A Dichotomy

The word Dichotomy has appeared in my conversation much more of late as it is one of those words that can help describe so many things in my personal life but today it included the run Duncan I did along the Thames Path from Greenwich to the Thames Barrier at Woolwich the spiritual end of the Thames Path.

On this run there was a plan to run between the foot tunnels of Greenwich and Woolwich, run through it to the north side to return to Greenwich and had allotted it to be 11 miles. Never have I seen such activity along this section with large swathes of beautiful historical buildings being swamped by new multi-storey behemoths squeezing in on every patch of free land. The picture on the right hit me when I saw it this morning behind me was a block, all glass and steel, and there a pile of old flotsam and jetsom built on some whim but equally behind me was the Greenwich Peninsula Ecology Park that looked rotten to the hinges with a trolley poking out of the water, an irony not lost on the two of us.

The two of us ran along the path talking about what we saw, conversation drifted naturally to our respective Father's and my dichotomic emotions that I have during my bereavement (I wish he was still with us v I glad he didn't suffer long type of conflict) to the very personal one of running and depression, a dichotomy or a feedback loop creating the perfect storm.

We touched on funny stories in my classroom to Duncan's journey from the southern hemisphere to northern counterpart and that of apartheid and that of right and left wing politics.

It was really great to see what the buildings on the Thames Path from another perspective of the north shore to realise that it has become ugly with the approach of the high rises that are not always apparent when being close up and at ground level of the path.

It does sound like a very serious run but as usual we were howling with laughter at some stories and smiling when jumping over the cracks in the pavement.  

A lovely run which was not as serious as it seems but one of amusement, a dichotomy in its self.

Throwing Down the Monkey Gauntlet

To "throw down the gauntlet" is to issue a challenge. A gauntlet-wearing knight would challenge a fellow knight or enemy to a duel by throwing one of his gauntlets on the ground. The opponent would pick up the gauntlet to accept the challenge.

This evening I saw a picture posted on Duncan's Facebook page of his Vibram Spyridons with the caption "Again!" and then a subsidiary picture of his muddy finger socks. To Duncan it is a celebration and not a snub or gloat but to me he had thrown down the gauntlet for me to rise from the sofa and get out for a run.

The weather outside is best described as cool at 2°C and to make a point I posted back a picture of my gnarled feet to him and stepped out in the evening with my head torch tucked in my pocket and  my door keys jingling around my neck. I was in for a surprise when I discovered the pain in my lower back I had on Sunday was hardly there and so decided to drop off the pace and enjoy my run to the club. I stood around in the cold having arrived 10 minutes early and joined in, if only half-hearted, with the others and then started to run with a group and after about a mile realised I wasn't enjoying the company so waved good bye making some excuse.

In a strange way I felt relieved  that I was by myself and so grabbing my torch from my pocket I entered my favourite woods for a about half a mile and then ducked out into the park for a quick circuit and out to my home.

I am so pleased that the Monkey [sock] Gauntlet was thrown down tonight and let me do what I love doing, night running off road.

A two story run

...or what you read in a blog is not always what it appears

The Blog Story
I was looking forward to Sunday when Duncan, Liz and I were going to meet up for our first run together for over a year. Liz had a car crash early last year and has been suffering from the resulting back injury but today we were on fire.

After sprinting up the hill to the aptly named meeting point called Hangman's Corner when I saw Duncan coming in the opposite direction doing an impersonation of an airplane and without breaking step we carried on non-stop to Liz's house, I stopped at the corner to do up my shoelace while Duncan skipped ahead to announce our arrival.

Liz and Duncan came bounding up the road towards me and I leapt into action and with the words of Liz emblazoned in my mind that we were to run 6 miles had planned a route around the local nature reserve and woods. 

The three of us were in high spirits as we chatted, laughed and hooted as we jumped and squished through the multitude of muddy puddles that lay in front of us.

Running with Liz and Duncan is a real pleasure as we potter along at the pace of the nicest view or place of interest, conversation boiling over with silly stories of the week (or year before), the lampoonery that we call work or some ridiculous thing that happened recently.

Sadly we had to part our ways when I opted to run the river bank back home whilst the other two ran up the hill to their respective houses but not before Duncan with his two big Monkey Feet jumped full on into a deep puddle of brackish water causing it to cover me from head to foot down one side, and so with a cheer in my voice and a heavy heart parted our ways to hopefully run again together soon.

The true story

I was really looking forward to Sunday when Duncan, Liz and I were going to meet up for our first run together for over a year. Liz had a car crash early last year and has been suffering from the resulting back injury but today we were on fire.

After dragging myself out of my bed, my head still full of sleeping tablet, I dressed and was soon seen walking sprinting up the hill after giving up running after 400 metres to the aptly named meeting point called Hangman's Corner when I saw Duncan coming in the opposite direction who I imagine was getting fed up waiting for me to haul my sorry arse up the hill doing an impersonation of an airplane and without breaking step we carried on non-stop to Liz's house with a few walking stops to allow me to stretch my lower back, I stopped at the corner of Liz’s road to do up my shoelace while Duncan skipped ahead to announce our arrival whilst I stretched my back again and tried not to puke on the roadside.

Liz and Duncan came bounding up the road towards me and I leapt into action did my best to look athletic  and with the words of Liz emblazoned in my mind that we were to run 6 miles had planned a route around the local nature reserve and woods. 

The three Two of us were in high spirits, I however in a more introspective mood but happy to run along as we Liz and Duncan chatted, laughed and hooted as we jumped and squished through the multitude of muddy puddles that lay in front of us.

Running with Liz and Duncan is a real an absolute pleasure as we potter along at the pace of the nicest view or place of interest slowest person (read as me and my numerous requests to walk), conversation boiling over with silly stories of the week (or year before), the lampoonery that we call work or some ridiculous thing that happened recently.

Sadly we had to part our ways when I opted to run the river bank back home because my lower back fucking hurt whilst the other two ran up the hill to their respective houses but not before Duncan with his two big Monkey Feet jumped full on into a deep puddle of brackish water causing it to cover me from head to foot down one side, and so with a grateful cheer in my voice and a heavy heart parted our ways to hopefully run again together soon but not until my aches and pains go away.

Out of Africa and it is not a cock and ball story!

Today's plan was to get out onto the North Downs and run with an easy pace with Duncan  and like a well oiled machine he open his front gate at 7.30am whilst I (unusually) was on time to travel by car to Titsey Hill. This hill is a bit of a monster and only once in my running career have I actually run up the whole length and that was the first and last time I have done it.

Whilst plotting the route on Saturday night I couldn't help notice that it looked a bit like Africa, OK,OK, I hear descent from my readership...Africa? Since then it has been seen to be an hand drill or a hand gripping something and also a cock and balls! I care not a jot, to me it was Africa and Duncan and I were going to run around and this cool Winter's day.

Ever so often there would be an update from me:

• "We are running along the coast of Libya now"
• "Just turning south to visit Egypt"
• "...South Africa"
• "...Gabon..."
• "Shit, I am not very good on the West Coast of Africa...eerr Gambia"

It was one of those runs that most of the conversation was held in the car on the way to and back from Titsey Hill but it was nice just to have a quiet run through some of my favourite paths with a beastly climb up the Vanguard Way to the car. 

Another Pointless Point 

I am sometimes amazed by Duncan's patience with me when I create a small diversion to see some pointless point of interest but if you look closely the picture above (click on it to enlarge it) that you can see a line coming out of the North West coast of Africa where we detoured to find the sign that tells the peregrinator that they are passing the spot where the Zero Meridian crosses both the North Downs Way and the Vanguard Way. I was also heard to tell Duncan that I have also passed it on the South Downs Way where there is a similar post....more Bragger's Right than anything else. 

The picture above is me at the same point in April 2012 at race weight and ready for the Grand Union Canal Race  

A Tale of the Missing Monkey Feet

Last night was an epiphany for me when I realised that I have been focusing on the past too much and it was time to pull myself up by the shoe laces and get going. It was then I told myself that instead of grumbling about not running to start running.

So I packed my holdall with my Monkey Feet (and socks as it is very cold here at the moment) and my Union Flag shorts for good measure, this, and all the other trappings that have been collected over the years that I call "My Running Kit."

So this morning I stumbled out of bed bleary eyed after a previous long day at work and an evening of lecturing. Grabbed a coffee whilst stuffing the last pieces of equipment into my work rucksack and left the house with the ruck sack and my bag of My Running Kit. 

In England, when there is a hint of snow and a single flake floats down the whole of the transport system slows down with cancellations or late running trains, this with the added extra problem of a London bus strike tends to cause a perfect storm. I stumbled up to the station to find that indeed there were delayed trains and I got on what was advertised as a "slow" train grabbing my seat and got ready for my standard 23 minute journey. That was until I got to the next station and an urgent voice called over the tannoy that the train had been converted to a "fast" train and everybody should get off as it was no longer a stopping train giving us about 20 seconds to get off before the doors closed. I got off and jumped on the next "slow" train and after two stops a horrid realisation swept over me that I only had my work bag and that my running kit was on the fast train ahead of me. I was miserable.

What Next?

I decided to stay on the train up to London, after all I was only 20 minutes behind it and I could grab a guard and see it had been found. Then the comedy began when asking a guard he got on his radio "Alpha 6 to all Alpha has anyone had a grey Nike bag handed in?" No response "Go ask Beta 4 at the barrier" was the instruction and on asking who was Beta 4 he pointed a lady guard. So approaching Beta 4 she pointed me to "The third door on the left" and going to said door found it to be the rear of a pastry shop situated on the concourse. So getting a bit panicky I asked another guard, I am not sure if he was an Alpha or a Beta and in his wonderful Anglo-Nigerian accent said with joy that he knew where it was and then took me to what actually was "The third door on the right" entered the door, looked around, I was getting excited and then he said "Naah, this is a blue one, go speak to the man in the booth" pointing to an assistant on the Customer Service Desk.

Through the barrier I went to speak to the man behind it who turned out to be Peter and with a voice that made Barry White sound like a soprano, his East London accent told me "What is wrong with you lot today you are all losing stuff" I smiled and he continued "Write down your number, description of the Lost Prop (sic) and name" He then grabbed his phone " Yo, Peter here at The Vic (sic) can you check the next 4 trains from here to you, some bloke here has lost a grey Nike bag"....[muffled chat from phone].."Nice, sweet as a nut, laters".....[more muffled chat from phone]..."Right Jerry their ain't more we can do, give the call centre a call."

The Next Few Hours

Over the next 2 hours I was miserable and felt that I had been pushed off the rails yet again and was thinking that some of this kit had been collected over a number of years and not easy to replace. I grumbled and mumbled about work when The Delightful Mrs S called "Who the hell is Peter? He says he has found your bag and it is at platform 5 of Orpington station."

I was elated and after taking the extra few stops to Orpington tonight I excitedly approached a guard (probably Charlie 2) who took me to the control room of the station with blinking lights, the buzzing of buzzers and the stale musk often found in male dominated changing rooms to point at my lovely old Nike kit bag and stapled to the handle was a hand written note:

To Be Possible Collected by Mr Jerry Smalled(sic)

I was over the moon, I look back at that moment now and it was almost like finding your missing family cat after it had run away. Silly really but it does show how important these sometimes abused pieces of kit are to me in my sporting life and reflecting on how it has become part of my running persona what with my shorts and my trusty Monkey Feet.

My run at the track tonight was wonderful with a scattering of snow on the lanes, the moon as high in the sky as I felt.

GUCR 2015 and other ramblings

So it is that time of year again when I have to make the final decision whether to run at the GUCR 2015 event and at 00:40hrs on 1st February 2015 I finally made my commitment by transferring the entry fee to Dick Kearne the Race Director.

It has not been a good time for me in general and running has not been of great importance to me preferring my other hobbies to distract my ever buzzing mind. The last 3 months of 2014 were not good ones for me having lost my Aunt in October and then my Father in late November which took the wind from my sails and make me turn inwards to my family.

All through this I battled with the change in my anti-depressant medication the original making me from an overly loud, high-spirited, sometimes annoying individual to a quiet introvert who felt his creativity return so blunted by the previous tablets. However, the ever present ogre of my depression paced behind my fore-brain and has popped out to see what was happening in the world..

There is no book written that can explain bereavement, how one minute you are fine and then a memory pops up of your loved one and the emotional agony returns like a wave trapping you for minutes to move away as though nothing had happened to cause the tears.

I want to talk more about running and depression some other time but bereavement is nothing like it, the two of them are poles apart but somehow interlinked.

GUCR 2015

Having entered the ballot and receiving a place I saw it as a break in the cloud and enjoyed the chance to do it again but in January I was filled with self-doubt, lethargy and head filled with confusion that only bereavement can show. My monthly mileage was less than when I first started running 8 years ago, the medication and lack of exercise was making me pile on the pounds.

I am in now and I really want to finish it this time, get the monkey off my back and chose to make the first day of February be the start but at 7.00 am I was awoken by my alarm, I hit it and rolled over not waking again until 11.00 am.

I need to get out and run again not for my mental health but for me.