How does Good King Wenceslas like his pizza?

December 26, 2010 at 7:54 pm | Posted in Uncategorized | Leave a comment

In my house, the feast of Stephen is just a bookmark between Jesus’s birthday on the 25th, and my birthday on the 27th. Nice that Stephen was a Capricorn as well though.

This year though, we were going for carol re-enactment, and Boxing Day found us down by the railway line gathering firewood. The snow was a lot less deep and crisp and even once we had dragged some logs through it….

It was a bit like Christmas morning itself though, rooting through the snowy wrapping to find logs lying beneath like presents (not telling you where). I mentioned to Becki the thought of blogging about it later, and she pointed out that I hadn’t been running, so I couldn’t.

 And that’s why, an unloading of wood later, I was packed up for a run-ette in the darkening evening, down to see the sea.

Yesterday’s sledging bruises competed for attention with where my shins had been scuffling with logs today, and I was shuffling a bit as I went to find the cliff path to Dawlish Warren.

Microspikes went on as the path glazed over, and the headtorch went on as the sun went down. Lights from the warren and Exmouth in the distance stopped at the sea. Further away, sparkly ships had tied up to the horizon for the night.

Down the hill, and upping the pace across the shiny carpark skating rink, slippy people shake puzzled heads at me. Some of my best runs, and my best anythings, have the background music of people shaking heads and worse.

Back along the sea wall now, and the sea is getting wilder. Foaming snowy breakers daring you to sledge in them. Turning back to Dawlish, I run through a last gasp of snow on the beach, before surprising myself with the sand being even harder to run through (and reminding myself that I might want to get some practice in before running the Grizzly beach for the first time in ages next spring).

Spikes off now, and I’m running holding them in a jingle-bells sort of way before ticking them in my bumbag (and getting my hat out as the wind rises).

The snow has stopped reflecting now, so I do it instead. Up ahead, the coast rambles on to Christmasses in Teignmouth, Shaldon and Torbay, and a different lighthouse winks at me way out somewhere less safe. Becki will have lit the woodburner and warned the Baileys, and meanwhile the enfs are tucked up happily elsewhere nursing their own happy sledge-scrapes.

 The snow is going to be thawing now, taking the last days of the year with it. Next year and after, there will be more snow, and more wood too. And more birthdays.

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