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Run Forrest, Run - What a 10km Run Feels Like

'Life is like a box of chocolates. You never know what you're gonna get'.

So too, the 10km.


The race director calls everyone to the start line. I push to the front; have a quick glance at the footwear around me. 'Mama always said you can tell a lot about a person by their shoes, where they're going, where they've been' - or in this case, how fast they are. I'm a little concerned about the group of teenagers on my left, wearing their vaporflys and their state cross country singlets. Laughing amongst themselves, not a care in the world. Yet.

One of my favourite things is dominating kiddies. Teenage tears fill my fountain of youth. Sorry kids, not every child will be receiving a prize today, if I can help it.


Old mate on my right, in his short shorts, tank top and alphaflys looks fast. He also looks hungry. Hungry for wins, but also, just hungry.


On your marks.

Get set.

'Run, Forrest Run'


I'm off. My rules are simple. Sprint the first 150, get out in the clear air, drop those pesky primary kids that start way too fast, then settle in and see what the race brings. Before I know it, the first km is done. The heart rate is rising steadily. There's a head wind, but I've tucked myself in nicely behind old mate as he foolishly provides a lovely windbreak - 'stupid is as stupid does', or something.

Km 2 has gone by. Km 3. The heart rate is hitting 175 now. It's flatlined. Time to focus on form. Knees up, control my breathing, chest high. Swing those arms!


Km 5, km 6. I've got Dave Goggins screaming in my head, on repeat 'Who's gonna carry the boats, Who's gonna carry the boats?!'. What does that even mean Dave? I don't know. Not sure anyone knows. I keep pushing.


Km 7. There's this weird ringing sound in my ears. It's deafening. Am I dying? Now Forrest is back: 'Mama always said, dying was a part of life. I sure wish it wasn't.' Pipe down please Forrest and bring back Dave Goggins.


Km 8, km 9, the legs have had enough. Forrest is taunting me: 'you ain't got no legs lieutenant dan'.


Then, there it is, the finish line.

I crash though it, a busted mess. I find the nearest seat and melt into it, questioning all of life's decisions that lead me to this place.


As Forrest says, 'Life is like a box of chocolates'. And so too the 10km.

On a good day it's a Turkish Delight or Picnic, on a bad day, you're left with that gross Boost Chocolate thing.


But regardless of the outcome, the 10km always seem to end the same for me. A ragged, bearded, dishevelled Forrest, in my head for the final time, muttering: 'I'm pretty tired, think I'll go home now.'

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Jon, Jon. And I though you are only counting minutes, seconds during your run, figuring out what is needed for the next PB!

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