Corona World, Day V

It is cold. I know, I can’t blame the coronavirus for that, but honestly, it’s 21 March in England and the temperature this morning was 1°. Spring officially arrived Friday. We would not be asking too much for a temperature somewhere closer to 10° or 15°, by natural right.

Today we spend in our second day of non-contact with the world: no visitors, no visits out or errands. We participated in the Mass at the Church of the Most Holy Trinity, Ettingshall, celebrated by our dear Father Damian Feeney; though as many of us agree, video services are no substitute for attending in person, I have rarely been so moved as I was this morning to see our friend processing to the altar alone, saying the Mass, giving the responses, all in an audibly empty church building. It’s only been a week since the last college Mass in St John the Evangelist, and I already feel heartsick to have been away from public worship so long.

Margaret and I are keeping to our very ordinary days (‘ordinary’ apart from not going anywhere or seeing anyone). I ran my mile this morning in the frosty breeze, not really pushing but being satisfied actually to have maintained one healthy practice in the teeth of the temptation to hunker down and hide. Cold, tight, 10:15.

Corona World, Day Four

After some to-ing and fro-ing, we’re going full-on self-isolation. Margaret has a cough that’s probably just her seasonal allergies or a cold (cough isn’t as dry and persistent as COVID cough is supposed to be, and no fever), and my reckless inclination to buy groceries, both weigh against our letting impulse or wishful thinking stretch self-isolation past the point of what is most sensible for us.

Yesterday we hardly went out. I made my morning mile run and then took a very short late-afternoon walk. Margaret had a visit from a friend, but apart from that I just read and puttered around the house while Margaret had a series of meetings for her animal ethics work. We watched Zodiac in the evening (admirable actors, plot with a degree of low-burn suspense, but ultimately not as intense as its length would have required).

My morning mile today was chilly (5°), a bit breezy, stiff joints, but satisfactory overall. I had enough energy to push harder in the last third of the run, and wound up at 10:14. Today will probably be more reading, more viewing, and not much else.

Corona World, Day 3

In home all day except for my morning run and an afternoon walk with Margaret. I cleared some email obligations, did some administrative odds and ends, and tried to ease myself into reading mode (and of course, fretted about virus news seen on social media). Probably more of the same today.

My morning run went adequately, though even after warm-up my legs and knees were stiff and resistant (not really achy, but rusty). They felt as if I were running on two-by-fours with metal hinges: rigid, with no give or spring. Cold 4° weather, grey, breezy, and reluctant legs resulting in a time of 10:24.

Corona World, Day Two

Yesterday, Margaret and I eased into the recommended isolation by working from home, taking care of a couple of errands (groceries and the wine shop), and by Margaret’s visiting a non-quarantined family in the college. I ran my mile and later said Mass, and we watched some Doctor Who in the evening.

Beginning today, we’re going to be observing a tighter pattern of restrictions: no visiting, sad to say, and tighter limits on errands (no wine shop). We’re below the somewhat arbitrary 70-year marker for extra concern, and we both feel very sturdy (Margaret has some allergies, but she always has seasonal allergies this time of year), but we are in no hurry to court infection or burden the NHS.

I did run my morning mile today: 5°, with drizzle and breezes making the air extra chilly, and a time of 10:17 (slightly shorter course, with more warm-up — that’s the big difference between running directly from our doorstep and running after I’ve gone retrograde around the block).

New World

This morning begins my participation in Corona World. Margaret and I will be based at home for the indefinite future, venturing out for necessities but primarily keeping to ourselves. I’ll still run every day possible: this morning at 10°, dry, calm, and 10:11 on the shorter course.

I’ve moaned before about the lack of evident change in my physical self as I run through the streets of Oxford, but this morning I had to admit that although I still breathe heavily, I haven’t been wheezing and gasping to the extent that I used to. So, reluctantly, I will chalk up one improvement to exercise.

Closer to End of Term Than I Thought

I should have anticipated change in the administrative arrangements here at the University, but I had thought that once the undergraduates were gone, our theological students would trudge along for the last five days of the week. The PM has, however, (belatedly) taken steps before us, urging that all public gatherings be closed up — so this morning will be the de facto end of teaching for our college.

Meanwhile, I took my morning mile while I still can. Cool, occasional breeze, knees wobbly during warm-up but steady during the mile, and came in at 10:21.

Plague Thoughts

By all means think positive, hopeful thoughts, and certainly do whatever you can to minimise the effects of this plague; console, comfort, and treat anyone who’s been infected or is at risk. But it’s not too early to take a deep breath and begin to imagine a world in which some, perhaps many, people you know are going to die: people who are evidently at risk, people whom one can suppose ‘Yes, I can see how he might be one of the casualties’, people whom you’d never guess would be stricken down by something akin to an overpowered influenza.

We have abundant reason to think that all the systems that sustain our daily routine will be affected.

We have abundant reason to think that our loved ones, our neighbours, will be as susceptible as are people in faraway lands.

Two and a half weeks ago, we reminded people ‘You are dust, and to dust you shall return.’ That’s true even under sunny skies in robust health — but for the next few months, we will probably have to live it out, day by day. It’s time to start bracing ourselves, and one another.

Pushing On

7°, slightly shorter course, no particular feelings of tightness or limberness, particular shortness of breath, or anything else — just another mile, 10:10.

No Judge of Time

I remain mystified at the range of difference in my experiences of running when I run the same mile every day. Why isn’t the experience more consistent? Of course, I’d love it if I were faster and could breathe more easily, if my knees didn’t wobble and my muscles stay tight, but honestly, it would be a more intelligible matter if at least if felt largely similar day-on-day. 5°, light breeze, 10:15.

Pending Further Developments

It’s a bit odd, waiting for the seemingly inevitable announcement that Oxford is closing, that we all are to self-isolate, that there will be no library access for the foreseeable future (yup, that’s the one I can’t process), that church life will be curtailed if not (as in Italy) shut down altogether… But I ran my mile this morning, knees resistant, air a chilly 4°, and it felt as though I had a lot of trouble oxygenating. For the last quarter mile or so, no matter how deeply I inhaled, it felt as though my llungs were still not processing the breath I’d just taken. 10:24, anyway.