The Pawfect Running Partner

– Julie Finn

Arya, my Tri–Rough Collie, let out a soft bark as I tied the laces of my shoes. We had for the past three months been training for our first half marathon and she had accompanied me each Saturday morning on every park run, many trails, and relished the time spent with me.

It was late afternoon, and the twenty six kilometre trail was to begin in an hour’s time. I had packed my trail bag with water for both of us, a first aid kit and some energy bars. Arya loved the trails, and being of a working breed, she loved to be out running. After I stashed my bag and phone in the car, I went to put Arya in the back seat. She was oozing with excitement.

The trail event was at the Wildhorse Mountain State Forest. We pulled into the car park, which was brimming with people and their dogs. Arya began to whimper and whine. She knew something was going to happen. My Mum waved to us from across the road – she had parked close to us. She also loved the trails, and Arya had grown fond of her. Whenever she struggled with the hills, Arya would give her a nudge and stay with her. It was her way of encouraging her – typical of a Rough Collie.

The three of us made our way to the starting line, and I felt both nervous and thrilled to be doing my first half marathon. The organiser ran through the rules before he fired the starting gun, and we were off. Arya let out a series of barks as she pulled on her harness. I gave her the command for slow, knowing we had a long night ahead. She resisted for a moment before reluctantly slowing to stay by my side. The three of us fell into our rhythm of being slow and steady.

The sun began to dip and cast long, shadowy fingers across the sky. An afternoon breeze blew, drying the sweat that beaded my forehead. I loved the feeling of being on the trail. It was exhilarating.

Arya looked up, pleading for me to let her off the harness so she could run ahead. I smiled and shook my head. Tonight, she would have to stay on the lead. I am sure if she could have rolled her eyes, she would have.

When darkness descended, we switched on our headlamps. The forest was cold, dark, and unwelcoming. I shivered as Mum drew to a stop. She had concerns we had taken a wrong turn, and that there were no other runners on the trail. I looked around. We were all familiar with the trail during the day, but everything was different in the dark of night. There was no moon to help light our way. All we had were the headlamps.

I searched for the reflective strip that was used to mark the trail, but could not find one. We continued in our direction, knowing if we did not come across a strip within the next two kilometres, we had gone too far. I glanced at my watch. We had done ten kilometres, and it had been five kilometres since we had seen our last reflective strip. We doubled back until we found the last strip and the turn we were supposed to take.

Groaning, we increased our effort to make up for the time lost. The trail became sandy with fallen branches. We clambered over them until we came to a large tree that was blocking the path. I crawled over the rough bark, calling Arya to come with me. She balked and refused to go over. I made my way back to her before picking her up and carrying her over the fallen tree. My Mum burst into a fit of hilarity as she watched me struggle with my dog. I told Arya she owed me for making me carry her.

We continued past two checkpoints. Rain fell, cooling the sweat and soaking our shoes. We had done twenty kilometres and were tiring. We crossed muddy puddles, went through tall grass hoping that the snakes had cleared out before our arrival. The night was eerie and quiet.

We wondered where all the other runners had gone, as it had been some time since we had seen anyone. I swept my gaze behind us and noticed wavering lights and pointed them to Mum. She commented that thankfully we were not coming last. The lights were closing in on us at a fast pace, prompting us to increase our pace.

The last kilometre was the hardest and even Arya was tiring. Mud, grass, and dirt clung to our clothes and shoes. My legs ached and my socks squished and squelched inside my shoes. I longed for a hot shower and a soft bed. It was not long before the finish line loomed in the distance, a beacon that offered relief and the end of our run.

As we drew closer, we noticed there were a minimal amount of people. Only the photographer who burst through a thick wedge of shrubbery snapping a pic as we raced over the line and a handful of organisers still lingered where we had first started. Suddenly, the answer to the lack of people came to mind. We had come last. The people we had seen behind us were runners sent to make sure that we got to the finish line.

As we received our beanies and medal for participating, I voiced my revelation to mum. She scanned the people who were packing up. The knowledge that people had given up waiting for us to finish made us burst into laughter. Arya looked up, wondering what had brought on the sudden fit of amusement. I bent down and ruffled her coat before planting a kiss on her head. She licked my face, and I am sure she smiled. We had finished our first half marathon even though we had come last.

Since the marathon, Arya and I have completed more trail runs, regularly attend advanced classes in Obedience and now aim to try Agility. Everything is better with your best friend by your side.

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