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.

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.

Listen up: Why I Run

Here's a picture of what I see most of the time when I run - a trail. It doesn't matter where it is, or how you get to it, but what is important is that there isn't much there, except trees, a few birds and the occasional deer.

I presume that fishermen who speak either English or Polish also travel along this trail towards the pond out of shot to the right, judging by the signs telling them to eff off, but I have never seen any, day or night.

It is this lack of civilization that makes this trail so good. Because it gives me a chance to talk to myself. And answer myself, with very few interruptions.

There are a lot of cod psychoanalytical answers to why we run (it is my thinking time, it clears my mind, it defrags my brain...) but the best one I have heard yet was from Anton Krupicka, the semi-naked Colorado-based ultrarunner.

In his blog for Running Times, he hit the nail on the head (for me) and transcended the run-of-the-mill navel-gazing that runners can drift into when he said he listens to himself when he runs. Or, as he puts it lets "anything and everything and nothing bop in and out of my mind without intent". The full post is here.

Krupicka, to those who have never read his well-written blogs, has built himself a reputation as a nomadic, philosophising mountain man who happens to run long distances and, on the odd occasion, drink beer.

What's not to like?

But apart from my admiration for a drinker-runner who likes the outdoors (and who hawks a decent line in shoes), the listening bit struck a chord with me. Because there is hardly a run goes by that an idea, revelation or random thought pops into my head - and more often than not, I am able to debate it, mould it and turn it into something I can use in another part of my life. Of course there is a lot of mindless chatter, but in the slurry of brain-dumping, there is always a nugget of something useful.

And in listening to my own intra-brain babble (it gets less babbly the longer I run) I have learned to be patient with others' scattergun ideas, when in normal social (or social media) circles.

In the sort of world where people demand a platform and a captive audience - let alone one that agrees with them - in the space of a few seconds, it helps to be able to recognise and listen to the important bits.

And, getting back to that picture of the trail, if you are able to filter out the static (either literally, by surrounding yourself with a serene scene as above or psychologically, by screening out the crap) then life is a lot more calm. No matter where you go.

Simple is Best? Most of the Time it is True

There's a saying popular in Japan that 'simple is best'. The saying itself is pretty self-explanatory and can be extrapolated thus: if you over-complicate things, you may find yourself in trouble.

The thing that got me thinking about this was yesterday I went for my first-ever run barefoot. I don't mean wearing those gorilla-feet things, I mean with no shoes. It was only a short one and off-road, so as not to attract too many weird glances in the decidedly normal town I live in.

And guess what? I survived it. No busted knees or punctured feet – in fact afterwards I felt pretty good. I might even do it again. Maybe there is something in this whole barefoot running movement. 

Running for about 45 minutes on my barefeet got me thinking about other sports – and the fact that in themselves they aren't all that complicated. It is just people on the periphery that make them complex. Take football, or soccer, for instance.

I went to a press conference the other day featuring the recently reinstated England captain, John Terry. The reasons for his demotion and subsequent reinstatement have been well-documented, but if you are unfamiliar with the story, then this is a good link.

As captain of England and Chelsea, his club, Terry is in charge of 10 other players, who are paid vast sums of money to kick a ball past 11 more men who are paid just as much. Simple.

In fact the game is so simple that people are forced to look beyond the actual game to come up with something interesting about it. Such as the fact the England captain has done the nasty with a team mate's ex-girlfriend.

Or another player is so annoyed with his manager that he leaks to the press a (true) story of him working his way through the female portion of staff at the club.

Or the notion that a rival club "hates" another and therefore will provide a backdrop worthy of a soap opera or professional wrestling tournament when they meet.

As titillating as these stories may be, they can get a little tiresome. Especially when you realise that sport is supposed to be simple.

To go off on a tangent, simple worked for the Ramones, who made a 20-year career out of three chords played with as many instruments. It works for a meal, as any steak or sushi-lover will tell you. It also works for beer, as the best brews often have just three ingredients.

And, as I found as I ran down the trail holding my shoes in my hands, it can work for sport as well. Just as long as you don't overcomplicate things.