A new home for orphaned socks

I attended the running club AGM the other week. As 30 of us squeezed into the old wooden running club, now shared with the next door rugby club, the top table were telling us how good it would be to boost club funds. After I left, I thought I could contribute somehow, so I sought out some new off-road routes in the wider area for a possible series of future trail races.  I had been to Newbiggin the week before and found a perfectly formed course based around the golf course and beach. Parking and facilities are, of course, prerequisites for such events. 

The following weekend, I took a closer look at the popular country park near me called Plessey Woods. There looked like there were a network of paths that might add up to a 4 or 5 mile route. 

So it was that I rocked up to the park on the Saturday with my asics trail shoes. It was busy, but there was parking for 100 cars or more, an overflow car park and a mix of woody trails and wider open gravel paths along the river. Ideal. 

I jogged my way up to the far end of the estate. The wild garlic and hawthorn were in full bloom forming a tight corridor for the route along a right of way. The sun was up and it was warm and a little muggy. Not a breath of wind. As I ran back on the return, I was plugged into Simple Minds and, as I ran, I was taking in the shape and layout of the terrain ahead. I wasn't, however, taking much notice of the ground immediately beneath my feet and, as I ran across a shallow depression, I went over on my ankle and as I dropped, I heard the crack of a twig break. 

I lay on the ground and knew there was some serious damage in my left foot. After catching my breath, I knew I'd better get back to the car before the ankle came up too much precluding shoe removal. I hobbled the remaining mile or so to the car park, got home and iced the offending and swollen joints.  

Some days later, after little improvement and a whole lot of bruising, I took myself to the hospital and after 20 minutes, I was on my way out with a diagnosed broken foot, nestled snugly in a darth vader boot. With a minimum 6 week recovery period, it looks like I might have to find an alternative means of entertaining myself. So that's Lomond and Goatfell out the window and half of June. However, I have found a new life for all those single orphaned socks. I'm pretty sanguine about the whole affair. Its just life. 

In recent weeks I've finished Ernest Hemingway's 'Snows of Kilimanjaro' and Adrian Tchaikovsky's 'Children of Time'. The former was a collection of bleak, rather desolate stories. Thankfully a short book. However, Adrian's effort was a top drawer sci-fi adventure and suitably absorbing.  I've returned to George MacDonald Fraser and picked up a Flashman novel which will be all stout hearts and rakish misadventures...a bit like Plessey Woods.