Potch V
The curse
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I’m finally in Manchester after a horror commute that took 48 hours. My flight to the UK via Istanbul was cancelled, so I had to spend another night in South Africa by myself. By the time my new flight landed in Istanbul airport at 4:30 am, I was so hungry and exhausted that I accidentally bought a berry smoothie that cost 26 AUD.
This cursed transit was the latest in a series of symbolic humiliations that have befallen me and a select few of my M11 comrades. Below are some anecdotes from my latest camp in South Africa.
A contagion of sprained ankles swept through camp this trip. The roads and trails we run on are battered and full of potholes. Multiple people rolled their ankles including myself. The difference with mine was that my ankle swelled to double its size. Bizarrely, I only felt a little pain – an appropriate amount for the minor injury, but not for how disgusting this foot looked. I was happy to continue training but everyone else was (unsurprisingly) concerned, as my entire foot from ankle to toes had turned dark purple. My team and I are now questioning my pain tolerance, credibility, and/or sanity.
One night, walking back to our apartments in Potch, I spotted a little brown frog on the footpath illuminated by a street lamp. Obviously I bent down to give it a good look. One of our coaches, Darren, was walking past. I asked him “Want to see a frog?” He laughed at me and said “No, I’m all good thanks.”
On the 90-minute drive from Potch to Johannesburg airport, a French athlete in our group, Benoit, was pulled over for speeding. I was in a van with three other athletes and coach Trevor and we spotted him negotiating with the police officer as we zoomed past. In South Africa, one way to get out of such a situation is to give a bribe. Benoit had lost his wallet, so to make his flight on time he ended up giving the cop his Garmin watch.
I decided to have my hormonal IUD removed, an intervention attempting to address my stomach and fatigue issues, since hormones can have an impact on the body in many ways. Trevor helped me organise this while I was in Potch on camp. He got me an appointment with a doctor the team regularly uses, Dr K, a middle-aged white moustachioed South African man.
After a brief consultation, I’m taken out back by the oldest woman in South Africa, who also happens to be a nurse. I’m instructed to put on a gown and lie down. After fifteen minutes of staring at the ceiling, Dr K bursts into the room and addresses me as “Crocodile Dundee!” He then puts on a headlamp like the ones you use camping. Aided by the nurse, who is armed with a portable lamp, he begins rummaging around my insides to find the strings to remove the IUD. They don’t have much luck at first, and he starts to sweat. After about 20 seconds (although it seemed much longer) it’s all over and he gives me a sympathetic pat on the knee and apologises for the discomfort.
Since Keely is the best 800m runner the world has ever seen, there was a little film crew following her for several days to make a documentary. This included filming all the rest of us losers as set dressing.
I was doing power cleans in the gym and the crew rushed over to get some footage. As I noticed them, I messed up one of my lifts. I gestured to them and said: “You guys make me nervous!” They apologised and scuttled away. I immediately felt incredibly guilty.
I contacted my friend Ben, who works in the film and sport world, for reassurance that I’m not a bad person. He told me that documentary filmmakers are usually men (true in this case) and also awkward nerds (also true). From his own experiences behind the camera, he knows that sometimes they can be unaware of the impact their presence can have. It makes me appreciate the straightforward charisma of some photogs like Jane Stockdale. I’ll do anything she tells me to do since she makes me feel completely safe.
While we were training at the track, about a dozen vervet monkeys descended and hung about in the stands waiting for us to leave our bags alone so they could steal our food. These monkeys have beautiful long silver fur, black faces, and the males have bright blue ball-sacks. Some of the females had tiny babies clinging to their bellies.
We managed to collect our bags before they did too much damage, but not before they got hold of a banana, some liquorice, and a Maurten caffeine gel. I watched as the small monkey, about the size of a cat, held the gel between its creepy black hands and suckled the packet. There is 100 mg of caffeine in one of those gels, a decent amount for a full-sized adult human. I had mixed feelings about this image – a wild and intimidating creature eating human litter like a satirical ad for Maurten – but mostly I was curious about what the rest of its day would be like.
Trina xx
A rather entertaining update other than the swollen ankle! I will always support you and I'm looking forward to seeing you on the track again this year. You have a great artistic talent too! 👏👏👏