As the evenings steadily grow darker and the temperatures finally start behaving as they should for the time of year, I tend to see it as a signal rather than a deterrent. Summer mileage is all well and good, but autumn and winter are when I usually start upping the ante. The morning runs get a little longer, the Saturday adventures get a little more ambitious, and before long I'm convincing myself that running ridiculous distances in near-freezing temperatures is perfectly normal behaviour.
Most people disagree.
In fact, pretty much everyone I've spoken to about my routine considers it somewhere between peculiar and mildly concerning. The idea of voluntarily getting up at 4:30am two or three times a week to go running in the dark seems to baffle people.
The thing is, I don't even set an alarm.
I simply wake up naturally, pull on my running gear, do a quick stretch to persuade my ageing body that movement is indeed a good idea, and head out of the door.
To me, it's one of the best parts of the day.
There's something strangely peaceful about being out before the rest of the world wakes up. The roads are quiet. The streets are empty. The only company tends to be a collection of neighbourhood cats, the occasional fox, and this week, for the first time ever, a badger that wandered across my path close enough for me to properly appreciate just how substantial they are.
Add one of my favourite beer podcasts into the headphones and I'm perfectly content.
An hour or so later I'm back home, showered, fed, armed with a coffee and a cup of tea, endorphins happily coursing through my system and mentally prepared for whatever chaos the day intends to throw at me.
It's a pretty good way to start the morning.
This week I decided to stretch the midweek routine slightly, increasing my standard pre-breakfast outing from 10k to eight miles. That's about the limit of what I'd consider comfortable on absolutely no fuel. Any further and I'd probably start eyeing up discarded crisp packets for nutritional value.
The Saturday Long Run
Saturday brought noticeably cooler conditions, which suited me just fine.
The plan was straightforward enough: a 22-mile trail run.
Somewhere along the way, however, I apparently decided that 22 miles wasn't quite sufficient and added another three miles to the route. For reasons I can no longer remember.
At the time it probably seemed entirely logical.
The run itself went well enough, but my Garmin decided to throw a small tantrum. It repeatedly paused itself and managed to lose around two miles' worth of data.
Non-runners will understandably struggle to appreciate why this is irritating.
Runners, however, will fully understand the pain.
It isn't the lost miles themselves that matter; after all, the legs still ran them. It's the incomplete statistics afterwards. The missing evidence. The inability to pore over splits, pace graphs and elevation data while pretending not to care about such things.
Highly frustrating.
Beer O’clock
Thankfully I knew there was an appropriate reward waiting later in the day.
Every Saturday at 4pm, without fail, I have a virtual beer session with a good mate. It's a tradition that started during lockdown and has somehow become completely sacrosanct.
I suspect our respective wives sometimes question our commitment to it.
To us, however, it's simply a long-distance pub session.
Living far enough apart means spontaneous pints aren't really an option, so we improvise. A few hours on FaceTime, a selection of beers and plenty of discussion covering everything from brewing and running to music, life and general nonsense.
It's become one of those strange rituals that simply stuck.
Even better, we've now entered what we affectionately refer to as the Christmas Shared Box.
Yes, I appreciate that it's ridiculously early.
No, I don't care.
The concept is simple. We each buy ten beers: five from breweries we already know and love, and five from breweries neither of us have tried before. Then we work through them together over the coming weeks. Naturally, a few bonus beers have found their way into the line-up as well, including my limited-edition imperial stout homebrew.
Research purposes, obviously.
This week's selection didn't disappoint.
We kicked things off with a Sierra Nevada Wet Hop IPA, moved on to a fantastic Raspberry Saison from Burning Sky, and finished with a hazy IPA from the mighty Nothing Bound, a brewery that has rapidly become one of my absolute favourites.
I'll log more detailed thoughts as we work through the box.
A Final Pint and a Brew Day
As I sit writing this, I'm slowly making my way through a can of Hop Sauce from Dark Revolution.
A cracking beer.
More on Dark Revolution, and indeed the man behind it, will undoubtedly feature in a future ramble.
To round off what has been a thoroughly satisfying week of running and beer, I also managed to brew my Christmas cask beer.
Officially it's a Best Bitter.
Unofficially it's wandered somewhere into English Pale Ale territory.
Not that I'm complaining.
The plan is to serve it through the beer engine over Christmas. It seemed only polite to ensure there was something home-brewed on hand when the festive period arrives.
After all, it would be rude not to.
Let's see what next week brings
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