When the weather's good, most runs or rides can be classified with the unimaginative adjectives 'nice' or 'good'. Occasionally they might achieve a notch up on the superlative scale - 'energising' or 'excellent' perhaps. Even less often they're elevated further - and a single adjective is inadequate for those, though if forced to choose one with a gun to my head, I might go for 'fantastic', or even - pass the sickbag - 'life-affirming'.
Today was one of those times. I was out for 74 minutes, and probably only 6 of those minutes made it into that top category (though the rest were definitely 'excellent'). But those 6 minutes - goodness me - what a difference they make to everything. I want to try to describe the feeling. In my case - and if you needed a sick bag for the last paragraph you may need a sick bucket for this one - it's a combination of a sense that at that moment there is literally nothing else you would rather be doing and nowhere else you'd rather be, a surge of elation, and a feeling that you're totally at the top of your game.
I get that feeling in two circumstances. Or one, depending on your point of view. They are descending big mountains very quickly on a bicycle, and descending hills or mountains on foot (running) on difficult terrain. And with the latter, I'm normally listening to music. (No chance of that on the bike; there are too many things trying to kill you [other road users, cattle, sheep, gravel, blow outs, your own misjudgment] to justify cutting off a vital sense).
Take this morning for example. The 6 minutes of delight came after I'd climbed up to the telecomms tower on Croker Hill / Sutton Common. From there you can look west across the whole of Cheshire and into North Wales, and east across the hills of the Peak District. It's fabulous, even if the spot itself has got a slight Cold War feel to it:
From there, I started the descent home. I had 'Nothing Else Matters' by Metallica on Spotify, I'd just seen a herd of 40 deer leaping hedges, the sun was rising over Shutlingsloe (the Matterhorn of East Cheshire don't you know), and I was dancing over the deep ruts of the dried out pasture with a lightness of foot that had appeared miraculously from somewhere. For those 6 minutes, I was in another zone; deep concentration so that I didn't turn an ankle, but still with an intense appreciation of my surroundings. It was fabulous and zen-like.
As I say, swooping descents off Pyrenean - for the most part - mountains are the other occasions when that same feeling creeps up on me. The only other times I can recall it are from when I used to row - when a rowing eight finally manages to achieve perfect timing, with blades all entering and exiting the water simultaneously and the boat perfectly balanced, that's pretty amazing too.
What I'm left with a few hours after this morning's run is the wish, or hope, that everyone could feel something similar to what I've been describing, even if only occasionally (it doesn't happen more than 2 or 3 times a year in my case). It feels transformative; de-aging, restorative, strengthening. Although my examples are all athletically-related, that's just my preference. I imagine the same feeling could be achieved through singing in a choir, playing in a band, dancing, or building or making something. I think it probably has to be active rather than passive - listening to a piece of music that you love may be transporting, but it hasn't got that element of personal input that feels so vital.
I think that's the point of this piece; if you haven't got something in your life that hasn't got the potential to create what I've tried to relate, try to find it. You'll forget your worries, you'll realise the inconsequentiality of much of what surrounds us, and you'll enhance your insight into what really matters. Go for it - that's my deep and meaningful Easter message.
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