more night running

We convene again, eight sons of Kent and one Zimbabwean. we shiver in the dark and the cold. it is mobilise or freeze so we mobilise. the goal, ten miles of cross country running followed by a pint. we run 100 yards down the lane and then turn and literally plunge straight down into the valley. this sets the tone, for the next two hours we are either going up at steep angles or going down, running and slithering in a rough zigzag formation through the sucking mud. We need to be adroit, low branches whip back at our faces and on one sharp descent the rusting hulk of a wheelbarrow looms at us in our lights.  We run on, crossing windswept, rocky fields. We run down a sunken lane and are startled by a large deer.  on one long incline I  drop back, turn my head torch off and savor the absolute blackness and quiet, all I can hear is the wind in the branches like a marching army and my metronomic foot beat. Jerry is our general, he amazes me with his route finding in the dark, he is unerring, alien, instinctive and sure although he is still wearing his ghastly union jack shorts. around mile seven i get hungry, i am consoled by the thought of the steak in my fridge, I will eat it when i get home. this has turned out to be one of the toughest runs I've ever done with it's endless hills, mud and miles of stiles, it ends with a climb up a bitch of a hill and we stagger into the blacksmith arms. i have a cold fosters and we debrief and share our thoughts. I get home at 23h45. my wife has eaten my steak.