a morning track session with AM:PM.RC in australia
the residual warmth of long summer days lazes about in the dry night air.
a southerly shift in wind carries pleasant aromas of eucalyptus and sea salt in through open windows and fly screened verandah doors.
alarms are set to the magpie’s first call, yet we lie in bed restless, wrapping sheets around our feet in anticipation of what daybreak will bring.
our phones buzz sporadically on the nightstand, reawakening our anxious minds like a solitary mosquito taking flight in a darkened room.
we reach over to squash the noise with a flattened palm, but find ourselves being drawn to its seductive luminescence. curious fingers peruse the lengthy discourse that persisted during our feeble attempt to accrue eight hours of responsible sleep. pale blue light reflects off of our widening smiles as we catch up on the plans made in our absence.
a flush of heart shaped emojis confirms that our dedication is about to pay dividends. tomorrow morning, we run.
with an eight minute lead, we arrive at the track just before the first rays of sunlight slip through the slender leaves of an old gum tree. a slow stream of early risers trickles in like the first drops of rain over a dry riverbed.
through tired eyes only a single lane wide, we exchange greetings and pay our admission with a currency of fist bumps and low high fives.
we’ve all budgeted our time and energy to make space for this meeting before meetings so we can enjoy a brief moment of respite before responsibility hangs overhead like the midday sun. we chat in reserved tones about the week that’s passed before our breath escapes and eludes us.
various strategies for scaffolding our time together are thrown into the circle and agreed upon in fairness and unanimity.
we all have our own motivations for being here and eight lanes is more than enough room for each of us to extract value from an experience we’ve waited all week to actualize.
the ways of the road remain relevant on this four hundred meter highway to nowhere. the inside is for hooning and pushing the needle deep into the red, and the outside, a designated carpool lane for cheerers and joyriders wanting only to converse while feeling the wind lift their hair.
with variances in speed being neither checked nor chastised, we find no need to establish hierarchy or governance. around here, it’s mutual respect that holds the scepter and wears the crown.
we run as fast or as slow as we each see fit, happily subjugating ourselves under this common rule to maintain our growing collective of smiles and mateship. individual goals always seem to drop a few rungs in relevance when situated next to the communal connections we strive to build during this brief time we all share. but we still push each other with a firm, yet encouraging hand to dig past the threshold of our own perceived ability. we’re quick to remind each other that our self imposed limitations were already extended during the last time we gathered together, and this time is no different. their success is the high octane petrol that fires the pistons in our legs as we tear through the last turn and down the final stretch.
we use shortening shadows to calculate the duration of our efforts and the technology on our wrists to dial in a conglomerate of arguably meaningful metrics. as the sun’s intensity rapidly gains momentum overhead, outside lanes begin to peel away while the inner core slows to assess the fruits of their labor. a whistling kettle of well earned praise spills across the last laps of a track workout that’s been pushed well past its boiling point.
loaded energy emanates from the tight coils freshly wrapped around the track's grassy center and from the glistening faces of those who wound them.
while sipping on steaming cups of mid morning fuel, we share candid reviews of newly unboxed gear and discuss the cumulative returns of the investments we’ve made in both ourselves and each other. in the moments leading up to the resumption of our lives outside the oval, a community charter is stamped and sealed with confirming nods and celebratory high fives.
next week, same place, same time, and with the same level of commitment, we’ll gather once again and run.
photos: matt willocks
run club: AM:PM.RC
words: paul lott
female runners: em williamson / lakshmi manoharan
male runners: dan pham / colin brown