Back running...

Well, I'm glad to say my wrist is almost back to 100% maneuverability, so I removed the brace and began running again ten days ago.

Back in action   (Click to enlarge pictures)

 I was a bit frightened the first morning.  In my eagerness I'd gone out too early, while it was still dark, and became aware of lots of debris blown about by horrendous winds the previous day.  I returned home for ½ hour until I could see better and feel safer, then set off again.

Beautiful, but a bit too early for running

A young fellow sat with a bottle beside him and smoking something rather obnoxious had beaten me to the top of Castle Hill and showed no interest in the impending sunrise. 

A favourite spot to see the sun rise

As usual, it stopped me in my tracks and out came the camera to capture the glory unfolding before me, as it had done on hundreds of previous occasions.  The temporary mast was plain to see beside the Emley Moor transmitter which is currently being modified.

Emley Moor transmitter - Yorkshire's tallest building -
and beside it, the temporary mast

There's been a glut of apples this year so I don't feel I'm stealing anything if I treat myself to any shiny ones within reach on my morning runs.  Or anywhere else.   

I gave these sour ones a miss

Everything was going well until Monday night when something rather strange happened that knocked the wind out of my sails.   As a last resort the nephew of a very old friend of mine, Herbert Lambert, used Facebook Messaging service in a last ditch attempt to contact me to say his uncle had died and his funeral was at Skipton crematorium next morning at 11.40.

Skipton crematorium

I'd known Herbert since 1948, had walked and climbed with him throughout Britain and into France when he was one of the fittest people I'd ever met.  But on a recent visit to him at a Keighley Care Home, he was a skeleton of his former self, clinging to his zimmer, hardly able to walk.  At the ripe old age of 93 he was ready to die.

Herbert tending his garden at Austwick in the Yorkshire Dales

His funeral was well attended, but by people I'd never met or heard of before - save for one who made himself known to me, so I wasn't quite alone.  Herbert was a Humanist. I'm a staunch Methodist. Instead of prayers and hymns we had poems and secular music. There was no singing.  It all felt a bit joyless.  But I'm glad I was there to pay my last respects and give a gentle wave as the curtains closed.
R.I.P.

Dawn breaking over Grimwith reservoir

It took a wee while to get over that.  It was five days before I summoned up enough energy to run again on a dreich, bitterly cold Sunday morning when we should really have stayed in bed.

Getting lighter

It was barely light as we drove to Grimwith reservoir scattering hundreds of pheasants and partridges that will soon become subject to the annual slaughter.

Dawn patrol.  A cacophony of wild geese

Geese made wild music, bugling across the breaking dawn sky, changing direction and arguing, seemingly unsure which way to go. As they do..

Next month's dinner

Pheasants were everywhere.  In the wooded and more vegetated area at the back of the reservoir some exploded from beneath our feet, making us jump, putting us off our stride.  Grain had been scattered along the centre of the track to make sure they didn't stray far away, out of gunshot.  They call it sport...

Half way and it's become much lighter

It was easy running along the back straight as the sky became lighter and colours brighter.  The wind was on our backs for a while and the rising sun on our faces.  Little flotillas of mallard squawked and talked among themselves.

The last gentle rise

It was mainly flat and rather enjoyable, passing the thatched building then up the gentle rise, over the wooden bridge and back to the car park.  Here, the vicious wind gave us a final blasting making us glad we were on our way home to bowls of hot porridge and a warm stove.
It's good to be back running again but sometimes the nicest part comes after I've stopped...