Trust the Stillness | Taking a week off Marathoning
Monday...again
In a mild hat-tip to J. Alfred Prufrock, rather than measuring my life (this year) with “coffee spoons,” as T.S Eliot’s famous protagonist chooses to do, I’ve decided to run 50 marathons, just about one every 7 days, give or take.
I’m not that convinced of the link between spoons and marathons, if I’m honest. I’m also not sure how much I have in common with Mr Prufrock and his musings on life, given they are quite fraught, and ‘fraught’ can’t be a redeeming quality to aim for, can it?
And, yet, Prufrock’s line of questioning is so compelling, so easy to relate to, that I think Eliot’s exquisite portrayal of a man’s inner monologue is one of my favourite poems.
Perhaps he’s asking us to embrace the fact that everyone feels fraught. If not always, then at least sometimes?
I read Philip Larkin’s poetry at school however, back then, I hadn’t appreciated some of the shared themes of these two literary giants. ‘Regret’ appears to be one of them.
In Aubade, one of Larkin’s well-known pieces, the particular line about regret that gets me is: “The good not done, the love not given, time torn off unused.” It’s so perfectly delivered that even now, reciting it, I’m covered in goosebumps.
Why did I stop reading poems, I ask myself?
Was I that busy, these past two decades, starting too many other things, or was I simply distracted with too many other things or, more likely, caught up with thinking about all these pesky other things?
Who knows. What I can share in this week’s post, sentimentally, is that I am learning to find time for poetry once more. I regret not doing this sooner. Which is a fretful realization, for sure.
Like other art forms, the importance of poems, and how they can help us, needs to be constantly underscored.
If nothing else, from a value-for-money perspective, they win hands-down on most other therapies on the market. So much so (they cost nothing) that it’s probably worth at least experimenting with them.
The positive health benefits of reading a few sonnets, and a verse from Paradise Lost, whilst sipping your Monday morning oat milk latte, are very likely under-rated.
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Music is important to me too and, unlike my enjoyment of poetry and how I’ve let that past-time drift, I’ve relentlessly listened to music over the past twenty years.
Timeless playlists from the 80’s and 90’s, alongside a constant appetite to find more new artists and albums to feast upon.
For each of my 7 marathons so far completed this year, I’ve been accompanied by Robert Smith and his merry men, through the medium of their brand new album, Songs of a Lost World - their first album since 2008.
I’m addicted to Songs of a Lost World. For me, it’s the perfect combination of throw-back Cure guitar riffs, alongside a new wave of fresh energy and melodies.
Lyrically (and as a segue from Prufrock) the album is also smattered with the issue of regret: “All we have left is a bitter residue of our emptiness” being a line from the first song, “Alone”.
To any fans of The Cure, who’ve yet to hear the new album, and who may have had concerns that the band’s ‘emo’ ways would have faded, fear not - they are back, and on fine form in that department.
Perhaps my current penchant for The Cure, and for re-connecting with poetry, boils down to my own reflections as I approach my 50th birthday in April.
Re-kindling a love for reading poems, after essentially having paid scant attention to them since I graduated university, feels a bit clichéd. But, there we are, I’m hooked again, and I’m happy to shout about that, and encourage others to dip into the many literary treasures that lie patiently waiting to be enjoyed.
Sat still, in a quiet spot, reading for longer than fifteen minutes, is a past-time I really have to try hard at these days. I’m keen to change that. Because, it seems to me, much like the physical satisfaction I get during and after running, the rewards from being in that quiet spot, in that stillness, can be a truly life-changing experience. A micro-moment of alteration.
When that happens to me, all I can say is that I feel something like a glow.
“Trust the stillness”, as my father-in-law advises.
A lot of maintenance work can take place in the stillness. Add in some poetry to the mix, as our breathing becomes the only sound, and our imaginations are opened up, and we get to feel the hit of each word, crafted so masterfully by Eliot, Larkin, and a myriad of others.
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All of which, it could be argued, is a long-winded way of me admitting that I didn’t run my 8th marathon last week. Instead, I rested up. Well, technically, on Saturday I did compete in a padel tournament (which involved 4 matches and 3.5 hours of frenetic play, followed by an afternoon of boozing) and then, yesterday, I went to a freebie Valentine’s Day workout class with Issy.
The result of both of these activities, perhaps ironically, has rendered my legs even more exhausted than if I’d run a bloody marathon.
In any case, I felt my body would appreciate the gesture of a week off running.
In doing that, I’ve landed here, re-reading old poems and texts. And then, ultimately, doing that has left me feeling pretty stupid for walking past my bookshelf, week after week, thinking I didn’t need anything from the many stories and lessons that each book has to offer.
In some ways, re-starting a routine of getting my mind trained to be calm, and my brain active enough to read a few chapters each day, is a harder challenge than running 50 marathons in a year.
What a crazy statement that is.
I'm not much into poetry but that's only because, probably, I'm a savage. Consider me inspired. Looking forward to when you do two marathons in a week to make up for this one missed ;-)
Excellent Mr.Speedy !🌈👏