Mission….what mission?

From left field, I have been taken down and out.  Kaput.  Not going anywhere, not doing anything.  Over the last three days I have pretty much not moved from my bed.  I am never – ever – one to stay in bed.  The Devil drove me to the doctor yesterday, where I sat – unable to talk because my throat was so swollen.  Sitting in his office with my crazy fever, I cried – even crying hurt.  He gave me the script and back home to bed I went.  Where I have stayed.  Thank god for The Devil.  He has been such a champ, feeding, bathing and watering the Trolls and looking after me.

For those that know me, to say I love sport and am slightly competitive could be considered an understatement.  I have been so ill however, I’ve barely tuned into the biggest athletics carnival on the planet.  The quick glimpses I’ve caught of online news, being Australian it appears the biggest controversy seems to be the media barrage of Australia’s perceived under-performance in the medal haul, particularly of the gold variety.  Give me a break.  Surely we’ve been punching above our weight, dating out of our league, for some time now?…one of the smallest countries with the biggest ego’s. Don’t get me wrong, nothing fills me with more pride than hearing the national anthem during a medal ceremony, but to read the criticisms of our athletes because they didn’t win gold – what have we come to?

My fondest Olympics memory?  Eric the Eel pounding his way up the pool at the Sydney games in 2000 – true Olympic spirit.

The one event I ensured I watched these games however was the women’s marathon.  I made sure I waited until Australia’s Benita Willis crossed the line in 100th place.  What a legend, carrying a torn hip tendon and still running a marathon in under three hours – now that is complete Aussie grit and determination.  Enough to inspire me back on my mission for Paris.

Mission you say, what mission?  While recovering from the broken foot, one evening in the Pilates studio, I met a girl, on her way to Paris to run her first marathon.  My mission is to run the Paris marathon before I am 40.  As the marathon is run in April, this gives me exactly 4 years and 7 months.  Now that is depressing.

Shrinking - or not

1 Comment Leave a comment

  1. I’m genuinely considering coming back next year for a City To Surf training run with you. You know it makes sense.
    Anyway, how’s the numbers getting on? I’m going to get back on the horse (literally) this week and put in a weekly run. Whether I can feel my damn leg or not. I need your effort to inspire me.

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