The Perils of Jogging
For want of anything better to do, we turn to the pages of the Guardian, where columnist Zoe Williams is once again unhappy and resentful:
The tweeting began before 6am, as healthy, responsible people announced to the world that they were going to the gym for their 6am workout, and might go for a run later… By 7am, someone had posted a picture of themselves doing a complicated yoga posture on a log, and I was as angry as a bull. The problem wasn’t the hashtagging; the problem is with fitness itself.
Ms Williams, it seems, spends every dawn monitoring Twitter hashtags of which she disapproves and raging at the thought of strangers exercising. And she does this while writing an ostensible fitness column for the Guardian, the details of which she struggles to retain:
I have been writing a fitness column for a year and in this time I’ve digested very little about what exercise does for your body.
Or as the headline puts it,
I’m not sure what exercise does for your body.
This appears, incidentally, inches above a reminder of the importance of supporting the paper’s relentless professionalism. However, there are some things Ms Williams does know:
I know everything about what [fitness] does to your personality, and none of it is pretty.
You see,
Start doing something new, and you can’t stop talking about it… It’s not really talking, though, is it? It’s boasting.
And so,
Unavoidably, over time, this makes you more rightwing, as you descend into an aerobics-powered moral universe where only the weak need each other.
So there we are. According to Zoe, if you visit a gym, or cycle, or merely take the occasional brisk walk with a dog in tow – or presumably have any kind of goals, however modest, and then achieve them – you’ll become boastful, consumed with “self-love” and wicked delusions of “self-sufficiency,” a gateway to the greatest sin of all: not being leftwing. Because leftwing people, like Zoe, are free of vanity and unblemished by urges to signal superiority of one kind or another. Say, by telling us, quite often, that they’re not at all rightwing.
Still, it’s strange just how readily Zoe leaps from ‘people can be a bit tedious when banging on about their enthusiasms’ – the word blogging comes to mind – to ‘regular jogging will make you vote Conservative because feelings of achievement and capability are politically corrupting’. Presumably, leftist piety is arrived at via indolence, whining and half-arsed flummery. Though it’s not, perhaps, as strange as declaring one’s own piety and compassion – as opposed to all those dreadful rightwing people – while sneering at a cancer charity because its most direct beneficiaries are men.
Which Zoe then does, with an obligatory misandrist jab, by dismissing the Movember Foundation, an independent charity that raises money for research into treating and preventing testicular cancer, along with efforts at suicide prevention, as an excuse to “grow a moustache to celebrate your prostate.” No doubt Ms Williams would be just as keen to describe as irksome any of the numerous charities catering to women’s health issues, with those little pink ribbons being worn merely to “celebrate your tits.”
Previously. Via Ben.
Or ‘Giant Vaginas’.
Indeed. And who could have foreseen that one taking off?
Perhaps her outlook on life would improve if she got a better haircut.
I think it’s high time ruling-class men started to re-assert their control over the screeching harpies. This state of affairs should never have gone as far as it has.
“…just petty & whiny, & doesn’t impart any useful information about the ostensible subject.”
It fills the assigned space. I once posited that when a French columnist has nothing to say, he starts talking theory. An English columnist settles old scores. An American talks about himself.
Ms. Williams makes herself and honorary American. (You may imagine how flattered we must feel.)
“an,” not “and”—damn autocorrect!
And the Canadian columnist agrees with whoever spoke last.
Wait, aren’t we supposed to be boycotting the Guardian for being, uh, too right-wing anyway?
Wait, aren’t we supposed to be boycotting the Guardian for being, uh, too right-wing anyway?
Say whaaaa?
Say whaaaa?
Sounds like a #walkaway sort of comment … I mean, once you strip out the pretentious jargon and translate it into a real language, it does. I.E. Let’s ditch the cultural marxism but keep the original version.
Having read “The Strange Death of Europe”, I’m not surprised to see even Australia on the path to suicide.
On R4 the Today programme is reporting that CERN has just had a James Danmore moment from an Italian professor giving a talk about gender diversity. His slides have been pulled from CERN’s website. The outrage bus is pulling up now. (Sorry couldn’t find any links yet)
https://press.cern/press-releases/2018/09/statement-cern-stands-diversity
Here we are
The outrage bus is pulling up now.
What was said that so offended the gallery?
I see that CERN’s removing the slides and throwing up their hands in horror isn’t enough for this little Stalinist
https://twitter.com/BarbaraFantechi/status/1046440351534395392
Here is a post-doc who was there
https://twitter.com/jesswade/status/1046334690268008448?s=21
“Tim Newman’s latest on the US SCOTUS idiocy:
http://www.desertsun.co.uk/blog/8272/ ”
One of the commentators on that thread makes a (I thought) pretty spot on reference to Aunt Ada Doom in Cold Comfort Farm, in the context of the Kavanaugh situation. Aunt Ada controls the family in the novel by purporting to have seen “something nasty in the woodshed”, consequently gaining sympathy and power by the suggestion that she is mentally fragile. This lasts until the heroine, Flora Poste, sees through her and stands up to her. Which is, indeed, what people have to start doing to the left’s victimhood politics.
It’s very notable that the left believes in victim’s justice in some circumstances, but not in others. We don’t hear much about how the victims of terrorism should get a say on how we treat Islamism (or in the past, the IRA).
The slides can be found here (although nothing in that link identifies them as Strumia’s):
https://drive.google.com/file/d/1c_NyUhOZ8erdqU2AGZJZtNfFeA91Kefj/view
Link via:
https://www.reddit.com/r/Physics/comments/9k9mq9/a_prominent_theoretician_at_cern_alessandro/
but I thought the left said high self-esteem was good for you.
failed to mention that she went to an exclusive school beloved by well-heeled socialists – a school that bears no resemblance to the state comprehensives that she deems good enough for the rest of us
dw: I couldn’t cut it as a lefty. I couldn’t handle the cognitive dissonance.
1 part leftist teachers.
1 part coddling parents, especially the father.
1 part solipsism because, yes, for most girls it is all about themselves.
Further to the Perils of Jogging, this, brought to you by Mad Magazine: http://www.letsrun.com/forum/flat_read.php?thread=3338230
Once upon a morning dreary,
half awake and eyesight bleary,
While I fetched the “Daily Herald”
lying there outside my door,
As I stood there, stretching, yawning,
wond’ring what the day was spawning,
Came a figure through the dawning,
fiercely running as to war;
“Who is this,” I asked myself,
“who runs as if he’s off to war?
Just a loony, nothing more.”
Striding down the street, he ran there,
trotting past each parked sedan there,
Till the air was filled with gasps
that I had not heard heretofore;
Soon I knew as he came closer,
he was not a loony, no sir,
Or some early-rising grocer
racing toward some distant store;
“You’re a Jogger,” I exclaimed,
“and not some grocer with a store!”
Quoth the Jogger, “To the core.”
I could see his Pro-Keds clearly,
and his perspiration nearly
Soaked right through the cotton sweatshirt
and the running shorts he wore;
Shorter breaths he now was taking,
and from grunts that he was making,
I felt sure the must be aching
from the labors of his chore;
“Does your body ache,” I asked,
“each time that you perform this chore?”
Quoth the Jogger, “Ev’ry pore.”
Round the block he was now veering,
then quite soon was reappearing,
Battered, scarred and bleeding
in a state most people would deplore;
Ev’ry garment he was wearing
now was either ripped or tearing;
Furthermore, his legs were bearing
signs of toothmarks by the score;
“What on earth,” I asked, “has caused these
signs of toothmarks by the score?”
Quoth the Jogger, “Dogs galore.”
Suddenly, it started raining,
and I thought he’d be complaining
Of conditions unforeseen
that Mother Nature had in store;
Drenched with rain, he soon was dripping,
and sometimes he lost his gripping
Causing him to wind up slipping
on the pavement bruised and sore;
“Give it up,” I pleaded,
as he lay there gasping, bruised and sore;
Quoth the Jogger, “Let it pour.”
On and on, he did continue,
straining ev’ry bone and sinew,
Round the block and back again
until each passing was a bore;
“Hey,” I asked him, “aren’t you done now?
Surely this can’t be much fun now;
Fifteen miles or more you’ve run now
since I’ve been here, keeping score:
Isn’t that enough?” I uttered,
as I stood there, keeping score;
Quoth the Jogger, “Just one more.”
Then it was that I did see there
just how old he seemed to be there;
Ancient was his weathered face
with wrinkles I could not ignore;
Years of running so insanely
made him look much older, plainly,
Than his age, which I felt mainly
must be fifty-five or more;
“What’s your age?” I asked, expecting
he’d say fifty-five or more;
Quoth the Jogger, “Twenty-four.”
The line between feminism and a parody of feminism seems to be fast disappearing.