Dear Driver,
(yes - you - the arrogant expensive car owner who nearly mowed me down at the pedestrian crossing an hour ago)
When you saw my sweat-grimed, glowing face mere inches from yours through the tinted windows of your luxury getting-places machine, my grimace wasn't only due to the burn in my thighs, having nearly completed an hours' run. It also reflected my righteous ire at my life being almost terminated or, at the very least, qualitatively diminished by intimate contact between your behemoth of a motor vehicle and my fragile fleshly mass of bone, muscle, et al.
Your vehicle may cost more than my annual income, but that does not give you the right to flout traffic rules.
If you are proficient at lip-reading, you may have learnt some new words during the course of this incident. Certainly the looks and gestures you made in my direction seemed indicative of some emotional arousal on your part. I wish I could believe that what I saw was a vigorous outpouring of remorse over your life-endangering behaviour; however, I suspect that had I been able to hear you, I would have been provided with further evidence of your narcissistic arrogance and your underlying belief that the road belongs to you, and woe betide anyone who dares to share.
It would be very nice if you would modify your driving habits. The next runner you almost kill will most certainly appreciate it.
Yours in shared road usage,
Catie
Tuesday 28 June 2011
Sunday 26 June 2011
A Trip to Bendigo to Hear Good Music
Today was a day I'd been looking forward to for some time: I drove to Bendigo to hear the Bendigo Symphony Orchestra play Kerry, Berlioz, Mozart and Liszt, conducted by Rohan Phillips; and was fortunate to have the company of my friend Satu to share the experience with.
I must admit that the day did not get off to a great start when I drove to the wrong suburb to pick up Satu. To get to her place, I then had to make my way through Melbourne's CBD and beyond ... by myself ... without a navigator ... electronic or human ... *argh* Still, because of myfetish for punctuality characteristically allowing plenty of time for us to get to Bendigo, the extra hour (yes- hour!) I spent driving crazy spirals along nonsensical, poorly signed streets didn't matter. Really. Not in the grand scheme of things.
Bendigo was beautiful in the sunshine. We ate at The Rifle Brigade, my haunt from Bendigo days of old. I told Satu the raspberry beer story, the wedding story and the live band stage story. As the place is no longer a microbrewery, no wedding receptions were in session, and the live stage band seems to have been subsumed by dining space, these stories were truly relics of a time past.
Forest St Uniting Church was its usual beautiful but chilly performance venue; we were both glad to have brought coats. Thankfully, the music was enthralling, distracting from the cool air, and well worth the trip.
It was the second time the orchestra had performed Gordon Kerry's In iubilo (2010). Having not heard Kerry's music before, I feel ill qualified to comment, beyond saying that for me the final third of the piece was the most arresting.
Brenda Kinsella, the soprano for Hector Belioz's Les nuits d'ete, was outstanding. The warm texture of her voice, her perfect intonation, the way she channelled the emotion of these songs of love and lament - all brilliant. The trip to Bendigo would have been worth it simply to hear her sing. The orchestra did her proud, providing a fitting accompaniment, and relaxing further and further into the mood of each movement. For me, the highlights were 'Absence' (you could hear the 'vast space' in their performance) and the hopeful notes of 'The Unknown Island'. Great stuff.
After interval, Rohan demonstrated his prowess as a conductor, as the orchestra changed tone completely for the first movement of Eine kleine Nachtmusik (Allegro). This Mozart was, as Rohan put it, the classical 'sorbet' in the concert, providing a stark contrast to the heavy romanticism of the surrounding pieces. Their crisp, disciplined performance was testament to his leadership.
Liszt's Prometheus (Symphonic Poem No. 5) provided a fitting dramatic finale to this excellent concert. It was clear that the orchestra had devoted a great deal of time to this challenging piece, and Rohan's excellent programme notes likewise dwelt largely on the myth of Prometheus and also on the philosophy of composition and performance. The Prometheus myth, speaking (as Liszt puts it) of "a desolating grief, triumphing at last by energy and perseverance" holds personal resonance for me. I thought the BSO did a great job conveying what I perceived were Liszt's intended emotional landscapes. All were clearly depleted after this performance - as was their valiant conductor!
Final verdict? I'm so glad we made the trip. Yes, I spent seven hours in the car today, and am one very tired woman for it. But to hear a regional city's orchestra play such a varied programme, and faithfully convey each composer's themes, was a real treat.
Afterwards, I reflected on how many hours' preparation must have gone into this concert, all for a 'mere' ninety minutes of performance. They were hours well spent. Congratulations to all involved.
I must admit that the day did not get off to a great start when I drove to the wrong suburb to pick up Satu. To get to her place, I then had to make my way through Melbourne's CBD and beyond ... by myself ... without a navigator ... electronic or human ... *argh* Still, because of my
Bendigo was beautiful in the sunshine. We ate at The Rifle Brigade, my haunt from Bendigo days of old. I told Satu the raspberry beer story, the wedding story and the live band stage story. As the place is no longer a microbrewery, no wedding receptions were in session, and the live stage band seems to have been subsumed by dining space, these stories were truly relics of a time past.
Forest St Uniting Church was its usual beautiful but chilly performance venue; we were both glad to have brought coats. Thankfully, the music was enthralling, distracting from the cool air, and well worth the trip.
It was the second time the orchestra had performed Gordon Kerry's In iubilo (2010). Having not heard Kerry's music before, I feel ill qualified to comment, beyond saying that for me the final third of the piece was the most arresting.
Brenda Kinsella, the soprano for Hector Belioz's Les nuits d'ete, was outstanding. The warm texture of her voice, her perfect intonation, the way she channelled the emotion of these songs of love and lament - all brilliant. The trip to Bendigo would have been worth it simply to hear her sing. The orchestra did her proud, providing a fitting accompaniment, and relaxing further and further into the mood of each movement. For me, the highlights were 'Absence' (you could hear the 'vast space' in their performance) and the hopeful notes of 'The Unknown Island'. Great stuff.
After interval, Rohan demonstrated his prowess as a conductor, as the orchestra changed tone completely for the first movement of Eine kleine Nachtmusik (Allegro). This Mozart was, as Rohan put it, the classical 'sorbet' in the concert, providing a stark contrast to the heavy romanticism of the surrounding pieces. Their crisp, disciplined performance was testament to his leadership.
Liszt's Prometheus (Symphonic Poem No. 5) provided a fitting dramatic finale to this excellent concert. It was clear that the orchestra had devoted a great deal of time to this challenging piece, and Rohan's excellent programme notes likewise dwelt largely on the myth of Prometheus and also on the philosophy of composition and performance. The Prometheus myth, speaking (as Liszt puts it) of "a desolating grief, triumphing at last by energy and perseverance" holds personal resonance for me. I thought the BSO did a great job conveying what I perceived were Liszt's intended emotional landscapes. All were clearly depleted after this performance - as was their valiant conductor!
Final verdict? I'm so glad we made the trip. Yes, I spent seven hours in the car today, and am one very tired woman for it. But to hear a regional city's orchestra play such a varied programme, and faithfully convey each composer's themes, was a real treat.
Afterwards, I reflected on how many hours' preparation must have gone into this concert, all for a 'mere' ninety minutes of performance. They were hours well spent. Congratulations to all involved.
Saturday 25 June 2011
Half Marathon Training: Two Weeks In
At the end of my second week of training, I can feel my body's rapid changes to this new regime, and have learnt something new about myself.
My body's going through a rapid phase of muscle growth and is needing a lot of protein to fuel this. As a vegetarian, I need to plan my daily nutrition carefully around my run, ensuring I eat a protein-rich snack before and after each training session, especially the longer ones. I'm also craving carbs morning, noon and night: have to watch those late night cravings very carefully!
As to the training itself, I have just four new words to type: I hate sprint intervals. Thankfully, my training program doesn't require them of me often.
I've been feeling quite down in the dumps this week, but have managed to keep up my training regime. I'm quietly proud of this. I haven't missed a single run, though I did rearrange a couple of days to take into account varying energy levels.
Onwards and upwards!
My body's going through a rapid phase of muscle growth and is needing a lot of protein to fuel this. As a vegetarian, I need to plan my daily nutrition carefully around my run, ensuring I eat a protein-rich snack before and after each training session, especially the longer ones. I'm also craving carbs morning, noon and night: have to watch those late night cravings very carefully!
As to the training itself, I have just four new words to type: I hate sprint intervals. Thankfully, my training program doesn't require them of me often.
I've been feeling quite down in the dumps this week, but have managed to keep up my training regime. I'm quietly proud of this. I haven't missed a single run, though I did rearrange a couple of days to take into account varying energy levels.
Onwards and upwards!
Sunday 19 June 2011
I don't feel like training today
Sunday morning; grey skies; chill air. I don't want to go running today!
However, I will rise to the challenge. (Really.) I will gather my willpower around me like chain metal, run through some stretches, strap on my heart rate monitor and go out that door. (All in good time.) I will slip my feet into those runners and pound that pavement until my allocated hour is up. (When I'm properly awake, of course; no need to get silly ...)
I need some inspiration. I turn to my companion in matters of the mind: J. S. Bach; in particular, the third movement of one of his violin concertos*. I identify - in an aspirational sense - with two sections of this short piece. When I listen to it, I think: "I AM that persistent ostinato solo note in the last minute which holds its place despite the mounting pressure of those ascending chords and key changes beneath." I also think: "I AM those ascending sequences played by the soloist which just keep going onwards and upwards, onwards and upwards."** I am strong; I persist; and I surprise myself. I really do.
Great! Willpower gathered. Heart rate monitor on. Jelly babies in hand. I can do this, I am going to do this, and out the door I go .........
* BWV 1042, Allegro Assai, for the truly interested
** The truly interested will laugh, knowing that I've listed these in reverse order than these segments appear in the music; but I'll take my inspiration any way I like it, thank you
However, I will rise to the challenge. (Really.) I will gather my willpower around me like chain metal, run through some stretches, strap on my heart rate monitor and go out that door. (All in good time.) I will slip my feet into those runners and pound that pavement until my allocated hour is up. (When I'm properly awake, of course; no need to get silly ...)
I need some inspiration. I turn to my companion in matters of the mind: J. S. Bach; in particular, the third movement of one of his violin concertos*. I identify - in an aspirational sense - with two sections of this short piece. When I listen to it, I think: "I AM that persistent ostinato solo note in the last minute which holds its place despite the mounting pressure of those ascending chords and key changes beneath." I also think: "I AM those ascending sequences played by the soloist which just keep going onwards and upwards, onwards and upwards."** I am strong; I persist; and I surprise myself. I really do.
Great! Willpower gathered. Heart rate monitor on. Jelly babies in hand. I can do this, I am going to do this, and out the door I go .........
* BWV 1042, Allegro Assai, for the truly interested
** The truly interested will laugh, knowing that I've listed these in reverse order than these segments appear in the music; but I'll take my inspiration any way I like it, thank you
Saturday 18 June 2011
Topological Adventures in Braeside Park
The Scene: a grey Melbourne public holiday in late April. Two adults, female and male, are trudging clockwise along a wide, flat trail, flanked by grass, scrub and the occasional tree. Ahead, a road cuts across the track.
She (encouragingly): Now, we could turn left here, but that would be a short cut. What do you think?
He: May as well keep going. How much further, do you think?
She: Well, I only glanced at the park map in the street directory, so I'm not really sure, but I think this road bisects the park. Anyway, this track's a closed loop, so no matter what, we're bound to end up back where we started.
He: You sure?
She: Absolutely. Trust the maths. [Frowns as she realizes her certainty is based on the assumption that Braeside Park is a two-dimensional construct embedded in a three-dimensional space ... no need to trouble her husband with this worrying detail.]
Change of Scene: Twenty minutes later. The couple have walked passed a stile over an electrified fence.
She: I can't believe there's an actual live wire there! What is this place? That cattle run back there looked in pretty good nick. They can't be keeping actual cows here, can they? It's a park, for goodness' sake! In an industrial zone!
He: I'm more worried that we're never going to make it back to the car. I wonder what direction we're heading in? [Looks at sky ; the sun is veiled by heavy cloud. Turns to his wife.] Are you sure we're heading the right way?
She: We're walking around a closed loop. The map said so. It's taking a little longer than I expected, but so long as we stay on this track, we will get back to the car. [Slight pause as she contemplates the remote possibility that the trail is, in fact, a spiral instead of a loop.] Worst case ... no, there is no worst case. Don't worry.
He: What were you going to say?
She: Well, worst case, we're walking inwards along a spiral. But even then, we'll eventually reach the centre of the spiral, and then we'll just turn around and retrace our steps.
He: Retrace our steps? For another twelve hours?
She: You're exaggerating.
He: [After a brief pause for thought] And what if we're walking outwards along this spiral?
She: [Injects a breezy confidence into her voice] Can't be the case, we'd hit one of the surrounding roads sooner or later. Look, it's a loop. At least, I'm pretty sure it's a loop. It looked like a loop.
He: And this loop is how big ...?
She: [remains silent]
Change of Scene: Twenty minutes later. A rough wooden hut has appeared around a bend in the trail. They have been laughing at the prospect of walking 'forever' through this park.
She: Look! A hut! Bet it'll have a map inside.
[They rush forward. The hut contains various yellowing notices, graffiti and signs warning of remote dangers but, mysteriously, no map.]
He: You've got to be kidding! How can there not be a map in here? What is this place?
She: Well, hopefully we're still in the same universe and haven't popped through to another n-dimensional space.
He: It's possible, with the cows, the electric fence, no map, and all ... Why would that be bad?
She: Um ... the loop might not be closed.
He: What are the chances that's happened?
She: Oh, very, very, very remote. Very remote. Hardly worth mentioning, really.
He: Except that we've been walking forever and we don't know what direction we're heading in because we can't see the sun. And there appear to be live cattle in a park in an industrial belt of a major capital city, and a hut on the designated walking trail contains no map.
She: Yes, except for all that.
Change of Scene: A further twenty minutes have passed. The couple arrive at a colourful playground populated by families picnicking with young children. Laughter fills the air. They walk through, staring at these people, perplexed.
She: Where did they come from?
He: How did they get here? More importantly, how are they going to get out of here?
She: There must be another trail to this park.
He: We must be near a car park! Perhaps we should go looking for that track.
She: No! That's the worst thing we could possibly do! If we leave the trail now, we'll never find our way back to our car.
He: Really? That's the worst thing we could do?
She: [Doggedly] Trust the maths. Trust the maths. We're walking around a closed loop on a two dimensional surface. We are going to end up back where we started.
He: Trust the maths. Right. [Faces forward.]
Change of Scene: Another ten minutes later, they are approaching a car park. It is empty except for a council ute and two men repairing the broken cable of a fence.
She: What on earth are they doing, working on a public holiday? Oh look, we're in a car park! But ... where's our car?
He: [Murmurs] Just veer over here, away from them ... this isn't our car park, but we did drive past some others on our way in.
She: Oh. Well, that's good. We must be nearly there. Trust the maths. Trust the maths.
He: [Sniffs] Council workers working on Anzac Day? Maybe we have entered another universe.
Change of Scene: Three minutes later, they see their car sitting forlorn and alone in its car park.
She: [Jubilant] There! Woo hoo! I told you to trust the maths! I told you topology would get us here in the end! [Punches air. Attempts high five.]
He: Can we go eat, now, please?
She (encouragingly): Now, we could turn left here, but that would be a short cut. What do you think?
He: May as well keep going. How much further, do you think?
She: Well, I only glanced at the park map in the street directory, so I'm not really sure, but I think this road bisects the park. Anyway, this track's a closed loop, so no matter what, we're bound to end up back where we started.
He: You sure?
She: Absolutely. Trust the maths. [Frowns as she realizes her certainty is based on the assumption that Braeside Park is a two-dimensional construct embedded in a three-dimensional space ... no need to trouble her husband with this worrying detail.]
Change of Scene: Twenty minutes later. The couple have walked passed a stile over an electrified fence.
She: I can't believe there's an actual live wire there! What is this place? That cattle run back there looked in pretty good nick. They can't be keeping actual cows here, can they? It's a park, for goodness' sake! In an industrial zone!
He: I'm more worried that we're never going to make it back to the car. I wonder what direction we're heading in? [Looks at sky ; the sun is veiled by heavy cloud. Turns to his wife.] Are you sure we're heading the right way?
She: We're walking around a closed loop. The map said so. It's taking a little longer than I expected, but so long as we stay on this track, we will get back to the car. [Slight pause as she contemplates the remote possibility that the trail is, in fact, a spiral instead of a loop.] Worst case ... no, there is no worst case. Don't worry.
He: What were you going to say?
She: Well, worst case, we're walking inwards along a spiral. But even then, we'll eventually reach the centre of the spiral, and then we'll just turn around and retrace our steps.
He: Retrace our steps? For another twelve hours?
She: You're exaggerating.
He: [After a brief pause for thought] And what if we're walking outwards along this spiral?
She: [Injects a breezy confidence into her voice] Can't be the case, we'd hit one of the surrounding roads sooner or later. Look, it's a loop. At least, I'm pretty sure it's a loop. It looked like a loop.
He: And this loop is how big ...?
She: [remains silent]
Change of Scene: Twenty minutes later. A rough wooden hut has appeared around a bend in the trail. They have been laughing at the prospect of walking 'forever' through this park.
She: Look! A hut! Bet it'll have a map inside.
[They rush forward. The hut contains various yellowing notices, graffiti and signs warning of remote dangers but, mysteriously, no map.]
He: You've got to be kidding! How can there not be a map in here? What is this place?
She: Well, hopefully we're still in the same universe and haven't popped through to another n-dimensional space.
He: It's possible, with the cows, the electric fence, no map, and all ... Why would that be bad?
She: Um ... the loop might not be closed.
He: What are the chances that's happened?
She: Oh, very, very, very remote. Very remote. Hardly worth mentioning, really.
He: Except that we've been walking forever and we don't know what direction we're heading in because we can't see the sun. And there appear to be live cattle in a park in an industrial belt of a major capital city, and a hut on the designated walking trail contains no map.
She: Yes, except for all that.
Change of Scene: A further twenty minutes have passed. The couple arrive at a colourful playground populated by families picnicking with young children. Laughter fills the air. They walk through, staring at these people, perplexed.
She: Where did they come from?
He: How did they get here? More importantly, how are they going to get out of here?
She: There must be another trail to this park.
He: We must be near a car park! Perhaps we should go looking for that track.
She: No! That's the worst thing we could possibly do! If we leave the trail now, we'll never find our way back to our car.
He: Really? That's the worst thing we could do?
She: [Doggedly] Trust the maths. Trust the maths. We're walking around a closed loop on a two dimensional surface. We are going to end up back where we started.
He: Trust the maths. Right. [Faces forward.]
Change of Scene: Another ten minutes later, they are approaching a car park. It is empty except for a council ute and two men repairing the broken cable of a fence.
She: What on earth are they doing, working on a public holiday? Oh look, we're in a car park! But ... where's our car?
He: [Murmurs] Just veer over here, away from them ... this isn't our car park, but we did drive past some others on our way in.
She: Oh. Well, that's good. We must be nearly there. Trust the maths. Trust the maths.
He: [Sniffs] Council workers working on Anzac Day? Maybe we have entered another universe.
Change of Scene: Three minutes later, they see their car sitting forlorn and alone in its car park.
She: [Jubilant] There! Woo hoo! I told you to trust the maths! I told you topology would get us here in the end! [Punches air. Attempts high five.]
He: Can we go eat, now, please?
The End
Friday 17 June 2011
Half Marathon Training: One Week Down
Phew: it's Friday, and the first 'rest day' in my training regime for the Melbourne half-marathon on 9th October - it's time to look back over the past seven days, and reflect on where this journey's taken me so far.
What a week it's been! My body's held up well; no lingering soreness, aching or tenderness, no blisters, and - most importantly - no injuries. In fact, my immune system seems to have received a boost: the jury's still out as to whether it was an allergy reaction or the shortest cold in history, but I went to bed feeling lousy on Tuesday evening, woke up at 3:22am with a streaming nose, and was completely recovered less than twelve hours later.
I've been able to stick with the miCoach training plan pretty well. Distance is never an issue, but speed is; I seem to be able to run for as long as I want, but there are definite limits on how fast I can push myself. Perhaps my body believes there's a Catie-centric universal invariant similar to c? No, that would be ridiculous ... though I'd like to hear Dr Sheldon Cooper's thoughts on the matter! Anyone who's met me won't be surprised by my lack of speed: I'm not a tall person, and my legs are short for even my height. I'm never going to be a sprinter, and that's fine by me.
Over the last two days it's sunk in that I'm attempting something new. Throughout my life I've chosen to take on various intellectual challenges, and my health has forced me to face significant emotional trials. Training for this half marathon will be the hardest physical test I've ever set myself.
One week down, sixteen to go, and a lot of ground to cover - physically and mentally - inbetween.
What a week it's been! My body's held up well; no lingering soreness, aching or tenderness, no blisters, and - most importantly - no injuries. In fact, my immune system seems to have received a boost: the jury's still out as to whether it was an allergy reaction or the shortest cold in history, but I went to bed feeling lousy on Tuesday evening, woke up at 3:22am with a streaming nose, and was completely recovered less than twelve hours later.
I've been able to stick with the miCoach training plan pretty well. Distance is never an issue, but speed is; I seem to be able to run for as long as I want, but there are definite limits on how fast I can push myself. Perhaps my body believes there's a Catie-centric universal invariant similar to c? No, that would be ridiculous ... though I'd like to hear Dr Sheldon Cooper's thoughts on the matter! Anyone who's met me won't be surprised by my lack of speed: I'm not a tall person, and my legs are short for even my height. I'm never going to be a sprinter, and that's fine by me.
Over the last two days it's sunk in that I'm attempting something new. Throughout my life I've chosen to take on various intellectual challenges, and my health has forced me to face significant emotional trials. Training for this half marathon will be the hardest physical test I've ever set myself.
One week down, sixteen to go, and a lot of ground to cover - physically and mentally - inbetween.
Sunday 12 June 2011
The Decision
Three days ago, I determined to attempt my first half-marathon in Melbourne on Sunday, 9th October.
I don't regret the decision at all, but it's already affecting my life, particularly the way I experience running.
Running has been a regular part of my life for a couple of years now, building in intensity over the last eleven months; I had been contemplating whether to take the next step and aim for something "big", something "public", for a while. The clincher came when I downloaded some free software which works with my phone's inbuild GPS as a coaching guide. I went out for an Assessment Workout and learnt I was far fitter and faster than I had thought. So I asked the computer to generate a training schedule for me, and ... well, now I run with a little black box in my hand which tells me what to do.
Have you heard the line about indigenous Australians laughing at white colonists who looked at the little thing (their watch) which tell them what to do? That's what my last two runs have been like.
It's all fine and dandy when the electronic voice wants me to take it easier than I usually would at the start of a workout: "Slow down to blue zone." "Slow down to blue zone." "Maintain blue zone." And it's even OK when it asks me to speed up to my usual pace after the first five or ten minutes: "Increase pace to green zone." "Maintain green zone." But I live in quite hilly terrain; what is quite irritating is when it calmly invites me to "Increase pace to green zone" as I'm struggling up a hill. Then, rejoicing in the freedom of easy running down the other side: "Decrease pace to green zone." No way! This is the best bit!
I notice that, despite two fairly long runs the last two days, I haven't once reached running-Zen-state - not even for a few minutes. I'm also coming back from runs much more weary then before I started listening to that electronic voice. I think both these phenomena can be attributed to the facts that it's pushing me to run faster than usual, and because my natural runnig rhythms are being disrupted.
However, I have faith in whatever supercomputer processed my personal data, my goal and spat out a series of dates, times and training regimes. Barring injury or illness, 9th October is shaping up to be a big day in my life.
OK; I'm off to do some extra stretching ...
I don't regret the decision at all, but it's already affecting my life, particularly the way I experience running.
Running has been a regular part of my life for a couple of years now, building in intensity over the last eleven months; I had been contemplating whether to take the next step and aim for something "big", something "public", for a while. The clincher came when I downloaded some free software which works with my phone's inbuild GPS as a coaching guide. I went out for an Assessment Workout and learnt I was far fitter and faster than I had thought. So I asked the computer to generate a training schedule for me, and ... well, now I run with a little black box in my hand which tells me what to do.
Have you heard the line about indigenous Australians laughing at white colonists who looked at the little thing (their watch) which tell them what to do? That's what my last two runs have been like.
It's all fine and dandy when the electronic voice wants me to take it easier than I usually would at the start of a workout: "Slow down to blue zone." "Slow down to blue zone." "Maintain blue zone." And it's even OK when it asks me to speed up to my usual pace after the first five or ten minutes: "Increase pace to green zone." "Maintain green zone." But I live in quite hilly terrain; what is quite irritating is when it calmly invites me to "Increase pace to green zone" as I'm struggling up a hill. Then, rejoicing in the freedom of easy running down the other side: "Decrease pace to green zone." No way! This is the best bit!
I notice that, despite two fairly long runs the last two days, I haven't once reached running-Zen-state - not even for a few minutes. I'm also coming back from runs much more weary then before I started listening to that electronic voice. I think both these phenomena can be attributed to the facts that it's pushing me to run faster than usual, and because my natural runnig rhythms are being disrupted.
However, I have faith in whatever supercomputer processed my personal data, my goal and spat out a series of dates, times and training regimes. Barring injury or illness, 9th October is shaping up to be a big day in my life.
OK; I'm off to do some extra stretching ...
Wednesday 8 June 2011
Today's Run
This morning's run was fantastic!
Having just quit my misery-inducing part-time job, this has turned into a quiet week with much more free time than usual. So perhaps the fact that I eventually skipped out the front door with positive spring in my step can be attributed to a leisurely sleep-in, finally finishing an acquaintance's self-published novel (an act of discipline) and a later-than-usual starting time of 9:30am.
I entered running-Zen-state very quickly, even before reaching the end of my street - unprecedented! Feet flying, nothing perturbed me: not the sight of a bearded pedestrian walking backwards to pluck a rosehip from a bush and peel it; nor the very strange looks an elderly couple gave me as I, red-faced and dripping, overtook them on a steep incline; nor even by the fact that my heart rate monitor decided my pulse rate was 83bpm (cool! ... I wish) then 200bpm (which wouldn't be cool at all, at least not until rigor mortis had set in).
Spending such a long time in running-Zen-state reminded me of Murakami's writings about the joys thereof. My mind rummaged through the memory of reading his book. Memory is fickle, but I think he claimed in "What I Talk About When I Talk About Running" not to have sustained any serious injuries during his running career; does this mean he is somehow physically especially suited to the sport? Anyone looking at me could tell I'm not physically suited to it, so am I putting myself at risk? My mind skips forward. When am I going to commit to running a long course 'in public', i.e. in a race? I'm not particularly interested in beating other people, but perhaps the challenge would be fun. Or would everyone else just get in the road? Another leap, backward in memory this time, as the wet weather, mud, scent of decomposing leaves and sight of mossy tree trunks takes me back to the creek of my childhood. Would I have been capable of imagining this future me back then? Certainly not.
I was enjoying such a good run I thought I'd tack an extra loop onto the end. "This will take me over the hour mark," I thought. But no - even with the extra kilometre or so, I still arrived home in under 55 minutes. Time to change routes ... again.
And, as I jog down the driveway and hit "stop" on the monitor, it's time to revel in the endorphin high; to stretch; to shower; to relish my freedom, and the privilege of being able to enjoy such a great start to the day. I am most fortunate.
Having just quit my misery-inducing part-time job, this has turned into a quiet week with much more free time than usual. So perhaps the fact that I eventually skipped out the front door with positive spring in my step can be attributed to a leisurely sleep-in, finally finishing an acquaintance's self-published novel (an act of discipline) and a later-than-usual starting time of 9:30am.
I entered running-Zen-state very quickly, even before reaching the end of my street - unprecedented! Feet flying, nothing perturbed me: not the sight of a bearded pedestrian walking backwards to pluck a rosehip from a bush and peel it; nor the very strange looks an elderly couple gave me as I, red-faced and dripping, overtook them on a steep incline; nor even by the fact that my heart rate monitor decided my pulse rate was 83bpm (cool! ... I wish) then 200bpm (which wouldn't be cool at all, at least not until rigor mortis had set in).
Spending such a long time in running-Zen-state reminded me of Murakami's writings about the joys thereof. My mind rummaged through the memory of reading his book. Memory is fickle, but I think he claimed in "What I Talk About When I Talk About Running" not to have sustained any serious injuries during his running career; does this mean he is somehow physically especially suited to the sport? Anyone looking at me could tell I'm not physically suited to it, so am I putting myself at risk? My mind skips forward. When am I going to commit to running a long course 'in public', i.e. in a race? I'm not particularly interested in beating other people, but perhaps the challenge would be fun. Or would everyone else just get in the road? Another leap, backward in memory this time, as the wet weather, mud, scent of decomposing leaves and sight of mossy tree trunks takes me back to the creek of my childhood. Would I have been capable of imagining this future me back then? Certainly not.
I was enjoying such a good run I thought I'd tack an extra loop onto the end. "This will take me over the hour mark," I thought. But no - even with the extra kilometre or so, I still arrived home in under 55 minutes. Time to change routes ... again.
And, as I jog down the driveway and hit "stop" on the monitor, it's time to revel in the endorphin high; to stretch; to shower; to relish my freedom, and the privilege of being able to enjoy such a great start to the day. I am most fortunate.
Tuesday 7 June 2011
The Winter Of My Content
Yes, folks, I've been in Melbourne eleven-weeks-and-three-days - and now winter's hit.
How I miss the milder Adelaide weather!
However, a successful human being is one who takes whatever life throws at them, and turns it into a positive; so today I have made a determined effort to enjoy this bleakness.
Tuesdays aren't my favourite day of the week: it's the day I leave at 7am to drive to Frankston for some early-morning work; however, I was home by 9:35am, five minutes later than usual because I stopped off at the supermarket for some double-thick chocolate custard.
The rest of the day I've kept warm, listened to the rain pummelling the house, finished a couple of books, done some writing, watched last night's episode of House, made the living and dining rooms beautifully clear and light, and limited myself to just one serving of chocolate cake topped with custard and warmed in the microwave.
(By the way - I wonder if there's a relationship between ambient temperature and raindrop diameter? I think cold rain sounds different to warm rain. Must look into it.)
Yesterday I resigned from a part-time job which was making me miserable. I'm beginning to feel the relief of that burden lifted from my life. When it comes to well-being, I'm a bit of a fan of recovery time: taking time out to get over something stressful.
I guess I can be grateful that today's horrible weather provided a great opportunity to stay indoors, stay warm and just take care of myself, physically and mentally.
Maybe this Melbourne winter does have something going for it, after all.
How I miss the milder Adelaide weather!
However, a successful human being is one who takes whatever life throws at them, and turns it into a positive; so today I have made a determined effort to enjoy this bleakness.
Tuesdays aren't my favourite day of the week: it's the day I leave at 7am to drive to Frankston for some early-morning work; however, I was home by 9:35am, five minutes later than usual because I stopped off at the supermarket for some double-thick chocolate custard.
The rest of the day I've kept warm, listened to the rain pummelling the house, finished a couple of books, done some writing, watched last night's episode of House, made the living and dining rooms beautifully clear and light, and limited myself to just one serving of chocolate cake topped with custard and warmed in the microwave.
(By the way - I wonder if there's a relationship between ambient temperature and raindrop diameter? I think cold rain sounds different to warm rain. Must look into it.)
Yesterday I resigned from a part-time job which was making me miserable. I'm beginning to feel the relief of that burden lifted from my life. When it comes to well-being, I'm a bit of a fan of recovery time: taking time out to get over something stressful.
I guess I can be grateful that today's horrible weather provided a great opportunity to stay indoors, stay warm and just take care of myself, physically and mentally.
Maybe this Melbourne winter does have something going for it, after all.
Monday 6 June 2011
Paralysis
"For the good that I would I do not: but the evil which I would not, that I do." (Romans 7:19 from the 1769 King James Bible - Authorised Version) Or, in modern parlance: Why do I do that which I ought not to do, and why don’t I do that which I know I should?
These are some things which, at times, paralyse me:
1. Procrastination
2. Anxiety
3. Stress
4. Fear
5. Exhaustion
6. Overwhelming sadness
7. Joy
I put procrastination at the top of the list because it is the thing which, at this time in my life, most often stops me from getting done those things I ought to - perhaps because there are so many great distractors in my life right now!
Moving down the list: "Hold on" - you might say - "aren't anxiety, stress and fear simply different names for the same thing?"
Personally, I like to nuance them. In my individualized dictionary, anxiety is a nebulous, non-specific state which may be traced back to a specific trigger, or may not; stress is caused by particular circumstances, and fear is a set of negative feelings about something which may or may not happen.
Exhaustion? When you're just too tired to put one foot in front of another, too sleepy to construct one more sentence? That's an effective paralyzer.
Overwhelming sadness: ah ... to have one's limbs bound by grief; that is a terrible thing.
But, on occasion, I am so overwhelmed by the joy and beauty of being alive that I am rendered actionless. Or, perhaps, I choose not to act, in order not to lose connection with the experience of joy.
As I write this, I am, of course, avoiding doing something else. Quite a few things, really. I'm avoiding doing the housework, but I was only going to do the housework to give me a good excuse not to work on my bookkeeping, which I was planning to finish before doing some sewing for both the new baby in my family and also myself. But none of that matters, because doing this writing is something I deem important, right?
Perhaps number 8 on the list should be "being too clever by half and compiling plausible excuses to justify inaction".
Seriously, though, when I am avoiding doing something I had planned to do - isn't fear always at the root of that behaviour? Fear of a negative feeling, such as boredom; fear of the consequences of failure, or success; fear of beginning something, and not being able to finish it? Fear of moving from my current state, even if that is an unpleasant one, to a new state? Fear of revealing just what I may be capable of?
What did Leunig write in "A Common Prayer"? Something about there being only two states: fear and love. In this context, what would the love look like?
Today I have no answers, only a list of reasons I don't get things done, and questions about why. Usually when I sit down to write something like this, a conclusion arises from the process of writing. I'm finding it very frustrating that this isn't happening today. I wonder why? What's different?
Argh! Least satisfying post ever. Think I might just sign off here and leave these thoughts rest for a while.
These are some things which, at times, paralyse me:
1. Procrastination
2. Anxiety
3. Stress
4. Fear
5. Exhaustion
6. Overwhelming sadness
7. Joy
I put procrastination at the top of the list because it is the thing which, at this time in my life, most often stops me from getting done those things I ought to - perhaps because there are so many great distractors in my life right now!
Moving down the list: "Hold on" - you might say - "aren't anxiety, stress and fear simply different names for the same thing?"
Personally, I like to nuance them. In my individualized dictionary, anxiety is a nebulous, non-specific state which may be traced back to a specific trigger, or may not; stress is caused by particular circumstances, and fear is a set of negative feelings about something which may or may not happen.
Exhaustion? When you're just too tired to put one foot in front of another, too sleepy to construct one more sentence? That's an effective paralyzer.
Overwhelming sadness: ah ... to have one's limbs bound by grief; that is a terrible thing.
But, on occasion, I am so overwhelmed by the joy and beauty of being alive that I am rendered actionless. Or, perhaps, I choose not to act, in order not to lose connection with the experience of joy.
As I write this, I am, of course, avoiding doing something else. Quite a few things, really. I'm avoiding doing the housework, but I was only going to do the housework to give me a good excuse not to work on my bookkeeping, which I was planning to finish before doing some sewing for both the new baby in my family and also myself. But none of that matters, because doing this writing is something I deem important, right?
Perhaps number 8 on the list should be "being too clever by half and compiling plausible excuses to justify inaction".
Seriously, though, when I am avoiding doing something I had planned to do - isn't fear always at the root of that behaviour? Fear of a negative feeling, such as boredom; fear of the consequences of failure, or success; fear of beginning something, and not being able to finish it? Fear of moving from my current state, even if that is an unpleasant one, to a new state? Fear of revealing just what I may be capable of?
What did Leunig write in "A Common Prayer"? Something about there being only two states: fear and love. In this context, what would the love look like?
Today I have no answers, only a list of reasons I don't get things done, and questions about why. Usually when I sit down to write something like this, a conclusion arises from the process of writing. I'm finding it very frustrating that this isn't happening today. I wonder why? What's different?
Argh! Least satisfying post ever. Think I might just sign off here and leave these thoughts rest for a while.
Saturday 4 June 2011
A Good Rant
I haven't had a good rant for a while, so here goes ...
There's an ad on TV at the moment which raises my blood pressure every time I see it: the advertisement for Visa's new pay wave system - you know the one, where rows of good little consumers all proceed at a steady pace through a lunch servery, choosing the same sandwich, flicking their ties/crossing their legs at the same time; all very ordered, very smooth, each swiping their credit card past the check out machine, one by one - until one selfish consumer has the temerity to choose to pay using cash, the ensuing pause causing a disturbance of the peace, disharmony and affront to all.
I fear that the image this ad portrays, this utilitarian 'paradise' in which we members of society docilely consume, is in fact a reflection of our culture - a sad indictment, rather than a whimsical satire; a symbol of tragedy, rather than something to be smiled at. I suspect that, like the people in this ad, many of us do go about our purchasing mindlessly ... and I believe that, in doing this, we are morally culpable for the results of our actions.
Such an easy thing, to wave a piece of plastic past a sensor; a simple, hands-free option – but, in this context, our hands are rarely clean. When we buy cheap clothing, do we consider that we are most likely supporting slave-like working conditions for some of our fellow human beings? If we buy meat, do we empathise with the suffering of the once-living animals we're going to consume? If we purchase cosmetic products presented in an excess of plastic packaging, do we consider how this will contribute to landfill?
I count myself part of this complicity, of course; I have no right to the moral high ground here. And trying to remove oneself from this dystopia can be difficult. A few years ago, I went through a phase of making rather than buying clothes, hoping thereby to stop contributing to the plight of underpaid clothing workers. I found a simple skirt pattern and would spend money on lengths of lovely cloth, creating a steady stream of work clothes ... until, getting dressed one morning, I realized with horror that I was putting on a skirt with an embroidered pattern on it. I bet pixies weren't responsible for that!
Despite having no claim to the high moral ground here, I can still wish for a world in which we (I!) were not so mindless, so heartless, in our consumption.
If I were drawing a line here (which I'm not: to do so would be hypocritical), what might I be calling for?
A solution won’t come out of writings like this, dry re-presentations of those unpalatable truths we are surely aware of, even if we try to ignore them. It is naive to think these issues in our society might go away simply by dreaming of another way, wishing for a new future. Yet, perhaps, that is where the solution begins: in not only knowing the ramifications of our purchases, but feeling the impact we are having on others’ lives; not only understanding how our seemingly-trivial decisions play out beyond our kitchens and bathrooms, but – even if only in our imaginations – suffering alongside the people, creatures, environments which our purchasing fingers leave grubby marks on.
The solutions might come from new stories, new imaginings, which capture the hearts of consumers, which transform the hearers by their tellings. I’m thinking of stories like Jeanette Winterson’s “The Stone Gods”; Doris Lessing’s “Shikasta”; the documentary “Food Inc”; or simply stories from the heart which connect us to the consequences of our actions.
There's an ad on TV at the moment which raises my blood pressure every time I see it: the advertisement for Visa's new pay wave system - you know the one, where rows of good little consumers all proceed at a steady pace through a lunch servery, choosing the same sandwich, flicking their ties/crossing their legs at the same time; all very ordered, very smooth, each swiping their credit card past the check out machine, one by one - until one selfish consumer has the temerity to choose to pay using cash, the ensuing pause causing a disturbance of the peace, disharmony and affront to all.
I fear that the image this ad portrays, this utilitarian 'paradise' in which we members of society docilely consume, is in fact a reflection of our culture - a sad indictment, rather than a whimsical satire; a symbol of tragedy, rather than something to be smiled at. I suspect that, like the people in this ad, many of us do go about our purchasing mindlessly ... and I believe that, in doing this, we are morally culpable for the results of our actions.
Such an easy thing, to wave a piece of plastic past a sensor; a simple, hands-free option – but, in this context, our hands are rarely clean. When we buy cheap clothing, do we consider that we are most likely supporting slave-like working conditions for some of our fellow human beings? If we buy meat, do we empathise with the suffering of the once-living animals we're going to consume? If we purchase cosmetic products presented in an excess of plastic packaging, do we consider how this will contribute to landfill?
I count myself part of this complicity, of course; I have no right to the moral high ground here. And trying to remove oneself from this dystopia can be difficult. A few years ago, I went through a phase of making rather than buying clothes, hoping thereby to stop contributing to the plight of underpaid clothing workers. I found a simple skirt pattern and would spend money on lengths of lovely cloth, creating a steady stream of work clothes ... until, getting dressed one morning, I realized with horror that I was putting on a skirt with an embroidered pattern on it. I bet pixies weren't responsible for that!
Despite having no claim to the high moral ground here, I can still wish for a world in which we (I!) were not so mindless, so heartless, in our consumption.
If I were drawing a line here (which I'm not: to do so would be hypocritical), what might I be calling for?
A solution won’t come out of writings like this, dry re-presentations of those unpalatable truths we are surely aware of, even if we try to ignore them. It is naive to think these issues in our society might go away simply by dreaming of another way, wishing for a new future. Yet, perhaps, that is where the solution begins: in not only knowing the ramifications of our purchases, but feeling the impact we are having on others’ lives; not only understanding how our seemingly-trivial decisions play out beyond our kitchens and bathrooms, but – even if only in our imaginations – suffering alongside the people, creatures, environments which our purchasing fingers leave grubby marks on.
The solutions might come from new stories, new imaginings, which capture the hearts of consumers, which transform the hearers by their tellings. I’m thinking of stories like Jeanette Winterson’s “The Stone Gods”; Doris Lessing’s “Shikasta”; the documentary “Food Inc”; or simply stories from the heart which connect us to the consequences of our actions.
Friday 3 June 2011
Midday Nap on a Winter's Day
The penultimate luxury: to come home for a while in the middle of a cold June day, strip off work clothes and don warm trakkie daks and a long-sleeved tee, set the timer on my mobile for thirty minutes, and slip under two doonas for half and hour's rest.
The ultimate luxury: recalculating the afternoon's timeline, and resetting the timer for an extra fifteen minutes.
Bliss.
The ultimate luxury: recalculating the afternoon's timeline, and resetting the timer for an extra fifteen minutes.
Bliss.
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