In Other Words

John Carroll is alone with his thoughts on a run. It’s a little worrying

Runners often say that when they are out on the road or trail, the solution to a problem becomes suddenly apparent, or a situation that seemed troubling is rendered trifling, if not irrelevant. They process things as they run, consciously or automatically. Not me. When I run, I think of nothing but getting where I am going with the least amount of physical torment. My brain, which so often feels like a box in the loft that’s full of old toys, intense school essays and charcoal drawings of lonely trees in winter, is suddenly light and free to focus on one straightforward, manageable task: a destination.

However, I envy those people who can use their runs as an opportunity to sort through problems, or as a mental time-out that allows for clearer thinking later on. So I thought I’d try it. This, not surprisingly, is what happened:

Okay, here I go: what should I do about X? Hmm...

The cushioning on these new shoes is nice. Bouncy.

That woman has pink hair. I wonder why Pink calls herself Pink. No I don’t. A dog that looks like a Tasmanian tiger! But they’re extinct. And from Tasmania. So it was a dog. But what if it wasn’t?

My socks are slipping into my shoe. Should I stop? Won’t it just happen again? That man did not acknowledge me when I gave him the quick tilt of the head. His T-shirt is, therefore, stupid. And his hair flaps comically in the wind.

Am I slowing down already? Should I speed up? No, keep an even pace. I’m only going to the supermarket. Why didn’t I just order food online?

I wish my eyebrows worked better. They’re useless at catching sweat or looking wry. Wry is a funny word. Who do I know lives in Rye? Ah yes.

Why do some parts of a trail never dry out? It hasn’t rained in a week.

Damn. Now my new shoes are dirty. Why did I want to keep them clean? They’re shoes.

Should I walk over railway bridges or walk up the steps, run across, then walk down? Am I cheating if I do this? Too late.

Why did I start this run on an uphill? No, an ascent! Now I’m tired.

London footpaths are so uneven. They’re like a special effect from a 1950s film about an earthquake. Is this asphalt or tarmac? I don’t care. I think I’m going to trip.

The waist strap on my backpack makes me look overweight. I am not overweight. Oh no, did I put on a few pounds during lockdown? I know those jeans don’t fit any more. I probably washed them on a high heat. Yep, that was it.

Where did they get all those social-distancing stencils for the pavements? If the councils already had them, ready to go, then this goes all the way to the top!

That guy using his phone is not going to look up, is he? No, he is not. Perhaps he will walk into a lamppost. This is a long road.

I think I can hear my keys.

Maybe I should get prescription glasses for running. How much would they be? Have contact lenses improved since I last tried them? It felt like I was trying to stick a monocle under my eyelid.

I am not getting out of the way of this thoughtless idiot cycling on the pavement. Oh, it’s just a big child.

I’m definitely going to trip.

That driver stopped his van for me to cross, even though he had right of way! I shall give him a wave and a thumbs up. He deserves it.

Four miles? Felt like a lot longer. Okay, what should I do about X?