A Blog Worth Checking Out

This is the most amazing post yet, from a truly amazing blog - check it out:

http://ryanrunseurope.blogspot.com/2009/07/days-47-48.html

This guy is an inspiration.

Short Trails & The Injured Runner

It used to be that anything less than 3 miles wasn’t worth getting out of bed for. 

What’d be the point of going out for such a short distance?  But currently 3 miles is about 1½ miles too far to walk, and I can forget about running it altogether. No can do. The physio and the podiatrist have both drummed it into me that over-doing it will do me no favours, so for now, just don’t run at all. I can cycle and swim as much as I like, which is a mercy, but neither are as satisfying as a fast 4 mile run before breakfast, or a full day out walking in the hills. Of course, I’ve pushed my luck, and either walked too far or tried out a bit of a run despite the advice of the professionals. But I’ve come to regret it, as my recovery has taken a knock-back each time.

Now that a whole day on the mountains is out of the question, what can I do? Where can I go that’ll still give me those much-needed shots of wilderness, exploration, and physical challenge?

I haven’t found a satisfying answer to those questions. But I do find myself looking at local ‘short walks’ guides with new-found interest. I used to find them disappointing, their definition of short being considerably shorter than anything I'd consider worth the bother of turning up for. And they don’t meet my demands of wilderness, exploration and physical challenge. But they do meet the closely related criteria of the outdoors, nature, discovery and some level of physical activity. I now appreciate these 20 minute out-and-back, signposted strolls from the car park, that take me over smooth landscaped trails and don’t require even the slightest scramble.

And I’ve gained a fresh insight into the frustrations of being restricted by my body from accessing and enjoying some of the greatest delights in this world, the places that enrich my life and replenish my soul. 

As someone who's spent the last 5 years or so working in disability services, there's nothing like an injection of first-hand personal experience to refresh my therapeutic practice.  I'm finding it all as frustrating as ever in terms of my personal fitness.  But in terms of my understanding of the importance of the natural world to my health and wellbeing, and the barriers that stop some people enjoying those same opportunities that I value so highly, I guess I'm learning something useful.

Image by cogdogblog

5 Amazing Places to Run in Australia

Right, let's just imagine for a moment, that you're taking some time out. Getting away from it all. You want to run, and you want it to be amazing. Here's 5 random places in Australia that, if strung together, make for a tremendous trip.

(Most of these routes are mostly off road, so no traffic, and nicer on the knees. None of these trails require driving to get to the start, they begin as soon as you step out the door of your accomodation. So backpackers and public transporters can run them, just as much as people with the wherewithall to hire a car).

1. Sydney's North Shore.
Start with running under the Harbour Bridge and take in views of the Opera House. Keep going, round Cremorne Point and Mosman - watch the ferries, climb over a hill all banked up with posh houses. Keep going, out to Taronga Zoo - pretend you're skirting Jurassic Park with its high electric fences, the scary animal sounds, and the significant reptile presence. Keep going, and going, and going... all the way to Balmoral Beach, or The Spit, or even out to Manly if you're hardcore enough. Running in a city does not get better than this.

2. Hobart's The Domain - Tasmania
Loops with stunning views over the city. Botanic gardens at the base. A great spot to get started in Tasmania from.

3. Bicheno - East Coast Tasmania
Stay at the funky backpackers hostel at Bicheno. Do hill training up and down Whalers Lookout, then swing round the rocky shore leaping from rock to rock. A nice trail follows the shore to the beach (fantastic blackberries to re-fuel on if you're there in season), then hit the beach and go for it. Magnificent. Don't run those rocks in the dark, you'll die. But do hang out and listen to the fairy penguins... they sound like alien monsters coming to get you.

4. Freycinet Peninsula Loop - Tasmania
I've mentioned this one before here. Stay in Coles Bay, unless you're rich and can afford the swanky accomodation at the base of the park. Bit of road running/beach running/campsite track running to begin with, then... you reach Freycinet National Park, a runner's dream. There's a well-maintained track that swings out the peninsula to Hazards Beach, then you can turn inland to cross the isthmus and suddenly you emerge onto Wineglass Bay - supposedly and believably 'one of the worlds best ten beaches'. From there it's a hard climb up to the lookout, and then a hard and fast descent back to the road you came in on. Not for the fledgling runner, probably a cool 13 miles or so...? But well worth training up for.

5. Strathan to Ocean Beach - Tasmania
Stay in the town of Strathan, and head out on the sealed road towards Ocean Beach. You don't cover many miles before the road becomes unsealed. Amazing views back over your shoulder to the mountains beyond. As you keep running, probably in total isolation, a roar builds and builds - this is Ocean Beach, its big, and its loud. And when you reach it, it'll take your breath away - assuming you've any breath left. Truely magnificent. If you got to West Tasmania without a car, then chances are the only way you'll reach this beach, is to run there. Well worth it. Just you and the kangaroos.

Oh wow, just writing that lot has made me nostalgic. Take me back... Then again, take yourself there, and let me know how you got on. Heavenly running or your money back.

Picture by Linh_rOm

Plan B

The ankle has gone again. Goddamit, I was just building up to half-decent mileage again, getting excited about the spring and summer ahead, trail-running in the hills day after day... When boom! Something in my ankle goes and tears and screams and stops me in my tracks. This was originally meant to be a blog about running! Who'd have known it?

Anyway, am meeting up with a physiotherapist friend tomorrow, and will prevail on her for a consult at a reasonable price. In the meantime, the bike has come out of hibernation. Took off this morning, for a test-run 5 miler through mist and smirr. Hey, this is pretty good. No longer in the city, I can make the most of empty roads that don't lead anywhere in particular. I belt down hills at a fair old lick. Around me, there's no sound but the whirr of my wheels, and the cry of birds in the fields and moors - curlews, lapwings, snipe, geese...

The world is peaceful, alive, and magnificent.

Image by ex_magician

Do We Sabotage Our Own Dreams?

I came back from my travels last year, excited. I'd had a glorious year of running and travel - a combination that rocked my world.  I couldn't wait to get stuck in to doing more of the same in my home country. Have you seen what Scotland looks like?! We may not get the weather, but oh my god, we have got the terrain for trail-running.  My head was full of dreams for all the great things I'd do, building on the things I learned while I was away.

But the running has not really taken off since my return. Its sort of limped and faltered. I've chugged out a few short runs per week, doing circuits of the park that barely meet the minimum to keep my body ticking over. Sure it's been good, its very rare for such a thing as a 'bad run' to occur. But, now that I think about it, its been a lot of years, like 10 perhaps, since I've run so little or so poorly.  My dreams, that I'd made part of my everyday life while I was away, seemed inapplicable and unobtainable back in my home country and my ordinary life.

What's that all about? Yes, I've had an injury to contend with, but that didn't happen till January. What was going on between August and December?

There was a poor adjustment to being back in 'normal life.' Let's face it, full-time work, urban living, long commutes snarled up in rush-hour traffic? They cannot compete with a life on the road, where your time is your own, the national parks have paths that lead toward heaven, the sun always shines, and the priority for each day is: where shall I run and how far do I feel like going? I got fed up and despondent about that.

I've had to hand back a certain amount of autonomy to my employer and other authorities. I've had to compromise on values that while I was away, I could live my life by. Things around travel and transport, recycling and waste, time and efficiency, functionality versus 'keeping up appearances'. This has made me feel conflicted inside.

I've also had a shift in focus, getting really into political, economic, environmental and ideological debates. I've gotten very focused on the systems that limit and crush people and their potential. I've been angered by our wage-slave society, our over-work cultures, our misplaced priorities. And I've tried to make something of the alternatives, to explore other ways of living (and making a living) so that both my own and others' futures don't need to be so restricted. I've had my ups and downs with that side of things.

I've often felt frustrated, disappointed in myself, and sabotaged since my return to the UK. I've also been getting flabby and weak. But, today I wonder...

Has it been 'society' that has sabotaged my dreams? Or has it been me?

One thing I need to remember; there's always a choice.

Why This High?

Wow, I'm on a high this morning. Up before dawn as usual for my morning run, and, with no shame about being cheesy as hell, I 'ran like the wind.' Beat that if you can before 6am on a Monday.

Got the laundry done, got some housework done, pulled together a 'to do' list, browsed all the blogs I follow (which made me feel even more inspired than I did when I first rolled out of bed), and now nearly all set up to head out for the day.

Why this high? Because it's all happening. I spent a good chunk of the weekend ditching loads of the crap that I've accumulated over the years, all the stuff that builds up, cluttering the house and weighing me down mentally, physically, financially, spiritually... Moving will be easier with half the possessions I owned two days ago, and so will ongoing life, hopefully. (Just have to persuade my other half to do likewise). Plus, some ideas slotted into place yesterday. Some notions in the direction of a micro-business, an independent way to earn a living, make a difference, and maintain my freedom... It's all very well ranting about the failings and frustrations of my wage-slave job and the wage-slave system, but without any notion of an alternative... it's all about as much use as farting against the breeze really. It's too early days to splurge my ideas out into this blog, but I'm high because I've a vision of where I want to go, both personally and professionally, and I can see the first steps I need to take to make it happen. Starting today. Like, right now. See ya's later.

Image by mysza831

Global Weirding & The Runner

Unseasonable ice turns to unseasonable mild. Last week saw me running on snow, kicking up powder, sliding on ice. This morning saw me jogging in short-sleeves, delighting at the feel of air on skin, and the lightness of not needing layers. Mmmm... This weather is weird, but I love it.

Do You Learn More After 'The Big Trip', Than During It?

I read a lot of blogs where people are gearing themselves for their first big trip, to ditch the routines and expectations of ordinary unfulfilling lives and Go Travelling.  And I also follow a lot of blogs where people are out there, right now, doing it, living their dream (I'm a wee tad envious of those people, it'll be sunny where they are now).  All the focus is on making it happen, and then enjoying it.  Rightly so too.  But...

What happens after the first Big Trip?  If I think about where I'm at right now...

I started this blog at the end of a major experiment in simplified and free living. I saved some cash, packed in my job, and set off to Australia for a year's experimentation. I experimented in trying not to work, trying not to need many possessions, trying to enjoy each moment, and trying to focus on the activities and passions that naturally emerge given true freedom, time and space.  Which, for me, turned out to be running, the great outdoors, writing, creativity, and close meaningful relationships.  I did it all, loved it, made the most of it, and didn't think to blog about it till after the fact (doh!).

The experiment was a success!  I came back with a clarity, a peace and a direction that was new and thrilling. I found a confidence in myself outside the norms of society that was positive and healthy and strong. Along the way, I found blogs and books by people who also had similar principals and goals, and I followed them closely (the Hobopoet, the 4 Hour Work Week, and The Art of Non-Conformity being three of the best).

I started this blog to try and keep myself on track.  To keep experimenting, and build on the experience to integrate simplicity, creativity, and a freedom from wage-slavery fully into my life, longterm.  Great goals, eh? 

Instead, something else has happened. I went back to my full-time job, and got a nice flat with my other half, and got my car back from my brother, and found there were lots and lots of things I 'needed' and simply must buy...

And all the simplicity, freedom, time and space evaporated. My 'year out' (now there's a telling phrase, who coined and propagated that one?) was nice, but as a model for a longterm lifestyle, surely ridiculous? The words 'unrealistic, irresponsible, and juvenile' all spring to mind. I write these thoughts down, and I realise that the brainwashing of modern society is working on me. I'm letting things slip, reverting to my old pre-freedom self.

So, has my experiment actually been a total failure?

No.  I've just been redirected a bit.  Out of those travels, I  have found a new direction and passion in relation to my work. Where before I was floundering a bit, now I'm focused.  Suddenly notions of social justice, equality, health and wellbeing really fire me up. Now, I have a more independent enquiring approach to my job that I didn't have before.  Its no longer enough, somehow, to just do my job each day, as expected, as instructed, and not concern myself with the things that really might make a difference.  I now know for sure that work is good and important (though I also now realise that the way many jobs are structured gets in the way of all that).

What I'm wondering is, can I combine the two types of success? Retain freedom, autonomy, simplicity and creativity as viable principals to guide my life. But also apply them as principals that may help others? Simultaneously strive for a job, a business, or an income that works to change the fucked-up priorities of our society, and improve things for all?

Following your passion, or your bliss, isn't just about hanging out on sunny beaches (though sometimes it is!). It's also about ensuring that the principals that you care passionately about are the core of everything you do.

Maybe you learn more after The Big Trip than you do during it?

Running Update: Body Versus Brain

There've been no running posts lately, because there's been no running.  It seems I was a wee bit premature, thinking my achilles was basically fine. Instead I've found that yes I am ok pottering about a sedentary life of work, driving and mooching about the house... But set me loose on a run, and within five minutes, sharp pain spears through the appropriate bit of my ankle and I have to hobble home again. And in fact, the compromise of a brisk walk in the usual running slot didn't seem to be doing my injury any favours either. So, rest it is, and rest it will be for as long as it takes. Even if I have to miss the Lochaber Marathon in April, I have no intention of not being fighting fit for Loch Ness in October. So I'm just taking each day as it comes.

The mind may have accepted the situation, but the body sure as hell hasn't. It's funny how quickly the discomfort sets in. Within a day or so of no running, the lack of exercise has the muscles in my back feeling irritable and my spine feeling all clogged up. I try to kid my body, I try to con it, fool it with a vigorous 5 minutes of sit-ups and press-ups, the stretch routine, shower. 'Whaddya mean! Course we've been out running today! Can't you tell by the slightly raised heart rate and subsequent wash?!' Sometimes, very occasionally, it works... But usually it doesn't. The body knows fine.

What will be worse is when my body adapts, and no longer wants to go out running 5 days a week. Then I'm in trouble, because while the discomfort will have eased off, so too will every shred of fitness. I can't bear to even think about that.

Running Update: The Value of Frozen Peas

Frozen peas. What I've learned this week is that every runner should have a packet of frozen peas stashed close to hand. The achilles is aching, in a dull anxiety-inducing sort of way. To run or to rest? To ignore and ice it, or molly-coddle and indulge it? Wild weather at the weekend had me glad, sort of, to ease off and stay home instead of train as planned. But that's another long run missed, making the marathon goal that bit harder to attain. God damn it, injury is crap.

Picture by Andrew Michaels

Running Update: Achilles Crack Alert

Yesterday, the hard run went swimmingly. Back in the door; I stretched, showered, painstakingly updated the running diary. Ah... the satisfaction of rigorous training. And now for a cup of tea. In the kitchen, I put the kettle on, stretch up on tip-toes to the top shelf to pull down my favourite mug, and... felt a 'crack' in my left achilles tendon. No...! No no no no no no no... Panic gripped me, I cannot be injured: the training schedule leaves no room for recovery before the April marathon. And even without the marathon, I'll both go crazy and balloon in size without my running. Today, I think it's okay. It was a warning shot, not an injury. I've gone away, done my homework, and will be far more careful from now on. But still, fear ghosts round my ankles.

Image by Hello Turkey Toe

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.

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

Mad Keen Runner

I've been a mad keen runner for a good 10 years now. I fell into it during a lonely year in northern Spain - even through the winter, the long siesta in the working day saw my colleagues lunch and snooze, but I never got the hang of that. Instead, every lunchtime I took myself off down the tracks that snaked along beside the river Ebro, to see what I might find. At first I just walked, but walking wouldn't let me get far enough in the time allocated. So I began to run.

Since then I've travelled lot. I've moved cities, switched countries, and worked and studied in numerous places within the UK. The same black and green rucksack has come with me on all these moves; much stitched, patched and emergency-repaired. No matter where I'm going or for what purpose, the first thing to be packed into that backpack is always my running kit. Trainers and a stopwatch are the crucial two items. Otherwise, kit has varied over the years and climates, though I have found that the sporty fabrics that are specially designed to wick and not chafe, are a mercy and a gift. I've never had all the sexiest latest gear, and I'm not immune to pangs of envy or inadequacy when someone jogs by who really does look the part. But as I usually choose to run trails and tracks way out the back of beyond, how I look is mostly irrelevant once I've got out there.

Running grounds me, and enlivens me. It ensures me a connection with the weather, seasons and terrain. Late summer comes and goes, and the lush greens in the fields gradually wither to husks and stalks... the first dustings of snow come... through the wild storms of winter... the arrival of frogspawn in the ditches... turning to darting teeming tadpoles... Cherry blossoms and daffodils burst into life... later raspberries stud the hedgerows, blaeberries nestle in the hills... This is an awareness and connection that I find is weakened to the point of irrelevancy in normal daily life in the city. Without running, the changing seasons and weather are reduced to scraping ice off the car, adjusting the thermostat in the house, deciding which coat to go out in...

Some of my best thinking happens when I'm out running. It seems to happen in the empty spaces - between the endless mileage calculations, the chanted mantras to stop me giving up when it gets tough, and the pleasure of being outdoors - there must be cogs a-whirring. Because out of nowhere, new thoughts materialise, problems are solved and clarity gained.

I often, almost always, experience moments of exaltant emotion: euphoria, invincibility, a gratitude and awe for the world. My running is driven by what must be a form of addiction, coupled with an urge to explore: always a little further, what lies round that bend, over that ridge, beyond those trees?

Running has carved a niche into my life. It's a passion. It's a form of bliss.

Choked with the Cold

9.30am on a frosty Saturday morning. The sun is rising through a gap in the trees, and bathing the living room in gold. I want to be out there, jogging the ice-crusted trails down by the river. But I'm not, because I'm choked with the cold: just the walk from my desk to the kettle makes my head pound and my eyes wince, let alone the 7 miler my training schedule suggests for today. What is even more galling, is that this is my first bout of ill-health in about 18 months (hangovers withstanding). It seems to say a lot, to me at any rate.

Whilst away travelling, my health was exceptional. No colds, flu, tummy bugs or any of the other common ailments that ordinarily catch me out a few times per year. It was a fear of mine - that I'd end up coughing and sneezing through the night while staying in a 8-share dorm somewhere. How unpleasant, unfair and annoying it would be for my room-mates. Or a stint of food poisoning, while sharing a small block of communal toilet facilities! How vile that would have been for other guests. I did carry around a vague anxiety about falling ill on the other side of the world, away from the familar system of free health care taken for granted in the UK.

But, luckily, it never came to be. I enjoyed over a year of perfect health. It doesn't take a genius to see why: lots of exercise, daylight and fresh air on a daily basis. A massive reduction in negative stress. Autonomy and control over pacing and activity levels - if I felt a bit tired and rundown, I could opt to rest. If I felt buzzing with energy, I could run/hike/write/work like a fiend. Constant changes of my environment and the people around me probably boosted my immune system over time. The need for very cheap and very simple food meant a super-healthy diet of fresh fruit, veg and carbohydrates most days. Being a budget nomad was so good for me.

Now I'm back, have been for 4 months now, which seems to have been long enough for all the good contributing factors to slide away and a pesky dose of the cold to incubate. It'll be over in a day or so, it's no big deal, and I'm grateful that this is the worst health problem I have to complain about. But the compare-and-contrast is resonant. In comparison to before, life now is characterised by significantly less control and autonomy, less exercise, less exposure to daylight and fresh air, more negative stress, a less healthy diet, and less engagement in creative fullfilling activities.

Normal life is bad for my health.

Living The Dream: Costs

Freycinet Peninsula, Tasmania. A nice place to hang out for a few days marathon training. I put in a couple of magnificent 12 milers here, round the Hazards-Wineglass Bay loop, at the crack of dawn while most of the tourists and hikers were still fast asleep.

What a dream. But how much did it cost?

Cost:

Youth hostel accomodation/night = AU$24.

Food for a day = around AU$10, depending on what you can find on the hostel's free food shelf.

Entertainments = running (free), sun-bathing (free), reading (free book off the hostel's exchange shelf), writing/drawing (cost of a biro and a notepad - a cent or two per day), conversation with interesting people (included in price of hostel), likewise any TV viewing.

Thats AU$34 for one's day's simple but blissful living, or £14.50 in UK money! How many hours work is that? 2.5 hours on the minimum wage. Less if you're lucky enough to be able to command more cash for your labour.

Now, ok, maybe it's not as simple as that. An airflight from the UK to Australia is a hefty price (besides being desperately bad for the environment, something I'll deal with on this blog some other day). But if you work out the cost of a round the world/return ticket of approximately £1000, across 365 days... Comes out as £2.74/day! That's less than a daily commute costs just about anywhere in the UK, unless you walk to and from work.

And yeah sure, if you want to be super pernickety, there are other costs: The clothes on your back. Running trainers and shorts. Deodorant, soap, shampoo, toothbrush... etc etc. The list goes on, but not indefinitely. With a minimal kit bag of essential gear (a lot of which can be picked up for free on the road from hostels' free-shelves or other travellers moving on), the cost spreads out very cheaply over several months of travel. Probably a lot cheaper than your lifestyle at home.

It certainly cost me a fraction of my lifestyle at home, and I'm not a particularly extravagant person. For somewhere in the region of £20/day, I was able to live my dream.

Anti-Stuff

Been thinking about 'stuff' a lot lately. Cataclysmic economic difficulties across the globe have prompted all sorts of views and debate on the topic and its solution... To little ol' me, the message seems to boil down to... If you're lucky enough to still have money to spend, get out there and spend it! It's your duty to the economy - and by extension, your community, way of life, and the entire social order.

Unfortunately, this clashes big time with all the thinking, reading and living that I've been doing over the past year or so. I've been heading in a steadily anti-stuff direction all this time.

• Buying 'stuff' buggers up the environment - and for what? A brief buzz of acquisition, and then, too much junk and clutter lying round the house, and ending up in landfill.
• Having lots of 'stuff' weighs you down, mentally and physically. There's nothing like trying to backpack your way round the world, to make you get brutal on exactly what stuff is essential. I found that I'd prefer a light backpack and the ability to run for the bus/train, rather than lots of lovely clothes/laptops/gadgets/books - but an inability to lug it comfortably around with me. Plus when you've got lots of stuff, you've got to worry about how secure it is, what happens if you lose it, insuring it...
• Needing stuff means needing an ever-renewing ever-increasing money supply to buy the stuff. Which means working lots. Once I quit work I found, after a bit of an adjustment period, that I preferred having loads of time to run/read/write/paint/soak in the sun/think/hang out with friends. There's a certain level of cash that is necessary to earn - to meet the basic needs. But after that, to me, time seemed more valuable than nice gear.

I didn't work for 8 months last year. I lived off savings that I'd expected to last a maximum of 3 months. But they just seemed to stretch and stretch, as I simplified and streamlined my lifestyle and my needs. As I passed through hostels, I gradually shed clothes, books, shoes and gadgets. And in exchange, I got to train for a marathon, running 5-6 times a week, in some of the most stunning places in the world. It was heaven.

Anti-stuff. That's the way to go in every way. Except for the economy.

In Love Again

I'm just back from a few days up north. I always get a shock as I drive up the coast, round the bends at Berriedale, and eventually emerge out onto the Causewaymire. Its bleak. There's nothing there. Weeks and months spent in the city shrinks my horizons; I get used to built-up streets and estates, hustle & bustle, advertising and traffic everywhere. There's always something in front of you, and it close up and in your face and noisy as hell usually.

Head up north, and the further you go, the less there is. Caithness in November, is a landscape blasted by gales and sleet. It's miles and miles of rolling moorland in dreich greys, browns, blues and purples. The wind turbines turn steadily, clustered against a wild backdrop of Morven and storm clouds. When I see it all for the first time in a while, it makes me gulp. Is this really the place I love and miss so much? I get out of the car, and am halfway knocked off my feet by the wind. Its bloody cold, and the hail stones sting. I hurry indoors, and close the door behind me.

But by the next morning, I am in love again. The sky rolls by ever changing, and creates unique moments of light that make my spirits sing. Three geese honk overhead in formation. The wind roars through the tops of the Braehour forestry. The moors unfurl ahead of me as I run out to Loch More. There's nowhere else I'd rather be, not in the whole wide world.

Impossible Goal

I've not blogged for a few weeks. I've been feeling tired and sluggish, and getting increasingly overwhelmed with work and the daily commute. I was letting it all get to me, and my little efforts to sort things out didn't seem to be making much difference. It took a while, but I finally came to the realisation that the only way to sort myself out, was to set myself an impossible goal. No spare minutes, let alone energy, in the day? Think I'll set myself a marathon!

So I have. The Lochaber Marathon on 19th April 2009. I've a good 6 months to train, which should be more than enough. And I can't wait to get stuck in.