Outside the Melbourne Tennis Centre at the tram stop, packed tight among half-drunk Aussies who’d just poured out of a late Australian doubles win at the Australian Open, I heard the chant begin. Someone on our platform shouted out “Aussie! Aussie! Aussie!”, and from the opposite platform the crowd took up the reply: “Oy! Oy! Oy!” Encouraged, the whole of our platform roared back “AUSSIE! AUSSIE! AUSSIE!”, and we were off, belly laughing, our heads thrown back for better projection, screaming the words, our identity, our sea-girt selves, as if we’d all been in the sunburnt country a thousand years, rooted like the eucalypts. The platform trembled and we stamped harder, a pack, a people. I was Australian then.
Wednesday, May 31, 2006
Tuesday, May 23, 2006
Triathlon Redux
For those of you tuning in from the triathlon side of the world, here is the state of my training program:
My next tri - a sprint - is coming up the first week in June. I've done this one twice before and placed in my age group last year. Right now I'm riding my bike a lot back and forth from work. It takes about an hour each way and means I fill up my gas tank much less frequently. Sometimes I swim, about once a week right now. I swam diligently throughout the winter and have had about enough of very early mornings and chilly chlorinated water, thank you. Sometimes I run, mostly around the neighborhood and not very fast. Increasingly I just walk the dog. She's happy, I'm happy, and really, who the hell cares?
My next tri - a sprint - is coming up the first week in June. I've done this one twice before and placed in my age group last year. Right now I'm riding my bike a lot back and forth from work. It takes about an hour each way and means I fill up my gas tank much less frequently. Sometimes I swim, about once a week right now. I swam diligently throughout the winter and have had about enough of very early mornings and chilly chlorinated water, thank you. Sometimes I run, mostly around the neighborhood and not very fast. Increasingly I just walk the dog. She's happy, I'm happy, and really, who the hell cares?
Thursday, May 04, 2006
The 13 Year Itch
My son will graduate from high school in 13 years. That's how long I reckon I have to wait to have a life again. I'm stuck for the interim in Buttfuck, U.S.A., unable to practice my chosen profession and suffering rejection after rejection as I try to get myself out of here. My husband doesn't want to leave. He wants to kick back, enjoy the small town life, drink strong coffee and grow his belly. I think I need some strong medication that will allow me to wake up long enough to be a happy Mommy while Jr. is around and otherwise permit a Van Winkle like nap until I'm 47 and can rejoin the living.
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