Are you an adventurous person? Up until a few weeks ago, I would certainly say that I wasn’t. I thought that to be truly adventurous, you needed to be scooting down zip wires and engaging in hand-to-hand combat. Or, to place it in the running world, to be adventurous here would be to leap over fells at midnight, to run in ice and snow or sand and rocks for days on end, with nothing but a pair of poles and a flapjack for company.
An adventurous runner is someone who will wee with gay abandon behind the smallest of outcrops; someone who leaps through streams without concerning themselves with the discomfort of wet socks; someone who sets out for a run in the morning and doesn’t return until sunset; someone who – whisper it – wears shorts.