Adam in Runderland

OK, so I'm pushing it with the 'young' part. It was a quiet Sunday in mid-September. Blue sky was visible between scattered white clouds on a slightly cooler day with an autumnal feel. The intense heat of summer had passed and a firm wind was blowing.  Winds of change were very much in the air with a new Prime Minister in place and the country mourning the death of Queen Elizabeth II. I sensed the sombre atmosphere outside as I left my house and passed through the quieter than usual streets of Lewisham. It was the day before the funeral when it seemed that the entire country stopped and took time to remember and give thanks for the monarch's 96 years of life and 70 years on the throne. Why east? I often ran west, towards the city, towards the sights. Today I fancied a change, plus the wind was coming from the west. I'd check out some of the less well known parts of the River Thames. My route took me up to Blackheath before descending into Greenwich. A nice steep hil

'There'll be bluebirds over, the white cliffs of Dover.' sang Vera Lynn. Today black crows rule the roost. The path from Dover to Folkestone is a place of contrast. White cliffs and black crows, uphill and downhill sections, soft mud and hard rock under foot, boats to your left and lorries to your right. Dover lies at the end of the M20 and M2 motorways. The final destination for those taking the sea route to France, and the first port of call for those arriving in the UK from the continent. It is often in the news for all the wrong reasons; migrants arriving on overcrowded rafts, traffic chaos, ferry strikes. However it is also known for the famous White Cliffs and stunning castle overlooking the town. I used to live in Dover and bought my car while resident there. That was six years ago. Now in London and looking to sell my Seat I returned to the place I purchased it from and handed over the keys in exchange for half the original value. My dad's words rang in my ears,

July was a bad month. Injury meant I was unable to run. I'm not good to be around if I can't run. Thankfully though, the pain in my Anterior Tibialis cleared up after two weeks as opposed to the four I was expecting. This meant I was able to get out again, to my enormous relief. One reason I was so keen to get back was the upcoming Limestone 50 in the Peak District on 3rd September. Would my leg hold up? I did a few light training runs and crossed off my 300th parkrun. A sore plantar caused some discomfort, but it faded as I continued to run. And so the summer holidays flew past and suddenly race day was on the horizon. Physically I was free of pain, but mentally I was full of doubts. How would my body hold out during a 50 mile run involving over 7300 feet of elevation? Only one way to find out. Matt Shimwell - henceforth known as the Cow Rustler for reasons that will be revealed - drove up with me from south-east London to Glossop where we would be staying with his parents. St