As a 'run out' goes, it was a one mile, four hour epic. Pete and I have enjoyed better runs, to be fair. Our ambivalence with respect to not really knowing or caring where we went was matched wonderfully with our failure to get there. But that's classic car ownership for you. What followed was an entertaining afternoon of people watching, or at least their shoes. I've had a few days of staring at my own feet. I decided it was time to venture away from the track.
I needed to put a run/walk route together that actually went somewhere. And so 11 weeks to the day, I set out from my doorstep for the first time and went for an actual run. A short run. It was, in some respect, like rekindling a lost relationship. That sense of deep familiarity and belonging, but with senses fresh, receptive and stronger, wiser. I'm not usually one for running with my head down. I like to look up, see where I am, what's going on and so on. But on this first excursion I could only look down.
After 3 weeks on the track, suddenly I was having to feel the terrain with my eyes, my glass ankles sensitive to every ripple and imperfection that lay underfoot. On the track, I was watching only the time and counting laps. Now liberated from the repetition of running in pseudo circles, I watched and scanned every step. It seems there's much variety in what lies beneath. Every footstep my heel would remind me of its presence.
Not pain as such, but an awareness, urging caution and respect. It's a curious exercise to feel your way on a run, to feel, really feel what is beneath your feet. Soft turf, an ever changing camber in the road, roots, miss aligned cobbles or paving, the texture of engraved tombstones, it's all there if you chose to feel it, or see it. I made it to coffee in one piece, briefly catching site of a passing familiar face. I made chase. Hopeless. And now I feel the pain.
The weekend has been sunny, but long. There is no danger of any return to organised or social running anytime soon for me. Tomorrow I'm meant to rest, but I'm not sure I can resist the call of early morning solitude. I think I may revisit the track from time to time. There was discipline and focus. Structure. But it's the freedom and liberation I've missed. And this weekend I have rediscovered it's beauty.
