Running in the dark

After two bad days on the treadmill, I knew that I had to get out yesterday. James has fallen victim to a virus which makes it harder to get out - or easier to find a reason not to, I'm not sure which. It was one of those days when you don't draw breath until the children are in bed. I got changed and went to the treadmill just before eight o'clock, took one look at it and knew that if I started I would stop within about five minutes.

But I knew I had to run, because if I stop, I won't start again.

I grabbed my high visibility jacket (so fetching, dah-ling) and dashed off into the night. It was cold. It was dark. It was windy. But it wasn't boring. In fact, once I'd got out of the village, where the street lighting comes to an end, it was quite an adventure. I couldn't see the path in front of my feet. Branches leapt out and hit me. Cars passed with their headlights on full beam, leaving dancing trails of afterimages. Every now and then, a whole line of cars would pass me, lighting up the path for long enough for me to run the next few yards reasonably confidently.

When I got back to our road, I found James setting out to look for me. He beckoned me into the car - but it's 0.2 of a mile from the end of our road to our house, and I needed that 0.2 to bring me to eight miles. 'Madness,' he said sadly, shaking his head.

Of course it was madness. I could have turned my ankle in a pothole, lost the footpath and strayed onto the road in the dark, caught hypothermia, you name it. But I did run eight miles.