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Published: December 24th 2007
After an epic night in N Zed's uni student haven--the city of Dunedin--I was ready for some R&R in a more rural town.
Headed south, the township of Gore my destination...
I was suitably satisfied to meet my next couchsurfing host over a cup of tea.
A cheeful schoolteacher and proud grandmother, Kate declared almost immediately
I hope you know how to ride a bike... I've entered you into tomorrow morning's fundraiser duathlon.
Cycling wasn't a problem, and this morning's hangover would only be a mild set-back. The problem was running.
Ever since my childhood days of casual wandering on the soccer field, I have not been reputed for fast feet. In fact, I have avoided running by every means possible--bicycles, rollerblades, and skateboards included.
Facing my first race of a lifetime, I got myself to bed at a sensible hour for the first time in living memory.
The race started before the horn blew...
I could feel eyes measuring me up from beneath ballcaps and behind sunglasses.
And I'll be honest, I was nervous for the first half-hour of milling about the gymnasium--
until I realised the lean teenagers I'd assumed to be my contenders were, in fact, the netballers organising the event as a
fundraiser.
My actual competitors began to trickle in-- a cross-section of women from Gore and Invercargill.
Largely middle-aged, the average contender had the profile of a bright eyed, cheery mum.
Not that the competition looked laughable. As I've noted before, most people on the South Island of New Zealand are remarkably skinny from shivering the greater part of the year. I just thought I could hack it.
With a bike and crash helmet on loan, I was ready to race.
The race began on a large grassy paddock.
I had THE BEST OF BRASIL blaring on my tapedeck walkman, and was fully geed up.
The horn blew and I gleefully skipped across the field, a sea of bouncing boobs easily overtaking me.
I jumped onto the bike and was off, quickly overtaking five mums at once.
The course went up a mild hill, then turned to square us off against a more monstruous one.
I could see the leaders of the race post up and down on their bikes as they struggled up.
Approaching the beast, I tried to drop the bikes's front derailer into the lowest set
Caning the Competition
i streak ahead of this struggling cyclistof gears.
My mind panicked momentarily when I realised I couldn't.
Then my training as a make-shift mechanic saved the day.
While still pedalling, I leaned down and manually changed the gears with my fingers.
I passed another two mums.
At the top of the mammoth hill, the course turned again.
This time, we found ourselves careening down a gravel track.
I weighed up the cost of lodging gravel into my flesh,
then remembered the founding fathers of mountain bikes,
summoning their hare-brain antics for speed as inspiration.
I flew past two more precautious mums.
This was the climax of the race for me--
careening wildly down a hill.
The cycling segment of the race ended well,
but as I crossed the line to begin the running race...
There was the most ominous of omens--
THE BEST OF BRASIL carked it, spooling casette tape everywhere.
I resigned myself to my lot in life--
A slovenly sook inadverently entered into a race.
My trot simmering down to a stroll,
bobbing along to the beat of a mad slow heat.
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Tot: 0.051s; Tpl: 0.009s; cc: 9; qc: 23; dbt: 0.0267s; 1; m:domysql w:travelblog (10.17.0.13); sld: 1;
; mem: 1.1mb
Iona Mackenzie
non-member comment
Fortune favours the Brave.(Or what did you do after lunch?)
Training to be a Spanish warrior queen I would never suppose to to be easy! Challenging one hangover, one earlychildhood self-perception, plus sweaty labour before lunchtime sounds test enough for any apprentice. Self-portrait while wheeling? Thats balance too!!