Tonky Talk

‘Compression Socks! Strava! Modernity! Humbug!’ harrumphs Paul

R unning offers an almost perfect balance of fellowship and solitary endeavour. Before a race we gather in a mass of expectant, hopeful humanity. We are as one. The starting gun then splits us into our own unique adventures – our route will be the same, but our journeys will be different. Then, after the finish line, we reunite, tottering towards the drinks table babbling about ‘that last hill’ or saying, ‘I thought I had you there,’ like old mates going to the bar.

We express our individuality in subtle ways. The gear required for running is simple but character shines through. Compression socks, for example – a fairly innocuous item but, still, a statement. They say, ‘I am a progressive: the science is proven and I will wear them as a performance aid’. There are people – such as myself – who view them as an affectation, a sign of weakness to be avoided. We would prefer to freeze and cramp in our Luddite wonderland than don these effete accoutrements. Maybe it’s a generational thing. I come from a tradition where you wouldn’t wear socks of any kind, especially for cross-country – just spikes, shorts and vest. In my mind, running is associated with simplicity.

Does this explain my resistance to Strava? For there are few subsets of runners so avid in their devotion as the Strava brigade. And I get it, I really do. I love running, I love talking about running. The idea of an app that connects me to communities of runners, that allows me to share my routes, times and experiences, is undeniably seductive. But part of me wonders whether I’m afraid I’ll like it too much. Strava looks wonderful, but I have seen it cause irrational conduct. I’ve seen runners veer off at the end of a long run to make up a fifth of a mile to round up their distance stat, or suddenly sprint like a lunatic because they’re in a segment and ‘some bastard’ nicked their record the previous week. I’ve heard people say, ‘ If the run isn’t on Strava, does it exist?’

I’m a bit off-grid, a bit of a tree hugger on the quiet. Or maybe I’m just lazy. I like to save my fast runs for races and the idea of uploading workouts for public consumption adds another layer of potential stress to life. I see its worth as a motivational tool and, if you’re part of a group, it’s like a mutual pep talk that never ends.

This year I’m trying to go a bit longer, slowly but surely. I’m doing an ultra in May – 46 hilly miles. I’m viewing it as a day-long running adventure rather than a race. I feel the struggle will be as much mental as physical. Two days ago I went for a run while mulling these issues. An hour or so, but untimed. It was my long regular long loop, but it was disrupted because a storm had closed a park, so the route changed. I ended up running longer than I’d planned as evening descended. To me this is one of the central joys of running, the unplanned nature of it. It is an adventure plucked from the normal structure of our days. I have a fanciful theory that time spent running exists on a temporal plane parallel to normal life, stolen from the normal order of things. It’s on another level and I don’t want to measure it too much, or get lost in its comparison.

That night, the last mile or so went down a forest track. As the light faded I ended up running into oncoming darkness. My impulse was to slow down but the path was quite smooth and some light from distant street lights criss- crossed it occasionally. So I sped up. As I passed through a shaft of light and propelled myself into an immense darkness it felt for an instant as if I was disappearing. It felt, just for a second, as if I didn’t exist.

What would Strava say?