'Arry
"I'd never been to Monaco in my life," Redknapp said. "And I certainly won't be going again."
"I'd never been to Monaco in my life," Redknapp said. "And I certainly won't be going again."
Seventeen years after the last occurence, the facial nerve freeze that resembles a stroke has come to visit the left side of my face again:synkinesis, dribbles, crocodile tears, crooked smile and tea down the shirt. The nerve that controls the facial muscles in charge of these things becomes inflamed or compressed, the cause is unknown but the hypotheses of friends are boundless, I prefer the Herpes simplex virus theory to the need for personal counselling or the stresses of 400 metre "trippyness" though to be fair it followed on from a monster sharing of pain with my hedge fund lactic addict friend at Rushcuttter's bay churning out race pace 200s on heavy cooch grass in the sweltering heat, an oxygen deprived crawl on the bicycle up and over William street after and two depressing hours in a theatre that made me question my existence.
Tudor Bompa's excellent "Periodisation" theories fail to enlighten us lactic addicts on how his approach might apply to appropriate fuelling and unloading but as my weekend's moment of magic merits analysis and demystification I thought I might attempt a Bompesque critique so that fellow 400 pedestrians can build appropriate foundations in their aspirations to circle race fullness.
Microcosmically first:
Day before: Light grazing to the point of hunger pang , Plenty of fluids, regular movements. Heavy sleep
Day of: Light breakfast to induce hunger panged pre race meal. Hearty pre race meal (2.5-3.5hrs lag to start time) with a mountain of barely steamed freshly plucked greens, two lumps of protein (quorn in my case). Followed by one cycle of horizontality. Followed by a pot of bowel loosening tea. Up to four stools may be passed happily on this day. Sips of water as needed. Post heat / pre final - water, horizontality.. post final water water water. Once the taste of blood in the mouth and thumping headache have passed - a protein laden plate.
Day after
Every pleasant achievement deserves a post race pig out. My particular tipples are: a Haloumi and spinach puff pastry pie or two followed by Persian Love cake flushed down with a cup of frothy sludge (soy flat white). The pie anc cake courtesy of the unceasingly good "Green" on Sydney road, formerly referrred to as "the illy cafe" as the name of the place is so sophisticatedly discreet I called it after its more prominent signage.
My fellow 400 metre addicts may be familiar with my "god moment" analogy for knocking out a perfect lactic wall run. The religious metaphor a reference to the Eric Lidell character in "Chariots of fire" flapping his arms and legs around in the last 80metres with a smile on his face...then uttering the immortal lines: "I believe that God made me for a purpose - for China, but when I run I feeeeel his pleasure" well... today at Frankston something like 6 years after its last appearance, it happened.
Having waddled sideways to 3rd place in my heat, scraping into the final as one of the faster finishers I took the chance to slipstream behind Nick Howard (brother of the VAL CEO Mark) whom I had noted recorded the fastest heat win and could, if clung onto through the gale force winds in the home straight, slingshot me into knife mode for the "god moment" onwards. Many a brave circle runner before me had hit this infamous wall of northerly force through the day and my own transformation into a knife in the heat had woefully splobbed. Suffice to say the cash and sash today were not solely the accolade of the barely legal lycra short shorts but the knife - polished and razor sharp sliced the perfect 92% chunk of 400 cake and ate it with aplomb.
Two years in the wilderness now await
This performance was part of our Dada project in the early noughties
Link to the last two Ridiculusmus scripts on Amazon:
Whilst the bald eagle lapped up the glory of his 9th pro sash, dolling up like a beauty queen on at least three times beyond acceptable limits, a steward's enquiry was underway at VAL HQ in deepest Albert park as to whether the victory would stand. Despite appearing in this latest pin up pose with a pair of NORMAL shorts the aforementioned coot was under investigation for inappropriate use of clothing under rule 6.9.12 inches of the VAL handbook. Rival athletes lodged a record number of complaints at not only the distracting nature of "the beast" 's inner muscle short but the pre-race behaviour of his 4 year old sprog who attends meetings under the alias "Ben 10" . The deluded super alien was noted to be grabbing at the frontal bulges of the 550 winner's micro lycra wear in a calculated move to diminish the ego's of his fellow finalists. Under provisional suspension despite repeated pleas the offending shorts once again were donned at the coburg runners creche this very evening with little aths runners and rehabilitating invalids present. It looks like severe penalties and a total ban may be put in place with immediate effect subject to the steward's enquiry and claims for further penalties of picking up the tab for post traumatic stress counselling being lodged by Little aths representatives
As I was pelting around the misshapen track at the Dandenong showgrounds I was trying to channel something to spur me on to keep ahead of the pounding pack at my heels and came up with a postie. Rather a soft thing to get angry about unless they had recently stolen your passport just prior to an overseas trip with several difficult to get visas in it, but no, this one makes me angry because they want to be an artist. The postie in question is in the twilight of postie dom and has decided, on the back of a few workshops to take up theatrical art and that did the trick for me. Puff puff postie artist puff puff huff etc.
A theatre director who has moved into film making told me the other night in St Kilda (the suburb as opposed to the rock) that film people are "a lot more intelligent and sharper - they get things done". Whilst nodding in agreement I then reimagined the comment about myself, after all I do fit the category and so a reading list emerged.
A reading list has room to form at the moment in my mind, between creations, at others I cannot face engaging with books. But I got through Dermot Healy's Long time no see on the way back from Belfast and have renewed vigour on the back of its excellence
