After a cracking run yesterday, I was giddy with the prospect of doing a longer run, in daylight and finally getting round to listening to one of the many podcasts I’ve neglected over Christmas (there’s been such good stuff on the radio Good Omens, the final Cabin Pressure, the Archers production of Blythe Spirit…). The time to run arrived and despite my determination to keep my Garmin nicely charged, the battery was dead. This was not a major problem, but around the same time I was hit by a dark, gloomy cloud of a mood that left me feeling rubbish (and by default, left poor Ginge feeling rubbish because he took all of the flack from me feeling rubbish).
I even declared that I wasn’t going to run. But then I realised that if I failed Janathon on day four, it would just be another stick to beat myself with.
So I didn’t run until after five. When it was dark. And it was cold. It was so cold that my teeth were chattering for the first quarter of a mile. And I picked a route where the majority of the way out is uphill, and although there’s a lovely downhill to the halfway point, this of course means that you’re faced with hideous uphill to start the return. It wasn’t my best run ever.
But as I got to the halfway mark, all of a sudden there were no cars on the road and apart from the very distant hum of the motorway it was like the world had stopped. Just for a moment.