It is with great pleasure that I make a post to this blog this evening, as it means I am alive. Of course, this is something that I am generally grateful for on a day to day basis, in fact I’d go so far as to say both oxygen and living are right up my street. But on this occasion I actually nearly died. No this is not a melodramatic post in which I sex events up, everything I write is of the utmost truth.
It all started on a dark, thunderous night. An owl perched upon my windowsill, a look of intense longing in its eye for its deceased wife and chil…oh bollocks to it…it all started on Friday night when I decided in my wisdom to head up to Troodos mountains in Cyprus (where I am currently lucky enough to live) for a lengthy morning run. As LJMM is away, this seemed like the perfect retreat to while away the days until her return, not least because the 8 mile route I had in mind would be concluded with a pleasant afternoon in the sun, with the dog sleeping by my side, fish and chips in front of me and my faithful Kindle providing me with some easy to read yet gripping fiction from Lee Child.
So off we popped on our drama free, owl free Saturday morning with just the essentials in tow. I have been running for over ten years now, and so I knew what kind of impact the run would have on my body, what conditions to expect and so forth, so as well as additional layers if needed I took a full Camelbak of water, a decision I am now very glad of.
On the hour long drive to the mountains, myself and Dog discussed how much we were looking forward to the run, our intentions for that evening and our thoughts on peanut butter. As drives go it was a pleasurable one, made only better by Dog’s rendition of Dionne Warwick’s Heartbreaker which, incidentally, is a classic.
Anyway, we arrived late morning and immediately kitted up. Collars were attached, smartphone apps were initiated, a little bit of nervous wee at the thought of the steep hills was produced. For the record, I should point out that I hate running up steep hills, I do not have a problem with urinary incontinence. And if I did I probably wouldn’t be out running up mountains. Although I hear there’s all sorts you can get at the chemist to help you crack on with a normal day now.*
The route I had chosen was one that I and LJMM had partially walked some months previously. It had been a lovely day, a really nice stroll out for about 2 miles and then back on ourselves, but the thing that stuck most in my mind was that we had turned around because we had ended up in the middle of nowhere with no signposts as to which trail we should take, and we had no idea how long the route was.
How I got from that, to 4 months later deciding it would be a good idea to ‘run out and explore it’, I will never know. I didn’t even know for sure that the trail was 8 miles long, that was a little gem that I had unearthed online on some obscure webpage, a tiny comment buried in a mass of literature on the trail of choice. Still, it had to be worth a try.
So off we ran, the sun still warm despite the time of year, Dog almost collapsing with excitement at the array of smells and sights he had been presented with, and he was off the lead. The first 1.5 miles went really smoothly, I was in the right frame of mind and physical state for a good slog and I felt incredibly optimistic about the next hour or so.
It didn’t last long.
At the 2.3 mile point, I took my eye off the trail to take in some of the breath-taking scenery. What I must stress at this point is that Troodos really is well worth a visit. It is absolutely beautiful. In many places the scenery rolls on for as far as the eye can see, until it meets the horizon which simply forms a mass of colourful trees, blue sky and rolling hills. But what I should also stress is that it is best viewed from a stationary perspective. That means stood still with a massive, lop-sided grin on your face that scares members of the opposite sex away – not running at full pelt over a rocky, narrow trail.
Before I knew what was happening, I was heading toward the ground at a great pace and thousands upon thousands of years of evolution kicked in to ensure my limbs were suitably placed to protect my head as I fell. I had clipped a rock with my toe and it had been enough to send me flying. I hit the ground and I hit the ground hard. At this point, two things happened.
Firstly, my brain registered intense pain to both knees and slight pain to my left hand. Secondly, and almost immediately, my brain told me to make whimpering noises like a young girl. Luckily I managed to fight off this urge as I flipped over so that I was sitting with my legs extended in front of me, allowing the throes of pain to wash over me for as long as it took to subside. As it transpired, this would be around three minutes.
So for three minutes I sat there, facing the wrong way down the trail, with blood happily flowing out of two 50p sized wounds on my knees, repeatedly saying ‘Ouch’. Meanwhile, Dog had no idea what to do. I had specifically told him a number of times before that he really should enroll on a first aid course just in case, but he had always resisted. His lack of knowledge showed at this point, as he walked around me in circles looking bewildered, kissing my face repeatedly in the hope that this would somehow work.
Nonetheless we persisted, and before long we were back underway. Again all went well, until we came to a crossroads. There were four options, and only two were vaguely signposted. The problem was that they were marked using the same sign. A green background depicting two ramblers in white and an arrow pointing sideways…right down the middle of two tracks. There was no one else around and so I took a gamble and went for the one to the left.
Big mistake.
A couple of miles further along and there was no sign of the end. In fact we were quite literally in the middle of nowhere. New tracks emerged from out of nowhere, presenting option after option to aid in getting further and further lost. Eventually we emerged on top of a hill with some kind of signals tower surrounded by a metal fence. Even this had two tracks leading away from it, neither of which looked especially safe. We turned around to head back to the last main track we had been on, and at this point I did a very stupid thing.
We were low down in the middle of an extremely large valley, still high up in the mountains, but within a huge divot if you will. Instead of heading the ¼ mile back to the main track, I decided to cut down across the valley to meet up with it. When the scenery all looks the same around you, this is really something you should never do. But I could almost smell the track. So on we went, oblivious to the fact that the natural lay of the terrain would force us to twist and turn around obstacles and ground that was too steep to head straight down. Within minutes we must have turned around and back on ourselves so many times that by the time I realised the track could be anywhere, we were even more lost than before.
At this point, I had the most fleeting feeling of panic. We were literally miles away from our start point, I had just over 1/3 of my Camelbak still full, and I had no idea where I was. I had no map, my running app had been running constantly and my battery was getting low. I was sure everything would be fine, but it certainly had the potential to go horribly wrong.

An actual photograph taken from my phone minutes after I bust my knees open
So at this stage I decided to use some common sense for the first time. Firstly, we embarked upon a steep climb directly to the first major track I could find. Then I looked for signs of civilisation, my theory being that if I could find some then that meant that humans had been there and it wasn’t too far from civilisation. My scouting became quite complex as I navigated around a kilometres worth of steep terrain: the presence of animal prints but no human footprints indicated the animals were roaming free, not scared of humans, and so it was unlikely people had been that way – turn around, try somewhere else. The presence of a human footprint but no vehicle track was even better, as it meant a human had been there without having to drive that far. Then I started to spot things like shotgun pellets – not only had people ventured onto that part of the track, but they had been there for sport. We must be getting safer. About twenty minutes of this passed before we really knew we had hit the jackpot when we spotted the odd bit of litter like a crisp packet or a juice bottle, and five minutes later there were footprints everywhere.
Relief.
And then came the long trek back to the car. By this time, neither I nor Dog had the enthusiasm to keep running, so we kind of jogged/walked the few miles back. The blood on my knees had now dried, Dog had taken to drinking out of dirty puddles or licking ice out of my hands (despite the sun beating down we were very high up so there was affair bit of ice around) and the water between us was very low.
Some two and a half hours and ten miles after we first started, we made it back to the car. I was thoroughly disappointed. What had started off as a lovely run had quite frankly turned into a bit of a nightmare. Still, all was well that ended well as we got to enjoy some lovely fish and chi…oh wait, the bloody restaurant was closed until March!
I apologised to Dog, thinking he would be just as annoyed as me at the shambles of a day.
Quite the opposite, as it turned out. “That was awesome!”, he squealed delightfully. “A proper boy’s day out!”
Perhaps we shall try getting lost again some time. Though next time I shall definitely be taking a map.
*Thanks Google!