The Weary Legs of a Warrior.

Mount Cooke Jarrah

It was an upwards climb. The morning sun was gently warming the air but I was already feeling the sweat bead steadily, the 14kg pack riding grudgingly against my clammy cotton shirt. I stepped, pivoted and bound off the right foot. Focused on the prize.. I’m alone. The first few kilometres pass without incident but my muscles feel stretched, an avowal of fitness or the distinct lack of. I pick up the pace, racing against myself, against the burn.. I must.

White Spider Orchid (Caladenia longicauda)

Trudging confidently I see the second group up ahead and I sharpen my focus, fixate on the ground, left, right I count.. Faster, again. Secretly I hope they feel a zephyr as I pass and quickly disappear into the old Jarrah Forrest ahead. Yes the old Jarrah Forrest, burnt out maybe a year ago now grows wildly, fresh young shoots spill freely out across the defined track. Flowers spread their bright coloured bloom and greet the much rewarding insects which hover somewhere above. The old trees however, are hollowed and burnt, looking dated, twisted and drab. The strong root’s ploughed deep into the earth held the tree steadfast, as the brutal, unrelenting and penetrating flames leaped higher, consuming the limber canopy in a swift articulated burst. A glorious flame reportedly sailed 30m above the tree line. The heat had eaten its core, slowly, painfully until it stood precariously heavy, worn, charred and tired. Faster I remind myself, stay on the run.

The lengthy strides of this vigour’s march have left my boots rubbing furiously and I start to cringe at the terribly fierce burn on the back of my ankle. Slowing down is an option but to what avail, to limp, to fail?, Anyway the pain feels good I argue with myself, it reminds me I’m alive. A deep breath of air bursts into my lungs reinvigorating my step as the sweat beads rolled off my flushed face. It’s a race, a race against myself.

Blue Leschenaultia (Leschenautia Biloba)

Rocky raccoon checked into his room
Only to find gideons bible
Rocky had come equipped with a gun
To shoot off the legs of his rival
His rival it seems had broken his dreams
By stealing the girl of his fancy
Her name was magil and she called herself lil
But everyone knew her as nancy

I could see the road I so desperately needed to see looming up in front. It had been around 16km at this stage. Hope. I stir into a quickened shuffle while repeating the words from my iPod. My right knee moved contortedly, the bodies last ditch effort to remove the weight off these hideous blisters. It was uncontrollable and uncomfortable. Left, right, I keep the count in my head for the fear of defeat..

Later that evening two young red faced girls trundled in buckled under the weight of a stiff day’s walk and a heavy pack. I pick lazily at the blisters as I watch them come up to the hut. I was surprised to see them actually. They were young and well female. The type you could imagine dressed in a pretty evening frock at some trendy downtown bar on a Saturday night, surrounded my muscularly blokes drinking PURE BLONDE. Anyway side tracked, we got talking about the day’s events as they started the mundane duty of unpacking their burden. As you do of course, when two rather attractive ladies stumble carelessly out from behind some bushes. I was thinking shit hot how’s me luck! Anyway quietly I was feeling quiet chuffed about my epic stomp that day and was probably looking forward to a bit of modest boasting (Wrestled seven stubborn crocodiles, while I peacefully ate home purchased Chinese by a creek blah, blah, killer koala’s, shooting starfish, angry gangster gorilla’s). Yep I was ready to feed’em up a rip snorter, well that is until these girls started flabbering on about why they were so late arriving. I was shattered. Young, lush and petite girls had walked an extra 10km, 3 mountains and 5kgs more than I had. Instantly I felt a yearning to get back on my feet, pack the bag and get moving, keep going, pushing the distance.. It’s not a jealous thing. No it’s just the challenge which is so tempting.

The challenges which will make a man achieve great things, reach his dreams and keep him; on the road.

Actually who am I kidding, my feet hurt like shit and my body felt tender in parts I don’t care to know about. Dumbfounded that these chicks had walked so far highlighted something rather significant, I’m really am unfit! There was no way I could have just done what they did. Possibly it’s the copious amount of delicious oat soda I’m quite partial too indulging on any other week, no. night. Maybe it’s the extraordinary amount of hours I spend firmly flat on my butt in the office or in the car. Whatever it is, I probably should think about doing less or more of it or I’m going to be in a world of hurt when I get to Tasmania. Training so far my friends has not scratched the surface!

This weekend though, I will attempt what I set out to do quite some time ago.. Paddle the Murray (For clarification it’s the dreary and dingy Murray one on the West Coast, what did I say. I’m unfit!)

UGLY!

Anyway I will endevour to attach some delightfull pictures later (when I'm not at work). Until then, I hope you catch some crabs!

Pincushion Coneflower (Isopogon dubius)