The best gig I ever went to was Jonathan Richman and the Modern Lovers. This will mean nothing to anyone under 50, but those of my age may remember “roadrunner”, and indeed may have been at that very gig (1977, Leeds Poly Students Union). ‘Twas a great night.
I’ve always especially liked the line “going faster miles an hour”. It’s non-specific, yet implies improvement. I think I’ll have it as my mantra.
I’m a bit of a mantra freak. I have dozens of ‘em, ranging from the instructive (hips high and light) to the ridiculous (embrace the hill) to the downright delusionary (this is easy). I’m not sure whether they work or not, but I am a woman obsessed.
Sometimes I use single words (“surge” is a favourite because it makes me think of the Atlantic at Inch beach in Co Kerry), and sometimes they are so long they practically qualify as essays (“strong, relaxed, faster and faster” is a current chart-topper).
It’s certainly all in the mind. Last week, I knew I was going get a PB at parkrun from the moment I woke up. Last time I got a parkrun PB was exactly the same – I knew I would do it, so I did it. The only problem is that on current evidence, this knowledge only comes around once every two years or so. In between, despite the mantras, I am certain that I can’t run under 30 minutes for 5k, that I can’t break an hour for 10k, and that I definitely can’t do a marathon.
So this week, I’m going to take my mantras to the Abbey Dash, and see if they can get up that bloomin’ slip road. I’m in love with the modern moonlight, I’ve got the radio on.
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