You asked me, “What’s it like being retired?

 Dear Bob,

 

You asked me, “What’s it like being retired?  What you should I do when I retire?”

Bob, perhaps you can begin by deciding what you want other people to call you. A lot of people describe themselves by what they used to do.  Retired doctor, retired teacher, retired plumber or retired footballer.   Sometimes I go that way. I am a retired dentist.  Personally, I don’t want to be described by what I used to be. I prefer not to be called a retired dentist.

Bob, a big issue of me was deciding when to shave. I couldn’t get it right. When working I used to shave every working day and never at the weekend. When retired I initially tried to shave when I had to. When the stubble irritated me, I would shave. It hurt and was difficult.  Was a beard the solution? I don’t think so. It would change my appearance and irritate me. My solution is shaving every day. Being retired I now shave more than when I worked.

Bob you also have to work out what clothes to wear.  When working I had clothes and shoes I walked to work in. When I arrived, I took off my walking shoes and clothes and put my work attire on. Now I am fancy free to wear anything anytime.  Your clothes tell the world who you are.

Bob, in the morning, you have to work out when to get out of bed? You can’t have a relaxed sleep-in every day. It won’t work.

Previously I had a routine for lunch. I always had the same lunch at the same time. I was predictable. Now I have to think about lunch. Nowadays when I have lunch I line everything up on the bench. When working I would not move until all the instruments were ready and waiting and in the right spot.  Now that I am retired, I don’t start my lunch until everything is out in the right spot, Clean, tidy and ready.

Bob, another issue is the days of the week change. When working you often have 5 days of work followed by 2 days of weekend rest to get ready for the next week of work.  When retired you cannot divide your week into working days and resting days. Every day is the same.

Bob, also, when you retire your work social network, which includes the lady you buy coffee from, disappears.  

Retirement has taught me is more about my working life. When working all teeth are the same. Teeth are teeth irrespective of your sex or race. All teeth are the same. All people are different. When working I tried to treat my patients all unique individuals. I tried to treat them with respect. I abhorred stereotypes.  When I met people, I didn’t think of a stereotype based on age, sex, sexuality, physical or mental disability, race, appearance, education, clothes. My philosophy was as a dentist we provide dental services for everyone. Accept all without prejudice or pre conceptions. This attitude towards people has followed me into retirement land.

When working I knew what I was going today.  I looked at the day list and new what I was doing at 4:00pm. Now in the morning I like to know what I am going to do at 2:30. I need to know my appointments for the day.

Bob, when working I was always assessed. When working I always had someone to tell me if I’d done a good job or not. I always had something to work on or to improve.  At the end of the week, I could see my results for the week. I had a record of what I had achieved. Now I have no idea if had retired well. If I had a good week of retirement. How to succeed at being retired.

Another thing I have found in retirement is a lack of status. One day I was owning, running, working in a dental practice in the center of Hobart. The signs outside displayed my name to the world. I had constant daily feedback telling me that I existed. The feedback was always about me. Now nothing. I now do many things which are un-noticed. Things which don’t result in any feedback.

Perhaps my problem is I was unavoidably the boss. Now I am not the boss. I just have to get used to it. Stop complaining and get on with life.

Bob, should you become a volunteer. Join an organization and help people. I can now see that this would give you goals; a purpose and reaffirmed my worth. It will constantly tell you that you are important and needed.  You will receive a Christmas card, sign the farewell card, be missed if you sleep in, get public holidays and weekends off and do something the community needs. You can go this way. You need to find an organization who needs you as much as you need them.

Bob, I have noticed how hobbies either expand or disappear.  Some hobbies were an escape or release from working. They disappear.  Other hobbies expand. Be flexible and ready to adjust your life.

Bob, I still go on holiday. Retirement purportedly means you are on continuous holiday. No commitments. But I find I need a break from endless similar repetitive days.  Probably why so many retirees spend so much time travelling. When other retirees talk about their coming cruise I join in. Why not?

Bob, I don’t need to tell you, family and friends are important. I know you know that. You will see more of your family. I know for you that is not a problem. 

Bob, I will have to mention money. Do you have enough money to do everything you want to do?  Do what I do.  I alter my goals or aims to fit with the money available.  My goal is to do what I can afford to do.

Nothing I do is related to money. I do the things I enjoy. It is a great feeling to have. I do what I want to. Sounds good but not absolutely accurate. The reality is I do lots of things I would rather not. Things that involve fitting in with my social network.

Bob, the most important thing is to find yourself. Then you can work out what to do. During my working life my personality was related to my work. You couldn’t separate me from my work. I was a dentist. 

When retired I needed to find out what I am if you take my job away. 

And get ready for people who say, “What do you do all day?

You can reply with, “I’m just as busy as ever.”

You may be but I am not as busy as ever. Life is easier.

Retirement means entering a land that stretches forever in all directions. The land full of limitless possibilities. Deciding what to do in this land is difficult and terrifying but also potentially more exciting and wondrous.

Entering retirement land, I wasn’t handed a script telling me what to do. I had to ad lib. Make it up as I went.

Bob. Be footloose and fancy free. You can do anything you want.

 

Kind regards, Alan

 

When is the best time to plant a tree?

 There is a saying which goes like this:

When is the best time to plant a tree?

The answer is. The best time is twenty years ago.

Which leads us to another question. When is the best time to decide what you are going to do when retired?

The answer is basically the same. Start planning the retirement phase of your life a long time before you enter retirement.

Hopefully retirement happens to everybody. Hopefully everyone enters this phase of their life.  When working I put money into my super fund in order to minimise tax. I never thought about it. I saw a lot of patients who were retired. They all said they were busier than ever.

I entered retirement suddenly and without thinking about it.

In 2016 most days were pretty normal. Including a Wednesday in October.  I followed my normal routine. I went to work in my dental practice; in the evening I played tennis; then I went home and went to bed. A pretty normal day.

I woke up two weeks later lying on my back in a bed in the RHH.

I immediately thought, “I am doing nothing. The work will be piling up. I’d better get back to work.” 

I was then told. “You aren’t going back to work. You are now retired.”

In the next few weeks my wife spent a lot of time visiting her now retired husband. One day she showed me a piece of paper and asked me to sign it. This I did.

The next day she said, “You have now sold your dental practice.”

When I found myself retired everybody treated me differently. They no longer treated me as a dentist. They treated me as retired.

I started reading about retirement. The articles were always the same. Discussed money. Articles written by funds trying to get you to put money into their fund. Articles written by government workers telling people to prepare for retirement by preparing financially.

I never saw an article about retirement written by someone who was actually retired. That is the way they are treated. You are old and incapable of. We will tell you what to do.

Retirement is more than buying a retirement house on the coast. Away from your present problems. An idyllic spot to enjoy your retirement.

Think about what you are going to do in your retirement. It involves more than doing your hobby fulltime. It involves more than doing more than playing more golf, doing more joinery, joining a book club.

Retirement involves your social network. Some people disappear. Some of your social network will remain. What remains will change.  You will find everybody in your social network is now different. You don’t need to get a new partner. They are there next to you.

Being healthy and fit cannot be suddenly turned on the minute you retire. You can’t do anything unless you are healthy enough. Somethings cannot be avoided. Some cancers or trauma. But a lot of cardiac and pulmonary maladies can be lessened by your lifestyle when working.

Start thinking about being a fit and healthy retiree now.

I can now say, “I am retired.” Not proudly, sorta of softly. I am thinking like a retired person, not an infirm person forced by medical issues to stop working. What does that mean?

 

 

After continually hearing the word retired I decided I don’t want to be called retired and treated the way everybody treats retired people.

I have listened to the word retired and the way it was used.  The word retired is always followed by another word saying what you used to do.  It ignores the future. It ignores what you do and where you are going. It says the best years are behind you; Your life is finished. Sit there quietly and don’t annoy anyone.

The word retired looks backwards and contains the word tired.  It tells retired people to sit quietly. Don’t make a fuss. Take these tablets. They’ll make you feel better. Be careful crossing the road.

For me the word retirement means freedom.

Traditionally the word freedom has meant Bob Dylan; Easy Rider; guitars, backpacking; jeans and boots. With the soundtrack playing Janis Joplin singing “Me and Bobby McGee.”  

Well, I’ve been both young and old and being retired is the freest I have even been. When I was young, I never felt as free as now. When wearing jeans and tie-die t-shirts I was always aware of things I had to achieve or do. I had to pass another exam; get a job; buy a house; go to parent teacher interviews.

Freedom belongs to us baby boomers; grey nomads; tracksuits; running shoes; campervans; mobile homes; and deck chairs. The soundtrack is ACDC, John Farnham; Jimmy Barnes; Golden Oldies or Hits and Memories. 

We are the free people. We are footloose and fancy free. We are the people who can do anything we want.

 

 

A Living Stream

Rain fell and puddles formed. The puddles overflowed and flopped into streams. Two unique streams merge and flow down as one stream. 

A wedding ceremony to show their work mates, their close friends, relatives and the wide world their new lives as one couple.

That house looks good. Close to work. They settle down. They flow along nice and comfortably. Nothing dramatic. Drift along enjoying where they are.

Another stream merges and joins them and makes their stream bigger. They welcome her arrival. A bit like him. A bit like her and a big bit like herself. More streams merge and make the main stream bigger and prouder. Look at us. A happy family of two adults and three children.

Their marriage drifts into trouble. A dam blocks their way. They unhappily float around fantasizing about a way downstream. Eventually they find a tiny, small gate and trickle through. The dam has given them wisdom. Taught them that every obstacle can be overcome. By carefully looking at themselves and their surroundings. They will find a way forward. And flow on bigger and better than ever.

Below the dam they drift effortlessly downstream. Calm, relaxed and healthy. The family enjoys themselves and avoids anything that looks like trouble.

They pass a stagnant marshy swamp. They look at it. Don’t like the look of that. Not for us now.  Let’s continue drifting.  

The stream enters a beautiful pool. Idyllic. An overhanging tree. Full of aquatic life. Fish and insects. They drift and float. Isn’t life beautiful. They enjoy the moment. They are oblivious to all upstream and downstream areas.  

 

The children become teenagers. As teens they rush rapidly trying every possible way of going forwards. The cascade and rapids of teen years finally end and the children marry. Dad copies and pastes a wedding speech. Don’t know half these people. Ah well. Not my choice but she has to live with him. It’s her life.

They flow on. The reeds on the bank need our stream. The stream needs the reeds. Let’s celebrate a living loving community.

The family floats around a bend and some grandchildren arrive. The indispensable grandkids merge with the main stream. The grandparents spoil them rotten. Spoil them with love and affection. Give them back when they are naughty. Further downstream they meet fellow grandparents.

The stream becomes a river. A deep wide slow river. Full of life. The deep wide river feeds the plants and animals around it. The river needs the trees, shrubs, insects, birds and animals that wander by. The family waters their neighbours’ plants when they go on holiday. The grandkids play cricket with the next door neighbours. On the banks are people fishing. In the river rowing boats pull themselves along. A living breathing community.  

Bigger, slower, stronger and timeless river. Continually changing, moving, flowing and always remaining the same. Always a river flowing between two banks. Above the river bed. Full of life. Surrounded by native trees, shrubs, reeds, aquatic plants, fish, and insects.

The life of one of the grandparents ends. Leaving behind one unlucky person. The family flows on one grandparent, three children and countless grandchildren. The family flows on and on. Always changing. Always the same family. Always full of life.

Above the mountain the clouds, full of water, are coalescing.

 

Bike Track

 

I start my jog without thinking. And then suddenly I have to think.  A car is approaching. If it turns, I will have to wait for it. If it goes straight, I can now safely cross the road. The car turns without indicating. Luckily, I thought he might do that.   I wait for the car and the car continues on its way. We both continue our journeys.  

 

I approach the bike track.   I glance up and down the track before entering.  I’m safe to enter. I enter and start my run along the bike track. I can see a cyclist hunched forward, head down, bottom up, pumping his feet and approaching me. He seems safe. A sudden sound behind me and suddenly a bike veers in front of me. Bit close. Just missed me.

 

Cyclists approach me and sneak up from behind.  Legs are pumping furiously and bikes gliding effortlessly.  Wearing tight closely fitting shirts, racing shorts, work pants with bicycle clips, backpacks, fluoro vests, helmets with hats peeking out underneath. I try to read each shirt before it flashes past. 

 

Approaching me are two cyclists. Talking continuously and riding abreast towards me. I veer towards the left of my side of the bike lane as these two approach. They are very happy and I smile as the two of them pass me. What could be nicer than a bike ride with a friend? 

 

Well I suppose talking to a friend on a mobile phone as you ride. This is my next encounter. A lady riding and talking loudly on her phone. I wonder if the person on the other end knows where their call is going.  I wonder if the cyclist is aware of anything around her. Her phone may connect her to her friend but it repulses everybody around her. I avoid her and anywhere in her vicinity.

 

I pass some proud parents.  Their kids lead the way as they meander their way along the track. Another pleasure to see. They are not a danger to me but their lack of speed contrasts dramatically with the speed of some of the bikes passing me.

 

A man wearing in-line skates. His feet make grand sweeping gestures across the track.  Silently.  I pass a man in a hurry to zip his fly up. He can’t hide the puddle on the track.

 

Another runner says, “Hello”.  He must be running faster than me. He has caught up to me. Now I need to speed up and chat or let him overtake me. I speed up slightly. We talk about the coming running races around Hobart, the weather and our kids.  I enjoy the talk and a cyclist says something as he goes past. I don’t know what he said but I realise we have been wandering. It is possible a part of me ventured onto the other side. I was distracted.

 

I stand and look around. Shadows from the gum trees shimmer on the track. Above me birds flock in the gum trees. The river meanders slowly in the distance.  No dolphins are visible at the moment. A sailing boat veers near to shore. A man hopefully throws a fishing line from the shore.

 

A powerful swarm of cyclists approaches and threatens to overwhelm me.  The bike track is busy today. Full of happy people using it.

 

I peer at the long grass, wire fence, the disused railway track and the path with white line up the middle. It cheers me up.  It is a living, pumping, pulsating artery from the heart of Hobart through the northern suburbs. 

 

Let’s celebrate Hobart being alive.  The heart that wins. A good heart wins. A heart full of empathy, respect and love wins. So how do you get the people on the bike track to show love, respect and empathy for the other people on the bike track?   How do you get them to think of the other uses that they meet?

 

I don’t know. People vary. People who respect others will do it anywhere. And people will change. One day a person will happily greet you on the track. The next day resent your presence. The more people think of others the happier and more joyous their life will be.  Being good to others will make people happy.

 

Some guys will solemnly obey one bike track rule and ignore the next. Who cares? What matters is if they are interfering with other people. Love and respect. Empathy and community feeling.   A feeling of belonging to the community. A feeling that you are will be listened to.  These are the things that matter.

 

I like a café that is busy. That is full of satisfied punters. To me that means the café is serving good food and makes good coffee. That is the place I will head for.  But when I go to the café I want the place empty. Then I can more easily get what I want. I want a busy café which is empty.

The bike track is the same. I love to see it busy and full of people. That reinforces in me that it is an important part of our community. But when I go on it I prefer it to be devoid of crowds. Very sparsely populated. It makes my life easier.

 

 

Lizzie’s Leap

An oldish man (about my age) wanders down a bush track. Wearing jeans, long shirt and a plain brown jumper.

The bush track meanders above the river through native bush. Trees waving. Shrubs fill the gaps between the waving trees. Un-mowed grass carpets the black and brown dirt. Patches of bare earth emerge on the path. Randomly arranged strap-like plants. Bees, flies and nameless insects fly haphazardly, randomly supping and sipping on nectar. Hungry birds tapping, pecking and prodding and lizards with protruding tongues watching and looking for nourishing food.

The old man listens. He hears.  Birds chirp and sing. Waves clash onto rocks. Bees buzz. He smells the plants. They give him beautiful aromatic smells.  He devours the perfumes. How beautiful. He is overwhelmed by the beauty surrounding him.

The bush track comes to an end with a seat above a cliff surveying the river.

He flops down on the seat and stares at the river. Clouds in the river continually change shape and colour. The river flows downstream. The wind pushes waves of water upstream. The river remains rooted on the river bed.

He unexpectedly feels the presence of somebody. A lady dressed in a long dress stands before him. A faint apparition. Diaphanous and delicate. He feels he could pass straight through her.

The lady. Elegant and graceful, floats towards him across the path. Silent and noiselessly. 

She hands him a cup of coffee and a slice of cake.

She says: Enjoy.

He takes the coffee and cake and says: Thank you.

He sips the coffee. Tastes like my favourite. Single shot with skinny milk. Just the way I like it. And the cake looks good. Carrot cake with icing. He bites a slice of the cake and then takes sip of coffee.  In his mouth he infuses the cake with coffee before swallowing.  

Ah that tastes good. He closes his eyes to enhance the flavour.

When he opens his eyes, he looks around and the lady has disappeared. Gone. Ah well. Nice coffee. Nice cake.

He sits back finishes his coffee and cake. Wipes his lips with his tongue. Audibly he says Ahh. That’s good. Places the saucer and empty cup on the seat.

He wanders home.

A few days later the same man begins a walk on the same track. He greets another man approaching him.

They chat idly about the weather. Nice day. Could do with the rain but looks like no rain. Wouldn’t bet on it though. Bit windy.

The other man asks him: Are you going to Lizzie’s Leap.

Old man: Just going up this track?

The other man: To Lizzie’s Leap.

Old man: Is that what it is called?

The other man: Lizzie’s Leap. The end of this track. There is a seat here now. The lookout overlooking the cliff.

Old man: Why is it called Lizzie’s Leap?

Other man: Years ago. About two hundred years ago a lady jumped the cliff. Killed herself. Right there. From where the seat is. That’s what they say.

Old man: Oh. Sad name.

Other man: Yes.

The man continues his walk to seat.  Feels like a coffee and cake? Sits and waits to be served. Like last time. Where is it?

Nothing happens. He stands and looks around. Nothing. He walks towards the cliff. He gazes down at the base of the cliff. A woman in a long dress lies stationary and prostrate on the rocks below the cliff. 

Man, stares at the stiff body and thinks I should have said something to help her. Said more than I did. What can I do now. My daughter is about the same age. She is having issues. Boyfriend problems.

I must talk to her. Have a cuppa with her.

 

 

 

Part Three: The Good Old Days

 

In the good old days

I could say what I wanted

and I loved everybody.

Back in the good old days.

 

I was busy making

and racing my wonky billy cart

I didn’t have had time

to be mentally healthy.

 

When I woke up

I wound up my rusty old watch.

A family heirloom.

A precious reminder of my grandfather.

 

I enjoyed eating everything.

I was never ever told

What foods would cause me to

Kick the bucket.

 

Me and my mates in the boat

Caught flathead who ate anything.

We never measured what we snagged.

Never took a photo of our catch. 

Part Two: The good Old Days

                                                    Click on the photo to hear the song
            

            In the good old days

I could say what I wanted

and I loved everybody.

Back in the good old days.

.

My letter box housed

Letters, junk mail

And postcards from friends.

In the silly season, Christmas cards.

.

A week after my holidays

I liked my photos.

My friends came to a slide night.

I told the story in each and every slide.

.

When a bushfire approached

The story of my life.

Hundreds of heavy photo albums.

Filled my wheelbarrow.

.

Sunday in the local church

I squirmed and fidgeted

with my neatly dressed mates

and gawked at the females.

The Good Old Days.

              

                 

             Click on the photo to listen

            

 

            Do you remember

    the good old days?

    I loved everybody

    And I could say what I wanted.

    Back in the good old days.

 

My phone lived at home in a nook

with a note pad and a phone book.

And I never ever said: Where is my phone?

And when our phone rang, I picked it up.

 

Saturday arvo me and my mates

watched our footy team.

And we loved our man mountain

who knew when to go the biff.

 

At school we laughed at our nutcase.

And we loved him

and protected him.

He’s our fruit case. Not yours.

 

Our teachers threw chalk

and their strap had a name

and they said this is going

to hurt me more than you.

 

A maverick with a crazy idea

could start a business.

Rent an office, borrow money from Mum

hire a truck and just do it.

Busking

 Hi Alan,

 

We are delighted to announce that 'Busking' has been judged a 'commended' entry in our 2024 music themed poetry competition.

 

Your poem will be published in our new anthology, due for release in December. The anthology will include all winning, highly commended and commended entries from our music themed short story and poetry competitions.

 

 You will also receive a free copy of the anthology, which will be published as an ebook. We will send you the codes for that when the book is released in December.

 

Congratulations,

 

Sean Lee (Short Stories Unlimited)

Take your hands out of your pocket.

Don’t give me money.

Listen. Enjoy my song.

Click your fingers.

Wiggle your hips.

Whistle. Sing along.

I’ve put my soul into brightening your day.

Filling your head full of music. 

Giving this empty street colour.

Give me a few nice words.

Bend and whisper to me:

Sounds good.  

Love your song.

Keep it up. 

Made my day.

Say thank you.

And I will say thank you.

Thank you for listening. 

Thank you for making me happy. 

Making music makes me happy. 

Run The Bridge

When playing tennis, we talked about Run The Bridge. I said: I love Run The Bridge. It is magic moment running the bridge without cars. Surrounded by other runners. Great view. There is room for you. Do it.

It proves that I live in a healthy community. Healthy physically, socially and emotionally. A fun run with nearly 5000 people proves Hobart is a good place to live. To run across the bridge with other people is exhilarating. It’s special.  I do the 10 kays.

I have absolutely no idea how many times I have Run The Bridge. I know my first fun run was over 45 years ago around the time that fun runs began. In the last 45 years I have entered every fun run easily accessible.

Society and funruns have changed in the last 45 years. Somethings have remained the same. Fun runs are open to all. Easy to enter. Simple rules. You wear a number. You start together. You follow the person in front of you. The course is straightforward. Finish time is recorded. Prize to fastest. Tables for water. Roads littered with plastic cups.

Fun runs today:

On-line entry and on-line display of results.  

Photos are common.

Sign a waiver absolving organisers of anything.

Runners more accurately reflect society. More females, old people and disabled people. 

Teams more common. People running together with their mate is more common.

Today more people are fussy about what they drink. Only drink their particular drink.

Raising money for a charity. A shirt and a team to promote their charity.

Clothes have changed. More special running clothes. More materials which are designed for sweating bodies. Less people throw on their garden shorts. Shoes have improved. Which is good not only sartorially but helps prevent injuries.

Multiple events around the main event. Shorter runs for kids.

Before the start

Standing in a crowd of people waiting to start running.  Some are stretching. Some are jogging. Some are standing on one leg and stretching the other leg. Some are talking or greeting friends. We are standing outside the massive stadium that houses cricket and football.

There is no uniform. There are some similar shirts or tops. Advertising, promoting something or commemorating some past run.  Some of the shirts tell people what team they are in.

I search the crowd of runners for someone I know and somewhere to stand. I head towards the back for safety.

The Race

The race starts and I don’t. I walk and eventually cross the line and start dodging, swerving and avoiding others. I spend my time working out where to run. Should I go around them or not. If I follow this person they may drag me. The other runners slow me down and speed me up. They slow me as I avoid them. They carry me along in their slipstream.  I am stunned by the number of people. And I know virtually none of them. Where have they all come from. Most of them must live in Hobart and yet I have never seen them before. They have appeared and they are running. With me. We are all in this together. All heading in the same direction.  Weekly News

Feels good to help make this crowd. I push hard. A view of the bridge. Running over the bridge. The bridge is covered by a blanket of living, moving runners and walkers. They are all concentrating, focused and pounding the bitumen. I admire the view of The Mountain and feel guilty. I must focus on running.

 

Previous races tell me the finish is a tease. Run past the finish line tour Battery Point and then come back to cross the finish line.

 

At the finish line is a clock and a bump in the road which gives me the race time

After the Race

Over the years every fun run I have entered I have never come first or last. Is that glass half full or empty? Have I beaten the guy who came last or been beaten by the winner. Neither. It is a personal challenge. A personal test. An activity that brings enjoyment.  It does more than that. It has helped increase my self-awareness. It has helped keep me fit for work. It has help me make friends. It has improved my social life. It has improved me emotional. It is 45 years of positives.

 

I glance around. Thousands of happy sweaty people. We are all wearing identical medals. The medals are telling me  everybody is a winner. 

 

My medal tells me I learnt something about myself.

 

I found out that my  physical ability (how fast I ran) is related to my emotional, mental and social health. I found out that my physical health affects my emotional, mental and social health. The physically fitter I get the better I feel.

 

Us winners stand around talking; drinking; taking photos. We are a very happy crowd. The organisers are invisible. They have created a delicious, wonderful crowd full of proud, exhausted chatty people. 

Special thanks to the person who helped me contact my wife so that she could find me in the crowd.

The organisers have made many of us Hobartians a tiny bit healthier. Physically, socially and emotionally.

 

 

The Bridge

 

Hobart was settled when ships controlled the movement of humans around the globe. Hobart is on a deep-water port. Hobart is divided by the River Derwent.

 

The bridge unites and connects Hobart. Famous for being damaged by a ship in 1975. Today cars are banned from travelling the bridge when a ship sails under it. This continually reminds us of the day the bridge was hit by a wayward ship.

 

The ship still lies at the bottom of the river with a concrete slab from the bridge on top of it. Ships regularly pass over the sunken ship without a thought. When I run the bridge, I think of the ship under the bridge.

 

 

Cadbury Marathon running festival

 

Cadbury Marathon: 10kays.

 

They have changed the start time to 9:15a.m. That’s bad. Much worse running in the heat. Got to come up with a plan. A way of coping.

 

Before the race. I drink water. Water over hair and bib.

I bump into a familiar face.

He says: Thought you were a sprinter.

From memory I said something like: Sometimes I pretend to sprint. Today I am going to pretend to run 10 kays.

In the milling crowd a scared possum then bumps into me.

 

The crowd walks, shuffles then jogs. When I cross the bump in the road my race begins. Where is the first drink table? I stop, drink water and pour water into my hair and bib. I am not taking any chances.

 

Half way. Turn around and push hard. With most races the hard bit, mentally, is the bit after half way, The third quarter.

This run is dragging. It’s hot and hard. Not enjoying this at all. Got to plug on. Keep moving those legs. This race is different. It’s too hot and today the hard bit is the last quarter. The hill at Cadbury’s.  

Just have to cross that finish line. Then I can lie down and recover.

I mount the top of the hill. Can see the finish line. My legs can’t. They decide to think for themselves. I can’t control my legs. Got to somehow finish this race.  My legs take me off the road. Onto the grass. Through a group of females. I trip over the grass and fall onto the ground. I pick myself up.

A guy wearing an official vest says: Sit down. Now drink some water.

I tell him: Just got to finish.

He says: Sit down. You are not going anywhere.

I say: Just got to finish.

He says: Sit down. I can stop you. You are not going anywhere.

I shut up.

I drink some water.

Melissa appears.

I rise to my knees and look at the finish line.

I keep on saying: All I have to do is cross the finish line.

They eventually hear me and say: We will walk with you across the line.

We cross the finish line together. For walking 50 meters Melissa is given a medal which she gives back. The official vest guy leds me to a tent.

I lie down on a camp bed. They prod, pock and take blood. They keep on saying to themselves: Looks alright.

I ask them their names. I have the funny habit of wanting to know the name of someone taking blood from me.

The guys keep on saying: Lie there. Rest. Looks alright. Drink this.

I ask for the results. He tells me everything.

They finally let me depart. 

Melissa holds me up and takes me to the tennis courts.

Melissa says: Saw a guy collapse. He looked worse than you.

I think: Thank God for that. Someone looked worse than me.

I realise I have missed out on chocolate.

We met Wendy. Wendy says: You steamed past us. You were going well. I introduce her to Melissa and say the wrong name. Sorry Wendy. I complain to her about the start time. I complain to everybody who will listen about the start time. On such a hot day way too late.

 

I lie at the tennis clubhouse while Melissa fetches her car.

 

Back home, my medal disappears amongst others, and I check my heart rate and temp. Back to normal. I then enjoy an ice-cream.