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My attempt at running disintegrates into a war of words with Madonna

Christ, it hurts.

Don’t laugh at me, but I’m trying to learn how to run. I blame that recent BBC programme, Mind Over Marathon, where a group of people, all living with mental health issues, trained to run the London Marathon.

It was good TV, warm and engaging, all of the participants showing impressive degrees of mental and physical courage – battling their anxiety and their knees, bonding with each other and with the viewer. And it sparked in me a little flicker of curiosity. I wonder if I could run? I’ve always shied away from it, but what if? What if?

Cautious advice-heeder that I am in middle age, I go to the NHS website and, sure enough, it offers encouragement to the terrified via an app called Couch to 5K. This teaches you how to start running in short bursts, egged on by the celebrity voice of your choice. I download the app, choose Jo Whiley, and brace myself.

Week one. Monday. A minute of running, followed by 90 seconds walking, for a total of 20 minutes. Christ, it hurts.

Wednesday. Run 2. Realise halfway through that I have made a complete balls-up of these first two runs by setting out in the hilly part of north London where I live, the gradient nearly killing me. I’ve also learned a lesson about gravity, and how strong is the pull of the Earth. A lightness of step is advised, yet I seem to hit the ground with an unexpected thud. I picture a glass of water somewhere, trembling. Also realise I need music.

Friday. I have a new plan, which involves taking a short bus ride to the nearest flat length of road and running up and down it. I’ve also made a Madonna playlist, aiming for a tone of can-do, dance-tempo positivity. First track up is “Vogue”, which begins with her slightly accusatory “What are you looking at?”, reminding me that when I told the kids I’d been running, the youngest replied, “What, in public? Where people can see you?” Am now convinced that everyone is looking at me.

Week two. Monday. Still with the bus ride and the playlist. It’s quite empowering, and I’m playacting at being Madonna-like, although after a while I wonder if she’s actually taunting me.

“Quicker than a ray of light,” she sings in my ear.

“Heavier than a sack of potatoes,” I mutter.

“Don’t stop me now, don’t need to catch my breath.”

Actually, you know what, Madge . . . hah . . . gimme a sec . . . hah . . . just need to . . .

“And when the lights go down and there’s no one left/
I can go on and on and on.”

I can’t go on. I’ll go on.

Wednesday. Meanwhile Jo Whiley is being encouraging: “Try to say to yourself, ‘I LOVE RUNNING!’” Banal, but it actually helps. After every 90 seconds of running she interrupts with, “OK, now you can slow down and walk for two minutes.” I go back to walking, not entirely sure that that means I’m slowing down. Her other tip is to distract yourself by looking around. I look up at the trees, all springy and bursting, and think of the lovely Dennis Potter quote about “the whitest, frothiest, blossomest blossom that there ever could be”, and it starts to rain, a fine drizzle mingling with the sweat, and I’m momentarily enjoying myself.

Saturday. I’ve finished run three and I’m walking back home, when a woman coming in the other direction in full running gear and headphones stops me. She gets out her phone and shows me that the last song she’d been listening to, as she did a 5K run, was “Come Hell or High Water”, from a mid-Eighties Everything But the Girl album. It’s a kind of torchy ballad, so I ask her whether or not it was helpful. “Oh yes,” she says, “it reminded me of being at college and singing along with it, tears streaming down my face.”

Well, whatever gets you through, I suppose.

Week three. Monday. My knee hurts. I mean really hurts. I’m in the studio today, standing up to do lead vocals, and am distracted by a throbbing just below the kneecap.

Wednesday. Resting. Have made an appointment with the physio. You know when you laughed at me for taking up running? Mmm. 

Next week: Kate Mossman

Tracey Thorn is a musician and writer, best known as one half of Everything but the Girl. She writes the fortnightly “Off the Record” column for the New Statesman. Her latest book is Naked at the Albert Hall.

This article first appeared in the 18 May 2017 issue of the New Statesman, Age of Lies

The University Challenge final. Photo: BBC iPlayer
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Why University Challenge is deliberately asking more questions about women

Question setters and contestants on how the show finally began to gender-balance its questions – and whether it’s now harder as a result.

University Challenge has long had a gender problem. When the show first started airing in 1962, some Oxbridge colleges were still refusing to admit women as undergraduates; in the decades since, women have been consistently outnumbered by men, with all-male teams still a regular occurrence. Those women that did appear were all too regularly criticised and objectified in equal measure by audiences: notable contestants like Hannah Rose Woods, Emma Johnson, Samantha Buzzard and Sophie Rudd have experienced intense media scrutiny and criticised the sexism of the show and audiences. In recent years, sexism rows have dogged the show.

How satisfying, then, to see two women carrying their teams in last night’s final: Rosie McKeown for winners St John’s, Cambridge, and Leonie Woodland for runners-up Merton, Oxford. Both secured the majority of points for their teams – McKeown with visible delight, Woodland looking unsure even as she delivered correct answer after correct answer.

But there is another site of sexism on University Challenge, one that earns less column inches: the questions. Drawing on all areas of history, science, language, economics and culture, the questions often concern notable thinkers, artists, scientists, and sportspeople. Of course, our society’s patriarchal hierarchies of achievement have meant that the subjects of these questions are mostly men. General knowledge is, after all, a boys’ club.

Over the course of this 2017-8 series, though, I noticed a shift. More women than ever seemed to be making their way into the questions, at times with deliberate reference to the inherent sexism of their lack of cultural prominence. On 5 February, there was a picture round devoted to female composers, with contestents asked to identify Clara Schumann, Ethel Smyth, Rachel Portman and Bjork from photographs, who, Paxman explained, are all “women that are now listed in the EdExcel A Level music syllabus after the student Jessy McCabe petitioned the exam board in 2015.” Episodes have included bonus rounds on “prominent women” (the writer Lydia Davis, the pilot Lydia Litvyak, and the golfer Lydia Ko), “women born in the 1870s and 80s” (Rosa Luxemburg, Elizabeth Arden and Vanessa Bell), and the female philosophers Mary Midgely, Philippa Foot and Iris Murdoch.

Elsewhere, questions raise a knowing eyebrow at the patriarchal assumptions behind so much of intellectual endeavour. A music round on famous rock bands quoted the music critic Kelefa Sanneh’s definition “rockism”: “the belief that white macho guitar music is superior to all other forms of popular music”. Another, on opera, quoted Catherine Clement’s Opera, Or The Undoing of Women, which explores how traditional opera plots frequently feature “the infinitely repetitive spectacle of a woman who dies”. “Your music bonuses are three such operas,” Paxman said dryly, to audience laughter.

University Challenge’s questions editor Thomas Benson confirms that there has been a deliberate attempt to redress a gender imbalance in the quiz. “About three years ago, a viewer wrote in to point out that a recent edition of the programme had contained very few questions on women,” he explains. “We agreed and decided to do something about it.”

Last night’s final included a picture round on artists with works concerning motherhood (Mary Casatt, Lousie Bourgeois, Leanora Carrington and Frida Kahlo) and a music round on Marin Alsop, the first woman to ever conduct the Last Night of the Proms, as well as sets of bonuses on the American writer Willa Kather and Byzantine historian and princess Anna Komnene.

Former winner Hannah Rose Woods is delighted by the increase in such questions. “I think it’s fantastic!” she tells me. “These things are really important in changing people’s perceptions about women in the past, and the way women’s contributions to science and the arts have often been written out of history. We need to keep challenging the idea of the White Male Canon.”

Last night’s winner Rosie McKeown says that while she didn’t necessarily notice a deliberate attempt to gender balance the questions, she was “very pleased with the quality of those questions that did come up”.

“Although it wasn’t in one of our matches,” she tells me, “I thought the picture round on female composers was especially good for highlighting women’s achievements.”

For all the enthusiasm for these questions, in the studio they’re often met with blank stares. While University Challenge questions are broad and imaginatively posed, there are some reliable revision topics and techniques: from Nobel laureates and the years of their wins to identifying famous paintings and classical music excerpts. McKeown says she has been a religious viewer of the show since she was 11 years old, and admits to watching reruns of the show to prepare. Shift the kinds of answers you might be looking for, and teams may struggle.

“Do we know any female British composers?” Leonie Woodland said weakly, looking at a picture of Ethel Smyth. Trying to come up with a female Muslim Nobel laureate, one contestant desperately suggested Aung San Suu Kyi. Asked to provide a first name linking an American concert pianist with the sister of Lazarus one male contestant still buzzed in with “Daniel”.

“Even if we didn’t always get them right,” McKeown tells me, citing that round on female philosophers, which saw them pass on every question, as an example, “it was great to see so many important female figures represented.”

“I don't think the questions about women necessarily affected our performance, but it’s certainly a very good thing that they were there and I hope that they’ll arouse people’s interest in the women featured and in their achievements.”

Benson believes that it hasn’t had a significant effect on performance. “The great majority of the questions that feature women are no different to any others, in that they sit firmly within the realm of standard academic general knowledge.”

He notes that they often refer to historical and background details, citing sets of bonuses on Canadian novelist Ruth Ozeki and British physicist Hertha Ayrton, which both teams answered correctly in full. “Though Ozeki and Ayrton may not be household names, the questions are definitely answerable and deal with central themes in their work and achievements.”

It’s easy to brush off the significance of a fairly geeky Monday night BBC quiz show, but University Challenge still regularly pulls in three million viewers. In any case, a show like University Challenge has a cultural significance that outweighs its viewing figures. It helps to shape our understanding of which subjects are intellectual or important, which are history’s most notable achievements, and who is worth learning about. To ignore questions of identity is to risk intellectual laziness, relying on tired ideas of canonical figures – or worse, supremacist propaganda, privileging the achievements of white men over all others.

Quite aside from making for less predictable and more enjoyable television, by including questions on the likes of Stevie Smith, Nella Larsen, Gertrude Stein, Myra Hess, Margaret Mead, and Beryl Bainbridge, University Challenge can diversify the mental encyclopaedias of its viewers, be it a tweed-wearing 60-year-old in Leamington Spa or an 11-year-old like Rosie McKeown with her own dreams of one day competing. It has a responsibility to do so.

Anna Leszkiewicz is the New Statesman's deputy culture editor.