In an effort to maintain some accountability, I asked a mate to check in with me via dedicated fitness blog. He read it and ripped it to shreds.
So, happy v day. An arse whipping (figuratively, fortunately) is imminent!
|from certin.com via Trespass Mag|
|from some random blog|
I was born five years after Tropical Cyclone Tracy and the almost complete obliteration of what was Darwin. It's one of those things, a haunting thought that wind and rain could be so severe, that people would lose houses, lives, everything.Th above was a beginning of a blog post that I'd written on the eve of Cyclone Yasi's impending, and inevitable, encounter with the coast of North Queensland.
In the Cyclone Tracy exhibit at the Darwin museum, visitors can walk in to a small, dark room, and listen to a recording of the cyclone made by a priest, who took shelter after attending a midnight mass service. I found this at once fascinating and heart-wrenching, the sound of the wind, like a wild animal with no care or concern for anything in its path, is more terrifying to me than any mythical or human threat. Its absence of reason or ration; it's just wind, but it's so much more.