Monday is traditionally a rest day, but after skipping my 12 miler yesterday, again, I could hardly claim to need, or deserve, a rest. More than that, on the train home this evening I actually started to look forward to a run. I felt sort of coiled up, and needed stretching out a bit.
So I ran 4.5 miles along tiny back lanes in total darkness. And it was quite exhilarating. I felt… invisible. No sound apart from my breathing and my footfalls. Just the occasional rustle in the hedge, and the distant clatter of the Newbury train to remind me of some parallel universe to which I must sometimes belong.
Usually when I run I moan like mad to myself. Why aren’t I doing something sensible like sitting in the pub watching the football? But tonight was one of those rare reminders that despite the inconvenience and the effort, the discovery of running was the discovery of a great secret.
