August 2010 - King of the Mountain
At surface level it's ironic that I had to go to America to learn about the King of the Mountain.
But I started running after America made me fat and I discovered ‘The King' as I noodled around online after ‘destination races'.
This year's ‘King' started 48 hours after we landed at Mascot. Hmm - jetlag, and 32 mountain kilometres with my little brother Tim (who'd never run more than 14)? - Why not?
The bush, the birds and the cliffs were spectacular. As were the rainforest causeway crossing at 20 k's, where I felt a little bit like Jesus walking on water, and the views, the old-fella local and the fiery shot of Bundy at the top of Mt. Scanzi.
The volunteers were friendly, encouraging and generous. The signage: amusing. It was fun to amble along at survival pace with a couple of eccentric
Poms: one with thin molded rubber soles and another who ran on huaraches (trimmed-down doormats attached with string). It was a joy to meet very ordinary and mortal Aussies just out there ‘cause they thought it might be a good laugh.
It was a pleasure to run with Tim. He's six years younger than me. It was an ego-stroke to run it easier than him. Even better, however, was sharing the experience with him, and to see him go further and harder than he ever had, just as so many others out there did.
The only disappointment: no scones left at the finish line.
Next time, Tim, we run faster.
Kookaburra