What I listen to when I’m running – after Haruki Murakami

So, I’ve begun to run daily. It’s a necessity, I’m told. Something to do to stave off dying – a version of outrunning the devil.  I’m not wholly convinced about the science of it all, but I’m giving it a try.

And is it, in fact, running at all?  I’m not sure it is.  When did jogging become so inadequate? Even the word now sounds kind of eighties’ leg-warmery.  Jogging?  How passé - for today, we run!  Am I actually, though, even jogging?  Or indeed fast walking?  Maybe, we can settle on trudging whilst flailing my arms a bit.  Yep, that sounds about right.

I’ve got the gear – the (frankly hideous) shoes, the pour-your-legs in lycra, the pedometer.  One of my kids calls it the paed-o-meter and I have visions of dodgy looking men, leaping out of bushes with striped, ill-fitting jumpers and yellowing teeth; the device on my wrist counting each and every one of them.

I’ve discovered our park has a secret life that you only see through the almost imperceptible change in it when you tread the same path every day.  The shift in the pattern of the light on the dahlias, the tracks the squirrels make, the beauty of the senior citizens’ early morning yoga club.

When I see my kids running, it’s not even a thing.  It’s just what they do – fluid, effortless movement, followed by a breathlessness they shrug off instantly.  They don’t Go for a Run, they just run.  I hope they never lose that, but suspect they will.  It’s part of growing up. 

My older son comes with me sometimes and he’s a hard taskmaster.  Firm and damn ruthless, I hardly dare disobey him.  It still freaks me that he’s turned into this beautiful man-boy who can outstrip me in most ways.

Will I keep it up?  I’m not sure.  I’d like to think so, but I know me too well and it’s not safely enough a routine yet.

Do I enjoy it?  Yes, I think I do, especially the burning, crazy exhilaration you feel when you’ve done it.  That feels nearly as good as the sanctimonious smugness when I tell someone else I’ve been for a run after work – and on a Monday night to boot.

The soundtrack to my efforts is whatever takes my fancy at any particular time and more often than not, I think it’s nicer to listen to the world around you.  But tonight was a shut the world out night and this is what I listened to:

Pretty Pimpin, by Kurt Vile – “Then Saturday came around and I said, Who’s that stupid clown, blocking the bathroom sink?, But he was sporting all my clothes.  I gotta say pretty pimpin.”

Complexity, by Eagles of Death Metal – “My socks and underwear, I like to keep them clean, It’s so easy without complexity.”

Honey Bee (Let’s Fly to Mars), by Grinderman – “Honey Bee, Let’s Fly to Mars.”

And what, while we’re running, can we learn from these musicians – philosophers all?

Feel comfortable in your own skin – you look pretty pimpin baby!  It’s so true, everything is indeed easy when it ain’t complex.  Keep your socks and underwear clean – it’s one of the few, unarguable laws of life. End of.

And the honeybee flying to Mars?  I could riff on the idea of reaching for the stars, or staying sweet in life, but it would be nonsense.  A load of sticky, buzzy bunkum.  The truth is, I just like the song. 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=659pppwniXA  - Kurt Vile - Pretty Pimpin

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3DLVLRpKtYc– Eagles of Death Metal - Complexity

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-PkJ8LePdrc – Grinderman - Honey Bee (Let’s Fly to Mars)