The Fat Bloke Diaries

 

Episode Forty-Seven –The House at Pooh Corner

I’ve never understood the attraction of finding my legs unexpectedly higher than my head. Even less enticing is landing on my behind / back / head with a painful bump.

 

For this reason I don’t run in icy conditions. I don’t like running on any surface that might cause me to slip, which is why this weekend’s Big Run filled me with a little trepidation.

I’ve been jogging for a while now and have built up quite a little portfolio of circuits around the bit of South Yorkshire where I live. To keep things interesting I run these loops in both clockwise and anticlockwise directions, and have recently taken to combining them into longer routes in preparation for my upcoming 10k road race. This explains why I found myself running up both the dreaded Hill of Doom and Gravel Hill in one training session this week. It would be my last long run before I start winding down towards the 10k. I wouldn’t want to see all my hard work ruined due to an avoidable injury at this late stage.

The Hill of Doom – the really long, very steep path through the woods – was difficult as it always is, but I made it in the gasping, red-faced, light-headed way to which I’m now accustomed. Far harder was Gravel Hill, as I’d known it would be. This steep, long, loose surfaced incline is the one I’d been avoiding, the one that I was worried about. I’d never actually ran all the way up it before, its two-steps-forwards, one-step-back nature has always made me wary of it, but this time I went for it and, barring a few minor slips, got to the top in one piece.

But the gravel wasn’t the only cause for concern underfoot. Once I’d started looking for them there were lots of things on my run that could have sent me head over heels (or something similar). Cherries, plums and windfall apples litter the path on some sections that I run on. These are usually avoidable by carefully running into the road and around them, but some sections of my route run through woods. The muddy trails are one thing, but another cause of slippage on the tracks between the trees took me completely by surprise. I was running in the early morning after overnight rain, and the path was surprisingly and almost completely covered with slugs. Now I dislike slugs as much as the next man, but I wouldn’t deliberately step on them. Sometimes however there are so many of them that the inevitable happens. You know that horrible slime that they leave behind? They must be full of it because they are more slippery underfoot than a sack of eels in a tub of Vaseline, as I’ve sadly found out to my regret (and the slug’s too, I would wager). Heaven knows what would have happened if I’d actually trod on some of the rabbits that I’ve startled with my exercises.

And sadly it’s not just the wild creatures themselves that cause slippery conditions either. You might like to re-read the subtitle of this piece for a clue as to the distasteful nature of the following paragraphs.

Every runner has to contend with their share of dog poo. If you jog on pavements, footpaths or parkland, you’re going to have to avoid something unpleasant that some little doggy has been glad to get rid of. Personally I’ve never done a Christopher Dean impression through one of these little gifts, but by the extended footprints that I see on my runs, plenty of others have done. And I live in the country, so as well as the usual dog and cat mess, I have to sometimes sidestep some more exotic waste produce. Horse droppings, cow manure, fox and badger scat; I’ve had to dance a nifty fandango around them all. With the noises I’ve heard coming out of the deep dark woods sometimes, I wouldn’t be surprised if there were a pack of wolves in there, happily preparing a biological skid pan for me to produce a You Tube-worthy performance on later. On one memorable occasion I delicately hurdled a small mound of what were clearly human leavings. How did I know it came from a person? Well, the strip of toilet paper placed delicately on top of the pile gave me a clue. Moles can’t fold that neatly. And I’m not sure that they can eat that much sweet corn. Perhaps it was a fellow runner, caught short around the number two mile marker? But can you imagine them leaving the house that morning?

“Now do I have everything? Watch… water bottle…tub of salt (in case of slugs)… roll of Andrex…”


© Shaun Finnie 2009
 

 

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