Jogger Blogger

As it was impractical for him to work at the moment he decided it was the perfect opportunity to get back to a level of fitness he hadn’t enjoyed for at least a decade. The good weather swung it for him; if it had been raining every day he would most definitely have had second thoughts. And when he went for his first run in the new regime, he wished it had been raining because, Christ, it was hard.

After a while, it got easier. It never got too easy though, which was good. Running first thing in the morning meant he had a clear head. When he ran back in the old days it was always in the evening, after a bucket-load of issues, problems and situations at work that were not always possible to resolve. That kind of stress weighed heavy and he wasn’t able to give getting fit his best shot, regardless of how much he wanted to. No, he didn’t miss those days at all.

He found he could think whilst out running. Well, perhaps ‘running’ is a little disingenuous. At his age the possibility of a heart attack loomed larger than before and he applied himself to this rediscovered method of exercise with suitable care. He jogged rather than ran. In terms of mph, he wasn’t sure when one became the other, but he was always knackered when he got back so he felt whatever speed he was travelling at was sufficient.

Anyway, back to thinking. At first, it was limited to self-analysis and survival; predominantly because what he was doing wasn’t fun. Thoughts such as ‘why the hell did you imagine you could still do this?’ and ‘if you fall over you’ll either end up in the canal or hospital’ were regulars. After a while, as the confidence grew, the thinking changed to more esoteric stuff. ‘How long did it take to make this towpath?’ was initially quite popular, followed by ‘I see that guy walking his dog every day when I’m jogging, and he always wears the same clothes. Does he need special clothing to walk the dog?’ There were others.

It didn’t stop there. When he ran along the roads he otherwise would have driven along, he realised there were gradients he hadn’t noticed when sat on a leather seat in his car. It made him consider his town more carefully, particularly when planning a jogging route. As he always jogged at the same time he began to notice patterns and repetition. Certain vehicles always parked in certain places when he jogged past. If there was even a slight deviation he would notice and start to think of reasons why. He had a vivid imagination and a lurid outlook on life. His thoughts at such times could be bizarre and generally perverse. But they were his thoughts – he kept them to himself.

He began to appreciate his environment more. Lockdown started in late March. The footfall on the towpaths by the various canals surrounding the town in which he lived began to increase as locals were forced to abandoned their cars and stay within an hour of their homes. The wildlife was seemingly unconcerned with the drama being played out across the world as they prepared for their own big days. By April, the patter of tiny webbed feet was evident as the eggs of ducks, geese and swans hatched and cute babies followed doting parents in convoy along the canals. He jogged on, spotting it all and being slightly embarrassed he’d not appreciated it fully when he was working all the time. He could smell the wild garlic. He noticed the flowers. His wife would have been impressed. She didn’t run though.

He was on nodding terms with the towpath and pavement regulars nowadays. The image of people being too wrapped up in their private worlds to acknowledge the existence of others had been well and truly punctured, even though the pandemic theoretically meant you needed to stay in your own space more than before. Not that there were too many people out and about when he jogged. He could hear cars whilst jogging along semi-deserted towpaths. Even after a couple of months he was still appreciating this strange juxtaposition. I know the world continues to turn, he thought, but it’s so tranquil where I am now.

The etiquette involved in passing others whilst out jogging was now second nature, when at first it was a complicated dance with very difficult steps to master. No words are needed; just a slight raising of an arm to salute someone stepping aside or stopping to allow him to pass. It reminded him of the half-arsed Heil Hitler salute from that bloke in Allo Allo. He didn’t tell anyone though – a private joke.

He calculated that in the thirty or so times he’d gone out jogging since lockdown started it had rained just once, and then for only a few minutes. Yes, he’d probably been lucky. He decided not to dwell too long on the matter of luck. It was a subject he knew best in its negative form. He didn’t want to ruin the relative calm his life was in at the moment. 

Overall then, life was acceptable. Good was pushing it a bit far given there was a pandemic sweeping through every corner of the country, but things could have been worse. He could have caught Covid-19. An injury might have prevented him from exercising at all. There were signs the lockdown restrictions were being eased. Perhaps the worst was over and life would start to get back to normal.

As with many of the others recently, this jogging day started with clear blue skies and the promise of unbroken sunshine. It was late May, and the grass in the gardens he ran past and saw on the towpaths was becoming burned from all the sun. May! He considered it an upside to the global warming conundrum. As he put on his running gear, which was essentially his ordinary sports gear re-purposed, he planned a route. It was a small town, and whilst the canals and fields retained their beauty he decided he needed a change as he was becoming slightly bored with repeating the same thing every couple of days. Call it an excess of marvellous sights if you want.

Route planned, he set off. It was going to be pastures new today. Every route started the same though, as there was only one way out of the estate in which he lived. It was downhill too, which allowed him to get the breathing right without overdoing it. Instead of turning left today when he reached the canal towpath, he was going to turn right and see what developed. He’d walked the route many, many years ago but couldn’t now remember what was there to see. It was travelling away from the town, but the towpath had been upgraded by the Canal and River Trust in an unprecedented fit of largesse recently. It was therefore easy jogging. He was quietly excited.

It was about a mile to the canal towpath. He jogged along easily, enjoying the sounds of the countryside wash over him. Despite the physical exertion involved, he was relaxed and in a rhythm that he felt would allow him to continue for hours without stopping should he feel like it. His geographical brain worked out it could mean he might get to Wales in that case but, as he knew he’d be turned around at the border, he opted to restrict himself to the standard one hour. Anyway, there was nowhere for him to put his passport.

He turned right when he reached the towpath. It was like entering a new world. Unlike his old towpath world though, this one was completely deserted. There was no-one walking along it, with or without dogs. The twittering of the birds, so commonplace on his other routes, had disappeared. He detected a chill in the air, even though the sun was shining brightly.

The towpath was indeed generally in a good condition, but there were areas that seemed to have been missed during the upgrade. He ran for 200-300 metres on perfectly flat ground, before the towpath inexplicably transformed into a succession of potholes and badly patched up track. Then, after another few hundred metres, it would revert back to a good surface. It was all very strange.

The canal was to his left as he ran along the towpath and away from the town. It was slightly raised from the fields to his right, so he had a good view of everything in them. This wasn’t very much, considering the season, but he wasn’t a farmer so he didn’t mentally debate the point too much. They probably knew what they were doing better than him. He did notice there seemed to be groups of stones lying in irregular locations in the brown soil of the fields quite close to the towpath. He hadn’t a clue what they represented, but he was a little intrigued. He’d investigate a map later.

He’d been running on this new route for five minutes or so when he heard the first splash. It’s a fish, he thought, and tried to turn round to check where the ripples came from. As he did so, he lost his balance on the uneven surface and fell to the ground. His first thought was did anyone see me do this? His second was am I OK? His third thought was my right ankle is hurting. As he sat on the towpath rubbing his sore ankle he heard a second splash. He instinctively looked at the water again to try to see where the noise had emanated from. It was somewhere in front of him, but impossible to properly triangulate.

The sky remained blue. The towpath remained devoid of people. No birds were singing. Come to think about it, there were no boats moored on the canal here and no waterfowl evident either. Most unusual. He got up gingerly and put weight on his damaged ankle. It hurt, so he decided he would have to retrace his steps and limp slowly home. His decision to leave his mobile phone at home was now being regretted. Perhaps someone out for a walk would be able to lend him their phone so he could contact his wife, assuming he saw anyone.

He set off slowly and uncomfortably back the way he came. He’d only travelled a few metres when he heard a voice, which was being amplified by a megaphone.

“Stay where you are. Don’t move.

The injured jogger looked round, but could see nobody. He carried on limping.

“I said stay where you are! If you disobey my instruction I’m afraid I will have no alternative but to persuade you in another way.” There was the sound of a shotgun being fired. “There will be no further warnings.”

Thoughts were racing through the jogger’s head now. He wished his newly-discovered ability to think whilst out jogging would leave him for a few moments, as the varying explanations being put forward were uniform in their belief things were looking bad.

 I’m not moving,” he shouted. “What do you want?”

There was movement ahead of him, in one of the fields next to the towpath. A man wearing a camouflage jacket appeared from a hedged area slightly below him. On his head was a Donald Duck swimming cap. If it hadn’t been for the shotgun he was pointing, the jogger would have started to laugh at the ridiculousness of it all.

The man put down his megaphone. “Well,” he said, “as you’re travelling on my land without permission, I reckon you owe recompense. I’m in a good mood today, so let’s call it £50.”

“£50? You don’t own this towpath. You certainly don’t own the canal. It’s extortion, plain and simple. Let me pass.”

The man stood firmly in his way. “There are folks around here who would agree with you I guess,” he said. “Not many, but some. Usually they are walking their dogs when I meet up with them, but by the time I’ve finished explaining to them why I’m right they tend to see my viewpoint just fine. See those stones in the fields?” He waved in a vague direction away from the canal. “Their dogs are buried there. It tends to focus their minds when something like that happens.”

“This is madness,” said the jogger. “I’m out exercising in a public place.”

“No,” replied the man, “you’re exercising on my property and without my permission. £50 or you’ll be staying here for a while.”

“Get lost. I know my rights. You have absolutely no power to threaten me like this. Anyway, I don’t have any money on me.” The jogger started to prepare to limp off.

“Stay where you are. My power, as you call it, comes from this gun. I will have no hesitation in using it, trust me.” To demonstrate, he cocked one barrel and fired at an area close to the jogger’s feet. The earth leapt up. “No money hey? Wallet then, or a ring? Your choice, but be quick. My finger is a bit itchy today. Must be the nice weather.”

The jogger considered his seemingly hopeless position. “No phone or ring I’m afraid. Now what? Do you kill innocent men who don’t do as they are told? Fuck off and annoy someone else, you piece of shit.” He got up and started limping along the towpath, refusing to look back

The blast from the shotgun hit the back of his left thigh. The jogger screamed as he fell over. Everything went black.

When he woke up, his wife was beside him, pressing a wet handkerchief against his forehead.

“Col, it’s me. You started screaming in your sleep, waking me up. Then I think you tried to get out of bed and managed instead to hit your head on the side table, knocking yourself out. Are you OK?”

Col took it all in, but very slowly. “My head hurts a bit, but I’m fine. What about my leg?”

“What about your leg?” replied his wife. “Is there a problem with it?”

“Yes. I got shot. Hurt my ankle too.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” asked his wife.

Col started to explain about the events that had unfolded on the towpath. As he continued he noticed his wife was finding it difficult to keep a straight face.

“You don’t remember do you?” she said. His mystified look answered the question. “You have discovered a liking for Tequila since lockdown started. We were watching some blood-thirsty Z-movie on Netflix earlier. It seemed to be a cross between Deliverance and American Werewolf in London. I was bored so I went to bed. You were enjoying it and said you’d follow after a nightcap which, to my reckoning, would be your fifth of the evening. You staggered up to the bedroom at 2am, apologising for being so late and saying you’d fallen asleep in front of the TV.”

“I wasn’t doing anything wrong,” said Col, feeling guilty all of a sudden.

“No, you weren’t,” agreed his wife. “In fact, you were very amusing when undressing in the dark. It was obvious you were pissed. You kept falling over. Anyway, you fell asleep straight away when you eventually got into bed and began snoring. Then the real excitement began.”

“I’m sorry,” said Col, quietly.

“Yes, I’m sure you are. For me, the best bit is that bloody film we were watching on Netflix. You’ve just dreamed the plot.”