Last Saturday

There is a tragedy in this picture. The sign is in the bouquets of flowers on the roof of the boat on the extreme right -Foxy.

When I took this photo I had no idea. My only thought was that it was a very calm day, the moorings seemed peaceful and I wanted to show the development built on the site of the old John Dickinson paper mill. I only understood the significance after I had finished my run and bought a paper. The headline of the nearby local-paper told of of a boat owner who had drowned last Saturday.

Apparently he lived here at the Apsley Lock Moorings and kept to himself. The body was pulled from the water at 1.30, but the police are not treating the death as suspicious. At approximately the same time as I was taking a photo of a cricket match and thinking about how English the scene seemed. I don't know why that now seems odd, but it does; as does the fact that I ran past the moorings out and back, and was completely unaware that anything had happened.

Evolved Skills

I like Brighton with its mixture of the shabby and the smart, the bohemian and the down-to-earth. It is the traditional seaside resort for Londoners and I can remember trips from my early childhood, so it is also a place full of subconscious associations. This year we went there for a traditional bank holiday outing, where we wandered round the Lanes, walked along the prom, messed around on the pebbly beach and finished with some comfort eating.

Along the way I saw a woman reading palms and telling fortunes with a notice saying she had been a clairvoyant for 36 years. That got me wondering how much experience mattered for a clairvoyant, surely their whole pitch is that they have a special gift? Maybe its like everything, they have to practice to get in the groove. I don't know but the materialist in me would be more impressed with a sign that said something like 'cabinet maker for 36 years'. Then I would know what sort of skills had been developed.

On the beach there was quite a strong breeze coming off the sea and I became fascinated watching the seagulls. Wings outstretched they hovered, almost still in the wind, then changed direction and swooped down with ease and pace. They were perfectly adapted animals and there was joy in seeing that. Grace in movement is an aesthetic pleasure.

I was reminded of George Sheehan's idea that running helps us become a good animal but looking round the beach and I wonder how many of us could move with grace. Probably not many, myself included - and I run quite a lot. But being a good animal is about something other than grace. It is about discovering how we evolved and how we how are bodies are adapted and when we run we do this by testing how long or fast we can go. We both look for our limits and try to find the most economical way to move.

I like the way this links with the theory that as a species we evolved to run long distances. (See this article from last year).

Bramble and Lieberman were not at all surprised that a man won the Man Versus Horse Marathon. It fits their hypothesis. Unlike many mammals, not to mention primates, people are astonishingly successful endurance runners, "and I don't think it's just a fluke," Lieberman says. He and Bramble argue that not only can humans outlast horses, but over long distances and under the right conditions, they can also outrun just about any other animal on the planet—including dogs, wolves, hyenas, and antelope, the other great endurance runners. From our abundant sweat glands to our Achilles tendons, from our big knee joints to our muscular glutei maximi, human bodies are beautifully tuned running machines. "We're loaded top to bottom with all these features, many of which don't have any role in walking," Lieberman says. Our anatomy suggests that running down prey was once a way of life that ensured hominid survival millions of years ago on the African savannah.

The seagulls swooping in the sky or Kenenisa Bekele running 10,000 meters are wonderful examples of animal motion. We on the beach are similarly evolved – just out of condition. Nevertheless we can all run and with practice get better. We can all get closer to our animal nature but even if we concentrated for every moment of every day for 36 years we would still not be able to tell the future.

Village Cricket

I don't know how English I feel. I know that of my four grandparents three were English and one was Irish. I also know that I was born and lived the first few years in South London before spending a formative part of my childhood on the Welsh-English border. Most of the rest of the time I have lived in London or the Home Counties. So that's it , easy, not only English but Southern English – the most complacent of the breed.

But I don't really think of it like that. Mostly I don't think about it at all and this is probably quite typical. The issues of identity can be both complex and contradictory I also have a strong distrust of overt nationalism and prefer to look at the specifics of a person rather than the generalities of a people. Nevertheless there are images of Englishness I carry round in my head, some of which I find quite comforting. A surprising number come from the Nineteenth Century but increasingly they have little to do with the society I live in.

I was thinking about this when watching the Olympics. Seeing the competitors cry on winning or with the disappointment of losing or seeing them jump about to celebrate how brilliant they had been. Long gone is the emotionally inhibited gentleman who would greet victory with a quick 'good show' or 'that was not bad' and think it a bit unseemly to exalt too much in ones own success.

This might very well be a good thing. Too much emotional repression is probably not a good thing and understated language can lead to misunderstanding. (There is a dramatic example from the Korean War when an English Brigadier reported to his American superior that 'things were a bit sticky', meaning desperate but was interpreted by the American as saying things were not too bad. As a result neither reinforcements were sent nor was there any order to withdraw). Nevertheless I have a fondness for people quietly and calmly getting on with the job of being excellent and so savoured the answer of Tim Brabants, the gold medal winning canoeist, to the question of how he could go back to just being Dr Tim. “Oh quite easily” he replied “no one will recognise me.”

My type of running is evenly modulated in that 'just-getting-on-with-it' sort of way (as long as you forget the idea of excellence). Sessions are never brilliant or disastrous, some go a little better than others, but that is all. Also I don't know what is meant by the term 'runners high'. At the end of a run I will often get feelings of immense contentment and a sense of peace but it is not euphoric and don't think see how it can be described as a high. So I think my hobby sits very well with some of my outdated ideas of a reserved Englishman.

Yesterday's run did everything to confirm this. I passed this cricket ground and loved the sound of 'willow on leather'. It felt comforting.

However one should not get too sentimental. There is a bloody great dual carriage way carrying speeding traffic just to the left of this picture. Things always move on.

Making the Most of Our own Belief Systems

I love the Olympics with its mixture of minority sports that you never think of at any other time to stories of individual heroism, or even tiny little factoids about individual competitors. For example it gives me disproportionate pleasure to know that Christine Ohuruogu is the world's fastest linguist – yes she has a linguistics degree and her final year dissertation was on swear words. That was before I saw her race and then the way she won gold just made it better.

The story that has fascinated me most is the dominance of the GB cycle team not only because it is a story of individual prowess but also because it is an example of how to create a structure and environment for success. In every aspect they have been the most organised and professional team, with full attention paid to every detail (There is a good summary of the programme for success here and a full chronology of the pathway from the shambolic to the supreme here.).

I have been particularly interested in the role of the psychiatrist Steve Peters. Most of the people who help athletes with their mental approach call themselves sports psychologists but Peters is different as his background is forensic psychiatry and he has worked at Rampton Hospital. I don't know if that makes a difference but his practice seems to be rooted in the one-to- one approach of psychiatry. He does not offers an easy formula for success; there are no tips for a quick fix, instead he works to build a foundation of understanding so the the athletes knows how their minds work. This can take 12 months and is followed by understanding how other people think and then communication.

A good article about this works with the cycling team was published in the Guardian in May. This quote gives the practical basis of his approach:

"You walk in with a belief system, ideas, behaviour that you apply to sport. Some people can do very well, but most of us aren't sure how to use the equipment. I say 'This is how your mind works, this is how you get strength in certain areas, this is how to build up on the weak points, this is the skills base you need'."

The thing is that you do not have to be Chris Hoy or Victoria Pendleton for this to be appropriate - it applies to all of us plodding along, trying to get the best from our running. We all need to know how we gain strength and ways to combat our weaknesses. The knowledge that this is a skill that can be learnt is tremendously encouraging. Similarly the underlying philosophy of the cycling set-up can encourage everybody:

Where the British cycling team has broken new ground is in taking a bottom-up, athlete-centred approach, and here Peters has been key. "The athlete has to own their own programme," he says. "They formulate what they are doing." Rather than the coach telling the cyclist how he or she should be training, the athlete is strongly encouraged to take the coach's advice and take the final decision according to rules that have been previously agreed on, with the coach viewed more as an expert adviser. Commitment, ownership, responsibility and personal excellence are the watchwords, and again the nuance is important. "We would like excellence. What we ask for is personal excellence, which is very different."

So many of the people out there running on the roads and certainly all the people who write the blogs I read have that quality. They are taking responsibility for themselves and aiming for personal excellence, with their own criteria of what excellence means . We might not have all the resources at our disposal, no team of supporting experts but by exchanging experiences we can gain strength. If someone does something that sounds good we can try to apply it ourselves. In this respect its a bit like this quote from George Sheehan:

My advice to these advisors would be. "Do not tell me what to do, tell me what you do. Do not tell me what is good for me, tell me what is good for you. If, at the same time you reveal the you in me, if you become a mirror to my inner self, then you have made a listener and a friend."

Offcuts

This looks like a do-it-yourself boat made from the offcuts thrown out by B&Q.

I would hate to make any sort of analogy with my running but 'home made and in need of constant attention to keep it together' would not be unjust.

Ah well, at least I can dream of becoming a sleeker vessel. The boat I'm afraid looks like a lost cause

Stained Glass

This is a very straightforward photograph but it shows how my current project, of using running as a way of exploring the neighbourhood, can lead to discoveries.

I have a number of stock routes and go over the same ground many times. This forces me to look more closely at the familiar, so that nothing is taken for granted. At the same time loops, diversions and the odd excursion are added so that I can find new things. The process of building-in variations is gradual but the photo is the result of it working. Instead of carrying on alongside the canal or using the bridge as a there-and-back marker, as I have done many times before, I left the canal to run a loop in the surrounding streets and immediately wondered why I had never, ever visited this place before.

It is a small hamlet called Hunton Bridge and the number of Nineteenth Century buildings suggest it developed with the coming of the canal, however the pub dates from the Fifteenth Century, so there has obviously been a settlement for a long time.

After coming up onto the street my eye was taken by this building because of the Dutch gables. It houses the Chapel Studio and so I assume it was originally built as a chapel. I liked the idea that a Nineteenth Century church would reference the buildings of another protestant country and so took the picture.

When I got home I could find nothing about the building itself, but found instead that Hunton Bridge is a conservation area, something of which I was completely unaware. Rather wonderfully the Conservation Area Appraisal, completed only last month, is available online and it gives some of the history, pictures of all the notable buildings and early maps showing the development of the settlement. How great is that?

The Chapel Studio is also interesting as it is a stained glass workshop, which carries out new designs, conservation, and restoration. It is obviously a centre of expertise and excellence as it has done work for cathedrals, the Houses of Parliament, and Oxford and Cambridge colleges - in other words national monuments. I don't know how many specialist stained glass workshops there are in the country but it gives me a good feeling to think such a place is within running distance.

It also links with a previous craft theme about the paper mills of the Charante making hand-crafted paper, in the traditional way, for the restoration of old books and documents.

I like it when things come together.

Nineteen Hundred and Nineteen

During today's run I thought about swans. Partly this was the result of the coincidence of two unrelated pieces of reading. The first was Warriorwoman describing being attacked by a swan in her blog, whilst this morning I read 'Nineteen Hundred and Nineteen' by W.B.Yeats, whose third part revolves around the imagery of a swan.

Some moralist or mythological poet
Compares the solitary soul to a swan;
I am satisfied with that,
Satisfied if a troubled mirror show it,
Before that brief gleam of its life be gone,
An image of its state;
The wings half spread for flight,
The breast thrust out in pride
Whether to play, or to ride
Those winds that clamour of approaching night.

I wasn't much concerned with the meaning of the poem, instead I pictured myself running, with my arms half spread for flight and my breast thrust out. Not a lot of pride though; I am not a prideful runner.

From this my thoughts moved to the general imagery of swans and how it was formed by their grace on the water and in flight, and the uniform white of their coat and ignores their rather grumpy, ill-tempered nature. But these thoughts did not last very long , as with all thoughts when running, they wandered off in a series of hazy relationships as if I was playing a game of Chinese whispers with myself. The next strand was about how often I see swans when I am running – not that frequently.. I then started to think of all the birds and ducks I see by or on the canal. My favourite is the heron but they are seen at their best in the early morning when the mist is still rising from the water. I make a note to try to get up earlier to see them more often. Then I start to think about sleep patterns.

So that is how it goes: I run by the water and my mind floats and bobs.

Anyway, as if on cue, some swans appeared and needed to be photographed. I reached into to my belt to get my camera and the swans obviously thought I was going to feed them as they swam towards me and waited expectantly. When they realised there was no food they both disdainfully turned their heads away - as the stanza says, they have their pride.

In the Gym

For the past week a dodgy ankle has stopped me running. Instead I have been cross-training in the gym.

I have previously mentioned my mixed feelings about gyms. The are strange mildly unsociable places where everyone is in their own bubble and there is little interaction. I am no different. I plug in my Ipod and just get on with it, but I do like to look around me. I always watch people on the treadmills and examine the variety of running styles, seeing who lands heavily (not always the heaviest runner), who is graceful, who is too tense, who is economical. Sometimes it is surprising who moves easily and sometimes I want to say something like 'your shoulders are too tense, relax your hands' but I don't, after all we are all in our bubbles and I am not sure how it would be received.

I know that people argue about whether there is such a thing as a correct style with some people insisting you should land on your forefoot, whilst others are equally adamant the the heel strike is the best way. I am equally convinced that it is a futile debate. People run in different ways because their bodies are aligned slightly differently. Yesterday, for example, I watched two people side by side. The man was a heel striker, the girl a forefoot striker but both were very fluid and easy in their style, both were relaxed, both were compact. In other words they both had good form even though the mechanics were different. The common feature was that they were both upright and did not overstride.

There is one man who amazes me. He runs intervals and pushes the speed so high he has to hang onto the bar and bend almost in double (if he didn't I am sure he would go flying off the back of the machine). His feet land with such an almighty thud the noise blots out the music I listen to. I cannot work out what he is trying to achieve, surely going too fast in such a contorted fashion cannot help you run properly

There are other people though who are inspiring. For example there is an Indian man (probably in his twenties) who is badly handicapped. He can barely control his legs to walk and can hardly speak yet he comes regularly, with his mother, to maintain, or even gain, some mobility. I don't know who I admire more, him for trying inspite of difficulties or her for her constant, and obviously loving, support. Her whole life must be dominated by the need to look after her son but you can see the pleasure in her eyes when he manages to walk a bit further or throw a ball a bit straighter. One of the members of staff is often there to help, introducing exercises to test him that little bit more, encourage him by gentle teasing, whilst his mother will follow close by to stop him falling.

When I see the three of them working in this way I know I can put my reservations about gyms to one side. They are places where good can be done