Читать книгу Hard Cuddles - James Harding - Страница 15

THE RUNNER

‘It’s supposed to be hard… hard is what makes it great.’

— Jimmy Dugan from A League of Their Own

As a young bloke I couldn’t win a sports event to save myself. At primary school sports I was the kid that used to take home the participation award without fail. I was the Hawthorn of participation awards back to back to back. Fuck me it used to give me the shits, because in my mind I really fancied myself as a Usain Bolt type operator.

In grade three, I decided to do something about it. I engaged my father, who was a keen runner, and explained to him that he was to take me running with him. I explained that there was a school running race coming up and I was tired of losing. He must have admired my ambition because we started training straight away.

He was running regularly at the time and decent distances by memory, so at the start he would just ease me into it, by taking on a casual 3km run at slow pace. Here I was running next to him feeling like Robert De Castella. I’ve always been like that—anytime I take on a task or a goal, I always think I’m the best out there. Positive visualisation; I did that even at a young age, still do. A long time before spirituality, hacky sacks and kale smoothies hit Brunswick Street.

As we got closer to the race, Dad really ramped it up. Towards the end I remember him telling me the runs we were doing for training were the same distances he would run by himself. It was an incredible feeling; training for something and putting in the hard yards. After the run we would cool down in the backyard and I would talk to him about the race. Dad would emphasise the importance of lifting my legs up high and using my arms to generate a good stride and pace. I explained that this kid Jacob was my only real competition, but I was sure he wasn’t running big distances, putting kilometres into his legs in preparation. Probably sitting on the couch watching cartoons and stuffing his face with lollies. I was so competitive. This sort of mindset, hating the enemy was something I had most of my life. If you weren’t with me, then fuck you. This lolly eating couch potato didn’t stand a chance. I was going to tear him apart.

When it came to the big race day, I was nervous. I remember going to the toilet a lot, a trait I inherited from Dad. I had done all the training and all the work, I was completely prepared but I was still nervous as hell.

As we lined up on the blocks, I looked down the line at the competition. Jacob was looking straight ahead, it’s go time. Bang the gun went and I was off, I knew right from the start that I had everyone covered in that field. It was an incredible feeling; I was out to an early lead. I had a nice little buffer on Jacob, even to this day I can still feel that feeling of flying like Linford Christie across the couch grass. As we approached the halfway mark, I wanted to make sure of my victory so I started to zigzag, cutting off any other runner who might have been a threat. Again I have always had a win-at-all-costs mentality, if I have to cheat to win, then so be it.

As I crossed the finish line first I was flying, it felt like a blur, I was moving that fast. I felt incredible. the teacher came over with the winner’s ribbon and I thought, wow, I have actually done it. I looked in the crowd for the old man so I could rejoice in victory with the bloke that got me there, my trainer. He came over and he had a tear in his eye. Looking back, I'm pretty sure he was crying from laughter because I had cut all of the other runners out of the race. It was a special moment in my life.

I learned a valuable lesson. If you want to achieve something worthwhile, no one is going to give it to you—you need to earn that shit.