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The Great Leveller
“Death makes everyone equal because everyone is susceptible to death. All of us on this planet are playing the same game.”
It is has occurred to me over recent months that putting death to one side, which I guess we are all trying to do, running is also a great leveller. Running makes everyone equal because (almost) everyone is susceptible to running.
This became even more apparent this morning when I rocked up to help the Herd (aka LewesAC) marshal the finish line of the Downland 10. A ten mile race over our beloved Downs.
Whether rich or poor, black or white, fat or thin, it was difficult to tell anyone from anyone else. They all had the same pre-race jitters. All of them were making silly little jokes, whilst secretly weighing up the competition. They were all battling their nerves as they attempted to justify the decisions made – are these the right shoes? Should I wear an extra top; one more trip to the loo or not?
And then, watching the runners set off on their journeys, eventually reappearing at the end, it was stark how running form, weight, wealth, the choice of shoe, etc. etc. has very little bearing on their final performance. We watched athletes achieve 10 miles in just shy of 60 minutes to those arriving home well in excess of 2 hours. But looking at them, you realise that the playing field is level. Running is really a great leveller.
Anyway, enough of this.
There is a really important date on RunningCommentary.net. Most of you won’t remember the actual date, but you remember exactly what you were doing when you first noticed what happened on the date in question. On the 3rdMay 2014, Charlie Cat 5 (which is me of course) joined this little old strange community, and I wrote my first blog. The reason I mention this is because back in those heady days RC was quite an active place. A motley crew drawn together by their love of running in all its beliefs. Different styles, some raw, some polished, but great reading.
WHERE HAS EVERYONE GONE? IT IS LIKE A GHOST TOWN ON HERE!
Don’t you realise that some of us thrive on the adventures of others. If others are out there, pushing the boundaries of sanity… it encourages the rest of us to do the same. And there really are some mad buggers on here.
For one, I am out there running. And the running has been going pretty well. I even managed to arrange a run on Thursday evening with the Goat. A work colleague of mine was down for the day, and with a keenness to run the hills, rather than the streets of London he requested that we showed him the hills surrounding Lewes. We headed our west as the sun was kissing the day farewell, managing 7 miles before burgers and 7 schooners of Abyss were consumed in a futile attempt to ease the running niggles.
To be honest, I was pleased that we made it to the pub, as it provided a gentle warm up ahead of Friday evening when we headed to the coast for some of the finest wining and dining Seaford has to offer. We didn’t spoil the evening with a run first, so could concentrate solely on the job in question. Getting Time Team Tim pissed on his birthday.
But running commenced again on Saturday. The morning was out for domestic chores, so the afternoon beckoned with Radar putting out a call. She wanted to go at 1pm. I didn’t think I’d be back until 3pm. Given the forecast, we settled on 2pm. It pissed down.
For some reason, she had already knocked back 3 miles before we met at Jill’s Pond. We set off with no real plan (more of that to come), other than she wanted to be home around 3.20pm. Before long we picked up the arrows set out for today’s Downland 10, so with nothing better to do, we followed them. It was kind of obvious, in hindsight anyway, but we had just signed ourselves up to a 10 mile run. Through the pouring rain. A couple of drowned rats eventually found their way back to Lewes. We didn’t complete the course in just shy of 60 minutes, I can tell you. Radar didn’t make it back home for 3:20pm either.
Heading back to Friday night, and much to the annoyance of Time Team Tim, the Goat, the Godfather and myself found ourselves philosophising about the reasons we run, which inevitably led to a discussion about the merits of Richard Askwith’s fine bodies of work. We were all in violent agreement that ‘Feet in the Clouds’ is an awesome text, but we were not so sure when it came to ‘Running Free’. The general conclusion being that the book starts well, but ends somewhere up its own arse. However, it unlocked quite a discussion between the four of us (Tim having given up on the choice of conversation had now decided to join in) on the merits, or not, of running free. Running with, or without technology.
There was a realisation in the woolly confines of my head that: a) it was, as an aside, Ash’s round; but b) that I have an obsession with my running watch, but in reality never go back and look at previous runs. Yet, it often, inevitably, leads to frustration when things are not going as well I might have expected. So I decided there and then… well on Ash’s return from the bar… that I was going to RUN FREE.
And that’s what happened yesterday. We headed out without a plan. Without a watch. And with no idea how far we might go (to be honest, I don’t think that was Radar’s plan). I ended up running somewhere between 10 and 11 miles and really enjoyed it (Radar ended up running between 13 and 14 miles and enjoyed it a little less). For those of you who have been avid readers of my posts, will realise that this isn’t the first time I have gone down this route. But now I am maturing as a runner, I think it might stick at it a bit harder this time.
We’ll see.
To quote the famous philosopher, Brain Johnson (who I happen to listening to as I write): “Quit putting yourself in a little box by trying to live constantly with your past and explaining every little action your take. BE YOU. Fully. In this moment. Independent of what others may or may not ‘expect’ from you.” Good advice I reckon.
Talking of living in the moment… we opened the 2019 Moyleman entries last Monday morning. By Monday evening we had 111 people signed up. Today we have 215 people with a place. With only 350 places available, I think we will be sold out within the next 10 days. Now that is madness on a grand scale.
Lastly, before I sign off. I have an uncle who is dairy farmer. Back many moons ago he was the herd manager on a farm in Derbyshire looking after a lovely herd of Jersey cows. Every morning as day was breaking he would head out into the fields to persuade the sleepy bovines that it was time for milking. As he entered the field, he would whistle, and a minute to two latter Lesley the Jersey cow would sidle up to him, bow her head whilst he climbed on her back to fetch the rest of them in. When the herd was sold a few years later, he bought Lesley at the disposal sale. However, he had nowhere to house her, so handed Lesley over to his assistant herdsperson, who had already found a new farm to work on. Making sure that Lesley was going to be looked after.
You may wonder where the hell this story has come from, or what on earth it has to do with running. You can blame Ash for this. I told him the story on Friday evening. He said I should write it down. I said he needs to get off his arse and start writing his book; his running tales as he has longed promised us all. I’ve written my story, so it’s over to you now mate…
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