Running

Blog Nr 18: The night I punched an Audi

“Come on, you coward!” I roared, chest puffed, shoulders out and fists clenched. “Get out here. Fight me like a man!”

OK, it didn’t quite go like that, but I did shout out “Fodas!” or “Sacana!” at the driver in question. I haven’t fully padded out my Portuguese vocabulary with too many swear words. I may just have shouted “Fuck!”. Whichever language I used, it was strong language. I walloped the bonnet of the black Audi with rage. The driver put the car in gear and sped off.

I stood at the road’s edge, sweating, panting heavily and realising there was no way to get my phone out in time to photograph the car’s registration and details before he was out of sight. Suddenly I felt a little awkward and a little embarrassed as I became aware that I was being watched by the girl who had stopped her Corsa on the other side of the road to witness my tirade and the spectacle that had taken place.

I glared in the direction of the space where the incident had occurred, barely responding to the sympathetic look from Corsa girl. I’m not normally a violent person. But that evening, halfway through my favorite ten-kilometer route, I snapped. It may have been connected with the Audi that almost killed me.

That evening while on a training run, I had the right of way at a pedestrian crossing when suddenly, speeding out from a side street, I became associated with the front of a black car. This was rapidly followed by an introduction to the asphalt below.

What just happened? He hadn’t hit me, but I fell back as he slammed on the brakes just in time. Stunned to be face-to-face with an Audi badge, I looked up and saw the driver peering down from the front seat. A middle-aged man with a hair gel-abuse problem. He glanced at me innocently, with a false apologetic expression worthy of the worst amateur drama society performance. “Não vi.” (Or something of that nature) I didn’t see you.

He understood my English worded reaction, “What?!”

“I didn’t see you. Maybe you shouldn’t be running here.”

“I shouldn’t be running here? You shouldn’t be ****ing hitting people with your car! You shouldn’t be ****ing speeding in this area! You shouldn’t be ****ing accelerating as you ****ing take a tight ****ing corner! Learn to ****ing drive you ****ing ****!” I pointed to the pedestrian markings on the road at the point where I’d crossed and just almost been hit. I pointed at the STOP sign at the junction he’d just sped out of. I pointed to the tight corner. I pointed at the car on the other side of the road which had stopped and remained there; the driver watching events unfold.

“Não vi.”

I took a breath.

“You almost killed me!”

“I DIDN’T SEE YOU!”

I took a breath, hoping my rage would subside. It didn’t. The driver just glowed. Literally. Then the source of the glow appeared in my line of sight. I blinked in disbelief and looked again. This time he saw what I was looking at. His iPhone. The glow was coming from the mobile phone sitting on his lap.

I pointed at the phone and hit the bonnet. My language skills retreated into a full-blown rant full of extreme Dublin colloquialisms, insults and gestures: “THAT! NO! NOT OK! NO! NO!” I could tell you the exact wording from that moment on, but I’m a respectable family man now. A father with responsibilities, including educating my daughter with polite manners and a skill in using clever and appropriate language. But let’s say this: if this was Sesame Street, today’s show was brought to you by the letter F.

Disaffected and with an arrogant sneer – I assume this wasn’t his first incident in recent memory – he put his hand down to the gear stick and off he went.

Every so often I have a near-miss with idiotic drivers. The ones who think that they have ownership of the roads and pavements, as well as the right of way over everybody and everything else. The people who don’t observe. The arrogant ones who think nothing bad will ever happen to them. The people calling, and reading or writing text messages while they attempt some awkward or dangerous maneuver in their car – normally reversing or taking a tight corner. At speed. Even nighttime drivers with no headlights on. They deflect blame, sitting in their cars with their mobile phones, arrogance and their “maybe-you-shouldn’t-be-running-heres.” It’s clearly everybody else’s fault.

Maybe that’s why I blew it. I’m sick of just shrugging it off or just giving despondent glances at the drivers. I’m tired of feeling like I’m doing something bad by wishing people would operate their two-ton deathmobiles with a degree responsibly. What I really want to do is lie in wait and throw paint balls at every texting driver who passes by. Maybe they’d notice that. They seem to miss everything else.

Blog Nr 16: A cracker of a blog (aka: “How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Ignore Rude Runners”)

“The Color Run” – The one time I’ve seen genuine smiles at a race in Coimbra.

Recently I’ve come to a sort of conclusion about something that’s been bothering me. It’s that either people here don’t like me, or that runners in Coimbra aren’t as friendly as they are in Ireland and – from what I’ve heard – in the UK and the USA. I don’t mean to generalise, but there does seem to be a distinct lack of friendliness and affability between strangers running the streets here. Back home, there’s usually at least that little nod of acknowledgement when approaching an oncoming fellow running, or when overtaking or being overtaken, by a fellow runner. The secret handshake, almost. You and I are members of the same club, it says. It doesn’t matter that you run a 4-minute kilometre and it takes me 7 minutes to do the same distance, let’s be supportive of one another. At least, that’s what the nod says to me. The times when I first encountered other runners on the streets here, my nods and greetings were virtually ignored at best and at worst I received looks of derision usually reserved for the person who’s just viciously run over a beloved family pet in an armoured tank. The family pet who’s just recently recovered from cancer or fleas or something.

A year ago I’d rarely see another runner on the roads at night, but now the city seems to be chock-a-block with them. I don’t know what’s caused it. Was it the Olympics? Maybe there’s been some sort of government-sponsored health push that I missed in translation. Perhaps people haven’t got the money to spend and can’t afford the gym anymore. Or maybe it’s simply that recreational running has just become trendy here. Whatever the reason, I’m happy to see people trying to become healthier and fitter. Just one thing though: I wish they’d all be a little more civil toward one another. Are we all really in such competition with one another that we can’t just say Hi! or nod that knowing greeting: I know what you’re going through; I know your pain. At races here, the most relaxed people seem to be the walkers – there always seems to be a much shorter walking route at races – while the runners seem to be taking it all far too seriously. Looking at the runners in a recent 10k, most people seemed to be either super-lean whippets or a variation on the theme of slim. Finishing times were all pretty fast, mostly between the 45-55 minutes mark. Back home you see far more body sizes and shapes. The whippets who’ll do a 35 minute 10k as well as those in the early days of running to lose weight who are doing double or more that time. There certainly are more smiles on show.

The one time I did see smiles here was at The Color Run a few weeks ago. But I wonder just how much that counts, given that the vast majority of the 12,000+ people who took part walked the route rather than ran. Maybe it’s at least part-down to the culture of fundraising running for charities that we have back in Ireland. Maybe this causes people to not take it all so seriously. It’s supposed to also have a fun side to it, after all. Fundraising through racing is not something I’m aware of here. Whatever the reason, it’s pretty much put me off giving the nod of acknowledgement to strangers pounding the streets. Not even to that threesome of pretty college girls I frequently see running near the School of Economics. There’s just no joy in receiving a disparaging look from somebody you’re just trying to be friendly to.

The bizarre paradox to this is that nearly every runner I’ve met socially has been a fantastic person to talk to and get to know. We talk about running. We talk about family and work. The economy and weather, and we have a beer or a coffee together. They ask about my racing flats and I ask about their routes. And we all desperately want to know how to avoid hills in Coimbra! We swap training suggestions and now, via a collective of freelancers I’m in touch with, are trying to get a regular running group together. It just doesn’t make sense. At least not in comparison to the running culture I’m familiar with.

Maybe I desperately need to try races in Lisboa and Porto to see what the culture’s like there. Even i don’t break my PB or finish in a decent time, hopefully I’ll at least see a few more smiles.

Blog Nr 14: The Virtual 5k. (Yeah, it’s one of those posts about running!)

Awesome Virtual 5k logo I spent all of 10 minutes designing

Races are expensive to run in. Ridiculously expensive sometimes, especially when they see you coming. For example, this years Lisboa Rock n Roll half marathon costs those of us in Portugal something along the lines of €14 to enter (you need to pay in person at a Banif bank though) but for overseas runners, it costs €44!

By and large, I’ve found races in Portugal cost a hell of a lot less to enter than back home in Ireland. The difference is so large, there’s less guilt or at least a lot less rage at poor planning by myself felt if for any reason I can’t make the race. We’re talking €6 rather than €30 or so for a 10k race.

There are no parkruns here either – or not that I’m aware of anyway. Not that I’m into park runs. I prefer to run and train by myself. Less pressure to keep up with / slow down to another runner and I can do my own tempos etc at my own pace. Maybe that’s no surprise to anybody who knows me, as I do tend to be a bit of an individualist. Even when I played for a football club, I played as a goalkeeper – the specialist, individual position.

And so, I’ve set up the Virtual 5k on Facebook. My twitter handle is @SubstandardKarl, if you want to contact me through that. I guess the idea is it’ll be a virtual “parkrun” for people who either prefer to or have to run alone. Or maybe can’t commit to a specific time and place. Maybe it’ll give its member a chance to run against other people without actually running against them. (A lot of people find races intimidating, though most people get a buzz from them) You can be fast or slow; Big or small; Fat or thin. It doesn’t matter. Just get out there and do your thing! Even though it’s a race, the only person you’re competing against is yourself. Maybe the monthly virtual race will even inspire you to up your training or give you that little extra push to get out the door!

The only conditions to participating is you must run 5km (naturally) on the date(s) for that month and that you’ll give your time honestly. Oh, and most importantly, to have fun and enjoy the incentive of the virtual race!

We don’t need hundreds of members; even just a small group will do. The first Virtual 5k is the weekend of 14-16 of December!