It's the middle of the night or unreasonably early in the morning, and I can't sleep. Thursday, possibly, I'm not sure. I've been beyond busy lately. No one is happy and neither am I. I don't think I've run since Sunday and the new weekend is looming. What's happened to my so-called routine? If there's any consolation, then it's that last Sundays run was a belter. Not from any running aspect, that is, but from being somewhere that makes you feel both humble and also have a sense of pride and belief.
Back up in Lyme Park to watch the sun rise, it was as if someone had poured soft cotton wool clouds into the dips and hollows below. The mist didn't spoil the view, but was the view. That random park bench up on the other side of Bowstones was a picture itself, with a view like no other extending out beyond. I didn't see a single sole while I was up there, but I wasn't alone. The constant grunts and snorts from the deer were a little menacing, but also part of the drama of the early morning. It was me who felt hunted.
I did the same loop as a couple of weeks ago when I bumped into some of my run club mates. I think Saturdays XC, which I missed as a result of a severe bout of 'couldn't be arsed' probably had them all taking it a little easy on this morning. Only my shadow for company as the sun strengthened. Effervescent and almost luminous mossy greens illuminated the lanes as I headed back down towards the canal. Eyes a little heavy now. Perhaps the sleep is coming in this hot stuffy hotel room. My running shoes are with me. A busy and anxious day awaits.
