Race Walking

As I wrote earlier, the Australians cover every Olympic event in which one of their own competes. With horror, we realized that several Australians were competing in race walking. I’m not sure what the opposite of endorphins are, but I’m absolutely positive that my body is swimming with them while enduring national televised coverage of fifty race walkers strutting in a circle. Are they considered a gaggle? A clump?

The only thing worse is race walking in slo mo. Swimming in slo mo? I get it. The Matrix in slo mo? Absolutely! Race walking …

Amy and I did our own version of the race walk this weekend. A new world record was established (I'm pretty sure that no one has established a faster time from our doorstep to North Glenelg Beach - approximately 14k). That's what we set out to do and that's what we did.

Amy set a blistering pace and tried to distract me with questions about my writing. I kept my responses monosyllabic to conserve energy. The weather was exactly what we've grown to love here in Adelaide; 53, rainy and windy with enough patches of sunlight to fool you into thinking that it can't be overcast forever. The walk gave us the chance to see the underbelly of Adelaide. I'm not saying it's seedy. I'm just not saying anything.

The Australians appear to be at least a decade ahead of us in 'loo' technology.

There was a fully automated restroom in a park, complete with auto flush, auto soap, auto wash, and auto dry. Space for a bidet. And nothing says classy like soft elevator music and a recording of a deferential woman's voice informing you that the door will open in no less than eight minutes. Apparently a safety feature in case you've passed out.

As the day wore on, we realized a few other important things; google maps is not kidding when it notes that the "walking routes" may lack sidewalks, Autralians regard 55 as the dead of winter and dress accordingly, Adelaide drivers speed up when they see you crossing the street, and the city of Adelaide has decided to randomly distribute street signs (appearing to believe that if you don't know where you are you're probably the kind of person who deserves to be lost).

As you can see, it was a photo finish with my final time one one hundredths faster than hers.

Sweet victory ...

... and bitter defeat.

Amy lodged a protest, stating that she "didn't know we were racing" and "thought we were just going for a walk to be together." After due consideration, these protests were rejected on the basis that I distinctly muttered "let's race" while she was in the bathroom.

Critics might agree with Amy, possibly noting that the course from our doorstop to Glenelg beach is arbitrary and irrelevant. I understand that perspective, but ultimately, I think we can all agree that race walking itself is sort of arbitrary and irrelevant. Apologies to all the fast walkers out there.