The first thirty seconds clambering across the field was hard work. The next half a minute was even worse. Two minutes in and I’d probably covered the distance I could have covered in twenty seconds in the summer. My boots were weighed down with mud, making me feel like I was wearing ankle weights. Heavy ankle weights. That clay-mud is heavy as well as being sticky.
By the end of the third minute every step was a struggle. The rain continued to pour down, my hands were frozen and damp even through my gloves, and every difficult step across the ruts seemed to leave me with more mud clinging to my boots. It was miserable!
It was quite clear that what I should do was turn around, go back to the edge of the field where I’d started, and then skirt around the edges. The field wouldn’t
