10/30/2003

Get a life. Go home already.

Daylight saving started last weekend so everyone can enjoy an extra hour of daylight, right?

Wrong. This is what I've noticed happening every year in the city workforce: people stay at their desks longer because they don't want to be seen to the first to skip out into the daylight. It suddenly feels too early. People might think they are slacking off. Letting the side down.

GO HOME, LOSERS!

Run! Walk your dogs (which now have to be alone even longer). Get into your garden! Go for an evening swim! Visit your mother for an al fresco dinner!

No. They work until it gets dark and then slink off after the 'important' people have left.

Losers.

Another runner joins the pack.

Out for the usual morning walk with Goldie (the Brittany) and Billy (the Greyhound) to get the paper at 6.30. Arriving at the shop we were greeted by a couple of fierce-looking characters, a German Shepherd and what looked like a pit bull crossed with maybe a labrador, both obviously strayed, the pit-bull cross looking particularly emaciated and possibly dangerous.

I dashed right into the shop - with Goldie and Billy! - where the shopkeeper raised a voice in protest. Meantime a guy (not the owner of the dogs) came along having seen what had happened and shooed the strays away.

Outside the shop, they were sitting - in the middle of the road - looking back at us. We hurried away and soon the pit bull followed, caught us and ran ahead as if happy to join the pack. The German Shepherd also followed.

Back home, the first dog followed us to the front door whilethe German Shepherd disappeared. I sent Goldie and Billy out back, and fetching some dog food, I offered it to the poor stray which was clearly starving. He ate hungrily, then I put him in the yard and brought Goldie and Billy inside, just for safety, although the stray seemed grateful and not about to attack anyone.

After a half-hearted howl, the poor semi-starving dog, clearly pleased with his unexpected meal, had curled up on Goldie's bed and fallen asleep, where he was to remain until the ranger called by to take him to the pound - from which he will hopefully be rescued by someone human enough to treat a dog properly - and hopefully not his present 'owner'.

Maltreatment and neglect of animals makes me very angry.

10/29/2003

Winter training in spring.

The heavens broke over the city late afternoon and when I reached the car I made a snap decision (bad weather, getting over back strain) to head home instead of joining the training group; or at least go to the nice warm gym on the way where I could have a quick pedal, do a few stretches and then get into a nice hot spa.

Then I hit the traffic sitting at a stand-still. I wasn't going to sit in steaming traffic and watch the training group run past, so with a quick U-turn on Royal Parade I was right there at Princes Park and got out into the bad weather with misgivings.

The group numbered about seven, a bit less than usual. The session: 3 x ten minutes strong broken up by four minute jogging - a real slog through the wet and slush.

Bad weather benefit #1: the tracks are almost empty so no people- bike- and dog-dodging required. Hell, I didn't even dodge the puddles, they were too big, I just ran through them.

Back held up fine. It's on the mend. Touch wood.

10/28/2003

Run badly and you'll get shot.

That's what happens to hundreds of professional runners in Britain and probably thousands around the world. I'm talking about those noble and misunderstood dogs - Greyhounds - of course.

Read the story here.

Greyhounds graced the courts of the Pharaohs thousands of years ago. Nowadays, they're used by cruel people with dollar signs in their eyes to make a fast (pun!) buck. So we've advanced as a civilisation? No.

Adopt a Greyhound. They are happy, lazy, languid, beautiful, graceful creatures with stunning Cleopatra eyes. No wonder the ancient Egyptians loved them. Call your local Greyhound association today. Most of them worldwide now have adoption programs.

Have you taken your pills yet?

Patrick Smith writes in The Australian about the drug epidemic in athletics.

Now I know why it's so hard to get over injuries and compete. Everyone else is taking performance-enhancing, injury-masking, go-faster drugs.

The only drug I use is the endorphin buzz I get when I'm out on a run. And that's in short supply at the moment!

10/27/2003

The physio feels my pain.

Literally. He gets his fingers into the spot and loosens it up while I tell him what I've been doing.

After half an hour of work it has loosened up such that I have a range of movement I didn't have when I went in.

My physio's attitude is more important than what he does. He has a she'll-be-right air that is infectious. After wondering whether you'll ever be free of back pain this is a good feeling.

Having walked in feeling like I had a switchblade in my back, I walk out much happier. And promptly sit down at my computer having arrived back at work.

We never learn.

Anyone wants a good physio, email me for his name and address.

Greyhounds are lazy.

Too sore to run Sunday, so to the local pool for a little hydrotherapy. Six-year-old Canisha played find the coin, made a friend and showed off her backstroke while Tracy swam thirty laps and I just hung out in the shallow pool, watching Canisha, swimming under water and doing a bit of stretching.

Billy the Greyhound and Goldie the Britanny were more than anxious for a walk by mid-afternoon, so we drove them to Princes Park where an off-lead area is popular with inner city dog owners.

Tracy went off for a half-hour run, while I took the dogs. Two great Golden Retrievers loped over to greet us along with a brindle mixed breed. There were maybe a couple dozen dogs tearing about and having a great old time. Terriers, spaniels, retrievers, all kinds.

Goldie trotted off immediately to sniff around the park, but Billy just dug his front paws in and refused to move. Several terriers sped over to check him out. He doesn't really mind, but he's not as inquisitive as they are. He had wanted to go with Tracy, but being lazy, could not have kept up with her. He kept looking towards the direction she had run. Silly Billy. I slowly coaxed him over towards the playing dogs but after a few tentative steps forward, he lay down, content to watch from the sidelines.

From behind, a newcomer, a large black dog of mixed breed, approached him. He immediately sprang up, tail wagging and was suddenly happy to trot about. You do wonder what they are thinking.

Meanwhile a couple with a 12 week old English Springer was admiring Goldie, not recognising the breed. I told them Britannies are extremely active and can run for hours. Having taken on the English Springer to run with, they were quite impressed.

An American woman, running laps, stopped to admire Billy's fine features and colouring. She had wanted to adopt one for herself, but is moving to Brisbane and has to wait.

There's no doubt Greyhounds are fine looking dogs. Shame they're so lazy (except when cats enter their yard - that's another story), despite their racing reputation.

Home to a superb home-cooked meal of chopped liver, rice and vegetables. (The dogs, that is.)

28 celsius one week, cold and wet the next.

Second round of track & field for summer 2003-4. Clouds eased to sunny breaks for the first event. It looked like a nice day.

The 3000 metre walk was spent looking over my shoulder, with someone not too far behind. I'd started reasonably quick and thought I may fade. Not to be however. Finished in front, 13.16. Back very stiff after, however.

I spent the next three quarters of an hour placing the lane blocks at the 300 for the 800 metres before the clouds returned, blacker than ever, and proceeded to dump on the track.

(The lane blocks: the 800 metre runners start and run in lanes for 100 metres then revert to the inside lane. An official is required to check that runners comply with this, and then remove the two inside lane markers before the field comes around on their second lap, and then to replace them for the next heat.)

The meeting was cancelled after the eights, as 75% of the meeting could not have been completed in order that points stand - field events become dangerous in the wet, and cancellation is complusory.

Several disappointed 3000 and 5000 runners staged their own event.

The curse of the protruding disk.

The disk between L4 and L5 is the source of pain for millions. My latest episode has lasted three weeks and several times it looks like abating only to flare up again.

Doning all the wrong things doesn't help. Like sitting at a desk for hours on end. Or manual labor in the garden. Or running.

What the hell else is there? You can't lie on a bed all your life. I spend my weekdays working in front of a computer and weekends being active. My gut feeling is that the sitting around is worse than being active. This is backed up by latest medical opinion which says active is best.

Just don't go lifting concrete blocks. Get a landscaper or leave the garden as it is.