Night running

Running is a great way to experience the changing seasons. Being out in the elements at different times of day or night you get to see and feel the variation in temperature, weather and light.

The summer was glorious. I enjoyed running deep into the evening along the balmy streets watching the sun set languidly over the horizon on the far side of the English Channel. There is a golden, honey tone to those runs. Long shadows stretch across the baked paths. Trees hang heavy with leaf and flower. Flesh is bared and barbeques glow late into the evening.

As we approach December the nights have drawn in. The sun rises late and sets early. Only a third of the day is lit by the greater light of the sun, the rest entrusted to the tender glow of the moon and stars. Temperatures are reduced to single figures and the biting easterly winds bring rain and snow.

There is a beauty to this too. Street lights reflected in deep, leaf topped puddles. Icy raindrops pricking the skin. Sharp gusts of wind swirling and buffeting the thick layers of outerwear. The bobbing light of the headtorch seeking out the path before me.

Last night I set out for a night run. It was 7:30pm and the house lights had been in use all afternoon. A weary grey day had given way to a chilly and damp evening. The paths glistened with precipitation and the paths were empty.

I ran down the hill into Sandgate. Sparkling white fairy lights were strung between trees in the grounds of the Saga building and a Christmas tree outside a restaurant was bedecked in multi coloured bulbs. Turning right I headed uphill along the Golden Valley that lived up to its name not with the aureate bloom of a summer sunset, but the fluorescent glow of sodium streetlights.

My feet splashed through puddles and swished through piles of decaying leaves. When I reached Cheriton I met John and we debated where to go. Two options arose; along the Leas or up into the hills. We both agreed to go running on the Downs in the dark and wet was foolish and so this is what we did.

My headtorch hadn’t left its drawer for almost a year and I had been remiss in not checking the batteries. As a result, I was forced to share the beam from John’s bulb and stumbled after him trying to follow in his footsteps – literally not metaphorically.

We headed north and dipped under the M20 emerging on the far side at the bottom of Caesar’s Camp. The climb was as steep as ever and made more challenging by the fact that we were running blind and couldn’t see the top until we were virtually there. Breathing hard - in a good way - we traced the muddy track around the bottom of the terraced mount and were soon standing on the peak looking down on the glittering town below.

The wind blew hard against us as we marvelled at the sight of the thousands of pin pricks of light. More dramatic was the blackness of the sea to our left, a stark contrast to the occupied land beside it. A faint glow emanated from the French coast a ship could be seen appearing as a miniscule dot of light adrift in the inky blackness.

The descent was slippy under foot and I soon fell behind John and the light he was using to guide me. The emotion was a mix of alarm at not being able to see where I was placing my feet, and excitement at the fact I didn’t know where I was placing my feet! Safely at the bottom of the hill we climbed again, this time over the M20 that passes though a tunnel that penetrates the hills.

Another hair-raising descent and we were back on the road. Once again, the route took us up to the top of the downs and along Crete Road to the top of Dover Hill. Another long downhill section followed as we ran back into Folkestone past the Martello Tower and onto the arches above Sunny Sands beach. From here we headed to the new pedestrian bridge which crosses the harbour. Once across we entered the Harbour Arm before taking a right onto the beach promenade constructed from railway sleepers. This snaked across the pebbles and into the Leas Coastal Park. From here it was a steep ascent up the zig zag path and then home.

Having not run for two weeks I was pretty tired by the end. This was off set however by the sheer enjoyment of night running. More to come through the winter.