It was windy down by the airport also, on Friday. Too many people and too noisy. In fact I was in the wrong place all together! It was 50:50 as I left the house. I chose unwisely. As I ran up from the woods, where the path doubles back and out on to the runway and the drag up the hill (the one that doesn't seem down hill in the other direction) it was the noise that made me stop. Some plane doing an engine test or something. I like a bit indiscriminate revving now and then, but this was unyielding and demanded my unwanted attention. It was an aural cocktail of high pitch resonating air intake noise and a rumbly thunderous bellow of exhaust bouncing off the engine test bay across the runway...for a good 10 minutes. Should have gone to the Edge.
I've always been captivated by human movement of one sort or another. Did you see Strictly last week and the demonstration Argentinian Tango? Stunning. And tonight it was the last in the series on the English National Ballet. I can't dance, but seeing people practice their craft is a pleasure. Coordinating movements that demand huge physical application, yet appear effortless, fluid and communicative. This week I was at Loughborough and the High Performance Athletics Centre seeing Rich Whitehead to fit new prosthetics. From the balcony during a lengthy wait while he warmed up, stretched, ate endless bananas and sipped Powerade, in the corner was the answer to one of life's more curious questions...how do you practice the pole vault?
Down there was a small group of athletes climbing ropes, just using their arms, but once off the floor, they somehow flipped upside down and hauled themselves to the high ceiling feet first, then dropped to the crash mat...and repeat. And then outside were some 400m runners doing reps, but what caught my eye was the angle of lean as they came off the bend. Wow. But the grace with which they ran, and the speed, was incredible. A curious place, I thought, each person following their dreams, honing their craft. I left feeling clumsy...and in need of cake. For the second time this week, I visited the Cafe on the Green in Baslow and, surely it can't carry on, caught the last sun of the year and actually took my tea and cake outside. Tremendous soft, yet crumbly treacle tart. Afternoon tea of champions!
When I got back, I paid my Thursday evening homage to the trail and embraced the rain. Wet and warm! An invigorating experience that I can't describe any better, or feel the need to, than a beautiful description of running in the rain I read last week, Again, if you haven't experienced it, it's difficult to explain. I stood there at the car, steaming like a thoroughbred racehorse (I'd like to think) I felt a little satisfied as I dried off and tried to make myself presentable in preparation for my weekly de-brief. The rain doesn't bother me at all. I embrace it. My hat has again become a permanent fixture and the clocks go back tonight, regrettably confirming that once again the season has unquestionably changed. Missing is the sun, and the warmth it brings...and my shadow.
