The Pity Party's Over...
I love running. I adore it. Nothing makes me happier than pounding the pavement, wind in hair, scarf whipping round, gloves and heart and sweat and you get the picture. But i am 40 and my knees are fucked. They are. And my ankles play up and i worry that if i push it, i will end up in a wheelchair for the rest of my life. But apart from sex, nothing else gives me so much joy, ok, maybe some very fresh sashimi, but really, i love running.
And i can’t bear the idea that i might have to start doing something like tai chi. Tai chi, ugh. That’s for old people. Unless it’s Jet Li type taichi, and perhaps i could start doing some wushu, or something like that. But it is depressing to think that this is where i am now. This is where i will be.
40. Somethings cannot be denied.
I was at a party two weeks ago and i was the oldest person in the room. Other people were between 23 and 39, but i was undeniably the oldest person there. I said, i loved being 40, which is true. I do love it, it was like stepping into my power. But, someone asked, does it make it easier that you don’t look 40? And i had to consider. It’s a stupid question really because i don’t think there is a 40 look, is there, but when i feel my knees and think oh my god, i am so 40, that makes me think.... arrrgh! I can’t take it if i can’t run anymore.
I have had to modify my routine. I thought i could do 3 miles, hardly anything really, a day and keep it up, but it actually physically made me sick. So i ran for 1/3 of March, and now i have had to admit that i need to alternate between 3 miles and 1 mile a day. One mile a day seems hardly worth getting out of bed for, but it does make a difference. It makes me feel more human, and it helps me focus. And walking doesn’t really cut it either. Unless it’s hill walking – for 8 hours in the rain. Oh yeah. Up mountains in Donegal.
Well i’m going to have to get going. The boys are growing up and i’m trying to upload stuff from the mobile but its not really working. So its costing me money and not working. The joy.
I was thinking some more about the recent killing of the police officer. It has been compounded by some really awful graffiti that has appeared in the Bogside in Derry. A gloating, cruel delightedness that you sort of equate to psychopathic, racist, fundamentalist behaviour. It is really disturbing for me on two counts. One, well it is disturbing in itself. The second though is peculiar to Derry in that Derry was always a softer, more compromising place. However since the peace process kicked in well and truly it has this sort of filthy, scummy, hard atmosphere which is sort of a calcification of the chip on the shoulder and a smouldering resentfulness.
It seems that nothing is good in this world in Derry now and people are so wedded to pain that pain is all they seem to want. It’s part of the not taking responsibility. Someone else is to blame. It is the British Government’s fault that everything has happened. And yes, partly that is true, but when people are saying, look, the fuckers are on the verge of going, and at some point, when you are the last person in the pity party, then it is time to leave.
Anyway. Time for me to go. Too.
And i can’t bear the idea that i might have to start doing something like tai chi. Tai chi, ugh. That’s for old people. Unless it’s Jet Li type taichi, and perhaps i could start doing some wushu, or something like that. But it is depressing to think that this is where i am now. This is where i will be.
40. Somethings cannot be denied.
I was at a party two weeks ago and i was the oldest person in the room. Other people were between 23 and 39, but i was undeniably the oldest person there. I said, i loved being 40, which is true. I do love it, it was like stepping into my power. But, someone asked, does it make it easier that you don’t look 40? And i had to consider. It’s a stupid question really because i don’t think there is a 40 look, is there, but when i feel my knees and think oh my god, i am so 40, that makes me think.... arrrgh! I can’t take it if i can’t run anymore.
I have had to modify my routine. I thought i could do 3 miles, hardly anything really, a day and keep it up, but it actually physically made me sick. So i ran for 1/3 of March, and now i have had to admit that i need to alternate between 3 miles and 1 mile a day. One mile a day seems hardly worth getting out of bed for, but it does make a difference. It makes me feel more human, and it helps me focus. And walking doesn’t really cut it either. Unless it’s hill walking – for 8 hours in the rain. Oh yeah. Up mountains in Donegal.
Well i’m going to have to get going. The boys are growing up and i’m trying to upload stuff from the mobile but its not really working. So its costing me money and not working. The joy.
I was thinking some more about the recent killing of the police officer. It has been compounded by some really awful graffiti that has appeared in the Bogside in Derry. A gloating, cruel delightedness that you sort of equate to psychopathic, racist, fundamentalist behaviour. It is really disturbing for me on two counts. One, well it is disturbing in itself. The second though is peculiar to Derry in that Derry was always a softer, more compromising place. However since the peace process kicked in well and truly it has this sort of filthy, scummy, hard atmosphere which is sort of a calcification of the chip on the shoulder and a smouldering resentfulness.
It seems that nothing is good in this world in Derry now and people are so wedded to pain that pain is all they seem to want. It’s part of the not taking responsibility. Someone else is to blame. It is the British Government’s fault that everything has happened. And yes, partly that is true, but when people are saying, look, the fuckers are on the verge of going, and at some point, when you are the last person in the pity party, then it is time to leave.
Anyway. Time for me to go. Too.
Comments