....on walking and talking
THIS MORNING I am going to walk 16 miles of the Dublin marathon course.
The only reason I know this is going to happen is because I have arranged to do it with a woman called Breda. She is my newest, bossiest friend. Every lazy person with no self-motivation when it comes to exercise needs a buddy like her. But sorry, you’ll have to find your own because she’s mine.
Breda has a couple of decades on me in terms of experience in running and walking and generally being alive in the world, which I think is why I don’t mind her telling me what to do. She reminds me of the best teacher I had at school. Caring, encouraging and interested in your progress but on constant alert for any rubbish excuse, real or invented, to avoid the work.
She is not at all mean, she is kindness itself, but she still scares me. This is a good thing. She’s the reason I’m still on track. I mean I could text her this morning about the fact that the smallest toenail on my right foot seems to have melted into nothing since our last 10-miler but what would be the point? Off the top of her head she’ll have a reason why this should be no impediment to walking 16 miles.
SIXTEEN.
Miles.
Now, if I was just meeting myself at the car park in Clontarf this morning I could happily lie in bed and tell myself it would be highly irresponsible to go walking halfway round Dublin with a gammy toenail and then I’d snuggle back under the duvet and decide to make pancakes with bacon and maple syrup for breakfast instead. But I’m meeting Breda so toenail or no toenail I’ll pull on the gear.
I only know her a month. She emailed me after I wrote about coming last in a 10-mile race and in her trademark no-nonsense style told me exactly what I needed to do if I was going to walk the marathon without troubling the emergency services. I’ve been meeting her and her friend Ann for training walks every weekend for the past four weeks.
They walk and they talk, they talk and they walk. It’s like second nature to them. Ann recounts the plots to films and books. She’s promised to do the new Woody Allen today. It’s set in Italy. I am hoping there will be pasta. The imaginary carbs should keep me going until my inner anti-exercise demons start annoying me. I’ve noticed at around the seven-mile mark I am overcome by something I call The Dread. I start to get resentful of the fact that I am out walking instead of pushing my children on swings or watching The Gruffalo’s Child for the 92nd time. I start interrogating myself. Why are you doing this? What are you trying to prove? This road is never going to end, you know, your toenails are falling off, your hip joints are aching. You are going to die here.
Yes here, right beside those bootcamp fitness people who are running AND carrying weights and still managing to stay alive.
That’s when I jog. I leave Breda and Ann nattering away and I head off alone with only the negative voices in my head for company. Moving slightly faster, moving on my own, moving to a different rhythm seems to loosen my hips and shake off the demons for a while. I met someone the other day who told me just to tell the negative voices to shut up when they start. Shut up, shut up, shut up. Eventually, she says, they shut up. I will try it this morning. I will try.
Breda has put me in charge of navigation. This is because when she was explaining how directions are not her strong point I somehow conveyed the impression that directions were my strong point when the truth is I can’t even find myself most of the time. I went on the Dublin Marathon website. They have a seven-minute video of the route. My toenails started throbbing by the time it reached O’Connell Street. I had to have a lie-down afterwards. Apparently by mile 16 we will be somewhere in Terenure. If I can get us there.
Last week for something to talk and walk about I told Breda and Ann about the 10-day silent meditation retreats I used to go on back in the day. When they’d stopped laughing at the idea of me shutting my mouth for 10 days they were really interested. So I told them about what I learnt on these retreats. That everything changes, that all is impermanent, so there is no point in reacting to the good or the bad.
It’s much better in life to be quiet and to observe it all, the pain and the joy, observing, always observing, but not reacting. When I’d finished Breda asked me why I didn’t avail of that wisdom during our training, especially during The Dread.
It was a fair point. If she knew me a bit better she’d know that I’ve always been better at talking the talk. Putting these powerful truths into practice is the challenge of my life. Maybe today will be different. Maybe today I will walk the walk.
In other news . . . I’m not sure I’ll have any petrol left in the tank after my own walk but the March for Choice is also taking place today. The event for those who are “pro-choice and proud” starts from 2pm at The Spire, Dublin 1 and continues to Merrion Square.