Reckoning

Detail 1-35327, by Roman Opalka

"The problem is that we are, and are about not to be" Roman Opalka

16 km 

1:23:54 / 5.15 pace

7.20 pm start. 22C. Windy. 

I used to say - to myself and anyone who would listen - that when I have nothing to say or write I just write or talk about what someone else wrote or said. It's something about this need I referred to the other day about sharing personal obsessions, or perhaps it's just about fearing silence, or the idea of silence. 

Today, however, I am not falling back on this simple technique, although so far it seems like I am in fact doing quite a good job of filling space with nothing. No, I thought about Roman Opalka - quoted above, with an example of his attempt to paint numbers from 0 to infinity - because I have just done the calculations for the end of the month and I found myself jotting down a lot of numbers on Post-It notes. Like this:

September & October: 631.70 km. 54.97 hours. 11.49 kph. 5.13 pace. 

October: 310.64 km. 26.85 hours.

September: 321.06 km. 28.12 hours.

Average speed October: 11.57 kph.

Average speed September: 11.42 kph. 

I could go on and on, like Roman Opalka. I don't know where I first heard about him and his mad project to paint number after number, and I don't know much about him - but I feel I understand what he was doing. Even if I am wrong in this, it gives me pleasure so I'm not likely to delve into his life story to learn more. A French/Polish artist trying to paint an infinite number of numbers is no more insane than anything else we do to pass time. Opalka found a project and made it his life's work. That seems to me to be enough. It doesn't matter what it is, we have to make sense of things for ourselves. That could be curing cancer, or it could be painting numbers. It just has to make sense to the person who is doing it. 

Another statistic from my day:

Words translated:  12,340. 

That gave me no pleasure at all. It's a job. I get paid. It could be worse. I am not a person who derives any sense of my self from what I do for a living, or any sense of anyone else from what they do. It's just not something I register, this dirty business of doing something for money. 

Running, then, is my version of Opalka's painting numbers. I ran 16 km tonight at 5.15 pace, which was satisfying after last night's much slower 12 km (5.27 pace). After two kilometers I was averaging 5.31 pace and I simply changed gear and held it for 13 km more. It wasn't hard but I am very aware that I have a tendency to take it too easy sometimes. In September (321.06 km) I averaged 11.42 kph, and in October (310.64 km) I averaged 11.57 kph. My target for November is 300 km at 11.7 kph on average. 

Numbers form the basis of my running life. Running may seem pointless to a lot of people, and I can sympathise with such a view, but when you mess about with numbers, it all starts to get more interesting, in that you can see progress and gain a sense of purpose. It doesn't matter any more than Opalka's project matters in most people's lives, but it gives me a sense of achievement that is missing in everything else I do outside of my family life. 

I am, and am about not to be, as Opalka pointed out. Not being is going to take care of itself very quickly, so I reckon it's better to try to make the being bit as satisfying as possible. So far, it has been.