Weather is mild and dry today, but running in near-total darkness for most of my 3.5 miles this evening promises new excitements. Despite the uncertainties, I set out with an unfamiliar sense of confidence that I will run for 40 minutes without great discomfort.
The same route as yesterday, though the dense darkness added a layer of gentle fear to the proceedings. Not fear of the dark per se, but of a renewed fear of injury. Tripping over a concealed brick or skidding on a patch of farm mud could easily mean a broken toe or pulled muscle. Though there was also something comforting and perhaps awe-inspiring about running in the dark. An unusual sort of freedom. Next time though, perhaps I’ll take a torch.
Apart from one or two cars, the only evidence of human life I see on the network of lanes is a young girl, perhaps ten years old, whom I overtake as she happily chats to her pony. She has a small torch whose illumination gives the scene a sort of timeless, christmassy aura. She is explaining to the beast what she is to have for tea. I hear her say “…and then ANOTHER jammy donut…”.
On the day that Roy Whiting was sent to prison forever for the rape and murder of Sarah Payne in rural Sussex, I ruminated on the parents who had allowed this little girl out to ride her pony alone down the country lanes of rural Avon on a pitch black night. And I quite admired them.
Perhaps because it was so dark and quiet this evening, I was struck by the rhythm of my breathing, and the way it seemed to fall in naturally with, or even be regulated by, my footfalls. I breathe in deeply as my left foot hits. The inhalation lasts through the right-left-right, then I seem to breathe out on the next left, with the exhalation lasting the same length of time. I didn’t plan it this way. It just became the comfortable way of doing things
It got me thinking about how important rhythm is; how much more effective things tend to be if they follow some kind of predictable pattern. Not always easier perhaps, and not always a satisfying way of operating, but it usually gets the job done. It seemed to me that people who find, and accept, the rhythm of their social environment are similarly likely to be more effective and more successful. Perhaps some people never find it, or don’t understand that it’s worth looking for. Or possibly that they identify some social rhythm but can’t or won’t accept it.
Is there a moral difference between the can’t and the won’t? Is it a worthwhile question? Who knows what happens in those black boxes where all rhythm ceases to work? Like inside Roy Whiting’s head.
I ran the same circuit as yesterday, though I ran on today, well beyond the point at which I’d previously stopped. About 3.5 miles this evening. A fantastic feeling. A good 7 out of 10.
