Musing, as I do, after reading the posts of all our friends, marvelling at the advice, support and encouragement in those posts and replies, I was struck by the number of times we use the word, listen. Listen to your body, listen to the advice, listen to Laura… do not listen to those pesky, annoying gremlins 
I determined on yesterday’s run, to listen to some of my own advice, and take it; to listen to my body and maybe do a bit of extra eavesdropping too.
So, as usual, an early morning run. Up before it was light and out into the silent morning. As I left the warmth of the quiet close, the silence was the first thing I heard. A world, that is slumbering, and the first murmurings of wakefulness in the far distance.
The main road down into the village, deserted, as I turned up the hill and began to run. This was a choice, to start the run on the hill, a small test for me to see how the strength in my legs has improved with extra exercise. The sound of my breathing, in those first five minutes, that we all know so well, slightly ragged and uneven, as I hear Laura’s voice, hidden in my mind, in through the nose and out through the mouth. Not always successful for me, but this morning, it worked. The sound of my feet lightly hitting the wide pavement then muffled as I detour onto the wide grassy verge. The sky lightening as I ran up, with amazingly very little effort. The exercise may be working .
Slow and steady, the advice I offer in many, many of my posts. My breathing quieter now as I settled into a gentle rhythm and, as it is impossible for me not to, I am looking, as well as listening. The sound of cars now, far away and closer, a dog barking in an enclosed garden; the birds beginning their morning song. No fog here this morning. The moon, white-faced, a late night reveller in the grey-sheeted bed on an October sky. I can feel the warmth in my legs, I feel as if I can hear the blood coursing through my veins, as I run to my turning point this morning.
Cross over the road and downhill now, and slightly faster. The blood sings in my ears and my breathing gets faster, feet lightly hitting the narrower pavement. Past the golf course, the huge Silver Birch and Larch trees, still some leaves left on the branches; satiny paper-white trunks, glowing and ghostly. The ground underfoot is uneven, and there are leaves from other trees lying thick underfoot. My feet are silent now, with only the occasional crunch of the husks of nuts or the crack of small twigs. Steadying my pace, and a different route, before I head for the fields. Back around the Crescent, curtained and calm; the first early morning workers, placing bags or briefcases in cars; small offspring are deposited in safety seats, with protestations of discomfort, matched by the soothing tones of the depositor. Out of the Crescent and down the hill towards the station. It is half term and my feet echo eerily as I pass the wood mill, down Swan Passage and to the railway line. No chicken-run chatter of students today. The barriers are down and the lights flash warningly… I am glad of a breather. Listening to my body, my heart beat slowing, my breath steadying, and trying too, to second guess the train’s direction and how soon I will hear it as it hums along the lines. Cars here now, engines idling, voices through open windows as they wait.
The train comes; the barriers open, as I turn up past Rookery wood. The birds are early risers and I can hear their raucous cries high above; the leaves from the conker trees, litter the ground and crinkle and crackle under my shoes. The odd squeak as my foot slips on hidden damp leaves, and I slow down. My left knee is twinging, unused to hard running; I listen to it and go steadily. Up the lane, the slight incline, which I used to call a hill, poses no problem for me as I turn along the track to the field. The shingle (gravel surface) is satisfyingly noisy under my shoes. Onto the field and towards my majestic tree, resplendent in the turning shades of green, gold and brown. Huge thick branched arms flung towards the brightening sky, where a buzzard mews the familiar call, whilst being harassed by the Crow- bullies, whose size does not deter them from their haranguing. I run easier here, my feet now, land with light soft, thuds against the soft, but dry field. Over towards the steam- railway line at a good pace. The exercises for core strength and stamina are paying off and I pause by the stile.
The sounds of the earth now, as I listen. There seems, to my mind, to be sounds… an almost imperceptible slow exhalation of breath as the Earth releases the season; a soft sigh, lingering, just before that first sharp intake of the cold breath of winter. I listen harder. I can barely hear my own breath, my body is warm and comfortable, my mind, is still. My current concerns and worries, lost for a moment. I am part of it, listening, as it listens to me.
The spell is broken as the harsh bark of a dog across the far field disturbs me, and I need to run for home. Life and everything that goes with it, beckons and calls loudly to me. The run home is a delight, no pressure, no voice telling me to go faster or slower, to walk or to run. Just me running from the field and down the lane back towards the station, a road- worker placing cones to warn the drivers of impending delay, shouts cheerily, “I wish I had your energy, love,” I laugh loudly. I still have energy and the breath to laugh and I am still smiling as I reach the station.
A gentle jog up the hill and back home. Later, I read a post of Ullyrunner 's, she posted a glorious picture and in her post, she mentions the sounds heard on her run. A coincidence?
When I taught, I’d say to my small persons, “You’re listening to me, but you’re not hearing me.”
Today I listened, and I heard
