"It doesn't have to be fun to be fun"

We can forgive the myspace angle on this occasion.

Prior to my trip to the UK, I went to my local library and got myself some quality reading material for the estimated 75 hours I'd spent on planes or departure lounges (not to mention the hours between me and everyone else waking up). For the last few years I've been on a heavy non-fiction kick and at the moment it's books on sports. Running, mountaineering, cycling, diving, anything really that doesn't involve a ball or the word "Wackiest". It was somewhere between Dubai and Singapore that I finally picked up Aron Ralston's "Between a Rock and a Hard Place". For those of you who don't know, Aron is the guy who went canyoning and ended up with his right hand wedged in between the canyon wall and a chockstone. After six days (or 127 Hours as the title of the film made of the book described it) he succeeded in cutting off the arm and hiking and rappelling his way to safety. Despite having given away the ending (which, to be fair, the book's jacket does anyway) I would really recommend it, if only for Ralston's thoughts on why certain people go climbing, run, or all the other stuff that makes the rest of society say "you're mental". One line from it really struck a chord with me, the title of this entry. How many times have I grimaced through a workout, a skate drill, a run, thinking about how much it sucks and how much I hate it whilst at the same time not wanting to be anywhere else? Human beings are complex things.

It resonated with me because of my slow realisation, I guess, that gratification comes in many forms and sometimes the best kind isn't the simplest. Today I ran my first proper trail event, the XTERRA series event in Waiuku, about an hour south of Auckland. It was raining this morning when I woke up and stayed that way until about 7km in to the run. There was a headwind for the first 3km. It was sandy, which made it feel like a recurring dream I've had for years, where I'm running away from something but I'm going nowhere and my legs feel like lead. It was cold. It wasn't fun. 

But I had fun. Fun, dammit! I crossed the line with two women who, though I'd never met them before, were lovely and supportive and we ended up encouraging each other along the final few k's. I spent a few kilometres navigating a mud-and-cutty-grass section with a lovely older woman who asked me why I was doing the marathon, which certainly distracted me from the cold and the leaden feeling in my legs. I got some fast sections in between the godforsaken sand. I even manages to smile(ish) for the photographer at the finish. 

Our intrepid group, post-run. 

I decided not to wear my tracking watch as I had thought the course would be way muddier than it actually was and the idea of breaking it by submerging it in the gloop seemed daft. I don't know how I did but I feel my initial goal of 1 hour 30 might be extremely optimistic. I'm waiting for the times to be released but if I came in under 1:45 I'll be happy. I ran most of the way (and the walks were very short rest walks rather than big sections) and I managed to maintain a decent, though slow, pace throughout so I'm pleased with that. It didn't have to be fun to be fun.