Almanac Running: 10,254 days
Image supplied by Mickey Randall
Running is an invitation to think.
Setting off in Kurralta Park, six kilometres from the Colley Reserve rotunda gave me ample opportunity to dwell on my joyous present and varied and wide past.
Ambling towards Glenelg over the following 36 minutes I did just that.
I was paid up for my first City Bay fun run since 1994, and this alone represented a triumph. Although I was only entered in the six-kilometre event and not the full twelve I was keen to participate and prove things to myself. But a week out I suffered an avulsion fracture in my foot which is when a flake of bone attached to a ligament is pulled away from the joint.
Ouch.
I was disappointed and that this happened at our Port Elliot townhouse on my annual writing retreat dampened the celebratory mood. Slipping on the bottom rung of the darkened staircase following three generous glasses of shiraz, I knew I should’ve gone the merlot.
Shiraz can be shameless.
So, ever supportive and kind, Claire suggested I do the City Bay fun run when I’d recovered. Five weeks later, this morning at 11.50 by Anzac Highway, and across from Australia’s best K Mart (no, really) my lovely wife said, ‘3, 2, 1, go!’
Like Forrest Gump, I was RUNNING! It was no leisurely jog to the beach and back. It was my own private event with the attendant excitement and exhilarating occasion.
Heading down the Anzac Highway footpath past the homes and shops and pubs I felt deep gratitude (especially when I didn’t go in the execrable Highway Inn). I wondered about the groups of lads I passed ambling down to the Morphettville racecourse. An Indian man was then easing local council how to vote pamphlets into letterboxes outside a big block of cream units. He cheerfully ignored me.
A biker roared through the traffic, his chopper adorned with ghastly yet tremendous wood-panelling, and with his stereo blasting. Speakers installed on motorbikes is always noteworthy and just a little bit funny. I couldn’t identify the music due to the car noise but the funky, yet laconic bass suggested Talking Heads. Puffing along, I inwardly nodded approval.
I was making pretty good time. In 1994 during my last City Bay, when I was non-grey and non-chubby, I had on the Swatch watch I’d bought duty-free on the way to New Zealand’s Contiki Tour the previous summer. Being on the youthful side of thirty and boosted by adrenalin I ran my first six kilometres in 24 minutes! In 2022, I knew this was beyond me however I remembered to be kind to myself. As the Dalai Lama says, ‘Kindness is my religion.’ He knows a few things, our Dalai.
Today my pace was leisurely, but I had much more for which to be grateful. There was a cooling breeze and cloudy sky as friendly company. Just by the racecourse I felt a wave of nostalgia for the fading, sometimes vexed previous decades and renewed appreciation for where I was at this exact moment.
I think I’ve the three ingredients for happiness: something to do, something to look forward to, and most vitally, someone to love. Arriving at the next intersection I again got the run of the lights and scampering across (this might be a generous description) was now in Glenelg East.
It was going well, and my sense of joy was percolating nicely. He’s deeply flawed however as American Beauty‘s Lester Burnham says when he’s on the verge of physical reinvention: ‘But you know what? It’s never too late to get it back.’
With the grass of Colley Terrace beneath my Brooks running shoes I peered anxiously ahead at the rotunda. It appeared deserted and my bespoke City Bay fun run was nearly done.
All about me people were easing into their Saturday afternoons by the beach and for the first time in decades I’d easily run a reasonable distance. I hoped this would be a symbol of capacity, of happy future surprise and of the rich possibilities of life, well-contemplated and favourably executed.
My run complete I effected the rotunda stairs (mercifully this time without incident) and Claire was waving some fizzing sparklers, just for me.
More from Mickey Randall Here.
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About Mickey Randall
Now whip it into shape/ Shape it up, get straight/ Go forward, move ahead/ Try to detect it, it's not too late/ To whip it, whip it good
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As mentioned elsewhere, I thought this a wonderful initiative.
Credit to you and Claire! Well played.
Wandering about a busy Moseley Square after my run and with my official numbered City Bay bib on I wondered what people made of it but of course most folks are preoccupied so I heard no comments! As most high-level athletes do, we celebrated at a local bakery after, and my recovery was aided by a pasty (sans sauce) but with corn. I can’t imagine Cornish miners ate much corn, but there you go.
Thanks Smokie.
“Wind Assisted” adopts a different meaning after 50. Well played.
Wow Mickey – or should I call you 31005 “for the avoidance of doubt” as our learned friends love saying so much to cover their legal arses – where do I start?
Perhaps I should formally welcome you to a smallish group of authors (captained by GCGD Haigh of course) who necessitate a dictionary for your humble reader while reading. “Avulsion” eh? Love it when you talk dirty mate.
But wait, there’s more. “Shiraz can be shameless.” Just exactly where will I start with this one FFS? I mean, is the Kapunda tennis club really all that innocent?
Anyway, love your work mate.
RDL
Very good PB! That’s my winged keel.
RDL- I’d not heard of ‘avulsion’ prior to my doctor mentioning it and I’d be pleased if beyond this dialogue I’d none of it again! With Port Elliot being close to Langhorne Creek perhaps I should’ve opted for a Cabernet Sauvignon? Well done to your Cats too.
Thanks for your thoughts.