Oh running. I have missed you but I knew you would hurt me.

It's been 2 months to the day, almost, since I did running in a world championships race. I have hardly run since, short of a little slogging a 'cross bike over rocks in the 3 Peaks cyclocross  and mountain bike pushing in the Alps. It's like I knew it was going to hurt.

I took my running kit to Scotland. The optimist was going to get there early and drive to loch Lomond so I could run Ben Lomond. The realist was going to run the path next to the river near Glasgow airport where my hotel was.

In reality I left the office at 18:30 after a 10 hour day and arrived in Scotland at 00:45. Needless to say I had a lie in.

Still, I escaped my meeting by 2pm and by 3.30 it was time for some me time... aka I was bored of driving.

I stopped in a remote layby on the A66 with a clearly sign-posted bridlepath on the horizon.  I dug out my Garmin - which wasn't where it should have been and recalled it was *exactly* where it shouldn't have been - still plugged into the wall at home.  So an out-and-back run then.

I got up the hill OK through two sets of gates and finally onto the open trail.  It felt GREAT to be out there.  Windy, cold but I'd warm up right?

Had to dive into the grass for a pee, no more than 40 feet from the A66 but all traffic was on the other side of the bluffs of grass and no-one could see.  I was warm, tucked away and spied a gun turret on the other side of the valley.  The grass tickled my nose and I had to drag myself away from my quiet spot.

At first I enjoyed my first bit of picking my way through bog, then I was reduced to walking so as not to turn an ankle out there on my own.  I tried to focus on the positives of being out in the fresh air - getting back to running.  Of course it was going to be slow and hurty but it was just about doing it right?

I decided that getting back to running is harder than giving up smoking.  When you're giving up smoking, every second you're not smoking is success.  I have to wait up to 2 days to be successful at this again - to be running again.

But it was better than driving and it was better than just running around the same old places.  To give myself something to go for I picked the top of the nearest hill but just as I started to off-route my way there, I stumbled across a track that I had not realised existed.  It wasn't as much fun but would give me a bit more scope for running.  Besides, the direct route was looking a bit less stable with a gully and fencing around a quarry in my way - I didn't want to fall down a hole out there on my own!

 So I joined the track and to my great surprise and joy, it skirted around the top of the gully's drainage and set off up the hill towards the top I had planned to visit.  Now I was motoring... actually, I was managing good form but was soooo frickin' slow.  Still, I ran as much as I could and walked the rest then arrived at the end of the track.  I picked my way across the summit bog until I finally reached my target.

I had to take my jumper off to take the brown vest top photo.

I turned straight around and headed back down.  Out of the wind, my panic levels dropped and I was able to enjoy the descent for a while.  I stopped at some mountain huts and had a nosey inside and they looked like good bivi huts - if ever I should find myself there.

Through more gates and retracing my steps.  Tired now, struggling to run.  Picking my way back across the bogs and I went up to my ankles in rusty brown mud.  Nowhere between here and the car to wash it off as all the puddles are black.  So I get back to the car and pour an old bottle of water over my shoe to wash it.  The neighbouring trucker looks in horror as I appear to wash a litre of congealed blood out of my shoe.  

Hard as nails me.

I change into civvy clothes and drive home for 90 minutes.  I fall into the house tired and cold and chase a shower.  It's so good to be warm.  So good to dry my feet.  I feel so free.  Like I've ridden my bike but different, harder... much harder.