What a week. I mentioned recently that I’ve had a work deadline hurtling towards me. This week it hit, and I’ve been too busy mopping up the blood to post much here. Monday to Thursday were 12 hour days (or 16 if I include travelling time). It’s been difficult and intense, but we just about got away with it.
Yes, difficult and intense. The word “stressful” was deliberately avoided because, although the pressure has been massive, I’ve never really felt close to serious stress. Here’s why:
I knew this was going to a tough few days, so at the beginning of the week I resolved to run every morning. And I did. Every day at around 6am I was out there, doing my 3.5 miles. Those 35 or 40 minutes each morning became a temporary parallel universe; a personal space I was locked into, alone. It was like having a party each morning; a party to which work was not invited. It kept turning up and hammering at the door, but I wouldn’t let it in.
As a result, every day was like floating on a deeply-upholstered armchair, smiling, limbs tingling sweetly. The week was still pretty dirty and horrible, but I felt able to deal with it.
Yesterday, Friday, I worked from home. At about 3:30 I decided it was time to take advantage of the daylight, and went off for a run. This time I started down the canal towpath, before turning off to explore a new route. It included three very steep hills. I managed the first, but had to walk halfway up the second. It reminded me that hills are great exercise, and I should be including them when I can.
I have a confession. After more than four decades on this planet, it’s only now that I’ve started to appreciate autumn. It began last year, when we were in the USA. After the Chicago marathon, we hired a car and drove up the east shore of Lake Michigan. It was wonderful. The holiday towns had shut down for the winter. This is when I like to see places. I like to catch them when they’re off-guard. The dunes were empty. There was no traffic, and the small harbour towns were drawing themselves in. It was just me and M and streetfuls of ghosts. But what struck me most were those long empty roads through the forests, with the leaves a fantastic blaze of colour. It was the first time I ever really understood autumn. Perhaps because I was away from home? I don’t know. But something about the place, in the afterglow of Chicago, embedded itself.
This year it’s woken up again. This year I’ve started to see the season properly. Running through it has brought me closer to it. And it’s not just the physical splendour that’s been so impressive. It’s the meaning of the season. The final hurrah. The farewell to the year. The battening down. The realisation that this kind of glorious disintegration is necessary to make renewal and regeneration possible.
I ran more than 8 autumnal miles yesterday, and arrived back home smiling, and feeling that I could have carried on.
Running. It really is the answer.
