Running and the Art of reading tea leaves...

I remember my mother and her friend Florrie, from over the road, reading the tea leaves. This ritual always seemed to happen on a Saturday or Sunday morning and involved the use of our best china teapot and our best china cups and saucers. These precious family items usually only saw the light of day when we had relations or guests coming for tea on a Sunday afternoon (itself a ritual) and so I inferred from that, that this tea leaf reading business must be a very important thing indeed. On top of that, the readings were always used as a sort of guide or pointer to what our family fortunes might be for the coming week and so over time, I unknowingly absorbed the rituals and secrets associated with the art of Tasseomancy. Jane Struthers in her book, The art of tea-leaf reading, calls this ritual 'The tasseomancy ritual' and states that, 'When you prepare for a ritual, such as setting out a special teapot, cup and saucer for your daily tea-leaf reading, you are automatically putting yourself into a frame of mind to carry out that ritual. The actions you take, such as setting a tray with the tea things and reaching for the special notebook in which you record your readings, will help to prepare your unconscious mind for what is to follow'. Long after these early childhood experiences of mine had been filed away and forgotten about, I had occasion to unknowingly draw upon them prior to running a 100K race in Mongolia. At the time I had no inkling that I was making an instant connection with my past in order 'to prepare my unconscious mind for what was to follow'. As far as I and a few other runners were concerned, we were just getting rid of our pre-race nerves by having some fun. Given that we were in a very remote part of Mongolia preparing to run in the 2006 Sunrise to Sunset 100K footrace, certain items were not readily available to us; alcohol for one - apart from the local industrial strength Vodka that is - and Indian or Ceylon tea for another. Tea therefore was brewed from local berries and of course the rather tough skins left in the bottom of our cups, were ideal for reading our fortunes; especially our fortunes concerning the very next day and the start of a race that would take us over high mountain passes and across the open steppes of Mongolia. The group of runners I was part of were a truly international bunch, as they had come from all corners of the world and most had never heard of, let alone seen someone perform the Art of reading tea leaves. So there I was peering into one cup after another and dispensing the fortunes of all who wanted to know. I can't remember all of the readings but there were two in particular that stuck in my mind. In one cup belonging to a Korean Fund Manager from New York there was a definite image of a rabbit made up of three fruit skins. The reading taken from this image, was that like a lucky rabbits foot, this rabbit represented good fortune for what was to come. The second reading came from a cup belonging to an American Chinese language expert. His cup also contained three fruit skins giving an image of a salmon leaping a waterfall - a sure sign of strength and stamina and again a good omen for what was to come. Both these guys and others who had been present were completely bowled over by these readings, as I was and from then on I was known as the Shaman. Needless to say that all went on to complete their race without mishap.

Why did I suddenly get the urge to read tea leaves and why was I named as a Shaman? Well, the part of Mongolia we were in, Hovsgol National Park, is a place where Shamanism is still practised and given that I love to run and be one with nature, I think that I unconsciously tuned into this belief system and 'hey presto', my previously hidden tea leaf reading talents came bubbling up to the surface for all to see. That's what I like to believe anyway. Oh yes, during the early part of the race, just after dawn in fact, I received a good omen too in the form of an antelope shaped cloud, which of course represents agility and fleet footedness. Have to say though that I hardly felt fleet footed towards the end of this race and I had suffered much to even get that far!

Happy trails.

A tale of a Sunday run...

Looking down Sprat's Hatch Lane on a November day.

Somewhere around 10.30AM today, I found myself at the Winchfield car park frequented on Saturday mornings by the Hart Road Runners Bridge Club. Not Bridge as in that exclusive card game played by thinkers and schemers but as in bridge over troubled water or in this case the Barley Mow bridge that carries Sprat's Hatch Lane over the Basingstoke canal. Today the car park was frequented by another group of out door types all of whom were members of the Canoe and Camping Club of Great Britain. As explained to me by one of their number, they are quite a nomadic lot and today they were all heading off up stream to King Johns Castle for a bit of an aquatic rave. My run was going to be a bit of a rave today too, as although I wasn't quite sure where I was going, I did know that I my run would start by doing the smaller of the Bridge Club runs in reverse. In other words, I was going to do my own thing and go down Sprat's Hatch Lane instead of up. This reverse running can bring you benefits, such as seeing things from a different perspective - always a useful skill - and my previous blog, 'Breaking away from the 'norm',* gives an example of this phenomena. Anyway to get back to the run. My route,which I would describe as being in a state of flux at all times, turned out to be very enjoyable as it took me through countryside that I had crossed once or twice with other club members but had never crossed on my own, so today I would be finding my own way. In so doing, I found myself running across open fields and past huge flocks of honking Canada geese - honking because someone was crossing their feeding grounds with a large bird of prey sitting on their arm! I ran down unknown paths that led nowhere in particular and I ran along boggy woodland trails that also led me to places that I didn't really want to go to. Twice I ran past the same pair of ambling lovers, who walking in the opposite direction to me, were amazed at my obvious athletic ability and turn of speed and remained open mouthed as I said Hi for the second time that day. All an illusion of course, as just after I passed them the first time, my path had turned to run parallel to their own but they hadn't seen that, so not wanting to ruin their positive image of me, I won't be telling.

* Both blogs are taken from the same Sunday run. A sort of 2 for the price of 1 deal if you like.

Breaking away from the 'norm'...

It's amazing what new things you see when you run a familiar route in reverse. On Sunday, as part of a longer training session, I ran the shorter of the Hart Road Runners Saturday Bridge Club run but I did it the wrong way round. Whenever, I have turned up for this run we always follow the tow path from the Barley Mow bridge to Sandy Hill bridge, returning to our start point via the small copse on the opposite side of the canal and Sprat's Hatch Lane. Because I am unfit, the long drag up Sprat's Hatch Lane leaves me breathless and in this heaving lungs state, my senses are dulled. Well, today I ran alone and I went off running easy down Sprat's Hatch Lane instead of puffing up it and almost immediately I began to see things that I had not really noticed before; in this case a series of standing stones. The first of these stones can be found in amongst some scrubby trees just past a ruined wooden shed and what looks like heaps of old garden detritus. The second of these stones can be found further down the lane squeezed between a small tree and a boundary fence and the third stone stands alone in a small field just past the thatched cottage that backs on to the canal. These standing stones carry no markings but they do appear to be equidistant from each other and that suggests to me that they have or have had a purpose. Being inquisitive, I would like to know what that purpose was. Anyone know? Oh yes, why don't you break away from the 'norm' sometimes and do a familiar run in reverse. I guarantee that you will see things differently. Always a useful skill to have in life, don't you think.

Splish splash running...

The rain poured. The wind blew and I ran. I ran over the bridge and along the tow path. I ran through the woods and I ran around the pond. Today, the otherwise peaceful pond was stirred up into a maelstrom of white water. Real waves curled into surf big enough to carry a duck into the reeds and bushes growing at the pond edges. Here geese and swans sheltered from the storm but for me there was no shelter. Even the trees dripped torrents of water on my head as I passed underneath their swaying branches. Leaves coloured golden yellow covered the path and hid the deeper puddles that I and my companion suddenly plunged into. Not many people out today I thought as rivulets of cold water trickled down my already soaked body. At the stream crossing we took stock of our situation. 54 minutes passed and over another 60 minutes to go before our saturated selves hit the 120 minutes we were aiming for. In an instant, thoughts of heading to a nice dry place entered our thinking but even reaching for this new goal would still translate into another 30 minutes or so of this splish splash running. We decided to follow the stream to its source at the canal sluice gate where we would make our decision to turn for home or stick it out to the bitter end. Following the stream was easier said than done as the small single tracks running alongside the stream had themselves turned into conduits of muddy ankle deep water. At the canal sluice gate the need to seek dryness and warmth got the better of us and we turned east to follow the now drowned tow path back to the car parked still some 20-25 minutes away. So if you had been out there today, you would have seen two drowned runners running along a drowned tow path and you would have questioned their sanity. Still, 90 minutes and 8 miles later we reached the shelter of our car, towelled ourselves down and drove home happy enough with our decision to end the madness of running in a storm.

Happy running out there.