Salocin

Why do we do it?

I went for a run today. And yesterday.

My preferred route is anti-clockwise around Hyde Park, starting at the south-western corner, near High Street Kensington, and then circling around the perimiter to the extent the various paths and tracks allow it. I follow the same route as the Serpentine Running Club, which is how I know that it's 4.3 miles, or 6.9 kilometers.

I start out by stretching against the black metal railings at the very corner of the park. I also spend stupid amounts of time trying to make sure that my iPod mini (who would have thought they'd become out-of-date so damn fast?) is securely attached to my left arm, and isn't going to be a pain all the way around the park.

Then I spend a few moments worrying about what will happen if my car key somehow falls out of my pocket as I run.

I have a heart rate monitor. it's uncomfortable, and the strap sometimes slips as I run. I make sure that's all attached. Then I start running along the southern edge of the park. Past the Royal Albert Hall and the Albert Memorial, and this early into the run, I'm still in fairly good shape.

This is good because around here, you have to get out of the way of large numbers of tourists who insist on walking backwards while trying to get the memorial to fit in their camera's viewfinder. This requires lightning reflexes.

Typically, today, I jump out of the way of a fast-retreating japanese fellow by stepping onto the road, 10 yards away from where a bunch of people who are trying inline skating for the first time in their lives are, as a group, teetering on the brink of disaster. The Japanese fellow's girlfriend yells something unintelligible to warn him that I'm there, which causes the skaters to all look up. The first one then loses her balance, grabbing onto the second's shirt in a reflexive, but ultimately doomed attempt, to save her bum from impacting with the concrete. Newbie number two throws his knees together to control his skates - a genetically programmed reflex dating back to prehistoric times without inline skates - and promptly slides backwards into the rest of the group, who go down like dominoes.

Three minutes into my run and I've already caused a multi-innocent-bystander pile-up. I think, "Don't look at me, I'm just running here". Only I think it so incredibly clearly that I hear my own voice in my ears, even over "Everybody's Gone to War" by Nerina Pallotblaring through the earpieces - a song which, given the multiple friendlies writhing on the floor in a tangle of malcoordinated flesh, seems eerily appropriate at the time.

I check my heart rate monitor, and clearly the incident has affected me subconsicously, since it's blinking at me like I'm about to die. Only 4.1 miles left to go.

I cross the road that leads into the park, and cross the horse-riding track towards the tennis club. A horse with a seriously challenged digestive tract has passed nearby recently, and the downside of increased lung capacity becomes immediately apparent. A sudden burst of speed and deep gasping breaths seem to do the trick, and I settle into the run along South Carriage Drive.

This area is usually quite deserted, since it's not the nicest part of the park and the trees cut out almost all of the sunlight, so I'm expecting there to be no problem getting my thoughts back in order after the international incident at the memorial. Only I just had to dodge around a strange-looking fellow in a bowler hat. I check my heart rate in a panic, figuring my oxygen-starved brain is sending out ridiculous signals in the hope I'll stop the torture.

But my heart's fine, and look! There's another one.

My God, they're everywhere. Bowler hats... and they're in my way.

I end up running on the grass, because the swankily-dressed weirdoes don't go there, and the trees are easier to dodge than the fancy-dress party. A little further along, all is explained. Sort of. There's a tall building attached to the Hyde Park Barracks, where the local troops are housed. There's clearly some sort of function on, and when you're in the army and you're not wearing fatigues, you wear a bowler hat. Or something. Anyway, reassured that I remain as sane as when I started the run, I continue.

There's a girl running on the parallel path to my left. I'm running ever so slightly faster than her, but she's on the inside track, so to speak, and will have less distance to go as the runs around the park. "Not to worry, you're not competitive, it makes no difference". There's a word for people that hear voices.

I seem to be catching up to her much faster now. I haven't consciously increased my speed, but the calmly blinking display on my watch has picked up an increase in heart rate. Well - she is quite pretty, I'm sure it's nothing to do with the longer strides I now seem to be taking.

At the southeastern corner of the park, I take the outside track, and she disappears up a path that leads towards the centre of the park - oh well. All is well with the world, no large groups of people blocking the path, no random toddlers hell bent on getting under my feet. A path joins up to mine a few hundred yards ahead, and as I approach it, that girl appears on it and ends up running in front of me. Mustn't push myself too hard - it'll only give me blisters.

We come up to speakers corner - where nutters share their ideas, and a huge throng of people is standing there taking pictures of the crazy guy preaching about Jesus. There's clearly no way through, so I go around. Somehow, the girl, who I have now overtaken, runs straight into the crowd, and straight out the other side, totally without breaking her stride. I've taken a huge detour and am once again a significant distance behind her. I'm beginning to want her to not be there, she's distracting me from my run.

I'm determined not to run faster just to overtake her, but then a bundle of muscle with a mouth and lots of teeth comes bounding out of the undergrowth to my right, making noises like it's killiing something, and the next thing you know, I'm in front of her again.

The owner of the death machine comes out from behind some trees and shouts, "Daisy, come back here, Daisy!".

Daisy?

That thing sharpened it's teeth at night, I'm sure of it, and she calls it Daisy!

Along the top of the park, there's too many people, and I find myself zig-zagging between infants, parents, dogs, prams, and a squirrel who - for some strange reason - didn't see me coming until I was almost of top of him.

It's a bloody conspiracy if you ask me.

I'm beginning to get blisters. I can feel the heat building up just behind the ball of my foot, and it's unpleasant. It'll start stinging soon. This is because I ran yesterday, and my body is punishing me.

I finally get to the northwestern corner of the park, and turn left where you can see all the coaches behind a wall. I make my way around the inconveniently placed Kensington Palace, and that voice starts up again.

"You've not pushed yourself hard enough".

"You're finding the finish too easy".

"If you had guts, you'd finish stong, and make sure you tested your limits".

For some reason, my sanity completely abandons me, and I find myself sprinting the last 800 metres, as I pass in front of the statue of Victoria, take a sharp right around a couple of American tourists and hurtle down the slope past the Kensington Palace gate. There's a dog in the way and kids to either side, so I vault over the dog as though I still had the energy for antics like that, and feel most of the skin on the left-foot-blister bid adieu to this world forever. A sharp left a few yards further on, and my right foot is similarly abandoned.

At this point, I'm thinking really stupid things like, "I must get to the end of the run before this song ends" (it's "Love Generation" by Bob Sinclair), or "I must pass that bench before that dog catches that frisbee" (I kid you not).

Finally, a right turn down the path I came up when I first started, and both hands on the railings against which I stretched about half an hour ago. Sweaty, blistered, and strangely elated.

Why?

Posted by nlvp at May 14, 2006 05:01 PM