The trail is ankle deep in mud. There are large U shaped holes in the ground. My brain is working overtime to relay information from my eyes to my legs to avoid breaking an ankle. I'm descending at speed through pine forest with shouts of 'Horse!' echoing behind me. Moments later I hear the heavy breathing of a quadruped moving at speed. The drumbeat of hooves on turf are replaced with the splashing and squelching of the sodden earth. I feel a warmth on the back of my neck, almost imperceptible, likely imagined. Turning my head I risk a fall, but I need to see my foe. I glimpse the auburn mount bearing down on me, helmeted rider perched atop. I dive to the side of the trail just in time. The speeding steed is past in a moment. I watch as horse and rider gallop on and vanish into the shadows. This isn't a recurring nightmare - that's the one about leading parkrun and then getting lost - nor is it my experience of participating in an anti-hunting protest. This was h...
What a weekend. It involved some running, some supporting runners and a bit more running. Saturday dawned wet and windy. 300 runners were assembling in Wendover ready for a 43 mile run into London. The fields were boggy, the paths were waterlogged and it was cold. Well, what do you expect on January 8th. These hardcore runners set off while I was driving from east to west London. My first stop was Bushy Park. This, as many will know, was the birthplace of parkrun. On 2nd October 2004 13 runners completed the first 5k with support from Paul and Joanne Sinton-Hewitt. 17 years later it is a global phenomenon. This was my running pilgrimage. I have wanted to run Bushy since I ran my first parkrun in September 2012. This would be my 291st. A gentle rain was falling as I parked up by the Diana Fountain just across from Hampton Court. To stretch my legs - and kill some time, I was an hour early - I ran around the park exploring the tree lined avenues, gated gardens and open marshland....
We had been descending for close to a mile. It was a steady descent, more than runnable. A chance to stretch out the legs. At the bottom we stopped at the checkpoint to refill out water bottles from the fast flowing stream when cramp struck. I watched as my friend Matt grimaced in agony and beads of sweat fell from his brow. The muscles of his inner thighs had completely spasmed. He was unable to move. We were nine miles into day two of our three day Lakeland adventure with fifteen miles and numerous summits still to go. It was a relief when after a few minutes he was able to take a few hesitant steps. Disaster seemed to have been averted. We continued along a flat road before beginning our next ascent. Suddenly, Matt let out a cry and fell to the floor writhing in pain. The cramps were back. The day seemed to be over and we began to discuss how to get back to the campsite. ----------------- Matt, his wife Kelly and I had booked onto the Scarpa Great Lakeland 3 Day that is held in...