by Murray, Lee
Good: ‘Obviously, it’s a strategy that works and, as we know, when we’re talking about Type II diabetes, the evidence points to regular exercise as being essential for prevention and treatment of the disease. Congratulations Carline on an excellent run. We won’t reveal the full results yet, but it’s likely Carline will survive to run another day. (Turning now to Karen). Karen, you posted optimistic time predictions for the event and yet you were one of the last runners in, with only Julie and Melanie behind you. How do you account for that?’
Karen: ‘Yeah, I’d been improving during the week, hadn’t I? I thought I could do a good time. My race strategy was to start slowly and pace myself. At the start, I hung back with Julie because we’ve been like training together. I thought I’d make up the time in the second half of the race because I expected to have lots of energy left. But I got stuck behind some slow-pokes in those skinny trails and then that crazy lady over there thwacked me with a fern…(She points accusingly at Asteroïde.) It’s a pity it wasn’t caught on camera because then she might’ve been disqualified. I should’ve given her a shove and seen how she liked it…’
Good (smiling gently): ‘Karen, this isn’t the Jerry Springer Show.’
Karen: ‘It’d serve her right! She’s like, sneaky. She was just in front of us, wasn’t she Jules? We were at the eight kilometre mark and I still had her, I still had time to get by and stuff, but when I tried to get past her, she let a fern swing back in my face. I ended up flat out on the trail. Look, see the scratches.’ (She turns up her hands and shows the camera red grazes on the fleshy part of her palms.)
Good turns to Waters and raises her eyebrows, begging her reaction.
Asteroïde: ‘I’m not saying it didn’t happen. It was an accident. I didn’t know Karen was behind me. I was out there running my own race. A young thing like her, should’ve been out in front anyway. I would’ve expected both of them (she points a finger at the girls beside me) to be ahead. I’m three times their age. I blame it on the junk food kids eat these days, Sabrina. The results show my vegan lifestyle allows me to foot it with the young ones, even over a ten kilometre course. If viewers are interested in adopting my cleansing lifestyle choices, they can contact me at the Te Puna Wellness Centre…’
Good: ‘Thank Asteroïde.’ (Turns to me). ‘Melanie, it wasn’t your day?’
Me: ‘No. I felt I trained well leading up to the event, but I had one of those off-days, well, an off-in-the-bushes day.’
Good: ‘Could you may have been suffering from a virus?’
Me (smiling): ‘I wish! But, no, it was a crap run, that’s all.’ Whoops! I thought they might bleep over that bit. ‘I guess if I were running it again, I’d look more carefully at my diet.’
Good: ‘And we’ll be talking to our expert nutritionist later on in the series…’
That’s when the phone rings, startling me. Who would ring now? Right at this moment? Don’t they realise I’m about to do my dignified and gracious bow-out speech? Jack, sensing my irritation, picks up the handset and steps into the bedroom.
Me: ‘I realise I’m likely to be eliminated this week and I’d like to say being involved in Racing Feat has been an extremely rewarding experience. I’m aware obesity is a big problem in this country and I’ve learned some simple steps that we can all take to reduce our chances of being affected. I’m sorry I couldn’t do more for the Disabled Riding Club and for the series sponsor, Sportzgirl.’
Good: ‘Thank you, Melanie. And we’ll be back with the outcome after a short commercial break.’
The sound jumps a decibel as the programming goes to a hardware commercial.
‘Mel,’ Jack says, emerging from the bedroom, his hand over the phone speaker. ‘It’s your mum. She wants to talk to you. Something to do with using the word crap on national television.’
32
For the entire ad break, I’m ear-bashed about the use of appropriate language when addressing the nation. I suspect Cushla’s more concerned about her status in the Omokoroa Garden Club, than the disintegration of my wildest dreams. I extract myself in time to watch the final part of the show: the results section. I haven’t seen this yet. Generally, our times are taken on race day, popularity votes are tallied during the following week, and some complicated mathematics are applied to give the final result. As far as possible, the contestants are kept in the dark about the outcome until the episode airs on television. NZTV doesn’t want anything leaked to the press.
It’s on.
Microphone in hand, Good’s seated in the stands beside a high school running track. Alongside her, Karen tucks her hair behind her ear, then fiddles with the hem of her school uniform.
Good: ‘As you can see, we’re back in school talking with Karen. Final results are in Karen, and regrettably I have to inform you of your elimination from the series.’
Karen’s out? No way! But if Karen’s out then that means I’m still in. Ohmigod. I could be still in. I grip Jack’s hand and hold my breath.
Karen: ‘What? But I wasn’t last. And Asteroïde cheated! She sent a flippin’ fern frond crashing into me on purpose!’ Karen is as flabbergasted as I am.
Good: ‘Unfortunately, we’ve no footage of her cheating and even if we did Asteroïde assures us she had no idea you were directly behind her…’
Karen: ‘Yeah, well, I’m not assured. But how come I’m the one who’s out? Julie and Mel were behind me.’
Good: ‘Yes, but Julie posted time predictions much closer to her actual times. This means her overall result was better.’
Karen (sulkily): ‘I suppose. I don’t mind being after Julie - we’re friends - but I still don’t see why I’m eliminated if Melanie was slower.’ I’m feeling quite queasy now. Whoops, I’m still holding my breath.
Good: ‘Yes, and nor were her time predictions as good, but as it happens Melanie Short captured the hearts of the country.’
Captured hearts?
Good: ‘…Melanie Short topped the audience popularity vote. Convincingly. Racing Feat received an overwhelming number of text messages in the ten minutes before the close of voting, almost all in support of the apparel poster-girl. Our follow-up poll indicated viewers identified deeply with Melanie’s…predicament, because who hasn’t experienced this particular kind of difficulty?’
Well, everyone, which is why they voted for me, which is why I’m still in! I reach over and hug Jack. Snuffling my face into his neck, I mumble, ‘I’m still in!’ Jack pulls me tighter. I can’t see his face, but I breathe in musky soap.
‘Terrific,’ he whispers, although he may possibly be a tad disappointed his best candidate for live in sex-slave may have other projects.
Good: ‘And while the voting results are good news for Melanie, it means we’re going to lose you Karen (she turns to the camera). Viewers will still be able to support Karen’s charity, the Community Foodbank, by voting for her schoolmate in upcoming events. (Turning back to Karen). Is there anything you’d like to tell the viewers about your experience on Racing Feat?’
Karen: ‘I don’t think it’s fair I’m out, owing to the cheating, but it was great to be on TV. It was like an awesome experience.
Good: ‘Any plans now your involvement with the show is over?’
Karen: ‘Well, I’ve got a job in a chip shop now. Just Friday nights, because my parents say they’re not going to fund my social life forever. And I have a new boyfriend. He’s in the rugby team – hello Callum (she waves at the camera) – so I’m probably going to be like occupied. I won’t have time for the training. Julie’s still in the competition though, and realistically there isn’t like much chance of her getting a boyfriend, so it’s worked out for the best.’
Good: ‘Will you continue to run?’
Karen (shaking her head): ‘Nah, I’m thinking of joining the cheer team…’
As it happens, I’m out of my seat, leaping skywards in a little cheer section all of my own.
Mel-Odorous! By Ross Sully
Sportzgirl poster child and surprise winner of the first Racing Feat event, Melanie Short, looked uncomfortable during the recent instalment of the running reality series. Evidently training for the wrong type of runs, Short was filmed ducking in and out of the bushes, toilet blocks and porta-potties for no less than six short-stays during the televised trail run, giving new meaning to the term ‘in-convenience’. Indeed, Short’s performance over the 10km distance fell short of expectations as she finished outside her predicted time estimates for the course. However, Short was saved from certain elimination by the generosity of the New Zealand public who came out in force and voted for ‘SMelly’ in good-hearted empathy for her ordeal.
33
‘Ms Short?’
‘Melanie.’
‘I’m Mark Jones. We talked on the phone. Welcome to Road Runners. Let me introduce you to the boys.’ An image of that wily, zippy cartoon speedster flits through my mind, but is quickly dispelled. Assembled outside the rugby clubrooms at Wharepai Domain are eight runners of varying shapes and sizes, and ranging in age from 45 to 70. I’m the only woman. They’re quick to tell me another woman does come, but she’s not here today. In late February, they tell me, the club entered a team in the Great Lake Relay around Lake Taupo, a 160km team event starting at midnight and finishing when the last team member runs over the finish line. Hilarious fun from all accounts, the only downer occurring when their sole female member strained her Achilles on the seventh leg of the circuit. The general consensus is she’s not likely to resurface for another couple of weeks.
‘Apart from her we haven’t had any female members for ages,’ says the sprightly 70-year-old. I’ve been told his name, but already I’ve forgotten.
‘It’s because Mark scares them away,’ says mechanical engineer Steve.
‘Yeah, they never turn up more than once after running with him.’ This comment from Bryce the banker is followed by a round of laughter.
‘How far do you usually run?’ I ask, suddenly worried.
‘A kilometre and a bit more,’ says Mark.
‘How does a 36km loop sound?’ says Karl.
‘We always turn around when we get to Te Puke,’ says Mark. Te Puke! The kiwifruit township is a 40 minute drive south of here! Suddenly, I feel sick.
‘Ignore them, Melanie,’ says Sprightly Seventy. “We usually do between an hour and an hour and a half, so anywhere between 10 and 15km. About this time we start stepping up the distance for the Rotorua marathon, so today we’ll do around 16km. But don’t worry. We always run the speed of the slowest person. And there’re lots of places to turn around if you need to. Occasionally, some of us do that. If we’re injured or not planning on building up for the marathon.’
‘Who are we still waiting for? Is Alec coming?’ says Bryce.
‘He’s helping his daughter move this weekend.’
‘What about Sparkles?’
‘Out on this piss last night. Probably sleeping it off.’ I gather Sparkles sometimes has trouble getting up for the early run. I wouldn’t have made it myself if Jack hadn’t forced me to get up when the alarm sounded for his Sunday ride with Shane. Sometimes I wish Jack was less committed to seeing me achieve my goals!
Finally, everyone seems to be accounted for and so we set off at a nice slow pace, turning right into Cameron Road. After exchanges of ‘What did you get up to last week then?’ the talk turns to the housing crisis (everyone wishes they had some spare cash now prices are rock-bottom), the roundabout system in Welcome Bay (monumental cock-up they all say), the astronomical price of marrying off one’s daughter (a tirade about how certain venues insist on supplying the alcohol and then charge like a wounded bull for the privilege) and the effectiveness of GPS technology at actually finding the goddamn fish. I mention Frank’s GPS and how, in my opinion, the technology is far from accurate. Even from my limited experience, it’s obvious the distance estimates are on the low side. This sets them off on rant about the half-marathon they’d all run in which the race director measured the distance incorrectly, coming up a kilometre short so all their finish times were spectacular. Personally, I can’t see the problem. Shorter is better, surely? A sharp time better than a slow one? My new friends are horrified. When you set out to run half-marathon you want to know you’ve finished a half-marathon. An entire half-marathon. That race director cheated them out of a kilometre. They’re outraged. I wouldn’t be surprised if they get up a letter-writing campaign.
We run down the hill at the hospital and then up the other side toward Sunvale. The uphill is a stinker and I put my head down and use the chugging, bouncing, little-step technique Olaf taught me. Mark stays back to run up with me.
‘Think of it as a flat slope,’ he says, and I almost laugh.
I’m halfway up the incline, heaving heavily, when I notice the rest of the crew coming back.
‘Have we gone the wrong way?’
‘No, they’re looping back to pick us up.’
‘They’re waiting for us?’
‘Uhuh.’
‘And they don’t mind running up this hill a second time?’
‘No. Yes, Bryce will mind because he hates hills. And possibly…’ he looks up. ‘Yes, see? Gavin’s waiting at the top. That’s him doubled over with his hands on his knees.’ There’s an unwritten club policy to wait for the slowest runner (me.) Road Runners are proud of this philosophy. It’s what distinguishes them from other running clubs: they never leave anyone behind. The faster runners simply double back and pick up the slower ones. ‘What’s the point of turning up to run with a group if you end up running on your own?’ explains Mark. It’s true. And if I was on my own I definitely would’ve stopped and walked up this hill.
Once we’re over the rise, we switch back onto Cameron Road and continue out to Greerton. I’m getting anxious about how far we’ve come (and consequently how it is to get back) when we finally cut east along Chadwick Road. The turnaround point is in Yatton Park, a shady oasis in the south of the city, where we stop for water and toilets. I get the impression these guys know the location of every short-cut, walkway, toilet, hose-pipe and tap in Tauranga, having acquired ‘the knowledge’ as London taxi drivers must. At any time they can tell you exactly how far you’ve run.
‘How far do you think we’ve run?’ I ask again, after taking a big slurp from the fountain and wiping my face with the back of my hand.
‘9.34km,’ says Gavin without hesitation.
‘Nah. Don’t listen to him, Melanie. He has no idea. It’s 9.39km. I saw him cut the curb two blocks back,’ says Tim the lawn-mowing contractor.
Running back to the Domain, I notice the stories repeating. By now three of them have told me how big Karl, a hospital orderly running out in front, stuffed up his chances of a personal best marathon time in Auckland last year. Frustrated by his reduced mileage before the marathon, and short of a lift to the race, Karl opted to cycle 100km to the start-line. Arrived an hour before the race and then wondered why he felt a bit jaded. Everyone agrees Karl’s a great runner, possibly the club’s best, just crazy!
The total running experience in the club is unreal. Between them, these guys have run over 150 marathons. That’s a heap of kilometres. Another joke is told and they burst into a further round of laughter. I start to think the people in this running group aren’t really here for the running. These guys could just as easily be a weekly quilting club or a group of Morris dancers. I’m betting the real reason most of them come is the camaraderie. And it’s more acceptable to tell your wife you’re going out for a run than it is to say you’re off for a few brews with your mates.
We arrive back at the Domain and everyone, including me, runs a lap of the all-weather track. As they cross the finish line I notice several members throw their hands in the air, like John Walker in the classic sub-four-minute mile clip. I wonder if the theatrics are for my benefit, but as I lean against the concrete block wall of the clubrooms, stretching out my calves, Bryce tells me that ever since the track was con
structed the group has finished off its weekly run with a circuit of the track, preferably at a flat-out sprint. According to Bryce, the club made a donation toward the track development.
‘And now the idiots think they own it,’ he laughs. I’m careful not to comment because Bryce was one of the ones who threw his arms in the air.
I check my watch. 9:30am! I can’t believe how quickly the time’s gone. It’s barely morning tea time on a Sunday and I’ve run 16.2km, the farthest I’ve ever run in my life! Honestly, it felt easy. Running with other people takes your mind off your suffering. And even if it is ghastly slogging your way up a hill, it doesn’t seem nearly as bad if someone else is chugging up beside you, or someone else is running it twice just so you don’t get depressed about being left behind. This running in a group thing is awesome.
‘Come on in for a cuppa, Melanie.’
Inside, the floor is strewn with flakes of pastry, party poppers and sticky patches of spilt beer, the aftermath of a rowdy 21st birthday party held at the clubrooms the night before.
‘You should see the kitchen sometimes,’ says Bryce.
We make our own tea or coffee and carry them through to sit at the table Tim has lifted off a stack against the wall.
‘Do you think you’ll join us, Melanie?’ asks Gavin, the club president. ‘We usually wait three weeks to ask people for their money, but since it only takes one visit for Mark to scare the ladies off…’
‘Well…’
‘Bloody hell, Mark. You’ve done it again!’
‘Did you fart, Karl? We’ve told you about that when there are ladies in the group.’
‘I didn’t!’
‘Cut it out you guys. You behave like that, of course she isn’t gonna want to join us,’ says Sprightly Seventy, who it turns out is called Scottie.
