20-minute writing exercise

So yesterday I went for a run, and when I got back I was inspired to do a 20-minute writing exercise, writing non-stop on a timer, using my run as inspiration. And here is what I wrote – unadulterated.

I start slowly, the air cold from the wind blowing across the top of the hill. I shiver. I get to the first hill and slow even more, forcing my way up. The wind whistles through my earphones, drowning out the book I’m listening to. My breathing gets ragged, my lungs start to burn. I am too busy watching the floor, trying to avoid tripping on the ruts to look at the scenery. The grass is long and coarse, mixed with nettles and flowering plants, purple and pink. I push through them as they cling to my legs, like they’re trying to pull me back or trip me up.

I start downhill. Finally. Giving my lungs a respite, and my breathing slows a little. I am running through a tunnel of trees, the branches interlacing above my head and dappling the floor with spots of light amongst the gloom. The ground is soft and muddy underfoot, with a layer of early mulch over it, making running slippery and treacherous. I disturb an owl in the branches on my left, and watch it glide across the path in front of me, its variegated brown wings stretched wide, its tail extended like a fan, and its head strangely foreshortened due to its rounded shape, so different from other birds of prey.

I overtake a walker and three dogs. The largest, black and white and shaggy, with a huge velvety muzzle and friendly eyes, runs with me for a few feet, constantly turning its head to look up at me, its mouth open in a lolling smile, as if saying ‘thanks for the run new friend!’

As the miles progress: 1, 2, 3, my feet start to ache from the impact, and a dull gripey pain starts up in my hip. It is deep inside the joint and chronic, making me limp. But I’m determined to continue.

The sun emerges and the clouds dissipate, turning from a threatening dirty grey to innocuous, fluffy white. The sky is a light, washed-out blue behind them, and the sun is a bright ball, hanging low in the sky. Or is that because I’m high up in the hills, running to meet it? The light splinters on the lense of my glasses, sending shards of prismatic light across my vision.

The sun is warm, but the wind cold and it feels like the taste of sweet and sour – a contradiction, good but bad, comforting but jarring. The sharp wind presses sweaty clothing against my wet back and pulls it away again, creating clammy coldness, while the sun prickles my face with heat.

I am near the finish and push myself faster on the last downward stretch, the hard, cratered earth sending shockwaves through my feet up my ankles and into my calf muscles like waves of prickly heat.

As I reach the car I slow to a walk, and feel the hip protest once more, a pain I had managed to push to one side before the change of pace. I open the door feeling spent but satisfied.