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August lashes out in volcanic fury
It has nearly been a week since my last run, through the wet streets of Edinburgh and up the hillside to Arthur’s Seat. Since then I have driven 1,600 km to arrive in an absolutely beautiful part of Italy for the first instalment of a two week trip. The place we are staying in has the most fantastic views across gently rolling hills and endless acres of vines and olive groves. The temperature is currently a barmy 32 degrees, but set to rise through the week with 40 degrees plus expected by the weekend.
The reason of course we are able to experience such fantastic views is because our apartment is situated on a hill. I’ll come back to this little, but important point in a moment.
The other thing we are enjoying, two days into our holiday, is the Italian food and wine. On our first evening we reviewed the wine menu in the local restaurant to find that the most expensive bottle was only 10 Euro! The most expensive! We had that… and another… and another. Last night followed a similar pattern.
I would go on… but I appreciate that this is not a holiday blog… I just needed to set the scene for what followed.
I got up at 7:30 this morning. Other than the gentle snuffles of my family enjoying the last moments of sleep, it was silent. I sat outside lacing up my shoes already aware that the temperature was significantly higher than my usual running environment. I stood and surveyed my route... down through the olive groves, following a gravel track that would take me past those acres of grapevines. This is going to be great.
I headed to the end of the garden and dropped down the short set of steps to the beginning of the run. I knew the start would be downhill, that much was obvious. What I hadn’t quite realised was the severity of the hills. You know that moment when a roller-coaster finally finishes its climb… the loud click, click, click of the ratchet stops and there is a brief, but intense moment of anticipation as the car slides over the top before all hell breaks loose. That was my run this morning… without the screams and without the speed. I plunged downhill for half a mile before the track levelled out. A sharp right flung me into a sharp left before the track was racing up-hill again. This is where all similarity to the roller-coaster leaves this story… whilst it continued its metaphorical journey flying back up the hill… I staggered and faltered as all the energy dissipated from my legs, as my lungs rasped for air, as I crashed to a halt staring forlornly at the rear lights of the roller coaster as it disappeared from view.
I knuckled down; there was little choice, and fought body and mind up the next hill, a mile of hot gravel through some of the most remote countryside I have ever run in. Acutely aware that no-one would hear my screams. As I eventually staggered to the top of the next peak my Garmin kindly informed me that I had only done 1.5 miles. I had planned 4 miles in total, but to achieve this would mean careering down yet another hill with its consequential run back up; so I turned and started to head back… knowing that before I arrived back to the bosom of my family I had to face the monster that started this run… a monster that I had only yet tackled on a downward trajectory, but now had to stare face on into the full extent of its evil return.
It started steep and hot, it got steeper and hotter as I left any last traces of shade behind. Eventually, as I crested the peak, sweat (aka Tuscan Vino) poured from me like the waters that created this ravine in the first place. I crawled back through the garden and lay outside the apartment door until my Smallest (bless her) fetched me water.
It was only 3 miles… but Christ it was one of the toughest 3 miles to date. Sitting here writing this, I am looking around admiring the beautiful view again… but with the knowledge now that all is not what it seems…
But I’ll be back… an earlier start, a little less wine and a few more miles. This inhospitable land has tried, but it hasn’t broken me yet.
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August lashes out in volcanic fury
