Last year, I was entered for this city's most famous fun run but couldn't compete because I'd returned from the UK less than 48 hours beforehand and was so jet-lagged I could hardly put one foot in front of the other. Bad planning, eh? This year I was determined to see it through, but then we had to move house the week before the race (not of our volition).
This year was the 15th year of the event and it took place on the 10th anniversary of 9/11. We missed the minute's silence before the race to commemorate the latter, however, because we were sitting on a bus on a gridlocked Wynnum Road.
By the time we reached the start zone, most of our fellow Green Runners were already on their way, and the Yellows were straining at the leash. How come there were Greys (who were supposed to start behind the Yellows) up ahead of us on the Bridge? The colour-coding soon becomes a mishmash once everyone's running, of course, but the logic behind the system is sound. How many hundreds of metres does dodging three- or four-abreast walkers add to a runner's overall distance, I wonder?
The route took us up and down the Bridge, along Kingsford Smith Drive, up on to the Inner City Bypass, and down into the RNA Showgrounds. Five-kilometre runners joined us somewhere along Kingsford Smith. All I was really concentrating on was counting down the kilometre markers.
Many people were there just for the fun of it; others were taking it rather more seriously, especially the man who broke the ribbon, who ran the course in less than half an hour. I took twice as long as he did.
The last race we ran was through the Clem7 in February 2010. I'd forgotten just how good it feels to complete such an event, even though it kills at the time. The buzz you get. And now, at last, I've got the T-shirt that has frequently passed me by when I've been running along the riverside on a Sunday morning.