It's been a while since I last sat down to write anything, so long in fact that in these first few words I am fumbling at the keyboard as my touch typing skills are severely out of practice. I think although I have not read it since I wrote it that my last post was tinged by a sense of disappointment in the Moelwyn Three Peaks and the circumstances around it. In the past three months or so I have had an enforced break from running, first the back injury and then torn ankle ligaments. It's nearly thirteen weeks since my mishap on the rutted descent from Pots and Pans back down to the Green Lanes. I consider it a humorous irony that my last words before uttering "I've broken my fucking ankle" and feeling searing pain that really took me back to a dark place somewhere around Edale in March 2011 were "Fleet, you know I think I can get top 5 in the Saddleworth Fell Race". The proceeding weeks have for the most part been a bit doom and gloom in terms of running and my attitude towards it, perhaps most contrastive with the amazing nature of the rest of my life at this current moment.
It can be difficult to distinguish between being a 'runner' and the rest of your life. There have to be allowances made on both sides, if I'm in all-out committed training mode then my diet, sleep and social life are regulated around my training. Over the winter I was doing 12-16 hours of hard training each week, my diet didn't shift at all- six days out of seven it was the same thing for every meal, every day with a dessert of 9 hours sleep. Despite the specific examples here, I don't think that this is a unique feature of running. I think it's an attitude that is prevalent in anyone who counts a passion as their driving force. You hear of musicians going into the studio to record an album and eating nothing but junk food chased down with a healthy dose of tobacco and beer. It's the same blueprint either way; you live to survive and you adapt to let your passion thrive.
When I discovered cross country and fell running as a kid I was content to just run and read about running. My diet and sleep were not tailored, neither was my research into training methods, variation and future goals. Even now there are periods when I'm ticking over where I feel it's completely the right thing to eat a full pack of Foxes' Jam Creams whilst cooking my tea, maybe every night for three consecutive weeks is pushing it a little far though. The important thing is that you should never push yourself to the level where a passion feels like an obligation or the demands you place on yourself are overbearing, if you're just running or painting or writing because you feel obliged to do it, then it's missing the point.
The negative aspect comes when it's not your own choice, you just can't do what you love. I said for a few months before I got injured that with weights and cycling I could deal with a running injury....the truth is I couldn't, it really hurt. Training was really solid for the first two months or so, lots of intense core work, swimming and cycling but in the past few weeks I guess it caught up, a strict regime has been replaced in parts by apathy, chocolate and restless legs. The range of emotions have been from upset, disappointment, begrudgingly hopeful but the one that really hit me most was walking the dog three nights ago. I hadn't done much for the past two weeks, just one single run round the reservoir with Fleet before he went to York to start his new job (congratulations again). It was about 9pm, the Sun was dazzling over the valley and as I looked up towards Indian's Head I got a real 'I miss you' pang. It's one part of my attachment to the valley, I just can't go to the places I love unless I'm fit to run to them. It's almost in my mind like the scene from Dame Snap's School in the Magic Faraway tree- the feast looks like cakes and lemonade but it's just bread and water.
I think about the valley more and more when I'm not running all the time, in some ways I appreciate it's objective beauty more. I notice the overflow at Ashway bringing the peaty water down to the reservoir, the mists that settle low in the valley on a bad day, the sun reflecting off Alderman. I've started to become a fan of walking to work instead of cycling, the slower journey gives me time to clear my head and have an actual look around. Every morning I feel truly blessed when I sling the left turn down the footpath at the end of the row and set off down to Tanners, I truly don't think that there is any more breathtaking a panorama in the world than following the skyline from Wharmton, to Pots and Pans, Alderman, Ashway, Foxstone and then the glance back home. In the early sun it's like the closest I think you can get to any notion of paradise and on a moody day the atmospherics and the fog makes me wonder how it is that there is so much more to life than the pleasant and the warm and yet people so often don't look out of the window on a miserable day. It's where my heart and soul truly are. I've been thinking recently that I must know the paths and trails so well that my foot placements on runs can't ever be more than mere repetition of all my previous runs, maybe my foot is placed an inch out here and there but for the most part I have my routes and I'd like to think my routes have me imprinted onto them. When I think about these things I realise that it's not about keeping fit, in fact I probably managed to get even fitter for the two months after my injury through cross training, it's just about being out on my beloved hills for me running as hard as my legs and lungs will allow.
Anyhow, I've just managed my second run in three days today. It was just around the reservoir but the Sun was beating down, the water was shimmering and all felt well both in terms of body and mind. I'm really looking forward to getting out on the fells again soon but until then I know that they're waiting; same places, same trails and the same views and yet each individual journey is as miraculous and eye opening as the first time.
