My grey sweatshirt is the most valuable piece of clothing I own. It's a tough and worn cotton, the type of material you could dry the dishes with. I bought it for a modest 99 cent in a charity shop and I wear it when I run.
I've taken as much time off running as I have off writing.
So I start with humble but testing intention of getting out to the Marina and back, about 3K. Enough of a distance to test the legs again. I ease into it. My stride is slow and meditative. My joints are stiff and cold as I haven't warmed up and there's clouds moving faster than me.But my knees are pain free so far and that's a good enough motivation for me.
I jog past Spar and pass men in suits who are scoffing sandwiches on their lunch break with their eyes fixed on their phones. I nod towards the local wino, with his New York Yankees cap and Black Eminem Tshirt. He's parked outside of the shop with purpose, in one of those chairs you'd trade 12 cans for at Electric Picnic. What a regular Tuesday.
Unsurprisingly, it doesn't take long for sweat to seep through the shirt. And as my legs get heavier with each landing along the pavement, the shirt absorbs sweat like a sponge.
On the outskirts of the city, I run past the Church of Jehovah that leads onto the bridge above the link road. There's two homeless men just before the bridge, one sitting down with a can smoking a rollie ; the other fidgeting with something in his backpack. They have tents laid out and I wondered if they have been set up their for long. I don't stop and stare, they have their business to carry out and I have mine. I keep moving.
I pace over the bridge and look down. Cars moving endlessly, going somewhere from nowhere. i wonder where each and everyone of those cars is going. Each little moving box carrying a story and a world of people, each with their own dreams and fears. Each just trying to get on with it.
It isn't long before my legs begin to feel pretty rough, but I decide to hang on and keep up the pace until I reach the Marina. I'll rest when I can see the sea. I arrive and the view is everything it always has been, enough to make me forget about the city. The sea is blue and deep. I wondered if I fell in could I swim. I thought it best to admire the sea but not fuck with it.
I got back to running and once I reached the end of the lane, I decided to keep on going. I wasn't too tired yet. I reached Blackrock, with it's market stalls, cafe and beach strand.
It doesn't take long to escape the city and the poverty seems well hidden here. There's no tents, only artisan stalls. Scones and sandwiches, seaside and sun.
A grandfather sits with his grandson and chats away, looking out onto the waves.
I wondered if I would live to be that age and what my grandchild will think of me. 26 is a long way to go.
After taking some time to take in the view and wonder why I don't do this everyday, I decided to run back home. The shirt is drenched at this point and I can taste the salt water rolling down my face.
The legs are somehow still going, though I don't feel connected to them at this point. I am merely a head on moving limbs at this point. I realize it has been a long time since I ran. The return journey home is mostly uphill and I laugh at my decision to have kept going. Running is all resilience. It's a mental game. The mind is stubborn, if not stupid. That's how you keep going. Even when you know you should stop.
A dirty white van passes. Written on the side is a warning to the masses: Prepare, for the Coming of the Lord is near. I did wonder if the end of the World would be such a bad thing after all. I wonder where the guys in the white van will go. I bet they'll be as surprised as me.
As I draw near home, I pass the bridge again. The two homeless are packing up their tent and the rollies are put out on the floor. I struggle along home and decide to walk the last 500 metres. 10K in total. More than I've done in a while, but I'm glad I did it. Tomorrow I'll drop the volume and up the speed. I won't do more than 5k. I can feel it in my legs already.
I'm looking out of the window and I'm thinking of those men in their tents. I wonder where they're sleeping tonight, and how easy I have it. Running along Blackrock for leisure. Sipping coffee on the bay. We're worlds apart.
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