I've probably already mentioned this, but I wrote a one hour single drama for tv based on the book Born To Run about ultradistance runners searching for some sort of distillation of what makes humans natural runners.
Some creatures are in capable of it, some can but can't last long. The thing which makes us different to our competitors in the animal kingdom is our sweat glands, we don't overheat and so forth.
So this post is about death and rebirth. The death of my Saucony Pro Grids, ones that I bought in 2008 and proceeded to murder up until a few weeks ago, where we finished an 8 mile race, which would retire my former pristine white trainers that had devolved not just in colour, but in it's sole. Slowly my running has worn it down over the course of these years, where I have accumulated at least 700 miles in them. A smart person, would've bought a new pair of trainers after a year, but I wanted to keep wearing them until the day whilst running they crumbled off and it was just my feet padding the ground instead of my former protective shell, breaking out of the cocoon.
That weird fantasy did not come to pass, but upon the end of my 8 mile race, I was exhausted, out of breath, injured and all I wanted to do was take off my trainers hold them above my head and walk around in respect to them, much to the bewilderment of the crowds. But I just hobbled back to the car. I took one week off from all training, and then one week off from running.
My Grids and I have been through an evolutionary phase in my running. I used to be a heel striker, I used to get injured more often, with shin splints usually being the main culprit. Then my dad said I had to read a book called Born To Run: The Rise of Ultra'running and the Super-athlete Tribe. I got through it in that summer, it was about an adventure of these runners trying to find a legendary Mexican Indian running tribe intercut with research and brief interviews about the evolution of the running shoe and how it has become overcomplicated and heavy. I slowly started changing my running strides and I was a part convert to the book. It all made a lot of sense, but I was not going to throw away my Grids, I can't throw things out that fast. We were going to see things through.
I wrote a spec of it for class at University, it must have been the first forty page script I had ever written. I still feel guilty for my friends taking part in my readthroug, that was a slog.
Fast forward to today, I knew I wanted new running trainers, I'd cut the laces off my Grids, like it was an ubilical cord. I went out searching for the mystical pair of trainers that would fit all my needs. The theories that the book was pushing is still very much a sub-culture and there are a few minimal/barefoot running shoes from different companies. I wanted something different to my Grids, I didn't know what but all the regular running trainers felt too heavy and looked more like an 18 wheeler truck. Like a kid with their drivers license trying out the most expensive car, I tried out some barefoot trainers.
Minimus, I had to go through three pairs before I got the perfect fit. They are more like gloves than shoes in the way they have to fit. I tried them out of the treadmill, it was like running as a gazelle. It felt good, I bought them.
Now, the thing about changing from regular running trainers to barefoot/minimal shoes is that it takes time for your body to get used to the new way of running, because they are as light as a feather and make you land on your forefoot because there is hardly any cushioning.
It should be faster for me, because I destroyed so much of the cushioning on my grids that I was basically do a not far off version. I can't stand modern trainers in the way that they bounce when you run, it feels like I'm on the moon, not running.
So yeah, I did a two mile run earlier, I sprinted, I jogged, I ran uphill, I ran downhill, I ran on the road, I ran on the mud, I ran on the grass, I ran on stones, I ran slow, I ran fast. I tried them out throughly.
It is tough, but a new journey in my running.
I mourn the loss of my Grids
I welcome my Minimus'
I don't know why I get attached my running shoes. It is pretty weird, but at least I don't give them names.
Saturday 30 June 2012
Saturday 23 June 2012
Previously on...
I ran in an 8 mile race, did amazing for the first 6.5 miles and then tore my adductor (inner groin muscle) and forced myself to sprint and stop the rest of the route. I finished in 1:10, faster than my try two years ago on the route, where I didn't tear my adductor by ten-fifteen minutes.
I saw Springsteen in Manchester yesterday, it was okay, the acoustics sucked. Stopped my uncle from getting in a fight and had a free burger.
I saw Springsteen in Manchester yesterday, it was okay, the acoustics sucked. Stopped my uncle from getting in a fight and had a free burger.
Saturday 16 June 2012
Update
My new notebook commenced idea absorbing a few days ago. Vol. 4 has begun. I have new ideas, I'm working towards them at a snails pace, because I have to play Max Payne 3 again.
Thursday 14 June 2012
Dear past me...
... You suck. I just beat your two mile best in 14:53, 38 seconds faster than you. Also, I'm five pounds lighter than you at your fattest.
With regards present me.
With regards present me.
Sunday 10 June 2012
Lunch Break and The Money: A Blog in two parts, but in one post. So really just a regular blog post.
Before I get into the Lunch Break and The Money, there is something I feel like saying. When I went running today, it felt like I was losing Summer. Another Summer lost, that I can never get again and immediately time is fleeting and I am wasting it. Maybe my friend Al helped start this thought to settle in my thought due to a text last night.
"So, long shot, but is anyone free enough to be in southampton this thursday coming?" He texted with an intent of keeping literacy alive through mobile communication.
The following day (That's today) I was warming up and sent him back a reply.
*Writer's note: I hope you noticed that this blog is not going to be about what I intended*
Being one of the masses, one of the worker bees of a dreadful society that we were shielded from whilst at University, because we were writers. Work feels like the film Brazil, where as I dream of it being more like The Hudsucker Proxy (You know, for kids!). Still at this point in time I find time to write or think about writing, a bit less than I used to but enough to keep pushing forward. Two to four pages in a lunch break is good, otherwise I read.
*Writer's note: This train has got back onto the right track*
Whilst warming up for my relaxing five mile jog, I had a brief back and forth with Al. I informed him of my current predicament, I inquired to a mutual friend of ours who didn't pass the third year with us, because he pandered about with what to do as his feature script. I said at some point to some one, this person likes films a lot, but he doesn't want to write them, he just wants to be involved in the process. Anyway moving onto this year, and his second third year has come to an end.
Did he hand in his script this year? No. I thought this year would be different for him, the group not being around anymore. Not being pressurised by all of us to write. Perhaps this year, he could do it, he had a summer to mull over ideas and even start. He had a month less of the academic year to finish it. I don't know how he spent his second third year, and not write or finish a script.
To me, my script was a right of passage. Saying to myself I can do this, and to others fuck you, I can do this. All of third year, my mind was on writing, excluding the essays about weird transgressions.
*Writer's note: I was close to bringing it back, but no I'm going somewhere else*
I spent my third year: Not sleeping, weight training, writing, thinking about writing, karaoke, seeing films and watching babestation at lunch time. But I still got stuff done. Granted he has a job and I didn't, granted he has a girlfriend and I don't.
Writing is compulsive. I find it compulsive. You know how men are thinking about sex every seven seconds (or some obscure number of seconds) well, I spend that time thinking about writing. Then I think about sex.
Either you want to write or you don't. I find this pretty simple. I don't think I've ever met anybody who thought "how can I earn a living, I know I'll be a successful writer!"
What I have come to understand through this is that if you don't put the time in you won't achieve anything (except winning the euromillions, but I've been working on that so I will have earnt it by the time I win.)
I love the fact that I don't want to do my job for any amount of time, I'll do it. I make a small amount of money for a job, but good enough for a first job. I don't feel like I'm making enough money, it's not that I feel the job is slave labour, it's just that I deserve to earn a much more amount. I suppose it says alot about my generation and this feeling of entitlement and arrogance. But, fuck you, I deserve better!
*Writer's note: Rule of three broken*
I have mentioned one of my mantras: Don't be Elisha Gray.
At this point in time, that is hard to do. Not being in the industry. Another one of my mantras is "Write yourself out of the hole". I picture someone in a well looking up as he types on his typewriter. Metaphorically speaking this is how I feel, because it takes too much time and effort, and money to find a well, get in it with a typewriter and have someone take a picture. I'm going to need a piece of paper otherwise the picture is just lazy.
Back to my friend, it just shows me how much of a waste of potential talent is there. If people want to waste what they have, that is up to them. There are better writers than I, and will be better than me in my entire life. There is one thing, I am willing to keep going. 99 percent perspiration, 1 percent inspiration.
I have less time to work on what I want to do. This means prioritizing, and I am slowly growing accustomed to it. It is hard, really hard. My freedom is gone, I'm fighting to get it back.
On the flipside, I like getting money. I'm not attached to it in any way. I could just not spend it and wouldn't care. I still bought a big tv though. I like it. The job has it's perks with the money. There are things I can be which I haven't been able to before. I really do like this. I am scared that I will be seduced by this. There are two people in my department who have been here for twenty years, they see Temps come and go. They will never leave this job.
One of the reasons why I know I will leave is because I don't try to talk to people or get to know them. I won't get too attached to the people, because I won't know them. It'll work. I get up, go to work, go home, earn the dollah. I will finance my own projects from this job.
How to some up this blog post: similar to my first few, in a stream of conciousness but going no where crappy kind of way.
"So, long shot, but is anyone free enough to be in southampton this thursday coming?" He texted with an intent of keeping literacy alive through mobile communication.
The following day (That's today) I was warming up and sent him back a reply.
*Writer's note: I hope you noticed that this blog is not going to be about what I intended*
Being one of the masses, one of the worker bees of a dreadful society that we were shielded from whilst at University, because we were writers. Work feels like the film Brazil, where as I dream of it being more like The Hudsucker Proxy (You know, for kids!). Still at this point in time I find time to write or think about writing, a bit less than I used to but enough to keep pushing forward. Two to four pages in a lunch break is good, otherwise I read.
*Writer's note: This train has got back onto the right track*
Whilst warming up for my relaxing five mile jog, I had a brief back and forth with Al. I informed him of my current predicament, I inquired to a mutual friend of ours who didn't pass the third year with us, because he pandered about with what to do as his feature script. I said at some point to some one, this person likes films a lot, but he doesn't want to write them, he just wants to be involved in the process. Anyway moving onto this year, and his second third year has come to an end.
Did he hand in his script this year? No. I thought this year would be different for him, the group not being around anymore. Not being pressurised by all of us to write. Perhaps this year, he could do it, he had a summer to mull over ideas and even start. He had a month less of the academic year to finish it. I don't know how he spent his second third year, and not write or finish a script.
To me, my script was a right of passage. Saying to myself I can do this, and to others fuck you, I can do this. All of third year, my mind was on writing, excluding the essays about weird transgressions.
*Writer's note: I was close to bringing it back, but no I'm going somewhere else*
I spent my third year: Not sleeping, weight training, writing, thinking about writing, karaoke, seeing films and watching babestation at lunch time. But I still got stuff done. Granted he has a job and I didn't, granted he has a girlfriend and I don't.
Writing is compulsive. I find it compulsive. You know how men are thinking about sex every seven seconds (or some obscure number of seconds) well, I spend that time thinking about writing. Then I think about sex.
Either you want to write or you don't. I find this pretty simple. I don't think I've ever met anybody who thought "how can I earn a living, I know I'll be a successful writer!"
What I have come to understand through this is that if you don't put the time in you won't achieve anything (except winning the euromillions, but I've been working on that so I will have earnt it by the time I win.)
I love the fact that I don't want to do my job for any amount of time, I'll do it. I make a small amount of money for a job, but good enough for a first job. I don't feel like I'm making enough money, it's not that I feel the job is slave labour, it's just that I deserve to earn a much more amount. I suppose it says alot about my generation and this feeling of entitlement and arrogance. But, fuck you, I deserve better!
*Writer's note: Rule of three broken*
I have mentioned one of my mantras: Don't be Elisha Gray.
At this point in time, that is hard to do. Not being in the industry. Another one of my mantras is "Write yourself out of the hole". I picture someone in a well looking up as he types on his typewriter. Metaphorically speaking this is how I feel, because it takes too much time and effort, and money to find a well, get in it with a typewriter and have someone take a picture. I'm going to need a piece of paper otherwise the picture is just lazy.
Back to my friend, it just shows me how much of a waste of potential talent is there. If people want to waste what they have, that is up to them. There are better writers than I, and will be better than me in my entire life. There is one thing, I am willing to keep going. 99 percent perspiration, 1 percent inspiration.
I have less time to work on what I want to do. This means prioritizing, and I am slowly growing accustomed to it. It is hard, really hard. My freedom is gone, I'm fighting to get it back.
On the flipside, I like getting money. I'm not attached to it in any way. I could just not spend it and wouldn't care. I still bought a big tv though. I like it. The job has it's perks with the money. There are things I can be which I haven't been able to before. I really do like this. I am scared that I will be seduced by this. There are two people in my department who have been here for twenty years, they see Temps come and go. They will never leave this job.
One of the reasons why I know I will leave is because I don't try to talk to people or get to know them. I won't get too attached to the people, because I won't know them. It'll work. I get up, go to work, go home, earn the dollah. I will finance my own projects from this job.
How to some up this blog post: similar to my first few, in a stream of conciousness but going no where crappy kind of way.
Monday 4 June 2012
When I write
I feel like quitting, this is torture. The first draft is the hardest thing to do in the writing process for me. I really need to become a student on structure.
Friday 1 June 2012
I love cigarettes and other short stories
I don't know if I dreamed about this last night, but might have been smoking. In the dream. It is by far the most relaxing recurring dream I have ever had. In real life I consider it a filthy habit, that as far as lungs are consider are akin to trying to give CPR to Weezer from Pokémon. Let me describe the scene, I am casually smoking a cigarette surrounding by a black abyss and the smoke is clear to see. Yes, I am wearing clothes, but that is not the point. Then again, there might not be a point.
Anyway, I turned a year older a week ago and immediately started a full time job. To make it short and sweet until another in depth post: it is school. Working in an office is school all over again, those people who you left there as you went on to meet people at university who were just like you (all of you thinking, where were these people in school?) and you didn't look back? Well they just stepped to your right and as you turn, there they are. Wunderbar. I did not miss them. The money is the consolation prize. More importantly, these are people ripe for poaching for writing. You know what? That is their own damn fault. People that are too lazy, are get away with other people doing their job every day. Someone who refuses to be wrong, even in the case of Killer Bees exisiting. Numerous fag breaks being abused as the non-smokers (in real life) are left to get on with the work. I have to keep telling myself this is a milestone and I am making money. But money has always felt unimportant to me.
So to sum up the last paragraph, work is like being back at school, and I am a University Graduate. What does that mean? I am above such petty things, aside from doing impressions and accents and goading people to moan about others. Am I a puppet master or just one of them.
I saw Black Sabbath in Birmingham, it was amazing.
I am back to wearing shoes, there is no novelty to wear off.
I feel connected to my friends from university through blogs, just as we were at Uni.
I am now at a point in my life, where I have to figure out how to plan my spare time. It isn't easy, but I've pretty much done a first draft of a sitcom just without the jokes.
I wake up at 5:40 every weekday. Do you want to know the last time I had to regularly got up at that time? Never.
I've pretty much stopped reading comics, I can't explain why. It is something that was a huge part of my second decade, now I just don't care.
The Raid is one of my top films so far this year alongside Avengers and The Grey (Stole my TV drama title).
I find it ironic that Laura has lots of free time and I don't. It was never like that at Uni.
I used to be a slacker, now I yearn for that role to return to me.
Brightside - Writing more.
Darkside - Watching less.
I'm going to be making short films in the future. My wages will most definitely be the budget, I am fine with that. I have no other information apart from that.
I know how to write one of my tv shows and one of my novels. One will suck, it will be the novel. The TV show, could be interesting, probably preachy.
Oh, and Laura really should reply to my texts.
Anyway, I turned a year older a week ago and immediately started a full time job. To make it short and sweet until another in depth post: it is school. Working in an office is school all over again, those people who you left there as you went on to meet people at university who were just like you (all of you thinking, where were these people in school?) and you didn't look back? Well they just stepped to your right and as you turn, there they are. Wunderbar. I did not miss them. The money is the consolation prize. More importantly, these are people ripe for poaching for writing. You know what? That is their own damn fault. People that are too lazy, are get away with other people doing their job every day. Someone who refuses to be wrong, even in the case of Killer Bees exisiting. Numerous fag breaks being abused as the non-smokers (in real life) are left to get on with the work. I have to keep telling myself this is a milestone and I am making money. But money has always felt unimportant to me.
So to sum up the last paragraph, work is like being back at school, and I am a University Graduate. What does that mean? I am above such petty things, aside from doing impressions and accents and goading people to moan about others. Am I a puppet master or just one of them.
I saw Black Sabbath in Birmingham, it was amazing.
I am back to wearing shoes, there is no novelty to wear off.
I feel connected to my friends from university through blogs, just as we were at Uni.
I am now at a point in my life, where I have to figure out how to plan my spare time. It isn't easy, but I've pretty much done a first draft of a sitcom just without the jokes.
I wake up at 5:40 every weekday. Do you want to know the last time I had to regularly got up at that time? Never.
I've pretty much stopped reading comics, I can't explain why. It is something that was a huge part of my second decade, now I just don't care.
The Raid is one of my top films so far this year alongside Avengers and The Grey (Stole my TV drama title).
I find it ironic that Laura has lots of free time and I don't. It was never like that at Uni.
I used to be a slacker, now I yearn for that role to return to me.
Brightside - Writing more.
Darkside - Watching less.
I'm going to be making short films in the future. My wages will most definitely be the budget, I am fine with that. I have no other information apart from that.
I know how to write one of my tv shows and one of my novels. One will suck, it will be the novel. The TV show, could be interesting, probably preachy.
Oh, and Laura really should reply to my texts.
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