The faithful runner

Toowoomba's Ridgy Didge Runners

Father it has been a week since my last run – well almost.  When it comes to running I find myself with my favourite atheist Phillip Adams describing people of faith.   Instead of ridicule I have an admiration for some of them.  I see what it does for them.  I see the joy it brings them but I just can’t bring myself to take that step.  It doesn’t seem to make sense.  2012 has been my year of experimenting with the truth of running.  Late last year two incidents pushed me onto the road.  A close friend had a serious health scare and I had my own little brush with mortality.  A torn calf muscle robbed me of a promising come-back as thirteenth man in local D Grade cricket.  I took myself off to the physio for the first time and legendary local manipulator Aaron Salisbury put me on the path to righteousness (well almost).   He gave me a plan to see me back on the pitch by Summer’s end.  I didn’t read the fine print which mentioned elite athlete – but within two months I was running for half an hour without stopping.  I recall my D Grade team got to the finals without me.   I have two secret weapons in pounding the pavement.  The first is the family’s  12 year old black Labrador.  She has been my walking ally and cries like a two year old child when left behind.  For those who don’t believe in redemption – Chloe as a teenager was a serial chook killer.  She now lies down in the sun with our backyard brood.  She protects them from cats and takes the odd egg in return.   My second weapon is (and I find this harder to admit) an iphone.  I don’t use it to listen to music – but it has this magical application that records each of my efforts and almost  encourages me as I go.  The voice of Assumpta Fitzgerald, the Irish landlady from the television series Ballykissangel (well I reckon it’s her) tells me in her special lilt how many kilometres I’ve covered and my current pace.   My wife doesn’t mind sharing me with Assumpta when it’s below four degrees outside with a slight mist of rain blowing across my path.  Just once I wish she’d let me know how well I’ve really done (Assumpta that is).  The thing about running and religion is that it is something that can be very private but probably only makes sense when we do it as a community.  I still label myself a walker – and a bit like a struggling sinner don’t feel worthy yet to join a running community.  But my few times of running with others have been quite uplifting and inspiring.  This last weekend at the Gold Coast I was one of thousands who chose to run together.  There were some amazing efforts like Toowoomba’s Patrick and Jack Tiernan who ran their races with nobody in front of them – but most of us ran with the pack.  And there were more than 28000 stories about what had brought people to the starting line.  Some ran for charity.  Others ran for a family member no longer with them.  I read a father and son’s t-shirt.  “Life starts on the 30^th June 2011.  Triple heart by-pass.  I promised my son I would run 10km.  Only family matters.”   Another group from Melbourne was running for children with club feet.  A friend of mine and her son who had walked the extraordinary journey of being a child with club feet sat and spoke with parents and other children with club feet.   Then there were the Indigenous runners with legendary marathon champion Robert De Castella.  Grace Eather from the tiny community of Maningrida in the Northern Territory summed it up when she said, “The hardest step in training is the first one out of the door.”    As I discuss my efforts and the  latest battle in man vs knee with my wife she looks across the breakfast table with narrowing eyes and says, “You’ve become one of them haven’t you?”   I’m not there yet but I’m almost starting to believe.