Chapter 51 : Tasmanian Masters Athletics (Part two)

I wait for the 400m by watching the 3000 m. The runners are very fast, fit and in control. No drama. I ask a few more questions and the answers are. Each runner is given a lane. You start behind the line in your lane. You stick to your own lane. At the start the runners will not be next to each other. They are what you call staggered.

I hang around and finally get the nod. And joy of joy I finish up with the inside lane at the back and will not be passed.

We crouch for the start and I start running when the others start running. They seem very quick. I push my arms. I breathe deeply. I try and speed my legs up. No I can increase the length of each stride. That’s better. I feel like I am in a rhythm. I must keep this rhythm. My feet feel numb. In fact they are not my feet. They belong to someone else.  They feel like artificial clods of feet slapping the track. I can still run. I must keep this rhythm. The rhythm feels good. They are going away from me. I must keep in touch. I round the final curve into the straight. The others are finishing. I am now running on my own. I didn’t choose to be on my own. Breathe deeply. My feet feel numb. Normally I run on the bike track and my feet behave themselves. Why did they choose now to play up? I pump my arms. There is a crowd of people at the finish line. None are interested in me. I finally stop and breathe deeply. One of the runners shacks my hand. Fantastic.  Other runners do the same. It was worth it just for the handshakes.

What is my time? Is it good or bad?  Who knows? How does it compare to other people of my age. I could look at the state records. That would give me some sort of idea. It is the only thing I can compare myself to. I could compare myself to people who don’t run but that’s not possible.

I lost the race. It was easier this afternoon. I weeded an area of my garden. I won. The weeds lost. And this morning at a cafe. I won there as well. In the café I ordered a flat white. I achieved my goal.  It came and I drank it.  Why am I pushing myself now? I volunteered to run and come last.  It was my choice.

I haven’t found my event. Part of me dreams of being discovered. Of suddenly trying an event and breaking records or winning medals. Well that is not going to happen.  If I hadn’t come here today I would have been able to keep on dreaming. Keep on thinking that I was about to be discovered.  I now know this is not going to happen.

Why did I run? Where does the pleasure come from? It doesn’t come from being the best or winning or beating other people. It must come from the feeling you get when you run. The enjoyment of physical movement. The wind in your hair.

I also ran to increase my self-knowledge. I won there. I learnt something about myself.  And there is more I can learn. As I learn things about myself my time should come down. This is not always pleasurable. Sometimes you learn something painfully.

And then there is the fellowship. Enjoying the company of other people who are basically the same. People you have something in common with.  And the other reason for doing this is you have to do something. I could stay at home, watch TV, and get drunk. No I think I would rather be here.

In the 400m all of the people were younger than me. And faster than me. Perhaps I can get better. Well I can. I know that. If I flounder I can revert to my staple event. The long slow distance. Perhaps at the end of my odyssey I will find out that I am best suited to what I was doing all along.

For the people racing ahead of me I am not giving up. I can’t explain why. I am not a great hidden talent. I know I am lucky to be able to run on such a fantastic track in such a great organization. I know I am lucky that I can run. Not everybody can. I am lucky that I live a short distance away from a quality running track.  Not everybody does. And I am lucky that TMA exists. I don’t know why? All I know is what I see. I see good people, taking the time to stand around and record my time. Recording our harmless fun.

And the people here. They are relaxed, self-confident, polite, purposeful and active. They are not boastful, flamboyant, arrogant, deceitful or unhappy.  When running they are self-possessed but they are not selfish people. They are honestly pursuing self-improvement.

And as for the future? What will happen? There are three options.

My times will improve.

My times will remain in the same area.

I will give up and stop.

I learnt one thing. They don’t like it when I complained about my feet. They were happy when I tried my best. When I started to talk about my numb feet they turned away. Not interested in complaints.

Well I have to see what I can get out of it. I suppose I will get out what I put in. 

Chapter 50 : Tasmanian Masters Athletics (Part one)

It’s Wednesday.  I check my computer. I will go to the Tasmanian Masters meet. I’ve already announced my intentions to myself. I’ve made a commitment to myself.

Time to look at the program. I chose 100 m and 400 m. I have never done neither of these events ever. Well maybe at school 40/50 years ago. I don’t think that counts. Easier if I  assume that I have never done these events.

I walk across the overpass to the domain. Above a stream of traffic flowing beneath me.

I walk through the trees and birds and weather towards the room that contains the forms. This room is reassuring. Some people fill in forms and go. Others linger and talk.  I pay my money and search the scattered forms. Not for this one.  Ah here is the form I need. What names are down on the form? Don’t know the names. What ages are they? What sex are they? I add my name at the bottom of the list and check the start time. And peer out the window.  I see people randomly jogging the oval. Bags lying disorganized.

The 100m is my first event. The course is sort of obvious. I know where the finish line is. I jog to the start. I jog up and down the track. I stretch. Other people seem to know what they are doing. I copy them. Some people are holding the things you stand in when you start. I ask. They are called blocks. Of course. That was obvious. Another question from me.  Which lane do I take? The answer is, “Take any lane. The one that suits you.”

Other athletes are stretching. All different. They all seem focused. Preoccupied. Purposeful. Self-centered and thinking of their coming run without being selfish. They are all very polite and very considerate. Not over concerned with me which I take as a good sign. What I am seeing is the tip of the icebergs. I see people stretching, jogging, bending and preparing to run. What I don’t see is the back story. Behind everybody there is a great story. A story about why they are here.  What they are trying to achieve.  What time they are aiming for. And why. What they have had to overcome to get here. What has helped them? What motivates them?  What is the story of their life? None of this is visible.

Most are pre-occupied. Busy not stressed. Not tense. Just doing their warm ups.  All shapes and sizes. All ages. When we run I think there will be arrange of abilities. Most are younger than me. I am one of the oldest and one of the most inexperienced. I can see younger and more experienced runners.

I feel lucky. Lucky I have access to such facilities. The running surface is just about perfect. I can’t imagine anybody complaining about it. Not possible. The weather maybe. We are on the side of a small hill; a lump; a kopje. It is very exposed. Any wind or shower is attracted. We can see them coming. Showers come from the mountain or the north or south. Whenever I see dark clouds I try and look at the direction the clouds are moving.

It is a great ambiance.  Trees surround the oval, track, and stadium. I was here last week and there were ducks paddling across the track. And magpies foraging in the grass. I search for my feathered friends. I can’t see them today. Ah well.

My heat and I take a lane which contains blocks. I had better use them. They can’t harm me. I keep on jiggling my legs and stretching my legs and jumping up and down. Seems easy. All I have to do is run down this track. Can’t get lost. My legs feel good and loose. Not tight or tense or sore. I have no idea what time I will run.  I am about to run a PB for 100m. Nothing could possibly go wrong.

I place my feet in the blocks. Is that right. I don’t know. I move around in the blocks. I think that is good. I hear a gun go off and look up and see everybody running away from me. I watch them run and a voice inside my head says, “Start to run”. I start running. Is there any way I can catch anybody. I must not let them get further ahead. I try and keep in touch. Must keep this distance. I stare at the backs of people moving up the track. I must catch up with these backs. I can’t. I must pump my arms. I must move my legs faster. I must take bigger strides.

I must not let them get further ahead. I think they are. My feet feel numb. Where did that come from? The numbness was nowhere and now it has suddenly appeared. My feet feel like artificial clumps.  I am going forward. They must be working. What do they look like? Don’t look at them. Please keep on running. I reach the end. And stop. Now I need to know if my time was good or bad. I came last. I know that but I need to know my time. Why? Because maybe I can do better next time. I wander towards several people holding clipboards. I look for my time. What was it? I am told. And that’s it. I now have a time. I now have something. I have now something by which I can be defined.  At the age of 60 I have just run my fastest ever time for 100 m.   

The other runners are peering at watches and clipboards. Nobody is visible excited or disappointed. Most people nod or search for their time or shake hands. No joy or disappointment at beating or losing to another runner.