Run run, had a run, I’ve had a run, as the Beach Boys almost said.
After many decades of avoiding that most ridiculous of pastimes* , I inexplicably found myself out running last week. Not only that, I did the same two days later. And I intend to do it again tomorrow.
It feels like striking a blow against aging (rather than simply ‘getting older’). It is though, inherently, quintessentially boring. Give me a ball and whether it’s small, hard and red or inflated to a foot or so across, I’ll run after it happily all day. Take the ball away and tell me to run and I collapse unable to breathe nor put on foot in front of the other. I see this as a perfectly acceptable (if involuntary) response from my body to the idea of exercise for exercise’s sake.
I enjoyed it this time. My body didn’t cave in on me, I didn’t yearn for 20 Marlboro, and I didn’t stop til I got back. About ten minutes in, way beyond my normal collapse threshold, I felt like I was doing something I’d always do from now. In my imaginary new life (which took over as reality that instant) I was fit, healthy, planning half-marathons, enjoying a body shape that I’d never had before. Any body shape.
All my life I’ve had to run round in the shower to get wet; I have, as an old friend said, not so much a bottom as a hole in my back. All my life until the last few months, when I combination of spending too much time writing and not enough doing, and working at River Cottage for part of the week have left me with the first signs of a certain thickening around the midriff. I’m being kind: I’ve a paunch on the way.
So, I thought, if my stomach can change, so can I – I’m going running; we’ll see who wins, stomach or legs.
Taking on an imaginary new life as reality is entirely typical of the me of the first 30 years or so of my life – everything is nothing or it’s life changing. Go training and grapepicking in France and I come back utterly convinced I’m going to dedicate my time to learning the language fluently. All it’ll take is 3 hours a week, let’s say half an hour a day. What could be simpler. Same with the guitar. You wait, I’ll be playing ‘When the day is done’ this time next year, ‘Angie’ the year after, and before you know it I’ll have got to grips with ‘1952 Vincent Black Lightening’.
No such luck.
I think I’d give up all others pleasures if I was able to play 1952 Vincent Black Lightening. Not that it’s anything like my favourite song, but it’s got to be fun to be able to play that beautifully.
I haven’t had that imaginary-new-life feeling since I was thirty, so it’s kind of odd meeting it again. But two runs in four days have made me feel awake, sitting straight in this chair, where I’m spending maybe 18 hours of each day getting to grips with writing ‘the book’ to it’s rather impolite deadline. It’s either that, or it’s the big wafts of szechuan pepper from the jar with the lid off drying over the other side of the office.
*Footnote for pedants: apart from a three week period when I moved back to Winchester in the mid 90s
I give you a week before you start using your chair for triceps dips its addicitive,though in a good way.Running is the way to declutter your mind and you do not feel so guilty with the second glass of wine, which may be the main reason that I run. Though I am sure I run like Forrest Gump.
It'll be interesting to see if the next thing takes over before long. Ive been spoiled by having a reasonable level of natural fitness so I've got lazy about exercise. Now I cant rely on that, running had better work.
In that imaginary world I really am dreadfully fit already. Not quite true. I have a very lovely friend who thinks I'd look like Daniel Craig in a suit…bit more Wendy Craig sadly.
Now I have been planning to go running for about eighteen months – what will it take to get me out of the door? The main problem is how high up I live. There is nowhere to run which doesn't involve steepness. I am such a wimp.
Impressed with yours and yes, so understand the imaginary new life.
Steepness is no fun….I have a friend who livs soemwhere hilly and he drives somewhere flat to start but not sure if the nearest place thats flat is a few hundred miles away from where you are
Running is very, very silly – unless you're trying to catch a train/bus/last orders. Stop now, before it is too late.
Drives down Devon lanes looking for perfect juxtapositioning of large muddy puddle and sweaty, red faced jogger.
Heh, Heh, Heh.
Take up squash…again!
Never mind all this running nonsense: the pepper is very pretty, It was going to go on my 'want it' list but luckily it is far too big and slow-growing for me to even attempt to squeeze a couple into my back-yard.
Hey Frugilegus – you can keep them smaller – in a big pot – and they'll be perfectly happy….
And Mike, yr just sore from me whopping yr sorry ass at squash before retiring top off the rankings*
*some, all or part of this may not be true
The mindlessness is what I crave! I row, well I haven't for a month or so, but will be starting up again tomorrow. Pop the Walkman on and just row, row, row. The lightness of foot, and the ability to heft bags of soil conditioners is an added bonus.
I guess the key to growing older is to try and replicate the "imagining and new life" feeling as much, and as frequently as possible.
Cheers!
simply gorgeous photos. I especially love the peppers.
the running part i'm not so sure about. my motto is only run when someone is chasing you 😉
there seem to be more people queuing up to chase me so i thought i'd better get in some practice. and thanks, glad you like the pics
Oh no! I can't accumulate any more things. Another big pot in a small – and temporary – garden is not a good idea. But perhaps I can squeeze it in…