Two pubs & a bluebell wood but no sign of Hugh Grant

Hold the phone, this was supposed to be a running blog or at least that’s where it started.  Glancing through my recent posts I seem to have taken a swerve through holidays (without any running in them), Technology, Pseudoephedrine and advertising – arguably the four corners of the Blogosphere without much mention of running.

Actually this has been because I’ve been a little light on running of late and I have been bereft of excuses.  Not that I needed any mind.  I think running and running motivation is something that waxes and wanes without either having or needing to have an excuse.  In fact were one to feel the need to excuse oneself for not running one would be missing the whole point.

But today I did run so I thought I should blog it.  I am blessed with a mass of routes round the Chilterns where I live – you can see most of them on (search for “Briarsman” once you’ve logged in – you have to register but its free and a great site).

I did my regular three miler.  Setting out through the village you pass 300 yards of scented shrubbery and then through a kissing gate into open cornfields.  The corn is now 8 or 10 inches out of the ground and it smells of socks.  I’m not sure whether that’s the pesticide, the fox piss or my own socks but the latter seems unfeasible after only 5 minutes running!!

Beautiful running countryside

After the corn (8 mins) there’s then a 2 minute dash through a bluebell wood.  I say dash because I usually try to up the pace for that 2 mins.  I’ve seen Deer in that wood and Muntjack too so I figure I may need to run for it one day if they gave chase!

Halfway is marked by a bridge across the M25 (14 mins).  It can be a bit fumey if the wind is in the wrong direction but I enjoy giving the drivers a wave, standing like a pillock on the bridge I beam the message that I’d rather be up here in a few fumes than stuck in a Renault Megane on my way to meet my accountant in a cheap hotel only to pay exorbitant prices for weak tea or putrid coffee and hear about how much money I’m not making.  You get the picture.

More fields and onto the road again at the church where they filmed one of the Four Weddings in the film of the same name, and past The Cock for the last ¾ mile.  The Cock sits on the edge of the Chess Valley (another great run) and as I chug past I like to think the drinkers outside imagine I’ve run up North Hill from the valley floor when in fact I just joined the road 100 yards away.  Ha Ha, I laugh to myself, enjoying my little joke in my now slightly euphoric head.

Back into the village at speed because it’s a tad downhill.  Past the surgery, The Cricketers (not short of Pubs around here) and home.  PB for this 3.1 mile loop is 26minutes PW close to 33 but I was with my slothful, smoking, teenage, harry-styles-lookalike son as a bet he’d never make it.  Fair do’s, he did, but it hurt and he’s never been running since.  He said it was the fags that slowed him down.  But like I said, I don’t do excuses.


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