I had a mind to take my training off the treadmill and into the mountains, and so planned a trek to Hartz Mountain, about 90 minutes south of here on the edge of the south-west wilderness (read
cold, wet, windy, wretched, but beautiful with it). That I scheduled for Friday, but Friday turned out even wetter and bleaker than usual, with weather alerts, snow and all the usual stuff which gives one a fabulous excuse for watching the football with a few beers instead.
However, given that it was a Friday, I opted instead for a trek into the milder country north of here to visit a few old haunts, a few new ones, and to try out a new lens for the camera (see some results below).
One of the nostalgic things I did was to visit the town of Bothwell, and there went to the
Castle Hotel, which is the pub where my Dad first bought me a beer, on the way to one of our fishing trips in the highlands. That was way back in 1978. I was certainly under age then, but working already, and that was good enough for my old man. Licensing laws weren't as strict in those days anyhow, and a blind eye was happily turned. This was my first return visit since then, and not a whole lot had changed. Bothwell is a largely sheep-farming district, and one of a number of towns in the region named after the old mother country - Bothwell, Hamilton, Ouse ... Pembroke etc. About the only token English thing about the Castle Hotel (apart from the name) however was a motley old stuffed fox on the wall. But pride of place actually went to a huge stuffed trout - 24 lb 8 oz in the old money, caught in nearby Lake Crescent in 1987. Anyone familiar with trout will realise this is a monster, and it held my attention for some considerable time.
A blazing fire in the open fireplace was the only other vaguely English thing about the place. In other respects the pub was totally ocker, with the public bar full of local happily cursing farmers and shearers, all of them young - mostly in their 20s and wearing battered old
Motley Crue etc T-shirts and caps. They looked like kids and made me feel old. To think the last time I sat in that bar many of them weren't even born
It all seemed weirdly incongruous. None of your gentleman farmer types with old money and 8 litre Bentleys here - they all had battered Holden utes with bull bars and spotlights and were happy to sit on the kerb outside drinking stubbies of beer and discussing football and irrigation systems.
To say I felt out of place would be an understatement. And yet that humble public bar held a significant place in my memory - a special part of the formative years of bonding between a teenage son and his dad...
Anyway, I had a couple of beers for Dad and moved on, probably never to return. Sad, really.
And this has what to do with running/training? Er, well, probably not a lot really. And yet, it seems to be the kind of thing that other runners understand and empathise with. There's something about this kind of introspection and soul-searching that unifies runners with a special kinship...
...or maybe it's just the beer
Either way, I'm marking it down as cross-training, if only because it's an important part of mental preparation
Anyway, moving right along... Saturday was forecast to be better, with showers clearing by lunchtime, and so I did head south to Hartz Mountain for a decent ascent. For the full pictorial story, head
here*. Suffice to say that the weather was actually pretty foul, but the end result was that I had a good hill climb, albeit in full survival gear (i.e. wet weather gear, boots and thermals). However I was very pleased with my overall strength and in particular, my stamina in what were difficult conditions, so the treadmill training in recent weeks has definitely been paying off
Today has been an early rest day, as the tricky descent yesterday down the mountain played mild havoc with my knees which aren't used to descending steep, knee-jarring, ankle-twisting mountain sides any more!
But back to a more usual routine tomorrow.
So far so good
*In particular, those equating Australia with sunburnt plains and drought may like to take a look!
Oktoberfest
