What the hell? Where have I been since the 21st July? To some extent it's anybody's guess. I think we had a weekend when the weather was bad and we didn't go far....oh yeah, I REMEMBER. Mr Berlingo went for his MOT and didn't we all get a shock. Well I say that. Well literally, shocks was some of the problem. I also knew that my bearings had been singing like a choir every time we went over 40. I knew...I knew it was going to be a big one. Apparently my rims were a rust-heap. It needed welding which took lots of man-hours. I think it was the hottest week of the year and the main mechanic phoned me on the Thursday just to say how hot it was and he had burns up his arms from spending the day under the Berlingo welding and welding. I said I was sorry. We got it back on the Saturday and I was £850 the lighter for it. Mr B looks good though. I was peculiarly grateful that I had the money because I've been working extra hours this summer.
I think Peter and I went for a run locally. He was going to do the Scurry to the Sea the next day, so was saving himself. I was just saving myself. I was going to go out myself on Sunday but realised Peter would probably be finished running by about 10.30 and he said he wanted to come too to wherever.
Just as the race was finishing the skies opened and there was an almighty downpour. To my surprise Peter didn't want to hurry off for a run right away after the race. He seemed to just want to sit in a chair and look into the middle distance.
I'd never really been at the sharp end of a race before and didn't know this was how the athletes celebrated. Well you learn something new every day.
Peter had won a prize so we had to wait around for an hour.
Finally we were off but I thought we needed some treats before we did anything further. I took us to Fenton Barns which I have often seen and wondered about but never been to. I remembered years ago our pal Amanda saying there was a cafe with coffee and cakes. It turned out to be reminiscent of a place near Cape Wrath that Amanda had also pointed us towards - a series of nissen huts with a number of small, diverse and unrelated businesses operating side by side. The best part was there was almost nobody there. We found the cafe and I had coffee and a paradise slice which was delicious. Peter had some soup which he declared too salty. He wasn't himself. I asked him if he wanted water and he said no and then said he was too thirsty. It still looked like it might chuck it down at any minute and I would happily have called it a day. If I haven't been out running by the afternoon I generally feel that I couldn't be arsed and that was the noble sentiment I found myself experiencing.
Peter wanted to though so I forced myself out of the van at Gullane. Right about then the sun came out and we slowly took in the fact that there were an unrealistic number of Painted Ladies in the Buddleia across the road from the cafe. I went and got myself more coffee, the first one not having touched the sides. Peter's face lit up like a lamp. Apparently there was another mass influx of Painted Ladies from
la belle france and when we got home we saw reports from up and down the country of squadrons of the things. They were all very new and fluttery, in the now hot summer sunshine. Not easy to photo but fluttering into us along the paths with a distracted "pardon! excusez-moi!".
Painted Ladies
Small Copper!
Moth
Small Copper
Meadow Brown? Small Heath? Ahh, now I'm not sure.
Green veined Fritillary
The day turned out to be butterflicious and fairly unreal, which is how we like it. It's what the weekend's for.
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I had enjoyed not doing very much over the weekend but then I remembered I had a hilly ultra in less than a couple of weeks. Should I have an extended taper? (Taper from what?) Should I try to pack in a little last minute training? The latter. Lets go for some last minute training.
I had the Wednesday off so I hatched a plan. A fairly full-on plan if you ask me. There is such a disparity between what you can dream up in the evening when you're sitting on the couch, and what feels like a good idea when the time comes.
I had thought that I should go and do most of the Pentland Skyline in reverse, but cut myself a bit of slack by cutting down to the ranger's hut after Harbour Hill. Last summer there was a caravan there selling cake and coffee. I thought that might be a nice way to break it up. I would avoid Bell's Hill, Black Hill and Hare Hill, which are all pretty awful if you're honest - and then go up the Drove Road and finish off as much of the high tops and the reverse of the start of the skyline as I could stomach. This would give me a bit of distance, quite a bit of hills, and plenty of time on feet.
Peter warned me he didn't think the caravan would be there and he was right, so I had to substitute in some paltry sports bar and a drink of water out the tap in the toilet for the coffee and cake I had fondly imagined. I thought - especially early on - about not doing it, or not doing very much of it. I felt sorry for myself because my feet were sore. I was bored. After a while I gave myself a talking to. If that was all I was going to think then I could just not bother thinking because I was doing it and that was all there was to it. That helped a bit. On and on I ran without much of a thought in my head. It really is a lot easier running along the bottom way than going over B, B and H hill and it wasn't long until I was heading up West Kip.
Earlier in the week, thunderstorms had been forecast for Wednesday and at the time I had ruled out going up the hills - but by Tuesday and Wednesday morning all the warnings had gone. There had been a misty start to the run and the tops were covered while further down there was a mix of sunshine and cloud. Just as I was heading up West Kip there was a rumble of thunder to the south and I suddenly realised that I'd be pretty exposed if I happened to be up the high tops in an electrical storm. It put a spring in my step and probably helped me keep going. I was too stubborn and also too tired to alter my route...but I didn't want to try out any of the strategies I could think of.
Happily a breeze sprung up and the storm cleared off else where. I had brought a little bit of water, but probably not enough, and my legs, unused to quite such a lot of hilliness, were getting pretty crampy. My feet were protesting a lot. I cut the corner off the route by heading down diagonally before the top of Turnhouse and then going up the path on the other side that goes past the firing range, thus also avoiding Castlelaw. My legs and feet were shot but I felt fairly proud as I arrived back eventually at the van at Hillend, having covered 17 and a half miles and 4000ft of ascent and descent.
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So this weekend, nobody needed to do much. The main thing was to do not too much. My feet and ankles were still sore on Saturday and I had the DOMS too. We struck out, as we often do, for Gullane. Then a whole other dynamic was set in motion as we stumbled upon the
ALMOST MYTHICAL HOLLY BLUE BUTTERFLY.
I was drinking coffee and dicking about prior to going for a run, and got interested in a wee moth that was dittering to and fro in a shrub near the toilets. Peter came over but I was trying to take a photo and I shooshed him. Then Peter got all excited and declared he thought it was a HOLLY BLUE. I told him to CALM DOWN. I was scared he'd run out in the road or something. He was making me nervous.
Long story short, it was a Holly Blue. It coyly flittered for a while and let us get some shots before taking off over the roof-tops without a backwards glance.
Apparently Peter has been looking for one of these for ages. They're common down south, but not up here. There have just been sporadic sightings in East Lothian over the years.
HB
HB
HB
Painted Lady - still très chic, but rather passé, no longer la dernière chose.
The Common Blue - unearthly in its beauty, but still common.
C'mon, open up! Is it a piece of bark or is it a beautiful Peacock Butterfly?
The outer-wear of a common blue (I don't know if it's m or f, I haven't got to that level of detail, but note all the fancy, fancy as compared to the prim and understated modesty of the Holly Blues above!
Peter whispered this little cutie onto his finger.
Small Copper!
This, you plebs, is art!
I wonder how he gets all those ticks on him?
We saw lots of other good things on that run, so we felt quite satisfied. I say "run" but it took us 4 hours to cover 6 miles, so roughly the pace a wee old lady could make it round on a zimmer. Towards the end, up the hill, Peter got excited and chased something into the undergrowth. When he got home he discovered that a blue butterfly he'd seen and photographed up the top of the hill was also a Holly Blue. We had a clue to where they might be, so the next day we went back....
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HOLLY BLUE DAY
The next day was actually quite spooky and magical from start to finish. Almost as soon as we arrived in Gullane another Holly Blue appeared and gave us a nod. It let us take a couple of pictures and then shot off over a roof-top. After checking out the front streets we headed back up the hill. Peter was looking over all the walls of gardens of the big posh houses along the way, but I made a bee-line back up to the bushes where we had been the day before. Within seconds of arriving I saw a couple of blue butterflies chasing each other not far above. They looked almost too blue to be the Holly Blues which are more subtle in their colouration than their common blue cousins, but as soon as one settled and we got our lenses on it we realised they were indeed Holly Blues. As soon as they fold their wings up they are wearing modest pale blue aprons with small black dots, whereas the Common Blues sport some fancy patterning in blue, brown, green and orange. (See above for example.)
Not long after we arrived, Peter said he thought he saw Abbie Marland coming down the hill. I had heard of her although never met her. She's a legend in butterfly circles, knowing just where and when different butterflies are likely to be seen, and she had heard that we had seen Holly Blues nearby and come to see for herself. So it was a great treat that they were indeed there. They were much too active and flying around but they settled long enough for all of us to get some photos, so we went away satisfied.
Meanwhile, the clouds were darkening, and there were increasing rumbles of thunder in the distance. From the top of the hill we could see that "Fife was getting it", and it looked likely that we would be getting it as well soon, if we didn't beat a retreat. The light was remarkable, however, and the atmosphere really did seem electric and none of us were in a great hurry to leave. We did though - we saw Abbie back to her car and then went for a run around ourselves, until the black clouds caught up with us and we beat a hasty retreat for the car as the skies opened!
We had run 1.82 miles! So I guess this is tapering. I'm sorry this has been so long. The next time you hear from me it will be after the race. If I'm alive.
