One of the first things anyone tells me once they realise I go out with a running group is, ‘I couldn’t do that, I don’t like running.’ Well the truth is neither do I. If you stick me on a race track, or even send me along as road on a plain old-fashioned jog, I’ll be pretty bored and miserable. Because what I enjoy isn’t the running, it’s travelling through the countryside. If I’m heading through a field, along a river or between trees it doesn’t matter if I’m plodding, ambling, jogging or sprinting, I’m pretty happy. Who couldn’t be happy when there’s tawny owls to listen out for, buttercups to stroll through and rabbits to startle. And the great thing about running through the countryside instead of walking is that you can see more of it in a shorter period of time.
Of course I’m also in it for the health kick. Though my knees don’t thank me for it ticks the cardiovascular box quite nicely. Currently I run with a local running group of mixed ability, which heads out into the countryside together each week. The great thing about being part of a group is firstly that you get to explore new places you’ve not been to before and secondly the group keeps you motivated. There’s always someone to catch up to in a group, and the desire not to get caught.
This week’s run started with me waiting in the car listening the sound of raindrops. I don’t mind a bit of drizzle on a run, it keeps you cool, but given I was planning to bring along my phone for action shots it wasn’t the best timing. Before you think I was skimming out on the running whilst taking pictures I still had to run to catch up.
The run started out along the edge of a quiet canal, the rain slowly tailing off and the humidity rising. Still on the edge of town we passed dog walkers and old industrial buildings, before winding our way back between the buildings around the edges of houses and schools. We squeezed through narrow pathways, low hanging branches brushing the tops of our heads whilst long grasses snapped at our ankles. Finally we escaped the tight confines and headed out across the fields.
The first field we entered had been left to grow long, bright buttercups carpeting every inch, with thistles, common sorrel and plantain packed in between. A herd of young cows had just been introduced to the field, only just getting down to munching. They stared up at us as we mounted the hill and then began to run along the tiny valley below, heading for the bigger herd, no doubt searching for safety from us terrifying predictors.
Somewhere above I could hear a skylark calling, it’s chatter ringing out above as we tried not to lose our feet in the dips and troughs of the old cattle footprints.
Beyond the field we rejoined the canal, wildflowers bustled on either side, with wild roses, red campion and towering foxgloves packed closely by the short grasses which marked the path. Across the still waters aquatic plants lined the untouched bank, with bright flag irises and dense rushes jostling for space. Swallows swooped low over the water snatching at the same flies which were attempting to bombard me as I ran down the path beside.
Off the canal we headed out down country lanes, so narrow that we had to stop in a pull over to let a car pass. High hedgerows lined either side, with pink twirls of honeysuckle twisted here and there through the elders and hawthorns. As we fought our way up a long hill a song thrush shouted out its evening challenging, its repetitive concoction of sounds seeming like an avian car alarm going off above our heads. Somewhere out of view a sparrowhawk called out short and sharp, though it never came into sight. Together we passed lines of old farm buildings, resting tractors and gardens bustling with flowers, before turning our feet back along the road to home.
By the time we returned to our starting point customers were already lining the counter of the kebab shop opposite our meeting area. Together we were a little more scratched and bitten than before, with nettle rashes and tired muscles for our troubles, but it certainly wasn’t a bad way to spend an evening, out in the countryside passing by the flowers and listening to the birds.
A year of firsts 