Newspaper article Sunshine Coast Sunday (Maroochydore, Australia)

Motley Crew's Been Overrun

Newspaper article Sunshine Coast Sunday (Maroochydore, Australia)

Motley Crew's Been Overrun

Article excerpt

NOTHING crushes a bloke's spirit like fit people.

Really fit people.

People who can swim to Fiji and back, run to Darwin and then take a leisurely bike ride down to Melbourne.

And all before breakfast.

My wife and I have become casual joggers in recent years.

Very, very casual.

Most mornings as the sun's coming up we stagger to the top of Alexandra Headland and then down along Mooloolaba Esplanade.

It's a beautiful time of day and we share it with the same handful of fellow idiots Co I mean joggers.

It's funny how you become used to seeing the same people each morning and tick them off in your head as they go past.

C[pounds sterling]There goes the blonde Co she's struggling a bit today.C[yen]

C[pounds sterling]That tall bloke's doing well. I reckon he's a few seconds faster than usual.C[yen]

C[pounds sterling]I wonder where the old bloke is? I haven't seen him for a while.C[yen]

It all feels very familiar after a while and I can only guess how they describe us.

To be honest, I'd rather not know, because I realise I'm not a pretty sight when I'm jogging and my observations of others are made through a red curtain of pain.

Which is why I am so crushed by the sudden arrival of what we call C[pounds sterling]the beautiful joggersC[yen].

It happens every year. Our usual motley crew of struggling, panting, one-step-away-from-a- heart-attack joggers gets overrun by fit people.

Truly, disgustingly fit people.

People who don't so much jog as float 15cms above the ground.

People whose sun-tanned skin and firm biceps glow with a delicate mist of sweat, as opposed to the salty waterfall that flows from every pore in my body.

Of course, they're here for the triathlon and they have every right to be running along C[pounds sterling]ourC[yen] track.

I just wish they wouldn't look so bloody good while they're doing it.

And when they get to the top of Alex Headland, why can't they collapse in a sweating, panting mess like the rest of us?

Why do they delight in floating over the crest of the hill, cruising down the other side and disappearing into the distance? …

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