Le Pista Resistance

I’ve always been the competitive type when it comes to sports; the kid at little athletics who would enter every event, no matter how much I sucked. I had a few wins, sure, but I was never a super star. I just liked the process of it all; whether it was polishing my Jordan 5s in preparation for a basketball match or that butterfly feeling the morning of an athletics carnival, the real thrill for me was in the journey. The final result never really interested me that much; not because I’m a particularly altruistic sportswoman, just because I’m a sucker for a good time.

I carried this ‘love of the game’ with me to the Mario Kart alley cat last night. Sure the context was different – an urban, Saturday night jungle instead of the local athletics field, post race drinks at the Cricketers instead of all-you-can-eat Pizza Hut with the under 12 girls basketball team – but the spirit of friendly competition and unbridled enthusiasm was the same. And I loved every minute of it; negotiating the bends down to Harry’s Cafe in a princess tutu, dodging drunk party goers over the footbridge to Darling Harbor, failing to find the brakes on a kids bike that flung my knees up around my ears, the journey was awesome to say the least.

At the finish line, it became obvious the race was more about the adventure than it was about the end result; competitors were more interested in re-telling stories of near misses and three car pile ups than there were fixated on comparing race times or point scores. The Mario Kart alley cat embodied all the exciting and electrifying elements of a school swimming carnival – the dressing up, the friendly competition, the pre-race diet of red frogs and gatorade – without all the formality and bullshit – the pushy parents, the playground hierarchy, the focus on the finish line.

Unfortunately, most people loose touch with the ‘love of the game’ when they graduate high school – that out-of-nowhere sprint that won them gold in the year 6 backstroke becomes a distant memory – and they end up living vicariously through their favorite footy player or tour de france competitor. Not necessarily because they are boring and lazy, but because there is no longer a PnC or dedicated PE teacher to make it happen. Thankfully we have Lewis. Sure, everyone deserves their fair share of credit for last night – us competitors for rocking up, dressing up, and occasionally messing up (where is wharf 10 again?), the checkpoint folk for keeping us all honest and providing a welcomed pit stop for tired punters, and the sponsors for coughing up some seriously awesome product – but it was Lewis who spent hours creating the route, who scoured the city for days on end sourcing checkpoints (did anyone not bump into him last week canvassing the city?), and who knocked on doors to rally up support. (insert round of applause here).

Sure I’ve had my fair share of good times at running races and basketball finals, but neither compare to the thrill of last night. So thank you Le Pista, and everyone who came, for re-invigorating my love of the game.