Chapter 119 : International Women's Tennis Tournament

I enter the concrete colosseum with my daughter Christine.       

We are to watch two women players from Europe ranked amongst the best players in the world play a singles match.

We know nothing about either player and don’t instinctively support either. They both are very similar. Physically fit and strong. Tall, muscular and sun tanned. Hair unfashionable and under control. Hair band or sun visor. They move athletically. Confident in their bodies.  They are much better at playing tennis than most of us watching. I enjoy watching these players because they are physically aware, strong, powerful and skillful. They show us what we are capable of.

One serves to begin the match and immediately differences emerge. One is unreliable with hard, powerful shots and a weak backhand.  The other one is more consistent. Hitting not as powerfully but her serve and ground shots are more reliable.

I say to Christine, “With a weak backhand you can still win. You try and avoid your weaknesses and take advantage of the things you are good at.  It’s like life.”

Christine then states the obvious, “Her back hand may be her weakness but it’s much better than yours.”

Along with their techniques their personalities begin to surface. The one with the unreliable technique also tends to have a more erratic personality. Her frustration begins to manifest itself to us and more importantly to her opponent.

I say to Christine, “One player is having trouble concentrating. When I can’t concentrate I think of one point at a time. I think next point I must get the ball back into the court.”Christine says, “Better tell her not to throw the racquet the way you do. Tell her it doesn’t help.”

I then say, “I would agree. It doesn’t help you win.”

Christine then says, “I’m confused now. Are you telling me what to do or what you do?”

We then watch the tennis without speaking. The ball bounces from end to end.  The thump thump sound coming from a tennis match is a beautiful, relaxing noise. No sport ever sounded so good.

We wander to the outside courts. I want to get close enough to smell, feel and hear the players. I want to sense their humanity.  There are no matches on outside courts so we go back to the center court and a new match.

Another two players new to us. We watch them hit up.

Who will win will depend on so many factors.

Where did they sleep last night? Was there bed comfortable and the room quiet? What happened before retiring? Did they eat or drink anything which will affect them today?

Where is their home town? Is it hot, dry and dusty or cold, wet and prone to snow?

Who are their coaches? Do the coaches have many other players in their squad? What is the relationship between coach and player like?

What is their relationship with family and friends like? Have they spoken on the phone to anybody immediately prior to the match? What did they say on the phone?

What color socks are they wearing? The tennis world is full of people with lucky socks or lucky charms.

What is their tennis experience?  How long have they been playing? Who have they played against? What type of competition have they had? What is their ranking?

You can do everything right yourself but the result also goes depends on your opponent. You can play to your potential. Achieve perfection and still lose if your opponent is a better tennis player.

I start talking to Christine about the opposing techniques and how they match up against each other and who I think will win and Christine raises her eyebrows and plays with her phone.

Christine then hands me her phone and shows me a message which says, “You are not at home watching TV. You are surrounded by people who don’t want to listen to your comments.”

I think I am surrounded by people who feel the same as me about tennis. I love tennis because it’s more than just a game. It’s a battle between two people. With different personalities, cardiovascular fitness, techniques, emotional status and knowledge.

And it’s a game you can both watch and play.

Chapter 118 : Bikes and Spikes

A few weeks ago I entered the Bikes and Spikes online.

The website asked me for my best recent time over the distance. I entered a time as accurately as I could.

I’m sure they will check and besides I’ve got nothing to hide.

I entered the 800m Master’s handicap event. Handicap by distance not time.  Not weight for age. Everybody will start at the same time.  I will find myself starting few hundred meters ahead of a back marker.  I will run less than 8oom. Everybody will try and go past me. The “also runs” will start in front of the talented runners.  I will be overtaken by some. How many?  I have to adjust to having the field behind me and coming at me.

Normally when I run everybody starts together and I settle down amongst runners of a similar speed. I then focus on a person in front of me and imagine a string connecting us together. I imagine them dragging me along. This coming race will be different. I will be out in front and strive to hold everybody off. I need to prevent them passing me. I need to imagine something new. I will be the hunted hound fighting to keep ahead of the foxes.

The handicapper is aiming for a blanket finish. Everybody finishing together sounds good to me.

In the weeks before my race I practice for the race. By running. Running seems to be good practice for a running race. I practice sprinting around a circular track. How do I practice running around a track with a noisy crowd.

Every time I hear spikes on the radio I galvanize and listen and then it turns out to be about spiking of drinks.

The big day of the Hobart Bikes and Spikes Carnival arrives and before my race I wander then sit in the grandstand and watch.

Runners wear colored vests. Sprinters wear colored vests crouch tensely. When the gun explodes they spring into action. Powerful leg muscles stride down the lanes with arms swinging. Looks beautiful. From the side some forge ahead. The field separates into fastest and just fast. From the front each runner is a bundle of active muscles. Tensing and lengthening.  Arms swing wide for a lunge at the finish gate.

Bikes controlled by helmets, sunglasses and velcro shorts and shirts and focused ahead glide around the velodrome. Legs pump like pistons as they propel the smooth sliding machines at speed around the velodrome.  

The announcements are ceaseless. They broadcast each race.  Telling us the names of the cyclists and runners.  At the marshaling area I greet other runners. Most of them I recognize. There are fourteen in my race.

I crotch behind the starting line. The gun goes off. I am by myself. Nobody to comfort me. Please be fast.  Breathe deeply. Swing arms wide. Take big long steps.  A guy overtakes me very quickly and gives me something to chase.   

I’ve got to go faster. Legs stride bigger.  Reach out further. Stride longer. Longer and even longer.  Legs go faster. Go quicker. Lungs breathe deeper. Breathe out bigger.

The announcer continues announcing for the watching crowd.  After the race I have no idea what he says. I’m focused.

I can hear more breathing behind me. It’s getting closer. I’ve got to speed up. I will stop them passing me. The breathing is getting closer. I can see them now. Next to me. Now past me. I’ll hang onto him. Repass him. I can’t catch him. I can hear the crowd yelling. They are yelling for me. I won’t let them down. I’ll catch this guy. Get back in front of him. He’s going away from me. I can hear more breathing behind me.

I’m coming around the corner. I can see the finish line. I sprint. I increase my stride. I increase leg speed. I increase my arms swinging.

I finish. The result is I came fifth out of fourteen.  Sounds good to me. I am exhausted. I didn’t know I could breathe so deeply. I rest my hands on my legs.  I shake hands with the other guys. They’ve all done what I did. They have all done a great job.

Chapter 117 : Christmas Day

Christmas Day arrives bringing perfect weather. Our house wakens from the peace and quiet sensing an approaching hoard.    

My grandchildren arrive and see a Christmas tree surrounded by presents and unwrap their smiles. The presents irresistibly attract them. They pick them up, feel them, smell them and rattle them until told, “Leave them alone.”

We all gather in the lounge room, surrounding the tree. Bruce and Gertrude are anointed. They pick up presents; read the name and then give the presents out.  

I watch the reactions. I focus on the presents that I have wrapped. I hope I get asked to explain a present.

The kids unwrap their presents and occasionally say the right thing which is, “Just what I always wanted.”

We sit and nibble on mince pies and short bread holding a pile of new batteries. The new batteries find a purpose and a pile of used wrapping paper becomes bigger than the original pile of presents.

Behind us our table is adorned with a table cloth, cutlery, napkins, glasses and bonbons. It awaits food and people.

The hifi plays Christmas carols.

Smells emanate from the kitchen predicting roast meat and vegetables, gravy and stuffing. One of my daughters is given the job of filling everybody’s glass with something to drink. To be given that job suggests you know all about drinks. I’m not sure if this is a job to aspire towards.  

Desert consists of pavlova with fresh berries, cream and brandy butter.

After eating I follow in the tradition. I say, “I’ve over eaten,” then lie down and snooze.

I dream about the Christmas tradition of gluttony. This tradition began in days when food was never excess or convenient. Special occasions were special because you saved up food and put aside food and looking forward to eating and feasting upon unusual and special foods. 

Today we live in a different society.  For most of us food is never dreamed of or difficult to get. Our problem is excess food and over eating. Not empty cupboards and longed for food.

During the lunch I heard people talk about calories, diets, cholesterol, carbohydrates, fats, gluten and organic. Nobody celebrated when seeing lashings of food. Nobody ate ravishingly.

Most of the talk was about a year ending, a year beginning or holidays.

Gertrude tells me what class she has just finished. How good it feels to finish grade 4 and to go to grade 5. Her mother tells me she has had her last day of work. She is now on holidays which she well and truly earned and deserves.

I am mute. I can’t say I have finished one year and earned my break. Being retired there is no finish line. It goes on and on and on. Never changing or graduating, progressing or moving up. I can’t review my year and proclaim that next year will be better.

Bruce tells me what class he will be in next year. Which room he will be in. Who his teacher will be and what friends will be in his class. He is getting older and bigger.

When I was younger Christmas Day was a day of religious celebration. We went to church and celebrated spiritually. Today some people still see Christmas as a religious celebration.

For our family, in 2018, it is not a day for religious celebration. But it is special day. It is a day for celebrating family, friends and community. 

If I gaze at all my previous Christmas days they have varied. There were days when friends and the local community took the place of a distant family. Days I spent with other strays or orphans.

Today I spare a moment thinking about such people. People who for various reasons find themselves alone or lonely on Christmas day.   And there are people in Hobart behaving like Christ. They are inviting orphans to their homes for lunch or working at community lunches. There are people who see Christmas as a time to celebrate in our community with our community.

Chapter 116 : Night on the Green

Night on the Green is Newtown Primary School’s end of year concert.  We are greeted by a lone piper playing Christmas carols on his bag pipe. We are witnessing the birth of a new tradition. This year the concert features some of my grandchildren. While I wait for their appearance on stage I lie back on the grass, close my eyes and hop into my Tardis and fly back to when my children attended this very same school.

All the retired people are lounging in deck chairs. Their active turtle eyes beneath a carapace of blankets. Their grandchildren furnished them with food and drinks on paper plates and in paper cups.

The children play on the swings and make occasional visits to their grandparents. Just to make sure they have enough food and water and are not running around sniffing each other’s bottoms.

I hop back in my Tardis to 2018 and emerge lying on a blanket. One of my grandkids asks me if I want any food or water as she heads towards the BBQ. Has anything changed in the last 25 years?

Smoke wafts from the gas BBQ selling traditional Australian street food. The smoke is followed by the smell of sausages.  The smell triggers a queue.

The Aussie BBQ gives away veggie burgers, chicken or beef sausages and sliced bread. Served with a squirt of happiness and tomato sauce or BBQ sauce. Water is also given away in plastic bottles.

One day these children will travel the world and someone somewhere will say, “What’s your national food?”

Hopefully these kids will remember the camaraderie of Night on the Green and say, “Sausage and tomato sauce in sliced bread is one of our national foods.”

An adult at the microphone and one controlling the cables begin to waken the stage from its noiseless slumber. Each class gathers beside the stage then forms into rows and gets shepherded onto the stage. Each class is inclusive. Everybody in every class is on stage.

Looking at the kids I see a variety of clothes, reindeer antlers, Santa hats, numerous hairstyles and every possible physique.  I see good and bad singers, talented and dyslexic sportspeople, and every conceivable religion.  Everybody on stage sings and sways together.  The older classes remind me that children grow and change. They become louder, more unified and sing louder.

I see my grandkids looking for us. They curiously peer around eager to release a wave. We wave back at them. After their song they run back to us. And the one who enjoyed it the most is Kay who goes to Crèche. Next year she will go to this school. She stares open eyed at her future and loves the look of it.

The music from each class, the school band and the choir drifts away with the smoke from the BBQ. It dissipates between the trees and the empty school buildings. Each class sings a different festive song. A modern Australian Christmas carol. The songs feature kangas, koalas, playing cricket, beaches and the heat.  Baby Jesus and the manger has gone. Though presents and Christmas trees still remain. Most of the songs have actions. Waving of arms, swaying and sometimes a story is acted out.

Some of the families have bought hampers of food. Everybody seems to nibble on something better than what I have.

A phalanx of paparazzi parents forms in front of the stage. Photographing and videoing their children.   In order to record their children for different places and different times.

Between songs we lie back and don’t do the normal Hobart thing. We don’t talk about the weather. Because it’s perfect. Warm with no breeze. Harmless clouds hiding the mountain.

The concert finishes. Hopefully one day all the kids will remember this night. The way everybody was included. The way everybody sang. The way their grandparents turned up and listened and were a part of their schooling. They way they were a vital part of their lives. More than just pet dogs.

Chapter 115 : One day I will be admitted to the Royal Hobart Hospital

One day in the future I will be admitted to the Royal Hobart Hospital.  

Initially I will be given all necessary emergency care. Efficiently and effectively.

The Royal will then treat the disease. They will identify the aetiology and remove the aetiological agent and prevent its recurrence.  They will then spend as much time and energy preventing recurrence of the disease as on managing the emergency presentation. I will be discharged with a list of instructions. Unlike many businesses the staff abhor repeat customers.

The staff will be neat, tidy and have pride in their work. They will be unhappy when I relapse and discuss my health over a cup of tea. 

I will receive good care. The staff will know what they are doing. They will be aware of the state of the art in their area and ways of compiling a good result working within the limits they have.

Everybody will receive the same treatment. With no preference for or against anybody.

The staff will work with other departments to manage and treat me. The staff I encounter will see other staff as helping them. To see other staff as an indispensable aid.

I don’t expect the staff to be perfect. I don’t expect them to all work hard, conscientiously and compassionately every minute of every day. I expect the staff, like all humans, will vary. And each individual staff to vary. To have good days and days when they are tired, irritable and ignorant.

I expect to pay for the services. Either indirectly via general revenue or directly when I receive the service. I expect people, not as fortunate as me, to not pay directly. To receive the service cheaper.  I expect experts to work out the way various services are paid for. The mix between user pays and general revenue.

I expect politicians to use me or fellow patients for political points. I welcome stories in the media about the Health System. It is called living in a democracy. Living where people are free to use the media to try and improve their lot. Much preferable to the alternative.

I don’t look forward to my time in the Royal. But every time I see the outside of the Royal it reassures me. I am grateful I live in Tasmania in 2018.

Chapter 114 : Hobart Christmas pageant

I love some things because they are so last year. They have not adapted and gone with the times or gone digital. I love the way the Hobart Christmas pageant remains as it is.

Crowds line the city streets.  Children wear red elfin hats or rein deer antlers. Officials wearing red hats survey the empty roads. People sit in gutters waiting.

We wander behind the crowds looking for a place to settle. A spot where my grandkids can see the pageant and where the rest of us can purchase some take away coffee.  We settle and my grandkids peer around. They want to know what is about to happen. They want to know what is coming down the road.

I can hear some music approaching us. We peer up the road.

Before the band a small group connected to the traditional owners appears. Carrying a smoking platter and wearing body paints.  This is part of the Welcome to Country ceremony.

The music becomes louder and a marching band finally arrives and surround us with marching foot-stamping music.

The parade becomes various bands separated by floats or groups walking.

The bands are irresistible. The military bands wear glittering and gleaming military uniforms. They march confidently and well-coordinated.  They stop and start uniformly. They wear uniforms perfect for marching and unsuitable for military activities. They exude music not war.

The tartan pipe bands create an unmistakable sound. A sound associated with bag pipes and drums. A sound that belongs outdoors in a parade. Free unrestricted and uncontained. It permeates around the solid buildings and up the alleys and lanes.

There are some non-military community bands.  In various uniforms. Led by a twirling scepters with paper music attached to instruments.

After ever band I always get asked, “Did you see … in the band?”

Between the bands are various community groups. Charities, schools, sports and dance academies. All have children dressed up and are waving to the crowd.

For me and the grandkids the highlights were:  

Greyhounds were led peacefully down the road. A fantastic advertisement that greyhounds have two uses. One often ignored. They make really good pets.

Roller bladders. Sliding confidently up and down the road.

Speedway cars. Some very fast cars being pulled very slowly.

A steam roller rolled steadily and reliably down the middle of the road. Today was its day off. A day of play not work.

Guide dogs. Guide dogs are less visible than they used to be. These dogs and handlers remind us that guide dogs are still needed and loved.

A colorful Chinese dragon twisted, turned and transformed itself as it wound its way down the road. With a team of colorfully dressed men below the dragon. Holding and supporting the dragon with poles and bringing it to life.  The dragon was a part of a group which included red and yellow robes and serene, peaceful people.

Hobart Tigers. The Hobart Junior football club had a man in a tiger costume. The man was happy and enjoying himself as he bellowed, “Merry Christmas.”

A fire engine rolled slowly down the road. I don’t know why Bruce loves looking at fire engines. I know he does. They are big, powerful and shiny red with gleaming metal.

Stilts were common. There were young children on stilts. Animals on stilts. And men on very tall stilts. The men were ungainly, rigid and towered above us.  I admired their skill as I hoped Bruce doesn’t ask me for some stilts for Christmas. Please Bruce don’t be inspired.

Bruce called out to the clown expecting a reply. The cacophony resulted in no riposte.

Irish dancers. They kicked high and spun as they marched down the road.

Thumbelina ballerinas with gossamer wings waved to the crowd.  Kay waved to the dancers. She was very happy to see girls doing what she loves to do. Enjoy dancing.

I said to Bruce, “Look there is a dinosaur.”

Bruce informed me, “That’s a T-rex.”

And then Santa Claus appeared lounging in his sleigh insouciantly. Around him were reindeer and presents. My grandkids saw him.  They didn’t talk about presents. They didn’t say what they wanted for Christmas.  They said, “Did you hear him say, “Ho, ho, ho merry Christmas.”

I asked them, “Who was the star of the pageant?” Was it baby Jesus or Santa Claus? Who do you most remember?

Bruce says Shrek. Kay is still aglow with images of ballerinas dancing down the main road.  They were stars she dreams of joining.

It must say something about me but I think the stars were the dogs. The greyhounds, the guide dogs and dogs with beards. The dogs were all lively, curious and left nothing behind.

Chapter 113 : the Comrades Marathon : 1986 article : AFTERWARDS

AFTERWARDS

What happens when you finish? Enjoy your moment of triumph. Why not? Then rest. Why not? you deserve it and your body needs it. You have just finished one of the toughest ultra-marathons in the world. A race with traditions, atmosphere and popular support. Many people don’t have the opportunity to even think about entering, running or finishing this race so consider yourself lucky. You are.

In the weeks after the race you can analyze your race and look for areas that need improvement. Write down everything that you can think of that may help you in the future. Then forget about the comrades. Go away and do something else for the Comrades is not the end. It is only the means to an end.

Chapter 112 : the Comrades Marathon : 1986 article : ON THE DAY

ON THE DAY

On the day of the race you must be at your peak in order to reach your potential. Your body must be at its physical peak on this day. Not a week before or a week later. This peaking at the right time comes from self-knowledge. You must be correctly trained. It is an endurance race and you must be trained for endurance and strength. Your training must achieve a balance between over training (tiredness and injuries) and under training (performing below potential). Such a balance is difficult to achieve and achieved in different ways by different people.

On the day your physical condition is affected by factors other than training done. One of these is the food eaten in the days preceding the race. Stick with foods that suit you. Any illness in the weeks preceding the race will affect your performance. You may think you have fully recovered but the race is always the final arbiter and the race will find these chinks of yours and expose them for the world to see.

Your mind must be at a mental peak on the day. You must be relaxed and anxiously anticipating. You should be excited by the challenge. You should be quietly confident. This confidence comes from knowing you have done adequate training. Any emotional problems arising in the days preceding must be solved. If you take into the race such problems; problems where your mind is not still and cannot concentrate on the race then you will be found out. You don’t run the comrades on aggression, anger or hate. Such things may help you win in rugby or boxing but not in the comrades. They will only hinder.

On the day your knowledge about certain things also needs to at a peak. You need to know all about the route and when you will have to push hard and where there will be some respite. You need to know which clothing and shoes will be best for you. Before you start you must decide what pace you will run at and what liquids you will drink. Do your homework by experimenting during training. Added confidence can be obtained by knowing you are prepared.

Each person is different and has the potential to run a certain minimum time. This time will be different for each person and you can’t compare yourself with somebody else. You can’t disguise or hide what you were born with. It will always come out in the race so it is best to accept your limitations before you begin.

Assuming your self-knowledge is perfect and this has resulted in you being in perfect mental and physical condition for the race then you will achieve your potential. Unfortunately nobody ever does which is why everybody keeps on returning. All you can do during training and in your other preparations is minimize your mistakes. Any mistake will slow you down but nothing will make you run faster than what you are capable of.

The person who has the potential to run a 10:15 Comrades and finishes in 10:30 has performed better than someone capable of 6:30 who finishes in 8:30. This is irrelevant though as you should not be comparing yourself with other people. You should be striving to improve your own time and to eliminate your own mistakes. Your mistakes may not be obvious on the day but an honest post mortem a few weeks later will help.  There is no such thing as a “bad run”. There is always a reason for a bad run even if it isn’t immediately obvious to you.

Chapter 111 : the Comrades Marathon : 1986 article : THE TRAINING

THE TRAINING

There are many different training methods. What is important is that you choose a method that works for you. Bearing that in mind there are certain basic principles that are fairly universal. I will now describe the methods I prefer for myself even though they might not be right for you.

                Rest…immediately preceding the race rest. Do not run or do any vigorous exercise. Prepare yourself mentally. I think about three days is right but this can easily vary.

                Taper…In the weeks preceding the race I would gradually decrease my mileage. I prefer a taper of about three weeks. As you decrease your mileage you should become full of life and full of bounce. If this is so you can increase the amount of speed work or slightly increase the speed at which you train but be careful. If you push yourself too hard you will tear a muscle or catch a cold. After every training run you should feel fit and bouncy. If you are tired and jaded then rest immediately and do not run again until fully recovered.

                Quality Training…preceding the taper you need a period of high quality training. I think 8/10 weeks is about ideal. The emphasis is on high weekly mileages. At the start of this period I would write down my planned weekly mileages. For most weeks it would be about 120 kays a week. The most important thing during this period is to achieve these guidelines. I keep a log book and record what I have run. This is essential. I start my week on Saturday so I begin the week with a long run. if I run am and pm on Saturday and Sunday then I would accomplish 50/60 kays over the weekend. if I’m feeling good then I can continue to push it hard on Monday so that I will be rewarded with Thursday and Friday or just Friday as a rest day. If I’m feeling tired or heavy footed then I can rest on Monday, take it easy on Tuesday and run hard on Wednesday and Thursday. I prefer a fixed weekly programme and a flexible daily program. I find programs which set out on the 23/4 you run 5 kays am and 8 kays pm a complete mystery. I suspect nobody sticks to them but if it suits you then that’s okay.

These training runs should be run at an easy comfortable pace though on some days you will strain to finish. You are trying to increase your endurance so total mileage is what counts. Don’t be embarrassed about the speed at which you run. It doesn’t matter. Don’t race the people you train with. Don’t try and impress and don’t try and improve your time every day. Don’t be afraid to stop and rest or walk.

Once a week I would do a long training run. The aim of this run is to mentally prepare yourself for running long distances and to increase endurance and stamina. This is definitely not a time for racing. Stopping regularly drinking often and plodding along is what is important. You cannot train for speed and endurance on the same day.

If I want to do some speed training then this will be done during the week. If during a particular week I find I can easily achieve my set mileage then I can think about a fast time trial or other type of speed work. However if during the week I’m battling to achieve my mileage then speed work is quickly forgotten. Mileage comes first and speed comes second. I would also never do more than two hard days a week (one long run and one time trial).

During this period of intensive training you will find you need to sleep more than normal and to eat more than normal. Don’t fight it. If you are hungry then eat. It’s impossible to put on weight when doing such training. This period of quality training demands sacrifices. There is time spent running and time spent sleeping that must come from somewhere. If you don’t have this time to spare then forget about the Comrades.

                Basic training…preceding the high quality period is a  less intensive more varied period during which you attempt to achieve a basic level of fitness and get used to the daily routine of running. Your mileage should gradually increase during this period so that by the end of base training a jump to 120 kays is not large or traumatic.

This is more a time for enjoying your running. For entering races and running time trials. It is also a time for visiting the gym to strengthen your leg, back and stomach muscles. At the start of this period you should do other sports (swimming, squash, cycling etc). The way you go about training during this period and the length of time it talks can vary so much it’s impossible to know where to start. For some people this bas training is a part of their daily routine for the whole year.

Chapter 110 : the Comrades Marathon : 1986 article : HOW TO RUN THE COMRADES

HOW TO RUN THE COMRADES

Before you start your first training run you must do certain things. First you need a philosophical base to you which is stable and sound. This is the rock upon which everything else is built. If you have emotional, work, social, financial or marital problems then go away and solve them first. Forget about the comrades. The comrades will not solve any of these problems. These problems will surface at the wrong time and prevent you achieving your goals.

Once your life is basically routine and mundane you can start to think about the Comrades. What you need now is a reason. A reason for running. It has to be a good reason. Write it down. If this reason is appropriate for you and consistent with your basic outlook on life then you can continue.

Next you must consider that there is absolutely no shame in not running the Comrades. You can achieve just as much in any field if you approach it with the same amount of time, courage, determination and honesty. There are many paths to the mountain top. A person who exercises regularly and is consistently fit and healthy is achieving more than someone who runs Comrades and rapidly retires.

If you still wish to proceed you need a plan. A realistic plan which will achieve your goal. If you are unfit and have no experience at road running you may find it difficult to write down a suitable training guide. You do not know what you are capable of and hopefully you will later find out that you are capable of things you never dreamed of. Conversely many beginners start off too optimistically and rarely fail to achieve their target and then become disillusioned. It is best to talk to as many people s possible and they will assist you with a realistic and attainable programme.

Chapter 109 : the Comrades Marathon : 1986 article for local running magazine

Chapter 108 : the Comrades Marathon : photos from local newspaper

Chapter 107 : the Comrades Marathon : official photographs

Chapter 106 : the Comrades Marathon

I was born and bred in Melbourne, Australia.

In 1981 I decided to go and work in South Africa.

Arriving in South Africa many of the people I met talked about the Comrades Marathon.

At the time there were 10,000-15,000 entrants per year. The majority were young, white, male South Africans.

It was an endurance running race. Between Pietermaritzburg and Durban. Alternating between an up and down course. Distance varies but is normally about 90 kays. Both up and down courses are hilly.

In 1986 there were sporting sanctions against South Africa. That meant no international sport and domestic sport got all the media coverage. The Comrades grew bigger during this period.

In South Africa it was one of the biggest sporting events of the year. 

It was almost a rite of passage for white males.

When living in Zululand I decided to do it.  My result is two finishes. In 1985 and 1986.

Zululand was very hot and ideal for growing sugar cane.

Because of the heat I trained early in the morning.

I have memories of, to beat the heat, getting up early, running through the sugar cane and gazing up at Haley’s comet. 

In 1986 my training was interrupted by the birth of one of my daughters.

Because of the political system at the time she was born in a hospital for people classified as white.

She now has two children who are beyond racial classification.

The world, the country and the Comrades Marathon has changed.

It has gone professional.

It has gone international.

It has gone multiracial.

It has gone multisexual.

Some things never change. It is still a hard slogging race between Pietermaritzburg and Durban.

In 1986 I wrote an article for my local running club magazine titled “How to run the Comrades.”

In the photos I am wearing the shirt of the local running club. Our symbol was a local animal, the white rhino.

Reading the article today I am pretty proud of it. I tend to agree with myself. Today I would write it differently but I agree with the basic ideas.  Chapter 97 gives my present ideas on how to run a marathon. Pretty similar with slight differences.   

In South Africa, for me, long distance running was a very selfish and self-centered activity.

Returning to Australia my children and work became more important, occupied more time and left less time for long distance running.

And in Australia there was not a race with the same profile.

I have recently met a few people planning on running the Comrades. These people have inspired me to upload an article I wrote in 1986.

Enjoy it.

Chapter 105 : anyone for a hit...

The Copenhagen City Heart Study is a much quoted and read study. 8577 participants were followed for all-cause mortality from 1991 to 2017. Their participation in various sports and other leisure time activities and length of life was monitored.

Various sports were associated with improvements in life expectancy compared with a sedentary group. The researchers found that tennis players added 9.7 years to life expectancy.  Badminton players added 6.2 years. Soccer players added 4.7 years. Cyclists added 3.7 years. Swimmers added 3.4 years. Joggers added 3.2 years. Health club members added 1.5 years.

This study showed that all physical exercise was associated with increased life expectancy. Social physical activities such as tennis, badminton or soccer were associated with greater increased life expectancy more than individual/solitary activities such as jogging, swimming or cycling.

Increased life expectancy was associated with both physical activities and social activities.  Being with other people, playing and interacting with them, as you do when you play games that require a partner or a team has psychological and physiological effects. Connecting with other people is as important as raising your heart rate.

The Copenhagen Study supports a study of 80,000 British adults, published last year in the British Medical Journal, which found people who play racket sports tended to outlive joggers. Regardless of people's age, wealth or level of education.

The Copenhagen Study found that people who played tennis lived on average an extra 9.7 years.  When receiving serve I think. Does tennis make you live longer or do people who live longer play tennis?

There are certain people who don’t play tennis with me. People who can’t delegate.  The expert who knows everything.  The person responsible for all the team all the time. The person who is not a member of a team. Not a team player.  Such a person can’t play with a partner who makes a mistake, hits the ball into the net, hits the ball out or serves a fault.  Such a person can’t play against people who irritate them. They can’t play against someone who doesn’t hit the ball back correctly or serves without waiting or smashes the ball directly at opponents.

Another person I never play tennis with is someone with personality or emotional problems. During tennis the ball will bounce or fly towards you. You then have to hit it. With confidence. You have to be aware you are taking a risk. You are doing something which may or may not succeed.  When playing tennis you have to take it in turns to act creatively. Depression or senility is a contra-indication.

The other person missing from the tennis court is someone perpetually in a bad mood or emotionally upset or easily irritated. Some of the young elite players fall into this category. They will not play tennis when they retire from professional tennis.  

I play tennis against people who have good cardio vascular physical fitness. People with good hand eye co-ordination and good balance and mobility. People who are emotionally and mentally healthy. They are nice people. I love them so much I love to beat them. It’s not tennis that makes them live longer. They are the type of person who lives a long and healthy life therefore they play tennis.

The message from Copenhagen is don’t play tennis. The main message is social activity is as important as physical activity. If doing a solitary physical activity then try and do it with other people or afterwards go social. You need a balanced life.

Tennis is not the only way to lead a healthy balanced life.  On Wednesday Tasmanian Masters Athletics runs an athletic carnival on the domain for all and anybody. Everybody turns up to participate in athletic events. Not everybody is of Olympic or national or state or club standard. Everybody is interested in improving in getting faster or higher or longer. Everybody putatively turns up for physical reasons and everybody, without thinking about it, improves themselves socially.

While waiting for my turn to run, I talk to other elders about runs coming up, training, injuries, children or grandchildren. There is always someone to advise me on improving my long jump or give me advice on technique or local conditions.

Everybody who competes is winning even those who come last.

Chapter 104 :Return to not work

Sometimes when you retire you return to your place of previous employment.

Well this is the way it went for me.

In 1994 I started a dental surgery in the middle of Hobart.  I worked there for about twenty years. It was my practice.  The practice I created. I put my life into it. It resonated with my personality. When I was awake I spent more time there than anywhere else. 

Today I am taking one of my grandchildren to the dentist. To see a dentist working were I used to work.  In the same room with the same chair.

The waiting room has changed. A new screen for the computer. That’s new and better. They had to change that. Gertrude, my grandchild starts arranging the toys on the floor. I aim for the pile of magazines.

There is another man waiting. I greet him.  Things used to be different. I used to work here and he would occasionally visit me.   Now we sit side by side. We have to find something to talk about. We can’t talk about his teeth. That topic has gone. It’s now forbidden.

Another patient arrives. She greets me cheerfully and says, “When are you going to come back?”

I say, “I am never coming back. I enjoyed my time here. But now it’s time for someone else to work here and time for me to do something else.”

Gertrude is called into the surgery. I follow. The much wiped chair is central to the room.  The ceiling is just the way I arranged it. Replete with pictures that I placed there.  Wow I remember that picture of Dexter. That dog is dead now.

What’s that machine over there? That’s new.  What have they done with this room? They have altered it.  They did that without asking me. They are treating it like they own the place.

When working as a dentist you often see and inherit the work of another dentist. Broken fillings. Failed crowns or rampant decay. I wonder what they are seeing. They are seeing all my old work. What are they thinking of it.  How is my work coping?

After selling the practice there was the first time I returned.  I spent the whole visit thinking about what they should do. They must look out for that autoclave. It can be unpredictable. You can tell by the noise it makes. I must tell them about the air-conditioner. How to control the apparently uncontrollable air-conditioner.  And that drawer is a perfect spot for the bibs. 

I felt like a retired cricketer commentating on the cricket. He should be standing slightly more upright. That would help him counter the bounce.

Today I no longer have the urge to tell them what to do. I have gone past being an expert commentator. I no longer feel I should tell them anything. I sit back and think, “Do whatever you want. It’s your practice - do it your way. You will make mistakes and you will learn from them.”

The dentist seeing Gertrude has the nightmare of working with me watching her. Gertrude sits on the chair and the chair changes shape. She wears sunglasses and a bib.  She is very happy as she gets her teeth polished and cleaned and then she receives some stickers.

I am not sure how much the dentist working here knows about me. Does she realise her job and this place depends on me. Does she know that without me that chair would not be there? She would be working elsewhere.

Well I know this practice would be nothing without her.  The current owners and staff have taken the tree I planted, watered it, fed it and nurtured it. Without them it would be dead. They have given the practice life. New enthusiastic ways of doing things.

This practice needs us both. And one day it may need someone else.

Walking down the stairs I am very happy to see the practice functioning so well. I am happy to see so many patients who have moved on. They are now seeing somebody else and are happy with their new dentist. I am happy not to be missed.

Writing this my thoughts turn to my grandfather, Clarrie Carlton. His life was the newspaper he started.  In 1965 he sold the newspaper to a man called Rupert Murdoch. Somehow he had to find a way of living after his precious baby went in new directions.  The paper he gave birth to is still going strong more than 50 years after he sold it. He would be happy with that.

Chapter 103: the Domain

With my grandchildren I walk on a hill on the Domain. This is an opportunity for me to pretend I know more than them. I say, “This hill is the place were radio masts were erected in 1911 in order to communicate with the Antarctic.”

I ask them, “Imagine you are at the other end of this radio in the Antarctic. What are you going to say?”

Gertrude says, “I would upload a picture of the penguins.”

I say, “Well you have a good point there. Because Mawson went their largely for scientific reasons. They did go there to look at the penguins.”

My grandchildren know the name Mawson because of the huts on the docks. After much talking we agree Mawson went to the Antarctic in 1912 and erected huts in the Antarctic (copies of  are now on our docks in Hobart) and spoke to Australia via the Domain.

Moving on we head towards some concrete slabs on the east side of the hill.  I say, “Do you have any idea what was built here.”

They are mute so I inform them, “A number of defense force installations were built on the Domain.”

Bruce says, “Where’s the big gun?”

“Bruce you’re thinking of a different place.  That gun (Bellerive) was built a long time before the buildings over here. The concrete placed here was for the war against the Japanese between 1939 and 1945.”

Bruce hears the word war which excites him.

“Wow I can use my light sword.” says Bruce.

 Bruce swings a branch around as a light sword. His favourite films include light swords, goodies and baddies. To think this could have happened up here on the Domain.

I pretend I am a responsible adult and tell him, “We would prefer to be friends with Japan. To eat sushi and drive Toyota cars. We both win if we work together.”

Bruce continues hitting plants and de-heading grass with his stick. He says, “We will defeat them.”

I say to Bruce, “Imagine you are in class and the teacher ask you to draw a picture. You can fight with the person on the next table. Break his pencils and rip up his paper. To stop him drawing a better picture than you.  Another option is that you can work together. Help each other. Which way are you going to go?”

Bruce keeps waving his stick around wishing it was a light saver. He pauses slightly. 

He is torn. He loves drawing with his classmates.  And he loves films involving fighting between goodies and badies.  

I tell Bruce, “There was no war on the Domain. The Japanese never came anywhere near Hobart.”

The political correct angel is sitting on my shoulder telling me to tell them the full story. 

“Bruce and Gertrude. The Japanese did not fight a war here. Can you tell me of any war fought anywhere near here?”

That is a rhetorical question because I know they will not answer it.

My answer is that in 1803 Britain decided to come here and start another colony of the British Empire. When they arrived there were already aborigines living here.  There were many differences and clashes between the two groups of people. Many of these clashes involved violence. The aboriginal people living on the Domain were invaded and fought to protect their way of life.

Gertrude says, “So that’s why we have the Cenotaph.”

“No you are not correct. The Cenotaph is a memorial to other brave and courageous Tasmanians.” 

  

Bruce throws his stick away and says, “Everybody should have drawn pictures together. They should have worked together.”

They both find the idea of aborigines living on the Domain difficult to comprehend.

Gertrude says “Where did they live? There are no houses up here.”

I have to agree. There are no houses on the Domain.  I decide there is only one thing I can show them that might prove that at one time aboriginals did lived up here.

We head down towards the river. I show them piles of shells in the banks below the path running beside the Derwent River.  They look at the shells. I say, “What are these shells telling you.”

We discuss the shells but I am distracted. The name of the Queens Domain should be changed.  Prior to 1803 it was managed by the Mouheneenner aboriginal people. In 1860 the Governor handed the Queens Domain to the people of Hobart. 

Either give the Queens Domain a name that recognizes the aboriginals who lived there or do what everybody does call it.  Call it the Domain. Let’s get rid of the Queen from Queens Domain. The present Queen doesn’t own it. She rarely visits. And has no direct interest in managing  the Domain.