The online dating game

If you're a woman who has perused the single male talent of Melbourne on one of those online dating sites in the past few years, you may have come across me. Yes, I'm out 'there'. Funnily, in the last year or so a lot more people I know - male and female - have either joined up, or owned up, as well.

It's been mostly fruitless but over the weekend I had my first 'date' or face-to-face meeting... who knows what it really was.

She saw my profile on a site I hadn't visited for a while and sent me a message. Looking at hers I was pleasantly shocked - why was such a gorgeous girl contacting me (finally)?! Of course similar interests are also important ... that was covered too to I felt the urge to immediately reply. Of course, you can't appear too desperate, so I waited an hour or so.

Emails flew back and forth over the next few days and we really seemed to click so arranged to catch up for coffee. Although neither of us actually drink coffee. I was sure we'd be bursting with things to talk about - and said as much - from music to travel to footy.

On the day I was nervous as hell. Showered and shaved, but with an acne outburst that had me worried about a US pre-emptive strike on my face to secure its oil, I tried to scrub up well and wandered down to the cafe. I was fashionably five minutes late, but fashion isn't my strong point and she was later. Sitting outside on Swan Street, trying to look suave, or at least occupied, I wondered whether she'd recognise me given the photos on my profile were a few years old when I had much shorter hair.

When she arrived I knew it was her - a young women alone poking her head uncertainly into the cafe - but pretended I hadn't seen her and looked back at the traffic as I sipped my water. So cool. When I turned back she faced me and we examined each other's face and quizzically said each other's name. Yup, we were each other.

I can be a hopeless romantic. I'll admit to daydreaming and romanticising this a litte; it's been several years and a few disastrous experiences since I've had a good, settled, mutual love-interest. I probably over-imagined how it would all play out. My instinctive reaction was mild disappointment. We didn't hit it off the way I'd imagined we might, her personality didn't quite meet the one I had created in my mind and she didn't even seem to look exactly like the photos!! Clearly, this was a harsh, superficial reaction, so it was pushed aside as much as possible.

Not to mention that she was probably thinking the same thing as I sat there awkwardly, with my hair tucked behind my ears, revealing the minor growth on my forehead.

There were a few awkward silences, but the mood seemed to relax with even a few laughs. After 90 minutes the cafe was closing so we had to call it a date. I paid and refused the offer of reimbursement, she insisted and I took graciously, attempting to successfully navigate the line between old-fashioned chivalry and respectful equality.

Meeting someone for the first time in that setting - where you're measuring them up for potential romance and know they're doing the same - is a little odd; you're strangers yet you know bits and pieces about each other. Yet it feels creepy to go on about things on their profile for fear of coming across like you've been up all night studying it.

We walked out of the cafe, being adorably naive as I am I wasn't sure if a kiss on the cheek was appropriate but she leant in so I went with it. I walked away, saying 'Catchya later,' with genuine intention. She just smiled and said 'I'll see ya around'.

That was that.

There wasn't really much spark, I knew it and it seems she felt the same. I decided it was worth catching up again if she was keen so texted her a day later and suggested lunch in a week or two. After a couple of hours passed without response - given the rapid responses to all previous messages - I knew the message coming, I just hoped it would come. She did reply a day later saying thanks but she wanted to do the right thing and let me know she didn't think I was her type. It was the right thing to do, and I appreciated it. And I wasn't bitterly disappointed. In fact, I was a little relieved. But the little questions still pop up as to why she changed her mind ... what was it about me in person? Even though I wasn't especially keen either, it's still not fun to have an attractive girl say you're not her type after she was quite keen to meet you!

Obviously, its not always easy to gauge a person's real personality from a profile and a few nice photos. And obviously we all put up our best photos. I'm still suprised she contacted me in the first place - friends say I sell myself short but they haven't seen my profiles, I don't think they're particularly good. You have to sell yourself, and one of my major assets is my extraordinary modesty so it's tough to know how to stand out without looking like a cock.


Despite the security of browsing a list of photos and contacting potential dates from a shopping list, I still prefer to meet someone in 'real life'. Where you can start by just chatting without the prospect of evaluation hanging so obviously over your head, and where you maybe move into that realm having established a real connection. Where you meet through some mutual friend, situation or interest, rather than having been randomly placed in a list. But my profiles stay and who knows what's around the corner.

Although, of the 'first dates' or 'meet ups' I've had, the most relaxed have been over a couple of drinks rather than 'coffee' (I don't drink coffee, which might be the first issue). So maybe I should stick to the bars!

Anyway. Nothing ventured, nothing gained; it was an interesting experience.


But if you're an attractive, single twenty-something female well, um ... hi!

"Gay Marriage Is Wrong!" and other absurdities

I don’t know about you, but I’m yet to hear one reason why homosexual couples should not be allowed to marry; just one sensible, logical reason. This is something that would make a lot of people happy, so those opposing it must surely have a reason.

Is it about religion?
Even if you believe God does not approve of homosexuality, we live in a secular nation and marriage is a legal institution. We, as a society, drew up the legalities of marriage, and, like so much other legislation, we can amend it.

Is it about starting a family?
Ok, maybe it is ideal for a child to have a mother and a father. But if giving a child the ideal upbringing is the pre-condition to marriage then just about every straight person should be prevented from marrying as well – the poor, the old, the unhealthy. Not to mention myself – there’s every chance my offspring will inherit my predisposition to depression. Many others too, but such comparisons unfairly imply homosexuality is an imperfection.

Rather than ask what is an ideal situation for raising a child (and probably doesn’t exist), maybe we should ask what is the most important thing a parent or parents can give a child – I highly doubt sexual orientation is relevant here.

Is it about tradition?
Maybe. The people who feel threatened by this probably would have opposed giving indigenous Australians, or even women for that matter, the vote.

This important change will force people to change the way they see society; as far as I’m concerned, it would force them to catch up and see the reality of contemporary society. It will legally acknowledge loving relationships that we all know exist on the as being equal. Currently there is a class system of relationships; homosexuals are essentially treated like minors.

Is it about definition?
‘Because that’s what marriage is’ is a response I’ve received when asking why only a man and a woman should be allowed to marry. But you still haven’t told me WHY. Again, it’s a legal definition. We, as a society, defined it; we can change it. Even words change meaning all the time; ‘terrific’ used to mean ‘frightening’. Can we get Kevin Andrews saying he thinks gay marriage is terrific?

Is it about protecting society?
If you think allowing gay marriage will push us onto a slippery slope where eventually marriage is allowed between adults and underage children, people and animals, or more than two people, then you probably would never have supported homosexuality being legalised in the first place; because that would lead to the legal recognition of all these other relationships wouldn’t it? Oh, that’s right, it didn’t.

Is it about love?
Well I’d hope so. But I don’t know; some married couples don’t seem to show love very well. And some of the most vocal opponents to gay marriage aren’t showing much love.

Some people – straight people (*GASP*) – even use marriage occasionally for personal gain!

So why do they want to be able to marry. Maybe they don’t want to be seen as ‘they’ anymore, but be part of ‘us’ in relationship terms. Maybe they want to share in this splendid tradition, even if a few of us straight people have fucked around with it a bit.

I want to get married. Sure, I dream of it sometimes. But right now I can’t get married because I have no one to marry. If (when!) I meet a girl I want to marry (who wants to marry me as well), getting hitched will not be the most important thing. But it will be a significant celebration and symbol of our love and the status of a committed relationship.



Why does a straight guy care so much? Why have I had passionate arguments with family members about this, dismayed and frustrated by their stubborn views?

Because I don’t understand what the fucking problem is!?!

While some straight couples abuse marriage, there are many homosexual couples putting it up on the pedestal it deserves. They want to be a part of it, to celebrate their love and have it acknowledged on the same level as heterosexual couples. It’s inspiring to see people – gay and straight – passionately standing up for the expression and celebration of love, not fighting to suppress it.

One sensible, logical reason; that’s all I want. That or marriage equality.

You can take this job and re-staff it!

Last week I got a new job!

*applause*

Thanks, I’m really excited actually. Finally, I’m getting a decent pay rise! Meanwhile I’m helping to reframe my current position description so they can hire someone internally on a higher band.

Anyway, as many have been quick to point out, it has been a long time coming.

It’s been about two years since I decided it was time to start looking around for new opportunities, and closer to three since I started thinking about it. Frankly, I wasn’t too fussed until about eighteen months ago when the impenetrable ceiling of an increasingly dead-end role gradually squeezed the enthusiasm out of me.

About that time, at the first meeting of the newly appointed Social Club Committee (yes, yes) I used my (optimistically phrased) likely departure as an argument against being made President - it was clearly a highly-sought position. Clearly I am too popular – or easy – because I was talked into doing it. Embarrassingly, I saw out the year, plus another five months.

After a few rejections proved finding a job wasn’t going to be as easy as I hoped, I got serious about the hunt. I started telling me people about my search (including at work) in case they knew of opportunities. I spent a couple of sessions with – and a substantial amount of money on – a careers counsellor. I registered with job agencies.

The careers counsellor was expensive but worthwhile; she helped me get my resume and applications to a standard that actually got me through to a few interviews.

The agencies were next to useless. Dixons were attentive if nothing else; they got in touch straight away and did find me a few potential roles, but when they called it was usually just to check in and make sure I was still in the market. More than I can say for Hudson or Hays who I never even heard from. I know you need to chase them up, but I was too busy applying for jobs myself.

Applications are fucking tedious. The biggest relief is probably that I no longer have to write responses to Key Selection Criteria! The same criteria come up time after time, with just subtle differences that make the copy-and-paste method fraught with danger. A couple of times I found mistakes and anomalies in text I pasted in from an application already sent off. That’s not a good look when your resume boasts excellent editing and proofing skills and you are applying for communications roles! But sometimes there was plenty of time to spend on an application, other times there were multiple due within a few days and the rush was too much to avoid the temptation of short cuts.

Maybe it cost me an interview or two, who knows. Anyway, eight interviews were enough.

The first few were intimidating, yet I found myself surprisingly relaxed about the last couple, for which I did almost no preparation. If you actually have the experience for the role and know yourself reasonably well, unnecessary preparation might just build anxiety.

Interviews involve lots of bullshit; the worst workplace kind – HR bullshit. Questions about relevant experience where you indulge in a little bullshitting of your own (or the crucial ‘self-sell’) to give examples of times you used your initiative / creativity / negotiation skills to solve a problem / resolve a conflict and how wonderful the outcome was. I slowly got reasonably good at this – after all, I’m an Arts graduate.

Good interviewers make a huge difference. If they’re easy-going and have a conversational style it helps bring out everyone’s real personality and facilitates genuine discussion. Bad ones read the questions and take notes while you waffle on for fear of an awkward silence indicating an inadequate response. I was told after one interview I’d gone on too much. Just a polite ‘Ok, shut up now,’ would have been nice.

After my seventh unsuccessful interview I slumped into a rut and took a few days off the search before getting back into it with a flurry of applications. And fuck me if things didn’t turn around faster than Brendan Fevola could spend a dole cheque.

Just seven days separated the day of application and the day of offer, with two interviews squeezed in the middle. I almost didn’t apply either, the deadline (and I always work to deadline) being a Sunday, making it more difficult to find time to prepare the application than on a work day.

So after nearly 40 applications in 12 months, it felt good to be able to resign. I was more tactful than when I resigned Dan Murphy’s a few years ago where I told my manager, in front of other staff, that we needed ‘to talk about my future here – in that I don’t have one.’

And now I am actually moving on, I’m starting to realise all the things and people I’ll miss, and getting a little nostalgic about my five and a half years at this workplace. It has been a good place to work, I just outgrew my role … a while ago.

And while my hunt felt like an epic journey, I got some perspective last week via a friend who knows someone in Spain that has put in 3200 applications in 12 months and still not found a job.

I am feeling pretty lucky right about now.

Progressive new standards in suicide reporting

Everyone in Melbourne knew the West Gate Bridge was a hot spot for suicide.

Strangely, almost eerily, you never heard anything reported about it though, despite the fact, I once was told, that people jumping off the bridge was a weekly occurrence (hearsay: citation needed). This attempt to brush the issue under the carpet may well have been well intentioned, with the aim of avoiding the promotion of self-harm to susceptible individuals, but was severely lacking in understanding of the general issue of mental health.

Someone who is in the mindset where they are contemplating self-harm is dealing with thoughts and feelings the majority of us can barely comprehend. It is not a flippant decision, inspired by a newspaper report or Emo song.

Overlooking these all too common tragedies does nothing to prevent them. Neither might I add does the installation of ‘suicide-proof’ barriers on the bridge, as if that is the only option for someone in a suicidal state of mind – or the ‘cool’ option – and they’ll change their mind and get it together if they can’t jump.

Thanks to the great work of several organisations, who have worked hard to bring the issue to light, rather than hide it away, according to today’s laudable Australian editorial there was “35 per cent reduction in the suicide rate between 1999 and 2009”. However, “2000 Australians a year choose to end their lives”.

The Australian Press Council has now issued new standards that take a more enlightened approach, acknowledging that in some cases reporting may “help to improve public understanding of causes and warning signs, have a deterrent effect on people contemplating suicide, bring comfort to affected relatives or friends, or promote further public or private action to prevent suicide.”

Instead of encouraging the media not report on suicides, they will be encouraged to report – “there should not be a taboo on reporting of this kind”. Hear hear.

After all, we can accept its portrayal in movies and literature, often based on true events, so why can’t we discuss the everyday tragedies?

The media do need to be sensitive when reporting individual issues, and I hope The Australian stands by the standards its editorial outlines, but we will only enhance understanding of the various forms of mental illness by discussing it openly and honestly – to help the wider public understand why someone acts a certain way, and to help individuals who are battling personal issues understand that they are not alone; there is help available and they can get better.

Avoiding the issue only creates isolation for those in need of support.

As someone who found himself in the dark depths of isolation once or twice in his life, not seriously contemplating but certainly thinking a lot about suicide, I believe this is a step in the right direction.

Let’s open up the discussion, and fuck off the stigma of mental illness once and for all!

ps. coincidentally, a friend brought this heartbreaking story to my attention recently. Precisely the kind of outcome we want to avoid in future, and that takes understanding from all. It's 'depressing' but it's real, and with action and inspiration we can turn such potential tragedies into stories of hope.

http://www.abc.net.au/triplej/hack/stories/s3017421.htm

Grrr, politics - you do my head in!

Well, a political post was inevitable. That little blurb under ‘About me’ says I’m a politics geek. True – I’m interested in public policy and enjoy discussions (not arguments, discussions) and debates, thrashing out issues in a meaningful way. But frankly, ‘politics’ gives me the absolute shits sometimes.

Just look at how it’s talked about by the media and politicians alike, accepting it – promoting it – as a sporting contest. How tragic! How utterly pathetic to see serious policy discussion degenerate into cheap stunts and empty rhetoric, as pollies scramble to kick goals in the polls.

Political parties are driving the political discourse into the ground, well beneath the lowest common denominator. I wonder if they have actually become the lowest common denominator. They should lead and inspire us, setting an example of how people from varying backgrounds and ideologies can work constructively for the common good – isn’t an interest in the common good supposed to be their common trait? Isn’t that a lovely dream? Maybe not for media proprietors.

I know political parties are a necessary evil for the practical functioning of our parliamentary system. But being a necessary evil doesn’t mean it’s necessary that they are evil. Right?

And a parliament without political parties would still bubble over with ambition and power struggles. But there seems to be far more integrity and maturity from independent politicians in recent years – people like Nick Xenophon, Tony Windsor and the late Peter Andren. They sometimes influence power, but never hold it; they have little interest in fortnightly polls and can instead test their policy stance against their values instead. But how many people have even heard of Peter Andren, personally the most inspiring politician from my lifetime?

The parties on the other hand are essentially sporting teams, with polls providing the scoreboard between elections. And they are each out to win at all costs, even if that cost includes good long-term policy. In Australia, Tony Abbott puts significantly more effort into relentlessly campaigning against the carbon tax and shifting opinion against such necessary urgent action on climate change, than engaging in productive efforts to mitigate the fallout of a serious issue that he claims to believe in.

Meanwhile, in the US some Republicans see the looming debt crisis as an irresistible opportunity to damage Barak Obama’s re-election hopes next year, regardless of the impact on the Americans they represent.

Indeed, that’s politics. A robust and effective opposition is imperative to hold the government to account, but when they oppose for oppositions sake they become counter-productive. Again, indulge my idealistic naivety, but wouldn’t it be nice to see a harmonious parliament? One where our elected representatives worked constructively together in the collective interest of us all? Where honest mistakes or reasonable shifts in opinion were accepted for what they are, not used to sink the boot in? There are, no doubt, rarely publicised instances where politicians from different sides do work together. But wouldn’t it be more productive for us all if the general perception of parliament could be of a forum where a constructive contest of ideas fleshes out the best outcome for the nation, rather than one of division and fighting, which are celebrated in those wonderful sporting clichés but do little to progress the debate.

And then there’s the media. The contest between personalities and the struggle for power is far more interesting to them than boring policy analysis. So it comes back to the game. People like Michelle Grattan examine polls and performances, wasting column space on the politics of politics, while Andrew Bolt stirs succeeds by stirring up anger on both sides of the debate and Alan Jones berates ‘Juliar’ Gillard for introducing a carbon tax without a mandate, while he uses his significant profile to push his own agenda. Would he still berate the Prime Minister for policy shifts if he was – stick with me here – actually right and able to convince her, and the rest of us, of it?

The thing is, as much as I dislike the man, Jones has a right to his opinion, even (*gulp*) the right to use it as a rallying call, if he actually believes in the bile he coughs up. I’d be pretty hypocritical to suggest otherwise, I’ve been variously inspired by a range of political activists including, pertinently, Midnight Oil.

After all, the political and policy discussion goes on even when we aren’t voting as the ever-changing climate (not just environmental) shifts around us. So it isn’t unreasonable for a politician or party to alter their policy after an election if circumstances change, and it frustrates the hell outta me that we aren’t mature enough to deal with that in popular political discourse. I just wish it wasn’t based so much on fucking polls!

Seeing I’ve mentioned the Oils, I’ll finish by saying that, yeah, it saddens me to see Peter Garrett stripped of his power and passion by the party machine. I like to think he’s fighting the good fight behind closed doors. Maybe he is making a difference there, although I’d be surprised if it’s very much. Meanwhile, while towing the party line, he can no longer inspire people to stand up for things they believe in, environmental or otherwise, and encourage them to engage in issues the way he did successfully for 25 years with the Oils.

Seeing Mr Garrett spit out party lines does nothing for me, watching clips like this gives me chills.

If you came here via Facebook...

This blog started out as a deeply personal – even private – messy, ad-hoc experiment in reconnecting with my passion for writing. The idea was planted by an ‘old friend’ last September. She said to me:

“Dear Sam. I’ve put some serious thought into how best to tell you this. I’m sure that at the end of the day until u come to this on your own – the absolute truth shall not sink in. In the spirit of the masked avenger, your creativity & passions. It should be plain to see. You need to write and maintain an annonomous [sic] agitating political blog. Love Emma”

FYI - the ‘masked avenger’ is a reference to my mild obsession with Batman.

This was a shove from someone who believed in me more than I believed in myself and – not just because it was linking me with Batman – I was more than a little flattered and motivated by it.

Much as I love politics though (check in on my Twitter feed during QandA), there are plenty of better informed people and insightful people blogging in that sphere. So I continue to explore what this blog actually is; what the primary theme or issue is, if indeed there is one, and I started with some random ramblings that, with any luck, I’ll look back on some day with (more) disgust (than I currently do).

Initially, I kept it under the radar – I don’t think I ever even told Emma about it. Enjoying the anonymity of a blog read by no-one I knew, in fact almost no-one at all, I took the opportunity to get a large weight off my chest and write a lengthy account on my life with depression.

That post was the first I actually promoted - through Twitter where, as here, I don't use my surname and am followed by very few people who actually know me. But it’s still by far the most viewed post I’ve written, and the most soul-baring. It also led to an appearance on Hungry Beast discussing my OCD, largely ending my lonely secrecy, and related embarrassment, of hiding my condition. I then released a deep sigh of relief in all circles of my life with friends, family and some work colleagues now knowing the basic details.

Still, the only posts Facebook saw were the less personal ones that I was sufficiently comfortable with, but I was no longer being too fussed about what else the clickers might find here.

Finally, a couple of weeks ago, in a somewhat narcissistic attempt to boost visits, I quietly included this blog in my Facebook profile information as my website. Since then I’ve been interested to see if any visits came here through Facebook; none, until the weekend when two came through.

Unfortunately for me, I don’t know who steps into my confessional booth. I figure distant acquaintances won’t be looking through that profile information and I do know of one person who came here via Facebook and, through the blog, found me on Twitter – someone I don’t keep in touch with much anymore, but am stoked found something of interest in my writing.

I’m becoming more and more comfortable with all of this; being more open about my thoughts and experiences, and my ongoing efforts to maintain good mental health. I'm doing so quite well, just so you know!

Not everyone will understand things written on these pages, but bless those who do, or at least try, and bugger those who don’t.

I’m also coming to realise is that if this blog does develop a dominant theme mental health is the most likely candidate. After all it is probably what I know most about, is something I am passionate about, and I’m keen to share my experiences with others.

So it will only get more personal I suppose.

I don’t know who is reading, and some who do may be known to me and get more than they bargained for!

If you came here via Facebook, I’d love to know that you stopped by and now know some of my open secrets. But you don’t need to tell me if you don’t wanna :o)

Run, Sammy, Run

Forget sore legs or blistered feet, my biggest weakness when I started out running was my mind. In the wrong headspace, going for a run is dead boring, painful and tedious.

I’m not enjoying this. I could stop and walk. Why keep running? I can’t go much further, what difference will a few less metres make anyway? I could just walk. Fuck it, I’ll walk. Next time I’ll run further.

With every step thinking more and more about the path ahead, the challenge getting harder and harder. And why not stop the pain; shooting through legs, up into the mind. Think more, feel more; feel more, think more.

It is a great way to get into the right headspace though. In this busy world, it’s a good way to remove yourself from all the stresses and superficial distractions and even burn some frustration!

In April 2006 I did the Run for the Kids with a few workmates. Result: 4.5 kilometres in 49 minutes and 43 seconds.

Yeah, we walked most of it. I think we started out jogging but a little physical discomfort was all it took to be overwhelmed by the mental anguish of the road ahead and ease into a stroll.

If I had something to run to – something to focus on or a ball to chase – I’d go at it like a dog chasing a bus. But running for the sake of running … now why the hell would you do that?

Until 18 months ago I couldn’t get myself past that mindset.

Thinking 'oh shit, my knees are hurting'

On Sunday I ran my second official event, this time the 10km course in the Run Melbourne.

And – wait for it – I finished in 51 minutes and 16 seconds. Yeah! You’re excited too, right?! An extra 5.5km, only one and a half minutes longer!

Here’s another example of how far I’ve come – I love running. How stupid is that!?

Five years ago – heck, one year ago – I found the thought of a 10km run impossible. Same way I think now about doing a half marathon; maybe someday, but it’s a way off. And, no, I am unequivocally NEVER doing a full marathon. I love running; I am not a masochist.

Anyway, I don’t so much enjoy the act of running in itself; it’s not ‘fun’. What I do enjoy is the effect it has on me, helping me turn discomfort into relaxation.

My mind and legs can’t run at full speed at the same time. No jokes and walking and chewing gum. If I can hear myself think, I’m not running hard enough. Dealing with anxiety and OCD, I spent most of my life suppressing my thinking when it got messy. Running forces me to let go of my thinking, so thoughts come and go freely. In a good stride, thinking too much can actually makes me a little ill.

And some of the best ideas and solutions come from a relaxed mind, when thoughts aren’t forced. Sure, that can be a difficult situation when you don’t want to focus on them but want to remember them for elaboration later.

Wanky as it sounds, running also proved to me that I can achieve things I believed I couldn’t. When I started running regularly I’d walk 1.5km to the Tan, run a little over 1km up the Anderson Street hill and around the bend, walk another 1.5km around towards the Sydney Myer Music Bowl, run another kilometre or so back to Anderson Street and walk the last 1.5km home.

One of my 2010 new year’s resolutions was to run the full Tan track. A stranger told offered some good advice that I could do it if I just breathed properly. In the first couple of weeks of 2010 I passed my usual ‘stop-and-walk’ point and kept going, just to see how far I could make it. I focused on my breath, let my thoughts and expectations go and just ran. About a third the way around I realised I could probably finish. I did and, goddamnit, now I had to every time I went out there.

I used to see a basketball teammate who lives a little further from the Tan than I do, and ran there and back as well as around. Without modesty, I am fitter than him, so that surprised me and I just figured it was beyond me. Then one day I did it, increasing my 3.8km run to a 7km run. And again, once I knew I could do it I had to meet the new standard.

And now I’ve run 10km. Just twice, but I know I can. Other than finding a 10km route, and the extra time, there is no excuse not to continue at that distance. But I don’t have the route or the time, so there we go, 7km it shall stay for now.

I’d only run 10km once before, but I’d run 10km once before. I knew I could do it, and even though I ran without music, which helps channel my energy, I had a running mate. I think we were the only ones who talked during the run, but we were in our own space most of the time.

Early on a good looking, very fit girl ran past us. I upped my pace briefly but she broke away through the crowd. Soon after I noticed she was only about 20 metres ahead. ‘She’s my benchmark,’ I said to Rick. ‘I want to keep her in my sight.’ I think he thought I just wanted to keep an eye on hear arse. But I also wanted someone to keep up with. Sadly, we lost her at about the 6km mark. I figured she’d shot off, but as we emptied the tank sprinting to the finish line, I passed her with 50 metres to go. That was satisfying.

When I finished the run I felt great. I’d done a better time than I expected; I was up early, fresh and sober on a Sunday morning; I had pushed myself physically and mentally and succeeded; and I felt like a floodgate of endorphins were rushing through my brain. Physical discomfort came and went, but letting go of it and pushing on when you’d really rather stop is the most rewarding challenge of running.

That’s why I run. That’s why I love it.