You’ll have to understand that cinder paths put a spring in my step and you’ll also have to understand a few other things too.
I used to run a lot to build stamina for tennis and have a fiercely competitive streak within myself about times and distances. There’s the little issues, though, of having broken my ankle twice and banjaxed my back in the years since I was running pretty much daily.
My main running started on a wonderful cinder track at the Lourdes Stadium in Drogheda, Co. Louth, which had been built for either the European or World Student Games back in the 1960s. It was way ahead of its time and made one glide along like a true athlete.
I’ve reached a stage in my life when I feel that if I don’t get running NOW, I never will again and that thought is horrific.
Sooooooooooo, I’ve come up with the idea of ‘Phunning’ ~ that’s gentle running+walking with absolutely no emphasis on times/distances combined with taking a few photographs along the way.
The Anne Valley Trail in Dunhill here in Co. Waterford is the perfect place for this pursuit. It’s a 2.2km (each way) linear path that brings one from Dunhill Village to the magnificent elevated ruin of Dunhill Castle.
The path is the nearest thing to cinder that one could find and it twists and turns around the Anne River.
I’m setting myself the grand goal of trying to run at least one way by Christmas and have been out twice already this week, interspersing walking and running. So far, so good in terms of the creaking bones.
I hope that by writing about it here and declaring my intentions to the world, that I will manage to keep going.
I’d love to have some company on this little adventure so maybe some of you former runners would dust down your shoes and find a trail near you and share in my de-stressing!
and yes, my hand does fit!
the lone fisherman
aligns himself with nature
Once again, I would like to thank Willow for nominating me for this Five Photos/Five Stories Challenge.
Here are the rules for the Challenge: “Post a photo each day for five consecutive days and attach a story to the photo. It can be fiction or non-fiction, a poem or a short paragraph and each day nominate another blogger for the challenge.
My second nomination is Sandy at Hoarder Comes Clean
Today was a smashing day here in Co. Waterford and I had the most delicious swim out at Garrarus Beach early this morning.
While I was soaking up the sea and sun, I was half thinking about son Harry who has hopped over to England for the weekend. Part of the hopping involved him driving me into Waterford in the wee hours so that he could catch a bus to Dublin Airport. Little did I ever think that he’d be doing the driving like that but it’s been our Summer of ‘mother/son’ driving with Bruce Springsteen keeping us company.
Back at home, the little fluffy dog (a cross between at least a sheepdog, terrier, King Charles, Alsatian….) that Harry rescued a few years ago had clearly been doing a lot more than half thinking about his beloved owner. He had worked himself up into a complete tizzy and practically scratched his neck off. I suppose I should have anticipated some drama like this as the last time Harry went away the dog almost bit his paw off.
Back to the same vet who mercifully assured me that the neck damage is curable but that the bond between the dog and Harry was quite another matter! Basically if H flees the nest, the dog will have to go with him.
As dusk turned to darkness, I was beginning to wonder about H’s promised phone call. I was here at the computer and called out to hubby if he’d heard from him. He replied as casually as anything:
Oh yeah, he rang a good while ago and said he’s grand. He got cut off so wasn’t on for long.’
The little dog has been bopping around since the phone call and I’m still wondering if fathers have anything like the same bonds with their boys as little dogs and mothers do?
I would feel more optimistic about a bright future for man if he spent less time proving that he can outwit Nature and more time tasting her sweetness and respecting her seniority.