One day I will be organised
and make it home before dark ...
I’d pushed my luck going out
for a run at 8.30pm but, the evening was warm and comfortable and it was nice
getting into my running gear knowing that I wouldn’t have to prepare for rain.
Also, I was back in Dorset
where I’d grown up and I could head out knowing that I could just enjoy a run
in familiar territory but with new footpaths just waiting to be discovered. I’d
also coerced the Grandparents into babysitting duties I knew that I could head
out in any direction and just run as far or fast as I wanted without worrying
about mounting childcare costs or a call from a panicked babysitter saying the
4 year old has locked her in the toilet and is going though her handbag eating
her makeup.
The lanes were peaceful and
sleepy in the balmy evening air and apart from the occasional rabbit bouncing
across the road in front of me to jump into the hedge (even the rabbits were
relaxed tonight) and the grasshoppers chirruping in the fields, I was alone. It
was perfect.
I hadn’t decided where I was
going to run - only the direction - so I could explore and choose the paths
that looked the most appealing. I ran up the long slow hill overlooking Oborne
and looked over the gate at the drowsy village in the valley below. Rabbits
watched me from the slopes, their ears pricked up to see if I was any danger.
At the crossroads ... time to make a decision. I started up the
steepest and most broken of the crossroad arms. A road in theory but only a
tractor would be able to traverse this broken road. Filled with potholes and
loose gravel and chunks of broken stone, it was much more fun to run on than
the lanes and despite the hill I’d made the right choice. The banks were high
with grass and the overgrown hedges were heavy with flowers. It was a pretty
route and the evening was loud with the buzz of grasshoppers.
Up to the brow of the hill
and another crossroads. Left was a rutted mud lane to Poyntinton with an eerie
track covered entirely by trees covered entirely by trees like a small, dark
green tunnel. That way could be fun with company but it was spooky to run on
your own. During the civil war, opposing armies had faced each other from the
hilltops and met in the valley with a clash. It wasn’t the right path for a
gentle evening run.
Ahead was a farm track with dilapidated farm equipment on either
side of the path, raising rusted arms to make shadows against the evening sky.
I turned right turn and ran
down the muddy stony hill into Milborne Wick. Faster and faster down the lane,
past the cows, calves and barking dogs of the farms. I passed the duck pond,
muddied edges and feathers floating on the surface. As I came into the village,
I spotted something white by the side of the road. Egg shell. I picked it up
and it lay white and fragile like the most delicate china on my hand.
Running on into the centre
of the village and to the crossroad and another choice. My decision hurried by
the barking of a dog, I chose the fork in front of me and ran on past the still
waterwheel and under the overhanging trees making the light dim and the lane
gloomy. I could hear the ducks in the pond on my left although I couldn’t see
them and as I passed, a drake laughing.
As I ran up the road, my
quiet progress frightened three birds from a barn rooftop. The light was too
dim and I couldn’t identify them. They were dusty brown and although they
hunched like hawks their wingspan was small. One landed on a telegraph pole and
turned its head to look at me. Ah. A young owl then.
I ran past a gateway and as
I passed the cows jumped back in surprise making me jump. I stopped and went
back. Usually cows gather round. They look at you with their big brown eyes and
wonder if you’re a new type of moving, walking, noisy grass. However these cows
were more wary and looked at me from a distance.
By this point it was almost
dark and I’d turned into a moving food chain. I was running along, being
followed by a cloud of gnats and the bats were following the gnats. All 3
species moved along slowly enjoying the evening. Enjoying, apart from the being
eaten part, obviously.
The light was really going
now so I headed back for home. I turned onto the grassy footpath and had a
brief chat with a couple of dog walkers - who I noticed didn’t have a
travelling midge / bat cloud – and ran on through the fields. This bit can be a
bit dicey as you have to multitask to avoid the cow pats, stop yourself falling
down the steep hill or tripping down any of the holes. It’s more difficult than it sounds and
several times on the way back from the pub there have been cider-assisted falls
ended in a splat. However, I managed to avoid any trips, splats and holes and
was barrelling down the side of the hills, the stones rolling under my feet as
I tried to stop myself finishing the descent on my arse.
As I got to the bottom of
the hill I noticed that in the field gateway – tucked away in on a quiet lane –
was a car with the interior lights on. Oh how sweet, I thought. My parents have
come to pick me up worried about me running through the dark lanes. Then as I
got a bit closer, I noticed that the interior light was illuminating bare skin.
Now I REALLY hope it’s NOT my parents.
Oh dear, it must be a couple
out for some private time. They probably drove through the quiet single-track
lanes and found a convenient gateway tucked away off of the road and decided to
have some fun without thinking that a runner – with a delicate mind and no wish
to see some rural (and no doubt first cousins – this is the country) yokels
- indulging in hide the sausage.
Eek! The gateway was my only
way out of the field apart from the way I’d come. How was I going to sneak past
the car without getting an eyeful of something unwanted and X-rated? Voyeurism
has never been particularly high up my list especially not in the country where
there’s a high chance of a shotgun in the car and getting chased through the
fields while having my arse peppered with shot for seeing something I really
didn’t want to isn’t really how I pictured my quiet Saturday night run
finishing.
I was just imagining the
Deliverance banjo music when I noticed that it was just 2 lads, with shirts
open on a warm night, sitting in a Corsa drinking cider and having a smoke.
Phew! I like going out for a run in the twilight but I definitely didn’t want
to get shot, didn’t want an eyeful of heaving flesh or having to play a banjo
with a toothless wonder. I thought that this was by far the best ending.
Besides, much as a
shotgun-assisted sprint finish would improve my run stats tonight, I prefer a
gentle run and no yokel chase.
I ran up to the winding
crest of the hill and down the other side thankful that I knew the lanes so
well. All the sky was dark now and all of the hedges just black against the
night sky. There was the occasional
rustle in the hedge as a bird or a rabbit was startled as I passed, but as I
went past some abandoned farm buildings, the hedges were shaking as though something
was trapped. I clapped my hands and made a loud noise – I didn’t want to
startle a fox or badger which might bite if it thought I’d cornered it. I ran
past the place where the noise was coming from and turned around, just in time
to see a black thing barrelling out of the hedge and running up the road. No
idea what it was but it looked too big to be a fox and was running too smoothly
to be a badger.
I made it home with my final
mile being the quickest yet.
