Monday, 26 April 2010

Ignorance Is Bliss

Aucht a few wee ups and downs twists and turns. It'll be grand.
Oh My Good God why did no one tell me the truth.
I remember making a phone call and whinging down the phone
“ why did you let me do this, you should have told me, I'm nowhere near fit enough to do this blah blah blah moan moan”
You get the gist.

All for one bloody leg of the Fling.

I was in a team with my fella, my bro and a lassie from my club. The plan was The Pirate would set off a bit earlier with the men and cover the first leg as a warm up. He was supposed to take it easy and arrive with time to spare before taking over for his own leg from Karen. Karen's fella was giving me a lift to the next relay handover and then on to Rowardennan. He took a wee detour via his mates garden centre before arriving in Drymen. The Pirate meanwhile was having a coronary and gagging for a drink.
We duly arrive, sort out the boy and when the change over is done I wave him off with some water, coke and sweeties a little worried coz I'm not going to see him til Rowardennan.

The perils of car sharing quickly became evident when after arriving in Rowardennan I get a frantic call asking where I am as he's out of water and nothing to eat. I am helpless and unable to respond. I begin to worry. The injury which has plagued him for the past couple of months had flared up and was giving him bother.

Time was slipping and I knew he was suffering. I aimlessly wandered around the car park constantly looking at my phone desperately wanting to call but I knew that would be no help, and possibly even more demoralising. I had to wait it out and my ignorance of the route showed again when the call came that he was near, but not yet at the road I had no clue where that was.

I met him with some water and we changed over the sash and the chip. I was on. Mrs W was doing the same leg as me in the second of the Striders four teams so it was good to have some company and to be honest if it wasn't for her I would have ended up a snivelling mess sitting on a rock refusing to move like a stubborn old goat. I knew about the long incline out of the checkpoint and the Pirate described it as the motorway. We chatted and enjoyed the sun. Very aware that time was gonna be tight. I've never run more that a half marathon, so realising what I thought was a 12 mile section was actually 13.6 (13.94 according to Jo's info) gave me my first wobble.

We cracked on passed lots of walkers who looked completely hacked off about having to step out the road AGAIN for a couple of johnny-come-latelys. When we arrived at Inversnaid I was chuffed to see my Maw n Paw and their crazy dug. I was under strict instructions to keep moving and no gabbing.

What the hell is that all about? my last post I said I would go like shit of a shovel for as long as I could. Why oh why did nobody tell me that was NEVER gonna happen.
As a marshall for a number of years at various events I am constantly in awe of what people achieve but my experience between Inversnaid and Bein Glas has shed a whole new light on it. I don't know how people keep all the way to Fort Bill.

I fell and smashed my knee and shoulder and launched my phone about 20 feet away. I bubbled and snivelled and whinged some more. My call for a pep talk was a big mistake
“its only 13 miles, get a move on woman, now you know how it feels. Oh I'm just having a glass of wine”
That was enough to boot me up the backside and get moving again. I was still feeling sorry for myself and dragging my feet and out of know where Dario popped into my head. It must have been around Doune Bothy, near where his book is buried, but again due to my ignorance of the route I don't actually know where that is. I got angry with myself and I swore out loud, right ya bastard, TTFU.

I passed a few blokes looking worse for wear and checked they were ok. One guy was really annoyed with himself coz he had to pull out of the WHWR at exactly the same spot. I passed the sweeper and cracked on for the last two miles. Mrs W came back out to meet me for .37 miles. I was so glad to hear I was nearly done. 13.something miles is a piece of piss I'm told. But for me it is all relative.

When I finished I downed a lager shandy and realised that's exactly what I am. A shandy drinker, a lightweight. I'm a marshall I know my place.

The post race ceilidh was magic. The Strathaven Striders lived up to their moto of being a drinking club with a running problem. Boy do they know how to party.

Tonight we had a wee run and a pint. Everyone is still buzzing about it. We had 4 relay teams and 3 individuals. It's already on our list for next years club outing. Just as long as Murdo will have us back, and he lets me have my marshall jacket back again.

Thank you to my team mates Dave, Karen and Chris.
Well done to everyone to took part, marshalled, took care of car park duty, took photies, and cheered and clapped.

Ignorance is bliss.

Wednesday, 21 April 2010

Having a Highland Hoolie

On Saturday I will rock up to the Montane Highland Fling along with a gazillion other punters and run like the clappers up the West Highland Way.

Ok so I’m only doing one leg of the relay but it’s a big deal for me. I have only ever run a half marathon, on the road and hated every single solitary minute of it.
My Maw and her bright ideas, eh?

The Fling was one of her ideas too. As was my only real experience on the WHW, the Caledonian Challenge last year. Now that was a different story.
Totally unprepared as far as knowledge of the route goes. Not very prepared physically due to my Da having cancer and the various illnesses I suffered but I loved it.
ALL of it even the horrible bits.

So knowing I have covered half of the Way, going backwards in less than 24hrs I’m sure running 13 miles or so should be ok.

We’ve had a bit of a hiccup and had to replace said Maw with a cracking lassie from the club. The volcanic ash cloud is giving us a bit of grief too. Preventing the Pirate from enjoying a leisurely flight up and replacing it with a train journey north and having to drive his motor south again.
So all in all not the best preparation.

My plan?
Arrive, put my gutties on and go like shit off a shovel for as long as I can.

My goal?
To finish in one piece.

My motivation?
The support of my beloved…..
“As a team we may well achieve mediocrity but we're aiming for something far greater....right team!!??”
I'm looking forward to catching up with lots of friends, and esspecially the dancing at the end. Has the makings of tremendous weekend.

Bring It On!!

Tuesday, 20 April 2010

For The Love of a Bad Boy

Ooooo eeee what a whirl wind week.

The Pirate had his big boxing event last week, so me and my mate Scanners caught the last flight out of Prestwick and headed Sarf to live it up in the big smoke.

Scanners is a former footballer who knows a thing or two about busted knees and sports injuries. She played as a regular for Hamilton Accies and was even capped for Scotland. Right up until she ruptured her ACL and needed corrective surgery to put her back together again.
None of this stops her from putting the bevvy away and we did knock back a few cocktails before boarding the plane.

The Pirate met us from the plane and whisked us back to his gaff. The rest is history.

After a day of helping put the ring together and shifting boxing gear time for a wee bit of shopping before getting ready for the main event. Bit of a shame that the on coming station officer didn't know we were there and complained about having “half naked women” in his room. Lucky man I reckon.

The boxing was fantastic!! an excellent display of sportsmanship. For me its a chance to wear a pretty dress, but as someone brought up with combat sport in the blood, I can appreciate a good fight. If you ever get the chance, you gotta experience it. Did I mention my pretty dress????

Next day the Pirates phone was ringing off the hook with “well done mate” and “top night geez” and so it was. It is a very slick, professional event and could rival anything the bigboys could produce. I'm very proud of him.

So we dispatch Scanners to her fella in Colchester and set about chilling for a couple of days.
We were due to head for Bruges for a few days, but the small matter of an exploding bloody volcano meant that that idea was up the proverbial.
We had a fantastically relaxed time in a cracking wee B&B on the south coast.

Scanners and I were due to fly back to the land of Jock on Sunday night. We were so convinced that the whole volcano thing was a wind up by the boys at the station that we didn't take it that seriously. Big mistake...... luckily Dave is not in need of the 1.25l bad boy and I am trusted with her care to make the journey north taking in ¾ of the M25 along the way.

Tonight, well tonight I'm fecked. I crashed out early o'clock last night and my planned trot round the town tonight hasn't happened. Tomorrow I'll run with the club, mainly to firm up arrangements with the late substitution to our Fling Relay team. My Maw, bless her, has bowed out. Right decision, but she's feeling rubbish about it.

You-know-who has decided to do the whole lot, as 400 miles is a long way to travel for 1 leg of the Fling. Crazy dude. And now he has to drive home again too. Aucht well, it'll give him time to become reacquainted with his one true love..... the 1.25l bad boy.

See ya'll on Saturday. Get yer kilts at the ready ;-)

Thursday, 8 April 2010

Belated Birthday Blog

Well it was supposed to be a blog about all the cool things I got up to for my birthday. Like camping in the Lowlands, doing a cracking long run with what's-his-name, having a slap up meal and getting properly smashed on some hideously expensive wine.

But it's no!!

Good Friday
Well, winter decided it wasn't finished with us just yet and ended any notion of a night under canvas.

Then spring popped up a day too late, although we did have ice-cream on Prestwick beach while waiting for the Pirates plane to land.

So the Welshes all assembled at my bro's gaff and settled in front of the wide screen to watch the Hayemaker fight. The Pirate cracks on he knows a bit about pugilism but I'm not sure. He reckoned it was gonna crap fight......oh no it wisney!! It was a belter in the truest sense of the word.

Easter Sunday
The day dawns on my 37th birthday and crazy as it may sound when asked what I'd like to do, I still fancied a nice long slow run on the Clyde Walk Way through the Clyde Valley. Bloody winter was back again!! Pirate took one look out the curtains and proclaimed 'f*ck that'.

We made our way to my fave sea food gaff, Peter's for lunch. The rest is history.... I had a gorgeous meal, so did the wean. The Pirate on the other hand ate raw oysters and made himself proper ill.
I spent the rest of my birthday nursing him, poor lamb.
*Just for the record, he's a rubbish patient and wont be looked after.*

Easter Monday
Managed a nice run up to Aberfoyle on Easter rained. We had a good giggle at the sheepdog show. A sheepdog herding ducks is a sight to behold.

And so it seems the wheels haven't fallen off completely, merely slackened a little and causing a wobble. My last post was a bit negative coz I had a crap run with the Striders last week. I've since checked the distance and the time wasn't anywhere near as bad I first thought, pretty good for me to be fair. Took me a whole week to find that out!

Hence I've been toying with the thought of saving my birthday money and giving in to one of those Garmin thingamabobs, but tonight's wee jaunt out confirmed I really need to invest in a pair of off road shoes. My shiny Brooks are getting trashed.

I think I may have wangled a run on the WHW at the weekend but I wont get my hopes up just yet :-)

Thursday, 1 April 2010

More Torvill and Dean

That’s it. The wheels have fallen off.

I’ve had such a great couple of months running, really enjoying myself and feeling stronger and stronger. A bit gutted that none of this shows on the scale and I must still have a considerably wobbly bum right enough. But loving it none the less.

I even had a belter of a run on Saturday. The Pirate was faffing with his car, and the wee one (the little monster) was happily ensconced in the house watching Twilight. I decided that the murderous Epsom Downs route was within my capability and even on my own I should be able to navigate my way round.

Earlier on in the day we abandoned a trip to Brighton to go ice-skating as was the little monsters wish. She had been on the ice once before and had loved it, but she is a couple of years older now and is very self conscious, as all little girls become. We, the little monster and me (her Dad is a wuss) spent the next hour circling the rink a grand total of three times. God love the wee soul, she was convinced ‘I’m gonna die, I’m gonna die’ of course I would never let that happen and she breathed a sigh of relief when we left the ice. Asked later if she had fun, she gushed ‘yeah…. It was brilliant’.

While running I was lost in my own thoughts and thinking about how our confidence and belief in ourselef has a great deal influence on how we perform. Take the little monster, she was so sure she was going to fall and hurt her self that she couldn’t enjoy herself. She didn’t ‘believe’ she could do it.

I decided I needed to get over myself a wee bit and stop holding back running down hills. This is a problem for me. I convince myself that I’m gonna do myself an injury or fall flat on my face.

I was moving well, only got lost a couple of times. Mainly because the landscape is changing and there are flowers and trees in bud making it look very different. I even over took a horse and a mountain biker while going UP HILL. Then it happened. Slow motion, the lot!

I kicked a tree root and went flying through the air arse over t*t. I went my full length landing with a thud on the churned up clag that purports to be a trail. No harm done, but if I had performed such a trick a mere two hours previous it would surely have scored me a 5.5.

Cut to last night and a shitey run with the Striders. Nothing much to say. Felt rubbish before going out and it didn’t get any better.

If you’ve read my other half's blog you’ll have heard that he is planning a trip to the docs to get his bits chopped off. He reckons this is a revelation to me.
Well dear reader it is not. Check out the evidence.
We have the same size of feet (yeah yeah no jokes please) He thinks that I leave my stuff down there for convenience. But it’s for him. I’ve known for sometime. When my silky underwear started going missing I sussed it out. The last pair of shoes I left went down a storm. Whatcha think?