That voice is in all of us.
Listen to your body… the advice we have been giving, and been given so many times over our running journeys and never more so at the moment, with so many of us on, or just off the IC.
I went out for my first post lurgy run, and I determined, to take my own advice and listen to my body.
We love our running so much that sometimes, it is very hard not to go out through that door… and sometimes to our cost. I have not run for over two weeks… I have walked regularly, but not run. My voice was telling me in no uncertain terms not to. So I waited… until the night before the day I thought I might run… and on that morning the voice said, yes… this is the day… have a go.
SlowSlowKwikKwikSlow ,said on here, day or so ago, how lucky she felt being able to run, and how so many folk would love to be in our shoes. There are folks on here, our friends, who run, with serious life-changing illness or who are recovering from serious health issues. I am in awe of them, and I shall try to remember when I am feeling sorry for myself, and moaning because of a lurgy, just how lucky I am. So, although I intended being sensible I was going to run. Typically at the moment, another grey and very wet morning. But, my running gear was warming on the radiator, my running shoes out in the porch, my flashing belt, my hat, my buff, ( love you Ullyrunner ), gloves all ready and waiting. I had made a vow on the forum, to davidhwynn , that I would be out there and I was.
After the cuppa and bikkies and a quick warm up stretch, I let myself out of the house quietly. It is, for me, and I know many of us, always strange, after a spell on the IC, to take that first exploratory run, heart beats a little faster, breath comes a little quicker, muscles feel a little tighter, until we start. I had Irishprincess 's post in my head, and was keen to heed the warnings about pushing too fast too soon. She flagged up, as did someone else on the forum, the strain that colds or infections can put on the heart. So, sensibly, I warmed up, not overly briskly, although I have been walking most days, even whilst ill, and then just started a gentle run on the downhill side of the Crescent. I scanned the gardens in the semi darkness as I ran past; bedroom lights on behind the curtains, the early morning workers making preparations for the daily toil. No sign of many snowdrops here yet, Bluebirdrunner , but I could just make out the green sharp blades of the daffodils pushing through the earth a full four or five inches.
A graphite sky, no hint of brightness, an over-blanket of melancholy placed over the morning; the rain, a steady, fine drizzle as I moved towards the village. My legs, thankfully still strong, the days spent on my cross trainer, after falling and breaking my ribs, were obviously well spent. Breathing felt fine, with no wheezing or tightness. I was almost surreally aware of my body and the way I was moving, and the voice in my head. Familiar recollections of pre-graduation, light steps, relaxed muscles, steady breathing. As I crossed over the main road and up past Rookery wood, I was aware that the weather was worsening. Not an ideal morning for a post lurgy run, but I was warm and I was togged up, and already damp, so I pressed on.
The wood, dripping and dank, shadows flittering in the half darkness; early birds, skittering through the tangled branches and rustlings and scuttling in the dense brown undergrowth. I was managing a steady pace, but just pulled back a little as I was going uphill… best not to overdo it at this point. Along the entrance to the fields and out along the path into the open; my huge tree stretching massive, still leafless arms, sharp, twiggy fingers puncturing a sullen sky. It was slightly harder going here, the soft ground giving under my feet; my trainers wet and that first dampness seeping to my socks. Still keeping a good pace though, I made it across to the steam railway line. Time for a breather and to run up the field hill back to the lane; I paused and looked around at the misty fields stretching into the even murkier distance, No glimpse of sunlight, just a lighter shade of dark. Seagulls etched white, wheeling high, high above, their cries ghost like, the souls of lost sailors driven inland by turbulent wind and storm.
Slowing to a nearly walking pace, along the muddy tractor troughs, hat pulled well down; the going heavier now , wet twigs threatening to scratch my face, the grass twisted and sodden, grasping at my heels, I was beginning to feel tired, but at last, out onto the lane. Firm ground and a gentle run. I pulled my buff up over my nose and ran down the lane to the main road; steady and slow, breathing settling again as the village wakens and the day begins. The barrier was down at the station and, usually, I would have sprinted to cross to the other side of the road before the barrier went up…not this morning; that small voice again… not ready for this yet.
Eventually I crossed over the rain-slicked road, headlights of cars glistening and shining; a kind driver, let me cross, maybe she is a runner too, or she took pity on this strange, bedraggled figure, at the side of the road. A slow walk back up the hill, well I was wet, so what the heck. Not the greatest run ever but surely one of the best, as is, if we are lucky, the first one after illness, I was feeling good, Sandraj39 did not have to take me with her on her run, (although she runs in some super places), and I had survived intact. That is always a bonus.
The Snail Trail goes on
PS
I tell you what… there were whole lot of us out there today; I took so many of you with me… all my regular chums and new ones too. We could form a running club, right here in the Staffordshire Moorlands Thanks for joining me.x
But I want to keep running, so new, flat shoes it is... 
I'm sure I'll pay at some point for my recklessness.
week 9 - what a journey!
Breaking up is hard to do,💔( well not that hard actually...)
