I'm still here...and thee is proof:
I'm writing this year's festive filibuster on the return journey from my mother's 80th birthday. I’ll try not to make it as long-lasting in its wordiness as its namesake). She's in fine fettle and we had a lovely time celebrating, just family and two old friends, because she didn't want any fuss. After some initial trepidation about entering her ninetieth decade, she's decided to own it, that passing a certain number is not going to dictate a change in her life. If I manage to grow older like my mother is doing it, I'll be proud. You’ll not get a detailed run-down of C’ and my lives, it's just not the kind of letter I write this time of year. (Please note that I delight in hearing about yours). We’re both well, remain on speaking terms, and continue our various pursuits, to which I’ve added contemporary dance/ballet this year. I’m happy report that I’m not the ugly ducking in my class. I’m leaden swan. This ends the factual part, so well done for getting this far!
In classic, rambling fashion, I thought I'd write about what I've learned from running in the past couple of years. So, in no particular order, here are my dubious insights:
1. A twelve minute mile may be just as long as a six minute mile, but feels longer.
2. The colour of running shoes does not matter, as all running shoes are brown, given a little time.
3. Fixing something firmly to the body in a way that a) keeps it accessible b) does not cut off circulation or cause chafing c) does not wriggle loose takes a surprising amount of practice. You will probably need to cease caring about what such fixings look like and what they do to body-parts already in need of flattery.
4. Running makes you launder money on a regular basis: most running tights have one of those zipped pockets just large enough for a folded note. So a week's worth of sweaty, ill-inspected running togs can cover the cost of a meal for two in clean and fresh - scented bills.
5. Running is really about eating, drinking and eliminating. Those, and the perceived gradient of any undulations in the vertical axis ahead are all runners talk about.
6. Running seems to be an excellent way of going for a beer, or round a friend's house for pizza, or both. The journey home can be slower (please also see insight number one).
7. Pubs seem to feature relatively heavily in the sport : the local club I've joined describes itself as "a drinking club with a running problem.”
7a. Please note that there are dedicated purists who consume calibrated meals and drink nothing but water and beetroot juice, warm up and stretch religiously, to be better able to run vast distances to inflict the maximum amount of pain on themselves. One such runner of my acquaintance makes a living using steely fingers and extremely pointy elbows inflicting pain on other runners on top of this. Said runner’s attentions are my current indulgence.
8. Long distance running does not facilitate weight loss: it’s possible to build perfectly acceptable stamina with all the usual suspects (hill training, long-slow runs, painfully-fast {to you}-runs etc) and still gain weight. Much as you may wish, this weight will not be “all muscle”. It’s strangely hard to stop the whole thing once you’ve started though. I’ve signed up for another marathon next year.
Lastly here’s the latest news of my imaginary, utterly wholesome children and their outstanding achievements. The way this year has been, I suspect these might be trending much more towards funny-peculiar than funny ha-ha, but that can’t be helped. (I am very keen to hear of any imaginary offspring you may wish to write about.) Anabeth-Elaine is now four and has switched her attentions from Shakespeare to medieval diarists. I’m slightly discomfited by what she is learning from Samuel Pepys, as he was rather a
bon-vivant, but it’s encouraged her to start her own blog, which is frequented by thousands of readers. She draws her own illustrations in hand-rubbed ink using a crow’s feather quill. Little Ernest has turned ten, and is no longer so little. He is learning Portuguese and Mandarin, an endeavour greatly aided by his trot-racing career, which is taking him all over the globe. He continues to bet on races using his Method, but never the trotting, so he assures me it’s legal. I’ve come to accept the silent, well-built men who now accompany him everywhere, but I worry about him getting enough sleep, as he never seems to be off one of his numerous mobiles. Geraldine has now got a boyfriend in Germany and they’ve started their own, successful post-punk, antidisestablishmentarian record label for their medieval-industrial work. She maintains a straight A average, but has stopped being a vegetarian and refuses quinoa. I suppose she has to rebel somewhere.
I wish you all a chance to rebel, to spin fancies, to relax in whatever way you need and the energy, time and patience it takes to have any of these.
In classic, rambling fashion, I thought I'd write about what I've learned from running in the past couple of years. So, in no particular order, here are my dubious insights:
1. A twelve minute mile may be just as long as a six minute mile, but feels longer.
2. The colour of running shoes does not matter, as all running shoes are brown, given a little time.
3. Fixing something firmly to the body in a way that a) keeps it accessible b) does not cut off circulation or cause chafing c) does not wriggle loose takes a surprising amount of practice. You will probably need to cease caring about what such fixings look like and what they do to body-parts already in need of flattery.
4. Running makes you launder money on a regular basis: most running tights have one of those zipped pockets just large enough for a folded note. So a week's worth of sweaty, ill-inspected running togs can cover the cost of a meal for two in clean and fresh - scented bills.
5. Running is really about eating, drinking and eliminating. Those, and the perceived gradient of any undulations in the vertical axis ahead are all runners talk about.
6. Running seems to be an excellent way of going for a beer, or round a friend's house for pizza, or both. The journey home can be slower (please also see insight number one).
7. Pubs seem to feature relatively heavily in the sport : the local club I've joined describes itself as "a drinking club with a running problem.”
7a. Please note that there are dedicated purists who consume calibrated meals and drink nothing but water and beetroot juice, warm up and stretch religiously, to be better able to run vast distances to inflict the maximum amount of pain on themselves. One such runner of my acquaintance makes a living using steely fingers and extremely pointy elbows inflicting pain on other runners on top of this. Said runner’s attentions are my current indulgence.
8. Long distance running does not facilitate weight loss: it’s possible to build perfectly acceptable stamina with all the usual suspects (hill training, long-slow runs, painfully-fast {to you}-runs etc) and still gain weight. Much as you may wish, this weight will not be “all muscle”. It’s strangely hard to stop the whole thing once you’ve started though. I’ve signed up for another marathon next year.
Lastly here’s the latest news of my imaginary, utterly wholesome children and their outstanding achievements. The way this year has been, I suspect these might be trending much more towards funny-peculiar than funny ha-ha, but that can’t be helped. (I am very keen to hear of any imaginary offspring you may wish to write about.) Anabeth-Elaine is now four and has switched her attentions from Shakespeare to medieval diarists. I’m slightly discomfited by what she is learning from Samuel Pepys, as he was rather a
bon-vivant, but it’s encouraged her to start her own blog, which is frequented by thousands of readers. She draws her own illustrations in hand-rubbed ink using a crow’s feather quill. Little Ernest has turned ten, and is no longer so little. He is learning Portuguese and Mandarin, an endeavour greatly aided by his trot-racing career, which is taking him all over the globe. He continues to bet on races using his Method, but never the trotting, so he assures me it’s legal. I’ve come to accept the silent, well-built men who now accompany him everywhere, but I worry about him getting enough sleep, as he never seems to be off one of his numerous mobiles. Geraldine has now got a boyfriend in Germany and they’ve started their own, successful post-punk, antidisestablishmentarian record label for their medieval-industrial work. She maintains a straight A average, but has stopped being a vegetarian and refuses quinoa. I suppose she has to rebel somewhere.
I wish you all a chance to rebel, to spin fancies, to relax in whatever way you need and the energy, time and patience it takes to have any of these.