I was reading Song of Songs (Shir Hashirim). Wonderful love poetry. And this is what came out... 

New track. Made with love. Actually, I might call the song Beautiful instead. What do you think?

X

N

I don't consider myself anything close to a good guitar player. I 'accompany' myself, is the best way to describe it. 

When I wrote this song it was hand-picked; a friend of mine suggested I move to a harder strum, and left out the lighter, higher notes. It was a very good idea. It changed the song completely, made it darker and sexier and more full of longing than it had been when it was more folk, less... whatever it is now. It could be played better. But it's got a lot of heart as it is. 

Hi. 

In the last few months, I've started playing. This is one of the tunes that came out of that late last year. I finally have a version (recorded) I'm happy with. 

Hope you enjoy. And I hope to see many of you tomorrow in Cape Town at &Union. 

X

N

 

 

 

I guess all aspiring redheads should cover this song? It worked very well for Tori Amos (who I saw sing this a week ago – breathtaking). Anyway, a couple of people asked if I'd do a pared-down cover of the same. So here it is, for them, and anyone else who's listening in. (Thanks for listening in). 

 

These were the numbers: 37 000 feet (my altitude); 22 000 women (the number of entrants for the 2011 Nike Women’s Marathon); 27 hours (the time it would take to get from Oliver Tambo International Airport to San Francisco, on the west coast of the United States); and the really scary one: 21 kilometres. The distance I would have to run.
Sitting on that airplane, halfway between continents, I had no idea exactly <how> I was going to run a half marathon, but my head and heart said I could and I trusted my legs would simply play along. This, I think, is what it means to be a runner.

Until last month, I’d never run further than 13 kilometres in one go. But, in the year since I’d taken up running – in which I’d gone from not being able to jog a single block and clawed my way up to running two, then five, and finally 10 kilometres – I learned that, even though I bore no resemblance to the lean long-distance athletes I watched on TV, if I just worked hard enough at putting one foot in front of the other I could cover greater distances than I ever thought. Not fast, sure. But I could do it. And (perhaps the biggest surprise), I discovered I actually enjoyed running.
In July this year, I entered my first race; to call it a “race” is, perhaps, a misnomer: as I’ve said, I’m not very fast. Certainly, I don’t compete against anyone except myself. But those 10 kilometres – again a distance that, at the time, I’d never run before – shifted something inside, shifted the parts of me that agreed with everyone who’d ever said to me “you’ll never do that” (because, looking back, I realise that’s what I had been doing for many years: agreeing with the people who, in words or actions, saw only my limitations). Over time, 10 kilometres became my regular morning run, on the two or three (or more) mornings a week I’m able to wake up before 5am, greet the sun over Johannesburg on my own two feet in the company of a handful of other gentle, encouraging runners. These early morning starts have started re-shaping the way I see my city, not just because I get to watch the sky go from black to pink (I have always thought Jo’burg is best at sunrise and sunset), but because I get to see the streets where I live on foot instead of through the windscreen of my car. When you run, you learn to greet those you pass – other runners, walkers, people on their way to work, cyclists… We’ve forgotten these things, these everyday courtesies. Running helps me – us – reclaim the streets, and teaches me a lesson in humility, politeness, humanity.
This, ultimately, is how I made it through those 21 kilometres on the streets of a strange city. The Nike Women’s Marathon (this was it’s 8th year) is run, in part, to raise funds and awareness for blood cancers like leukaemia and lymphomas. Many of the women (and the handful of men) who participate in the half and full marathon events do so in memory of a loved one lost to cancer; others run to celebrate the fact that they have beaten the disease. There, overlooking Alcatraz and the Golden Gate Bridge, in a time zone nine hours away from home, I watched people run past me, with me – the man with the picture of his late wife pinned on his back; the girls with bright ribbons bearing handwritten words “survivor”; the teenage boy standing at the side of the route, with a handwritten cardboard placard simply reading: “GO MOM”. These things are universal.
Two days before the race, legendary marathon runner and Olympic medalist Joan Benoit Samuelson had spoken to us, saying how running a race was telling a story. As a writer, I am learning that when it comes to running there is one difference: there’s no end. Samuelson says it this way: “There is no finish line.” 

<this is me, after the run, with my finisher's necklace by Tiffany. i think it was one of my happiest moments> 

So a damaged foot means I get to spend more time on my chair, with my guitar. Which isn't all bad. Here's a new song. Hope you like it, and thanks for listening. 

X

N

I've just come back from America, but this song isn't about that at all. Been wanting to write around that line for months: someone, as my America (and the loaded connotations there). 

I know there are a few moments where the vocals are a bit sharp; but for a home recording I'm happy with this take. For now. 

This is my life, in running shoes:

The shoes tell a little story all of their own: the beat-up Pumas (which I started running in; fell in love with the colour and super lightweight feel); the New Balance Minimus (which I bought when the Pumas started giving out, because I am really interested in barefoot/minimalist running); and then, my OMG new wardrobe of Nike shoes – Lunar Glides, Lunaracers, and Nike Free Runs.

I've just packed the Lunaracers in my cabin bag; they're coming with me to San Francisco where, on Sunday, I'll be running my first half-marathon (part of the Nike Women's Marathon event). The marathon is why I have suddenly become the Imelda Marcos of running shoes: because Nike invited me to come and run in the marathon, and they've also provided me with new shoes, and additional running kit (seriously, I have the sexiest new running tights – I know, should be an oxymoron, but they have red strips at the back around the knees and make me look like Tank Girl meets Judge Anderson. In sneakers).

I know lots of runners who just rock a regular old tracksuit or T-shirt. I'm not so good at that – this is what happens when you work in glossy magazines for years: you stop owning tracksuits. Also, I'm kind of into the tech that comes with running. When I started upping my distance (on the road), one of the first things I bought was a pair of running tights. After all, who wants chafe? I love the new materials they use to construct running gear. The technology behind running shoes also fascinates me (I have a story coming out later this month on barefoot running), so trying out lots of different types of running/training shoes has been interesting. I worked out from the start that heavy, structured running shoes don't suit my body or my headspace (it's one of the reasons barefoot/minimalist running appeals to me, because the shoes are so lightweight, and why, given the choice, I prefer to run in racers). I'm going to have to pay attention to this as I start to up my distance though (which is, in theory, what the Lunar Glides are for: some serious kays. Fingers crossed).