Running is my sanity

  Of course, I do it for the many health benefits. It's the best way to get the heart pumping, it prevents osteoarthritis (the most common form of arthritis), heart disease, diabetes, raises my good cholesterol levels and boosts my immunity to colds and viruses.

As I'm running the Brighton Marathon to raise funds for Breakthrough Breast Cancer, I was delighted to learn that the National Cancer Institute reports that women who reported the highest levels of "vigorous activities" (running certainly counts as vigorous) had about a 30% lower risk of breast cancer than women who do no "vigorous activities".

The benefits are not just physical. They are also emotional and mental as exercise is three times more efficient than rest at reducing anxiety. I never think as clearly as when I'm out in the park, jogging in the fresh air. I've solved so many problems by just going for a run that I truly think my life would have turned out to be quite different had I not been a runner.

Basically, running is the best thing I can do for myself. And now it's also the best thing I've ever done for others as my fundraising started last week. I've had my first donation! Albeit, it's from my lovely dad, but who better than family to get you started?

It's been a while...

I know, I know... If you're going to start a blog, you might as well write as often as possible...

I know, I know... It's been about 2.5 years since I've uploaded all about the upheavals that enliven and trouble my little life. It was not for a shortage of upheavals. Far from it, if anything, there have been more upheavals than I could handle over that period of time and, as a result, writing about them fell by the wayside as I was experiencing them.

Let's see... Among the big, epic upheavals, I feel I should mention finishing my PhD and getting married to the most lovely man I could ever hope to have by my side. Then there was the small stuff that is an integral part of life in London: amazing work, lots of art, good times and bad times with friends, riots and public transport strikes, annoying  neighbours, etc.

"Why are you posting again after all this time?", you ask. Fair enough, it's not because I'm experiencing fewer upheavals or have more time on my hands. It's because I'm in the process of training for my first marathon! I will run the Brighton marathon on April 15th 2012 to raise funds for Breast Cancer Breakthrough and it's such a momentous undertaking that I feel I need to share it.

Now I know I can run! I've been a runner for over 10 years, clocking up the miles, rain or shine, in parks or on roads, 5 days a week. I ran the Edinburgh half-marathon in April 2011, I've also done a handful of 10k charity events to keep a bit of diversity in my training. I love running. It's my sanity. The endorphins, the fresh air, the chance to burn off nervous energy is something that I want as an integral part of my life for as long as I can put one foot in front of the other. In fact, I'm running the Grand Union half-marathon on November 13th as part of my training... and for fun. Running doesn't scare me.

Fundraising is another story. This will be the first time I raise funds for a charitable cause. I'm quite proud to be in the position to do so but it's a new undertaking and, as is the case for all new undertakings, I will be proceeding with baby steps.

Tune in for more about this and other upheavals! Once a week or more often... It's a deal!

Not I

Juliette Binoche and Akram Khan, photo by Tristram Kenton, courtesy of the National Theatre

Juliette Binoche is the epitome of French charm for the Brits. She has it all: self -assuredness, natural beauty, intellectual aspirations, cheeky candor and charm to spare. It didn't really come as a surprise to hear that she was invited to choreograph a dance with masterful dancer Akram Khan for the National Theatre. With the financial backing of the prestigious Fondation d'entreprise Hermes to seal the deal, In-I looked like cultural history in the making.
I gladly signed up to review it, expecting to be dazzled by a show of Franco-British magnificence. Yet, there is a true risk involved in juxtaposing amateur and professional dancers on a stage and I have to admit that In-I was a great illustration of that danger. Amateurs, no matter how revered in other areas of their lives are just not in full possession of their body the way professional dancers are. Last night, as I was watching actress Juliette Binoche clumsily plowing her way through the show, as heavy as Akram Khan was weightless, as clumsy as he was graceful, I felt real annoyance. I felt, unfairly perhaps, that Khan's animal grace was held back by his partner.

I made my way home mulling over the review I would write the following day. This morning I was still thinking about it as I was making my way to ballet class. Should I focus more on the narrative aspect and treat it as a play? Perhaps I could simply present it as an interdisciplinary project aiming to offer Akhram a platform to act and Binoche a chance to dance, regardless of the outcome. Then I caught sight of my face in the mirrored wall of the rehearsal studio. My, do I look angry when I'm focusing on achieving the correct form of a plié! Maybe I should start by relaxing my face in class so the teacher doesn't think I'm about to scratch her eyes out. The essential quality that brutally separates the pros from the amateurs is the ability to make it all look effortless which can only come after decades of excruciating daily training. Suddenly, I felt a surge of sympathy for Juliette Binoche who was exposing her incompetence as a dancer to hundreds of people every night, angry face, clumsiness, excessive sweating and all. I certainly would not be willing (or invited) to do a similar thing but if she is, who am I to judge?

Local Time

After a restful holiday, I took a flight that lasted a little over 6 hours, a train ride of about twenty minutes, a tube journey of half an hour and then I sat on a bus for another thirty minutes to arrive home bleary-eyed and feeling as if had been run over all these vehicles. Although I was greatly tempted to drop my bags and to jump under the duvet for a much deserved snooze, I followed the advice dolled out by all good travellers: get in step with local time as soon as you land and the jetlag will magically evaporate (or last less than a week). Muttering away, I started unpacking but just transferred all the content of my bag to the bed, then I started making breakfast but left my eggs in the pan while I sorted through the mail and ran a shower that I didn’t get into right away because I had started too many things and suddenly found myself trying to scramble eggs while folding clothes and looking for the shampoo.

Normally a powerful multitasker – yes I can talk to you on the phone while painting my toenails and watching a film – when in the grips of the effects of jetlag, I found myself utterly useless: a danger to myself and others. I came to terms with this fact in time to turn everything off, slip into inconspicuous sunglasses and head to the Turkish café around the corner. There, a lovely gentleman proudly wearing the thickest moustache I had ever seen promptly brought me a piece of cake (actually, two pieces separated by a mound of whipped cream) and a strong coffee. I was saved. What with the coffee being a much needed source of fog dissipating stimulant and cake being such a good source of… cake, I was able regroup long enough to make a list: Top-up Oyster for public transport journeys of the upcoming week, buy fruit and vegetables at the market (still not bored with my market…) wash holiday clothes, mend jacket for meeting tomorrow. One by one, I tackled these apparently mundane tasks, abnormally proud to tick them off my list. By about 5h I was more or less back on London time, but only thanks to a few Turkish minutes.