Jo and I waited a while today, before we ran, until the wind and rain had died down.
We ran to Farnhill pinnacle and did a bit on the canal to avoid the flooded fields.
Farnhill moor is a great place to walk and run. When running you can run straight from the door. When walking with the kids you can park nearer, at the bottom of the moor. It's a mini moor really. A perfect size and shape for children to explore. A gentle climb that takes you to a stunning view point, with lots of bracken for playing hide and seek (and BOO!) in the summer.
It's a place that I was often taken for a walk, as a child. I am sure there are photos somewhere of my sister and me, there, in matching Paddington Bear coats. Now we are replacing them with our own collection of photos of our children, toddling, running and at times being carried up to the pinnacle.
When reading through my blog, it is similar places and themes that occur again and again. That is the nature of life and the running routine. But I'm not complaining. I enjoy the familiar places. There is always a different story to tell, depending on the weather, who we met, what happened and the things we talked about.
Like today. We saw some cute, brown, long horned sheep that were almost marooned cause the river was so high; I fell over on the canal but was fine because the ground is so soft again; we made plans for a running night out after Christmas and we struggled over some of the climbs amid the slippy slidy rocks. We got buffeted by the wind and a bit of drizzle. We looked at the flooded valley which turns into a lake at the slightest amount of rain.
We got home refreshed, as always, by getting out into the wonderful landscape we live in. Sanity restored once again, through the simple pleasure of running/stumbling/staggering up a hill.
Brutalist Bus Stop
10 hours ago