Post Swansea post
Well, Charlie, Debz and I all ran the Swansea Admiral 10k on 28th September - loud cheers all round! It was a lovely day, warm and bright, unlike me who, having recovered from a rather painful hip bursitis the previous week, felt distinctly slow and unfit! The other two were stars though, running in their first race (I sound like an old lag - my fourth!) and providing endless encouragement and cheer as well as a variety of strange foodstuffs to sustain me. We decided we’d try to organise an annual fundraising run for the bursary fund here and encourage anyone who’s ever thought of taking part in a race to join us - watch this space for next year’s event!
Yesterday I found in a notebook something I wrote some time ago when I was reading "Enlightenment Unfolds. The Essential Teachings of Zen Master Dogen". Dogen’s great koan was something like "If we already possess Buddha-nature then why is practice necessary?" His answer to this was "Practice is Enlightenment". The notes I’d made were "… maybe this is like thinking that climbing to the top of a big hill would be a good way of getting fit. The top of the hill can be seen as the goal, but it’s only setting our foot on the path that allows enlightenment to unfold. If we keep longing for the pinnacle, we don’t notice that our body is getting stronger and fitter all the time, with every step. We don’t actually want the top of the hill - what we want is how we will be when we finally get there". Time to get the shoes back on.
Ok, here is the previously alluded-to bit about dealing with flies when you’re out running. Yes, those winged things that hang around in big groups (ha ha accidentally typed ‘bug’ groups just then!) at this time of year. We know they’re necessary for the breakdown of matter etc etc but, let’s be honest, nobody really likes them much (ok then, so let me know if you’ve got a pet one). So here’s the scenario: I’m out running on the road parallel to Talybont Reservoir - a beautiful spot with trees overhanging the road on one or both sides for several miles. I’m enjoying the view. I’m even enjoying running and have got to the point where I’ve worked up a respectable sweat. I’m not hyperventilating and my ankles, knees and hips all seem of a mind to support me. It’s a lovely spring/summer evening and life feels very rich. Then a fly appears, in the vicinity of my face. It likes me. In fact it likes me a lot - much more than I like it, that’s for sure (ok, some artistic licence here in the form of projecting human feelings onto to insects in a somewhat emotive way). It won’t go away - in fact it dances unerringly around my line of vision, attempting at intervals to land on my skin. I’m swiping at the fly and this is interrupting the rhythm of my running to an alarming extent. I might even end up in the ditch (if you think this is an exaggeration, try waving your arms around in front of you while running. unstable, huh?) I’m starting to talk to it in a less than friendly manner, breaking more than one speech precept. My rational mind knows that the fly is simply behaving in accordance with its nature. It also has a lot more to fear from me than I do from it. In a short time it will be gone. Yet this small creature, behaving in this way, has the power to make me feel - I must be honest here - enraged. It’s doing it on purpose. Doesn’t it
