1 February 2019                           42,251 steps        no running            weight 78.9kg

   I didn’t sleep well, for two reasons. The first was the new troubles at work. As previously mentioned, there is both good and bad news on the work front, and it was, of course, the bad news that kept me awake far later than is good for me. The other reason was the rain. It was raining steadily from late evening. Normally the sound of rain on the roof would lull me into a peaceful slumber, but not on this occasion. I was to rise early and head into Circular Quay for a celebratory walk around the harbour with some of the lads from work. It’s very close to five years since we first started these semi-regular walks, and they have become something of an institution, both immensely enjoyable of themselves, but also a fantastic debrief and sanity saver from the turmoil of work.
   But as I lay there listening to the rain, it seemed to me this fifth anniversary celebration would have to be postponed.
   Eventually I was able to drift off to sleep. I then awoke about a half hour earlier than I needed, and it was still raining steadily. I made some breakfast and checked the weather radar. It didn’t look promising, but I texted the others to gauge their thoughts. They were still keen and thought the rain was easing, so I caught the train into town. It rained all the way in, then amazingly stopped the moment I left Wynyard Station to walk down to our meeting point at Circular Quay.
   In what can be best described as either a major blessing or an astonishing coincidence, we did our 30km walk around Sydney Harbour without any hint of rain. On our return to our starting point (it’s a circular route), and settling down to our first beer of the day and some lunch, it again started to rain and continued until well into the evening.
   We always see something unusual on these walks. Today it was a Lamborghini photo shoot: 16 of them arranged with the Sydney Opera House as the backdrop and two very happy photographers. We chatted to one of them for a while before we were distracted again, this time by the sight of the P&O cruise ship Pacific Explorer steaming at a great rate of knots toward the Sydney Harbour Bridge. A crowd of onlookers was growing as it seemed certain to collide with it, but of course it sped underneath with plenty of room to spare, but it was still quite a sight.
   Six hours later, with the walk complete, we settled in to celebrate not just our fifth anniversary, but the fact that today was the last official day at work for our despised General Manager. So hated is he that the farewell card that was bought for him had to be shredded due to the ‘inappropriate’ farewell comments made in it. And the collection envelope which was to be used for a parting gift had collected the grand sum of just 5c, with an attached note to say that this was ‘4c too much’. I exaggerate not one iota.
   We celebrated well, and apart from a blister on my left heel caused by me wearing an older pair of shoes (as I had supposed they would get ruined on the wetter, muddier parts of the walk), it was grand and memorable day out.


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   The warm weather has returned, but I cranked out a stronger, faster 90 minutes before it all became too hot. The only problem being that it has worsened the blister on my left heel. Nothing for it but to give it some treatment and another rest day tomorrow.

   Hot muggy weather, plus the blister plus a slight calf strain meant I was glad today was a rest day anyhow. I paid some attention to the calf strain – whilst not too serious, it suggests I overdid things just a touch yesterday. We’ll see how it transpires for the first of the week’s very early runs tomorrow.

   The weather was warm, but not unpleasant at 3:45 this morning when I stepped out for my first early run of the week. The calf strain and the blistered heel were still uncomfortable, so I played it cautiously and avoided my usual hill reps session and instead just did laps of the block which, when run anticlockwise avoid any serious hill climbs. It was still of an old man’s shuffle for the first lap, but thereafter I felt much better and completed a reasonable little session.

   The weather grew steadily hotter until it became unbearably sticky and horrible by the afternoon, but mercifully a cool change blew in by evening. I’m hoping it sticks around for a while, but the weather forecast suggests otherwise.

   Well, then. A mere three minutes of running was undertaken this morning before I threw in the towel. So very sore, so very tired, and so very, very early in the morning. It was astonishing to me that I was out there at all, but rather less astonishing that I called it quits quite as soon as I did. I can’t recall ever feeling more wretched on a run than today.

   But, at least I won’t lie awake tonight wondering about why I didn’t at least give it a shot, because I did.

   Hmm. Maybe tomorrow will be better.

   Goodness me, there was a bit of a shock ‘weighting’ for me in the bathroom this morning. I stepped on the scales and couldn’t quite believe what I saw:  a weight gain of 1.9kg since yesterday! I’m used to my weight varying by as much as a kilo on a day-to-day basis, that much is not so unusual. But two kilos? That’s rather strange. I went over in my mind all that I had eaten yesterday, but it didn’t account for what I was seeing, so I just put that one down to experience and thought no more about it.

    Well, I didn’t quite dismiss it so completely from all thought. I should, of course, have gone for a nice, long, slow, fat-burning run to shed some of the accumulated bulge, but I’d already forsaken the early run in favour of one more reasonable sleep, and following work there was a small matter of an evening function to attend, and which, yes, required more imbibing of food and alcoholic beverages. Which is just another way of saying that today was, once again, a day which saw the running kit lay idle.

   It’s a pity really, especially as another fierce summer storm came through in the late afternoon, clearing away the humidity, lowering the temperature, and swamping the area with a lovely dose of ozone. Perfect conditions for running, but I’m sorry to say the opportunity was missed once again.

   Well, never mind. As I keep saying, perhaps a little too often, there’s always tomorrow.

   Today was in danger of being yet another consecutive day of non-running. A feeling of exhaustion that has dogged me over the last few days has continued. This has also afflicted some of my workmates, which at least allows me to think I’m fighting some bug rather than being just wholly pathetic. The day was also warm and muggy once again, but I resolved in my mind to schedule a late afternoon run anyway, or at least attempt something resembling a run. This was mainly because a third consecutive non-run day was just too much to bear, but also because I’m working the night shift, and a run in the late afternoon helps get me through the night in the same way an early morning run seems to give me a boost that lasts well into the afternoon. As a rough rule of thumb, I think that 30 – 60 minutes of exercise is good for a mental and physical boost that lasts about 10 – 12 hours.

   So, by 4:30 p.m. (and not my more usual a.m. early start) I was on the treadmill with a fan on full force and doing my warm up. No more than a fast walk for 10 minutes, even this warm up was rather testing. Cautiously then moving into a slow, and what should be normally a very comfortable jog, I settled in for a hopeful 30-minute run, but it didn’t start out too promisingly. The first 10 minutes were awful, but after that it did become much easier and a little surprisingly the run was completed without too much fuss. Grateful to have rescued what was looking to be a dismal week of poor and missed runs, I feel now much more comfortable about getting somewhere roughly near to the point of being somewhat back on schedule.

   Somewhat.

   I had scheduled 45 minutes of running, but ran 60 instead. And that was straight off the back of two night shifts. A little weird, but I felt good and just kept going. Weirder still as at the moment I’m busy. So very busy, in fact. Too busy to even write these entries.   

   This, I’m afraid, will have to do.

   Weather is again hot, but not as humid.

   Must run. Figuratively and literally, as it happens. More by way of explanation tomorrow, I hope.

12 February 2019                               8,363 steps               no running            weight 77.9kg
    
   1978, what a year that was! I was working in my first job, learning rapidly what adult life was about and not especially liking, nor understanding it. Above all else, it was confusing. In school I’d no real trouble coping with the workload, understanding most subjects quite readily and being good at them. But this … this working for a living in an adult world was complicated. The only thing I properly understood was that my school years had in no way prepared me for the complexities, responsibilities and hardships of the working world.
   One of the few advantages of working life on the other hand was the regular pay cheque. This did, mercifully, enable me to indulge in my great escape, which in those days was fundamentally music. I knew every record store in the city, and they all knew me. Records were expensive, so I didn’t buy that many, but that didn’t stop me browsing through every record bin in every record store. The store owners didn’t mind … they knew an addict when they saw one. Like any seasoned drug dealer they knew I’d be back to spend every cent I could on their wares, and I did. Many, nay nearly all of those purchases are still in my possession.
   In many ways 1978 was the watershed year of my life. I’d left school far too young and was quickly becoming despondent at what the working world had to offer. Until that point my interest in left-wing politics had been merely simmering away on a back burner, but 1978 saw it come properly to the boil. I indulged in socialist writings; visited the left-leaning book stores and market stalls, and a little later even listened to Radio Habana, Cuba. I nearly won myself a trip there in a competition, writing an essay in which I explained, apparently succinctly, the disillusionment of a young Westerner disenfranchised with capitalist society. The essay was shortlisted to a field of eight, but sadly I missed out on the two major prizes. I gather my essay was read out on air, but I didn’t hear it. Strangely, I didn’t keep a copy of my essay which is now lost forever, except perhaps surviving somewhere in the Cuban archives. Maybe.
   Politics were important to me, but even they were overshadowed by the music I listened to. Politics raised my hackles; and even got some juices flowing, but their full realisation was still some years away. It was music that properly shaped me back then. The albums I bought in 1978 still stick in my mind unlike any others: David Gilmour’s first solo, eponymous album was a complete revelation, immediately making sense to me. I’d been a Pink Floyd fan for some time, but this solo album was sheer genius. Rick Wright, the Floyd’s keyboard player also released his first solo album that year – and similarly it told me what these great artists had been wanting to say through Floyd’s music all along. It was astonishing in its clarity.
   Also in 1978 I purchased my first Yes album, Tormato. I was already more than familiar with their early work, such as Fragile, Close To The Edge, and Tales from Topographic Oceans, but these were all pirated (cassette) copies of my brother’s records. Tormato  was the first Yes album I’d purchased with my own hard-earned cash and I fell in love with it immediately. Of course it wasn’t all British prog and psychedelic rock that saw me parting with my cash. Other major influences and purchases included Grateful Dead, The Eagles and Meatloaf, among many others.  
   But what, I hear you ask, has this got to do with running? Well, as it happens, quite a damn lot. The last few days and weeks have been rather … stressful, in some respects, with the workplace being at the forefront of my troubles. We finally have seen the back of our now former General Manager, a psychopath of the highest order, being without conscience, nor having any concept of morals. To blatantly lie on a daily basis was as natural as breathing to this man, and he made our lives miserable. We survived it only by taking him to court on no less than three occasions, merely to force him to abide by the written employment agreement which dictates our working conditions, and which he was determined to ignore.
   Eventually he brought about his own undoing, and we celebrated his departure with aplomb and not a little gusto. Now, however, we have a new round of difficulties. The mess he left behind is a thankless task for anyone to clean up, and the new boss has our sympathy in that regard. However, that has also made things difficult in other ways and we are once again in the midst of industrial troubles which will take time and effort to resolve.
   I am a workplace delegate for not one, but two industrial unions. This is because I hate exploitation. Hate is a strong word, I know, but few things anger me more than seeing people exploited, whether it be by corporations or individuals. And so I battle it as best I can. Socialism has an unfortunate negative connotation with many people, which is understandable given how tyrants such as Josef Stalin and Mao Tse Tung turned the tables on the concept, and rather than defeating the exploitation of workers, they instead became the exploiters. Socialism and communism were never intended to subjugate and destroy an individual’s right to better their lives. It was only ever intended to prevent them from doing so by exploiting others.
   Today, then, and over the last few days, I have been largely focused on work-related matters. This requires at least a modest understanding of industrial law, federal legislation, workplace policies and the ability to tiptoe through  the minefield of personal opinion and attitudinal differences among the staff I aim to represent, and the managers whom we attempt to negotiate with. This is never easy, and usually involves weeks and months of careful and delicate negotiations for perhaps one small step of progress, and sometimes less.
   All this, coupled with the exhausting nature of the work we undertake anyhow, makes the almost-mythical work/life balance equation of utmost importance. And this is where running and music come into the picture.
   Today, as will be seen from my running log, was a day of no running. It was also a day of barely any walking, and my minimum target of 10,000 steps per day will not now be met. It hardly matters. Overall, my year of running and general fitness is progressing well. Which brings me back to the music of 40+ years ago.
   To my way of thinking, melancholia and nostalgia are dangerous beasts. Like inertia, they are self-referencing, feeding on themselves and stifling you of motivation and killing momentum. Properly assessed and managed, however, they can become powerful tools, providing re-assessment of a given situation and providing the impetus to once again take up the fight.
   There’s no way David Gilmour or Jon Anderson way back in the 1970s could have imagined their work would not just survive over four decades on, but help someone like me through some troubling and tricky times. It might be easier to burn some incense, ingest some relaxing substances and chill out to an album by Gong or Arzachel and forget about things for a while, but those early influences as a young man struggling to come to terms with becoming politically aware in the world, and yet stuck in the mindless tedium of my first place of employment as are important to me now as they were back then, even if I couldn’t begin to understand why as a callow youth.
   I like to think of running as being the lifeblood, the essence of vitality if you like, and of music as being the spiritual essence, the elemental spark of life. With those two things, nothing that life throws as you can keep you down for very long.
   And a decent bottle of red can help, too.
   I’ll run again tomorrow, clear of mind and ready to tackle … everything.