Who goes there?

Tonight's run had a character all of its own, and came as a clear reminder of why I'm lucky enough to live so close to a great trail running area.

I left the house and headed up our hill, jinked into an unadopted side road, ducked behind the garages, through a fenceline, and once again I was on military land, and after three quarters of a mile of running emerged from the trees atop Hungry Hill, where I can see most of  Caesar's Camp before me. 

By night time, there's little indication of what lies ahead. The few street lights of the Sandy Hill estate over to my left, and the distant glow of Farnborough airfield to my right give me my bearings, and occasionally a car will drive along Bourley Road, and pick out the northern perimeter; but other than that, the place is usually dark, and all mine.

Not tonight. As I cleared the treeline I immediately saw the lights from three slowmoving vehicles on three different tracks within the range. It looked like manoeuvres. Rats. Tonight's plan might have to go on hold.

I turned left onto the southern perimeter path and within half a mile was stopped by a fellow with a big rucksack and a gun, backlit by a stationary four tonne truck. In a thick scouse accent the options were made clear: "That way or turn round please chief". 

Extreme Trig Hugging

I went "that way". Down a steep descent into Long Valley, and my plans were scuppered already. I worked out how to box round, cut a corner or two and get back on line, but another couple of miles and I came across a barricade-and-sentry set up across the main firetrack. "Halt halt" came the command. Nice to see everyone in charge of a weapon was paying attention. I halted. Chatting with the young lass at the comfy end of the gun, it seemed that pretty much all of Caesar's Camp was in active operation tonight, and my best bet was to just run randomly, and politely swerve any attention as I found it.

So that was it. I jinked around a bit, followed some deer trails, and mountain bike singletrack through the woods, turning round a couple of times when I spotted the lines of olive twine and low-slung bashas, keen not to disturb the beauty sleep of Her Majesty's finest in their overnight camps.

Two-Handed Planking

Other than that, some reasonable, if haphazard running, and a bit of mucking about at my friendly neighbourhood trig point to give you something to look at.

Tonight's run: 7miles, 1:02hrs, 980cals, two semi-automatic rifles, two "Halt, halt"s and one trig point.

Janathon: 19days, 187miles.

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