I was going to leave this Wednesday alone, but Compton Allen has very kindly pointed out that it is not only Wednesday, but Wednesday the 13th... which reminds me, I used to not be particularly superstitious; to the point that I always wanted to wear the number 13 when I played basketball (another sport I was not particularly brilliant at, but enjoyed with a reasonable injection of white line fever)... Unless my beloved Hawks are playing, or the Australian team is competitive in an Ashes series, Im not too serious about the concept of sport, until I participate... Then, I give whatever Im doing my all... My all has never really resulted in resounding success, as the bare trophy cabinets at various abodes will attest (Yes, one must have a trophy cabinet in case something extraordinary happens... although its sensible that it doubles as a bookcase or another functional furniture piece, not reliant on being filled with sporting glories). If a sporting event would earn points for my house at high school, I was in it, regardless of the damage it would inevitably do to my sporting reputation, which, on reflection, didnt REALLY matter, as that sporting reputation had not formulated beyond the walls of my own head... Let us begin with the school Cross Country; an excuse to avoid an afternoon of usual school inactivity, breath in some fresh air, and get muddy... From previous performances in Phys. Ed. classes, I considered myself a dead cert to come last. There was not a soul at that school who could exert the effort level I employed and move as unimpressively as I. By the time wed run around the school oval and the hockey, soccer and rugby fields and were about to enter the bush that constituted the country we were to cross, I was so far behind, the front runners in the race had already started tomorrows classes! Nevertheless, I soldiered on, thinking only of the one point I would earn for my house... Up the hilly bush track I started to run. Now, the term run herein is used rather loosely, although, as stated previously, the effort was puffing out of me like a broken steam train, looking for a track to fall off... On the downhill part of the race, I noticed something quite disturbing; something that would potentially thwart my aspirations... One of my fellow competitors had been mugged by friends, and was being held down in the bushes. He was in a state of suspended animation, far worse than the one I experienced at top speed. With about 120 metres to go, I bound out of the bushes, rather like an overenthusiastic dachshund, with legs feeling like they were burning the grass on which I ran, and body defying all laws of mobility, or lack thereof. My dad tells me theres no such thing as second last, so I proudly crossed the finish line in the penultimate position... The following year, I was equally confident of securing the ultimateness of last, but there was disappointingly actually someone slower than I was. A year 7 boy of phenomenal inability to project his body far beyond dawdling pace. His lack of form was impeccable, and I studied his ways very closely... In my third year at high school, I achieved what had seemed like it would allude me, the coveted last place in the Cross Country. It came with an unexpected bonus... There I was, exitting dachsundly from the bushes when I heard some voices in the gathered crowd (made up of those who couldnt see the importance of going in the Cross Country to earn a point for your house; the wouldnt have a goers). Corricks coming last I heard and it echoed in my head like a sledge hammer smashing a concrete slab. I was more than happy to carry the magnanimity of my achievement in my own head, but hearing it beyond the security of that confinement hit home like a lead balloon... I stopped, for I had no fear of being overtaken, and walked to the edge of the gathered crowd, possibly quicker than the dachshund had exitted the bushes. Dont ridicule me for coming last when youre all eligible to run I said with a spite that would have frightened a spitfire, I can see a lot of people here who are yet to start the Cross Country. With that, I began to single them out. ... sore leg again John. Got a bit of a sniffle Pete and as I continued, the gathered crowd collectively moved backwards in an attempt to avoid being individually singled out. As I very proudly ran towards, then crossed the finish line, I realised I hadnt come last at all. I was a winner in my own head, and I STILL am... As long as this piece is already, I cannot go without mentioning Division 15 of the Boys Open 200 metres in 1975. There I was at the starting line, perusing the field. When I say field I mean the stretch of grass on which I was about to plod, not my fellow competitors. The gun fired and off I went. The steam train was working overtime on this day. The legs were pumping. The arms were flaying in an arythmic and terribly unsuccessful attempt to assist my propulsion. About ten seconds had passed when I had travelled at least 15 metres. I felt the wonderful breeze on my face as I ran into a headwind, for there was no way the motion I made could have created a breeze. I looked ahead of me, and there it was... The tape that I had seen a number of my school mates break over the years, and it was mine for the demolition... I started to relax. I was going to enjoy the next minute or so, as I travelled the next 185 metres... Dont forget, I was running into a headwind... I would love to detail every three or four steps I took to cover each of those 185 metres, but, the last steps are the most important... The tape crushed into my pumped out chest as I proceeded to WIN Division 15 of the boys open 200 metres. I was handed a small bottle of orange juice which I woofed down with the adrenolin driven excitement of victory... I turned around then to watch and encourage the other entrant in Division 15 of the boys 200 metres. Im not prepared to share details of that other runner, for fear they would severely tarnish the gloss of my victory. As he crossed the line, I turned to the Phys. Ed. teacher and, as a teenager would, asked what I was going to get for winning... He said You just drank it I wasnt sure if it was worth diving into the rubbish tin to retrieve my discarded replacement blue ribbon, so I didnt, but, such is my lack of sporting prowess, when I drink orange juice, even now, I can still feel the tape across my chest... and I believe the athletic carnival was always held on a Thursday and the Cross Country on a Wednesday... What does THAT say about my favourite day?
Posted on: Tue, 12 Nov 2013 22:51:11 +0000
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