I CAN'T FEEL MY LEGS!

PART II

So when I left off my last blog I had waved down Martin and Julie in the parking lot of the Bahrain F1 race track.  The parking lot is sandy (of course), and as I waved to them both I started hacking away uncontrollably.  Julie Pearson had warned me that the sand/dust is very fine and that last year a number of runners complained that they could hardly breathe after their run.  Count me as one of those!  I was yacking like a sick dog, hardly able to stand on my now throbbing legs. 

When I recovered from my first heavyweight hack-bout I realized that Martin and Julie hadn't heard me because my voice was barely audible with all the sand in my throat.  I chased them down, albeit very slowly on my recovering legs.

"Hey, there you are Matt.  How was the run?"

"Glad it's ov...HUUUYYAACKKKKK...HUGGGH.....HUUUUUUUGGGGK....HUYAK...er.  Boy that sand is really HUUYYAACKKK."

"Oh Matt, I knew the sand would be bad..." Julie looks nervous about her leg.

"Well it's 10:50, so let's head back to the house and then drive out this afternoon for our legs ok?"

I was all game for that.  We climbed into their car and started to head back to Seef, where the Pearson's live.  On the way out Martin commented, "How did Ali look when you handed over the baton?"

"He actually looked....HUYYAACCKKK...a little nervous.  Like this was something he wished he hadn't signed-up for a few m...HUGGHHAACK..onths ago."

"We need to cheer him on don't we?" (rhetorical question from Martin).  We all agreed and Martin started to slow down as we drove along the main entrance road to the F1 track, where Ali would be running.  "You know I saw the guy who is taking on Leg 3, after Ali.  He was wearing jeans and a head scarf.  We might not win but nobody will forget the Shoaibi Group..."  Martin ends this with his trademark giggle.  I thought this was pretty funny as well, especially with all the serious marathon teams entered; we were here to have fun and it was already a great morning.

We slowed down about a minute later as we spied the "28" tag on a loan walker.  Yep, poor Ali was having a walk for the moment.  Martin slowed down and we stretched out the windows to root on Ali.  "Come on Ali...come on Ali, keep going!  HUYYAACKKK...Ali....Keep it HUYYACK up!"  At this point the traffic stalled us and Ali trotted on by.  We were stuck in a magnificent jam, so by the time we got to the light we had all decided that we would root on the next runner....jean pants guy.

"There he is!" Julie points to a well-paced jogger with our "28" beaming out to the world.  We pull up alongside and proceed to yell again..."Keep it up...you're almost HUYYAACCKKK there!"

"That's a woman."  Martin retorts.  "That's Ali's wife!  That's why the head scarf and jeans."  Ok, now we all felt a little better about our team, and she was running well.  Our spirits, which were already up, were lifted even more.  Onto Seef, and the great Pearson preparation.

I got out of the car at the Martin-Mansion and could hardly move.  My legs had knotted up and I felt like a complete sissy.  I was spending more energy coughing now then I had expended during the race, but my body felt as stiff as a board.  I Frankensteined into the house and sat on the couch.  Martin and Julie disappeared to their room to dress for their runs.

At this point in the story, it is important to bring in a fourth character: Martin Birch.  Martin Birch is staying with the Pearsons while he helps get a new Joint Venture off the ground in Saudi Arabia.  "Birchy" as they call him had been gone the entire night and was still not back when we arrived back from my run! 

Martin comes strolling into the living room with his red shirt on, tucked into his running shorts.  He doesn't look ready for the run, and for the first time in my life, Martin looks a bit nervous.  Julie also looks hesitant, but she's more careful by nature.  Martin exudes confidence, so to see him hesitate a bit was impressive.

"Ole Birchy must have had a live night...I spoke to him at 7am and he said he'd be here by noon.  Five minutes to go...Matt you may need to jump in and run a second leg....Hahaha."

"I can do it if needed..." as I massage my legs and shutter inside.  I am still coughing a bit and my back is rigid.  Why did I just volunteer for another...

The door opens and in walks Martin Birch.  He's a hulk of a man; athletic and very awake.

"Sorry there mates, a little late to the door but be ready in a few...Hi there, Martin."  "Matt...and boy am I glad that you are here!"

Birchy is ready in 2 minutes and we're off to the track.  Our plan is for me to drop of Martin Birch first, then drive ahead to the next station where Martin Pearson would be taking the baton from Martin Birch.  Martin Birch would join us as Martin Pearson ran his segment.  We would drive ahead and drop off Julie Pearson, who would then take the baton from her husband Martin.  Finally we would park at the end.  Julie would hand the baton to Mark Jenkins who would finish the race for us.

Martin Birch jumps out of the car and waits anxiously for his chance at glory.  This guys is every bit of 6' 3" and 240.  He's a world class skier and a great athlete, but admitted that the previous night involved brandy and beer.  Unfortunately Martin had crossed paths with an old friend from grammar school and the two of them proceeded to light up the town.  They even met some ladies at one dance club who were running the next day! (We actually saw them moving very, very slowly on one of the later legs).

Martin grabs the baton from Shoaibi Runner #12 and jots off in a walk-run.  We honk and scream as we pass by.  Up ahead, we park and wait for Birchy to come in.  Martin Pearson gives it a few weak stretches and then heads to the hand-off area.  "Come on Birchy!"  we hear Martin yell.  The baton is handed-off and then we get a glimpse of this gigantic sweating man, heaving and coughing like he has the ebola virus.

"I caHUYYAAKn't breeeaaatthhhee....HUCKKKAAAHUYYACKKK!!!!"  This man is sweating like he's just finished the iron man.  His whole shirt is drenched.  We help him into the car...."HAACCKKKKKHHUYYAACKK!!!!"  Whoa, serious wheezing and coughing.  We drive off and honk at Martin, who's moving at about .3ft per minute.  "Take it out slow..." is ringing in my head. 

We arrive at Julie's post and Birchy is still wheezing away, but by this point we're running low on water.  "It's just so hot...and I swear HUYYAACCKKKKK!!!! that is much farther than 3km.  What's that 1.7 miles?  I came around that last turn and the finish line looked like it was 10 miles away....I just couldn't run the whole thing....I HUYAACKKK HUCK HUCCKKK HUYACKKK! am just glad that's over."

Julie jumps out and sees Martin approaching.  I grab a water and Birchy and I head over to meet Martin as he hands the baton to Julie.  Martin doesn't look good either.  "HUYYACKK, Mate that is a long way!  I came to that second light and thought, 'That's not too bad.'  Then I see this guy waving me on.  It's one more light HUYACK ahead.  It's so far.  That felt a lot farther than 3km."  A royal band of runners we are!

We pull up to the F1 track and greet Mark Jenkins, who'll be taking the baton from Julie.  The three of us are hardly moving now.  My entire back is fixed in position and my calfs are aching sharply.  Martin and Martin are in a complete coughing daze.

Mark is ready to go, fresh off a flight from Moscow that arrived that morning.  There is a long straight away leading to this hand-off.  Martin Pearson sneaks away and down the straight away while we all talk.  When I next look down the street I realize that Martin is running the last length with his wife, cheering her on all the way.  It was a really tender moment.  Mark takes the baton from Julie and heads into the last leg of the race.  We stammer over to the finish line and cheer him on as he finishes.  We didn't know what place we were in, but there were definitely less people at the finish line than there were at the starting line that morning.  We were all smile though, because it was finally over.

The next morning I received a call from Martin.  "Morning Matt, you alright?"  "I'm pretty sore to be honest, how are you..."  "Yeah, didn't feel good getting out of the bed this morning.  I can't walk-up stairs today!  Hey Nigel has your medal for running ok."  Medal?  Yep, I was joining the Willmer family with my own running medal, although I didn't win.  Still, I'm proud of my HUYYACCCKKKK!

Complete with Red Racing t-shirt

I am pretty sure that's not gold