Cankles be gone

Weird. My phone did not know that cankles was a real word.

Ok, I had a reasonable night's sleep and woke a bit before 5am. So pretty standard for me. My left ankle once again shows signs of containing bone. I did a reasonable amount of stretching and wandering on the planes, kept hydrated and fed and didn't have any booze. But I still canckled like a boss.

So let me finish off yesterday.

Waiting for my last short hop flight to Berlin were a few skinny Africans. I think I can say that with impunity, especially after spending most of the trip from Frankfurt to Berlin chatting to Joseph. Whi is very skinny. And is from Kenya. My opening gambit was "you look like a runner" to which he replied "so do you." I should have gone back with "No dude, you really *really* look like a runner. I mean, you like one of those guys you see winning marathons and shit" But I didn't.

Instead we chatted about Kenya (I really should go, take the family, not all runners are fast and I'd be able to beat a load of them), his shoe-and-clothes collections for his homeland (7 tons), training, life in Australia and loads of other stuff. Oh, and I'm fairly sure he said he was hoping to run 2.10 but I was extremely tired and may have misheard him. I'll see how he went when I check on Sunday.

As I was now flying domestic the bag collection was a piece of piss, no immigration and I was right by an exit right next to the ticket machine for tickets that were not for the bus into town. I learnt after buying a ticket from said machine. So I bought a second ticket, this time for the TXL bus to Alexandwrplatz.

From here it was an old skool walk to my hotel. About a mile. Using a map. A paper map. Which worked out ok. Until I met up with Darren I was on sketchy Wi-Fi or off the grid. Deep breaths, it's Ok, you can upload your pictures later...

I dropped my bags at the hotel, used their Wi-Fi to locate the expo location which I circled on my map and I then wandered off again, keeping the blood flowing to and through my elephant ankles.

The walk to the expo is probably about 30minutes but a coffee stop and a camera in hand slowed me down. That and my confidence in my map reading skills compelling me to stop and recheck every 8 steps.

Berlin is extremely cool. I love the mixed architecture, the feeling of history all around, the graffiti, the canals and waterways, the bike friendliness, the funky hidden stuff, the fact you can take your dogs with you to hotels and into shops. It's just great. Don't know what it would be like to live here, but it is made for ambling around.

Getting back on track, I walked to the expo and found a lot of people. But with a stereotypical German efficiency the line of runners and inline skaters there to collect race bibs moved quickly and I was in, had my chip and printed-on-the-spot number in a few minutes and was ready to escape the expo.

I did do a couple of laps of not really looking at thigs I knew I was not going to buy, wandered past the Erdinger beer stand (alkoholfrie) and was amused to find a few smokers dotted about (crazy Europeans.) I pondered buying an event shirt but am a bit superstitious about buying before. The only time I did it in the past was for London. And I went on to get injured and miss the event. I went back the next year. By which time I'd moved to Sydney. I don't want to stack up too many events where the trip to the start line is long haul.

On the way back I took a few pictures, mostly of graffiti but also of Checkpoint Charlie. Well, I am on holiday. I was approached by a deaf guy who showed me a bit of paper on which he was collecting signatures for something that seemed to be to do with making life better for the deaf. I'd been up for 40 hours and wasn't too sharp. As I was digging in my pockets for change he got quite shirty about me not handing him 10euros. As I don't know German sign language for "I'm about to give you all the money I have so how about you just fuck off sunshine" I sort of staggered off with the feeling is just been fleeced. Ah well.

I stopped for some lunch before getting back to the hotel to check in. There is a friendly little laugh sound that Germans may give when you say "danke" after ordering in English. Whereas the English may think they are being polite the Germans are, I think, amused and bemused that we should bother with such a token effort. There should be a single word - German word - for that laugh.

Skipping ahead I redeemed myself at dinner. I'd wandered to locate Darren's hotel and was a bit off the beaten track on my way back. Dinner was a doner and I had a chat in mixed broken German and broken English with the guy from Istanbul who was working there. Nice bloke, chatty, has a 7 year old and makes a mean kebab.

The walk to Darren's hotel is 2.1km but tired and with a camera it seemed longer. There are some funky bars by the river and yet more graffiti for me to take pictures of. Stickering is big in Berlin. The sprayed graf is a bit ordinary. There are other interesting pieces too; posters, tiles, a small pot of flowers on top of street sign. I like it.

Last word on the day can go to Sri Chinmoy in this picture.

Imagine a world ruled by love - Sri Chinmoy

THE SMITHS

I was looking for a job and then I found a job, and while I'm not miserable now I am a bit, I dunno, vague. So this song will do.

I've got 2 weeks and a day left with the company I've been with for 8years and 3months. Quite a long time. The new job is closer to home - I can run it in 20minutes, under 10 on the bike I reckon - 200m from a beach and 200m from a brewery, can wear jeans and t-shirts, no conference calls with the UK at stupid 'o clock. Ticks all the boxes.

I am looking forward to it with a dollop of trepidation. Lots of shiny new stuff to get stuck into. I'm a nerd by trade, and have been curator of...how should I put this...a code museum...for a while. Steep learning curve and a couple of weeks looking like a bit of a chump. I'll be fine, or in Australian, "she'll be apples."

I'm struggling to find stuff to talk about today. I did a single run, just going to work, so only 11km today. I think I do need a bit of a rest, so one run is OK. Instead I went to the Malysian Food House in the Hunter Connection. Food is excellent, decor is bog-standard and there is no phone reception. Perfect for lunch. Also close to Paxtons, where I dropped off a film to get developed.

Yes, to get a film developed.

A little while ago I bought an adapter that allowed me to use old film camera lenses on my Olympus Pen. An adapter for the lenses costs about 15 bucks. I got a good deal on a load of old camera gear. I just wanted the lenses, but it came with a Pentax Spotmatic. So I put a film through it. Loved it. Only 36 chances to get it right. And manual manual manual. So pay attention. I went a bit mad after that, bought another Spotmatic and three Olympus Trips. And it was a film I'd put though one of the Trips I dropped off and picked up today.

Of course I get the images scanned to CD and upload them digitally, so it is all a bit silly really. But I like it. I have convinced myself film has more soul, and the process of taking pictures on a film camera is a lot more fun than my click-happy digital life.

I'm middle aged.

I have a beard.

I drink craft beer.

My bike has no gears.

Wanker.

Kids probably take after mum, because they're proper cute. Took this picture with a camera that might be older than me.

There and back again tomorrow is the plan. Let's see how that plays out. Now - craft beer.

Tripping

I really like my Olympus Trips. I have two of them, and a Pentax Spotmatic. In fact I have 2 of the Pentax, but one is used ornamentally because it needs new seals. And the film advance is a bit flakey. And the shutter speed sync is somewhat hit and miss. Don't get me wrong, it still takes lovely pictures but they can come out a bit Instagrammy all by themselves. It amuses me that so many people use their bang-up-to-date technology to achieve the Instagram filtered look that you get from a film camera that's older than me.



There is the reassuring heftiness in a mostly metal, entirely mechanical thing. And there's the viewfinder that shows you what your picture is going to look like. You're not going to crop it or filter it in-body. You pick your subject, adjust, compose and shoot.

And then you wait.

Which sort of sucks if you want a picture for your blog on the same day. And it sucks even harder if the place that developed your film shutdown a little before Christmas. Fotoriesel in Sydney is no more, not even online. A dear friend who worked there lost a job he loved and that sucks hardest of all. They were doing OK and there is a film renaissance that was treating then well, but previous lean years caught up with them.

So here's a picture of one of my film cameras that I took with one of my phone cameras. Not sure where I'll get today's Trip pictures developed.

None of which has anything to with running.

Today we were due to go for a drive to Berowra Waters, which the stalkers may recognise as the place I did my New Year's Day run. It's a nice place for a drive but I still have nightmares about that run. We were to have brunch there so I'd decided to do an early run and avoid the heat of the day. Harrie, my three year old, did her bit to help by insisting she take my spot in bed next to mum at around 5:20am. This is not out of the ordinary. I dragged myself out of bed, faffed around a little, checked the football scores (AFC Wimbledon's game against Cambridge had been postponed, giving the boys a bit more rest before tomorrow's FA Cup clash with Liverpool, a game I may mention tomorrow...) then put on some new running gear that Sal had bought me in the hope I'd chuck some of the feral stuff and I was on the road a little before 6am.

I took my phone with me because, notwithstanding the above, it is my main camera these days. Taking a camera means stopping every so often and taking it easier. The legs grumbled but started moving and I set off to redo the Jan 2nd North Head/Manly Beach loop. It was relatively cool against the skin as I set off. I say relatively because it was a little over 20degrees. It felt quite nice right up until I stopped to take a picture and the 100% humidity saw to it that I started to sweat like a racehorse. Ho-hum and all that.

Have I mentioned the spiders yet? One of the great things about being up and about so early on a Sunday morning is that you get the opportunity to clear paths of the webs crafted overnight by Sydney's industrious spiders. The web weaving spiders are pretty much harmless but a face full of web isn't nice and I have been known to break into a lolopping, self-flagellating gallop after thinking I'd managed to pick up one of the critters. I now tend to run the spidery bits with a hand in front of my face and pretend I'm fending off paparazzi.

This run is a little over 19km and has some quite ridiculously good views. From North Head you can look back to the City, around 13km as the crow flies and then around the corner are the cliffs of Blue Fish Point. There is a lovely old wall you run along and then through a hole in before dropping down to Shelly Beach and starting the 2km beachside trot before the final 4km gently road-climb back home.

I got home to find mum had taken both of the girls to the medical centre. AJ seems to have what could turn into tonsillitis and H is battling a cold. We still went for our drive to Berowra Waters, the girls enjoying the quick ride on the cable-pull car ferry, had meat pies for dinner and even I can tell this is getting boring now.

January total - 85.9km. (Ouchy legs.)

I am a...?

Wow, October since the last post. Very shabby.

As I ran to work this morning I found myself thinking about how I identity myself. Think Derek Zoolander gazing into a puddle asking "who am I?" and you're probably nowhere near close because I was thinking more along the lines of "what am I?"

I think.

Look, it was a few hours ago and I'm most-of-a-bottle-of-white foggy, so you'll have to bear with me. Bare with me? Whatever, get nude or large scary mammal - up to you.

• I'm a husband. Not a very good one, but a husband nonetheless. 
• I'm a father. I have two daughters. I'm almost certainly a better father than husband. At least to the daughter who calls me "dad." Not so sure about the two-and-a-half year old who calls me "Melv" but I assume she means "dad" when she says "Melv."
• I'm a DBA. That is on my job description and work email signature. I've been a team leader and a manager and a bin-man too. I suppose you are what you're paid to do.
• I'm a diver. I did the course and passed the exam. I have a card in my wallet. I'm a scuba instructor and first aid instructor too; I can show you the cards. So at a stretch I'm an educator (lapsed.)
• I'm a runner.
• I'm not a photographer.

The last two were the ones I was pondering as I ran to work this morning. I am the only one who can decide to make these statements. If you're married you're a husband. If you have passed the PADI open water course you're a diver*. If you're employed as a fireman you're a fireman.

I run and I take pictures. But I'm a runner and I'm not a photographer.

It was only recently that I began to identify as a runner. I'm not sure when the tipping point arrived. I realised this morning when wearing short shorts, a lightweight singlet and wrap around sunglasses with a "bum-bag" on that I didn't think I looked like too much of a twat. That's a sign.

Without wishing to blow too mush smoke up my own arse - so prepare to read a bit of arse-smoke - I have now put in the hard-yards. I've been running for nearly a decade. My first marathon was Paris, 2005 and I've completed a dozen since then. I ran 2500km last year. My largest monthly total is 733km.  But despite that I only started to identify as a runner very recently. Maybe my self-standards are too high, maybe I had a reality check, but whatever, I can now say "I am a runner."

I've been taking pictures for as long as I've been running. But I don't identify as a photographer. I am someone who takes a lot of pictures and has been fortunate enough to befriend photographers and pick up some tips and tricks. I take a lot of pictures, some of which (and my English reserve makes this tough to type) are quite good. But…an infinite number of monkeys at an infinite number of typewriters. I do take a lot of pictues and the maths is in my favour.

A-n-y-w-a-y I'm not entirely sure where I am going with this but the wine has gone and I know my blog still lives so it's time to close.

*debatable, I know...