“You’re not actually legally obliged to have an opinion.”

Thus spoke Bill Maher in his show Real Time. He claims that social media has forced individuals, and corporation, to feel like they need to have a thought and a stance on every current event, whether it be the Israel-Hamas conflict, the Russian invasion of Ukraine, the marital situation of Will Smith and Jada Pinkett Smith and Elon Musk's running of the app formerly known as Twitter. You could easily argue that any consumer of news was similarly exposed in pre-social media times. His point is that people for some topics it has become obligatory to have an opinion, even when there is no realistic need; worse, to not have an opinion, presumably in some circles, is to be not caring. 

Having recently watched the New Zealand movie Uproar set in New Zealand at the time of the 1981 Springbok tour of New Zealand, you can imagine a time where this country was divided and those of an anti-tour opinion would see status quo or disinterested positions as actively supporting racism through a lack of a denouncement. But you could say that public opinion or making a bigger "scene" could trigger a symbolic cancellation of a tour or, more long term, political change locally, or even political change in South Africa. That was completely outside of the social media era but also it was a bit closer to home. 

The topic of apartheid in South Africa was probably understood well enough by both sides. Pro-tour people justified themselves that sport should be separate from politics, and even could argue that if anything rapprochement through sport could lead to the ends of the anti-tour position. Uproar touches on the irony of that time that many of the anti-tour activists have been focussed on the South African apartheid and blind to racial discrimination at home. 

The Israel-Palestine situation is one of the topics that Maher though was talking about, especially critical of university students in the US who protest against Israel in support of Palestine, without any condemnation of the 6 October attack by Hamas that "started" the current situation. Worse, the retaliation for the attacks have apparently reawakened the latent antisemitic tendencies in some parts of humanity. For New Zealand, while there are Israelis and Palestinians here (one of my colleagues of mine is half-Palestinian) and our Government at some stage will have to decide in what way it will support one or both sides, it seems strange to think that we must have a stance on the rights and the wrongs of it. 

I regard myself reasonably knowledgeable on the history of the region where Palestine and Israel sit for an average guy but still I would not want to say any rights or wrong overall. The Hamas attack was abhorrent but the situation prior means that asymmetric attacks (and defence in the case of human shields) were always probable. The government elected by the Israeli people was unhelpful but expectable in the context. The government elected by the Palestine people was unhelpful but expectable in the context. Zoom back to President Clinton's attempt at Camp David, the decision by Arafat to reject the deal was unhelpful but expectable... and you can go back further and further in the karmic cycle. At the end of the day, choosing to support either side sounds like supporting a side in a toxic relationship for a couple who cannot separate or divorce, but may well kill each other. Any support is just based on limited knowledge of the rights and wrongs.

The magic ingredient

No, the magic ingredient is not alcohol despite the photo. I’ve had a breakfast of 肠粉 (rice rolls), 刀切糍 (not sure if there is a name for this) and 烧肉 (pork belly); then a lunch of fresh bamboo shoots fried with two kinds of pork, sautéed gaaichoy and two kinds of pork, friend together. It was something rather perfect. It might just be something latent in the crockery. But probably not. It is the taste of home. 

Strike three

In perfect conditions, I completed my eighth marathon distance this morning. It was never going to be one where I was expecting to cover myself in glory; the eleven weeks between the Kirikiriroa Marathon and this one was blighted by a fall, a cold, a niggle and generally lacklustre training. And from my learning from the Kirikiriroa race, I had steeled myself to restrain pace from the beginning. Despite thinking I was doing this, the final quarter rhymed with the previous race: it was a struggle.

The North Shore Marathon route is now equal with Auckland Marathon as the event I have done the most. The Auckland event starts with a bit of undulation through the Shore, a cruise along the motorway to the Bridge, then after the Bridge it is basically flat to St Helliers and back. The North Shore event is simpler: First you start along Milford Beach (beach section 1) then climb onto the road to Takapuna then run the full Takapuna Beach, then you climb out of there to Takapuna Grammar, then drop down to Narrow Neck Beach (fortunately not on the sand), then you climb out of there before dropping onto Cheltenham Beach for an interminable soft sand section, then you are rewarded with a climb up and around Northhead... and then you do it in reverse, and then back, then in reverse. Three beach sections time four, two Northheads. In some ways, it should be the easiest one to pace as you are fully aware of what is in store after you've only done a quarter... yet every time this event gets me. 

My first attempt was in 2018 where I felt well trained and plunged in and started struggling after my second climb of Northhead (about 31km in), and even walked at around the 37km mark, and pulling into finish around 3:44. (My blog of it: Always crashing the same car) 

The next year I wanted to remedy this and ran what is still my best attempt completing the course in 3:32. Cruelly this was not official because the full marathon event was cancelled due to the threat of a weather event. I missed the memo, as did others who turned up early to run. Sixteen of us decided that the weather event wasn't going to materialise and ran it anyway. It went smoothly until about the 37km and I slowed down but was still proud of the effort. (Blog: This is number five and I'm feeling quite alive...)

So, what happened this time? Basically it was a rehash of my first attempt but with a slower pace for the first three-quarters, and never walking from fatigue this time round. One annoying thing was that my watch recorded 20.6km for the first half. This means either it was shorter than a marathon, or my watch hadn't quite tracked it accurately and I was actually running faster than I should have been. 

Will I be back? Almost certainly - their Super Earlybird price is pretty super so it "won't hurt" to join it. And I want to nut it out. But this will probably be my last marathon for 2023. One interesting thing about this year is that I've only done marathons - no halfs, no ten or five kilometre events. Not surprisingly I have not really regained my pace from previous years despite having run high volumes. So I would like to try getting that speed back in the last four months of the year, and I would like to see if I can settle my score with the Omaha Half Marathon in December. 

Normies

I remember the era that I went into the ESOL industry well: I'd just come back from Taiwan, just turned 21 and the International student boom had just begun, and schools were literally taking anyone. Yes, it would have been far more aggrandising to say that I met some stringent standard but I more or less just walked in. And it was great! I was surrounded by a whole lot of students in their late teens and early twenties from other cultures, not dissimilar to me. I had a fascination with cultures and languages from Asia. I made friendships; I had students at my parties; I was invited to parties; they took part in my events, and it was a pleasure to be in the throng. I was still finding myself at the time. I got into a relationship for the first time, not with a student although I felt close to several early on, and had moved out of my parent's home for the first time. And to be clear, I never "crossed the line" into the emotional and romantic sphere with students, but I did many things that in these days a teacher would be fired for. I have a collection of photos of my crimes: I had a weird send-off for graduating students where I picked them up into my arms for a photo. (In my defence I picked up not just the girls but the guys.) In a ritual I cannot remember the origin of, there is a photo of a female student and I holding the same two cubes of Cadbury chocolate between our teeth. And a certain infamous Mt Eden photo, there were students. Back then I was never spoken to about my conduct with students quite possibly because there was tacit approval to "engage" the students and make sure they have a good time. Or maybe they just didn't know. That is me, but at the time to my knowledge, one maybe more, of my colleagues in my first school were crossing the "relationship" line, and there were certain students who were known to not mind crossing it either. 

The relationship line is a bit of a hairy line to cross in any event, whether in the inappropriate teacher-student dynamic, or just in general life. Making a move or a pass on someone, whether there is someone deliberately on the search for someone to be with, or interpreting signals from someone you are receptive to the interest of is one thing. And there is plenty of less nuanced behaviour that can result when one side is infatuated. Already this year I have had a teacher report an irrational, infatuated student to me, which was very distressing to him. But regrettably it is usually the other way around.

Norms are funny beasts. It would be interesting to know how much #MeToo was a watershed moment, or whether it was just emblematic of the changes in society, where we see much more thinking about consent in all respects, autonomy, mana and hauora. Thinking back to my AIESEC days, people were compelled to do things they did not want to do whether it was to drink an "eggly" (a disgusting raw concoction), drink, strip or whatever. Some would say this was the secret sauce in the organisation to bond people. Others might have trauma from some of these. And then there was the stuff that might happen behind closed doors, perhaps with different degrees on insobriety. I think it reflected quite a bit about the expectations in society around the time. You still hear about some organisations, such as law firms, where there is still a sense of this where only recently some people have stood up to say "no".

I find it quite jarring looking back on my early teaching, and the culture of AIESEC because norms have shifted even in this short time. However, those things might be tame when put next to things seen and done "teaching in Asia". Simply put, there are those that go over to teach or experience the world, but there is also a group who go there mainly for love, either the fleeting sort or something more permanent, and often seek it within the student body. To be clear, they and colleagues are the main people you spend your time with as an expat teacher. Just like my first teaching, a lot of them are going into a group of students who are a similar age to them. There might have also been some who found love within the student body incidentally; they may have been in relationships when going over (either with partner in tow or in a newly established distance arrangement), but who discovered something fresh and new in their place of teaching. Either way though, it was something that was explicitly told to teachers they could not do and yet was something many did anyway. 

Since coming back to New Zealand I have found that within the English teaching area there are so many ex-expats, and it is among them that regrettably there is the highest rate of crossing the line here. Regrettably I know of five individuals who have done so - I won't say the time or name people, schools or anything identifiable. Three were caught revealed and disciplined; another one was known although the complainant did not want to make it an official complaint so no action could be taken directly; and the final one we only knew about after he left while being disciplined for some other piece of unprofessional conduct. What do they have in common? Well, beside being cis-white males (I don't think that's too much to identify them), they are travellers, most ex-Asia. While there was clearly one ratbag, the other four were generally sincere. One even was the "grass" who helped a student report the conduct of one of the others of the five, and who said that he thought it was unacceptable that teachers behave that way to students... 

If I had to categorise this limited group, I'd first say there are the ageing "players", gents who have probably had a way with the ladies in the past, generally handsome, even charming, but with that expectation that girls should like them, and when their fancies are roused, that girls must like them. Then there are the older men who just do not read signals well. There is a certain Asian feminine virtue to be polite, engage positively and never to say "no" explicitly. One such case is referred to obliquely here: Crypticity's abound: Swirling in the calm. The oddest experiences from this was genuine confusion by the teachers involved; one seemingly blaming the complainant: "She just isn't mature enough" (to understand his sincere intent in asking her, his student decades younger than him, out.) The other one most awkward of all, in a disciplinary meeting triggered because he was infatuated so much that in the meeting the teacher was saying "I don't know what went wrong - everything was going so well. And then she stopped responding to my texts and calls." Having to explain to a man who was on his second marriage, not just about ethics and the staff handbook regulations, but also that she just isn't into you, at all, and never was and never will be. And no, you cannot meet her to say sorry because your presence creeps her out. 

And then there is the one case that doesn't really make sense at all without something lying underneath that is unknown.  

Inevitability

2018 was the year when I fell four times on runs. The first was a pre-dawn fall in the Domain; a vehicle came up behind me with lights on and I moved to the verge, my own shadow making me oblivious about the drain I was about to put my foot in. That was interesting because I was fine apart from a bit of a graze at the time, but my knee swelled up a few hours later at work. Then there were the two minor falls on daytime long runs: one I was crossing a road while fiddling with my waist pouch and looking out for traffic; the middle of the road had a raised section which I clipped my foot on and had me in a heap in the middle as concerned motorists stopped on either side, but not grazes to show for it. Then less than a week later, my foot hit the base of a sign on a Great North Road footpath sending me again into the pavement but with some lost skin. Then what was the most catastrophic of the series, I was waiting for the Omaha Half to begin and jumped up onto a boardwalk only for my feet to slip out from under me and a heavy fall on my buttocks. I completed the run but the delayed effects of the fall put me out of running for some time; it took almost two months to get back to it. It was freakishly high to wonder whether I should really be out there running at all. Yet in all the years around it, 2016-2017 and 2019-2022, I only had one other fall, a wipe-out on gravel at a sharp corner in an event. 

The forces of probability over a habitual action are worthy of us all to consider, just like speeding on a windy road, even one that you know, could eventually end in disaster. As a runner, and morning runner at that, there are many factors that raise the probability of a fall. There is visibility, which, even with the waistlamp I bought after the first fall in 2018, cannot illuminate every threat in a timely way. Little unevenness on the path is enough to catch a shoe and unbalance. Even with illumination, you can be dazzled by headlights, twilight can cause less visibility than in darkness, and rain or fog on glasses or in the lightbeam are dangers. The moisture factor boggles the mind: I don't know if it is shoe technology or sheer intuitive skill that means the many thousand footfalls on wet footpaths do not regularly result in slips. However, three of the four 2018 falls happened in broad daylight, some surfaces are perilous and distractions can lead to misfooting.

On the 29 July this year I had the fall that broke five straight years without hitting the ground. It was inevitable, thinking of the above, that I'd have another moment of grazed hands, but this felt almost unavoidable on a practical level: I entered a trap. On one of my regular pre-dawn loops I turned onto Portage Road crossing it earlier than usual. I would usually take a newer footpath on the outside by bus-stops but it hadn't yet started and traffic was coming, so I ran onto an older, inner footpath that passed businesses. It was a bit cracked and a copse of trees were to its side blocking street light illumination but I charged down it with only my own light. It was going to be tricky because I'd have a sharp right-hand turn at the end (so not to run onto the road) but not something I hadn't managed before. As I approached the turn my lamp revealed late that the end of the footpath was a stretch of shiny mud, but it was not like I hadn't run in mud before. I slowed and took it with caution but as soon as my first foot hit the mud it slide out and my momentum took me face first to the pavement, my hands fortunately bracing the impact. There was a half second of fright and then a half second to rise and run, and another half second for the burn on palms to register. I was still five kilometres from home and still had work ahead. The result once at home and in the light was several wounds, three on my hands, both elbows and a knee. 

I ran the loop again in broad daylight and I can only conclude that running it if ten normal runners went through that path in the dark, at least five of them would come to grief. It allayed some worries; I knew it just had my number and now I had its. 

A river run through

The north island was blessed by a massive high pressure system that just stalled above it, granting blue skies that had long left our memories, frosts that were absent last year and for us in our home at least, a respite from the fear of wind and leaks. It was also perfect for a run.

But it wasn't just the weather. The last few days of running were good; after some hesitation, I chose what turned out to be the right pair of shoes to run in; my sleep before was smooth; the trip to the venue went without hitch. The only hitches were that it was rather cold, 5 degrees at best; and the Hamilton Gardens where Christy was going to wander, brunch and wait for my arrival wasn't going to open until an hour after the start of the race. 

And so I began my run across frosty grass until a beautiful blue sky along a route that had a scenic inland 14kms, which is seven kilometres to and back from the Hamilton Gardens, and then 28km along the river and back.  I knew a bit of the river section from runs - I knew that there were more slopes than you'd expect, although no "hills". But the fact is that it has more ascent than Auckland or Rotorua marathons. It was a beautiful route, though.

As we got going, I tried to lock into my target pace and get to know the people in the general pacing that I was in. The pace was the tricky thing - I felt like I was running easy but my watch indicated I was going too fast. One runner mentioned that we had gone into a low coverage area so the GPS distancing might be off. We had different paces on our watches. The one runner I knew well, who I will call Cherie, I expected to be faster than me, so intended to just keep her in sight, and during the inland phase slowly ground her way out of range. 

By the time we had looped back to the Gardens the pack had thinned so there were only pairs of runners, with solo runners in between. The river section near the city had its undulation and as it was now mid-race, the legs really started to feel it. I was aware now that I had probably gone too fast on the first part and I tried to rein it in. Worse, during this section Cherie reappeared in my sights, at first 200m away on some of the longer stretches, then 100m away, then 50m away and finally towards the turn back, I passed her. She, who I had thought of as a pace marker, had gone out too quick and had hit the wall, now 28km into it I was slowing and still passing her.

The burn in my calves felt evident around 32km and though I tried to maintain effort, my pace was dropping, later my right hip flexor started to feel creaky. And then the city section undulation hit. I did the largest bump with a very slow grind up the slope, but one slope, the second to last real slope during the 38km, my will broke as my calves screamed for relief. I walked, the first time I had stopped in this fashion in a marathon since 2018. Once I was to the top of it though I got going again and didn't stop till the finish line.

I crawled into the finishing area just after 3:34, about nine minutes slower than I had planned. If I had paced it better I still think a 3:25 time would have been possible but who knows. I was knackered, a bit speechless and a bit sore. I walked around in circles a bit before eventually having a lie on the ground. Fortunately despite a few niggly sensations on the course and a lot of fatigued muscles and tendons, there was no damage or injury.

Despite the mild disappointment, I'm happy to notch up my sixth official marathon. (My 2019 North Shore Marathon was cancelled due to weather but I still ran it.) North Shore will be my next one at the end of August.

Get a niggle on

Three more sleeps and I put on my shoes and run the Kirikiriroa Marathon, Kirikiriroa being the te reo Māori name of Hamilton, kirikiri being a term for gravel, and roa for long, so maybe it was a long gravel stretch, maybe by the riverside, which if so is now a sometimes paved and, yes, sometimes gravel path. 

My path to the start line here there is a curly one. I had got the supercheap earlybird for 2020's edition, but got injured in the December of 2019, and then I had the blessing of the pandemic, the lockdown knocked the event and my entry back a year. 2020 was an average year of running but I still intended to run it when the postponed event of 2021 arose. Fortunately 2021 started very well with my running till a few weeks before, I sprained my ankle coming down Mt Eden. I forfeited my entry and when I eventually started to run again the rest of 2021 was rather uninspiring running-wise. I entered 2022's event more in hope than anything else, but in the Auckland Half-Marathon a few months before the event, I felt my Achilles flare up and it put me off training and knocked me out of running the 2022 Kirikiriroa event. Unfortunately/Fortunately, Omicron wave surged to New Zealand shores and in an abundance of confidence, they postponed the event, and all entries, to 2023. So my attempted entries were alternately stopped by pandemic, injury or both.

Saying it like that makes it sound like I'm always hurting myself, but there are long stretches of wellness in between. The dilemma of niggles and injuries is part and parcel of being a runner. Injuries  can be accidents like the ankle sprain happen, but they can arise out of overuse such as my Achilles flare-up. 

But niggles are a different kettle of fish. As you train and slowly stress your body more and more, parts of the body inevitably go through the adjustments and aches and pains arise. These can sometimes feel like injuries, but are not; or worse, may appear to be niggles but are actually the early signs of an injury. As such, there is a lot of anxiety when the first niggles appear. My training this year had its early minor niggles but my first moment of uncertainty was in late April when after the Concrete Monster run, I had some tightness near my knee that felt like a possible strain. I rested a few days and massaged the area and only via that did I realise it was not an issue of the tendons around the knee but a muscle knot deep in my quad. After releasing that knot, the issue disappeared. A definitive non-injury niggle. Two weeks later the hinge point of my left ankle felt sore after another challenging run. I rested it a couple of days before running again to the same issue, but while running I thought about a solution of using heel inserts temporarily, and also that my usual work shoe insoles had been swapped into the running shoes. After putting in the inserts (which I wore for two weeks) and changing the insoles, the feeling disappeared. Another niggle. And then just last week, after my last "fast" workout my right lower calf was tight. This time I more or less "ran through it" (i.e. I didn't change my training or add rests) and a few days later it resolved itself.

One of the key lessons from my many trips to physiotherapists is the wisdom of the "3/10" on the pain scale. Pain has various levels and though subjective, there is a descriptive spectrum that people use, and 3/10 is the highest degree of pain that one should persist in an activity, although depending on how the body part in question feels after and the next day. For many niggles and injuries, it is in fact better to be active and potentially taking your body to the 3/10 as a way of healing rather than rest. All of my niggles were in this zone and fortunately were nothing worse than an unhappy muscle or joint. 

Even with the niggles, it has been a smooth training block more or less. But strangely I'm not 100% what time I should be aiming for for the marathon, I would say it's a broad aim for 3:28 and see how I feel at halfway, which is not how it should be as my MP (marathon pace) should have been something I had my training set around. This morning before one of the few runs this week, I also realised I hadn't even settled on which pair of shoes I should run in, an important consideration. I guess I've been distracted from the basic decision making for the race though clearly still going through the motions of what looks like good training. Almost four years since my last full marathon, I guess I should be just glad to finish the distance under my perennial target of 3:30 and do so with ease.

The Ding Dynasty

Anyone who has watched The Queen's Gambit knows that the Russians are a chess superpower. It wasn't always like that though. The first official world champion (in the nineteenth century) was an Austrian, the second a German, the third a Cuban and the fourth a Russian who defected to Vichy France, then just before the war, an honest Dutchman became took the throne (commonly thought to be the weakest world champion ever) before the man he defeated took it back and before being the only man to die on the throne. But from 1948 to 1972 the Russians held the crown.

It was only in 1972 that one extraordinary player emerged outside the Soviet Union to smash their dominance for one cycle. That was Bobby Fischer and he obliterated the opposition before disappearing from the chess world completely and became the first champion to refuse to defend his title. After doing what he did you could almost imagine he had already declared his mission accomplished. The second stanza of his life was quite bizarre and probably helped create the chess player archetype of an extreme intellect who does not follow conventions. Cue another 30 years of Russian dominance, the summit of which was the Beast of Baku, Garry Kasparov, generally considered to be one of the greatest of all time. It was 2006 before there was another undisputed world chess champion not from Russia. An astonishing Indian, the rival for Garry as the GOAT, the next level Norwegian Magnus Carlson. 

Magnus has been the highest rated player in the world and, for parts of that, the strongest player in the history of the world. When someone says the word "unrivalled" it is genuine. All of the contenders who have challenged him have failed in his ten years as champion that ended this year. In the time, he has beaten the challenger, usually a very strong player who successfully outscores the world's other best players in a grueling "Candidates Tournament", winning seventeen games and lost twice over five matches against four different players. In 2022, on a podcast he let drop the megaton news that he was unlikely to defend his title as it was too tiring to prepare for and little interest for him. Some took it as a bluff. He even added some spice to the mix by saying it would only be interesting if it was against a young Iranian-French player who was at the time rocketing up the rankings. In the end, the contender from his 2021 match won the Candidates again and Magnus confirmed he wouldn't defend his title. Instead, a match was arranged between the winner of the Candidates, Ian Nepomniatchi of Russia, and the second placed player, Ding Liren of China.

This made everyone and everything extremely awkward. How can you have a world championships without the strongest player? When Fischer refused to defend his title he wasn't even playing - Carlson is still very active and whoever becomes "champ" will probably be losing to him, and probably not dominating the chess world like a champ. Making it worse, Magnus had dismantled Ian in the 2021 match. But it was a date and Ian and Ding were in for the championships.

Ding Liren is a interesting player. Chinese men for a long time were not in top chess - it was in fact a Chinese woman who did the Fischeresque act of breaking Russian hegemony that had existed from the first champion in 1927 until it was broken by Xie Jun in 1991. Since then China has had the womens crown more often than not. The womens world championship this year will be an all-China affair. Yet the Chinese men for a long time did not have a player even close to the top ten. But in the 2000s the first strong players emerged and in the last five years Ding has been a powerful force. But the Covid period was not kind to him and his chances of qualification for the Candidates. He never seemed supported by the State to begin with and struggled to get outside of China to play chess. (Some other Chinese players managed to base themselves outside and keep active.) He played many online events but to qualify for the Candidates you need to fulfil a complicated set of qualifying categories such as winning the chess equivalent of the Majors. Initially he missed out on that before a Russian player who had qualified said outrageous political comments in relation to Ukraine and was removed leaving a space open. One way for him to qualify was to be the strongest player by rating besides Magnus, which Ding was, and who had also played a minimum required number of games, which Ding had not. In a method that many criticised at the time, tournaments were set up for him to play at short notice for him to play the required number of games. And then after a slow start he won a must win game at the end to scrape into second place and thus put himself in the world championships match against Ian.

Prior to the match there was a lot of speculation that the match would be a fizzer and struggle to grab the imagination. But it quickly became quite the spectacle. In fact, it became quite the slugfest with five decisive games in the first seven, with Ian winning three and Ding winning two. The last of this brutal phase was a loss for Ding where in a strong position he "froze" - he only had four minutes for about nine moves and inexplicably thought for five minutes for one move, a bad one, after which he quickly lost. Ding is quintessentially Chinese from the movies - inscrutable, composed and unflappable; yet he was in a visible collapse. Many thought that the match would be a collapse but a sequence of fighting draws began. It was to be the best of fourteen, and if that was tied, they'd go into a "rapid" play-off (a faster time control). Until the twelfth game, Ian held his lead but in that game, with black, the less advantageous colour, he put Ding's king in a vice and all he had to do is squeeze. Now it was Ian's time to do the unimaginable - he did what has been one of his greatest strengths but also his Achilles heel: he played fast. Ian must be uncomfortable to play because you never rest - he is always thinking on your clock and soon as you move, he sips his tea and then blitzes out a move. Here, a few impulsive moves turned his commanding position into an equal position, and then a single move played after just seconds reduced it to rubble. It was now his turn to visibly shatter. Ding equalised and after two draws, it was 7-7 and they had to go into the rapid play-offs.

The rapids were all played on a single day, for me it was Saturday night. And compared to the play in the "classical" fourteen games, the quality perversely improved with the players having less time to think. Three tough draws led to the final game of the rapid play-off; if this was drawn, it would be down to a blitz play-off that wouldn't end till there was a champ. The final game, Ding with the black pieces, was a complicated affair with Ian strong in the beginning, before Ding wrestled him to equality. It could have been a draw but Ian kept trying to win; it could have been a draw but Ding after wavering decided to play for the win, too. Ding under pressure found some extraordinary moves quickly that Ian, unused to being the one with less time for once, struggled to find responses, too. The final scenes of that game were complete disintegration for Ian. Ding became the champion.

So a spectacle it was between two less than superhuman players of immense chess strength. To be clear, the quality of play was roundly criticised. Magnus matches demonstrate clinical precision; this match was two guys playing below their strength. It remains to be seen whether Ding can regain his previous powers with the title now weighing around his neck. 

This weekend I'll complete my 1500th kilometre of the year. This has been my fastest year to this milestone, a whole one month faster than my best previous year, 2019. However, I don't feel as fast as 2019. In that year I did more events by this time whereas this year it has been just training up to this point. In fact, that year I had already completed a 3:27 marathon in Rotorua, my best back then. Would I be able to do that now? I am a bit doubtful but have done some rather good efforts, including conquering the Concrete Monster at a pace that had me doubting my watch. I had a much strong running partner that day, in horrendous conditions, and even towards the end I was able to belt out high speeds. Immediately after that effort though I had my first niggle of 2023, I had some tightness near my left knee, which was actually a hidden muscle knot higher up in my quad. I stopped running basically for five days - it felt like a year - and did other exercises and daily massage until it resolved. 

Five weeks to go basically means two more "peak weeks" of 100km/week and then the start of a gradual tapering of training, which focusses on running less but faster, and focussing on rest. I'm looking forward to this as much as the race. I hope I can keep these weeks "clean" of injury and niggles while also getting my confidence to maintain a good pace. I still think it is possible for me to go below 3:27, or even if things go smoothly, set a new PB below 3:22. Tomorrow though is a rest day after seven days "running" so I get a glorious sleep in to 6:45am.

But the Kirikiriroa Marathon is now five weeks away. 

Twist and shout

It has been four months since my last blog, which may well be the longest time without an online record here. It's not a great surprise - this last four months, let's say the first third, has been something of a frenetic swirl. Looking back to December 2022, my blog was merely my first chess tournament in well over 20 years. Chess is something of a luxury now - I'm quite lucky that I only paid a small $20 for membership at the Auckland Chess Club for the absolute pleasure of six over-the-board games. 

What came next? Well, there was Christmas of course - a small scale celebration compared to other years. And then a splendid trip to Australia where we finally reciprocated with our Australian friends and enjoyed the swings between 36 and 16 degrees. Upon my return back to work, I was jerked back into my old two-role status as my replacement quit after a tumultuous 5 months. Then there was our spin into house-hunting. There was the now historic downpours of this late Auckland summer, and once things vaguely dried out, there was the big move to our new neighbourhood, mother and all. And there was the bounce back to marathon training. To be clear, there hasn't been many moments to sit back and reflect, literally. I would count this as my busiest period of life ever.

Pick a swirl and there are threads aplenty. Moving house, and into our first home, has been an interesting experience. The search, our second attempt, was a normal bustle. We tried at first to do it ourselves, plotting out open homes and what-not. There were some mildly interesting places but nothing compelling. Then one of our friends landed their first home and recommended an agent to show us around and we agreed to give that a go - and it was quite the adventure. Being primarily a do-it-yourself kind of person (but not much of a DIY type), it was a bit of a leap. But entrusting such a process to someone else had its advantages - he would find all the places that matched our preferences, noticed why we rejected places and found better and better places until an area had no more places that met specifications and we changed focus area. We searched North Shore, specifically Glenfield and Albany. A few places were attractive but missed key features.

The biggest reason to reject was the lack of a ground floor bedroom with no stairs leading into the house. This was because we wanted to preserve the option, or even welcome the option from the get-go, of my mother coming to live with us. She has been "getting older" but at a faster rate than most elderly it seemed. She had her lucky breaks in not breaking bones when she had her occasional falls. She "humorously" got lost when driving once. Though she was diligent about remembering certain things, some day-to-day things often became big issues. It seemed only a matter of time for an accident, or her ability regressing to the point that living alone and self-management were not possible. Whether moving in with us straight-away or as a later option, we had to avoid steps or ramps in our future home and all facilities had to be available to the person on the ground floor. This took requirement took some getting to understand and be aware of. We would walk into a house and immediately note something such as there being a bedroom on the ground floor, a toilet, but no shower or bathing facilities. One place close to where we eventually bought was an excellent one level place, except for the fact that one that one level had steps up to it from most angles. As it was, when we started to talk about places, she was very open to the move and this consideration gained more weight. 

Another criterion for us was parking - most new-builds had minimal parking, apparently part of council requirements to reduce car use, increase commercial intensification and public transport use. (Not sure if that is the case - our agent mentioned it at one place that we liked but with minimal parking.) As it was, with my mother moving in, we'd have three cars, and many places were on "no parking" areas on the roads they were built on. 

We had our own room requirement of two or bathrooms, three bedrooms, but telling were the things we were willing to sacrifice for the above: a backyard, a convenient area and a new-build home. In the end, the place that fulfilled that was an older but renovated home, with a backyard but relatively inconvenient area out west. The settlement process was filled with hesitation, anxiety, sudden hopes and stabbing regrets as our money was ceremonially tied up into a mortgage.  

The move itself would count as the biggest exertions of my life, especially because I did not stop my marathon training at the time. For over a week, I was averaging 35,000 steps a day as we moved first to mum's and then collectively to the new place. I ran in the mornings then did the packing away of objects, moving them from house to car, car to garage, or out of car and eventually up to new place. We had a moving company, of course, for the large items but the packing. And then there was the donation of items, the disposal of gathered and deteriorating items, the assembling of new furniture and the arrangement of it thereafter. In a curious twist, I'm pretty confident that the moving worked as a "prehah" workout, building a great core that supported the dynamics of running. 

And with the running and moving my weight plunged to 60kg. There was a perverse fascination that unlike previous marathon training where I would approach but never touch the 65kg asymptote, this has been an exceptional period. It might have been the concurrent exertion of moving house. Or perhaps the slower transition up to higher mileage - as soon as I cross the 80km/week line I get ravenous and this time I lingered a longer time in the 60-70km range. I also started doing self-made smoothies for the first time in life with superfoods, as a post-workout drink, but possibly not replacing all that I burned off. Most of my morning runs were done "unfuelled" because I don't have time for more than a coffee before I head out the door. The most common superfoods in my smoothies are berries, maca powder and cacao, with occasional additions of ground hemp, hemp protein, chia seeds, greek yoghurt, arepa powder, matcha, kale and acai. 

The addition of maca, and also my first use of ashwagandha, I might speculate was quite critical in not really feeling much stress during this period, aside from an anxious night or two. As mentioned my successor as Director of Studies resigned the second day back from summer holidays, meaning I had to swoop back into the role while still doing a very busy role. We had two massive weather events in Auckland that required a Covid-esque scramble to notify students of online arrangements, train staff, etc. A staff member had a heart attack and another was arrested and then paranoid, perhaps due to drug use. (The latter was dismissed not long after but not before making accusations against me.) A greenhorn staff member was going rogue at the same time. And two staff members in my other school became estranged and required me to intervene. All while I was moving house! Considering my episode last year, I was almost waiting for my psychology to react negatively. It didn't. I wouldn't say that I was exactly a Zen monk but it was pretty much all in-stride, but with little time to do anything but what was in front of me.

I am really looking forward to that normal, quiet life that the future often promises. I'm looking forward to our eventual housewarming when everything will be in its right place. I'm looking forward to my sixth official marathon in June. I'm looking forward to reading a novel on our excellent balcony and planting things in the backyard. I'm also looking forward to writing again and thinking more and doing a whole lot less.