September ... why isn't it Nontember?

[Mid Life Crisis Marathon Man]

Of bats, bunnies and that book.

Tuesday, 5 a.m.

Like some prodigal son I skulk home whilst it is still dark and with everyone asleep. Of course, ‘home’ in this sense means the streets, lanes and avenues of my neighbourhood and into which I must now run once more. Some things are the same; there are still rabbits hopping about on the lush grass by the bench that no-one ever sits on at the end of Park Avenue; the fruit bat that I hate and which hates me still hangs in the palm tree on the corner of the lane, flapping its batty wings and muttering batty oaths and threats in its vulgar chiropterean language as I jog past.  The bus interchange however is brand spanking new and still sparkly and clean. I run its length but discover the footpath I thought might be at the end is nonexistent, so return along its length, marvelling at this fresh new temple to transportation in an old, crusty suburb.

Thankfully the cold ache of winter is gone, and this spring morning is mild and glorious, with clearing overnight rain leaving the streets clean and glistening. This is my first outing in running shoes for ... ages, and it’s of course tired, creaky and somewhat painful. I cover just three short kilometres in too many minutes, and return home with aching chest and needing a long sit down with my asthma inhaler. But once the ache in my chest subsides and I wash away the sweat which stinks of the sin of gluttony and slovenliness in which I have wallowed of late, I begin to feel bloody marvellous. My ever-expanding belly quivers slightly, not this time from its jelly-like predisposition for wobbling, but  at the very thought of its own demise, now firmly set in my mind as the first target of this new, running me.

I’ve been here before, of course, and it doesn’t always lead where I would like. My last attempt was thwarted by a long spell of influenza, followed by a similarly long spell of maudlin, self-pitying indifference. This time however, there is the additional spur of death and illness among family and friends which reminds me all too clearly once again of my oft-repeated oath, and which in recent weeks and months has been so heinously ignored by me, to never take health and fitness for granted. I have been spurred too, by the local season of distance events which peaked at the weekend with the annual Sydney Running Festival (including the Sydney marathon) which I callously slept through whilst friends and relatives – some with serious illnesses – made the effort to do something really worthwhile.

Of the book, I am pleased and not a little humbled to say that it has sold beyond expectations, and I have been touched by the number of people who have insisted on buying, and even reading it. It has raised a modest sum for juvenile diabetes, and once again reminds me that I need to hit those streets and not waste the generally good health I enjoy.

So, here we go. Goals? Well, firstly to shift this flab from around my waist. I need to shed several kilos, get back to running some respectable distances and then set some race goals. At the height of my running fitness I was able to comfortably run a half marathon any time you’d care to dare me to do so, and the feeling of wellness I enjoyed then is something I would very much welcome back. That’s the primary goal. If there’s a race or two along the way, so much the better, especially if it’s in the company of some of my RC friends here. Time waits for no-one, and my aching knees and hips are telling me to get moving again before they calcify for good.

Besides, I have Volume 2 of the Running Diaries to complete.