Kevin Page: A little short of a marathon effort

I've never run Rotorua's iconic marathon.

Quite honestly I am in awe of the people who can haul themselves round the lake each year, some of whom look like they couldn't make it to the mailbox let alone the 42km required to say they've done it.

My running is limited to relatively short outings - mainly to avoid sweat stains spoiling my new lemon fluorescent shirt.

I confine myself to a little jog into town from out east. As I breathe in the many and varied aromas of the industrial and retail areas of Te Ngae Rd I am miraculously transported to a magical world where I am accompanied by bluebirds singing a sweet song, Bambi trots amiably alongside and a little rabbit called Thumper hops after us merrily giggling... and then I realise I've got a whiff of some petrol fumes and I'm hallucinating.

The best way to avoid the fumes (and the men in white coats) is to get away from them and so I left my Disney friends behind during my jog on Saturday afternoon and crossed the road.

The vast majority of the marathon field had been through on that side hours before but the road cones were still out and the support station, perhaps 3km from the finish line, was being packed up as I ran past.

Suddenly a car tooted at me and a child called out: "Nearly there. Keep going".

To say I was surprised would be an understatement. Was my appearance so dishevelled it looked like I'd just run 39km? Besides, I couldn't really run after their car and try to explain I wasn't actually in the race could I? So I waved. I wish I hadn't because then one of the people near the aid station started clapping.

Further down the road at the Sala St intersection a lady was pointing out the "marathon man" to the two littlies with her. While acutely embarrassed I didn't like to disappoint the kids so I waved (again) as they clapped and kept going. Then the lady called out: "You can catch her!"

A hundred yards or so ahead was a 'real' marathon entrant. She had obviously been out there for ages, doggedly plodding along, slowly closing in on the finish. A fantastic achievement and one which deserved to be treated with respect.

Groan. How do I deal with this?

If I surge past I'll look like a showoff. If I slowly jog by I'll look like I'm taking the mickey. I decided I'd have to act like I was buggered too and offer some general words of encouragement.

As I passed I grimaced and held my side, feigning stitch. "Nearly there," I croaked while offering a weak smile which probably looked like I had peed my shorts.

A short way ahead was the turning I had planned to take on my short run but again I felt obliged to keep up the charade. As I went round the long sweep of Te Ngae Rd into town I glanced back to see the lady some way behind, but still heading for home. Here was my chance to get out of her sight before the turn down Hinemaru St. I sprinted like the wind (which in reality is probably more like an intermittently wafting breeze) and raced away out of sight into Fenton St.

Then I was punished for acting. As I slowed down, the marathon gods pulled my hamstring.

It took me ages to get home and I had plenty of time to reflect on my shameful actions and any attempt at running the marathon in the future. I've decided against it. I'm sticking to my side of the road with Bambi and Thumper from now on.