Thought blogs

First of all I'd like to apologize to anyone who has been eagerly anticipating my new blog entry since my last one nearly 5 months ago.  I always have 'thought blogs', whereby when there is something I deem interesting or important enough to be blogged about, I would compose in my mind the framework of the new entry and try to figure out how to make it seem interesting enough for someone to read beyond the first paragraph.  I would always get excited about these; then by the next week I'd have shelved this imaginary blog because I was 'busy' with so many other things.  Actually, you might want to replace 'next week' in the previous sentence with 'next day'.  Or perhaps even 'next hour'.

I had a thought blog entitled 'Salvos', in which I would fascinate you with my bold decision in late September to enter volunteer work with the Salvation Army store in Camberwell after my continual failures to find paid work.  In it would be thrilling details about how much of people's donations would have to be thrown in the bin because they didn't fit the 'can be sold at a price which justifies the space in the store used'.  Ever thought it would be fun smashing cups and throwing plates like frisbees?  Give volunteering a go.  I did gain some interesting experiences though.

This thought blog was quickly replaced with a new one which I called 'Woolworths', in which I would regale you with the jubilation I felt when I received the email from woolworths offering me employment after nearly a year of job hunting. 

Next came imaginary blogs which were probably more the size of a tweet than a proper article-length piece, talking about the upcoming exams and my hurried preparation for them, then about the freedom of having finished first year uni.

Somewhere in the above time frame there were undoubtedly other thought blogs about futsal; how along with some good friends we made a team, creatively dubbed 'Team Aadi' (after the creator of the team).  In these blogs I would talk about how excited I was about these matches, which recreated the anticipation, tension, and general rollercoaster of emotions which I felt about Saturday sport, taking to the soccer pitch or badminton court wearing the (in soccer's case oversized) school crest with pride. 

Others who have also played school sport may laugh at how dramatised I have made those saturday mornings; I remember in some teams how happy some people were when they didn't have to wake up early at the start of the weekend.  For me though, there was nothing more exciting; I felt like a gladiator fighting against the enemy determined to do well.  In the case of some soccer matches, doing well encompassed a respectable scoreline, or perhaps even a draw; for often lopsided badminton matches, I would be happy if I managed an 11-0 set.

For me, nothing else can possibly give me the rush that I got from scoring the winning goal against trinity in year 11; the smile was plastered on my face until at least dinnertime.  Conversely, losing the badminton final against the same school in our team's final competitive match was crushing. 

From the end of school until the creation of 'Team Aadi', I really missed those competitive games.  Sure, we would have casual futsal and badminton sessions which were undoubtedly fun, but they lacked that extra grit and determination from those involved because the result ultimately didn't mean that much.  So you could understand how excited I was about joining a competitive league!

During the semester, those matches were undoubtedly the highlight of the week, conveniently on Wednesday nights.  Post match analyses were self-continued long after the team has gone home, and I would become hyped up about the next match already by the end of the weekend.  After poor performances I would be desperate to atone next time; after good performances I would be excited about continuing my form into the next fixture.

In the first few matches, all the excitement and tension of the match would sometimes boil over and I would bluntly express displeasure at our team's performance.  As the season progressed, this improved as I learnt to control myself, although a semi-final loss late in the season showed my angry side again.

Late in a cup final match which we won, I crashed into the wall past the end line.  I was chasing an opponent who was dribbling down the left wing, and I was determined to stop him.  He tried crossing as he neared the end line, but he was unsuccessful.  As I slowed down, he slid and took out my legs.  With no way to slow down and no time to think, I crashed into the wall with my body angled around 30 degrees from the horizontal, slowing myself down with my elbow, wrist and cheek/forehead.  As I lay down in moderate pain, people rushed to see if I was okay, then as I went off the pitch the last few minutes were played. 

Although to our team captain (he had the kindness of heart to think I was faking my pain to get a freekick/sympathy) said I was stupid to chase that hard with the game in the bag and it being so late in the match, I think it showed just how much these games meant to me.  I remember a similar incident in school where I hit a goal post trying to prevent an opposition goal.  Don't get me wrong, if I had my time again I'd rather not have had these incidents, but perhaps during the match I follow the game and sometimes miss the danger.

So there you have it: the two-paragraph, extended answer to people who ask(ed) 'what happened to your face?'.  No, I didn't 'get into a fight', my preferred first response which always elicits a laugh from the questioner.  Maybe I just don't seem like that kind of person.

Wow this is a long piece; I must admit when this blog was just another thought blog about how I have these thought blogs, I had no idea what the main body of it would be about.  Then when I started typing about my futsal thought blogs, I just kept typing and typing and typing...

Congratulations if you managed to get to the end!  Let me know if you did :p

Four Hundred Metres.

A lanky guy filled in for a star sprinter in the 400m at CGS aths day. This is his story.


I wasn't listed to do the 400m. However, Sam Chan pulled out and offered me the spot, so I took it. It was 400m A's, which meant I was racing pretty much the top runner from each of the 8 houses. 'That's alright', I thought, because it meant I wouldn't have much pressure to perform; I am no athlete so no one expects me to do well anyway. I tell Kai about it.
Kai: 'you doing the A's?'
Me: 'yeah'
Kai: 'you've got to sprint that'
Me: 'ohh...'
To be honest that never occured to me that I would have to be 'sprinting', because I thought I was simply making up the numbers. It really freaked me out because it meant that now I had real pressure to perform.

The lineup did not look good for me:
J.Tsarouhas SUM
S.Tarbet BRI
me
H.Leung ROB
H.Levvey STE
B.Mellody SCH
S.Soh DER
N.Burri MAC

All were very accomplished athletes; it didn't look like I would be able to come close to any, let alone beat any of them.

I lined up at the cones along with everyone else. I watched the year 10s, then 11s, then 12 B's race. The races didn't go for very long, so hopefully my torture won't last very long.

Out we walk onto the red track, to our respective positions. I was in the 3rd lane, which I liked because it meant I was still on the inside, but dont start off like I'm behind everybody else.

I stand behind my cone, then walk forward to have a go crouching at the line.

'TAKE YOUR MARKS!'
up I walk, then slowly crouch down.
The perspective completely changes; the track is a lot closer, and I can see the little bumps on the track.
I see the other racers crouching ahead of me.
I see the white lines next to me quickly curving around the bend.

I feel a small breeze blow, making my fringe wave in the air ahead of me. My breathing is quiet, my heart pounding hard.

'SET!'
I get myself ready, pricking my ears for the bang of the gun, preparing my quads to spring me out of my crouch and down the track. I look down at the white line ahead of me, with my fingers splayed out under me.

*CRACK*
go go go! I start getting up. My left foot springs up quickly, but my right foot loses traction, the adidas ATS cool running shoes scrabbling against the ground. For a few precarious milliseconds, I slip before I thankfully regained control.

The first few steps were nerve wracking. I was so used to crouching near the ground, when I got up I was momentarily disorientated, nearly veering out of my lane.

Off all of us go, around the first bend. Already Jason Tsarouhas has caught up to me on the inside, but I don't care; Hans has already streaked ahead, but I see Sam Tarbet is still behind me in the second lane, and I'm keeping up with Sam Soh. I haven't dropped behind yet!

I regulate my breathing, trying to keep it regular. I used my puffer twice beforehand so the asthma hasn't started kicking in yet, which is a good sign. Its a pretty fast pace, but I've done a few runs before so I'm not feeling too bad; its at the edge but not past my limits, and still I haven't dropped behind everyone else- I only see a few runners ahead of me.

Down the strait we go. I keep pace with Sam Soh, then I push ahead, and he falls away from my periphary vision on the right. Tarbet's catching up, but I'm not too worried about that.

Into the final bend. I can see the crowd looming up ahead, and I'm feeling much more confident about this bend; no more wobbles near the edge of my lane. I keep putting in the effort to set me up for a decent finish.

It looked like I was coming third or fourth.

We start finishing off the bend and start running onto the final straight. I can hear the crowd building, the collective high pitched buzz that comes from the pure excitement they posess. I can see the track straightening out for me. I can see the gates through which I have to pass through. It must be about 80 metres away but it looks like forever.

I was tiring.


Hans and Jason were already streaking ahead. Burri must have been ahead of me already. To my right I see Sam Soh power ahead. To my left I see Sam Tarbet easily outstride me and sprint to the finish.

I got the impression that I was on a runway and all around me aircraft are firing up and taking off, and my engine wouldn't start.

The truth was that my legs were spent. I could hear the crowd, and while it seemed to spur on the others, it could not do the same with me. I willed my legs on, but each step just got harder and harder.

The finishing gates still seemed miles ahead of me.

To my far right, I see a brown shirt. It was Harrison Levvey, running hard. I watched with terror as he steadily caught up, trying to beat me before we finished.

15 metres to go. He was about 1.5 metres behind me. I was losing balance and struggling not to fall face first into the dirt.

10 metres to go. He was about half a metre behind me. Don't fall forward. Keep going

5 metres to go. He was just about level, I was desperate not to lose. Come on!

2 metres left. Balance was no longer required. There was simply no way I could possibly fall and not cross the line.

I gave it everything. Right foot. Left foot. Right foot.

I ducked my head through the thin yellow gate, then immediately lost balance, taking a step with my left foot before falling sideways onto the right side of my hip then doing a roll and landing on my back, arms spread wide.

'oohhhh', I hear the crowd, and the commentator Mr Tuckfield say. Or was it my imagination? I don't know.

I look up, and I see a brilliant blue sky with a few fluffy clouds. The track feels warm and rough, but strangely comforting. The last minute or so had been thrilling, but the race was over.

Two heads block the sky in front of me. One was Mr Hutton's the others was some other student.
Mr Hutton: 'Are you alright?'
Me: 'Yeah. Did I come seventh?'
Mr Hutton: 'you came seventh'

It was all I cared about. I didn't care about how sore I felt, or the grazing on my hip and left hand. All I cared about was getting a result for the race. Hearing those three words from Mr Hutton made all the effort, all the strain and all the pain worth it.

It didn't matter that I didn't come top 4 or whatever. After all, I am no athlete.

Mr Hutton and the student helped me up, and I shook hands with my fellow students. I couldn't help but smile, because even though six other people beat me, I had run my heart out and did myself proud. Looking at the number 7 tag, I didn't feel belittled or inferior. It was reward for the effor I had put in, and I was happy.

Writing about it today, I still got shivers up my spine thinking about that amazing minute.

Thanks to Sam Chan, Alex Morris and Mr Williams for letting me run the event!

Hope you enjoyed reading,
Loz