In the cold winter sunshine on Saturday afternoon T. lined up for the Victorian 10k Road Racing Championship - her first race as a fully-fledged registered club runner.
Sure, she's done the odd fun run and she jogs around Princes Park. But competitive running is something else. It doesn't have to mean coming first or even fiftieth, it's enough to take part in an organised race.
The nerves beforehand were something to see! Butterflies verging on upset tummy, worried about coming last, worried about sore ankles, wanting to pull out just before the race. I'm so cruel, I just laughed.
The venue was the motor racing circuit at Sandown racecourse. Three and one third laps. Bang! The gun went off and they were away, a field of about two hundred. As they ran anti-clockwise down the main straight past the grandstand I walked a lap of the circuit clockwise - with Goldie the brittany rugged up in her tartan coat - and watched the field coming towards me after one lap, then two, the three.
T. stopped the clock at just over 53 minutes, an excellent first-up effort.
Then it was the mens' race and T. took over minding Goldie while I ran, our team of fifteen being the best turn-out in some years. The total field was three hundred or so. It's a great course, the curves all meld into one and the laps are over before you know it. The sun shone weakly, reflecting off the asphalt surface and creating quite a glare.
Then the finish line was in sight and I sprinted to the line, remembering the club mantra we had recited before the start: 'The faster you run, the faster you get to eat Boston Bun!'
And after a quick warm-down and stretch, we set into our afternoon tea spread with gusto.
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