I didn’t go running yesterday because I was out and about in the morning, and I didn’t feel like it in the afternoon. So I took myself out for a run today instead. The route started off as normal, but then I decided to take a route that I’d half planned before. I hadn’t fully planned it, so I wasn’t totally sure of the way. It was out of the village, along country roads that I hoped wouldn’t be too busy.
I was plodding down one road, looking for a right turn somewhere. The only one I came across looked like a farm track, all muddy and puddly. I didn’t think it could be right, so I kept on going. I went so very far (by my standards), and concluded that that turning must have been it because there weren’t any more.
I doubled back and ran back, and took the turn, but I had to give up after a while because I was barely moving: the relentless East Anglian wind was blowing in my face, causing me to run slower than a snail. I ran back along the road that runs along the river. You can’t see the river from the road because of the bank, but I couldn’t face any more cross-country.
I ended up running almost six miles, earning myself an
extreme Strava suffer score of 242. No wonder I was exhausted.
Surprisingly, there was a moment, almost half a verse and almost half a chorus of Mr Brightside by The Killers, where I was running along empty, straight road, where the wind had died down, where I actually enjoyed my run.