The great Nu Zulun sporting event this last weekend was not the Tri Nations. It was, contrary to some popular opinion, the Red Stag relay run through the redolent redwood trees in Rotorua.
It was a day that drizzled off and on.
The course was, in spite of this, reasonable firm underfoot. It was flat for the first almost 3 km. Then the runner (or walker) was confronted by a demanding hill, which went on forever it seemed. The final section held some treachery with tree roots lying in waiting to twist unstable ankles. My performance was solid, but not up to my recent best.
Estimated times had to be put in before the event. This the club handicapper did. And hats off to the handicapper for his accuracy.
Every running or walking club has a handicapper. It is a thankless task. The handicapper is invariably subject to the scorns and arrows of those who feel hard done by. “I can’t run that fast … why have I been given such a hard handicap?”
This was a day in which the handicapper was vindicated and all moaning mouths put to silence.
It was my birthday on the Sunday. Rumour has it that I was still up at the midnight hour on Saturday enjoying the delights of Rotorua.
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