boring, wet, cold old Melbourne

That’s generally the picture people have of Melbourne, particularly if they come from somewhere up north. It’s increasingly untrue, especially this week.

We’re anything but cold, and it seems years since we were wet. And this week, we’re very definitely on edge.

Stepping out your door is like walking into a fiery inferno, so much so that many people simply don’t come to work, if they can manage it at all.

Some man, apparently disgruntled over a custody case, threw his four year-old daughter off the Westgate Bridge. That’s about 15 stories high. I can’t think what could have posessed him to do that. It’s so far outside the bounds of normal human behaviour it’s hard to comprehend.

Book shops are on fire in Carlton.

The public transport system, never terribly impressive at the best of times, has seemingly disintegrated. You’re incredibly lucky to catch any sort of train at all these days, especially in the afternoon.

I say “lucky”, but it’s only lucky in the sense that people in the Black Hole of Calcutta were lucky. So, not very lucky at all.

It’s all a bit anarchic and insane. I keep expecting to see Colonel Kurtz appear next to me, rubbing his bald sweaty head, muttering about “the horror…. the horror” and sticking people’s heads on spikes.

Running
No running since Wednesday. I’ve been feeling sick, not to mention sleep deprived and generally grumpy. I’m not in a terribly good mood, in case you didn’t notice.

all downhill

Hills are a bit of a bugger really, aren’t they? I mean – you work your guts out, running, walking, staggering, crawling to the top of the things and when you get to the top you justifiably feel as if the worst is over.

After all – they’ve even invented a saying for this very situation: it’s all downhill from here. As I understood it, that’s supposed to imply every thing’s easy-street from here on in.

In reality, going down is about three times as fast, but it also takes your quads and bashes them with a meat tenderiser. And not gently, either.

The family members are not exactly brimming over with sympathy either. They seem to feel that if I choose to run up a mountain then I deserve whatever I get.

Sigh.

Leonard Cohen
In all the excitement I neglected to mention the Leonard Cohen concert on Saturday night. I’m a bit of a fan – no, make that a FAN – so I’d probably pay to watch him snoring, but he was surprisingly entertaining. He was in fine voice – for him – and the band was great. He played for an astonishing 2 and a half hours plus interval, and skipped on and off the stage like some bizarre 75 year-old leprichaun, even in the 5th encore.

And the music was great. Bird on a Wire, which I’ve never really liked, became a really cool blues number. Hallelujah, which probably everyone was waiting for, was also inspiring, completely different but on a similar level to the Jeff Buckley version.

A very happy JH left the Yarra Valley on Saturday night. Little did I know what the morrow would bring, mountain-wise.

slight undulation

A lovely run this morning. A beautiful, clear cool morning in splendorous natural surrounds; invigorating conversation courtesy of Messrs Supersam, Eat em, Hobble’s husband Jed and the lovely Em and Michelle.

You can’t beat it.

I spent plenty of time admiring the flora and fauna, including an enormous goanna and a smallish kangaroo. We even managed a quick dip afterwards, in the little creek at the base of the Maroondah Dam wall.

Very pleasant all round.

I think we manage 24km, according to SS’s go at mapmyrun. Have a look at the map if you like. If you can get the elevation to work, you’ll see there was a slight undulation between kilometres 3 and… oh… 21.

Really, it was nothing: hardly enough to notice.

hot, windy

Hot and windy are about my two least favourite adjectives, particularly when applied to the weather. I suppose “hot” might be okay when applied to a curry or, if that’s your thing, the attractive person of your choice. “Windy” is never good really, unless you’re a professional kite flyer and I don’t imagine there are too many of those around.

Anyway, put hot and windy together and you have less than ideal conditions for running, that’s for darn-tooting sure.

I ran this morning, starting at 5:30am and even then, before the sun shouldered its way over Mount Dandeong, it wasn’t fantastic. It felt about 24 degress with a nasty swirling wind.

The effect of all that was to slow me down, markedly. Yesterday I ran the course at 4 minutes/km, today it was closer to 5.

Even at the slower pace, I was hot and bothered when I got home. I remained bothered even after the cold shower.

As an aside, if you ever want to feel really tingly and rejuvenated, go for a brisk hot run, then a hot-hot shower followed immediately by an icy-cold one. It’s a shock to the system, but it certainly wakes you up.

I can vouch for that.

a new day dawns

It’s been a wonderful 24 hours. A day to ring through the ages.

No more will we be forced to listen to incoherent manglings of the English language. No more frankly delusional levels of arrogance and stupidity.

That’s right: Lleyton Hewitt is out of the Australian Open in the first round.

With any luck he’ll retire soon, and go live in a trailer somewhere.

Oh, and something or other happened over in the States.

Running
Up early this morning for a reasonably quick 12.5km over a hilly course. Exactly 50 minutes, which was pretty good.

new skin for the old ceremony

Those of you out there who are keen Leonard Cohen fans will appreciate the super-clever pun in today’s title. Before you ask: there are Leonard Cohen fans out there, plenty of them. He’s doing a concert at Rod Laver Arena!

Anyway, not only do I have a rather excellent album from the mid 70s, I’ve also managed to give this blog a new template.

It’s stark, chic, and devilishly attractive. Kinda like me.

Also, I can’t figure out how to make it work properly. That also is a lot like me.

Running
If you happened to have been up and about before the dawn in Ringwood East this morning, you might have seen me sweating up a storm. What was meant to be a recovery session turned into 12.85km of hill reps. Fun.

following my nose

The bad thing about marathon training is the relentlessness. It’s Sunday, so I must run 32km. Now it’s Tuesday, time for fartlek. It goes on and on.

You never get time to run just for the hell of it.

So today, with all that unpleasantness well and truly behind me, it was time for an exploratory, follow-my-nose type run.

It was a good one too – 28km including about 5km running along trails in the Dandenong Ranges National Park. I’ve never really spent any time there ’til now. Silly really, as it’s so close. The thing is – I have to run at least 8km there and the same back, meaning, unless I want to venture into ultra-Clarkey territory, I don’t have all that much time to spend when I get there.

Anyway, here’s the route on mapmyrun.com….

Next weekend I’ll be of to see Leonard Cohen on the Saturday night, followed by a session chasing Em up and down some stoopid mountain near Healesville on the Sunday morning. At least, that’s her story.

someone to watch over me

Not much happening this week: a little work, a little playing with the kids, a little running. In short: the usual.

So, nothing much to say, blog-wise. In the shower this morning I contemplated an extended discussion about the rights and wrongs of exclusive men’s clubs in Melbourne. That’s probably been done to death though. Besides, if we, as a society, are prepared to allow hundreds of women-only gyms, then it’s a bit rich to deny men their little boys clubs too.

I’m inclined to just let them be. If people want to have little boys clubs, why not? What’s the harm? Surely we have more important things to do, shouldn’t the government fix the public transport system first?

Anyway, on to something more pleasant. This is a terribly un-feminist song – so bad it makes me cringe – but a beautiful tune. Also, it’s Martha Wainwright singing, and I’m something of a fan of hers.

Someone to watch over me….