At the cricket, Boxing Day 2011

A highlight of Christmasses spent in Victoria is a trip to the Boxing Day test at the MCG. Pete and I love our test cricket, and this is our biennial experience par excellence.

We arrived early yesterday:



and to our surprise all seats, even general admission, were allocated. Fans of Big Bang Theory may laugh with us when we say that we've found "our spot" at the MCG - at least for watching cricket! And no, I won't give you those seat numbers :)

Sometimes we take a radio to the cricket; yesterday was not one of those days. This leaves you free to form your own firmly held opinions, unfettered by experience, expertise or perhaps even external validity. For example, I thought Ponting's panache as he took possession of the pitch highlighted Cowan and Warner's lack of confidence earlier - but it should probably be noted that my husband disagrees. Having no expert to settle the dispute either way, we could bicker about it for one and a half sessions ... and enjoyed doing so.

Warner's first four and six were highlights of the first session. At first, I felt frustrated by Cowan's low run rate, but as time went on I came to admire his "stickability". We were both quite excited when Ponting came to the crease:

and watched his dismissal with sadness, knowing this may be the last time we see him play live. I feel irrationally responsible for this, having turned to my husband and said "If he can just hold on for another 13 minutes until teatime ..." seconds before he was out, caught by Laxman, bowled Yadav. Other highlights included Gambhir's fielding (which I hope the commentators paid homage to), Dhoni's wicket keeping and, of course, Yadav's bowling, which we hadn't seen before.

I love being at the game and watching the fielding team's rhythm of attention: the way the their focus gathers, and dispels, during each delivery cycle.

The day was quite cold and drizzly until after lunch. We left part way through the third session, not wanting to be two tired individuals amidst tens of thousands at the Richmond station after stumps, so we missed seeing yesterday's two controversial dismissals live. Also - with my vampire-pale skin - I was probably the only person at the MCG getting sunburnt yesterday morning, despite SPF 30+ sunscreen and full shade! So when the sun came out, that was time for us to retire:

Pete and I have a knack for attracting interesting people at the cricket. Two years ago, a drunken man - who'd already been expelled from the ground for invading the pitch - settled beside us for a while, to our discomfort. The sight of police officers sent him running again. This year, we enjoyed listening to a father introducing his two sons to the joys of test cricket. Given the age gap between father and sons, we suspect a second wife in the background! However, it must be said his patience, discipline and love were a joy to hear. The younger of these boys provided the inspiration for this little list of more productive uses which could be made of those inflatable clapper things:

1. Re-create the soundscape from Fleetwood Mac's Tusk
2. Lumbar spine support against the rigid MCG seats
3. Paper-bag style breathing techniques faced with the fear of an Australian disgraceful defeat
4. ... let's face it, anything which doesn't involve loud noises near my ears, or dislodging the clip from my hair.

Cricket's on the TV and radio now, and in two years, we'll be back at the Gee again. Bring it on!

Oops: I'm being irrational

My favourite thing today? That sudden 'clunk' in your mind, as you realize you've left the rational behind and are acting on some other sphere ...

For me, this moment came when I was on the phone to CityLink* trying to sort out a complicated story involving me, deposits made into my CitiLink account, and an alarming Final Notice which had just arrived in the mail. Having been cut off by Optus** mid-way through a conversation with a quite-nice-seeming person called Jessica, I was explaining the whole sorry business again to a not-quite-so-nice person called Ben, when I suddenly burst into tears.

So while part of me is attempting to conclude this important conversation through tears, snot and Kleenex***, another part is asking - "What's going on? Get a grip! Oh boy are you being irrational right now! Shouldn't you be embarrassed? Yep ... here it comes: embarrassment!"

Thankfully, one small part of my brain had retained its grip on reality and was able to reassert control: "OK, so you're crying. Big deal. Ben doesn't know who you are. Come on, sweetheart, just pull yourself together. That's the way!" This same small part of my brain toyed with bribing me back into good behaviour with Green and Black's chocolate****, but rejected the idea in the interests of health. (No, I lie: it was because I'd have had to go to the shop to get some, and I couldn't be bothered, what with the snot and the Kleenex and everything.)

Anyway, I stopped crying, Ben and I were able to wrestle the overdue business under control, we parted on good terms and I am left sitting here, asking: "What the ...?" and wishing I were one of those people who would quite happily dose themselves into vegetation with Valium*****.

What am I taking away from this little story? I think it's time for the Catie-equivalent of "a Bex and a good lie-down", which for me today means "a cup of tea and re-watching the last season's finale of Dr Who".******

Irrationality: part of being human.

Yippee.



* The corporation who allow us to drive on 'their' roads in exchange for our money
** The corporation who allows us to make mobile phone calls in exchange for money - without even charging extra for the additional excitement factor of not knowing when one will be unexpectedly severed from communications
*** The corporation who provides tissue products created to deal precisely with this type of situation
**** The corporation who peddle delectable organic chocolate, which I'm quite happy to exchange money for
***** Produced by the Roche corporation, according to http://biopsychiatry.com/drugcompanies/ - you learn something new every day!
****** Yes, no doubt I could reference a few more corporations here, but it's grown a bit old - wouldn't you agree?

Lenses

Reading is one of my favourite ways to relax, and one "well-being measure" I use is to keep an eye on how much leisure reading I'm getting done. A fortnight ago, I noticed I'd spent over ten days getting through a paperback - a definite sign that life was, once again, out of balance, and some more "me time" was needed!

So over the last week or so I've re-read Patricia Brigg's Mercedes Thompson books. I love her urban fantasy, especially these novels featuring a history-graduate mechanic - who also happens to be a shape-shifting coyote, holding her own amidst werewolves, vampires and the fae. These stories resonate with my feminist beliefs and my fondness for seeing the underdog triumph. Having survived some environments charged with dominance "games" and witnessed the struggle for individuals to gain power, not lose power, and avoid subjugation, I read her close observations of dominance issues with delight.

Tonight, however, I found it difficult to take off my Patricia-Briggs-reading-lenses while my husband and I were watching TV. It seemed strange at first to be watching a contemporary Aussie drama through the "paranormal spectacles" - watching with a werewolf's keen eye for body language, eye contact and verbal tone - but thinking of that storyline in terms of dominance and submission did give me a whole new appreciation of the show.

Extrapolating out from this vignette, I'm reminded of how aspects of the interactions we have in one sphere of our life can seep into other arenas. We're all familiar with the easy trap of bringing one's work frustrations home with us, but how about the less obvious ones? A forgotten memory sparking us to anger or sadness, a sudden joy, an inexplicable change of mood ...

A similar question has been occupying my mind lately. We all know that some conversations, some interactions, have particular potency in our lives. Most of us will remember conversations which have had a very profound effect on us. If some interpersonal interactions are particularly potent, is it only these ones which have the capacity to change us ... or could it be that we altered, however lightly, by all the other lives we 'touch'? Is there a particular quality to some interactions which others lack, or do some conversations have more of that potent "something" which others also have, to a lesser degree?

I don't know. Food for thought.

Some things stay the same

In my "practice" of running (as Buddhists might say) it's comforting to find that some things remain constant:

1. I do some of my best thinking when I'm running
2. I still hate sprint intervals (though I'm far better at them than I used to be - which isn't saying much!)
3. Consistency in training = good. Inconsistency = not good
4. I love running, but even so, sometimes it's difficult to get out the door and get started
5. Stretching is wonderful, and ought not be skimped upon
6. Running continues to teach me so much about myself, and about life.

A flash of Helsinki

Last Wednesday, I was in a bus, in downtown Dandenong. I was on my way to  hospital for some surgery (but that's another story). I looked up from my book and glanced out the window. Framed by the bus, the cloud-roofed sky, the hard grey pavement and a slash of asphalt was a corner of Dandenong Town Hall/Drum Theatre.

I had a flash of dislocation: "I'm in Helsinki!"

It passed quickly; very quickly - the odour of bus, the screech as a young mother slapped her child, my anxiety at the prospect of being anaesthetised and cut ... and the certain knowledge that Dandenong is a long, long way from Helsinki. (Melbourne readers may know what I mean.)

I've only been to Helsinki once, twelve years ago. I was there for a conference, a pit-stop in the middle of a longer holiday, and had caught a cold - so was in my motel room when not at the conference, meaning I did not see as much of the city as I'd have liked. This is the first time I've ever 'felt' myself back there, and perhaps of all the cities I've visited, I would not expect Helsinki to be one to which I'd return in this manner. However, I would very much like to visit that city again - in the flesh this time! - and in flesh which was not to be invaded by a surgeon's blade!

I wonder what hidden inner desires this experience of "being" arose from? Something to ponder as I traverse Melbourne's highways and byways today, between appointments.

Monday morning musing from an (apparent?) hippy

I can just tell that any efforts I make to organize this week are doomed to ... re-organization*, by forces beyond my control.

Already (and it is only 11am on Monday morning!) I have spent far longer than I intended in traffic, had my schedule re-arranged through appointment cancellations and rescheduling, and - amusingly - been "bullied and harrassed" for over an hour by one of my students, who has formed a fixed idea that I am a hippy.

This last amused me very much. This student's medical condition makes speech difficult; it is quite funny, being teased mercilessly while you are attempting to translate the sounds into words ... which denigrate you!

Perhaps the funniest thing about this interaction was that any objections I offered were firmly refuted. It made me wonder: am I a hippy?

How does one define "hippiness"? For this student, the fact that I love trees, was writing with a green pen, have one fingernail painted (green), was carrying a patchwork handbag and "wearing wool" (it was actually wool blend, but never mind) were all evidence enough. Further close questioning on his part uncovered my vegetarianism, the colour of my car (green) and the fact that I like cooking - all damning confirmations  in his eyes.

I suspect most of us in Gen X would have a different definition of what a hippy is.

And really, do I care? Why does the thought of being labelled a hippy cause me to wince? Those qualities I associate with hippiness - care for the earth, pacifism, open-mindedness, compassion - are all qualities I aspire to, in various ways.

Anyway, as my unpredictable week unfolds, including day surgery "sometime" on Wednesday and its associated concerns, I hope I can carry my open-mindedness and compassion along with me ... even if this does mean adopting, albeit partially, the mantle of "hippy".



* I won't say "failure"

Rhythms of Being and Doing

One of my very good friends is in a "being" phase of her life right now, in which she is concentrating on living in the moment and practising mindfulness (my words, not hers).

I, on the other hand, am very much in a "doing" phase of life. I am practising mindfulness - but the practice is highlighting certain imbalances which need redressing!

What am I so busy "doing"? Well, work is flat out: I have taken on a part time job, which is accounting for some hours each week, and my business is running almost at capacity. Which is all fantastic! But, being a recent change, is one I haven't quite adjusted to yet.

What I would like to see over the next two weeks is a return to balance, with more of my time spent:

• forward planning - I always have one or two 'aspirational goals' on the go, and these have been neglected in the busy-ness of lately
• doing the things I love (sewing, running) - as well as the things I love having to do (work, banking, accounting)
• and - in particular - catching up on my reading.

So that's my goal over the next two weeks, to re-gain my work-life balance and find the new rhythm of my life.

We'll see how it goes .....

Being Around Wonderful People

This evening I'm basking in the afterglow of a day spent with wonderful people. I just love being with positive, energetic, amazing human beings - and there are a few of them about!

Whether it's having someone truly listen to you, and take the time to hear your story; whether it's the energy you get from teaching a receptive student, who appreciates the opportunity to learn, and is open to the exciting beauty of knew knowledge; or whether it's returning home to the steady rock in your life - all these are wonderful things.

There's something alchemical about the process of speaking and being heard. (This, of course, is why therapy works.)

There's also something unmistakable and irreplaceable about that feeling of being fully alive, of being energized and motivated and creative, that you experience after spending time with someone positive, open, creative and ... well, just plain fantastic.

So, to all you wonderful people in my life - near and far, "real" and "virtual", "old" and "new" - thank you for gracing me with your presence - it is appreciated.

New Runners! and a quick stocktake of the important objects in my life

It's that time of year again - new runners! Yippee!

It's such a treat to step out in beautiful, cushioned, supportive footwear that isn't tired and run down (ha ha). Actually, this pair isn't what I'd call 'beautiful' - this avatar of the line I use has gone with hot pink trim and laces; a little loud for me. However, the glorious new-shoe running-on-air feeling is indeed beautiful.

It makes me wonder: are there any other things in my life which could do with a freshening up?

My poor diary is feeling tired and run down, tatty around the edges, thick with inserted papers and staggering under the weight of pencilled appointments, sometimes erased and written over more than once; but opting for a new diary at this time of year wouldn't be easy. I think she's with me 'til the bitter end.

The debate about whether to re-dye my red tie handbag continues. I quite like the sun-bleached look, especially as it highlights the large gathered rose feature, but as I generally try to pair it with bold reds, it doesn't match so well any more. The question is: would the dye take evenly across the cloth? I'm not sure. I think I love it too much to tempt fate.

My wonderful phone is perfect just the way it is. Ditto laptop, my most prized possession.

The large black bag which doubles as laptop carrier and occasional satchel was re-stitched recently, where one corner had started to fray, so it's fine for now. Actually, come to think of it, perhaps the leather could do with some nourishing - might get out the shoe polish and give it a careful once-over.

The burnies (those homemade CDs I keep in the car, because my chocolate-endowing player tends to chew them as well as dirty them) need re-doing. Reckon it could possibly be a Tchaikovsky or Beethoven day tomorrow! Many hours in Melbourne traffic coming up ...

So: minor tweaking; nothing major needed. Certainly nothing that will give me the joy my brand new runners do, as I fly along the pavement. Woo hoo!

A Connection with China

Reading an article today about the swing to the left in China, I was reminded of a conversation enjoyed recently.

Ping and I met at the Philosophies of Travel conference held in Sydney last weekend. We ended up sitting side-by-side at the closing dinner. Ping is ten years older than me - fifty - and grew up during the tail end of the Cultural Revolution. I was fascinated to have the opportunity to spend some hours chatting with a woman who had lived through those times. She told me about being separated from her parents and sent out into the country as a teenager, what it was like growing up in an "intellectual" family, and how when she and her husband left China twenty years ago, they were not allowed to go to the same country; she went to America, and her husband came to Australia, where she was able to join him. Her two children were born and raised in Australia, though one has recently accepted a scholarship to a prestigious American university.

It speaks volumes about our world that two women with such vastly differnt life stories can sit down and share a meal together. We chatted for hours, and she caught the bus back into the CBD with me, a kindness for which I was grateful amidst the rowdiness of a Saturday night.

Two women, two stories; one meal, and one new connection. The world is small, and the world is full of wonders.

In Praise of Mike Carey

You simply have to ADORE a man who can write these sentences:

I had a furry mouth and a hangover that was as much psychological as physical. Or animistic, maybe: a hangover of the spirit. How the hell do you cure that? A hair of the god that bit you?

I'd passed three other cameras on the way up, of course, so he knew damn well it was me, but Nicky likes to remind you that Big Brother is watching. It's not a matter of security - although he takes his security more seriously than Imelda Marcos takes her footwear; it's more the statement of a philosophical position.

Or, some would say, more controversially:

I don't buy the tarot for the same reason that I don't buy religion: the hopes and fears of ordinary people stick up out of the miracles like bones out of a spavined horse.

These quotes are some I picked fairly much at random, flicking through pages from "Vicious Circle", the second book in Carey's series of Felix Castor novels. The genre is urban fantasy - think spooky things (in this case, exorcists, ghosts, demons, succubi and loup-garous - were-beings) roaming more-or-less contemporary urban settings, such as London. Another favourite author of mine in the genre is Patricia Briggs: werewolves, vampires and shape-shifting coyotes running around the Tri-Cities area in the States.

Anyway, Mike Carey: you are the master of grittily realistic and pithily descriptive phrases. I'd take my hat off to you ... hmm: it may be potentially hazardous to perform any cliched act in your vicinity! What would Felix Castor do? Say something smart, and slouch away.

Ah well, I can manage the latter.

Back to Basics

Lately, if I've found myself feeling run down, I've adopted a new "back to basics" strategy.

I make myself a big, rainbow-coloured poster. It has a positive, cheerful heading. (The last one was: "Catie Needs To Feel Better")

Then I set up a nice big table, with a number of day names down the left-hand column and some basic well-being strategies across the top, e.g. "Nutrition", "Hydration", "Sleep".

Instead of ticks or crosses, with their overtones of external validation/judgement, I draw a huge smiley face in each table cell when I've completed that task for the day.

I've found this a surprisingly effective way to pick myself up, noticing positive results within two days. Yes, a simple list may perform the same task - but without the cheerful colour, happiness or flair!

I spy ...

Sitting in my favourite cafe in Kew, and I can see:

• saplings in recycled tin cans - very cool
• sealed jars of "panela" (organic sugar from Colombia) on each table
• not many teenagers - which is unusual - this time of day, during term time, it's swarming
• wooden stools and long benches
• sporadic traffic on Cotham Road, outside
• low hung, large-globe naked light bulbs - again, very cool
• colourful prints on the walls, by www.nootles.com.au ("nursery and kids wall art")

I love this place!

Dislocation

That's it: the "I'm here" fuse in my brain has blown.

I'm experiencing a disconcerting sensation of not having an innate sense of where I am.

This has with me since we went to Sydney last week. I think it's because I only moved from Adelaide to Melbourne six months ago, and then suddenly found myself in another city - um ... that's all sounding a little feeble, isn't it?

But I just don't have a sense of where "here" is. I saw a story on the news about a nearby suburb in Melbourne and it felt a long way away. I keep accidentally saying "when I was in Melbourne on the weekend". Hmm.

I think the best plan is to do lots of running over the next few days - pace out the neighbourhood, step by step, once more; re-lay those mental maps. It's a plan!

Perspective on Sydney

Back home - footsore and happy. Looking forward to living closer to the city so the final leg of the journey home isn't quite so tiring!

The most wonderful thing happened today - something of a second Sydney metanoia moment!

In an earlier post, I mentioned my sense of awe, stepping out of Central Station and seeing the "large stones and large buildings" of downtown Sydney. An awareness of the size of the city lingered the entire visit, enhanced by our ferry ride on the Harbour - reminiscent of vaporetto rides in Venice - and wandering today through The Rocks, appreciating the age of the archaeological digs on display, sensing the frailty of the early settlement, and - again - appreciating the scale of the Bridge as we walked in its shadow.

On our way back to Central Station to catch the train to the airport, we caught part of the "Art And About" exhibition in Hyde Park. Twenty two large-scale photos were slung alongside the pathway. The last image was of huge storm clouds looming Sydney Harbour. The artist had captured their height and depth, dwarfing the bridge, water scape and rendering minuscule those "large buildings" which had so awed me just days beforehand.

I feel so lucky to have seen this picture when I did. It was a timely reminder that nature will always bring human effort down to scale. Sydney's a beautiful, wonderful city - but, Ozymandias-style, this picture has reminded me of the enduring power of systems larger even than ours.

Soaking up Sydney (and avoiding a reciprocal soaking)

The Philosophies of Travel conference is over - what a wonderful and vivid experience it was!

It surprises me that only today I realized the organizers (Alex and Annabel, respectively the kindest and best-dressed people in Sydney) had chosen the plural in the conference title. Of course, this was the clear and obvious choice - as was borne out by the amazing breadth of material covered - but a quirk of perception had hidden it from me.

I'm still reeling after the experience - such a rich diet of ideas over the last three days! - and need some assimilation time, I think, before I can attempt a meaningful summary; although I can certainly say that, as always, the opportunity to engage with active minds and grapple with concepts at the limit of one's experience always leaves me feeling invigorated and fully alive. Hooray!

Today was the second and last of our "holiday" days in Sydney and, having presented my paper, we were able to enjoy it singlemindedly. It's been lots of fun to wander the city, catch a ferry, visit Bondi (and almost literally be blown away by that experience), and re-board the ferry - just in time to avoid Sydney's huge raindrops. Despite the weather, I had a gelato out at South Head, reliving childhood memories (though fearful I'd end up wearing more than consuming it). We'll enjoy some more of the city this evening and visit The Rocks before heading out to the airport tomorrow.

Right now it's time to finish writing postcards (oops), enjoy a few minutes of quiet, and apologise to any Sydney friends or relatives who are reading this and perhaps feeling put out that we haven't caught up. I am sorry! It was a tightly scheduled visit, and with me busy for some days at the conference, it was important to spend time with my neglected husband.

It's been fun. We need to get away more!

Notes before (a very early) bedtime

Fun day - went uber-touristy in Sydney and enjoyed Monorail mania! We have such limited time to explore together, we decided to do just one thing today, and do it well; so we got day tickets to Sydney's Monorail, and enjoyed visiting those seven stops thoroughly.

Sadly I have a migraine-like headache and nausea, so cut short my exploring in favour of a short nap before attending the opening session of the Philosophies of Travel conference, which is the reason we're here. Pete continued looking around our locality - but I suspect that, with much of the next two days to himself, he'll be spreading his Sydney wings further afield!

Have already met some really lovely and fascinating people at the conference, and am looking forward very much to conversations and shared ideas over the next few days.

Right now, have taken a couple of sleeping tablets and am trusting that a very early night's sleep will allow my body to cure itself.

(Please, please, please cure yourself, body ...)

Mark 31:1

Yes, I'm in a Markan mood; this title is meant to reflect the experience my husband and I had as we stepped out of Central Station in Sydney yesterday and looked up at all the tall, tall buildings.*

Since my grandparents followed us to Adelaide in the mid-1980s, I haven't regularly spent time in Sydney, but it was exciting to re-visit familiar places like Hyde Park and taste familiar names on one's tongue: Pitt Street; Castlereagh Street; Circular Quay. Yum.

Of course, people are people, wherever you go, but we encountered two of the least helpful information booth attendants I've met in a long time yesterday.

An example of our interactions:

"Excuse me, what bus do I catch to get to Sydney University?"

"Anything with a four."

Oh ... and it turns out I was on the wrong street, anyway. Thanks, mate.

But today we have some time for tourism, so we're going to 'Simpson it up' on ... The Monorail! Looking forward to it.

* The NRSV translation reads: 

As he came out of the temple, one of his disciples said to him, "Look, Teacher, what large stones and what large buildings!"

Jesus then goes on to foretell the destruction of said buildings, a sense of impending doom Peter and I didn't share yesterday!  

 

(You're right; I'm not a Christian any more. However, Christians don't exclusively own ancient texts. And sharing is a virtue.)

My favourite image of today

Today, I noticed that one of the trees on our street is so thickly laden with blossoms that the pretty pink petals crowd out the new fresh-green spring leaves.

It is an almost excessive bounteousness of beauty.

I feel a similar bounteousness exists in my life at present: a richness of experience, a time of promise, a profusion of things to be grateful for.

Wishing facebook wasn't so damned useful

I'm writing this today after reading a blog posted by a friend on facebook titled "Five Things to Know about the new Facebook". This was after I'd woken up, showered, powered up my computer, read my emails, perused the facebook timeline, checked my progress in my current favourite facebook game, and then eaten breakfast.

Facebook's crept up on me. It's become more significant ... without me noticing how much of my life now revolves around it. I even have one friendship I value highly with a person I've only actually met once - based on our interactions through facebook. I'm not on facebook all hours of the day, but it's certainly become more than just a way of keeping up with friends.

So when I read Sharon Vaknin's blog this morning about the changes to facebook, I felt a distinct disquiet.

Why? Well, the changes to our profiles are what concern me most. I quote from Vaknin's article:

Your profile begins with a large photo at the top. Below that is your general information, a status update box, and then a timeline of your activities. You'll see photos of you, status updates, life events (like a new job), and activity from any apps you're using (like Nike+, FarmVille, or Foodspotting.) Unlike the previous interface, your friends will now be able to look back on your past activity, all the way to the moment you joined Facebook.

I don't like the thought that thoughts I've had in the past - perhaps some years ago, now! - can be found by someone and may be taken as indicative of my current beliefs. I don't like the fact that information from apps I'm using will be displayed. Yes, I understand that I can change the privacy settings of apps so "Only Me" will see my activity; and I understand that, as Viknin says, I can go back and delete any old comments. But should I have to?

I particularly feel for friends who have posted comments, pictures or video while drunk or otherwise, shall we say, "incapacitated". What seems fun and even status-enhancing at 17 or 18 becomes embarrassing and potentially damaging just a few years later.

Am I a Luddite? Perhaps. Or perhaps I simply object to the fact that a medium I assumed had an element of time-boundedness turns out, instead, to have a more eternal quality.

I'm certainly going to be even more cautious about what I post on facebook, going to keep an eagle eye on my privacy settings, and make sure I'm kept up to date with these and other changes.

Turning Forty

I turned forty on the first of September, and was happy to do so.

The celebrations ended up being spread over some days; it was a veritable birthday festival! On the day, I enjoyed a special "high tea" with one of my sisters and my newest niece, and a lovely night out with my husband. We had lunch with my stepsons two days later, and I'd already caught up with my parents when they'd visited some weeks earlier. Oh - and I ran my first half marathon.

"Hold on a minute," regular readers may wonder, "weren't you training for the Melbourne half marathon event on the ninth of October?" Yes, I was; but when I went to register, two days before my birthday, it was completely booked out. So I decided to do the run on my birthday. After all, it's a much better story! "I ran my first half marathon on my fortieth birthday ..."

You can't Google the event, and it didn't appear in any newspapers; it was my own personal half marathon, run in two loops - north and south - with a hydration pit stop at home halfway through. I had such fun doing that run! The day itself hadn't been ideal preparation: a high-calorie, luxury morning tea with my sister, and the obligatory few hours spent in Melbourne traffic. But I was well-rested, well-trained, and despite experiencing the expected challenges of running a half ("I am in so much pain!" "I want to throw up!" "I want to GIVE UP!") I ran with a huge grin on my face. I entered serious "running zen state" during the seventeenth kilometre: I heard my GPS announce I'd completed the sixteenth, started playing Vivaldi in my head, and before I knew it I'd reached the seventeen kilometre mark. It was all pretty easy from there, except for a brief panicked moment when I was about to turn into my street, looked at my GPS and thought I had to find an extra kilometre to run. I was wrong; in my fatigue, I'd mis-read the numbers.

Everyone wants to know how I feel about turning forty. I feel great about it! There's a real sense of my life opening up; I'm fitter than I've ever been, stronger, and more resilient. My professional life is opening up, likewise my academic presence (I'm presenting my first conference paper next weekend). I believe that the next ten years are going to be among the best, most productive and happiest of my life - so far!

It's a Bach Day

Well, actually, it's also an "I'm sick, I'm tired, and I can't wait for this week to be over - but hooray for Friday!" day.

But, after a couple of months of a very limited musical diet - exclusively Vivaldi for some weeks, Nina Simone singing "Feeling Good" for my fortieth birthday, then Boy & Bear's version of "Fall At Your Feet", which ticks all the boxes for a superb cover - I've replenished the pile of burnies in the car, and am treating my ears to old friends.

Bach's violin concertos have taught me so much about life. Sometimes a piece of music will grab my attention and yell at me until it's taught me what I need to know. (Yes, I am speaking metaphorically; no need to consult a psychiatrist about possible diagnosis of paranoid schizophrenia just yet.) It can be an entire piece, or movement - for example, the first movement of Tchaikovsky's Violin Concerto in D (Op. 35), or just a few bars. Those few bars in the third movement of Bach's Double Concerto (BWV 1043) where the music changes from being, if you like, "horizontal" to "vertical" (melodic to chordal) helped me understand that our personalities are not set in stone, but have the capacity to change over time.

Another Bach violin concerto perfectly illustrated an intense moment in my life. It was a few days before I left Adelaide, and I was driving away from my last conversation with my therapist. We had done some excellent work together, so I was rejoicing in the happiness of time spent talking, and the satisfaction of things achieved, but also felt a deep sadness that my professional relationship with him was over. I got into the car and turned on the CD. It was halfway through the second movement of Bach's Concerto for Two Violins in C minor (BWV 1060): the falling cadences and sustained notes matched my melancholy mood. Then, the third movement started; energetic, upbeat, relisient, persistent - all qualities my therapist had identified and fostered within me! If only I were still able to believe in a god, I would have considered this as something "meant to be", or perhaps some sort of cosmic joke - but there is no joke without a joker, and sadly, I can't. Still, it was one of those times when an apparently random musical moment melds perfectly with one's life experience.

Bach also reveals me to myself. The third movement of the Violin Concerto in A Minor (BWV 1041), with that beautifully persistent repeated solo note which holds its own against the pressure of the changing keys and cadences beneath it, reflect my capacity to live a successful life alongside my depression and anxiety. I do bounce back, I do press on, and at the very least - even on days like today when I am weakened by fatigue and infection - I do endure.

So: today is a Bach day. It is a day of reflection; of assessing where I'm at; of recognising my strengths, and acknowledging my capacity to survive - and even thrive!

Finally, I heard Pekka Kuusisto (with Iiro Rantala) perform some superb Finnish jazz trios earlier this year (you can read about the concert here). Pekka remarked, almost in passing, that Bach was the master of improvisation. This gave me a whole new way of being able to listen to his music. Try it! Listen to a piece you know really, really well - I'd suggest BWV 1043 or 1041 as excellent examples  - and imagine hearing them in terms of improvisation. This has given me a lot of joy, and I hope it will bring you joy today, too.

... and she's back!

Finally! Back to feeling something like normal after almost a fortnight of being laid low by a pesky virus. About time!

So, now that I've re-entered life happily virus-free, what's been happening?

Naturally, the first consideration was getting back into running. Yesterday I managed a 20 minute jog (just). To put this in context, this is the workout I do the day after a long run, to warm up my muscles before a really good stretch - certainly not anything taxing! And nothing like the long run I generally do on a Sunday. But my legs felt like jelly and my heart rate was high ... nothing dangerous, though. I hadn't rushed back too early, which was good. Today I managed a 25 minute run at faster pace; tonight I have tired muscles, but again, all manageable.

Going on the old "3 time rule", seeing as I missed 12 days of training, it may take about a month to return to previous form. Ah well: that's what a bad virus will do to you.

It feels good to be planning my days around running again! Said it once, will say it again: about time.

Haven't blogged for a while, so have some catching up to do.

Here's a pic taken while stopped at traffic lights recently:

If it's necessary to label your indicators, you've got too much text on your truck!

And another, taken today:



Hyacinths and daffodils seen in Kew - beautiful!

I've finally achieved the post-viral burst of energy I've been hanging out for. Plans for the next few days include sewing, writing, catching up with friends near and far - and catching up with reading, which I was unable to concentrate on lately.

Yippee!

Anatomy of my Illness

It's official. I feel like the toenail scrapings of a particularly filthy troll, am convinced that this hell-virus will be the end of me, and have abandoned all hope of ever enjoying the blissful benefits of simply feeling well again. Had I any energy, I'd be preparing a running sheet for my funeral. But I cannot summon even that paltry effort ... I am doomed.

Melodrama? Moi?!

However, having sunk right down into the depths of viral illness these, I've had a chance to reflect on the stages I went through in reaching this point.

Stage One: Might I be coming down with something?
Feeling a little blue ... body temperature fluctuating ... is that a tickle in my throat? Quick, grab a megadose of Vitamin C, down plenty of water, and make sure you don't have a late night. Don't worry, you'll fight this off, you always do! An early evening, plenty of sleep, and you'll be just fine.

Stage Two: I'm not feeling too flash
No need to panic; I had an early night, but my throat is really sore and my head hurts. Um ... I know, aspirin. Aspirin always does the trick. Aspirin, orange juice with breakfast, more Vitamin C, and I'd better check that my first student's immune system is OK, don't want to pass on this little bug. Oh, and I'll cancel today's run - no need to stress this poor little body any further right now.

Stage Three: Time to start taking this seriously
I have no energy, I can't swallow, I'm having aural hallucinations and my temperature's a degree higher than usual. Perhaps I'd better stay home today. Still no reason not to attend that concert tomorrow night.

Stage Four: Oh dear
Fever. The cancellation of long-anticipated events. I've missed a concert, writer's group and haven't even been able to kiss my husband on his birthday. Misery. Will I ever recover? No. I can't imagine feeling any different to this ghastliness ... perhaps I'd better get my affairs in order. Damn, I haven't even got the energy to do that. They'll just have to sort it all out when I'm gone. How many times have I read this sentence? I can't remember. I'll just try to sleep again ... but my throat hurts so much ... how many hours until my next dose of Codis?

And now, let's switch to anticipatory mode ...

I believe that I will eventually reach:

Stage Five: Post-Viral
Yippee!  The world is wonderful again! I have so much energy! I can do anything. Put the brakes on, sweetheart, don't go wild - you're in recovery mode! But doesn't this feel WONDERFUL?

Yep, I'll get there. Maybe even tomorrow morning! Now, where'd I put that Codis ... wonderful stuff ... if you can find it ...

If I do survive this, I'm going to Beaumaris again:

I'm Sick, and sick of it

Sick.

Miserable.

Yesterday was "sick enough to enjoy the benefits without feeling debilitated" but today am feeling, as the children's book says, "Just Awful".

For the next hour, I will exist as a dormant sphere of misery, shrouded in doona and replenishing my strength.

Then I will get up and do something positive!

Finding Beauty in Melbourne

It's been 19 weeks and 2 days since I moved to Melbourne, and while I still miss Adelaide very much, I continue to focus on finding beauty and good things in my new home.

Here are my Top Four Joyful Discoveries of the last few weeks:

4. Wilson Botanic Gardens
OK, I know I've mentioned this beautiful open space numerous times in previous postings, but these gardens really are worth a trip out to Berwick. Some of the trees are a little confused at present with the apparent change of season - who isn't? - but the variety of plantings, walks and sculptures make this a "must see" in the south eastern suburbs. Enjoy a cup of tea down Berwick's main street afterwards, with its convenient centre parking - a space always seems to open up, just when you need one!

3. South Melbourne Markets
Wow! Great food, yummy cakes, and the shop where I found the purple dress I've been sporting with joy the last couple of weeks. Might almost qualify as "a smaller version of Adelaide Central Markets". (Almost.)

2. Driving East along the Monash at Sunset
My husband and I did this on Saturday afternoon. I was driving and first noted the quality of the light reflected off the bridges, sound barriers and roadside vegetation; then Peter looked back and saw the stratified sunset behind us. I think the urban planners did a great job planting along the Monash, and seeing the various gardens bathed in rose-gold light was a real treat.

1. The Beach at Beaumaris
Admittedly, I saw this during lunchtime last Friday when the sun was shining strong and the temperature was warm - so I've probably seen it in its best possible light, for this time of year. However, new to this city as I am, I never realized there were beaches like this within Melbourne. I'd been to South Melbourne and St Kilda, where footpaths are separated from sand by cement pathways, but here there are strips of trees ... and sandstone cliffs to the south! I went home in rapture.

This picture is looking south; I only had the camera on my mobile phone with me, which was unable to do justice to the cliffs from afar.

Being in a new city isn't just about making new friends, it's about finding or creating a sense of 'home' in the midst of a new geography. For me, finding places or things I can connect with emotionally is a big part of this process. The search continues!

Half Marathon Training: Seven Weeks Down

Seriously, is it really seven weeks since I started to train for this event? Phew! That's almost two months. It's hard to believe it's been that long!

I think I'll put off a major retrospective of stats etc until the two month mark, but it certainly has been gratifying to see an improvement in performance this week, compared to last week. Since last week was something of a recovery period, this is hardly surprising, but pleasing nonetheless.

Highlights of the week: an easy 13km run last Sunday - it was just such a fun run, hills and all, and so wonderful to feel a return to full form after last week's recovery.

Lowlights: um ... definitely yesterday's Fartlek interval training. Ugh. If I've said it once, I've said it a thousand times (usually when my body starts screaming "WHY? WHY?" as my phone is ordering me in an infuriatingly calm voice to "Increase pace to Yellow Zone for One Minute"): I'm not built for speed. Still, I bow to those who have more knowledge and experience than I do, and submit to this discipline in faith that the pain will provide some gain ... somehow.

Today is the first day in a long time that I've actually felt really happy not to have a run scheduled. Is this a bad sign? I'm not sure. Perhaps it's still a reaction to the trauma of those Fartlek intervals yesterday! But, never fear: I'll be back in those runners and pounding the pavement tomorrow morning. I'm going to do some steep hill climbs, I've decided.

Finally, this is where I spent my lunchtime today, between clients:

This is in a part of Melbourne I've never been to before, and it was really beautiful - a truly refreshing break in the middle of a busy day. Sadly this is too far away to make running here a practical option, but I might treat myself one weekend! So now, lungs full of fresh air and head cleared of cobwebs (though thighs still a little sore), I'm off to work again.

Vivaldi images: a departure from form ...

Today I’ve been listening to Vivaldi’s Violin Concerto in A Minor (RV 356) and seeing a series of ... well, it’s a bit embarrassing, but ... farmyard images. Considering Vivaldi usually makes me see/feel mathematics, this is quite a departure from form!

The first movement (Allegro Moderato) with its orchestral ‘Greek chorus’ and repeated, sequenced themes had me thinking of a chook house, with its pecking order and flustered clucking responses ... also, perhaps a little unkindly, of gaggles of large-busted late-middle-aged women of a certain age who parade their busts before them, buttressed with formidable underwear and swaddled in either synthetic blazers or cardigans, depending on the locality – geographic and socio-economic. Like hens, flustered cackling and following the leader are good survival traits.

The Largo movement’s wistful strains and mild, almost-melancholy cadences found me, unobserved, behind the farmhouse window. I’m watching a child sitting and quietly humming to herself. Absorbed in her own world, she’s playing with strands of grass, lost to a personal grief, unintelligible to an adult.

Finally, the Presto – in complete contrast – had me thinking of kelpie-collie sheepdogs, whose purpose and joy is order and energy: the cheerful greeting of their little pack’s alpha, the farmer; the ultimate high of bringing that chorus of bleating sheep to the farmer’s order; the ecstasy of running to exhaustion at the end of the day.

[Recording: Pekka Kuusisto & Virtuosi Di Kuhmo]

Ethical Considerations

These are the ethical questions which have been on my mind lately:

1. How long is it morally acceptable for a driver to hold up a queue of traffic because theywant to do a right hand turn? At what point should they just give up, turn left and pull a U-ie or go round the block?
2. If a runner participating in an event tosses an empty drink container at a bin and misses, should they turn around and re-bin it?
3. Are you obliged to respond to every single "like", "poke", "comment", "message" or "request" sent your way on facebook?
4. Is there a certain timeframe within which you should return emails, phone messages, etc? Are there different times for different media?
5. Question 4 relates to the realm of manners/politeness: is this an ethical realm, or separate?
6. If someone wants to talk to you on public transport, ought you participate in conversation? (What if you're the only person who'll talk to them all day? You just don't know!)
7. How guilty should you feel about overdue library books?
8. What is the proper and ethical response to someone who suddenly comes to a halt in the midst of a crowd of running people, causing inconvenience?
9. Are you obliged to move earthworms stranded on the footpath after rain onto the grass? Does this moral obligation change if you're in the middle of a run, as opposed to just going for a walk?

Half Marathon Training: Six Weeks In

This week has been something of a 'rest and recover' week after doing the 10km event last Sunday; not that running 10km is, of itself, anything unusual - but running it that quickly is, at least for me!


Preventing injury has been a big focus this week. I was nursing a tender calf muscle after Sunday, which is why I've been swimming and doing classes at the gym (yoga, Body Balance) instead of running.

I've only done a few runs: a very slow half hour on Monday, which really only served as a warm-up to a much needed stretch session; an 'assessment workout' with miCoach on Wednesday; and an easy 50 minutes today. Well, it may have looked easy from the outside (if easy = slow) but it didn't feel easy! The first fifteen minutes, my body had that "I'm a clunky old car" feeling about it, and I don't think I did the Fartlek intervals justice - but the important thing is to have completed it, and returned home without injury.

Needless to say, my stats have been shot to pieces this week, with average pace times decreasing for the first time since I began this training six weeks ago and low km's run. A numbers girl, I don't like this. At least it'll make the next few weeks look good in comparison!

So the next two challenges, as I see them, will be: a) getting back into the rhythm of running training (it was surprisingly difficult to get motivated for the 50min run today!) and b) not psyching myself out of doing the half marathon in October. I felt pretty intimidated arriving at the starting line last Sunday, and 10km is a distance I run regularly! I think I'll need to be doing plenty of self-talk over the next few weeks to raise my confidence levels again. After all, I have no reason not to feel confident: I have set a realistic goal; I have a balanced, realistic training regime; and I have already completed a run amidst a large crowd of people.

And, the bottom line is what I know to be true: "my strength as a runner is that I just keep going." Hang onto that, Catie.

Celebration of Discipline

Yes, I have shamelessly stolen the title of Richard Foster's iconic book as a heading for this post. (Foster - there's no point in suing me - I have no money.) But the matter of discipline has been on my mind this week, as I've exercised discipline in many different ways - and sometimes, of course, failed to do so!

My "thinking about thinking" has been dominated this week by running. During that 10k event last Sunday, when things got tough, I'd put my head down and repeat what I know is true: "My strength as a runner is that I keep going." A different type of self control was required in recovering from that event.  During Monday's jog, having pushed my body harder and faster than usual the day before, I had to not stretch out into my usual lope, but keep things firmly under wraps: very slow, very steady, nursing that tender calf muscle, just plodding along in order to warm my body up for a very good stretching session afterwards.

Yesterday's discipline was one of busy-ness: I had to be in what my husband and I call "Go Mode", functioning at a high level, in order to get everything done. It was great to reach the end of the day having achieved everything I wanted to do, a long list which ranged from two school visits to remembering to tell the insurance company that I've changed my car number plates over to Victorian ones. (Seventeen weeks, five days today since the move!)

Today, I've had a cancellation, which leaves the whole day open to prepare my tax information for the accountant tomorrow. I loathe accounting! And bookkeeping: Ugh. The discipline required today will be using psychological tricks to actually stay on task and not drift off to other things. I can do this, I will do this; and, as I must do this, it will be done.

Finally, there's that ever-present but oft-ignored pressure which seems to originate about an inch above the base of the back of my neck: "write, Catie, write, Catie, WRITE..." I have a few projects on the go at present, but as the deadlines are wholly internal, the writing simply hasn't been happening. Today, if I can summon the discipline, I should be able to get some good work done on at last one project.

I can savour the pleasure of choosing which piece to work on as I endure my bookkeeping ... think I'll have another cup of tea before starting.

It's a Sibelius day today

There's been a return to the romantic in Catie's car over the last twenty four hours. With a couple of long drives yesterday afternoon and this morning, I've been able to listen to Sibelius' Violin Concerto in D Minor (Op. 47) three times in just over twelve hours.

I am so fortunate! What an age we live in; when the first version of this piece was originally performed (in 1904), not only would I not have been able to listen to a concerto at my convenience inside my own, personal vehicle - but I would not have had the social freedom, as a woman, to live my life as I choose to now.

Back to the music. My head is buzzing - there is just so much which I could write! I'll limit myself to one comment on each movement.

I remember writing about a year ago 'somewhere' (facebook? an email? I can't recall) that the first movement ("Allegro moderato") brought to mind the Australian landscape, with its sweeping broad openness and sometimes-bleak beauty. Then, a few months ago, I decided that was all rubbish. Today, what strikes me is its otherness: the soloist takes us on a voyage to a land that is almost alien in its soundscape, but safely brings us home.

The third movement ("Allegro Ma non Tanto") has always been a favourite of mine, hope springing from a dark place ... though sometimes the heaving waves of sound three quarters of the way through make me feel a little seasick!

And the second movement ... ah, that's what caught my heartstrings this time round. This "Adagio di Molto" seems to me to be speaking of love, reminding us that all love - even deeply, heatedly passionate love - is essentially a question asked and, if we are fortunate, answered.

As I begin to engage once more with Mark's gospel, this time from a radically different perspective, this reminder of "love as question" will give me yet another lens through which to regard that most dearly beloved text.


Endnotes

1. After drafting this, something good happened: listened to the second movement again, then went to yoga class. Catie's recommendation for today's transcendental experience.

2. My favourite recordings of this piece:

• Pekka Kuusisto (no surprises there!) with Leif Segerstam and the Helsinki Philharmonic Orchestra
• Viktoria Mullova with Seiji Ozawa and the Boston Symphony Orchestra.

The story of my first public run

Yesterday was the day, my first "public" run since I was a kid! I entered in the 10k event of 'Run Melbourne' as part of my preparation for the half marathon in October.

I entered in the 61+ minute 'wave', along with literally thousands of others. My aim had been to finish in seventy minutes or less, but as we all headed out - packed flank to flank like cattle in a run - my heart sank, as I thought, "well, there goes my chance to achieve my time". Still, I did a bit of ducking and weaving to get nearer the front of the group.

I could tell from my heart rate monitor that I was running a bit harder than usual, but not drastically so, so I kept it up. About 2km in, I hit my sweet zone. Of course, the biggest hassle in an event like this is finding your way blocked by others - for a lone loper like myself, this is very frustrating! However, as you are constantly being overtaken by faster runners from behind, and constantly overtaking slower runners who started ahead of you, at least the kaleidoscope of backs you face constantly changes.

I must admit (and these are not honourable thoughts!) that I did particularly enjoy running past very athletic-looking people wearing Lycra who'd run out of puff!

My strength as a runner is my persistence; I knew I was going a little faster than usual, and began to feel it, especially around the 5-6-7km zone. But whenever I felt that way, I just looked at the road, and drew on what's true: "My strength is that I just keep going." I zoned out the people who were overtaking me, focussed on the people I passed (who usually returned the favour within a few minutes!) and concentrated on running my own race.

I was able to grab a mouthful of water, without breaking pace, at the halfway mark. I may not have desperately needed it, but since the opportunity arose to grab it without slowing down, it seemed silly not to take it. And I made sure my paper cup ended up in the bin, not on the road, you naughty runners! Speaking of etiquette: if you must stop suddenly, please try to do it on the side of the road; I nearly ran into a few people from behind like that. Also: flinging out your arm to show a friend something on the side of the road is a definite no-no - almost had my nose broken ... Finally, I observed a clever little trick: if you really want clear space on the road ahead of you, be a very obese person shuffling along in the middle of the pack. Everyone else parts around  you like a river around a boulder and you're left with empty asphalt ahead. Sweet.

Having run quite hard (for me), I was really glad to reach the 8km mark. 2km to go: that's the distance from the bus stop near the local Monash campus to my place. I began to visualise where I was in relation to home, and therefore how close I was to the finish line.

Towards the end, everyone sped up, of course; but there were some people who turned on a terrific turn of speed over the last km, including some whom I'd seen walking earlier. I couldn't understand why, if they were capable of that, they were part of our wave: why not run earlier? Or why not put in a more consistent effort? Each to their own.

The last 300m I ran with a huge grin on my face. At this stage I still thought I had probably run slower than my hoped-for time, but I was just so happy and proud to have done it! As I crossed the line, I stopped my monitor and running program, and that was when I saw it said 1:05. Very happy. As it  turns out, my official time was 1:04:20, a PB over this distance. My previous PB over 10k was 1:06, I think, and that was part of a longer run.

So ... half marathon in October? Yes, I still think so. On the plus side, there's still lots of time to continue to prepare. On the minus side, I nearly psyched myself out of running today - but did it anyway ... we'll see.

Well, that's the story of my run! Thanks for sharing the joy.

The night before the "event" (not calling it a "race" anymore)

Well, it's the night before my first run 'among many' since I was a kid. Despite being probably the least athletic child in the small country town I grew up in, I seem to remember placing in a local fun run once and winning a gift voucher to the local hardware store. I bought a yellow broom :) goodness only knows why! Actually the memory is returning - I think mum was with me and perhaps suggested it after I'd been looking around for something, anything, appealing among the nails, coils of electrical cord, chook feed, rat bait ...

It's a weekend of firsts; I was invited to brunch with another writer's group today (not the one I already attend). The people I got to speak with were all very interesting. I do love good conversation.

Anyway, returning to tomorrow morning. We live so far out of the CBD that we'll be getting up at 5:30 tomorrow ... *ugh* for me, a return to normal scheduling for my early bird husband who's been on holidays. The run is billed as a "race" but as, for me, it's not about speed I've re-termed it simply "event", at least inside my head. It'll be curious to see how running alongside a whole heap of other people goes ... will I be tempted to go out too hard at the start? Ah, it'll all be fine. It's just 10km.

So, here's the party line: I'm not anxious about a race, I'm curious about how I'll react to an event. Yeah - I can sell that to myself.

Half Marathon Training: Five Weeks In

This week, I've felt as though I have not been running as well as the last few weeks, however this may be a subjective thing - I have had some slow runs, and some 'hard' runs, but overall my average times are down (slightly) on previous weeks. Not that I aim to run fast! I'm just such a numbers girl that I can't help making the comparisons; if the numbers are there, I'll look at them: not always a good thing, methinks.

Anyway, these feelings have brought nutrition back to the forefront of my mind - a good thing: being vegetarian, I have to keep that protein intake before and after runs up.

I've also started experimenting with breathing during running. If I'm having a 'hard' run, it's because my muscles are groaning, not because I run out of puff. I did an 11km run yesterday and, just for fun, did something different with my breathing during the ninth kilometre. I breathe in time with my feet (musician - can't help it) and generally by that stage of a run am breathing "two in, two out". After changing to "four in, four out" I noticed my muscles relaxing and stride length increasing. We're not talking heroic improvements here, but anything which helps, right?

Am taking part in a 10km race tomorrow. Well, for me it won't be a "race": speed's not the name of the game; I'm doing it because I haven't taken part in anything like this since I was a kid, and I don't want my first run with a bunch of other people to be my first half marathon in October!

I'm curious to see how running as part of a crowd affects me, as I'm usually a lone loper ... it'll be interesting.

Vivaldi: Finding mystery in the familiar

So ............ I'm a bit of a Vivaldi freak at the present. I'm going through this 'phase' where I'm craving certainty, the comfort of 'knowing', and am harking back to my days as a practising mathematician, those good old days where I once spent a whole month working on a single problem ... and ended up solving it one Friday before morning tea. It took me the rest of the day to write out the solution, but I got there in the end, and it was complete, and it was beautiful.

And, as part of this 'phase' of finding comfort in the certain and familiar, my favourite music's been on high rotation. In particular, Pekka Kuusisto's recording of The Four Seasons (with Virtuosi Di Kuhmo) has been right up there, a familiar companion during long drives through Melbourne traffic. There's a phrase which gives me great comfort, around a minute in to the sixth movement (i.e. third movement of Summer), a simple tune but with shifting harmonies underneath. I played it for a friend today - just said, "I've been wanting all week to play this for you; this is what it feels like to do real maths". I think he got what I meant. (Who can tell when you're trying to convey your inner world?)

But - a little to my surprise - I've discovered ambiguity in this very familiar music, mystery amidst the oh-so-well-known. Not in the movement I just mentioned, but the tenth (first movement of Winter).


Somehow, this seems to matter a lot: does that fragment of music have a happy ending, or not? Does the individual survive against the pressure of the masses, or is subsumed? Who wins here? I don't know. Perhaps the answer depends on my mood.

It bothers me. I wish I knew more about what Vivaldi was on about. There's just so much to learn in the world, so much to understand, and sometimes I feel there's so little time to do it in!

But sometimes 'knowing' ("book learnin'") is overrated. I guess it's my default position: want to know something? Read about it, study it, pull it apart cognitively. Perhaps, for now, I can keep this little mystery to myself. Who cares what other people have written about this scrap of music? It's a mystery to me, an enigma, something which tugs at my mindstrings, and the mystery persists even though I could probably write the whole movement out by memory. The notes mean more than their composition.

Unlike maths, there's not going to be a final reckoning here, a last line, a sense of completion.

Live with it, Catie.

Now a confirmed Mike Carey fan

Have just started Mike Carey's second Felix Castor novel, "Vicious Circle". I am a confirmed fan! Really loved the first - "The Devil You Know" - and already the second is living up to its promise of taut, gritty and witty writing. If you haven't tried urban fantasy, Carey's a great place to start; and if you have, you'll probably really love him! The joy of reading something great on a cold winter's afternoon ...

Half Marathon Training: Four Weeks In

Well, lack of motivation hasn't become an issue - which is fantastic, because as everyone in south eastern Australia knows, the weather has been inclement. (I had been concerned that having started this 'project' with zeal, my motivation might fade a few weeks in.) I'm finding that I continue to genuinely love running, despite the massive increase in training compared to my former routines; the thought of the endorphin rush is enough to get me out the door, sleet and gale force winds notwithstanding. Also, I can be a determined person - OK, "stubborn little bugger" in the vernacular - and once I start a run, I am going to finish it: no matter what!

Took a brief break from training on Sunday/Monday due to some twinges down right leg - clocked up some k's in the local pool instead of risking an injury, and really enjoyed Tuesday's run, even though it incorporated the dreaded sprint intervals *ugh*.

Think my body's completed its major muscle growth period, and it's craving less protein now. Am keeping up protein-rich pre- and post-run snacks, but am not always constantly hungry, a pleasant change from the last few weeks.

Not much other news, except to say that I haven't had any more near misses with cars this week - something I'm very happy about!

I've discovered wombok!

Yes, I must admit, I thought a 'wombok' was an Australian native animal until just a few months ago. Perhaps something between a quokka and a wombat? (Embarrassing, huh?! And she calls herself Australian!)

But now it's a staple of my diet: thinly sliced and stir fried over high heat with a dash of soy sauce and honey, it's my 'quick snack' during the daytime; or, for dinner, prepared with other vegies, egg or bean curd ... yum.

It's possibly the most conveniently shaped vegetable I've ever come across. All that green, leafy goodness crammed into one healthy, dense cyliner! Slice it down the middle and it lies neatly on the chopping board, waiting for the breadknife to neatly shave each nutritious portion: how efficient is that?

Yes, I'm a fan.

Half Marathon Training: Three Weeks In

Three weeks into the training programme for my first half marathon, and the biggest news this week is that I seem to have a better grip on the nutrition side of things. I must admit a couple of times during my first week of training I'd become a little light-headed, or head out with a leaden stomach, but now I've become much better at the timing and composition of meals to meet my body's needs.

I've become used to pace-based training with miCoach: this is fantastic news, because it makes achieving running-Zen-state possible, despite the instructions issuing from "the little black box that tells me what to do"! Having the confidence to tell it to get stuffed helps; I'm no longer phased if I'm running up a hill and it tells me to speed up, or if after 14km it suggests I go a little faster. I know I can go the distance, and that's what counts.

A highlight of this week was completing some quite long runs, and - today - seeing a dramatic improvement in my pace. I'm not particularly interested in speed, but it's nice to see those numbers coming down.

A lowlight has been the arrogance of two motorists who narrowly avoided hitting me on zebra crossings in broad daylight. "Might I suggest you review your road rules, my dear?" was what I calmly and politely mouthed to each of those charming individuals. (Of course that was what happened. No revisionist editing here!)

I've signed up for a 10km run in a couple of weeks' time, just to see what it's like running with a whole heap of other people, which is something I haven't done before.

Now that the novelty's worn off, I'll be interested to see how my motivation holds up. I've begun this project with great zeal: will this persist? Perhaps this will become more of a challenge in the weeks ahead.

A Running Story: Letter to Driver

Dear Driver,

(yes - you - the arrogant expensive car owner who nearly mowed me down at the pedestrian crossing an hour ago)

When you saw my sweat-grimed, glowing face mere inches from yours through the tinted windows of your luxury getting-places machine, my grimace wasn't only due to the burn in my thighs, having nearly completed an hours' run. It also reflected my righteous ire at my life being almost terminated or, at the very least, qualitatively diminished by intimate contact between your behemoth of a motor vehicle and my fragile fleshly mass of bone, muscle, et al.

Your vehicle may cost more than my annual income, but that does not give you the right to flout traffic rules.

If you are proficient at lip-reading, you may have learnt some new words during the course of this incident. Certainly the looks and gestures you made in my direction seemed indicative of some emotional arousal on your part. I wish I could believe that what I saw was a vigorous outpouring of remorse over your life-endangering behaviour; however, I suspect that had I been able to hear you, I would have been provided with further evidence of your narcissistic arrogance and your underlying belief that the road belongs to you, and woe betide anyone who dares to share.

It would be very nice if you would modify your driving habits. The next runner you almost kill will most certainly appreciate it.

Yours in shared road usage,
Catie

A Trip to Bendigo to Hear Good Music

Today was a day I'd been looking forward to for some time: I drove to Bendigo to hear the Bendigo Symphony Orchestra play Kerry, Berlioz, Mozart and Liszt, conducted by Rohan Phillips; and was fortunate to have the company of my friend Satu to share the experience with.

I must admit that the day did not get off to a great start when I drove to the wrong suburb to pick up Satu. To get to her place, I then had to make my way through Melbourne's CBD and beyond ... by myself ... without a navigator ... electronic or human ... *argh* Still, because of my fetish for punctuality characteristically allowing plenty of time for us to get to Bendigo, the extra hour (yes- hour!) I spent driving crazy spirals along nonsensical, poorly signed streets didn't matter. Really. Not in the grand scheme of things.

Bendigo was beautiful in the sunshine. We ate at The Rifle Brigade, my haunt from Bendigo days of old. I told Satu the raspberry beer story, the wedding story and the live band stage story. As the place is no longer a microbrewery, no wedding receptions were in session, and the live stage band seems to have been subsumed by dining space, these stories were truly relics of a time past.

Forest St Uniting Church was its usual beautiful but chilly performance venue; we were both glad to have brought coats. Thankfully, the music was enthralling, distracting from the cool air, and well worth the trip.

It was the second time the orchestra had performed Gordon Kerry's In iubilo (2010). Having not heard Kerry's music before, I feel ill qualified to comment, beyond saying that for me the final third of the piece was the most arresting.

Brenda Kinsella, the soprano for Hector Belioz's Les nuits d'ete, was outstanding. The warm texture of her voice, her perfect intonation, the way she channelled the emotion of these songs of love and lament - all brilliant. The trip to Bendigo would have been worth it simply to hear her sing. The orchestra did her proud, providing a fitting accompaniment, and relaxing further and further into the mood of each movement. For me, the highlights were 'Absence' (you could hear the 'vast space' in their performance) and the hopeful notes of 'The Unknown Island'. Great stuff.

After interval, Rohan demonstrated his prowess as a conductor, as the orchestra changed tone completely for the first movement of Eine kleine Nachtmusik (Allegro). This Mozart was, as Rohan put it, the classical 'sorbet' in the concert, providing a stark contrast to the heavy romanticism of the surrounding pieces. Their crisp, disciplined performance was testament to his leadership.

Liszt's Prometheus (Symphonic Poem No. 5) provided a fitting dramatic finale to this excellent concert. It was clear that the orchestra had devoted a great deal of time to this challenging piece, and Rohan's excellent programme notes likewise dwelt largely on the myth of Prometheus and also on the philosophy of composition and performance. The Prometheus myth, speaking (as Liszt puts it) of "a desolating grief, triumphing at last by energy and perseverance" holds personal resonance for me. I thought the BSO did a great job conveying what I perceived were Liszt's intended emotional landscapes. All were clearly depleted after this performance - as was their valiant conductor!

Final verdict? I'm so glad we made the trip. Yes, I spent seven hours in the car today, and am one very tired woman for it. But to hear a regional city's orchestra play such a varied programme, and faithfully convey each composer's themes, was a real treat.

Afterwards, I reflected on how many hours' preparation must have gone into this concert, all for a 'mere' ninety minutes of performance. They were hours well spent. Congratulations to all involved.

Half Marathon Training: Two Weeks In

At the end of my second week of training, I can feel my body's rapid changes to this new regime, and have learnt something new about myself.

My body's going through a rapid phase of muscle growth and is needing a lot of protein to fuel this. As a vegetarian, I need to plan my daily nutrition carefully around my run, ensuring I eat a protein-rich snack before and after each training session, especially the longer ones. I'm also craving carbs morning, noon and night: have to watch those late night cravings very carefully!

As to the training itself, I have just four new words to type: I hate sprint intervals. Thankfully, my training program doesn't require them of me often.

I've been feeling quite down in the dumps this week, but have managed to keep up my training regime. I'm quietly proud of this. I haven't missed a single run, though I did rearrange a couple of days to take into account varying energy levels.

Onwards and upwards!

I don't feel like training today

Sunday morning; grey skies; chill air. I don't want to go running today!

However, I will rise to the challenge. (Really.) I will gather my willpower around me like chain metal, run through some stretches, strap on my heart rate monitor and go out that door. (All in good time.) I will slip my feet into those runners and pound that pavement until my allocated hour is up. (When I'm properly awake, of course; no need to get silly ...)

I need some inspiration. I turn to my companion in matters of the mind: J. S. Bach; in particular, the third movement of one of his violin concertos*. I identify - in an aspirational sense - with two sections of this short piece. When I listen to it, I think: "I AM that persistent ostinato solo note in the last minute which holds its place despite the mounting pressure of those ascending chords and key changes beneath." I also think: "I AM those ascending sequences played by the soloist which just keep going onwards and upwards, onwards and upwards."** I am strong; I persist; and I surprise myself. I really do.

Great! Willpower gathered. Heart rate monitor on. Jelly babies in hand. I can do this, I am going to do this, and out the door I go .........



* BWV 1042, Allegro Assai, for the truly interested
** The truly interested will laugh, knowing that I've listed these in reverse order than these segments appear in the music; but I'll take my inspiration any way I like it, thank you

Topological Adventures in Braeside Park

The Scene: a grey Melbourne public holiday in late April. Two adults, female and male, are trudging clockwise along a wide, flat trail, flanked by grass, scrub and the occasional tree. Ahead, a road cuts across the track.

She (encouragingly): Now, we could turn left here, but that would be a short cut. What do you think?

He: May as well keep going. How much further, do you think?

She: Well, I only glanced at the park map in the street directory, so I'm not really sure, but I think this road bisects the park. Anyway, this track's a closed loop, so no matter what, we're bound to end up back where we started.

He: You sure?

She: Absolutely. Trust the maths. [Frowns as she realizes her certainty is based on the assumption that Braeside Park is a two-dimensional construct embedded in a three-dimensional space ... no need to trouble her husband with this worrying detail.]

Change of Scene: Twenty minutes later. The couple have walked passed a stile over an electrified fence.

She: I can't believe there's an actual live wire there! What is this place? That cattle run back there looked in pretty good nick. They can't be keeping actual cows here, can they? It's a park, for goodness' sake! In an industrial zone!

He: I'm more worried that we're never going to make it back to the car. I wonder what direction we're heading in? [Looks at sky ; the sun is veiled by heavy cloud. Turns to his wife.] Are you sure we're heading the right way?

She: We're walking around a closed loop. The map said so. It's taking a little longer than I expected, but so long as we stay on this track, we will get back to the car. [Slight pause as she contemplates the remote possibility that the trail is, in fact, a spiral instead of a loop.] Worst case ... no, there is no worst case. Don't worry.

He: What were you going to say?

She: Well, worst case, we're walking inwards along a spiral. But even then, we'll eventually reach the centre of the spiral, and then we'll just turn around and retrace our steps.

He: Retrace our steps? For another twelve hours?

She: You're exaggerating.

He: [After a brief pause for thought] And what if we're walking outwards along this spiral?

She: [Injects a breezy confidence into her voice] Can't be the case, we'd hit one of the surrounding roads sooner or later. Look, it's a loop. At least, I'm pretty sure it's a loop. It looked like a loop.

He: And this loop is how big ...?

She: [remains silent]

Change of Scene: Twenty minutes later. A rough wooden hut has appeared around a bend in the trail. They have been laughing at the prospect of walking 'forever' through this park.

She: Look! A hut! Bet it'll have a map inside.

[They rush forward. The hut contains various yellowing notices, graffiti and signs warning of remote dangers but, mysteriously, no map.]

He: You've got to be kidding! How can there not be a map in here? What is this place?

She: Well, hopefully we're still in the same universe and haven't popped through to another n-dimensional space.

He: It's possible, with the cows, the electric fence, no map, and all ... Why would that be bad?

She: Um ... the loop might not be closed.

He: What are the chances that's happened?

She: Oh, very, very, very remote. Very remote. Hardly worth mentioning, really.

He: Except that we've been walking forever and we don't know what direction we're heading in because we can't see the sun. And there appear to be live cattle in a park in an industrial belt of a major capital city, and a hut on the designated walking trail contains no map.

She: Yes, except for all that.

Change of Scene: A further twenty minutes have passed. The couple arrive at a colourful playground populated by families picnicking with young children. Laughter fills the air. They walk through, staring at these people, perplexed.

She: Where did they come from?

He: How did they get here? More importantly, how are they going to get out of here?

She: There must be another trail to this park.

He: We must be near a car park! Perhaps we should go looking for that track.

She: No! That's the worst thing we could possibly do! If we leave the trail now, we'll never find our way back to our car.

He: Really? That's the worst thing we could do?

She: [Doggedly] Trust the maths. Trust the maths. We're walking around a closed loop on a two dimensional surface. We are going to end up back where we started.

He: Trust the maths. Right. [Faces forward.]

Change of Scene: Another ten minutes later, they are approaching a car park. It is empty except for a council ute and two men repairing the broken cable of a fence.

She: What on earth are they doing, working on a public holiday? Oh look, we're in a car park! But ... where's our car?

He: [Murmurs] Just veer over here, away from them ... this isn't our car park, but we did drive past some others on our way in.

She: Oh. Well, that's good. We must be nearly there. Trust the maths. Trust the maths.

He: [Sniffs] Council workers working on Anzac Day? Maybe we have entered another universe.

Change of Scene: Three minutes later, they see their car sitting forlorn and alone in its car park.

She: [Jubilant] There! Woo hoo! I told you to trust the maths! I told you topology would get us here in the end! [Punches air. Attempts high five.]

He: Can we go eat, now, please?

The End

Half Marathon Training: One Week Down

Phew: it's Friday, and the first 'rest day' in my training regime for the Melbourne half-marathon on 9th October - it's time to look back over the past seven days, and reflect on where this journey's taken me so far.

What a week it's been! My body's held up well; no lingering soreness, aching or tenderness, no blisters, and - most importantly - no injuries. In fact, my immune system seems to have received a boost: the jury's still out as to whether it was an allergy reaction or the shortest cold in history, but I went to bed feeling lousy on Tuesday evening, woke up at 3:22am with a streaming nose, and was completely recovered less than twelve hours later.

I've been able to stick with the miCoach training plan pretty well. Distance is never an issue, but speed is; I seem to be able to run for as long as I want, but there are definite limits on how fast I can push myself. Perhaps my body believes there's a Catie-centric universal invariant similar to c? No, that would be ridiculous ... though I'd like to hear Dr Sheldon Cooper's thoughts on the matter! Anyone who's met me won't be surprised by my lack of speed: I'm not a tall person, and my legs are short for even my height. I'm never going to be a sprinter, and that's fine by me.

Over the last two days it's sunk in that I'm attempting something new. Throughout my life I've chosen to take on various intellectual challenges, and my health has forced me to face significant emotional trials. Training for this half marathon will be the hardest physical test I've ever set myself.

One week down, sixteen to go, and a lot of ground to cover - physically and mentally - inbetween.

The Decision

Three days ago, I determined to attempt my first half-marathon in Melbourne on Sunday, 9th October.

I don't regret the decision at all, but it's already affecting my life, particularly the way I experience running.

Running has been a regular part of my life for a couple of years now, building in intensity over the last eleven months; I had been contemplating whether to take the next step and aim for something "big", something "public", for a while. The clincher came when I downloaded some free software which works with my phone's inbuild GPS as a coaching guide. I went out for an Assessment Workout and learnt I was far fitter and faster than I had thought. So I asked the computer to generate a training schedule for me, and ... well, now I run with a little black box in my hand which tells me what to do.

Have you heard the line about indigenous Australians laughing at white colonists who looked at the little thing (their watch) which tell them what to do? That's what my last two runs have been like.

It's all fine and dandy when the electronic voice wants me to take it easier than I usually would at the start of a workout: "Slow down to blue zone." "Slow down to blue zone." "Maintain blue zone." And it's even OK when it asks me to speed up to my usual pace after the first five or ten minutes: "Increase pace to green zone." "Maintain green zone." But I live in quite hilly terrain; what is quite irritating is when it calmly invites me to "Increase pace to green zone" as I'm struggling up a hill. Then, rejoicing in the freedom of easy running down the other side: "Decrease pace to green zone." No way! This is the best bit!

I notice that, despite two fairly long runs the last two days, I haven't once reached running-Zen-state - not even for a few minutes. I'm also coming back from runs much more weary then before I started listening to that electronic voice. I think both these phenomena can be attributed to the facts that it's pushing me to run faster than usual, and because my natural runnig rhythms are being disrupted.

However, I have faith in whatever supercomputer processed my personal data, my goal and spat out a series of dates, times and training regimes. Barring injury or illness, 9th October is shaping up to be a big day in my life.

OK; I'm off to do some extra stretching ...

Today's Run

This morning's run was fantastic!

Having just quit my misery-inducing part-time job, this has turned into a quiet week with much more free time than usual. So perhaps the fact that I eventually skipped out the front door with positive spring in my step can be attributed to a leisurely sleep-in, finally finishing an acquaintance's self-published novel (an act of discipline) and a later-than-usual starting time of 9:30am.

I entered running-Zen-state very quickly, even before reaching the end of my street - unprecedented! Feet flying, nothing perturbed me: not the sight of a bearded pedestrian walking backwards to pluck a rosehip from a bush and peel it; nor the very strange looks an elderly couple gave me as I, red-faced and dripping, overtook them on a steep incline; nor even by the fact that my heart rate monitor decided my pulse rate was 83bpm (cool! ... I wish) then 200bpm (which wouldn't be cool at all, at least not until rigor mortis had set in).

Spending such a long time in running-Zen-state reminded me of Murakami's writings about the joys thereof. My mind rummaged through the memory of reading his book. Memory is fickle, but I think he claimed in "What I Talk About When I Talk About Running" not to have sustained any serious injuries during his running career; does this mean he is somehow physically especially suited to the sport? Anyone looking at me could tell I'm not physically suited to it, so am I putting myself at risk? My mind skips forward. When am I going to commit to running a long course 'in public', i.e. in a race? I'm not particularly interested in beating other people, but perhaps the challenge would be fun. Or would everyone else just get in the road? Another leap, backward in memory this time, as the wet weather, mud, scent of decomposing leaves and sight of mossy tree trunks takes me back to the creek of my childhood. Would I have been capable of imagining this future me back then? Certainly not.

I was enjoying such a good run I thought I'd tack an extra loop onto the end. "This will take me over the hour mark," I thought. But no - even with the extra kilometre or so, I still arrived home in under 55 minutes. Time to change routes ... again.

And, as I jog down the driveway and hit "stop" on the monitor, it's time to revel in the endorphin high; to stretch; to shower; to relish my freedom, and the privilege of being able to enjoy such a great start to the day. I am most fortunate.