Cow Whisperer

Tree branches and calves - the obstacles of trail running

Shuffling out into the morning. The smell of early summer is the smell of when I first moved to Wiltshire, it is of newness and wonder. It is the smell of nettle stings and giddily getting lost. But it is also the smell of that early fear of cows. It triggers in me a trepidation that the field I’m running towards will be heaving with them, their dark eyes turning to face me en masse as I approach the gate. What’s the vibe here? Are we cool? Don’t mind me. Morning, ladies. Tearful, bursting with pleading to be left alone. Shaking as I get back into my stride after safely passing them. 

A year later, if it feels okay, I can walk through herds with my arms wide and my lungs still. I’m sure I’ve even seen one smile and nod to me as I passed. If I see a calf in the mix though, that fluttering feeling returns. They get protective. Their brows furrow and their eyes narrow. 

I was out on my first longer run since I’d hit my head on a tree branch. It had been a colossal whack - I ducked under one branch, but there was another low one straight after it. The force knocked me flat on my back. I lay there for about a minute trying to assess how bad the situation was. Realising I was kind of okay, and feeling the cold mud seep into my clothing, I got up and sat on a wall. Dizzy, shaky, hyperventilating. Check forehead in phone camera - why is my cap bleeding? Two gaping wounds on my forehead. A very sorry situation. Nauseous, sleepy. Phone him. Do you want me to take you to the hospital? I don’t know. Where are you? Send me a pin and I’ll be with you in about 20 minutes. 

Nurse carefully and sensitively glues my wounds. Lungs 100% oxygen. Reflexes fine. Vision 20/20. Mild concussion. A leaflet which gives me all the information that my concussed mind can’t hold. He holds all the information that the leaflet doesn’t remember. The rest of the day in a hammock. Soft sway. He puts my cap over my forehead but leaves my smile open.

It was good to be back out running but I flinched at every whisper of a tree branch and realistically, I was still suffering from fatigue. But it was nice enough weather and I was taking it really easy. Everything was breezy, until I saw the herd of cows. And calves. This was the last thing I wanted while I was already a bit delicate.

By utter chance, I arrived at the gate at the same time as another runner. He was in full trail running attire and clearly in it for the long haul: the hydration pack, the trekking poles, the earbuds to distract oneself from the passing minutes while the hours fly by. I let him through the gate first. 

“I’m glad we’re here at the same time!” I jovially said as we walked directly into the throng. He said nothing. As one cow reared up on its hind legs he waved his arms and said, “On you go, woah, alright.” It bounded at first towards us and then away. 

“You’re really good with them,” I said, my voice quaking, my footsteps small behind him. 

“I grew up around cows and horses. They’re more scared of you than you are of them.”

“They’re just big.”

“They’re just big. If you’re scared, they can sense it. Right, you go on ahead.” He turned to face them, as if he and his poles could protect me from a potential stampede.

“Thank you!”

I didn’t need much encouragement to start running again. 

I felt my road running origins in every sinew as I bounded off towards the next gate. Will I ever shake it? Hitting my head on trees and quivering at livestock. Will I ever truly become a cow whisperer? A friend who first introduced me to the concept believes it is possible. He too has the power.

I stopped at the top of the next hill to gaze out at the rolling panorama of hills. I paused to absorb it, but mainly to decide on my route. Running anything longer was risky: it was warm, I had no water and I was starting to feel like I had underestimated the effects of the concussion. There would be plenty of other days to fly down the hill through the buttercups. This was only the beginning of summer. But was it also the end? We never know.

My cow whisperer caught up to me and waved a hand as he barrelled down that hill. I wondered whether I would see him again at a future point where these trails intersect. Would I ever see him again? I hoped so.