Around the Thames
It was a lovely morning for a run today, not too hot and not too cold. I got up early to go and stretch my pins on the Westminster Bridge/Tower Bridge run. Since the marathon in May I’ve been trying keep myself ticking over with run a couple of shorter runs each week, but this was number three. The idea was to prepare for my hols. I’m off, with the lovely Autumn, to Sardinia and then we’re going for a five-day hike through the fragrant, pine-covered mountains of southern Corsica. The second half of the holiday will hopefully involve lying around in the sun and reading. Reading books, heavy books. Most hiking guides don’t suggest carrying any extra weight, so I’ve got to be fit enough to lug these tomes over the Mare e Mare Sud.
As I was jogging I got thinking about how Esquire magazine mentioned that riding a bike was a good way to save dosh in these credit crunched times. The average national commute is eight and a half miles which should be a 45 minute ride, said the magazine, then you can also cancel your gym membership. Unfortunately I can’t cut costs by cycling as I already do it and haven’t been into a gym since I was at school, but it occurred to me that it is sensible and should be considered the thinking man’s (or woman’s) mode of transport. But then perhaps not, perhaps it’s the man (or woman) of action’s preferred method of commuting, although to be fair a person of action probably doesn’t commute. Then maybe it’s just the logical approach… the techies method then.
Running in the morning means you avoid the huge crowds milling about the South Bank and around the Tower of London. Dodging and weaving through all these gawking tourists has really been annoying me recently. I’ve been thinking of producing a t-shirt saying ‘I run on the left’ with translations into various languages below. It would have an arrow pointing to the left (or to the right on the front of the shirt), perhaps with a Union Jack too.
You pick up some curious snippets of conversation when speeding through crowds of pedestrians. Yesterday I caught a woman, who I assume was checking out the talent, remarking to her companion “too skinny” as I zipped past.
Haruki Murakami, the Japanese author of surreal and eerie fiction, is also a keen runner and has recently written a book about his habit. What I Talk About When I Talk About Running sounds like an interesting little volume. Alastair Campbell, the dodgy-dossier tainted former press secetary to Tony Blair, reviewed it for the Guardian. Apparently Murakami is a little inconsistent on inspiration whilst running. On one hand, he says that “really as I run, I don’t think much of anything worth remembering.” and on the other “While I was running, some other thoughts on writing novels came to me.” Smart Alec Campbell, who manages to plug his own first novel while writing the review, says he carries his Blackberry so he can text himself jogging-borne profundities.
I am loathe to stop when on a run, so I don’t think the texting option would work for me. Besides, I don’t have any particularly deep thoughts; probably something to do with not having a mind sparkling with insights like Mr Campbell. Most of my running thoughts are pretty repetitive and disappear almost instantly. However, Campbell is right that remembering a good thought is tricky. Even something as simple as a moany t-shirt that attempts to bring order to the chaos of the pavements can easily get forgotten - or dismissed as utterly daft.
With all these thoughts whirling around my head, I thought they might make a mildly amusing post so I’d better remember them. I turned the train of thought into a list and set about remembering it. Now I was remembering rather than thinking. Remembering stuff wasn’t how I wanted to spend my run, so I got back to plain old running and silly old thoughts. I’m not sure what went through my head after that.