Well well well, who’d have thought that barely a month after uttering the depressingly negative words “why does it have to do this every bank holiday”, referencing the rain, that depressingly negative DJ on radio 2 would be looking like a fool (I very much doubt that his ego will allow him to eat his words though. I haven’t listened to radio 2 since so I’m probably not going to find out.
What a beautiful day yesterday for getting out and doing something I haven’t done for a very long time; a good old run along the Offa’s Dyke Path.
Walked up to the Jubilee Tower with Mol, then let the brakes off a bit for a tootle down the other side. Need some hill running in my legs ready for the Mammothon, a nice 26.2 on the Shropshire Way. Mol walked, I ran, we planned to meet back up somewhere in the vicinity of car, tower, or path in-between.
Felt good to be rock dodging on the way down. Felt good to feel the scratch of heather on the legs. Felt good to be able to jump over a puddle. Felt good to be able to see Cadair in the distance, the Arenigs, and as the morning haze cleared, them great old lumps of Snowdon, the Glyders and the sweet Carneddau. Too long since I’ve been able to see them from here.
Busy it was. Car parks weren’t too bad but there was a lot of folks walking and running that ridge. Not going to lie, quite a lot of them were annoying me. Still, they’ve as much right to be there as I have I suppose, just wish some folks in shared space would share the space a little more, well, equally.
Anyway, there was a certain freedom in my movement, freedom in the loftiness of the hills looking out over those lovely views. Enjoyed it. That’s all you can ask for out of a run really isn’t it? To enjoy it. There’ll be aches and pains to follow I’m sure, but I get those from sitting on my fat arse too, so I might as well keep going at it for now.
Today, up early and out for a walk. Kinder Scout.
What
A
Treat!
Loved Edale and all that surrounds it ever since my first trip there in my teens.
Never actually seen the rock formations up close that are known as “The Woolpacks”, they are amazing. Never actually made it to the top of Kinder before either - ironically known as Kinder Low.
I can see why The Manchester Rucksack Club chose it for doing what they did.
It is a deep gratitude we owe them.
We can’t ever allow ourselves to let what they fought for be taken away.