Brathay Marches On
- Duncan
- 3 days ago
- 4 min read
Paddington Marches On
It's hazy, although some details crystal clear, the emotions, raw and unfiltered. Another nightmare. I'm in a house, I'm downstairs, with a child, not sure who's child but a young person, maybe 5 or 6 years old. The kettle is on, we're at the kitchen table, warm sunlight is streaming in but it doesn't feel like the afternoon. The click of the kettle, the muffled tick of a clock, light chirps of birds, but then a shocked, short shriek and a very definite thud, a conclusion which can be heard from the floor above. The child and I climb the stairs. I lead the way. As I place my hand on the door knob, a sense of dread comes over me, a sickness in my stomach, like when you're not welcome at a party and are not sure what to say to overcome the uncomfortableness. As I grip the handle and rotate the brown bakelite, I gently push the door ajar with a little effort The child remains behind me. As the door slowly scuffs open, pushing against the thick carpet, the scene reveals a woman seated on a chair. She's looking up to the ceiling, She's wearing a crisp white linen shirt, the sort that's got an elongated v-neck but is embroidered around the edge with beads, like you'd find a female native American wearing in old Westerns. The little beads in rows, white, blue, red, yellow, white and blue. They're arranged to adorn the neck and opening of the blouse around the neck and down to the breastbone. But, there, a full stop. The hilt of a large knife, judging by the size of the brown, leather coated handle, is sticking upright, pointing almost directly up to the ceiling as if it has been slammed into the human knife holder. A large irregular, amoeba-like red blob is beginning to infect the area around the plunged insertion. I know this person, although I'm not sure if they are a current partner, an ex-partner but I have the feeling it is someone I cared about. All I can see though, all that occupies my eyes is the stiff, leather appendage emanating from where a protrusion is not welcome. I feel hot, panicked, sweaty. I start to race through my mind for answers, for questions too. What do I say to the Police? What do I tell the child? Who did this? How can I have done this, when I was downstairs? Who will believe me? What explanation can I offer? Frantically I peer upwards, no loft hatch. What if 'they', the person who did this are still here? There is no bed. There is no where to hide. There is no perpetrator. The windows, transparently locked. No way out, no way in. The sirens sound.
I wake, my heart is beating fast, I still feel ill to the pit of my stomach, but not sick, there's no bile rising but I'm hot, worried and yet I need to go back to sleep to solve the mystery, to turn the page on the enigma. I think Agatha Christie, Sherlock Holmes. What happened, am I to blame? How do I solve it?
Unfortunately, it's time for breakfast and I'm late. Panicked and late. Just two crumpets and not enough time for porridge. No coffee, just extra orange juice. I really hope I've eaten enough, I've got another marathon to run. What if I've not slept well again?
I tell the story to Ella, to Dr Katie. There is no solution, but even now I still feel like there's an answer to the hideous puzzle.
Maybe the grotesque went before me today? An animal skull, I'd not previously noticed half way up Devil's Gallop, what appeared almost like a funeral pyre just after Fell Foot, a dead crow near Storr's Hall, numerous pheasants, and squirrels displayed as gruesome bloody pressed flowers into the road.
The sleep induced visionary image has remained in my mind throughout the run today.
It's been a good day for the legs, no phantom aches in the shins, no menacing murmurings in the achilles or calves, no protesting grumbles from the quads. A comfortable finish and I had the privilege of presenting Claire with her finish medal for today. Some of the other runners just seem to be going from strength to strength, Rob continues to eat into the record for the FTK of the 10in10. Izzy seems to be just rocking out consistent times, Katie H is getting stronger as is the Welsh maestro Gary. Consistency really is the key and Dr David, Ashleigh, Kevin, John, Stuart, Susie, Bassit and Johnny are all staying within a range of regular steady finishes. What's important though is to take each day at a time, regardless of the cliché, some days it is simply crap out there, it might be a niggle, a worrying injury, even the thought of an injury, an unsettled stomach, or simply because your head is not quite in the right place. At 9:30 though, you tighten your laces and begin to put one foot in front of the other for a little over 20 miles. Then do it again a day later. Rinse and repeat, but sometimes, just sometimes, you might get soap in your eye.
H-O-T-T-O-G-O, you can take me Hot to Go, today the shortest finish time. What else is left in the legs or the tank? My head's willing, the weather is great, the team are having brilliant bits of banter, mostly at Rob's expense, perhaps it's because Matt is envious he can't take him to task, especially as he's been a previous winner of the Windermere marathon?
I chucked the TV on tonight whilst getting ready for dinner, a solution to my criminal conundrum, the cigar chewing Columbo?
Just before dinner, the physios treated us to a rehearsal for their own sports day tomorrow.
And DJ Théo's tune of today...I look forward to his messages, his thoughts for the day. At least one of my children are thinking of me, and he with his own impending marathons of A level exams. Rinse and repeat, son. x
Comments