Sunday, 11 August 2013

Almond Slices. 11/08/13

I'm sure I used to be able to do 2 races a weekend. I had the good sense not to accept any of the kind offers of a lift to either Philiphaugh today in Selkirk or the Harrison Park Sunday race run. I dicked around at home looking out the window at the blue skies with clouds scudding across, trying to work up the enthusiasm to go for an unwanted run. Mary has changed her weekend running into a Saturday, Monday thing with a gentle recovery run Sunday, so I was banned from that.

Hmmm, time to turn back

Intentional Camera Movt. again

When I eventually got out this afternoon I was almost immediately wishing I'd put another top layer in my back pack. Much as I am in denial about aging all the signs are there. I cycled to Cramond and had a notion to go out to the island if the tide was right. I could see that it wasn't but when I saw folk on the causeway I padlocked the bike and made a dash for it. Halfway across and the waves started to crest the causeway. I had been thinking I can always take my shoes off and hoof it through shin deep water if I get out there and things go bad, but the look of the scummy cold dark blue water was discouraging and I opted for plan B and C which were the Airport circuit and the Dalmeny Estate. Since it was already padlocked I left my bike at the flagpole toilets and headed up the R Almond. There was a bit of rain and I vowed if it settled in for a wet afternoon I would retreat promptly. Not in the mood for a soggy run. Someone, somewhere showed mercy and turned the needle to sunny spells with big clouds, wind and no rain.

I was still quite a bit below par and congratulated myself on not throwing myself into another race. It was typical of the day that I went over sorely on an ankle. And nearly ran a 12 year old over on my bike. Contact was made but I checked he was okay and un-freaked out while his mum told him off for being dozy and stepping out in front of me. I was looking elsewhere and so felt at least 50% responsible. Thankfully no blood spilt or trauma. A mile or 2 later and I'm looking at the Garmin wondering just how soon I can go home. For whom am I logging miles? What am I trying to prove? A bit later and the distraction of the crops in the fields alongside the Almond is good. I am taking photos and becoming absorbed in the landscape. There are a few dogwalkers but mostly I have the place to myself.

There is a wee gravel beach off the riverside path. You could easily run right past. It has a nice view of the railway bridge that is the boundary of the airport and runway. There are plane spotters waiting up at the Cammo Road junction and I wonder if a big plane is about to come lumbering over the fields. It doesn't. They have changed the roadside sign that used to say Nether Lennie to Private Road. It drops back between the fields to the Almond. When I get to Cramond Brig I realise it won't even be 8 miles if I return to the bike, so I take the Dalmeny route up the hill and first right. I allow myself to explore the road off to the left and the grassy trails there rather than go all the way down to the coast. Once I have notched up 8, I can go home. Anything less seems cheating but I'm not sure who or why.

Nether Lennie first left.

Remember this a few blogs ago? One has become 2...

check the long lashes

I find a nice grassy trail heading down towards the beach and after a couple of turns I end up on the coast West of Eagle Rock. I have now been sufficiently distracted by the scenery that I will be well over the 8miles (nearly 12) and so I walk along the beach for a while. The tide is in and there isn't that much to see so I get back on to the normal route and run back to my bike at Cramond stopping to take photos at the weir because this time the sun is out. 

I busy myself thinking about blog titles and when I say almond slice in my head my whole body sits up and expresses a huge hunger. I took some stale bread for the gulls and ducks at the estuary and although they squawk and fight each other for it they are much more stand-offish than in the winter when they (the black headed gulls) will sit on your head and jump into your back pack for it. I can't seem to organise throwing bread and taking photos at the same time. So give up and make my way back to the bike and the (praise the lord) tailwinds that hurry me home to where Mary has cooked a lovely tea (and it was my turn.)

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