R-Day

October 11th, Race Day. The climax to a story that began six months ago when, after stopping for breath after just five minutes of running, I'd decided enough was enough. Months of training and endless hours of joy, agony and everything in between, it was time to put into practice all that I'd learnt. Except it was never going to be as simple as that. My knee remained a major concern, to the extent that I'd reduced myself to the mentality that I would probably not finish this race, at least not without regular stops and certainly not within my 1hr 45 target. Still, as the crowd gathered on the start line and I took my place alongside 12,000 fellow masochists, the excitement kicked in and suddenly I was desperate to finish. Weather conditions were ideal; cool, with rare bouts of drizzle. The perfect setting for what could be a special day.

I was amongst the blue crowd; runners are separated by coloured tops, according to their predicted finish time. Blue represented the 1hr 45 - 2h finishers so I found myself surrounded by fairly fit and athletic types, with the odd costume and the occasional overweight wreck. Clearly their training hadn't gone according to plan. As Kelly Holmes ushered us towards the starting line with her uninspiring words of wisdom, I hit my iRiver, unleashing the soundtrack to Terminator 4. Not my favourite piece of music, but for this scenario I could not have chosen better. By the time I was actually running, the adrenaline had already surged and I found myself in a surreal environment. My mind was inevitably on my knee but I continued regardless, taking in the atmosphere and using the cheering supporters to my advantage. My fellow runners seemed slow, I was overtaking them a dozen at a time and soon found myself towards the front of the blue pack. Two miles in and my watch had me timed at 15 minutes. Wonderful; I'd barely felt a thing, besides the burning sensation in my right knee, which could ultimately take me out. Meanwhile, runners around me were stopping to catch breath and already seemed resign to defeat; which only fuelled me further. For now, I was content to revel in the glory of the moment, running in a packed crowd, using my Schumacher-esque moves to push further ahead. I was experiencing the runners' high every couple of miles, especially when kids lined the street to offer high fives as I swept past them. Undoubtedly the highlight of the day!

After my first water break at 3 miles (and it was barely a break; three sips and on I went), I felt as fresh as ever, maintaining my pace and hitting the four mile mark in 29 minutes.

Clearly something was up; I'd just ran the quickest 4 miles of my life and not felt a thing. Still, no time to ponder and on I went, concerned but undeterred by the burning knee. I now had the 10k mark in mind and decided to push the needle until then at least, so that even if I slowed down in the second half I'd have minutes to play with. I couldn't help but grin at the sight of my stopwatch at the 10k mark; just over 46 minutes. I'd ran 10k flat out not long ago, in 48 minutes. Here I smashed that emphatically yet still felt I had plenty left in the tank. For the first time, I dared to consider a sub 1h 40 finish. The knee seemed to be holding up, so why not continue to push? At least for another 2 miles. As I passed a runner in an Adidas shirt, plastered with the "impossible is nothing" slogan, I couldn't help but tell myself "oh, indeed". Eight miles in and it had taken me an hour; not a second more. Now the task was to maintain an eight minute per mile pace for the remaining 5.1 miles. Or quicker.

Now the calves were feeling it. The route was mainly flat, except for the odd drop. And what steep drops they were too. A welcome relief? Not a bit of it. Whilst others darted downwards, I heeded the wise advice to tread these parts with caution, since they presented the biggest risk of injury. They are also an opportunity to recapture a steady heart rate. Further, since the race came full circle (pretty much), any drop implied an incline later on. And I was fully aware of the climb to the finish in the last two miles.

Running for over ninety minutes is as much a journey of the mind as anything else. A look into my mind during this race would serve up a masterclass on the spectrum of human emotion. The defining miles were towards the end, where the physical demands were taking their toll. At this point, I needed the strongest weapons in my arsenal: my mental strength. Some call it willpower, but I think the energy I get to push myself in these later miles is derived from a feeling of compassion. It is here that my deepest, most clear thoughts come to the forefront. I think of my friends and, above all, my family. My parents, sister and nephews waiting for me at the finish line. Do this for them, I tell myself, if not for yourself. I think of my friends, who have kept me going in the tough times, giving me the uncompromising belief that I am bigger than this race. I think of everyone who has donated to my cause; an emphatic reminder of the human capacity to love and support each other. I think of the innocent men, women and children of the Swat Region, who I hope will benefit above all from my performance. The sum total of all those thoughts and emotions leaves me with an energy and drive that no half-marathon can match. Suddenly, knee concerns are barely relevant and the fact that I'm now breathing heavy isn't a problem, because whatever happens, I will not stop. And just in case I'm tempted, the cheering spectators keep pushing me on, an endless supply of energy to see me through.

With two miles remaining, I gazed ahead with the realisation that the hardest part was yet to come. I faced an uphill climb to the finish and was now operating on adrenaline alone. As I entered the final mile, my thoughts were in a haze and only one word stood out: finish. Just get to the end. I came through a tunnel, with the overhead support echoing all around me. As I emerged on the other side, I sensed the end was near. Then I knew it. The final stretch and I could finally see the finish line. Despite being so close to collapse, the mere sight of the end instilled in me a desire to finish with style. A short sprint later, my arms were raised and I leapt over the finish line with the classic fisted pump and 'come on!' As I looked around, all I could see were the purple runners; through the course of the race I'd moved up a division, overtaking hundreds in the process. A real thrill; and no doubt what contributed to my increase in performance.

The moments that followed were euphoric in every sense. As I checked my watch I couldn't help but laugh; 1h 38. Unbelievable; a 7 minute step up from my lofty target of 1h 45. I had finally arrived as a runner. The atmosphere and support allowed me to make a quantum leap in my performance, to the sorts of levels that I never dared believed I'd be capable of in my first race. A flawless debut and what's more, despite feeling absolutely shattered, my knee seemed fine now.

I collected my goodies and medal and eventually found my family through the sea of supporters. An overwhelming feeling of emotion washed over me before I got there, so that my actual reaction was quite subdued when I eventually saw them. Still, my relief and joy was clear to all. An event that was hyped up by myself for so long blew all expectations out of the sky.