My favorite complaint about Oxford is its teeny tiny size. I'm training for yet another marathon, which means sixteen- to eighteen-mile runs at least once a week, which last time resulted in a few rather unfortunate run-ins with cows.
This time, I've gotten to know the area a bit better and found a lovely path following the Thames for miles and miles, which, technically, could take me all the way to London. It won't, however, because I run in the opposite direction, north through the Thames river valley, and into wide open fields where soon there's not a building in sight. Just miles and miles of fields, and, of course, new dangers.
Mile eight of yesterday's run found me blissfully trotting along in one of these fields, enjoying the peace and quiet of the river, when suddenly, I rounded a bend and saw them coming at me: sheep! Not just one or two sheep. A herd of sheep. Maybe a hundred, maybe more.
Worse, they were being herded. There was the sheepdog barking them forward, there was the farmer driving them from behind, and now here comes me, sprinting right for them, which was no less surprising for me than for the sheep.
"Baaaaaaaaaah!" they called.
"BAAAAAH!" I cried back.
Now, of course, the sheep saw themselves as being herded from all sides, so they reacted as sheep usually do: blind panic. Sheep everywhere! I considered jumping off the narrow path, but then I'd be running through some random field and did it belong to the farmer? Would the farmer like that? I couldn't cut through the herd without dispersing sheep everywhere, and the farmer was giving me a look that, if I wasn't already running, would have set me off at a sprint immediately.
So, I turned tail and was chased for the next mile or so. By sheep. What can I say? At least it was good training: I can't remember the last time I've run so fast.
This time, I've gotten to know the area a bit better and found a lovely path following the Thames for miles and miles, which, technically, could take me all the way to London. It won't, however, because I run in the opposite direction, north through the Thames river valley, and into wide open fields where soon there's not a building in sight. Just miles and miles of fields, and, of course, new dangers.
Mile eight of yesterday's run found me blissfully trotting along in one of these fields, enjoying the peace and quiet of the river, when suddenly, I rounded a bend and saw them coming at me: sheep! Not just one or two sheep. A herd of sheep. Maybe a hundred, maybe more.
Worse, they were being herded. There was the sheepdog barking them forward, there was the farmer driving them from behind, and now here comes me, sprinting right for them, which was no less surprising for me than for the sheep.
"Baaaaaaaaaah!" they called.
"BAAAAAH!" I cried back.
Now, of course, the sheep saw themselves as being herded from all sides, so they reacted as sheep usually do: blind panic. Sheep everywhere! I considered jumping off the narrow path, but then I'd be running through some random field and did it belong to the farmer? Would the farmer like that? I couldn't cut through the herd without dispersing sheep everywhere, and the farmer was giving me a look that, if I wasn't already running, would have set me off at a sprint immediately.
So, I turned tail and was chased for the next mile or so. By sheep. What can I say? At least it was good training: I can't remember the last time I've run so fast.
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