27June/2013

Why I Run.

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Why I Run

Pat Farmer, 51, Ultra-Marathon Athlete

Most of us relish the thought of being snuggled up in a warm bed with a doona coiled around us. Not me. Every minute slept is a minute of activity that I will never get back again. I wasn’t always like this though.

In October 1981, I lay underneath an HJ Holden pulling the rear end apart to try to find out why it made an almighty groaning noise every time the driver took it around a left bend. I was slowly lowering the differential on a trolley jack when my boss Laurie called me out from underneath the car.

“Pat, you better get out here mate. I’ve got some bad news for you.”

As I lay there with my head poking out from underneath the car, Laurie told me that my dad had just died.

“Heart attack.”

Dad was only 53. He left behind my mum, two sisters and four brothers.

Being poor in those days, his diet consisted of meat cooked in dripping (left over fat from cooked meat) and everything was plastered in salt and butter. The fact that he smoked like a chimney didn’t help much either.

Dad worked hard, real hard, but he didn’t take the time to look after himself. He didn’t take time to breathe fresh air from a mountain top or a little known bush trail or to clear his pores with a healthy sweat as he ran past a gently flowing brook.

He didn’t take time to check his heart rate and improve his fitness.

He didn’t take time to gently allow his mind to drift to unknown exotic corners of the globe as he jogged the ragged coastlines and parks that surround this magnificent country.

He didn’t take time for himself, just to run and feel free and be one with this earth. And because he didn’t take time he didn’t have time.

This is why I run.

 

 


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