Rainy run with a little sun.

 Today's run was surprising and fun. We were going to head to Gullane but the forecast was terrible. It was forecast to be wet here too, but not as wet and not until later. We were thinking of going round Arthur's Seat and then I proposed a detour past the station for a coffee and then  a quick trip to the West End and back just to see what horrors Christmas was throwing up, working on the "so bad it's good" principle. Peter was up for it, slightly to my surprise...so we got coffees and stood on the top of the Waverley Market trying to figure out if a swan dive from the Scott Monument into one of the bucket seats on the "ride" right beside it would be possible. Then we tried to make our way through the crush...

We had thought about taking a look at the German Market - but the crowds even on the pavement of Princes Street were too impossible, so we headed up George Street to see the Silent Disco. I can't imagine that anyone is going to pay £4.50 to get a set of head-phones to dance in a silent disco in this structure of light. Maybe I'm wrong but...why would you? Peter marvelled that someone must have screwed in all the light-bulbs. Then he started making noises about Corstorphine Hill. Well actually, when you're at the West End it's not that far. We took a route that avoided Shandwick Place but expected to have a clear run along St John's road - the pavements are ample and there's never anyone there except at the bus-stops...or so I thought.

We hadn't bargained with there being rugby on. The pavements were four and five people deep all the way along to Murrayfield, so we ran most of the way towards the traffic in the bus-lane. The odd taxi drove towards us on purpose, but mostly the traffic left us alone. It was noticeable how much more good-natured this crowd was than the usual crowd of Hibbies on Easter Road. We got a few smiles and hellos and exhortations to run faster. Mostly cheerful men in skirts having had beer for breakfast. Just the thing to put you in a good mood.

I was running at top speed so have no record of that part of the journey. 

At the wee gate that takes you up C Hill beside the zoo we had a change of gear. For a short while the sun came out and it was quite warm and bright. 

 As we rounded the top of the hill, however, the first rustle of rain in the tree-tops started and quickly gathered momentum as the skies darkened. We took shelter under some trees at the edge of the golf-course for a short while, but when it became clear that the rain wasn't for stopping we set off again. The 4 or so miles from Ravelston to home were more of a grind with the north wind and the rain in our faces, but we both knew we'd be home soon.

Hello dear blog fans. I've had quite a few free Wednesdays in a row - soon to end. 

During my long beautiful Wednesdays I have been going out for longer runs (longer runs = up to 10 miles)  and hurting my knee over and over. I've got a new fave 10 miler - a nice run from here - through Stockbridge and then up Ralvelston onto Corstorphine Hill. Earlier this year I found there was a magic gateway that brings you out onto open hillside. Running down the far side is where I've been hurting my knee. There's something about steep, offroad stuff that is not working for me just now. At the bottom of the far side you come to a wee gate that brings you out onto St John's Road which is a big, nasty road but it has a nice, wide pavement and you often get the west wind behind you which makes for faster, easier running. Then it's choose your route through the centre of town and then choose your lunch from the Co-op.

But every time I've done it I've been limping for a few days afterwards.

I did it last Wednesday and hurt my knee again. It didn't matter so much as I had a course to go to at the weekend and wouldn't be able to run anyway.

I've bought myself a new camera - a Canon Ixus. It's not nearly as good as my Lumix but it's much lighter and smaller, so better for taking out and about. These photos have nothing to do with running but there was a big stormy looking cloud in the sky on Thursday evening. I was working in Shandwick Place on the top floor.

The other day I was out a run and my leg was feeling okay and I started down a line of thinking. Peter has the Dumfries Half Marathon soon. He was moaning remarking recently that the club coach leaves at the crack of dawn and that there will be a substantial amount of hanging around time at the other end before the race even starts. I was feeling a bit sorry for him because he has been doing some pretty solid training recently and could do well at the half marathon. The early start and the hanging around won't help though. I hate a long wait around before a race...and an early start. I can think of three races right off the bat where I've had to get up super-early and I felt rubbish all the way through. The Mull Monsterette, in 2008, was number 1 We were driven there on the morning of the race from Edinburgh by Ben Kemp. We caught the ferry to Mull from Oban and I think were bussed to the start. I felt rubbish right from the get-go, and  nearly followed Tony Stapley off a ridge and into the after-life. We did a terrifying correctional scramble back up on to the ridge where we were meant to be and after that I felt so wiped out (adrenaline and all) I could hardly jog to the end.

 Number 2 early start was for the Speyside Way race in 2011. We camped in my mum's garden and got up at some ambitious time like 4am so we could drive 50 miles to get to registration before 7am. There are buses to the race start and again a long unwelcome wait around in the cold before getting moving. By the time we set off I was ready for some much needed shut-eye. 20 miles in, in the woods, I seriously considered having a lie down. I didn't, but I didn't have a great race.
Number 3 early start was driving through to Fort William on the morning of the Lochaber Marathon, in 2012, with Richard Dennis and Eric from club. Before the race, I remember eating muffins and drinking coffee under the unwelcoming strip-lighting of the Fort William Tesco's cafe, with my face feeling numb with tiredness. Again, I had a disappointing race.

I think you get the point.

It occurred to me that if I drove Peter down there the night before we could stay somewhere and I could do something while he was running the race. But what would I do? Maybe there was a 10K or something on at the same time. When I got home I had a look to see. There wasn't a 10K on - not for a few months anyway, but it started to occur to me that maybe I would just run the race too.

Maybe we could drive down the night before and have a curry (yes!) and maybe even a beer or two and then I could take my light little camera and try and do something like 9 minute miles and just think of it as a weekend break or a jolly.


Before I knew it I'd booked a hotel and signed up for the race. Peter was not so impressed, pointing out how much injury time I've been putting in recently and my track record of making it to races that I've entered this year. I missed the Feel the Burns Hill Race in January, the Carnethy in February, the Manchester Marathon in April, the 7 hills in June and Philiphaugh Hill Race in August.

It hasn't been great. But anyway I've signed up. Peter is not confident enough of me making it yet to give up his place on the bus. I thought a simple, although not definitive, test of whether I'd be able to run the race was to go out and run more than the half marathon distance today, and see if I survived.

So I did. I hadn't taken any snacks with me but after the first mile I came upon a tiny brunch bar. I strongly suspect it fell out of the lunch box of a primary age school child. It fitted nicely into my rucksack pocket and so became my back-up nutrition plan. Plan A was to do without and see how I got on.

I'd intended to head up the Water of Leith, coming back with the wind behind on the canal and then maybe through the meadows and down the side of Arthur's Seat, which is about 14 miles. Arriving at the Dean bridge however I diverted up Ravelston and up Corstorphine Hill instead. In order to try to save my knee I took the route towards Clermiston Tower and then down the Kaimes road. From the Kaimes road I took a bit of the 7 hills route through Carricknowe and then Stenhouse. I couldn't remember what "Stenhouse" was called but remembered that last time I'd run through it with Peter he'd made a joke that had something to do with chickens. When I saw the sign for Stenhouse Drive it came to me. Here's the question...Is there a hen house in Stenhouse? Well is there?

Who knows. I was at 7 miles by this time and still feeling fine. I had no firm plan for getting back - just that it needed to be more than 6 miles.

At Slateford road I rejoined the WOL and ran past the allotments and the graveyard and then joined the canal just  before the main road. I was slowing up by now and had given myself a free pass to do so. I just wanted to do the distance, so it didn't matter if I needed to run slowly. I ran up to the back of a girl with unicorn hair, you know the pink and blue kind. Just as I was going to pass her, however,  she looked over her shoulder, saw me, and took off!!! I've done a lot of pride-swallowing in the last few years, I haven't really had a choice, but this girl didn't look like a runner and I doubted very much if she could really keep up with me, so I picked it up. Once you've done something like this there is nothing for it other than to keep pushing. It didn't take long. Unicorn dropped. Mission accomplished. It passed a bit of time!

By the end of the canal I'd run 10 miles, so I needed to find another three somewhere. I didn't fancy the meadows and Arthur's Seat option so I took a route through town. Running through Edinburgh's "Pubic Triangle" I was close to being shocked by the casual conflation of grave-robbing and lap-dancing all in one bar! What a night out that would be. Formaldehyde shots. It's very likely the devil drinks there.

After the Grassmarket I ran up Victoria Street, past the tourists and up to the Castle, coming back down Johnston Terrace and then making my way east along Queen Street and then home.

Well that's it then. Hello again. It occurs to me that I just accidentally wrote a race report for my midweek long run. Well it's been a race-free year, apart from 2 park runs early on.

I REALLY hope, although I'm scared to, that I can just GO to Dumfries and EAT the curry and DRINK the beers and RUN the race, albeit with a slightly dry mouth and an after-taste of onions.

Holidays!

Oh dear oh dear. Not even half way through the year and I have used more than half of my annual leave already.

Last time we spoke I was just in the process of missing Philiphaugh hill race having jiggered my knee again. On the next Wednesday I went a run up and over Corstorphine Hill to see if I could get away with doing the Oldhamstocks Flower Show Hill race on the Saturday. I took Peter with me and we were delighted to find we could interact with the zoo animals for free. My poor knee was iffy though, turning to a decisive sore later. So I forgot about Oldhamstocks.

Instead we went a cycle along the coast and then returning inland.

 

The clouds gathered for a day of rain the next day. Peter hates the rain but I went out for a run which was stilted for the first 2 miles but then gathered momentum as something that was balled up in my leg relaxed and eased. It was a good feeling. The next day we went running round Gullane and my legs were a bit shocked that I was asking them to run two days in a row - I've been spoiling them all year in terms of rest days - but I didn't do myself any more harm. There was lots of standing around waiting for Peter to take pictures of butterflies but it didn't really matter.

The next day I generously shared my hot new route to the Pentlands with Peter who could have been more grateful. The day out was only slightly marred for me by there being no cafes.

Then the next day I dared to run in the Lammermuirs. This is potential death for knees so I was pushing my luck, but my luck held. About 9 miles and no real problems. Happy days.

I had a day of not doing anything at all, because rest is meant to be good for you. The next day I had chores to do in town so I did them on the hoof. Peter came too but he wasn't very happy. It wasn't pretty and there were no butterflies. We came back through town because I had to go to the bank. The place was jam-packed with tourists, like flies in a jar. Flies in a jar? Well I don't know - lots of swarming activity, no discernible goal.

CONSCIENCE - Ahem, these are people you're talking about with individual lives and hopes and dreams.

Yeah, I know, I know. That's why you shouldn't have big crowds of people. They're much easier to hate.

I was happy to get a number of chores done.

It was getting near the end of my holidays though, and I'd had a big running mileage week - 24 miles!

Not long ago I considered 30 the bare minimum number of miles to run in a week. If there's one thing time teaches you it's that it's best to be a bit flexible.

Anyway, I'd been having a good holidays, but had not really gone anywhere new. The secret cycle route from Gilmerton to Roslin is fairly exciting but I found I wanted even more.

I've been eyeing route 76 around the Forth for some time, thinking it would be a big day out but I'd like to do it. I ran this past Peter who wasn't all that keen but said he'd give it a go. It took us a while to get moving yesterday though so it seemed wise to ease back on the scale of the day a little. I'd found a post on-line from a chap who'd cycled some of route 76 but cut across the Forth at the Kincardine Bridge and come back on the other side. We set off to do this.

Fate was clearly smiling on us as we found a pair of magical spectacles just at the entrance to the grounds of Hopetoun House, which fitted me perfectly. 

You wouldn't really want to do this route on a road bike. I don't think Sustrans are really clear about what they consider a "route". Still it was pretty good and took us to completely new places. I haven't even begun to photo-document it adequately. The thing was the pocket on the side of the rucksack I was wearing is snug for my camera and it's a hassle to get it out.

The route through the grounds of Hopetoun is sometimes gravelly, sometimes muddy. It winds around the house and then goes into the woods most of the way to Blackness Castle. We'd taken this route before so there were no surprises. After Blackness, however, we didn't know what to expect, and were treated to a pretty good trail right on the edge of the Forth until Bo-ness. At Bo-ness things got confusing. The signs for route 76 led us up to Kinneil House and the Antonine Wall - which was interesting looking but the path just disappeared. We tried mountain biking through the fields and woods at the back but never picked up a good trail again and had to back-track - so went on the narrow and busy A904 taking the Gate 10 entrance to the beautiful Grangemouth. Both of us wanted to take pictures of the surreal and ugly landscape at Grangemouth but we both wanted to survive too, so there are no pictures. We got through all this, having lost all faith in the way we were following but then found ourselves in lovely country-side again - with the unlovely name of "Skin-flats".

All the way we'd had a west wind in our faces - which was intentional - so we could enjoy the second half of the journey more. It was a great relief to make it to the Kincardine Bridge, knowing that after that the route would be less ambiguous and the wind would be behind us. It was after 4pm and we thought we might have missed our chance for a cafe stop - but we stopped in Culross and were rewarded with quaint streets which I must have been too lazy to take a photo of - and an excellent cafe called the Admiral where I had coffee and almond and citrus cake. I honestly can't believe I didn't take photos of that either.

Peter wasn't that keen on this adventure at the start of the day but he cheered up as we went. For much of the Fife coastal path he regaled me with stories of the run he did from Stirling to  North Queensferry. Just before the road immediately below, he told me, he had accidentally strayed onto MOD ground. He had scaled the razor wire without thinking and was minding his own business when 20 or 30 troops started towards him with a mixture of bayonets and Tommy Guns. "Halt! Halt!" They commanded, but just then a small patch of blue sky seemed to break off and as it drew closer he realized it was a cloud of a gazillion common blue butterflies. (Which as he would tell you, are not common at all.) Before he could say "Well I never!" the blues had latched onto him with their lengthy proboscises and transported him clear through the air and away from the battle scene. 

Before we set off I had joked that if we happened to be coming back over the bridge at about 2020hrs we would witness the full moon rising in the east. It wasn't that time when we crossed the road bridge to South Queensferry and set off home through the grounds of Dalmeny, but it wasn't that far off.

When we got in we were tired and jolly hungry. The end.