My training schedule was looking nigh impossible. Six days-worth of training to cram into four, due to a work-related trip to a Hebridean island which wouldn’t allow for any swimming or cycling.
After numerous attempts to re-arrange swims and bike rides, there was only one option; cut back the planned activity.
It was the right thing to do. I was tired, and a long weekend away might just be the right thing for it. However, the weather report was forecasting snow, hazardous driving conditions and 80mph winds.
On arrival, I was shooed to the front door of the house by the gathering storm. All I wanted was peace and quiet, but it was not to be – each night, the wind and hail lashed the house allowing eff all sleep.
And yet, my mood was improving each day.
Everything takes time in remote places, so you are forced to accept the pace at which things can happen. For me, some simple pleasures were rediscovered and I began to feel quite upbeat. I seem to remember reading that ‘a spell in outdoors’ was once prescribed as a treatment for depression – there might be something in that.
When it was almost time to leave, I ventured out with the running shoes on. It was time to take on the island’s roller-coaster single track roads and I was quite sure I’d be walking it out the steep bits.
It was a messy run, with a few stops and a fair amount of panting. But when the hills came I heard my feet tapping away at the gradient and thought “Look at that! The ground is coming up to meet your feet.” Much better than my usual “Shut up, legs, you whining bastards!”