Chapter 69: TMA : the long jump(2)

I return home. What does Mr Goggle say about long jump? He must say something useful. I just have to find it.   Mr G says many things and eventually I find a place where he talks about the four main components of the long jump: the run-up, the last two strides, takeoff, and landing.

Run-up

Mr G says the aim of the run-up is to reach maximum speed at takeoff.

The other factor Mr G talks about is the angle of your jump. Elite jumpers leave the ground at 20 degrees or less. If the angle is too big they will travel more up than along. If the angle is too small they will fall back to earth prematurely.

I have to smoothly and gradually accelerate until I reach top speed. I have to travel as far longitudinally as possible before I fall back to earth. Getting the run-up and angle of takeoff right sounds like more practice.  Sounds like trial and error to me.  Back to the track.

The last two strides

Mr G says the aim of the last two strides is to prepare for take-off while conserving as much speed as possible.  He says that during these strides you need to lower your centre of gravity to prepare for vertical movement of my body.

I need to think of the last two strides as separate and distinct from my run-up. While doing these strides I need to conserve as much speed as possible. I need to position my feet behind the line and lower myself into a type of crouch.

Back to the track for more practice. 

Takeoff

Mr G says must place your foot on the ground flat prior to take-off.  Don’t take off on from your heels or toes. Mr G talks about various take-off styles which confuse me.  The only thing I can take is fully extend the arm backwards (on take-off leg side).  Don’t leave it in a bent position.

Landing

Mr G says if no action occurs in the air prior to landing the body will finish in a face down position in the sand. 

One technique is to make the body as long as possible in the air.  Extent arms and legs a maximum distance from the hips. Then at the apex of the jump flex the knees. Land on bent knees to soften the impact of landing.  When landing the aim is not to fall backward.  This depends on moving arms forward and bent knees.

The main thing to practice is initially one arm back with legs straight and then bend legs and throw arms forward. And don’t fall back. Again.

I visit the nursery. And buy a rake. A plastic rake. When buying it I don’t tell the guy at reception what I want the rake for.  I’ll keep that to myself.  

And the future.  I can see an improvement in my long jump. I can see myself getting better. I can’t see by how much.  

In the future I can see myself not comparing my jumps to the jumps of others. It’s not about beating other people. It’s all about doing my best. Improving.  If I get better I know I will have had a small victory.  I will have learnt something about myself. And that’s what matters.

chapter 68: TMA : the long jump(1)

I stand at the top of a synthetic, artificial track peering down at a pit of sand surrounded by a small group of people.  One with a plastic tape measure. I look at my marker lying beside me on the track. I am in the right place and time.  I now have to do what I said I was going to do. I have to run towards the sand-pit and jump as far as possible. 

Why am trying to jump long?

When I was in hospital the staff they always said, “Avoid this” or “don’t do this” or “have you taken your medication.” They never said, “Your treatment involves jumping as far as possible.”  When I was in hospital they always treated me as a sick person, someone who was going to need continual protection and care.    They always assumed they were going to look after me forever.  I always thought I was going to get better.  I didn’t lie in hospital thinking about the long jump. When lying in the hospital bed I thought I don’t want to be here. I want to be out there attacking the future and trying new things.

I started training for the long jump several weeks ago. First thing was work out my run-up. How long would it be? I have to guess.  I Count one stride as equal to a step with left foot and then one with right foot.

 I stand on the track looking at the pit. I count the strides of my new run-up. It is 24 strides and feels way too long. All I have to do is accelerate to my max speed. Not tire myself out. I try a much shorter distance and measure it. My run-up is now 10 strides.

Now I have a run-up. Ten strides from the take-off line. I re-measure and run towards the pit.  I want my right foot to land just behind the take-off line. Am I in the right spot?  It feels like I am overstepping the take-off line. I need to increase my run-up.

I try 11 strides. Now I run towards the pit. It feels right. I run past the pit. I can’t jump into the pit. 11 strides feels good. I now have a run-up.

I try again. And again. I keep on moving my start position by a couple of mms.

What is the technique for the long jump? Do I just run and jump?  Are there other things to practice? Is there any technique I need to learn?

I do a few of my running drills. Skips, butt kicks, backwards running and a bit of hopping. Are they helping? I feel the hopping is helpful. I can go home now. That’s my first training for long jump done.

The next day I count out 11 strides from the take-off line. It seems to short. I feel everybody will be longer. Do I stay short or copy other people?

The next day I enter the DAC stadium. People are preparing for a carnival. There is a tent at the finish line. And microphones and clipboards and groups of officials hold their whistles. I circle the track and head for the jumping pits.  I will test my run-up. I count my steps and run at the pits. I run past the pits. I think I over stepped.

I repeat. I think I overstepped again. I move my marker back and try again.  I think I am still overstepping. A group of school kids enter and shuffles into the grandstand.  They have face paint and colored ribbons in their hair and are not looking at me. I go home.  Another practice done.

The big night has arrived. I wander to the pits and everybody else has entered another event. I have 30 minutes by myself to prepare for the long jump.  I mark out 11 strides and mark my starting point. I run at the pit. I think I am over stepping. I must move my marker. I move it back. I know have a run-up of 12 strides.  I watch my right foot. I think that was good. I keep on practicing my run-up. I think I am in the right place.  

And then they arrive and after a couple of jumps it’s my turn. I run at the pits. They are watching me. Their eyes are on me. They are watching me run. They are watching my feet. My feet which are not working properly. They are watching me run through the take-off line. They are watching me not jump. They are watched me freeze. That counts as a fouled jump. I want another go. I can do better than that. I know I can do better than that.  Please let me have another go. Please let me go again. They don’t.  They say wait your turn.  Fair enough.

I practice jumping on the other run-ups. I keep on practicing the run-up and the jump. I am sure I can do this. Let me have another go.

My second jump. I am back at the run-up. Besides my marker. I run towards the pit. I must do a legal jump. It must be legal. It must be a proper jump. I run very carefully towards the take-off board.   I must put my foot behind the line. I must jump and land in the sand. The others clap and say well done. I love them. They are good people.

My third jump. Back at the run-up. I run towards the pit. It is a legal jump. It feels good but I fall back and the lady measuring says, “I’m sorry I have to take it from here.”

I nod. I am happy. Fortunately I have done three very, very bad jumps. Tonight I have begun my climb up the mountain. I have just told the world my long jump is hopeless. I have just told myself there is only one way to go. That’s longer.

The number one thing I need is more practice jumping. I need to practice in a pit. I need a rake. I need to find some way of bringing a rake up here and using it. 

Chapter 73 : Seven stages of not dying

the I’ve Got Questions stage

Initially I was tormented by a few questions. What happened? Why? Why me?  What does it mean in the future? This stage was characterized by my continual craving and search for information.

the “Monty Python” stage. It is only a flesh wound. I’ll be back at work in a few days. 

This stage gradually evolved when it dawned on me that it was not a flesh wound. It was serious.  One piece of evidence was the number of cards I received.  If I was receiving so many cards it must be because people thought it was not a flesh wound.

This was the time when I was overwhelmed with cards. Every card triggered some thought, some recollection of something. Every card made me grateful and I tried to reply honestly and truthfully to every card. Not everybody sent cards. I have since realised that some people who did not send cards wished me nothing but goodwill but the stars aligned in certain ways and they expressed themselves slightly differently.

the It’s Up To Me stage

I realised I had to take control. I had to decide what was healthy.  I had to decide what food to eat, what exercise to do, what activities to follow. I could not rely on the carers. The carers looked at everything from where they were. They often aimed one piece of advice at 20 different patients.  I was only interested in one person. What was best for him? The generalized advice had to be discarded, tailored, changed or altered. I could not tell these carers I didn’t want their help. I could listen to what they said; say thank you and then decide what was best for me.

There was a pivotal day. The day when I realised what I was being told was wrong. Listening to this wrong information actually made me happy. I realised that I was now capable of deciding what was best for me. I was now in control.

the It’s All About…stage

The stage when I started to talk to people about themselves. Initially every conversation was about my illness. Everybody I saw wanted to ask me about my injury. I was very happy to talk about my injury and my seven weeks in hospital. Then things changed. I asked people about their issues. What they were up to. And a strange thing happened. The more I was interested in other people and the more I talked to them about their concerns the better I felt.

the Game Of Cards stage

This is when I realised life was a game of cards. I have been given certain cards. Now I had to play with them.

You could say that two years ago I was given really bad cards. ICU for two weeks, followed by no job, no practice and suddenly an interesting medical history.

You could say that if you look at my life over the last 61 years I have been given really good cards. Either way good or bad I have to play with the cards I have been given. They are not bad or good. They are what they are.

chapter 67: 1854

Below are some extracts from a letter written in 1854 from John Robertson to the Governor of Victoria. The topic was the land around Portland and how it was being settled and farmed.

Why am I posting this?

Because John Robertson talks about his neighbours James Gibson and Bridget Watt.    

Who were they?

James Gibson was born in Beith Scotland in 1816.

Migrated in 1849. 

Bridget Watt born in Milltown Ireland about 1833.

Migrated in 1849.

In 1851 they married in Portland. 

They had the farm for about 24 years and had 12 children.

I am a direct descendent of one of these 12 children. Number 7.

Does their behavior matter?

The Gibsons became farmers in 1852/1853 on previously unfarmed land. They were squatters. They had no previous experience of sheep farming in Australia. Their most productive crop was humans. In the time they had the farm they had 12 children.

The land was previously occupied by aborigines.  I am well aware that as a society we took the land off the original inhabitants of the land and treated them badly. This letter brings it closer to home. It gives glimpses of how my direct antecedents interacting with the original inhabitants.

As I read their story I alternated between feeling proud of the Gibson’s achievements and guilty of their behavior?  I am proud that despite being born in Scotland and Ireland they farmed sheep in very strange conditions and raised 12 children.  At times I am proud of their relaxed attitude towards the original inhabitants.

I was raised on mum’s breast milk and stories of how brave and courageous the Gibsons were settling in a new home in a foreign country and raising 12 children.

There was a time when the original inhabitants and the recent arrivals became openly violent and hostile towards each other. These are the stories I was never told.

From what I can tell this interaction between the settlers and the local original inhabitants was typical of the society in which they lived. It is not typical of my society and sickens me. I was not proud of my antecedents being in the vicinity.

When feeling guilty I find it very difficult to go back and alter the past. What I can do is acknowledge that this is what happened.

Recently I went to an event where the MC began by acknowledging the traditional owners. I thought that’s a really good thing to do. She’s not guilty or proud. Just acknowledging.  Too me that’s they main message from this letter. Acknowledge the past. Be aware of what happened. Know the truth and it will set you free.

To His Excellency C. J. La Trobe, Esq.,

Lieutenant-Governor, Victoria.

Dear Sir,

Gibson from Melbourne settled on the remaining unoccupied land on the east bank of the Glenelg called Roseneath. In the Gibson family there were two ladies, one of them an old lady of 70 years of age. The ladies, Mrs. Gibson and Mrs McFarlane, lived in tents for ten months. Soon after they arrived they congregated a large number of natives about their place, whom they kept hanging about, doing and undoing, to keep them employed. The ladies were anxious to get a garden formed, as they had a quantity of English seeds. They got the natives to work in the garden for them, but they were expensive labour.

I wonder what English seeds they had. Were they vegetables of ornamental plants?

I have gone to the station and found as many as 20 natives round the place and not one white man near the station, Mr. Gibson and his men being away splitting or doing something from home. I used to expostulate with them about the impropriety of allowing the natives to remain about the place when there was no one about but the two females. Mr. and Mrs. Gibson just laughed, and said they were poor harmless creatures, and the only precaution used was, Mrs. Gibson carried a broken three - barreled pistol in a leather belt which she wore round her middle; this formed part of her toilet.

I like Mrs Gibson relaxed attitude and dislike her reliance on a gun.

On one occasion Mr. Gibson and his only available men were making hurdles, and they were in want of nails that were at the Dergholm Station, six miles off. Mrs. Gibson who was fond of riding, offered to go for the nails, as they were so much wanted, and to take one of the black men for a guide. They arrived at Dergholm - the six miles, Mrs. G. riding; the black man, Yarra, walking; they got 6 lbs. nails in a leather bag, which Yarra had to carry. On the way back, in a thick forest, Yarra, who was a little before on a dray track, stopped suddenly, caught the bridle of Mrs. Gibson's horse' ordered her to get off and walk and he would ride. Mrs. Gibson had presence of mind to pull out her pistol from her belt under her shawl, and presented it at the man, who let go the bridle in a moment. With her whip she struck her horse, which dashed off, and saved her life. Some days after, Yarra brought home the nails, and they all laughed at the affair (which they told me some nights after), though there was nothing there to laugh at.

They laughed about what happened. What does that mean?

A few days after this, Mrs. McFarlane was in the garden with some of her poor black creatures (as she called them), and she was reproving, one of them for pulling up the young potatoes. Yarra came running at Mrs. McFarlane with an uplifted rake, evidently to strike Mrs. McFarlane when Mrs. Gibson heard the scream, and rushed out with the pistol in her hand. All the natives, nine or ten of them, leaped over the fence and were no more seen.

In the evening, the shepherd at the home - station did not come home; his dog brought about 300 sheep long after dark. Mr. Gibson the only man about the place, next morning went in search of his shepherd and sheep; the poor dog went direct to the dead shepherd, about a mile from home. Mr. Gibson had to walk about six miles to Bell's, for his own horses were away. Mr. Bell had one man, and Mr. Gibson tracked the sheep through a long heath towards the Wando, and they found about 500 sheep coming back again, which they had to return with. Mr. Bell rode 21 miles for me and two others; we all got to Roseneath about three in the afternoon

Mr. Gibson returned with the 500 sheep about the same time; still 700 away. Five of us started, leaving Mr. Gibson to take care of the ladies, as they had been thus without the least protection all day, and now became afraid to stop by themselves all night with the dead shepherd. After a smart ride of fourteen miles we came on the main body of the sheep, but no natives. The sheep were nearly all dead; such wanton destruction no one but those who saw it can imagine. There were 610 fine ewes just about to lamb, for which 42s. a head had been paid the year before - all dead; some skinned; others skinned and quartered; some cut open and the fat taken out and piled in skins, but most of them just knocked on the head with a stick; meat, fat, and all mixed with the fine sand of the stringy-bark forest.

An example of life at the time. One dead shepherd (an employee) and hundreds of dead sheep.

It was quite evident the natives had left in the morning, for all was cold, and we saw no cooking or cooked meat. We agreed to all ride back for two miles, taking the few living sheep with us, and one man being left with the horses, to creep back after dark, and shell all remain; but no natives came. We returned to Roseneath in the morning, buried the shepherd, and six of us started in search of the natives, but never found any of them for two days. I was out on the third night; two of our horses got away; one of them was mine, and I had to walk home, which I was afterwards very glad of, for the party fell in with an unfortunate native and ran him down, and I believe shot him in retaliation (and I now have no doubt he never heard of Mr. G.'s sheep).

On my way home I came to an out-station hut of my neighbour's for a drink of water, and there was our friend Yarra, the native, chopping wood for the hut-keeper. I looked at him closely, and I saw a pair of Mr. Gibson's old trousers he had on at the time all smeared with blood, whether the poor shepherd's or the sheep's I know not. I was only a mile from home, and there I found Mr. Gibson's bullock- driver with his team and two men, splitters, returning from Portland on his way home. I told the bullock-driver what had happened, and that I saw Yarra at the hut, and if he could take Yarra on with him in the morning in his dray, he might perhaps tell who had killed the shepherd. They called friend Yarra, and easily induced him to go with them, but when he came in sight of the station he got off the dray and was running away, when one of the splitters shot him. So ended poor Yarra.

Another example of the times. One dead aborigine.

After this, there was a constant war kept up between the natives and the stations - Bell's and Gibson's - and, I regret to say, a fearful loss of life to the poor natives by two young heartless vagabonds Gibson and Bell had as overseers when they left.

I was shocked and stunned when I read this.  These are the stories I was never told.  I don’t know why the Gibsons spent so much time away from the property. Maybe it had something to do with Mrs Gibson’s ever-growing family.  

Your most obedient servant,

JOHN GEORGE ROBERTSON, Of Wando Vale; April 6th, 1854.