Stopping The Rot On The Bog

[glaconman]

Ireland is one of those places that has it's own, very distinctive, smell. It's ubiquitous outside the cities and off the main roads. It is, of course, peat burning in the hearth.

Rural India has a similar smell. When my in-laws last opened their suitcase in our Drawing room it came wafting out. Like a genie from a lamp. A musky, dusty smell. Cow-dusk time and bullock-cart tracks settling on our Chaise Longue.

Both are immediate and highly evocative.

Like cycling through fields of lavender before the ascent of Mount Ventoux. Or the clear, chill breeze coming off a glacial stream.

As we drove into Tullamore I felt daunted by a weekend of heavy indulgence. There's a certain feeling when you return to your hotel room after a 'Full Irish Breakfast'. You ate it to somehow counter the 4-course dinner and cocktail of Guinness, red wine and Whiskey that you consumed the night before. But you just lay there. Sated. Pogged. Heavy. Unable. Catatonic.

And this was going to be a long weekend. 4 nights and 5 days.

Worse still, this was planned as being the weekend I ran the Windermere Marathon.

But we were here to celebrate my Grandfather's life by whitling away his Estate on good food and drink. Which is what he wanted. And hardly an obligation. More like an honourable dream-come-true.

I just needed a counter-balance. I needed to hit the indulgence hard and low.

In that spirit, soon after arriving, I climbed into my running gear for the first time in ... a long-time and took some air. I dived down the first small lane I could find and ran past the usual mix of modern bungalows and old thatch.

It was blowing a gale when the rain started. A vicious onslaught that soon became very painful when it turned to hail. But it seemed apt. A life-affirming display of weather that soon returned to bright skies.

And what a difference that hour made. It's the longest ladder on the board.

My goals were moderate. When we moved upto Dundalk I managed another hour in the hills near Carlingford Lough. Plus the odd swim.

But despite the moderate accomplishments it seems to have kickstarted something. Inspired by The Silver Persauder and his Crazy Train Exploits I've hatched a plan for the next year or so.

September 2007: Yorkshireman Offroad Half: Howarth
November 2007: Burley Bridge Hike 21: Ilkley
January 2008: Brass Monkey Half: York
March 2008: Trollers Trot 24: Grassington
May 2008: Windermere Marathon: Ambleside
July 2008: Northumberland Coastal Run: Alnwick
September 2008: Jungfrau Marathon: Interlachen

And I'll be looking for a couple of PBs. Half down from 1:45 to 1:30 in January; Full down from 4:20 to 3:30 in May.

Talk is cheap of course, so lets see what happens.

But it would be nice to slip off that train in the dead of night. To leave the crowded carriages and make my way through fields until I reached the banks of a holy river. From there I'll follow it's path upstream through the foothills and into the high mountains, where I'll happily end my days running with the Gods.