Mud, Mud Glorious Mud

 

In general, there is a rule in the Belt household, that If it is already raining at the appointed time to go out for a run, that we don’t do out to deliberately get soaked to the skin.

On the other hand, if we have already started our run and it starts to rain sometime during the run, then that is just too bad and we soldier on. This morning it was gently raining when I woke up and it seemed to ease up a bit while we drank our wake-up call coffee. Looking out of the back window, it was deary yet not horrendous but the front side looked a little lighter. We went.

It was raining but I wanted to make sure that I got my run in. Steve is still having trouble with his tweeky hamstring and I selfishly, did not want to lose my training because he is resting off running right now. At my suggestion Steve drove to Arundel because I thought that it would be better to use the Mill Road run rather that in the woods when it was pelting down. Steve told me to go straight off and he would catch up when he got his bike out of Violetta the VW Caddy van.

 

Starting off along Mill Road, then along the moat path, where indeed it was lovely weather for ducks and they were having fun. I passed Swanbourne Lake and ran on to the Black Rabbit pub and restaurant. We went right through the long overflow car park, that had been the transition area for the 2019 National Aquathlon Championships, where I had a good performance, for and old bird and picked up the win medal for my age group. At the far end of the long car park there is a five-bar gate that leads onto a footpath that is pretty and grassy in summer and more than I bit boggy in Autumn and Winter.

 

It would still be a pretty path on a sunny day, even in winter but in the rain it was messy. Steve rode ahead as I followed behind, being very careful where I planted my feet because it was slippery. We had got almost to the end when there was a wider muddy patch and I sprang to one side rather than straight in the deeper part. As I started forward off the second stride to get back on the path the first foot slipped uncontrollable backwards and I went headlong into the splodge, surfing for several feet before I stopped. Steve heard my

landing utterance, that wasn’t that ladylike. He threw his bike down and came rushing back in panic in case I was hurt. Thankfully, only my appearance was damaged and I looked like a half-finished mud pie. 

 

 

One of my friends, who is also a runner, who swims and rides her bike as much as she can, instead of driving everywhere, but refuses to become a triathlete for some reason, is always telling me that at my age I should be very careful to avoid falling over. Well the thought and advice is kind but, well, nobody falls over on purpose do they. I do take the precaution of looking where I am going, step by weary step, and not gazing around at the scenery, unless I break to walk for a bit or stand to look at birds or deer. I don’t see what else I can do. I don’t intend to give up running until it should someday give me up.

 

As it happened this morning, there was no physical damage for which I do thank heaven. It was a fall and slide rather than a slap down face plant. Nothing hurt when I stood up and   was able to carry on with my run just a little heavier with the thick plastering of mud from my head to my feet. My trainers, Gortex running jacket, hat and gloves were all years old but the tights were brand spanking new and previously unworn, thankfully they were very cheap when I bought them in a supermarket last week, now well and truly christened. The rest of the run was back on road surface and uneventful. I felt in good form and was happy with my session.

 

Once home, I had to wash my kit by hand to get all the mud out and strangely, had to scrub quite hard because the half dried was so thick.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Soft this morning!

 

                        Angmering Park Estate by JacquelineRackhamphotography

 

Mornings in autumn/winter, when I have a run planned, often start with a quick look at the weather on TV while I sip my first coffee that slides down at the speed of light. The nationwide picture looked gloomy as Carol the weather lady explained what the sweeping blue lines with red teeth meant for each region it swept over. The south coast of West Sussex where we live looked as though it was going to get the worst of the wet stuff. It seems that she has to squeeze in warning for the entire UK in about one fast talking minute.

 

Well, that was TV. Looking out of our sitting room window though things didn’t look half as bad. Mind you it wasn’t looking like a summer day either. It was overcast but the light shower we saw earlier had moved on and the trees in the garden of the house over the road, were perfectly still and we decided to get dressed to go for the run as planned.

 

On the way to Angmering Park Estate, we listened to a chat radio station where people were talking about the latest ‘Postcode Lockdown’ areas and who had said what about it. Somebody said that working from home and joining in a series of Zoom sessions, was not the same as being in the workplace at a large company and having the snippets of social life with colleagues, even if it was just that you had to speak to somebody on another floor and pick up some papers, that just by chance, you might meet somebody you like to exchange a few words with, just while you take the lift to another floor. The person may be from the main office or from ‘Human Remains’, that you hadn’t seen for a while!

 

Steve and I burst out laughing and neither of us had ever heard that department given that typically British change of name. When we had almost stopped laughing our heads off about it, we both agreed that we had never heard it called that before but that it was really funny. Steve said it had made him laugh so much that he couldn’t think what the proper name of the department was and laughed again when I told him it should have been Human Resources, HR more commonly.

 

That put us in a good mood before we arrived to park our blackberry coloured VW Caddy (that we call Violetta from the Merry Widow). It still was not raining and the air was still when we got out of the van to start off. Me, walking my legs into action up the first slope, as Steve got his mountain bike out and his helmet on. On Sunday, I had felt really good, after I had had very satisfying run, but was a bit tired today and I felt less full of life. There is often no explaining when you will feel good and when you won’t. On Monday we had done our hour-long Ballet workout on YouTube and then a turbo session after that but nothing too exhausting.

 

Anyway, I was feeling a bit tired so took the start fairly easy and hope that as is often the case that I would come to life later in the run.  Then it started to rain and Steve said “You know what the Irish would call this don’t you”? “Yes” I replied, “Soft”.  Steve and I have made many work trips to Ireland during our 43 years together and a decent number of those days have been ‘soft’, but Ireland is not called the Emerald Isle for nothing and a lot of soft rain keeps the beautiful scenery that deep lush green.

 

As is often the case, I felt better and better as we followed todays run route and even with a slow-ish start, it wasn’t a bad time for the distance at all, the last two miles being downright enjoyable, even though there was nothing soft about the rain by the time we reached the end. The wind had got its self well up into a more important state and the rain was considerably heavier.

 

At home Steve had a bit of office work for me to do, and handed me a small piece of card with some measurements on. One of my small efforts to be green, is that I cut up greetings cards when I take them down after their display period, then there is always a little pile of small pieces of card to write shopping lists on or to make temporary notes on like this one. Steve had laughed as he turned it over, having written on the plain side. Inside a long curved box it said, “Daphne had learned to use yoga and meditation to handle stress….. Just kidding, she was on her third glass of wine!

 

After the few emails, quotes and invoices, we both changed our clobber again, in readiness for just an hour on our turbo trainers upstairs. After a quick bath Steve went off to work to sort out a few little chores. I had taken my bath after he left and was sitting on Steve’s office chair, wearing my bath robe with a towel around my head, when he ran to tell me that he was totally stuck in traffic due to an accident that looked as if it would take a while to clear so he would be longer that he had told me before he left. While we were talking, Birdy walked into the office and sat in front of me ‘meowing’ loudly.

 

After I had finished speaking to Steve I looked down at the cat and said indignantly, “What”?

She repeated what she had said much louder the second time.

“What are you saying, that I am sitting where you want to sit”?

I stood up and stepped aside and without as much as a ‘thank you’ she jumped up in the chair and started licking herself clean nonchalantly.

 

 

 

Zillionth Sunday Run

 Birgit, barefoot, holding her trainers on her hands, a little way in front of me flying.

 Watching the weather forecast at tea time yesterday, it looked as the half promise was that the heavy rain and blustery wind would drift away before my Sunday morning run even began. Sadly, we all know that the TV forecasts are not always correct but to be fair, this is England and that is English weather for you. I had arranged to run with my most constant run partner (apart from my husband) but when we both woke this morning the wind and rain was much the same. On TV again it showed that it could clear away. My friend sent a text to say ‘It’s Raining, are we still on’. I texted back to say Steve and I were planning to at least drive to the start at the appointed time and hope the worst of it might have blown over.

 

 Hoping for best, I dressed for the worst, picking up a hat, my most waterproof warm run coat and a huff-buff neck thing, that we also serve as a mask for safety sake if I had to pass any family groups of people on narrow paths. My friend Birgit runs a weeny bit faster than me and so when we got to our start I got out and moved out onto the path immediately. Steve who is still not happy about his pulled hamstring had brought his mountain bike and would wait the few minutes until Birgit arrived to start her run before starting. He did start my time, on the Forerunner though. The rain had stopped and it looked like it was possible to get the run in, even a bit of blue sky here and there between the rain clouds.

 

I had started out on my own at a brisk walk up the first section. At my time life I do like to ease myself into a run with a short walk to get myself moving, particularly getting my lungs to register the idea that we WERE going for a run now. Without Steve in control, I started to count my strides, once I had got to what I consider to be the run start. My start method is to run 60 strides counting only my right footfall and then walk 30 until I feel that my lungs have settled down nicely for the task. Although I do normally run with Stephen, I do love to run through the woods on my own. The pleasure for me is immense, glancing left and right through the trees no matter what time of year it is. As the nature lover that I have always been, the peace of being alone in a forest is sheer joy. Today after such a ghastly night of strong wind and torrential rain, there was a near complete, orange, red and gold carpet of autumn leaves that reminded me of the annual carpet of flowers festival in Arundel Cathedral.

 

I had run roughly one and a half miles, when I was wakened from my reverie as the heavens opened, and rain suddenly started hammering down.  I made a dash off the path into the woods to shelter under the biggest Beech tree that was close by and huddled close to its trunk to avoid getting drenched to the skin. I was still there a moment or two later when Steve came into sight on his mountain bike getting soaked. The shower though heavy didn’t last long and as soon as Steve arrived, I started running again so the he didn’t have to stop. The rest of the run was quite heavy going with all the mud and big wide puddles that sometimes had no room to avoid sploshing through them. Birgit passed me by along the ridge path overlooking Lower Barpham and I tried to stay as close to her as I could manage. At the end of that path, I walked up the steep section that went up toward the trig point at the highest point. Birgit who was running barefoot as she loves to do, once on grass and mud, got a little ahead while I walked up the hillside. She runs all the time, not that fast but no breaks but she is I think about fifteen years younger than me.

Once on the downhill side I slowly caught up with her a little, we both love running downhill. There is a water trough that is our four-mile marker and when we are using that route for an eight-mile run, we turn at that point. At this long continuous, slightly downhill stretch by the side of the gallops, I spotted a couple of Red Kites who were suffering a bit of harassment from a group of crows. It is always a wonder to me the Kites that are easily twice the size of the crows, cannot be bothered to fight them. It seems that they would rather turn off away from the crow bovver-boys than attack, even though they have those wicked beaks and killer claws. It must be the question of numbers, since the crows are often mob-handed. Watching they appear to turn away and simply cannot be bothered with the little oiks with miles of beautiful farm land to hunt in.

 

 

Once the battle was over a started running again. I walked during the display because I cannot afford to fall over whilst gazing up at the sky watching birds and the special moments of nature are more important than an autumn mud run. I passed Brigit at the bottom where she stopped to put her trainers and socks back on her muddy feet before the last half mile most of which is on a gravelly lane.

 

 

 

Steve told he that had I not indulged myself watching the Kites and sheltering from the downpour, it would have been my best ever time for the run. He still praised me for putting in a very good run. It makes no difference to me actually since I have reached a stage when life it is not all about PB’s, I’m with the Red Kites on the unimportant battle issue.

 

I also took a break during the writing of this page in my diary to watch the time trial that would decide to winner of the Giro D’Italia that was so exciting with two men with identical times fighting for the Pink Jersey. Teo Geoghegan Hart has won it, becoming only the second British winner of this great race. It has been so entertaining and such a pleasure to watch. So satisfying to have a young British winner right at the last knockings. Thrilling or what?