All the emotion of the day catches up with Buchanan
We were at Peter's niece's wedding yesterday so I had a glass of fizzy on an empty stomach, and then half a pint of Best. Then I had 2 canapes (In my mind this word rhymes with "apes", I read it long before I heard it. I don't know why they're called canopies.) Goat's cheese and sun-dried tomato. My first sun-dried tomato fell on the carpet though, sorry carpet. Then I had a hot haggis ball but I didn't have the sauce.
The photographers were taking pictures for a bit longer than expected. I was trying very hard not to get too drunk. I barely drink, and I was hungry. I could easily have just scoofed more drinks at the bar. But I held back.
Then it was sit down and the speeches and toasts. The bride's dad Neil and the bride and groom and the best man were all toasted, and through some parallel process I found I was also getting toasted.
Then there was the matter of a tiny bottle of sloe gin at my place setting with my name on it. It would have been rude not to. And some of Peter's too...which was...I dunno...vodka?
I had chatted for a while with Peter's step-mum and sister, Elizabeth and Caitlin, which I thoroughly enjoyed. We don't see each other much but there are many parallels in our lives and it's easy to relate. I normally only talk to runners and mental health nurses so I'm a bit tongue-tied at social events. Well I say 'at social events' but actually I usually don't go if I can help it. My mental health nurses at work have given me a diagnosis of social phobia...I don't think they're right but I think that reflects my enthusiasm for attending social events. I don't know where the horror of it comes from but it goes way back. Especially formal occasions. I remember feeling puzzled and alienated by social occasions ever since I was small, and I still do. There are all these weird roles and rituals and I don't get them. I feel like an alien. I suppose the clue is in the name. "Formal" which means it's all about form. I remember an old friend Jamie once telling me that whereas many people are all form and no content I was the exact reverse. All content and no form. It's all starting to make sense...
Anyway. Race prep. Some black bread and butter. We asked the pony-tailed waiter what the black bread was. Wrong question - we should have asked him what the black constituent was - but we didn't, and he didn't know, so he went away and asked and came back and said it was bruschetta noir. Ah...the blackness is noir. That explains it....
So I had that and a big slab of pate and some toasty things and mean-time they were serving up red and white wine. I was still doing my best to keep myself on the path of righteousness and so I asked the waitress if I could have just half a glass of white wine. I was a bit puzzled when I looked at it and it was up to the same level as Peter's. He explained to me that what I said sounded like "can I have have a glass of white wine". Oh whatever. And then they were topping up which is flipping fatal.
We were into the main course and I ate two humped chicken backs and a crispy potato or something. I thought I would reach a little further out of my comfort zone and actually talk to a stranger, so I talked to the man on my right. It started off civilised enough...what do you do etc etc, his son was in banking, other son was doing something else. He asked me what I did and I said I was a mental health nurse and he said something like "Oh it must be difficult working with these people." I tried to be patient but the drink doesn't always help the patience, but I explained to him carefully that I mostly see people with anxiety and depression who come from all echelons of life and I didn't add that I probably see more people from the banks than anywhere else, because it's a brutal unforgiving environment to work in. He said "The thing is for these people to admit they have a problem, that's the first step." I didn't say much more, but to be fair I didn't say "What the fuck do you think you are talking about?" So actually I did quite well and I was very well-behaved.
Pudding was splendid it was sugary sugar on a stick. Or I think it was some kind of chocolate pie and ice-cream. By then my alcohol soaked liver was asking for me to pour in some sugar. "Go on" it urged me, "as much as you like, get it in!"
Then Neil came over and offered us a drink. I really did want a drink but I asked for a half pint. I did! I did! But it turned out there were no half pint glasses at the bar so I had to have a whole one. Even as I started to drink I still thought I might just leave half of it in the glass. But I forgot.
It was way past our bed-time by then so we said our goodnights and hopped on the bus Gus.
I really didn't know if I 'd be racing any 10 mile race or not. I had probably just guzzled as much again as everything I have drunk in the last 3 years, all in one go.
FFast forward to this morning.
Everything seems funny - I wonder why?
Joy written all over his face
"Ewan makes some last minute adjustments."
I like knowing everyone's name. I think we should wear name tags all the time.
Raggle-taggle warm ups
6 miles done and I'm okay.
Coffee perked me up and as I had Diana Ross's "upside down you turn me" kicking around in my head I put it on You tube and had a bit of a dance. It was followed by more funky sounds of the 70s.
Oh my, I'm flagging. My hangover is just behind me. I must get on with the story quickly...quickly...before a great tiredness overtakes me....
Well it goes like this...
After grooving for a while tout seul I jogged up to the park. This was the best part of it. It was a 12 minute run to the start. I ran past two runner girls who were walking and wearing coats and tights and when they saw me running past said a little bit loudly "She's keen!" I still had potential gobbiness kicking around inside but I managed not to get in a girl fight and kept on up the street.
Up at the orange start I met Stephen Maley who disappeared from club for a couple of years there. We had a chat and then more and more Porties started to arrive.
I have been stiff-muscled all week, probably from upping the mileage a bit too quickly. My hopes for today were modest. I hoped I could get round without too much of a headache or any nasty tummy tricks. I hoped that maybe I could go sub 1 hr 25mins which would be 8.30 pace, and somewhere inside me I had the odd idea that maybe I could run 8.16 average pace. I don't know where I got this number from.
I spoke to Shelagh McLeish for the 1st mile. I wouldn't normally do this in a race but I know Shelagh from way back at the start of my time with Portobello and I haven't seen her properly for years now. I think our talking was irritating the runners around us as I got barged a couple of times on quite a wide road where there was plenty of space! There was no way I was setting off anything like hard. I didn't have a plan but it certainly wasn't to go off too hard and then suffer all the way round.
Shelagh dropped back after a mile or so. She's had trouble with her neck and her mother so hasn't been able to train like she used to. I'll say it so she doesn't have to. Back in the day she could whip my ass and her marathon pb is 10 minutes quicker than mine is.
So I just ran my own race after that. I like hills. They give my body a break. I like the changes of position. I like the fact that other people hate hills and sometimes they walk on them. There's nothing I like better than people walking on the hills in a road race. It gives me a huge surge of "Ooooh I'm going to run past you and not even breathe hard". Today was a hilly course and I liked it. As we eased our way up the Mound an English girl running next to me broke into a volley of swear words. I relished it.
There was kind of a boring middle phase that went round the road and through the university and along the Meadows and then up and over back down into the grass-market. From the Grass Market it was all more or less downhill for a while and I got a cheer from Jim Scott and John Blair which gave me a lift. I still had some of the drink whirling around in my brain so I show-boated a little, punching the air and giving it whoops. yeah I know, I don't care though.
Then it was all the way up St Leonard's. Again people were suffering. Actually I was beginning to suffer too. I was kind of running out of sugar. I would have liked a cup of coffee, something like that. At the top of the hill I saw John Forker however, who I had previously seen at the Meadows. John is another Porty who I haven't seen for ages. Shelagh was telling me he was injured, so just spectating today. He told me I was looking strong and so I told him and the people around me that I was getting stronger every single mile! I think they were quite impressed.
Coming back to Arthur's Seat there was Lucozade, which was helpful. I only had a couple of mouthfuls as I was scared to set off any rebellions in my tummy. I needed a wee boost though and that worked quite well. Then, soon, there were only 3 miles to go, and it was on such home territory. I regularly run that route on my "tough 10 miler". Down the innocent railway and then back up past Duddingston, over the top and back down to the Palace. For quite some time my Garmin had been ahead of the mile markers, so I reached my own personal 10 mile spot at 1hrs 22. I was delighted with that. There was still a good bit to go to the finish though so I finished in 1hrs 24mins 13s according to my chip time. I had a look to see what my unofficial average pace was and it was 8.15 pace, so I ticked all my boxes. Sub 1hrs 25min officially, sub 8.16 pace unofficially, only the merest headache and a slight tummy thing round about the university that resolved into a medium sized burp.
Back in the park I saw Aileen and we had a chat before heading home.
Now I am at home and a certain sleepy jadedness is wrapping itself around me. But I stayed ahead of my hangover as long as I needed to.
I just feel a little unprepared for the week. Does it really start again tomorrow? And then a 50K on Saturday? Oh my.