Running from the black dog

Sometimes I run to escape from my own mind. Running does not make my brain stop but it appears to provide a space in which to order my thoughts. 

Thinking in the sun

I make 'notes to self' as I chug along: things to ask those in the know, about running technique or physiotherapists. I think about what I am training for, about the people in my life and my relationships with them. I write blog posts in my head, I wonder why the fuck I am running up a horrible hill and today I thought about George Galloway. Well, I do live in Bradford West and there is an election going on... As I slogged up a hill, into a head wind, considering my technique,  I settled upon the thought that what I really enjoy about running on the moor is the solitude, the physical space in which I can achieve some sort of mental order.

And then I found myself on the M25. Just as I hit the very worst part of the route. Weaving my way through a conglomerate of MAMILs, I was rudely awoken from my ruminations and was also particularly unimpressed when I tripped over a dog. Twice. But, some kind of femichismo (that's like machismo but for women) also hit and I was not stopping on the horrible hill of hell, even if they did all overtake me. Feeling proud of that small achievement, I walked it out at the top, letting the brightly coloured lycra disappear over the summit, allowing me to return to MY moor and my own private world. 

A conglomerate of MAMILs

The hill had sapped my energy and my entanglement with the MAMILs and subsequent chat with another lone female runner had lost me valuable seconds, so I gave up on trying to improve on my previous best time.  As I hit the downhill section towards home, all I could think about was keeping going, just as fast as I could manage. Passing the signpost, sweating and knackered, my watch told me I had been faster than I thought, bettering my previous time by 41 seconds. I had achieved something. 

As I stretched at the car, I became aware that my mood had significantly lifted. I must have left the black dog somewhere on that moor. I only hope he stays there for a while.

Home, happier and settling in for election night...