a cartoon character. I’d surely nd more gaps in the bog running in two-dimensions. ‘Excuse me!
!’Finally I’m through the molasses on the Strasse des 17 Juni and nowI’m really moving – chest out, stomach in, trying to drive the knees.People laugh as I fy past. I’m the only one going this way, out o theTiergarten, dodging the oncoming pedestrian trac as I race towardsone o the
security entry posts. My backpack bounces up anddown, providing the metronome. What was Lola’s techno backing-songagain? ‘I wish … I wish …’I wish I could remember the words. I make up my own.
I wish I was a runner,In search of higher ground.I wish I was the mountain,Refusing to be found.
A girl coming the other way extends an arm or a high-ve. ‘I mightbe going to the game!’ I yell, not slowing down. Hear that,
?I only said ‘might’. An Australian voice breaks rom the crowd: ‘You’llwanna get a shufe on!’ I leap or the clouds and punch the air. I mightbe going to the game!
I wish I was a cyclone,Pelting rain and sleet.I wish I was a drumbeat,Connecting mind to feet.
I skid back through the bag check at Scheidemann Strasse, theReichstag looming on my right, attempting a Ronaldo two-step shufe.With barely a stumble, I’m through, and again searching or top gear.What did sprint coach Ann Quinn teach me when I was trying to ndthat extra yard back in my AFL days? Elbows at side, drive with thearms. Keep the head still.
I wish I was a traveller,Who knows where he belongs.
Run, Tony, Run