Tag Archives: running

International parkrun Day

Yesterday was International parkrun Day.

Fourteen years ago, 13 amateur runners and a handful of volunteers led by Paul Sinton-Hewitt, gathered in Bushy Park, West London, to run a 5km course on a Saturday morning. Sinton-Hewitt was a keen runner but, injured at the time, was unable to run, and was looking for a way to keep running as a central part of his life while he was injured while giving something back to the community he loved and valued so highly.

The Bushy parkrun grew so popular that in 2007 Sinton-Hewitt eventually gave in to those who kept asking him whether it could be trialled at other venues, too. There are now more than 500 parkruns in the UK, and more than 1600 worldwide. Since April, there has been one in the park next to my road, which is hugely lucky for me; running tends to drift in and out of my life based on. how busy I am with music and work, so momentum is everything. At the moment, I’m in the habit of running twice a week, and I hope to keep it that way. A Saturday-morning parkrun less than five minutes’ walk from my front door is a godsend.

I don’t want to be an awful bore or a fitness bully, so I’m not writing this to badger anyone into taking part; I enjoy running, but that doesn’t mean everyone else has to. For me, going for a run is not just about keeping fit and healthy; it’s a celebration. Six years ago, I couldn’t run at all, and it looked likely that I never would again. So the fact that I now can is something I cherish. I love the feeling of accomplishment, the feeling of strength and above all else the feeling of movement itself.

While my reasons for going along are perhaps a little unusual, what’s great about parkrun is that any reason for doing it is as valid as any other. I’ve taken part in organised running events elsewhere (as recently as this morning), and while they’ve been well organised and friendly, the spirit at them is different. parkrun is very explicitly a run, not a race. Of course, many people who take part want to push themselves and go faster and get PBs, but parkrun is no more geared to the club athletes who run sub-20 than it is the people who want to jog slowly, or even walk, around the course while having a natter with a friend. All are welcome. And because the volunteer roster at each Parkrun includes a tail walker, no one comes last.

I understand those who dislike organised exercise, and find it a bit too much like school PE lessons. But for me, parkrun is the easiest way to see the best parts of humanity. Crucially, it’s free and Sinton-Hewitt vows it always will be, and it inspires an obvious sense of community in those who turn out. People take their turn at volunteering, and runners unfailingly thank the volunteer marshals and timekeepers (I lost count of how many people said “Thank you, marshal” as they ran past me yesterday when, really, my sole contribution to their run hadn’t been to wear a hi-vis jacket, clap and occasionally whoop, and acknowledge those pushing buggies round the course as “buggy dudes”). At a parkrun, runners congratulate and encourage each other, staying behind after they finish to clap and cheer others as they come in. You see smiles and hear laughter everywhere.

Yesterday, I didn’t run, as I’d already committed to a 10k in my hometown of Southend today, so I volunteered as a way of being involved. Like many acts of volunteering – or possibly all – it wasn’t entirely altruistic. I did it because parkrun depends on volunteers, since it doesn’t charge for participation (or for anything), so it needs volunteers, and doing it once in a while is a quid pro quo. But even more than that, I wanted to be there because nothing else I do locally makes me feel more a part of my community than parkrun, and nothing else I’m involved in is such a pure social good with, as far as I can tell, absolutely no down side.

For more information about parkrun, go here (if you’re in the UK) or here.

 

 

 

 

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The Lay of the Land, 6 December 2016

Four years ago today, I had a pacemaker fitted at Papworth Hospital in Cambridgeshire. The year before that I was in an advancing state of heart failure. At the point of my diagnosis, I was Class IV on the NYHA classification chart; the subsequent class is “end stage”, which is what it sounds like. My diagnosis was idiopathic hypertrophic cardiomyopathy, a disease where the myocardium is enlarged, weakening the left ventricle and impeding the heart’s ability to pump blood effectively.

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I’ve done one of these each year on 6 December since I started my blog, and they’re shoot-from-the-hip affairs. They’re a snapshot of how I feel on this day when it rolls around. The 2013 and 2015 pieces were positive, contented pieces; the second one was probably the angriest thing I’ve ever written on this blog..

This year, it’s been hard not getting angry every time I read a newspaper. But we on the left must resist the temptation to wallow in anger, bitterness and resentment. Our world is being remade into something ugly, and it will take a long, long time to undo the damage that’s been done.

Yet we must believe it can be undone. The only alternative is despair, cynicism, nihilism: destructive emotions that help no one, change nothing and destroy a person from within.

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In the meantime, you have to live life, with all its ups and downs. This year, my father’s sister, Marion, died unexpectedly. She was only 72 and had not been ill. I’ve also seen more friends and relations get married and start families. Mel and I look to our future and make our own plans.

We’ve been fortunate enough this year to see Santorini, Tuscany, Madrid and Liverpool, and I’ve just got back from Biarritz, where my company had its conference. I’ve continued to make music, helping James, Mel and Yo with their releases, and planning for my own, which will definitely be happening in 2017. Enough waiting. Time to make it happen.

I began running again, after my mum remarked that I never mentioned going running any more. I started, on the hottest day of the the year, by seeing if I could do 2.5 kilometres. Two weeks later, I ran 5k for the first time since I was at school. Two months’ after that, I ran 10k to raise money for Southend Hospital (where I was an inpatient on the cardiac ward). Next spring, I plan to do a half marathon, possibly for Cardiomyopathy UK. Training begins in earnest after Christmas.

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Things are fine for me. But they are not fine looking at the wider picture. Far, far from it. In a year of remarkable, unpredictable political upheaval, it seems daft to try to second guess the future, but next year is likely to be another difficult one for too many of us. It may seem an ivory-tower kind of exercise, but I’ll still be here, looking for music that means something to me. It still feels like a job worth doing.

Back at the weekend with drums. Take care, y’all.

running

Nearing the finish line