So I went on an adventure this past
weekend. What makes something an adventure, you might ask. Well, hypothetical
interlocutor, it’s the spontaneity with which it happens – or even that
indescribable feeling that you’re doing something unusual or unexpected.
A recent acquaintance invited me along to
an ultramarathon along the coast of the River Adur. Not that I’d be running, of
course, but I’d get to see the mainstream sights of Hampshire and the non-mainstream
sights of West Sussex.
As with any good adventure story, there’s the good, the bad, and the ugly. Well, the last bit might just be my eventual escape back to London, which didn’t go quite according to plan and ended up costing more than I had expected, but what wouldn’t you pay for an adventure, right?
Port of Southampton
Southampton greeted me with (mostly) sunny skies. Though there were medieval walls, a house dating back to the Tudor era, a memorial to the Titanic engineers, among other attractions, it was the port that impressed me most. I probably could’ve spent hours by the ruins of the pier, looking out at industrial views dominated by cargo ships. Alas, it was not to be, and the next stop was Portsmouth.
Portsmouth Historic Dockyard
Portsmouth was a little less welcoming than Southampton, and by the time the train pulled into the station, fat droplets of rain had begun to fall. Then the wind picked up. Though I spent the next few hours soaking wet and shivering (and not in a good way – sorry, I had to), the waves really were a sight to behold.
Portsmouth Harbour
The next day, I briefly explored Worthing before beginning the 7.5 kilometre trek towards Shoreham-by-Sea. Intermittently sunny, the weather didn’t turn on me until I had accidentally missed my turn into Shoreham and, making my way back, ended up on the footpath leading past the boat moorings. As soon as they had determined that there was nowhere for me to run, the heavens opened and drenched me to the bone.
Widewater Lagoon
Still, I made it out alive and unharmed and, although feeling a bit chilly, headed back to Worthing. The sun was just beginning to set, which made for quite a scenic visit to the city pier.
Worthing Pier
Getting back to Portsmouth was a mini-adventure in and of itself, given that the trains were undergoing maintenance, so a 50 minute journey stretched out to almost two hours, but I then caught a fast train to London and ended up in bed well before my strict bedtime of 22:00. And that, my friends, is how to have a weekend adventure.
Do you ever find that
as soon as you start thinking about something, you keep encountering it? In
this instance, it’s not a physical something,
but rather an idea – a conversation. A friend mentioned recently that he’d be
interested in reading about how I’ve negotiated my identity over the years and
ever since, the topic of identity has started coming up everywhere and with
everyone.
So what is my identity? I found it so easy to identify myself as Swordfoosh, but it’s much harder to situate myself in a national, ethnic, historical context and a congruent life narrative in order to establish an overarching identity not predicated on something as happenstance as interests. Basically, a fancy way of saying “I don’t know”.
Are identities chosen,
or are they bestowed? What are the requirements? Must they be accepted by
others – acknowledged by the outside world – before they’re considered genuine?
If your national identity is rejected by the majority of that same nationality,
are you disqualified from using it?
In my instance, I was
born in Latvia to a Russian-speaking family, but spent my formative years in
English-speaking countries. Am I Latvian? Am I Russian? Am I both? Am I
neither? These are questions I contended with and which manifested in various
ways.
I became staunchly
pro-Russian government at one point (in my defence, I was young and things
weren’t as crazy). I introduced
myself as “Russian from Latvia”, and explained the historical context to those
who enquired. After becoming exposed to alternative points of view and studying
the matter thoroughly – and independently – I changed my narrative.
I was now “from
Latvia, but Russian-speaking”, which I think a lot of ethnic Russians or
Ukrainians or other Slavic peoples from the Baltic states will find familiar.
I’ve been told that I’m now “one of the most patriotic non-Latvians ever”, and
it’s one of my greatest shames that I don’t speak the language (beyond a few
key phrases about a fat grey mouse in the woods and watermelon eating).
Still, why wouldn’t I
be Latvian? Is it solely an ethnic, language-based identity? Smaller countries
do tend to predominantly define their corresponding national identities in
monolithic terms, so yes, it would appear that I’m excluded. Having studied
this question in regards to the Russian equivalent, Russian identity is very
much predicated on being Russian-speaking – a narrative that fits in neatly
with the expansionist tactics currently utilised by Putin & co.
The question is a
complicated one. So for now, maybe I’ll just stick to introducing myself as a
Londoner – at least until I get the inevitable follow-up of “yes, but where are
you really from?”
I sometimes fear that I won’t have enough
material to write about, but then I think about how many interesting things
happen to me (although, admittedly, they might just be interesting to me) and realise I shouldn’t ever be
short on topics for posts.
The problem, however, is more to do with a
singular theme for my blog. After all, the initial objective of establishing my
own website was to experiment with SEO, and one of the fundamental criteria I
learned in my courses is that it’s important to establish expertise within a
specific field.
Now, I don’t think I can claim expertise in
any field, so perhaps this approach is most appropriate. Besides, I can always
specialise at a later date, whether that be on goal-setting, experimental
poetry, running, book reviews, or whatever strikes my fancy.
Speaking of the latter, though, I figured
I’d introduce something called Book of
the Month, which actually touches upon the first point as well. I committed
to reading 20 books this year, and I’ve recently finished my first (although it
should really only count for half a book, as I read the first half in 2018).
Long prelude aside, this post is dedicated
to A Little Life by Hanya Yanagihara.
I don’t think I should disclose too much information, as I’m sure some of you
are thinking of reading it in the future or are in the process of reading it
now (hi Kate).
That being said, I do want to share some of
my thoughts.
There isn’t much I didn’t like about it,
though there were incidents of continuity errors or of what felt like
gratuitous diversity (also, where is this privileged bubble in which homophobia
and racism don’t really exist?). I think it’s a beautifully written book, with
a lot of depth. It sensitively addresses questions of mental health, addiction,
trauma, etc., whilst still holding characters accountable for their
behaviour.
One of the passages that really stood out
to me – not the most profound one by far, but one that resonated with me
personally – centred around the idea that each of us settles in romantic
relationships. We choose three traits that are important to us, and we seek the
rest elsewhere, i.e. if we value beauty, kindness, and sexual chemistry, we
might have to rely on our friends for intellectual stimulation.
The eternal optimist in me is quite opposed
to this line of thought – what do you mean, one person can’t have everything? –
but the realist agrees wholeheartedly. Actually, come to think of it, your
partner shouldn’t be saddled with
this kind of responsibility – that’s the root cause of clinginess and
interdependency. On that cheerful note, what would you say are the three things
you seek – and more importantly, what are the three you provide?
Optimistic title,
isn’t it, implying my first marathon wasn’t my last? Although I suppose it’s
one of those things that someone who’s run a marathon – and especially someone
who’s run more than one – will tell you is true. You’ll want to repeat the
experience.
Now, had you talked to
me about this in the first three months after I ran it, I would’ve laughed in
your face at the suggestion that I’d end up like everybody else. No, thank you,
that suffering was enough for me, I’m done.
Then came Murakami’s What I Talk About When I Talk About Running.
Completely unexpectedly, it reignited my passion – after a three-month
hiatus, I started running again. Slowly, at first, but then faster and more
frequently and now, a few months later, I’m back to chasing personal bests and
running long distances. But most importantly, I’ve begun tentatively dreaming
of my second marathon.
And it’s gotten me to thinking: what did I learn the first time ‘round and what will I do differently this time?
1. Don’t underestimate preparation
Sprinting to the finish line.
This one’s obvious –
at least, it should’ve been – but it wasn’t. As I told my good friend, who’s
thinking of running his first marathon this year, “I’m the poster girl for what
not to do – I ran every day for three and a half months without any sort of
training plan, then took a whole month off.”
Having spoken to
another friend, who recently made his foray into ultramarathons, I should’ve
spent much more time tracking my fitness levels, not to mention fartlek
training, strength training, and experimenting with various energy gels.
I’ve learned so much in the time since my marathon that I sometimes think it’s a wonder I survived at all. Anyway, my advice on this account is that you have absolutely got to do your research: consult professionals, equip yourself with the right gear, draft a training plan, consider your diet, cover your bases.
2. It’s less of a challenge than it seems
Last kilometre.
That’s easy to say,
right? What I mean is this: with each new distance you overcome, the marathon
seems much more realistic. As you work your way from a 5 km to a 10 km to a
half marathon and begin running those distances over and over, your personal
bests improving each time, you start yearning for something even bigger. And
so, the marathon.
I was reminiscing
about my first race recently. I didn’t set out to run a marathon – or even
expecting to fall in love with running. In early 2014, I had just started a new
job, when my manager, pulling together a team for the marathon in May, insisted
I sign up for at least 5 km. In my first training session, I ran 3 km and
stopped only because I figured I shouldn’t overdo it.
I’m not saying it’s this easy for everyone, but what I am saying is that each distance can be overcome. The euphoria of finishing a race – and especially getting a medal for your efforts – is addictive. It ended up taking me four years from my first race to running a marathon, but it happened so naturally that it didn’t feel like some impossible challenge.
3. It’s more of a challenge than it seems
This is probably around the 35th kilometre or so. I look miserable, but the worst part is already behind me.
That all being said,
the marathon is still a test of endurance and willpower. I’m not trying to
understate the amount of effort that goes into training for one, not to mention
actually running it on the day. Tragically, people die every year from taking
part in marathons.
Therefore, the
assertion that it’s less of a challenge than it seems is predicated entirely on
the amount of training that you do. Here it’s important to note that the
training should be mental as well as physical, because while I was prepared for
the physical aspect of marathon running, I underestimated how difficult it
would be emotionally.
After finishing, I recovered well: I massaged my muscles, I soaked my feet in cool water, and I went for a short run the next day. Within two days, I had almost no pain remaining. Mentally, however, I couldn’t bear to think about doing anything of the sort ever again. As I mentioned previously, it resulted in me taking the summer off from running. Which, come to think of it, wasn’t such a bad decision.
4. Unexpected things will happen
Between kilometres 19-20.
No matter how much you
prepare or you don’t prepare, you never know how it’s going to be on the day.
You can’t predict the weather – London Marathon 2018, anyone? – and you can’t
know how your body is going to feel. Try not to worry too much (easier said
than done, of course) and enjoy the experience.
As I was waiting at
the start line, I was approached by another runner, who was running the half
marathon. Though I thought I’d be rid of him by the first kilometre, we ended
up chatting the entire two hours it took us to run 21 km. It was incredibly
unexpected, but I’m grateful to him for distracting me and keeping my pace
down.
On a less than pleasant note, I also realised my running shoes were too small when about a week after the marathon, one of my toenails turned black and fell off. Sexy, isn’t it? It comes with the territory, of course, but it’s worth remembering that your feet are everything in this, so take care of them as much as you can!
The key takeaway is this: running a marathon may be a huge endeavour, but try to enjoy the process!
So now that we’ve
established the definition
of swordfoosh, shared a bit about
the author, launched an Instagram
account, and created a Twitter feed,
it’s time to publish useful content. I’ve given it some thought and decided to
jump on the bandwagon of talking about New Year’s resolutions. After all, Swordfoosh itself is a
resolution-inspired project, so I’ve got some credibility to work with.
The issue with
resolutions is that while a great number of people make them (1 in 5, if the BBC is
to be believed), not very many follow through. I’m not claiming to be an expert,
but my approach has been to set yearly goals. Resolutions can be misleading, because
they assume colossal changes, whereas goals break those changes down into smaller,
digestible pieces.
By way of trial and error, I’ve figured out how to stay motivated:
Be realistic about how much time and effort you’re willing to spend on achieving your goals
It’s easy to get carried
away imagining the changes you’re going to make to your everyday life: you’ll
visit every continent, you’ll learn a new language, you’ll try skydiving – and that’s
only in January. The reality, however, is that between work, friends, family,
and hobbies, you’ve already got a lot on your plate, and there’s not much time
left over for all your plans.
Achieving a goal requires time, effort, and very often consistency. Be honest with yourself – what are you prepared to give up and how much are you willing to inconvenience yourself in order to pursue that resolution? If you want to take a course on Coursera or Udemy, you need to factor in how many hours a week you need to spend studying, as well as how much it will cost you. Are you up for it?
Be specific about how you’re going to quantify your achievements
Let me illustrate this
point with an example from my own life. For the past three years, I’ve set
myself the same goal, and for the past three years, I’ve gotten (almost)
nowhere. The goal? Learn French.
While I haven’t been completely
useless – I’ve visited Paris twice in the past two years, I’ve used Duolingo and Lingvist
sporadically, and I’ve occasionally watched France24 during lunch – I can’t say
my knowledge of French has noticeably increased.
However, the goal of “learn French” remains unmet. Recognising this, I set myself a slightly different goal last year: have a conversation entirely in French. Luckily, my French-speaking friend was prepared to help me out with this. And this year, instead of making vague promises, I’m planning to take a course, as well as to visit France and communicate exclusively in French.
Hold yourself accountable to the goals you set
Prior to defining your
goals, it’s important to consider how invested you are in following through and
whether this is something you genuinely want to achieve. Then, once the goals
have been set, check in with yourself every so often to make sure you’re on
course.
My method has been to
revisit my resolutions in the summer, analysing whether they’re still realistic
and, if so, what’s my status. Last year, I committed to reading 12 novels. By August,
I realised I was behind, so I quickly got myself to a bookshop (side note: with
a goal like this, it’s important to choose books you will read as opposed to books you think you ought to read).
Exploring modern classics reignited my passion for reading, so by October I’d not only exceeded my target, but made reading into a habit. Final tally for 2018: 18 books and half of A Little Life.
Adjust as necessary
When I set out to run 2018
km in 2018 (a lofty goal, I know, but it seemed realistic), I couldn’t have
accounted for the complete depletion of energy and lack of motivation I would
experience following my first foray into marathon running in May. It wasn’t
until September, when I finally read Murakami’s What I Talk About When I Talk About Running, that some of my enthusiasm
returned.
As you can imagine, taking the summer off from running was a massive setback. Recognising that 2018 km was no longer realistic, I recalibrated. I ended up running 1018, just a thousand off from my original target. The point is – circumstances can change and priorities may shift, which may require you to adapt your goals or alter your success metrics. Don’t beat yourself up about it.
Challenge yourself
If your goals are too
easy, you’ll soon lose interest. Challenges keep you engaged and motivated while
encouraging personal development. Having achieved something, raise the bar. If
you read 12 books last year, try aiming for 20 this year. If you learned a new
skill, try gaining a professional qualification next.
When by late December
I’d met almost all my goals for 2018, I began setting short-term, weekly goals:
I ordered coffee in Latvian, I ran 10 km in 46 minutes, I read 50 pages of A Little Life per day. Perhaps that’s
just a quirk of my personality, but it helped me end the year on a high.
My personal belief is
that your list of New Year’s resolutions is very revealing about you as an
individual: what you think is important, what you don’t like about yourself,
what skills you’re keen on acquiring, etc. I think it’s important to reflect on
your motivations and your long-term objectives: what are you ultimately trying
to achieve?
It’s time for that
traditional first post in which I inform you that I’ve never done this before
and attempt to outline the goals and intentions I have for starting a blog.
Unfortunately, I must confess to having absolutely no plan. I must also confess
to copying the previous two sentences word-for-word from a Tumblr post I made
back in 2012.
Though it’s interesting how these same words still resonate seven calendar years later, the part about having no plan isn’t entirely true. I recently took an Introduction to Search Engine Optimisation course and figured the best way to test out my newfound knowledge is to experiment with my own website. And so Swordfoosh was born.
If you’re wondering
what exactly swordfoosh is – well, I’m happy to tell you. If you know me
personally, you might be aware that my surname is of the piscatory variety, and
you’re definitely aware of my love for puns. A friend recently indulged this,
asking me, as I made my way sluggishly to the start line for an 18 km race,
whether «Рыба пила» the night before.
The question was whether
I had been drinking, but the pun was that «рыба пила» is a sawfish. Which I then confused for a
swordfish. They’re both sharp and pointy and start with the letter S, can you
really blame me for getting confused?
Essentially, what it comes down to is this: Swordfoosh is a hungover runner lacking attention to detail with a fondness for comedian Gad Elmaleh’s intentional misunderstanding of English plurals, i.e. me.
I do intend to rehabilitate Swordfoosh’s reputation, since the reality is that I don’t drink very often (the reason behind my hangover was justified – Dinamo Rīga had just beaten their Moscow counterparts 5-4 the night before) and I have a fairly decent attention to detail (when not tired from running 18 km), but the name stays.
Swordfoosh 