Delights and diesmal failures.

I'm struggling for a title for all this - it's been a weekend packed with delights and disappointments. Maybe I'll know it by the time I've written it.

We had planned to do the Hunter's Bog trot on Saturday - one of the few club championship races where I might have a shout at 10 points, and wonderfully local. I even quite like it. But on Friday evening I came home from work in a gloom. It had been a busy day and a busy week and I was dreading the thought of the pressure of racing - especially as I really had to do a long run on Sunday and wasn't loving the idea.  Instead I wished I could escape into the hills somewhere. But I thought Peter would be dead-set on racing. But then he mentioned he wished that he could go after some Green Hair-streaks, which were in this special place in the Pentlands - and would be out for a limited time only....

Well it didn't take long for us to set our championship ambitions aside, and pretty soon I felt cheered up about my weekend. We had a happy Friday evening, watching another episode of "Line of Duty" on BBCi Player, with Peter talking through it and me telling him to shut up. To be fair, we're both losing it with Line of Duty. It's the usual thing - the writers, in an effort to make up a new episode, start to slightly mess with the characters' characters - and get them to do things that they just wouldn't do - and we're supposed to go "ooh, ahhh, maybe it was this all along" - but it isn't cleverly enough done so it just breaks your trust and distances you from the plot. Peter was going on about his butterfly ambitions, how they will progress through the next couple of months. Very soon he'll be after the small coppers. He adopts a northern irish accent and parodies Superintendent Hastings - "I'm interested in one thing and one thing only. Small Coppers!" Hohoho.

The next day we are up and out sharpish for us. Part of the deal is that I get coffee and cake from the Pentlands Cafe before we even start. Then we set off up the road and paths for about a mile until we get to the special blaeberry field which has been fenced off to keep the sheep out the blaeberries. For some reason this is where the Green Hair-Streaks are likely to be - but it's more cold and grey than we'd hoped and Peter says in a dismal voice that he doesn't think he'll see any today. We go into the blaeberry field anyway. In a little while there are shrieks of delight. Peter is finding not one, but many green hair-streaks. I haven't seen any at all yet but don't much care. I am busy photographing a bee when I look a couple of inches left and Bob's Your Uncle. The cold is making them slow and sluggish. This one doesn't mind being handled - in fact it likes the body-warmth, so I get all the time in the world to focus. When it is time to put it down it won't let go so I have to blow it off my fingers.

We are in the field for a good while and then are heading back down to the gorse to see if there is any action there when I look to my right and cannot believe my eyes. There is this big, massive, lovely moth, which I happen to know is an emperor moth. I had seen a picture of one and thought that I'd like to see one. That it was better than any of the butterflies I have seen. So there is one suddenly right in front of me! I was scared it would fly straight off and not give me a chance to focus, but like the butterflies, it was sluggish from the cold and was quite willing to be handled and then put back. 

Then the sun came out and suddenly the little green fellas came to life! It was back to being a battle to focus on them.

I had to kind of persuade Peter away, but I wanted to get a run in too. He managed to tear himself away. A little further on a fellow runner drew even - and it turned out to be Karl Zeiner. I knew who he was but not what he looked like, but he and Peter knew each other. We chummed each other for a while - then we turned left and Karl went right. The sun kept coming and going and everything looked very fresh - probably because it had been raining all night the night before.

We had a very nice run and arrived back at the van in good form. There was a strange smell of diesel back at the van, but we thought maybe someone had one of these barbeque kits - they smell a bit like that - and headed to Tescos to get some shopping. 

When we got back to the van in the car park at Tescos we could again smell a diesely smell. I had a look in the boot in case a bottle of oil had spilled but there was nothing in there. Then I had a wee look under the car. Oh dear. Diesel drips! We tried a drive by our local Citroen garage but they finish early on a Saturday and were gone. There really wasn't anything to be done. 

Things going wrong with the car give me the doom. And this was particularly giving me the doom. I was worried the tank would empty completely and then how would we get it to the garage? I was worried it would go on fire. I also don't want to take it to the garage tomorrow morning - it means getting up super early so I'm not late for work. Bloody buggar.

By this morning I had got to a bargaining stage and so I made a deal with God that I wouldn't complain about having to take it to the garage if it would just have a. not blown up over night and killed a small family and if it would b. start and still have some diesel in it so I could actually take it to the garage on Monday. 

I also had a long run to do, which I wasn't really happy about. Last Sunday's long run was a singular failure and I guess I was afraid of having another one. Aspects of this marathon training have gone surprisingly well but if I can't turn out the long runs I don't see how it can work out well on the day.

One thing I'd learned from last Sunday was not to wait until 1pm to start, so despite still having elements of doom in my stomach I set off, taking the car-key with me, just to see how things were...

Things were okay. It was still there - there was still some diesel in the tank - it hadn't gone down much - and it still started. Result. Some of the doom lifted.

It was a mixture of sun and cloud and very little wind. What wind there was was easterly, so in my face - but actually I was finding the conditions were just right for running. By mile 3 or so I was happying up. Maybe I liked running! Maybe I was going to enjoy my long run!

At mile 4 I was joined by a guy called Roddy who is from Galashiels and is doing an ironman in June in the borders. We talked about how you can get tired of structured training. It was good to have company. He was just going along steadily and so it was comfortable chatting. At mile 5 I went to the garage to get a drink and he headed onwards. I was standing next to the bin in Musselburgh eating a gel and drinking a drink when I saw Aileen, so I got her to stop and speak to me for a little while. 

"Some long run" you're saying. I know, I know. Anyway, after a while I got going again and only stopped to take a photograph of a rat at the side of the road. Anyone else would have done the same. Pretty soon I was pulling in to the now familiar and welcome Prestonpans Co-op car park for my mid-way refreshments. Part of my running remit for the day was to do "5 miles at marathon pace" in the middle of my run. I figured I'd do that after I'd had another drink - and a coffee and a Mars Bar. Well you know I was hungry - and the first gel hardly touched the sides.

Marathon pace didn't turn out to be very good. It started at 8.53 and then got slower - still it was warm so I figured maybe it was a case of just keeping up the effort - which I did - even if the pace wasn't what I would have hoped for. I went round the lagoons so was finished this 5 mile effort just before Porty Prom. Just as well. The people were there -  you know who they are - I've complained about them often enough. What that Prom needs is some rules and some discipline. Single file only. Children should be quiet and walk in a straight line. Dogs should only walk in a straight line. Nobody should be on wheels at all - especially if a grumpy runner with crampy legs and heat-stroke is trying to get through. Nobody should look at me. Are you looking at me????

Then back up through Leith where there has been "a game" on. The game is to pretend you're interested in sport while wearing a nasty green and white nylon jersey and drinking beer. Bigoted old worthies eyed me as they smoked outside the pub and I ran by. I gave them the hate. No words were spoken but they got and returned it.

And then I went to Sainsbury's to get a salad. The end. I hope the car gets fixed tomorrow.

Easter Weekend

I've missed a weekend. I think last weekend was when Peter and I were going to get a train to North Berwick but they were all cancelled, so we went to Dunbar instead. We were going to run to Gullane or Aberlady or Longniddry or somewhere but then at East Linton we diverted to Haddington along the river. It's all been covered in Peter's blog.

So let's just start with this Easter Weekend, for which the sun has come out and stayed out. I nearly didn't take the easter weekend off, having the option to stay in the office with a skeleton crew, and it was really just laziness that persuaded me to take it off. I'm so glad I did. Peter and I had both, independently, done hard sessions on Wednesday and Thursday, so we were in the mood for taking it easy on Friday. Peter had some plan to get pictures of the Holly Blue butterflies before anyone else did, and he had a map of where all the holly bushes were around Gullane and Aberlady. We found plenty of holly but there was no sign of no blues. I didn't care and just loafed around taking pictures of anything.

This is my new favourite thing. Hahaha.

What butterflies there were were moving faster than I was. And the birds. Thank goodness for the rather more sedate crows.

In the woods the Speckled Woods were back in their favourite spot.

The sun, although welcome, was exhausting, and it made me reflect on just how hard it could be at Edinburgh Marathon if it's too hot. I resolved to do as much warm weather adaptation as I can before then.

The next day I didn't want to run very far and had said to Peter I might cycle to the Park Run and do that. He poured a big vat of scorn on my head about it, but then Nick was in touch saying were we doing anything and before I knew it we were ALL going. In stark contrast to 2 weeks ago, the sun was out again and it was warm, and PB went from muttering blame words under his breath to clearly quite enjoying himself as we had a pleasant cycle to Cramond and arrived early.

Nick in his Bawston Top.

I had a much better run than the last 2, despite it being much too warm. So although I came quite close to puking on the line I was in a good mood for the rest of the day. We were just about to head when I heard a familiar voice call my name and there was Shelagh McLeish, who I haven't seen for ages.Then also rocked up Douglas Young and Willie Murray and John Forker; all Porties who were already well established when I turned up in 2005. We had a good chat about how the kind of old we are isn't the same kind of old that old used to be. It was delightful to see them.

Then PB and Nick and me went for coffee and cake, and then a cycle to Cammo because, ahem, butterflies. There were some peacocks patrolling the paths and some orange tips dotting around. Peter disappeared into the bushes. Nick remembered he had a show to go to in town. I had a stand in a tree for a while and then cycled home to enjoy looking up my for age percentage on my Park Run result. 

The next day didn't go so well. When I got up, not quite at the crack of dawn, the news was that something had happened to the internet. Peter was away to Tentsmuir with Nick and I was planning to do some kind of long run. But first of all I wrestled with the internet for some time. I spoke to people with Welsh and Brummy accents on the phone, who told me things I didn't quite trust. I was trying not to get too caught up in it, but I've got trouble letting problems be at times. Meanwhile the day was heating up. I used a little bit of the precious data on my phone to find out if the trains to North Berwick were running properly - but I could see a couple of them had been cancelled, and if it was like last weekend then in all likelihood they'd continue to get cancelled all day. I checked out the  buses and saw that the Sunday service from North Berwick is pretty thin. I'd kicked around a few long run routes in my head and in the end, perhaps lazily, settled on Edinburgh to North Berwick.

Now it was 1pm and there really wasn't any time for much thinking. I headed out the door and hoped it would work out okay. It was pretty hot. And my legs were stiff. After a couple of miles I was beginning to loosen off however. Maybe it would be okay...

Portobello Prom was horrific, but I expected it to be. I took the straightest line I could to save energy and did my best to edit out the crying babies, barking dogs, milling people, tripping children, scooters, mobility scooters, people on sticks and in wheelchairs, smells of hot-dogs and ice-cream and cigarettes. Bleah.

By Musselburgh I was very warm and took refuge in the Shell garage. I had a cold drink and a protein bar under a shady tree and felt better.

After that I was trying to figure out what the hell to do. I COULD run to North Berwick but I wasn't going well and couldn't stand the thought of the windy, sandy paths along Longniddry Bents on tired legs. But the wind was getting up behind me now. I could feel it wrapping my own heat round me. I thought I'd run on to the Co-op at Prestonpans and have another think. By the time I got there I was nearly dead, but I hoped some caffeine and some food and drink would maybe pick me up. But it was now mid to late afternoon and truly hot and I was truly tired. There was no way I was going to run to North Berwick - particularly as there was likely to be shenanigans with transport home. I ran on to 10 miles thinking well maybe I could turn around there and plod out a slow 20.

This was the view from Prestonpans Co-op carpark. The fact I even took it tells a story. What was I even thinking?

When I turned around at 10 miles the news was bad. There was now a fairly strong and quite hot south-westerly wind in my face. I hung in there for another few miles but as I was coming back round the corner into Musselburgh I flung in the towel and got a bus.

Alas, my suffering was not over yet. The bus was slow and crowded - then we had to change bus as there was allegedly a fault with the heating. We were decanted from one hot bus to another.

There was a woman behind me arguing rather belligerently with someone on her phone. She was saying something which sounded disparaging to someone called Susan. I turned my head slightly to see if I could see her. What I saw was...no phone!...Was she Susan?  I hoped at least that I wasn't Susan. After that I kept my eyes front until it was time to get off. By the time I got off the bus my legs had set like concrete, and it cost a lot to get them moving again. I'd run less than 13 miles and was missing the sweet taste of success. When I got home there was still no internet, which meant not only no on-line fun but no Netflix. How did we ever watch the normal telly? Was it always so bad?

Somewhere around 8.30pm the internet flowed back up the lines and into our flat. Aaah. That was better.

So at last we get to Monday. I don't know if Jesus did anything particular on Easter Monday. I thought the main events took place Friday-Sunday. Perhaps on Monday he was just taking a time-out from being in his cave and having fun surprising the bejeezus out of his some time mates, the apostles. (Some of them looking a bit shame-faced.)

Anyway, whatever Jesus did, I was determined to make a better job of today than yesterday. I looked at what my marathon training schedule wanted me to do; 6 miles with some 400m efforts. Well I could so that...but I didn't feel much like it. Instead it entered my head to go and recce the adjusted route for this Saturday's Hunter's Bog Trot. The radical road has been closed because of rock fall for some time, so the route was going round the top of the crags as in other years, but also incorporating a middle section which climbed up towards the seat by one path and down again by the next. I'm not sure that I've understood this middle section, but it doesn't really matter. Someone will point us in the right direction on the day. (If I do it.) I went up one path and then came down the tourist route up. It's hard, or maybe impossible, to stay completely in control coming down that path, because the path has lots of little tiny stones like ball-bearings. I'm not sure everyone enjoyed my thunderous descent as much as I did, complete with one legged skates, daring leaps, milling arms and shrieks. Oh well.

It is honestly a quite lovely route, and I thoroughly enjoyed it, but a lot of that will be to do with going at a moderate and manageable pace all the way.

The Start

So it's back to work tomorrow. Awww, pants. Unless I win the lottery tonight. My legs will thank me for a day off though.