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.
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