Far, Far Away

At 5.45pm, the sun is peering through dark, threatening rain clouds. I don't think I've ever seen the city in such high contrast.

I pass from one patch of sun to another, running shoulder-first through bystanders, shoppers and commuters. I can feel the Arches of my feet straining against the odd leather straps in my not-so-good-for-running shoes; They Tug and chew into the insides of my feet - which now feel raw and like something I'll regret it tomorrow.

I'm at the padang when it begins to rain rain - a sensible and nice amount of drizzle that builds slowly and then crescendos into thunderous machine-gun claps. I bound past a few people huddling under a bus shelter, past a valet escorting a driver out of his vehicle with a large golf-sized umbrella, and make my way toward the Esplanade bridge.

At this point my shoes, now damp, are sawing deep blisters to the insides of my feet, and as I sprint towards the river to the sounds of Dave Dee, Dozy, Beaky, Mick & Titch; I'm squinting though the warm rain running through my hair and then my eyes; through the yellow lens flares and back-lit rain: on the river - a sea of irregular floating white spheres are rocking with the tide as far as the eye can see.

There must be thousands of them, giant minties, mentoses and mothballs, strewn across the river, bopping in a synchrony.

'Where are we?' Asks a jogger to another between heavy breaths
(a scenario I recall from a Nike Advertisement I saw a while ago.)

'I don't know' She replies (bewildered) '... I've never run this far before'

They stand there hand on knee, huffing and baffled, staring at something neither of them have witnessed before.

Tomorrow is 2008 and there are others, 20 or so, standing there under the bridge, drawn to the shelter and the bopping balls.

I reach for my pedometer, wrapped in a ziplock bag in my pocket - I'm still 5.7 kilometers short of a standard half-marathon.