under control

It’s been a fairly heavy few days, for reasons you’re probably aware of. Every time you look, the death toll from the weekend’s fires seems to go up.

It’s hard to stop thinking about it. I even watched A Current Affair last night, and didn’t mind it. I assume even they couldn’t think of a way to sensationalise that story. It can’t get much more emotionally affecting.

There’s been a fair bit of hugging of babies and toddlers and spouses and a few quiet tears.

So, after all of that, it was a relief to have a nice cool run on a nice cool day.

14.5km at lunchtime, from the east side of the city, across to the Capital City Trail at Docklands, up to Brunswick road, across to Rathdowne street and back down to the city.

There really is nothing an hour’s good running can’t help. Life just seems more balanced, more in control after a good little while spent sweating.

Don’t laugh, but a while ago there was an ad on TV for some brand of pimple cream – I don’t remember which – the tag-line was “clean and clear and under control”. Well, anyway, that’s how running makes me feel. Clean and clear and under control.

Maroondah Dam
I’ve been trying to get in shape for hills in aid of this run. I gather now it’ll be delayed or cancelled this year. It’s a shame, as I was looking forward to redeeming myself after last year’s effort. Still, a part of me is relieved.

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.

god’s truth

There seems to be some misconception amongst you lot about my post yesterday, in which I said something along the lines of:

Julia Gillard: there’s something about her…

Now, it’s true I may have embellished the truth slightly, as I am wont to do, but as they say in the classics, many a true word spoken in jest. Or, as Geoffrey Chaucer would have it: “A man may seye full sooth in game and pley”. I couldn’t have said it better myself.

Now, those of you who were thinking this blog was just a light-hearted bunch of musings on amateur distance running: recant forthwith! I’m only 104 words into the post and already I’ve covered sex (or at least unrequited lust), classic literature and senior figures in the Australian Labour party. They should include this in the year 12 English literature syllabus, it’s that good.

Where was I? Ah yes, Julia Gillard. If I were 20 years older, or if she was 20 years younger, and I was single… I’d be lying if I said I wouldn’t consider it. And, if Ralph magazine is anything to go buy, I’m not alone.

Running
Moving on to less controversial subjects: you may recall there was a small running event last weekend. No? Get with the program – here’s the original post. Anyway, since then my head has been feeling fine, but everything else has been a minefield. My thighs – usually one of my best bits – feel like somebody has been poking them with red hot pokers. Not good.

Anyone who happened to be watching me walk downhill on the way to the train station on Tuesday would have had a good laugh. I looked like some drunken, pained, effete pirate in civilian clothes.

My usual remedy for complaints of this nature is a couple of good hard laps of the tan. It never fails.

In that spirit I schlepped out for 13km around my local streets last night, then backed it up today with 12km, including two tans. Now, as predicted, every thing’s fine, so long as I don’t attempt something as outlandish as trying to bend the legs.

Note to self: never enter an event that involves running up a mountain. Ditto running down a mountain, which is somehow worse.

philosophy

In retrospect, Sunday’s post was an unnecessarily petulant, foul-mouthed display, which should and could be avoided. If I was thinking properly I would have realised I didn’t do that badly considering:

1. I hadn’t done anywhere near enough hill training and
2. the longest run I’d done was just over 2 hours

Still, it was disappointing to finish a run feeling like you’ve underachieved. Ah well, chalk it up to experience.

Some pictures Chilliman posted on Cool Running…

train-wreck

I was going to describe my first attempt at Maroondah Dam 30km this morning as a “car-crash”, but that’s clearly inadequate. Car crashes aren’t nice by any means but, unless the Blues Brothers are involved, they usually only involve minor carnage. This was more than minor.

So, train-wreck it was.

I enjoyed the first 600 metres, which was good. Shame about the next 30km. My calves started to complain within 2km, and by 3km my heart rate had risen from its customary ice-cool lope to “oh my god the boat’s sinking and all the life rafts have been taken” panicky sprints. It’s a shame Radiohead weren’t around taping it, as the sound of my heart-beat would have mixed in quite well on their latest record.

Anyhoo.

After 5km the hills lessened somewhat, going from “simply impossible” to “you what? you want me to go up there?”: a minor improvement at best. I struggled on, ran into Tiger Boy about 6km from the finish and we dribbled our way to the end. It was under 3 hours 30, but not by a whole lot.

A complete write-off. I’m so unfit. Angry, depressed, you name it.

I’ve been searching through the archives of this site (surprisingly large, I must cull some!) and I don’t think I have ever lowered the tone by using a four-letter word. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve a big fan in real life of the short-sharp s*** or even, when greatly roused, a c***. As words go, they may not be nice, but they get to the point admirably. In print, however, they show a certain lack of taste and refinement. And, you have to put in all those asterisks, which is a major drag.

So, believe me when I say this, the word I’m about to use is only appearing on this blog because it is absolutely the only word in the English language that can convey the full force and meaning of this morning.

Fucking awful.

There, that feels better.

who you gunna call

You know something’s wrong when you’re in your early 30s, it’s Saturday night, and you’re sitting there, watching Ghostbusters on TV. AND, that’s the height of the evening’s entertainment.

I don’t know whether to laugh or cry.

Funnily enough, I did enjoy the movie. I’m a fan of Bill Murray, although I completely understand why he could rub you up the wrong way. You either instantly like the guy, in which case he merely needs to raise an eyebrow to make you split your sides, or you’ll never like him and you’ll probably feel like splitting HIS sides. With an axe.

Moving on: this morning dawned fresh and bright, in which respect it differed markedly from me. Dim and rancid just about summed me up this morning. Oh, and fearful.

You see, on Friday I entered the Maroondah Dam trail run. The 30km version looked like a good option. That is, until you look at the map, specifically the map with all the contour lines on it. Yikes.

So, a good long run seemed in order this morning. Well, it was long, but good is stretching things a bit. I was only allowed two hours, so my 30km route had to be scaled back a bit. In the end I did 26.5km and was only about 30 seconds late. Not too bad, but unlikely to set any records.

Here it is on mapmyrun.com.