Off Season

This is the last day of the year and I notice that just one more post will bring the annual total up to the nice round number of 90. Hmm so now I must think of something to say.

I could of course write about all the running I have been doing and exercise I have been taking but there would be no words – only a blank page. I have been doing nothing. Christmas has been a period of eating, drinking, people coming, more eating and drinking, more people coming, etc. Although there have been times when I could have gone out a combination of physical lethargy and bad weather meant I really did not feel like it.

Surprisingly I am not beating myself up about this because I have classified the time as ‘Off Season’ – and I am sure it is a good thing. The balance I am always trying to strike in running is between consistency of effort, the necessity of running regularly, and keeping fresh, maintaining enjoyment. I know I have a deep need to exercise: to feel alert and well but I do not want it to be merely functional and feel like a chore. I want it to be enjoyable.
The best way to achieve this is to be smart with my regime and plan for variety. There should not only be a mixture of activities to cover strength and flexibility as well as stamina, within the single discipline of running there should also be changes. There needs to be different challenges to keeping things fresh: new routes, hills, more speed, slower and longer, arbitrary targets. (My resolution for 2010 is to be better at this).

But I also think there has to be a pattern of peaks and troughs of intensity and sometimes there needs to be a break: hence the idea of an off-season and Christmas is a good time for this.

Some of my Christmas reading time has been spent flicking through my collection of running books: picking up the odd idea, reinforcing my belief that what I do is worthwhile, reaffirming myself as a runner, and most importantly letting my imagination roam. When reading these books I picture myself running freely and easily, and feel the sensation of possibilities. It whets my appetite makes me keen to start the New Year with a new programme and to look forward.

The break has reminded me that the imagination needs as much attention as physical mechanics. After all, in the words of Yogi Berra, 90% of what we do is half mental.

My Own Little Running World

Although I was surprised to see someone running on the snowy, icy roads I don’t think I should have been. There are many people far more dedicated than me, with an iron resolve to keep to a schedule and not let a little bit of bad weather get in the way. Some enjoy the clear crisp air and the challenge of running through snow and find the same joy we had as kids tobogganing down the slopes or throwing snowballs. Others, to whom a run is as fixed a part of the day as eating or drinking, just go out of the door because that is what they always do.

I am not in the first camp. Although I love snowy days, their beauty, the stillness and the way they bring people together, I am cautious when moving around: very aware of the dangers of falling. I prefer to be in my walking boots with their ridged and grippy soles.

As for the second group – I have never been on a streak. I think the highest number of consecutive days running is five. (A pathetic number perhaps but inevitable because of my belief in rest: even at my highest level of training I want two rest days a week.) So I am deeply impressed by those who run every day. I admire their discipline and sense of purpose, even their eccentricity.

A prime example is Ron Hill who has run at least a mile a day for the past 45 years, whatever the weather, whatever the injury or illness (famously he ran after a car crash with a cracked sternum or after a bunion operation using crutches). Now there might be a fine line between self-discipline and nuts but he is still a hero. I look upon such people as if they are a slightly different species: near enough for me to be able to recognise what they do but far enough away for me to know I could never do the same.

I know the area where I operate – keeping going, pushing myself a little but not to the extremes. Others go further and faster, others can endure more hardship, and others have better balance and can run on snow and ice. Good luck to them I like to celebrate their achievements but I have my own running world and with that I am content.


HAPPY CHRISTMAS.

Snow Day

Not a day for running. I thought this self evident and had not a flicker of interest in putting on trainers.

Putting on walking boots and taking snow pictures was a different matter and I loved being out. The air felt clear and crisp, roads had very few cars, and people were talking to each other. I don't know why it takes snow to make us all more neighbourly but it does. It seems natural to talk about the weather when you pass someone in the street ("not at all like June is it" said an old boy, as he carefully watched every step in case he slipped), it is fun to help to push cars that are stuck and there are also little stories ("we would not have come out if we didn't have a sick rabbit we need to take to the vet").

But then something strange: there in the distance was a man with a hat, tracksters, and sweat-top jogging slowly and deliberately along the pavement. Why would you do that? I could not work out the benefit: you cannot move very fast or easily because you have to be very careful not to slip and the underfoot ice is rutted and uneven, your feet get raw and icy, and the routes are limited because the side streets are too deep in snow. Also the training benefit must be extremely marginal.

But there is no escaping it - this has me marked down as a faintheart.

A Matter of Definition

This past year a common pattern for Saturday has been: breakfast, a bit of faffing, then out of the door for my standard 10km run along the canal. I then, red-faced and rather sweaty, buy a paper from the shop at the bottom of my road. When I hand over the money I will be asked if I have been jogging and I will smile say yes and add something like 'got to keep at it' and then leave.

I like this interaction and I am quite happy to describe myself as a jogger. It doesn't bother me at all, yet some people I know get a bit upset in an "I am a runner not a jogger" sort of way. They want to make a distinction of commitment. To them a jogger is someone who runs as part of a mix of keep-fit activities. Their aim is health rather than the run itself, whereas for the runner improved health is merely a by-product. You run because you are absorbed by the whole experience and it brings insights you would not otherwise find. Somehow 'jogger' doesn't convey this sense of purpose. It is not a serious label.

I can understand the sensitivity as we all liked to be defined in a way that matches our internal image. On the other hand a dispassionate observer, looking at me pass, would know nothing of my commitment or purpose; they would see someone moving at a fairly easy pace, someone for whom the word jogger would seem appropriate.

But words are important and their definitions can be contentious. I thought of this when reading the story of a jazz fan wanting a refund because he thought Larry Ochs played contemporary music and not jazz.. In all sorts of ways this is wonderfully bizarre (the idea of people wanting their money back if they didn’t like what they heard would be a hugely subversive change to the normal ticket contract). What sort of health warning could you put on your posters for someone who says:

The jazz purist claimed his doctor had warned it was "psychologically inadvisable" for him to listen to anything that could be mistaken for mere contemporary music.

And what sort of trauma could result from exposure to the wrong kind of performance? It makes no sense but I am amused by the agonizing: “Even if I could listen to Andy Shepherd when he plays with Carla Bley, could I still listen to him when he plays with Joanna McGreggor? Hmmm”. (Actually the answer is probably yes because he is always an inventive, lyrical saxophonist whereas the psychologically fragile man is probably scared of a rumbustious, disintegrating form of free jazz - and Larry Ochs does sound like this)

The funniest thing though is calling-in the police to adjudicate – not the obvious the place for music related problems or any adjudication on arts policy and I can’t believe contemporary music is part of their basic training. It would be like me calling a local park keeper to decide if I was running or jogging.

Sunshine and Mood

Oh what a pleasure it is to be out and feel the wind on your face and see everything illuminated by a clear bright light. After so many days of heavy grey skies and seemingly endless rain my spirits are quite lifted.

I don't know how much a feeling of well being is linked to the weather (it is certainly possible to run on miserable days and enjoy it) but I know I feel better if the sun is shining. Light has a big effect on my mood and I can feel low if there are too many overcast days. So it is important to grab those moments when it is bright and get out there.

I posted today's picture because I like views where the land opens out and you can see patches of light. At the bottom, on the path you can some standing water, of which there is plenty as it is still very wet underfoot. Further along one of the tracks usefully illustrated a geography lesson on how rivers form the landscapes. The fallen leaves initially formed a soaked mushy top layer but with the heavy rain the water flowed down the track in a stream and cut the mulch into channels. You could clearly see how, even on a fairly uniform surface water meanders. Soft geomorphology. If it had been a grey day perhaps I would have been irritated by the splashy, sloppy wetness of it all but in the sun I just saw water at play and my mind played as well, remembering my own lessons of getting water to run down a sheet of glass.

I often wonder what I think about when I am running or cycling. I am slightly jealous of those people who say they get their best ideas when running or the journalists who say they use the time to plan their next article. For me it doesn't work like that as mostly my mind is blank with interruptions of random observations. But I like the periods of nothingness - when the rhythm takes over and you get lost in the steady repetitive pattern.

There are of course all sorts of things that crop up and require immediate attention, like how to avoid the dog which seems determined to block your path or how to pick your way amongst the potholes and puddles but these come and go quickly. It is a continual process of tune-in, tune-out (or wax on, wax off). All my thoughts come and go when I am running and nothing stays in focus for very long. Even if I have something on my mind I do not think of it coherently, fragments float in and out in a distinctly non-linear fashion.

But this is why running is refreshing: the mind freewheels , loosens up and escapes its normal channels; which brings me back to the weather. When it is bright everything feels just that little bit freer