Out for Hours

We’ve had a lot of spectacular sunshine in the last month. Laid low with an injured foot, I was determined it wouldn’t keep me indoors. So, I’ve just been taking my time outside at a slower pace. I’ve read plenty of books, been sunburned, and eaten a lot of good food. I now officially have a pair of jeans I can’t zip up. Lying in the garden on a tumble of blankets, or hobbling to the clearing in the woods for a picnic, I’ve learned to appreciate the fresh air in all its still and quiet wonder.

But this can’t carry on forever. (Did I mention the jeans?) Thankfully it’s the perfect time of year to appreciate a long hike over a short run. When the sun shines for hours, I don’t want to be puffed out after only an hour. I want to keep going.

Rolo and I had some solo adventure time while Tom Walked the Wight last weekend. We wandered the beach, the overgrown footpaths, downland and cliff top tracks for hours. By the end of the day I had that good all-over achey feel from paying outside all day. Sadly I couldn’t compete with Tom’s aches and pains from his 26 miles.

Now I’m back in my muddy shoes and running again, somewhat gingerly and certainly slowly. The Clarendon half marathon is looming at the end of the summer and I’m determined to finish it. I’ve also (finally!) got back in to the routine of daily yoga. So, this injury cloud has a silver lining. Of course, I’m writing all this from the couch while Tom’s out running in the forest with the dog. It’s important to not rush this recovery.

It’s a stretch..

It’s a stretch to get up early in the morning. To turn up on a yoga mat rather than turn over under the duvet. I am not made of such stern stuff. I’ll only get out of bed at 6am if it’s to return five minutes later with coffee in hand. A very different pace from these mornings.

Whilst I can’t face it in the morning, yoga at the end of the day, in a hot room, is just my kind of winter stretch. I’d never done any hot yoga before this year. I’ve always plumped for flow classes, moving quickly from one pose to the next with each breath, stumbling quickly through any that were a little difficult.

I thought holding each pose for ten breaths would be boring, but the focus it requires actually feels fantastic. It demands my full attention, no drifting thoughts. It’s given me time to think about each stretch and have plenty of practice at balancing. I also spend most of the winter feeling vaguely chilly so it’s a treat to spend time letting my muscles really warm up. So, for at least a little while longer, I’m using the ‘too cold’ excuse to keep my head under the duvet in the mornings, but not in the evenings.

Why I Run

Several years after first donning trainers I’m finally happy to call myself a runner without giggling at the very thought. Sure, I could be faster, go farther and simply get out there more often, but I don’t feel such a fraud for trying. So, in the spirit of all the new year fitness talk out there, I thought I’d share a few of my favourite things about running.

It’s quick. You can be out of the house for under half an hour and still feel like you’ve achieved something great.

It kickstarts the day. Sitting down at my desk in the morning feels far better if I’ve already been out pounding pavements.

It’s outside. Fresh air beats the smell of stale gym sweat. The beauty of nature distracts from the exhaustion and when you’re really pooped you can stop to just soak it all in.

It’s an easy adventure. In these winter months, splashing through puddles and careering across soggy fields, you are guaranteed to return home covered in mud. So, even a short distance feels like an adventure. Sometimes I like stopping at the supermarket on my way home, just to revel in my muddiness amongst all the people in their bundled layers. What’s the fun in running if you can’t share it?!

It feels good. Humans can’t fly, but this is the next best thing.

With thanks, as always, to Tom for the photos.

Morning fog and wet feet – a weekend on Dartmoor

When Tom said that he’d like to run on the moors for his birthday I was happy to agree, whilst being certain it wasn’t my kind of choice for a weekend away. I imagined dragging my tired limbs and wet feet through boggy land, arguing with grumpy cattle and secretly dreaming of a spa weekend.

Whilst we may have had a run-in with a feral cow and certainly didn’t keep our feet dry, it was still seriously good times. It’s ridiculous how much I love getting tired, muddy and lost. I just sometimes need a kick up the ass (and some magic jelly beans) to remember that fact.

The wild runs up on the moor were tempered with some luxury accommodation (thank you Helene) and some delicious pub grub (with thanks to The Elephant’s Nest). We studied maps and had plenty of cake and champagne. Not that far removed from a spa weekend after all.

A Dip in the Sea

It takes an extreme kind of procrastination to somehow leave ten months between sea dips. Last summer I was full of the joys of a salty swim, but this year it just didn’t happen. I was loathe to let the entire season pass without some wild swimming. After all, the water is at its warmest this time of year.

The added delight is that now, after years of my solo swims, Tom will jump in too. It is hugely more fun to splash about in the white water when you have a partner in crime. Of course, it’s a tradeoff, as he seems to think that a run is required before swimming, that one must get hot and sweaty to warrant that chilly dip. So last Friday found us escaping work as soon as possible, to dash out to the far west coast.

We parked our old rust bucket (love that car) in a gravelly layby and rattled east along the cliff path. We ran past Hanover Point and on to Brook beach, before turning back and running west along the wet sand, filling our trainers with icy splashes on our way to far Compton Fields. By the time we got there, the vast smooth beach was empty. Good thing too as we only had our smalls to swim in (scoutly preparedness not being in my nature).

It just felt so good. Sure, it was a bit chilly, but it only added to the fun. We whooped and crashed through the waves, braved it up to our necks and generally rolled around until we felt justified in abandoning the water for the warmth of our fluffy towels (we weren’t entirely unprepared). So, with another Friday coming round oh-so-quickly, we might just have to do it all over again. There’s few better ways to welcome in the weekend.