Full moon plus brain equals extremely spooky run

Holy crap that was a spooky run.  

Trust me. I have felt a lot of things while running: euphoria, calmness, excitement, annoyance, anger … but pure, unadulterated, irrational fear was a first. 

It was easy to attain – and, in hindsight, it was brilliant. It was the night of the super blood moon, late in September 2015. The full moon was at its closest to earth – and with a clear sky and cool temperatures, it was an ideal night to go for a post-work midnight run.

Or so I thought. After half a mile running down a quiet street, I darted up a skinny tree-lined trail that went up a hill to a glade. And there is where the noises started. And the shadows moved. And the trees loomed.

Once I got to the glade the moon – still silver, not yet red from the eclipse that was due to occur in the small hours – was directly above me, making the trees silhouetted against the night sky. They looked twice as tall as they did in daylight.

Spooky moon overlooking spooky glade

The trail went downhill into a small dip that was flanked by pines. In daylight, the trail is wide, soft, straight and stunning. This night, it was a recipe for getting freaked out. And I did. To put it bluntly, I shat myself, metaphorically speaking. 

I have never taken any strong hallucinogens – and after this run I vowed to never do so. If a few endorphins were enough to make me see gremlins and snakes, what horrors would my brain conjure when on strong drugs?

You see, as I ran down a trail I'd been on dozens of times before, I saw things. And I found myself nervously glancing to my left and right at every flower or fern that caught the moonlight.

A clutch of dandelions became the eyes of a particularly fierce rodent. A glistening fern frond turned into a fox's head, its mouth dripping with the blood of its last victim. And the moonshadows of the pine trees … they turned into scorch marks from alien spaceships that had just taken off.

Same spooky glade with flash turned on

It didn't help that in this very forest I'd once seen an adder slithering across the trail. A real one, not sticks rendered reptilian 

by my midnight imagination, like the ones I repeatedly jumped from side to side to avoid.

And the spookiness didn't end once I'd escaped the forest. What was a pleasant, wide heathland trail with grassy clumps in daylight became a path dotted with slumbering animals. Big ones.

Dangerous ones, no doubt. Maybe wild ones, with big teeth.

A stick in the path. Not a snake. No, definitely not

Of course my rational brain was telling the lily-livered part of my skull that there is nothing dangerous in these woods (except for the snake) and if I did happen to meet anything, it would probably be more scared of me than I would be of it.

As if that helped my tight chest or urge to sprint the entire run.

I did stop every now and then to take in the silence and look around at the eerie grey that the moon had turned everything into. It was awesome.

But then I noticed a dark area towards the edge of the field … and a bird screeched. Then another did. Or were the screeches actually screams of lost spirits? There was a burial ground nearby after all... I thought it best to carry on running.

I returned via a road and after the irrational fear I had felt while running through the forest had finally dissipated, the road felt dull. Safe. Boring, even. I wanted to scare myself again. In fact as I ran past the path that had led me into the forest, I nearly ran straight back up it for another go.

It was only the thought that it was nearing one in the morning and I needed to be awake less than six hours later that stopped me.

Man, spooked

Looking back (and writing this) I feel a bit silly that I was so spooked by a quiet forest in the middle of the night. I mean who is scared of the dark? 

At no point was I more than about two miles from my front door, so it was a safe bet that unless I tripped over a root or rock and broken my ankle, I'd return unharmed. 

But at the same time I am pleased that my brain was able to freak me out so much and that I was able to conjure a new emotion from a run. I might even go out again next time there is a full moon.

But I will take my anti-monster spray. And alien repellent. And a snake trap. And a clove of garlic. And some rosary beads. Holy water too. Gaiters, no doubt – strong ones, that big-toothed rodents can't pierce. It'll be fun.

Buggy running - a cut-out-and-keep guide

Picture the scene: it's a sunny day, you haven't been for a run for a while and you are sitting in the house with a one-year-old, who will no doubt struggle even with a three-miler at eight-minute-mile pace.

All is not lost: buy a buggy, put the kid in it and head out. But before you do so, it may be worth reading this guide to running with toddlers in buggies. These tips of course should not be taken as gospel – after all I have run with only one child (my own) – and if you find that your experience is completely different to mine, then don't shoot me. But here's what I have learned in a year and a bit of buggy-running:

All this could be yours - and your kid's - with the
addition of a decent buggy

1. Choose your machine wisely - look for a second-hand buggy

One with big wheels. And lots of storage. But the most important thing to remember is these robust pieces of equipment usually see no more than two years' use per child, so a second-hand one will adequate for your needs – unless you run in a particularly fashion conscious part of the world. They are eye-wateringly expensive new, but the one I have cost me 50 pounds on eBay and apart from one puncture, has been bombproof. Oh, and make sure your kid can actually sit confidently on their own before you even think about going out.

2. Time your outing

This is no time for spontaneity. A successful run with a toddler requires the youngster to be fed and well-rested. I know from bitter experience that taking a tired kid running is a recipe for misery.

3. The going will be slow

Running with a buggy is no time for sprint sessions. The weight of the vehicle (and child, once he or she grows) and unscheduled stops for drinks etc mean you're likely to run around one to two minutes per mile slower than your usual “long distance” pace. In fact I have found that it is best to keep runs with a buggy “stupid”, “naked” or whatever your term for gadgetless is – except a phone.

4. Choose a loop route rather than out-and-back

One of the first runs I did with my daughter was a two-and-a-half-mile route to a park, with the idea that we could stop in the playground then come back. Except just as I was beginning the return, she decided she'd had enough. And for the next 20 minutes or so, I felt like the worst dad in the world pushing my screaming child home. It was no fun at all. So every subsequent run has been a loop, with short cuts for use in the event we have to get back quickly.

5. Trails! Trails! Trails!

Again, everyone's kid is different, but mine absolutely loves the bumpiness of trails. Sure, she seems to like running along roads, but I have never heard her laugh out loud trundling along the pavement as she does when we judder over tree roots or in mud. And now that she can talk, she yells “look at the view!” when we get to the top of a hill. Avoid sandy trails, unless you fancy a particularly brutal run.

Why you stopped, Daddy?

6. Keep the route interesting

This may sound obvious, but I have found a route with intermittent tree cover and a few hills (preferably with a view at the top) gets a far more positive reaction than one on flat ground. Plus it gives you something to talk about.

7. Keep talking

The conversation is likely to be one-sided, unless your child is some kind of prodigy, but every now and then, as I have been blathering on about “look at that tree”, or “there's a dog with curly hair”, I have got a smiling face turning round to me – or even a “woof woof, another doggy!” in response. And as she talks more, I also get “faster, Daddy, faster!” when going uphill, which is simultaneously encouraging and demoralising.

8. If you are male, be prepared for some weird looks

For some reason a bloke pushing a buggy (especially in midweek – I have irregular days off) garners looks usually reserved for alien landings. Who knows why? I never let it bother me. After all, I'm the lucky so-and-so who's running. Elderly dog walkers tend to make comments like “ooh, you've got your hands full” which usually couldn't be further from the truth.

9. Dress your kid warmly

Again, this may sound obvious, but whatever you think the temperature is, add an extra layer for the passenger to be sure. You can always remove it. There is nothing more dispiriting than a toddler complaining of the cold. In winter, remember gloves. And take an extra pair, because one is bound to get flung off into a puddle. Conversely, in summer make sure you take a hat and a drink bottle.

10. Enjoy it while it lasts

As I write, I fear I have taken my daughter (now two and a half) for one of her last runs. She is beginning to realise that actually doing the running through the trees might be more fun than being pushed. But over the past year and a bit, I think she has enjoyed being my part-time running buddy and surprisingly forthright coach.

As crazy ideas go, running in the rain ranks pretty low

One of the best skateboarding songs ever written is "What's so strange about me" by a band called Eight Dayz, fronted by the German skater Claus Grabke. It goes on about how the skateboarder may be seen as an outsider by the square community, but under the surface he is not so weird after all.

The tune popped into my head while I was on a run this morning, five miles from home, along a muddy trail in the middle of a rainstorm. It was the terminus of a train of thought that began with the idea that there are probably a good few people who'd consider my desire to run in such conditions for a couple of hours is, well, a bit weird.

Surely the more sane option would be to sit inside, staying warm and dry – and in close proximity to food and drink.

The notion that long-distance running is a bit strange is an often repeated one – for every runner that plods the earth, there is someone to ask them “why the hell do you want to run all that way?” Some runners revel in it; by way of proof, witness the number of “I'm mad, me” folks at an obstacle race. It's one of the reasons why I can't stand them; the clip-on wackiness of the events makes me want to spew.

And there is an argument that some runners really are a little bit odd – let's face it, the participants in a 24-hour track race are not wired the same as the rest of us.

Scott Jurek, a legend of ultramarathon running, does little to dispel the stereotype in his book Eat and Run, when he writes about the build-up and duration of the world 24-hour championships. The relentless focus and wide-eyed admission that he was going to be bored out of his skull, hurting like anything and frequently miserable for no reason other than to stay on his feet for 24 hours made me think he and his fellow racers are not of this earth.

Not that choosing to run in an oval for an entire day is a bad thing; it is clearly not for everyone though.

But I digress. Trail running, for however long a distance, is also considered a bit odd by those who think runners are all health freaks (ha! One of the main reasons I run is so I can eat more pork scratchings) and there are a lot better ways to spend a rainy morning.

But it's not. I may be biased, but I'd say that running through a forest or up and down a hill for a few hours is pretty high on the list of the sanest things to do with your spare time.

Here are five reasons why:

1. You are exercising

Apparently that is good for you.

2. You are exploring

Even on trails you have run on before, weather conditions and seasons can make the surroundings different. On one day you might notice the yellow of the leaves on trees, on another you might see that the horse in the field has a weird looking nose. And if you take a wrong turning, you have the added bonus of seeing something completely new. If you do happen to get bored while running, then it is worth thinking of what RickyPaugh, an ultrarunner and Four Deserts finisher who was in the film Desert Runners, told me: You should always try to get over the next hill, because who knows what's on the other side?

3. You are helping your mind

I've gone on about this in other posts and there have been all sorts of studies and anecdotal evidence about how long-distance running (especially outdoors) can help people de-stress, settle their minds or even take control of mental illness.

4. It makes you hungry

No contest, one of the best things about running is eating like a monster afterwards.

5. It can get you high

Look, even the New YorkTimes says so.

So next time someone asks what is wrong in the head with those darn trail runners, just quote those Eight Dayz lyrics to them: What's so strange about me?

Aid Station muffins

As running is an excuse to eat a lot, here's a recipe. I call these Aid Station muffins because if I was a race director I'd have them at every aid station instead of snotty gels. Gels are evil and there is no sane reason to eat them, at any time. They have the consistency of nose-gunge during a particularly bad bout of flu and the taste of a prison meal from a dystopian future full of 'meal substitutes'.

Anyway, these muffins are loosely based on bran muffins from the Edmonds cookbook (one for Kiwiana fans) but with no bran and added vegetables and fruit. So almost completely different.

They have fueled me on many a long run and are apparently quite nutritious and full of energy. On a practical note, the spices make them more interesting without being so sweet that they are sickly during a run. And above all else, they are pretty foolproof.

They turn out best when made while listening to loud music (Kyuss is ideal).

Here's what you need to make about 12:

¾ cup flour (either normal or spelt)

1 cup rolled oats

1 tsp baking powder

2 carrots

1 egg

1 cup milk

1 tbsp golden syrup

1 tbsp butter

¼ cup dates (instead of dates you can use ¼ cup of poncy muscovado sugar or similar. If you omit dates, chuck raisins in)

1 tsp cinammon/allspice

¼ tsp salt

Optional: bunch of chia seeds, handful of raisins/dried apricots

Method:

Preheat oven to 200 C

Grate carrots, chop dates finely

Throw everything except eggs, milk, golden syrup and butter into a bowl. Mix it all up.

Melt butter and golden syrup together.

Throw milk, syrup mixture and eggs into the bowl as well.

Mix just enough to combine – do not overmix! It should be pretty gloopy.

Put the mixture into dainty little cupcake thingys.

Bake for 15-20 minutes (the time depends on moisture content of carrots; the muffins look brown when they're done).

Presentation is key

I usually eat a couple as soon as they are done (they are better with tea than coffee) then freeze the rest, ready to take out and stuff into a pack for a long run. By the time I need to eat one out running, they are thawed but still fresh.

Best laid plans and why I don't like 'work'

Right. Confession time. I haven't yet traversed St Swithun's Way, as I had promised in my previous post (over a year ago). But I will. Last year's run was pole-axed by summer, to be frank. Or actually a summer of family coming to visit and a six-month-old baby.

But it will be done. It's sitting there, just over the hill, like a 34-mile long snake, lurking, waiting to see if it can chew me up and spit me out.

Enough crappy imagery - it's just a trail. Quite a nice one, actually.

One thing I have learned over the past year, training for St Swithun's way then for a 50-miler (I didn't make that start-line either, although three weeks of being violently and unpleasantly ill put paid to that one) is that I don't like work unless I am getting paid for it – and what's the point of doing something you don't like for free? I exclude housework because that is marginally better than living in a pig-sty.

But hill-work, speed-work, gym-work.. nah.

Sure, foregoing all these things won't make me the fastest runner I can be, but I am not really interested in running fast. I just want to run.

Take the half-marathon I ran a few weeks ago. Once again, summer had got in the way of anything that could be construed as organised training. I had gone for a long run every week (around two-ish hours – no idea of distance, most of my runs are classed in the “naked” or “stupid” category, with no gadgets) and I'd also biked to and from work every day. But all that dull repetitive stuff like sprint-work (there's that word again) that I had classed as “training” and considered doing when I signed up for the run was soon forgotten.

So when I toed the start-line my goal was to finish – and enjoy the scenery. A personal best was out of the question.

Or so I thought.

At halfway I felt great – and that was after the so-called tougher part of the course, over tree-covered hills and rolling farmland. So I set about going faster in the second half. And guess what? I even had enough at the end for a heroic sprint finish. And I got a trail half-marathon personal best, as well as a raging thirst for beer.

All without “training” (as opposed to running) a bit.

So back to St Swithun's way... my new philosophy is to not train at all for it. I'll just run a bit longer every week. Then one day (soon, I promise) I'll run the whole damn thing.

My ultramarathon ambition is to run a 'not real' one

Not the St Swithun's Way, but with similar views (hopefully)

I am planning on running an ultramarathon at the end of September. I'll go the length of the St Swithun's trail, in the inaugural St Swithun's Way Ultramarathon. Sounds flash, eh? Well, get this: the event is one of the most exclusive ultras in the world – in fact there will be only one entrant: me.

Yes, as things stand, I will be taking on the entire 34 miles of the trail on my own. So to call it an organised event is only true to the extent that I will have to pack a bag with water and food – and a couple of maps – then find my way to the start line. There will be nobody to wave me off and, if I am lucky, my wife and children will be the only ones at the end to greet me at the end. Which begs the question: Why? Why spend what will probably be a good six or more hours running for no real purpose?

Here's why:

The Edmund Hillary rationale

The first person to conquer Everest said people climb mountains "for the hell of it". But apart from the "because it's there" argument, this run is achievable. There are other trails near where I live which are up to 100 miles long, but as I have never run more than 27 (after a slight wrong turn during a trail marathon) to attempt a solo run of a 100 miles – or even 50 – is a little ambitious. Around 34 miles will be quite enough, for this year at least.

It sounds fun

It will obviously be hard and I am not going to feel great in some parts of it. But after interviewing Jez Bragg, the ultra-runner who recently completed a 1800-mile traverse of New Zealand, as well as listening to various runners talk about their runs on the Talkultra podcast, the way they talked about what it is like to spend time inside their own heads, through the highs and lows of a long run, intrigued me.

Jez told me after he got back from New Zealand: “Racing is never the most enjoyable part of my running. I have always enjoyed the long training runs more, just because you can go as far as you like, whenever you like. I enjoyed being on my own.”

And on the solitude of running with only your own thoughts for company, he added: “I had all that time to think about things and spend time in my own head. When you run with somebody else, you feel – whether it is actually true or not – that you don't have your own rhythm.

“You go out, have thoughts, then have other thoughts in reaction to those first ones and in the end you have worked a lot of things out. It is quite remarkable, how much you can work out while you are out for a few hours on a run.”

Of course the St Swithun's trail is not nearly as far as most of Jez's daily output - and it is also a fraction of what many runners on the Talkultra podcast achieve in a week's training, but, as I said above, it is a start.

It is not an arbitrary distance 

This is not a plotted loop or point-to-point which measures 26.2 miles, 50km, or 50 miles. The run will be 34 miles long because that is how long the trail is from beginning to end. That makes it interesting for me, because it is not an artificially plotted route - it is just how long it is.

I am middle-aged 

I'll be honest, when you start to put a 4 at the front of your age, you start to question your own mortality. And doing a stupidly long run is preferable to all parties than buying a sports car or having an affair.

To show off 

Well, isn't that part of the reason why most of us toe the line in running races? We tell people it is about challenging ourselves, or keeping fit or being in control of our own bodies, but there is an element of being able to tell people 'I ran for six hours for no apparent reason yesterday' that drives me to run long distances.

Cash

Proper ultramarathons are too bloody expensive.

The tube that last two, three or four hours

Sea: often flat. Trail up side of the hill: always there

As far as 'one-with-nature' experiences go, there is very little that beats riding a tube on a surfboard. You're sucked into a vortex which is spiralling chaotically but is at the same time a very peaceful place to be.

And if everything goes right, after the period where you are poised in the middle of the vortex, where time stands still – which is in reality a matter of a few seconds in all but the best spots – then you emerge a changed person.

But tube-riding is a rarity for most surfers, which in turn makes it even more elusive for those who are not lucky enough to experience riding waves.

It's a good thing that surfing can fun even when there are no tubes - when the wind is onshore, the rain is pelting down and the waves are barely waist-high, a session can still be rewarding. Like the old cliché goes, a bad day on the waves is better than a good day in the office.

Sometimes, the riding of a wave can be the icing on the cake, after fighting mountains of whitewater and chop. I remember even if there were no tubes and I dug a rail on every wave - the ones that didn't close out - there was often a sense of satisfaction when walking back up the beach towards home.

Battling through the shorebreak taking one paddle forwards then five paddles back, only to sit outside waiting for a wave that never comes, staring at the horizon for a lump – these are all aspects of wave-riding that surfers love. Or at least reminisce fondly about, especially when they are living hundreds of miles from a decent beach.

Having growing up three minutes walk from the beach, I now live a long way from the sea. But I am happy to say I can still get that same satisfaction I used to get from being pounded by whitewater or managing a decent carve on a wave. I get it by running on trails for a couple of hours or more. Not training – that comes under the category of tiresome preparation – but just running.

And by definition, the sense of well-being is easier to get from running than it is from surfing. Heck, all you need to do is put on a pair of shoes and head to somewhere there aren't any people. Unless you are incredibly lucky or rich, it is next-to impossible to duck out down to the beach and score perfect uncrowded waves on a daily basis.

I have never met anybody who equates running with surfing – after all, when I was a kid, surfers were work-shy bongheads, while runners (or joggers, as they were then) were career people who huffed and puffed in their garish shoes and sport-specific tank-tops training for various races.

But just as I never entered a surfing competition, I don't have much desire to enter many races. I have done a few – I first got into running because I signed up for the London Marathon – but the idea of joining thousands of people in the hunt for a personal best is the furthest thing from my mind when I head out for a run.

I just like getting out on my own, in my own head. The deserted trails and hills are my tubes. And if I want, I can ride them every day.