Here's a new line to the 12 days of
Christmas, “Eight bags of flour!”
Yes it's the Water of Leith Half
Marathon again. It has been one of 2.5 topics on my agenda this week.
So much so I didn't even notice I had no work on the
go. Nor any time for any. The other thing on my
list-of-things-to-do-before-the-weekend was to paint a coach. (No
horses.) A coach, the coach being Gordon, whose knees
insisted he hang up his running shoes while they still had some
mileage left in them. He didn't give in easily though and spent
many's a Wednesday evening shouting encouragements into the wind and
rain from the sidelines. So to mark Gordon's retiral I volunteered
to paint his portrait.
In a previous life I painted sign
boards for the Playhouse. This involved making accurate
representations of show posters on the four 10' x 5' boards that used
to live just outside the entrance of the theatre. And painting 22' x
7' semi opaque vinyl sheets for the large light box that still exists
above the entrance. I was replaced by digital technologies when it
became cheaper to print one-offs than hand paint them. However it
was a useful apprenticeship and probably taught me more about figurative painting than 4 years of art school ever did.
So in theory a smallish portrait of
Gordon was a doddle. “What if it turns out shit” said Mary in a
confidence inspiring way. “Then Gordon gets a shit painting.”
Although it occurred to me I didn't really have a plan B. Gordon knew
of the plan as I wanted a decent photo to work from and so I got in
touch and we did a photo shoot months ago. I then got distracted by
day-to-day work and shelved the project until Jenni suggested the
Christmas bash would be a good opportunity to present the painting
and how was it going anyway? Hmmm, I had drawn it onto the canvas and
put it on a shelf, so, nearly done. Just the painty bit left.
Jim being chased to the finish
Meanwhile the WoL loomed. I used to
really enjoy running this race but now I am running it, it has taken on a different feel. We rationalised the email list last year so in
theory this should run like a well oiled machine but then you get
undelivered emails back and people send in wildly unrealistic
handicap times and you wonder are they injured, are they unfamiliar
with how long it takes to run 13 miles, or are they angling to win it. Meanwhile the WoL itself is a moveable feast and the route
needs to be monitored for changes and diversions. Things are improving
with the flood defence work nearing completion, opening up sections
that have been closed for years. Traditionally in Edinburgh, large
scale projects, be it Parliament Buildings or Tram Lines generally
invoke the word fiasco, but this project seems to have stayed below
the radar of the chattering classes. Maybe it will channel flood
waters when they eventually show up, away from the river and into the
town centre?
Anyway on Wednesday I recced the course
and on Friday I put down flour arrows to guide the runners past
junctions and forks steering them through leafy suburbs and
downstream to Leith. In between times I would put another coat of
paint on Gordon. It was all going in the right direction but it takes
only the smallest mistake to make the whole thing look wonky, and
Mary's words were still ringing in my ears.
So I said 2.5 things. The point5 was
some running. Someone asked what I am currently training for and I
don't really have any big targets since Wales but am just enjoying
being vaguely fit. My legs were tired after racing the 7Rs so on
Dec2nd I didn't run, putting a line through any thoughts about
Marcothoning. Although it has it's merits and benefits, I like to kid
myself I can train more intelligently than just knocking out a
handful of miles every day. Inevitably this is how it gets later in
the month of Marco. I have done it several times. So my more intelligent
response? After taking Monday off I did meadow's intervals Tuesday
(horrible, windy and slightly down on my usual: tired legs from 7Rs?). Then
club on Wednesday – a pyramid session from Willie J. Then Thursday
Wintervals with Carnethies on Arthurs Seat. Hill reps on the back of
the crags. A pyramid session (deja vu) and I was remembering the last
time Brian Cruickshank did 3 speed sessions in a week then none for
quite some time afterwards.
Friday and Saturday were swallowed
up by the WoL Half and then onto the PRC xmas Bash. I had decided to
miss the latter as I have an aversion to cheap christmas music being
played in my ears so loudly I have to shout and spit into the face of
the person sitting next to me. However it would seem weird not to be
there to present Gordon with his painting. It was finished sometime
after midnight on Friday and varnished between the WoL Half and
catching a bus to Morningside. Missed the dinner and arrived in time for the presentation. (Best not cycle with painting under
arm – too much potential for Laurel and Hardy type interaction.)
The painting hadn't turned out shit which was a relief although it
had reminded me both of the joys of applying paint, and the
concentration required. I can only do about half a day before I have
to step away and do something else with my eyes till they recover and
can see again. So it didn't take a whole week's work, probably
about 2 or 3 days total, but it spread out to fill the week. So if
you would like something similar in time for christmas don't hang
about. And the painting and decorating seems to have hit the xmas slump again. No wonder it's my favourite time of the year for humbugs.
Robin and Anne Wombill-ing in
After a couple of drinks and a room
full of lovely people (about a quarter of whom were in
far-too-short-dresses and uncomfortably high shoes, why, I've no
idea, the things folk do...) I warmed to the joys of ... well of
getting a bit drunk after a week of taxing, yet unpaid work. I tried
not to listen to the dreadful “music”, I enjoyed chatting to folk
and left before any Auld Lang Syne pushed me beyond my comfort zone.
I may have been drunk but there's only so much I can weather.
minimal
As I left I was pleased I was wearing
my night runners. These are a pair of ridiculously insubstantial
pumps or minimalist racing shoes I got from a non-sports shop
yet are pretty much zero drop, natural gait, vibram-like beauties. I
noticed a few weeks ago on the way home from town that I enjoyed
running to the bus stop so much I continued and lifted the pace. I
don't know if it was as an antidote to the long sit in the theatre or
just wearing barefoot-like gutties but it felt good. There is
something about running through the city after dark that makes me
feel like a panther in the night. I realise the cctv probably
looks like a old drunk fleeing the scene of a crime, but in my
head is the panther. At this time of the year especially at
the weekends the streets are littered with xmas debris pouring out of
office parties, xmas cracker paper hats askew. I got cat calls on
Leith Walk as I raised the pace towards 6 minute miling, my earphones
blasting out (non-seasonal) music.
Jim and Jim
Graham (fastest man) won a spot prize beer for gritting duties.
Bobby Campbell gets a spot prize beer for being great!
I arrived home in a lather, having just
run 5 miles in normal clothes. Not best practice but very good fun. And
quite a good way to evaporate the alcohol out the system. Certainly
an improvement from the good old days when I used to pour it back
out the way it had gone in. Funnily enough I saw this hasn't entirely
gone out of fashion, in fact the recent extreme sport of jagerbombing
often features this in the final movement.
photo: Martin D
I can't really recommend night running
with earphones in, and barefoot gutties because it is about as wise
as jagerbombs but maybe that's the price of a good night out or taking unnecessary risks? I don't
seem to have done any lasting damage.
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