Christmas Crab and Boxer Day

 Ever since September I have been going on about how we are going to go swimming on Christmas day. I don't know why I thought this was a good idea but I try not to over-analyse my enthusiasms because they often end up making me do something interesting and memorable, even if I'm not sure what the point is. Xmas morning it was 0 degrees however, and it looked overcast and grey and the idea seemed about as appealing as...I don't know what...I looked carefully at the idea that it might be better just to stay in bed.

It's difficult to define the exact feeling - the lack of enthusiasm - at the thought of going in cold water. I suppose the fact that to 'pour cold water on' is an idiom for flattening enthusiasm speaks for itself. So why do it? Well what the hell else were we going to do? The clock was ticking. We were going for dinner at Peter's brother's family's house at 3pm, so we better get whatever we were going to do done by then. Up. Hup-2-hup-2....

It was a nice surprise, and at first I didn't trust it, when the sun came out. As we drove East towards Gullane things kind of opened up. We went for a four miler around and about the beach first. I executed a perfect crab. In my head. Peter generously said it was better than he could do and snorted. In my head, the only place that really matters, the judges awarded a perfect 10. Never since Nadia Comaneci had someone described such a perfect arc using only the human form. It looks a bit different in the photo though.

The swim! Well, you know, it really wasn't that bad. There wasn't even any ice on the ground this time. Peter had got us new hoods and gloves and these worked well...I swam in the region of 100 yards.

Then it was home and into the hot shower and then away down to Neil and Sue's for a dinner more fancy, varied and elaborate than we had seen - probably since last Xmas at their house. As the drinking commenced, Neil confessed to a thought that he should come with us some time and jump in the water at Gullane, and that maybe Ryan, Peter's nephew, would come too. By the end of the evening they had enthusiastically agreed that they were coming on a 'Death Swim' and Laura, Peter's niece, had warned Peter that if anything happened to Neil, he would have to do the speech at her wedding.....

Today Peter was up at the crack of dawn to go a run with Graham Henry and others. I left the house at a more sedate 11.30 to go a run along the Prom and back. I bumped into an old friend who I know from w-a-y back and talked about everything under the sun for the best part of an hour. I had to get going again because I was cooling too much, but it was great. By the time I hit the prom, which must have been about lunch-time, it was absolutely hoaching - as busy as a summer's day - and I had to weave in and out between the family's, push-chairs, dogs, kids on bikes....

Where does the time go? It's dark again, and maybe I'm going to go and cook the tea.

The Annual GH Boxing Day Run

My new look - Hitler in a skort.

I was a bit concerned that it might be too soon for me to be out on Graham's famed Boxing Day Run in the Pentlands. And yet it seemed a bit defeatist to just not go in case I couldn't hack it.

The obvious thing to do was to go along with the thought that if it was too much I could make my own way back to the car.

We had thought we might arrive early for a warm-up before-hand. We actually arrived at 9am on the nose. The radio was beeping as we drove into Morrison's car park. It was a cool, misty day and there was a good-sized helping of Porties already there.

Shortly after we arrived, Michael G. appeared, already running. He was suffering a bit from the ill-effects of the demon drink. I felt somewhat liverish myself from unaccustomed rich food and drink, but not on the same part of the spectrum as MG.

As I settled into the run I started to realise I needn't have worried. Today's run wasn't going to be a race. It was great to be out there. Running uphill is still a challenge but in my head I'm now officially training for the Feel the Burns Hill Race, and if you know what you're working for it doesn't feel so bad. It was generally a very up-beat crew, somewhat noisy. I might have been noisy. I'm not exactly sure.

The map above probably gives a much better account of where we went than I could give you. It was seriously clagged in. So much so that even very familiar parts of the Pentlands seemed unrecognisable. The only reference point we had once we were above the trees and into the clag, at first, was the roar of the bypass. After we'd dipped down the other side and up onto the bigger hills there was no such reference point. (Sheep and heather don't count.) I thought we were a lot nearer the Howe than we actually were, but Graham had taken us up to the dip between Turnhouse and Carnethy. This was about half-way and we stopped for a break. For the second half we ran down Turnhouse and then up around Castle Law and down the other side on the chunky gravel road. Then over some very wet and muddy bog. I didn't recognise it at all but wasn't worried. I could hear the by-pass in the distance. Eventually we dropped down below the cloud again and it was a flattish mile or so back to the car.

12.5 miles for me. Peter ran 12.8 but then he ran his own route! Ruth ran an economical 12.28. Take your pick. I loved it. What a great day out. Better wash I guess. But as Graham pointed out, "You could pay a fortune for that mud at Stobo!" and he's quite right.