Noise

Birdsong, grazing cattle, and my own footsteps. Nothing else.

Silence.

It’s 5.10am in late Spring, the early morning mist makes way for a resplendent sunrise as I glide across the winding, weathered driveway of a sprawling Georgian Mansion. The property and vast surrounding land are privately owned but, judging by the absolute absence of another human being, few seem aware of the public bridleway through the heart of the estate. Or perhaps it’s simply because it’s so early. 

Nevertheless, with the exception of the pasturing cattle, I’m all alone, even the wind has let me fly this one solo. Three miles from the nearest A-Road, not even the distant faint hum of civilization can be heard. 

I adore this stretch - around a mile in length - the rolls, twists and surroundings of enchantment and captivation - centuries old oak line the track, gentle waters to the right and dense woodland to the left - the grandiose country house stands imposingly ahead. I’m ignorant to the origins but it’s as if the road was purposely designed for a thoroughbred gallop - such is its spellbinding aura, my stride unconsciously lengthens and cadence grows as it’s seemingly implausible to run steadily here.

I’ll usually run with headphones but they become redundant when I find myself here- the landscape is sweet song enough, its beauty too pure and stirring to be cheapened by an ill-chosen word or chord. I’m an avid clock-watcher but don’t once glance at my GPS, the environment renders it irrelevant - the majesty of the setting can’t be measured by number. 

The silence is euphoric. 

If only it could always be this way, but it can’t, can it? Running is perhaps the purest of sports but the recreation, in its modern-day form, brings with it a multitude of superfluous convolutions, each designated confounding and unnecessarily taxing terminologies, and it’s all got a little, well, noisy.

Metrics to measure performance have seemingly evolved - the simple stopwatch appears surplus to requirements, its sole functionality deemed inferior to watts, lactate thresholds, oxygen efficiencies and maximum heart rates. What was previously a simple easy run is now a ‘Zone One’ endeavour which must be accompanied by a percentage I assume to correlate to a perceived effort. Training isn’t differentiated by hard or easy, but rather anaerobic and aerobic, and despite having had it explained to me numerous times before, I still don’t know which is which, and Vo2 Max sounds like a ride at Blackpool Pleasure Beach. 

When it’s all stripped back, it appears pretty much the same stuff the old guard have been doing for decades, just re-packaged, regenerated and bestowed a fancy title to create a facade of ‘new’ and in vogue. Yet on the whole, the old school did it quicker than us, and without the benefit of today’s sports science and space age sneakers. 

I recently listened to a podcast in which the somewhat egomaniacal guest repeatedly referred to hills as ‘Vert’, “yeah I smashed all the vert bruv”. Translation: I did well in a hilly race. I immediately ceased listening.

Social Media can apportion some of the blame - folk may not be so inclined to adopt such vocabulary without the audience these platforms provide. I enjoy a love-hate relationship with Strava, the site is ingenious and - when used in the correct spirit - genuinely enjoyable but demands its own extensive glossary of terms; Segments, Local Legends, Grade-Adjusted-Pace, Estimated Best Efforts (Sorry but I shall never cover a 3:48 mile on foot), Fitness Scores, KOMs, and cryptic activity titles that read like a quantum physics equation. 

Functional Threshold Power? Are we still talking about running?

I recently thumbed the pages of a ‘Beginners Guide To Running’ to be met with a diagraph of an individual in full action-stance, surrounded by paragraphs of text, each with a bullet point connecting to a limb or appendage of the runner, declaring the desired movement practice for ‘true running economy’. 

There must have been 30 commandments: Eyes ahead. Head up. Arms at 90 degrees. Chest out. Back straight. 10% forwards lean. Forefoot strike. Knee-over-foot ratio. Do the Timewarp.  The sheer quantity of ‘form imperatives’ was exhausting to comprehend and I’d imagine, to the reluctant newbie, somewhat intimidating. I’ve seen countless similar visuals since and whilst I appreciate their good intentions - bloody hell just let people run.

Again, noise.

I’ve known individuals be unhappy with a parkrun effort to refuse a position token for fear that “it’ll look bad on my Power Of 10”, or more bizarrely, have TWO barcodes connected to different profiles; one that they’ll present following a ‘good’ run, and one assigned to performances deemed underpar. Each to their own I guess. 

The emergence of ‘Age Grading’ is another (loud) contemporary phenomenon that has people pouring over the results pages before clamouring to announce a personal triumph. “I was 981st overall, but sixth in my age group, and fourth for people with brown hair, glasses and a pet dog in my postcode”. However, whilst it’s not for me, it isn’t necessarily a bad thing - if the accolade provides the party with positive motivation and a degree of fulfilment then more power to them. I’m often desperate for the small victories myself and will attempt to salvage a(nother) dismal run by desperately clutching at any straws I can. 

The beauty of running was always in its simplicity and accessibility - in comparison to its more expensive sporting counterparts, all you really needed was a pair of shoes. Nowadays, the world’s major road races are akin to a travelling Aladdin's Cave of garments, gadgets and gizmos; Caps, sunglasses, visors, bone-conducting headphones, buffs, arm sleeves, hydration packs, fitness trackers, bib magnets, head torches, bottle belts, body glides, nipple-guards, pace bands, compression shorts, knee braces, graduated performance socks, calf tights, self-tying shoelaces and space shoes with custom orthopaedic insoles.

How would you fuel your way around the course? The simple staples of water and bananas apparently don’t quite cut it anymore, replaced instead by a cocktail of gels, bars, shots, chews, powders, tablets and gum - a mobile picnic for a jog round the block. Or perhaps one would simply choose not to eat beforehand? Nonsense, you can’t just “go without”, it must be declared as a ‘fasted’ run. 

And after the exercise? A hot bath, hearty meal and an early night were once deemed adequate tools of post-run recovery, yet if we want to ‘recover like the pros’ we NEED massage guns, vibrating foam rollers, epsom salts, compression recovery boots, foot pods, muscle stimulators, cryotherapy chambers, reflexology flip flops, CBD sticks, magic balms and infrared sauna blankets. Of course, these methods should be undertaken whilst ensuring we consume our body weight in vitamins and minerals through electrolytes, protein powders, irons, multivitamins, effervescents, sodium capsules, turmeric capsules and beetroot shots.  

You’ll be like a walking pharmacy. Scrap that, don’t walk, you should be laid on your £1,500 memory foam athletic mattress. 

I’m sure the purveyors of all these customs, captions, concoctions and contraptions could provide me with a valid, articulate rationale as to why we should buy (both figuratively and literally) into their advantageous claims, to which I’d nod and say “Ah I see now, I guess you’ve got a point there”. At least that’s what I’d say, when in reality the majority would go over my head as I don’t possess the necessary intellect to absorb or digest the information they’re providing me with. 

Please, just turn off the noise. 

Or maybe I’m just a dinosaur, maybe I should get with the times. Maybe I should make the effort to embrace modern-day running - dive head first into compression, carbs, cadence, caffeine, kudos and carbon fibre, or prosper a penchant for pacers, pronation, plyometrics, peaking and the piriformis. 

Shamefully - though sometimes unwittingly - I’m already guilty of a few; my inability to pace myself without a watch is woeful, I’ve winced into numerous bathtubs of a frosty fahrenheit, and have succumbed to several pairs of super shoes - albeit at a vastly discounted levy, but I won’t be making a greater forage into the future anytime soon.

But no, for now, I’ll stick with simple. The noise in present-day life is insurmountably overwhelming enough without it passing into our beloved pastime too. Running provides an escape from the pressures of today - a chance to change the frequency, turn down the volume, or simply switch off altogether - and I’ll long to keep it that way.

Embrace the silence.