The weekend that just was.

I have been trying to allow myself more time to recover from the marathon than usual. I had a course all weekend the weekend before last so I just went for an hour's run in the morning on the Saturday and the rest of the weekend I sat on my arse.
I was gagging for a run by Monday, so, unusually, I got up early and went out a run before work. On Wednesday I got out a longer run in the morning and realised that I felt better - and that in fact all the taper and then the marathon and then the trying to recover malarkey was getting in the way of my regular running which keeps me ticking over nicely. Still, sometimes you need to lose a thing to appreciate it. 2 years ago after running Stirling I kept my running mileage up initially, even though I felt all stiff, until I tripped over a wee root and re-cracked some ribs. I took this as a message from the universe, something like this, "you're tired, you twat, take it easy, do you never learn?". "Thanks universe." I said, rolling my eyes.

Anyway, last Saturday it was forecast to pour with rain. That seemed a bit unfair as I'd been banged up at work for all the good weather. Peter was agitating to go and do Traprain Law but I couldn't get behind the idea of waiting all day for a 3pm start for a run in the rain, so went out in the morning. It was drier in the morning than t'was foretold so I felt smug as I arrived home about an hour before Peter was due to set off with Nick for the race. Traprain is quite an exciting wee race however, so I thought I'd just go along with my rainy gear on and take some photos.

The whole afternoon was more active and more fun than I'd anticipated. I wanted to try to find a way to get to the far side of the river crossing without getting my feet wet but I didn't know how far it was to the bridge and along the other side. It wasn't actually obvious how to get back along the river - there wasn't a path along the riverside, so once I'd crossed the bridge I went up a path and along a road and then down into the wrong field and waded around in neck high thistles and nettles. Realising, after a while, that I wasn't in the right place, I waded back up to the road and down another path, and this time, thankfully, arrived at the far side of the river crossing just as the eventual winner arrived there too. An interesting selection of styles were deployed by the various runners.

 

 

It stayed mercifully dry most of the time although it was humid and must have been tough running. As soon as everyone was through the river I ran back to the other side so I could get photos of everyone heading for the finish after they'd been up Traprain Law. Apparently the leaders were sent a bit wrong up the hill, (not by me, despite rumours to the contrary). To my surprise, the 2nd person who burst through the bushes on the return journey was my companion in life, Peter Buchanan.

1...

2!!!!

"The leaders were sent the wrong way!" Peter some how squeaked out as he passed. "Save your breath Sir and capitalise on your gains!" was my advice, or something like that. Perhaps it was "Run like fuck!". He did indeed, arriving at the finish in 3rd place.

I can't put up all the race photos again because there are about 130 of them so I'll put up a wee selection...

"I was sent the wrong way!" quoth Nick as he passed.

I like the contrasting Carnethy vests and verdure.

The rain was always threatening and never far away.

Go Kathy!

Is this argy bargy?

Jonesy

???

El Presidente gives a rousing speech at the end.

So that was Saturday. I was exhausted after all that. Before I knew it it was Sunday. I have been worrying about the Berlingo because I hadn't been in it for a while and it doesn't like the rain so I was very impressed when we climbed in and it started first time. Hurray! It was great to get back to having coffee and cake before running and then just mucking about. Peter had some kind of butterfly mission - in search of the elusive lemon sherbet or something. I joined in anyway. The air was thick with Painted Ladies who Peter assured me had drifted in on a warm wind all the way from France. He wondered aloud what the collective of painted ladies was while I wondered quietly if a man's  testosterone just goes a bit wrong when they hit 55 and fills their brain with insect-longings. Whatever. It's good to have a passion in life.

Here are some pictures.

This baby seal was alive! But it was right at the top of the beach and looked exhausted. I phoned it in when I got home so hopefully it is okay.

The end again.