Running in the dark is a curious thing; constantly checking over your shoulder for potential sex attackers is commonplace, as is excessive squinting. Unfortunately my efforts to replicate a bat’s sonar capabilities have fallen pretty short, and my paranoia regarding possible rape means I stare cynically at every thorn bush like it’s concealing an aroused Gary Glitter. Nonetheless, there’s something brilliant and humbling about pushing yourself through mile after mile of physical discomfort and psychological instability. The desolation and independence of your steps echoing on the barely visible gravel path whilst having only the full moon above (and Gary Glitter in the undergrowth) as company is, in essence, empowering. No interruptions from lethal sausage dogs, no nine year old yobs with ASBOs trying to set you alight, just your own deepest and darkest thoughts surfacing as you stomach the ceaseless punishment of a reluctant human body. It’s simultaneously the ultimate physical detox and the best method of working through anxiety; I recommend it to anyone and everyone, excluding paraplegics and the mentally retarded of course. That’s just not feasible.
Once I pass the mystical two hours barrier, that’s currently when everything starts to get a tad more surreal. My vision begins to suffer, which combined with the fact I love to run in the dark, effectively makes me Stevie Wonder with some dodgy trainers and a sweat on. In addition, my hearing diminishes and improves on an unpredictable scale over which I have no control whatsoever. Yet astoundingly, any ability I possess to concentrate on thoughts and ideas seems to increase exponentially as time drearily tumbles along. The only ever occasions on which I’ve felt quite so lucid and enthused have been after reading The Outsider by Albert Camus, as well as The Trial by Franz Kafka; the clarity and uninhibited intellect espoused by both, within the restraints of two very short novels, astounded and amused me in equal measure.
The wear and tear hasn’t truly set in yet, despite indulging in a pretty arduous program. Any pain or soreness seems to extend only to tender buttocks and obscene clamminess for hours after I’m done running. Just a week and a smidge to go till the big M now; any subsequent training should be limited to next Wednesday, when I’ll be assisting a unique and inspiring athlete named Chris Blackabee. Born without any sight at all, Chris is a shining example to us all of what can be achieved against genuine adversity. Despite my tongue in cheek Stevie Wonder comment above, in all seriousness I can’t wait to provide assistance on his tandem bike, and get to know the man himself a bit better. Keep watching for regular updates (naturally, I’ll be spamming Twitter to let you know regardless anyway :P)...
Danke schon as ever,
George x
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