I'm not a natural runner, but I have become a habitual one. I like the almost weekly feeling of surprise I experience when I turn up at 9am to the start of a run (not a race) with 100s of other participants. Finishing, however, is never a surprise because I've made that my only goal. Were I more of a risk-taker, more hare and less tortoise (to borrow from Aesop), I might run faster earlier, but then I might have to give up (so my thinking goes, and nap en route). As soon as I reach the home stretch, especially when I can see the finish flag, I feel confident and pick up speed.
I've had several other finish lines to cross this week and I have wondered if it's only deadlines that motivate me. They've included the usual ones for teaching sessions at work; a printing deadline for the 2nd edition of a poetry collection I've edited for a friend (more on this soon); my own poetry submission for a collaborative exhibition in Girona in the autumn (more on this soon); a mid-May aim to get sweet corn planted in the new badger-proof section of my allotment. More on this now:
I've been wondering if it's only deadlines that can galvanise me into action. But I'm not sure it's that exactly. I think what I've learned from all those Parkruns is that I had to do the first 199 in order to completed the 200th. Well, yes. Slow and steady. The sight of the finish each time has been the measurement I need to judge the equation between the resources at my disposal and the task in hand.
I'm going to apply this Parkrun learning more consistently to other areas of my life as I approach the era I'm thinking of as 'elderhood': slowly building towards a goal, then picking up speed, relishing the final flourish, when I can see clearly where I'm heading. Then repeat, repeat, repeat.
