Theres a race coming up. Discovered it by accident the other day advertised in a sports shop window. It starts in Busmayor which is a village at the head of a deep, green valley on the frontier with Galicia. I came here once over 5 years ago.
Used to do a lot of walking routes and got into the habit of making brief notes in an exercise book. I still do the same with my running. Anyway, delving into the archives I find that in April 2004 I went to Busmayor with Noel the Scouser, Encina (Mrs Scouser) little Alex their nephew and Manolo the Goal-o. We spent a pleasant morning tramping along the paths, trails and firebreaks which criss-cross the ancient beech woods and that give the race its name, el circular del hayedo ..the circular of the beech forest, mmmm, sounds better in Spanish.
According to the notes the village made more of an impression on me than the woods. It took us ages to reach this extremely isolated spot and at the entrance to the village there was an old fellow working the land with a pair of oxen and an old wooden plough. It was a scene of pastoral quaintness that could have jumped straight out of a Thomas Hardy novel.
Returned to Busmayor late yesterday afternoon with Rosana and Lara. The road hadnt improved but there were no beasts of burden on show this time. The valley was lush and exuberant and we went for a drink in the Centro de Turismo Rural. This place will provide the centre of operations for Sundays event.
It looks like the race is being organized for two reasons:
1. To promote the said Centro, recently opened by a friendly young couple and providing accommodation and meals for tourists plus a bar for the (mainly elderly) local population.
2. To publicize and promote the beech woodland and its ecosystem, a rarity in these parts, and to try to attract a bit of institutional support and protection.
Below the bar/restaurant, directly in front of where wed parked the car, there was a basement/garage and the door was wide open. Inside there was a wide array of tools and a bulky bundle of sharpened red-tipped stakes. Immediately suspected that the nice couple upstairs were part of a commune of vampire slayers but closer inspection revealed that the sinister objects were actually route markers. A red running figure had been carefully painted near the top of every single stake. Most race organizers these days would make do with kilometres of unsightly red tape and graffitti scrawled on the trees. Here in Busmayor preparations were clearly underway for a most ecological of races
18km, Sunday at 10am, and its once more unto the beech dear friends
Busmayor was a new race and a pleasant surprise on the 2009 race calendar. I would put it under the category of trail running as there were no real technical sections, just a succession of wide stony tracks across open moor-land, of the sort well-frequented by four wheel drive vehicles and quad bikes. On this sort of terrain the road runners had the upper hand over the mountain specialists although there was still a lot of stiff climbing with at least 600m ascent over the 18 kilometres, possibly more.
Parked the car in a meadow next to the start line. Here there was no flashy inflatable arch with race sponsor and digital clock. Instead there was a banner with the word “bienvenidos” (welcome) strung across the road with the help of a few ropes and poles. It was misty on the hills and drizzling lightly. There was a proliferation of umbrellas and walking sticks. The event had attracted more people than I’d expected and most of them were walkers, many with their kids…or grandparents. This all created a fine family atmosphere. A shame mine didn’t want to come.
Due to the inevitable pre-event chaos we set off half an hour late at 10:30. This time I took my camera tucked into a little pouch. The first 500 metres took us along the road next to tidy allotments and monster cabbages. I noticed that the leading pack was running very slowly so in a moment of improvised madness I sprinted past them , turned around and tried to take a couple of action shots whilst running backwards. Several “históricos” of our local running scene were there in the front two rows; Basurko, the ultra-running butcher, Paulo Cape Verde, a couple of top tri-athletes from León, the man called Gus, Pedro lumberjack… This would be the only time ever that I’d be leading these guys in a race and probably the first time anybody has ever led them whilst running backwards.
Then the first slopes arrived and like Tour de France climbing aces they all shot off in a cloud of dust. I ran for most of the way with a stout little fellow from Cacabelos but he left me for dead on the uncomfortable stony descent as I longed for something narrower and less monotonous.
The beech wood came and went and I hardly even noticed. It’s a tiny one really compared to the vast forests of Asturias and the Basque Country but it’s most unusual in its geographical location. In fact the little beech wood of Busmayor marks the western-most frontier of the noble Euorpean species Fagus Sylvatica and probably attracts more tree-buff boffins than ordinary tourists.
At the top of the long, long climb the local mayor was waiting in his landrover. I asked him the name of the nearest peak and he told me it was “El Faro” but he didn’t seem too sure about it. A rollercoaster of firebreaks followed before the long, painful descent back to Busmayor.
The finish line was a red line painted across the road in front of “El Centro de Turismo Rural”. Here I joined Pedro lumberjack for a beer. He was puffing away on a cigar and looking every bit unlike the great athlete that he undoubtedly is. He even kept quiet when they mistakenly awarded his third place veteran’s trophy to the little man from Cacabelos.
Then there was food and drink a plenty. Basurko the ultra-running butcher played master of ceremonies, the prizes were given out and everybody went home. Next race, probably in August, but maybe not.
This is the first entry to the all new all new all new training diary.
My weekly run along the side of Monte Pajariel took me as usual to Toral de Merayo and back home along the road. Ran behind a rabbit who didn’t want to leave the trail. A few more of the little critters and it would have felt like San Fermines in miniature.
45 minutes.
Photo: Monte Pajariel taken from La Placa (the lost city) near where I live.
nipped across the unfenced level crossing, past the flowers in homage to the fallen tractor driver. The flowers are always fresh although the accident happened at least 10 years ago.
Home- riverside path- footbridge-
ran through the fringes of the gipsy camp. Scrap metal, random junk and broken toys. Gave the gypsy horses a wide berth.
East bank of river- roadbridge and home. 39 minutes.
Crossed the river and ran up to Otero, the village on the hill.
Early morning, still, silent, warm.
Otero church, Santa María de Vizbayo, a crumbling relic surrounded by vineyards, ancient enough to be interesting but neither old nor artistic enough to stop it getting robbed.
39 minutes.
As always, good to see some pics from your corner of the planet BB.
Particularly liked the pictures of the Busmayor race. I'd do the same if I owned a decent phone, but I'm abit backward when it comes to mobile devices. Despite being surrounded by iphones and blackberrys in the office.
I should be doing the Oxenhope race on Saturday so I'll try and get some snaps of your cousin's village.
No running for a while, then during a visit to the in-laws on the Galician coast I managed to slip out for an early morning exploratory expedition. This turned out to be a run-walk-stop-start affair and the route lent to contemplation more than perspiration.
Had forgotten how gruelling coastal running can be. Short, sharp climbs piled on top of one another. Enjoy the first two or three but then the novelty wears off. Walked.
Sweet smelling eucalyptus woods framed the still waters, mussel farms and little fishing boats on early morning crabbing trips.
Ran to a rocky promontory with a view out to the mouth of the ría. This was named the point of San Mahmed, an ambiguous sounding saint if ever I’ve heard one.
Got out 6 times this month.
Did one race of just under 20k (Busmayor) and 5 runs of 30-45 mins each one. In total between 50 and 60 km.
August, more and who knows..
There are two possible races:
August 8th: Losada 10k, fast and as far as I know flat.
August 22nd: Morla, 9k with 300m ascent, offroad and stony . I've done this one twice before and it was fun.
Might do both, might do neither...
August 1st Ran to the homage to the fallen tractor driver and back along the canal. 33 minutes,
Sunday.
Did part of this route which Id done before at the end of May. The photos are from then.
This time we only reached the abandoned braña. A braña consists of a collection of dry-stone constructions used by shepherds and their livestock. It is the base camp which gives access to fresh highland meadows in summer. This one in particular has long been in disuse and the piles of stones resemble some Neolithic monument.
Walking: 3 hours and something.
Tuesday.
9:30 pm; 5 laps of the park and that was enough. The heat and humidity got the better of me. Met cake-boy hanging from a climbing frame. Hed just come from a little path that runs alongside the river. Apparently the temperatures 5ºC lower down there so I know where Ill be heading next time.
19 and a half minutes.
Cakeboy was right. It was cooler down by the river although there was no escaping the humidity. Got lost amongst the plantations of poplar trees and came out along the road.
35 minutes.
Did the usual Monte Pajariel route to Toral de Merayo and back along the lanes, past allotments, henhouses, shacks and one storey buildings which urban redevelopment and the construction boom never disturbed for now.
And along these lanes a lone figure running for no apparent reason is something to be commented on. Some tell me to slow down, others encourage me to speed up. A large boned woman in her 60s regularly invites me to be her son-in-law and this morning 3 sturdy old fellows with matching moustaches indulged in a spot of good natured Portuguese piss taking. Never a dull moment
Keep it coming BB. I'm jealous ... of the running that is, not the mustachio'd piss-takers and matronly match-makers; but then I guess they're all part of the colour.
Monday.
9:30pm. Started in the park and headed for the river, this time to the more frequented upstream section. No-one shouts at me along here. In fact I’ve never seen so many people out running in my life. Most seem to be listening to music. As a result nobody says hello, except the super-athlete Paulo Cape Verde who glided past without touching the floor and disappeared Will O’ the Wisp like into the twilight.
30 minutes.
Tuesday.
Same time, different place. Crossed the rickety bridge and climbed halfway up Monte Pajariel via the zigzag, then down to the village of Otero and back to the park. Hot. Didn’t see a soul.
35 minutes.
For the record my fluid intake on arriving home was; 2 glasses of milk, 1 bottle of San Miguel and half a litre of lemon flavoured Gato-piss..in that order.
(27-07-2009, 02:06 PM)Mid Life Crisis Man Wrote: And I can tell you this much from personal experience: if you have any family history of heart disease, running is not an antidote! In fact, don't muck about - at least know your cholesterol levels. It's a very simple, very cheap test, and it's all too easy to think that because you're fit and healthy the heart is going to be OK. It doesn't work that way. Not at all. A genetic disposition to coronary disease is not negated by running. Scary but true. Even scarier - you don't get any early symptoms. The first you know of it is when you have a heart attack, stroke or angina. By then the damage is done. Have it checked - your mother has spoken.
(from thread on General Running)
I almost commented on this post at the time. The moment passed, I didn't post and then something totally unexpected happened.
My dad died on August 14th from a massive heart attack. He was an apparently healthier than most 66-year old who hadn't shown any previous symptoms. He'd just come back from a short, early morning jog around the block and died on the kitchen floor in his Nike Pegasus. It was over in seconds and at least he didn't suffer.
There's been plenty of heart disease on the male side of my family but we'd always put it down to the lardy diet of another era. Running made us complacent. Dad never ever went to the doctor's (and neither do I).
We'd completed the Aquilianos together back in June and dad had been in fine form. It didn't even cross my mind that he'd never do another one.
By amazing coincidence MLCM's words were written just days before dad's death. At least I can take heed of them.
I'm terribly saddened to hear your news BB. It's so awfully cruel and unfair the way it happens. I'm glad at least that you have some tremendous memories of running together.
After my Dad died I did a couple of runs for his memory sake which helped me - give it some thought, especially as you ran together.
MLCM speaks for us all. Our collective thoughts are with you, BB.
I'm particularly sad to hear about the circumstances. I was obviously very upset when my mother died back in January, but she had been in poor health for a couple of years, and had declined into a semi-comatose state for the last month. It meant we were all prepared for it. You didn't have the luxury of saying goodbye.
The thought I have when tempted to lapse into self-pity is that many people I know either never knew one of their parents, or they died when they were too young. At least we are lucky enough to have known our folks well into adulthood. That said, 66 isn't old these days.
I'm sure we'll all take on board the warning. I'm complacent as there is no history of heart disease in my family, yet I'm at that age when it could happen to me, especially given my careless lifestyle.
You will get over it, but there might be a bit more pain to struggle through first. I hope that in our own small way, we might be able to help you do that.
I found that running was a great way to grab a bit of time to ponder. Having had your dad as a running mate, I'm sure this will be an even more poignant experience.
All the best, from all of us.
El Gordo
Great things are done when men and mountains meet.
I´m really sorry about your dad´s death, BB. It is very sad to lose a parent but when it happens so fast, it must be much worse.
My dad had his first heart attack when he was 55. He was a candidate since he was a heavy smoker with overweight. He also ate too much fat and led a sedentary life. Fortunaltely, he survived and changed his habits although he couldn´t give up smoking. Nevertheless, he reduced his intake. He managed to live until he was nearly 81, five years ago, after a few weeks most of the time in bed because of a fall which caused him a hip fracture.
