Back to the old routine

Running in the sun

     It's felt good to be back to old haunts, old routines and running familiar routes in a minimum of clothing. I'll admit to being a sun worshipper. There's nothing I like better than running the hills in a pair of shorts and trainers, exposing my ancient body to warm sunshine and cooling breezes to gain a healthy tan. A sprightly neighbour approaching her 80th birthday intimated we're both a little vain, and she could be right.  But body awareness and active lifestyles has meant we've stayed young at heart, minimised the wrinkles and kept us within healthy BMI limits. Though I say it myself, neither of us could be taken for octogenarians.
     Whilst commuting today, and for want of something better to do other than gaze at passing landscape, I checked my pulse.  At first count it was only 38 which must have given me a bit of a shock because it immediately shot up a few beats to the mid forties. For some years now my average resting heart rate has been 42bpm. Anything less than that and I start to wonder whether it's due to extreme fitness, or whether it's slowing down ready to stop.  I always tell myself it's the former of those two options, but it can be worrying!
     Four runs last week resulted in another 24 miles being added to my training diary. I was feeling so fit after tripping through bluebell woods and over windswept hills I tried to enter a local off-road half marathon this coming weekend. Unfortunately, entries have closed and there are no entries on the day. So, I'm currently like an expedition with nowhere to go.

Suicidal sheep?

     On Sunday my wonderful partner persuaded me to accompany her on a wild walk over God-forsaken moorland in scorching heat where even the sheep appeared to be having suicidal tendencies. As we passed Wig Stones, a rocky outcrop far from the madding crowd, around ten of the woolly creatures were stood on high ledges while possibly contemplating the idea of throwing themselves head first into the abyss. We left them to their fate and set off across burnt heather and oozing bog in search of a parish boundary we'd previously failed to locate. We were amazed to find a line of new fencing stretching for miles along the boundary which, according to our compass, pointed in the precise direction we'd planned to go. Without that fence we'd never have found our route in such featureless terrain. I'm told it even confuses Google Earth!
     Anyhow, whether or not I'm now officially categorized as an old man, it doesn't yet appear to have cramped my style. Well, not much, but watch this space!