Out of service

I am currently in Vienna in Austria for another work trip and saw Ewen's message on my previous post. Thanks mate for your concern.

I have been out of action due to injury yet again. I had the incredible high of the Boston Marathon earlier in the year but the period since then has been a non event. I have had a persistent groin injury the whole year and have not been able to shake it. The injury has received noodles of rest and physio and yet it persists. A scan in mid-year did not show anything spectacular but every time I run I can feel pain and tightness to the groin. I strongly suspect it is all nerve related and wonder if I have nerve entrapment. A lot of wiring has to make its way through a narrow passage from leg to torso and I think the electronics and other engineering in that part of the world is suffering from overload.

I have run out of answers and I have to admit to feeling very down about the whole thing. I have had a few other non-running related difficulties of late as well and the less said about this year the better.

Rest heals all wounds. I shall return.

Venus in our vines

I had a real weekend of contrasts when it came to running. On Saturday I did the usual run with my group over 20k's or so out at the Cotter Reserve. It feels like you are in the middle of nowhere, yet it is only about a 10 minute drive from Canberra's western suburbs. It was a gloopy morning for running with mist and light drizzle. The conditions (at left) could easily have been mistaken for any melancholy day on the Yorkshire moors.

But then came Sunday. This time I was alone, doing one of my favourite runs - and taking photos along the way - from my home in Gordon in Canberra's southern suburbs to the Pine Island reserve then back along the banks of the Murrumbidgee River to home. It was another of those mornings where me the runner, and the birds, the bees, the flowers and the trees all were in love with one another. We were all so high on fresh air and the blue skies that this couldn't have been legal. What a morning!

A morning like this recently with one of my running buddies brought out the poet in me again:

From where does Nature's sleeping beauty spring?
When playful runners roam those dream time hills
And watch the dawn's gold sail to which we cling
To starry skies and the winter moon's chills
Or season's blush - frosty fall's disrobed trees
Kangaroos, scarlet birds, a river's wealth
Wattle wonders, nectar and springtime bees
Nature's pulse, ancient lines that rule by stealth
But how does a lofty mind see such things?
When flirty running girl is my eye's feast
And mankind loses its sense to false kings
Beauty for one, is just another's beast
Yet fragrance flows from Adam's love for Eve
It's Venus in our vines to which we breathe.

For the record, my poem conforms to the structures of a Shakespearean sonnet. I am trying to say that there is so much beauty in Nature, yet sometimes we can be distracted by "flirty running girls" or the materialism of life ("false kings") and beauty is also in the eye of the beholder ("beauty for one is just another's beast").

Yet the bottom line is that it is a man's love for a woman and vice versa that allows us to see beauty in Nature. It's the Venus (love) in our vines (Nature) to which we breathe.

We are so lucky to be runners to allow us to see and feel such things.

Creature from the Black Lagoon

I had another good week of running with recent niggles and injuries all behaving themselves. I also had the most delightful fun yesterday morning (Sunday) with one of my running buddies. It was a dream morning for running.

We started at Weston Park in Yarralumla just as the sun gushed orange over distant hills, giving birth to another day. Barely a cloud in the sky. It was a mild morning; crisp but not cold. Cockatoos and Galahs squawked their welcome. As we ran along the southern shores of Lake Burley Griffin around Lotus Bay towards Reconciliation Place in Parkes there were even some sea gulls, a surprise.

I love these runs when there's little pressure or expectations. We jogged a bit and walked a little with plenty of time to observe. The birds were friendly, but so were the people. We came across guys preparing their boats, a young couple taking photos, and a few runners and walkers. There were smiles and waves, everyone relaxed. What is it about mornings like this? There's an order and simplicity to Nature where each has their place - even for us, these strange, bipedal intruders we sometimes seem to be.

Except I think when it comes to water. Last Thursday night I headed off to the Australian Academy of Science building, "the Dome", to attend a Get Up political forum on the Australian Senate. There is an unfenced moat with about a metre and a half of water sitting idly around the outside of the building. As I waited at the building entrance, I thought surely many a bugger pissed to the hilt would have stumbled outside from a cocktail function or something similar and trundled into that water.

Sure enough not ten minutes later, that is exactly what happened. Except it was no drunken skunk, but a dear old lady in a wheelchair. She probably had visions in her youth of being a Formula One driver perhaps. She took the corner of the pathway, too fast and too tight and, yep...plop!..went straight into the drink. Oh, this was funny! She didn't think so, of course, and she had a point. She was SINKING! She certainly wasn't thinking of England as she lay on her back, the water rising, tangled in that chair of hers.

Many hands make light work, but that doesn't apply to old ladies sinking in wheel chairs. Yes, many helpers extended their hands from the (dry!) edge of the abyss. Yet she continued to flounder. There was only one solution - TD to the rescue! In my business suit and shiny leather shoes (less the jacket) I jumped in to help the damsel in distress. With one hand through her legs and the other under her back, it was like tossing sheep at the Cloncurry annual show as I...er...'manoeuvred' her up to the helpers' hands at the edge of the moat.

Yay, she was saved. I do remember her smiling as she was driven off and at least she was happy. As for me, I later felt silly sitting in that large auditorium listening to the debate completely wet below the waist. I imagined I also smelt like that putrefied creep in the "Creature from the Black Lagoon". A bizarre night to say the least.

Just call me TD

Thanks everyone for your wonderful comments on my previous post which are greatly appreciated as always.

After the 'excitement' of my Moty posts and earlier overseas adventures with pigeons and all I decided on a deliberately low-key tone for that last post. But as a couple of you very perceptively picked up (Cirque and Eddie especially), 'My Moty' has well and truly returned. She's back indeed. And I do feel like the Old Running Don of Old.

I was away overseas for work again during the week and that photo at top left is of a great sunset snapped through the window of my cab as I headed back out to the airport.

In other news, I have decided to give Sydney City to Surf the flick this year. I'd paid, entered, and received my number and am fit. My mates will be there, I love the race, and it's an annual pilgrimage for me - not a combination of fortuitous events to be scoffed at! It's just that I didn't think I could afford to have two consecutive weekends away from home as the following weekend I have decided to head north to Brisbane and run the Noosa half-marathon. More on that later.

It was pleasing to get through last Saturday's Bush Capital run without pain or discomfort to my adductor. All year I have been battling this right adductor/groin/glute tendon and nerve thing. That's a convoluted description and it was a convoluted injury . Yet as is sometimes the way with injuries, this ever persistent pest just got up and left. Just like that!

With the injury gone (apparently - fingers crossed), something else has left - and for good. Hasn't anyone noticed?? "Tuggeranong Don" is kaput and replaced by "TD". I had long felt uncomfortable with the former, which was too much of a mouthful and too hard to spell. It was boring. It's now gone. For the bereaved, donations in lieu of flowers can be sent to any suitable charity for the relatives and victims of deceased blog handles.

For the time being until I can think of something better it will be the plain and simple boy next door name of "TD". I would therefore be grateful if you could respect my wishes at this sensitive time by no longer cavorting with my alter ego. Just call me TD.

Bush Capital Marathon Festival

I've just walked in the door, dry salt still on my face, and sweaty and smelly after a great run in one of this morning's Bush Capital events.

From Campbell High School near the Australian War Memorial, runners had their choice of hilly and bushy races from 16 k to a 60 k ultra through the Mt Ainslie and Mt Majura bush reserves. Inviting tracks and trails and Mother Nature's sqwarking, jumping and crawling things were in abundance. There were a few humans here and there as well. They did the running. Like me, who ran in the 25 k event.

It was beaut morning for running, not too cold or too warm with a nice breeze in parts. I really enjoyed my run. I ran easily for the first 12k's or so and had a good chin wag with a bunch of other runners.

About the 15 k mark, I caught up with Emma from my Saturday group and we solved the world's problems during most of the homeward leg. I found our chat a great distraction from those pesky hills that simply refused to flatten out over the race's latter part. I had enough energy for a kick finish and surprised myself by not collapsing at the end.

It was also very pleasing to catch up with some great running buddies and fellow bloggers. My Saturday group were out in force. Ewen , Aki and Friar were there as was the Queen herself, Lucky Legs. It was also really nice to meet Bernie G from Sydney. I am not sure what my finishing time was and I don't care. It was simply good fun.

Motivation - a love story Part 3

Cinderella, that tart! My Moty and her were having one of their feminine bonding sessions at the Fairybucks cafe when I found my lover and needed to convince her to come home.

What to do about Miss Motivation? Her story was my story, the great passion of my life.

As a runner she had nearly always been there when I felt good. But enter injury, sickness, cold mornings and other difficulties that life decides we need. Then she's off with the fairies to the Enchanted Forrest. She was reluctant, but I had a plan...

I would woo her. It would be the good, old fashioned way just like they do in the movies. I held out the promise of lemon-scented fresh linen and lavender bubble baths. We would be the free spirits of old, abandoning ourselves to the effects of fresh air, the fragrant soil and Mother Earth in all her glory. We would share the poetry of our souls. In my best Elvis voice, I would be singing "...I can't help falling in l-o-v-e with you..."

I threw in a tear for good measure. Not just any tear, but a masculine, briny tear, full of the saddest juice; a child's tear that spluttered when 'old yeller' bit the dust all those years ago. That's what I would show her. Something to make her go week at the knees.

It worked. Motivation came running into my arms (of course she came running). We clasped again, again and again never to leave.

She also made me happy by giving Cinderella the flick (personally, I never though much of the chick. I thought she would be better off with that other prissy thing, Snow White. Neither, I should add, are runners).

But then....what's this...."pfft"....a puff of smoke (cue puff of smoke, flash of lightning, claps of thunders, etc) hovers over my beloved. It's Motivation's Fairy God Mother, er, Father, along with a tiara, frumpy frock and hairy legs.

"Yes, it is Motivation's Fairy God Father" the voice proclaims. She...er...he continued:

"Motivation is like love; it can come and go when we least expect it. To get it back, you don't need Viagra (Ewen), you just need the right key to the right lock. Like love it can be found in the most unexpected places, under a rock, at the end of the rainbow, at the end of a race and our arms around sweaty salt-encrusted strangers...

...The real key to the lock is 'expectations'. We put expectations on ourselves, they sometimes immediately can't be met and, hey presto, the motivation slides, we give in".

"So what do we do about it", I said.

"Relax, my child. You don't need to go looking for love. It's a cliche, but it's true: just be yourself and love will come to you. Motivation is the same," he said. "Take one small step at a time, cross train, don't sweat it and in time you will start to feel your old self again...".

"Pfft." Then as suddenly as she..er...he had come, he was gone..gone with the wind...(heard that somewhere before I think??)

(cue angels singing, Mana falling from heaven, sound from Suncorp Stadium after Queensland State of Origin win, etc)

Alone at last with My Moty, our eyes met and danced a tango. Soul mates for life! A heart-felt reunion indeed (at your request Cirque)

Ever the optimist, Motivation gushed in relief to see me, "oooh you're so spunky! I want to go running but what if it rained, what if we got injured, what if it was cold..."

I cut her short. As we rode..er..ran off together hand in hand towards the setting sun, I blurted:

"Frankly my dear, I don't give a damn."

And we lived happily ever after.

(cue soundtrack from 2001 Space Odyssey..)
da dah dum dum dum dum dum da da daaah da daaaah dum dum da daah...........

The End

*****

Post-script:
Well, that's enough of that. JayKay's post that she had lost her motivation and the many others I have read prompted me to use my imagination and have some fun. Whether I have been able to convey a useful message at the same time I will leave others to judge.

Tesso asked about the the mini-series. In my dreams I could pretend that Brad Pitt would play me. Debra Winger, Annette Bening, Cate Blanchett, Emma Thompson and Meryl Streep have been among my favourite actresses over the years and I would love to see them play Motivation. Not sure who would play the Fairy Godfather. Ideas? Maybe I could write the screenplay but I doubt I would have enough motivation to see it through!

Note: No fairies, fairy god fathers, or other creatures were hurt in the compilation of this drama. For overseas readers and those from southern Australian states, the Queensland State of Origin team is the world's greatest ever rugby league football team. Champions.

Motivation - a love story Part 2

"Oh, damn", I thought, suddenly amazed at my ability to speak in tongues. My high school English teacher would be proud.

The love of my life, Motivation, had disappeared in the trance of time. Some might say she wasn't mine alone.

Ha! She was. There was something different about My Moty. When the going had been good Motivation was my friend to accompany me, a runner, through races thick and thin. But now when I was injured, sick and sore she was gone. A rough diamond who couldn't handle things when the going got tough.

I was haunted by that song by Lennon and his bodgy-headed mates from Liverpool, "There's something in the way she moves..." Oh, so true. She moves alright, but not when I wanted her to and to places I knew not where. Which planet, which galaxy, which universe? I know men are from Mars and women are from god-knows-where but THIS was ridiculous!

Where had she gone? I had looked long and hard, yet I was left bereft. Things were at their worst. But isn't it strange that when things are at their worst that suddenly clarity - an epiphany - comes to us to show us the way through the puzzle.

Lance Armstrong said in is bestseller "It's not about the bike" that the irony of his chemotherapy treatment for cancer was the worse he felt, the better he got.

It is a bit like that for runners, too, missing their motivation. So often in running and in life all the world's nastiness can hit us all at once. Not nice. I felt like that after running the Boston marathon earlier this year when I got injured.

Yet I decided to use some reverse psychology on myself. I was feeling miserable and relying on others to get me out of the bog. In the end I felt that I 0nly I could get myself moving. And that's when I had the epiphany. That's when I said "stuff this", I was not going to allow myself to feel sorry for myself because I couldn't run. I was going to reverse the strength of those negative feelings to bounce upwards...

...certainly that is what I decided when it came to me and my absent lover, Motivation. Typically, when I became more positive in my thinking, Good News, another friend, raised her beautiful, beautiful head. She told me about Saffron.

And Saffron, the yellow fairy, one of those spunky little flitty things I had spoken to at the bottom of my garden told me about Motivation. There had been a sighting. "Oh, yus, yus," I cried, punching the air.

Motivation, she said, could be found in the Enchanted Forrest of Lost Hopes and Repressed Marathon Desires. Motivation was there with another flaky one called Cinderella. Both were in the said Forrest sipping caramel lattes and bemoaning their bad luck with the men of this world (or at least some world!).

Motivation and Cinderella were real girl friends, as only girls can be. They shared a fetish over shoes: Cinderella with ...well... at that stage she didn't have any. Motivation, of course, had her tailor-made size eight Brooks Adrenaline running shoes. (Please note, I say "hers" but they were actually unisex running shoes we both wore, such was the relationship we had.)

Oh, they could be catty too. Privately Motivation always felt that Cinderella's obsession with pumpkin carriages was a tad odd. Motivation ALWAYS preferred to run to the ball.

Still, they shared so much in common, and both wanted to be coveted by the best stallions in the land - Cinderella by some dude in leotards wearing a fluffy pink hat (and he had a kinky thing for glass slippers didn't he?). Motivation, I would hope, was thinking only of me.

Anyway, this is where I found my little cherished catty cherub - in the Enchanted Forrest with that siren, Cinderella. Just seeing her...my head spun with desire, engorged with endorphin-rich love again, and again...

Trying to ignore the tart sitting next to her, I pleaded to my Moty:

"My darling, the hills will be alive with the sound of music, our music. Our running steps, our breathing, our spirits would be entwined forever...if only you will come with me..."

"No"

"Wot"

"No"

What did she mean, NO? Just like that, NO! How could she? My oxygen-depleted brain cells couldn't take anymore of this. And they weren't going to take any more of this. I would fight for her. Release her from that fandango she seemed to be in with Cinderella.

I would get my Moty back. It was just that I was going to have to be smart. I had a plan...

TO BE CONTINUED

Will this story have a happy ending? Will I get my Motivation back? Does Viagra get to play a part? Who will play me in the television mini-series of this grand adventure?

Stay tuned for the final exciting installment of "Motivation - a love story" - which will be released at 7 pm Australian Eastern Standard Time on Monday 23 July.

Agents please note the exclusive rights to this story are currently under negotiation with the inhabitants of Planet Venus. It will then be available in all good book stores throughout the universe.

Motivation - a love story

My blogger mate, JayKay, says she has lost her motivation with running and I know that many others, including myself, have had the same problem in recent months. So I thought I would share some thoughts on how I found my motivation again.

This (said with booming god-like voice over) is a true story....

Motivation and I were lovers. But she was flaky; definitely a fair weather friend. When everything's hunky dory there she is, along side, hand in hand, lapping up the good times. Yet when the weather turns foul, injuries appear and other problems intrude, this lady seems to take flight. Just when I need her the most she goes missing in action - MIA. Some friend.

This happened to me earlier in the year. Motivation and I had been together in Boston for the marathon, a great lovers' tryst if ever there was one. After I came home from Boston, I got injured and stopped running. Motivation was gone. I stopped blogging. The world was the pitts.

I was like a lost puppy in love....panting.....frantic. I looked for my Motivation. I remembered all the great times we had together, remembered the special times, moments when we looked into each other's eyes and only saw a galaxy of stars. Remembered the soft loving touches; the embraces, our breathing up close and decadent..frosted, sparkling like dew, melting as one. Our feelings were really butterflies landing on our hearts, contented. Not since Caesar and Cleopatra and that cad, Antony, had there been love like this. We were runners and lovers; lovers of fun, who would run to love, and love to run and...um...have fun.

We had traveled together to the great cities of the world. Our romance blossomed in London, New York, Tokyo, Washington, Singapore, Bangkok, Beijing, Vienna, Geneva, Sydney - the hills of Canberra. The world was our oyster and what an aphrodisiac.

Who needed Viagra? It was bliss...it was passion...it was freedom rubbed raw... it was a romp through the hills and valleys of Nature's grand adventure...sunset and sunrises...rolling in the waves of a sea of lustful eternity with the sand getting in all the wrong places. God it was good. Just me and Motivation, Motivation and I. The two of us. My Moty.

Then she was gone. Just like that. Gone. Emptiness, loneliness. My soul, a vacant pit looking over a tundra of sadness and fallen tears...."oh Motivation, oh Motivation, where art thou Motivation..."?

How could she do this to me after all we had been through together. This was hell. I looked far and wide, high and low, long and short, up and down, inclined and upclined; through and back; looked under my bed, spoke to the fairies at the bottom of the garden but no-one, not one person had seen Motivation.

I needed a sign from her. Something. Anything. A clue from her that our old magic could be restored.

Things where at their worst and I was in the gutter of despair. Then something happened. I had my epiphany.....

TO BE CONTINUED

Please note the next installment may be R-rated. That means - especially for my US and UK friends - it could be adults only...(oh goody, very naughty...ssshh!)

Skippy versus Freud and his couch

Cold, (-3 to -4) frosty, and foggy conditions greeted my Saturday running group as we went through our paces over familiar turf this morning through Isaacs, Mt Wanniassa and Mt Taylor in Canberra's southern suburbs. From the top of Mt Taylor, Telstra Tower (left) put on a show as it rocketed through the heavy fog over central Canberra.

For part of the run I had a really interesting chat about the mental side of running with Emma, one of the stalwarts from our Saturday group, a psychiatrist in real life, and a damn good runner. (That's her at right approaching the top of Isaacs Ridge during a recent group run.) Freud and his couch still might have a place somewhere in modern psychiatry but Emma said that exercise plays an important role in therapy to treat depression these days.

This is hardly a surprise. As even Skippy and her joey would know (at left on Cooleman Ridge recently), running makes us feel good. That endorphin release and good honest sweat seems to reduce anxiety and create well being.

But I think intangibles come into play too. A run - any run - is a journey isn't? There's a start, a middle, and an end. While we often focus internally on our own thoughts during a run, the tug of the external is never far away. Whether its is the chat with a running buddy, or simply 'to finish', there's more to think about than just ourselves. Finishing any run is a challenge of sorts in itself.

And what price does one put on being at 'out there' at one with Nature, a great sunrise, and intoxicated with cold, crisp air and the 'sounds of silence'.

Life will give us plenty of mountains to run. But more often than not, as runners, we have the skills to confront those challenges...and win.

In short, to get more out of life we don't have to read Rhonda Byrne's The Secret and learn something slick marketing is trying to convince us is exclusive information when it's the bleeding obvious (and contribute to Byrne's handsome royalities at the same time). Nor do we need to watch re-runs of Mr Bean to feel good about this world.

For the real answers talk to Eddie who ran at PB at Canberra this year. Ask the inspirational Cirque about the tremendous gains she is making in her return to running. Speak to Tesso about the blinder she ran recently at the Gold Coast, or Aki and her own recent 5k PB and her health battles, or PLU, the Owl, Blkbox, Lucky Legs or a myriad of other wonderful runners and people who have come to overcome adversity and challenges through running.

Through running all of us have the capacity in ourself and with those who share the spirit to have fun. And fun I am going to have. So stuff negativity! Stuff you too Dr Freud and your couch!

Skippy knows the real secret. And I don't have to go to a book store and pay $25 for the 'privilege' of finding that out. So there!

London and its pigeons

I've just returned from another overseas work trip, this time to Europe. While I was in that part of the world I decided to fly over to London last weekend to fulfill a life-long dream of feeding the pigeons in Trafalgar Square.

You can imagine my disgust, though, when I did get there and discovered you were not allowed to feed the poor blighters. What a travesty!! There's one of the dispossessed of the Earth (at right), meek, mild...and unfed (you poor little thing, I know how you feel).

Frustrated that I unable to fulfill my aviary ambitions I decided to go running with London's Serpentine running club instead. I had a beaut time with the Serpies running their Three Parks run that takes in Hyde Park, Kensington Gardens, Green Park and St James Park.

You get to see the landmarks including Big Ben, Buckingham Palace, Downing Street, Marble Arch, and so on. On our run, as if on cue, Her Majesty's Horse Guards came clip, clop, clip, clop, clopping down the road at one point obviously off to guard horses somewhere. Strange place this England.

Anyway, the run was fun. A whole bunch of us started the run from Speakers' Corner in Hyde Park but for the most part I ran in a quartet: with a Brit, an Irishman living in London, and a young American living in London. There was me the Aussie marveling at the wonders of this world where I could be running over a Monopoly Board one week and then zooming around Canberra's outlying hills a week later.

It rained during the run - this was England after all - and my nipples got rather sore from rubbing against my wet shirt. So I caused a bit of shock and awe to the locals by taking off my top and running bare chested through central London.

Now I know they have had to put up with a lot over the years with the Blitz and all that but I distinctly heard some oohs and aaahs from some adoring natives when they saw my Herculean physique trundle around town. This was pleasing. Well, Hewitt had not won at Wimbledon again and someone had to do their bit for Australian masculinity! (That's me and my body from a few year's back - the hat? don't ask!).

Not so pleasing was the little episode with a mother and baby at Heathrow airport as I was trying to escape this lofty old town the next day. There I was sitting alone in Terminal Two, seeking solitude, wanting to be at one with the world, needing karma...and desperately trying to hold my head steady to relieve the effects of a grade ten hangover. I had had a great previous night at the South Bank area of the Thames with friends. I was accompanied by too, too much red wine, and a 'gay' dog called Hooper (or was it Hoover. Such was my alcohol induced fog from that evening, I can't remember for sure! Hoover is a strange name for a dog. Then again this is England.)

So there I was grieving the loss of clear headed innocence when a mother decided to change her baby's nappy right next to me. I couldn't believe this latest travesty - strange place this England! My grade ten hangover was matched by the force ten odor that emanated from that young thing. I almost brought up my own chemical warfare hazard to equalize the biological toxin that had emerged and was clearly visible next to me. Aren't there international treaties to guard against this sort of thing???

Ah, England! It was my third trip to the Old Dart and I did miss the place. It was good to be back. The pidgeons clearly had missed me too! (At right, London lights and sunset shortly before landing)

During the week back in Canberra I had the privilege of catching up for a cuppa with Owen, son of Cirque. We had a lovely night and this was one very impressive Cirquette (at left with glasses).

Minus 5.5

My spies in Brisbane have told me that my home town is going through a cold patch at present where the overnight minimums might dip below +10 on the odd occasion.

I'm sure that will be too cold for some runners up north. I can imagine some will brave the elements in their finest Antarctic running gear with a whine or two about how cold it is. Ahh!

Try running in Canberra where the temperature was minus 5.5 (yes -5.5) at 6.45 am this morning when my Arrows group took to the hills for their regular Saturday jaunt. And was anyone complaining about the cold?

Nah. We just got on and did the job in what was a magnificent morning for running. How's that for a sunrise (top left). The frost might have been as heavy as snow and the mud patches here and there frozen permafrost but still we went on, on, on....for about 16 to 18 k's of delightful running.

They breed 'em tough here in the national capital. There's a few of the Greek Goddesses and Gods (at right), rightful descendants of the heroes of Olympia, true Immortals! And did I tell you the temperature was minus 5.5?

On a (slightly) more serious note, I had one of my best runs this morning since the Boston marathon and my return from injury. I had acupuncture for the first time ever yesterday and although I was told not to hope for miracles my ever persistent groin/adductor injury was not quite so persistent during this morning's run. It was one of those great to be alive mornings in Canberra today. Minus 5.5!

Comeback....or is it?

After three weeks off I am finally back running. The left foot had been a frustration but my physio tried a new strapping technique that provided more support to the left arch and it made all the difference. Hey presto! - I felt greatly reduced pain and that sped up the healing process.

Last week I was away in Singapore for work and the foot continued to feel so good that when I got home on the weekend I just had to give it a test drive. Last Monday I did exactly that and the foot felt great throughout the run and most importantly after it as well.

Yipee, I was cured.

Or was I? Well, in fact, the foot has felt great. It's just that the evil spirits have paid another visit, playing silly buggers with my right groin/adductor again.

This is the injury I have been battling all year right up to and through my Boston marathon. With my post-Boston rest, the injury had settled down. Or so I thought. Unfortunately, I have felt that damn groin tugging, twisting, pulling, somersaulting, sidestepping, whining, bending, turning - through every step of that first run last Monday, my second run on Tuesday and my third run today. Aaargh, poo, bum, sook, sook (and additional four letter expletives as desired!!) come to mind at this point.

Mood definitely grim. It's about as bad as that freezing, frigid wind we have have had to put up with in Canberra today.

What do I do? I am going to keep running, that is what I am going to do. I am off to my masterful physio on Wednesday and (are you hearing this Tesso?) taping of the adductor will almost certainly be on the menu this time.

Injury doldrums!

I am sorry that I have gone missing in action since the Boston Marathon and my thanks to Eddie and Scott for giving me a push along to get back on the blogging scene. I have been in the injury doldrums since Boston and frankly haven't really felt like blogging.

I had mentioned in an earlier post that I had thought I had got through Boston injury free. Unfortunately, that didn't prove to be the case. On the night of the Boston Marathon my left foot came up very sore but then after a couple of Voltaren seemed to settle down rapidly and didn't give me any grief for a week or so after the race. But gradually with my return to running the pain also came back. I went to my sports doctor and she suspected stress fractures to the navicular bone on the top of the left foot. A bone scan cleared me of any stress fractures but the pain was still there more or less - sometimes I felt it, sometimes I didn't.

Last Sunday I went for a run up and over the top of one of my regular haunts, Mt Taylor. Strangely, I didn't feel any pain going up the mountain. On the downside, however, my foot caused me real agony and I could barely walk. I was reduced to hobbling back to the car pack.

Today, even with no running, my foot still hurt. I have now decided to stop running completely until this thing - whatever it is - heals. The pain of not running hurts as much as the hurt itself but I know it is for the best. I will take my medicine and return a much fitter and healthier runner. Many others have gone through far worse than what I have got.

I have a great physio who I have much confidence in and I will again work with him closely to deal with this latest set back. As always I will stay positive, hit the pool and the bike big time, and come back ready to zoom.

As for my blogging, I will see how I feel. I will try and catch up with my blog reading as much as I can. But I think my mind needs as much of a rest as does my sore left foot. I think of all of my friends in the blog world often. I won't forget you.

Reflections part 1: "Chicks dig runners"

"Chicks dig runners". That was just one of the inscriptions that appeared on the space blanket we were given to stay warm after the Boston Marathon. It lead to an embarrassing question from my wife but she seem to be satisfied with my explanation that that was simply an machine embossed note that appeared on all blankets produced for the race. Phew!

I am back home in Oz now and time for a few more Boston Marathon reflections before I put the race to bed.

"Oh, what a feeling!" That's me in blue. The Boston Marathon was easily the slowest of my three marathons but by far the most satisfying (3.14, 3.16, 3.22 respectively). I had been well prepped for my first two marathons. For Boston it was anything but.

I arrived in the US vastly under prepared: no speed work, little hill work, one poor run of 30+ k’s, weekly mileage in the 50 to 65 k doldrums, injury and illness ridden and lacking confidence. I arrived in Boston early to acclimatise but found that jetlag, too, was hard to beat and I slept poorly for each night I was in town. I was far from being at my peak physically by race day and the odds were against a good run.

Yet mentally at the start I felt great. The occasion itself obviously helped but really there is no doubt that what got me across the line was the phenomenal support I received from, you, my friends back home in Oz and, secondly, from the incredible spectators that lined the course.

I was overwhelmed by the level of support I received from my family and friends. I have referred to this before but will do so again because I can not overstate how much this all meant to me. I drew enormous strength from it. Throughout the race I recalled many times the poems, the emails, the cards and other specific words of encouragement that many people gave to me. The wonderful support I received was very humbling, and was far more than I deserved. It played a major role in how I ran on the day.

With the spectator support, I tried to give a sense of this in my previous report. I am not sure I really did it justice. The press said crowd numbers were down due to the weather, and maybe this was the case. All I can say is that for a small crowd they made a hell of a lot of noise. The numbers built up along the course and from Boston College at the 20 mile mark were 3 or 4 deep behind the roadside barriers. There were so many cries of ‘go dad’, ‘go mum’ ‘good job runners’, ‘go Canada’, ‘go Mexico’, ‘go Costa Rica’ etc etc that it was difficult to take it all in. I was even astounded at one point to see a sign that said ‘go Don Smith’. I slowed and thought, hey, what’s this? It wasn’t for me but I took strength from it anyway.

When I arrived home on Thursday I was intrigued to read in the Weekend Australian magazine an article about Deek's fantastic win in Boston in 1986. As Jim Fixx did in the 1970s and I did in my earlier post, Deek specifically referred to the girls from Wellesley College who he said treated him like a rock star. For a mere mortal such as myself it wasn't much different.

These were chicks that certainly did dig runners! I slapped hands with each one of those young ladies. I had a huge smile on my face as I ran down that line and was close to a tear, I guarantee it. It was like running through the middle of a wind tunnel with the vortex generating a noise of jet engine proportions. Felt good. I just couldn’t believe I was experiencing all this. W hat right did I, an ordinary runner from Downunder, have to receive such adulation? I can’t answer that question and will ponder it as one of the mysteries of this magic day.

The other mystery is the nature of the Boston course itself. It's a point to point race starting in the township of Hopkinton then weaving through Ashland, Framington, Natick, Wellesley, Newton, and Brookline before finishing in downturn Boston. A profile map shows it as mostly a downhill run and I have to admit that I found it to have many accommodating down hill portions. Heartbreak Hill was taxing but not too bad and certainly not has steep as our own Heartbreak Hill during the City to Surf. Yet every runner I spoke to says Boston is a deceptively difficult course. There may be something to this. While the hills are not especially steep there are a lot of them and collectively they may take their toll by the end of 26 miles. I think the jury is still out on this one.

I am definitely feeling a post-Boston letdown. As I rode Boston’s subway out to the airport last Tuesday my mood, surprisingly, was dreary. Boston's weather didn't help: still cold, wet and miserable. Boston had been my dream for so long. It had been achieved. What next?

To be continued.

Mission accomplished

Well, I've done the deed and run Boston and I had a ball. And I got a pretty little gong for my efforts.

I am absolutely stoked with my result 3.22.03. And thanks Eddie for giving me that as I in fact had no idea of my net time until I read your comment on my previous post. My Garmin would not locate a satellite and I ran blind for the whole race. I had no idea of my splits or of my actual finishing time (and to be honest I didn't really care; I was just having such a great time).

I could not be happier. Despite my terrible preparation and poor lead up form I felt great out there. I felt strong and fast and didn't tire until depletion started to set in about the 23 mile mark. My time was eight minutes slower than my PB and I probably could be accused of dawdling the early stages of the race too much. I was lapping up the atmosphere and doing quite a bit of high fiving with spectators at very points. At the half way mark (13 miles) I was even thinking this seemed all too easy and that was probably a sign I was too casual with my pace early on. But I was running blind as I said above.

The spectator support during the race was like nothing on this planet. I can't really describe the intensity of the cheering, the hooting and hollering, the waving of signs and placards, the ringing of bells, and so on. God it was good for the ego. Bostonians go ballistic about marathon runners and even riding the subway back to my hotel I had several strangers come up and congratulate me for finishing the race. The level of support towards the finish was like something out of a movie and I felt like I had just entered the stadium leading the Olympic marathon.

The beauty of the little townships we passed through on the way from Hopkinton to central Boston was also something special. Even though it was a crappy day the locals came out in numbers. The girls of Wellesley College were something else too. In his Complete Book of Running, Jim Fixx says they are the world's most appreciative marathon fans. He's not wrong. I heard them before I saw them; this massive crescendo of sound on the right hand side of the road as we approached the college. Of course, I had to high five the girls from the college - such appreciative supporters can't be left unappreciated!

The conditions were not pleasant but were not as bad as we had feared. Yes it was cold, wet and windy but so what. I have run in worse. The photo at right shows just some of the 22,000 runners waiting for the call up to the race in the Hopkinton High School gym. I was grateful to be in that gym where it was dry and warm. Most runners slugged out the waiting under tents where conditions were a tad airy and muddy.

I have got my wonderful family to thank for giving me the opportunity of doing this and I have been greatly touched by the level of interest and support that friends on-line and off-line have given me. Several people did some very special things for me and I am reluctant to name names as I might forget someone. But I would like to thank Flashduck who very generously lent me her Garmin. In the end the satellites didn't cooperate with the Garmin but I was very grateful for her kind thought in giving it to me.

I have got the usual post-marathon soreness and I hate stairs (and for such a marathon focussed city why does Boston's subway system have so many frigging stairs!)

Today was simply an incredible day; there is no other way to say it. I just didn't want it to end and was sad when it did.

It has been the greatest day of my running life.

The night before

It's the night before the big race and my third day in Boston and boy it's cold! The much anticipated big storm arrived bringing snow to large areas of the north-eastern United States and heavy rain and plunging temperatures in the Boston region.

I doubt the temperature got above 4 or 5 degrees all day and the wind chill factor would have been well below zero.

I was amazed at the fortitude of some of the marathon volunteers. This photo (above) really doesn't do justice to what this guy directing human traffic for the pre-race dinner had to put up with - bitterly cold winds and driving, sleeting rain. The volunteers have been amazing. There's literally hundreds of them and all are incredibly friendly and supportive.

The weather is forecast to ease only slightly. If it continues, the race will be a challenge. Race organisers have issued a hypothermia alert for tomorrow and put in place additional medical arrangements to cater for the many runners who are likely to pull out of the race due to the cold.

There's even been some discussion of canceling the race, but that has never happened in the 111 year history of the event and I am sure it will take place as planned. Every runner I have talked to remains excited about tomorrow and is looking forward to the challenge of confronting the elements. I know I am.

I went to the pre-race dinner tonight and met runners from Chicago, Mexico and Canada. It has been great to compare notes on our running experiences. Despite differences in language and culture we are really all that not different no matter where we come from in the world.

I am been trying to catch up with results from Canberra and well done to everyone. There were some fantastic performances, including from those in my Pink Arrows group. I look forward to reading race reports.

It is 8.45 Sunday evening in Boston as I write this and I need to be up in time to catch the 5.15 am transport from the hotel. Jet lag has been a real pest again on this trip and I haven't been sleeping well. But I don't think I would expect to sleep well anyway. The butterflies in my stomach have also got jet lag and are going ballistic.

And so it has come down to this. At 10 am tomorrow (midnight eastern Australian time Monday) I will start on the final leg of my journey that began when I first read about this race in 1984. When I think back over all the disappointments and challenges I have faced in my life before I became a runner I don't think in a million years I could ever have envisaged the day I would run in a Boston Marathon. Even now, hours from the start, I don't think I can still quite believe it.

As all of us do before a marathon we need to confront our fears - fear of the cold, fear of the distance, fear of the pain, fear of embarrassment, fear of failure; the fear that emerges from my lack of preparation and poor lead-up form. Yet this is why we do it don't we? We want to stand in front of the monster, scream at it, and prove who is boss.

Tomorrow I am going to show who is boss - "I have promises to keep"
Robert Frost (US poet)

Meet Bill Rodgers

For my second day in Boston I received a real thrill when I met marathon great, Bill Rodgers. Four times winner of the Boston and New York marathons, a former US olympian, and Boston resident, it was Jim Fixx's stories about Rodgers that first got me interested in the Boston marathon all those years ago.

Even though I was just one in a long line to see him at Boston's Hynes Convention Center, Bill was incredibly friendly and was keen to talk. He asked me about Deek and Monas and surprisingly even asked about Benita Johnson who he described as an outstanding runner. He said he had visited Australia to run the Melbourne Marathon and would love to come back. Without me asking he gave me some pointers for Monday's race, suggesting especially that I dress well given the doom-like forecast (see below).

Bill gave me his autograph writing: "Don, run steady on the Boston Hills, Bill Rodgers 2007". While I was waiting to meet Bill, I was chatting to a young American from Florida who had been an exchange student in Australia and at the University of Queensland of all places, which was my alma mater. Small world.

Marathon fever continues to build in this phenomenal city with the weather remaining the main talking point. Boston's two major Saturday dailies ran front page stories on the Marathon. For its headline story the Boston Globe wrote: "With a nasty brew of heavy rain, cold and headwinds forecast for Monday, authorities are scrambling to mitigate the misery of 23,000 runners in what could rank among the worst conditions in the history of the Boston Marathon".

I think I have come well prepared and will be running in my full winter kit but it will be interesting to see what the weather does throw up on Monday. Race organisers have sent emails to all runners with guidelines for avoiding hypothermia and snow is forecast for tomorrow. Gulp!

At least we should have God on our side, judging by this banner I saw outside of the Old South Church near the marathon finish line.

I have never come across a level of anticipation and excitement as I have for the Boston Marathon. It reminds me of the build-up to the Melbourne Cup back home, but yet this is for a road race. The local WBZ TV station continues to give regular weather updates and station promos for its live coverage. Runners are everywhere and you can't go anywhere without being reminded of the race (subway poster at left).

Is there another city in the world with such a devotion to a road race? I would be interested to find out. It's as if all the running gods have descended on this city, this Mecca of the running world for the once in year celebration of the running spirit. For me, the dream continues. Meeting Bill Rodgers just made it even more a bit surreal.

As I write this my friends running the Canberra Marathon should just be coming to the end of their own race. I hope their dreams have come true too.

"Marathon Monday"

I arrived Boston tired but in good shape around midnight local time Thursday (2 pm Canberra time Friday) and am already getting a feel for the extraordinary hold the race has over this city.

The place is abuzz with runners and talk about the Marathon. The streets are adorned with posters (at right) and you just know that that lean looking dude in the running shoes and track pants at any street corner in Boston at present is here to do business on "Marathon Monday" as the locals call it.

The local TV station is already giving regular promos about its upcoming live coverage of the race and the local Boston Globe newspaper even produced a 10-page lift out spread for the race in today's edition (below left). I could never imagine this happening for any race in Australia.

The weather is the big talking point. The temperature in Boston today (Friday 13) ranges from 0 to 4 degrees. Similar temps plus heavy rain and strong winds are forecast for the race itself. It might be spring here but the weather feels like an unpleasant Canberra day in mid-winter. It's chilly.

I have had an easy day so far. I have been to the runners' expo (at right), which is impressive in itself - massive in size - to pickup up my number and other bits and pieces. I have already met some runners from Aus and also had a good chat today to several US runners who had made the trek from Arizona and Pennsylvania.

Such is the feeling around town that I think I am coming to understand Jim Fixx's observation in his Complete Book of Running that Bostonians love their marathon. Even as spectators they look on it with pride and recall the day that they were there in one particular year to watch such and such do battle. The weather might reduce the spectator numbers a little next Monday. But I am still told that crowds of ten deep will line the course up to 500,000 in number. And these people are there there to cheer on the back of the pack guys as much as the elite.

I took a snapshot of the finish line in Bolyston Street (at left) and am trying to imagine what it will be like on Monday. Three days out from the race the atmosphere is already fantastic. It's hard to describe my feelings at present. I just know that my dream has started and I enjoying the sensation.

Time to go as I am trying to squeeze in a light run before it gets dark.

Departure for Boston

My thanks to everyone for your fantastic comments. I have really treasured the wonderful support I have received from friends on-line and off-line and it has all given me a great boost on the eve of my departure for Boston.

Best of luck to all my friends running Canberra on Sunday. I am thinking of each of you and will enjoy catching up with your post-race reports.

For my Boston adventure I am going to break my normal weekly posting habit by trying to post daily if I can. If nothing else, for posterity and for the family record it might be useful for me to record my experiences as things roll along.

I'm currently in the Qantas Club at Sydney International and there is QF11 above at left waiting to take me to the USA. There was once a time in my life when I believed I would never get to visit the United States. I thought I might get their with work at one point. When that didn't eventuate, and after 45 years of waiting, I finally took the family off for a great five week holiday to both sides of the US in 2005.

Of course, lo and behold, what happens? Within a year and half of this trip I do in fact visit the US twice more for work. And now here I am about to go back to the US for the fourth time in 19 months, and for my twelfth overseas trip in that time period. Boston wont be a completely new experience for me as I did visit that beautiful city during my 2005 visit. My family is not with me this time and that will feel strange.

Next stop Los Angeles. I will have about a four hour stop-over there before my American Airlines connection to Boston. I went for a light run near Botany Bay last night and for a Canberra-sider it was great to suck in some warm salty air for a change. I am a little tight this morning and stretching will be a priority on the flight.

The race looms

This will probably be my last post before I leave for my Boston journey on Wednesday and I need to start with an apology. Work and family life have been so frenetic of late that I am badly behind in my blog reading and I am sorry I haven't had a chance to catch up with everyone's news. I have some time on my hands now and will make amends.

Boston is now looming very large on my radar screen and I am well and truly into the detailed planning for the day. Ewen said I would need to rise early to make it to the start of the race in Hopkinton and he is not wrong. My bib number is 7224 and that puts me in the first wave of runners starting at 10 am. This will mean I have to be at Boston Common at 6 am to catch one of the official buses to the Athletes' village near the start. As I will be staying in a hotel in outer Boston I will probably need to set the alarm clock for 3 am or some similar bewitching hour to get ready in time and make it into town.

The pre-race guide makes fascinating reading, not least in conveying the organisational puzzle that underpins the race. I know the BAA have had a lot of practice (this is the 111th running of the race) but to read about the sheer scale of logisitics behind the race, the transport arrangements, medical facilities, pre and post race functions, massage facilities, drink stations, the media arrangements, and so on on is a marathon in itself. The race will televised live throughout Boston and I think nationally throughout the US; 500,000 spectators are expected to line the course, and the field of 23,500 is the second largest in the history of the race.

The race will start at mid-night in Australia Monday 16 April. I have no real idea how I will go but should come in under 3 hours 30, which means I should finish just before 3.30 am Tuesday 17 April. For the utterly bored and sleepless my progress can be tracked on the Boston Marathon website (www.bostonmarathon.org). Just punch in my bib number of 7224 at some spot on the site and hey presto and you should get a read out on some dehydrated and fatigued runner from Downunder struggling to make it up Heartbreak Hill at about the 30k mark. If you do see that, don't bother with the rest of the story. Just go back to bed. I'll be thinking of you.

So there you go. My dream will soon become a reality. The Boston Marathon first caught my imagination when I read Jim Fixx's Complete Book of Running in the early 1980's where he gives a great description of running the race. The book will come along with me to Boston, as will Stephen Lacey's wonderful poem and some other special things from people close to me. What will also come along for the ride will be the many, many stories, of my great friends in Blogland. Meeting so many new friends both virtual and in the flesh through my running has been one of the great revelations of my life. At its core, too, I have my family to thank for putting up with this slightly obsessed runner who has wanted to fulfill this goal for so long. And it will come true.

My preparations, as noted in earlier posts, have not been great. I haven't been able to get beyond one long run of 30k or thereabouts and no week has gone further than 75k in workload. Out of concerns with this adductor injury, I have done no speed work at all - not once, zilch! (Tess - thank you for your comments about taping the adductor injury. When you first raised this I mentioned it to my physio and just last week we had another detailed discussion about the pro and cons of taping it. I am seeing my physio for one last time before the race this Tuesday and we will make a decision whether to tape or not).

On the positive side, though, I have had over a year of solid running to fall back on. And I was very pleased with my run this morning with the Saturday group, which was over very tough, hilly terrain in the Isaacs, Mt Wanniassa and Mt Taylor area. I pushed all the hills hard and felt great, really strong and fast. This was just the 'mental' run I needed with just over a week to go to the race.

I felt so good at one point at racing to the top of Mt Wanniassa (what a brute) that I thrust my arms into the air ala Rocky and let out a loud yowl. I also did a couple of chin-ups on a survey marker for good measure. But as my running buddy Maria had much pleasure in telling me the only thing that responded to my yowl was a dog in the distant reaches of the Tuggeranong Valley, probably on heat, and probably drooling at the mouth that it had received its best offer for a couple of weeks or so!

Frankly, I might get so lonely in Boston I would be happy to have a dog howling for me. And it will be me doing the drooling!

Next stop: Boston

I am just back from my latest work trip, this time to South Korea. No more work trips planned for some weeks, which is a real relief. Next stop: Boston - Monday 16 April!

Finally, I have a chance to catch my breath and get excited about the race. My race preparations have continued to be anything but ideal. While traveling last week I came down with the flu and had to take a week off from running. One month out from the race, this was not good. My adductor injury also continues to be a pest. But as always I will focus on the positives. I have a reasonably solid training base behind me and being in Boston will be such a thrill I am sure it will carry me through. I would like to give those Africans a real shake for their money too, but will settle on just surviving the race and enjoying the day I think.

Some 2007 Boston fast facts: (1) total prize money this year - USD$575,000, (2) the field of 23,500 will be the second largest in Boston Marathon history, (3) spectator fleet - 500,000 expected to line the course, and (4) the traditional race starting time of 12 midday has been moved forward two hours to 10.00 am.

I leave for Boston in two weeks on 12 April, flying Qantas to LA and then American Airlines to Boston. Accommodation in Boston is heavily booked and I could only get some place out in the boondocks. But to be there - yo baby!

The Kiwis

I'm at Singapore's Changi airport as I write this on the way home from a short work trip to Vietnam and Singapore. That's a typical Hanoi street scene at left - never seen so many bikes!

There's a logic (which is one way of putting it!) to the traffic flow that defies my ability to describe it. Not a great place for running and I was confined to doing multiple 500 metre circuits of a park near my hotel to get in my run (I thought of Scott in Japan with his 10x3k loops).

My future posts are going to be much more Boston related but first I have to deal with a New Zealand theme. I have been promising Vicky in Auckland that I would do a post on something New Zealand related and here it is. WARNING: mostly non-running content follows.

I first visited in NZ in 1975 for a family holiday and have visited many times since to both islands, nearly all for work. While I find the Kiwi's 'chip-on-the-shoulder' attitude irritating at times I love New Zealand and love New Zealanders.

The beauty of NZ takes my breath away and the New Zealanders themselves have made many enormous contributions to the international community out of proportion to their population and geographic size. I think of famous Kiwis over the years and remember Sir Keith Park, Rutherford, Katherine Mansfield (an absolutely wonderful poet) and of course that great nugget of a man, Sir Edmund Hillary.

When it comes to runners, the Kiwis have made a very distinctive contribution. Names such as Lydiard, Snell, Walker come to mind to name just a few. I have worked and drank a beer or two with many Kiwis both in Australia and abroad and there wouldn't be another national group that is as like-minded to us as your typical Kiwi.

I have heard all the sheep jokes (which work both ways by the way) and received all the barbs over that underarm incident of the early 1980s (still remember the day well!) and had to deal with a Kiwi almost in tears over Australia's defeat of the All Blacks in the 1991 Rugby World Cup (another day I also remember well.)

But the point of my tribute to our breathren across the Tasman is this: I think it is time to look seriously at a trans-Tasman Federation.

Now I know Helen Clarke and 4 million Kiwis will be coughing up their Steinlagers when I said this. But there are many compelling political, economic and social reasons why both countries should consider federation, which I wont go into here. I will just say for now that I am not considering a situation where New Zealand is placed on similar status to an Australian state.

I've got in mind a scenario where New Zealand has a special status superior to an Australian state but still within an Australasian federation. We would have a single defence force and common foreign and defence policies and a range of other unified economic and social policies.

But both countries would retain their own sporting teams for international competition much as England, Wales, and Scotland operate within the United Kingdom. Whether we would have unified Olympic team is a tough one, which I will leave to another time.

There are an enormous range of complex constitutional, political and other considerations that would need to be tackled for Federation to occur. But it is time they were.

The 3% club

I was greatly, greatly touched by all the words of support that came my way after 'that incident' with the bike last weekend (the bike and I still aren't on speaking terms). I am a tad embarrassed both by the incident itself and the attention that came my way later. I had very much wanted the focus of my last entry to be on Maria's wonderful poem and I am very happy that others have appreciated it as much as I do. Stephen that poem of yours, too, is a classic. It blew me away mate and, as I said to you, it will come along for the ride with me to Boston. I can't thank you enough for what you wrote.

I promise to finish this post on a positive note but I have to say that the week since the incident has had its emotional ups and downs. I had a lovely run at the Western Creek Half Marathon today coasting for most of the course and only pushing it a bit over the last few k's for a 1.38 effort. Many of my running buddies set PBs, not least Michelle who finished with a 1.42. She took 13 minutes off her course PB and seven minutes off her own overall half-marathon PB; a tremendous performance.

Unfortunately I could feel my annoying adductor injury through nearly every step of today's half. My right glute also became tight and sore during the run and just for something a little different I had some mysterious knee niggles come and go during the run itself. If that wasn't enough my right foot has started coming down with plantar fasciitis again. Mentally I was also down as last night I received the terrible news that a younger cousin I was close to had died suddenly and tragically in a house fire in Alice Springs.

So my Boston preparations are not ideal. But never, never will I be complaining. One of the most exciting things to ever happen to me will take place in just over a month. I have many blessings with family and friends. On Wednesday night I caught up with the famous Lucky Legs, and fellow bloggers Ewen, Strewth, SpeedyGeoff, Aki, Flashduck and Flashdrake for dinner at Dickson. It was a beaut evening and I enjoyed it a great deal. There is nothing like being in the company of fellow runners. As Strewth said on her blog Lucky Legs looked simply fantastic. Every time I have met LL's her she looks like that. She's a pin up poster girl for our sport if ever there was one. It is dinners like this that make me realise how enormously lucky I am and why I treasure each day.

Just how good I have it was also made clear by my doctor earlier last week when I reported in tired and sore after my bike incident. He did all the usual checks, blood pressure, etc and declared - despite the bruises and abrasions - that I was extremely healthy. He told me I looked ten years younger than my age and had the blood pressure of a young boy. He said I was part of just 3% of the population that didn't smoke, wasn't overweight, and exercised regularly. Wow, does this dude know how to make one feel good or what and I know that I walked out of his surgery walking taller than I went into it. But I thought of you my fellow runners. We all come in different shapes and sizes and different levels of ability. Yet we are actually members of one very elite club - the 3% club!

I am off overseas in South East Asia this week for work. I will try and catch up with my blog reading while I am away as I enjoy blog reading a great deal. As soon as I get the opportunity I will be visiting.

The Inner Child

Thank you so much to everyone for your wonderful words of support for my decision to run the Boston Marathon. I really do appreciate everything you have said.

I've had a scare with my Boston preparations today, but first a little poetry.

I've long had an interest in poetry and find that there is few better ways to describe the joy of running through dabbling in a little of it. Some of you might recall a poem I wrote about running last year.

This time, however, it is my real privilege to share a magnificent poem written by Maria, one of my fellow runners and a member of my Saturday running group.

Maria is an incredibly talented writer and poet and runner to boot. This poem is just so beautiful, capturing as it does the sheer joy of our wonderful sport.


The Inner Child

The morning is still, few yet awake,
The sun lifts its head and gently kisses the lake.
Rays illuminate everything in sight,
As the child’s soul ascends and bids goodbye to the night.

Birds in unison fly together,
Such perfect accord nature un- tethered.
A work of art, hypnotically entranced,
My spirit leaps and joins in the dance.

The trees sparkle with their ‘prism’ like dew,
Eyes seldom see a more glorious view.

So happy to witness this astounding day,
The heart accelerating, pumping away.
Alive with love an untamed heart,
Please stay forever let us not part.

Happiness, ecstasy, bursting with joy,
Like a child reunited with its favourite toy.
Still stars in the sky, the moon and the sun,
YOU’RE ASLEEP! YOUR MISSING IT! WAKE UP EVERYONE!

So grateful to have been here to watch your magic unfold,
You’ve lifted my heart, your beauty untold.

© Maria Brady 2007

This poem has come at a good time for me as my Boston Marathon preparations almost came disastrously unstuck today.

I got through a nice 25k run with my Saturday group earlier this morning and shortly after was riding my bike to Little Athletics. About half way into the ride I was going too fast around a blind corner and collided head-on with another rider.

It was a nasty crash: I couldn't move, was in pain, and went into shock. The other rider got away more or less unscathed. First the Fire Brigade then an Ambulance was called to untangle me from my bike and see what damage had been done. I was in pain in my right wrist and was uncertain if I could feel my back and neck; I still lay motionless on the ground, still in shock, cold, trembling, and wanting to spew. I could see blood dripping from my arm. Morphine was administered and I was taken off to the Canberra Hospital. On arrival at the hospital I can remember the paramedics brief the ER that I had a suspected compound fracture to my wrist with cuts and abrasions to other areas of my body.

To cut a long story short, after x-rays and a full body check I was found not to be suffering from a broken wrist with mostly just some painful bad bruising, several scrapes, bumps, cut, and a badly shaken ego as the only lasting trauma. I am still in pain as I sit here tonight typing this. Hopefully, I might be able to back running in a couple of days. So to my great relief nothing too nasty bit me today, but it could have been worse.

I think I can thank Maria's beautiful Inner Child that my own Inner Child is still with me today.

As Maria said in her wonderful poem:

So happy to witness this astounding day,
The heart accelerating, pumping away.
Alive with love an untamed heart,
Please stay forever let us not part.

I have never, ever, read such beautiful words about running.

"And the winner is...."

Boston it will be.

Decision time for my Boston v Canberra dilemma came and went on Friday and I still couldn't quite make up my mind. I decided to wait and see how I pulled up from yesterday's long run before making the big D. I got through the run ok, all 27k's of it. The fact that I had to hobble for most of the rest of the day with this blasted adductor injury didn't worry me too much. I had got through a long run without too much discomfort and I am confident I can manage this thing up and until the marathon. The question was - just which marathon would it be?

In the end, the compelling logic in favour of Boston became too compelling. I read and listened to all the advice that came my way on-line and off-line. I thought if I passed up this opportunity there may not be many more. I'm not getting any younger, family finances could change, who knows what. I just didn't want to live with regrets. So even though it will be expensive and there were some important personal issues to consider, I felt I needed to do it. Call it destiny perhaps; I dunno.

I am going to do it for the experience. This injury has ruled out any chance of thinking about PB's. My preparations are already well behind and I am simply looking to get in some big long runs before the day, rather than worry about piling on big weekly k's.

Flights and accommodation have been booked. So it's Boston or bust!

Evil spirits lurking....

With my self-imposed Boston v Canberra drawing near (23 February), I have done myself no favours in the injury management department.

My right groin/abductor responded very well to physio I received earlier in the week and on Saturday I got through a nice 18k run with my Saturday group. I was feeling good and reasonably smug...but the evil spirits were lurking.

A couple of hours after my run I was watching darling daughter do her thing at Little Athletics. I hadn't done much post-run stretching and was standing around nice and tight when the announcement came for a parents' 200 metre race. I haven't raced a 200 since high school and I'm a distance runner, not a sprinter. But being a typical macho 45 year old male who thinks he has more testosterone than brains what do you think the chances were of me just standing there watching the other's dads give it a go? Not great.

So, tight and cold, I ran the 200 hard and finished up with one very sore adductor. It's feeling a little better after resting it yesterday and today and things will improve after I have more physio on it mid-week. But this is not the sort of environment I need at the moment. My marathon preps are behind schedule and I have one of the biggest decisions of my running life looming at the end of the week.