I Burble On About Running / Butter

The best thing, among the other best things, about being a late starter is that I don’t have a history of running times, triumphs or disasters - completing my second ever timed 10K yesterday, all I had to compare myself with was the first one. As it wasn’t 30 degrees this time, and most of the hills were in a downwards direction, I ran faster. More importantly, I ran with J. - my running friend. I’ve never had a running friend before, at least, not one with whom I’ve actually gone running regularly, twice a week, chatting. 

My other running friends have become breakfast friends. I with D. on Saturday discussing butter as we ate eggs on toast - our conversation was something along the lines of everything being improved by it: everything food, D. clarified (the sentiment, not the butter). With D’s confident endorsement of something I’ve always known and discussed at length with my longest-serving friend, I enjoyed my toast even more. 

The thing is, I got excited earlier in the week by an email. It was marketing from Candlestick Press, famous for its commitment to publishing poetry in the form of ‘not greetings cards’. They’ve published ‘Ten Poems About Bikes, Dogs, Breakfast’, about XYZ. The email was advertising their latest pamphlet. ‘At last,’ I thought ‘Ten Poems About Butter’.

After yesterday’s 10K in which I clocked a lifetime personal best, J., a skilled listener, suggested hot chocolate. As we neared the order point, I asked ‘Are you going to have cream and a flake?’ I asked the question more in the style of, ‘I couldn’t possibly justify having cream and a flake, could I, given that I’ve just been making observations about my menopausal tummy?’ Cream is a couple of levels above butter on my list of life’s indulgences - not everything is improved by cream, but a few things you wouldn’t want to put butter on are. J. heard what I was really asking - something along the lines of ‘I’d really like cream and a flake but I’m not sure I’m allowed.’ ‘Of course,’ J. answered, ‘and marshmallows,’ as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

When I re-read the Candlestick email later on yesterday, poised to order a full fat poetry pamphlet, I read more carefully this time, ‘Ten Poems About Butterflies.’ Well, at least the landscape is clear for my own work. I fancy writing my way through a Butter Phase.

I Deter Slugs

Sometimes, a conversation has the effect of a tin opener - one of those old-style ones which involves puncturing the can with a sharp blade, running it round the lid without the assistance of wheels or cogs. This type of opener leaves ragged edges, and a sense of jeopardy. I wonder if that is how my Longest-Serving Friend's courgette plants felt after being eaten by slugs overnight last Thursday - it certainly left her feeling ragged, so as I was going to stay for the weekend, I took wine and flowers.

These thoughts - the being opened up by a conversation and the destructive potential of slugs - came together as I planted baby broad bean plants on my allotment this morning. They are not directly comparable situations, and yet something about that conversation came back to me as I thought about holes, and how to protect the broad bean plants from slugs. 

I don't know if it was the effect of either the wine or the flowers, but last weekend my Longest-Serving Friend found the motivation to try again with courgettes, and had the idea of cutting the bottoms out of flower pots to use as shields around the next lot of plants. We imagined the slugs trying to gain purchase, perhaps hurling themselves at the plants, but slipping down the plastic sloping pot sides. Ha!

The conversation I had, the one that's making me think of tin openers, happened ages ago, but it's stuck with me as a painful unkindness. It was about the holes in me and how they are irreparable. In therapy, I learned to use the metaphor of woundedness about these holes, and also learned, with skilful help, how to take care of myself. 

Not wanting to use slug pellets to deter slugs (bad for birds, bad for hedgehogs) I followed my Longest-Serving Friend's example today and made collars out of plastic cups to shield the broad bean plants I've been growing from seed. I cut out the bases, and I made sure to leave a ragged edge. Something about doing this - about being outside on my allotment, pottering about in the sunshine, planting broad beans, and trying to protect them, helped me feel complete.