Science – Another System of Belief

It came to me, the other night whilst carving stone, that science is no more or less than another system of belief we as humans use to attribute meaning to the otherwise crazy, misunderstand-able world we share.

Just as Catholicism, Islam,  Judaism and Buddhism (or any other ‘ism’ or ‘am’ you may be able to think of) is a system of belief.

When you think about it, the only reason Matthew, Mark, Luke and John wrote The Holy Bible is because they were developing the system of belief that Jesus inspired through prayerful meditation, consciousness and centredness.

When the Prophet Mohamed became the vessel through which the Koran was delivered, when he managed to aggregate all the wisdom that those prophets who came before him gathered from those who came before them, it was because he was laying down the system of belief that they had established through prayerful meditation and centredness and consciousness. 

When the Buddha shared all the wisdom that he had acquired from being born into bliss consciousness, he was elucidating a system of belief he had worked out through meditation, centredness and consciousness. 

When Steven Hawkins explains the mysteries of the universe, despite the fact that it is, indeed, “fact,” he’s is also delivering the latest system of belief that evolution has equiped us with.

So why the disagreement? 

Believe whatever it is you need to believe to get by.

Do no harm.

And move on…

Get Busy living or Get Busy Dying

Morgan Freeman quotes this line in the classic movie, “The Shawshank Redemption,” and it has always resonated with me, though never more than in the past few years.

You see, I had a bad accident a few years ago, resulting in a frontal lobe brain injury. I lost a little bit of my sanity for a couple of years, and went through 18 months of mania followed by 9 months of severe clinical depression. I also lost three jobs, my wife, my vitality and my will to live. Things got so bad that I was seriously contemplating suicide, but the thought of leaving my two sons without a father and a big question mark over how and why he died was too much, so I checked myself into hospital, started taking medication and have been better ever since.

My experience with depression extends beyond my own life. I have lost one of my best high school friends to suicide, our next door neighbour took his own life when his farming debt became too much to handle, and a family friends son shot himself for reasons no one can understand. My father is bipolar, and while the shrinks tried to label me the same, I choose to believe I am a bloke who has more energy and enthusiasm than most people most of the time, and needs to be careful not to burn out and become depressed.

So my current approach to maintaining good mental health is geared towards having an active, healthy lifestyle. I am heavily involved with my children, my ex-wife and my local community. I exercise daily, meditate and do yoga at least every other day, and steer clear of booze and drugs most if not all of the time.

I’m running in ten obstacle races in 2015, two ultra marathons, and I am cycling over 500 kilometres from Vietnam to Cambodia to raise money for the Black Dog Institute. I’m getting busy living, for if I don’t I’ll pretty quickly start to get busy dying.

If you or anyone you know suffers from mental health issues, rather than trying to counsel them on how to change their thinking or mental processing of the issues they face in life, help them to get busy living. Exercise, involvement in their local community, charity work, focusing on the beauty and truth in the world around them rather than the ugliness and lies they create in their own mind is the key to vitality.

For the opposite to depression is not happiness, it is vitality. In order to combat depression, you need to seek out vitality. You need to get busy living.

If you care to support me in raising $50,000 for The Black Dog Institute in my Cycle to Happiness in March 2015, please click on the link below and make whatever donation you feel comfortable with.

http://cycle.gofundraise.com.au/page/BrennanA

Black Dog Image

To Live In Fear or Hope?

As you may already know, I suffered a frontal lobe brain injury, which has caused structural changes to the neural pathways in my brain, and resulted in lasting changes to my personality. Namely my ‘executive function.’ This is the ability your brain has to schedule tasks, organise your life and respond appropriately to any given situation. 99% of the time, my impaired executive function causes no issues. I use a calendar, reminders in my phone and a healthy dose of self restraint to ensure I  don’t offend, upset or ignore the needs of others. I have received a lot of encouragement and support from a large group of f  riends, both new and old, since sharing the story of my accident, seperation and ongoing challenges life has thrown at me since I fell off a balcony a few years ago.

For this I am eternally grateful. I could choose to become reclusive, stay silent and deal with my issues alone, in fear of the judgement that may be directed towards me for the chouces I have made. Or, I could do as I have done. I can live in hope that the understanding and compassion that we all harbour for our fellow man will triumph over the loss of social esteem that sharing my story may incur. And triumph it has.

1% of the time, I respond to situations inappropriately and then have to live with the consequences. I am guilty of going to a local cafe, drunk, at 7am one Saturday morning a few months ago and doing something that, to me seems innocent enough, but not to the cafe owner…

When I returned on the following Monday the owner of the cafe, a young bloke more concerned (it would seem) with the image his cafe projects of being hip, sophisticated, and cool than of maintaining an amicable relationship with a regular customer, gave me what money was left of my weekly $50 tab that I pay at the start of each week, and asked that I never return again.

“Why is that mate?” I asked with confusion written all over my face.

“What you said on Saturday morning is just not on. I can’t have that kind of talk in my cafe.” He replied.

“What did I say?”

“Well one of the customers commented on the fact that you were at a cafe drinking coffee at 7am when you should really be home in bed sleeping it off.”

My reply, apparently, was, “If I was at home I’d just be smoking it up and whacking it.”

I assume I got a laugh…either that or a look of disgust. Whatever the case may be, the owner didn’t appreciate it one little bit.

So I haven’t returned since then. Until this morning. I stood at the takeaway windows, and received a happy, “G’day mate, how’s it going?” From one of the baristas.

Then the owner came to the window and said, “Can I help you?” with a look that clearly indicated he would rather not.

“I’m just after a takeaway mate. Is that alright?”

“Um. Yeah. I guess so.” He replied with about as much enthusiasm as someone offered an undesired yet necessary enema.

“Look mate, if you never want me to come back again, just say so, and I’ll never come back again. I just think it is unusual that for 99% of the time I drank coffee here, I was well behaved, friendly, appropriate in my interactions with your staff and customers, and based on a single comment, you’ve asked me never to return.”

“Please don’t come back again.” Was all he had to say.

Does he fear I’ll drive off all his business? Is the colour of my money different to anyone else’s? Is he threatened by my outgoing personality. Does he suspect I’ll lose it and hit him in the face?

Whatever the case may be, he chooses to live in fear of what me and my less than fully functioning brain are capable of.

Do I now live in fear that I’ll never drink coffee at this cafe again?

Or do I live in hope that the narrow minded approach this proprietor has shown me is an anomaly, and find somewhere with better coffee, service and more open minded staff? I chose the latter. And it is going well so far. Plus I drink far less coffee than I have in the past and save myself at least $40 a week.

So what would you do if you were the proprietor? Choose fear? Or choose hope?

Coffee-brisbane-25

I Got Chicked. And I’m Damn Proud.

You may have already read the last of my posts, which went up last night. I reviewed the True grit and OCRA Inaugural 24 Hour Obstacle Enduro Race. It was a race of superhuman strength, both male and female. It was a race of determination, it was a race of ticker. It was a race of joy.

There’s a sub-phenomenon that is occurring within the phenomenon that is Australian Obstacle Racing. One that you should be aware of, and if you’re not already, you soon will be. This sub-phenomenon is called ‘Getting Chicked.”

A chicking involves a male racer being overtaken by a female racer. It is something which the ladies treasure, and take pride and pleasure in. It is something the men try to avoid at any cost. I’ve even heard of a bloke feigning injury to avoid a chicking he knew was coming to him sooner or later. What a rank amatuer! 

Now I’m not going to talk about all the blokes who have been chicked, though I will include one of them in this yarn. That’s me.

I got chicked on the weekend.

I got chicked heaps.

And SHIT am I proud of it.

I am proud when I get chicked because it proves the chicker is awesome, and the chickee needs to train harder. I was lucky to be born a man. Let’s face it. We get better pay, more say on how society is run, we enjoy the lion’s share of the food, the senior roles in government and the corporate world, we are, on average, bigger and stronger (sometimes, not always) and we have to deal with less discrimination, harassment, physical and verbal abuse than the stronger sex does.

That’s right. Stronger.

I’ve witnessed my wife give birth to two children. Naturally. Without drugs. I would have been reaching for the pethidine before we even got to the hospital. I’ve seen my mother support my father through 30 years of illness, and stand strong as the winds of drug addiction, drought, flood and fire have buffeted our family back and forth. And yet still she is strong. It ain’t about how much you can lift, it’s about how much you can take.

The reason I am proud of this series of chickings that occurred over the weekend, a situation most blokes wouldn’t even discuss, is that I admire these chicks so much, and it is an honour to watch them chick me.

Leah Dansie did 10 laps for God’s sake. To look at her in civilian clothes, she is just a 5 foot 10 inch blonde bird. She looks like any other 5 foot ten inch blonde bird who looks after her body. But she ain’t. She did 110 kilometres and 300 obstacles over 24 hours. That is superhuman. She would have chicked me at least three or four times had I have done the event solo.

I don’t actually remember a chick going past me out on course. I only did two laps and I was moving pretty quick, so whatevs. But I got chicked alright. I know for a fact that Andrea Peebles chicked me a couple of times, because we started my second lap together, she watched me run (almost) flat stick into the barbed wire. I had to really dig both heels into the dirt and drop flat on my arse to avoid a serious maiming, but I DO know how to stop this big frame quick…when I need to.

We ran, we laughed, we joked, we ran. I would lose her in the hills or through the water, and then – after a short break yarning to a volunteer – I would put the gas down and, surprisingly, she would be out in front again. “How did I miss her run past me? Is she working with the Spartan Ninja,” I wondered. She knew when I was coming through though, because the way I get through races is to keep talking, to anyone and everyone I pass.

One of the volunteers claimed that I had an excess of energy. So I sang him a war cry from my St. Johns College Days. “Here’s to the man with the Big Red Nose. Hoo, Hah. Hoo, Hoo, Hah!” 

So what? I’m an extrovert. I draw energy from other peoples’ energy. That’s why I could keep hitting the gas every time I saw Andrea Peebles, she is possibly the MOST positive person i saw out on the course. And there were plenty of positive people out on the course. I mean you don’t go and run 24 hours and 100kms with a negative frame of mind. It simply isn’t possible.

Speaking of getting chicked, there was team on course named Turbo Super Chicks. You’ll see a photo of them below:

Turbo, Mel & Hubby

The little pocket rocket on the left is Amanda Steidle, the brains behind www.turbosuperfoods.com . Anyone who has been in the obstacle racing game for a reasonable period of time, and knows anything about nutrition, is on her gear. It’s that good. She runs like the wind, is like a miniature Buddha, sipping on Turbo, and has a ‘finish line scream’ that puts a smile on everyones face.

Next comes Deanna Blegg. World’s Toughest Mudder. Supermum. Adventure Racer Extraordinaire. Survivor. Wise One. Legend.

Then comes Mel Curry’s husband (Do you notice there’s a bloke in the lineup?). Butcher, wholesaler, support crew to the incredible Mel Curry.

She’s the one who is blonde, in the middle. She’s about 34 years old in the shade, completed (maybe?) 8 laps, always had a smile on her face, and impressed the ‘spring chickens’ that make up Turbo Superchicks so much that they have dubbed her their hero. She has also given birth to and raised five children. Yes, 5. FIVE. And she ran 88 kilometres and conquered 240 obstacles. Impressive.

The comes Bronwyn Sparkes, a woman whom I had never met before last weekend, but I had been ‘friends’ with on Facebook for at least two years. She is lovely, she is beautiful, she is fit, she is fantastic. She was crook throughout the Enduro, but she soldiered on. She’s a Superchick, after all.

Then comes Kate Barsby. KB, the weapon. She is about as ocker as you can get in the female line of that species we call Australianus. She’s always calling me ‘champ’ and ‘matey’ and ‘bud’ and talking about how her mouth was as ‘dry as a dead dingoes donger on a dusty day in Darwin,’ when she was nearing the end of her lap. She’s alright, is KB.

And while I was never passed by a Turbo Superchick, I can guarantee that, had we started our laps at the same time, they would, indeed, have passed me. They would have chicked the SHIT out of me. Cause that is what they do. Not just in that they are fast and fit, they are graceful, they are dignified, they are classy. 

I think that the definition of being chicked needs to include that, while a chick may overtake you, dominate you physically, and give you a bit of grief about it afterwards, they will never rub salt into the wounds. They will never go too far. They will never be crass, or ungracious, or boastful…as us blokes might have done.

That is why I am so proud to have been chicked. Over and over again.

Chicks are fucking awesome.

Leah battling

True Grit & The OCRA’s 24 Hour Obstacle Enduro – Review

This past weekend I was privileged to be invited to participate in Australia’s first ever 24 hour obstacle endurance event. It was hosted by True Grit, Military Inspired Obstacle Course Races, and the Obstacle Course Racing Association of Australia, or OCRA. The location was at a place called Dargle Farm, in Lower Portland, which is on the Hawkesbury River in outer Sydney. The farm was maybe 1,000 acres of gorgeous Australian bush, or at least that is roughly the area that was utilised for the race course. It was hilly, at times treacherous, thickly wooded forest and some open plains littered with trees, watercourses, mud, mud and more mud.

The race started at 2pm on Saturday afternoon. A field of maybe 15-20 men and 10-15 women were running solo. They were planning to run as many of the 11 kilometre, 30 obstacle laps as possible, with as little rest as was sensible, over the following 24 hours. There were several each of the two person teams, three person teams and four person teams. Those teams which covered the most laps in the 24 hours would take out the honours of winning 1st, 2nd or 3rd place at the inaugural Australian Obstacle Enduro Championships.

For the first 6 hours of the race I decided to volunteer as a marshall on one of the obstacles. I was assigned obstacle 15, the ‘Jungle Vines’ – a series of ropes that were tied between the thick growing trees of the rainforest at the farthest outpost of the course from the festival area – where the start and finish line were located. And oh what a RAINforest it was. That afternoon and into the evening I would hazard a guess to say we got around 150 millimetres of rain, or six inches in the old measurements.

Jungle Vines was just past the halfway mark, and so it was a great place to view all the different competitors and assess how they were tracking from a fatigue, strength and morale perspective. I arrived on my post at around 3pm, an hour after the race started at 2pm. This was just in time to see the race leader, Lachlan Dansie, of the 2pm wave come through the course.

Lachlan, or Lockie, is arguably the strongest Ultra Endurance Obstacle Course Racer in Australia. That said, I would have loved it if he completed in the whole event. This because Jason Reardon, the eventual winner of the male solo 24 hour race, did just shy of twelve laps, or around 144 kilometres and 360 obstacles in 24 hours. It would have been a battle of epic proportions.

Despite there being 30 obstacles over 11kms – roughly one every 500 metres – to slow you down, Lockie still ran his first lap in just 1 hour and 3 minutes time. At the time he came past me, I was sheltering from the rain under a rock overhang, about 40 feet above among the rocks that towered over the track the competitors were running down. I shouted out, “Looking strong Lockie!” It didn’t scare or surprise him in the least, that a strange voice was emanating from high in the bush above his left shoulder. He just turned casually while still running, and said, “Thanks mate, see you next lap.”

He then did what all good, honest Obstacle Racers do, and went through the Jungle Vines obstacle with ease. It wasn’t a very hard obstacle after all.

The second placed competitor was only maybe three minutes behind Lockie, but rather than doing the honourable, honest thing and go through the ropes, he ran to the left and around them. This shortcut would have subtracted maybe 45 seconds to one minute from his overall lap time.

I’m disappointed to say that the third placed competitor did exactly the same thing, by which stage I had realised that many competitors might take the easy option unless I policed them. After that realisation, no one else took the easy option.

There was one more Dasie out on the course that day. Or at least she used to be a Dansie, before she became a Richardson. Leah Richardson was to eventually take out the Women’s 24 Hour Enduro 1st Place, but when I saw her, she was only on each of her first 4 or 5 laps. It was lap three, when she was first running in the dark, with a busted head lamp, that I spent a small amount of time with Leah. I mentioned that she was moving a lot slower than usual, and I hardly even noticed her until she was right on top of me. The emotion in her voice was raw, and plainly heard. “Oh Alex, I’m having a really shit time. This headlamp doesn’t work, I can’t see a thing, I keep kicking rocks and falling over. I don’t know how I’m going to keep going.”

That was NOT the Leah Richardson I know talking. That was someone who had had the bad fortune to take the wrong headlamp. “Just have my LED LENSER Leah. I’m not using it anyway. I’d prefer to stand in the dark when runners aren’t coming past. I can see better anyway.”

“No, you need it more than I do.” She said.

“What in the Lord’s name are you talking about. You are running. You are competing in the 24 Hour Enduro Race, I’m standing here making sure no one gets injured in the rain. Take the bloody thing!”

“Are you sure?” She says gain. This tells you what kind of person Leah is. She’s more concerned about a volunteer standing still in the dark than she is about her own safety running flat out in the dark. What a champion she is. 10 laps, 110 kilometres and 330 obstacles later she proved just what a champion she truly is.

I happened to be at the finish line when she crossed in victory. She was broken, her body only driven forward by the strength of her character, and the conviction that if she wanted to win, her mind would get her there. And get her there it did.

She fell to the ground once she crossed the timing mat, exclaiming, “THAT is the hardest thing I have ever done. I think I want to cry!”

“Cry then woman!” I shouted at her while laughing. “If ever you have earned the right to cry it is after ten bloody laps!”

Her husband was there, as he had been for the whole 24 hours, supporting her, consoling her, comforting her, ensuring she wasn’t hurt.

Then her incredible character shone through again. “It was just such a tough course. The only thing that kept me going was you, David, and all the volunteers and support in the pit when we finished a lap. It’s just been amazing. I was really doubting my ability to last the 24 hours on the third lap when my headlamp broke. I was tripping over, kicking rocks. And then Alex gave me his headlamp. It actually worked. It was just such an amazing feeling out there. Knowing every single person, competitor or volunteer, had your back. Especially when the going was tough.”

Given the length of the course and the number of competitors out on it at any one time, which was no more than 40 or 50, while I was at obstacle 15 as a volunteer there were long periods of time when I was alone in the bush waiting for the next racer to come through. I used this time to wander up and down the goat track we all ran on, to explore the bush on either side of the track, to sit in silence and listen to the beautiful birdsong all around me, to walk back up onto the ridge and blow smoke rings into the stillness of the evening (when it wasn’t raining) and to marvel at the beauty surrounding me as I was all alone and able to really absorb it. The sights and sounds, the taste of the clean, fresh air, the feel of the rain falling softly on your skin and the paperbark peeling softly off the trees, the smell of eucalyptus in the leaves, of the gentle rain falling, and of solitude. I could live there forever and be happy if I never saw another soul.

I also used this time to build a Blair Witch Project style structure just beside the running track and just before you entered the obstacle. I wish I had my phone with me when I went out there, maybe then I wouldn’t have lost it, and I would have taken some photos. It was a thing of beauty. It was somewhat freaky to begin with, reminiscent of the structures Woody Harrelson and Matthew McConaughey find in True Detective. So to make it a little more welcoming, I added some ferns and colourful flowers to its peak. That did the trick.

I was relieved a few hours after dark when I was thoroughly soaked and so cold I couldn’t feel my feet or my hands, by Michael Aspinall. Mick is another elite Spartan Racer whose friendship has become something I genuinely value. Mick spent the next 13 hours out there, making my short stint of 6 or 7 seem like child’s play.

He also made the much maligned (by me and some of the other other 24 hour enduro competitors who had seen the finished product) decision to pull apart my Blair Witch structure and use the wood and ferns to build a barricade across the easy path around the obstacle. If only he weren’t so lazy – and looking to sleep in his chair under his umbrella through the night. I was awake for the whole time I was volunteering, just telling people they were not allowed to take the easy option. But Mick is so lazy he sometimes can’t be bothered undressing to sleep. So the barricade was a better option for him.

After a long walk out of the bush and a bumpy ride in the Land Rover back to the event area and start/finish line, I spent the next two or three hours in the pit. I tried to get some sleep at around midnight, my first in 42 hours, since I woke up on Thursday morning. That worked for all of 30 minutes.

I spent the following 3 hours around the campfire, getting ready to run and sorting through my gear, which was all over the shop in a tent I shared with my 3 other team mates and another team of 3, Blonde Ambition. Certainly the only way to describe the Pit Area, where all the team competitors had their tents and communal ‘living’ area for the 24 hours endurance of the race, was inspirational. The entrance to our tent was opposite the entrance to Team Turbo Superchicks. Arguably the strongest womens team on course that day, they chose to sleep through the night, and therefore didn’t place overall. One of their members, Amanda Steidle, the brains behind Healthy Mums, an online dieting and health advice service, and Turbo Superfoods, a pre and post race recovery powder, was my guardian angel for the 24 hours of the enduro race.

She loaned me $10 without my even asking her, after she heard me complaining about forgetting to bring cash for food. She loaned me a towel when I couldn’t find mine. She gave me fruit, soup and sausages when I was hungry. She sourced me Turbo when she heard I forgot my unopened bag, which she had delivered Express Post to arrive before I left home for the race.

This is what Obstacle Racing in Australia special. The camaraderie, the care, the compassion and the straight out AWESOMENESS of the people that make up the community. I could list 100 different times I experienced the same kind of love I did from Amanda, but I’ll already write too long an article, so it can wait.

As I was planning to run two laps back to back, I kitted up, got my wetsuit on, warmed up and readied for my first lap in the dark. Our race plan was this. Jonno Will would go out first at 2pm Saturday for one lap, followed by Rowena Murray for one (while the daylight remained), followed by Benny Mulley for two in the dark, Jonno for one, Rowena for one, then me for two (one dark, one light), Benny for one and then, if we had time, one last lap to finish.

By no means was this race plan going to secure us a podium finish, but we were only ever there to have a crack, and no one even cared for a medal. Maybe if we knew there was 2XU vouchers on offer we would have sung a different tune, but what the hey?

Jonno, Benny and Rowena had managed the course with aplomb. By no means was it easy, especially in the dark and under a heavy fog that descended around 2am, but they powered through without complaint, injury (much anyway, Benny busted his knee), or fanfare. They just GOT IT DONE. After all, we are The Battlers, and thats what we do, we battle until the job is done.

When it was my turn to run, I already knew enough of the course from what I had seen volunteering and heard from the other racers that I was as excited as I have ever been before a race. I donned Rowena’s warm little 2XU cap, my LED LENSER head lamp, my flashing strobe at the back , and I was away.

Because of the duration of the race, there wasn’t too much ‘racing’ going on apart from the first lap back at 2pm on Saturday. There was much more camaraderie, chatting to new and old friends, encouraging each other through obstacles and sharing stories of battles won and lost, than there was ‘racing.’ My first lap was a pleasure, even in the dark. From about ten minutes in, at roughly 4:10am, I heard a rooster crowing the dawn. As I was nearing the end of lap one, the sun was rising behind the clouds, bathing the scenery in a blueish light, the surreal look of the air and the bush exacerbated by the mist as it dissipated in the morning heat.

I was pacing another racer at this stage, and if he reads this he will remember me saying, “Of all the places I have been in the world, and all the bush I have seen anywhere else, nothing, and I mean NOTHING beats the beauty of the Australian Bush, especially at sunrise with the Kookaburras laughing.”

We had a laugh at how, every time we slipped on a bit of treacherous ground, or messed up an obstacle and landed on our arse, the ever watchful kookaburras would laugh. Cheeky devils.

Over the 30 obstacles, on the first lap at least, I didn’t feel anything was particularly difficult. There certainly wasn’t a lot of technical difficulty, nor that much physical difficulty. Even ‘ring the bell’ which was technically closed, was up against a rock wall, so you could use your legs to help propel you towards the bell. Unlike other events where the rope is suspended above water, and you need to rely on a leg lock and upper body strength, this one was easy.

There was a slightly more difficult cargo net climb, which had a solid metal bar at the top of a ten foot structure with cargo netting strung between the upper metal bar and side posts. This was the obstacle upon which one of the competitors suffered a possible spinal injury. Luckily, following careful monitoring by the medics and onsite doctor, a helicopter flight to hospital and testing, he was cleared of any significant injury. He shall live to race another day.

Hells yeah he will.

This was also technically closed through the night as a result of, and following, the suspected spinal injury. Understandably. That said, I couldn’t call myself an obstacle racer if I didn’t at least attempt all the obstacles, even in the dark, even if I wasn’t supposed to. I attempted them, overcame them, and was glad of it.

My first lap was completed in roughly an 1.75 hours, or 105 minutes, and my second in 120 minutes. The second lap was a joy. The sun was shining, the birds were singing, everything was visible, the volunteers were as chirpy as the birds to emerge from their long, dark, midnight vigils of 13 hours duration, and life was good. Never better. We were racing in God’s Country, with our friends all around and the end in sight.

I spent a lot of time chatting with 24 hour enduro competitors, amazed that they still had a smile on their face and cheerfulness in their voice. One of the female competitors in particular, Andrea Peebles, was as bright as a button. Little did I know that she was in second place overall, and would complete 9 laps before the day was out. She is a kiwi with a ticker of gold and the smile to match. Well done Andrea.

I was finished with my running by about 7:30am, and ready to warm up by the fire. I ate as much food as I could take on and waited for my teammates to finish their next laps. Jonno did his final and third lap, then Benny took off to finish for us, a fitting person to do so, as he was, after all, our fearless leader.

We finished last on the ladder of teams of four, but that didn’t matter. What mattered was that we tested our bodies and minds, and they were not found wanting. We tested our strength of character, friendships, camaraderie, compassion, mental fortitude and sense of fun. None of them was found wanting.

We had a crack.

We got it done.

We had a go.

Each one of us won.

Aussie-Enduro-Facebook-clean

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Social Media’s Role in Building Community

For all the negative press social media can attract, it certainly has a place in modern society, and often a very useful one. Sure, it’s a time waster, and we spend more time staring at our phones than we do communing with nature, but for a world in which the tyranny of distance is slowly being eroded by technology, social media plays an important role.

I was privileged to be a part of the growth of the Obstacle Course Racing (OCR) community during it’s infancy. Ask anyone who is passionate about OCR and they will tell you that it is a community made up of positive, enthusiastic, encouraging and engaged individuals. People who inspire each other through their deeds and draw inspiration from the most unlikely of places, often other members of the community who feel they are just an average punter.

It got me to thinking, why is it that a community of people from such a broad cross section of socioeconomic, educational, geographic and cultural backgrounds exploded with such energy, such pure good will?

I think that social media has a lot to do with it. Most of those who were involved early on were part of the Spartan Race Street Team, and we all had a common goal to achieve, an altruistic one to boot. We wanted to get people involved in racing, to get them energised, off the couch, exercising and involved in life. (N.B. The genius of the Spartan Race business model is that they promoted sell outs in all the races during their first year of operation with little or no overheads. Clever.)

In addition to this, we felt we were part of something bigger than just our own little fitness goals, confined to our own little part of the world. We were contributing to a positive and fast growing phenomenon across a broad swathe of society all over the nation and even the world.

But why is it that, when a lot of us were so different, many of us a little broken, out there or downright weird, that there was never – or almost never – any negativity. There was no bagging out on others because of their body shape, their fitness levels, their looks or their interests. Certainly this has something to do with the fact that we often only knew as much as a profile picture and comments would tell us, but I believe it was more than that.

Confronted with a new group of people face to face, we can become intimidated, nervous, shy or overcompensatory. But from behind our computer screens, we are comfortable with how we look, even in our pj’s, we have time to stop and think before we reply to someone. We can digest someone’s comments and ponder their true meaning before taking offence and reacting defensively.

We can afford to be a little more civilised, for we have time. Time to reflect. Time to think. Time to give someone the benefit of the doubt or view whatever may have been said with a different lens.

So before you jump on the ‘social media is evil’ bandwagon, ponder the ways in which it has allowed fledgling communities to grow and flourish. Get involved with one even. You may just like it.