Karsten and Chelsea |
Our
guest this week is Karsten Horne, king of adventure. Traveling has been in
Karsten’s veins from a young age. He followed the overland trail to Europe with
his parents then backpacked solo through South America as a teenager. Karsten
runs the highly successful Reho Travel in Melbourne and Sydney, Australia,
catering to a mostly corporate clientele. He is currently working on expanding
the company’s retail offerings with a new brand and through rehope
sponsors those less fortunate. He manages to combine his love of
writing and photography with his travel enterprises, having visited 75
countries and finding inspiration on every journey.
We start sprinting down the
hill toward the noise and the lights, as we get closer chanting starts. 30, 29,
28. We push our way through the crowd and as we leap the fence, it gets down to
3, 2, 1. We cross the start line amidst the deafening roar of fireworks, people
screaming and hugging, and get pushed in a sea of runners that are all heading
into the darkness. I look across at Chelsea and yell out, “Wow, imagine a night
Australian Rules Football Grand Final” just as a massive round of fireworks illuminates
the sky.
The pace is fast, I mean,
seriously fast. Last time I ran like this I was being chased by a security
guard at Western Oval (the home of my beloved football team, the Bulldogs). I
still feel bad about that as I think he tore a hamstring. It was worth it
though, especially when you look closely at the pictures of Doug Hawkins* being
carried off on his last game and you see my hand on his arse.
For the first mile I stay
with the group and am really proud of myself. Given it comprises of Chelsea
(who has been secretly training for this with daily crossings of Brooklyn
Bridge), her marathon running, wholefood eating friends and me, the old man.
Central Park at this time of the year is so beautiful, the air is clear and
crisp and the path is lined ten deep with well-wishers. Every chance I get I divert
off my line and put up a high five. I feel like king of the world, dressed in
several layers of fancy running gear proudly topped off by my Bulldog’s jumper,
which always keeps me one step ahead of the fashion police. Several times my
mind drifts off and I imagine what would happen if I accidently turned off the
path and in the morning the team from CSI New York discover yet another frozen
bundle in Central Park. Or have visions of Hugh Jackman on a horse leaping
across the path in front of me.
As I reach the half way mark
I start to question what I am doing here. Three hours ago I was comfortably
locked away in a pen at Broadway and 51st St with a million of my
closest friends ready to welcome in the New Year by watching the ball drop in
the traditional style. It was quite simple really; you stop drinking liquid
around midday, stock your pockets with energy snacks and wait and wait in the
sub zero temperatures. A few hours in we discovered that although we could see
Times Square way off in the distance, there was no sound. That is correct—over
1,000,000 people are prepared to stand around for nine hours with no
entertainment. What? I decided to take on the role of entertainment coordinator
by playing and singing along to We Will
Never Get Back Together on the iPhone, which amused the crowd for about 30
seconds. Especially the way I sang “I hate you, we break up, you call me, I
love you” with such conviction. Some Kiwi’s then donated Better Be Home Soon which got us all huggy but I knew it was over
when a bunch of Koreans started playing Psy’s lesser-known works. After
climbing the world’s largest sand dune and completing the Inca Trail for recent
New Year’s Eve celebrations, New York was threatening to become a real flop.
Times Square way off in the distance |
Then I remembered Chelsea’s
invitation to join her on the Emerald Nuts Midnight Run in Central Park. “It’s
a really easy run just for fun, not competitive at all” were her exact words. I
looked at my watch and had just enough time to get across town register and
line up at Strawberry Fields for the start. I managed to register as runner
number 5281 only minutes before closing but almost didn’t make it to the start
when I got caught on a downtown train and emerged in the middle of a pen at 48th
St, 20 blocks in the wrong direction. One of New York’s finest took one look at
my outfit, wished me luck and waved me through the barriers and I ran the 20
blocks, dodging strange looks and weaving between drunk partygoers in 2013
glasses and giant Nivea Uncle Sam hats. Hardly the right preparation for a run
with my mind racing—torn between finding my way and wondering what giant furry
hats have to do with skin care.
Approaching the half way mark
of the run, I’m really starting to struggle. In the first mile I feel like I’m
passing people but the trend is reversing and I know I’m in trouble when I get
passed by a smurf who looks to be doing it easy. It was hard to tell though as
his expression never changed. He ignored me as I yelled out at him to slow down,
as it was only a fun run! Clearly nobody told the smurf! I pull over for a
breather at the drink station, plug some music in and resolve to catch the
smurf. Ahead I see him pause at the cider stand and disappear around the next
bend.
In plugging in the music I’ve
somehow selected my daughter’s trash metal mix and some idiots screaming at me.
Determined not to stop again I remember back to the time I wandered into the
Panamanian President’s compound and was chased by his machine gun toting
bodyguard down a jungle path, the same screaming only in Spanish. No Karsten,
you need to relax, get in the moment. Think of something positive, like Katie
Holmes smiling at you yesterday, now that was a New York moment.
The clock says 00:30, that
means I’ve been running for nearly half an hour. Can’t be far now. I remember
reading the course notes and noticed that most of the last mile is downhill so
I pick up the pace and ahead of me notice that the smurf has stopped for a rest.
I attempt to high five him but clip the back of his head by mistake. Poor thing,
he looks stuffed. The last few hundred yards seem to go on forever, my music’s
gone instrumental, spectators are yelling some thing out that sounds like a
marketing slogan. I think it was “Every person counts” and I try to high five
anything that is not moving but don’t connect once. In the final straight I
look for someone holding a flag, anyone would do just like in the movies—so I
can cross the line holding it above my head but to no avail, instead I raise my
arms which won’t go above my shoulders and end up looking like a goose.
I look up my time is 39:40
and look behind me to see the smurf shuffling down the hill with Santa Claus,
Superman, and Catwoman. At least he is amongst friends.
Karsten with Seth Godin |
Somebody thrusts a bagel, an
apple, and a bag of nuts in my direction and that’s it. All over, no fanfare. Yeah…um…that
was fun!
24
Hours later, I sat in front of a Seth Godin lecture and this is what he said:
“Your
art is vitally important, and what makes it art is that it is personal,
important and fraught with the whiff of failure. This is precisely why it's
scarce and thus valuable—it's difficult to stand up and own it and say, "Here,
I made this.”
This
is my art.
4
Miles
40
Minutes
48
Years of preparation
*
Doug Hawkins is a famous Australian Rules Football player
Wow, Karsten, I'm breathless just reading this! Hopefully, I burned a few calories in the process. And I agree, everything we take on in life requires our creative juices and lots of preparation. Kudos to you!
ReplyDeleteKarsten, once again you have shared another amazing story. You're the perfect example of why we should live in the moment more often. Well done on finishing the race!
ReplyDeleteCongratulations Karsten. Inspiring and a unique experience you will never forget!
ReplyDeleteExciting post, Karsten. It left me breathless. Thanks for sharing it with us today.
ReplyDeleteThanks for the feedback, glad you all enjoyed.
ReplyDelete