Deep Atlantic Low

Well that’s what they call it; don’t know why ‘cos I was high as a kite after my run yesterday.

Looking out of the window it didn’t look too promising. The rain lashing against the windows and the wind regularly gusting up to 50mph. So what do you do on a day like that? Go for a run of course, just a short on up my local hill, up onto the shoulder of Craigentaggert then down by the modest 1400” top of Kinpauch.

Running through the catchment area of Highland Spring was reasonably ok if a little slow, the wind occasionally bringing me to a complete stop. Then rounding the shoulder into the glen the wind swung to a tail giving me a good helping hand up to the gate at the track top.

The final push up onto Craigentaggert shoulder was where the fun started though. It was wild and I found myself running steeply uphill, at times completely out of control. Then on the ridge I started to feel the power of the wind like I’d never felt before.

The only way forward was to turn sideways to my direction of travel reducing cross section area and at the same time leaning forward at 45 degrees. I was then able to carefully inch forward a bit at a time. Even then I had to keep throwing myself down flat or be blown goodness knows where.

Running was impossible along there, except for Moss the dog that is. She took it very much in her stride. She gets excited by the smallest of air blasts from my bike pump so in this wind she went insane completely. She was racing round in crazy circles like somebody had let go a balloon, nipping annoyingly at my feet and tugging my trouser leg as she passed me.

Passing the cairn on Kinpauch the wind got even stronger and I had to slither down the first 50m on my backside as it was impossible to stand. Moss was way down the hill at this point standing watching in abject disgust at my pathetic attempts to make headway.

Reaching the track again was blissful as the wind finally reduced to manageable proportions and I eventually got back to the road feeling absolutely thrilled by my experience.

It may have been a Personal Worst time but it was a Personal Best in terms of how much I enjoyed it.

Maggie's Millions

Well that’s what they used to call it, finding yourself without a job. This week my employer who's been a lame duck for a couple of years now has finally had the rug pulled from under them and the lights are about to be turned off for good.

It's really strange, I mean this has by a long way been the best job I've ever had and I'm surprised how I feel. I don't feel sad or even apprehensive about the future. I feel fired up, happy and excited. To be honest a couple of months back I'd pretty well decided to move on and then a week ago I'd fully committed to going and I think being in this frame of mind already has undoubtedly helped when this hit a couple of days ago,

So it's a case of moving on to pastures new but luckily the job I've been doing is fairly specialised and not many are out there doing it so I'm hoping a competitor snaps up me and all my fantastic work mates who are like a family and at least some of us can work together again. If not I'll do something completely different and as an electrical engineer there's plenty of scope for that.

So, heyho the jobs gone but now I can’t wait to see where my life goes next.

Let the Train Take the Strain...

....Or at least some of it anyway. That was what we did on Saturday. We’d camped overnight at the Victoria Bridge car park and set off to walk over the hill to Bridge of Orchy station, catching the 10:45 train just for one stop 20 minutes down the line getting off at Rannoch Station.

Conditions were perfect as we headed west across Rannoch Moor, a bright sunny, warm day with a brisk following wind and as we’d had a nice long dry spell the marshes were fairly dry underfoot too. We were in the woods to begin with walking on a good track that formed the first few miles of the route. The packet of sandwiches lying forlornly by the track spoke of a poor traveller ahead of us who maybe even yet had to discover the loss of his lunch.

Moss, the dog plumbed new depths of depravity today discovering a pile of poo, possibly human in which to roll. Later on a dead deer gave another roll opportunity and an abandoned cow horn complete with scalp provided a tasty snack to accompany the deer thigh she’d been carrying for some while.

Once clear of the woods the route strikes out across the open moor with a temperamental path sometimes there sometimes not though one thing not to desert us was the view. Looking across toward Glencoe it felt almost Tolkienesque like we were marching across Middle Earth on route towards the mountains of Mordor. I fully expected Gollum to pop out of a peat bog at any moment.

This is a thoroughly wild area with very little shelter. The lonely ruin of Tigh-na Chruaiche provides a roof and walls making a good lunch stop. Despite the lack of path, navigation is easy. In good weather, heading west aim for the distinctive Buachaille, heading east aim for the equally distinctive Schiehallion. In bad weather there’s a handy power line to follow. The track suddenly reappears a few miles from Kingshouse and guided us quickly into the Climbers Bar for a welcome break.

The rest of the way followed highly familiar West Highland Way route back toward Victoria Bridge. Strangely, in all the times I’d done that section I’d never done it north to south so taking in the views this way on was a very refreshing change.

A thing that struck us along the route was the number of dead deer. There are loads of them all over the place, a testament indeed to the harsh winter just gone.

Forest Lodge was a welcome site and the motorhome even more welcome. A great end to the day involved much red wine and hot shepherd’s pie watching the sun go down behind Beinn Suidhe.

Rummaging Through the Shed

Well, you know how it is, springtime, it brings out a sort of tidying splurge. So there I was rummaging around amongst the plant pots and sawn off bits of wood and other general rubbish when there it was, my old mountain bike. It was in a sorry state all covered in cobwebs and robbed of many of its component parts over the years but now it was looking at me pleadingly like a dog asking if we’re going out yet.

I dragged it out and sat it on the lawn and surveyed it critically. It was missing a chain, rear mech, seat post and saddle. It was rather rusty but only in parts and superficially so. It took me right back looking at it. I bought it way back around 1985. It’s a Madison Ridgeback 531 and was one of the first mountain bikes to appear in the UK just before mountain biking took off here. All Reynolds 531 tubing including the handle bars and cost me a fortune at the time. Prior to that I’d been riding off road on an old Sun racer but when I got this it was revolutionary to me in what it could do with it.

So I set to work hunting around the shed for bike bits and managed to find everything I needed except for the seat post to bring it back to life. This proved a bit problematic as the diameter of the tube is an obsolete size, the norm being 27.2mm. With the bike shops help though I found it needed a 27.4mm which I now have and finally got the old girl up and running again yesterday.

With some trepidation I went out for a test ride taking it up from Blackford to the top gate on Kinpauch, a distance of 2.5 mile uphill with no problems at all. A final check of everything, especially the brakes and I plummeted back down to the village, a huge adrenaline rush hanging on to the bucking bronco beneath me.

Now I’ve got some great routes in mind to supplement my running and get my crazy dog even fitter than she already is. Can’t wait!

Oh For The Simple Days of Old

In the olden days things were very simple weren’t they? You stuck on your boots, rousted the dog then belted off up the nearest hill and back down again. Then after a night in the pub you did it all again the next day with never any problems, except for the odd toenail disfigurement or some such.

So it comes as a bit of a surprise in your 5^th decade that the old bod starts to exhibit signs of being well, over the hill. I mean here am I, desperate to get out of this closet and fledge, somewhat latterly as an ultra-runner, only to find I’ve run less this year than I have in many a year.

I mean just as I’m starting to recover from my worst running injury ever that’s kept me from building the miles up I now find at least over the last week I’m stricken with a calf pull on the other leg. Still, at least it’s only a pull so it won’t take long to heal hopefully. To help everything along I’ve actually stopped running for a whole week. Well, it was going to be two weeks but that thought was just too hard to bear so a week it will be and it terminates this Friday.

It’s actually not been too bad as I’ve been able to do 150 miles cycling this week and that hasn’t bothered the legs at all and it’s kept my fitness going. So with a bit of luck the rest will rejuvenate the old running bits. The weekend will be the telling point as it looks like mother-in-law duty is imminent. At least that means I get to go for a nice long trot on the North Yorkshire Moors. Mind you that’s where the leg first blew up so hopefully no omen there.

Fingers crossed for some miles next week.

My Dog, Moss

Today my dog gave me one hell of a scare disappearing as she did for well over an hour out in the Ochil’s. She has a bad habit of chasing deer and this time she got herself majorly lost in heavy snow and thick fog.

Being by myself and minus Moss, it was difficult to decide what exactly to do about it. I was in ten minds as to what she might do and so decided to run on home and check she hadn’t got back there somehow. She wasn’t home though so I had no option but to get into full walking gear and launch a one man search mission.

Amazingly, not ten minutes after resuming the search I saw her racing across the hillside. I called her and she changed course, bounded down the hill to me and gave me a huge doggy welcome. I was very, very relieved to find her with the weather closing in again.

Dogs are amazing companions for running.  Thinking back over the dogs I’ve had in my life. They’ve all been completely different from each other but I’ve loved them all just the same.

As a runner, my most consistent running companion was Meg, a collie who lived to the grand old age of 15 and ran with me for 13 of those years before going into retirement. She was the best friend I've ever had and whom I'd known longer than my wife. Ok, she was a pain in the arse at times ( Meg that is) but she ran thousands of miles with me.

We shared a tent and a sleeping bag when she was soaked as we wild camping in winter. She growled at me when I dared to move while she was curled in the foot of the bag and she coveted my food when she’d eaten her own but I think I can honestly say she made me laugh every time I went out with her, with those peculiar little idiosyncratic ways of hers.

When she was old and couldn’t run anymore, despite the fact that she was deaf as a post, with poor eyesight she was still full of beans despite the ravages of a couple of strokes.  I still loved her though and now I cherish the memories I have of times shared with her. It’s a fact though that one day when you put on your running shoes your dog will no longer want go with you and that is the inevitable tragedy of being a dog owner.

Now my four legged companion is Moss, another border collie. A sprightly skinny bundle of energy as all 3 year old collies should be. She could never replace Meg but she follows neatly on from her and the times we have in the hills are every bit as good.

There’s something really nice about a dog running alongside you with paws tick tick ticking along the path and her own breathing just as controlled and rhythmic as my own. Mind you it’s only at the end of the run that she’ll deem to run alongside me. Most of the time she will be bounding across the heather like a thing possessed convinced she can catch the grouse that are flying over her head.

As I write this she’s curled up asleep next to me on the sofa and very soon she’ll start twitching and yipping as she goes into dream land where she’s racing through the hills again.

Coming Back?

It’s been an unbelievably frustrating month with injury meaning my last proper run was on the 1^st February. This time of year is normally so good for a runner. The worst of the winter is passed and spring is not far away. These are days of running without snow, with the blackbirds singing in the tree tops and the only slippy sliding is caused by mud instead of ice.

For me though it’s been a time of feeling down watching other runners and wondering if I’ll ever get back into it again. Amanda, my physio has been urging rest, rest, rest and I have been resting with just the occasional little try out to see if the pain comes back. So far without fail, every time the pain comes back, often after a mile or so and sometimes after only half a mile

Today though it was different, I know walking doesn’t seem to aggravate my leg so I thought I’ll take Moss the dog for a walk up Kinpauch Hill, a nice little top across the road from Blackford that gives a 6m 1100” circuit. I had a brief debate with myself about footwear and the devil in me said go with the fell shoes not the boots.

Of we went and I set a brisk 4mph walking pace to get the breathing going. Hey, I thought, this feels pretty good I could even do the WHW sub 24hr going no faster than this. I felt great forcing the pace up the front of Kinpauch.

On reaching the top I had no pain whatsoever, so, thought I, I wonder what would happen if I broke into a trot? Well nothing happened except I went faster as I jogged toward the boundary fence at the back of Kinpauch. So down the track I went sort of jog/walking to minimise shock to the knee and still no problems.

The last couple of miles are an easy gradient on soft grass and mossy track centre so I jogged the whole of this back down to the road. Amazingly still no problems as I jogged into the village.

So here I’m sitting post run (did I say run) feeling bloody marvellous. I’ve plastered my knee in Deep Freeze to ward of any evils and my knee feels fine.

If Amanda reads this she’ll no doubt be frowning on her rash and impetuous client but I just couldn’t help myself. I’ll be seeing her tomorrow and I’ll get her to give it a thorough appraisal and tell her about my experience today but it really, really feels like I’m coming back.