Update
2009 ended with a flurry of activity but with very little actual training. In fact over the whole of last year I clocked 700 or so kilometres which is possibly my lowest yearly total since the mid-90s.
Two events have contributed to altering my running patterns, probably forever. The first, as noted in these diaries was the death of my father. The second, as yet unreported, was the death of somebody I’d never met in my life.
Running has always been a straightforward enough pastime. It’s never really been an effort to get out there. One of the redeeming features of the insalubrious “barrio” where I live is that it lies in the shadow of Monte Pajariel and five minutes from our flat a rickety, makeshift bridge has always provided speedy access to unlimited forest trails. Those easy, carefree days are over.
The bridge crossed the mighty River Sil at its narrowest point and the white-water underneath would funnel through with unrelenting force. The accident was there waiting to happen and one day a blue and white police cordon confirmed what everybody had predicted but funnily enough nobody had expected.
Had to ask around to get a picture of what had actually happened. Somebody had fallen in, somebody had drowned, somebody had been found floating downstream to Toral de Merayo. That somebody turned out to be Rafael “el mudo” a retired cobbler who had worked for years in the little shoe repair shop I walk past almost every day. Apparently one of the workman’s pallets which had been placed upon the bridge’s metal base had given way as Rafael crossed. Somehow he had got his foot trapped inside and had lost balance, either at that very moment or as a result of trying to free himself. He ended up stuck upside down with his upper body underwater and with at least one foot still attached to the bridge. The force of the water probably prevented him from hauling himself up again. And if Rafael “el mudo” had managed to get his head above the water at any moment nobody would have heard his cry for help. “Mudo” in Spanish means mute; death had dealt a particularly cruel card to the unlucky shoemaker.
The accusations were not long in coming. The locals blamed the Town Hall for not building a bridge in conditions. The Town Hall blamed the water board as they were in charge of monitoring the river. The water board said that it wasn’t their fault that the workers from the chorizo factory had built an illegal bridge to get home quickly for their lunch break. And the workers of the chorizo factory of course denied all knowledge that the bridge had ever even existed.
But in reality we all shared a little bit of responsibility for the death of Rafael “el mudo”. We all used that bridge in its precarious state, the runners, the mountain-bikers, the pensioners with their transistor radios on their sunny afternoon strolls; each one of us contributed our collective grain of responsibility to this horrible, tragic, freak accident …and of course none of us did because it was just that; a tragic, freak accident.
It may seem frivolous to talk about running after this grim little story but the loss of easy access to the Pajariel trails has meant that running is no longer effortless. I can’t merrily zip off to the hills for half an hour as all my old routes now involve a time consuming detour only viable on Sunday mornings. Running from now on will involve effort, discipline and even dare I say it, planning. Or there will be no running at all.
RIP Rafael; a truly tragic tale with lasting consequences for these pages.
Sad as this undoubtedly is it's these remarkable characters and unique locations that make this delicious corner of RC such a pleasure to visit and your stories so enthralling. With any luck another solution will surface before long and you'll be back with more fabulous fables. I for one would miss them terribly; great stories to tell the Grandchildren (er, eventually).
The harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph
700 km is not so bad BB, but I see what you mean. Paradise lost, and all that. Good luck finding either some new, more accessible routes, and/or the motivation needed to deal with the less salubrious running in the district.
Wow, I somehow missed this. Thank you Twitter and Sweder for pointing me at it.
Pretty much what Sweder said. A tragic tale, but one of those priceless glimpses into someone else's world that enrich us all. Your universe sometimes seems like a Peter Greenaway movie, BB, with larger-than-life characters doing dramatic things in small movements. I've said this before, but it's in the minutiae of our lives that we find the most meaning. Not that I'm suggesting this was a small incident to Rafael or his family. But the understated chronicling tells us it was just one of many terrible things happening on this day in this world. Briefly, though he didn't know it, he became an Everyman. The bell tolled for him alright, but for the rest of us too. Not sure if the mood of the writing was intentional, but it made me think beyond the boundaries of the tale. Thanks.
El Gordo
Great things are done when men and mountains meet.
(09-02-2010, 01:09 AM)El Gordo Wrote: Wow, I somehow missed this. Thank you Twitter and Sweder for pointing me at it.
Pretty much what Sweder said. A tragic tale, but one of those priceless glimpses into someone else's world that enrich us all. Your universe sometimes seems like a Peter Greenaway movie, BB, with larger-than-life characters doing dramatic things in small movements. I've said this before, but it's in the minutiae of our lives that we find the most meaning. Not that I'm suggesting this was a small incident to Rafael or his family. But the understated chronicling tells us it was just one of many terrible things happening on this day in this world. Briefly, though he didn't know it, he became an Everyman. The bell tolled for him alright, but for the rest of us too. Not sure if the mood of the writing was intentional, but it made me think beyond the boundaries of the tale. Thanks.
I wrote that after polishing off a bottle of Chianti.
Does it show?
El Gordo
Great things are done when men and mountains meet.
(09-02-2010, 01:09 AM)El Gordo Wrote: Wow, I somehow missed this. Thank you Twitter and Sweder for pointing me at it.
Pretty much what Sweder said. A tragic tale, but one of those priceless glimpses into someone else's world that enrich us all. Your universe sometimes seems like a Peter Greenaway movie, BB, with larger-than-life characters doing dramatic things in small movements. I've said this before, but it's in the minutiae of our lives that we find the most meaning. Not that I'm suggesting this was a small incident to Rafael or his family. But the understated chronicling tells us it was just one of many terrible things happening on this day in this world. Briefly, though he didn't know it, he became an Everyman. The bell tolled for him alright, but for the rest of us too. Not sure if the mood of the writing was intentional, but it made me think beyond the boundaries of the tale. Thanks.
I wrote that after polishing off a bottle of Chianti.
Does it show?
I knew you were pissed last night! Good for you.
BTW BB a chap on Twitter - @ebierzo - posted a link to your piece this am (in response to a link I posted there yesterday). It reads: Extraordinaria Narración sobre pasado accidente en puente sobre el Sil RT @Sweder :Terrific post on (twitter url link to post)
So you may have notcied a few more hits than usual. If it brings more/ new BB fans to the site, so much the better. Your stuff deserves a wider audience IMHO.
The harder the conflict, the more glorious the triumph
My only running to date had been the occasional Sunday morning jaunt accompanied by Roel the Dutch wine taster, a recent arrival to the scene on the payroll of a local bodega.
January and February flashed by and before I knew it the first race of the season was looming frighteningly on the horizon.
Carrera de Montaña Alto Sil; 29kms of paths and trails with 1500m ascent and an extended section of river running. Ridiculously short of mileage for the task ahead I signed up, hoping that a combination of experience, knowledge of the terrain and blind optimismo would get me around painlessly. I was very nearly right.
Went with Roel who was to join me for the first 10k but not the whole hog. My Dutch friend is a veteran of the “Zevenheuvelenloop” the Seven hills race in Holland and I’d encouraged him with stories of last year’s race. These were not Dutch hills though..
The Race.
300 plus mountain running enthusiasts packed into the little village square of Santa Cruz del Sil for the 9am start. At 4 degrees below zero the accumulated warmth of the running masses was to be welcomed. There was a higher than normal percentage of elite athletes. One of them was the brother of Roberto Heras, an ex-chaperon of Lance Armstrong and three times winner of La Vuelta.
Me and Roel aimed to start as far back as possible.
The procedings were delayed slightly by a minute’s silence for number 57 who had disappeared underneath an avalanche in the Aquilianos range two weeks previously. This is a highly unusual event, but not impossible, especially when one chooses to train in the craziest of conditions. A short homage was paid to the unfortunate mountaineer followed by a moment’s reflection on this most romantic and pointless of occupations, the extreme sport of mountain climbing.
The grim reaper had reared its ugly head once more. By coincidence I am number 56.
The race began. We left the village and tackled the first climb immediately. Most people walked, some with poles. On the steep descent that followed I picked off several runners and caught up with a few people I knew. Slipped on ice a couple of times but felt quite good.
The second climb was longer but ultimately not so taxing and we soon reached a section of lingering snow and some wide forest trails. Blasted downhill at a faster pace than last year when I was probably fitter but more wary of injuring myself (calf muscles in particular). The drinks station in the abandoned village of Primout was well staffed by local hunters and then on to the defining section of the race, the river. No puddle dodging here, you must run straight down the middle of it, knee deep in places, for several hundred metres. One guy I passed stepped into a hole and sank up to his neck. He swore in Galician but seemed to be enjoying it.
Struggled up the last long, long climb. Once at the top I thought I was home and dry but there was a surprise in store on the final descent through the woods. For the first time in my life I suffered terrible cramp and at one point I couldn’t even take a step forwards. Sensed that my quad muscles were about to pop out of my legs and run off without me. Even tried walking backwards for a bit. Lots of people steamed past me; some offered help and some laughed. Rubbed my legs, jingled them around a bit and strutted like a pidgeon for the final 3 or 4 kms.
A spectacular post-race paella awaited us that surpassed last year’s meat-fest orgy in both taste and quantity.
My finishing time was 3 hours 50 minutes, 226th out of 290 finishers and 22 minutes slower than last year. Heras won in 2:17.
Took a few photos amongst which is this one of Stan the paella man..
Is the shortest distance between two points always a straight line?
The inexhaustible Chus Alonso, veteran athlete, organizer and course designer of the Cacabelos 10k is a man who loves straight lines. The straighter the better. The 10ks and half marathons that bear the Chus Alonso hallmark are to be run fast. Right angles are a necessary momentum-breaking evil which bring you inevitably back to the start/finish line. And if there was a shorter distance between 2 points than a straight line then Mr Alonso would have discovered it.
Thursday April 1st was race day in Cacabelos. Went with Roel and as expected the straight line prevailed although the circuit was not unattractive. A short first lap took us around town in a linear sort of way and the second lap took us out into the country.
Here we met the race walker tearing along at an astonishing pace. Having recently pondered on the subject of racewalking this was mere confirmation that walking is just another form of running. Ran alongside him for a chat. The guy was Galician and usually ran 20k races....or rather he walked them. His best time was 1:29. And his sister lived in Notting Hill and supported Chelsea. Nice chap.... but yesterday he was way too fast for me. He walked off into the distance as we plodded on gloomily in his wake . I wonder if he took “run breaks”.
A long long straight straight road took us back to Cacabelos where the Dutch powerhouse outsprinted me into the village square. Our time was around 48 and a half minutes.
Next race; the Monte Pajariel half marathon. April 11th.
(02-04-2010, 07:57 AM)Bierzo Baggie Wrote: Is the shortest distance between two points always a straight line?
The inexhaustible Chus Alonso, veteran athlete, organizer and course designer of the Cacabelos 10k is a man who loves straight lines. The straighter the better. The 10ks and half marathons that bear the Chus Alonso hallmark are to be run fast. Right angles are a necessary momentum-breaking evil which bring you inevitably back to the start/finish line. And if there was a shorter distance between 2 points than a straight line then Mr Alonso would have discovered it.
Thursday April 1st was race day in Cacabelos. Went with Roel and as expected the straight line prevailed although the circuit was not unattractive. A short first lap took us around town in a linear sort of way and the second lap took us out into the country.
Here we met the race walker tearing along at an astonishing pace. Having recently pondered on the subject of racewalking this was mere confirmation that walking is just another form of running. Ran alongside him for a chat. The guy was Galician and usually ran 20k races....or rather he walked them. His best time was 1:29. And his sister lived in Notting Hill and supported Chelsea. Nice chap.... but yesterday he was way too fast for me. He walked off into the distance as we plodded on gloomily in his wake . I wonder if he took “run breaks”.
A long long straight straight road took us back to Cacabelos where the Dutch powerhouse outsprinted me into the village square. Our time was around 48 and a half minutes.
Next race; the Monte Pajariel half marathon. April 11th.
Congratulations, BB. Best of luck at Monte Pajariel half. That day we´ll be taking part at Connemara races as well.
My annual visit to Riazor Blue’s shop in La Coruña is, apart from race fees, the only time I spend any money on this running lark. I’m a minimalist you see, although some would say minimalist rhymes with tight arse.
RB is a master of his trade and as usual I came away from his select establishment with a spanking new pair of pumps. They were orange. They were made in China. They are called Mizuno Wave Harrier 2s.
Riazor Blue meanwhile is pasty white, made in Croydon and is called Brian.
He’s still in fine form and The Running Shop is slowly turning into a local institution, visited by Olympic athletes, international triathletes, local runners seeking sagely advice and even the occasional passing minimalist.
Might try the new shoes out tomorrow in the Pajariel race.
This is becoming one of my favourites, as much for its idiosyncracies as for its qualities as a race.
The first edition was in February 2008.
The second edition kept us all waiting until December 2009 and the 2010 edition took everybody by surprise reappearing only 4 months later, coinciding with other races in Astorga and Vigo.
Perhaps as a result the field was a rather paltry 56 competitors which was a shame because the course is an attractive one and the weather at this time of year is perfect.
The event has been renamed this year too. Now it is officially the Monte Pajariel Half Marathon despite being publicized on the race website as 17 k (although the GPS boys were murmouring 18.5 at the finish line).
On the same web-site the start time was supposedly at 10:30 but the local rag clearly said 9:50.
On the day the organizers called us to the start at 10 o’clock but the mass protest that followed delayed everything until 10:25.
All very confusing....
It was no coincidence that the race organizer was Pinilla the miner, a man I first met some 15 years ago running around Pajariel with a pile of stones in his rucksack.
In fact I was the only runner who truly set off at the original 10:30 start time.About 2 minutes into the race I suddenly realized I’d left my car keys on a wall while I was pinning on my race number. Ran back to the start, found the keys before someone else did and then headed back to the hills in search of a race.
The Pajariel (not quite) half marathon is a tough one. Although it’s off-road, it is more suited to speedy road athletes than mountain runners. Along the wide forest trails there are plenty of flat, fast sections. In between there are some vicious, lung busting climbs and a rollercoaster of 6 or 7 firebreaks, each one steeper and nastier than the previous. Here, most mortals walk. At the end we descend off the summit of Pajariel back to Ponferrada 1000 feet below. This year the “technical” descent was halved in favour of more forest trail, again favouring the road runners.
After my false start I managed to catch up with the tail end of the race in Toral de Merayo and got around more or less intact although my calf muscles were still howling several days later. Gus the lottery seller of Torre del Bierzo won in 1 hour 11 minutes. My time was 1:51.
As ever you astonish me BB! Well done, a great effort... I seriously doubt I would have had the mental fortitude to resume the race having gone back to the start for my keys... to do so and finish in a very respectable 1:51 is pretty bloody good!
Tip for Berciana: try not to leave your keys anywhere silly.
P.S. Thanks for the Riazor Blue update ... it's been a while!
La Tebaida Berciana, valley of the monks, home of some of the first Christian hermitages in Western Europe and venue for an annual mountain race which last Sunday celebrated its third edition. For this particular morning the Valley of Silence is slightly less silent and the pastel tones of an alpine backdrop in early spring are streaked with the garish colours of the modern day mountain runner.
Bierzo Baggie, crazy Dutch wine-taster and Oscar, the normal one, took the treacherous winding road to Peñalba (white crag) and parked the car at the end of a dirt track high above the village. Here each one began his own private odyssey , scaling high sweet green meadows, running through streams and stumbling down vertical rock-strewn slopes.
This circuit doesn’t climb any peaks but the 20k and 1000m of ascent might just rate as a catagory A fell race in the UK... to be honest, I don’t know, I read “Feet in the Clouds” but I wouldn’t know a fell if it fell on top of me!
Anyway, there are a couple of long, hard climbs, a couple of technical descents and a lot of huffing and puffing on the speedy flat sections in between. I finished 15 minutes slower than last year and 20 minutes slower than in 2008 but descended like a wild-man in my new Mizuno Wave Harrier beast-shoes and my legs didn’t hurt on Monday morning so things are looking up.
The race was won by Gus the lottery man, top dog of the moment, (top gorilla?.. of course not!)
And afterwards we dined on octopus, fried throat sweetbread and cold hams, basking in the satisfaction of another giant slain.
(27-04-2010, 11:09 PM)Bierzo Baggie Wrote: La Tebaida Berciana, valley of the monks, home of some of the first Christian hermitages in Western Europe and venue for an annual mountain race which last Sunday celebrated its third edition. For this particular morning the Valley of Silence is slightly less silent and the pastel tones of an alpine backdrop in early spring are streaked with the garish colours of the modern day mountain runner.
Bierzo Baggie, crazy Dutch wine-taster and Oscar, the normal one, took the treacherous winding road to Peñalba (white crag) and parked the car at the end of a dirt track high above the village. Here each one began his own private odyssey , scaling high sweet green meadows, running through streams and stumbling down vertical rock-strewn slopes.
This circuit doesn’t climb any peaks but the 20k and 1000m of ascent might just rate as a catagory A fell race in the UK... to be honest, I don’t know, I read “Feet in the Clouds” but I wouldn’t know a fell if it fell on top of me!
Anyway, there are a couple of long, hard climbs, a couple of technical descents and a lot of huffing and puffing on the speedy flat sections in between. I finished 15 minutes slower than last year and 20 minutes slower than in 2008 but descended like a wild-man in my new Mizuno Wave Harrier beast-shoes and my legs didn’t hurt on Monday morning so things are looking up.
The race was won by Gus the lottery man, top dog of the moment, (top gorilla?.. of course not!)
And afterwards we dined on octopus, fried throat sweetbread and cold hams, basking in the satisfaction of another giant slain.
