Ordinary Magic

We stand in London’s rain. I clutch our tickets, while my wife clutches me. We are held in the moment as the Chariots of Fire theme tune sounds intermittently. The PA system has hiccups. 

“Can’t we just go in? It’s dry inside” I suggest to my wife. But she stands, resolute. Waiting for something.

After nearly 10 years of marriage I’ve learned to respect my wife’s stubbornness. Overcoming meningitis, losing a baby, being hit by a car, running her first marathon in under 4 hours, all this in the past three years. She’s had more difficulty than she expected but she has what renowned Professor of Child Psychology Ann Masten once described as ‘That Ordinary Magic’. The everyday ability to bounce back. Don’t let life squash you, let it shape you.

She’s not the only one. We all walk past people with this everyday. Perhaps we see them in the mirror too.

Silver Cars and Slow Motion Runners

We linger yards from a soggy Red Carpet where Duncan Goodhew and Daley Thompson pace from camera to camera. Men who lit up my Olympics as a kid. Celebrity after celebrity unfolds themselves from sleek silver cars, here for the film premiere 31 years after it’s original release. A film famous for slow motion running and that spine tingling Vangelis theme tune.

My wife won our tickets just a few days ago and has moved heaven and earth to make sure we make it. It’s not easy finding a babysitter for three kids at short notice. Not even when The Empire cinema is calling.

That’s when it happens. The Taxi Cab that changes everything. I can see a familiar face in the shadows. As Dame Kelly Holmes emerges with those legs of strength escaping first, a man starts yelling.

“Out the way, hey move it!” His camera is as big as his head. Click click snap. Something for the morning papers perhaps. 

“Hey, do you want a photo” says Dame Kelly. But it seems she is talking to my wife. She is. Mr. TeleFotoLens is going mad, lurching from side to side like a car out of control, attempting to clear the road.  

My wife steps out of the crowd and into her Moment.

I point and shoot. It’s a perfect picture first time. Dame Kelly and my wife, heads touching, smiles radiating, like sisters, arms wrapped around each other. It’s a black, white and double golden moment. On the long train ride home, the image becomes my wife’s Phone Home Screen, triggering smiles as she re-tells the story to me. Her Bounce Back moment, as if by winning tickets and totally by chance meeting her running icon Life has finally woken up and taken notice. Boy, should Life take notice of my Wife.

“C’mon move it”. Click Click Snap. Snapsnapsnap. The photo frenzy resumes. Umbrellas and elbows compete for pavement. We follow the Dame onto the Red Carpet where she looks at home, while we just loiter, really badly. I never realised just how bad I am at loitering. Anyone would think I have practised to be this conspicuous. The only red carpet in our house is where I spilt the wine.

Seizing The Moment

“Ask if she’ll sign our tickets” my wife says. It’s an instruction, not an enquiry. But then I can’t work out whether to start with ‘Kelly’ or ‘Dame Kelly’ or ‘Mrs.Holmes’. I’m really not in to the celebrity thing but athletes - well, they’re different. They have moved heaven and earth to achieve what they have. “What would my mum have said to her?” I muse. Losing my mum to cancer was why I started running silly distances that have at times meant getting out the door at 5am and arriving back at 11am, thirty-something miles on the watch. I began by running away from the Grief, but slowly found I was running towards something else. Exploring my own Greatness, perhaps. 

Hidden Talents

I start on first name terms. I know I look star struck and I’m really trying not to but it appears looking stunned is another hidden talent I have. What I really want is to be sat in Caffe Nero with my wife and Kelly, having a mocha and chinwagging about running strategies, and inspiring young people to find their Greatness - which is all a bit like my job really. It’s why I left my job as a teacher and set up what our charity does, mentoring young people.

Before I know it, she’s signing her name and chatting to me like I’m an ordinary bloke. No, that’s not right. No, she’s chatting to me like she’s an Ordinary woman. Happy in her own skin, a bundle of genuineness and fire and curiosity.

Signs of Greatness

The Silver Mercs shunned for the Taxi Cab. 

Personal photo-space generously shared with a random girl, my wife. 

Asking questions in her Kentish-twang, not striving to become the centre of attention. 

It’s all a sign of Greatness, surely. Greatness becomes all the more when it invites others in and shares itself. Even for a quick snap next to a London cabbie. It’s too easy in our modern lives to chill on the sofa and wait for Greatness to arrive. Greatness comes not to us.  Here is someone with two Olympic gold medals and a long list of awards who shows her Greatness oozing through her Humanness. Greatness discovered through sheer dedication and resolve. Greatness untapped through the power of Ordinary Magic. She went and found it for herself.

The Speech of a Lifetime

“I want to compare faith to running in a race” says Eric Liddel to the crowd gathered in the Scottish rain. Our necks ache from being so close to such a big screen. I peek round to see a thousand people sitting behind me, absorbing the scene. 

“It requires concentration of will, energy of soul” Eric continues. “You experience elation when the winner breaks the tape - especially if you've got a bet on it. But how long does that last? You go home. Maybe you're dinner's burnt. Maybe you haven't got a job.” We could all insert our own Personal Heartbreaks of recent years, it wouldn’t have been out of place. We all have our story, probably different to Eric’s story, whose life was to end from a brain tumour in 1945, stuck in a Japanese interment camp, away from his family. Gold medals are a mirror to an athlete’s immense conquests, not a shield from life’s tricky realities.

“So who am I to say, "Believe, have faith," in the face of life's realities?” Eric’s Scottish lilt is so easy on the ear. It’s the gentle sound of Ordinary Magic speaking.

“I would like to give you something more permanent, but I can only point the way. I have no formula for winning the race. Everyone runs in her own way, or his own way. And where does the power come from, to see the race to its end?”

The Question for us all

Good question, Eric. Where does power come from? From where does your Greatness arise? What is the starting place for Ordinary Magic?

“From within. Jesus said, "Behold, the Kingdom of God is within you.” 

The cinematic scene fades but the truth remains. What a treasure we all carry. You and I, whatever our hidden talents may be - whether running around a track or loitering on a sodden red carpet, badly. What Ordinary Magic we all have. It took a chance encounter with a lady with the best calf muscles this side of the Thames to remind me of that. 

Yes, Greatness can step out of a London taxi. But more importantly, it can remind me, you... us... of what we carry within ourselves, every Moment, of every Day.

An extra mile?

“Anybody can do what I’m doing but you’ve got to want it with all your heart.”

Pat Farmer is possibly not a name you’ve heard of, unless Australian Politics is your specialist Mastermind subject. And although Pat Farmer may not be a name you remember for long, his feat may be something you never forget. Perhaps his feet will also linger long in your memory.

Have you ever felt pushed to the limit? You know that gnawing sense of wanting to give up, when each day lasts 25 hours and each week is nine days long? I guess most of us have.

If this is the case right now, then remember Pat’s words. 

“Anybody can do what I’m doing but you’ve got to want it with all your heart.” 

Pat is a former car mechanic who on the 19th January this year - having been out for a run - finally arrived at his destination. His journey took him through snow blizzards and sweltering jungles; he faced armed bandits and polar bears; he narrowly avoided being killed by a crashing-truck and he ended up with two black feet that resembled mince meat. He’s not black, just his feet.

For 288 days, Pat ran. 

From the North Pole, to the South Pole, Pat ran. In one go, through 14 countries without a day off. As amazing as he is, he didn’t actually run across the seas in between, though.

Pat clocked up 13,000 miles, running equivalent to 500 marathons in a row without a break. Most days were 50-milers. 

But there was a reason. 

There is always a reason to keep going and not give up, you just have to find it and hold onto it. Hold onto it tightly with both hands and both feet if necessary.

“People think I’m some kind of superhuman. But I hurt all night. And in the morning I’m like a cripple until I get going and loosened up" says Pat.

None of us are super-human but we can all choose to keep going towards our horizon when we hold onto our reasons. 

What kept Pat going? “I endured a lot on the run but the people of South America, East Timor and Africa who have no clean water. Those victims of earthquakes and flood and famines. They have it tough too.” Pat was running for Red Cross and raising awareness of their work around the world. Even the Polar Bears know about them now.

Reading Pat’s story (1) has jolted my perception of what’s tough...again. For what it’s worth, here are three thoughts his story provokes in me:

1. Look out. We all need a cause beyond ourselves to help us through tough times. A picture bigger than our own portrait. “Who else is this goal / task for?”
2. Think long. While I’m not (yet) tempted to run 500 marathons on the bounce, I like that sense of a joined-up journey. Of making the horizon of dreams stretch out beyond the span of my own control. “Where - and to whom - does this goal lead me next?”
3. Start here. Even when your feet are mashed and your bones ache and you’ve hurt all night, just go another step.  All the steps join up. “I’ve come this far” can be an energy-giving thought while you loosen up.

So, whatever you and I face right now - however steep the climb, foggy the view, or puzzling the place we find ourselves - let's remember Pat Farmer. He believes. So can we.

“Anybody can do what I’m doing but you’ve got to want it with all your heart.”

(1) Men's Running magazine, April 2012, pp.23-24. Story by Jon Edwards.

Running Red Lights

I admit it was exhilarating at the time.

As I looked at the road ahead, it was a continuous line of traffic lights, all showing red. This was Leeds  City Ring Road at its most ferocious on a September weekend.

I raced through the first one. Then the second. That's when I noticed the Police. But I kept going, the adrenalin thundering in my body. The Police stayed put. I pushed my luck and went through a third. This time I thought I saw the Police applaud.

This was odd. The Police were cheering me on as I raced through red lights.

Can you remember a time when you 'saw red'? When you broke through a barrier despite the warning signals?

In our mentoring work, we frequently speak to young people who have run 'red lights' emotionally. The consequences include broken fists, holes left in walls and fences, and broken ankles. But it's not just the physical impact. What about the mental consequences? The lost peace of mind? The worry, the confusion?

I guess most of us have run red lights from time to time. We've been on that journey where anger has unfortunately evolved into aggression. It doesn't have to. It could collapse into withdrawal or stand up for itself and become assertive bargaining. But often the default of angry actions is 'aggression'.

So, whether you're prone to 'fight' or 'take flight' when the red lights are glowing and your body is acting like an alarm clock, here's a few thoughts to police yourself, or others around you if they're the red-lighters.

A - Acknowledge
Acknowledge something's up. Acknowledge the rising tension. Acknowledge the clenching fists, teeth, and...um...buttocks? (Will have to check that last one out). Acknowledge what has been lost. Remember that's why anger springs up in the first place. That's why it's part of our human wiring. It rapidly draws our attention to the fact that something important to us has been lost. Acknowledge what it is - lost respect? Lost time? Lost opportunity? Name it.

B - Buy yourself time (and keep Breathing!)
When the brain is sending out its 'red warning lights', a highly toxic class of steroid is being released (glucocorticoids) which has the effect of shrinking our brains. Yes, your brain can shrink. The sea-horse shaped part of the brain called the hippocampus - that piece of our neurological jigsaw in charge of learning and memory - shrinks. Hands up if you want a smaller brain? To counter this, to help the stress-steroid process 'ASAP' (it takes at least about 10 minutes), Buy Yourself Some Time. As yet, this is something you can't get from Amazon so go for a walk. Find a safe place. Get fresh air. And breathe deeply. "Four in up the nose; Eight out through the mouth" as a midwife might say. Buy Yourself Some Bonus Time. Give your brain a chance to think. Breathing helps you control your brain which in turn controls, well, I guess the brain controls quite a few things most days.

C - Can't, Can, Choose
Don't think about doing what you can't do. Do do what you can do. Yes, I really said 'do do'. When 'red lights' are stretching out ahead of you, there will be somethings that are not in your control, and may never be. The weather, the economy and the school curriculum are at least three. As our good cigar-puffing hero Winston Churchill once said when faced with his own 'red lights'... "I make two lists. I list all the things I can't control. Then I list all the things I can control. I do something about all those things I can control. Then... I go to sleep." Choose to do something positive that you are in control of.

Acknowledge what's up. Buy some time. Choose something positive.

That autumnal day in Leeds lives with me still. The day that I just kept going. Red light after red light. Whatever possessed me?

Truth be told, the Police were cheering and clapping me and thousands of other runners on. A river of runners in colourful vests tackling the Leeds half marathon, with city roads closed for the occasion.

My only way out here is to say that you don't have to stop at every red light - but do notice it and decide an appropriate course of action. The Police might be watching and I can't promise that they'll clap.

You're Gorgeous

What do you say to yourself when you look at yourself in the mirror?

I regularly ask groups of teenagers this question. I present them with 30 words – such as ugly, cheerful, selfish, kind – and they get to choose any five words as to how they describe themselves. Over the past few years a pattern has emerged. When I ask how many of them have ‘more positive words than negative’ a few tentative almost guilty hands go up. Invert the question, and there is a mass rush. The stats? About 96% are in this second group.

Fact: Most teenagers have a real downer on themselves.

So, what do you say to yourself when you look at yourself in the mirror?

What would you change? What do you see that you really like?

The first time I was airbrushed was painless. It was involuntarily for the front cover of our marriage service sheet where I was made to look like George Clooney. No, actually it was just the ‘odd blemish’ that was vaporised. Man, I looked unreal.

The truth is this: Most people want to change something about how they look. There’s far too much comparing body to body that goes on and not enough ‘maybe I’m okay as I am’. Sure, many people want to look their best which is great, and that’s very different to believing they don’t look ‘good enough’ which presents itself as a constant striving for something new.

This issue of airbrushing is something that teenagers tell me affects how they feel about themselves. Girls particularly, but not exclusively. They’re clued up to the unrealism of por*ography and the intimacy-void it promotes and fails to fulfil. Airbrushed sex. Hmmm, not very romantic.

Many young people are genuinely surprised when we unveil the extent of photo-shopping in the media – natural body marks and even bones wiped out. Necks elongated, eyes widened, noses shrunk, busts expanded. It all gets ‘the treatment’.

Fact: Much of what we see on billboards, magazine pages, glossy brochures isn’t real. They’re not real people.

They don’t exist.

They’re not people you can become Friends with on Facebook.

Those finished specimens don’t have their own fingerprints.

This issue was brought home to me last week. Quite literally it was brought home to me through the letter box in a plastic wrap. The front cover model of Runner’s World UK had an image of a runner without sweat - which is fair enough because he was in a studio not the Great Outdoors. But the bloke had legs smoother than a lady from a BaByLis advert and a streamlined jaw which was too perfect for my liking. Possibly just jaw-jealousy that last bit.

Those who know me know I’m a runner.  Running is definitely not about airbrushing. Running is not about instant change. Running is not about looking perfect for a roadside billboard. Running is about coping with life’s tricky stuff whatever that is for the individual, taking control of your headspace, and by pounding the road or trails for mile after struggling mile turning it all into something positive. So you can look at your sweaty puddle-splattered body in the mirror and say ‘well done’. 

Because I do believe really and truly that it is not what’s on the outside that matters so much. But getting to a place, however skewiffy the process might have been or still is, of accepting yourself.

Being able to look at yourself in the mirror and say “Hey, you’re alright.” Honestly, when was the last time you did that?

The psalmist David uses a phrase. He writes that the The Creator of All Things looks at you and says you are ‘the apple of his eye’. Bible-speak for ‘You’re flippin’ gorgeous, just as you are’.

“Wave your hands in the air” I sometimes say to the gathering of young people. “Look super carefully at your fingerprints. Notice the swirls and loops and arches.” A hundred adolescent heads peer at their fingertips and whispered jokes begin and – honestly – looks of amazement occur. For some it’s as if they’re thinking “On my goodness! Who just put those fingerprints there!?”

“There’s the proof. No-one else on planet earth has those same marks. Seven billion people alive today, and only you have that set of marks. Proof that you are unique. You are a rare species of one. You’re flippin’ gorgeous just as you are.”

It’s a simple exercise, but a truth-filled one. If the Advertising industry had its way I daresay our fingerprints would be airbrushed away. I fear for the day that “compareyourself.com” is launched. How dare we be ourselves.

Fact: Most if not all of us want to be accepted as we are. No more trying to prove ourselves, compare ourselves, digitally enhance ourselves.

Now, what would that be like?

Yes, I have contacted Runner’s World UK about their front covers asking about their image enhancement policy. They might ignore me, again. But at least I can look myself in the eye, in the mirror, and remind myself that I’m alright. Maybe not George Clooney, but I’m alright.

And you? Hey, you’re gorgeous. Remember that next time you look at yourself in the mirror.