The consequence of my run last night was that as
soon as I got home I marched (kind of) upstairs and had a good rummage under the bed for
'the bag'. In this bag are things. Odd things, random running related things.
I'm not sure what's in there, but if I look hard enough I'm sure I'll find what
I'm looking for. Under the odd socks, spare shorts, gritty jelly babies,
goggles, old gels, numerous hats, I find them. My vizzie and head torch. It's that time. I'm not sure
what happened, but I went out for a run after work, and it went dark.
Unannounced, uninvited. Rude. I'm trying to be brave about autumnal running,
optimistic even. Trying to ignore the grim reality of darkness. I
found myself in the woods as the light faded.
My peripheral vision when running
is ropey at best, but this was weird. Like the brightness was being turned down to minimum. Couldn't see the path, finding myself
slowing down with a sense of unease that I'm about to run into a wall, ankles loose, lightly feeling for the ground, placing each foot carefully into the unknown. Then I come out into the open, that bit through the little gate where
you pelt it down to the path and over the bridge to car park. But at the gate I have to stop. I see dark silhouettes, just stood there, like huge tombstones in a grave yard, motionless, silent, barely visible. Cows. I stand both to admire and also work out how to pick my way through. They don't move. Very strange. I get to the other side, stop and look back. Phew. Car lights in the carpark. What are they doing? Tiptoe back through The Carrs. I must be the only one here. It's lonely. And dark.
