the girls prevailed upon me to join their regular sunday morning macritchie jogging group. hell’s bells: one outing, and i half jogged, half walked only 3km and trembly most of the time. mostly though, as i ran i was trying very hard to remember why i had liked running back in school — i knew i did, once upon a time, but just now it was hard to see why. in school i was competent but never particularly good, adequate enough to be on the house track reserve team, and in those days, always happy to join people for a quick couple of rounds after school whenever anyone asked, but it’s been a long time since i was 18. returning to it for the first time after more than 15 years, the overwhelming thought was: am i a person with discipline, endurance, and am i out to prove something or surprise myself? answer: resoundingly no, and it doesn’t matter in the least. (addy rather piously gave me murakami’s little volume on running as mediation but it was no-go - not that i didn’t see how running could be that and many other things beside for many people, things to do with self-discipline and inspiration and obsession and surpassing oneself and what have you — just that it patently wasn’t any of it for me.)the thought occurs instead that if this exhortation to more physical activity is to be taken seriously, what i should do is to go find an open ballet class and work at becoming a better dancer — rebuilding strength, stamina, flexibility, turnout, and my by-now non-existent arch. just like the running, i was never a really good dancer either, technically only average, but with enough expressive quality not to be too dull. now what is curious (to me) is that, for a person who is ill-disciplined in almost every aspect of her life, the only form of dance i’ve truly, wholeheartedly loved is also one of the most rigidly disciplined forms of dance (not that dancing well — any kind of dance — is possible without discipline, but that compared to most other forms of dance (except for some forms of religiously-originated dance) the discipline is more than technical but highly ritualised, formal (that is to say, form-al) and concentrated.
Best of the Transparent Hummingbird