Flouring the Pentlands

Richard D. from our club is having a birthday  on Monday so in order to celebrate it he's organising a handicap  race over the low level route in the Pentlands for tomorrow. Well, more of a handicap run I guess. No timings unless you time yourself  and you get to choose your own handicap. Because we are trying to entice people from the club to join in who don't usually run in the Pentlands we sought the blessing of the Pentland Rangers to put some flour arrows down to mark the route.

We wanted a hillier run today so combined the major junctions of the route we were marking with a run of our own that took in some of the high tops. As we were cresting West Kip we saw an old man with one eye who was taking his time coming down a steep bit. We stopped and chatted for a while just to make sure he was alright. It was only 3pm but it was a gloomy day and quite dark and the sun was setting as a low band of orange over on the western horizon. He said he was fine so we moved on. It was a slow, atmospheric sunset. Very subtle colours and light.

We watched the film Troll Hunter last night which showed a lot of shots of wild Norwegian landscape in grey and dank weather, not unlike today, and the landscape today was reminiscent...right down to the evidence of trolls which consisted of fallen trees and scattered stones...It was a pretty diverting film and got better as it went on. If you watch it use the subtitles not the dubbing.

Anyway, it ended up an 11+ mile run in the hills and we got our last arrow down just as full darkness was upon us. I'm a bit apprehensive about having another 11+ mile run tomorrow but I guess its a way to "ease" into ultra training again. I'm away to refuel on wine and pizza.

Today's take home lesson is if you're going running with bags of flour in a rucksack, put them in a plastic bag too...

Paxton XC 2012

I woke up at 7.30am this morning and somehow convinced myself that I had another hour in bed so I wasn't best pleased when the Chinese alarm clock went off at 7.45am. I got the Chinese alarm clock on line for £7.00. £7.00 buys you an inaccurate thermometer and clock combined. It plays 12 "charming" tunes with bum notes and changes colour while it does so. In the evening it is funny. In the morning its really annoying, but it does the job, it wakes you right up.

We had a full van-load of folk coming with us to Paxton so there could be no toying with the idea of not going. All too soon, Ally Robertson arrived at the house, full of youthful chatter and hilariously had insulted Peter within 10 seconds of having entered the flat, saying that he thought Peter's feet were too wide to wear spikes and that someone 12 or 13 stone probably shouldn't wear them. I don't really know how this conversation started but I was in the bedroom holding in sobs of laughter as Peter indignantly told him that he was 11 stone not 12 or 13....

Anyway - we were soon on our way to pick up the noble Tony Stapley from Portobello. The weather was milder and the wind had dropped which was a pleasant surprise. Shery was going to be meeting us there as well but had had a bit of a night last night so texted to say she wasn't coming. Amanda also texted to say she'd been up over night with Horatio the dog and had slept in so would not be coming. I was hoping Kathy H. would put in an appearance but it was not to be - so not a good show of Porty ladies. Just us chaps.

The A1 takes you all the way down into England before the road to Paxton takes you back into Scotland. I felt I wanted to mark the crossing of the border in some way and found myself randomly singing the Star-Spangled banner. Everyone else joined in. This set a precedent for each border crossing.

At Paxton house I couldn't make head nor tail of the course map - only getting that it was 2 different laps, unlike last year, so we went for a general run around. This proved productive as we found a fallen tree, two tiny but quite dangerous little ponies and then some marshals who told us where the course went. As last year's course had been restricted by the snow and ice we got a really nice surprise following the course down through the woods to the side of the Tweed and then along and back up on really good clay paths through the woods. It was scenic and it was surprisingly mild. Getting back to the start we had completed the 1st lap - a full 2 miles, and were willing to wait and see what the 2nd lap was like.

There was the usual minimal preamble and we were off. Wilma Kerr, who I know to be in my category, seemed to be racing me and I thought she'd decided that since I was looking particularly fat after Christmas she'd be beating me today. She made a real effort to go past me and get ahead a little on the downhill swoop through the woods. I was alarmed as I figure she might be able to beat me on the flat and the next bit was really quite flat - but in the past I've been able to catch her on the hills. I resolved to stay with her on the flat along the riverside and then try to get her on the hill. This went according to plan but by the time I'd got to the top of the hill and was on the undulating way to the start of lap 2 I realised I'd overcooked it and had to ease up a bit just to regain some breath and some composure. I hung in grimly for the next mile, feeling pretty done in, but then started to recover as we headed down a steep bank, through a river and up the other side. There were another couple of ladies beside me. One faded backwards as we got to the lumpy field and the other went ahead. There was  a short up, a short down and another short but brutal up and we were on the home straight over very soft grass. Digby Maas was just ahead and I was ready to settle but then Peter and Graham were cheering me on and Graham roared at me "Go ON! Its only 100 METRES! USAIN BOLT DOES IT IN LESS THAN 10 SECONDS. I'LL GIVE YOU 18!"
At this I pulled something out of somewhere and surged past Digby, holding that position to the line. After quite a while bent over with my hands on my knees I was ready to stand up and face the world again.

So as soon as its over the world is an easy place. We spent ages drifting around. Had a warm down jog to the river to wash our filthy shoes. Peter had beaten Ally and so was now contentedly teasing him about being beaten by a fat old man. Back at the car we hooked up with Graham (who had cycled there and was now cycling back) and Tony, and then we went in to the cafe in Paxton House for soup and talked races, races, races. Its been about my ideal day really. On the way back there was lots of chatter in the car. The skies darkened and it began to rain a bit but we'd had the best of the day earlier so we didn't care. My legs are ridiculously stiff now, - presumably yesterday's 15 miler on top of today's racing, but I felt okay when I was racing.

The results were up by the time we got home. Maybe Susan Ridley was out partying with Shery, Amanda and Horatio last night because she wasn't there today, shifting me up to 2nd in my category. Maybe its tiredness, racing excitement or senility but I can't work out what this means in terms of final placings, - whether I'm safe in 3rd place in my category or still need to defend it. When Ally got into the car I wanted Peter to check he had his seatbelt on in the back and the most I could muster was "Does the boy have his lifebelt on?" so there aren't a lot of lights on in the yak brain. I hope its only temporary. Great day though. Well done Borders XC people, once again, for a top race at a low, low price.

Longish Run

Bad Santa

Photos - what Peter saw. I didn't see anything. Apparently some of the birds are goosanders.

The Marcothon continues and we keep churning out small and frequent mileage. By yesterday night, despite having run everyday we had only made 23 miles  for the week. Both of us are a bit rounder after Christmas despite avoiding most of the stuff that goes with it.The hardest thing to resist or what we're least managing to resist is drinking a wee bit every night. I'd had 3 "dry" days by yesterday although Peter was making inroads into my winning beers from the Greenmantle Dash. We managed to squeeze in a 3 miler round Arthur's Seat last night in between picking up a package that the postie couldn't be arsed delivering from the Royal Mail depot and going to Tesco's for a late Friday shop. In Tesco's we picked up a nice bottle of red, finally settled down to eat at about 10.30 at night and watched Bad Santa whilst getting mildly toasted. We were ready for Bad Santa to be truly bad but it was very funny and I have still been chuckling about it today.

Anyway, today we never got up until 11am and were needing to do something about the week's mileage and our general lack of long mileage so we hatched a scheme, given the harsh westerly wind, to run up the Water of Leith, back down the canal, along the meadows and round the back of Arthur's Seat. We had heard there were some trees down on the Water of Leith but weren't prepared for the scale of what we found! Big old trees right across the path and climbing involved. It made the route much more interesting and cheered us.

As is the usual pattern of our longer runs together, Peter got caught up taking photos and I kept plugging away, so he got his workout from interval sprints to catch me up. I lost him for long periods today.

By the time we were back on the Meadows my legs were hurting in lots of different kinds of ways and I had had about enough. It took an effort of will to go round the back of Arthur's Seat and not just run for home. I washed the trainers I was wearing today a few days ago and while doing so I took their insoles out and found the legend "July '09" inscribed inside, so maybe they're getting a bit old.

In the last mile our thoughts turned to what we wanted to eat when we got home. I had an uncanny hankering for the kind of meat paste my mum would put on ritz crackers and call it party food in the 70s. I told this to Peter and he got it right away. I doubted that kind of meat paste still existed in the world but when we got to Scotmid (if you want food from the past, Scotmid is perhaps the right place to go) we not only found Prince's paste - but it was on offer! 2 for a pound. I had the sardine and tomato and Peter went for the beef and ham. Bonzer. Salty delight.

Good to get the first longish (it was 15 and a bit miles) run in a while done. It hurt like hell despite my slow pace. I am comforting myself, telling myself its always like that when you start to run long again. I think it really is. Tomorrow's delight is the Paxton XC and we have a full Berlingo of Porties and one Carnethy cuckoo along with us.

Calton Hill (clogged with contraceptives)

It was a pretty vile day but we've still got the Marcothon mentality. If you don't want to go out then just go out for a wee bit. I had to go to the bank to put money in and P had to go to the bank to take money out and the bank's half a mile up the road and just near to the steps up to Calton Hill, so it seemed to make sense to go for a run in the wind and the rain up there.

Somehow or other we got into a discussion of street names and both of us thought that there are more street names now than there used to be. We thought it was likely that Visit Scotland had a hand in this. What used to be nondescript little lanes suddenly have grand names referring to historic personages. I've remembered what set all this off. The steps on the right up Calton Hill are now suddenly called "The Hume Walk".
We went up the right steps ( yeah yeah - the Hume Walk) and up to the top and then dropped down onto Waterloo Place, stopping only momentarily to spy in the windows of the civil servants to see if we could see our friend Richard, and then ran back round, via Royal Terrace to the bottom of the steps again. This time we took the steps on the left. As usual I was watching my feet and Peter was gazing around  - so he never saw the three used Johnnies and the shot-gun cartridge on the steps. That must have been some night. Calton Hill has the reputation of being a pick up place for stranger sex, so I shouldn't have really been surprised. Good to see they're being sensible about it. Maybe the council could provide a special bin.

Anyway this led to a discussion of what the steps on the left should be called. Condom corridor? Or, for Orcadians only, Pillskin place. Rubber row? Feel free to comment.

So we knocked out 3 and a bit miles and then went and got our shopping in Scotmid. I'm not dwelling on the shotgun cartridge.

Museum Film

Here's the film Peter made from the shots he took at the museum way back in December.

Greenmantle Dash 2012

2nd race of the year and it wasn't so easy to get up this morning. We had actually thought we would go through and do the excellent Tortoise and Hare race organised by Fife AC as we have for the last 2 years but a critical mass of Porties going to the Greenmantle Dash - Tony, Michael G. and then Ruth - swung it and we felt we had to head south to Broughton. It was not without trepidation. I was injured and spectated last year and I had noted the wall jump, the step jump, the fence jump, the river crossing....Not my forte, jumping walls...and I think maybe  the memory of being injured and only able to hobble as I took pictures last year made me associate this race with injury and made me worry that I was going to sprain an ankle or something like that...

And then it was bitterly cold as we stepped out the door and along to the van. The wind had a real edge to it.

We arrived in Broughton in plenty of time (noting the deep puddles of water on the road on the way there). Ruth, Michael and Tony were already there and we tried to gird ourselves up for a good recce. I wanted a close look at the wall, the fence, the river etc. before I charged at it with a big bunch of people. Up close it was all doable. There would be no vaulting for me but I could get over quick enough. The bog beyond the river looked like it would present more of a challenge and so it did.

Ruth was a sport coming along today, hills being what she doesn't like and the race consisting of 2 short flattish bits with an exceedingly steep hill, up and down, in the middle. The red line in the elevation chart above shows that my heart had actually stopped beating until something shocked it into action about half a mile into the 2 mile race. It might have been catching sight of the hill we had to go up although truth be told I've come down it twice in the 2 Breweries and kind of knew what to expect. Despite evidence that I was clinically dead for the first wee while I did alright and was enjoying it quite early on. No real problems with the wall or the fence, just a bit slower than you might wish for. Slightly too far left in the river meant I was suddenly in up to my thighs. Oh My! A big step up onto the bank got me out of that. Then there was the amusing bog run - reeds and bogs and deep brown puddles. Fellow racers became comrades rather than competitors (in my head anyway) as we faced this madness together. Then it was over the road and into a gentle-ish uphill field which led onto the hill proper. I was glad I hadn't harassed myself too much up until now as I began to move steadily up through the field and so it was also on the steep uphill. The hill was steep enough so I was never once tempted to try to run. The wind was so icy I was slowly freezing (I was about the only person wearing a vest) and the incentive to get to the top so I could turn around and get back down out of the wind became stronger and stronger.

The downhill was by no means easy and there is a fair scattering of small but brutish boulders scattered about half-hidden in the grass. A fall could be very sore so I teetered down as fast as I dared though not as fast as many around me. A good shout from one of the marshals wearing a scotland hat gave me the impetus to get moving again once in the easier angled field and I had a fair run home. Job done! Peter and Michael were already in (of course), Michael declaring it the best short race ever. It does have a little bit of everything so I can see what he means. You get a little taste of everything a hill race could throw at you, except maybe navigating. There was never any need to navigate.

Ruth came in shortly after, looking strong and only mildly declaring that hill-running is stupid and pointless. I know what she means and I think that might be what has drawn me to it.

Then we had a long toasty time in the hall. There was pasta and sauce to get heat back into you, tea and biscuits for the drivers (me) and a big barrel of beer for the non-drivers. We were quite a while as there were some technical hitches with the results. A man came out on the stage and insisted that we sing a song - the left half of the hall singing about...I really don't know now - was it Sally the seamstress? and we had to sing about Tommy the Tailor. They were carefully crafted verses designed to make you inadvertently curse with vigour and I collapsed in laughter at the sound of Tony turning the air blue beside me.

At last it was time for the prize-giving and there were copious prizes for the kid's race - a delight to see how buoyant they were except for one little boy who developed a horror of Dick Wall and ran away when Dick tried to talk to him. After that came the adults. A few people had left so their prizes were re-distributed amongst the people there. 1st lady over 50 had gone home so her prize "trickled" down to the 1st V40 - which was me! Hurray! I shared my winning beers with my friends so as to continue the trickle down effect.  Peter might have been 3rd vet or so, for which he also received a beer. Tony got one for being Tony.

Murray Strain won, I think Mike Reid of Moorfoots placed somewhere, Charlotte Morgan was 1st lady, that's all the detail I have retained.

A special mention needs to go to Fraser aka Happy Tom who chose this as his first hill race. Fraser I hope you survived and have not been put off, its fairly full on and packs a lot into its diminutive size!

To me it was great and it was good to have the extra time to catch up with friends. Now I really need to go and have a shower. Tomorrow might be a long run or something although the weather looks pretty hectic.

Promathon and Dook.

The first of the Portobello Championship races for 2012 kicked off in style. Now in a new category, the Super Ladies, it was all new and fresh and shiny to me. My chief fears were about Shelagh McLeish, but I was not not worried about Aileen Ross who beat me at my last Park Run and Gillian McKelvie who can be swift and get by me too... There was no sign of Shelagh, although Yana said she thought she'd seen her, but Yana's quite new to the club so I thought maybe she was thinking of someone else. My first clue that I may have a problem was when Graham Henry, on marshaling duties, shouted "Watch your back!" and then "Well done Portobello!" 1.5 miles into a 4 mile race its too early to be watching your back!

The first mile seemed easy and then it all started to settle in. I was a lot slower at mile 2 and never bothered to look at my watch again after that. I still seemed to be moving through the field but was hearing the unmistakable "slap, slap, slap" tread of Shelagh just behind me. Now Shelagh has some kind of power that I just don't have - if she has you in her sights she can stick with you! I know this chiefly from watching her do it to others because she has beaten me on many occasions and I've often felt that part of the reason for her beating me was that she was able to be more determined and suffer more for longer. Oh crikey. I hadn't given this race much thought and I hadn't anticipated it turning into a suffer-fest. Still, the cosmic waiter ran up alongside me and said "Your suffer-fest madame?" and I grimly accepted it.

Mile 3 was all about my mind coming unstuck, trying to keep the self-pity at bay, denying what I knew about the distances involved and the distance still to do. Hang in there, hang in there, hang in there. At about the mile 3 mark I think Shelagh drew about even and went ahead for a bit - but not very far ahead. And slowly my brain was working out, "if you went past the 3 mile marker...quite a while ago...then there can't be that far to go." Graham shouted on me again and I felt ashamed to just give up, which is what I wanted to do. I don't know what prompted me to pick up the pace and go past Shelagh again - "too soon" my lungs screamed, "too soon" my heart sank, the self-pity was winning - and then, suddenly, Melanie Sinclair came alongside and I felt strangely comforted and I knew I was going to get to the finish ahead of Shelagh. YeY! 10 points thanks!

Shelagh hadn't realised I had jumped up into her category until I told her. She had run herself into that place where "the dry boak" takes hold. I had felt warning rumbles further down. Lucky to cross the finish line without the spillage of any body fluids.

Our times weren't that fast. I have run it faster, in fact I think it was a PW. And I'm sure Shelagh has run it much, much faster. But I have never pushed myself further into the red, and I think that's what makes a really good race.

Now, we somehow hadn't managed to let go of the idea that we were going to go into the sea afterwards, an idea that I think came from Joanne Thom of Edinburgh AC - that the runners should have a Loony Dook of their own but without the cost or the crowd control. Somehow or other Michael, Richard, Yana, Peter and I talked ourselves into thinking it was a good idea and before we knew it we were beside the Portobello Baths and the first wave of bathers were already running into the sea. I had a nice surprise meeting old friends Caroline and Johnny who I haven't seen for years and we tried to catch up in 3 minutes flat before I had to run off to catch my swimming crew. And then we went in. The hard bit is getting out of wet running kit afterwards in a cold breeze on an exposed prom with nowhere to hide. Next year we need a Porty Bathing Tent.
Tomorrow we were going to go to Fife to do the tortoise and hare race again but a number of excellent Porties are away down to Broughton to do the Greenmantle Dash and we can't bear to be left out...so its 3.3kms of wall-jumping, river crossing, steep ups and downs.