As you can surely ascertain from the paucity of posts on this blog, I haven’t really been doing all that much running of late. Ironically, the cause of this has been the fact that my car, a Volkswagen, has been demonstrating something that I have always suspected – that the German reputation for reliability has as much to do with good spin as it does with fact.
After my last post, and the excellent globetrotting combined with abject non-usage of the ugly shoes, the end of June and the beginning of July saw something of a resurgence of their favour. Where could such motivation come from when the glory of a half marathon and wanting to be the bestest (i.e. not too fat for photos) best man ever, had failed?
There were two unrelated, and unexpected, sources. Firstly, my better half suddenly decided that running might be boring (which it is) but it’s not too bad if you’re running round Wellington’s waterfront. There is no denying that it is nice to run along the prom, even in the dark, in the middle of winter; the large trees are rigged with lights and there aren’t too many people around. In some ways though, I don’t think I’m built for running on the flat, I think I actually need some up, so I can have some down and get some pace. The other big motivation was an invite to speak at a conference in Europe. This makes me sound really important but I had to submit an abstract to a committee and then I got lucky. I had no desire to stand at the front of a hall of people and look tubby. With these two motivators I had a perfect storm for running inspiration.
Things went well, I even ran with a cold at one point, which felt a bit like someone pulling bramble bushes through my lungs and I went so slowly I found it hard to catch up with quick paced walkers. Then the car developed a really neat fault where it would cut out and then not re-start. Without the car it became unviable to drive down to the waterfront, or more importantly, drive away again, up the long vertiginous road to our abode. Once you’ve flat, there’s no going back.
I missed the fairy lights too.
Still, when it came time for the conference I dragged the ugly shoes around the world for a second time. At least on this trip they got worn, although admittedly that was for a walk in the woods with my mom and my brother’s dog, when I paid a flying visit to Blighty and my parents’, in fact all my family. After this stroll I forgot to clean the shoes again and managed to smuggle a very small amount of European dirt into New Zealand on my return. It was a genuine mistake and one I was fortunate to get away with without being banged up – they say the sniffer dogs are for drugs but I suspect they’re really for mud. Think I’m being crazy? Just you try it, and don’t ask me to pay your fumigation bill.
However, I despite only bog trotting in the shoes I did actually do some running while I was in Germany, although this was entirely unplanned, hence the fact that I wasn’t wearing the shoes. It was raining in Cologne when I arrived and my initial thought was to hunker in my hotel room until the evening. After faffing about for a bit I suddenly thought, no, I should go and register for the conference, then I’ll at least know where the conference centre is and do some exploring on the way. So I went out onto the streets, heading in the rough direction of where I knew the centre was. I walked across a bridge, spanning the Rhine; that’s a really wide river when it’s raining and you have no cover, I can tell you.
Eventually I reached the conference centre, about a minute too late to register, but having learned that it took about half an hour to get there, so not a bad walk. It had been raining hard for my entire walk and the rain was now starting to seep through from my collar and drain through my t-shirt. My jeans were also starting to wick water from any contact point. Inside my jacket was my camera and I figured the water would get to it from my t-shirt, through the lining. That was worrying. Even more worrying though was my passport. It was in the pocket of my jeans, which was probably the safest place, but there wasn’t any part of me that wasn’t starting to feel damp, and I knew as soon as the water got into the paper the photo page would lift it and void the passport.
So I figured I should run back to the hotel. I hadn’t really eaten all that much food during the day and wasn’t particularly hydrated either, but the desire to save my precious belongings, and the money they’d cost to replace, drove me on. I darted along the railway bridge, fording the fast flowing river with bounding steps. I even overtook another runner, which was a first. I could barely see where I was going, my glasses covered in droplets of water. Running... pant... too... pant... fast... pant, pant, pants wet! Run faster! Finally I got to the hotel and turned out my pockets. Everything was fine. I collapsed on the bed.
I wonder if, this time last year, I would simply have let my passport get wrecked, or perhaps I wouldn’t have been able to run back fast enough to keep it safe?
As for gut mitigation, I used a favourite trick of gentlemen through the ages: I wore a suit.
That was nearly two months ago and we’ve had the car back a few times since, but it always breaks down. One time we were on our way for a run. We did do the run, then had something to eat then dumped the car unceremoniously at the garage. We have the car back again and with the prospect of being in the Hutt Valley on Saturday night, the location of my two longest ever runs, I couldn’t resist bringing the shoes along.
Before I could run though, I had to go and buy a lottery ticket, as it was some mega payout to celebrate taking money off the poor for twenty years, or something. The sun was shining and lighting up the hills an orangey gold and I was really looking forward to a nice relaxing jog. When I came out of the supermarket, with my little ticket of waste in my hand, it had started to rain. I drove to the place I start my run from and the rain seemed to be easing up. So out I went, and I went out hard. The rain picked up again and for some reason this made me run faster.
Within no time at all I was knackered but I had run way above my normal pace. When I turned around I discovered that I’d had the wind to my back, and there was me thinking I was really quick. But even with the wind in my face I decided to charge into it as hard as I could. In fact, far too hard and ended having to walk, then run, then walk, then run. But the runs were quick, and I felt like crap, like a man who’s used to jogging, not powering along, in fact it took about quarter on an hour to stop feeling sick after I finished. Although, I have discovered that chewing on Tic-Tacs is a wonderful distraction in this situation. Top tip there Paula, you can thank me next time you win a marathon.
Most importantly, it made me feel like a rubbish runner. Which was important, as it’s this kind of self loathing that I need to motivate me. On Sunday I ran again, once more short, about 25 minutes, but hard; then played video games for an hour to help me forget that I felt wrecked. That’s what I call balance.
