Paul havde også skrevet sin egen rapport fra Sydney Marathon, og specielt med tanke på hans humoristiske indfaldsvinkel synes jeg det vil være på sin plads, også at bringe den her:
Sydney Marathon. Sunday 16 September 2012
Once you have waded though the volumes of instructions the Sydney Marathon remains a classic race in Australia. This year, however, marred by one thing, well several actually; cut off times that would make Pheidippides turn in his grave. Basically if you could not average 7.5 mins per km you were in grave danger of being tipped off the track or made to take a short cut. So for the gomers, first marathoners, the somewhat out-of-shape but struggling admirably, the race became a horror event, runners perpetually fearing the marshal lurching out from behind a bollard or tree, pointing his finger in the opposite direction to your running. This approach to marathons is completely antithetical to the marathon spirit. If cities can't organise their traffic and prams for a day then don't attempt a marathon. After Melbourne I will not be doing any more marathons with cut off times. Rob deCastella and Steve Moneghetti, do something.
Sydney could not organise themselves to post out the bibs (unlike Melbourne) so we trekked to the town hall on Saturday to collect them. It's really just a way of getting you to buy running stuff at the Expo, most of which are gucci embellishments of basic shirts and shoes. Interestingly, not one item at the expo had the word Marathon on it; marathons continue to be devalued and to succumb to the dreaded Running Festival, with attending street clutter. Already the prams and ankle biters were having rehearsals in the streets outside, waiting for an unsuspecting pedestrian before lurching out in front of them.
We got to the start in good time on Sunday, although what one was supposed to do between 6.30 and 7.30 I've no idea, other than bemoan the fact the the half marathon was starting an hour before the marathon. Go figure the logic in that!
The race starts in a northerly direction before heading south and over the Sydney Harbour Bridge. Thence through he city, Botanical Gardens, Hyde Park, Oxford Street then down to Moore and Centennial Parks. The only highlight of the parks section was being dive bombed by irate cockatoos who obviously were not used to so much excitement on a Sunday morning. Back to the city, around Darling Harbour to Pyrmont then back under the Bridge, around Circular Quay (which is not circular at all) to finish at the Opera House.
I started to fall apart at 4 km and thereafter I felt I had tree trunks for legs. Each step became chaotically synchronised with my irregular breathing and it was not long before David caught up. We stayed close, leapfrogging somewhat until by 18 km he pulled away. I caught up again by 28 km and, through no great feat of athleticism, pulled away from him from 30 km onwards. It was clear that I would be nowhere near 5 hours but also clear that, heart attacks notwithstanding, I would be well under the 5.30 cut off monster.
I managed to stay ahead of the woman who made 50 mobile phone calls from 25 km onwards yet still manage to run, the gaggle of women dressed in orange and gushing bon hommie and the one and only African runner who was a running version of Eric The Fish.
After the finish I was wracked by cramps and spent half an hour walking round and round a tree in the park. Any attempt to rest caused legs cramps and an urge to move the legs in the strangest of ways. My legs are still fasciculating some 6 hours after I finished.
Our times Paul 5.14, David 5.24. Jan unfortunately lost 3 km at a late cut off and Jane was injured and did not run. Jane and David will do Penrith to bring them up to 99, where I am now smugly residing.
Paul

Royal Botanic Gardens, hvor vi kunne slappe af efter marathonløbet.