Yesterday I went for a jog. All my friends and family reading this just fell over. The last time I jogged was 1979 (see picture, I am in the top row, second from the right) and I was taking part in the school sports day. I was in grade 3. It was a small country school and every pupil went in every event. There were four teams, and the Redden's were all in Ridley. Sports day meant a break from the usual green and gold school uniforms. I got to wear a white skirt and a red top, and my mother put my hair in pigtails and I wore red ribbons in my hair. She sucked her breath in as she pulled my fine hair into two even pigtails, she held her breath until the band was secured, and then she exhaled, through the bobby pins still in her mouth. It was a warm late Autumn day. During the opening speeches all the students sat on the school oval and I made daisy chains out of dandelions. The events included shot put, discuss, long jump, tunnel ball and hurdles. Modified for our 7 year old bodies. We hopped, skipped and jumped for hours and hours. At lunch time we picnicked with our families. All that was left was the running and the awards. I come from a family of naturally gifted and competitive sports men and women. My Dad played football at a state level, my brothers were both involved in football, tennis and athletics at an inter-school level, my Grandmother was a champion tennis player and lawn bowler, and several of my cousins have played AFL football. Then there's me. Asthmatic. Talkative. A wee bit whinny. Interested in shoes and books and food. I've always been a keen sport watcher, not so great on the actual doing part. I inherited the competitive gene, just not the one for athleticism. Back to that warm Autumn afternoon on the Geranium School Oval. The running races began and I came a teary last in all of them. Stone motherless. Oblivious to the support and cheering of my three fans (Mum, Dad and little brother). I wanted to vanish down a rabbit hole. But the day was not done. The kids marathon was the last event. Not just a lap of the oval. A lap of the paddock that the oval sat in the middle of. As I grew up (I went to the same school for ten years) I realised that the 'marathon' was about 800 metres. Running on that warm September day if felt like a race from Mt Olympus to Timbuktu. As soon as the gun went off my classmates disappeared into the distance.I began the race. Swerving to avoid pot holes and jumping the mallee stumps. I ran and ran and breathed and breathed until it was like sucking air through a tiny tiny straw. My legs were willing, but my lungs were not. I gave up about a quarter of the way around. I sat down and put my head down and cried. I began scratching at the dirt, wondering if I could really dig to China. I heard someone run up beside me. It was my Dad. 'C'mon Princess, up you get'. 'But I don't want to. I can't. Even Mary Jane is beating me.' 'It's character building' (he still says this, seriously, I'm fine with an un-built character) 'And she's behind you.' 'Who?' 'Mary Jane'. So I got up, wiped a dirty tear across my cheek, and began jogging. And Dad ran beside me, offering gentle words of encouragement to his little less than sporty daughter. And eventually I finished. Panting and sobbing. My fans cheering wildly. Just ahead of Mary Jane.
The three things I learnt on my run yesterday? Come back tomorrow and I'll tell you.
I like it :)
ReplyDeleteI also remember fighting out for the dead motherless title... year after punishing year.
For the life of me I can't remember what house I was in though....or even what colour.
I was there, even brought a tear to my hopelessly uncontrolable eye!!
ReplyDeleteThank you for your lovely comments. Dad and I often talk about that day. Maybe it did build my character a little. Thanks for reading.
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