Out from the flat up through bohemia, along Rue Rachel, across the Avenue du Parc, past the George-Étienne Cartier Monument, the air thick with the smell of weed, and buffeted by the sounds of drums. Up through the low tree cover, the paths quickly turn to sheet ice. Slippety slide 100m higher, emerging up out past modified Hondas blasting vapours made of RnB. Their passengers eating dominos, taking in the warm evening sun. Up higher still past the famous cross, levelling out along the gravel road to the top of Mont-Royal. Arriving near the edge, greeted by hipsters, jocks, and families taking in a view of what’s been home recently. Montreal’s changed a lot over the last two weeks, -20 °C at the lowest to +23°C yesterday. I was told Montrealers go crazy in spring. The mood in the air, along with record highs set across the Eastern sea board was certainly that. On days like this you don’t need help from mp3s, or wristbands counting your calories. I loved my run yesterday, but at the same time I can’t help but feel worried that the previous record for Montreal on March 18 was some nine degrees lower. Let’s hope this year is an anomaly.
In his book ‘Vers une architecture’ in 1923, LeCorbusier described the giant grain silos of N America as the “splendid fruits of a new era”. It’s a shame that a century later the fantastic Silo #5 on the Pointe-du-Moulin is the last remaining grain elevator still standing in the old port of Montreal. A relic from a time when Montreal was once the busiest port in Canada, and chief grain exporter to Europe. For now it’s owners recognise it’s heritage (although not officially protected) and the surrounding area remains equally gritty in feel for what’s only a 15 min run from the downtown. The whole site including the Farine Five Roses building floats on an 800 x 90m construction made of dirt-filled wooden tubes. The tubes are tied together with steel cables to prevent the whole structure from floating apart. I believe this might be the first snow and ice covered floating industrial area I’ve ever been for a run on.
Sometimes the hardest thing about going for a run isn’t deciding you want to go for a run, it’s deciding you’re actually going to go for a run. Leaving that front door can be difficult in the depths of winter. On some nights it feels that all that lies on the other side is the dark, the pavement, and the cold. But once out the door and after a few minutes difficult minutes, the magic starts to happen. The sting of the cold on the arms and legs turns to a warmer sensation as the body fights back with heat from within. The sharpness of the air on the back of the lungs begins to soften, the once stiff legs begin to propel themselves, and the head begins to clear. The ground in-front becomes a travellator, and you can’t help but wonder why you put off leaving the flat for so long.
On boxing day this year just gone, I didn’t go for a run for myself, I went for a run for someone else - Ed. You see Ed liked to run too. Over the last year we talked about going for a run together, but being typical Londoners we never found the time to make it happen. Sadly Ed is no longer with us. But on this day in spirit, we went for a run together, and I’m sure Ed, you’ll keep running with me every time I step out from now on.
One of the first Nike ads I ever laid my eyes on told me ‘There is no finish line’. I’ve been living with that one ever since. One of the first Nike ads I ever had the fortune to work on as a designer said ‘I always take the stairs’. It’s one of the silly things which many runners out there have to live with - we’re simply not a big fans of elevators. Maybe it’s the fact you can rarely see anything out of them, or maybe it’s the fact we simply prefer bounding up steps. In fact personally I’ve always struggled to walk up them, even if it’s at the end of a 53 min run. Shame our building only has four floors.
A good thing about now being south of the Thames is that I’m a bit closer to it. There’s something special about going for a run near any river. Perhaps it’s the way the journey of the run mimmicks the journey of the mind. As you get closer to the river all the noise, and all the hustle & bustle of the city gives way to open water, more distant views and bigger, brighter skies. At the same time your mind begins to relax and open up to bigger thoughts, and clearer possiblities. Ask any runner which they look forward to most on a Sunday - crossing a finishing line or crossing a river. I bet many would pick one more pass across the Thames over a hasty return to their own front door.
When it’s en-route, I’ve often wondered what it would be like to run straight through the middle of the Barbican centre, so tonight, I did just that. It’s certainly warmer than outside and I can report the carpet provides a good bounce. It was a nice surprise not to raise any suspicious looks from security despite my rather ‘eccentric’ winter running outfit.
As mesmerising as a city can look with all it’s lights on, one can’t help but wish we could turn a few more of them off. Whilst out running the square mile on the first Sunday of the new year, I couldn’t help but think I was running through a disco long after the party ended. I’ve often wondered whilst out running the city how much electricity we could actually save, so I looked it up. The answer is a lot. According to Wikipedia, between 30 and 60% of the energy used in lighting is wasted or unecessary. We consistently forget that where we find it difficult to change human behaviour with actions, we can change things much more easily with design. The installation of more timers and occupancy sensors in office buildings could save the planet millions of megawatts every year. These simple improvements could help businesses save both energy and money. Perhaps in the future, rather than remembering to turn things off, we’ll have a few nights a year where we overide things, and choose to leave all the lights on. I’m sure more people would turn up to the disco then - and I’d be sure to go for a run. But for the most part, I’d prefer better design, less wastage, and more guilt free runs.
Recently I’ve found running the city to be infintely warmer than London’s parks or towpaths. By snaking the backstreets of the banking district, not only are the pavements clearer and safer, but many of the service entrances provide a welcome blast of hot air, exhaled from deep within the lungs of their heating systems. So far I’ve found an extra boost of warmth on Pancras Lane, Moor Lane, Foster Lane, Bread Street, Wood Street, a tropical spot outside the Telegraph Pub near Moorgate, and possibly the cosiest place to be is the service tunnel on the west side of Liverpool St Station. (Don’t be surprised to find a homeless guy down there practicing pilates). Turn a cold run into a treasure hunt, and let your feet follow your ears for once, pricked to the distant hum of the next heating system.
It might not be great to be back in London, but the city can quickly refamiliarise you with all the things you’ve been missing. Sunday nights in Shoreditch can have an element of the calm after the storm about them. Through the quiet it’s easier to see the subtler things you’d normally miss as you pass by - The Bethnal Green guys down the American carwash. The Spanish guys in the local kebab shop after an all day session. The Vietnamese guys having a breakdancing battle on the street. The security guard guys looking bored. Sober people looking cold. An average autumn Sunday night in Shoreditch.
There’s a path up the river valley near St Jean D’Aulps that takes you through Seytroux, past a mini-golf course, and into wilder territories. I can always run for much longer if I’m curious about where a route might take me. The path on this particular route fizzled out at roughly the same time as my legs. Fortunately it’s downhill most of the way home, which meant I could get back before the light fizzled too. The evening glow made everything which was white turn pink, including parked cars and my pale legs.
Sometimes it’s worth researching your route a bit more thoroughly than a quick glance at a map before leaving the flat. Likewise it might be worth taking a map or GPS with you, especially in the alps, and inevitably more useful than a camera and a neighbour’s dog that wasn’t expecting to climb and drop over 2000m in a couple of hours. Consequently misguided by my guesses, I ended up on le Col des Follys whilst attempting la Grande Terche. Past the top, not only did I discover that I couldn’t link the route with home without retracing my steps, (and an extra 500m of altitude), but also that an Australian sheep dog can be much more afraid of cows than a labrador. Still, time spent better up a hill rather than staying at home in the flat.
I spent most of the hour climbing up le Col de Graydon chasing the setting sun as it fell behind the ridgeline in front of me, and the remainder trying not to faint whilst doing so. There’s certain gradients I still struggle to run up, but hopefully if and when I can do more, my strength will improve. I was relieved to read later in Richard Askwith’s book ‘Feet in the Clouds’, that he’s been known to walk the occasional steep section too - Walking helps lengthen your stride, and can be more efficient and quicker than attempting to run. The autumn rock was damp and slippery as it cooled late in the day. I turned back on the summit ridge of le Roc D’enfers (Hell’s Mountain) after a walker explained it was easier to fall off the mountain on the final section than stay on. With that I bid farewell to the ibex and headed back for the car.
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