Running – Page 19 – Not a Jogger

Camden Town

Running home from work, I used to loop through Islington’s leafy backroads – the quiet squares of Barnsbury, the faded terraces of Canonbury, a peek into the shop windows of Essex Road. Lately though, when I am spat out of the revolving doors of my office building onto the King’s Cross pavement at 5.30pm, I have been drawn towards Camden Town.

I think my love of Regent’s Park has crept slowly east; I used to hate going to Camden. Arriving late at night, I would scurry from the tube to the Electric Ballroom or a late night bar, trying not to catch anyone’s eye. The heady mix of chancers and drunks selling their souls down by the Lock never seemed romantic to me. I never went in daylight.

Last night I ran a circuit of Camden back-streets, breathing in dust and fumes as I ran past council estates and faded townhouses, grandeur and squalor. I braved the wandering chaos of the High Street, dreamed of New York on Delancey Street, and had to rewind my podcast on St Pancras Way, too busy people-watching to pay attention.

At the corner of Camden Road, two girls were photographing the street sign. A fading bunch of flowers was tied to the railing and I turned to gawk intrusively. “AMY” was written on the sign.

It’s odd how an area can be so inextricably bound to a person. I am just waking up to the tawdry romance of Camden, but Amy Winehouse is its pin-up girl, now forever tattoed to its arm. I ran on to Tufnell Park and Archway, back to the quiet hinterland where I live, anonymously, happily. Luckily.

It’s not a Competition

It has been mentioned (once or twice) in the past that I have a slight tendency towards competitiveness. Sadly this is not matched by a similar level of self-belief or natural talent.

I am only competing against myself, but I am a rival who never retires. I’m not just talking about achieving new personal best race times. Even on days when I don’t run, I make sure I am there to remind myself of past glories and serve up an extra helping of guilt, just in case I am not feeling lazy enough already.

I only ran twice last week. This was partly due to feeling faint, but mainly to going away for a hen weekend where running wasn’t an option, but staying up until 3am eating chips and dancing to Meat Loaf was.

Whenever I left the house or office last week runners swished by, trailing shame and envy in their wake. Every morning Mr Notajogger bounded in from his run, dripping the sweat of the righteous, as I groped blearily for the kettle. In York for the hen weekend I watched a runner run the length of the river bank in the time it took my hungover brain to work out how to get the coffee out of my takeaway cup.

Last night I joined the ranks of the runners again and my guilt was silenced. I ran 6 miles around Regent’s Park from the office and it was a lovely run. Slow, very slow, but steady. Compared to last week’s effort, this week is already winning. Not that it is a competition.

Good Day!

Yes! Today merits an exclamation mark. I finally managed a good run, outside, on a sunny day without feeling faint.

As runs go, it was far from perfect. Half way up the first ascent of Crouch End Hill my chest started to feel tight and by the summit I was gulping breath into my lungs in painful gasps. 25 minutes and a few trembling ascents later, I decided to walk up the last two hills.

Usually I feel guilty about not running (or even jogging), but today I felt like walking gave me more time to look at the gardens, to listen to This American Life and to feel the sunshine on my face. I was bright red, sweating, out of breath and exhausted. I felt weeks away from being able to run a good 10k time, but I didn’t care. Running races and training for them is something I enjoy, and miss, but after a few days of feeling like I couldn’t run at all, a bad run on a beautiful morning was good enough for me.

Treadmill Blues

I didn’t run on Monday and Tuesday after feeling so terrible on Sunday. When I don’t run, there’s no reason to write a blog. Yesterday I realised that, whenever I don’t run and don’t write, I have started to miss both.

When running, I’ve begun to mull over what I might write once I finish and think about ways to express what I think or see. When writing, I have the time to ponder why I run, and what I want to achieve. Writing about running makes me look forward to the next run. Running makes me look forward to writing.

This is great, as long as I am running. When I’m not, I feel twice as bad as I used to when just not running was the issue. Last night I cracked and went to the gym. If I fainted in the gym, the logic ran, my head would probably hit a piece of equipment before it reached the floor. In the gym, however, no-one can hear you scream. If they don’t have headphones in, they are deafened by the soundclash of bleeping machines, whirring treadmills, thumping zumba music and announcements for 20 free sunbed sessions. Did you know they are more effective after a work-out?

I’m glad I went, but 3 miles on a treadmill are not the stuff of inspiration or meditation. One of my headphones is broken so I had the New Yorker Fiction Podcast in my right ear and cacophony in the left. I did some cross-training, 10 minutes on a bike, a few weights, and scurried home into the evening rain, so uninspired.

Too much, too soon

Or, “when will I learn?”

Yesterday’s rain-a-thon was a 7 miler, so I could have gone for a short run today; a 5 mile trot around Crouch End would have been fine. Me being me, however, I decided it would be a good idea to run to Regent’s Park (4 miles away), run round it and come back – 9.5 miles in total.

I didn’t manage it.

Waking up this morning I didn’t feel dizzy or faint. Things were back to normal, I was convinced. I was fine on the way down to the Park, some stiffness from yesterday’s run, but my head was clear and I was happy to be out dodging puddles. Then I set foot on the soggy grass and knew that things would be going downhill as soon as I started the uphill return leg. The woozy dizziness had returned and the horizon started bouncing around oddly in my peripheral vision. It was a strange feeling, not like I would keel over at any minute, more an uncertainty about what might happen with every step. I had to marshal every part of my brain to land each foot on the ground. As I rounded the final bend in the Park I entertained a brief fantasy of flopping face forward into the welcoming wet turf and lying there until lunchtime.

I didn’t. I dropped the pace but kept running until Tufnell Park, then walked the rest of the way home. With an “out and back” route there is no shortcut, walking is the only way forward. I’m glad – at least I got the miles done, slowly.

Rained On

The good news is I made it out for a run, the bad news is so did the clouds. They were so happy to see me running again they cried. A lot.

The only people out on the streets today were running, mostly to their cars or for the bus, but some were running to run. We grimaced at each other as we passed. No-one had been caught by surprise, it had been raining all morning and will continue all weekend. We knew we would get wet but we went out anyway.

I usually like running in the rain, if it’s not too cold. The streets are quiet and as long as I have a cap on and can actually see through my glasses it doesn’t bother me to get wet. I have an expensive gore-tex running jacket I could wear but I don’t usually bother. It’s too swishy. And pink. Why do all women’s running clothes come in pink? Grr.

I am wondering why I didn’t enjoy this morning’s run. I think it’s due to still feeling a bit dizzy after giving blood and worrying about that. That and the relentless rain. In Alexandra Palace Park the street lamps were still lit against the darkening sky – at 11am.

When I got home I had to take off my dripping clothes in the hallway before i was allowed in the flat. I should probably go and pick them up…

Wake-up call

Back to work today, and to rising at 6am for a run.

I was tired, but after the initial shock of the alarm and a fight to open my eyes, a smile started to wake up my face. Into the kitchen to feed the weaving cats, back into the dark bedroom to pull on my kit, a quick brush of the teeth and out onto pavements dark with last night’s rain, glittering in the sun. It was a beautiful morning, even on the Holloway Road. I passed several other runners who looked deep in thought, pondering the day, the week, or perhaps just breakfast.

I myself have eaten two breakfasts and am about to go for my second lunch, as it is time to give blood again and after last week’s croissant festival, I will take any excuse to fill my face.

There was a young lady who swallowed a fly…

…or more precisely, two flies. I don’t know why she swallowed two flies, perhaps it’s because once was not enough and the coughing fit induced by the first one was so much fun that she ran for the next 8 miles with her jaw hanging open just hoping for another throat buzz.

Yeuch. In addition to ingesting winged beasts, I have been running twice since returning from Paris: a gentle 5 miler on Friday afternoon and a stiff 10 yesterday morning.

I think a few days off running was a good thing, though I did walk down every Rue in Paris so they weren’t really rest days. I didn’t miss it at all, it was hot and there weren’t many runners on the streets. It seems that Parisiennes get their exercise by smoking and walking their tiny dogs, with an occasional trip on a scooter.

I’m not sure where I would have gone to run – there was a man in the Luxembourg gardens who looked like he was on lap 3 of 45. Give me Regent’s Park any day. Everything’s bigger there: the dogs, the trees, the love handles. There isn’t an actual palace though, I’ll give you that Paris.

Au Revoir

I’m off to Paris for a few days this week and I am not taking my trainers. I have filled my travelbag with floaty dresses rather than sweaty t-shirts; it’s packed, the deed is done. I will have to use the time I would have been running to eat macarons and have afternoon naps. Quel domage!

In all seriousness, I am feeling a bit nervous about a few days without running, which is an indication that this might be a good idea.

Yesterday I prepared for the oncoming rest with a 10.5 mile run. It seems this summer thing is actually going to keep happening, so I made myself take the camelpak and choose a route which took in as many parks and the shade of as many trees as possible.

I stopped to take this photograph of the angel in Highgate Cemetery as I ran down the hill. I like to keep track of how he’s doing; I was quite jealous of his shady bower.

The stillness of the Cemetery was quickly broken. I set off late and the pavements were punctuated by runners. There were charity events in Hampstead Heath and Regent’s Park, and every patch of grass was filled with cricket players and dogs, sunbathers and Ricky Gervais (now there’s a celebrity spot for you, Michelle).

Until Friday, au revoir mes amis.

Morning Morgantown

I made a second attempt at photographing the greenest of green trees this morning. This one was on Avenue Road in Crouch End, enjoying a morning bathe in the sun. He looked very handsome.

It was a beautiful morning for a run today – my stomach was feeling a little worse for wine – but I managed a 5 mile circuit of the Crouch. One ear of my headphones has stopped working, so I could only enjoy Joni with my left brain. I looked at life from one side only. It still looked pretty good to me.