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.