What's the Frequency, Kenneth?

A note from the older Les, to the younger Les, asking why he ever got into this running thing...

What was going through your mind when you entered that sweat-box of a flat in Brisbane, late on a stiflingly hot afternoon in 1985, and decided to go for a run?
Was it the "condition" you carried, the need to remove yourself from the extravagant weekend alcohol binges that was, laughingly, your social life?
Changing into the cotton rugby shorts, the cotton T-shirt with 'death before disco' emblazoned on the front, lacing up the Dunlop KT26's, teethed clamped on a cigarette, whilst trying to avoid the smoke curling up into the left eye. Must have been the heat, nothing else could explain the sudden change in lifestyle.

Lace the other shoe, squint the right eye. Didn't you stop to think how ridiculously incongruous that scene must present to anyone?
Was it the confines of the flat and the neighbours having sex 24/7 that drove you outside on that afternoon?
Stub out the cigarette, a couple of stretches (might have read about those in a men's health magazine) then depart the flat, heading north. To Stafford Heights. Not called that for a reason. Stop to wonder why it is called "Heights"?
First run is not flat, it climbs, it is blindingly hot, everything is chaffing because of the sweat. Some wanker leans out of a car less than a kilometre in and asks you if you need help. Piss... off...

Didn't you realise that 7 years later you would be treading in water about to start an Ironman race? Not just shitting bricks, but cinder blocks? What were you thinking?
The endless hours of training, swimming, riding, running in Brisbane summer heat. Joking that work was just an interruption to your training schedule (boss didn't laugh at that one at the Christmas party), falling asleep at lunch time, one step removed from Chronic Fatigue Syndrome....
Couldn't you have at least taken up a nice easy sport, fishing perhaps? But no, you had to go and do the hard shit, never one to take an easy option in life...

You gave up on the endless summers of triathlons to take up running only. The diets, the endless books on training, amino acids (anyone else remember that 80's fad?), the neon coloured clothing, the short shorts, the really short shorts, the longer shorts, the short-lived experiments with one piece tri-suits? The insane early morning wake ups, with the long drive to yet another race? The training plans, the re-drafted training plans, the "stuff it, just wing it" training plans, the high mileage training plans, the low mileage/high intensity training plans? You couldn't make this stuff up!
What was the point, you were never going to win a race, not even in your age group?

Your friends mocked you. Well the ones who stuck by you long enough to ignore the only things you excelled at; talking about training, and steering the conversation around to talking about training. The injuries, the insecurities (I haven't done enough miles, I've done too many, and tired etc. etc.), the weight loss, the weight gain, the sunburn from the long runs, mucus freezing in the nose in winter, the endless race T-shirts you never wore?
Was it the paper thin walls and the metronomic squeak of the bed of the couple from hell next door that drove you to this point?

Halfway through your first 5k run, you realise you might be a bit unfit. Well hallo understatement!!! Nice dose of reality there, pal. Didn't stop to think that years later you would start religiously measuring each run, record times, and log the bloody lot of it in journals, only to later leave them all behind at one of the many houses you lived in? Then someone invented the GPS watch, and at that point, all hope was lost.

You've have thought it would get easier with time, the shambling uncoordinated shuffle turning into a gait that was smooth and effortless. But no, there you are, post run, face beetroot red, sweat pouring out of every pore, trying not to look the woman from next door in the eyes as she engages you in idle chit-chat.

Did you not think ahead to the family you had not yet started? Clearly not, or you would have pursued softer options. You were compelled, weren't you? It wasn't your fault, or so you kept telling yourself. And now, at age 51, injured yet again, you ask your older self to ask the younger self, why? The fame, the fortune (clearly not), the lifestyle? Well, maybe the lifestyle.

When you think back to the friends you have made, the runs you have shared, the coffee, the cake, the wine, the laughs (and sometimes the tears), the experiences, the successes, the failures (or so you thought they were, they weren't really), the camaraderie, it is easy to understand the allure, and why you kept doing it, year after year after year. Running is tough, but rewarding, and despite a few absences away, you came back for more; each time getting a bit faster, and running longer.

Were there any regrets? I reckon not, seeing as you are currently planning your next race/training plan.
So, no regrets then. Except one...
Maybe you shouldn't have offered the couple next door a can of WD40.

Until next time.