Over the past few weeks I’ve seen the hashtag #C25K popping up in my twitter stream, but I only recently decided to investigate what it meant. Turns out that quite a few of the people I follow had begun the Couch to 5k running program. C25K is an interval training program and although that’s hardly a new concept, its popularity has meant that a bunch of helpful resources have been created to assist you to get off the couch.

This morning I downloaded a music mix that was designed to accompany the C25K program, with the beat changing up or down according to whether you should be jogging or running, from Podrunner Intervals and loaded it onto my iPod, found my barely used pair of sneakers and headed out the door. I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that the first transition from a brisk walk to a jog felt like it was going to make my lungs explode, but by the time I reached the cooldown part of the workout I was actually disappointed that I had no more jogging sections to come.

Three times a week for the next 9 weeks I’ll be following the C25K program, if all goes to plan I’ll be able to do a 5K run in 30 minutes, which seems like quite a feat at this point in time. The concept of ‘getting fit’ always seems rather nebulous to me, the beauty of C25K is that there’s a well defined goal and an obvious way to get there.

Update: Second session finished. Buster Boy woke me up just after 6 and I se out with all of the other nutters. Part way through I started to worry that my usually dormant asthma was about to make a comeback, but it turns out it was mostly my under-developed lung capacity that was causing the problem.

So it comes to this. Tiger Woods has been in the headlines for having a few mistresses. I’m sure they each have their own stories to tell however it’s one in particular that has grabbed the headlines recently. Jaimee Grubbs, dubbed Mistress Grubbs in this article from the SMH online, has decided to share her story on national TV, bless her. The article starts with her apologising to Tiger’s wife, Erin Nordegren, for the immeasurable hurt and emotion she has caused her. Right there I’m thinking ‘Ok, really, an apology on national TV? That’s pretty poor form right there love.’ Following that though, is a quote from her saying ‘If it wasn’t me, it was going to be other girls.’ So what, that makes what happened ok does it? Well, thank God you were there Jaimee to stop that from happening. Oh, wait a minute…

Not only does she go on to share the details of her relationship with Tiger, I mean she even talks about their first kiss, but she has the gall to talk of her own personal anguish and hurt at finding out she wasn’t the only woman in Tiger’s life, and she’s not referring to Tiger’ wife! No, it’s the 10 other women he’s seduced over the years. According to Jaimee, what they had together was a relationship of respect, sacred intimacy and trust. He made her feel like she was the only woman (again Jaimee, apart from his wife).

Are you kidding me Jaimee?! What do you think could possibly be gained by sharing this on Extra TV? Let’s see, if I check out their website maybe I can see why you thought this would be the perfect platform for you to air your grievances. Yes, your story fits really well alongside others like David Hasselhoff’s wife asking his fans to help save him, some playmate who is about to pop out a baby any second and, surprise, surprise, other celebs airing their own dirty laundry about exes. Yes, this is a great opportunity for you to tell Erin how sorry you really are.

Here’s a clue. Next time you feel hard done by by some man and feel the need to share, buy a book, call it a journal and write it in that. If you’re not up for that (ie, writing is not your thing, or if you are illiterate), go the tried-and-true method which is to get a bunch of your girlfriends, get pissed and slag him off that way.

As for the excuse, and I quote,’ “I wouldn’t have pursued him if he didn’t pursue me. I mean, when he did, I just figured he was single and I didn’t think to ask,” she says ‘, well, I have some news for Jaimee. Dear, dear simple Jaimee, we live in fairly modern times here and there is this thing called a computer and you can access like, loads of info on lots of different things, including the marital status of celebs. So when he said ‘Hi, my name is Tiger and I play golf’ or whatever he said, did it occur to you that at any point you could find this stuff out. Shame on your friends too, clearly they don’t read tabloid gossip mags, use a computer or are illiterate, because they too may have been able to slap you around the face and tell you to wake up to yourself.

To top this off, Jaimee confesses that her motivation for wanting to share her story was when she found out she wasn’t the only woman in Tiger’s life, I mean apart from his wife (again, that last bit is for you Jaimee).

I’m going to call it. Bullshit. How can you use that excuse as justification for your decision to tell your story on TV? Maybe you wanted to get in first and be seen as the woman Tiger really cared for, that these other women didn’t matter as much as you did to him? That what you and Tiger had was ’special’. Maybe you wanted people to understand it, to see things from your perspective. Well I’m telling you, far better that you had kept your mouth shut.

Stuff like this great song by Root, called “Joe Blogs“. It’s a bit TISM 2.0

Apex was formed in Geelong in 1931, it was three young men who wanted to make a contribution to their community in the face of the Great Depression. Apex grew quickly throughout Australia, particularly in rural areas, you’d be hard pressed to travel through the small towns in our country without finding an Apex park. Once established, the clubs set about working to improve their local communities in ways that only they as locals could.

When I first joined Apex I was informed by an older member, bearing in mind that in those days members were retired at age 40, that we were there to fill in the gaps. . What we did was see the problems that bureaucracies could not and find solutions that they would not. This philosophy was repeated by thousands of local clubs across the nation, and collectively it was organisations like ours who changed the country. Apex bought the first guide dog trainers to Australia in 1957, started Australian research into Autism in 1968, helped to create the Foundation 41 Research Unit in 1972, funded SIDS research in the early 1980s, along with dozens of other achievements. Other service organisations have similar stories to tell.

But just as important as our collective national efforts were the things these clubs gave to their local communities. Not just the parks and monuments, but the help that they gave to people who didn’t have somewhere else to turn. Over the years our club has chopped firewood for widows, provided holidays for institutionalised orphans, thrown Christmas parties for new migrants, helped maintain accommodation for the homeless and provided equipment for everyone from the local rescue squad to a school for the disabled. While we are lucky today that our social services are so much better resourced than in the past, I worry that it has an impact on our commitment to our local communities when so many people look firstly to different levels of government to solve problems that are within our own abilities to deal with.

There is a well understood psychological effect that people regard things more highly when they have had to make some effort to obtain them, when we work hard to achieve something we appreciate it and care for it much more than if it is simply given to us. This isn’t just the case for individuals but for communities as well, many of the things we value the most are those that were achieved despite a lack of outside assistance. How do we engage people in building their communities’ civic resources when the process is owned by local councils or government departments? How can we make a disengaged community value the programs and infrastructure that is then provided for them?

Thanks to a combination of drought and maintenance problems our fountain hasn’t run very often over the past few years, but it’s the redevelopment of the open space in the CBD that has consigned it to demolition, it no longer fits the Council’s plans for how this space should be presented and used. So the gift that these service clubs made to our town will shortly be removed, and no doubt with it part of the memory of their contribution.

This is being repeated throughout small towns in Australia, community assets which were built by local volunteers are being dismantled by councils that no longer want to maintain them, and sadly in many cases the organisations that contributed these things to their community are no longer around to have a say. In many small towns the service clubs were a big part of the social fabric of the community, they created bonds between the families involved, provided services and support for others and helped to build a culture of civic participation. I remember when I travelled throughout the countryside as a child there would be signs at the entrance to every town proudly displaying the list of local clubs and where and when they met, for the benefit of travelling members and for new residents looking to connect with people.

Sadly those signs are few and far between these days, as are the clubs they represented. The decline in participation hasn’t just affected our organisation, similar stories are told by Rotary, Lions, the Country Women’s Association and other service clubs. As the clubs fade, the halls, parks, monuments and memories of their contribution also tend to be neglected. I think that we are losing a lot more than fountains and swing sets though, we are losing some of our sense of self reliance and of community ownership.

My personal favourite part of the track was probably Siberia, watching the bikes power up the hill before dropping back into the Hayshed. At this part of the circuit you can really appreciate the power of the MotoGP bikes. Even with incredibly sophisticated traction control trying to improve their behaviour the bikes buck and squirm around on the track, almost as if they are trying to throw the riders into the gravel.

Casey Stoner had a customised paint job featuring the Australian flag on his bike and a new set of matching leathers, which was a nice touch for his home GP. Despite the fact that he led from very early in the race Stoner was rarely far from Valentino Rossi. Each lap we’d see them coming over the hill from Siberia and try to judge the gap between them, then a few seconds later they’d blast past us on the hill at Lukey Heights giving us another glimpse of how close they were.

After Stoner clinched the win I took the opportunity to wander across the track and infield before leaving. One of the things that shocked me was the construction of the ripple strips, there was a step down of about an inch at the outside edge between each section, with the step becoming less pronounced towards the inside of the strip. Riding over this on a normal bike, while cornering would be fairly disconcerting, to do so on a MotoGP bike at over 200km/h is simply a frightening thought.

The following morning we left Phillip Island around 6am, and finally saw some sunlight. After stopping for breakfast at Healesville my riding companions headed towards the Hume Freeway, while I continued back the way we had come. It was a beautiful day, and one of those rides where everything just seemed to click, smooth and fast. The roads were filled with bikes returning from the GP, I’d follow along at the back of a group for a while before going my own way again. The ride was mostly uneventful, the only thing upsetting my trip was my luggage rack working its way out of the brackets that hold it onto the bike when I was about 70km from home. Thankfully, apart from a few scrapes on the outside of my bag, there wasn’t anything damaged.

A 900km round trip, my first visit to Philip Island and the MotoGP, it was all intensely satisfying. There is something very special about being out on a bike, even more so when you have the chance to travel with others. My Ducati is by no means a touring bike, no windscreen, an uncomfortable seat and no paniers are good clues to figuring that out, but that’s partly what makes it so much fun to take it on this sort of trip. Sadly Mrsdave doesn’t share my enthusiasm for discomfort and no luggage, so there will need to be a change or addition to the garage before she agrees to come along with me, I’m hoping for the latter.

It’s been a real challenge trying to write regular content for Pure Poison, having fairly well defined subject matter is a double edged sword. What is gratifying is building a rapport with so many commenters on the blog, especially when something I’ve written completely surprises them. It’s nice to be unpredictable.

The down side to contributing to Pure Poison is that this little blog has become a quiet place. Hopefully I’ll get the balance a bit better soon.

The house we stayed in was an interesting exercise in seeing how many rooms could be shoved into an incredibly small space, outdone only by the bonus round where an attempt was made to fit as many beds as possible into the afore mentioned small rooms. The only consolation for me was that as the Dave from Albury Compound has the smallest bathroom outside of a Collins class submarine, I had no trouble with the tiny bathroom in the rental house. The most important thing about the house was its proximity to the track, and on that detail it scored quite well, but I did wonder why on earth anyone would stay there during the 49 weeks a year that there’s no big motorsport events on.

Friday morning gave me my first chance to see the track, and my first taste of Phillip Island weather. We got to the track a little after nine and the support classes were already buzzing around the track. The ground was sodden from the previous day’s downpour and I’d barely gone fifty metres beyond the main gate when I found that the walkway I was on wasn’t as solid as it looked, as it unhelpfully bowed underfoot leaving me and everyone else with wet shoes from the unseen puddle beneath. We walked along the main straight, where a familiar string of catering and merchandising tents were assembled, and on to the exhibition hall.

The exhibition hall, unlike the one at the Formula One, was jam packed full of stuff you’d like to buy. All of the major manufacturers had bikes on display and merchandise, and every other nook was stuffed with accessory manufacturers, tour operators and promo girls wearing leathers. Only the limited space in my bag and the fear of Mrsdave’s wrath stopped me from collecting a host of extra bits for my bike. I eventually settled for a GP stubbie holder, a Casey Stoner one and a Casey Stoner beanie. As it turned out, the beanie was an essential piece of gear over the weekend.

After looking over the varied bikes in the show and shine, and making a brief stop at the XXXX gold bar, we made our way around turns 12 and 11 and up the hill to Lukey Heights. The view was fantastic. One of the most appealing things about Phillip Island is that because of the way the track is laid out you can see half of the track from almost any point. From the Lukey Heights stand you could see the bikes coming out of Siberia and towards the Hayshed, where you lose them momentarily until they roar past you and down into MG. The bikes are visible again once they’re in turn 12 and then you can see them all the way through Southern Loop until they drop down hill towards turn 4. This is all against the backdrop of Bass Straight, a prettier race track you could not ask for.

It’d been over twelve months since I’d covered any serious distance on the bike, which, along with the damp roads we were riding on, led to a little bit of trepidation on my part. However, as we covered the familiar road to Beechworth, then Miliwa and Whitfield, my confidence returned, cornering felt more natural and I began to relax and enjoy myself. We stopped in Whitfield for breakfast and what had been drizzle turned into rain, so we broke out the wet weather gear and headed off for Mansfield.

The road between Whitfield and Mansfield is a wonderful mix of tight and fast corners through some beautiful scenery. We weren’t lucky enough to see that scenery because in addition to the rain, we had to contend with fog, or low cloud, that meant visibility rarely stretched to the next corner. There is something especially unnerving about seeing high voltage power lines appear right in front of you, at what appears to be head height, with no armco barrier between you, just a significant drop.

At Mansfield we stopped briefly for fuel, then headed to Alexandra and Healesville through country that had been hit hard by the bushfires last February. Riding through Taggerty and Buxton it was incredible to note how the smell of charcoal still lingered in the air, while behind the regrowth, the blackened tree trunks provided a stark reminder of just how much of this area had been affected.

As we approached the Black Spur the rain became heavier again, not letting up until we reached Healesville for another fuel stop. It was at this point that I realised how drenched I really was. My gloves and glove liners were completely sodden, as were my boots and socks. I wrung the excess water out of the gloves, tossed the liners in my bag and we hit the road again, hoping that the rain would hold off.

The rain held off until the exact moment that we turned off the Bass Highway and onto Phillip Island Road. This was rain like I’d never experienced while riding before, accompanied by gusts of wind that pushed the bikes around in their lane. At the bridge to the island at San Remo the rain was so heavy we couldn’t see across it, but just as we entered Cowes we were bathed in sunlight which remained just long enough for us to get to our house in Ventnor, put the bikes in the garage and drag our gear inside.

We’d covered four hundred and fifty kilometres through appalling weather, without a single patch of dry road the entire time, we were wet and so was a lot of our gear, but the day was intensely satisfying. Hot showers and cold beer fixed most of the niggles, while our wet gear ended up near the heater. I wouldn’t have swapped the day for anything.

Although I’ve gone to the Formula One Grand Prix in Melbourne semi-regularly since 1999 this will be my first trip to the MotoGP. It was an impromptu arrangement as a spare slot became available in someone else’s party, so I’ve never actually met any of my travelling companions. The good thing is that there is a type of bond that instantly forms between people who own motorbikes, a shared experience that sets us a little bit apart from most people, so I have no doubt this’ll be a chance to make some new friends.

The other thing that I’m excited about is that compared to the Formula One, where unless you’re a V8 Supercar fan there’s very little worth watching other than the F1 sessions, at the MotoGP there are enough classes racing to ensure that there are almost constantly bikes on the circuit.

On the down side, the weather is looking particularly nasty this weekend. Unsurprisingly, southerly winds at Phillip Island are notorious for chilling you to the bone. This makes the challenge of packing one small bag even more difficult.

I’m hoping to see Casey Stoner take out his third Australian Grand Prix in a row, it would be a fantastic way to silence the doubters who claimed that his mid season hiatus spelt the end of his career. Most of all though, I’m just excited to be going, to share the camaraderie and to finally hear those MotoGP bikes with my own ears.

“For the last time Chris, you’re not the only one here who can wear a lilac tie”