Nutrition and diet are the modern middle class’s hidden burden. We eat and drink badly and too much, and we lie about it to ourselves but especially to others. I’m genetically lucky – thin, that is – but unlucky – borderline cholesterol numbers. I’m no nutrition sinner but also no saint, and I’d love to do better. Should I do a diet big year?
No! A big year addresses what’s in our heart – the yearnings, the hidden loves, the passions and those values and ideas we don’t honour but know we must. A big year is a one-year obsession. Diet is something else. More like cleanliness or manners, it’s something to address forever in the future.
Yes, diet is tough and, yes, it’s all about habits, but it’s more “I must fix diet or I’ll die early” rather than a big year’s “let’s dream, dream for twelve months.”
I’ve jogged in Brooks Beast shoes for a number of years. The marketing guff calls the shoe “mighty” and that it is. Every physio I’ve been to (the latest one yesterday) concurs: if you have any foot issues, nothing else will suffice. Three years ago, a shoe salesman persuaded me to try another lighter Brooks model . . . I’m sure that’s what started this latest set of foot niggles.
A geek’s advice: don’t shortchange yourself with your gear!
Does this person show happiness? I think so.
Hiking in Wales with good friends, each day I sank further and further into the sheer pleasure of extended walking, sometimes close to civilisation, sometimes quite remote. The Jogging Big Year and Writing Big Year have curtailed our walking somewhat and the thought occurred to me: shouldn’t I do a Hiking Big Year? Max out on something clearly challenging, beneficial and enjoyable?
But when? 2017 certainly isn’t a Hiking Big Year and 2018 seems so far away!
I used a few apps before Strava to do the obvious, recording the basics of my routine glacial running outings. My 2016 Jogging Big Year (note the word “jogging” – I don’t consider myself a runner, I’m a jogger) involves covering 1,600 kms by obsessively doing 10 kms 4 times a week. My goal doesn’t mention speed, vertical ascent, races, anything at all that a club runner might fasten upon. So in theory my app needs are minimal.
Yet from my very first hitout with Strava on my iPhone, I was a convert. Strava is beautifully laid out. It gives me split times every kilometer – I love hearing that reassuring female voice cooing “distance: 3 kilometers; time: 18 minutes 29 seconds; previous kilometer in 6 minutes 10 seconds.” It syncs rapidly and reliably. I can set monthly distance challenges. My annual kms are split up by month and day. I can compare times across my four chosen regular routes. Anyone can establish a segment that other runners can judge themselves against; I’m yet to use this but surely will.
But Strava’s greatest bestowal upon humanity is its socialisation of what in my case is a solitary activity. Runners and cyclists who have never met “follow” each other in Facebook style and receive “kudos” from others. Corny? Potentially yes, but I relish being able to observe each day how other runners (all of them, I repeat all of them, “real runners” faster than me) gobble up their kilometers on path or track. Magically, I feel part of a community. Magically, that community sustains my jogging.
And all of this is done with just the right mixture of joyfulness and commerciality. I pay to use its Premium option . . . I’d pay ten times what I do. Long live Strava.
A month ago, desperate to finish a chapter, I skipped a gym session. Now, my Jogging Big Year is nearly all about 1,600 kms, but I’ve been insisting that on every non-jogging day I would do gym. So in my mind I’d made a decision to commit a minor Jogging Big Year breach in order to attend to the Writing Big Year.
Then, two days later, even more desperate to finish that chapter, I did the unthinkable – I did not jog on a jogging day. For the first time this year, during a week entirely in Melbourne, I jogged not 40 but 30 kms. Major breach, major breach.
It seems to me that conflicts of this sort must arise. All you can do is steel yourself and decide between the two conflicting goals.
But here’s the good news – I rose extra early the next morning – the day we flew out – and fitted in a jog otherwise not planned. Peace of mind . . .
A Big Year of hiking would have us doing this many, many times over one year. Should I?
Every day, sunny or apocalyptic, Kevin scans his world, takes a photograph and posts it on Flickr. He’s a whiz at composition (the photo below is his and is reproduced with permission, check out his work) and over a year his single works of art build into a large body of art. Kevin relates how a day surgery visit meant he had to set up his tripod the night before and click on the camera before he left. Often he must work hard to organize both the shooting and the uploading. A busy man, this is all he can do to keep the embers of his love of photography glowing.
A Big Year is just Kevin’s daily task restricted to one calendar year. Kevin’s daily commitment turns “should do X” into “I am an Xer.”
Three writing days in Como, hampered by theft, came to only really one day. In Milan I was fortunate enough to secure some good time to plot and yes, Chapter 5 has structure now. Most exciting – ready to draft, but after a couple of weeks of hiking.
As of today (August 20), this blog has an exact life expectancy of 3,421 more days. The Big Decade concludes on December 31, 2025.
For some inexplicable reason, the prospect of such sustained activity fills me with energy, and my interest is doubly piqued. Does publicly journaling some aspect of life not only help underpin it (“I’m naked so I’d better behave”), but also doubly enrich life by adding reflection?
Does the reluctantly photographed walker seem happy? He is and his mind inevitably ponders a hiking big year, loads and loads of walking from January 1 to December 31. Call such thinking premature, for 2017 and 2018 are most probably loaded with very different obsessions (but who can tell, part of the pleasure is in weighing momentous choices), but the mind enjoys playing with plans.
Spur-of-the-moment big years, scribbled down a year ago, incorporated not one, but two big years:
- Long Hikes Big Year. 12 months away from home doing pilgrimage-like walks, the best known example being the Camino.
- Tough Hikes Big Year. Target the arduous: Grand Canyon, Western Arthurs, Corsica, Tour du Mont Blanc, the canyons of Utah.
But neither of these is as yet well-formed. Neither channels everyday effort. I had this insight while day walking in Wales: the Long year should target X,000 kilometers of distance; the Tough year can target Y,000 meters of ascent.
Up high in the Dolomites later this week, how’s about I take this insight further? Such fun!