....To the tune of the Twelve Days of Christmas... Okay, four French runs now, but I was trying to be clever...
Here in the tin-tent, currently melting at 34 degrees. I have completed, my fourth French run this morning... and a cool 17 degrees.
I am on Week 2 Run 2 of the Bridge to 10K podcast. I have listened to and know 'where I want to be', and in 'whose arms I belong', I have 'touched the sun' and...'felt the love'...and every so often I am interrupted by 'little bunny rabbits'. The podcasts are interesting.... Running for about an hour.. and enjoying the walk and run intervals. The guy on the podcast has a pleasant and quite reassuring tone, especially near the end when he tells me I am almost finished..
Here in the Dordogne, it is spectacularly warm... the scenery is amazing, and my morning runs are wonderful. A heron and I are now on nodding terms and he no longer takes flight when I approach.
Several fisherman, give me a gentle nod, as I pass, and my early morning outings have had there own rewards, in the beautiful views, the quiet track ways and pathways and the view ahead of me, of two very attractive French runners.., granted they move away quickly... ( speed wise), but that is helpful to me in my desire to increase my pace... win and win!
So, the runs; very similar as yet and building my stamina up nicely. My Sunday run day this morning was typical of the last three runs.
Out early, before the heat was too much, or the folk were too many. The campsite, quiet in the early morning light and a stillness hanging over the swimming pool, as I walked past. The warm up walk is a brisk five minutes and that takes me through the gates and onto the lane which runs along by the side of the Vezere River. Turning left out of the gate, I walk to the bridge which spans the road... the fields are high with corn and the track-way through them almost invisible. This morning I turn as the voice in my ear tells me, 'Run'. Back up past the site and on towards the town. Jays sweeping ahead of me, harsh cries and a flash of colour and Trotty wagtails dusting and flustering in the sandy edges of the verges, just below which, the river makes its noisy way inland. The pace of the podcast is as you choose... not too fast and not too slow. I can absorb this new scenery and store it away for future, dark days, like a small hoard of hidden, golden treasure.
The dappled sunlight, struggling through the leaves and getting stronger by the second as I run by...into the shade of tall trees and a 'bonjour' to the two horses munching their early morning feed..
Motor-homes, all French, pitched up near to the river's edge at the far side of the field under the trees. An overflow to the Aire and cheaper than a camp site. Blinds still drawn, but windows and roof-vents wide open; what a way to awaken...splintered sunlight on your face and the sound of the river in your ears. Onward I go towards the town, turning through the white dusty car park, deserted now, but soon to fill with the pleasure-seekers, eager to experience the delights of the Medieval themed Le Bournat and the new Maze, only too willing to empty their pockets and to fill the coffers of the pleasure-makers. Turning down by the quay and along. More runners this morning, lithe, sun-kissed and faster than me, but all giving a smile, a cheery wave, or a quick bonjour as they pass. On I go, down the flower edged quay-promenade, feet keeping a steady rhythm with no sense of pressure or discomfort.
Across the river, almost hidden in the shadowy depths of the trailing branches, a kingfisher swoops and streaks across the water's surface. A blur of green and turquoise. Opposite too, the river's 'beach', the shingled 'plage'... deserted except for a lone fisherman, knee-deep in the shallows; line spinning and fluttering to rest on the surface of the water. The white stone of the bridge across the river, gleams white and clean, its parapets laden with floral baskets burgeoning with a profusion of purples, blues, whites and pinks. Living embroidery decorating the gateway to the town.
I was still going strong, here, the walks and the runs merging...the music is different, the words odd, but there is a steady beat to it all. On under the bridge, following the Vezere, the heron motionless in the centre, sharp-eyed and watchful, then round the deserted bottom end of the town and on to the road leading away. I am running easily... no effort really and that is not boasting, it just was not hard. The road moves away from the town here, and into uncharted territory. I have cycled here, but never walked. So, I run, until the pavement suddenly stops. There was about ten minutes of the podcast left, so, I turned and ran back into the town. The place is wakening, the boulangerie is open, the bread is waiting, one by one, folk appear, on their journey to fetch breakfast. As I reach the bottom of the town, the podcast finishes. I decided to walk into the town, still quiet and still half asleep, I wanted to take a photograph of the main street, parked cars, an old lady walking, with her morning baguette in hand, and the early morning coffee drinkers already seated at the Bar Brasserie on the corner, coffee in one hand and cigarette in the other. The low murmur of voices, as they put the world to rights, newspapers rustle, and the smell of freshly baked croissants hangs, tantalisingly in the air.
Photograph taken, I go through the empty market square and down to the quay. I have had a walk, I have cooled down.. a slow joggette back won't hurt? If it is good enough for our Irishprincess ? Back along the quay...the sun is warm now, the temperature showing on the display in the town was 17 degrees... the air is warm on my shoulders, the river rippling, over the shiny sun tipped rocks, two fishermen crouched low below the quay, barely give me a glance as I pass... a father, hands around the shoulders of his son, showing him how to cast a line. Back to the end and across the car park.. the hustle, the bustle, begins, cars appearing, gates opening, morning sweeping and as I pass the Motor-homes, the sound of voices and the ubiquitous scent of bacon...yes, even here, someone has a bacon breakfast Along past the horse field, empty now and past the thick hedges, heavy laden, and sweet scented, with a white blossom I don't recognise. Back into the campsite, the lazier campers have pre ordered baguettes and pain au chocolat..no early morning walk for them.. back to the tin - tent, husband gossiping with neighbours.. and the scent of coffee wafting through our windows.
Another very satisfying run, on all levels. My distance is increasing with every run, the effort currently, seems minimal, the benefits, maximum. I am embracing everything currently, the culture, the scenery, the people, the whole ambience of the place. So lucky... and so thankful
PS Missing everyone and trying to catch up with posts...
Also.. the fractured toe.. little one, left foot, caught the outdoor chair leg between it and the next toe... simple fracture at the bottom..have done this before.. healing nicely, two toes strapped together. ( And no... I had not been on the vin rouge..it was early!) Did not mention at the start of my post, 'cos I know someone will say I should not be running on it..but it is fine and it is healing.. it bends now. So, as ever en avant et vers le haut ( onward and upward! )
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