The pensiveness of the long distance runner*

Posted by Jean Adams

Have you been following #episongs? It’s like a game. But for epidemiologists. On Twitter. You’ll appreciate this lends it a certain in-crowd, geekiness:

     Bayesian Rhapsody (from @martinwhite33)

     One way or ANOVA (from @soozaphone)

     Geoffrey Rose the boat ashore (from @gingerly_onward)

     You say use StAYta, I say use StAHta (yours truly)

I have been using my running time this week to dream up contributions.

The loneliness of the long distance runner, Dir. Tony Richardson

I run most days. I down tools sometime between 5 and 6pm, gather up my stuff, head down to the toilets in the lobby of our building, where a secret door takes you through to a tiny changing room, and change from smart young professional into Supergirl. Well, more often it is from slightly scruffy climbing hut chic (as my dad once graciously labelled it) into rather smelly day-glo shirt and running tights.

Often I can’t quite be bothered. But I have found that this thought can be turned off long enough to get changed and out the door and by the time it comes back there’s no choice left.

I run because I like to be fit enough to keep up with my climbing hut buddies, because it gives me licence to eat a certain amount of cake, because it gets me outside for at least 45 minutes, and because it allows my brain to think in a different way from normal. I think it keeps me healthy. But it might not.

When I'm running, my thoughts take on a different quality. I don’t have to stop them because I need to focus on getting an abstract down to 250 words, wording an email just right, or so I can work out what exactly the person speaking is trying to say. I can just let them happen. But it’s not like there is a jumble of thoughts. Often it’s just one thing. Going back and forth. Round and round. Upside down.

I have some of my best ideas when I'm running. Ideas for research projects. Ideas for how to solve the problem I've been sweating over all day. Ideas for how to teach the cohort study session without killing everyone in the room with boredom. Ideas for #episongs.

Sometimes I think that the quality of my thoughts is so good when I'm running that running time should be reclassified as working time. Other times, my thoughts are not about work at all and I would feel resentful of having to think about something in particular when I'm running.

I presume the two things are not unlinked: my thoughts happening differently, and the good ideas coming. I presume there’s a technical term for the thoughts thing too. Once when my brother was particularly frustrated about something or other, I suggested he take up running. He said he was going to go on a meditation retreat instead. I suspect they might amount to nearly the same thing.

I'm a bit of a running evangelist  But I try not to be a running bore. Pounding the same loop, or variations of it, day after day is not that interesting of itself. Beyond the occasional wildlife spot, hardly anything interesting happens when I run, apart from in my head. There is not much about running itself to talk about. And, to be honest, I can get the same thought effect from swimming, walking and various other repetitive physical pursuits.

What I really want to get out of running right now is a running related #episong


*with apologies to Alan Sillitoe

Knitty problems

Posted by Jean Adams

My name’s Jean and I’m a knitter.

I am also a crocheter, sewer and quilter. I’ve tried my hand at upholstery and if anyone ever bought me a spinning wheel, I imagine I could get quite into that too.

I do these things because I like making stuff. I don’t always like the things I make. But I really like the process of making. Sometimes I like making things that require all my concentration and attention. Other times I’m happy just to mindlessly plod through a simple pair of socks or ripple blanket.

One of my many crochet blankets

I can totally mindlessly knit a sock and, at the same time, leave substantial brain space free for conversation, watching TV, listening to the radio, or doing the crossword. Obviously I would have to put my knitting down to fill in the crossword, but that’s not impossible. Me and my knitting aren’t absolutely inseparable, you know.

So here’s the question: would it be appropriate for me to knit in meetings?

Obviously, I’m not suggesting that I knit during a meeting that I’m chairing, taking notes for, or being asked to make some other types of substantial contribution to. But those sorts of meetings make up only about half of the things I go to.

Think of all those meetings which you just have to go to, but you learn almost nothing and almost contribute nothing. Knitting in these feels like a sensible option – at least I’ve used the time efficiently. Unlike the next best alternative of playing on my phone, at least when I’m knitting I can also listen, keep track of what’s going on, and contribute if I need to.

Then there are the things like seminars where I often learn something really interesting or useful, but again I don’t really need to contribute anything. Surely it would be okay to knit in those too?

It’s not like there aren’t other people who do crafty things in meetings – with very productive results. There are even other academics who knit in meetings in a very public way. And rules for how to do it right.

Sounds like I’ve almost talked myself into it, doesn’t it?

But the problem is, I’m worried about what other people would think. I guess there might be all sorts of responses to meeting knitting, but the one I’m most worried about is that people might think it’s unprofessional. Somehow playing on your phone can indicate that you’re a very busy person with important other stuff to be doing. Which just reinforces how very professional you are. Whilst knitting indicates that if you weren’t here you might be baking fairy cakes. Which is not what us serious academics should be doing at all.

Network or perish

Posted by Lynne Forrest

If you want to get on in academia you have to get published. That’s ok, I don’t have a problem with that. But there aren’t that many jobs available post-PhD and lots of people chasing them. So that means, as well as writing papers for journals, you’ve got to get out there and sell yourself - which translates as going to conferences and giving presentations. Even worse, you have to go to conference dinners and ‘network’. Just the thought of it is makes my heart sink. 

Networking

When I was growing up, ‘showing off’ was a bad thing so having to stand up and talk about how fabulous your research is, is a real trial. Plus I’m pale and Scottish so I go bright red. For those of us who’d really rather just sit at our desks and play with our data, this whole self-publicity thing is not fun. But I guess it is a necessary evil. You could be doing a brilliant job but if nobody knows about it then what’s the point?

I’m giving a presentation next week. Luckily it’s just an internal one but I’m stressing about it already. I’ve been on the training though. I know what I should be doing to give an effective presentation. But, by the time I’ve remembered to talk slowly and not look at my slides or stare fixedly at one person, I’ve forgotten what it was I was planning to say. Plus I’m presenting the results from my systematic review – I have a lot of data. There’s a danger of boring everyone to death with data overload. That’s a lot of things to stress about.

On the plus side, I am sharing the presentation slot with someone else. Is it wrong to hope that she’ll be rubbish to make me look better?

Actually it probably doesn’t really matter if it doesn’t go well as it’s just to give me some practice for the real thing. I’ve got a few conferences I need to attend this year. So I’ve drafted a couple of abstracts and submitted them. I’ve ticked the ‘poster or oral presentation’ box (because my supervisors made me) but you know that, really, I’m hoping it’ll be ‘poster’.

Dinner

Posted by Jean Adams

In my experience, there are two possible plans of action in that moment between drinks and dinner when everyone hovers around the table wondering if there is a seating plan.

Plan A is to actively manoeuvre to ensure that you sit next to the most interesting people.  Plan B is to hang back and grab the last seat.  Obviously Plan B is the introverts preferred method.  But there is a real risk that everyone else is following Plan A.  Meaning that Plan B’ers find themselves, by default, left sitting next to the very least interesting people. 

The other evening I found myself at a work related dinner where I hardly knew anyone.  I knew the people I probably didn’t want to sit next to.  So I manoeuvred away from them.  But I took my chances with the rest.

I was rather taken aback when, around 20 minutes into the dinner, the man on my right said in a rather loud voice: “Well, I used to be on the monetary policy committee, you know.  I disagreed with Mervyn King about almost everything.” 

Mervyn King

You what?  How did I, a university lecturer in public health, find myself sitting next to an economist who used to be on the MPC?  I am still not quite sure what the answer to this question is.  But it seemed unlikely that it would happen again.  So I decided to find out what I could.

I guess we are all victims of surrounding ourselves with opinions that agree with our own.  I feel quite privileged to work in a professional arena where my political opinions are mainstream, and are almost part and parcel of the job.  It’s nice to work somewhere where you feel your colleagues so strongly agree with your worldview.

So it was a bit of a shock to be at a work dinner with an economist who turned out to be just a little bit to the right of me.  It turned out he lives in New Hampshire – a beautiful part of the world, where the state motto is “Live free or die”.  They don’t have sales tax or state income tax in New Hampshire.  This means there are limited public services.  But it’s okay – because “there’s a market”.  You need your garbage collected – “there’s a market”, you need the snow swept from your drive – “there’s a market”, you need some health care – “there’s a market”.

“So what do the people in New Hampshire who can’t afford those things do?”  I asked.

“They live in Vermont.”

Apparently a new liberal era has washed in and the students are trying to get “Live free or die” replaced with the much more politically correct “Live free or move”.