A thick carpet of snow covered our immediate surrounds and, after fighting my children into waterproof clothes, we ventured to a nearby hill, armed with a dusty sledge. Unfortunately, we were not alone. Most of the town had descended on the hill, turning a humble sledging opportunity into a coronavirus super spreader event. So we about turned and opted for a winter walk instead, accompanied by two grumpy children and a redundant sledge.
Before returning home though, I left my wife with the grumbling duo, offloaded my coat and joggers, and headed off for my Sunday long run.
I was immediately grateful for the opportunity to have a snowy adventure of my own, revelling in the scenery created by a winter storm that had transformed familiar trails into movie-like scenes. Also grateful for my trail shoes, it was apparent early in my run that I would have to have my wits about me to judge snow depth, slippage potential and snow-covered water hazards.
The kilometres ticked by, albeit at a slower pace than normal, and - had it not been for the repeated photographic stops - I would have felt far more tired than usual. Running through snow is not too dissimilar to running on sand. Everything requires that little bit more effort and one's concentration level needs to be on a higher plane to avoid rolling an ankle or face planting into a drift.
However, if you find a track or trail away from the crowds of snowmen-making families and sledging teenagers, a blanket of snow brings with it a magic silence and stillness that is unique to the conditions. At one point - the furthest point from home on my run - I stopped on a side-track that was, as our now recycled Christmas cards professed, deep and crisp and even. There was no one else around, no human or automotive noises to be heard and the only tracks in front of me were of the avian variety. In reality, I was probably no more than five miles from a McDonalds, but this could have been somewhere in the Arctic Circle rather than Hampshire. It was wonderful.
Thankfully, I managed to get around and home without falling foul of Mother Nature and, despite having fingers like frozen chipolatas, loved every minute of my snowy Sunday long run. As for my sledge-cursing offspring, they had spent the duration of my run creating a spectacular snowman in the back garden but, having exhausted the novelty of the conditions, were now back on a screen.
Snow or no snow, some things never change.
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