HP40: Two More Sleeps!

Greetings – and thanks for taking the time to read this. Has tha really got nowt better to do?

Bonus kudos if you took the time to read my previous post. A few people did – and their feedback was highly reassuring. Faith and religion don’t feature on the list of Standard UK Discussion Topics: it took me a while to convince myself the piece was ready to be shared and that I’d worded it in the inoffensive way intended, seems I got there in the end. Phew!

Just a quick parish notice: I ran the Bristol Half Marathon on Sunday. When I ran it less than twelve months ago, it was my first Half Marathon and only my second race, after the previous week’s Sheffield TenTenTen. In 2012, I clocked 1h49’56” and was ecstatic. On Sunday, I clocked 1h37’11”! So, as you can imagine, I was…

…well, disappointed. Indeed: well disappointed! I’d set off hoping to break the 1h30’ barrier. I did so at the right pace to achieve that goal, but halfway through downgraded my expectations to 1h35’. And, by the time I’d struggled through the final few miles, even that proved over-optimistic.

Having slept on the result for three nights now, it’s not as bad as I first thought in the heat of the moment (and subsequent hours). My summer training’s been all about the High Peak Challenge 40: I may have overdone it in the quantity vs quality stakes, but at least I know I’ve done the miles to look ahead confidently to Buxton, whenever that may be. And, regardless, I have shaved off 12’48” in twelve months – virtually a minute per mile. Sub-1h30’ was simply an overambitious goal; and, had I not set off at the pace I did, I would probably have comfortably hit 1h35’, maybe (but unlikely) even sneaked in under my 1h33’44” PB from Sheffield. But I set off at the exact 6’45”/mi pace I’d planned and I can’t have regrets now. I did nothing unplanned on the day. Or on the eve, for that matter: the fish&chips I ate on the Saturday night had been planned for a week. It just so happens that I had to implement Plan B (“I can always slow down if need be”) earlier than feared. And that I should know better than to eat fish and blinkin’ chips the night before a race – whatever some folk might say on’t Interweb. I’ve read whole books on nutrition, for crying out loud…

…as I posted on Strava on Sunday evening (amongst many things):

“Would have liked to have at least managed sub-1h35' but it's still OK. In fact… truth be told… …all a cunning plan! 1,177th a decent improvement on 3,481st: sure, we only really race against ourselves, but still… And, by "holding back" from hitting 1h30', I've left myself something to aim for next year (21/09/14) – sub 1h30’ AND Top 1,000!”

Ah well – live and learn. Can’t set a PB every time I race, can I? No, I can’t – and, after six races, that day came. Not to worry. And that’s my final word on Sunday. Because, as I’ve said all along during the summer, my autumn racing is all about the High Peak 40 Challenge. And that takes place… when is it again? Oh yes, that’s right – it takes place…

SATURDAY!!!

Forget 21/09/2013: it’s SATURDAY. 40 miles of Peak District countryside. Over 5,000ft of elevation. Saturday.

You can expect a post-event briefing next week. It’s already got a working title (“Running With The Twirler”), even though I’ve not started working on it yet. I expect I’ll mention the running bit, although Saturday more than ever it really is not just about the running – even if there will be more of that than I’ve ever done…

…Saturday will be about the camaraderie. The camaraderie with Chris, Martin B, Martin H, Matt, Mike, Philip, Simon and Trevor that, together with the breath-taking scenery, will be the foundation for a glorious day. A day that will hurt, that will hurt in places I didn’t know I had places – but each and every drop of sweat, grimace and sigh will pale into insignificance compared to the prize on offer. And I don’t mean the medal: indeed, there is no medal. Just a patch badge and a certificate. Oh, and I think I paid separately for a t-shirt, too. Fortunately there’ll be food along the way – but even that, even the flapjack hardly constitutes a prize. Not when it’s set to disappear within seconds rather than be on display for a lifetime. No, the prize is…

…a lifetime of friendships.

Last December, I wrote about the importance of “DYRWW” (“Do You Remember When We”) moments in male friendships. Of how running last year’s Bristol Half Marathon, as well as two training runs beforehand, changed and cemented my friendship with Jon, who paced me to my sub-2hr effort. That was no small achievement, five months into my relationship with running. But Saturday…

…Saturday’s run will be three times the length. It will be over eight times the elevation. There won’t be too much tarmac (although more than most fell races, to be fair) and the descents will be just as challenging as the ascents, just in a different manner. For me, it’ll be unfamiliar territory: the nearest to this I’ve done is the Portishead Coast Path. The Coast Path is scenic, at times narrow (especially beyond the point I’ve captured in this album, a section which I only discovered this year), but Peak District-like it ain’t. So it’ll be a… er, “steep learning curve” come Saturday.

Oh, I have a working title because I know whom I’ll be running with. In theory, anyway. Recognising it’s unlikely that a dozen or so people will stick together for 40 miles, Mike went to the trouble of suggesting pairings, to ensure nevertheless that nobody will be on their own. Where he went wrong in his otherwise inspired effort was in pairing himself up with me. And I’ve told him as such. He, the whippersnapper of Highland Fling fame; me, the trail virgin, the flat-track bully. And not even that bully – not in Bristol, anyway. Regardless, it’s a gesture I appreciate: I’ll do my best to not hold him back. And if he does need to kill some time… well, he can twirl away, as is his want. But let me run the thing before I report on it.

Fortunately (or as the result of hard graft – you decide), I’m feeling good about Saturday. I feel my legs are ready for the challenge and I believe that, Deo adjuvante, labor proficit*. I am not putting myself under any time pressure, meaning my one and only goal is to get round: a long way round, granted, but without spending too much time looking at my Garmin. There will be plenty of other things to look at: the breath-taking views all around, the terrain right in front…

As long as I stay clear of injuries (and that’s no small assumption on a 40mi ultra in the Peak District), I am prepared for a glorious day. To a day at the end of which I can look up to the sky and whisper: “We did it”. Which is not to say I’m expecting this to be easy: I am equally prepared for the fight, the grimaces, the sweat and the tears that will precede (and follow) my crossing the line. There may be tears of pain: hopefully not, realistically quite possibly. And I expect there will be the usual pre-start tears, as was once again the case on Sunday. I wasn’t actually thinking about my brothers right then, yet all of a sudden there I was, fighting them back. I mentioned this to Karen in the evening and she said it wasn’t fare that I carried this burden. But it’s no burden. It’s strength, inspiration, motivation, support. But having two angels who carry you over the wall… no, that’s no burden.

‘Brothers’… it’s a big word. It’s one I consciously use at times when addressing kindred spirits, with no feeling of guilt towards the original ones. It’s one I may use on Saturday: not in the literal sense, but as an all-encompassing expression of friendship, trust, reliance and kinship. Use, not abuse. Because there are two sets of people towards whom I need to be fair and respectful, in different ways. And I will be.

Anyway…

…the bag’s packed. I keep wondering whether I’ve got everything in there – but that’s OK, they have supermarkets in Sheffield. Three en route from Sheffield Train Station to Simon’s place, in fact – and two within walking distance from there! Waaa-heeey!

Do I sound excited? Well let me let you into a secret: I am. There’s a Christmas eve eve-like childish exhilaration about how I’m feeling right now. Like a kid on December 23, I’m two sleeps away from the big day. Like a kid on December 23, I’ve high hopes not just about what I’ll get, but about how I’ll feel about getting it. And, like a kid on December 23, I have the knowledge that my dreams may not come true. But that’s not to say I’m not dying to find out.

Bring it on, High Peak 40. You don’t scare me. You don’t scare me because I don’t view you as an adversary. I view you as an old friend to whom I’m paying an overdue visit, a different one to all those that have come before. It’s high time we caught up on a few things. And that’s fine with me: I’ve got all day. A day I’ll be spending with new-found friends who get it, who understand what it is with me and running – indeed, who are largely responsible for that relationship’s existence and progress. Saturday will seal friendships that have so far only existed, in the main, from behind keyboards, across the Internet: but it will mark neither their beginning nor their end.So put t’kettle on, High Peak 40 – I’m coming home. To my original home, anyway.

There was a time when I couldn’t stand running. That time is over. Hey, Mike – do remind me I actually said that if I start moaning on Saturday..!


* in principle I do, anyway – let’s not get into that whole discussion again, not now!

God Stuff

Pre-Scriptum: This has been a work-in-progress for weeks. As in, I wrote the bulk of it in an hour and it’s taken me weeks to finalise it, to get comfortable with what I’d written and indeed to share it. So bear with me – but remember, it could effectively be a work-in-progress forever… a bit like organised religion.

Right then… time for some theological ramblings…

…but first, a disclaimer:

I am no scholar. My background means I’ve had more exposure to organised religion than most, but it’s been some time since I read “religious stuff” books – other than Richard Dawkins’ “The God Delusion” that I finally finished earlier in August, three months (and one running book) after first picking it up. The opinions expressed herein are exactly that. They are based on some knowledge but, primarily, on questions, on subjective opinions at best. Indeed, answers is something I’m short on.

An overview of my background is probably necessary at this point:

Neither of my parents are practicing Christians. That said, my mother is an Anglican and my father is a Catholic, both reflecting their families’ heritages.

I was baptised at the age of two months; I grew up surrounded by friends from practicing families, my parents’ values firmly Christian even if their attendance record wasn’t exactly Premier League. Many of my friends were altar boys and I joined them: for eight years, I donned the black and white (or red and white, for special occasions) habit and take to the stage to assist priests at the impressive Santuario di Nostra Signora della Rosa;

You hear many horror stories about children and the Catholic Church. Personally, I enjoyed a strong bond with the local curate, Don Gianlorenzo Borzini – and I say that with no trace of sarcasm or euphemism. It was at the age of eight that I first consider entering the seminary, something I pondered over for a good five years before ultimately staying out of it. I like to think the world of B2B software marketing is all the richer for that decision;

It wasn’t till I’d graduated and moved to London that I started questioning not so much my faith but my religion, its customs and values. Growing up surrounded by churches filled with art and ornaments, you don’t necessarily question their purpose. But at some point you might just wonder if, in a world awash with poverty, such demonstrations of wealth are appropriate… and that gets you thinking about a whole load of other stuff, like Papal Infallibility, the role of Mary, the divide between fact and myth…

…in my case, that led me to a path which concluded with being accepted into the Church of England – a path along which I was guided by David Stone, then at St. Jude’s in Earl’s Court but now Canon Precentor at Coventry Cathedral. I embraced a simpler expression of the Christian faith and was all the more comfortable for it.

At the time of my acceptance I’d already moved to Slough, and soon after moved to Portishead. In neither town did I connect with any local church, slipping into the non-practising category to which so many Christians belong. Yet a shared Christian faith was important for both Karen and me when we got together, although, still, regular mass attendance was not part of our lives. We changed that some seven years ago, taking up the advice of our then neighbours and joining them at the evangelical/independent Gordano Valley Church.That’s my timeline, roughly speaking. What it means is that, without having been born into a practising family, my environment has always been Christian. Through decades of Catholic catechism, Altar Boys Football Tournaments, Catholic masses in Italy, England and France, Church of England services, I was inquisitive but not truly questioning. I accepted some of the scriptures outlined facts, that some passages were allegorical, and was comfortable with this. Only over the past six months or so have I begun to struggle……and that is because many of the people at GVC (Gordano Valley Church) appear to take the whole scriptures literally. This fundamentalist stance entails a creationist standpoint and a literal interpretation of the Old Testament, neither of which are stances that I share or ever have done. Even the nuns who ran my nursery allowed you to take those as allegories……and wisely so!Allowing such an approach ensured I didn’t ask too many questions, indeed none to which a satisfactory answer could not be provided. But asking me to believe in Abraham living to the age of 175, to ignore the science behind Darwin’s evolutionary theory, telling me my brothers will never make it past limbo because they were not baptised (in young’un’s defence, he was only around for a few hours – my older brother was stillborn, I accept his chances are limited)… well, that just makes me more questioning. And telling me I must be born again, belittling my faith purely because it has been a fairly comfortable journey, during which I have never lost my beliefs and descended into depths of depravation prior to finding my way once more (as occurred after a service recently)… well, that’s not helpful. Not the way my mind works, for sure.By then I’d already begun reading Richard Dawkins’ “The God Delusion”. I started out of curiosity, from a “know your enemy” perspective. It certainly raises interesting points, although I’ve yet to find one that always niggles me. The universe is meant to be around 14bn years old… the earth around 4.5bn years… and yet the saviour of all mankind was only born 2,013 years ago. Now, 2013 is 0.0000447333333333333% of 4,500,000,000. One thing the Catholic church did teach me is that those who’ve not been baptised, say because born before Jesus, could not ascend into Heaven. I’m sorry, but I do struggle with thinking that I would be so lucky as to be born at the right time to potentially enjoy a pass into heaven, given that for 4.5bn years its gates were closed… I’m from Yorkshire and I’m a Blade, I find it hard to believe I’d get so lucky.But my biggest problem with the side of Christianity to which I’m currently exposed is a more fundamental theological point. I don’t believe in an interventionist God.Do I believe God played a role in the birth of the Universe? Yes, I do. I don’t believe he morphed Adam and Eve out of dust, but I do believe he played a part in the Big Bang. What part, I don’t know. I’d like to, and I’m about to read up on the topic – but, right here, right now, I don’t know. But some Supernatural Being must have done something at some point somewhere and I am comfortable in assigning that role to God. What I don’t believe is……that God influences our lives on a detailed daily basis. That our health, our jobs, our achievements owe to God helping us or hindering us. At GVC we have often prayed for people out of work who had job interviews coming up. That’s great. But the moment you pray for A to get a job, you are effectively asking God to choose A over B. To choose between two sons. In a passage that even non-Christians are likely to have heard, the night before His capture Jesus Christ said: “Father, if thou be willing, remove this cup from me: nevertheless not my will, but thine, be done” (Luke 22:42). Now, if Jesus Himself, whilst (understandably) wishing that his Father would spare Him death, did not have the audacity to ask Him to change His plans – who are we to bother The Almighty? Who are we to invoke His help when, in most circumstances, this will require God preferring us to the detriment of a fellow brother or sister? If you have kids, you know what having to choose between children means… would we really ask that of God?OK, so let’s suppose we do. Let’s suppose that I do owe my ability to run seventeen half marathons in July to God. That it was thanks to God that I stayed injury-free, that I physically had the time, that I got out of bed and carried on running even when I really didn’t want to. We can only do that if we also accept……that, when things don’t turn out our way, it’s again a reflection of God’s will. To cut to the chase, this requires me to accept that God chose for my older brother to come into this world stillborn and that He subsequently chose for my younger brother to die within hours of being born. And I, for one, find it hard to reconcile that with the notion of a loving God that I do hold dear, in which I do believe. I can accept that He did not intervene, that He did not put right the surgeon’s failings (in the case of my older brother), that He did not deliver a miracle to keep either of them alive… and I can accept that because I don’t believe in an interventionist God. But if you want me to believe that He plays a mighty part in all the good stuff, then you’re asking me to believe that He’s forsaken me when tragedies occur… that he caused the Indian Ocean to cause the Tsunami, that He caused the river to break the New Orleans levi… and I’m sorry, I cannot do that. My God is the God of the New Testament, a loving and caring Father – not the God of the Old Testament who, quite frankly, can at best be described as mardy and irascible. Yorkshire is God’s Own County, after all.

So – if it’s not our place to seek to change God’s mind, why pray at all?

I grew up giving thanks to God, not asking for favours. Thanks for just… well, being alive, ultimately. There was a window of time when that direct connection between prayer and future appealed to me, for it undeniably engenders a more personal relationship. I’m currently at a place where I don’t believe in that relationship, whereby I’m more comfortable in giving God thanks for what, in his wisdom, He has given us. However, this then leads me back to having to accept that what happens in our lives has been given to us / influenced by God, even if it wasn’t in direct response to a request of mine. It also borders on believing in Divine predestination, whereas I’m on the side of Divine prescience. So, indeed, what is the point of prayer?
Er… I’m working on that one.

As you can see, I’m in a messy place right now. What I have clung on to throughout is the belief that, whatever He does or does not do, there is a God. You are free to put this down to Pascal’s Wager, whereby we might as well believe since if we do and we are mistaken our lives (and afterlives) won’t be affected, whereas if we don’t believe and we are wrong we’ll burn in hell. Personally, I put it down to the sense of communion and brotherhood I’ve again experienced at Bruce Springsteen concerts…

…let me make one thing unequivocally clear: I do not believe Bruce Springsteen is God. I believe Bruce Springsteen to be a fellow, fallen man, one of many virtues as well as failings. Many are Springsteen fans whose admiration is along the lines of mine, to the extent that Springsteen himself will candidly make it quite clear that, away from the stage, his stage, he screws up like the rest of us. Not that I ever needed telling that, you understand. What I do find, however…

…is that Springsteen’s music and Springsteen’s concerts are more powerful conduits for my belief in God that many churches and religious congregations I have visited over the years. There is a sense of fellowship amongst Springsteen concert-goers that transcends that that I generally experience when I gather to praise The Lord. Now you may find this hard to believe or indeed sacrilegious: personally, I would label it as ‘unfortunate’. Maybe it comes down to my reticence to go over-the-top in a religious environment. You won’t catch me do any of that hand-raising, flag-waving, dance-dancing malarkey: I’m just not comfortable with it. Church is a time for reverent worship and peaceful reflection. It is not a place where you will see me wearing shorts, although sure, short-sleeves are fair game. It is a place where I expect to share Holy Communion on a weekly basis, in keeping with David Stone’s beautiful work on the topic (I don’t, and never will, get the concept that sharing Communion on a weekly basis devalues it!). But get me at a Springsteen show…

…and I’ll raise my arms with the best of them! I shall proclaim the virtues of passion, commitment, friendship, belief and redemption with thousands of strangers. I shall do so with exceptional vigour when Springsteen sings “Faith will be rewarded” during ‘Land Of Hope And Dreams’ or “Come on up for the rising” during… well, ‘The Rising’, appropriately. And in doing so, I shall feel a proximity to God that I’ve rarely experienced elsewhere.

All that said, the search goes on. The search for truth is a never-ending one, for we can never arrogantly claim to have found it. We can but hope that we will get close enough to it. Personally, amongst my next steps is a read of “A New History of Early Christianity” by Charles Freeman, to better understand how early Christian movements and divisions between them led to the status we have now.  How can we, as Christian, proclaim to hold The Truth when we cannot even agree amongst ourselves? There are undoubtedly aspects of our faith that are desirable, embraced by Christians, believers of other faiths, agnostics and atheists alike. You don’t have to believe in God, whichever God that may be, to appreciate that the world is a better place for virtues such as love, integrity and respect. And only yesterday did Pope Francis announce that you don’t have to believe in God to go to heaven, anyway! Which I thought was most considerate of him: he obviously knew that I was struggling to bring this post to a close. Maybe God had a word with him? Not only that, but it means I may get a shot at engaging in a philosophical debate with Richard Dawkins. I’d lose, but still… it’ll pass some of the time we have in eternity! Better give him a few thousand years to come to terms with the existence of God… failing that, we can always talk cricket!

I want to make a couple of points absolutely clear before signing off. I have outlined my issues with some of the aspects of Gordano Valley Church: some of its members who may read about them may be surprised, others less so. What I want to avoid is offending anyone. So let there be no doubt over two things:
1: These are my issues, my viewpoints. I struggle with some aspects of worship and some viewpoints. If they work for you, if that approach facilitates your relationship with God, that’s great. I don’t believe in one-size-fits-all, although I do feel some shared cornerstones are healthy;
2. I have issues with some aspects of GVC as a church, yes. But I have no issues with my one-to-one relationships with its members. Everyone at GVC has been nothing but helpful towards Karen and myself, not least when we were in “headless and legless” mode two winters ago – i.e. when I was recovering from epilepsy surgery and Karen was sat up with her pink cast having fractured her ankle. Let none of you doubt the value I put upon my relationship with you. It’s just… well, some of this here God stuff that I struggle with. This being a blog with a connection to running, special thanks once again to Jon Bonner for pacing me to 1h49’56” in my maiden half marathon, last year’s Bristol Half. In less than forty-eight hours (nearer forty, in fact), it will become the first run I'll have run twice – with some 2,820mi in between. Here’s hoping they pay off and I improve on last year’s time. Because let me tell you, I’ll be grumpier than usual if I don’t..!

There are a lot of complex issues here. I’ve pondered over many of them on my runs, especially the 20-milers. You have to fill those three hours somehow: and, given I run in the morning and am sometimes (alas, increasingly so) out there alone in the dark (no pun intended), complex issues can prove extremely useful. Have I had too much time to think? Have those runs allowed time for doubt and reflection where previously I was in a comfortable, unquestioning place?
Quite possibly. But hey, if that’s  the case – on the whole, I’m all the better for it. I think.

Note: Apologies if I sound presumptuous about making it through to the right sides of the pearly gates. I’ve just long held this belief that an all-loving Holy Father would not want to see any of His children rot in hell, that He would, will find it in Him to forgive us all our weaknesses. I constantly seek to balance this uncharacteristic optimism and convince myself that I need to earn that place, that it is up to me, with my behaviour over the course of these few thousand days on this planet, to earn myself that next place in the next life. With that in mind… I’m going to pray.