The run where I have an adventure
The second bank holiday weekend of the month and another long
run was planned for Saturday morning. (Photos are all at the end as there seems to be a problem adding them into the text)
I rose early and scoffed down a shot of coffee and a bowl of Weetabix (other wheat-based breakfast biscuits are available) before driving over to Folkestone to meet John. It was misty and grey, but sun had been promised for the entire bank holiday weekend.
John was already outside his house stretching and we wasted no time in setting off. We ascended Castle Hill/Caesars Camp and were at the top of the hills by 7am. Our chosen route was west towards the Channel Tunnel. Over the last few weeks the Cowslips had been replaced with a carpet of buttercups and we ran through them as we traversed the narrow grassy trail.
When we reached the road to Newington we turned inland rather than take our usual route descending towards the village. In an attempt to leave the asphalt we tried a couple of off road paths and eventually found one that took us into a woodland.
I love the sense of adventure when you head off the beaten track in an unknown place even when it is only a few miles from your home town. The trees shadowed us from the sun that had now burned off the morning mist and cast pools of light onto the mud floor. At this time of year we also get to enjoy the chorus of birdsong that emanates from the leafy canopy.
We had a rough idea of our direction and knew that at some point we would need to take a left towards the direction of the M20 and the sea. When no official trail appeared, we struck out to make a way through the undergrowth. Jumping over fallen branches, dodging nettles, sweeping aside ferns and most importantly of all watching where we landed our feet we soon reached a precipice.
The woodland floor dropped away from us at a steep angle for a depth of 20m or so. There was no need for discussion, we both knew we were going to head down there. Swinging from tree to tree like a cross between a couple of bald monkeys in lycra and a Duke of Edinburgh expedition gone wrong we made it down with only a few scratches and a less than graceful tumble (guilty).
Emerging onto a country lane we later realised our 20-minute jungle trek had led us back to the same road we had left only 50m or so further uphill! Still, what an adventure. Now following the road, we passed Bailiff Cottage and arrived at the bottom of a very distinctive round, green hill.
Every time you arrive at or leave Folkestone by way of the M20 you pass this unique mound. It stands alone, a perfect dome, just after junction 11A. Both John and I have longed to scale it and without any forethought we were now stood below it. Time was a factor as parkrun starts at 9 and by now it was past 8 but there was never any doubt we would climb it.
According to Wikipedia, the hill's name is Summerhouse Hill. This derives from a gazebo which was built on the summit of the hill by the Drake-Brockman family who used to own the land. However, the gazebo was burnt to the ground by a prankster on Guy Fawkes night in 1935. It is now Ministry of Defence land.
Seeing no obvious entrance to reach basecamp we scaled a couple of fences and provided entertainment for the horses whose field we passed through. The hill was steep and not runnable at all. In fact, we literally went up on hands and feet grabbing at the grass to gain some purchase. The view from the top, 500 feet up, justified the effort although on a clear day you can apparently see France.
By this time, we had to get a shift on and started tracking back towards Folkestone. John was suffering from pain in his foot but didn’t let up as we skirted the Chunnel, crossed under the motorway and entered the town via Cheriton ready for parkrun.
It was a leisurely 5k up and down the Leas and by now the day was heating up. The usual stop for coffee and cake in Steep Street café included some ice treatment for John after which we were able to run back to his house. 17 miles complete and just past 10am.
After leaving John I drove back into town and did a short run to Sunny Sands for a cool down in the sea. I find this helps my muscles recover and I never have any aches the next day as a result. The water was cool and refreshing and I was able to stay in there for quite a while.
By the time I reached the car again I had clocked up 20 miles, but it wasn’t the distance that gave me such a sense of satisfaction, as much as the experience of a shared adventure. There is something magical about leaving the known paths, the roads, the safe routes and exploring other places, taking small risks, embracing a sense of wonder and the spirit of adventure.
Many of us had this as children but then we grow out of it. I want to grow back into it, not just in my running but in terms of how I live my life and how I bring up my family. At least I experienced these sensations in the past and now get to rediscover them. Sadly, some young people today never get to know them in the first place. I think that is a shame.
Running is such a great way to keep wonder alive, being out there seeing, hearing, feeling, smelling, being.
I rose early and scoffed down a shot of coffee and a bowl of Weetabix (other wheat-based breakfast biscuits are available) before driving over to Folkestone to meet John. It was misty and grey, but sun had been promised for the entire bank holiday weekend.
John was already outside his house stretching and we wasted no time in setting off. We ascended Castle Hill/Caesars Camp and were at the top of the hills by 7am. Our chosen route was west towards the Channel Tunnel. Over the last few weeks the Cowslips had been replaced with a carpet of buttercups and we ran through them as we traversed the narrow grassy trail.
When we reached the road to Newington we turned inland rather than take our usual route descending towards the village. In an attempt to leave the asphalt we tried a couple of off road paths and eventually found one that took us into a woodland.
I love the sense of adventure when you head off the beaten track in an unknown place even when it is only a few miles from your home town. The trees shadowed us from the sun that had now burned off the morning mist and cast pools of light onto the mud floor. At this time of year we also get to enjoy the chorus of birdsong that emanates from the leafy canopy.
We had a rough idea of our direction and knew that at some point we would need to take a left towards the direction of the M20 and the sea. When no official trail appeared, we struck out to make a way through the undergrowth. Jumping over fallen branches, dodging nettles, sweeping aside ferns and most importantly of all watching where we landed our feet we soon reached a precipice.
The woodland floor dropped away from us at a steep angle for a depth of 20m or so. There was no need for discussion, we both knew we were going to head down there. Swinging from tree to tree like a cross between a couple of bald monkeys in lycra and a Duke of Edinburgh expedition gone wrong we made it down with only a few scratches and a less than graceful tumble (guilty).
Emerging onto a country lane we later realised our 20-minute jungle trek had led us back to the same road we had left only 50m or so further uphill! Still, what an adventure. Now following the road, we passed Bailiff Cottage and arrived at the bottom of a very distinctive round, green hill.
Every time you arrive at or leave Folkestone by way of the M20 you pass this unique mound. It stands alone, a perfect dome, just after junction 11A. Both John and I have longed to scale it and without any forethought we were now stood below it. Time was a factor as parkrun starts at 9 and by now it was past 8 but there was never any doubt we would climb it.
According to Wikipedia, the hill's name is Summerhouse Hill. This derives from a gazebo which was built on the summit of the hill by the Drake-Brockman family who used to own the land. However, the gazebo was burnt to the ground by a prankster on Guy Fawkes night in 1935. It is now Ministry of Defence land.
Seeing no obvious entrance to reach basecamp we scaled a couple of fences and provided entertainment for the horses whose field we passed through. The hill was steep and not runnable at all. In fact, we literally went up on hands and feet grabbing at the grass to gain some purchase. The view from the top, 500 feet up, justified the effort although on a clear day you can apparently see France.
By this time, we had to get a shift on and started tracking back towards Folkestone. John was suffering from pain in his foot but didn’t let up as we skirted the Chunnel, crossed under the motorway and entered the town via Cheriton ready for parkrun.
It was a leisurely 5k up and down the Leas and by now the day was heating up. The usual stop for coffee and cake in Steep Street café included some ice treatment for John after which we were able to run back to his house. 17 miles complete and just past 10am.
After leaving John I drove back into town and did a short run to Sunny Sands for a cool down in the sea. I find this helps my muscles recover and I never have any aches the next day as a result. The water was cool and refreshing and I was able to stay in there for quite a while.
By the time I reached the car again I had clocked up 20 miles, but it wasn’t the distance that gave me such a sense of satisfaction, as much as the experience of a shared adventure. There is something magical about leaving the known paths, the roads, the safe routes and exploring other places, taking small risks, embracing a sense of wonder and the spirit of adventure.
Many of us had this as children but then we grow out of it. I want to grow back into it, not just in my running but in terms of how I live my life and how I bring up my family. At least I experienced these sensations in the past and now get to rediscover them. Sadly, some young people today never get to know them in the first place. I think that is a shame.
Running is such a great way to keep wonder alive, being out there seeing, hearing, feeling, smelling, being.
