This wasn’t a run in the countryside, it was a flickering, grainy film – a monochrome glimpse of some other runner’s nightmare.
Hmmm. November is the cruellest month.
Where did autumn go, boys? Lasted a couple of weeks, then we got distracted, led astray. Before we knew it, stepped off the cliff into winter. Something must be done, I say.
Working from home today, I had the luxury of not having to surface till 8, and not having to run till it got properly light. Yet it never got properly light. It got to 2pm, and I gave up waiting. Night would start to close in again if I didn’t get out. Not cold, but one of those dismal days that wait around by the back door, ready to smother you as you step outside. The day was so dense that even my GPS sputtered, struggling to find a satellite through the matted clouds.
I set off, but trying to move was like… like dragging a rusty iron bedframe through a shallow, fetid swamp in Southern Louisiana. You know the sort of thing. God, it was horrible.
At least the pub up the back lane is no longer shuttered. Yesterday, it seems, it reopened, though by the time I’m able to sample its exotic fruits, sometime next year, when spring is back, I suspect it will have been once more abandoned.
This was a run to forget. Why?
I’ve forgotten.
Let’s leave it like that.
