Mentalechoes

How time flies when the unexpected happens! I can’t believe it’s been a week and a half since I was last here. Amazing really to think that the days can pass without us even being aware of them if we don’t take the time to stop and ‘live in the moment’.

A friend of mine turned up on my doorstep Saturday morning (a week and a half ago) with a backpack on his back and a couple of other bags filled with stuff, asking if he could stay for a bit. Turns out him and his wife are going through a first stage seperation. Poor bastard! So since then he’s been here at my place sleeping on whatever space is available trying to work out what the hell he is going to do. Most of my nights have been spent hanging out with him spending time doing guy stuff and just generally being a mate. Seeing his situation though has really made me think what marriage is worth in the modern age. I seem to hear more tales of woe based around marriage problems than I do happy-fluffy stories based around the whole I-soooo-love-my-partner idea. I wonder a lot why this is. Has marriage become just another disposable accessory of a westernised superficial lifestyle? My dad had something like 5 marriages, and way back when I was still a young teenager I swore I would only get married once (if at all). My philosophy is, I would rather not get married at all, than marry someone that was a compromise from ‘the one’ and have it all fall apart later. Yeah well easy to say I suppose, but as my wise ole mother says, ‘In life there are no garauntees, so take a chance and see where it goes for better or worse’. I guess Mum, but not for me with marriage.

Last Sunday was also the day of the Dam to Dam running race that I have been training for over the last couple of months. Boy, what a fantastic day that was! 30,000 runners from all over Europe turned up to have a crack at the 16.1 kilometer distance winding through some really scenic Dutch countryside! I was pretty blown away when I first turned up to the start area because I thought it was only going to be 2000 runners, but as I was to learn that was just my group. The registration was a bit of a laugh too because my friend who flew in from London to run it with me got allocated number 97 (out of 30,000), which pretty much meant he would qualify for the Australian Olympic team if he actually fit the number profile. As the nice girl gave him the tags, she looked at him in his long shorts and unsporty casual t-shirt, and asked in a confused tone of voice if he was actually a professional athlete. Heh heh… well not this year baby! Luckily we didn’t have to run with the first group like we were meant to, which was just as well because I don’t know if I could have coped with standing next to the Ethopian national squad in front of a 10,000+ spectator crowd, and every major Dutch television station. That would have been an exercise in mass public shame cause those guys make everyone look fat as fat bastards! As it was we accidently joined the second group going off which was much more our style.

The run itself was great. Almost the whole way the route took us through little residential districts just outside of Amsterdam, where the locals had camped outside with water stalls and boomboxes of every shape and size, blaring every conceivable style of music to cheer us on. There were even variety entertainment groups on the roadside at regular intervals performing acts on makeshift stages. The whole thing had the feel of a carnival day with tons of sweaty people all trying to get somewhere really really quickly! By the time I got to the 12 kilometer mark I was feeling pretty buggered, I had hit the wall and the first feelings of doubt crept into my mind if I could make it, and then I saw a huge archway over the road a half a K in the distance and I thought that was finish line. I made a sprint for it, and when I was on the verge of puking at about 100 meters away from it, I realised it was only the marker for the last 4 kilometers, with some guy on top of it yelling into a microphone: Don’t stop yet, only 4 K to go! Fuck me! Well fortunately they were playing some inspirational music (I think it was Dr Alban, Sing Hallelujah) which kept my feet moving. When I did reached the final kilometer mark coming into the business center of Zandaam, there were spectators lining barracades 5 people deep, and the vibes from the cheering was so loud it practically lifted you off the road. All of a sudden, even though everything was aching, I managed to pick up the pace for a big finish. About 200 meters out I could hear the Rocky theme track blasting out over a PA system and man, I just started sprinting for the end. What a rush! Better than any drug I’ve ever had! Once over the line we were all hearded single file like cattle through a series of a guide rails to collect a bottle of water and our medal. Then we were turned loose out the other side to mingle with the biggest mass of sweaty bodies I’d ever been a part of. Very funky!

Really for me, it wasn’t at all about the time I did - which is good because mine was pretty ordinary considering - but more about being there and being a part of it. I’m addicted to that finish line feeling now, so I am going to see if I can get a spot in a 21 kilometer race coming up in 4 weeks in Rotterdam. There’s something about being a hero that really gives you a buzz! You have this boost for days afterwards that makes you feel like you can accomplish anything if you work at it. As I figure it, since life is 90% mental, that’s got to be a good thing!

Padwanna!