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!

The Winter Of My Content

Yes, folks, I've been in Melbourne eleven-weeks-and-three-days - and now winter's hit.

How I miss the milder Adelaide weather!

However, a successful human being is one who takes whatever life throws at them, and turns it into a positive; so today I have made a determined effort to enjoy this bleakness.

Tuesdays aren't my favourite day of the week: it's the day I leave at 7am to drive to Frankston for some early-morning work; however, I was home by 9:35am, five minutes later than usual because I stopped off at the supermarket for some double-thick chocolate custard.

The rest of the day I've kept warm, listened to the rain pummelling the house, finished a couple of books, done some writing, watched last night's episode of House, made the living and dining rooms beautifully clear and light, and limited myself to just one serving of chocolate cake topped with custard and warmed in the microwave.

(By the way - I wonder if there's a relationship between ambient temperature and raindrop diameter? I think cold rain sounds different to warm rain. Must look into it.)

Yesterday I resigned from a part-time job which was making me miserable. I'm beginning to feel the relief of that burden lifted from my life. When it comes to well-being, I'm a bit of a fan of recovery time: taking time out to get over something stressful.

I guess I can be grateful that today's horrible weather provided a great opportunity to stay indoors, stay warm and just take care of myself, physically and mentally.

Maybe this Melbourne winter does have something going for it, after all.

Seeing the blue sky and feeling the sun's warmth

Don't get enough of these, this time of year in Melbourne.

Popped interstate for "a quick dose of Adelaide" to revive my spirits over the weekend. It was just wonderful to get up on Saturday morning, drive up the top of the Torrens and run - IN SUNSHINE! (Sorry for shouting; I've just missed it so much.)

However, "mustn't grumble" (as they say on local radio in Adelaide): I've arrived back in Melbourne today, and the sky is blue, and the sun is trying its hardest ... and I'm grateful for these things. I'm grateful I can be aware of these things, have the freedom to go outside and experience them, am not imprisoned by ill health or infirmity or any other impediment.

I am fortunate, and I am grateful, and I am going to focus on these everyday beauties; because my life is what I make it - and I want it to be full of beauty. I hope, when my time comes, to have the opportunity to look back over my life; and if I have lived the way I want to, then my life will be characterized by beauty and strength. Not sure what I mean? Listen to the first movement of Tchaikovsky's violin concerto in D (Op. 35). That main theme - that's what I want my life to be like. (Ambitious, much? J)

The Adelaide Parklands

Today my running feet were reunited with the Adelaide Parklands - to their, and my, great delight!

For non-Adelaide people, the Parklands are a broad band of natural land and gardens surrounding the square mile of Adelaide CBD. Listen to local radio for a week and you'll almost always hear something about the Parklands - whether they should be preserved or developed; how they should, or should not, be used by private enterprises for entertainment purposes, and so forth.

For my husband, who only lived in Adelaide a few years (definitely not a local!) the Parklands are the butt of many a joke - but for me, they're something which makes this city very special. The Parklands are full of space, peace and trees, things close to my heart.

So today I enjoyed jogging sweeping loops through the south and east Parklands. I heard Pulteney Grammar's alarms going off at 8.15 - tests, or tripped by someone? Not me, officer: I was running on the other side of South Terrace.

To my embarrassment, I nearly ran into the nearly-invisible two-strand wire fence along Greenhill Road - that'll teach me to check my heart rate monitor on the go.

I ended my run back to Gilles Street running the diagonal path from the corner of Fullarton and Greenhill Roads to South Terrace. This is a section I have run countless times. Some of those trees are like old friends, and it warmed my heart to see them and "catch up", as it were, on what's been happening in their lives. All seem to be thriving and I couldn't see gaps, indicating a fallen comrade.

Tomorrow morning I hope I'll be able to actually run: today's pace was a little slower than usual, having fought off a virus and been inactive in the car yesterday. But for today, the delight was in being reunited with one of my favourite places.

Bliss.

Tips for Happy, Successful Long Distance Driving with your Beloved

Today the dearly beloved and I drove from Melbourne to Adelaide. We arrived safely, in a timely manner – and still in love ©

However, I’ve made a mental list of things to keep in mind for next time:

1.       Compromise is a sign of true love

Our musical tastes have diverged over time. We could (read “should”) have spent some time organizing a mutually agreeable playlist over the last week ... but didn’t. Result: when Pete was driving, we were listening to ABC local radio; when I was driving, SILENCE – or idle chit chat! (The sound of that radio was driving me up the wall after an hour or so.)

2.       The dashboard’s fine the way it is

Sweetheart, I’ve driven literally tens of thousands of kilometres on interstate roads over the years. I know what I’m doing. I can overtake trucks safely. The dashboard has a lovely embossed texture already; your fingerprints will not enhance it. (Thank you for trying to hide your nervous gripping from me.)

3.       Activate your frontal lobe ... and keep it activated

I, the non-smoker, won’t comment when your cigarette fumes waft back into the car during a break. You, the non-napper, won’t comment when I’ve drifted off to sleep for an hour or so. See? Everyone’s happy.

4.       Keep your eye on the big picture

Yes, darling, you’re right. The 50km before Horsham did take forever. But in the context of almost 800km, we can let it go, yes?

Unexpected Beauty

My aesthetics were formed by a country childhood and an Adelaide adolescence, as were my stereotypes; I’m afraid my cultural baggage includes low hopes of finding unexpected corners of natural beauty in this larger metropolis of Melbourne.

Exploring these new surrounds, I’m fortunate to be continually proved wrong – on a daily basis. Sometiems I love being wrong!

Whether it’s admiring the simple vigorous wonder of a thriving lawn, or the flowers which seem to thrive atop brick letterboxes down my street – a verdant miracle unseen in Adelaide – I’m teaching my eyes to expect to see nature pushing up through the concrete jungle.

Sometimes it’s making its own way, as the blackberries surviving the council's best eradication efforts alongside the overpass by our home. Other times someone has planned a really successful planting in a public space, which “just works”.

A few of these gems lie alongside the Monash Freeway (the M1, this eastern side of Melbourne). As the exits reach towards the twenties, natives have successfully been planted in the serrations of sound barriers. I particularly like the trees just before and after the South Gippsland Highway – the specimens on the left as you’re heading east approach the spectacular. Other beauties lie near the Belgrave-Hallam Road exit, or the Narre Warren exit, particularly if you’re driving towards the city.

Perhaps my favourite is the mix of (? I'm no botanist) aloes and shrubs on the slope leading up to Ernest Wanke Road*. The mix of species seems to have developed well together and looks great early in the morning, under full daylight or as the day fades to gold.

This finding-of-beauty reminds me to see beauty in the other mundanities of life – those gracious interactions with a friendly shop assistant, the generosity of a fellow train commuter. Beauty, perhaps, lies within the open-minded beholder’s eyes ... kept open.

* For people who aren’t local – I didn’t make that name up!

Melbourne v Adelaide; Or, Why I Still Love Running

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.