Cut Short
My hairdresser doesn’t force me to partake in an hours worth of small talk and almost never asks me about my holiday plans for the year. We talk a little bit about running and then he cuts my hair. Job done.
For this I am grateful. As a result, every 4 weeks or so, I am prepared to travel 13 miles across SW London for a no nonsense trim.
Today I had plans to combine my coiffeur with a mammoth run home along the Capital Ring from Richmond Bridge to Streatham Common, about 15 miles worth of green trail running.
Not having run more than 10k for at least a year this was probably an unrealistic goal and the moment I walked away from the salons air conditioning and into the furnace of downtown Mortlake I decided there was no need to extend the challenge by heading to Richmond first – I could just pick up the Capital Ring trail around Pen Ponds.
By the time I crossed Richmond Common and arrived at the toilets by Robin Hood Gate I looked a sight. My face was beetroot and the sweat and hair gel had turned my eyes equally crimson. I scared a Japanese lady coming out of the cubicle and then shocked myself when I caught a glimpse in the mirror. I wasted about 15mins trying to cool off in the drinks fountain, re-filled my bottle and set off in search of the Capital Ring signs.
Sign posts are usually excellent for the Capital Ring and I had chosen to run without a map. I didn’t see any at all in Richmond Park and it wasn’t marked on their information points but they appeared again as I left the gate and continued regularly throughout Wimbledon Common.
Wimbledon Common has to be one of the best places to run if you’re foolish enough to head out under the mid-day sun. There is so much tree cover and the dappled shade provides such a relief.
It’s a shame my route took me straight across the park, 2k and the shade was gone, as were the capital ring signs.
Life got a little more tetchy from this point. Having missed my sign I ran 1k up the common and then 1k back, then I overshot the turn off point again and ran another 1k in the wrong direction. Knowing I still had Wimbledon Park, Wandsworth Common, Tooting Common and Streatham Common to find I began to lose heart.
I resorted to google maps which didn’t show the Capital Ring but did at least indicate that Wimbledon Park wasn’t too far away. I trogged down a nettle filled snicket that skirted Wimbledon Tennis courts and arrived at the corner of Wimbledon Park only to discover that at least half of the park was sealed off for a private golf course. I was losing the will to live and if I couldn’t get water soon I may well lose the ability to live. Another kilometre was wasted trying to find the entrance to the park.
I’m afraid I fished out my life line and rang the non-runner. I blurted out something rasping and desperate sounding “….no water…..can’t go on…”
Ten minutes later my knight in shining armour arrived with an air conditioned car and bottle of chilled water and a can of refreshing Stella. I drank the Stella and used the cold evian to reduce the inflammation of my throbbing plantar fascia.
I’ve got 4 weeks to build myself up before I get my haircut again.
Originally published on my warriorwomen blog.
