Indeed

"It is difficult to get a man to understand something when his salary depends on his not understanding it."

Upton Sinclair (1878-1968)

Blue Bloody Murder

Listening to a radio interview with a UK politician the other morning, I found myself swearing blue bloody murder at the numpty. Answer the sodding question!!!!

Politicians and their policies are about creeping improvements, but with minimal change. We all know about obesity being an increasing problem in the Western world. But measures to tackle the problem are feeble, because the objective is to keep everything basically the same. Suggestions usually focus on improved information and education, so that people can make the choice to eat less crap and do more exercise. The talk is about 'empowering' people to take the small steps that'll make their existing lifestyles that bit healthier. For example;

- get off the bus one stop early.

- use the stairs, not the lift.

- have a salad, not a burger.

- have a low-fat burger, not a full-fat burger.

There's no serious examination of our existing lifestyles as being a root cause. The talk is not about empowering people to make the big changes that would overhaul their entire lifestyle, and our entire culture, for the better.

Given that obesity and many other lifestyle-created health problems keep rising in the West, I would argue that we need a more radical approach. It's not going to work, to simply use the stairs more. What is needed is a new way of looking at the entire system that's creating and maintaining these unhealthy and unbalanced lifestyles. And a real commitment to change. To act, not just to debate, and definitely not to dodge the question.

Image by Joao Paulo Correa de Carvalho

Windows

I'm on my Christmas holidays, and today is just Monday! The whole week stretches ahead, deliciously. Out on my run this morning, I'm unfocused and ok with that. I jog along, stop and start, stroll and sprint as the fancy takes me. I take an interest in other people's front rooms - glancing in windows as I pass, and admiring their trees, lights and decorations.

It's damp, still and mild down here on the ground. No sunshine to speak of. I look up in the sky, and watch the silent course of a plane as it passes overhead. Its vapour trail is lit up by the sun, a fluffy arrow of unearthly white. It makes me smile. I love that sensation of being up above the clouds as a new day breaks. Sitting next to the window hatch, gazing out at the view: blue skies, and landscapes of clouds piled high like heaps of clotted cream, every one with silver-hued and irridescent linings. The sense of calm, the contemplation, and the anticipation of being en-route to the next big adventure.

Running Gems: Hectic Sunday

Yesterday; a hectic Sunday, too much on, too much to do, got to get on, no time for a run. My brain kept telling my body that the day's run was off, but my body wasn't having it. My spine tingled naggingly, agitation built up in my bloodstream. I needed to go out.

Into my running gear, and out the door. I'm slapped in the face by horizontal rain, and knocked sideways by the gales. I run fast, buffetted from side to side, trees roaring over my head. I pull off my hat and gloves; weather makes direct contact with skin, nerve endings fizz. I am buzzing with exhileration. 15 minutes in total, flat out. Magnificent.

Running Gems: Something Suspicious

Wild storms yesterday. This morning, the sun's not risen yet but the sky above is fresh and clear. The trails beneath my feet are all mud, grit, mess and flooding. A stone picnic spot down by the river looks suspicious somehow - too perfect, too smooth and flawless. I peel off the track and approach. Normally I would take a flying leap down the steps, but today I step out gingerly. My shoe sinks an inch in deep sludge, skids a little. Fearful of slipping, I pick my way out to the railing over the river, a line of squelching footprints in my wake. There's something satisfying about being the first, about leaving my mark in the muck. It's like leaving the first footprints on an untouched beach - only less romantic. I can't bear to spoil them. I clamber my way along the railings back to the bank, and scramble up to the track. One line of prints left in the mud, with no return. I run on.

Image by Joyseph

I Do Therefore I Am

"I spent the early part of my life trying hard to be someone else. At school I wanted to be a great athlete, at university I wanted to be an admired socialite, afterwards a businessman and, later, the head of a great institution. It did not take me long to discover that I was not destined to be successful in any of these guises, but that did not prevent me from trying, and being perpetually disappointed with myself. The problem was that in trying to be someone else, I neglected to concentrate on the person I could be. The idea was too frightening to contemplate. I was happier going along with the conventions of the time, measuring success in terms of money and position, and climbing ladders which others placed in my way, collecting things and contacts rather than giving expression to my own beliefs and personality. I was, in retrospect, hiding from myself, a slave to the system rather than its master. We can't, however, discover ourselves by introspection. We have to jump in before we learn to swim. We find ourselves through what we do. "I do therefore I am" is more real than "I think therefore I am."

Charles Handy (1997), The Hungry Spirit

What do I do?

• I run, travel, and write about it - in order to connect, share, inform and inspire.
• I question the system and its impact on the health and happiness of people and the planet itself, and I act to change it.

What do you do?

Problems with Articulation

The Social Model of Disability argues that it is the way society is organised that disables people more than their individual impairments. Change should be directed at society rather than the person.

The gulf between the rich and the poor in Western societies is growing ever larger. If you're one of the comfortably well-off, and everyone you know is equally comfortable and secure, this might seem unlikely and of little immediate concern. But the current credit crunch and recession is laying bare just how tenuous the middle classes' notion of 'security' really is. Many people have found themselves just one unexpected event away from losing everything. And to me, 'losing everything' isn't the terrible thing, it's the stress, fear and misery that comes with it.

Much of the way our society works not only disables people, but also makes them ill, lonely and unhappy. Despite unprecedented wealth, health and technology, the stats indicate that our society is afflicted with ever increasing depression, anxiety, isolation, stress, obesity and a sense of never having enough time.

There is, of course, a lot about Western society that is wonderful. But I don't think that that makes it ok to disregard all that is not wonderful; that is awful, wrong and damaging.

We're not encouraged to truly question the status quo. I often question things, but I find it very hard to articulate what I mean, what I'm getting at. I struggle to find examples or data to back myself up, to justify my questionning. I can't think fast enough, or can't remember the details of the report that led to my questions. I don't have any answers, so I flounder.

I do have instincts, gut feelings and direct experiences that inform and illustrate my questions. Some of these find their way onto this blog. And I do listen to others and read the words of people who can articulate themselves better than me, who can collate data and marshall arguments.

In the meantime, I can say what I feel. I feel that the answers to these problems lie in the way we think about work. The way we value time, relationships and creativity in relation to money or security. The way we prioritise the environment versus economic growth. And the choices we make about moulding people to systems or systems to people.

An Inspirational

"If you are lucky enough to feel passionately about something, then really your only obligation is to be true to that."

(Del Kathryn Barton - painter & sculptor.

Published in The Australian, 03/05/08)

It's About Compromises

It's Christmas time, and the shops are full of 2009 calendars. I had a day off work on Thursday, and went into the city to do some Christmas shopping. 8.30am and it was still pretty dark outside. As I walked along through the business district, I nosied in the bright-lit windows of all the offices. Many shades of grey lay before me. I was glad to be able to keep walking - through the rain and the icy patches - rather than climb the steps into any of those buildings and have to seat myself at a screen in a blanket-grey environment for the day.

After a bit, I noticed a colourful pattern developing as I passed building after building: it was in the calendars hanging on the office walls. Glossy pictures of amazing exotic beaches, of surfers catching splendid waves, of sunsets, autumn leaves, and astonishing natural wonders across the world.

On Friday, I went to my work and gazed at the calendar hanging above my desk - Scottish mountains no less - in a new way. It was meant to be motivational and inspirational. But really it's a compromise. A salve for an aching soul. Is that enough?

Therapy

Its winter, and I'm obviously suffering symptoms. Kinda like Seasonal Affective Disorder, only its colour I'm missing rather than daylight. This picture is therapy.

Running Gems: December Mornings

6am, dark and cold. The city sleeps. Stars twinkle overhead. Christmas lights flash-on-flash-off in the windows of tenement flats. I run, frost glittering by beneath my feet like a galaxy of disco lights.

Image by calebkimbrough

Underfoot

Making Time

The next thing about the Hobopoet's audacious plans is... training for an ultra takes time. Sure, time as in months, perhaps even a year or more. That's not a problem to my mind, that part of the appeal.

I'm thinking about the time in each day to build up the necessary mileage. As the distances creep higher, so too do the lengths of time needed to cover the distances. I know this deliciously well from marathon training - I adore the Sunday 20 miler out into the wilds, or the mid-week 9 miler through the botanic gardens and down by the river. But it can be a struggle to fit it in around my full-time job, commute, and other interests and commitments.

I'm guessing this may not be a problem for the Hobopoet, experimenting as he is with the 4 Hour Work Week concept. And I know there are plenty runners out there who manage it - I'm always mightily impressed by tales of hospital doctors, who fit in a bit of adventure racing across the Arctic on the side. But it must surely be a problem for most mortal souls.

Living the dream has its costs, and often its not so much the money that is the problem but the time. Maybe the question to ask is 'How can I make the time?'

The Hare & The Tortoise

The Hobopoet talks about one of his latest ventures - training for a 50 mile ultra. I ache and long for such an audacious goal... He outlines his training strategy: slow-oh-so-slow and steady. Sounds like good solid 'hare and tortoise' principals, and puts me in mind of the last marathon I ran - The Great Ocean Road in Australia. It's an amazing route, with scenery to cherish for all eternity. They close the roads for the morning, so the runners have probably one of the most driven tourist routes in the whole world, all to themselves! Magical. And also fairly hilly.

For the first 18 miles or so, I was mostly level with a guy with a very audible heart-rate monitor strapped to his chest. On the uphills, he'd barely take a few steps before his wristband started beeping frantically and he'd drop his pace to a walk. I'd keep chugging along at my steadily trained 'marathon pace', catch him, pass him, leave him in my wake (that turn of phrase makes it sound so glamorous!). But no matter how long or steep the hill, he'd always glide by me again before long, whenever we reached a downhill or a flat stretch. This pattern continued till around mile 18, when I began to break. The hills and the headwind got the better of me, and my steady pace broke down into a faltering mix of walking, shuffling, and pained jogging. The man with the monitor continued, effortlessly it seemed, off into the distance. I checked the results later, and found that he finished more than an hour ahead of me.

Slow-oh-so-slow works a treat. I don't know why I'm surprised. 'The Hare & The Tortoise' was one of my favourite childhood stories.

Image by rmricci