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?
No comments:
Post a Comment