What would my ancestors say?

If you think about it, as humans, homo-sapiens, apes with i-phones, evolution has predominantly, arguably, been focused on getting comfortable and safe.

We invented fire to stay warm. We lived in caves then built homes with walls and roofs and central heating to stay sheltered, comfortable and safe. We invented farming, domesticated wild animals so we could have a constant supply of food to avoid hunger. We built supermarkets, invented takeaway, Deliveroo, drive-thru, microwaves, air fryers, sofas, thermal pants, air conditioning, remote control vacuum cleaners…

And it has just kept moving that way - for most of us - the lucky ones. Ever warmer more draft free homes. Ever more efficient air conditioning. Our cars have heated seats and steering wheels, climate control. We have Dominos on speed dial, supermarkets open 24/7.

We can feel warm, stuffed, comfortable and safe pretty much all the bloody time.

Comfort, comfort and more comfort. That’s progress.

So, why is it so many people head out at the weekends and run 100km? Or take part in iron man events, blue collar boxing, jiujitsu classes, cold water swimming? I mean, we’ve spent most of human evolution trying to avoid being in pain or discomfort or hunger. Now, we choose to fast. We choose to be hungry and miserable. Type in fasting on Google - endless amounts of ways to starve ourselves - intermittently or whole heartedly. Can you imagine saying to any of your ancestors who endured hardships we could not imagine that there are days, sometimes weeks, where we choose to be hungry - on fucking purpose!?

Once we ran, swam, climbed and endured to avoid being eaten, or to chase food, fight people from other tribes, just to survive to the next day, or that evening.

Now, we run to exhauastion, break ice to swim in lakes, for nothing more than a cheap medal to hang in our office, to feel smug at the Monday morning meeting when people ask “what did you do at the weekend?” And I don’t know why, but triathletes seem to be the worse and most smug of all. “Well, I took part in the Hard-as-Balls Icelandic triathlon (or something similar) I was basically swimming, cycling and running for 11 hours in minus 12 temperature and I came first in my age group 50-54.”

Surely it would be better to say - I sat on my fat arse all weekend, eating food delivered to my door, being entertained by images beamed directly into my living room and when I got off the couch I slept in a warm comfy bed in a heated bedroom. That’s better isn’t it? That’s what our ancestors fought for - to make us comfortable. They would celebrate that.

So why the fuck was I up at 5am with a headtorch on, feeling like death, stepping outside in to a freezing, dark world with an aching back and an inhaler in hand, willing myself to move so I could run the 10km on my training plan? At that point, at approximately 5.08am on a freezing November morning in England, I could not have been more miserable. Even the dog refused to get off his cozy bed. And yet I move, I shuffle, eventually a type of running action begins to take place and I’m breathing and sweating and warmth flows into my body and dare I say it, I feel alive.

I get back. I strip off in the garden and shower under the hosepipe, screaming propahnities and apologies to my ancestrors as a Red Kite circles overhead.

I’ve signed up for a series of painful events next year - from Alpine legs of the Tour De France for mere mortals, to half ironman events and long-distance swims in cold northern lakes.

And I’m still not sure why.

Feel free to explain.