My parents have recently moved back to Wales after a brief defection across the border to England. This meant a Welsh running treat for me this morning: the skies were clear and slightly pink, the hills were black and brooding and the air was crisp and fresh, perfect. The first part of my run was slightly hairy, with drivers whizzing past me at a similar speed to the RAF jet curving overhead. I ducked nicely to the side, squelching through mud on the verges, as drivers kept their heads down and focused only on their destination.
My run became slightly less risky on the return roads, taking in the stunning views and the smell of coal fires. I wondered if many people run around here, imagining people don’t dare venture along these windy roads. My question was answered on a later walk to the river when we saw three separate runners – all women – enjoying the beautiful morning and all wisely wearing high-vis clothing (photos to follow on my return).