. My niece’s hen’s party started at 11am with high tea and games! Then off to learn Pole Dancing in the Valley for two hours and then off to the nightclubs until 2am. The pole dancing was very interesting and I’m told its good exercise however it seems to require some degree of co- ordination and flexibility, of which I have none.

At one stage I was hanging onto the pole and the instructor said, "lift your right leg", which I did, she said it a couple of more times, and then I heard my 15 year old hiss from her pole “Mum lift your leg”, “I am” I hissed back, however when I looked down my right leg was about two inches off the ground, whilst everyone elses legs were up to their hips. If you are an avid reader of my blogs you will know that I often talk to my legs and they in turn give me some feedback, so in this instance I said “Oh come on you guys, surely you can lift it a bit higher than that. You are making a fool of me”
I think that was the straw that broke the camel's back, they went into a tirade, "It’s not enough that we dragged your sorry arse (and the rest of you) not 28km as you promised but 29km at some ridiculous hour this morning, and then you have the nerve to expect us to now lift ourselves over your head  just so you are not embarrassed in front of these girls who are twenty years your junior, then you have another thing coming”.
How could I argue with that, so I just slunk into corner and drank champers and ate chocolates all afternoon. At least that got me back into the good books with the legs, God knows I haven’t yet mentioned the 30km run they have to do in a couple of weeks, I'm keeping that one above the hips at this stage!

My week also involved getting myself organised for South America. Six weeks to go means I need to apply for a Visa and have my immunisations. As I have moved to Coolum and have no doctor here, I thought I would visit Doctor Tina a Coolum Lazy Runner who works at the local medical centre. She was pleased to see me and even happier that she could inflict a little bit of pain on me by the way of encouraging me to not only have the Yellow Fever immunisation but also the Tetanus shot. I trained Tina to run the Gold Coast marathon last year and she seemed to look a little too gleeful when she was instructing the nurse to stick pins in me. Tina’s view is the Tetanus would be good in case I encountered any bats which are common to South America, I didn’t have the heart to tell her that I think she is a little too late with her bat advice!

Trying to keep in front of your training is always hard and I've quickly realised that with two days in Brisbane for work this week and then off to the wedding (4 hours west) on the weekend, that it won't take me long to lose the lead I've built up...I wonder if anyone has tried pole dancing on every continent..just a thought!

6 Weeks to Rio

Things have not been so good at home this week, one of my longest and dearest relationships is in trouble. It’s been hard, we have both tried but we don’t see eye to eye any longer, the communication has gone and I’m afraid our differences are irreconcilable. My hamstrings and I are on the verge of breaking up!
It’s quite sad really, we have had a long and mostly happy relationship, oh don’t worry we have had our ups and downs, I think the English marathon may have been the straw that broke the camel’s back. There is no one else involved, however I have had strong suspicions that Little Miss Gluteus Minumus has some part to play in our problems, but basically we have just let our relationship slip. For a long time I have suspected him of being addicted to Voltaren but if I say anything he just points out the empty wine bottles under the sink, I just can’t win.
It’s become one continuous struggle trying to live together, he just goes on and on at me, nagging and nagging. He has changed, he has turned into the jealous, bossy type...when I run with the boys on Monday evening, I never hear the end of it on the way home in the car and he keeps me up all night whinging and moaning,  anyone would think I was out at the clubs all night. And he has got so bossy and demanding, he won’t let me do anything anymore. The other day I dropped a dollar and he wouldn’t even let me pick it up, my God I will go broke at this rate. And after a long drive to Brisbane, he won’t even let me get out of the car straightaway, I have to wait until he is ready to move, he is driving me crazy.
It wasn’t always like this you know, I remember the days when we were young and happy, I would say jump and he would say how high, literally! I would say touch your toes and he would touch the ground way out in front. And he never complained not a word, but now he never shuts up.
Oh we have tried mediation (yoga) and the poor instructor could see we were at odds with each other, she tried to help, but he just wouldn’t co-operate, wouldn’t even move, and then he had to go into some ridiculous spasm, it was embarrassing we had to leave. It is so hard to take him places these days, you never know if you are going to get back home without him making a huge scene.
I’m thinking of leaving him, I’ve even considered the D word (drugs that is), but he won’t have any of it, he's the old fashioned type, he believes "what God has joined let no man separate".  I would of left a long time ago if it wasn’t for the kids (oh I mean the calves), those poor little buggers shouldn’t have to go through what they go through and they never complain, they are the ones I feel for, they are the reasons I stay in this miserable relationship.
We want to give it one more go, we thought is we could just hang in until our 8th anniversary ( Rio marathon), if we can just get past that, then maybe we have a chance. Maybe afterwards we could go on a second honeymoon and try to get the love back, but in the meantime it’s like living with the enemy!
You can probably tell that my training has kicked in and things are not so good in the marathon camp. I hate training.
However, I did run more than last week...which wasn’t so hard to do.
20km with the boys on Monday, got drenched in the last couple of km, what else is new?
I ran a speedy (for me) 11 km in Coolum Friday evening (under 53mins) struggled all the way...what else is new?
10km with Mooloolaba on Saturday morning, then 8km in the evening…now that is new!
7km on Sunday morning….then 10km on Sunday evening….well that's the plan at this stage!
That's 67 km in total
I'm also at that part of the training program where I need to think about my diet and lifestyle...I hate this part. I've decided to give up alcohol, or at least attempt to until after Rio marathon. Now I can't swear on the bible that it will happen, but I'm sure  there will be plenty of swearing over the next 6 weeks.

Four Weeks To Rio

The Seven Stages of Marathon Training

You may have heard of the seven stages of Grief, but I’m not sure if you are familiar with the Seven Stages of Marathon Training

1. Epiphany (initial crazy idea)
2. Is it too late to change my mind? (Yes because, you have told everyone in the Epiphany stage)
3. Tantrums
4. Over it (comes at about the first 30km run)
5. Really over it (comes at the second 30km run)
6. Sloth (comes in tapering)
7. Euphoria (comes when you cross the line, or maybe a little bit after that!)

Unfortunately the time frame between Ephiphany to Euphoria involves several hundred kilometres of running!!

Some of the stages cross over into one another, at present I’m going through 3 and 4 consecutively, with 5 just waiting in the wings.
Tantrums,  is where the mind is still with you, it’s committed and devoted, it’s still reads the program on Sunday, plans the running for the week, and is psyched up, but unfortunately the body has decided it wants out.
I have always believed that the mind is more powerful than the body, but boy has it got its work cut out for it when trying to get the body to run when it just doesn't want to. I compare the mind/body relationship in marathon training to the mother/toddler tantrum throwing relationship. The mind is the mother and the body the toddler
Last Saturday, with four weeks to go until my marathon, I had to deal with my tantrum throwing body on my 30km run?
On the way to the start in the car
Body “I don’t want to, I’m not doing it”
Mind “Don’t be silly, you are”
Body “No I’m not and you can’t make me’
Mind “You are running 30km today and I don’t want to hear another word about it”
Body “NO I’m not”
Mind “If I have to stop this car….”
5km in
Body “Ok that’s enough, I wanna go home now”
Mind “Oh come on we’ve only just started, look how good it is, look at all the fun we are having”
Body “I wanna go home...NOW”
Mind “We are going home, look just around the corner and over the hill, and then around the other corner…”
Body “No I wanna stop now”
Mind “If you be good and keep going I've got a surprise for you at the end”
Body “What”
Mind “Your favourite, a nice cold Gatorade”
Body “No I don’t want it, I want to stop”
Mind “It’s your favourite colour a red one, you love the red ones, you have to be good to get a red one”
Body “No I hate the red ones, I hate all Gatorades, and I wanna stop”
Mind “Oh come on look at Dennis up in front, he’s being a good boy, look he is not complaining”
Body “I don’t care, I hate Dennis”
Mind “Oh that’s not very nice, come on you have to beat Dennis, you can’t let Dennis win”
Body “I WANNA STOP’
Mind ‘Right that’s enough, if you don’t get your sorry arse up that hill and over the other side, you won’t be able to sit for a week”
Body “You’re so mean, I hate you”
Mind “Yeah, well I hate you too”
Then we fold our arms and turn out backs on each other and don’t talk for the rest of the way...which is fine by me.

I do sort of feel sorry for the poor old body though, I mean he has been cheated and lied to over the years, so you can understand why he cracks it. There was always ever going to be one marathon, and now it’s up to the eighth...after Auckland the mind promised the body they were never going to run again….…

The body can be quite clever though, the mind might get his own way with the running, but the body has more tricks up his sleeve, this week I had a huge breakout of cold sores and mouth ulcers, it’s as if the body is saying to the mind “Well I might not be able to stop you from running but I sure as hell can make you look really ugly and stop you from enjoying your food for a week”, the struggle continues…

My training has been going well, and I feel as if I am on track. As per usual for me I never seem to be able to fit in the amount of kilometres I would like to, but I have been running! I haven’t done any speed work or many hills this time around, so we will see how that affects my race on the 28th of June.

I figure Race the Rattler has enough hills to cover a whole program of hill running, so I will just cram them all into the one run! Typical of me to leave things to the last minute, I decided to run 16km around Coolum the other day and I put in three hills, boy did I feel it, so I’m a little worried about chasing that train up hill and down dale on Monday.

I ran 20km with the group on Monday, I was having a lovely time running with Anne Maree, until it was announced that I had to run the other 15km with Michael as we were the only ones putting our hand up for the 20km. I have never run with Michael and after Monday I now know why, he is too fast. Anyway he pushed me and I’m sure I ran the fastest back 10km of a 20km ever, as usual it felt good afterwards

I haven’t had many out of training adventures for a while, but this week I had an argument with some “Nemos” (that’s what I have always called these dark, gloomy teenagers, until I got home and said to my girls on Thursday morning that I had a run in with some Nemos and they rolled their eyes at me and said “It’s Emos Mum”, however I thought that was a better name as I have always wondered why they would name them after a very cute fish, I could never see the connection). Anyway some drunken, or drugged up teenagers in Mooloolaba decided they wanted to join in agility drills on Thursday morning, I chased them off once, but when the session had ended and I was packing up they decided to try again, this time they didn’t like me trying to chase them away and become quite abusive, I threaten to call the police, but it never got to that.  One of them came back later to apologise, so at least that was something!

Tapering- South American Style

Tapering before a marathon usually means less running and refuelling your body in preparation for the big day...well that's the official definition...
My tapering when I am running in another continent is never quite as orthodox at is would be as if I were back in Aus, and Brazil has been no exception.

Thirty three hours of flying and sleeping in cramped quarters I finally arrive on my Fifth Continent. We decided to spend the first few days chilling out in a beautiful Portuguese coastal town called Parity three hours south of Rio. We had a tiny left hand drive hire car and a downloaded map and had a little trouble finding the retreat we had booked high in the rain forest hills. The final road to the retreat was what some people may call cobblestone road I called it a rock hill, it went for one km and our car bounced so much up that David was worried about its underbelly falling out, I was more concerned with my own underbelly. The retreat was unbelievably beautiful and relaxing, we had a waterfall outside our cabin and the restaurant served traditional Brazilian food, but I did dread the leaving and returning in the mornings and evenings on the stone hill, it was pretty scary.

David my travelling companion and the best one man marathon support crew is the most well bred, well educated, well mannered English gentleman that you are ever likely to meet. However, in the three years I have known him he has on occasion...and it’s mainly when things go wrong like car breakdowns or airport luggage disasters, tends to go from Brideshead Revisited to Benny Hill in 10 seconds flat!

One of these rare occasions occurred on our third morning when our little hire car decided (like me) that it didn’t want to tackle the stone hill so it wouldn’t start. We were all decked out for a boat cruise around the Atlantic islands, and the weather was gloriously warm and tropical. David the six foot two Englishmen decides that I should push him (and the car) around the car park in my bathers and thongs. Now car park is an exaggeration as it was just a dust circle, with a little hut in the middle where our young Brazilian house boy would sit when he had finished his morning duties, so there we were... mad Englishman in the car barking orders out the drivers window, me in my bathers and thongs, pushing him around the house boys hut, ok doesn’t sound so funny but if you add the Benny Hill music and speed it up a bit, it’s bloody hilarious, well the house boy thought it was anyway he was nearly wetting himself!

After a few circuits of this and the car not making a murmur, the mad Englishman decided I should push him to the start of the rock hill, then push him off and he could try and start the car on the way down. I wasn't sure about this idea it didn’t sound at all safe, I could see our little car disintegrating into bits amongst the rocks but the mad Englishman assured me it was the way to go, so with on big heave I pushed him over the top of the hill...the downhill procession went like this... 10 chickens grazing by the side of the road were in front, clucking and squawking and feathers flying everywhere, then came the mad six foot two Englishmen in the little car bouncing, screeching and sparks flying out from underneath every time it hit a rock, coming next was the aussie girl running behind in bathers and thongs, and then last but not least were the twenty stray dogs from the area who decided to join in the excitement, barking, jumping and running..Down the hill we all went, what a commotion and don’t forget to add the Benny Hill music but don’t speed it up this time as we were going down the hill pretty fast!

Half way down and the car’s engine still not clicking over the Englishman decided to slam on the brakes and wait for me and my dogs to catch up, after a brief “what the hell are we going to do” moment, we decided to let it career down the hill all the way and just hope and pray it would start before it hit the bottom of the hill or explode into a thousand pieces, whatever came first, so off again the squawking chickens, the mad English man the crazy aussie girl and the mangy dogs...halfway down the halfway I saw the little bomb start to quiver and chug and it finally burst into life, the passenger door got thrown opened and in my thongs on the rocks I ran for my life and dived in, with the dogs chasing us like mad barking we left them in a cloud of smoke and noisily sped up the road...after I finally got my breathe back and stopped laughing I looked to my left and saw we were back to Brideshead revisited, all was right with the world again...Ok so that was the running part of my tapering week!

Now the fuelling!!!
On our first evening in Paraty whilst David was using the internet in the bar, the French/Portuguese owner asked me if I would like drink, I looked at the wine list and was stunned at the prices and of course as you all know I’m not supposed to be drinking but she did suggest I try the local drink, and I’ve always believe it would be rude to refuse a local drink..so she asked if I would like it with passionfruit or lemon I chose passionfruit...five minutes later out came a glass full of fresh passionfruit and what looked like water and ice, I took a mouthful and as my brain was melting and leaking out my ears she belatedly told me to drink it slowly as it is quite strong. Like the cobblestone road, an absolute blatant understatement. After my initially shock at the taste, I sat on my drink for an hour and after a while it started to taste ok!

The next day whilst lying on the top deck of big Peter Pan like schooner sailing around the Atlantic islands, I was handed a drink menu and once again the Cachaca was pointed out to me, oh dear would I risk it but like all aussie girls a drink of alcohol and under 5 dollars has to be taken up on, our Portuguese speaking crew didn't speak English and as he couldn’t explain what he was going to put in it I thought I should go down and watch him make this national wonder.
He chopped up a full lime (they call this lemon) and threw it in the shaker, then ice, then he showed me a tin of white powder substance, to which I thought "oh oh here we go", but he let me dip my finger in and have a taste to my relief it was good old fashioned sugar, so he put in a heaped tablespoon, he indicated if he should put another one and I thought yeah what the hell after all I am carbo loading, so I gave him the thumbs up to put another one in, and then the magic part, you always know when it’s the national drink as it never comes off the same shelf as the Johnny Walker or the Gordon’s Gin, no it comes from under the sink in an unlidded, unlabeled bottle, and is never measured out it’s just slopped into the glass. He shook the contents and then poured me a glass and waited for the universal hand language of two thumbs up. I took my national drink up to the top deck and spent the day tapering and refuelling as good marathoners do!! Also had a quick dip in the Atlantic ocean...bloody freezing!

After the five hour cruise we walked into town and of course another bar beckoned and still impressed with the local drink I had another, delicious. On the way back to the retreat we decide to fill the little car up with petrol for our return trip to Rio. The service lady suggest alcool fuel, it’s cheap and its 100% pure alcohol from the local sugar cane, South America is trialing the revolutionary fuel in a bid to cut costs and save the environment, David and I just looked at each other and the penny dropped..I had been drinking car fuel for the past three days. Now most people might feel sick at the thought of drinking a petrol like substance, but I figure if the pure alcohol can get our little bomb up and down the rock hill 20 times and the 400 kms return trip to Rio then what can it do for me in a 42km run on Sunday..I say bring on the refuelling, petrol style. It just goes to show how any bad taste can be covered up with a lime and a bucket load of sugar!

Now marathoners you do know that I follow the strict slogan of “Do as I say, not as I do” so on your tapering week next week I want no running in thongs and no petrol consumption, just stick to your running shoes and Gatorades. If my new experimental tapering program works on Sunday I might patent it and sell it to all the worlds’ marathoners...so watch this space

Race Day

Who would have thought that the most scenic, easiest, well organised course would turn out to be one of my toughest marathons? That is the crazy thing about running, you would think if you trained the same and you had run 7 marathons already, with some on extremely tough courses that you would be able to predict how you would go and what time you could do on a relatively easy road course...I guess that’s what keeps us running...the mystery of it all!

I love point to point marathons and if you ever get a chance to do one, try it. Rio was a point to point of 40km coastline, about one kilometre of road tunnels and one kilometre detour through the city. The only problem with point to points it seems to take so long to get them sorted out. Rio for instance, I was up at 5am for an 8am start. My hotel was at the 25km mark of the course, but I had to get a taxi all the way to the end, then purchase a bus ticket from the end to the start and then wait there for 1.5hours. The start was an amazing bayside village just out of Rio and we sat or nervously paced and watched the early morning surfers, or like me waited an hour in line for the porta loos. Once I got to my turn at the loo I started to feel quite nauseas but I thought 50 porta loos that have already had 1000 nervous runners go through them is likely to cause that sensation.

Three kilometres in I was sweating profusely, which amazed me, the weather was overcast and not warm, but I soon realised the humidity was quite high, I checked out my fellow runners and they were dripping as well, I hadn’t really pushed myself in humidity since last November in Bangkok and the sweat combined with sunscreen stinging my eyes soon brought it all back to me.

At 20km I was sitting on 1:45 and quite happy at 21km I was on 1:51 and the wheels were shaking! I couldn’t believe that one kilometre could make me go from Ok to over it. It is never a good thing to die half way because it’s a bloody long way to drag yourself. I don’t know why it happened, but my feet started becoming very painful, my legs were drilling and my head was not in the right place. I kept thinking about my easy 30km plus training runs with the marathoners back home and wondering what the hell was going on.

My main thought was to get to the Intercontinental at the 25km where David was going to be to take photos and support me. I also left him a bag the night before with strict instructions to have it with him when I passed by and no, there were not illegal substances in the bag, but there were substances!!

I saw the Intercontinental, thank goodness, I saw David wearing the Lazy Runner shirt , I saw his camera...I saw the...where the bloody hell was the bag? When I got closer I gasped “where’s my bag? Casually he replied “oh I left it in the hotel room, did you want it?”...marathon supporter he is, a drug runner he is not!

I was in a lot of pain and thought a couple of Voltaren might help, but it was not to be, after the Intercontinental there was the one long hill climb and once I got my head around that medication wasn’t forthcoming, I actually lifted a bit, I ran up the hill and down through the large Fevella (slums) on the other side, we were told to move through this area fairly fast, after 30km of running they had to be joking!

I thought “maybe I am over my hit the wall moment”, and then as soon as that thought entered my head, the sun came out blazing from all fronts, the crowds and traffic got bigger, and the wheels were more than shaky they were starting to become unattached

I can only say I don’t know how I got through the last 8km, which should of been the run of a lifetime, along Cococabana beach with so many distractions, mainly the near naked bodies playing soccer, beach volleyball, sunbaking on the beaches, but I’m afraid Brad Pitt could of gone by on roller blades wearing a G-string and I wouldn’t of noticed...how sad is that?.

At 40km I knew if I was going to break 4 hours I needed to run a bit faster, so I had to dig deep, but by doing that I felt whatever was going on with my feet, burst and the leg cramps were setting in...Long story short something got me over the line in 3:59...

The first person who approached me after the finish line was a young Brazilian boy, he very gently put my medal around my neck, and let me lean on his shoulder while he knelt down and took my chip out and then tied my undone shoe lace in a double knot so tenderly, I felt like saying “leave it undone mate those shoes are going in the bin and I’m never running again”, but I didn’t want to crush his spirit, he stood up and shook my hand..I know we all rave about wonderful souls like Ghandi, Mother Theresa and Nelson Mandela, but I think saint hood should be bestowed on the guys who take your chip out of your shoe at the end of a marathon, no greater deed can be done...to marathon runners that is

David was there to greet me, but I had to sit down pretty quick as I had a bit of a head spin. Usually I like to hang around for a bit to soak up the atmosphere, but David thought I wasn’t a good colour and hailed a taxi to take us back to the hotel. I was really relieved it was over and whilst sipping on my water in the back of the cab I was starting to appreciate that I could tick off my fifth continent.

The taxi went through one of Rio's famous long, dark tunnels and I suddenly felt very unwell, I told David to quickly finish off my water, and then I used to 250ml cup to catch my projectile vomit, unfortunately the other 4,750mls went all over me and the back seat of the cab.

I was hovering between fainting, vomiting and trying to look normal, thank God it happened in the tunnel as it was dark and noisy so I don’t think the driver twigged what was happening, but let me say I filled every nook and cranny in the back seat of that cab, the cup holders the side door holders, my marathon bag, I swear that everything I had drank in the last three days (and that included 10 bottles of carbo loading Gatorade) came up in a very rainbow like river and flooded me and the back seat.

The driver was very erratic and took the long way around and then took us to the wrong hotel, David was getting pretty angry with him and was looking at me for support, but I didn’t think it would be polite to criticise his driving when I was sitting in a pool of my own vomitus in the back seat of his taxi.
When we finally arrived at the hotel, I was so worried about the hotel door porters opening my taxi door and the deluge of vomit covering their nice shiny shoes, so I just did what all polite aussie girls covered in their own vomit would do, I opened the door and did a runner ,dripping all the way...So much for not running again, I raced to the lift and only collapsed when I got to my bathroom. What a nightmare! I had a bath and fell into bed and crashed for three hours...not my usual celebratory end to a marathon....

The next day I was very sick, sore and sorry for myself, needless to say I hadn’t stretched or drank and ate anything, so not a good recovery program. However, after a light breakfast I started to feel semi conscious and told David not to cancel our jungle trip that we had booked for the afternoon.

The trip was in a bouncy open top jeep, through Rios’s urban jungle (the biggest urban jungle in the world). I saw lots of monkeys, I swear they were laughing at the way I was walking, I saw a sloth (my new hero, I aspire to live like him now) and a Toucan.

The elderly female Brazilian tour guide, took me on a tour of the jungle flora and fauna and showed me all the offerings that had been made to the Voo Doo Gods, she filled me up with so many Voo Doo stories I was tempted to ask if she knew of a good Witch Doctor who may be able to cure my Jungle fever and my crazy notions of thinking I can still run marathons at my age. After a lot more hobbling and climbing up and down the jeep, I went back to the hotel and you guessed it...more vomiting and sleeping...

Two days post marathon I still had my jungle fever, up half the night with diarrhoea and disorientated and swoony during the day. However, I had a bone to pick with someone today and I was going to face off with him. Him being the Almighty one “Christ the Redeemer”, that amazing statue that overlooks all of Rio. I wanted to have a word with the big guy because I felt he had been avoiding me from day one. Christ the Redeemer is usually seen from every point in Rio's city and from miles away but the whole time I was in Rio he was covered in his own little private dark cloud. I would jump up every morning throw back the curtains and look for him from my hotel window, the day would be clear and blue and only one cloud, and it happened to be surrounding the great one. I was starting to get paranoid that he didn’t love me anymore!

During the marathon I kept looking for him, willing for him to give me strength, but no he was nowhere to be seen, just hiding under his little cloud, as if he was saying “if you lot are going to torture those fine bodies I gave you then don’t expect me to stand by and watch”. I have great respect for the big fella, being a Christian and to add insult to injury raised as a Roman Catholic, this guy really is my God, but on this particular occasion not so much my Saviour

But on the Tuesday I jumped up and looked at the window and there he was in the clear, blue sunny sky, quickly we caught a cab (yes another thing I was never going to do again!) to take us to the cable car which chugged more than 700 metres straight up the side of the mountain, not good for the jungle fever, but an almighty view.

I could see the course I had run all the way on two days earlier and it made me shudder, or that could have been my fever as well! Once at the top of the hill, I gazed into his beautiful face (nearly gave myself whiplash) and promptly forgot what I was going to say, Christ the Redeemer is the most serene, and beautiful statue I have ever seen.

The views of Rio de Janerio from this point are amazing, but my wonky legs and disorientation was not good on hills, so down the cable car we went, best bit about Tuesday was that Christ and I were bosom buddies again, well that’s how I see it anyway.

My Jungle Fever was really cramping my post marathon celebrations, I hadn’t even had a celebratory drink and as for the local Cachaca I wasn’t even game to mention its name. So Tuesday afternoon, I thought what the hell...I mean I’m wonky in the legs, I’m not thinking straight, I have a funny tummy..God I might as well get drunk I already have the symptoms. Please note: If you are drinking in Rio and you are traditionally a two pot screamer in Australia (that's me), then you would be labelled a half a pot screamer in this town. Everything here is super sized, the meals in Brazil are known to be the biggest serving sizes in the world, but it’s the drinks that have no limits.

They have never heard of nips or shots, the liquor bottles do not have the little pourers attached, the bar men just remove the caps and slop as much as they feel like into your glass. I quickly became accustomed to this practise when I asked for my first Gin and Tonic in Brazil, he brought me over a tall glass, three quarters filled with liquid and ice and a piece of lime, I thought “Oh that’s funny he didn’t fill the glass”, I went to take a sip and he said “No, please madam I haven’t added the tonic yet”!!, let’s just say its 4 shots gin to one shot tonic in Brazil!

So knowing I would be courting trouble I did the Rio thing, lounged by the hotel pool that overlooked Leblon beach and was waited on by Brazilian boys bringing me cocktails. I decided to try out all the ones named after Rio’s beaches, by the time I was at Ipanema, I’m afraid I wasn’t looking as good as their famous girl in the song, and then once Lema sunk in.. I didn’t know if the Jungle fever was back or if I was paralytic...anyway I’m sure you know the ending, vomiting and sleeping.....

Wednesday was to be my last full day in Rio, the sun was shining the beaches were full and believe it or not the alcohol seemed to have killed my jungle fever. David and I hired bicycles and rode all around Rio, past the magnificent beaches,I kept my eyes peeled for Brad and his g string, but wouldn’t you know it he wasn’t out and about in Cococabana today, but there were plenty of other G strings about to keep me amused and in some cases horrified!

We also rode around the 7km lagoon in the middle of Rio, all the while I’m thinking what a great running track, but then I quickly reminded myself that I’m never running again. Halfway around the Lagoon, David had one of his Benny Hill moments when he thought we were not going to get the bikes back in time, so there we were one mad Englishman going hell for leather on a girls bike and me coming up the rear, and you know the drill..cue the Benny Hill music.

We did get the bikes back and then we did the touristy things, I had a coconut water out of a real coconut, and David a beer, I then had a massage on the beach, performed by a Brazilian Boy of course..and then we strolled along Cococabana, finishing off with Hi Tea at the Cococabana Palace...If you have read my previous blogs you will know that not only am I on a quest to run a marathon on each continent, but I’m going for the Hi Tea goal as well, unusually enough one goal is a lot more enjoyable than the other!

Time to say goodbye to Rio de Janerio and Brazil and South America on Thursday. I had a wonderful trip, jungle Fever , horrible marathon and all... I will probably never return to South America, but I will always remember it to be a beautiful place...all I can say is now bring on North America..Las Vegas in December, maybe Elvis the Redeemer may help me more there..apparently he and few of his buddies make appearances on the course....and they tell me everything is bigger, brighter and better in Vegas, so I can't wait to see the size of their drinks!