Why I Run

Why do I run?  I ask myself that often as I pound, rather slowly, along the track.  I have never been a fan of this form of exercise.  In fact I have been averse to most intense exercises.  I reserve a special place in the septic tank of hell for circuits, but let's not go there.

For me I do not seek personal bests, although progress would be nice.  My lifestyle does not lend itself to consistent and dedicated training that constant improvement would demand.  I all too often find myself breaking out of the habit by being unwell, travelling or committing to other things.

I am now less than a week from my 8th Antwerp 10 Mile run and, due to lack of training for the reasons stated above, I am in doubt as to whether I should participate.  Yet this is one of the core reasons why I do run in the first place.  Determination.  It is a mental as well as a physical challenge and it takes a degree of courage and willpower to drive forwards in the face of obstacles.

My lungs and my legs will suffer but a short inconvenience.  It is the desire to start, take part and finish that is worth the pain.  For some it is not so much of a challenge, everyone has their own personal reasons for running and, although we run with thousands of others, we run alone at the same time.

An unexpected bonus, once my lungs and legs could cope, was the thinking time that a long and gentle run affords.  The, relatively, fresh air and time to consider your life, your problems, solutions or maybe just hum the Star Wars Imperial March tune, as often comes to mind when I run without my music.

The anticipation of starting a long run, after having had a blocked nose/cold, can be quite intimidating.  Sometimes you just have to get out there, in all weathers and commit. 

I recently re-started my training whilst staying with some friends, some would say a bid to escape the 3 year old goddaughter.  I was not familiar with the area and my friend kindly sketched out a route and indicated where I should expect slopes.  She highlighted one in particular, which she recommended I walk up.  Of course my mind was made up that I would take this head on and jog up.

I was unprepared for the run as I expected better weather, it was minus something and I was quite numb in my tracksuit trousers and two t-shirts.  Mentally I wanted to see how far I could get and so I set out.  It was only 6 km the first time then I did another run the next day, which was just over 7 km.  It is always worth it, getting out again and getting started.  You notice so much more when you plod along and can breathe at the same time!

Starting up again is always going to be a risky choice, mainly as so many friends and family suffer from bad knees.  I often think of my body as a machine packed with sensors monitoring every aspect of my well being.  The twinge in the knee, the capacity of my lungs, the beating of my heart and fatigue of my muscles.  I monitor for the signs of danger and am constantly reviewing whether I need to cease and recover.  Preserve myself for the next day.

To the Antwerp run, I know it well.  Having been round so many times you know where everything is and learn to dread or perhaps steel yourself for the final, long, tunnel.  It seems such a long way and never has the term 'there is light at the end of the tunnel' been so fitting.  That light, however, takes what seems like hours to see, let alone reach.  It is a real motivational challenge, made more so by the odd casualty falling by the wayside.  Determination, perseverance and the will to succeed.  Last year was stiflingly hot, by far the most challenging run I have done, to be followed by a half marathon where the temperature was also oppressive.  It is in these conditions that the will to succeed is really tested.

So why do I run, well, fitness, determination, escape, thinking time, fresh air, definitely not for fun!

Give This Post a Miss if You Are Averse to the Word Fuck!

The great thing about the mind is that you can entertain yourself without upsetting those around you.  As I travel back and forth, I take time out from the real world and delve into my mind to seek out distraction, solace or relief.

The warning in the title of the blog is essential, if fact I am not sure if it will be censored altogether.  My intention is not to offend but to open my mind to you, if you are interested in the musings of a commuter.

So, Fuckwits.  That was not a form of address, but the subject and more to the point the application of this noun (I had to look this up and quite frankly I am not convinced I am using the term correctly, I could qualify as an ignorant fuckwit in such case).

So why?  What is special about fuckwits?  Well let me tell you, there are some particular fuckwits out there that deserve special attention.

We are living through a particularly challenging time in the UK where there are over 600 useless, arrogant and ignorant fuckwits deciding, or not as the case seems to be, our future.  One could argue that they are cockwombling, cunting fuckwits, but let's not stray from the point.  Try getting your mind around that description, it is a thought that you can dwell on for a while.

I am not biased, it doesn't matter whether you are a remain fuckwit or a leave fuckwit, collectively it is better to just blanket the term across all.  We often do this when thinking of fuckwits at large, and I don't mean roaming bands of fuckwits, although on a Friday night these can be found congregating around pubs and nightclubs, throwing up and fighting with each other.

Of course the term can apply on an individual basis such as when I lost my hearing aid at the weekend and labelled myself a total fuckwit.  It had been a long, painful and expensive week.  I had my car repaired by some dodgy fuckwits, I say that because the fault they were meant to address was not resolved and I had to rely on a trusted garage to apply a rather expensive fix.

Still, where were we?  I am often surrounded by ignorant, mindless fuckwits, who cannot walk on the left, take their eyes from their phones, express any manners or indeed acknowledge their fellow commuters.  Occasionally there are rare moments when you discover the human being travelling with you, that is, among the zombie fuckwits.

I have to say the term fuckwit is not one that I use in my everyday discourse and that is not due to the lack of them around me.  In fact, thinking about it, it tends to be when I am driving and I am threatened by the dangerous manoeuvre of some thoughtless fuckwit.  The kind of mental fuckwit that has no concept of personal space.  The kind of fuckwit that believes that it is sensible to hog the middle lane of the motorway.  We could spend all day on this.  Bus drivers often qualify when they lack the skill or will to apply the correct level of force to the accelerator and brake.

I don't believe that you can have an intelligent fuckwit, bit of an oxymoron (yes, I looked that up).  That said, intelligent people can be arrogant and insensitive fuckwits, so no escape there.

Useless fuckwits, now there is a wide ranging category, I think back to my training and watching some of these trying to master the art of weapons training.  I was in despair that they were on the same side as I!  You can have disorganised fuckwits trying to run your life, these tend to be immune to the consequences of their actions.

The thing is, when my mind applies this broad brush label to my fellow fuckwits, it is a sweeping judgment that takes no account of who they are, what their intent is, what they are going through or what they have dealt with.  It is a judgement that I would normally keep firmly in my own head, no need to upset anyone is there?

My mind, your mind, is such a great place if you want to explore it and are free to demolish the ethical and moral boundaries that we usually have to adhere to.  After all, we can't yet be arrested for having inappropriate thoughts, at least not yet.

My god, it would be like Tourette's, think of the movie What a Woman Wants, only with the gloves off.