Greetings, o interested visitor! Thank you for wandering off the beaten track and exploring this odd corner of my blog. Often I’m asked what my targets are in running, and what I hope to get from the sport.
It rhymes with (and indeed is spelt a lot like) tommonwealth rames, and definitely involves the steeplechase. It may or may not be in Australia in April 2018.
I have lots of specific time targets that probably aren’t interesting to the general reader, but these tend to change quite quickly, and I’d probably forget to keep this up to date to match my whimsical sense of self-worth.
Apart from running, one of the things I’ll write about quite a lot is mental health, as it’s a subject rather close to home. In fact, it lives at home, in the next room. Occasionally it’s fine, rather superb in fact, and will make scrambled eggs or French toast in the morning, and do all the washing up. Occasionally it’s awful, really awful, and will watch loud horror movies at silly hours of the morning, leave washing up in the sink and eat my jelly beans.
This is my rather elliptical way of saying that I struggle with depression and an anxiety disorder that can make life vindictively tricky to navigate. I hope some of my writing is at least a little helpful to those who have encountered something similar.
If through writing or any other means I can help myself or others make progress with their mental health (goals are so much easier when they’re this open ended and vague), I’d consider things a success, irrespective of how quickly I can run around a track.
If I can ever make enough money (or other barterable items like acorns) to keep myself and my limited means going through writing, I would consider life a spectacular success, and ask for no more from it, except to play just one game for Arsenal. Well, maybe two.