Precipice

A precipice is not a good place to be if you are pushed. I feel like I’ve been living on the edge for so long now that it has become a habit. I feel like I would not survive unless I was pushing myself to the limit. I suppose the guys who built these houses chose to do so as a kind of challenge. But I do it in an unsuccessful effort to reach my goals, seemingly not realising that “I can of my own self do nothing”.

Hike

A hike for over twenty miles in the Wicklows, accompanied by a dog and a team of young men whose pace exceeded my comfort. Art's cross and Three Lakes are landmarks on the way. The peak was in the clouds, and helpfully marked by a solar lantern - you can see the blue LED glowing!

Mud

The lakeshore is very muddy in places. When running around this part of the lake one has to accept that legs, feet and shoes will get plastered. There is one place where there is about three feet depth of fine silty mud and to hit that when running is interesting. You sink almost immediately to knee depth and, if you give in, you can sink still further. This particular patch is 'safe' in that it has a bottom, but squiggly enough to make it a little hard to get out. The experience is actually rather enjoyable (don't people pay good money to have mud baths?), although part of the enjoyment is the unexpectedness of it, so it doesn't repeat so well.

Getting muddy is not so bad when one can get clean again - fortunately there is a lake close by...

Railways

Talking of railways, a strange thing happened to me when about 10. At that time I collected Lone Star OOO railway - the diecast version before they came along with electric. I was playing with it on the lawn in my parents back garden The lawn was evidently not at all level because I found myself grading my line by carving cuttings and making embankments. Not the sort of thing grown-ups want done with their lawn. The strange thing is that, although I was admonished, I cannot remember being punished. I bless my parents for this show of understanding and wisdom!

Running

Following my father's lead I have always been interested in railways. To cut a level swath through hills and forests and run two heavy iron rails through it seems such an unlikely way to create a mode of transport - and yet it became so popular in Victorian England. Sadly many of those lines have long since been rooted up and converted back to farmland although some have happily persisted as cycle-tracks.

To sit at the front of a rail-car or DLR where you can see the rails ahead fascinates me.

There is a similarity between running and the motion of a train: the legs hitting the ground give a rhythm not unlike the joints between the rails. And so I would run around the playing field at school and imagine that I was driving a train, or was the train. This I did frequently. Is anyone else that weird? Looking back I wonder what my peers thought or maybe, hopefully, they never figured it out.

Even more strange is that I still imagine this, sometimes, whilst jogging. Indeed I would go as far as to say that this is one of the attractions of running for me. Is anyone else this weird?

Sometimes running is akin to flying: once warmed up try a steep downwards slope with occasional bumps or boulders, and at full pelt jump high off each rise - that's the nearest thing to personal flying I have experienced (I am too chicken for extreme sports like base jumping).

Kiplings "The Jungle Book" has been one of the foundational texts of my upbringing. In the Second Book we have the following quote which I can partially identify with on a good day. This is such a good description of the joy of running:

"Forgetting his unhappiness, Mowgli sang aloud with pure delight as he settled into his stride. It was more like flying than anything else, for he had chosen the long downward slope that leads to the Northern Marshes through the heart of the main Jungle, where the springy ground deadened the fall of his feet. A man-taught man would have picked his way with many stumbles through the cheating moonlight, but Mowgli's muscles, trained by years of experience, bore him up as though he were a feather... So he ran, sometimes shouting, sometimes singing to himself, the happiest thing in all the Jungle that night, till the smell of the flowers warned him that he was near the marshes, and those lay far beyond his farthest hunting-grounds."

The lake

One of my pastimes is jogging. For as long as I can remember I have generally run rather than walked. At school I discovered, oh joy!, that one could opt to cross-country-run instead of organised sport. I was never particularly good at it, but then I am not a sports person. As for anything involving a ball... More recently I have starting jogging on a regular basis and a route I particularly like goes around part of the lake close to where I live. The route is about 7 miles door to door and involves crossing a river and several smaller inlets.

Besides the obvious health reasons, jogging is a safety valve for me. For about an hour I can get away from the bustle and tension of life and think my own thoughts.

First Post

Writing an honest blog is a bit like undressing in front of the world. Even writing anonymously I am concerned that I should not misrepresent myself!