The sun is slowly setting on a
beautiful summer day in Melbourne.
This sunset is different than most.
It’s transformed the blue sky into a fiery shade of red –
illuminating a city in its prime, sending a message;
This is a day to get outside and do
something with your short, ridiculous life while you still can.
Listen, idiot, you're here for a second, then it's all over. Your
couch, no matter how comfortable, understanding and forgiving, can
wait till tomorrow. Run as fast as your legs will take you.
Give the next person you see a cheeky smile and high five. Don't
forget to put some oil and water in your car. Start thinking about
another overseas holiday. Call your dad for no reason. Make sure you
download that episode of New Girl I told you about, I love that show.
Now GO!
The stupid sunset
was right. I got off the comfortable couch, I downloaded the episode,
I rang my dad – but with a reason – he had to remember to put oil
and water in my car the next time I visited.
Son of the year. I
know, I know.
When you remove all
of the obvious benefits, advantages and blinding hatred-causing
repercussions of running, I think the thing I like most is that it's
time away from everything but the little voice in my head. It's just
me, my childish thoughts and the city.
As I started my
run, realising that numerous muscles on my legs no longer work the
way they used to, I passed by a high school – one of the most
beautiful and expensive schools in the country.
Students were
finishing for the last time in 2013, walking over to their parent's
incredibly-expensive cars and leaving for home – the summer
holidays had begun.
No matter how old I
get, I think summer will always be defined by that same walk to my
parent's car.
I loved that walk,
dressed in my ill-fitting school uniform, lugging my school bag that
was bigger than me. I had worked hard all year for a break. The
holidays had begun, filled with freedom, promise, backyard cricket
and parties – much like they still are today, two decades later.
That walk – or
what I like to call the holiday strut – is the most exciting
time of year.
Whether it's
finishing school for the year, stepping out of your office for annual
leave or driving home in the sun with the window down and music
blaring – it's a time when you truly believe that the days will
soon belong to no one but yourself.
As I passed the
students, reminiscing on those days, the first thing that came to
mind was that giving the next person I saw a cheeky smile and high
five was probably out of the question. On a scale of 1-10 on the
creep scale, a stranger trying to give high five to kids outside of a
school is a solid six. It's not as bad as people I've seen walking
their cats on a leash (7.8) and certainly not in the realm of people
who walk their children on a leash (a solid, unwavering 10), but it's
still not cool.
People, if you're
so hung up on having something to walk, stop living in denial and get
a dog.
The second thing
that came to mind was the magic behind the holiday strut.
Characterised by an
improved posture, arched back, high knees, raised chin and
enthusiastic arm swinging, the holiday strut is a thing of true
beauty. Designed to inspire your fellow man and be the beacon of
happiness.
I saw it all the
time when I holidayed overseas. I loved watching it in airports when
people were minutes away from boarding a plane. I remember my Dad
used to break it out before a long family road trip. When I walked
through Disneyland many moons ago, I didn't see one non-strutting
person. Not one.
My Nonno has that
same strut in summer, not because he's on holiday, but because it's
tomato season – much more important.
Just as happiness
cannot be defined without sadness, the holiday strut is nothing
without the rat race crawl. Those suffering the rat race crawl
will often feature blank, vacant eyes, stooped shoulders, dragging
feet and a beaten, sullen overall look.
We put ourselves through the crawl to reach the heights of the strut. Those heights are nothing if you don't earn them and when you have earned them, hold onto them for as long as you can.
With that thought,
I ran a little faster, a little harder – exaggerating the 'injured
penguin' style that has become my hallmark. If the path to happiness
– that feeling as I strut back to my parent's car at the end of a
school year – was found through hard work, I was going to run until
I couldn't feel my own legs – which won't be too long, as they were
struggling to begin with.
Strut proudly
friends. The days now belong to no one but us.
No comments:
Post a Comment