It's two and bit miles from home to Alderley Edge. I can tell you pretty accurately where the mile markers are, my watch peeping off as it does most days by the same group of trees and that road junction. Running out, these are inconsequential miles. There's little physiological cost, and certainly no emotional engagement. I need to get to AE, because from there the running options open up. Quiet roads, hills, trails, woodland, it all starts here. Choices. So these first miles are just there to be knocked off.
Coming back, it's pretty much the same, it's a steady run in for coffee. I usually pick up my pace, keen to finish, end and conclude the effort. This week, I was in AE in a non recreational capacity and had to walk home. Strewth, it took forever. Those were two of the longest miles I've encountered in a while. I've often thought I find running easier than walking. And certainly quicker. I guess it's the same if you bike. Imagine where you could get to in a morning?! But I do usually walk home after my post-run coffee.
I make this sound like a 'thing'. I guess it is, almost. Anyway, the other morning I walked home by the leisure centre. Only just 7am, I'd finished an 8 mile run. It was dark and raining. I had my head torch in one hand, and a coffee in the other. At the leisure centre, the lights were on and I could see movement upstairs. Runners on the treadmills. It was an interesting juxtaposition. There was I, stood outside, cold and wet, looking up at them, warm and dry. Except I was smiling wondering who was in a better place. I walked home content.
