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Cross-country talk has only made me more determined to do my very, unfit best
. I’ll be there early, I’ll puff on a cigarette while the fast competitors warm up. And if I avoid a heart attack, I’ll see it as a victory.
Picture: iStock
An exciting journey ends tomorrow when my oldest son and I report to the starting line of the Gauteng Cross-Country Championships.
Some readers may remember that I didn’t enter this year’s league of free will. My son wasn’t in the mood for a season of loneliness and dragged his protesting old man to the races. He runs in the category for senior men.
That is a league for slender, fast runners; a shark tank of extremely quick athletes.
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He had a difficult season and his challenges included Covid, two bouts of the flu and a tough work schedule. But he remained dedicated: he trains daily, adapted his diet and even quit his beloved sodas. He plans strategy and dreams about every possible move.
I jog in the masters’ category. There are a few exceptionally gifted athletes, even at our age, followed by a bunch of fit and cunning old foxes. Followed by me. I don’t train too often out of fear of injuries. And this week, I have dreamt about cross-country twice.
“I had a nightmare again last night,” I told the lovely Snapdragon. “I dreamt I finished last again.”
My body was aching just from dreaming about running. She didn’t have much sympathy.
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“If you trained more often, you wouldn’t be bugged by those nightmares,” she said.
“You clearly don’t understand cross-country for older athletes,” I told her. “At my age, I have a choice between being a little undertrained and suffering a series of injuries. My priority is to remain injury-free. To finish first, first you must finish.”
“I doubt you run the risk of finishing first,” she remarked. “But if the bookies took bets on old bloke racing, you would certainly be the hot favourite to be the first one who suffers a heart attack.”
“You’re not a candidate for such a thing,” I replied, more than just a little hurt. “You need a heart for a heart attack.”
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Our cross-country discussion has only made me more determined to do my very, unfit best tomorrow. I’ll be there early, I’ll puff on a cigarette while the fast competitors warm up. And if I avoid a heart attack, I’ll see it as a victory.
You just watch me tomorrow, my dear wife. I’ll hobble to my car on my own afterwards. Be prepared for a huge surprise!
