Sunday, 21 August 2016

Study Break

Understated good looks, just like me. :-)

"Plucky" - despite a difficult Olympics she's back in the saddle.

Beautiful, scenic Granton Gas thingy.



I went a diabolical run with Peter yesterday. Well the run wasn't diabolical. It was kind of good fun, but my running was b-a-a-a-d. My ribs were all stuck together and I just couldn't really swing. We averaged a heart-stopping 11.34 pace.
Today when I got up my hip was sore - from sleeping funny. Peter showed no surprise as he saw me hurpling around. He laughs and says it's a shame for me. I can only agree.
I was going to do some studying and essay writing today anyway, but I would have hoped to go a wee run in the middle of the day to break it up...
However I have a plan B.
I have had a secret new bike since June 18th.
WHAT????
I know.
WHAT DOES THAT EVEN MEAN???
It means I impulse bought it off Wiggle. It's a beauty. I got it on interest free credit and I'm paying it off month by month. But at the time I got it I didn't have any time to ride it, because I was starting my course, reducing my caseload, tapering for the St Magnus Marathon and then going up to Orkney.
HOW CAN YOU GET A NEW BIKE AND THEN NOT EVEN RIDE IT???
I know. Don't even. You should have heard Peter.
And then since then, well, I haven't been great but also there's this goddamn compulsion to run when there's time. Will the world fall apart if I run 4 days a week instead of 5 and have a day on the bike? NO. But it feels like it will.

So I thought, if you can't really run, or really you shouldn't, and you've got a new bike, what do you make?

YOU MAKE NEW BIKOLADE!!!!

Correct! But there's no need to shout.

It was with trepidation that I took my new bike out for a wee cycle. I'm so sore I'm afraid of bumps and crashes. Even braking hard is pretty bad. And I could be forgiven for thinking that maybe something was out to get me these days. If I took my new bike out, would it end in tears?

But you have to get out the house, especially on a sunny day, so off I went.
Trepidation soon turned to (cautious) joy as I swish, swish, swished along. I'd forgotten to fix the bell on, which was a shame and a bit of a liability on a Sunday. Still it wasn't too bad. I just necked it and called "Coming through" to get past people. There were more dogs and Sunday cyclists than I would have liked, but still it was good.
There's a little puddle on the cycle path just near Davidson's Mains that floods every time there's any rain at all. I reckon it must be the most corrosive body of water on the planet. In the winter the council got a bit happy with the salt even though it never got very icy....and I think it all got washed down into this particular puddle....my commuting bike has never been in a state like it was after this winter, as it got its salty bath every day. The rim on my back wheel actually split. My chain looked like the chain on a ship-wreck's anchor.
So I didn't like cycling through that.

I cycled down to Cramond and there was a distressing wash of dogs and children on scooters and bikes. I know. Be nice and share. I'd planned it so I'd have the wind behind me on the promenade though, because I wanted to see how fast I could go. I never tried it. This punk isn't feeling lucky. I'll wait for a week day.

Anyway. It is love. I love bikolade. And maybe now I can break this compulsion to run and do a bit more cycling. I'm pretty sure it would do me good.

Wednesday, 17 August 2016

Uncertainty


It's a familiar scenario. I have some academic work to do, but I need to take a break. Look at a thing too long and you can't see it clearly any more. However, take too long a break and you'll discover you never did your studying. It's been an hour since I sat down to knock out a quick blog, but I got caught up in looking at articles about the relationship between intolerance of uncertainty, low mood and excessive worry, and now an hour has gone by...

I'm making a meal of this current piece of work. It's only a 2000 word essay. Academically it's like a walk to the end of the street. Of course it matters what kind of steps you take, but really. I've already read far too much for it, and now I'm going to have to boil down a whole heap of stuff. It would help if things didn't disappear out of my memory like wet footprints on a carpet...but they do.

And I'm so easily led astray by things that I find interesting, and a desire to try to get to the bottom of things, or to get an over-view...

Anyway, I thought I'd tell you what's been happening recently. I don't think you'll believe it because I don't either, but anyway, here goes.

I know I've been moaning about my tummy not being right - well, it's nearly if not pretty much better.
"Oh Good", you say. Thanks very much. It is good. It went on far too long.

In the meantime, at the weekend, some less good stuff was happening. I've had a funny knee since I got back from Orkney. It didn't seem to be running related, because running didn't make it worse, but it didn't quite like cycling as much, and it absolutely hated anything that required me to kneel.

I don't do a lot of kneeling so that wasn't a big problem. But one thing I do kneel to do is to stand on my head. I know how this sounds but bear with me. Everyone has things they like to do, so don't be so judgemental.

I have a yoga book that says if you can only do one piece of yoga in a day, to stand on your head, because your innards like it. Your intestines like to slop forwards a bit, your brain and eyes like an extra flush of blood, your lungs like it, your spine likes it, your feet and your legs like it. Being a creature of habit I like doing the same things every day, and every day I stand on my head. So when I couldn't kneel I had to adapt the way I got upside down. I found a way of doing it from a kind of downward dog position instead of from a kneeling position.

I'm not entirely sure if this is what happened next but it's my best guess. Getting up into a headstand from a downward dog position somehow put more strain than usual on my sternum and before I knew it I had a sore bump at the top of my front ribs with pain going out along the ribs. I felt like I imagine you feel if you've had a car crash and bashed hard into an airbag. I went out running with Buchanan on Sunday anyway, with my sore knee and my sore chest and this time running did make my knee worse and by the time I got home I couldn't easily bend my right leg.

"Bummed out" is one way of describing how I felt. I had a busy week ahead, and a fair bit of studying, and the one piece of brightness that I had been hanging onto was that I might get out some nice runs in between pouring over books and papers. Come Monday I was not a happy pup. I didn't make a good job of studying, I couldn't run, I couldn't concentrate because I was sore. Eventually at 10 to 3 pm I left the house with my bike, because I wanted to test out if my knee was too sore to cycle to work the next day or if it was a viable option. I had promised to go and see a friend who lives nearby, so that's where I was headed.

I cut down a few streets and then came out onto a junction onto Easter Road. I couldn't remember exactly which street Susan lived on, but I was going to cross and if it was the wrong one it was no big deal. As I was stopped at the junction in the middle of the road, waiting to go across, a lorry came down the road and turned right onto the street where I was headed, and as it did its entire load of large sheets of ply came off and flew (in slow motion) across the road towards me. They had landed, but had very little friction so were sliding over the top of each other and still moving when they hit both my wheels and knocked me sideways off my bike.

Over I went and landed hard on my ribs and arm. My astonished brain was formulating something like this. "You're fucking kidding me. I haven't slept right for 2 nights because my knee and chest are sore and now I'm going to have bashed fucking ribs!"

I got up again in a daze, thinking mostly about whether my ribs were broken or not. They didn't feel like they were. The lorry man was trying to retrieve pieces of ply. Cars were stopping at the last moment. It was all a bit of a mess. Luckily nobody thought it was a good idea to just drive over the top of them because I think they would have slid out of control
The man came over to me, looking a bit afraid of me and seemed to be shouting "Do you need an ambulance Hen? Will I call you an ambulance Hen?" "No, I'm alright." I told him. "Are you sure Hen?"
A taxi was parked on the wrong side of the road, so parallel to me. The driver let his window down and shouted over "I ken Hen, You just couldn't believe it! You just couldnae do anything about it!"

"When is everyone going to stop calling me Hen?" I asked myself, and made my way off to see my friend Susan.


I knew it was only a matter of time before someone told me I was lucky. "You were lucky!" said Susan, "You could have really been hurt!"
"You were lucky" said Peter. "It could have sliced your head off. That's what happened in the exorcist". "Did you get his number? You should have sued him."
At work "Did you get his number? You should have sued him! Are you sure you haven't got PTSD? "
"Maybe you feel okay today but tomorrow you'll feel like you've been in a car-wreck" suggested Sarah, with a big smile on her face. "Maybe you'll fall apart!"

Actually, by then I was in a better mood, because my knee seemed to be getting better and I was pretty sure I'd be able to try a run today. It would break the day up nicely.

And it illustrated a thing I'd been reading about as part of my course-work. I'd been reading about people with Generalised Anxiety Disorder, and some other mood disorders, generally having a lower tolerance of uncertainty. They (I should say "we") want to be safe and they want to be certain so it's an on-going project - trying to iron the uncertainty out of life. The trouble is, life isn't playing. It's not how things are at all. And anxious people tend to exaggerate how dangerous things are, while at the same time under-estimating their own ability to cope. The more you can tolerate uncertainty, the more you can just relax and get on with it. This rang true for me. I remembered that before I got my arrhythmia I had been worried for some time because I was on a low income and I didn't have any job security and I was worried things wouldn't work out and we'd lose the flat. As soon as I got ill I let go of that - or it let go of me. I had tried not to worry, because I could see it was counter-productive, but it was always there like a little background noise. The minute you're brought face to face with what you always knew - that you might not even be here tomorrow - you really can't go far down that road of what ifs. So maybe it's tolerance of certainty that's helpful. One day we're all going to check out unexpectedly and you probably won't even have done the dishes, your pants won't be clean and it's unlikely your house will be in order.

Anyway, I've been out a run. Damn it's hot! My ribs were sore but my knee was hardly any bother at all, and it's still fine now.
I ran in all the shadiest places I could think of, so I ran up the Water of Leith.
I ran past a gaggle of tourists with a "Tour Guide" who was explaining that the Dean bridge was built because there was a gorge there and people had difficulty getting from one side to the other. I wonder how much they paid for that astonishing pearl of wisdom? I should be a tour guide.

But I still have this essay to do. So I better go. It's been nice.

Monday, 8 August 2016

Not the Parkrun

Oh My, It's Monday again and I'm supposed to be studying. I spent hours at it yesterday though and put myself in a bad mood. I'm reluctant to go back there, so I've been out for a nice run in the wind. I got home, had some lunch, haven't had a shower yet - maybe I'll do a quick blog and then have a shower and then just pop out to get some vegetables for tea...yeah and then study...

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On Saturday we amazed ourselves by going to Gullane again. We had thought about doing a Parkrun as one of our championship races is "any park run in August". I haven't done the Parkrun since before they lengthened the course. I'm sure that didn't improve it at all. Actually the thought of it is fairly unbearable and it turns out that if you don't take some firm and manly action to get to the Parkrun you end up just not doing it.

So about midday we pulled up next to Falko's and had a scone and a coffee, then set out on a very chatty run.

When we got down to the beach Peter suggested we do a 'High Intensity Intervals' session. We've done this down on Aberlady beach a few times now and enjoyed it. I wasn't feeling like it though so I demurred. However, the sand was in excellent condition and there wasn't much wind so by the time we'd got to the far end of the beach I'd changed my mind. I made up a new set of intervals on the spot. 5 X 2 minutes at I can't stand it pace with a minute's recovery in between.

After interval no.4. Punch drunk and happy.

I'm a rocket.

All done selfie. Or is it an ussie?



I came across this photo the other day. I have few regrets in life, but this is one of them. The majesty of Everest, with Ama Dablam over my left ear, all horribly marred by 'that hat'.



Anyway, I digress. The intervals blasted away the last of our energy and sense. We could hardly lift our legs over the last mile back to the car. We had brought our wetsuits to go in swimming, but it was so damn hot, and the effort of dragging rubber over sweaty skin seemed so great, that we decided to go in the sea the old fashioned way.

It was hard to get in and we nearly didn't. The cold sea was such a shock on my hot hot skin that I couldn't get my breath and kept getting dizzy. Peter thought I was having a heart attack and I wasn't entirely sure that I wasn't. He suggested we just leave it but neither of us could quite take the defeat. As usual there were tiny children already happy playing in the sea as if it was a warm bath.

It took a long time but I finally took the plunge.






After a little while we settled in and swam quite a few lengths until I called it. Or tried to call it and discovered my face was numb. We had felt fairly warm after the inital shock but must have got colder than we meant to as we were both shivering hard for quite some time after. In fact, we were shivering so hard we thought it would be medically the right thing to do to share a bag of chips from the Gullane Superfry.

Back home, I went to bed early and slept like the dead.

Saturday, 30 July 2016

Schrodinger's car and some rather unpleasant runs.

Just where in the hell have I been? Aah, it's nice that you missed me. I've been here all along. We went and did some stuff last weekend but I didn't have the heart to blog any of it. Just too demoralised.
I have been very busy, you see and have had a dodgy stomach since Orkney. I think it's tiredness and stress. I've had a bad stomach for a while after long runs before. When I did London in 2006 and then did Edinburgh to North Berwick 2 weeks after...I was really tired in London but couldn't resist having a pop at E2NB. I had a terrible run on the day and then afterwards I had a bad belly for quite some while. So I've had a bad belly and I've been super-busy. One of the things I had to do in between work based things was take the car for its MOT. We knew it wasn't going to be good. Changing gear has been a bit of a battle for quite some time. And I've had a squeak every time I turned left. I haven't trusted it enough to take it any distance. If it had have been fit I would probably have taken it up to Orkney, and we missed having it. We could have taken the bikes and the wet-suits and we could have slept in it if need be...

At work, it's too boring to explain but I had this I.T. thing I needed to get done. It was for my course. I needed to get special permission to upload files to a special place and I needed to get software put on a computer and I needed to be able to burn CDs. It's the kind of thing I could have sorted in an evening if I was at home. There would have been snags and I would have sworn a lot but I would have got there. But at work everything has to go through the I.T. department and I'm not allowed to change anything on the computers myself. I phone someone and leave a message, they phone me back, but I'm not at my desk so they leave a message. Normally they can do things by remote access but for some reason they couldn't get remote access to the computer I had to use because it was the only one that burns CDs. Of course they couldn't. So a guy had to come out. On and on it went. Meantime I have a bit of course work I can't do until this is set up and there's a dead-line. It looks like we're on track for me not getting it done in time - because I can't get this done, I can't even start it.

Of course it isn't my fault but that's not really what I'm interested in. I just want to get it done. And reasons always just sound like excuses. I don't like not being able to get things done. I stress about it.

Then there's the car. I've already looked into the likely cost of getting another car and there isn't a cheap answer...so I've already accepted if I have to spend a bit of money on the car, well I might as well. I want a car.
But amongst a list of other things it also needs a new clutch. It's a big bill and savings isn't really a thing in my life, so out comes my credit card which I don't really use, and I max it out.

Oh well. Then come last Friday, it looks like I've got it all done. The I.T thing seems to be resolved on Friday at 5.30pm. It's the end of the working day so I don't check it all, but they guy says it's done, why wouldn't it be done? And the car has cost me much, but it is now MOT'd and ready to pick up on Saturday morning. I'm exhausted and a bit ill but kind of ebullient. It looks like we got there.

Hah! I shouldn't have relaxed. Never count your chickens. On Saturday we picked up the car and headed for Gullane. I was looking forwards to putting it all down for a day or two and just living in the present. At first the gears felt fabulous - better than they had for months...but then they started to stick. At first I thought it was just me. When we got to Gullane I was having trouble getting into the low gears or reverse. We went for a run and a swim anyway and when I started the car again it seemed okay. I thought I'd been imagining it. But by the time we got back to Edinburgh I was having trouble changing gear at all. My mental battery was flat. Peter said "Don't worry you can take it back to the garage on Monday". But I didn't want to. I was done with the car. I was done with trying to sort out f-ing problems. I was plain, flat-out done in and depressed. Why did no fecking thing work?







Of course I did take the car back on Monday and they said they didn't think it would take long, and I had it back at the end of the day. The guy told me he saw what it was as soon as he looked - just a small adjustment and it was perfect...I had another busy week ahead and I didn't have time to take it anywhere to test it so my now cautious jury was out all week about whether it was fixed or not. No more assuming things were alright for me. Too damaging when it isn't. When I went into work on Tuesday I wasn't remotely surprised to find the I.T. thing wasn't resolved at all. It didn't even get me down. I just kept ploughing away at the problems and trying to communicate as best I could with I.T. If it didn't happen, it didn't happen. I was too tired to worry too much about it. To hell with it.

But yesterday I really did get there with the I.T. thing. I almost didn't notice when I realised I could now do everything I needed to do.

On my way home on the bike I was wondering about the car. I was hoping it was fixed. And then I was wondering why I was bothering to hope that it was fixed. Because surely it either was fixed or it was not fixed and so what was the point in me hoping....unless...like Schrodinger's cat, it was neither fixed nor not fixed until I observed it to be so. This thought made me laugh out loud on the cycle path and earned me a queer look from a passing dog walker.










So we took the car back to Gullane today. We had more or less a re-run of last weekend, except this time the gears did not stick. So all I need is my tummy to sort itself out and I will be ready for the next set of problems.

Wednesday, 20 July 2016

A little more Orkney!



I've been back in the whirl of life pretty much since we got back from Orkney. Big rearrangement at work. New course. Changing the days I work. Finding new venues. That kind of thing. It hasn't really stopped. I promised myself that last weekend I'd switch off from it and chill out - and I managed that on Saturday. In fact it was a delightful day. Me and P went running about at the beach. A corn which has been causing me bother for more than a month kind of dropped off. I'd been trying various approaches to getting rid of it but to be honest nothing seemed to be making much impact...I think it just got bored of hanging on. 
Then on Sunday I thought I would just set up a link to the remote server at QMU, which is my new university...we'd been told to do it as soon as we could. But it didn't work. I tried this, I tried that. I tried switching to Internet Explorer which I kind of hate. (What the hell is "Bing" ?) I tried googling the problem. I tried reassociating files. There followed 5 hours of sitting on my arse, wasting the weekend and getting in a worse and worse mood because it was the WEEKEND and it was time to CHILL OUT!!!! Lots of swearing. My guts, which have been kind of bad, tied themselves into little knots. And then it was Monday and I was back at it - running along the stress-a-lator, wondering what had happened to fun and downtime....

It's only Wednesday and I've done a ton of the things which I had to do. Today's drum-roll is that the Berlingo has gone for its MOT and I am going up the road later for a new supervision group for CBT which is what I'm studying. Just me and the young doctors, which should be fun. I think I've nearly burnt out my worry gland as I'm weirdly calm about the Berlingo. And actively looking forwards to the supervision group.

I thought I could take this morning for myself though. It was forecast to be thunder and it came when I was out running. I had taken the waterproof camera in hopes that there would be a big Gothic Lightning storm. I was going to Inverleith Park so I thought maybe I'd get some good pictures. There was just a bit of sheet lightning here though, so the camera stayed in its pouch. The rain chucked down  and it was warm and pleasant and I had a lovely run. The streets were pleasingly free of people and under the trees smelt wonderful.

So anyway, when I came back I realised I probably still had photos of Orkney I hadn't looked at. And sure enough I did. Here's a selection below.

Keeping well away from the edge. Post-marathon tiredness and a hangover, in no mood for terrifying vertiginous drops.

Selfies are an art form. Not properly appreciated.

Beautiful grasses.

Moody lighting.





This is what you want from a departure lounge.

Fife looking pretty just before landing.


I better get at it again. It was nice checking in though.

Friday, 8 July 2016

St Magnus Marathon....(The road is long...)




Sunday 3rd July was the inaugural Orkney Marathon - or as far as I know, this is the first time a marathon has been run in Orkney. There were a number of factors which added up to my having to do this race, despite no longer having much love for marathons...which might be related to me no longer having any hopes for marathons. Time and times were a theme running through the whole thing.

"Just what on earth are you going on about?"

Well, I'm not exactly sure, and after having another evening of pushing the boat out more than I normally would last night, my thoughts are a bit foggy. But I have a feeling that I want to blog this race before much longer so I'm going to press on even if I can't think properly.

"So just why do you claim that you had to run this race?"

I didn't really have to do it, as you very well know. It's just that the arrow of fate seemed to be pointing that way. I've probably mentioned this but I'm going to be 50 this year. As is everyone I went to school with. It's been 13 years since I was last up in Orkney and I was overdue a trip. A friend of mine, Karen Crichton, got in touch to say that she and her husband Gareth had bought the house I grew up in and we'd be welcome to come and have a nosy whenever we were up. That set me thinking about a trip north. And this getting to be 50 thing does make you think about the past - well it does me - and you get a hankering to see things again...and then I saw there was to be the St Magnus Marathon, celebrating 500 years of something to do with St Magnus, I still haven't figured out what...well I had me and Peter signed up and had some flights booked within a couple of days.



Last year's Edinburgh Marathon put another couple of nails in the coffin of my marathon running career. The whole thing seems long, painful and disappointing. No matter how I try I can't seem to handle the distance on the road any more, and what I used to take for granted ( a whole series of 3.40ish marathons) is now an impossible dream. Even if I could claw my way back to the land of sub 4 hrs - what would it be for?
Still, I gave the training a fair go, and at first it seemed to go well.
I did a few promising longer runs. By promising I mean not terrible. But I got bored pretty quickly. I saw the John Muir Way 50K and thought that would be an interesting ingredient to add into the marathon training mix. It went surprisingly well. I wasn't quick at all, but that wasn't the point. I thought that doing an over-distance run would help build up strength and confidence that I could keep going.
Then we went for a couple of long runs in the Lammermuirs. These were very slow and very hilly but were a good antidote to the tedium of long road running. I thought at the time that they were a bad idea in terms of specificity of training. I had it in my head that the marathon in Orkney was going to be relatively flat and that the chief enemy might be a head-wind. I sent an email to the organiser asking if anyone had run it with a Garmin and if they had an elevation profile of the route - but I never heard anything back and didn't think much about it.




Okay, so fast forward to nearer the marathon. Everything in my legs started to grumble - particularly my ankles and feet, so I dropped my mileage drastically for the last month. Things at work changed radically as they are apt to. I had the opportunity of going on a PG certificate course as day release, so I had to try to cut down my case-load and get things ready for this to start. It took a lot of energy and thinking to do and it was kind of stressful right up to the last moment. The course started on the last week of June and our flights were on the Friday of that week, so there wasn't any time to look ahead or think about the marathon or going to Orkney very much. Some last minute packing on Friday morning and we were off.....




And then we were in Orkney! I've never driven in Orkney before - I only sat my test in 2004 and was last here in 2003. I nervously nosed the brand new hire car out the airport car park - but relaxed into driving it after a while. We took the longer road, through Orphir where I grew up, to Stromness where we were staying with friends Neil and Shona. I kept Peter engrossed and excited by showing him where I had piano lessons, where I used to try and cycle up the hill in the third (and final!) gear of my Raleigh bike, the road end that we used to turn down to go home, the view from Scorradale hill. A common refrain was "there didn't used to be all these houses here". There weren't many houses, but there used to be even less.



Fast forward, again, to the marathon. You might not believe it but I am editing 90% of what I have to say out of this, in the interests of getting out for a run this afternoon. Peter is helping Shona paint some gates, and I'm sitting upstairs on the double bed with a view of Stromness harbour spread out below and the sound of birds cheeping.

Sunday morning we were up and had breakfast. We had a last minute panic, realising in the car that we'd forgotten the tickets for the bus journey back from Birsay to Kirkwall. (I needn't have worried. Nobody bothered.)
We found somewhere to park and got ourselves up to registration. It was cold and a bit showery so people were staying inside up until 10 minutes before the start.
You could tell right away that it was a well-organised race. The numbers were nice and neat and small so they wouldn't catch the wind. The baggage system was smooth. There was a friendly, easy-going feel about the whole thing. We saw a few people we knew. I saw Peter talking to William Sichel under a tree and told him he was a legend. I thought it was best to get it out of the way. He obviously feels the cold because he was dressed up very warm.
It wasn't that clear what to wear. I didn't want to turn out in just a vest in case the wind and the cold was too much. I'd opted for wearing a t-shirt and very light Inov8 ruc-sac which is handy for gels and carrying the camera. Given I wasn't going to break any records I decided to definitely take the camera - it's a nice record and a good distraction.

The buzz on facebook on the Portobello page the night before was that it was going to be a hilly course.



I hadn't really looked at the course in detail before-hand. When we sent round the "wrong" side of the Wideford Hill coming out of Kirkwall it was clear the organisers meant business. I prefer a hilly course to a flat one and I was silently grateful that I'd made those two trips to the Lammermuirs in training. At the time it hadn't seemed that clever.



I can't give you a blow by blow account of the course. I was doing well up to Finstown and 7 miles, although I knew I'd probably run faster than I should. I got there in exactly an hour and just behind Angus from Portobello and his friend. He looked a bit surprised to see me - as well he might and he took off from there, beating me by a healthy 12 minutes in the end.


I was going okay but by about 10 miles I was in a familiar place as far as the running went. My legs were sore and I was bored. I knew what I had to do was just maintain my pace as best I could. The thought of another 16 miles was....well, I wish it was unthinkable. It was thinkable but not a pleasant thought. I reached for distraction as much as I could. The skies were spectacular - the wind blowing different formations of clouds along every few minutes. Everywhere there were fields of buttercups  and marsh grasses and feisty looking cattle. My mind produced a series of songs with lines about Time. David Bowie was featuring in there. Songs I don't particularly like from the 80s. Something about time and love kept coming back. I can't remember what it was.

A man from the 100 marathon club drew up for a chat. Sometimes this would be an unwelcome distraction but not now. He asked me if I'd done a marathon before and I told him this was number 13 and maybe it would be my last. He wondered why. "It's just not working for me anymore" I told him, "I used to be excited about marathons but I'm not anymore. And running on the road hurts too much. And there's nothing to be hoped for apart from not having a disaster." He told me he was on something like marathon 169. He is part of a small group who endeavour to run a marathon in every county in the UK. Next week he was going...somewhere else..the week after a marathon in Dundee. He asked me if I knew the course, but I don't. I told him he must be a very patient man, to do all these marathons. I was thinking of my own feeling of bored frustration and pain. He didn't comment on that.
He told me about how he was a baby-boomer and that there was too much competition to do well outright in races, so after he'd gone sub 3hrs for a marathon once he started concentrating on doing quantity. I do admire his effort and dedication, but to me it sounded like an endless treadmill it would be hard to get off - like having completed every London Marathon. How do you decide to stop? He was making my 13 marathons look paltry - all the more reason to stop. 

He dropped off on the hills. I'm always stronger on the hills. Belatedly I'm thinking maybe it was growing up in Orkney that contributed to this - because, although I'd flattened out the island in my imagination, it turns out it's a hilly place! The last few miles of the marathon were a continual roller-coaster of ups and downs - which suited me fine. I made my body a promise, which I'm not sure if I can keep, that this would be the last marathon - so all the last painful, unwanted miles would be the very last. "If you'll just do it now, you'll never have to do it again."  It sounds uneasily like the lament of the abusive husband. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean it! I love you! If you forgive me this time and take me back I'll never do it again!". At what point will my poor subjugated body decide to walk out and not look back. And then where will I be?

Yeah I know. That's a bit dramatic. Just running thoughts running through my mind as the miles went by.






When there was less than 3 miles to go, my courage returned. I suddenly thought decisively that I was going to make it. There were a few runners up ahead and I was gaining on them - just by a little, but still gaining.  I tried to relax into my concrete limbs and run as if I was a proper runner. I passed a couple of people on the way down into the road into Birsay, and then pride dictated that I shouldn't slow down and let them go past again. The course took a turn at the Palace and then went off-road and uphill for a little while. I was pleased about this thinking that it wouldn't suit anyone else but it suited me! We went past the graveyard and then ran down a road and past a cone and back up the road and past the graveyard again. I had time to realise that I'd camped here with my pal Debbie when we were teenagers and she'd told me about the "graveyard rhubarb" which wasn't rhubarb but something else that was poisonous. Graveyards and poison had captured my imagination and every time I saw the "rhubarb" I had a shudder. And there it was, lined up on the other side of the road. Graveyard rhubarb.

It was a short run to the end of the road and then right to the finish. I was running hard at this stage, knowing I could afford to squander the last of my energy, I no longer had to save every penny. 

And then I was ducking under the yellow finish arch and getting my yellow goody bag. Telling the organiser that it was good - or it would be later. It was a great course. Gritty. The goody bag, like the rest of the race, was well-thought out and free from superfluous extras. There was a bottle of beer (Swanney Breweries), a medal, a packet of Stockan's Oatcakes, some Orkney fudge, a Mars Bar lookalikee, an Orkney Badge and a puffin key-ring. All the essential of life.



I forgot to tell you that just before the graveyard I saw a lady with long brown boots on, cheering at the side. When I looked again, it turned out to be Peter with his shorts on and his brown holiday legs. I asked him how he'd done and he told me 4th and 1st MV50. I knew he'd be chuffed with that. When I got over the line I saw club mate Angus who was philosophical about "times", knowing he'd run well despite his time being 4hrs 5 minutes - which he would normally beat by a good margin. "You just have to re-calibrate" was his take on it. He'd never been up to Orkney before and he was full of enthusiasm for it. It would have helped that he'd got plenty of sunshine in the last couple of days but it was nice to hear. I felt proud, although I have nothing to be proud about - it wasn't me that made Orkney good... but I like other people seeing it. We hatched a pie in the sky plan for a number of people from Portobello chipping in to buy a club-house in Orkney and using it on a time-share basis. I don't think there would be too many takers for the winter let. Well you might get me. There's nothing like a good old several day Orkney windstorm to put you in touch with the more elemental forces.


So - 4hrs 17 min was a new personal worst, if you don't count the Everest Marathon. A personal worst in time but not in performance. I was pleased not to fall apart - not to have stomach problems or some kind of drama. I felt I made a pretty good job of it.

I don't know if I'll keep to my promise to give up marathons. I swither about it. My mind wants to run marathons but the reality of it is different - and my feet and ankles are not a big fan to be honest.

The organisers got lots of well-deserved praise for the marathon and they're planning on making it a regular event. I'd highly recommend it. But it's tough - be prepared to re-calibrate!

Peter and Isobel Burnett of Carnegie Harriers - 1st over 50s m and f

I ate two of these! Home made pizzas.

Ruth Spence, big sister of Peter who I went to school with. 

Post marathon legs on the bus back to Kirkwall.

Gus on the bus (in shades) - I think "ebullient" is my word for him

view from the bus