Am I a writer who runs or a runner who writes? Such is the question that has been worming its way around my head for the past hour while I should have been sleeping.
It’s now four o’clock in the morning and I have given up the battle of trying to sleep and crept into the bijou living quarters of our AirBnb ‘lodge’. We’re in Saltford for the weekend, which is a place I’d never heard of before. It’s in between Bristol and Bath and it’s where my friend Paul is getting married later today – at a more convivial hour.
Why am I awake and filling my brain with inconsequential questions? I’m not sure. It’s possibly that the ‘lodge’ is actually a small house extension with its own doorway and the bed is just a double and not our usual king-size. More likely it’s because I left my magnesium tablets at home and I’m just having a bout of my oft occurring insomnia.
Our accommodation might be small, but it is very nice. There’s a wall of kitchen at the back of this room with a peninsula that divides it from the two-seater sofa that I’m currently sitting on and the telly on the wall. It is next to the bedroom with the small but comfortable double bed and the bathroom with the big walk-in shower. Should they have had a smaller shower and a bigger bed? It probably would not have made a difference to whether my brain was going to stay switched off or not given my habits of late. I look forward to standing in it and re-energising myself when I crash later.
I had (have?) plans of getting my trainers on later and exploring the local streets when the morning comes although I’m not sure. I’ve not run since Thursday. Plus, it looks like my only opportunity until Tuesday so I probably should get out there.
My Thursday run was a slow and increasingly sore seventeen miles and after that I had a busy, exciting day giving a few books to a couple of local bookshops and then going to listen to Nikita Gill being interviewed in the Liverpool Waterstones.
I occasionally wonder what it would be like to be a full-time published (by someone else other than myself) writer and I’m not sure I’d like all the public-facing parts of it that you’re obliged to do. Looking at the list of places Nikita Gill is speaking at it sounds hectic and intense, and she will probably be repeating herself ad nauseum as she promotes her new book, ‘Styx’, the middle part of a reimagined Greek myth trilogy.
On the other hand, it would be nice to be in a room where a bunch of strangers are listening to you because they like your work. I don’t know how many years she has put into getting well known enough to have beautiful hardback copies of her works produced and to have a tour of events set up for her. Perhaps the first few book tours didn’t have many people in the audience. It’s hard to imagine though because she presents very well, is engaging and seems a natural speaker.
In her place, I’d be umming and urring at the questions and my hair would be messy and the place would either be empty or filled with friends and family (I’m not sure which would be more difficult to talk in front of). I think I may be a runner who writes.
On Friday I didn’t run because I was recovering from my seventeen miles that should have been twenty and then going to see a tribute band called ‘Take That Back’. It was a very entertaining night, and I got to dance, which, as a middle-aged woman, I rarely get to do now. There were three guys on stage. One was definitely Gary, with a white shirt and waistcoat. The one with the hat was Mark and the other guy, with the leather, sleeveless jacket and tattoos was given the moniker of Robbie/Howard depending on the song he was singing. Poor Jason didn’t even get a look in.
On Saturday morning, which is now yesterday, I was suffering the consequences of Friday night’s BOGOF cocktails and then we were driving down to Saltford, which we did leisurely, with two stops, including one at the Gloucester Services which are lovely, like Tebay only newer. We will stop at their farm shop on the way back tomorrow.
Tomorrow I won’t be able to run because we’re setting off early. Sadly, we have a funeral in the afternoon back on The Wirral, so the sliver of opportunity is later this morning when the sun rises. But, at the moment, it’s not calling to me. Perhaps I’m a writer who runs.
People who have seen my book have been asking me about the ‘Part One’ part of my subtitle. The plan is to write three more books, but have I begun the next one yet? Have I boll*x. And really, I’ve a marathon looming at the end of this month to concentrate on, and a recurring right glute pain that I need to try and sort out because I’ve not done any weights recently. I’m knackered just thinking about it all.
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