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running feet
Running feet. These aren't mine.
Friday, 20 May 2016
Sunday, 12 June 2011
Feel the burn
Just got back from a seven mile Sunday evening jaunt in the rain - the perfect way to end a week (or should that be start the week, I'm never sure if Sunday is meant to be the beginning or the end). Despite the drizzle it was a lovely run, reminding me again why I love living in Bristol - starting from my inner city suburb I ran seven miles, with barely a car or a main road to be seen (only through Clifton village, over the suspension bridge, and at the bottom of Ashton Court was I on main/busy roads - maybe two miles max).
As well as congratulating myself on how great it is to run near where I live, I also spent much of the run pondering on how much my thighs were hurting. Probably this should be no surprise - since I started training for this half marathon my weekly milage has probably doubled. And yet I don't remember these 'long slow runs' hurting so much last time I trained properly. Well, I don't remember them hurting at all.
Now, rationally, that can't be possible, and once again experience brings memory (and its morphine like ability to blur the sharp edges) into sharp focus. When I stopped this evening I thought my legs would seize up, and I know just standing up from the sofa now is going to hurt. The bad news is I only did about half the distance of the half marathon, at a pace about a third slower than I might aspire to do on the day. The good news is the half marathon isn't until September. Hopefully the long slow runs won't hurt so much by then.
Running log
Distance: Seven miles (ish)
Pace: About 10 minute mile pace
Location: Bristol harbour, Clifton Suspension bridge, Ashton Court park
As well as congratulating myself on how great it is to run near where I live, I also spent much of the run pondering on how much my thighs were hurting. Probably this should be no surprise - since I started training for this half marathon my weekly milage has probably doubled. And yet I don't remember these 'long slow runs' hurting so much last time I trained properly. Well, I don't remember them hurting at all.
Now, rationally, that can't be possible, and once again experience brings memory (and its morphine like ability to blur the sharp edges) into sharp focus. When I stopped this evening I thought my legs would seize up, and I know just standing up from the sofa now is going to hurt. The bad news is I only did about half the distance of the half marathon, at a pace about a third slower than I might aspire to do on the day. The good news is the half marathon isn't until September. Hopefully the long slow runs won't hurt so much by then.
Running log
Distance: Seven miles (ish)
Pace: About 10 minute mile pace
Location: Bristol harbour, Clifton Suspension bridge, Ashton Court park
View this running route at FriendFit.com
Friday, 3 June 2011
Do I think at all when I run?
So. I finally committed to running Bristol Half Marathon and have started a 16 week training plan to get me there. So although the blog has been quiet this month, this is no reflection on the amount of running I've done - 13 miles for the last couple of weeks, with more to come over the summer.
Interestingly though (at least to me), I'm discovering that most of the time when I'm running I'm aware of nothing more than my breathing, my heart-rate*, the rhythm of my feet on the road, the relative amount of pain in my legs and so on. Which not only brings into question the theme of this blog (not sure I can make a recurring series out of 'nothing much'), but also my memory of why I enjoyed running in in the first place.
I ran a lot in 2007 and 2008, but then more or less stopped after the birth of my second child (citing physical and emotional exhaustion as an excuse to my inner personal trainer). I always intended this as a pause though, and over the last year or so I've been wistful about not running regularly, partly because I remembered the sensation of running as being a great time to think. Hence the idea for this blog.
But it turns out I don't think too much at all when I run. Or at least not about anything that is interesting. Perhaps this will change as I get fitter. Or perhaps there's something else going on. My (admittedly shaky) understanding of meditation is that the goal is to clear one's mind of everything and focus only on the immediate moment, starting with the in and out of your breathing. So maybe when I'm running I'm taking myself into a similar meditative place, and what I wistfully remember as a time when I got to think is just the memory of a period in my life when I was calmer and more centered generally. ?
Maybe. We'll see. Anyway, the bottom line is I still enjoy running, and will continue, and I still enjoy blogging, and will continue. It's just the two things might not be quite as entwined as I intended a couple of months ago.
Interestingly though (at least to me), I'm discovering that most of the time when I'm running I'm aware of nothing more than my breathing, my heart-rate*, the rhythm of my feet on the road, the relative amount of pain in my legs and so on. Which not only brings into question the theme of this blog (not sure I can make a recurring series out of 'nothing much'), but also my memory of why I enjoyed running in in the first place.
I ran a lot in 2007 and 2008, but then more or less stopped after the birth of my second child (citing physical and emotional exhaustion as an excuse to my inner personal trainer). I always intended this as a pause though, and over the last year or so I've been wistful about not running regularly, partly because I remembered the sensation of running as being a great time to think. Hence the idea for this blog.
But it turns out I don't think too much at all when I run. Or at least not about anything that is interesting. Perhaps this will change as I get fitter. Or perhaps there's something else going on. My (admittedly shaky) understanding of meditation is that the goal is to clear one's mind of everything and focus only on the immediate moment, starting with the in and out of your breathing. So maybe when I'm running I'm taking myself into a similar meditative place, and what I wistfully remember as a time when I got to think is just the memory of a period in my life when I was calmer and more centered generally. ?
Maybe. We'll see. Anyway, the bottom line is I still enjoy running, and will continue, and I still enjoy blogging, and will continue. It's just the two things might not be quite as entwined as I intended a couple of months ago.
Friday, 6 May 2011
On challenges and competition
So the A-Z challenge is over. It was fun, and certainly a challenge, and I'm both happy to have done it and fairly happy I'm not forcing myself to blog every night anymore. Running today was both liberating and a bit odd at first though, as the lack of a pre-defined framework for my thoughts (in the guise of an arbitrary letter for that day) left me momentarily blank. It's very strange how you get used to letting external structures help define how you think.
Anyway, the run was very nice in the sunshine, and I ended up wondering about the nature of challenging oneself generally. I've recently found my heart-rate monitor, so I've now (should I wish, I haven't actually bothered yet) got a way of comparing my running now with past ones when I was in better shape. I'm also thinking of doing Bristol half-marathon later in the year to help keep me motivated (again, letting more external structures define what I'm doing and thinking), and there's quite a bit of me that worries that I won't be able to do it anywhere near as quickly as I did before (I'm three years older and have another child this time around) and I'll end up being disappointed because I ran it slower.
Which struck me as I ran as a really strange thing to worry about. I enjoy running, I enjoy training, I enjoy the experience of a 'big race' - and whether I come 1,000th or 2,000th or 3,000th in the final race will make absolutely no difference to my life at all in any way. So what possible problem would there be if (or when) I run it a bit slower than last time?
And yet there's something deeply ingrained in the human psyche (or at least this human's psyche) that makes us want to compete and challenge ourselves to do it faster, better, harder, whatever. It's probably the reason I decided upon blogging a different letter of the alphabet every day - just to see whether I could.
Ultimately I don't know if it's a good or a bad thing that we are so ready to challenge ourselves in such arbitrary ways. But I do know it's very odd.
Running log
Distance: 3 miles
Pace: 8:45 minute miles
Location: St Werbergs, Bristol
Anyway, the run was very nice in the sunshine, and I ended up wondering about the nature of challenging oneself generally. I've recently found my heart-rate monitor, so I've now (should I wish, I haven't actually bothered yet) got a way of comparing my running now with past ones when I was in better shape. I'm also thinking of doing Bristol half-marathon later in the year to help keep me motivated (again, letting more external structures define what I'm doing and thinking), and there's quite a bit of me that worries that I won't be able to do it anywhere near as quickly as I did before (I'm three years older and have another child this time around) and I'll end up being disappointed because I ran it slower.
Which struck me as I ran as a really strange thing to worry about. I enjoy running, I enjoy training, I enjoy the experience of a 'big race' - and whether I come 1,000th or 2,000th or 3,000th in the final race will make absolutely no difference to my life at all in any way. So what possible problem would there be if (or when) I run it a bit slower than last time?
And yet there's something deeply ingrained in the human psyche (or at least this human's psyche) that makes us want to compete and challenge ourselves to do it faster, better, harder, whatever. It's probably the reason I decided upon blogging a different letter of the alphabet every day - just to see whether I could.
Ultimately I don't know if it's a good or a bad thing that we are so ready to challenge ourselves in such arbitrary ways. But I do know it's very odd.
Running log
Distance: 3 miles
Pace: 8:45 minute miles
Location: St Werbergs, Bristol
Saturday, 30 April 2011
Z is for Zooooom
This morning, once we'd got the kids their breakfast, we tried to get them dressed. My wife was busy this afternoon, so the plan was to try and get to our allotment to plant some broccoli and artichokes seedlings that are ready, before getting back to get lunch before she went out. Needless to say, this plan didn't run smoothly; first they wanted to 'help' mummy print some documents, by standing by our printer in the spare room and shouting (down-the-stairs) as each page printed, and then they wanted to do some printing themselves.
Finally, at about half-ten, with baby number 2 sat in the car waiting, we realised that baby number 1 simply wasn't going to put his shoes on anytime soon, so I left him and mum at home and went alone with our youngest. However, once we got to the allotment, Theo decided he wouldn't get out of the car, and I made the decision that forcing him to stay while I tried to plant seedlings was a losing game (he's only two after all). So, back home to drop him off, back to the allotment, and at about 11.15 I finally started planting. Only of course, it was a mad rush by then, as I had to get back after an hour to hand over the childcare.
And so the day continued - I got home at about 12.30, had a five minute chat with my wife as I handed over the car keys, wolfed down lunch, and then the boys were waiting to go out on our bikes as we'd planned in mummy's absence. Snacks, drinks and changes of clothes hastily thrown into bags, and we were out - chasing a steam train and then riding on it, cycling around Bristol harbour, and then eating an ice-cream. We got back about four, and once the washing was hung up I managed to sit still for about five minutes before my wife arrived home with some shopping and we got cooking, and then descended into the dinner/bath/bed routine, which went on until about 7.30. This was then followed by the general tidying/washing up that always needs to be done before the following day's onslaught, before finally collapsing into the sofa to read the paper and write this blog. Zoom indeed.
When I was a kid, I often wondered why my mum and dad showed so little interest in going out to the cinema or for dinner or whatever. It's not so much of a mystery to me now.
Finally, at about half-ten, with baby number 2 sat in the car waiting, we realised that baby number 1 simply wasn't going to put his shoes on anytime soon, so I left him and mum at home and went alone with our youngest. However, once we got to the allotment, Theo decided he wouldn't get out of the car, and I made the decision that forcing him to stay while I tried to plant seedlings was a losing game (he's only two after all). So, back home to drop him off, back to the allotment, and at about 11.15 I finally started planting. Only of course, it was a mad rush by then, as I had to get back after an hour to hand over the childcare.
And so the day continued - I got home at about 12.30, had a five minute chat with my wife as I handed over the car keys, wolfed down lunch, and then the boys were waiting to go out on our bikes as we'd planned in mummy's absence. Snacks, drinks and changes of clothes hastily thrown into bags, and we were out - chasing a steam train and then riding on it, cycling around Bristol harbour, and then eating an ice-cream. We got back about four, and once the washing was hung up I managed to sit still for about five minutes before my wife arrived home with some shopping and we got cooking, and then descended into the dinner/bath/bed routine, which went on until about 7.30. This was then followed by the general tidying/washing up that always needs to be done before the following day's onslaught, before finally collapsing into the sofa to read the paper and write this blog. Zoom indeed.
When I was a kid, I often wondered why my mum and dad showed so little interest in going out to the cinema or for dinner or whatever. It's not so much of a mystery to me now.
Friday, 29 April 2011
Y chromosones
My bonus day off today (thanks Kate and Will!) was lovely. The kids bedecked the house in bunting in the morning, and then watched the wedding, while I got a chance to do a bit of digging at our allotment (and there's always digging to be done there). We then rode to the park in the afternoon and climbed on logs, and I even got out for a run tonight. (Back to my allotment to pick up a jumper I'd left.)
I got to wondering as I ran just how far my current life is defined by the luck of the draw in procreation. We managed to pull two Y chromosones from the deck, and I wonder what where we'd be if we'd got to Xs instead? Certainly our two beautiful boys keep us on our toes, and it's fair to say our household is loud, active and full of trains.
As a boy myself I have no problems with any of this, indeed having the opportunity to ride my bike and climb on logs every weekend is fantastic. I'd like to think that had I two girls instead I'd be just as encouraging of them to clamber around in the woods - whether they'd be quite as keen on the clambering as me though is the great unknown. Would our lives be essentially the same, or would they have different interests and likes that would have taken us in completely different directions? Not that it matters of course, it's just interesting how your life can be shaped by such arbitrary factors as which chromosones your children have.
Running log
Distance: A couple of miles or so
Pace: Slow - I'd been digging the allotment for three hours this morning
Location: Ashton Gate, Bristol
I got to wondering as I ran just how far my current life is defined by the luck of the draw in procreation. We managed to pull two Y chromosones from the deck, and I wonder what where we'd be if we'd got to Xs instead? Certainly our two beautiful boys keep us on our toes, and it's fair to say our household is loud, active and full of trains.
As a boy myself I have no problems with any of this, indeed having the opportunity to ride my bike and climb on logs every weekend is fantastic. I'd like to think that had I two girls instead I'd be just as encouraging of them to clamber around in the woods - whether they'd be quite as keen on the clambering as me though is the great unknown. Would our lives be essentially the same, or would they have different interests and likes that would have taken us in completely different directions? Not that it matters of course, it's just interesting how your life can be shaped by such arbitrary factors as which chromosones your children have.
Running log
Distance: A couple of miles or so
Pace: Slow - I'd been digging the allotment for three hours this morning
Location: Ashton Gate, Bristol
View this running route at FriendFit.com
Thursday, 28 April 2011
X marks the spot
Pirates, what's not to love? OK, so there's the stealing, and the murdering, and probably the raping, but you know Johnny Depp was really cool in that film, and those hats and bandanas, and what about those treasure maps? (And yes, admittedly, it would be amazing to find a big X underneath a palm tree on a Caribbean island, that strangely no one else had spotted for 400 years).
Since becoming a parent though I've pondered on the nature of pirates quite a bit. Our culture is obsessed, and I mean absolutely obsessed with pushing the iconography of pirates to our very young children - if from the cradle girls are pushed into princesses and pink, then its equally true that boys are bombarded by pirates. Why is that?
And, while Pirates of the Caribbean et al are very entertaining, pirates really weren't that nice back in the day, and they're really not that nice now. I've already had to erm and ahhh through the inevitable 'Daddy, are there pirates still around today?' question, that obviously every young child will get around to. (Well, yes son, you see some people aren't very nice and they carry guns and take hostages. . . it's really not where you want to be five minutes before bedtime.) So, you know, can't we all just get back to firemen and builders as the indoctrination of choice for our young boys? At least they hopefully won't steal your boat if you get to meet them.
Maybe it's time for a 'pirates stink too' campaign. Don't tell either of my children I said that though. They'd make me walk the plank.
Since becoming a parent though I've pondered on the nature of pirates quite a bit. Our culture is obsessed, and I mean absolutely obsessed with pushing the iconography of pirates to our very young children - if from the cradle girls are pushed into princesses and pink, then its equally true that boys are bombarded by pirates. Why is that?
And, while Pirates of the Caribbean et al are very entertaining, pirates really weren't that nice back in the day, and they're really not that nice now. I've already had to erm and ahhh through the inevitable 'Daddy, are there pirates still around today?' question, that obviously every young child will get around to. (Well, yes son, you see some people aren't very nice and they carry guns and take hostages. . . it's really not where you want to be five minutes before bedtime.) So, you know, can't we all just get back to firemen and builders as the indoctrination of choice for our young boys? At least they hopefully won't steal your boat if you get to meet them.
Maybe it's time for a 'pirates stink too' campaign. Don't tell either of my children I said that though. They'd make me walk the plank.
Wednesday, 27 April 2011
W is for weddings (and royals)
My five-year-old had a 'street party' today at school in honour of Friday's royal nuptials. The whole affair seems to have caught his imagination, and he's suddenly become a font of all knowledge on the royal family. (Kate, it transpires, is not really a real Princess, but 'some random' person who will only becomes a Princess when the marriage is completed.)
Personally I'm completely indifferent to the big day - I wish the happy couple all the best, but I have no particular desire to know more or wave flags - and this probably reflects my own views on our royal family; I'm neither a royalist or republican because, really, I don't care enough either way. I guess my wife feels similarly (though to be honest neither of us has ever been motivated enough to discuss the subject, so perhaps she does feel strongly one way or the other).
So it's some surprise to us that Lucas is suddenly so excited and interested, and a little unsettling; do I really want him becoming aware of the existence of Prince Charles, Kate and Wills and Harry, as they're all so slightly ridiculous? Obviously, his enjoyment/enthusiasm is his cultural birthright as much as my indifference is mine and perhaps this is what is really unsettling. If parenting is all about accepting your kid's long walk away from you, then this seems like a milestone along the way. It is possibly the first time we've become aware that he is autonomously absorbing a cultural moment without any mediation from us, and we can't tell him what to think or how to react to it. Which seems a bit weird.
Personally I'm completely indifferent to the big day - I wish the happy couple all the best, but I have no particular desire to know more or wave flags - and this probably reflects my own views on our royal family; I'm neither a royalist or republican because, really, I don't care enough either way. I guess my wife feels similarly (though to be honest neither of us has ever been motivated enough to discuss the subject, so perhaps she does feel strongly one way or the other).
So it's some surprise to us that Lucas is suddenly so excited and interested, and a little unsettling; do I really want him becoming aware of the existence of Prince Charles, Kate and Wills and Harry, as they're all so slightly ridiculous? Obviously, his enjoyment/enthusiasm is his cultural birthright as much as my indifference is mine and perhaps this is what is really unsettling. If parenting is all about accepting your kid's long walk away from you, then this seems like a milestone along the way. It is possibly the first time we've become aware that he is autonomously absorbing a cultural moment without any mediation from us, and we can't tell him what to think or how to react to it. Which seems a bit weird.
Tuesday, 26 April 2011
V is for Voting alternatives
The upcoming referendum on whether we should change our voting system is looming like a saltry summer afternoon. And while I (like almost everyone else) haven't really followed closely, it seems the political discourse around a yes or no is starting to turn nasty.
Next week (or is the week after?) we get to decide whether we want to express a second (or third, or fourth) preference for our MP, in the event that one candidate doesn't get an outright majority. Laid next to recent events across the Middle East, it seems a particularly British eccentricity for so many of our politicians to get in such a tizzy over such an essentially trivial change. I'm not so sure that it's so funny though. With a cabinet featuring 18 millionaires* embarking on a massive, ideologically driven, series of budget cuts that are likely to cripple the economy and blight a generation of school leavers, it's probably worth giving some thought as to why there is such opposition to this change?
The older I get, the more openly corrupt I perceive our politics to be; when you see David Cameron sharing a stage with John Reid to extol the virtues of anything it's probably a good idea to take the exact opposing view on principle - even if they were extolling free cup cakes for all there would no doubt be some small print based on self-interest somewhere along the line. So on that basis I'll probably vote yes to AV - anything that might allow the people to chip away at the carapace of our one party state and actually express some choice about something has got to be worth a try.
*This is a made up statistic based on a half-remembered newspaper report that I can't be bothered to google. Apologies to any cabinet members who feel unfairly maligned, please feel free to post the correct figures in the comment section below.
Next week (or is the week after?) we get to decide whether we want to express a second (or third, or fourth) preference for our MP, in the event that one candidate doesn't get an outright majority. Laid next to recent events across the Middle East, it seems a particularly British eccentricity for so many of our politicians to get in such a tizzy over such an essentially trivial change. I'm not so sure that it's so funny though. With a cabinet featuring 18 millionaires* embarking on a massive, ideologically driven, series of budget cuts that are likely to cripple the economy and blight a generation of school leavers, it's probably worth giving some thought as to why there is such opposition to this change?
The older I get, the more openly corrupt I perceive our politics to be; when you see David Cameron sharing a stage with John Reid to extol the virtues of anything it's probably a good idea to take the exact opposing view on principle - even if they were extolling free cup cakes for all there would no doubt be some small print based on self-interest somewhere along the line. So on that basis I'll probably vote yes to AV - anything that might allow the people to chip away at the carapace of our one party state and actually express some choice about something has got to be worth a try.
*This is a made up statistic based on a half-remembered newspaper report that I can't be bothered to google. Apologies to any cabinet members who feel unfairly maligned, please feel free to post the correct figures in the comment section below.
Monday, 25 April 2011
U is for under-the-sea
We spent our Bank Holiday Monday at the beach in Weston-Super-Mare - a classic English seaside resort if ever there was one. It was a lovely day, and the kids loved running around the beach and stroking the donkeys. At our eldest's prompting we also took a look around the 'seaquariam' and took in the sharks, seahorses and stingrays.
The kids loved it (especially seeing a wrasse teasing a moray eel by swimming around its head), and having done quite a bit of scuba diving in the past (a six month trip around Indonesia, Thailand, Austraila and the Philippines after Uni saw to that) I always enjoy a good aquarium. But like zoos I'm never quite sure of the ethics of it all - I know fish are reputedly fairly dumb (a mind like a goldfish indeed) but are tropical fish, sharks, rays and eels really happy to be confined in (comparatively) tiny enclosures and ogled by small children?
Running log
Still no running, but hoping to get out this week
The kids loved it (especially seeing a wrasse teasing a moray eel by swimming around its head), and having done quite a bit of scuba diving in the past (a six month trip around Indonesia, Thailand, Austraila and the Philippines after Uni saw to that) I always enjoy a good aquarium. But like zoos I'm never quite sure of the ethics of it all - I know fish are reputedly fairly dumb (a mind like a goldfish indeed) but are tropical fish, sharks, rays and eels really happy to be confined in (comparatively) tiny enclosures and ogled by small children?
Running log
Still no running, but hoping to get out this week
Saturday, 23 April 2011
T is for Tesco riots
So, on Thursday night there was a riot in Bristol, on Stokes Croft. Was the riot caused by the massive austerity programme our 'elected' representatives are about to embark upon? Was it caused by widespread revulsion as we wade into a civil war in Libya in order to set up a client state to control that country's oil resources, all the while dressing up our involvement as some kind of 'humanitarian mission'? No? How about a popular grocer has opened up a convenience store in the neighbourhood? Man the barricades!
Indeed I'm being flippant. Tesco (much like Walmart in the US) is a corporate behemoth that has ridden roughshod over suppliers, competitors and communities in its pursuit of 'every day value'. It's been a key player in the degradation of our food culture and probably our health, and as such it deserves all the criticism it gets.
And yet still. A petrol bomb plot? A 300 person riot? Because of a shop? There comes a point where if you're not part of the solution you're part of the problem, and I do wonder how constructive it really is to fuck shit up in the name of corporate protest. If you don't like the shop how about just trying not shopping in it? But then I suppose if its cider is cheaper then at the next door independent then that's not really fair, is it?
There's nowt so queer as folk as my mum used to tell me.
Indeed I'm being flippant. Tesco (much like Walmart in the US) is a corporate behemoth that has ridden roughshod over suppliers, competitors and communities in its pursuit of 'every day value'. It's been a key player in the degradation of our food culture and probably our health, and as such it deserves all the criticism it gets.
And yet still. A petrol bomb plot? A 300 person riot? Because of a shop? There comes a point where if you're not part of the solution you're part of the problem, and I do wonder how constructive it really is to fuck shit up in the name of corporate protest. If you don't like the shop how about just trying not shopping in it? But then I suppose if its cider is cheaper then at the next door independent then that's not really fair, is it?
There's nowt so queer as folk as my mum used to tell me.
S is for sunshine
And how the sun has been shining this week. We were on the factor 50 today and it was supposedly around 28C. And it's still April! What is the world coming to?
Apparently the weather will break on Monday, and we're in for showers. I'm half relieved, and half worried. Hopefully this wasn't the high point of Summer already.
Anyways, apologies for reusing a topic. But goodness it was hot today.
Apparently the weather will break on Monday, and we're in for showers. I'm half relieved, and half worried. Hopefully this wasn't the high point of Summer already.
Anyways, apologies for reusing a topic. But goodness it was hot today.
R is for running
It had to be running for r really, given the original point of the blog. And running is a strange thing. For so long I looked on in pity as my friends flogged their knees around their marathon schedules. There was no envy, jealousy or sense of self-regret. Nothing like that - I just really didn't get it.
And then, before I knew it, I was the one with a four run a week timetable. The first prompt was as a necessary evil when I was rehabbing after knee surgery (the result of an injury pursuing my true sporting passion), but serendipitously I found I quite enjoyed it, and a couple of 10k and half-marathons was just a natural consequence. And I can genuinely say I enjoy training regularly - the space to clear your mind, the sense of incremental gain, the weight loss, the endorphins!
And then, as suddenly as the birth of my second child, I wasn't running anymore. Literally overnight, the combination of lack of time, lack of sleep, and lack of energy meant I moved into a space where the thought of running became a huge, challenging, chore. So I stopped.
And now, two year's later I'm trying to regain the middle state of enjoying a regular routine of running again. In many ways, I'm learning, it's a bit like blogging. If you're fresh and have the time, it's easy to get started and great once you get going. But as soon as you're jaded, stressed, or just lack time it can become a millstone. So, once April is over (I know I'm dropping off the schedule, but I'm not going to let this A-Z beat me!) and I'm over this horrible cold (which is still giving me problems) I'm going to make sure my running and blogging becomes a bit more balanced.
We'll see.
And then, before I knew it, I was the one with a four run a week timetable. The first prompt was as a necessary evil when I was rehabbing after knee surgery (the result of an injury pursuing my true sporting passion), but serendipitously I found I quite enjoyed it, and a couple of 10k and half-marathons was just a natural consequence. And I can genuinely say I enjoy training regularly - the space to clear your mind, the sense of incremental gain, the weight loss, the endorphins!
And then, as suddenly as the birth of my second child, I wasn't running anymore. Literally overnight, the combination of lack of time, lack of sleep, and lack of energy meant I moved into a space where the thought of running became a huge, challenging, chore. So I stopped.
And now, two year's later I'm trying to regain the middle state of enjoying a regular routine of running again. In many ways, I'm learning, it's a bit like blogging. If you're fresh and have the time, it's easy to get started and great once you get going. But as soon as you're jaded, stressed, or just lack time it can become a millstone. So, once April is over (I know I'm dropping off the schedule, but I'm not going to let this A-Z beat me!) and I'm over this horrible cold (which is still giving me problems) I'm going to make sure my running and blogging becomes a bit more balanced.
We'll see.
Thursday, 21 April 2011
Q is for Q-Tip (and Phife Dawg)
Back in the day when I was a teenager, before I had status and before I had a pager. . .
I have a lovely friend, Ingrid, with whom I spent my University year abroad with in California. Unfortunately (for my chances of ever actually seeing her that is) she now lives in New York doing something in documentary movie making (what exactly, other than facebooking the glamorous party she attends, I know not). Anyway, one of the things she facebooked recently was news of a Tribe Called Quest documentary premiering at that Robert Redford film festival I forget the name of right now.
I love a Tribe Called Quest. I like to say the first 12 inch single I ever bought was Can I kick it (though it may actually have been the second, and in any case I only ever bought three, the first one was probably the Soup Dragons. . .) and I've always loved their combination of kick-ass beats and properly creative and intelligent (and often funny) rhymes.
Towards the end of my year in the States I got nicknamed Tim El Segundo by the father of a friend in LA (my friend Aliye already had one friend called Tim, and her Dad claimed he needed a way to differentiate). It was never a name that stuck, but it always made me overly pleased that there was some link with a Tribe Called Quest. What were they doing in El Segundo in the first place? Anyway, I can't wait to try and see this documentary, not only to find about the lives of some really talented artists, but also to remind me of a lot of good times, places and people.
I have a lovely friend, Ingrid, with whom I spent my University year abroad with in California. Unfortunately (for my chances of ever actually seeing her that is) she now lives in New York doing something in documentary movie making (what exactly, other than facebooking the glamorous party she attends, I know not). Anyway, one of the things she facebooked recently was news of a Tribe Called Quest documentary premiering at that Robert Redford film festival I forget the name of right now.
I love a Tribe Called Quest. I like to say the first 12 inch single I ever bought was Can I kick it (though it may actually have been the second, and in any case I only ever bought three, the first one was probably the Soup Dragons. . .) and I've always loved their combination of kick-ass beats and properly creative and intelligent (and often funny) rhymes.
Towards the end of my year in the States I got nicknamed Tim El Segundo by the father of a friend in LA (my friend Aliye already had one friend called Tim, and her Dad claimed he needed a way to differentiate). It was never a name that stuck, but it always made me overly pleased that there was some link with a Tribe Called Quest. What were they doing in El Segundo in the first place? Anyway, I can't wait to try and see this documentary, not only to find about the lives of some really talented artists, but also to remind me of a lot of good times, places and people.
P is for poor posting rate (again)
So I've fallen behind the A to Z curve again - just shortly after posting I was over the hump. Oh the cosmic irony. Unfortunately my cold thing flared up again on Tuesday, and I had to go to bed with the shivers for an hour at 3pm and then again at 7pm. So the blogging lost out. Again. Given the need for three posts tonight to catch up I'll keep this one short. And hopefully sweet.
Monday, 18 April 2011
O for over the hump
abcdefghijklmnopqrstuvwxyz
I find the alphabet a funny thing to be honest. I think it might be because I rote learnt it at school, and we used to recite it in class in a manner completely devoid of rhythm, sense or meaning. But for whatever reason, once I get past e, or possibly f, I find it quite difficult to place the middle letters in their order or have any sense of how far through the alphabet we're getting. I don't instinctively know whether i is before l for example or whether j comes earlier or later than g. To be fair there's no real reason to ever actually know this, and if I am asked I have to pause while desperately starting to recite the whole thing from a in my head.
Strangely once I get to o (or possibly n if I'm having a good day) I kind of find my feet again - I know that p-q-r is coming, and then you'll be into s-t-u, and once at u it's a synch to work through those v-w-x-y-z's. (Although that all said, I have just recited the whole thing from a, and then written it at the top of the blog to make sure I didn't humiliate myself to the world by forgetfully omitting a letter there!)
I say all this to explain why getting to o seems like a hopeful moment in this particular A-Z challenge I've joined in on. Last week was a struggle to keep up for various reasons, but I think partly because I was feeling like the five-year-old on the carpet at infant school, slap bang in those awkward middle letters that just keep coming, and you've just got to keep chanting until, maybe, you'll get a chance to finish and breath. And, really, why is the alphabet in any kind of order anyway? To whose advantage is it that m must come before n? Or that l should come before both? I didn't know as a five-year old, and I still don't know now.
I find the alphabet a funny thing to be honest. I think it might be because I rote learnt it at school, and we used to recite it in class in a manner completely devoid of rhythm, sense or meaning. But for whatever reason, once I get past e, or possibly f, I find it quite difficult to place the middle letters in their order or have any sense of how far through the alphabet we're getting. I don't instinctively know whether i is before l for example or whether j comes earlier or later than g. To be fair there's no real reason to ever actually know this, and if I am asked I have to pause while desperately starting to recite the whole thing from a in my head.
Strangely once I get to o (or possibly n if I'm having a good day) I kind of find my feet again - I know that p-q-r is coming, and then you'll be into s-t-u, and once at u it's a synch to work through those v-w-x-y-z's. (Although that all said, I have just recited the whole thing from a, and then written it at the top of the blog to make sure I didn't humiliate myself to the world by forgetfully omitting a letter there!)
I say all this to explain why getting to o seems like a hopeful moment in this particular A-Z challenge I've joined in on. Last week was a struggle to keep up for various reasons, but I think partly because I was feeling like the five-year-old on the carpet at infant school, slap bang in those awkward middle letters that just keep coming, and you've just got to keep chanting until, maybe, you'll get a chance to finish and breath. And, really, why is the alphabet in any kind of order anyway? To whose advantage is it that m must come before n? Or that l should come before both? I didn't know as a five-year old, and I still don't know now.
Sunday, 17 April 2011
N is for natural medicine
If you've read either of my previous two posts you'll understand why a five-year old's birthday party was not top of my agenda for things to do this afternoon. And indeed we'd initially planned that my wife would take the children, and I'd try and get some stuff done on our allotment.
But after an early start prompted by our youngest (6.30am on a Sunday and you want to get up?, yeah thanks son) followed by a morning of 'challenging' behaviour from our eldest (sickness driven I'm sure, he always acts up when he's not well) the plan changed, and we decided we probably needed a one:one adult/child ratio to head off the risk of mutually assured destruction at the party.
As it turned out, our fears were unfounded. The party was held in Leigh Woods, a lovely patch of woods about ten minutes drive away, and the calming effects of putting children in woods is a sight to behold. At this age most kid's parties degenerate into sticky red-faces and ear-splitting shouting within about a quarter of an hour (which, to be fair, if you can be zen about it is part of their charm) but there was nothing like that today - sure there was a fair bit of stickiness on faces, but something about having the shouting framed by tree canopies and bird-song seems to change the nature of it for the better.
Professionally the best interview I've ever had the pleasure of was with Margaret Atwood (a truly gracious, and fascinating interviewee), and one of the things she was big on was nature deficit disorder - the idea that our kids are missing out on interaction with the natural world, and suffering behavioural problems as a result. One of the things she said was that studies have shown that simply walking in the woods for an hour lowers blood pressure and heart-rate. I never looked up the studies, but I know for sure that my children were calmer at the end of the party than the beginning, and that as a result my blood pressure seemed much lower. So next time you're feeling rubbish or sick, try a walk (or a birthday party) in the woods - truly a natural tonic if ever there was one.
But after an early start prompted by our youngest (6.30am on a Sunday and you want to get up?, yeah thanks son) followed by a morning of 'challenging' behaviour from our eldest (sickness driven I'm sure, he always acts up when he's not well) the plan changed, and we decided we probably needed a one:one adult/child ratio to head off the risk of mutually assured destruction at the party.
As it turned out, our fears were unfounded. The party was held in Leigh Woods, a lovely patch of woods about ten minutes drive away, and the calming effects of putting children in woods is a sight to behold. At this age most kid's parties degenerate into sticky red-faces and ear-splitting shouting within about a quarter of an hour (which, to be fair, if you can be zen about it is part of their charm) but there was nothing like that today - sure there was a fair bit of stickiness on faces, but something about having the shouting framed by tree canopies and bird-song seems to change the nature of it for the better.
Professionally the best interview I've ever had the pleasure of was with Margaret Atwood (a truly gracious, and fascinating interviewee), and one of the things she was big on was nature deficit disorder - the idea that our kids are missing out on interaction with the natural world, and suffering behavioural problems as a result. One of the things she said was that studies have shown that simply walking in the woods for an hour lowers blood pressure and heart-rate. I never looked up the studies, but I know for sure that my children were calmer at the end of the party than the beginning, and that as a result my blood pressure seemed much lower. So next time you're feeling rubbish or sick, try a walk (or a birthday party) in the woods - truly a natural tonic if ever there was one.
Manic weekend
Well it's Sunday night now, and I'm two posts short of keeping up with the A-Z challenge. The weekend's been pretty busy: the cold has got worse, my last day in the office before Easter was hectic for various tedious reasons, and the kids are both still suffering. On the bright side today is my seven year anniversary of being married to the most wonderful woman in the world, and we went to a lovely birthday party today that I'm about to blog about on N. So with the need to catch up I'm going to draw a discrete veil over M.
Running log
Not likely with the cold I've got!
Running log
Not likely with the cold I've got!
Thursday, 14 April 2011
Lack of inspiration
I'm tired, the cough/cold/ear infection that has been playing havoc with my kids for the last week seems to be catching up with me, and try as I might I can't think of anything to blog about on an L theme (well that's not strictly true, I've been sitting here trying to brainstorm Ls, and I keep coming back to Luton, a dreary town outside London that I've never even been to, which if I embraced could turn into the dullest blog entry of all time).
To spark my creative thought I've been cruising some of the other blogs on the A-Z challenge, and have come to the conclusion my time would be more productive just enjoying these blogs for what they are, rather than trying to read them to steal ideas. So I'm giving up trying for a decent L and moving on to the next day. Now, about an M. . .
Running log
Played my weekly game of football tonight - shivery and light-headed, it wasn't fun
To spark my creative thought I've been cruising some of the other blogs on the A-Z challenge, and have come to the conclusion my time would be more productive just enjoying these blogs for what they are, rather than trying to read them to steal ideas. So I'm giving up trying for a decent L and moving on to the next day. Now, about an M. . .
Running log
Played my weekly game of football tonight - shivery and light-headed, it wasn't fun
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