A Sign

Posted by Ed on March 27, 2020

I’m not exactly a superstitious person – usually, I’m about as sceptical as Richard Dawkins’ trousers when it comes to claims of the supernatural. Recently, however, after a few days spent traversing the globe in a panicked bid to get back to the UK before the entirety of the global air travel infrastructure collapsed like a flan in a cupboard (to borrow Eddie Izzard’s line), I came across what can only be described as a sign.

A public footpath sign, to be exact.

A fellow member of an online UK trail running Facebook group brought to the attention of the collective the existence of an online shop that sold, amongst other things, reclaimed signage from the National Trails network. This particular sign came from the North Downs Way, a trail of personal significance to me – in May, I was due to run my first 50 miler along it, from Farnham to Knockholt.

The North Downs Way 50, hosted by the legendary folks at Centurion Running, has, like just about every race, music concert, and stifling family gathering this side of June, been postponed. In this case, to July, which, to be frank, suits me just fine, as I was almost certainly underprepared for a May effort given that I have spent essentially the last two months on the move. But, rather than facing an open schedule waiting to be filled with other adventures, along with the rest of the UK I find myself facing the significantly more arduous task of getting through each day during lockdown.

Okay, look – I know it could be worse. This isn’t the Blitz, we’re not being asked to send our young men to be cannon fodder. We’re being told to stay at home and watch TV. And that’s fine – with the exception of my daily run, that’s more or less exactly what I’ve been doing. But, just like a spray-tanned 73-year old in charge of a global superpower, I’d be lying if I said I was finding this easy.

By temperament, I am quite neurotic. Like, 90th percentile neurotic. Which means I’m more sensitive than most to negative emotion. Some people seem to shrug off negativity – if someone is rude to them, or disagrees with them strongly, they react the way one might react to finding a piece of bellybutton fluff in an unexpected place. That is to say, with indifference.

If someone disagrees with me, my first instinct is to go and bury myself under a pile of rocks and sob in shame. I’ve learnt to keep this part of myself in check, but in terms of the raw emotions at play I can’t help it, really – it’s part of my way of seeing the world. It’s not helped by the fact that I’m also a natural contrarian, always playing devil’s advocate, even with myself. I simultaneously run towards conflict and yet immediately cower away from it. I know, I’m a complete tosser.

But I do have on thing to thank this psychogenetic cock-up for, and that’s my tendency to throw myself headfirst into any kind of task that might take my mind off its own self-digesting spiral. It’s for this reason that I constantly have half-baked projects on the go – whether they’re creative endeavours like music or writing, or athletic ones, like running and cycling.

It’s perhaps a demonstration of my complete lack of commitment that this blog, which I have now been updating with some regularity for around seven months now, represents just about the longest solo project I have succeeded in bringing to fruition without deleting everything in a hurried and self-doubting panic. Of course, there’s still time for that.

All of which brings me back to the public footpath sign. I knew when I bought it that the next few months are likely to be difficult in a very unique way. There are no mountains to climb, races to run, or countries to traverse. Instead, there is just the quiet hum of existence, against which my consciousness will be forced to rub, for days on end. An imposed dopamine fast, of sorts. And it isn’t something I’m looking forward to.

I will try and keep myself occupied – read some, write some, draw some. But the truth is, I am deeply goal-oriented, and without any immediate goals, I know I am going to struggle. It’s as inevitable as poached eggs on sourdough toast on a trendy coffee shop menu.

The sign, then, represents a light at the end of the tunnel. Not only is it a reminder of the places I long to be – the quiet country lanes, the paths that criss-cross fields and woodlands all around this corner of the UK – but also of the person I want to become.

That’s because I have a very clear image on my mind of just what I’m going to do with it – it’s going to sit in pride of place on the wall of my office, when I have one, alongside a handful of outdoors-inspired artworks I’ve collected over the past year or so. As I sit and write, doing whatever it is I will be doing with my life, I’ll look upon it from time to time, and remind myself of the challenges I’ve faced and overcome – a long list, I hope, in which the next few months will be but a stifled footnote.