Rediscovering Childhood and John Ruskin

I have recently come back from a weeks holiday in the Lake District. It rained most of the time and I did not do quite as much running as intended - but that did not matter. Being by waters, surrounded by fells, is enough to lift the spirits. We were in Grasmere, the heart of the romantic lakes, and everything felt cleaner and fresher. Pleasure came from just being outdoors and active - even if it was wet.

I did sufficient running, and even managed to fit in a long run, but that is not the point. For a running blog I have a rather a subversive message - "sometimes you do not need to run". Sometimes it is better to go searching for waterfalls and recover the sense of surprise you had as a nine year old city boy who saw mountains and fast running streams for the first time; who wandered over the open landscape to find a river, hidden by trees, and watched in wonder as your father skimmed stones on the water, whilst you could only make them sink with a great plop.

I don't really know the full reasons for spending so much of my time running. Part of it could be some futile attempt to recapture a little of the feelings I had when younger - when I could run, cycle or move with ease, without thinking. I know that all my effort really achieves is an understanding of how much stiffer I am and how much longer it takes to recover but all the same there is a linger sense of continuity.

However I can make that link far more directly by visiting places and seeing again the sights with fresh eyes, skipping around without any great purpose. In other words just being on holiday, or finding some other way to free up my thinking.

Running is good but there are other things as well.

During the week we also visited one of my favourite houses in England - Brantwood. It was the home of John Ruskin and displays the range and depth of his work as well as where he lived and worked. The views over Coniston Water are stunning and endlessly change with the weather and just add to the sense of contemplation.

I am always in awe of the achievements of Ruskin, the scope of his ideas and how many of them still seem current. His views had tremendous sway on the public opinion, with his books, with those of Thomas Carlyle, forming part of the library of people of all social classes. Try as I might I cannot think of any present day figure of comparable stature.

I look at Ruskin's study, his collected works and the engagement in important issues and think -

Running is good but there are other things as well.

However I then look at the pictures of Ruskin in his later years and see a shell of a man beset by health problems. I then think -

Running is good it helps with all of those other things.

If Your Run Was A Piece Of Music, What Would It Be?

A recent post was prompted by the death of Paul Rutherford. In the past couple of weeks there have been two more deaths to add to the list: Joe Zawinul and Mike Osborne. Of the two Joe Zawinul is the great name. Weather Report is a high cultural peak, which still sounds fresh and inventive, and the Miles Davis record 'In a Silent Way' (the title track of which is a Zawinul composition) is one of my all time favourites. However I never saw him live. Mike Osborne on the other hand played with people I loved to see (Mike Westbrook and Chris McGregor). When I heard of his death I could see him standing there, a bear of a man, making the alto seem very tiny, blowing with intensity and passion.

The contrast then is between someone who has been the background sound of chunks of my life and someone of whom I have a vivid memory. In running terms it is the contrast of a run in Ashridge (beauty with ever changing views and surprises such as glimpses of deer. Always there, always different.) and the sharp memories from a race (when there is either a higher feeling of satisfaction or deeper level of disappointment). I don't enter many races, so each of them tends to be clear in my mind. Some of the best pictures come from 'A Run Around Wyre Forest' - a rather lovely half marathon with lots of greenery and a wicked little uphill finish. So that can be Mike Osborne.

Ashridge can be Joe Zawinul and just thinking of that way adds an extra dimension to it. You are running through a wood of beech and oak and when you look ahead you see a series of layers. That is very much like Weather Report (the arrangement of Birdland for example is like an intricate mesh).

Writing this piece has been the first time I have thought of comparing runs to pieces of music. I rather like the idea - it is playful, and part of soft core running is play.

Finding Time

Although I know that consistency is the biggest virtue for a runner, I have always struggled with mid-week runs and have never been able to work out the ideal time.

Early morning is useless as I already get up early enough just to get to work.
I gave up running at lunch time because I did not like the changing and the drying, the bolting of food and water, and limitations in the type of runs that could be done.
The most time-efficient method is to run as part of a commute, but I do not like running with a rucksack as I feel unbalanced and find myself always adjusting the strapping.

The only answer is to run in the evening, which although quite good, requires iron discipline - something for which I am not renowned. When I get back home I feel a bit hungry and a bit drained. The tiredness is mostly mental but the temptation to merely rest and eat is huge. Every time I get out of the door part of me is saying it would just be so much more pleasant to do nothing. That siren voice is still singing as I walk the pre-run walk and through the first few steps of the easy jog. Then something strange seems to happen as the body starts to loosen up - I begin to feel easier in myself. When I have found a rhythm everything feels calmer and I can not only feel happy that I am out, I can feel slightly smug that I have shown resolve.

"One run at a time" I say to myself as if I was some recovering alcoholic. Instead of it being a day at a time, the unit is a week. Each sunday I decide on a quota of runs for the next seven days and during the week I shuffle them according to circumstances. That is all - it is not complicated. Having a few things that can be rearranged or reordered seems to make all the difference.

It is easier in the summer time of course. Wet, dark, cold evenings make overcoming the inertia almost impossible and winter consistency is something I have never mastered. But I should not worry about that now. The whole idea is only to think of one run at a time.

Just a Run - Nothing Special

I am writing this in that time of post-run relaxation, when the mind is empty. Nothing is in focus and everything feels pleasantly hazy. There is nothing in particular that I want to say – no point to make. All I have are the impressions from the run idly playing in my mind.

First there was the weather, absolutely perfect, a bit overcast so that it was not too hot but still pleasant and summery. This makes such a huge difference. Last week it was hot and I really felt it and slowed down. Today everything was easier.

Then there were all the people strolling about, at ease and socialising. The general sense of recreation is one of the reasons I like running by the canal. At Berkhamsted there are three pubs in quick succession. People are on the benches looking at the water, sipping their beer. The beer looks tempting but I am running and cannot be distracted (there’s focus for you). I can only let my mind wander and think of the pub as a social institution, think of the longboats and their gentle progress between pubs and thinking that I must try that for a holiday sometime.

Although I like people around too many causes problems. Sometimes I think there is a growing lack of spatial awareness – everyone so much in their own world that they are unaware of how they affect others around them. A small example: a mother has parked her pushchair on the path, facing the water so that the child can throw bread for the ducks. That is great and it is a good thing to do. However she parked it right in front of a bench, thereby making a narrow an awkward gap to negotiate and I had to slow right down – a couple of yards further on there would have been no problem as I could easily have detoured on the grass.

Later on I ran up behind a group of three middle-aged people, side by side, taking all the available space. The man was aware of my coming and made a bit of space for me to run through. However the two women were completely unaware until I was right by them. One of them made a little panicky jump and was all of a flutter. She then made some remark about me needing a bell. This amused me – firstly the thought that my pace was anywhere near the speed of a bicycle was gross flattery. Secondly for all my puffing and pounding I had somehow approached unnoticed – I must have been running more gracefully than I thought (if only!).

With some people greetings are exchanged because we are very briefly sharing the same space and it is sociable but others want to make no contact. There was one woman who moved out the way excessively when I passed. This happened fairly near my turn around point and so I passed her again but this time face-to-face. She turned away to look at the hedgerow and avoid any chance of eye contact. I wondered about the story behind such nervousness, such closed-offness.

Contrasting with that isolation was the community of the river. A rather fine barge, originally from the port of Rotterdam (I know this because it was embossed on the hull) was moored whilst the owner was doing some work on the cabin. Other boat owners wandered over and started conversations about boats, comparing activity, that sort of thing. As I went past I heard that Rotterdam owner used to be an engineer. That’s all i heard but it's enough to get you thinking about interests aptitudes and life choice.

No thought was held for any great length of time. They flitted and passed, easily, without consequence - a bit like the running itself. It was just one of those days where things felt relaxed.