Born out of a drunken argument over who was slower, Otago alumni Blake Plummer and Jolyon Swinburn agreed to race in a marathon at age 40. The boys cracked open a cold one as they told Critic Te Ārohi the story of a 20-year-old drunken bet that brought them back to their alma mater for the Emerson’s Dunedin Marathon on September 14th, built on the pillars of 2000s student life – beer, bravado, and Boney M.
Blake warned that details were admittedly hazy of how it all started (it was the era of corner store party pills, after all). One version of the story happened in 2008 at a Boney M. themed flat party on Clark Street to celebrate having won OUSA’s Flat of the Year award. The flat was a mansion with “beautiful views” of the Harbour, housing seven or eight of them, but they reckoned the win was based on “vibes” by judge Aaron Hawkins (Radio One Breakfast Host at the time). They spent their Countdown vouchers prize on beer for the party.
While hanging out in the kitchen dressed in fur coats and with ‘Rasputin’ playing on repeat in the neighbouring room, Blake made a “snarky comment” aimed at Jo: “I might be slow, but at least I’m not as slow as Jo.” Jo wasn’t having it. “I’m like, hold on, hold on,” he laughed. “I just took a stand.” They assured Critic it was part of a “healthy” ongoing competitiveness. “Small men with big egos,” their mate Simon chipped in from across the room, nursing a Tuatara Hazy. “Not backing it up with actual physical ability or talent, I would say.”
Turning to Blake at the time, Jo told him to name a distance and when. It was settled: a marathon when they’re both 40. Neither were runners at the time and weren’t keen to “change our lifestyle that much”, and the thought didn’t occur to them to simply sprint 100 metres down the street. “We probably should have in hindsight, we could have gotten it over right then and there,” said Blake. Pausing, he added, “But then we wouldn’t all be here today. So our stupidity has turned out for the best, I think” (aw).
While these sorts of drunken, midnight bets tend to have zero follow-through, the boys were committed. “I think we’re dead serious in the moment,” said Jo, “and I vaguely remember having a sinking feeling the next day waking up [and remembering] what we’d agreed upon.” That sinking feeling was confirmed when they realised others were there to witness the terms of the bet, and in the years to come would consistently remind them of it. “We put our money where our mouth is,” said Jo, and both cracked into training as the date approached.
Coming back to “the source”, as they put it, had sparked memories for the cohort of 30 alumni who’d flown into town from as far as New York and Japan for the occasion. While out for dinner the night after arriving, the group shared one story that still drew giggles around the room as Blake rehashed it to Critic. There had been one friend in their circle who’d been the go-between for an on-again, off-again couple (happens). One particular night, he’d been a shoulder to cry on for a few hours, and then when he got back to the flat he realised that they were together upstairs. “And he was just not having it,” said Blake. “He couldn’t abide by it.”
Earlier that day, one flattie had bought a 10kg bag of flour, despite not much baking being done in the flat (according to flat economics of bulk buying). “So he goes upstairs with his 10kg bag of flour, stands on top of the bed where they’re in the middle of coitus, and empties the contents all over them,” laughed Blake. “We were all standing around in the kitchen having beers, and our jaws were on the floor. I’ve never heard silence like it.” A “thump, thump, thump” down the stairs was followed by the ghostly figure of their mate, who spent the next hour or so going up and down “just muttering to himself”. The offending couple are now happily married with three kids – which the flour-dumper takes full credit for. “He still thinks he’s in the right,” said Jo.
The legendary antics of the grad group linger into 2025. The original stakes for the bet was $15k, but that was later amended to shouting dinner for the group (amassing to $1k, including spenny bottles of wine), another marathon in the next year, and a Dunedin-themed tattoo (they’re open to suggestions). Sadly, however, Blake was relegated to cheerleading duty on the day after blowing out his calf in his last training run before the race. And yes, they’re still making him get a tattoo – his first, and to the surprise of his wife when it was brought up in their group chat, telling Stuff in an interview she’d be consulted on the final design.
Despite the disappointing result for Blake, the crew were chuffed with how it had turned out. “It is an extra big effort which I think speaks to what the bet’s about: the bonds of friendship amongst the group, and they haven’t let this die,” said Blake. “So as much as it is about running a stupidly long distance, it’s also a very good excuse to get together because it’s rare that we all catch up like this, obviously these days with people all over the place.”