Mary had been suggesting I run with
more suitable persons than herself. In search of an adventure I
noised up Mel and Graham, and got an invite to go along to their
Sunday run; kick-off 9am-ish. A little earlier than I would choose
but Mel's folks turning up later meant this was necessary, plus she
is not keen on the warmer weather forecast for the pm.
Mary kindly brought me a cup of tea at
7.30am. Anybody sensible would have gone to bed 8 hrs before rising,
which I had indeed planned, but remembered as I sleepily passed my
shoes, that I needed to sort the lacing system. I had some cord from
a long time ago about the same weight as the broken lace. It took
maybe 40 minutes to thread this through the fasteners and eyelets. (I
did both shoes as the second one was about to go.) Then a giant moth
Mary had noticed about, made its presence felt. (The downside of open
windows.) I had been hoping to meet it, but it kept me from my beauty
sleep for another 10 minutes while I chased it around the sitting
room with my sandwich box. Eventually I wrestled it into the tenement
stair – it was just about big enough to ring the bell to ask to
come back in.
I find it harder to get to sleep in the
warmer weather but once there I can stay out almost indefinitely.
This isn't always regarded as a talent. The other night (in
dreamland) I was wandering through a chip shop looking for the
toilet. I was directed through the door behind the counter where I
found myself in the vast auditorium of a theatre (empty) and wandered
corridors for quite some time looking for the facilities. I'm not
sure it would have been a fabulous outcome if I had found the toilet.
Probably just as well I woke up.
I should maybe have cycled out the
Western Approach Road to Slateford, but it always seems the sort of
road where you would die under the wheels of a speeding juggernaut.
Instead I took the magical mystery tour of the West End, the Bermuda
Triangle of tram works and misdirection that is quickly emptying
Shandwick Place of shop-leased businesses. The council appears to be
racing to make York Place equally desolate and I can only imagine it
is the masterwork of a Glaswegian entrepreneur who has managed to
bankrupt Edinburgh and ruin the city centre in 10 short tram fuelled
years. So what should have cost under £400m and produced a city wide
network will now cost over £1 billion and run (if it ever runs) the
length of Princes Street helping cyclist dismount over their
handlebars. The council totally
ignored the warnings in their own Macdonald report of 2003 which
then clearly stated that 139,500 households (some 280,000 people at
least) would suffer worse pollution if the tram project was to be
completed – why pay for a consultant's report and then ignore it?
You do hope the right people were properly punished and unemployed
for this mighty cock-up and it's not just us left to foot the bill
and suffer the consequences. To say nothing of the business people on
every street blighted by this fools errand of a vanity project.
These
cheerful thoughts swill around my head every time I have to cycle to
Dalry Road. I was just about over it by the time I locked my bike at
Mel's and we set off not long after 9 for Graham's “14 miler.”
(It
could be nearer 16
winks G.) Now I think I was partially to blame as Mr Henry knows I am
keen on an off-roader, the more miles the merrier. And if you can
extend that into the Pentlands so much the better. Mel, not so keen
on both those. Also she rode 50+ fast hilly miles with the peloton
yesterday and her achilles are reminding her of this. I promised not
to run off with Graham and leave her behind since she invited me
along. And so the order for the day is set: Graham leading out, Mel
close behind with me bringing up the rear.
After
4 brisk miles I am having to reassess the run. Graham is pushing the
pace and I am drenched in sweat. I sort of hoped this would be at a
chatting pace but I don't even have breath to suck from the camelbak
tube on my water supply. I wasn't sure whether to carry fluids or try
to go without. At this pace I am very glad I opted “for” and am
now regretting I didn't fill the reservoir to capacity. Mel also seems
to be finding the pace tough but is less surprised. Graham ran an
ultra last weekend and most folk would take time to return to form,
but Graham seems to have used it as a boost to his strength rather
than to diminish it. He allows us to stop for sips of water now and
again.
The
route he is taking us seems to be out the canal / Water of Leith,
Bonaly way, Juniper Green, Curry, round Heriot Watt then over to the
Pentlands. Every time I begin to recognise a section of road or trail
we take an unmarked footpath or small lane down the side of some
garages, across a playing field and several times over gates or
fences. Graham is reluctant to be specific about the intended route
and a certain amount seems to be a spontaneous reaction to the
opportunities as they present themselves. I put this to him and he
replies that “that
cannae come as a huge shock?” I
have been on his runs before and they are always lively.
Mel,
when up against it, goes quiet but carries on. Around 10.5 miles we
are heading up Harlaw Road and it is now apparent that we will be
running far more than 14 miles even if we take the fastest,
straightest line home. Which we do not. Instead we find ourselves on
the long climb up to Maidens Cleugh. I thought we would turn left for
Torduff Reservoir but we only turn left at the top of the hill,
rising higher to contour around Harbour Hill. The glucose sweets I
gave Mel seem to have worked and they both threaten to leave me
behind when I pause briefly to take a couple of photos. I have to
work hard to catch up. Mel is stronger on the ups than downs and when
we eventually make our way down off the hill on a similar track to
the Boxing Day run I hang back with Mel remembering my promise.
We
find a slightly different route back to Colinton Dell and get back
onto the Water of Leith path, then the canal. I don't remember how.
But I do remember the pace lifting in the last mile of canal and
wondering if I could keep up. Some folk out enjoying the weather
nearly got a free swim as the three of us belted along the narrow
path.
The
final count on the Garmins was 18.8+ and everyone agreed it was far
easier to go out for a 14 miler than the thought of a 19 miler. And
we all managed didn't we? Big thanks to Mel and Graham for the goose
chase and allowing me along. It was fun.
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