As soon as this pub closes, the revolution starts
It’s about time I wrote another Starting Over post. Everytime I do it, I hope it will be the last one. Not because I want the running to stop: just the opposite. I want the stopping to stop.
At least the circumstances are different. Usually, an extended period of idleness follows a major race effort. This time, a startlingly enthusiastic late autumn and early winter was brought low by a series of calf strains and unconsummated races. Result? A ballooning midriff, and an attack of mild pessimism. Neither is good. Both must go.
My weight has returned to the level it was at last September, when I last had this moment of clarity. I’m often consoled by the knowledge that I can lose weight fairly quickly, once I decide to do it, but the annoying corollary of this is that I gain ballast even faster, when my resolve fades.
Does this sound like a girly vanity issue? I hope not. It’s much more than that. Here are the facts, and they are convincing enough for me: I’m 52, a lovely age for an early lifestyle-linked heart attack. With too much weight, plus a chronically sedentary existence, plus an appalling, over-salty diet, plus too much alcohol, means my blood pressure is way too high, and I’m exposed to a variety of other risks like diabetes. To improve my chances of staying alive for a while, something has to change.
Just as important is my current work status. Since being made redundant last month, I’m rapidly coming to realise that I won’t walk into another corporate sinecure soon, and perhaps never. Instead of mechanically firing CVs at any passing executive, I need to have a plan B and and a plan C. Whatever happens, I need to be clear-headed and motivated, and that’s what running provides.
The beast did stir itself last week, with a couple of bike rides and a spot of gardening, but I need to get more methodical. One of my infamous plans is in gestation, this time with a twist, as I still have that unresolved injury problem. If nothing changes, I’ve no reason to think the calf weakness won’t reappear. Mark Twain, as usual, had it right: If you always do what you’ve always done, you’ll always get what you always got.
So I need to not do what I’ve always done. It’s time I took more seriously some of the advice I received (here and here) about improving core strength. The thought of wrapping myself around a Swiss ball, and crunching my way to fitness in the gym isn’t too appealing, but I’ll be happier once I start to feel looser and lighter.
On top of this, I’m keen to take a closer look at barefoot, or at least Vibram, jogging. I’m not completely sold on the idea yet, but I may be once I’ve finished reading the Christopher McDougall book, Born to Run – kindly lent to me by Sweder in Ireland, promptly left behind on the homeward plane, and just repurchased. I’m under no illusions that I’ll easily, or ever, become a barefoot runner, but I’m hoping that at least walking in some Vibrams should help to toughen my lower legs and produce a more natural running style.
Which brings me to Juneathon. The admirable and quirky JogBlog is supervising this year’s effort to get us away from the World Cup, or at least to provide a non-footballing diversion. If the tournament is a glorious, steaming plateful of fish and chips, as of course, in some way, er, it is, or could possibly be construed as such, then the juneathon is the salt and vinegar, and tomato ketchup. The idea is simple, but difficult: for the duration of June, you undertake to do some sort of strenuous exercise every day, and blog about it.
June is still an entire week away, and I don’t intend waiting. The revolution starts tomorrow. Sort of. I’m in London for the day, and may not get the chance to exercise properly. But I will have plenty of walking to do, and I’ll be kicking off my healthy-eating week with a mountain of fresh fruit and veg.
If I can have a good week, and a successful Juneathon, I’ll be able to start dreaming of some proper running goals once more. But one thing at a time.