It's Thursday and I've not run for the best part of a week. I've been busy, away! Iceland again. There was some running, but I write this blog post on the back of my last entry, where I was appreciating some form of recognition, but perhaps should be of an age where gracious support of anothers efforts are more rewarding than seeking self gratification. And what is the point of what we do, this running around? Who are we trying to please? Is it enough just to be satisfied with your own outcome?
It's a marvellous place, Iceland. Yes, marvellous, not awesome. A land that often leaves me speechless. Never has a grey barren landscape looked so appealing, or a blue sky so fresh, clean and bloody freezing. They says it's Gods playground, and whoever the they are, they have a point. There is also an energy among the people, an attitude that is vibrant and can-do. Random signs translated to English in the airport raise a smile, and one in a town cafe 'breast feeding welcome, we like babies...and boobs!'
It's a also a good place to do a half marathon. Reykjavik marathon is a festival of running, from a kids fun run to full marathon distances. Last weekend, this annual event attracted 15,000 participants...in a city with a population of just 200,000 people. That's 1 person in 13. Is it just me, or is that not quite an impressive stat? The town was certainly alive and dominated by this event. I chose the half marathon, around 3000 in that distance. The course is flat and the weather that morning almost perfect. Ideal, then.
But ideal for what? A good time, a potential PB? Is this what drives me? Well, in many ways, yes. A test, something to measure yourself by and against others, though I'm not always too fussed about the latter. I remember crossing the finish line, head in a spin from that last mile of giving it horns. Our coach discusses half marathon race strategy for the first 12 miles only, concluding that the last mile is simply everything you've got. So as I'm there trying to regain composure, I'm asking myself what was it all about.
And here's the nub of it. James May once explained wonderfully why he loathes motor racing. What's the point in doing something you enjoy with the aim of it ending as quickly as possibly and ending up where you started out? The so-called ideal conditions in this land of engaging weather and challenging landscapes is a flat essentially featureless course with no weather whatsoever. Don't get me wrong, I enjoyed the course and had a great run. The crowd was strong with music and noise, most of it from bashing saucepans!
But there is more on offer here. Gritty landscapes beyond the road and weather to be immersed in. I wondered if I'd somehow missed the point, in taking on this race, questioning my efforts. It was quiet at my end of the race, alone as I crossed the line. A curious moment to reflect. I was 60th, by the way and my second fastest time of the year with 1.27 something, not that that impressed anyone whatsoever, again adding fuel to my thoughts of what's the point. Of course, there is self satisfaction...but is it enough?
