 |
| Cold, tired and fed up: it must be type 3 fun. Pauly feels the pain hiking the Aspen Bowl, Colorado USA. |
According to Kelly Cordes, pioneer of the "fast and light" (a.k.a. "cold and hungry") approach to mountaineering, shack-dwelling dirtbag, fellow broken leg veteran, and one of my all time climbing heroes, there are three categories of fun. Type 1 fun encompasses those things that are, on their face, fun. Going to the cinema or theatre, climbing on warm rock in the spanish summer, enjoying beers on a hot day with friends, playtime with Anita and Lara on the back garden astroturf; all of these things are Type 1 fun. Type 2 fun covers those things which some people might not think of as fun, but which clearly are. Things that involve a bit of suffering, but despite that – or because of it – are fun. Running a half marathon is classic type 2 fun. Likewise camping in the rain, a hard workout at the climbing wall, or peak district bouldering in february. Type 3 fun is reserved for those activities which most people wouldn’t see as fun, and, in truth, aren’t actually fun at the time. They are those things which, at the time you are doing them, you wish you weren’t, but you look back on afterwards (usually from the comfort of a warm tent, or even the pub) and realise were fun. Getting soaked to the skin, lost, hungry and scared in the Scottish highlands in January; running a marathon wearing soaking wet trainers; spending an endless night trying to sleep under a Land Rover next to a major road; climbing seven pitches into the dark in the Blue Mountains of Australia and then realising we didn't know the way down. All these things feature in my personal list of type 3 fun activities.
In my pre-fatherhood days I would often see couples out walking in Dulwich Park, usually with a sprog in a pram. Not running, just walking. Round the park, essentially in a circle. I struggled to see, through my naive sprog-free outlook, how this could be fun. Since the arrival of Lara, I very quickly found out that walking around a park, pushing a pram containing a small baby (usually fast asleep) could be fun, albeit firmly of the type 1 variety. No big deal, you might think.
But since breaking my leg I have started to question the entire basis of my fun categorisation methodology. Two weekends ago, newly liberated from my big blue cast, I went for a walk – or rather a crutch – around the park with Anita and Lara. We did one circuit (it isn’t very far) and it took about an hour. It rained almost continuously, my leg ached and after half an hour the palms of my hands were in agony. By the end I was exhausted. But despite all the discomfort, I thoroughly enjoyed it. So much, in fact, that when Anita asked if there was anything special I'd like to do on Father's day, without hesitation I requested another walk around the park. Even though it was forecast to rain. In fact, because it was forecast to rain. We might get wet - a bit cold, even. And I could wear my favourite gore-tex jacket. It would be an adventure! It was then that I realised - with some shock - that a simple walk around the park had somehow been elevated on the fun scale. Perhaps not type 3 fun, but definitely type 2. Has my broken leg in some way recalibrated my fun-o-meter? Is a broken leg worth an extra grade on the fun scale?
But since breaking my leg I have started to question the entire basis of my fun categorisation methodology. Two weekends ago, newly liberated from my big blue cast, I went for a walk – or rather a crutch – around the park with Anita and Lara. We did one circuit (it isn’t very far) and it took about an hour. It rained almost continuously, my leg ached and after half an hour the palms of my hands were in agony. By the end I was exhausted. But despite all the discomfort, I thoroughly enjoyed it. So much, in fact, that when Anita asked if there was anything special I'd like to do on Father's day, without hesitation I requested another walk around the park. Even though it was forecast to rain. In fact, because it was forecast to rain. We might get wet - a bit cold, even. And I could wear my favourite gore-tex jacket. It would be an adventure! It was then that I realised - with some shock - that a simple walk around the park had somehow been elevated on the fun scale. Perhaps not type 3 fun, but definitely type 2. Has my broken leg in some way recalibrated my fun-o-meter? Is a broken leg worth an extra grade on the fun scale?
I have decided that in order to re-set the scale I need to undertake a proper Type 3 fun challenge as soon as I am sufficiently recovered. Something to aim for when I am back up to full strength. At the moment I don’t know precisely what this will involve, beyond a certain amount of discomfort, tiredness, and probably some bad weather. A friend at work sent me a link to the "South Downs 100" - an off-road ultra-marathon over 100 miles of the finest southern English countryside. They limit the race to 100 entrants and pick you up in a van if you are still running after 32 hours. It definitely has all the ingredients for pain, suffering, possible disaster and defnite type 3 fun. All I need is a couple of running mates. Toby? Hugh? JC? The next South Downs 100 I could feasibly enter is in August 2012, so you've got plenty of time to think about it. In the meantime I’ll keep on crutching round the park.
No comments:
Post a Comment