This book I mentioned is a wonderful memoir of the writer and his experience of writing novels since he gave up his Jazz bar in Japan as well as his lifestyle of long distance running. It is a solitary act, running, at least in my mind and one mind-set that I share as a cyclist. Prior to my fold-up-able bike, I had several mountain bikes that I would often set off on in the morning in a particular direction and find myself still cycling hours later through woods, along the river, over bridges... I wouldn't have a set route in mind, just a fair idea of the possible venture. I would return home dripping, take a shower and then collapse feeling invigorated and slightly crazed.
In his book, Murakami talks about how he moved on from singularly running to Triathlons. These epic ventures take on three forms, swimming, cycling and running in one long episode. What a wonderful and yet mad thing to want to put yourself through. I really did start to like the idea of all this. Adding to the fact that my bike comes most places with me, I am also a sort of water-baby. Not born in water unfortunately but born by the sea, had salty air in my lungs for 18 years until I distanced my self as far from the sea shore as possible in Nottingham in 2002. Noticably, I've always needed a fix of salt air and discovered the closest coast over an hour away at Gibralta Point. (Actually Skegness is closer but unless you like the crap fish and chips, primary coloured strip lighting and novelty shops it's not really worth stopping.) Where I couldn't easily get to the coast, i've opted for bike rides along the river or canal or swimming.
Swimming is a pleasure. I adore the feeling of immersion in water, holding my breath, seeing through the fog under the surface. It is in the state of different strokes that I find my mind wanders down some rather unusual avenues. I have been known to not be able to stop laughing when doing back stroke, to the point that I couldn't sustain breathing and had to doggy paddle myself to the side. Note here that I am always a lone swimmer.
Today you see, I cycled half hour, from the canal to the fandangled new leisure centre's swimming pool (not a patch on the victorian one I used to go to before the clever council chose to close it's doors and open this one, but what do I know?!), did half an hour of full-on swimming and cycled home again. I realised on leaving the pool that if I could leave my bike there, I would've like to run home and thus have created my own mini triathalon.
So this leaves running and me. I haven't really run (not just for the bus, I mean intended durational running) since I was a Playworker in Wollaton and donned my shorts one morning and ran to work, only to find that I didn't leave enough time to get all the way there (my judgements in timing getting from A to B have and always will be via cycling), so I had to jump on the bus for the last couple of miles stretch so as not to be late. I don't own any proper running shoes nor any shorts or leggings so the practicality of running now isn't really viable. However, since reading this book and having these thoughts, I am feeling inspired to get running. A good friend of mine who lives and works in London has moved forwards in terms of the speed of her moving. She is someone who even after a night out gets up for work at the crack of dawn to enable her to walk the 2 hour jaunt across London to work and she walks home at the end of the day too! She has recently taken up running and told me about her methods of getting up the speed. So, all things are pointing towards my body steaming along the towpath, all I need are a pair of suitable shoes and shorts and I'll see how I go. And I wholly recommend the book, it is an insight to the creative hermit within us as well as the fascinating struggle facing those who exercise to great length.
On another trail but still somehow connected...
One thing I've noticed within me which is bothering me somewhat is that I feel like a 'dabbler'. I feel that this feeling has set in since I got myself entangled in a ridiculous full-time, unsociable hours, team-working job. It seems that my 'free-time' (emphasized as this term is also ridiculous as all time should be free whether employed or not) is taken up resting and recuperating ready for my next shift and that activities dear to me are nothing more than a scent of perfume on the air.
Leigh mentioned this to me, 'it's like scratching an itch' that I devote five minutes to an interest of mine and that is just about sufficient to keep it going on in my life. I do this with, phew, probably everything, from baking to ham radio to music. This I am beginning to feel is against the grain. A solution hasn't fully surfaced and maybe wont, maybe this is how things are for me, maybe. Great at starting something, rubbish at staying it out for very long. But then of course things have phases, things come and go so, maybe this is how it is. I don't know yet, it just feels like a significant thought that's all. Significant to make me wonder why and if I really should go running when I should stay where I am and face things through. Significant enough for me to want to write it down and share it.
We'll see.
On the boat front, it has been another laundrette day, collecting fallen wood on the way home. Leigh has been brilliant, chopping wood, carrying water, cooking dinner, charging electrical things, cleaning, making the fire and caring for Delia and me. Yes, yes, yes, it is still marvelous and I am loving the settling into the lifestyle.
The salads are sprouting showing their bright green shoots...
We have completed the final varnishing of the hatch and it is now firmly in place, securing our exit and entry onto the boat.
Here is a taster of the beauty passing our windows captured by Leigh.
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