Running Therapy
We spent the weekend in West Sussex for my mother-in-law's memorial party and the scattering of her ashes.
We have visited the village of West Wittering many, many times over the years of course, but never has it looked as beautiful as it did this weekend. There were so many absolutely amazing things - the shimmering orange moon lighting up the sky on our journey down, Itchenor Harbour shrouded in eerie but hauntingly gorgeous mist, early on Saturday morning as we drove to parkrun, deer leaping in the fields and darting right across Ror's path as we ran on Sunday, squirrels playing in the treetops in the garden, a spectacular murmuration of starlings and of course the mighty waves crashing against the sands on a sunlit beach, Ilse's last resting place. It was as if she was stage managing the whole occasion, making it extra special. Three days of the most amazing spring weather - how lucky were we to have that in February?
It was a hugely emotional weekend. Not only were we saying our final goodbyes to Ilse, but I also learned of the death of a friend from my school days, something that was entirely unexpected and in particularly tragic circumstances, so I needed to feel soothed. Running, as always, came to my rescue. I forgot about speed and viewed each run as therapy, a chance to stop my thoughts from churning and just to focus on the views, the sounds, the sensations. There's nothing like news of a death to make you want to run simply because you can and to appreciate how privileged we all are just to wake up each morning, to be still in a position to experience all that the world has to offer us. Life can be bleak. There are a lot of horrible things happening out there. But life is all we have so we just have to make the best of it and this weekend reminded me that there is still plenty of stuff out there that is wonderful and uplifting. So, I took in all the views, which are now becoming so familiar, along roads with charming names like Berry Barn Lane and Coastguard Lane. I doubt that I will run these routes again, as it's unlikely we will make many trips to this part of the world now that Ilse has passed, but many memories were created. I ran and felt thankful.
There was a bit of humour here and there. I was so distracted and thrilled by the sight of deer leaping in the field to my right (after giving up any hope of spotting any) that I went the wrong way and found myself in a boggy field, sinking up to my ankles. I was lucky not to lose a shoe. I like to think that was Ilse's idea of a little joke. We had a similar moment on the beach when we were scattering her ashes. The wind had dropped and the sea was very calm. On the very last note of the song she had chosen, which we were playing through a phone, this huge wave came from nowhere and nearly drenched the lot of us. Perhaps that was Ilse telling us to lighten up and not be too solemn about it. She most definitely hadn't wanted a solemn send off.
Here are some of the beautiful places my runs have taken me to this weekend.
We have visited the village of West Wittering many, many times over the years of course, but never has it looked as beautiful as it did this weekend. There were so many absolutely amazing things - the shimmering orange moon lighting up the sky on our journey down, Itchenor Harbour shrouded in eerie but hauntingly gorgeous mist, early on Saturday morning as we drove to parkrun, deer leaping in the fields and darting right across Ror's path as we ran on Sunday, squirrels playing in the treetops in the garden, a spectacular murmuration of starlings and of course the mighty waves crashing against the sands on a sunlit beach, Ilse's last resting place. It was as if she was stage managing the whole occasion, making it extra special. Three days of the most amazing spring weather - how lucky were we to have that in February?
It was a hugely emotional weekend. Not only were we saying our final goodbyes to Ilse, but I also learned of the death of a friend from my school days, something that was entirely unexpected and in particularly tragic circumstances, so I needed to feel soothed. Running, as always, came to my rescue. I forgot about speed and viewed each run as therapy, a chance to stop my thoughts from churning and just to focus on the views, the sounds, the sensations. There's nothing like news of a death to make you want to run simply because you can and to appreciate how privileged we all are just to wake up each morning, to be still in a position to experience all that the world has to offer us. Life can be bleak. There are a lot of horrible things happening out there. But life is all we have so we just have to make the best of it and this weekend reminded me that there is still plenty of stuff out there that is wonderful and uplifting. So, I took in all the views, which are now becoming so familiar, along roads with charming names like Berry Barn Lane and Coastguard Lane. I doubt that I will run these routes again, as it's unlikely we will make many trips to this part of the world now that Ilse has passed, but many memories were created. I ran and felt thankful.
There was a bit of humour here and there. I was so distracted and thrilled by the sight of deer leaping in the field to my right (after giving up any hope of spotting any) that I went the wrong way and found myself in a boggy field, sinking up to my ankles. I was lucky not to lose a shoe. I like to think that was Ilse's idea of a little joke. We had a similar moment on the beach when we were scattering her ashes. The wind had dropped and the sea was very calm. On the very last note of the song she had chosen, which we were playing through a phone, this huge wave came from nowhere and nearly drenched the lot of us. Perhaps that was Ilse telling us to lighten up and not be too solemn about it. She most definitely hadn't wanted a solemn send off.
Here are some of the beautiful places my runs have taken me to this weekend.
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