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.