Church

Yesterday I had a welcome day off (from running, before those that know me jump straight to the comment box) and went to my youngest nephew's christening at the church I was married at last year.

I'm not sure whether it's a sign of old age but I really enjoyed everything about the service, from the deep and meaningful elements of it's significance to the sight of a group (there must be an apt collective term) of babies each able to melt the congregation's hearts with a well-timed smile.

At one point during a sermon I noticed a couple of people on my row chatting away and it struck me that there were plenty of people amongst the friends and relatives for whom, rightly or wrongly, religion plays no part but that sadly nor too does good manners.

I wasn't brought up as a devout Christian and can only recall going to Sunday School from the colouring in ("this week, Noah!") and excitement at choosing how best to spend my 10p in the sweet shop on the way home. Perhaps unsurprisingly confused about it's purpose at this point, I always remember a friend's answer to my question of whether he believed in God. He gave it a few seconds' consideration and replied, "I'd like to." Which to this day I still think sums up most people's feelings.

Fast forward 20 years and it wasn't until I had to attend church as part of marriage preparation that I was able to form a more reasoned opinion. Without trying to even scratch the surface of the subject, all I'll say is that it's now 3 years later and I still go about once a month.

I'll quickly add at this point that I'm by no means a born-again or happy clappy Christian but am in fact still unsure of how important, if at all, a role it plays in my life. There are a few reasons I enjoy going however. There's a sense of community in always seeing the same friendly faces, which before Emma's pregnancy we'd get from spending every Friday night in the 'old man' section of our village pub.

Two of the vicars, in particular, are fantastic. One is the most engaging person I've ever known who you'd spend an hour listening to anything about given the opportunity. Once again yesterday all I could hear on leaving the church was a chorus of amazement and approval. The other speaks with such passion and conviction that I'm always a little in awe that anyone can convey that sense of belief, or in this case faith.

Every now and again I give my full attention to the lessons learnt from the bible readings, which I know is where I fall down. The last one that I did fully pay attention to the recurring theme was "So what? Who cares?" And it's stuck with me.

You see, in the past 12 days I've encountered the full spectrum of reactions to my running attempts. From the gob-smacked to the mickey taking everyone seems to have something to say (unless their jaw is planted to the floor). There's been plenty of encouragement too, and thankfully some nice reaction to the blog.

Today marked a big milestone in my efforts to run next year's Great North Run. In 12 days and 8 runs I've finally covered the 13.1miles that I'll have to do in *checking countdown on the right* 341 days' time...... only in one go and hopefully without stopping to walk.

That's a really long time, I get that. Pointing out that I'm unfit isn't news to me, but a reflection of how far (in every sense) I have to go. You might be wondering why I'm doing it. The answer is because "I'd like to." And you might be thinking I'm not doing particularly well. My answer at this point?

"So what? Who cares?"

MM