After the ignominy of forgetting Janathon yesterday*, and with an up coming race at the weekend, AND with having a day off, I thought I’d better get myself out for a run.
A lack of enthusiasm, along with a huge list of jobs to do (on my “day off”) meant I decided I just get out for a shorter run, but with some hills in it. Off I set down towards Slaughterford, with the sim of repeating the short but steep hill 3 times. Around a bend I was confronted with a puddle. An enormous puddle. In face, let’s not mince words, it was so large and so brown it was definitely a lake. I cannot tell a lie I did briefly consider turning around, but the effort of thinking of another route seemed worse than the effort of ploughing on through,so ploughing on it was. It was cold, it was muddy, it was over my ankles grimness.
I completed my 3 hill repeat. Yes there was walking, yes there was topping to give directions to a motorist who didn’t trust their satnav, yes there were puzzled looks from the workmen at the bottom who saw me three times, but I did it.
As I headed back towards the swamp, I stopped to take a photograph to prove just how horrible and huge it was. I was heading back through it, right in the middle, just as the bow wave was coming back over my ankles, I saw two other runners come round the corner. They stopped, watched me wading through, then told me they weren’t going through it and they were going to turn around.
“Did you run up that hill?” they asked admiringly. “Oh yes” I modestly replied. “And walked a bit” I honestly added.
“Are you training for Tough Mudder?” they asked.
“Oh no”, I replied. “Much worse – Slaughterford 9”!
*I know, I know – surely it consumes my every waking moment? It’s totally inconceivable as to how I might have forgotten?!