In reality, the event itself started around six months ago. Researching and sourcing accommodation and flights + an equal measure of daydreaming and scheming about C2S consumed hours and even days. Reading, asking anyone and everyone their experiences and some training was thrown in there too, to make sure that we were ready to take on the worlds largest fun run.
Ready? Even if we'd trained like elite athletes, we could never have prepared ourselves for THIS.
The day, THE DAY happened well before sunrise. Sleep was hard to come by; a combination of nerves and a buzzing inner-city street below. As the sun rose, the foot traffic below increased, becoming a parade of runners all heading North towards Hyde Park. Four hours pre-start and goosebumps combined with that nervous energy that makes sure you keep a loo nearby.
Time to fuel up. Breakfast: Two pieces of toast with peanut butter and honey, washed down with enough water to hydrate without causing the need to queue for a portaloo later.
In reality, we were ready to go by about 7am, but our wave, the yellow zone for "those who intend to jog most of the way", wasn't due to start until 9:05. A little after 8am there was no longer a reason not to go, so we quietly strolled, shivering the 800m to the Hyde Park starting area.
The blue zone was just underway, and from our viewpoint there was literally a sea of people. Mexican waves and beach balls kept the waiting runners engaged, and when our wave began to move slowly forward, jumpers were shed and thrown high to the footpaths as we marched obediently towards a start line we couldn't yet see.
Once we turned that first corner, past Red Foo revving the crowd up, the start was in front of us and just like that we were running City2Surf.
The first couple of kilometres was electric. Crowds lined the roads on both sides and it felt more like a carnival on speed than a running event.
The first couple of kilometres was electric. Crowds lined the roads on both sides and it felt more like a carnival on speed than a running event.
Bands played from rooftops, curb side and even bridge overpasses.
6 lanes of foot traffic bumped their way through the tunnel.
It was literally a sea of people both in front and behind us.
I think you get the idea; 80,000 people of all ages and sizes, all united for this iconic event.
The course itself was tough. Heartbreak hill seemed to go for 5km, and every time you thought the top was within reach, another corner would appear. At times I thought about dropping back to a walk, but I really wanted to beat it, so stayed strong and pushed through.
Following the advice of the "lazy runner" I stopped at each drink station except the last, choosing water at the first stop and gatorade at the following three. I had a little internal battle near the top if heartbreak hill. We'd learnt from City2South that they place a timing device at the bottom and top of the hill, and weren't surprised to see the reader at the base of heartbreak. Before we got to the top reader, there was a drink stop. Now I knew from studying the map that it was another few kilometres before the next drink station, so I had a coupe of seconds to decide whether to push for time or drink. The second option won out, and I don't regret that choice, because little did we know, the hill climb wasn't over yet.
At the top of the first peak of heartbreak hill, at a little over the half way point, if you looked over your left shoulder, the city was clearly visible, and the centre point tower showed just how far we'd travelled.
A little further on, at the top of the second peak, a glimpse over your right shoulder revealed the opera house and harbour bridge. Breathtaking. Or maybe that was the result of the climb.
The downhill stretch into Bondi was bittersweet. I didn't want it to end, although my legs didn't share those feelings. Coming down from the descent, my legs turned to concrete as they tried to carry me the final kilometre on the flat. It was the longest km I've run. With about 500m to go, the crowd were 10 thick, hanging over the barriers with signs of encouragement and cheering everyone on. At the hairpin bend that took us to the finish line I had tears streaming down my face and my skin was tingling all over. That final hundred metres seemed to be in slow motion, and I pumped my fists in triumph as I stepped over the finish line.
With medal in hand, I made my way through the thousands of recent finishers toward the ocean with my shoes hanging over my shoulders. Not even the freezing water could wipe the smile from my face. As runners waded in the shallows as part of their recovery, we shared our race experiences, laughing about that damn hill, crying over the dozens of memorial tee-shirts on runners, and vowing to come back again next year to do it all again.
Now, recovery happens. I'm not sure which will heal quicker; mind, body or soul.
*crowd shots sourced from various instagram accounts.
6 lanes of foot traffic bumped their way through the tunnel.
It was literally a sea of people both in front and behind us.
I think you get the idea; 80,000 people of all ages and sizes, all united for this iconic event.
The course itself was tough. Heartbreak hill seemed to go for 5km, and every time you thought the top was within reach, another corner would appear. At times I thought about dropping back to a walk, but I really wanted to beat it, so stayed strong and pushed through.
Following the advice of the "lazy runner" I stopped at each drink station except the last, choosing water at the first stop and gatorade at the following three. I had a little internal battle near the top if heartbreak hill. We'd learnt from City2South that they place a timing device at the bottom and top of the hill, and weren't surprised to see the reader at the base of heartbreak. Before we got to the top reader, there was a drink stop. Now I knew from studying the map that it was another few kilometres before the next drink station, so I had a coupe of seconds to decide whether to push for time or drink. The second option won out, and I don't regret that choice, because little did we know, the hill climb wasn't over yet.
At the top of the first peak of heartbreak hill, at a little over the half way point, if you looked over your left shoulder, the city was clearly visible, and the centre point tower showed just how far we'd travelled.
A little further on, at the top of the second peak, a glimpse over your right shoulder revealed the opera house and harbour bridge. Breathtaking. Or maybe that was the result of the climb.
The downhill stretch into Bondi was bittersweet. I didn't want it to end, although my legs didn't share those feelings. Coming down from the descent, my legs turned to concrete as they tried to carry me the final kilometre on the flat. It was the longest km I've run. With about 500m to go, the crowd were 10 thick, hanging over the barriers with signs of encouragement and cheering everyone on. At the hairpin bend that took us to the finish line I had tears streaming down my face and my skin was tingling all over. That final hundred metres seemed to be in slow motion, and I pumped my fists in triumph as I stepped over the finish line.
With medal in hand, I made my way through the thousands of recent finishers toward the ocean with my shoes hanging over my shoulders. Not even the freezing water could wipe the smile from my face. As runners waded in the shallows as part of their recovery, we shared our race experiences, laughing about that damn hill, crying over the dozens of memorial tee-shirts on runners, and vowing to come back again next year to do it all again.
Now, recovery happens. I'm not sure which will heal quicker; mind, body or soul.
*crowd shots sourced from various instagram accounts.
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