One running year. Runs; 108. That’s probably about 1000 kms or 666.6 recurring miles. A little less than some years, a little more than others. Sounds like a lot….to a non-runner, but as you’ll all know here it’s somewhat on the short side for any half serious marathon preparation. Celebrated my tenth year of regular running by this little act of self indulgence, a training diary on the net in the eminent company of some excellent writing runners (or are they running writers?) and in doing so followed the footsteps of the likes of Samuel Pepys, Nick Hornby, Adrian Mole, Sweder and Andy…. And now the running cycle which has taken me through icy cold winter and baking hot summer, sweet smells of spring and golden taints of autumn has at last swung its full course. I run the risk of repeating myself. And in any case I prefer circular routes to linear ones.
My running diary will revert back to its original, more humble format. Brief notes will once again be scribbled down in my own primitive shorthand in scruffy exercise books and stored away in a shoebox to be occasionally used for personal reference. And funnily enough I’ve learnt a lot more about writing here than running. One appeal of running for me is that it’s so, sort of….minimalist. The less excess baggage the better. A T-shirt, a pair o’ pumps and the open road (or trail or path). Nothing complicated. I’d spend money on a pair of decent trainers (look after those knees) but you can forget all your gadgets, GPS, MP3, HRM, gels and whatever. It can be as simple as you want it to be. Relaxation. Switch off. Zen. The idea of running as therapy has come up a few times on the forum in the last 12 months and I must say that I’d never thought about it before, at least not directly (relaxation is a form of therapy as well). Although I’d once thought of running as being a bit like yoga (it’s not, it’s much more knackering!) And what I have found fascinating is how such an imminently uncreative process as running can stimulate a creative activity such as writing. Both are irrational pursuits. And from the irrational come innumerable acts of senseless beauty (err, more magic mushrooms anybody?) And my reasons for running are ambiguous and difficult to explain. It’s far from being simply “another leisure activity”. More, an inescapable part of my routine that keeps the blood pumping around my body. It’s something that makes me feel alive. Still prefer the footie though….
Went to a funeral on Tuesday. It was for Eduardo “lord of the paths,” one of the characters from El Bierzo who I’ve mentioned a few times in these diaries. Always expected that he’d go out in a blaze of glory scaling some Himalayan peak in a snowstorm but as it were it was the cancer that finished him off. I didn’t even know he’d been ill. The last time I saw him was back in
September on Monte Pajariel. He probably knew by then although you’d never have guessed on seeing him, striding along, squeezing out the precious time that remained by doing what he enjoyed most. The funeral was in the basilica of Ponferrada although Eduardo’s church was the mountain and the walls of ice were his gothic cathedrals. The annual
Montes Aquilianos event (first Saturday in June) was his brainchild and I resolved to do the 66km route this year in homage to the “lord of the paths”.
The season ahead? Who knows? Hope to do a few more races this time around but it’ll probably be very much the same as last year; running around in circles
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Frolicking back to February....
