Murray blogged about his preparation for 2011 Comrades on Runner's World.It was his first and like this year's run also UP. Truly inspirational! We will be posting his blog entries as part of our build up to Comrades 2013.Facing The Gym
FEBRUARY 14, 2011
In my last entry, I was mulling over the idea of running the Johnsson Crane marathon. It seemed like a good time for a marathon and a good place to gauge my fitness. A time to bellow my own battle cries for the months ahead. Maybe it’s a guy thing, kind of like marking your own territory.
As I mentioned in a previous post, my body felt like France in World War I. A dug-up mess, an endless stalemate between evenly matched insurgencies. The insurgents in this case were painkillers, antibiotics, and vitamin C against an insidious and obstinate infection that, truthfully, had been aided by me and running. Eventually, an armistice was called, and by Friday evening, I felt strong enough for the race on the Sunday.
I lined up at the start. I realised that I was alone in this. At the Soweto Marathon, I started with friends and the edge of my anxiety dulled. Today, my friends are somewhere in this throng of road martyrs. All I have for companionship is the sweet intoxicating smell of Vaseline washing over me. I feel like a junkie swimming in a sea of crack. I am able to smell and see the goodies but I just can’t get to them. In my case, I had forgotten Vaseline but I had taped my nipples. One has to be thankful for small mercies in life.
The race went surprisingly well. I did a sub 4-hour, which was a personal best. The great thing about new challenges and new activities is that in the beginning it’s easy to set attainable targets and reach them.
But I want to improve, and I buy the sappy Nike messages of; stronger, fitter, faster and the ‘new you’ campaign from Virgin Active. In admitting my ambitions, I have enlisted the help of a super athlete friend, Ange Bott, who is a personal trainer and has done the full Iron Man and run the Johnsson Crane in 3:27.
Ange obliged and drew up a 12-session strength and fat-loss plan. I am a little weak after several years of slothfulness and blissful slumber. The ‘plan’ has sat in electronic purgatory for a week or so, relegated to the recesses of my Gmail account. It stalked me across the electronic divide for days. On Tuesday, I submitted to it.
The major reason for my tortoise-like start to gymming has been the lack of finding a suitable location. I have always held a healthy sense of fear and bewilderment of the gym. I was so puzzled by the craze that I even shot a photo documentary on the whole sub-culture.
I tried to join the independent non-multinational and spread the love around. The bad breath of the salesman, stale surroundings and prohibitive joining fee squashed that idea, and I went willingly to Virgin Active and got a shiny red bag for my troubles.
Tomorrow is D-day for session 1 in the gym. Yesterday was my mid-week 1-hour 20 and tonight is time trial. Maybe, in a few days or months I’ll be wearing a wife beater, gazing longingly at myself in the mirror and saying things like “hey bru, how good do my pecks look in this.”
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