ngIf you’ve come to this page expecting a continuation of the age-old rivalry between these two great cities, a recycling of that bitter enmity – sorry; you’ll be disappointed. Instead you’ll read one woman’s comparison of running in her adored Adelaide to the metropolis of Melbourne – and why she still thinks running’s worthwhile, despite the change.
I began running regularly a couple of years ago. Work life was tough, and I needed a positive way to neutralize the stresses. I was learning that I had to be kind to myself – and realizing I had to start being kind to this body, this non-refundable gift bestowed at birth, which I’d been neglecting.
Running became not only a path to fitness, but also a way of connecting with myself. A good run is one in which I enter my “running zen-state”, those timeless moments of being, punctuated by the touch of foot and rhythm of breath; yes, it’s a cliché, but the sensation of “flight” comes into it ... good thing I’m not a writer, or I’d be chastised for that one!
In Adelaide, it’s easy to find patches of nature to run through. Living in Tranmere, I’d run to Third Creek, jog along its banks then through to the Gums before weaving home again; or head west, following the creek as closely as I could, sometimes forced away as it dodged below ground. I went through a phase of running huge figures-of-eight through the south and east Parklands. Other times I’d drive to Morialta, revelling in the fresh air, the beauty of the trees and water; time it right, and I’d catch the morning rainbow at First Falls.
My favourite track in Adelaide is Linear Park*, which lines the River Torrens almost continuously from the outlet at Henley Beach to the Adelaide Hills. I love to run the Park in sections, driving to a bridge and leaving my car there as I run east (upstream) along one side of the river and then back along the other side. I have a special connection with trees, and Linear Park is blessed with an abundance; also, it amazes me how quickly the sound of traffic fades, once you’re at river level.
In Adelaide, I usually achieved my running zen-state after the first kilometre (i.e. once my body had stopped complaining). From then on, I’d just keep right on running until it was time to stop. I’ve only injured myself once in the past year, and that was due to stupidity and poor preparation, leaving my mobile phone beside a track past the very upper reaches of the Park, inaccessible by car – so having to run double the distance, without hydrating properly. That torn calf muscle taught me a lot, not least to KEEP HOLD OF YOUR MOBILE, CATIE!
I’ve lived in the outer eastern suburbs of Melbourne for three-weeks-and-five-days: yes – I still count each dawn! I’m finding it harder to find local natural space in which to run. Our home snuggles between a railway, impassable for some kilometres on either side; an expressway, and a highway – so not only am I constrained in which directions I can begin running, but my rhythm is necessarily interrupted by having to stop at traffic lights. I guess I could choose to run mazes through the local streets; ugh, that’s reminiscent of those unfortunate insects in Bank’s “The Wasp Factory” – no thank you!
I’ve reached a compromise: I start heading south-east through side streets until hitting my suburb’s bete noire, Clyde Road. From there I turn north to the Princes Highway, which invariably means stopping for the lights – a real buzz kill but a chance for some stretches. Over the Highway and heading west, I enter one of Berwick’s treasures, Wilson Botanic Park. Then follows some steep hill running along one of the Park’s many loops, before crossing the Highway again at Mansfield Street and heading home.
Yes, there are trees a-plenty along this route; but the constant buzz of traffic, the frustration of feeling my heart rate fall as I’m forced to stop at lights ... I realize I’m not in Kansas anymore.
Yet, amazingly, I still achieve my running zen-state. How can this be?
I was thinking about this as I was out this morning, and counting the reasons I love to run.
I’ll admit it: I love the buzz. In my mental thesaurus, endorphin = good!
The buzz doesn’t disappear after the warm-down, either; a good run in the morning, and I’m set up for a good day – or, should I be running after a hellish day, an evening cleansed of toxic memories.
I also love the challenge. I don’t look like a runner: I’m short-ish, and have even shorter legs; and despite being eighteen kilos lighter than my heaviest self, I’m still plump. I’m thrilled that, if I want to, I can churn out twelve k’s and feel like going back for seconds.
And, being a numbers girl, I love recording the details in my journal. This route took me this long ... my average heart rate was this, my peak heart rate was that ... I burned this many kilocalories; I wonder why today’s run felt faster than yesterday’s, when the stats tell a different story?
I love what running teaches me about myself. When I was still quite unfit, I remember standing at the bottom of a long, steep hill which had defeated me for weeks, and thinking to myself: “if I want to reach the top of this hill, all I need to do is put one foot after the other ’til I get there.” I love the fact that I’ll still head out for a run even on days I think I don’t want to, that my mind knows my body will thank me for it after the first few minutes.
But what I run for is that beloved running zen-state. And that treasure is mine, mine to keep, and won’t be stolen by the concrete jungle, traffic lights or railway lines.
* Actually my pet name for it is (non-)Linear Park, but that’s another story.
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