RUNNING backwards is a novel idea – and quite fun to watch. I saw a wee woman running backwards through the Meadows in Edinburgh this week and was tickled and inspired in equal measure.
“Perhaps backwards is the way forward,” I thought, chuckling quietly, “and just because running forward is more popular and ostensibly less ridiculous doesn’t mean this woman isn’t on to something.”
As it turned out, running backwards was a short-lived novelty – for me, anyway. For all I know, the wee woman does it every day (I’ll certainly be looking out for her). And probably has a safer technique. In any case, it didn’t go well for me. Aside from being giggled at by passers-by, dog walkers and forward runners, I tripped four times and got a crick in my neck from trying to navigate the Meadows path and avoid collisions with trees, lampposts, fences, dogs and so on – which I did manage successfully, thank goodness.
One of the main drawbacks of running backwards, I discovered, is having to face people after you run past them. This feels quite awkward, especially when you make eye contact and catch them suppressing a giggle, or just outright laughing at you. It was fair enough, I suppose. I did look ridiculous.
Running can be a bit samey, and keeping it interesting something of a challenge. But instead of changing direction completely, a change of route, speed or outfit is more advisable.
When it comes to change, going backwards instead of forwards is rarely a sensible idea. Everything changes with time, and time moves forwards – never back. So by that simple law of the universe, it follows that “forwards” trumps “backwards” – even when the opposite may seem to be true.
For example, Rollerblading backwards down Stonehaven’s Woodcot Brae, aged 14, may have marked an advance in my skating skills, but it would never go down as a better idea than skating forwards, and on the pavement away from oncoming traffic.
Change is often good; often bad – but, either way, inevitable. The extent to which our life changes is partly within our control and partly not.
AS the dual forces of order and chaos push time’s arrow forward, perpetually changing the universe, so too do they govern the ever-changing details of our own lives, however minuscule.
This week was all change for me – and definitely in a good way. Starting rehearsals for a new version of Anton Chekhov’s The Cherry Orchard meant changing city, flat, scenery, routine, and my underwear every day. It has been so refreshing (in every sense), and even though I enjoyed working from home in Glasgow for a couple of months, writing plays and columns and whatnot in my jammies, getting out of the house, showering daily and working with people again is a healthy step forward.
By the nature of working freelance, I’m used to changing job, routine and scenery often, and that suits me fine. I’m easily bored and always thirsty for new challenges. However, my propensity for change is relative. Like anyone, I need stability and for certain things to remain constant. Whereas some people find stability in the form of a steady job, I find it in simply loving my job.
Like any normal person, I find stability with other people – family, friends, colleagues and so on, all of whom I rely on to be there when I need them. Indeed, were any of the things that give me stability taken away, I would feel as lost as anyone.
THE Cherry Orchard is a play about many things, one of which is “change” – from sweeping revolution to the tiniest alterations in individual lives. The Ramsay-Mackays, a Scottish landowning family, face devastating changes to their circumstances when their beloved home and cherry orchard go up for sale. With it, centuries of tradition and family heritage are overturned and they find themselves adrift in a new social order.
In the new version of Chekhov’s play which I began rehearsing this week, the writer, John Byrne, relocates the action from early-20th-century Russia to the north-east of Scotland, 1979, on the eve of Margaret Thatcher’s election victory.
At this time of social upheaval and reform, many of Scotland’s landed gentry fell victim to spiralling debts, often losing their claim to land and property that had been in their families for generations. On the whole, this was no bad thing – a very good thing, in fact. However, the destabilising effects of such change on one particular (fictional) Scottish landowning family, the Ramsay-Mackays, are the subject of John Byrne’s new version of The Cherry Orchard.
Some of the characters yearn for a return to the past; others to conserve the status quo, and one or two to embrace a brave new world order. But regardless of how much they wish to resist or effect change, nevertheless, time moves forward in the play (as in life) and the demise of the cherry orchard – a fact that will change the course of all their lives forever – remains inevitable.
Part of the excitement of rehearsing a play is not knowing quite what will happen each day. Although the story, and words, remain essentially the same, things change a lot over the course of four weeks’ rehearsal, and the process of discovery, practice, trial and error yields plenty of surprises.
It’s early days yet, but if this week has been anything to go by, we’re going to have lots of fun, and plenty of laughs, getting the play on its feet. There’s loads of line learning to do just now, and that’s a slog. But we’re doing well so far, and by the time we’re up and running, we’ll be able to say our lines backwards.
But promise not to. Because backwards is definitely not the way forward. Ridiculous idea – who would ever think of it?