My country is a beautiful one. Not that others aren’t of course, but it’s been a while since the ragged character of my homeland has settled my soul.
Today I find myself running along an isolated beach in the Booti Booti National Park. At this end, the ocean rages against the rich green shrubbery that crept down the cliff to feel the salt spray on its leaves. The water here is violent, ripping and thumping at the sand. Competing waves chase and trip over each other to get to shore first. The trees and ground cover hide you from the road, and I run the isolated beach, realising the specialness of this untouched land makes me feel more Australian than my passport.
It’s a so-so run, but that hardly seems to matter. I’m not entirely sure I’m excited about training for this marathon, but I’m thoroughly enjoying articulating how sacred running is to me.
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