14 weeks of Orange

My blood has been turning orange. The more I run, the more orange it gets. Don’t worry, this is not some kind of new-age jaundice; it’s the result of a long running affiliation with an organisation called Cantoo.

For the last few years I’ve had a bad case of “fun run fever”. I’ve done countless events in Melbourne and Sydney including mini triathlons, 14km runs, 10km runs and even a half marathon (21.5km). It’s been quite a learning curve; my vocabulary has expanded to include phrases like ‘negative splitting’, ‘dynamic stretching’, ‘foot strike’ and ‘cadence’. I’ve learned how to deal with shin splints and other running related injuries. I even have an entire arsenal of mental tricks to motivate myself up a hill. (My favourite is the chant “hills are great, loosing weight! Hills are fun, Smaller bum”)

How did this running addiction start you may wonder? It all began when I signed up for a program with Cantoo.

Cantoo is the main fundraising arm of Cure Cancer Australia. As suggested by their slogan, “fun, fitness and fundraising!”, Cantoo provides professional training in either RUNNING or SWIMMING and in return participants fundraise for Cure Cancer Australia. Since its inception in 2005 cantoo has raised over $9.5M dollars and sponsored 71 researchers. Soon they’ll be cracking the $10M mark!

The researchers sponsored by Cantoo are real Australians - I know because I’ve MET some of them. A month ago I had the pleasure of touring the Walter+ Eliza Hall Institute of Medical Research (WEHI) Institute affiliated with the Royal Melbourne Hospital and The University of Melbourne. The researchers I met were incredibly grateful for the opportunity given to them by Cure Cancer Australia. They are all such talented people doing wonderful things for the advancement of cancer research.

Just recently one of the Melbourne researchers, Dr Megan Bywater and her researcher team have announced a fundamental blood cancer breakthrough – this is great news for Australians with leukaemia and lymphoma. Click here for more info on Megan’s breakthrough.

This year marks the 4^th year I have done the Cantoo program. I am currently the team captain of a group of 20 people who have signed up to do a half marathon in October. This group is a mix of guys and girls ages 25-50 and I couldn’t be prouder of them all. They get to listen to me clap and cheer encouragement like a demented cheerleader as they drag themselves to Saturday morning training rail hail or shine.

I’d be super grateful if anyone will sponsor me.This is the link to my fundraising page:

http://cantoogreatoceanroad2013.gofundraise.com.au/page/vguy

Please get in touch if anyone is interested in doing a program with Cantoo. It’s such a great way to meet people, get fit and be part of a good cause. You won’t regret going orange!

Brisbane to Melbourne in a ute

When my chiropractor asked me what I was doing on the weekend, he probably expected the standard response of  “oh, not much; drinks on Friday, a few coffee catch-ups, brunch, that kind of thing.”

What he didn’t expect me to say was that I was flying to Brisbane to pick up a second hand ute and planned on driving it back to Melbourne. When I told him that was what I was doing, he looked a bit shocked for a minute then very delicately said “I don’t presume to know you that well Victoria, but you don’t strike me as the ute driving kind of girl.”

I laughed, not offended in the slightest. He was right; I’m not, well, the ute driving kind of girl. Or I wasn’t until last weekend when I drove 1700km from Brisbane to Melbourne in 2 days.

When I first signed up to this adventure I naively thought that it wouldn’t take very long. 20 hours according to google maps, that’s not sooooo bad right? Well, for those of you who don’t know, Australia is MASSIVE! Driving between Brisbane and Melbourne takes well over 20 hours, despite the fact that many roads are 110km/ph. Why Australia doesn’t have an autobahn like in Germany is beyond me.

In the interest of saving time, my driving partner Sam and I avoided the scenic route and took the Newell highway straight through the un-pretty parts of NSW and VIC. If we had the time I would have loved to go the coastal road, and stop off in Bryon Bay. Alas, our only real stop was in Dubbo overnight, and the only thing going on in Dubbo on a Saturday was bowling. After much consultation of the tourist pamphlet detailing the ‘Delights of Dubbo’, we chose to forgo bowling and instead go to bed early.

It’s wasn’t a trip of luxury that’s for sure. It rained some of the way so we had to pack as much as we could with us into the small chassis. Each bump sent my ribcage rattling. The suspension on the ute was so bad at times we felt like we were on safari – the difference between our experience and a real safari being that the only animals we saw on the side of the road were dead ones.

We didn’t have a cassette tape for the very retro audio system so were stuck with the radio. Sadly one of the crap things about travelling interstate is how often the triple J radio frequency changes. We spent a lot of time scanning the radio frequency to find a semi decent station. This was not helped by the fact that the ‘scan’ button kept dropping off and getting stuck.

Despite the boredom of the road, a cracked windshield, the sheer length of the trip, a gaseous episode and a tense manual driving lesson, Sam and I made it back to Melbourne in one piece WITHOUT AN ARGUMENT. You see we actually enjoyed it! 20 hours of driving can be hell, or it can be fun, depending on who you are with and the attitude you have.

There are much easier and more environmentally friendly ways to test a relationship. Like going bowling, I guess, in Dubbo.

Red red wine

God I love red wine. Especially when it is raining.

White wine is nice too, but it doesn’t quite live up to red. Red is fuller somehow. More comforting.

The first sip is a tangy smoothness on my tongue. Another sip warms my cheek bones.  Sip three and my shoulders loosen.

 

Wine dispels my anxiety.  After years of drinking red wine with dinner I’ve come to associate it with safety, with peace. Should I be concerned with this reaction? Refraining from intoxication is one of the five Buddhist precepts. But I’m not talk about intoxication. I’m talking about dulling my senses, in a controlled way of course.

Surely I’m not alone here. Mankind has been enjoying wine for over 8000 years. I hear the romans were fond of their wine, in fact both the Greeks and Roman’s worshipped a wine god (Dionysus and Bacchus respectively). Wine is also used in the Christian Eucharist ceremonies and the Jewish Kiddush. While I don’t believe I am actually drinking the blood of Christ when I sip a merlot, I do appreciate the power of the symbolism.

Australia, my land of origin, produces some beautiful wines. We can boast the Borossa Valley, Margaret River, Mornington Peninsula, Hunter Valley and even Tasmanian wine regions. Sadly we are known internationally for some of our cheaper wines (think Jacob’s creek and yellow tail), but don’t let them cloud your judgment! Good ‘ol Grange can compete with the world heavy weights.

A few weeks ago I had the very great pleasure of going to the Yarra Valley on a wine tour. It was one of those organised tours where a bus picks you up from your accommodation and you are grouped with 6 or so randoms for a day of getting boozed. Everyone starts out a little shy at first, but by 4pm you are guaranteed to be getting along like a house on fire.

 

 I tasted my first wine of the day, a sparkling at Chandon, around 11am. I did contemplate spitting it out in the tasting bucket provided but honestly it just seemed wasteful to do so. In the spirit of "not being wasteful" I spent the entire day sipping on over 20 different wines at 6 different wineries. It turns out that when I get tipsy I get purchase happy, so I now have many bottles of souvenirs from this wine tour. Just think of how much money I 'saved' buying direct from the cellar door...

Call me a snob but I wont drink red wine out of a bag. Now a screw top on the other hand, I would drink out of any day. While a cork is certainly romantic it can often ruin the wine drinking experience; whether it is just stopping you from ready access, breaking into stubborn crumbly pieces or fouling the wine. But try arguing that with a French person.

I’ve heard some say that wine should be drunk slightly chilled, because the ‘room temperature’ of the 1600s was a lot colder than it is now. Some people go over the top in chilling their white wine however – you don’t want it to be so cold that you can’t feel anything but a chill on your tongue. Ice-cream headache!

Musing about wine is fun, but drinking it is much more fun. Have a sip and remember you are sharing in an age old tradition.

We the jury

An old saying goes that the only people exempt from jury duty are lawyers and the insane.

Well thankfully I am neither. Last week I had the dubious pleasure of serving jury duty. This means that out of everyone on the electoral roll, I was one of 60, 000 Victorians who are selected each year to perform this civic duty.

The selection process – “empanelling”

The process of empanelling is mostly random and aims to select and unbiased jury who are reflective of the civic values of society. If you are on the electoral roll then guess what? Chances are you will be called at some stage of your life. You have much better odds of being chosen to serve jury duty than of winning tattslotto.

Just because you are called for jury duty does not mean you will serve on a jury (for a variety of reasons which I’ll go into later). You may defer your summons, as I did initially, for a variety of reasons including having a prepaid holiday or being a primary carer for dependants.

On the day

Entering the county court is akin to going through security at the airport; there’s a fair bit of argy bargy to ensure you are not smuggling in sharp objects or explosives into the building.

All potential jurors sit through a dated introduction video where we are told that having a lawn bowls grand final is NOT a valid reason for excusing yourself from jury duty.

When there is a court case that needs a jury, 30 names are drawn from a box. These 30 people then troop up to the court room to meet the judge, lawyers for the prosecution and defence, and to get a glimpse of the accused. There is another random selection, this time of 12 people. The accused has the right to “challenge” up to 6 of these 12 without stating a reason.

Once empanelled you are given secure access passes to enter the building by a concealed entrance. This enables you to avoid the media packs that hover outside the front door whenever there is a juicy case. Alas my case was not so juicy, and I was not granted my five minutes of fame.

Cone of silence

It should go without saying but as the judge patronisingly reminded us every day, we were NOT to discuss the case with anyone but our jurors inside the jury room. This was to prevent us being swayed by non-evidence. My unwillingness to disclose anything however did not prevent comments from friends such as: “he’s obviously guilty as night and night” and “hang the bastard”...

Summary

I was in court for 7 days – a bit longer than the average trial. The hours were very reasonable: 10.30am-4.15pm excluding weekends and including a lunch break for at least an hour each day.

Overall the experience was an interesting learning opportunity. I can’t say that I’d like to do it again as it too much of a life disruption, but maybe I’ll be ready to serve again when my exemption expires in 3 years time.

Giving up on prince charming

Most girls are conditioned from childhood to expect a prince charming to lead us to our happily ever after. Since this is an unrealistic and potentially harmful fantasy, I thought it would be useful to put together a bit of a guide to help us manage our disappointment.

While I have written this article from a female perspective, this fantasy is by no means limited to women seeking a prince charming. If you yourself are a prince charming waiting for a domestic goddess to float into your life and do your ironing, then get real!

Here are the hard facts:

1.       You may meet prince charming, but he’s not guaranteed to be interested in you!

• Have you lived your life to the full or have you been sitting on the couch eating ice-cream waiting for your prince charming? Wouldn’t you rather go out with someone who has a good circle of friends, a variety of hobbies, life experiences and a good career? Get off your arse blobbo. Put down the spoon. Stop waiting for your life to change and start living.

2.       Prince charming isn’t perfect

• There is no such thing as a perfect guy. Are you perfect? No! All humans are flawed, and that’s what makes relationships so worthwhile. Who wants perfect anyway. Perfect is boring!
• Putting unrealistic ideals on any person in a relationship will only lead to disappointment. When I was in my first relationship I expected doors to be opened for me and the whole royal treatment – boy was I in for a shock. Odds are a 21^st century Australian male won’t open a door for you. He will buy you a beer though (or the first round at least...).
• Even if you do find someone you think is perfect, his charms may wane after a few years. It’s very likely that your prince charming’s pet lizards or his stamp collection will start to grate on your nerves.

3.       Prince charming / aka your future husband wont just appear out of the blue

•  He’s not just going to knock on your door and say “hey princess, I see you’ve been waiting for me on the couch. Let me join you. Oh I see you are in your PJ’s... no matter, you look sexy just how you are”. I used to dismay that I wouldn’t find the ‘man of my dreams’ just living down the street. Only old people live on my street. And most of them are married.

4.       Prince charming won’t solve all your problems, financial or otherwise

• One of the most charming things about Prince charming is his title. He is a prince, he’s made of money. Many girls still hold the view they will ‘marry well’ and this will set them up financially for life. This head-in-the-sand approach will only lead to impoverishment. Don’t rely on anyone for your finances but yourself!
• One person cannot be the panacea for all your ailments, it is too much to ask for.

Don’t get me wrong, I am not suggesting that we all give up on love. On the contrary, I am saying that love and a happy relationship is entirely possible (if not probable) WHEN you give up on the idea of Prince Charming. Set yourself free from this idea, and you never know who you will meet.

For The Empire

The history of man is the history of warfare.

Over 200,000 Australian men died during World War One. There were so many men who perished that there was a generation of women who died unwed. Think of the children who were not born! Think of the inventors, great minds and world changers among them. No doubt the world would be a very different place if the war had not happened.

I will tell you a story about an Australian family during WW1, a typical story in many respects.

Mr. And Mrs. George Mackay of Bendigo had four children: Molly, Eric, Murdoch and Dawn. Dawn was the only member of the family to have children of her own, and I am her direct decent. Both her brothers were drafted into the Infantry Brigade and both managed to survive Gallipoli yet each died later, Murdoch on the western front in Poitiers. Molly lived until her late 90s but like many women of her generation, never married.

Murdoch finished the then equivalent of year twelve when he was just 14. He was 16 when in 1607 he began studying law at Melbourne University, as a resident of Ormond college. He obtained several prizes, honours and scholarships throughout university, and at the age of 20 was awarded his master of laws as he obtained first class honours for the fourth straight year, and won the University scholarship and the Supreme Court Judges’ exhibition.

Admitted to the bar at 21, Murdoch began practising. Three years later he 1915 he appeared in his first High Court Case. Murdoch was married a week before he sailed to war.

Major Mackay was just twenty-five and a half when he fell in the fight for Pozieres Ridge. He had been on active service for over fifteen months and had not been a day absent from duty through sickness or any other cause. When he was killed he was in perfect health, which his mental and physical powers unimpaired.

When Murdoch was killed, his father published a memoir which he entitled “For the Empire”. In it is an unemotional eulogy, which simply states the accomplishments of Murdoch before he was sent to war. Also contained in the booklet sized memoir are printed copies of letters that Murdoch sent from the front, as well as testimonials from fellow soldiers and friends.

In his book ‘The Happy Warrior’, James Burns describes Murdoch thus:

“His bright spirit still tenants the hearts of those who love him. He remains with us as on that day we bade him farewell in all the pride and glory of his young manhood. Age cannot wrinkly his brow nor mar the youthful brightness of his face, sickness cannot now despoil him; he lives imperishably fair, crowned with the garland of immortal youth. And not only to those who love him does his life remain as a perpetual enrichment. In all life laid down at the call of duty there is something imperishable, because sacrificial. He lives in the case for which he laid down his life. We are debtors to him, and to all those gallant sons of the Empire, who for our defence hold not their lives dear to themselves. No life, however humble, thus given, is given in vain. The spirit of it lives in all that is noblest in a nation’s life, and remains a perpetual inspiration to generations yet unborn.”

Even if Murdoch had survived the war I know he would be dead now. But I can't help but feel sad that I will never know him. He died younger than me.  It seems so tragic that he wasn't able to come back to Australia and resume his life, have a career, have children, have grandchildren. His history just stops, in France, in 1917. 

Reading the testimonials and Murdoch’s letters gives me a clue to his personality. In a letter to his family from the front in Murdoch mentions his desire for a return to a normal life;

“my dearest ambition has always been centred round a happy home life rather than in outstanding success in any other direction....I am not taking any but an optimistic view of my present lot, and when this hateful war is over may I be spared to indulge my desire for a quiet and peaceful and very happy home life...”

Murdoch wrote the following just before he was sent to France:

While in France, my family and I took a trip to Posiers (about 2 hours north of Paris) in search of where Murdoch is buried. At the grave site we paid our respects. We laid a poppy next to the grave that marked his name. My father and I walked up to a gardener who was busy keeping the memorial immaculate. Not a blade of grass is out of place. Dad thanked him in English, with tears in his eyes.

There is one other plaque that bears Murdoch’s name- that is at Ormomd college at The University of Mebourne where he was a law student.  After ww1 the people at Ormond had grace to commemorate the study where each past student roomed before they were sent off to their deaths. This serves as a reminder of the boys these soldiers were before they died as men far away in a foreign place.

French for dummies

Wouldn't it be great if you could learn a language by osmosis? That somehow, purely by being in a place, you could absorb foreign words through your pores? As you slept the words would seep into your skin until you were dreaming in another language... If only...

Alas, just being in France has not resulted in me being able to speak French. After 3 days here I am no better than I was a week ago. Yesterday I was able to order various pastries at the boulangerie fairly well (aided by the universal language of pointing and holding up the number of croissant required using my fingers). I came unstuck when I had to ask for pan sans glutain (gluten free bread). They didn't have any, it seemed, and the instructions where I might obtain some were a little trop rapide (too fast) for me to comprendre.

So it seems that like anything worth achieving, learning a language takes effort. That is unless you are a typical 4 year old, who is experiencing advanced prefrontal cortex development. Apparently when this area of the brain develops, children are more easily about to control what language or symbol to attribute to an idea. * Lucky little buggers.

Tragically, I did actually study French at school for 8 years. It was compulsory from prep to year 8. I was even quite good at some point, getting into the finals at the Alliance Francais speaking competition where I recited a poem by Paul Eluard. I abandoned the French language in year 9 in rebellion against my then teacher Mr Dowling. What can I say? I was tired of irregular verbs and singing of the many changing colours of Leon le chameleon. 

Somehow despite my years of compulsory French education, I know more French from listening to the band Art Vs Science (S'il vous plait ma cherie aller tomber la chemise!) and Christina Aguilera (voulez vous coucher avec moi).

In the week before I left to go on my trip I hastily scrubbed up my Francais by listening to Michelle Thomas audio lessons. I was intrigued by the concept of no study, no memorisation, no homework! It sounded effortless to me so I gave it a go. The lessons are really very good, but my plan of listening to all 8 hours of lessons twice over before I left fell by the wayside. Despite my lack of effort I found the lessons very useful and would recommend them to anyone. 

Fortunately around 60% of English words are French. You just need to change the endings and the pronunciation. Par example:

Words in English ending with -ible and -able are the same in French.

possible à possible

table à table

Words in English ending in -ent and -ant come from French. They have the same spelling and the same meaning.

different àdifférent

importantà important

Words in English ending in -ary become -aire in French.

necessary à nécessaire

Voila! You can now speak French.

*Language acquisition of children, http://www.helium.com/items/365752-childrens-ability-to-learn-language, May 30 2007