Why I run

We've finally had a little blast of winter over the past few days. Nothing like the winters I lived through in Boston, with snowstorm after snowstorm in 2015, I learned how to adapt my morning runs to the snow (running on cleared paths and more indoor runs).

I was off at ParkRun yesterday and decided to run a bit more on the grass than on the footpath, partly because I'm trying to be kind to my knees and partly because it was just nice to hear the crunch of the frost underfoot. Boston made me fall in love with running on cold, crisp mornings: going out in sub-zero (celcius!) temperatures, the cold air hitting my face, eyes smarting from the shock. As I write that it doesn't sound very appealing! But it really made me feel alive (buildings in Boston were often soporifically warm that I would probably have been asleep for most of the day if I didn't spend some time outside in the mornings).

Nowadays I struggle a little with mornings. In the same way that I struggle with the world I suppose. It's the fear of what lies ahead I suppose, of stepping out of bed and not recognising who, or what I've become. Experiences have changed me, but I feel that I left part of me behind in August 2015: I'm a shell of who I was. Running is one of the ways I am trying to re-engage with the word. My feet are on the ground, I see people on my runs even if I don't speak to them, I run the same route and can spot little things changing, glimpses of spring arriving. I run until I'm tired. On the mornings I feel like tears will come, I run until the tears are gone - cold mornings are great because I can blame icy winds for my red eyes. The funny thing about running is that it is one of the things that is, as I say, unpolluted - I wasn't able to run when all the weird stuff happened. I missed running so much that summer but now, knowing how I've consciously or unconsciously removed from my life things (and even people) that remind me of that summer, I'm glad I couldn't run because it means I still run as running was never "polluted".

Can't argue with this!

But I know that I also miss the open person I was before. I miss my willingness to trust people, to be open with them, to take them at face value, to talk. Sometimes I think that I left all my words in a small, green room half way around the world. (My counselor would tell me that I didn't leave the words, if anything, they were taken from me.) Sometimes that person reappears: last summer especially, I was living with a good friend who would magically produce chai and ajwain paratha (every time he made them we had to look up the English for ajwain) and over tea and parathat we'd discuss everything under the sun, from politics to photography, to the perfection that is Barry's Tea!

Some day I'll settle back into life, and I'm sure that whatever it looks like it will involve running and tea. 

Tea and paratha: perfect afternoon snack

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Friday Feature: ParkRun

So today is the day. Obama is no longer American president, Donald J. Trump is now President Trump. While this blog isn't about politics, or at least, it isn't yet about politics, who knows how it will evolve, I will always remember that day in November 2008 when the election results trickled in. I was at the gym in Dubai, attempting to run on a treadmill and it's likely the only time I've been able to smile on a treadmill. There was just so much optimism surrounding Obama's win, especially for those of us who aren't American.

Looking back on those days reminds me just how good running makes me feel. Back when I was working 18, 19, 20 hour days, my 30-minute jog was what held me together mentally, emotionally, and physically. I suppose I pounded out the stress from the day before and got some air (dubious quality no doubt) into my lungs and brain. Cold mornings were my favourite, there's nothing like a bracing wind to wake up a sleepy mind, body, and soul. (A good pair of gloves are always handy on those days.)

So with all that in mind today's Friday Feature is one of my favourite organisations: ParkRun, a group that organises free, timed 5k runs on Saturdays around the world. At the moment there are runs in fourteen countries, it is open to all-comers, young, old, resident, visitor, tourist - some people even run with their dogs! The event is completely free, registration takes a few seconds and once registered runners can get their time recorded. Race results arrive via phone or email; during the days when my running was improving I used to wait with great anticipation for my times, as I gained a few seconds each week. I've gone downhill in the past few years and am about six minutes off my PB! So, definitely room for improvement.

Back in my faster days

The other thing I love about ParkRun is how friendly it is - everyone is welcome. Everyone is competing to an extent, but only really with themselves, it's more a point of pride that everyone wants to get a PB. After the race, groups of runners go for coffee, stand around and chat and wait to cheer the slower runners (I'm now in that category and it does make me kick a bit harder at the end when I hear people urging me to keep going). For inspirational ParkRun stories head over to the From the Field section at the bottom of the homepage.

Everyone can do 5k, believe me - even if it's a minute run, a minute walk, or all walk, you can do it! Did I mention that ParkRun is free? Hope to see some of you out in the parks tomorrow morning, you'll be finished by 10am! You might even discover a new reason to smile.

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Tongue twisted

I've just finished reading Adharanand Finn's book, "The Way of the Runner" and while the bits about Japanese ekiden runs were interesting, I was more interested in his account of his and his family's experience living in Japan when they didn't have any Japanese to begin with.

The bit that really stuck with me was how dependent the author was on others to translate, to fix things, to explain basic things - even to help with shopping. Finn's description is so accurate, he pinpoints what happens to adults who are dropped into living in a foreign language.

"The problem with living in a country where you don't speak the language is that you start to sound like a child when you're speaking, and so people begin to treat you like a child. Then, to complete the circle, you begin to act like one."

It reminded me a little of my experience in Iran, without any Farsi, I was dependent on others. As a native English speaker there's the added problem that often times people want to practise their English as well (being honest, I very quickly gave up trying to learn Faris which, it later transpired, turned out to be a fortuitous decision). So, with someone else always on hand to "help" I sort of lost my autonomy - it was a vicious circle, as I was dependent on others to translate this led people to became overly concerned about me and they would then organize my life, much as we do with children. (I say overly concerned, with hindsight it was a justifiable concern, but at the time I felt I was being micromanaged!)

My Farsi was fairly limited, I wasn't bad
when it came to food & drinks

But it also got me thinking about how I can get back to learning Arabic. I don't want to lose the limited command of the language that I had and I may just have found the answer to my quest for a conversation teacher. More about that later!

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