Momentum

When it is your birthday, you want the day to feel special, different from all the other days in the year. Even though one is vaguely aware of the fact that millions of other people on the planet have the same birthday, the sun seems to shine only for you. The coffee you make takes on an aura of significance, its steam rising and enveloping you in a warm hug of celebration.

She was a creature of routine. Every Sunday morning, while much of London slept, she would go for a run, filling her soul with the blissful quiet as she advanced jauntily through parks and along canals. But as this day was her birthday, she had planned a route just that little bit special. She would run a longer course aiming to reach Monument just before opening hours, then be the first to enter and sprint all the way up to the top. Proper uphills were not easy to find in her part of London, so she could conquer a landmark and get her heart pumping at the same time. What a great way to start the day filled with golden moments.

Several miles after gently closing the front door, she felt the presence of the Thames. The air was faintly salty and sea gulls screeched out of sight as if the river owed a debt to the vast seas that had fed the city for hundreds of years before.

Turning a corner, she came to the delightfully named Pudding Lane and there, looming up into the sky, was Monument, the tower built to remember the Great Fire of London. At that moment, her joy turned to frustration, when she saw at the base of the tower a long line of tourists queuing ahead of the opening time. She was hot and sweaty from the run, and the babbling of the unwelcome crowd irritated her even more.

Marching to the front of the line, she began pleading her case to the ticket attendant setting up for the day.

‘It’s my birthday and I had this plan to come early today before the opening time and climb up. Just one wish for the day. Would that be alright? I’ll be quick and I won’t hold up the people behind me.’

There was a ripple of mild protest from an Italian couple behind, who had got the gist of the conversation.

‘I am sorry, but you will have to join the back of the queue. Those are the rules, luv. Next time, come earlier and you won’t have to wait as long.’ The ticket attendant shrugged his shoulders apathetically, as if he had said the same comment many times before.

‘But you don’t understand. It’s my birthday and this is the one thing I wanted to do this morning. There won’t be another time soon. Please.’

‘Sorry.’

With the definitive rejection, she felt a surge of heat pulse to her head and a burning desire to complete her mission, whatever the consequences.

‘You’re sorry. I’m sorry too, because I need to do this.’

Before there was any time to respond, she had barged her way past the ticket attendant, through the tiny opening into the tower and started her sprint up.

‘You can’t do that! Come down. I can call the police if you don’t.’ 

She heard the ticket attendant try to run up after her but he was gasping at the end of his sentence and gave up the chase, calling a colleague instead. As she sprinted up the spiral staircase, she could make out only a few words, ‘…guv…nothing I could do…police?...’

Inside the tower, the voices below became muffled and dimmed. She could concentrate just on her breath, rebounding off the stone walls. Her feet pushed off each keystone step as she found her rhythm up and round, up and round the spiral staircase.

At the top, she stepped out on to the platform and took in the view, panting. The Thames, the City, London spread all around her. She exhaled deeply, savouring the moment. 

‘Oi, I see you. Get down here now!’ The gruff voice of the ticket attendant suddenly cut in, along with a disgruntled cacophony of Spanish, American and Chinese murmurs far below.

‘I see you too. Coming!’  She gave a big wave to the crowd and then turned back inside the tower.  Down she pattered. When she emerged at street level, the ticket attendant was waiting, phone in hand. A handful of tourists had closed in around the door and were waving their tickets in the air.  

‘Thank you. I’m done now. I did say I wouldn’t be long. Sorry but It’s just, it’s my birthday you see.’ She had broken through the group keen to escape, head turned back to explain and, with any luck, be forgiven.

‘You didn’t pay the entrance fee,’ said the ticket attendant, holding up one hand to quieten the tourists.

‘Oh yes, I forgot. Here and a tip for your trouble.’ She fumbled in her pocket for the crinkled note and handed it to the bewildered ticket attendant.

She was already on her way when the security car turned into Pudding Lane, the ticket attendant moving towards it gesturing towards her fast departing frame.

The heat in her head and legs were forgotten as she fell back into her comfortable rhythm, one foot in front of the other. She felt powerful as she moved forward along the streets that belonged to her.

Not much passed through her mind on the journey home except a few responses she could offer when asked how her run had been. ‘Great.’ ‘Managed an uphill challenge today.’ ‘Endorphins were high.’ 

Little did she know that she had just run her personal best.