An early start and some ambitious packing got us to the Skitube just as the sun was pushing above the cloud-shrouded mountains, and to the snow not long after the first lifts opened. We spent the day tearing it up in blustery conditions and, not having goggles, every time I turned into the wind, the icy particles stung my eyes.

There had been a big dump of fresh powder overnight and the ridgeback at Blue Cow opened for the first time this season. As I hurtled down the run, the Field ringing in my ears, I thought about the feeling of freedom you get on a board. My theory is that it stems from being self-propelled and retaining the ability to think, “I want to go there“ and with a slight adjustment in posture to be able to, fast. I can’t think of any other sport that gives you this kind of flexibility, but I imagine flying would be similar.

It looks like it’s going to be a bumper season this year. This is good. If the addiction takes hold any more strongly, I may just have to buy a board. Also good.

In summary: snow is good and money, well, isn’t it the root of all evil? It make sense to minimise the evil around, right?

Posted in Locomotion on Monday July 14, 2008. Shoutouts.

Watching the Swans at Manuka oval, after which we went and had the world’s greatest Kebabs and pints of Little Creatures. I ran home around the lake and across the water all the government buildings were lit up blue, like concrete ghosts reaching for the stars.

Later, when we talked, it was about Mongols, their horses, and how mice look on the inside. I’ll gladly confess I got a little lost at this stage, and that the feeling was a good one. I don’t think thin-slicing should have anything to do with what sweatshirt you’re wearing, or whether you have a moustache, but it’s been a while since I read Blink, and I think I’ll be arguing around corners. This has never stopped me in the past, and it certainly won’t stop me now.

Today, I woke feeling invincible. Like I could punch holes through walls and scream mastery to the hills. Run so fast my feet kick up great clouds of dust, as I hammer through the young trees that snap backward at my approach. It appears I’ve dodged the epidemic that’s ravaging the office and though the vitamins I’ve been stuffing down my throat like candy are unlikely to have helped, a placebo is a powerful thing.

I slip off my front wheel and push a plastic lever into the gap between the rim and tyre. I always forget how to do this, and relearn it every time I change the tube. It doesn’t help that my hands are shaking in the cold, and I stop every few minutes to stick them in my pockets and hop in a circle. Even with cold hands, the metal back of the iPod is colder, and the Notwist inform me that “we’ll remember good lies / when we carry them home with us to our bedside table / and our coffee sets.”

I learnt a new word this week, Proprioception. It relates to the body’s unconscious perception of movement and spatial orientation. It can be learned, or lost, and I’m grateful for it as I lean into the corner and set into an easy rhythm, legs pumping as I head up the hill.

Posted in Locomotion on Saturday June 28, 2008. Shoutouts.

Or, why don’t we invent more sports?

Whiffle Hurling was invented in July 2005 by a Tom Russotti, an MFA grad student at Rutgers University — and the sole practitioner of what he calls “aesthletics.” So far, only 10 games of Whiffle Hurling have ever been played. I can personally attest that it’s insanely fun and offers up a genuinely new blend of activity: The crazy intensity of Irish hurling mixed with the low-stress, low-injury appeal of Whiffle ball. It manages to be simultaneously casual and intense, which is perfect for nerds like me.

Posted in Locomotion on Saturday May 31, 2008. Shoutouts.

Cut Copy’s “Going Nowhere” is particularly apt if you are running on a treadmill.

Posted in Locomotion on Saturday March 8, 2008. Shoutouts.

Posted in Locomotion on Friday June 29, 2007. Shoutouts.

As a kid, I was convinced that the white brick was what did it. This was a carefully reasoned deduction that went as follows. Walking directly past the house yielded no response. Nor did skipping, jumping, or running. But touching that sole white brick, even for a second, would result in a bright light flicking on; pentagonal shadows of frangipani cast on the porch steps, and on the ever present mountain of construction rubble out the front.

I never thought to test my theory further, perhaps by running up the path or by waving my hands near the letterbox. For me, the one brick painted white, and the light that came when I stuck my hand on top of it, was proof enough.

That little fence has gone now, and there’s a huge wall that I can’t see over, even with the disparity in height between me, now, and my prepubescent self. Running past the wall, I wonder if there’s still a security light, inside.

Frangipani shadows on stucco, now.

-

I walk through the doors and into Fresh Provisions, and notice that the university crowd have just burst from the Velvet Lounge and are scoping for bargains in the bakery aisle. The discount cake section will, late at night, offer a delicious bounty to the seasoned patron of the Lounge. Even the most pronounced of beer munchies are sated by a fist-sized chunk of cheesecake. Three dollars. A bargain.

Not now though, my body screams for vegetables.

I buy a container of Tuscan salad and retreat to the car park. I don’t have any cutlery, so I dig in with my fingers. Marinated capsicum has the texture of clammy seaweed, and my fingers are slick and shiny with olive oil.

I stand under my tree and watch people disperse, probably to Amplifier, maybe home.

I did this for years.

—

As I begin the run home, it starts to sprinkle, and my shuffle clicks onto the next song. Casino. The pitter-patter and the mournful horns. She pants in my ears, and the scent of frangipani lingers in the air, brought on by the rain.

I still want the idea of that white brick. The belief in it. I want cause and effect, even it’s the wrong cause, the wrong effect.

Posted in Mwah on Sunday May 27, 2007. Shoutouts.

I told Dave that I wasn’t going to stay up to watch the cup final because I didn’t have anything invested in it. I didn’t really care who won. Of course I was supporting France, of course, how could I not, but that was more out of spite and a desire to see Zidane go out in style than anything else. Well, he certainly went out in style, by head-butting Materazzi in overtime, getting a red-card, and watching France lose on penalties from the changing rooms. The Azzuris have it for the fourth time and I wished I’d stayed up.

But for now, rather than that final game, let’s talk about supporting the team that beats you. A week or so ago, Kana was taken aback when Nick and I exploded in disbelief after she suggested that the normal thing for Australia to do would be to get behind Italy and hope they made the final. I think my reasoning was that, yes, while it’s generally great if the team that beats you goes on to win and you know you’ve been beaten by the best, all that hinges on fair play: if there’s a perceived sense of injustice (regardless of whether it’s justified or not) it’s very hard to get behind that team and rally them on. So I couldn’t support Italy. Not by a long a shot.

A very similar thing happened in England. After being knocked out by the Portuguese, a lot of people are shaking their heads at some of the bullshit they tried to pull against the French. Luckily, in that game, the refereeing was good, France prevailed, and Scolari was left to fume on the sidelines.

When the English are supporting France to win a World Cup, you know it’s time to do something about the diving and refereeing problems that are plaguing the world game. It’s time to modernise the sport. Time to institute limited access replays for contentious decisions, time to think about a post-game tribunal with real consequences and time to put another ref on the field for A-level games. If umpires in cricket can call on the 3rd umpire for a run-out decision, so too should a ref in soccer be able to confirm offside. It’s time to shift the focus away on what the players shouldn’t be doing, and back to what they can.

It’s time to make football about football again.

Posted in Locomotion on Monday July 10, 2006. Shoutouts [3].

From the “I hope O’Grady is racing in The Tour or I made this novelty t-shirt and bought a bandanna for nothing” department, comes a shirt with “Let’s go big Dukes” on the back of it. I just need to change Dukes to thighs and we’re ready for France.

You see how the dot of the i is a star? I went to design school, y’know!

Posted in Locomotion on Thursday June 29, 2006. Shoutouts.

Tonight promises to be a very long, very engaging, very stressful and entirely action-packed evening. I’ve booked leave for the first two hours of work tomorrow, and I’m going to start screaming at midnight, and I’m not planning to stop until we’re through to the eight. The score? One nil to Oz, and that’s not su(u)s at all.

Posted in Locomotion on Monday June 26, 2006. Shoutouts [7].

The weather today is gorgeous; sunny and with a clear blue sky and only a hint of the crippling humidity that strikes Japan later in the year. Yesterday evening, while the kids from the apartment swarmed around me and asked me the kind of questions kids ask, I put a new wheel on my bike, tightened the brakes and re-adjusted the chain. This afternoon, I was whipping down the huge hill that leads into Shiawasenomura and could see straight over Akashi and out to Awaji. The wind drummed tattoos in my ears and my shirt tugged at my torso as it billowed out behind me and I had to smile.

An hour later, as I rode back up that hill, the lactate burning in my veins, and sweat obscuring vision as it dripped and ran, I was still smiling.

Posted in Japan on Saturday June 24, 2006. Shoutouts.