Where have all the trees gone?

My usual route throws me an unexpected curve ball, while the Global Solidarity Run is an excuse to take it easy - at least, that's the plan

Running in the woods a few years ago.

As the seasons turn and time moves on, my memories of Ireland are starting to fade into the past, and I’m back running my old routes as though nothing ever happened. 

Traipsing around my usual Dartington loop this week, I realised that one thing that was different now than in Ireland was that I knew what was coming next. I knew where I was going, what it would look like, and roughly how it would feel. In Ireland, I never knew what was around the next corner. My route might duck into some woodland, or I might arrive in a colourful village with a little pastry shop, or I might find myself unexpectedly on a beach running along the sand. The whole thing was like one long magical mystery tour.

In some ways it felt comforting to be back running in my old stomping ground, to know exactly what was coming next.

But the warm, fuzzy feeling of the old trails was disturbed suddenly by some red tape across the path, and the noise of machinery.