Apologies in advance because I'm about to make Armistice Day and the whole Tynecastle Bronze thing about me.
Okay, let's go!
I've recently been having an unexpected but deeply welcome improvement in my run-ability. In the last month or so I've been able to ramp up my base mileage, and do some races, and throw in some longer runs...and I've been surviving! I'm miles from taking this for granted. Anyone who saw me gimping about in the late winter/early spring (no offence to gimps everywhere) would be surprised too. Quite honestly it looked like I was done for. As Peter said one evening, looking vexedly at me, probably because I'd got some new injury from sitting funny or sleeping funny, "Don't you think there's something wrong with you?". Yes there was something wrong with me - but what the right course of action was wasn't so clear.
Like many fellow running obsessives, I'm sure, I have spent many hours on the internet trying to figure out what I might be able to do for myself that might help. Maybe I was short of Vitamin D or magnesium, certainly I needed to back off the high-impact stuff. Strength training and stretching - Peter will tell you - I do them. I do a bit of yoga.
I backed off from running. I did more cycling. I like cycling and in a way was grateful for the push to diversify a bit - when you've got running, why would you do anything else?
I started doing this thing called Feldenkrais, which I haven't read much about, (on purpose, I like to just try things) but it's about tuning in to your fine movements and the way they connect up inside. I know that probably doesn't make much sense. It involves lying on the floor in a class with about 6 other people often with our eyes closed doing tiny movements. If you were at a gung-ho stage of your running you wouldn't do it. I have been un-gung-ho for some time. Maybe that's what was needed.
In the late summer I was feeling better and thought I might have a go at the Skyline again and got into some hill training. It went okay at first and then a 10 miler in the hills one Saturday sent me back onto the injury bench. My legs weren't having it. Oh well. What next? Who knew.
Then for some reason I involved myself in Peter's Dumfries Half Marathon, which was slow, but I survived it, and enjoyed the social side. So then it seemed fair to try the Dunbar 10 miler - where I ran a bit better - and still enjoyed the social. Then I even tried a Parkrun. I was still in one piece - what was happening?
I've continued doing longer runs - but nothing above 15 and a half miles I don't think, so it didn't make much sense that when I realised Peter et al would be doing their last Tynecastle Bronze 30 miler I also realized that I wanted to do it too. Well first of all I thought I might get involved in a supportive capacity, but that idea slowly morphed into me running some of it.
So we reccied the first half of the course, which I liked - and I figured it couldn't hurt to just do the first half and then get the bus from Balerno if need be. "It couldn't hurt" is just a figure of speech by the way.
So, fast-forward - I've been enjoying my running so much that I've been increasing my mileage at a fool-hardy rate. I went straight from a 30 mile week to a 47 mile week. Nothing bad happened and I had a few days off work so I racked up 32 miles during the week last week and then in a nod to sense took the Saturday off. My right foot is a little bit sore. Nothing major, but enough to inject some caution. Then Sunday dawned....
We'd booked a taxi for 8 people to get to West Linton and others were making their own way there.
It was a pretty dawn but the weather was forecast to cloud over and rain a bit - which is exactly what it did.
All the logistics seemed to work out pretty well and a group of us gathered in West Linton outside the Gordon Arms and set off just before 9am
There were a lot of things I wasn't bothering to focus on. One of these things was the calibre of the runners I was running with. "Everybody will just be taking it easy" says Peter. I know what that looks like. Feckers running along at 7 minutes mile while chatting easily and me grunting along behind in a blind panic. So be it.
Off we trotted, at a gallop, with feckers talking easily and me grunting my lungs out and watching every foot-step, as the potential to take a header into the void was real and present.
photo: pb
Very soon I was way too hot and had to take my vest off. Photo pb
At just before 11am on 11/11 we stopped our running so we could do a minutes silence - or was it 2 minutes? I don't know. I hadn't been paying attention. It was long and quiet. Then we had a toast of whisky and port Peter had prepared earlier. Ah, drinking spirits in the hills in the morning. Why wouldn't you? It was superb. Very warming. Very cheering.
Nick had been out at the ceilidh for the Scottish Islands Peaks Race the night before so he had an ebb-tide hangover and then whatever the opposite is - another tide coming in - of port and whisky. His waters looked troubled for a little bit, but then cleared. What are you on about? It's an extended metaphor, you chump, just poorly handled.
Poor Mr Froggy. His appearance here was incidental. Not caused by us, but his passing was marked by us.
Part of the route that I'd cried out of last week was the trek up onto Hare Hill to where a plane crashed with 4 German pilots on board in WW2. I'd never been there before but the site is hard to find. However, Mark Hartree knew exactly where it was and led us straight there and some Harmeny Runners had already been up and marked it. Mark read out a poem he'd prepared earlier. Graham Nash produced a clear liquid in a bottle. Did Toby say that he'd imagined it might be a thirst-quenching lemony drink, or have I just made that up? Anyway, rather than thirst-quenching it was a mind altering mixture of gin, vodka ("french vodka" apparently) and vermouth. For a while all I could hear was light air-craft landing and taking off in my internal airport. All I could think was "Achtung!". I ran down hill as never before. Fleet-footed and fearless but with a numb face. I think Helen was experiencing something similar. If only we could keep drinking the...now what in the hell had GN called it....Vespa!!! If only we could keep drinking Vespa, I would never have to stop running. After a while the euphoria wore off. Euphoria's like that. Very unreliable. Flirt with it, but never marry it.
Then we "regrouped" at the Grey Horse. I had been hoping for another pint of Wee Beastie but apparently they swap the ales around. I think I had a pint of Pentland Firth.
photo: pb
After this I took up my rightful place at the back. I wasn't relishing the thought of running the Water of Leith. We had run 17 miles though and I didn't want to give up yet. I thought I could leave at Colinton and get a no.10 if need be. If it seemed like I was becoming too much of a problem I might take myself off in a soldierly way, but people were looking after me. As far as I could tell they weren't wishing I would drown myself so they could speed up. Or maybe only a wee bit.
photo: pb
photo: pb
A welcome break at the Corn Exchange. I think we were all having a far better time than our faces would suggest.
And then...oh it's time to summarise. There are things I have to do today....we were starting to fall to bits and pieces towards the end. Who knew..there are a number of ways to wind up at the Teuchter's Landing in Leith - and we all did get there.
photo: pb
photo: pb
It was great to see Steve Crane who has been missing in action for some time.
David Allwood was cruelly struck down with a chest infection just before armistice day. He came along to the end though.
Richard H had joined us just after Balerno and I cursed his fresh legs from a distance.
Christina, Richard D and Benedict were already there. Richard had completed his "winter double" of 2 TBs over the course of 2 days in winter.
Roly had spent hours secretly and painstakingly creating awards for the "winners" - Richard and Peter - who ran 30 miles for each of the months from the July 2014 to November 2018 including summer and winter doubles.
photo: pb
My Garmin died at 27.27 miles, but Peter's watch said we'd made it, and after the pub he, Steve Crane and I ran the mile and a bit up the road home. I have never eaten so many peanuts in one day.
So it only remains to thank everyone who was there for a lovely day. Some of the Carnethies in particular I don't know so well, but I feel like I know them because Peter tells me stories about them. Despite being surrounded by an uncomfortable level of eliteness (in ability I mean, not attitude) I felt good-naturedly included and welcomed. I am very pleased to have run 30 miles and survived. It means I ran a 62 mile week! My legs, today, are better than my head, which is somewhat shell-shocked.
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