On recommendation I've been reading Helen Macdonald's book. It's probably not a good idea. It takes me back too often to a childhood surrounded by wildness and connections to the animal faunal world that I have long-since broken.
Building trust with a species different to our own.
Spurred on by a delivery of new swim gear, inspired by my holiday, I got off the sofa away from my book.
Where was I going to use this stuff anyway? An island haven in a small, squirrelled away loch or tarn that exists only in my mind. A place where there's no reservoir signs, no angry fishermen or hikers to judge.
I went to the loo and reacquainted myself with the only beast in my life - a ridiculous cat that follows me to the bathroom because the only water she will drink comes from the bathroom sink - or worse - the toilet bowl. I fuss her while I pee then set off the shower, turning the sink tap up a little so we can share this short-lived experience together until she's had enough water and leaves through the bathroom door I left ajar for her.
I want to go out for a run or a ride so I'm not really sure why I'm showering but I do know. It's because I'm so rank, I really should and because it might make me feel better. I don't really want to go out alone. Yet every work day this week I've marvelled at how I ever thought having a dog in our lives could be practical. Lie-ins where I'm avoiding the world for 5 minutes longer. Late nights in the office doing just one more task that I should have done in the day.
I closed the bathroom door to stop any more steam going in the house.
I tried on the swim clothes and only felt more hollow. I was trying to buy wildness?
Sure, a good bike ride would sort me out - a bivi too but foolishly, in the week, I checked the cyclocross calendar, hoping that there would be a National trophy that I couldn't attend so I could go out for a bivi instead. To my dismay, the race was in Sheffield leaving me in no doubt I had to enter. At least I could ease my post covid body into something without too much expressed commitment. I mean, all I had to do was get my bike ready and that was pretty much completed in September. Anyway, a week (3 days) of road riding to work after 3 weeks off, has convinced me that covid killed my stamina.
I dressed for nothing more than a short run and went outside to empty the kitchen bin, convincing myself that, despite the balmy temperatures, I was under-dressed. That will be Crete talking.
All throughout the sorry mess that was this morning, the urge persisted to wrap it all up on paper and post it out there that the week has been exhausting, leaving me to be a splattered mess without the will to do anything that in any way makes me feel better and instead sit around grumpily putting into words what it is that makes me sad. Maybe that's how I know I'm bad and putting it out there really does make it better.
Meanwhile my beast sits quietly on my lap and sleeps and occasionally baths. She's keeping my legs warm and I'm keeping her warm and for a while, everything is fine.
Of course I went out for a run in the end. I managed to pack light. One could argue that no packing would have been more suitable for 5km but I had a new tea flask to try out so I made a sit-out of it by carrying a sit mat, the thermos, phone (camera) and extra water - just in case.
As I plowed somewhat meekly past the grandparents, children and dog walkers I remembered that before our holiday, I'd dragged myself through a solid 10km flat run from work - post covid. Sure there was some walking involved but I was a long way from starting afresh.
My pace picked up incrementally and I headed away from the crowds, took on the stepping stones and ran all the way to the road.
It was oh so tempting to keep going but I acknowledged I had promised myself I would ease in with a short one - not least because I'm doing cyclo-cross tomorrow. I routed up the hill to cut down the long slog back and ignored my watch, angry that I'd slowed below my target pace due to going up a bloody big hill. I could chose to do flat runs in Sheffield but it's unlikely I will.
• • •
Once at the road I extended my route in otherways, taking the bridleway up another tier.
Starved of a tea stop by the river, I stopped on the craggy edge instead and decided stewed milky tea wasn't really my game and I promised myself I'd stock up on jasmine, nettle and mint and carry a collapsible mug as I scalded my mouth. At least it's a good flask and, unlike the old one, doesn't smell of rotten coffee grounds.
When the tea was gone I clambered back to the path and set off back downhill, past the alpacas & the allotments then added in a few more hillocks for good measure just to style out the run away from the road, cuddle a few more dogs then head home.
My thirst for adventure felt in no way thwarted by the shortened adventure. This is, after all, the starting point of these big days out - the easy baseline short efforts that slide us back into the great paddling pool of life.
Time to start swimming again.
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