ATHS day

For the first time since 2019, we had the pleasure of hosting students and families from each of our four campuses at Corio Campus on September 11 for our Whole School Athletics Carnival. The competition was fierce but the day is always contested in the right spirit between houses and campuses, and this year was no exception. One remnant of last year’s COVID Cup - the Corio Gift, pitting the various 100m age group winners against one another in a handicap race - looks to have been added to the event schedule on a permanent basis; this year’s Corio Gift winner was Indi Elliott (Yr10 A).

Winding through mountains on remote but well-paved, well-travelled roads, I was endeavouring a valiant attempt to escape reality. The air was stifled and sticky, the jerking of the car was dizzying and disorienting, but I kept my eyes fixed on the screen in front of me, trying to ignore how nauseous I felt. The programme I was watching went something like: factual statement in posh British RP, quixotic question which quietens the room, witty remark from a wry, though a wee-bit more regional voice, laughter, chaos, and so on. The contents didn’t really matter to me, I was just trying to soak up the relaxed, mirth-filled atmosphere, hoping I could remember how to be around people again.

The difference between Timbertop and most other events that will drastically change your life is that Timbertop is known to be life changing. It has a reputation for changing lives. Back in 1953, Sir James Darling, then Headmaster of Geelong Grammar School, envisioned a challenging, brutal, yet forgiving environment, where life is distilled to its most visceral, students are pushed to beyond their limits, and pain is just another spice of life to be savoured. With plenty of compassion at hand to help and wise mentoring mixed in, such a perfect paradise of hell cannot be surpassed.

All sorts of mental and physical turmoil trace their jagged marks through the exquisitely beautiful nature, who keeps her repose and grandeur, indifferent to whatever crisis has befallen whoever runs towards her in tears. At this point, these students will, supposedly, look about themselves and find, to their surprise, that they are absolutely fine. They find themselves in the company of peers who understand exactly how it hurts, because they feel it too, and kindness in character becomes the only kind of status people care about. They find themselves on the rocky outcrops looking out at those now-dwarfish hills they’ve cursed a thousand times climbing up, marking their journey on the landscape, and marvelling at how impossible it seems, even now, that they’re here. And thus, they will go into life forevermore with ‘a firm belief in themselves’ and ‘an unwillingness to settle for anything less’.

And, in spite of all likelihood, that’s exactly what it’s been doing to people for seven decades and counting. People go in, endeavour a bit, suffer a bit, despair a bit, do a bit of soul-searching, fraternising, teeth-clenching, and come out the other side a better human. I knew all that in theory. But there’s a big difference between understanding and accepting. I knew pain was part of the deal, part of the special ingredient for growth. I like growth, growth is good, I wanted growth. I just wished I didn’t have to go through that middle bit.

Cindy Xu (Yr10 A)

Note: This piece was written in response to Robyn Davidson’s 1980 memoir Tracks, and formed a part of a creative writing folio focusing on notions of adventure: real, literary and mythological.