I remember when I was young,
Chubby cheeks and wide bright eyes,
I remember how the world seemed to glitter,
Filled with the scent of fairytales.
I remember how everything felt.
How hot tears would spring unforced,
At the death of a bird with a broken wing.
I remember the pain,
And how it made everything else seem special.
I remember love,
Unconditional,
Blind to faults,
Strengthened by weakness.
How I miss those days,
When the heat of emotion burned bright.
I wish I could return, if only for a day,
To feel the warmth of those flames again.
When I was young.
Saturday, 25 October 2008
Sunday, 19 October 2008
Cardiff Half, 2008.
Today I ran the Cardiff half-marathon. If there's one thing I've learned from today, it's not to underestimate the effect of running 13 miles. In fairness, I didn't really underestimate it - I knew my preparation had been hopelessly inadequate, and I was also aware that there are serious consequences to doing a run when you are underprepared. People have been killed as a result of it, and I'm given to understand that one person in his twenties had passed away on the Cardiff half last year.
I was, therefore, willing to swallow my pride and give up if things got too intense. I do a lot of exercise, and my stamina is pretty good, so I had set myself a somewhat throwaway time of 1 hour 30 minutes. As the race approached, however, I realised that that was somewhat ambitious.
Actually, I kept up with the 1-30 pacemaker for about 8 miles before starting to drop off. My legs felt empty. It had seemed, looking at the people around me, as though I had been in reasonable condition for much of that time, but I guess experience makes a difference, and I just felt as though I couldn't cope. I started walking, attempted a jog, walked again, then stopped. I started to experience a very strange light-headed sensation and felt as though my body were numb, and bobbing up and down water. This got me worried - thoughts of the 20-year old and all those you hear who collapse after or during the Great Northern Run dogged me. This was stupid; it was idiotic to expect to do this kind of race without sufficient practice... I almost gave up. It was mostly because I was expecting to see my parents in the park (and hadn't already done so), and I didn't want to worry and disappoint them by dropping out that I tried to continue.
After a while walking, however, I managed to jog slowly for about a mile or so. People around me tapped my shoulder, giving me words of encouragement, and it is, perhaps, only as a result of one particular guy's enthusiasm as he ran past that I decided to keep it up.
Somewhere around 10 miles I passed a man who had collapsed and was being looked after. His face was pale, and his lips grey. By then, however, I had recovered sufficiently to not be put off. I loped along slowly until the 1-40 pacemaker caught up with me. He was also instrumental in keeping me going. His enthusiasm was infectious, calling at the people around him to keep going, that the end was close. The thought of still being able to finish at around 1-40 also spurred me into a fast finish, and I ended up crossing the line with the clock reading just under 1 hour 40 mins.
There's something about putting yourself under that kind of stress that makes you feel extremely emotional. After the race I saw my parents, and spent some time with them, which was great. After they had gone, however, I suddenly felt very alone. All around me were groups of people waiting for loved ones to cross the line, in particular girlfriends. Happy, smiling, waiting for their loved ones to finish. Seeing my parents was very special, but it brought it home to me (yet again) how I also needed another kind of emotional support.
I tried to find some of my other friends who were running, but without success. The clock by now was reading 2 hours 20 minutes, and I joined the groups of people around the finishing straight to cheer and clap others in.
As it happened, this turned out to be one of the most rewarding parts of the event, and a demonstration of how it is possible for people to be kind to others (even if only for a short while). Firstly, it was gratifying to see so many runners who had finished willing to cheer on the others, who were finishing later.
And then, the runners themselves. There were of all kinds. People with mental disabilities, overweight people, older people. All of them, pushing beyond their physical difficulties to complete a gruelling run. I knew: my legs were aching; my feet were hurting, I had almost given up. The challenge was mental as well as physical, and the achievement of these people was certainly no less than that of the runners who had finished the race over 1-2 hours earlier. If anything, it was more. These people, in some cases, must have signed up to this race in a bid to improve their fitness; in others, they were continuing despite any physical problems they had to overcome. They were striving to improve themselves, or else not to be beaten by the course. They crossed the finish line in tears; they crossed it smiling. The point was that they did it. It was truly inspiring; and I thank God for their courage.
I was, therefore, willing to swallow my pride and give up if things got too intense. I do a lot of exercise, and my stamina is pretty good, so I had set myself a somewhat throwaway time of 1 hour 30 minutes. As the race approached, however, I realised that that was somewhat ambitious.
Actually, I kept up with the 1-30 pacemaker for about 8 miles before starting to drop off. My legs felt empty. It had seemed, looking at the people around me, as though I had been in reasonable condition for much of that time, but I guess experience makes a difference, and I just felt as though I couldn't cope. I started walking, attempted a jog, walked again, then stopped. I started to experience a very strange light-headed sensation and felt as though my body were numb, and bobbing up and down water. This got me worried - thoughts of the 20-year old and all those you hear who collapse after or during the Great Northern Run dogged me. This was stupid; it was idiotic to expect to do this kind of race without sufficient practice... I almost gave up. It was mostly because I was expecting to see my parents in the park (and hadn't already done so), and I didn't want to worry and disappoint them by dropping out that I tried to continue.
After a while walking, however, I managed to jog slowly for about a mile or so. People around me tapped my shoulder, giving me words of encouragement, and it is, perhaps, only as a result of one particular guy's enthusiasm as he ran past that I decided to keep it up.
Somewhere around 10 miles I passed a man who had collapsed and was being looked after. His face was pale, and his lips grey. By then, however, I had recovered sufficiently to not be put off. I loped along slowly until the 1-40 pacemaker caught up with me. He was also instrumental in keeping me going. His enthusiasm was infectious, calling at the people around him to keep going, that the end was close. The thought of still being able to finish at around 1-40 also spurred me into a fast finish, and I ended up crossing the line with the clock reading just under 1 hour 40 mins.
There's something about putting yourself under that kind of stress that makes you feel extremely emotional. After the race I saw my parents, and spent some time with them, which was great. After they had gone, however, I suddenly felt very alone. All around me were groups of people waiting for loved ones to cross the line, in particular girlfriends. Happy, smiling, waiting for their loved ones to finish. Seeing my parents was very special, but it brought it home to me (yet again) how I also needed another kind of emotional support.
I tried to find some of my other friends who were running, but without success. The clock by now was reading 2 hours 20 minutes, and I joined the groups of people around the finishing straight to cheer and clap others in.
As it happened, this turned out to be one of the most rewarding parts of the event, and a demonstration of how it is possible for people to be kind to others (even if only for a short while). Firstly, it was gratifying to see so many runners who had finished willing to cheer on the others, who were finishing later.
And then, the runners themselves. There were of all kinds. People with mental disabilities, overweight people, older people. All of them, pushing beyond their physical difficulties to complete a gruelling run. I knew: my legs were aching; my feet were hurting, I had almost given up. The challenge was mental as well as physical, and the achievement of these people was certainly no less than that of the runners who had finished the race over 1-2 hours earlier. If anything, it was more. These people, in some cases, must have signed up to this race in a bid to improve their fitness; in others, they were continuing despite any physical problems they had to overcome. They were striving to improve themselves, or else not to be beaten by the course. They crossed the finish line in tears; they crossed it smiling. The point was that they did it. It was truly inspiring; and I thank God for their courage.
Friday, 17 October 2008
Tuesday, 14 October 2008
The Toy Shop
The toy shop was tall and narrow, at the start of a quiet street on top of a small hill - it looked as though the building had been squeezed onto the end of the short row of white-front houses as an afterthought.
Its windows were high and crooked and didn't line up with one another. It had stone roof tiles and a single elegantly shaped brick-red chimney pot.
Inside, it was bright and colourful. Everything was packed close together - there was only enough room for a single line of adults and small children to snake their way between the shelves.
And the shelves were full of a myriad of toys. Stuffed teddies of all shapes and sizes - some with ribbons round their necks, some with waistcoats and spectacles, others naked with round bellies. Wooden train sets, lovingly constructed; medieval castles and colourful nutcrackers. Dozens of different kinds of marbles, smooth and round - some with swirling patterns on their surfaces, some clear but coloured, others misty like an enchanted morning.
And up the creaky stairs there was even more: rocking horse and dolls houses; dusty books and minature furniture. The children would stand and gape, clutching their caps in front of them, eyes wide. They would drag their parents to see this and that treasure, and their shouts and laughter rang through the building.
Except for in one corner, in the furthest room of the upstairs floor. A dark corner in which a pile of minature Arabian rugs appeared to have been piled in a heap - discarded, or else convering something.
If one of the adults would try to lead the children towards that corner, they would suddenly become shy and quiet. And if the adults then laughed and took them by the hand to lead them closer, they would dig their heels into the floor and tug their hands away and begin to appeal to their parents, their voices high and scared.
The adults would laugh and give in, taking their children back to the rest of the shop with puzzled smiles.
For the adults had long since forgotten to hear the voices that came from that corner - whispers, inviting the children to play. Insistent, beautiful, dangerous voices, calling to the children to join them. They would not hear how, as they tried to coax their children further towards the back of the room the voices would become hungrier, more like hisses in the dark. Or, as they led their children away, how the voices would once again become melodious and playful, like the tinkling of glass, telling them to come back soon, come back soon, come back soon...
Its windows were high and crooked and didn't line up with one another. It had stone roof tiles and a single elegantly shaped brick-red chimney pot.
Inside, it was bright and colourful. Everything was packed close together - there was only enough room for a single line of adults and small children to snake their way between the shelves.
And the shelves were full of a myriad of toys. Stuffed teddies of all shapes and sizes - some with ribbons round their necks, some with waistcoats and spectacles, others naked with round bellies. Wooden train sets, lovingly constructed; medieval castles and colourful nutcrackers. Dozens of different kinds of marbles, smooth and round - some with swirling patterns on their surfaces, some clear but coloured, others misty like an enchanted morning.
And up the creaky stairs there was even more: rocking horse and dolls houses; dusty books and minature furniture. The children would stand and gape, clutching their caps in front of them, eyes wide. They would drag their parents to see this and that treasure, and their shouts and laughter rang through the building.
Except for in one corner, in the furthest room of the upstairs floor. A dark corner in which a pile of minature Arabian rugs appeared to have been piled in a heap - discarded, or else convering something.
If one of the adults would try to lead the children towards that corner, they would suddenly become shy and quiet. And if the adults then laughed and took them by the hand to lead them closer, they would dig their heels into the floor and tug their hands away and begin to appeal to their parents, their voices high and scared.
The adults would laugh and give in, taking their children back to the rest of the shop with puzzled smiles.
For the adults had long since forgotten to hear the voices that came from that corner - whispers, inviting the children to play. Insistent, beautiful, dangerous voices, calling to the children to join them. They would not hear how, as they tried to coax their children further towards the back of the room the voices would become hungrier, more like hisses in the dark. Or, as they led their children away, how the voices would once again become melodious and playful, like the tinkling of glass, telling them to come back soon, come back soon, come back soon...
Monday, 6 October 2008
Diary I
What a ridiculous sitaution to be in, especially for me. Tomorrow, I'm supposed to be meeting up with a friend of mine for lunch. I haven't seen her (yes, exactly) for a while now, and I've been worrying about what I'm going to wear.
You see, my situation is this. As you might have guessed we were 'involved' in the past. We spent a very pleasant week together some time ago, then didn't see each other for about a month. Before we separated, I think we could have been on the verge of getting together and starting taking the first tentative steps in a relationship, but when we met up again when we got back to town, I wasn't sure where we would stand.
Our first few meeting was a little awkward because of this. When we parted afterwards, I kissed her, but I'm not sure either of us knew what it meant or how it had been received. We didn't kiss after that, although the awkwardness disappeared, and we were getting on very well. I felt comfortable being affectionate with her, and that's not something I'm used to.
Anyway, for reasons I won't go into, something happened to make me think that actually she wasn't serious about things, or wasn't willing to play her part in making things work, or didn't actually want us to be together, or something. So we drifted apart again for a while, until one day I decided to email her to explain why it was I hadn't attempted to contact her.
Since then, we're in reasonably frequent contact. She has a boyfriend. We've seen each other from time to time but not met up properly for a while. And so that's what we're planning to do. Tomorrow.
Trouble is, because of the way things 'ended' between us... or more accurately, because of the way in which nothing really started for us to end, when it really seemed as though something should start... it's proving hard to decide... what... to... wear...
You see. If we were to have the chance of starting things up again, I would be very happy about it. I think I've learned my lesson with her. I shouldn't have let go when I did. I shouldn't have let her slide away from me. Or maybe I should, but just don't understand why... anyway! The point is that she did mean something to me, and she still does, even though I guess a large part of me is capable of living with us 'just' being friends.
It's certainly not my intention to try to separate her from her boyfriend, even if I were capable of it. And yet. One day, she may be single again. So! What to wear? Do I make an effort to look attractive? Do I splash the eau de toilette liberally and mess around with my hair to make it look slightly more styled, in the hope that she won't forget me; so that if she does one day separate from her current boyfriend, she might bear me in mind? (Oh man, how pathetic does that sound? Really, perhaps it's time I grow up...)
Or is that too much like trying my luck, when she's still in a relationship? Because usually I don't really try too hard. Certainly I don't often style my hair unless I'm going somewhere where there's likely to be an adundance of single females. And if I try, does that also mean that I'm trying to interfere? Argh!
But am I just worrying for nothing? It's been a while - most likely she's over me by now, right? Trouble is that when I've seen her recently things have been, well, normal. And the point is that normal before led to us getting together (in all but official terms). Soooo.....
Sod it. Smart but not in your face. Right? Ohhh... nuts!
You see, my situation is this. As you might have guessed we were 'involved' in the past. We spent a very pleasant week together some time ago, then didn't see each other for about a month. Before we separated, I think we could have been on the verge of getting together and starting taking the first tentative steps in a relationship, but when we met up again when we got back to town, I wasn't sure where we would stand.
Our first few meeting was a little awkward because of this. When we parted afterwards, I kissed her, but I'm not sure either of us knew what it meant or how it had been received. We didn't kiss after that, although the awkwardness disappeared, and we were getting on very well. I felt comfortable being affectionate with her, and that's not something I'm used to.
Anyway, for reasons I won't go into, something happened to make me think that actually she wasn't serious about things, or wasn't willing to play her part in making things work, or didn't actually want us to be together, or something. So we drifted apart again for a while, until one day I decided to email her to explain why it was I hadn't attempted to contact her.
Since then, we're in reasonably frequent contact. She has a boyfriend. We've seen each other from time to time but not met up properly for a while. And so that's what we're planning to do. Tomorrow.
Trouble is, because of the way things 'ended' between us... or more accurately, because of the way in which nothing really started for us to end, when it really seemed as though something should start... it's proving hard to decide... what... to... wear...
You see. If we were to have the chance of starting things up again, I would be very happy about it. I think I've learned my lesson with her. I shouldn't have let go when I did. I shouldn't have let her slide away from me. Or maybe I should, but just don't understand why... anyway! The point is that she did mean something to me, and she still does, even though I guess a large part of me is capable of living with us 'just' being friends.
It's certainly not my intention to try to separate her from her boyfriend, even if I were capable of it. And yet. One day, she may be single again. So! What to wear? Do I make an effort to look attractive? Do I splash the eau de toilette liberally and mess around with my hair to make it look slightly more styled, in the hope that she won't forget me; so that if she does one day separate from her current boyfriend, she might bear me in mind? (Oh man, how pathetic does that sound? Really, perhaps it's time I grow up...)
Or is that too much like trying my luck, when she's still in a relationship? Because usually I don't really try too hard. Certainly I don't often style my hair unless I'm going somewhere where there's likely to be an adundance of single females. And if I try, does that also mean that I'm trying to interfere? Argh!
But am I just worrying for nothing? It's been a while - most likely she's over me by now, right? Trouble is that when I've seen her recently things have been, well, normal. And the point is that normal before led to us getting together (in all but official terms). Soooo.....
Sod it. Smart but not in your face. Right? Ohhh... nuts!
Sunday, 5 October 2008
Falling Leaves
Autumn has come, And Christmas is near.
The street seems half deserted.
The solitary figure of a man walking down the pavement,
Hood up against the cold.
Autumn has come, The leaves are falling.
Yellow fluttering leaves filling the air.
The street seems half deserted.
The solitary figure of a man walking down the pavement,
Hood up against the cold.
Autumn has come, The leaves are falling.
Yellow fluttering leaves filling the air.
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