A weekend in Crawley, chez M’s folks, and with it, a welcome change of running scene. Two decent outings to report, both along the leaf-strewn Worth Way.
On Saturday, a gritty 6½ miler in torrential rain; the sort of stuff against which you cannot protect yourself, except by staying indoors in front of a roaring radiator. Then today, a shorter version of the same.
Yesterday’s was a difficult run, but eventually gave me cause for optimism. After breakfast, I’d nipped out to get my athletic apparel from the car, noting the dark grey Sussex sky and the chill in the air. Not a great combination for the runner. It gave me little enthusiasm for the task, but ducking out wasn’t an option.
I got togged up in the ceremonial garb, then waited a further hour for the muesli and yoghurt to descend to a safe level. Only when satisfied that the desiccated grub had left the volatile stomach area, and was beginning its long wriggle through the intestines, did I zip up my jacket and leave the house.
Running on a Saturday feels different from a Sunday. More people on the streets, and there’s something more purposeful about their demeanour. To plod past them on the pavement seems rather insolent, as though I’m trespassing on their personal zeitgeist, and somehow trivialising their very existence. They had to tolerate me for a few hundred yards only. After that, I was off the street and onto the bridleway, where almost immediately I was faced with a fork in the path. As always, I took the road less travelled, and as always, it was the wrong option. I ended up, a half mile later, threading my way through a subdued housing estate with nothing for entertainment but puddle splashes, and a distant, mournful car alarm. No option but to retrace my steps, and take the other branch of the fork. It was still bucketing down, so I had to watch my footing on the deep carpet of sodden, fallen leaves. All I could think of was how much beautiful leaf compost was going to waste here.
Earlier in the day, I’d been reading Runner’s World magazine; some bland article about listening to music while running. It did set me thinking again. I shouldn’t rely on it so much. It’s a personal thing. Other people must do what’s right for them. But for me, it sometimes seems like a cop out. I’ll change my mind again in a day or two, but just for now, I’m enjoying getting down and dirty with the damp leaves and the rabbits.
The conditions turned much of the run into a slog, but it was a good experience, and refreshing to be in a new landscape. The pleasantly rural trail took me through fields and woodland, and the odd farm. A mile or so from the end, I suddenly had that bouncy feeling that I used to get, and which I’ve not felt for probably well over a year. It’s a sense that you’re not dragging your body along the path, but something like the opposite. It lasted just a half mile or so, but it was enough to produce a grin, despite the filthy weather.
Today, I did a shorter version of the same run, this time in dry, sunny weather: warm enough to forgo the jacket. The legs were a little weary after yesterday, but I got through the 4 miles easily enough. That makes a weekly total of 19 miles, plus nearly 3 hours in the gym. Not bad.
