no disco

eaterie’s a-frame sign recumbent again. needs a stake down the middle. through woods crankily. spiky tree lying across main path. pause in dead end lane. bury hill? all right. aim for the sun. puppies on sunny little hill. poster on gate at top of private road. 80s disco fever. forget the 00s and the 90s and step back... running is my dancing. secret dancing. not all the time. not now. relieved to get to bury hill. off-road and downhill for a bit. through and out. past lake. up track towards downs. bloke ahead tottering through swamp. runner. not just me who does that. totter through swamp. runner crossing railway line. want to push climb but don’t want to overtake up steep narrow path. wait for a while at bottom. run up a bit, jog back down to bottom and go again. up, with no uncivilised overtaking. enough up. down pilgrims' way. close on runner. slow down, nearly at end of way. runner stops. starts again. flipping heck. overtake slowly. listening to i-pod. through park. ridiculous lights ablaze in car park by church. lake full to the brim. moorhen balanced serenely on submerged wooden edge. achilles hurts. run has felt submerged and wooden. slow finish doesn’t even have usual slow finish hand shaking, side to side head lolling, alternate shoulder shrugging, and arm waving - another secret dance. still in a rut but change of scenery was all right.

guardient

why golfers never set foot in the woods.

sequins

rain that was sleet that was hail bows out. bloomin cold. no noticeable benefit from stretching. usual cranky pit stop in woods. slowly up main path. pause in dead end lane. across to bury hill? no. slowly slowly down slippery, rooty slope. wood end of coach road annoyingly slippery. puddly mud around stiles. woman with jack russell outside farm. tells jack russell to let me pass and stop grumbling. over tiny bridge over streaming ditch. over stile. now facing bright bright sun. field is in sequins. under bridge. flooding again at bottom of ploughed field. ratty lane back to woods. small lap in woods, pointless pussyfooting down slope again. also want to get back and do more pointless stretching and first weights for too long.

out

could have run early or late yesterday but didn’t. foul today. gales and spitty rain. don’t mind. aching. mind that. one lap of usual. pass dog walker on coach road who is always muffled up in a hood like kenny’s. understandable today. straight into gale across fields. don’t mind, can work hard without having to stride out. back for usual lap of woods. stride out home. proper hamstring stretching after. only way out of rut.

rut

sun. pain. woods. people. coach road. people. fields. coot, or moorhen, running to fishing pond. stony track. suffering. group of walkers ahead. walkers leaving track. dog gives chase. wet black dog takes mouthful of gloved hand. stop. woman runs up. say to dog that way and point. woman asks if ok. back into woods. round again. stiffening. think i just wiped mouth with wrong glove. back into woods. round woods. home. rut.

currents

so difficult. trousers? shorts? long sleeves? short sleeves? obviously gloves. start with gloves, go from there. go short as not going far. easier start today. until woods. stop same place as yesterday to do same thing, at same time. thankful for the woods. can be a sort of sheltering harbour at the start of a run. does have its tough currents, and the occasional rum cove. don’t look at blackberryin’ squad in their black car halfway up dead end lane. better along coach road but puffing. training hasn’t been great, hope it’s stiffness and not loss of fitness. rubbish across fields. man tugs then hugs furious spaniel halfway up stony track. mallard duck and mallard drake side by side by heron pond. hands on knees at top of partridge lane. back in woods, easy detour around da squad. in the cause against embarrassment say hi to bill woman. realise it was her approaching as left coach road, so also shows wasn’t avoiding her. embarrassment and misunderstanding, who needs them. maybe bill does. unintentionally chase misunderstanding black and white cat out of woods. such a dodgy exit right on the lane. same run, same fast finish as yesterday. just lying on grass feels like stretching.

circulation

could have trained every day this week by running early or late but um didn’t. didn’t think resting would be beneficial either and it feels that way. moving about feels unnatural. and yet, somehow, it’s nice to resume. nice for the head perhaps. nice weather. usual parts kick and scream all the way to the woods. not listening. have to stop in woods. unignorable. loosen laces. often helps. onwards. ground feels hard. softens. still compromised along coach road. try to shake arms and shoulders loose, and hands warm. fingers pink, nails white, like they’re on too tight, like linuses. tight muscles affecting circulation perhaps. tight muscles to blame for everything. suffering as familiar walker approaches and waves so not to say hi again. say hi. dead magpie in first field. scattered dung in first, second and third. nothing else. back to woods. round woods. speed up. skip through daffodil shoots. stretch on grass.

magnolia

cloudy. smudged pastel. shorts, t, gloves. woods. runner in running gear. coach road. bloke on bench says something or other. fields. slow for tractor. lanes. legs dead, no way round again. lap of woods and out. stretch under magnolia.

no show

sunny sunny. shorts, no gloves. to woods effortfully fast. would’ve sunk if raced. try to sprint coach road. sunk without trace. enormous bright gold sun over fields. nothing turquoise. something grey. heron waving away from heron pond. tries to land on top of lone sad spindly christmas tree. flaps away leaving heron-head-and-neck-shaped top bobbing. puff up partridge lane. push on back to woods. round again? round again. sort of sprint coach road. sun gone. pink and turquoise sky. bonfire smoke at top of lane. could do with gloves. to woods and home.

unmuffleble

yesterday a rest, today a test to see if will run in tomorrow’s big race. unlikely. mind made up before woods. enter woods jogging, exit running. sprint coach road but shows up more undetected stiffnesses. fields empty and dry. something turquoise at end of last field. person. blonde girl with turquoise scarf and big grey dog. smiles. stony track doesn’t seem so bad. lane does. couple ahead. suddenly aware of how noisily i'm puffing. unmuffleble. just manage a hi when one is required. back to woods. decide to do second lap of coach road and fields, just because. push along coach road. over the top of its gently humped back. turquoise. blonde girl carrying scarf now like i'm carrying gloves. try not to run into twiggy tree. smiles. looks like kate moss. a teenage kate moss. oh well. two smiles though. fields don’t seem too bad at all. nor rest of lap. back into woods. usual lap of woods? passing girl again might look suspect. unlikely though. follow narrow, less travelled path. round bend, big grey dog, girl, smiles. nothing from me but a glance again, have to watch footing. three smiles. if only... hm, long list. fortunately don’t pass again. must have been heading for the huge houses. beautiful world is a cruel world.

clueless

late start. to vineyard. run into manager of former, unpopular, elitist running team that poached other clubs' runners. pass occasionally and saw at last race. possibly due to embarrassment explain reason for rubbish performance. unnecessary detail. unnecessary full stop - he thought i was ‘rattling along’ at end. continue giving impression of being clueless idiot. says i can call if i ever want advice. says why don’t i give him my number. oh no. suspect he wants to coach someone. sort of have a coach and don’t want to give it anyway as find him somewhat pushy. give it. oh no. searches through rucksack. try to avert future awkwardness by mentioning our promising junior. seems interested. say i’ll have a word. rarely see junior and his coach wouldn’t be pleased. oh fuck. shouldn’t have stopped. idiot. continue sodding run. over downs to bury hill, as usual. virtual kicking of self fails to obscure increasing discomfort of achilles. truck full of tree parts pulls up in bus bay. some way past hear oi yelled aggressively. don’t think it’s for me but can’t see who else it’s for. not the best way to go about getting directions if that’s what they want. park feels spring like. canada geese gliding on water. run gradually slows to jog. still light. still kicking myself.

big bird

awful rusty start next to line of cars. little better in woods. main path. approaching three noisy hoodies. could turn left but just passed dog walker so what the hell. say legs up, knees up and SPRINT. could’ve been worse. fast along coach road but wind assisted and hamstrings protest. faster than usual across fields, albeit in bursts. up partridge lane like big bird. or something. not nimbly. back into woods briefly. push home so warmed up for stretching. stretch for a while lying on grass. quite like it. blankly smoky sky. fine raindrops drop. five or six enough.

plod

early spring-ish - 11 degrees, almost sunny. not ready for it. decide against shorts. tiredness and stiffness causing self-consciousness. legs look white. occasionally have to go through this sort of rubbish. reason hate traffic at the start of a run. to vineyard, overdressed. chimney sweep emblazoned on van parked across top of drive. passenger opening kfc box. wonder if when they saw me they suddenly, self-consciously thought, we’re blocking that drive. alley. need new shoes, little cushion left. flat. feel beaten up come top of vineyard. mildly shocked, didn’t know i was this stiff. muddy flinty paths up onto downs. thighs dead. realise these are the steepest hills i’ve climbed since the snow. steepness reveals tightness - no wonder i sank in the last race. muddy bridleway then last little climb. legs completely gone. plod past church and through gate by car park. add a little bit. only a bit, now i’m up. along then straight down. hate going down steep slopes, especially ones with loose surfaces, often hard to get going again once down. plod along pilgrims’. pause at bury hill to stretch hams. suffering. pause in town to say hello to former club mate. late for the chiropractor i think. again wonder if i’m imagining the slightly patronising manner. big pile of grey snow in car park by church. still so light through park. would prefer it a bit darker. perspiring, in pain... not pretty.

twiggy

gentle rain arrives as step out door. to woods. plan to go short and fast and get back for most of football. trying to move faster but tightness of calves all too clear now. probably tight from snow runs. back and shoulders are tight too, from weights and computer hours. creeps up on you, tightness. if i ever massage one leg loose the contrast with the other one can be truly astonishing; you wonder how you moved at all with both like that; and how you didn’t notice. being stupid probably doesn’t help. follow mountain bikers along coach road but can’t keep up. go wide as approach phoebe and nearly run into twiggy tree. breathing hard up partridge lane - result of tight back, etc. back into woods. expect to meet phoebe coming back from coach road but don’t. fast finish. stretch watching football. mute sycophantic commentary. bet that lot have massage on tap.

who's bill

can run. appears massaging calf worked, so tight calf probably caused heel pain. brilliant. final answer. reverse yesterday’s route. narrow path through woods, dog walker ahead. say hi as warning. unheard. say hi again. woman says bill. wonder if she misheard, say hi again. you're bill says woman. nonplussed, say i’m simon. oh, you look like bill says woman. possibly say oh. jokingly add who’s bill. end of conversation. wonder how old bill is. remember same woman saying hi a couple of months ago, remember thinking she said it as if she knew me. realise i was right to think that. pass phoebe. ignores me.

ow etc

experiment. worryingly zonked. what effect will running have? don’t want to rest, or rather, want to carry on with the recovery runs and stretching afterwards, otherwise will just stay stiff. jog off. ow. ow ow ow. effing heel, effing painful. don’t know why. jog and wince to woods. fiddle with shoe. jog and, ow, fiddle, round woods. couple of snowflakes. out along coach road. stop stopping, speed up and dare it to get worse. snowman watching golfers. stretch leg at stile. jog across fields. poor old cattle bellowing heads off in barn. nearly always better to be out. slip in mud. fed up but don’t feel zonked. not going fast enough. heel pulls up partridge lane. bit zonked at top. pain nips down ratty lane. and through woods. and all the way home. irritating. unexpected result.

wet wet wet

yesterday plus rain plus towering rainbow. oh and sign is suddenly standing. hmm.

wet

traffic. faster, looser, wait, wait, now go, go behind me - i know there’s a puddle - wait, wait, cross sides, looser, don’t wince. must be how bullied ballerinas feel. into woods. fiddle with shoe. pirouette around mud. so wet. to coach road. flooding has gone. shiny whiteness on golf course. might be snow but think it’s the river. over stile, across fields. water and watery mud. black trousers look rusty in low golden sun. maize crop rustling in wind, dry leaves like streamers. more shiny whiteness. vast sheet of water at bottom of ploughed field, looks just like snow. rats up rat run lane. some of blackberryin’ squad, as i know them, in car halfway up dead end lane by woods. various lads like to wait there for some reason. once wondered if they were going blackberry picking. through woods and back. recumbent sign with restaurant’s menu on has film of water. been lying on verge for several weeks. feel gordon would suggest they stand it up.

green free

stiff. looser than expected. rain. won’t penetrate layers. spray from traffic. saw it coming. woods = mud. find firm paths to fairway. golf course is green. wind and rain should mean no golf. one more round. wind is arctic. head for sheltered ramp. snowman still standing? is. is armless. arms are on ground. could be standing for weeks. brilliant. steal around course. greens are pools. stick to outside, outside is fine. onto coach road. end is flooded. step over fence, back onto course. dry path through woods. back to top fairway. snow in top corner. one more go... crunch. slip. so long snow. woods to lane then lane then home.

down by the river

new venue, right on river. thames is a foot away. travelling party has disappeared into club house. head along tow path to start. email said parts of course on tow path, and other parts on muddy flood plain. cue anxiety about what to wear on feet. no one from our club at start. dump bags by bigger team's. jog off on warm up lap. no snow. slush. slush and water. slush and water and mud. has to be spikes, anything else would cost you a minute a mile. turn around. go back along tow path. lost... like i was on that beach... gone too far? weave through trees, find familiar slush. better get a move on. good number of team members have materialized at the start. need a number. need to tie tag to shoe... something else that's new, tag records your time. fiddle.

the start. our last match in the premiership, as it were. we know we're going down but, belatedly, it's a great turnout - 20-odd (first ten will score). could go out in style. know i'm fit too, can never tell but might actually have a good race. hooter takes me totally by surprise. rapidly pick up pace, want to get good position before narrow path. get near the front. hardly breathing. feels slow. splash splash splash. don't seem to be holding position. junior from our club is moving away. still not breathing while top runners pant past. why does this happen. lose more places crossing ditch as people seem to cut corner. onto muddy pebbly tow path. arms tired. couple of team members pass. spikes clatter over bridge. into deep soft mud of flood plain. isolated. big group stretching out ahead, no one nearby. wtf is going on. so leaden feel like dropping out. turn into wind. leaders have taken wrong line across open field. colourful tow rope straightens amusingly. over snow now and some very dodgy holes. out onto pavement for 30 odd metres. try to run more on heels. clatter clatter. pull up sleeves, don't need long-sleeved top. don't need this race. feel like crying. sick of under-performing like this. back onto tow path for second lap. clatter and curse across bridge. wobble through mud. overtaken. not so bad when it's by athletic-looking runners. slender gracefulness of runner suggests our common problem - too slender and graceful for the course. overtaken by someone who sounds like he's dying. dig in. not so far. wish i knew exactly how far. look at ground and run own race. takes me past him. hate duels. try to increase pace back along slushy path to finishing area. sod it, have closed on someone else. has a lot more left than i do - gets a warning and kicks away. cross magic mat that records time, which is up on electronic timer anyway. mud-splattered and shattered. why. guess the week's snow and today's mud have added to deep-seated tightness. team mate reckons position 40 something. our junior was our first finisher in 12th. team could do well.

team does do well. 5th. sadly suggests we could have stayed up. cross-country works brilliantly as a team event. if golf courses were liberated for use in a nationwide pyramid system of cross-country leagues, it could thrive i'm sure. better than road running in nearly every way. especially when you're wearing spikes.

.... .... ....

easy half an hour will do, racing saturday. through woods to top fairway. follow tracks of buggy or some such across to old sledging slope. yesterday’s lap in reverse? be ok if go easy. down not very steep ramp. huge snowman with hole flags for spindly, bendy arms waving fluorescent yellow handkerchiefs. whole thing is a bit shapeless really, and two fluorescent yellow golf balls nearby would’ve made better eyes than those bits of wood. pick up own tracks from yesterday. snow a little less deep, stride a shoe-length longer. tracks perfectly preserved all the way round. but whose are these .... .... .... round, roughly golf ball sized impressions all in a line, four gap four gap four .... .... .... trotting deer or fox or dog perhaps. puma outside bet. lap completed, find myself heading up invitingly pristine fairway. big digger in deep pit in middle of course. fiddlers, hope the copse it’s in survives. big crow in tree, big splat in snow as pass. try backwards running through undisturbed snow. think i heard the chinese are into backwards running. supposed to be beneficial, working different muscles, relaxing others, or something. might be in need of that. need to pee for fourth snowy run in a row. curious. ah, an hour. doesn’t matter.

faffing around

slither and slosh to and through woods. kfc box - of course, go sledging, got to take food. onto golf course. no one around. crunch of snow the only sound. down old sledging slope? i know, do clockwise lap of whole course and then go up it. crunch crunch crunch. snow not quite as deep as it was but still high-stepping like chojecka. call it hoyesking. hard work. stiffness barometers bit of a bugger. my favourite corner of the course. perfect snow sweeping out in all directions. circle red flag, spot own tracks, then sweep out too. could enter a trance hoyesking through the virgin snow. don’t though, try to do monday’s meandering lap in reverse keeping half an eye out for own tracks. hmm, more interesting tracks. deer? follow them instead. something else, shallow but clear claw marks, badger? ooh, very small flippers. quick look at castle ruins. sign warns of many dangers including collapsing cellars underfoot. more tracks, clearly deer, going same way as me. always wanted to run with them. cross to other side of course. lots more deer tracks, don’t follow into impossible thicket. start faffing around, running up and down and using own tracks to compare stride lengths at different speeds. follow unknown stream to see where it goes, goes nowhere, it’s just a drainage ditch. arrive at old sledging slope. looks the same apart from new, dark green surface under ice. make it up without slipping. sign at top says dangerously steep ramp, buggies stop here. decide to go back through woods. slight mistake, most of main path resembles mashed up christmas cake soaked in brandy. thoroughfare of slush, like the brandy butter lane. slosh and slither home. can’t believe that took an hour. well, maybe.

swiss valley

not quite as ineffably beautiful as yesterday. the sun has shown up, turned up the brightness and increased the contrast by melting salient parts. bit messy. snow is slightly crispier. big hill? go to woods first, less pavement. short route through woods, will probably go to hill; just wish i wasn’t aching so much. lane down from golf club looks like an ice rink. a-ha, can go across golf course and over new gate. snow here is the best. pretty much unchanged from yesterday. nothing hurts as chojecka (hoyeska) through it. find my prints from yesterday and faff around trying to run in them. better get on, half an hour later today. step aside up steep lane for audi estate coming down backwards. don’t understand cars. feet soaked up narrow path of pure slush. two galls at very top of slope moving faster than i’ve ever seen em move. coats solar-powered perhaps. bright orange sun. below, three human figures follow matt ribbons across shiny white field. snow has improved muddy downs way. still aching though. try to appreciate the way the canopy cocoons prettily after the turn. path drops precipitously before going on. looks dodgy. is. use wooden banister posts to tarzan swing down except with feet on ground. works perfectly. on to far side of hill. unfamiliar path looks wider and brighter than the usual one. follow it. mistake. every step unstable. nearly do ankle. path disappears. trees crowd and lower their needley snow-laden umbrellas. crawl out from under last umbrella and look back at impenetrable black and white wall. back on usual path. pause. suddenly notice trees all round sound as if they’re, erm, peeing, too. on to top of monster climb. swiss valley we used to call this, for some reason; not its name but view looks extremely swiss today. snow is deep and even but follow path of footprints. great sledging slope, never crowded. hmm. four or five giant snowballs with long green tails. first comes up to my chest. can’t budge it. very impressive but you’ve ruined some of the sledging slope, should jolly well put it all back. two blokes trudging up with plastic sheet. sledging even half the slope would’ve been a tougher session than the run. easiest running down deeper snow to side, which is fortunate although blokes don’t judder past. plastic sheet has got to hurt. down into pristine ravine, up ‘steps’. funny. snow steps on top of steps. breathing hard. harder still after steps end and slope continues. past flint tower. over other big slope can just see cluster of orange lights flickering. on up main path. takes an age. achilles stiffening. another mammoth snowball on the green. several cars parked in road, wonder if road closed. probably just sledgers. follow least steep path round to front. most slippery yet, worn shiny. whole town twinkling with orange lights. diagonal path down and across sheer front slope. always popular with adrenaline junkies whether it’s for sledging or rolling down or pushing burning cars down. no one takes me out. slope is half mud and grass. pass snow ramp that seems to have sent at least one sledge over the low wire fence and into the equally steep bottom half. another ramp at bottom of path. not sure how you would steer away from thorny trees. hmm, another car going down the lane backwards. turning at the top difficult perhaps. back across fields. bull in other field, gate closed. giant tv flashing away. drop rubbish snowball from bridge. quacks. sorry ducks. dark. back along pavement in orange light. think my feet are numb.

pretty deep

can i run in this here magical winter wonderland? start running. ow. achilles do not like slippery pavement. jeep thing shoots past through slush. dick. tread cautiously across slushy brown road. soon be in woods. flipping snow-laden holly. whacked and showered again. snow brushes off. and is no trouble to run on. testing bit. near vertical little climb to get onto main path. slip. slip again. have to use hands as well. no one saw. main path. cathedralesque. along, on up little lane... of course... step out onto, er, golf course. top fairway, highest point around. leap sinuously like a deer through deep deep snow to the slope we used to sledge down. kids at the bottom with sledges. how do they even know about it? just as well didn’t bring sledge. aim for coach road. coach road slippery, not so fun. leave for other side of golf course. deep and soft and even. drift around. hone high-stepping running action. feels lidia chojecka-like. stumble on little rise. sign says captain’s charity bunker. down to farest side of course. all seems bigger than i remember, scandalous that people can’t walk around the outside. into wind, first time have felt cold. angled mirror on top of tall pole. why golfers need that then? watching swing? no good for watching running action. continue meandering lap. bright red flag is fluttering in wind. love this. back to coach road. suffer it until stile. fields. easy to run on thanks to snow. deeply rutted track may as well not be. field, muddy track, stony track, lane, all the same. magic. rat run lane, slushy, slippery. back to little lane by woods. woman skiing down as leaning on man. see says man. down top fairway again. feet getting cold. starting to stiffen. back through woods or by river and mill? want to see what river looks like so on down little path at end of woods. don’t know if it’s silence or a dip in the light but am suddenly moved by the sheer beauty. it’s so snowy. footbridge. no snow or icebergs on river. three grown-ups with sledges on other side of bridge. cross bull-less field to wooden bridge by weir. giant tv is flashing in glass-fronted house. drop couple of huge snowballs into water. satisfying plumpf. back along pavement, seek out the deeper snow and realise i’m actually in the road. wish it could be today every day.

friends

no race so woods, coach road, playing fields - just like that. well, just like that compared to endless trudge up cascading clay. horseshoe print. pointing down. crazy. legs are dead. look for steps too soon, seem to have been moved a furlong further up the hill. at last, leave clay path for spiring, irregular steps. finally, spiring, irregular steps end. good idea. put hands on knees for a moment. shattered. take a tentative step. start walking. walk for good half minute. down now. galls up on slope. such peaceful creatures. invent belted galloway therapy in which the troubled wealthy come and drape themselves over their woolly backs as they munch. with the view, could be a winner. white-faced herefords watch as run down lane. out of curiosity see if bull is still in big field. no, pretty sure it wasn't meant to be there; reckon the tractor driver left the gate open. back through woods. phoebe. walk. seem to be between her and her owner. call comes up the path. phoebe follows warily. say to owner she seems wary of me. owner says she didn’t attack me then. say no i think she’s past that. sounds like i mean she’s old now. didn’t mean that. never mind, we’re nowhere near being even.

habit

late but doesn’t matter, going easier and shorter today - partly as not sure if racing tomorrow. to woods. stiffly. stop to fiddle with shoe, again. muddy cloudy cold and windy, go off idea of fields. leave woods, head for bury hill - will likely be longer but less bleak. wind behind too. habit might be having a say as well. heading for the hills and running for an hour or so are becoming quite helpful habits. no spring at all. doesn’t feel too great but can still push on ok. extended lap of bury hill, skirt lake, climb vertically to temple. slow as pass before alsation. eyes are fixed... as are paws. under the limit. goes back to playing with other dogs. second lap. leave out lake and temple. tired and hungry says one mother to another over wailing of small children. feel less tired. feel more tired as push into wind around open bit. feel completely knackered at gate. whimper a bit but don’t wail. into wind most of way home. no shorter, no easier. no weights after.

the lights

line of cars still there. one set of roadworks and it’s gridlock. yet more sirens, the kind that used to be exclusive to new york. helicopter. make for alley. bloomin cold. bonfire smoke. surely can’t be the house that has bonfires, it’s not a lovely summer evening. pause on tiny bridge by mill to peer at yellowish statue... definitely someone in robes. vineyard soggy again. notice rises that don’t normally notice. tired. running is either mostly of the air or mostly of the ground. off the ground or of the ground. you’re in charge or it is. it is. on up the high track. slightly braver option as no break in climb. and is so often into a howling freezing wind. how effing ridiculous... the fake fire of orange lights is on and we’re still in daylight. nice pale blue haze around. blue sky, and real red fire as the sun dips behind thin cloud. they’d better have a good explanation. ground still in charge on top of downs. just feel too close to it. no cycling sign on gate by car park. new? makes no sense whatsoever. makes you want to not move aside when next a national trust jeep comes rattling along the pilgrims’ way. tripod on railway line. man searching through bag says hello. ask if he’s taking pictures, he is. not sure what to say next, just say right, which sounds a bit stern. should’ve asked if they’ll be on google earth or something, something other than just right. no earlier than usual but lighter than ever through bury hill. grandparents pushing pushchair smile and nod thanks as step into road. almost as rare as seeing the belisha beacon by the zebra crossing - not sure i’ve looked at it before. the lights... they are in the car park by the church. stupid number of belisha beacon-like lamps in a stupidly small space. cries out for some constructive vandalism. geese going mad in park. five fly off while another honks insanely. tired run remains grounded. pb though.

the vapours

line of cars going nowhere. no sarcasm intended as hold up hand. other lane completely deserted. up alley. fu... luckily leave it at that, didn’t notice the woman just over the fence. something’s messing with my achilles but don’t fall for that anymore, running isn’t to blame. little hill is slippery and deserted. slip turning muddy corner. not happy. the big hills are steaming. steam is sinking into town. off little hill, onto hard stuff again. on to bury hill. man at gate is staring intently at rooftop or sky. steps aside without averting gaze. bird? clipboard suggests roof. slow for unnecessarily square dog... panting, good. head for steaming hillside. train honks by as approach line. breath is voluminous steam. can see less and less as rise. every step up the leaf-slick is a slip. grass is worse. can’t see the top. know the way. straight up. feel sick, know exactly why. three toasted sandwiches. worst thing to eat before a run. high track above vineyard. can see the big hill, woods, bury hill, the town, the whole valley and all the circling vapours. if the vapours are pretend smoke then the bright orange lights at the centre of town are the phoney fire. back through the park. looks like the lights could have been the car park by the church. can’t think we need them all. not even dark. push the pace between crossing roads. seem to be dripping. steamed.

moth to flame

bit late. to vineyard. stream two feet lower. statue on bank is not buddha... have a closer look next time. wind behind, drier ground, running too fast. moth to a flame. can’t sustain it, hands on knees at stile. going up to downs a different way - along high track overlooking vineyard and town. climb into wind. hands on knees at gate. climb into wind. hands on knees at gate. past church, to car park. tiny icy puddle has been only icy spot up here for last few runs. straight down. down and down. swamp is worse, nearly slip, didn’t slow, just passed bloke. look out for hole in track.. easy to spot, it’s now a puddle. or is it... no, cautious has its uses. seems to be a dog party at bury hill, so many rushing around the open bit. none look like wronguns. rush through them all. pair of black dogs suddenly overtake, shoulder to shoulder, head on shoulder, shoulder in mouth. spin away like playful otters. hands on knees at gate. bells chiming as approach church. stop well before reach church. ducks all back in proper pond in park. into wind for last few minutes. had to have the final word. dive-bombed by moth as doing w and s. very strange, already had the title in mind. i think.

this is a bull

saw from home that the galloways were at the very top of their slope, in the sun. whole hill is still in the sun. to big sunny hill. ouch. new way of slouching in front of computer hasn’t worked. it’s only pain. still working on mill. even more tea swirling under bridge. fields by river must have flooded, considerable puddles. second field smooth and dry. cows. motley crew skipping in from next field. one belted galloway, half a dozen herefords or something. slow to a walk. slip through gap by fence or big cowardly swerve? nearest has noticed me and has a nice shiny nose ring. looks pretty relaxed in the sun. tractor is coming up from far side of field, led by sheepdog. couple of cows kick up heels and skip around some more. stand admiring view for a moment. can’t circle them all now, too spread out. going back would be pathetic and seen. wild looking border collie arrives, tractor nears. walk around bull and between cows, back to fence. walk short distance to final stile. climb stile. breathe. steep lane bull free. right at top to downs' way. mess. deep mud and dung. galls still up on slope. to the right, hazy hovis beauty. over shoulder, light bulb sun, pearl but bright, table lamp height, no heat. hairpin turn, on up to top. snake through trees to top of tuesday’s big climb. calm and light. down. I (heart) ELA scraped near bottom of slope. reminds me of writing a christmas card for a girl i fancied and spelling her name wrong. put it through wrong front door. down into ravine. up steps or zigzagging path? steps. perfect for running up, forgot. count 102. flint tower with tree looks like... sideshow bob. straight back to front of hill; concerned about having enough light to go home through woods, fields having lost appeal. just enough bluish twilight through woods. first run after a rest, always a trial.

knackered

another deluge last night, forget fields. to vineyard as also, change = rest. keep meeting dalmation at same spot. three times maybe we’ve emerged from our adjacent alleys at the same time. what to make of it. stream near mill flooding almost up to path, and crashing down under little bridge into normally peaceful pool. stone buddha on bank looks even more out of place. splash along bottom of vineyard, trudge up to top stile. possibly haven’t complained more by this point in a run. over stile for repeat of monday. just rubbish up hills. avoid bridleway again. which again means a slowly rising mile straight into a wind. ends at gate by car park where mountain biker is crouching by bike. national trust man once gave me a ticking off for cycling here. as he turned away i explained i had cycled along tracks that trucks use. he said that was ‘just for access’ and swaggered off. running simpler all round. straight down the front. fabulous big fat kia-ora-coloured sun sat on horizon. like magic sun gone when look from pilgrims’ way. run back up through trees and there it would be again, probably. don’t run back up. still very light as run down stony way, with wind behind it feels spring evening-ish. less so down clayey path and tottering through swamp. that wind again. ah, a river where no river used to be, across wide end of track. run up required to jump one bit. take off area looks slippery... eeasy. push on up lane and feel properly tired. catch last of daylight through bury hill. bells chime as hit churchyard. new pond in park. well, it’s a pond to four ducks, one of whom is actually tails up. just a puddle on the grass, one of several, can now see, silver puddles. wind behind for last five minutes but doesn’t feel like it. knackered.

slog

tired and stiff. lane to woods is steep as want to get. plod slowly round muddy woods. try to plod more quickly along wet, muddy coach road. strange how sometimes you feel you’re running exactly like someone else. feel paularadcliffeish as try to push with staccato stride. feels a hard way to run fast. over stile. first field is ok. until next stile. climb over gate as stile marooned in sludgy mud. ditch is full with rushing, sea-green water. mud loves stiles. no avoiding the next five. in between, the fields are getting sloshier and the swerves bigger. pure slog. dry land at last. up stony track and lane. slog. rat run lane, back towards woods. running now. swing up little dead end lane by woods. phoebe. rushes a few steps forward as swing off lane and onto path for easy detour. sorry. pause at other end of woods... continue through woods or second lap of coach road and fields? soft or hard option? mud everywhere, might as well slog on. second lap okish. too dark to go home through woods. short steep hill reminds me why i didn’t want steep hills. give a phone-yacking driver of monster 4x4 a move on wave. can do that after a run.

english setter knows

stiff and tired. cold wind. set off on mostly sheltered route to mostly sheltered bury hill. cairn terrier in position on little hill. seems to be on lead. bad luck. hmm not that sheltered, into wind up steep private road. couple hoovering leaves. would like to stop at gate at top but one likes to look effortless; every potential critic is a helper. fight the wind all the way to bury hill. the wood is a relief but decide to carry on towards downs, will ensure a decent length run. toss stone into lake, slush not ice. long-haired person seems to be stuck to wattle fence. try to look effortless and notice how steep the track is. good job looking down, go straight over new hole. dog rushing towards me through swamp. put hand out, charges past. say hi to owner who ignores me too. cheers, feel a div. clayey climb up to pilgrims'. pass dog walker up grassy half of sheer ascent, says something i don’t catch. not sure what to say with limited time and breath. beautiful dog appears. makes me think of african hunting dogs. tries to run through me. step on its foot. yelps. say sorry, i stepped on his foot. owner apologises for him getting in my way. run on. with dog. owner calls. slow down, with success. all slightly embarrassing but, beautiful dog. glad to be up, too many hills in legs. along past church then down through vineyard. ah, the long, not that muddy, avenue into a fierce wind. but it’s not the big hill, which looks big. back through park. getting dark. no windsurfing.

big hill

to big hill. builders in and out of mill house, scaffolding near wheel. rushing weir. tea-coloured water high under bridge. rutty field is smooth. steep lane, heavy legs. choose left at top, will go straight up the front - fewer galloways. notice warns of grazing sheep. no sheep at all. heavier and heavier. choose steep, direct route again as aim for viewpoint. up. wrong not to look at view, turn for blast of chill wind. across green, down main path towards flint tower. norbury or stay on hill? stay. enforced walk down hundreds of muddy grassy steps, past silver birch sentinels, to bottom of grassy ravine. thread between little log pyramids then clump up other side. chalk. silver birch like single strokes of chalk. kick through long pale grass to smooth green back of monster to be climbed. on up. moss and flat grass. flat grass and moss. rabbit hole. moss. look up. the bench. halfway. slope gradually eases. sky appears left and right. the second bench, almost there. slope almost level now but don’t stop till very end. now. feels high. feels like a real ascent, highest point in view. the connoiseur’s side of the hill. on into woods. wind round, back to tower. retrace steps back from tower. town lit up. big glass front of new house by weir is lit up as come back across fields. giant tv looks big from a field away. can’t see what they’re watching. oh yeah, forgot about that.

budgie

thunder and rain blow by. to vineyard. more pools than puddles. stream is riverine. vineyard’s getting muddier. not staying. norbury or last wednesday? last wednesday. huge dog or puma? big boxer possibly, with big cat amble. gentle giant probably but i’ll just let him pass. stops at top of my path but doesn’t look down. ambles on. avoid quagmire of bridleway. alternative becomes long drag into wind. jumped by sausage dog in car park at front of downs. straight down. birds either side peep incessantly as pussyfoot down endless spill of leaves. wonder if it’s my stripes. no choice but to pussyfoot through swamp. new neat hole in track where ground has just sunk. bury hill, groundhog day... not, as pass familiar dog walker. look at dog... dog walker says hello... and so do i. ah, the other alsation that runs at me. runs at me. budgie cries owner. stand still. budgie runs into me and barks and sort of air bites my hands as we wait for owner to catch up. it’s a new routine. didn’t know it was called budgie - perhaps badger was budgie. two or three slow moving cars don’t stop for me at zebra crossing. thank the one that does. who changed the rules? by church, through park in the dark. windsurf for a minute or so. one is better than none.

whoo

six hours of running a week, that’s the minimum target. or rather, the target (that i usually fall short of). a cunning plan may soon make six hours seem like six seconds but for now i’ll just have to fall short for another week; this will not be a two hour run. thursday’s route seems a good idea, for some reason. traditional, slightly longer route through woods. golfers hacking away. clever the way the golf club have put up a gate at their entrance and leave it open outwards so it half blocks the path from wood to coach road. half blocks - complain about that, unwashed wood-prowlers. coach road feels fast but probably isn’t. slow to halt on arching footbridge. couple of hip circles and going again. ascend big hill, seemingly, with cow on back. path is clay. feet are soon of clay. thighs burn. as clear last step hear whoo from wild wood above. followed by bicycle brakes. duck under horizontal tree and realise why i’ve had trouble identifying it - dark green stuff is ivy, not its leaves. belted galloways. four together filling path. four more up on slope. go up. only one finds me more interesting than grass. such a great look, bet you’d look good on the golf course. heavy, smoky sky becomes bright fire beyond town. see cows silhouetted as run down lane. back through woods. swearing makes pheasant explode.

sky is falling

apparently it’s a myth that achilles’ heel was the only part of his body that wasn’t invulnerable. apparently the bit about him being vulnerable in his heel alone - and i assume in his achilles tendon as well - because that’s where his mum held him as she dipped him in the river styx, was made up later. makes sense to me. my own achilles tendons have long been a source of niggly pain. saw a physio and she shrugged her shoulders, said they were fine, told me to take up a different sport and asked for 35 pounds. i now know that they hurt when i’m stiff elsewhere. they are not uniquely weak, they are stiffness barometers. and they are crap at the start of this run. to bury hill. dank day. the clouds have descended and smothered the hills. everything is damp. heavy friday traffic. groundhog day as pass familiar bury hill dog walker. i look at dog, dog walker says hello in forceful way, i say hi there. same every time. decide to do some of wednesday’s run in reverse. leave bury hill. odd look to lake, one end frozen? throw little stone. tinkles. quick inspection of leaning pine. seems to be fully rooted, bizarre. muddy track becomes swamp. always gets like this. forgot. as slip and slide think of definition for tough runs like this - heads down. the downs loom. climb is steep then steeper then more modest, along pilgrims’ way, before final, straight up bit. slip straight away on sheer slick of darkly rum-coloured leaves. no way round. ‘these are not bulls’ says notice on gate at top of slick. sheer climb continues up slippery grass. slip. pass through cloud of drifting mist. stop before top to look back at cloud, and world. sky is falling everywhere. across downs towards vineyard. different route now from wednesday. follow high track into horrible wind. dog walker ahead. say hi as warning. dog walker jumps and immediately says ‘you said hi as a warning and i jumped anyway.’ can only manage to say yes and wave. ah, the long muddy avenue into a fierce wind, with complaining achilles. decide to take shortest route home, through the park. always seems to get much darker when you come in range of streetlights. suddenly it’s night.

good bits

definitely east. how far east, depends. ok start. better up lane today, knackered at woods but don’t slow, much. short route through, will go further east. oh, still rusty up hills. calves? coach road, can run. people, dogs, go wide, don’t slow. jack russell, less width, oh... try my tactic, speed up and zero in before pricked-eared dog gets going. they usually shy. forget zero in. JACK shouts owner. just clear jack. slower through village and over bridge. faster up edge of playing fields, wind behind. stomach cramp again, interesting. could be my back doing this. big hill looms. four minutes of near vertical climb, exactly what my calves need. no spring but no pain either. climb climaxes with steep steps, of a sort. a thigh burner but thighs ok. momentarily zombie at top but soon on way. mile along/down side of hill, a sort of flypast. far below - playing fields, village, red lights, white lights, golf course, fields, fields, woods, red lights, white lights, (duck under horizontal tree), cow shit. ton of it on track ahead. wondered if the galloways would still be here. sometimes block the way, people-carrier-like. way is clear, spot galloways at last moment, up the slope. down muddy lane, step into hedge for one, two, three cars. two don’t appear to thank me. fly by garden centre. back into woods. rust. start thinking. running is good or bad, buoyant or flat, surf or splash. all runs seesaw a bit but this one is yo-yoing, constantly. last long climb, last bad bit.

flat

change mind. east, woods. can’t face the bigger country after all, still recovering. find myself going west. emptier pavement. alley, why you always so cold. foot hurts. slight stomach cramp. still recovering. vineyard. stomach cramp bad. are poached eggs the worst thing to eat before a run. struggle up soggy grassy climb. pause at stile. misty vineyard seems to stretch for miles. things look bigger when you’re struggling. onwards, upwards. take flinty, muddy paths up through woods and onto downs. foot pain intensifies uphill. swear freely. bridleway across heath, mist becoming fog. last little climb, seizing up in proper fog. pause. cut losses? back down through vineyard? or on. find myself going on, foot only hurts uphill, no more uphill. front of downs. clear view of mist and woods and mist and fields, and hills, tumbling for miles under pink and pale blue sky. nice. straight down to pilgrims' way. short or long? long, down into misty stuff. cold. freezing. frozen lake. towering pine at alarming angle across track. seems to be relying on top branches and neighbouring pine. heavy night monday night. getting dark as arrive at bury hill. catch sight of pale fluffy ball floating in mid air. deer facing other way. ball bobs along path then off into trees. sorry. try to bob home but stay pretty flat.

recovery run no. 2

recovery run = easy run after race, usually just the first but this looks like being the second, of a series. long line of cars due to road works. try to look loose. feel looser than yesterday at least. followed up lane by rat runner. into woods, knackered. hills still twice as steep as usual. through woods to unhilly coach road. little mud, wind behind, can run now. stile. fields, soft, into wind, still running. tough up stony track and lane, always is. take breather at cattle-grid n’ gate, always do. lots of smoke from somewhere. back into rat run lane. rats. back into woods. joined by bouncy retriever. something fast is coming straight for us. side-step slender dog. slender dogs are not a worry. then owner cries NO in alarming way. slender dog is bouncy but not a worry. dogs bound away. then owner cries NO in even more alarming way... slender dog bounds past. we agree, could do with such energy. quick lap of woods then out. bound home, more or less, for more w and s. getting there.

loose is my religion

jog. slowly. no choice. race + lack of stretching + computer hours = tin man. wind and rain not nice but no bother, wearing fleece as know this will be slow. to woods, slowly. mud, vaguely remember that stuff. black labrador, barking madly, no bother. steep little hill some bother. plod on round sheltering woods. line ‘loose is my religion’ pops into head. almost could be. cannot run when stiff, just sink. two laps enough. manage imitation of running on way home. rain has stopped. weights, stretching after. has to be done.

e.t. fingers

made it. hmmm. when they said happy valley i was expecting to be over to the left - or was it right - where we used to race county championships, not up on this unhappy ridge, again. ran here once before. few races more wind and rain swept. in fact, none. now for the most frozen race ever. looks like the place has been in the freezer for the last two years.

mile long trek from car park end to race start end is put off for ten minutes. no point in four team members freezing to death before it's absolutely necessary.

trek becomes warm up jog. frost is undeniably beautiful. amazing bushes, all e.t. fingers made entirely from frost.

unsurprisingly others have arrived before us. our club rug is half covered with bags, our banner proudly shivering. soon there’s enough of us for a full team of ten. someone says it has to be spikes as its slippery and snowy in the valley. i’ve decided this already although spikes will equal pain. pin on number, put on spikes, go for skittish warm up. spikes feel absurd on frozen ground. so stiff, seems i over-stretched yesterday, making it worse. nothing to be done, this could be crap.

‘five minutes to go’ call is given. fiddle with spikes. lose a few layers. look around at what others are wearing. some like ben only in vest and shorts. he has no gloves and isn’t bothered. i have two pairs of gloves and thermal top under vest. they’re not for me but reckon leggings would be ideal. knees strangely pink. fact is, muscles work best when warm and that is that.

the start. side of ridge. long diagonal climb ahead. quick warning about rutty, slippery woods and then the whistle is blown. no one’s going mad. there’s no one in front of me, which is mad. know it won’t last but feel good. few ahead now. still very easy, hardly breathing, unlike those passing me. typical. start to feel scrabble stiffness in hips and shoulders and back. know it will get worse as that’s what it does. runners are well spread out as we cross ridge at car park end. hopelessly doddery around sharp turn that takes us on towards woods. right to left camber kills my right achilles. firm compacted snow underfoot as we dive through woods. not rutty. steep downhill into bottom of snowy v-shaped valley. recognise this as part of old happy valley course. ran it in the snow then. slightly slippery here, it’s like running through tate modern. time to climb out. not bad, diagonal, bit crowded. unexpected extra bit of climbing after coming out of woods. low point. thighs burning. got to do this again. now its back along other side of ridge. wind behind, thank you. high point. stomach cramp, brilliant, wouldn’t want this to be enjoyable. back across road that runs along ridge. car is being held by marshals, feel unusually thankful, hold up hand. back through the start. wow, they’re reading out our times. not used to this with cross country, thanks. 15.04. expect to be much slower on second lap. just keep going. positions more or less settled now. 30 something, damn. could be worse. camber, woods, valley are awful. stiffness gripping everywhere. spike plate is pressing into ball of foot. agony. manage climb. relative relief as begin wind assisted mile back along ridge. but have to speed up now. so battered, so icy, hard to keep balance. unambivalent, enthusiastic encouragement from club member is real push. not long to suffer. ‘500 metres to go’ shouts someone to someone behind. close to sprinting now. sprinting now. 300 I would’ve said. joy, held on. at finishing funnel marshal says ‘41’ to other marshal. crushed. 30 something surely. doesn’t matter. our cause is hopeless, we will be relegated. shame, the top division is where the action is, where they read out your lap time, and is more competitive than any county championship. team mate suggests 41 meant 30.41. good, didn’t slow too much.

before, during and after the race there seems to be an interesting atmosphere. a same boat thing. runners are slightly quieter, perhaps. less pushy. supporters encourage everyone. unlike last time no car drivers throw punches at marshals, or was it the other way round. it’s cool and the best thing about the day. worst thing is hanging around afterwards as temperature drops and hands freeze. despite three pairs of gloves.

once bitten

think. left or right. left. woods or bury hill. bury hill, there might be some icy alleys on the way but the stuff is likely unavoidable. somehow surprised by the cold - the price for a pinkish bluish sky i guess. exit from one cresta run alley is half-blocked by people-carrier. ironic name. driver gabbing to driver of second people-carrier. slide around both. bloody cairn terrier again. far too far from its owner, but fortunately a little farther away from me than last time. slow down. will never forget those teeth. unusually tired at top of steep private road. not ideal for last quick spin before a race. bury hill. slow in sight of young alsation i’ve met before. halfway down the slope he seems to be torn between coming up to me and going down to owner. makes correct choice. try to speed up down main path, hear quicker feet behind... blond labrador, how sweet. run won't flow. thought occurs that this is not last thursday. to avoid alsation the only way is up, up to the temple. great. nice doggy. labrador? shouldn’t be barking and bearing teeth. stand still. really hates my voice. owner appears and apologises. say nothing. continue last lap. great, cairn terrier. nose frozen to ground? no, just not interested, sweet. owner holds gate open for me. take a few back streets home. hardly any ice. manage some proper stretching afterwards. wasn’t so bad.

tropical iceland

so nice not having to think. just follow own footprints from yesterday... so to speak. walk behind family down alley until worst ice patches are passed. bambi is better on ice than me. once again little snowy sports field is orange-grater nightmare of stud-marked mudcrete. paths and verges to vineyard also unchanged. vineyard has changed. the avenues are bright white but the bristly vines are scrubbing brush brown. murky sky. it’s yesterday dulled and mulled. body’s too warm in two warm layers, while head and hands are cold. confusing and rubbish. steepest climb and cruel wind are in perfect alignment. snow is more slippery. lots of footprints but none seem to fit. messages remain. appears i memorised MeRRy incoRRectly. not planning to join sas anyway. took this precise route partly to see just how much quicker it would be without the dilly dallying... three minutes. but then i did d and d.

Merry CHristmas XMAS

icy icy. walk much of alley descending like some icy tunnel into some jolly cold underworld. shuffle along path to sports ground. doddery start is not unwelcome after couple of days’ rest/sulk. wobble across hard, rutted, snowy sports ground. wobble along hard, rutted, snowy verges. at vineyard severe case of computer-scrabble hip is revealed when try to stride out. shouldn’t spend so long trying every single combination of letters. hard going, not moving like a husky, but... love snow. follow usual avenues around vineyard. feels like wild tundra. a message... scraped, dirt letters, upside down... Merry CHristmas XMAS. wonder stupidly if it could have been made before it snowed. add another loop and next time round notice more, more snowy, messages... happ... 2009. ponder amazing feasibility of grabbing image off google earth and posting artistic impression of mysterious messages. leave. find mostly iceless route home but five geese overhead have best route of all. slow run.

bugger

miss race. cock-up. ambivalent about racing but, bugger.

easy

start easy, as mean to continue. tis, after all, last, easy, run before saturday. it’s also too cold for jogging and in seconds usual tempo returns. but it will be short. to bury hill. once again an alleyway is the coldest place. ah, cairn terrier ahead, in exact spot where cairn terrier bit me. teeth truly like needles. don’t take my eyes of it. same one? it isn’t phoebe, cairn terrier of the woods, who has mellowed. owner restrains it. there are no words for the sounds it is making. arrive at bury hill quite knackered. the woody park is softer and greener than last time. lots of people about, and dogs, soppy dogs. quick sort-of-figure-of-eight - too quick, but i’m avoiding the steep climb. another half-figure-of-eight - figure-of-nought - then home as the crow flies. great.