A shocking sports weekend of epic proportions

I find that my weekends are often defined by sports. This happened in college, this happened in New York and it's happening in Sydney. And while sports can fill a weekend with glee, it can also cast doom on our days of rest.

This past weekend, a huge shadow of sports doom descended upon Australia.

The first blow was the Bledisoe Cup match between the Wallabies and All Blacks on Saturday night. The Wallabies are Australia's rugby team. The All Blacks are New Zealand's rugby team. And amongst the many rivalries between those two countries -- sports or otherwise -- this one takes the cake. New Zealand may be a bit more rugby-mad than Australia, but Australia still loves it plenty. Imagine USA-Canada in ice hockey... except pretend that the US still actually cared about ice hockey, just a little. It would be kinda like that.

Anyway, I was fortunate enough to score some tickets to the match. So out to the Olympic Stadium I went, looking forward not only to what is generally a great match, but also to New Zealand doing the haka, a Maori dance that was traditionally performed before a battle in the hopes of scaring the bejesus out of the enemy.

Based on the premise of this post, you already know this ended poorly for Australia: All Blacks 19, Wallabies 18. And even though it was close, with New Zealand taking the lead for good in the last few minutes, it was actually pretty non-eventful.* I mean, relatively speaking. If I was expecting a 9, I got a 7. So, you know, I was let down a bit.

*In rugby union, teams will often score many of their points off of penalties. And that's pretty much what happened here. 30 of the 37 points in the match were scored off of penalty kicks. Imagine an NBA game in which 81% of the points were scored off of free throws, and that's what you have here.

Even the haka wasn't great. If you scroll ahead to the 5:10 mark of this video, you can see it. But in my mind, the gold standard for the haka came in last year's Rugby League World Cup, when New Zealand and Australia faced off in the final:

Now that's a haka.

The second calamity of the weekend actually didn't come until late Sunday night, when Australia officially lost the Ashes, one of cricket's most celebrated rivalries, to England.

Australia dominated the tournament from 1989 to 2003, winning every single time. And even after losing the Ashes in 2005, they promptly won them back in 2007. So going into this year's contest as the #1 ranked team in the world, it was widely expected that they'd win again. After four test matches, the series was tied at one apiece (with the other two being draws). Starting the fifth and final test match, everyone thought Australia had the momentum. They didn't. And late Sunday night in Australia, England won back the Ashes. Which would be that tiny little urn that Ricky Ponting, Australia's captain, is holding in the picture. Yeah. That's what they play for.

And the final sports catastrophe of the weekend? Let's go back to New Zealand and my ice hockey comment. For in a match that I'm sure no one even knew was happening, New Zealand took out Australia for the first time ever in ice hockey. Is that really necessary, after a weekend that will live in infamy? I think not.

65:53

Yeah.

For the Bridge Run, I grossly underestimated how fast I could do it. But for City2Surf, I thought I had a much better handle on things. So that apprehension about breaking 70 minutes... that was real. Apparently not?

Maybe it was the adrenalin that comes with running with 75,000 people. Maybe it was the fact that I really, really, really had to urinate for all 65 minutes and 53 seconds. Maybe it was the fact that I just wanted the damned thing to be over with already. Whatever it was, I got under 70 minutes. Easily. And now I'm left to wonder if I could break 65 minutes... and I think I can. Guess we'll have to wait for next year.

Until then? I think it's back to the Bridge Run in September, and my newest goal: breaking 40 minutes.

And now we play the waiting game

Yesterday was great.

The previous night's sleep, during which I seemingly woke up every half hour? Not so much. The 6:45am wake up call? No way. Standing idly around before the race for an hour, in the chilly morning air, waiting to start? Ummmmm, no. Realizing about 20 minutes before the race that I really had to piss, except that there was no way I had enough time to wade through a sea of people to the toilets and back? Absolutely not.

But from the atmosphere in the crowd at the starting line, to the moment the starting gun went off, to a band proclaiming "Freak you, I won't do what you tell me!" on top of the Golden Sheaf, to running along the harbour in Rose Bay, to the excruciating climb up Heartbreak Hill, to the 4km descent to Bondi Beach, to sprinting through to the finish line... well, I actually had fun.*

*That fun continued post race,** as a group of us headed to a bar and downed several drinks that (a) went down FAR too easily and (b) went to my head FAR too quickly.

**The fun ceased shortly after the bar, as Yogi and I walked the three kilometers -- all uphill -- from Bondi Beach to Bondi Junction. With 75,000 racers (plus plenty more supporters and onlookers) descending upon the area, all traffic had come to a standstill, and all buses were absolutely packed. So we walked. And no, that was not fun.

Post-race walk aside, the exception to my fun during the race may have been my need to urinate. For throughout the entire 14 kilometers, I had to go, bad. Real bad. Did that help me run faster? It actually may have. The problem is, I don't know exactly what my time was. At least not quite yet. You see, I finished 1 hour and 24 minutes after the starting gun went off, but I didn't actually start until well after then. And the official results aren't released until tomorrow.

I'm pretty confident I did sub-70 minutes, which would quite please me. Did I reach 65? I think that's a stretch... but I think there's a chance. I'll find out for sure soon enough.

Can I break the 70 minute barrier?

In my last post on the City2Surf race, I boldly targeted a time of 65 minutes, thinking that 70 was well within reach. Well, in case you're hearing some beeping right now, that's the sound of me backing off of that proclamation. For after a few runs in the past several days that I've kinda timed, I've realized that 65 minutes is a bit of a pipe dream, and even 70 may be pushing it.

In preparation for tomorrow, I've been doing some runs home from work, which you can see here: over the Harbour Bridge and by the Opera House, through the city and Hyde Park, into Surry Hills and then a long last straightaway by Moore Park, past the Sydney Football Stadium and the Sydney Cricket Ground. Not a bad route for the scenery, and at just about 10km with a few good hills, I think my conditioning is there. The speed? That's another question.

I'm pumped for tomorrow, although I'm not entirely sure what to expect. But if nothing else, it should be fun.

I've had nightmares tamer than this

I think that my fear of large, flightless birds has been well documented on this blog. First was my trip to Mission Beach, during which I was convinced that it was only a matter of time before a cassowary hunted me down and had its way with me. Then was Hannah's wedding, where I had to sleep no more than 100 feet away from some looming ostriches.

So imagine my sheer horror when, as I walked through Auckland Museum last month, I saw this:


That, my friends, would be a Moa. Indigenous to New Zealand and reaching heights of TWELVE FEET (and over 500 pounds!!), it's the tallest bird ever to be recorded. Thankfully -- well, thankfully for me, not so much them -- they've been extinct for over 500 years.

So there I was, craning my neck up at this beast. Sure, it was behind glass. Sure, it was stuffed. But still. My LORD. The fear lives strong within me.