Concerning cows, bridges, swears, and a toe

On her way back to Salford, this afternoon, the Minx kindly dropped me off in Hornby, just near the castle. From here I ran back up to Fleet Lane and crossed the Lune on Gressingham Bridge, the view from which is my main photo, today.

From there, I started up the west bank of the river, which would take me all the way to Kirkby Lonsdale and home: nine miles all in.

Well, it was a beautiful day, and not too hot, although I had taken the Minx's advice and put on plenty of suntan cream as well as a handful of ice cubes in my Camelbak.

I'd never run this far down the Lune before and although you would think it'd be easy enough to simply follow the river, occasionally the path diverts slightly inland. The first occasion was just north of Gressingham Bridge, where the path went through a field of sleepy but huge cows.

Now, I never used to worry about cows but a few years ago a friend of mine was attacked and badly injured by a herd -- possibly aggravated by the presence of his dog - and I've also had the not particularly pleasant experience of cows trotting after me. The bottom line is, I'd rather they weren't in fields that have public footpaths going through them.

Anyway, the cows showed no interest in me today and the path left the field and returned to the riverside. All good. Well, nearly; I had slightly mistimed my hydration and, despite the fact I'd yet to see another soul, I was looking for somewhere discreet to relieve myself.

This is probably why I wasn't looking at my feet and the ground immediately ahead of me but, whatever the reason, my right foot was suddenly brought to a jarring halt and I was in the air. In fact, I was completely off the ground for long enough to think "This is going to hurt".

And it did; knees, elbows, and palms, primarily, but, Lord, my big toe, too! I wondered whether I'd broken it. I looked back and saw a rock sticking just up out of the path. That was what had brought me down: "Bastard".

I climbed gingerly to my feet. A few cuts, no bad bleeding, my toe seemed to take my weight OK, so I tentatively set off, acutely aware that I had just over seven miles to go! By the time I reached the railway bridge at Arkholme (1st extra), though, I'd convinced myself it would be OK.

Just beyond Arkholme, the path diverts inland, as you can see from the next two Extras. The first bridge is unusable but you can just see where some planks have been put down to facilitate ramblers and runners. And the eagle-eyed amongst you might also have spotted some cows in the distance.

Without taking an uncharted and considerable detour, there was no way around the huge field that contained them, so I ran along the river bank, figuring the six foot drop to the water was negotiable if I needed to make an escape. Disappointingly, a couple of youngish looking cows took an interest in me and trotted along behind, quickly catching me up.

I slowed to a walk and watched them only out of the corner of my eye. I'm not sure where I read about this technique but it worked and they lost interest gratifyingly soon and peeled away. I decided I'd continue walking until a reached flimsy looking barbed wire fence, which created a narrow path alongside the river. Reaching it that, I started to run again.

Unfortunately, I quickly attracted the attention of some more cows. These ones were bigger and there were quite a few of them. The one at the front got quite close to me and started breathing heavily through it's nose - making those kind of chuffing noises - and even gave a little jump into the air. Time to go back to walking and ignoring...

I have to say, there being more cows this time - also bigger and apparently more excitable cows at that - it took a lot longer for them to lose interest and I still had a small entourage when I finally reached the fence and climbed over. This barrier being a bit more substantial, I had the confidence to stop and turn and face my persecutors. I won't repeat what I said but there was a choice swear word in there.

Still, this excitement had taken my mind of my toe for a while and I kept on going, eventually reaching the utilities bridge near Whittington (4th Extra). I was getting more nervous about getting home and confronting what was going on in my shoe.

When I did, though, I was relieved to find firstly that my sock wasn't bloody and that, upon removing that, the nail was intact. That was the good news. The whole of the top half of my toe was completely purple, though. I've never had bruising like that in my life.

However, by the time I'd showered - ouch on the cuts but not the toe - had something to eat, and enjoyed a nap, the adrenaline had long worn off and I could barely walk. God knows how long until I'll be able to run again :-/

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Reading: "Meet Matilda, Rocket Builder" by Dom Conlon