A spring in my step and the sights you see



Days to go                 24

Miles today                0 (see below)

Miles this week         12 done – 28 to go
Miles last week         25 (“resting” after the Ashby 20)

Miles 2011                 346

Other exercise          Yoga and domestic chores*

*  You don’t see Paula Radcliffe with a duster in her hand, do you?

“Full of sweet scents,

And whispering air”

Christina Rossetti

Apologies – I don’t mean to come over all Wordsworthian, but Spring really is bursting out all over. Twigs and branches are hazed a fresh, innocent green. The snowdrops have valiantly led the floral vanguard of crocuses and daffodils. Blossoms are blushing, and the catkins are starting to purr and stretch in the soft sunshine.

Running through the woods is a delight. Once I’ve recovered from the two mile climb, and my huffing and puffing no longer disturbs the whispering zephyrs, I can pause for a moment to enjoy the view and expectant stillness heralding spring.

Monday was delicious. As I plunged into the woodland’s dappled calm, a woodpecker rapped out a rapturous refrain of welcome and the startle of a rabbit tumbling into the undergrowth made a smile play about my weary lips.

It was a joy to be outside.

When I left the woods a mile or so later, the sun softly eased my shoulders as I slipped through the gate and onto the track that hugs the first of several fields. The rumble of a tractor roused me from my pastoral reveries and a brace of pheasants scrambled into scruffy flight.

It really was good to be alive.

As I skirted the hedge and into the second field that narrows to the bridleway which meanders me home, the tractor growled a sweeping left, spewing a stinking stream of steaming muck in its wake – right across the path at my feet.

Oh, the sweet stench of spring.

Running has certainly put me in touch with the elements and, in the process, opened my eyes to some rather curious sights. This is not an original subject for runners, I know, but it is well worth dragging around the block one more time. So, bear with me.

As well as the usual flotsam and jetsam of food wrappers, bottles, cans and 20 pound notes – if only – there are some pretty odd articles out there in the wild.

Clothing for starters, particularly shoes.

And always single shoes – which begs the question, where are their partners? I don’t expect to see rows of neatly polished pairs lined up along the kerb – like night-time slippers under a bed – but always one solitary shoe. I have never seen hordes of people hopping home because one shoe has gone AWOL, but there are a multitude of lonesome shoes lying forlorn in gutters up and down the country.

To be honest, they do tend to be men’s shoes – I can’t ever remember seeing a lone stiletto or kitten heel. Are women perhaps more mindful of their footwear, fearing laddered stockings, or do single Jimmy Choo’s go for a packet on ebay and, therefore, get snaffled by passing eSellers?

What’s more, I seldom see a single sock to accompany the deserted footwear. Gloves, yes; socks, no. The polite consideration of walkers and runners is very touching. I have often raised my hand to return a greeting only to realise that the waver is actually just a glove lodged atop a gatepost for safe-keeping, awaiting the return of its owner.

One of my oddest clothing sightings to date was a tan leather bomber jacket. Arms outstretched, it was crucified in a hedge beside a track in the middle of nowhere. I had to look twice to make sure it really wasn’t a hippy away with the faeries, hugging the hedgerow.

Running along country lanes and tracks, SG and I often avert our gaze from unfortunate and gruesome roadkill. At least, I assumed SG closed her eyes with me.  Last weekend, I learned otherwise. After 11 long miles, we were hungrily devouring our usual motivational topic: food. When we had tortured ourselves with the customary litany of cake, cake and more cake, I observed that there was a rather fresh-looking rabbit a short way back. SG salivated and licked her lips...

We are entering the twilight zone of only three weeks until the Big One. Our minds are addled with exhaustion. Please do not think badly of us.

[NB: No rabbits were harmed during the making of this blog. SG and I are vegetarian and survive on a diet of cake.]

However, one bizarre roadside gastro-delight did tempt and then puzzle us for weeks: a box of oranges strewn across the bank beside a major junction. The man from Del Monte had obviously changed his mind, said “No” and the offending citrus fruit was ditched on the verge. Over a period of a few weeks, we sadly watched it rot: such torment for two ravenous runners.

On the other hand, having run through all seasons, we have seen some truly wonderful things.

Back in the depths of winter, a cascade of icicles beneath a disused railway bridge stopped us in our tracks – if only because it looked so tasty and refreshing. A fat bee bumbling about is a great excuse to catch our breath as we watch it lumber amongst the waking flowers. An autumn rainbow straddling the valley can distract us from a gruelling climb – as can lambs gambolling about the meadows.

Of course, we encounter other runners. These tend to fall into one of two categories: those we’re jealous of and those we empathise with. The former group bounce along gazelle-like without breaking sweat, completing ultra-marathons in the blink of an eye. The latter, like us, are struggling along as best they can.

Then, there are the non-runners. Again, these can be sub-divided – this time into three categories: those who see us, those who don’t, and those we wish hadn’t.

The latter tend to be at some remove – perhaps in a passing car, beyond a fence in a pub garden, or at an upstairs window. These are the ones who feel compelled, for some reason known only to themselves, to shout encouragement. And not always in words that you could repeat to your mother.

The ones who don’t see us spread across the pavement. They don’t see us approach and spread further, absolutely, definitely resolving not to share one bit of the pavement with the runners they can’t see. So, we have to jump into the road to get by. And then they don’t see us reduced to roadkill.

Finally, there are the wonderful people who do see us and give us plenty of room to stumble past – or is it a wide berth?

As someone recently remarked – this marathon training does seem to be verging on madness: a kind of mania.

Agreed: I do think I have started to hallucinate.

A menacing post box lies in wait for me at the end of one long circuit. Every time I turn the corner and trundle by, it leaps out of the shadows to scare the bejeezus out of me. To neutralise it, I have taken to greeting it.

In fact, I tend to acknowledge everyone and everything. Maybe just to pass the time or maybe to prove to myself that I am actually still alive.

So, I greet other runners, walkers, dogs, livestock, landmarks and road signs. On my longer solo runs, I also mutter encouragement to myself – a trick I learnt from SG. It is highly effective, but can probably be a little unnerving to other people who are out and about.

So, whilst commenting on the weird and wonderful, I guess I shouldn’t be surprised if I find myself on someone else’s list of the peculiar and unusual.

And finally...

As if you haven’t had enough of me and my babble, you can find me guest blogging at http://blog.virginmoneygiving.com/

And finally again...

Further to Dogs are daft (15 March), I recently enjoyed a minor revenge of sorts. I inadvertently scared a pretty little springer spaniel out of its wits. It was lost in a daydream of chasing rabbits as I ambled by. It visibly jumped when it turned to see me right beside it. It seemed only polite, but the owner laughed as I apologised: “Sorry, dog!”

And a final and finally...

We have received our vest numbers. Please make lots of noise on 17 April for 43020 (SG) and 40334 (me).

Please visit my fundraising page at

http://uk.virginmoneygiving.com/PaulaHamill