Well over 6000 years ago, people began to sculpt this hill. They raised earthworks – first to enclose ceremonial and sacred space, later for defence. Today it is a scheduled national monument, looked after by English Heritage. It is one of the largest and most complex iron-age hill forts in Europe, and this morning it is all mine.
I’m a fortunate man. Maiden Castle is about 1.5 miles from my home. I trotted out to it and up through the complex of ramparts and ditches to join the sheep. The topmost ring is about a mile round. On a clear day the views are spectacular. The Ridgeway runs westwards, speckled with neolithic burial mounds and the occasional farm. This is an ancient place, perfect for a thought-filled run.
Thinking and running are natural partners. We’re designed to do both. Up here with no iPhone, email, books or TV my mind can gently do its job as I pad steadily along. I’m no sprinter – at 46, with a penchant for exercise and a historical ankle injury to juggle, I run smoothly, efficiently, at a pace I could keep up all day if I had to. Thanks to modern food retail I don’t have to hunt animals to exhaustion like my prehistoric ancestors. Here, my brain can get on with chasing down answers to questions, finding solutions to problems, reflecting upon pleasures. Running is sometimes described as a moving meditation. Not for me.
“Meditation is a practice of focusing attention in order to clear the mind and reduce anxiety,” writes Gina Tomaine in a 2016 Runners World online feature. “Learning to focus can help you tune out distractions.” I can see how this might work for someone in a busy, perhaps urban environment, where stillness is hard to achieve. Thankfully I live in a place where quiet space can be sought out. Personally I certainly meditate, but to do so I sit in silence and clear my mind. Peace is mine. I am peace…
But when I’m running, richly-oxygenated blood is flowing like racecar fuel through my brain. Time for a mental fast lap, Philip. This is a perfect opportunity to sift through ideas, weigh conclusions and make cogent plans. Today for instance, I wrote this very piece in my head as I headed off the fortifications and across the fields, in the direction of Prince Charles’ madcap fantasy village, Poundbury. Constructed over the last two decades as a bizarre siamese twin to the ancient regional capital Dorchester (UK), it is a full-size, 3D, bricks-and-mortar cocktail of His Royal Highness’ favourite moments in British architectural history. The pavements have gravel on them. It’s a Disneyesque piece of lunacy, but is much more interesting to run through than most modern housing developments. If you’re in thinking mode it’s highly thought-provoking, even if the principal narrative in your head begins: “what the actual?”.
During what could coyly be described as an eventful life I have also made the happy discovery that running overcomes crisis reactions. Quite some years ago I gave up panic for Lent and never bothered with it again. Panic achieves nothing. Three deep breaths, a cup of tea and a spot of strategy are usually enough to produce a solution to a serious challenge. But I could never overcome the adrenal reaction: the racing heart, the sweating, the accompanying thirst, that can go on all day and night if it feels like it. Never that is, until I realised that running removes you from a stress state and creates a place where your most powerful organ – the brain, in case you were wondering – can sort out an answer to the issue that has pushed your adrenal gland into such a frenzy.
Of course, slipping on your trainers and heading out for a jog isn’t going to get you out of, say, an impending attach by a crack-crazed drunk on a Friday night in Lincoln. Two deep breaths and a quick headbutt to the fellow’s nasal area are likely to get you a better result there. But we’re modern human beings nowadays. We rarely have to face rampaging bears, pillaging marauders or indeed, crack-crazed drunks. Threats to our existence are far more likely to come in the form of a legal challenge, an angry creditor, a relationship crisis, an abusive boss or my personal favourite, the shutdown of nine of one’s 15 clients in a single month. None of these involve a swung battleaxe or deadly teeth, but they will all set off an adrenal reaction. If you spot a modern mortal threat, head out for a run. You’re not legging it away from the problem, but cruising towards a solution. By the time you get back your brain will have assessed the situation, balanced the evidence and come up with a plan for success.
In its own small way, today is a case in point. I am a lapsed writer. I haven’t worked as a journalist for quite some time and last posted on this blog six years ago. I built and ran a non-media business in the intervening years. But you can’t deny longstanding love, and that’s exactly what I have for the craft of writing. In some way, shape or form it is my future. Running through a landscape made of the past this morning I found my way back to writing in the present. I fort and won.
