Fell running and the Langdale Horseshoe: leaving behind the contrived world

There was no warning. I had hurtled downhill off the rough roof of Thunacar Knott and as I approached Martcrag Moor, the ground, previously solid, became liquid. Wooomph! I began to disappear. Calves gone. Knees gone. Thighs gone. Waist gone. Gasping, a thousand thoughts a moment, body flailing forward, legs scrambling for traction. Swimming, wriggling,…