After the fall
Coming off a hill in the Burren, on a beautiful, still day, I kicked a stone and everything turned upside down
It was all going so swimmingly. Twice this week I arrived at my destination before I’d even realised it. What, we’re here already? I’d been running with people, chatting away happily and not even noticing the miles zipping by under me. I’d been taken down secret “ghost trails” along the huge Cliffs of Moher, and the sun was even shining, finally.
And then, 20 miles into a run across the rock-strewn alien landscape of the Burren, thud, my toe hit a rock, I was in the air, thud, my chest crashed down on the ground. I couldn’t breathe. I hauled myself up. There was blood on my hands, on my knees. On my shorts. Black thoughts filled my mind. This was bad. Why couldn’t I breathe?
