A pleasant sunny morning greets me as I look out of the window, which affirms my decision: I pull on my running gear. It’s been a while since I managed to get out for a run at home. Various trips, and some very soggy mornings, have got in the way of my schedule ever since. But this morning… nothing can stop me, except me.
Now wearing leggings, tee shirt and cap I do what I like doing: make a drink, put some music on, and sit down with an interesting book. Some time later I look at the clock, somehow it is already 7am.
I take my wife a cup of tea, she looks at me suspiciously: “Have you been for a run? Or are you going?”
I consider my options for a moment. “Been..?” I suggest.
“Then how come you’re not sweaty or muddy?” She asks.
“Going!” I say.
I set off, taking my usual ten kilometre trail, a large part of which is through a wood.
The last time I went through this particular wood was about a month ago, back then the nettles were starting to grow tall, but the paths were still navigable. ‘Hopefully the dog walkers have kept them open’, I think.
Upon reaching the woods, the first path I take skirts the edge. It’s quite badly overgrown, now, but still obvious. I round the corner and find the small gap which leads in to the depths of the forest. To get in I have to squeeze through some thorns and nettles, then the path opens up in front of me.
A few metres in I see an unexpected sight, a man sitting under a tree. He’s wrapped up in a thick hoodie and has a long beard. “Alright?” I say, he doesn’t acknowledge me but seems conscious, so I forge on. The path forks left and then seems to peter out. I backtrack and take the right fork, until it, too, begins to peter out.
‘I probably just need to push through this bit,’ I think, lifting my knees high to trample down the nettles and brambles that have swarmed across the path. As I move forward they bounce back up behind me. I press on, expecting to pick up the path again. But the path has disappeared. Completely disappeared.
I stop and look around me, the nettles are about six feet tall here, the brambles sit closer to the ground, but are still pretty high. The tree canopy extends above my head.
“This isn’t the path,” I say, to no one in particular.
I back track again, lifting my knees high, looking for the fork. I can’t find it either. I slowly realise that I don’t have much concept of how far I went in to the wood.
‘This is… less than optimal,’ I think, pausing to consider my options. I am now surrounded by six foot high nettles and snagging brambles reach up to my waist. I make for the trunk of a tree because that’s at least something to aim for.
I usually like forests, but here the leaves seem to press in on me from all directions, I am alone in a bubble of green. ‘This is annoying,’ I think.
Reaching the tree I try to look around, in the distance, through the other trees, I can see a roof. My internal compass is usually pretty good, but I thought that there were no houses in that direction. I begin to doubt myself. For one of the very few times that I can remember, I am completely lost. ‘This is ridiculous,’ I think.
Taking stock of my situation I realise I have limited options. ‘Perhaps I will have to live here,’ I think. I consider the limitations of life in the forest, realising that at least I would have a neighbour - who doesn’t seem too noisy.
An alternative, I think, is to shout for help. This is something I refuse to do. Under almost any circumstances. ‘That’s interesting,’ I think.
A recent scheduled run had to be cancelled because I was on a train to Manchester, preparing to talk to some people about becoming aware of limitations of their thought processes. ‘Stupid irony,’ I think.
After some further painful self reflection, several more stings, and a few failed attempts to find a path, a third option eventually presents itself in the shape of a longish stick. I pick it up and begin to slash at brambles and nettles, creating my own path. I’m still getting stung, but not so badly. I choose the direction that I think I came from and continue slashing.
In total I’m lost in the woods for ten minutes before finding a way out. ‘I was lost, but now am found,’ I think, making a mental note to never try that again. Then I turn a corner and head home, sweaty, muddy, stung, and just a fraction more self aware.
‘Saturday columns’ are short, (relatively) funny, basically true* stories of mundanity and mishaps from my life.
*Some names, locations and other details may have been changed to protect the guilty.
I read your words and didn’t realise that I’m in that forest , the forest of grief ! I’m lost too being stung by nettles and brambles as I try to find my way out . I beat them with a stick everyday to make a path but it’s so difficult. One day I hope I can say “ I was lost but now I’m found “ but I fear it will take a long time . I often smile as your words make me chuckle but today you made me think x Thankyou x