Pop
star Ellie Goulding runs six miles a day apparently. She runs before
gigs in strange cities and she runs with her fans. I probably wouldn’t
have identified that much with her, but I’ve just read an interview with
her in which she says that this compulsion to be superfit all the time
comes from her feeling of needing to be ready for something, maybe the
apocalypse. I just had been jogging along Tynemouth Longsands thinking
how much fitter I was feeling after five weeks. Glad that I could run
forty minutes now without stopping, and that, in the event of an
apocalypse, it would give me a better chance of survival. I did think
that was a bit strange. I’m glad I’m not the only one. I’ve also just
read a Zombie thriller called "Outpost” by Adam Barker whose heroine is a
very overweight Vicar who starts running miles a day on the oilrig
where she’s working, which eventually comes in very handy when a nasty
virus infects the world and sends flesh dripping maneaters their way. Survival
of the fittest. Yes, to be fair, someone who can puff through three
miles, just about, may not be guaranteed to take care of everybody’s
survival needs in an Abby from "Survivors” stylee. But maybe I’d be less
likely to be eaten. And everybody knows Zombies move very slowly.
Strong
My tendons,
muscles, sinews
are stronger now.
Stronger for what?
On the prom,
a toddler on a scooter
is pulled by a man and woman on rollerskates,
a couple run with their collie for a minute,
a Ford Capri exits the dogging car park
with a whoosh.
The sea is nearly a mirror.
I calculate the incline of the hill back up to the road
is five per cent,
stop struggling for air,
just breathe.
