I've just noted that in my last blog I blithely promised that I would do lots more cycling 'at least twice a week'. Aha. Ahahaha.
Well, my excuse is that my bike lives at Al's house because I have no garden or tenement hall and Rossie Place is populated by the sort of scum who break into my friends' cars and would therefore think nothing of removing the wheels, seat and any other recognisable bit of an untended bike.
So instead I went to aquarobics on Monday, as usual. I've been a few times now and the instructor said hello to us when we arrived, so I think I can say 'as usual'. We got to use a whole new sort of float that buckles up around your tummy to keep you bobbing around in deep water whilst performing what must to the observer appear to be a series of short epileptic fits. I was quite taken with the floats, which allowed me into the deep end where those of shorter stature generally do not venture during aquarobics for fear of going under during a particularly energetic spasm. But the long dangly end of the strap did keep getting in the way - the thing was clearly designed to be big enough to strap around a baby elephant in need of floatation support.
I remarked to Morag that extra lift was a bit like having boobs around your waist, before realising that I wasn't really qualified to comment as I barely have boobs even in the normal places. Morag and Hilary had a long conversation about where to purchase swimwear with the adequate level of support while I wondered silently if Speedo did a padded version.
Tuesday saw me on my first run for many moons, or many weeks anyway. I was joined by Jo - Lee having sadly but luckily not permanently hurt her knee - on the Water of Leith. Technically next to the Water of Leith, in fact, as we followed it from the Shore to Stockbridge (where we gazed through the window of the closed bike shop coveting new helmets). I was going at Jo's pace, which was a pleasant jog for me and I thoroughly enjoyed it, though I did fear that I was 'doing a Colin' on her by chatting away while she strove to keep up. My knee kicked in but only at the very end, within sight of home, so that was good too.
Hopefully a surf tonight will provide some more exercise type stuff. Does cleaning the flat yesterday count?
Thursday, 28 June 2007
Sunday, 24 June 2007
An active weekend
I'm pooped. Was supposed to go for a run yesterday with the rat race girls but I woke up to find rain bucketing down. Half of my brain said 'It could be raining for the rat race too you know'. And the other half said 'All the more reason to stay dry now.' A few texts confirmed my team mates were of similar mind and we headed to Ratho instead.
I'd only been to Ratho a couple of times before and it's improved a bit (not sure what that photo on the left hand menu of their web page is though...looks like somebody's brain). The council have taken it over (hurrah for Edinburgh Council!) and actually got as far as tarmacing the car park. Plus there were actually people there and queuing to get in. Hopefully it will fulfil its potential as the world's biggest climbing arena.
I had to do the aerial assault course because Callum made me. Well, he wanted to do it and I wasn't going to be shown up by a 10 year old. But it was actually really fun and only as hard work as you make it. They strap you into a harness and send you off on a rope and pulley sliding across to the start point 100 feet up in the air. Then you get to scramble over swinging logs, rope ladders and rope bridges, all while suspended on high. Whenever the going gets too difficult, you can simply sit down in your harness and swing merrily along, which I tended to do a lot. I figure the adrenalin from being up there at all would be burning plenty of calories.
We had a bit of a climb too. I did three, none of them very good. Even the easy routes which I can manage at Alien Rock were hard because they were about twice as long and by half way my arms would start to tremble. But I did some bouldering and belayed Al, at one point ending up suspended a foot off the ground as I brought him down, due to a slight weight differential.
Lee and her friend did loads, with Lee happily nipping up all sorts.
Today was the Two Cities Cycle Ride from Dunfermline to Leith. I met Lee at hers and picked up her old/my new bike. We were bused from Ocean Terminal over to Fife, to a vintage bus museum which, somewhat randomly, was our start point. Must remember to tell my dad about it - there was a steam engine and everything. There was also a fantastic old caff with formica tables corralled in a corner of the bus barn, where steely-haired ladies gave us tea and chocolate biscuits for a pound. Thus fortified, we set off.
It had occurred to me on the bus (a little too late, perhaps) that I had never cycled this far in my life, and had not in fact been on a bike other than one trip to Glentress and a gentle ride around Galloway in the past ten years. Luckily the route was not too demanding other that a long hill up to the Forth Road Bridge. Cycling over the bridge was lovely - great views and enough time to take them in. I told the gang about my trip up the Sydney Harbour bridge and how they'd told us that if you fell from this height, hitting the water was as hard as hitting concrete. 'Makes you wonder why the North Bridge jumpers don't come here instead - it'd be a much more reliable way to finish yourself off,' pointed out Jo's friend Juliano.
Even so, I was pedalling veeery slooowly by the end. Coming back from Cramond, I said to Jo 'Oh, no there's a huge hill round this corner.'
'I don't think so,' she said encouragingly, 'there's a slight incline and then it's all downhill.'
'That slight incline is the hill I'm talking about...'
To be fair, you can go a lot further a lot faster on a bike than running. It still took us three and a half hours though, which I reckon means Colin could have kept up with us running. Kept up with me, that is - I was definitely the weakest link. So lots of cycling, I think about twice a week, is called for in preparation for the 80km of the rat race.
And maybe some padded shorts...my right buttock (not my left for some reason) is reminding me that it is not used to having to do any exercise. My feet, on the other had, seem quite relieved.
Oh, and just to note, it was a really well organised event with lots of marshals (we did get a bit lost at one point, but not very) and refreshments. And a great goodie bag and medal which I wasn't expecting at all. The Rotary Club know how to do these things.
I'd only been to Ratho a couple of times before and it's improved a bit (not sure what that photo on the left hand menu of their web page is though...looks like somebody's brain). The council have taken it over (hurrah for Edinburgh Council!) and actually got as far as tarmacing the car park. Plus there were actually people there and queuing to get in. Hopefully it will fulfil its potential as the world's biggest climbing arena.
I had to do the aerial assault course because Callum made me. Well, he wanted to do it and I wasn't going to be shown up by a 10 year old. But it was actually really fun and only as hard work as you make it. They strap you into a harness and send you off on a rope and pulley sliding across to the start point 100 feet up in the air. Then you get to scramble over swinging logs, rope ladders and rope bridges, all while suspended on high. Whenever the going gets too difficult, you can simply sit down in your harness and swing merrily along, which I tended to do a lot. I figure the adrenalin from being up there at all would be burning plenty of calories.
We had a bit of a climb too. I did three, none of them very good. Even the easy routes which I can manage at Alien Rock were hard because they were about twice as long and by half way my arms would start to tremble. But I did some bouldering and belayed Al, at one point ending up suspended a foot off the ground as I brought him down, due to a slight weight differential.
Lee and her friend did loads, with Lee happily nipping up all sorts.
Today was the Two Cities Cycle Ride from Dunfermline to Leith. I met Lee at hers and picked up her old/my new bike. We were bused from Ocean Terminal over to Fife, to a vintage bus museum which, somewhat randomly, was our start point. Must remember to tell my dad about it - there was a steam engine and everything. There was also a fantastic old caff with formica tables corralled in a corner of the bus barn, where steely-haired ladies gave us tea and chocolate biscuits for a pound. Thus fortified, we set off.
It had occurred to me on the bus (a little too late, perhaps) that I had never cycled this far in my life, and had not in fact been on a bike other than one trip to Glentress and a gentle ride around Galloway in the past ten years. Luckily the route was not too demanding other that a long hill up to the Forth Road Bridge. Cycling over the bridge was lovely - great views and enough time to take them in. I told the gang about my trip up the Sydney Harbour bridge and how they'd told us that if you fell from this height, hitting the water was as hard as hitting concrete. 'Makes you wonder why the North Bridge jumpers don't come here instead - it'd be a much more reliable way to finish yourself off,' pointed out Jo's friend Juliano.
Even so, I was pedalling veeery slooowly by the end. Coming back from Cramond, I said to Jo 'Oh, no there's a huge hill round this corner.'
'I don't think so,' she said encouragingly, 'there's a slight incline and then it's all downhill.'
'That slight incline is the hill I'm talking about...'
To be fair, you can go a lot further a lot faster on a bike than running. It still took us three and a half hours though, which I reckon means Colin could have kept up with us running. Kept up with me, that is - I was definitely the weakest link. So lots of cycling, I think about twice a week, is called for in preparation for the 80km of the rat race.
And maybe some padded shorts...my right buttock (not my left for some reason) is reminding me that it is not used to having to do any exercise. My feet, on the other had, seem quite relieved.
Oh, and just to note, it was a really well organised event with lots of marshals (we did get a bit lost at one point, but not very) and refreshments. And a great goodie bag and medal which I wasn't expecting at all. The Rotary Club know how to do these things.
Thursday, 21 June 2007
What I did on my summer holidays
A somewhat misleading title perhaps, but then my boss did ask recently when I was going on holiday. 'Oh, I've just been in London for a couple of days,' I explained, 'and I'm going to Armagh for two days for a wedding.'
'Yes,' she replied, 'but when are you going on holiday?' I resisted the temptation to reply that if I was paid a living wage then maybe I could afford to swan off to the Bahamas and bit my tongue.
Anyway, London was a sort of holiday, in that I managed to do remarkably little. On Wednesday it was Sam's birthday so I met her after my conference, admired her new flat (actually not that new, but the first time I'd seen it) and we got a bus to Clapham and my favouritist tapas bar in the world, El Rincon Latino. Lovely Freddo remembered me even when I worked out it was two and a half years since my last visit. Not many people can be as addicted to cheesy patatas bravas as me.
Sam's boyfriend Andrew and my old flatmate Damian met us for dinner and what turned into rather a lot of drinks. The guys were getting up early to travel to a stag do in France and Damian was concerned that he wouldn't be able to get his portable car fridge across London on the tube. How was he going to keep his beer cold?
Luckily I was beyond such concerns, being able to enjoy a lovely lie in in Sam's spare room while the boys left and Sam went to to work the next day. I spent the day shopping, in a leisurely sort of way. Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, I couldn't find anything I wanted to buy except a pair of shoes which I spotted in Next in Edinburgh. All this bright eighties style stuff really doesn't do it for me. But I had a very pleasant wander round the Kings Road before it even occurred to me that I should have gone to an exhibition or something 'cultural'. For a moment I felt guilty. Then I though 'sod that'. My new tactic of not doing things I don't want to do is paying off. (For example, upon my return Al invited me to the cinema to watch an hour-long documentary on mountain biking. 'No thanks,' I cheerily replied. And I regret it not a whit.)
As it happened, Jenny was changing trains in London after an interview so we met for a quick drink before I headed back to Sam's for takeaway and a cheesy girlie movie. The film in question featured a bloke who was cheating on his wife so she seduced him on the phone and when he was blindfolded. So he thought he was having an affair when actually he was with his wife. Who then left him. Oh, and ended up with his strong, silent, Scottish friend after she ran after his train and he pressed the emergency stop button. All very predictable, and so lacking in merit that I can't even remember what it was called. The silent Scot was Dougray Scott though, and he was very nice.
I headed down to Brighton the next day after lunch with Sam near her work in Farringdon. There's a direct train and I was at the seaside in little more than an hour. I duly met Carla at the pub where, along with most of the other teachers from her primary school, she was having an end-of-week drink. It still simultaneously amuses and terrifies me that my generation is allowed to be in charge of young minds.
We met Emma for a quick drink at another pub (equipped with outdoor heating in preparation for the smoking ban - surely the electricity used by those things is bad for the environment?). She revealed that her dad was soon to retire so the three of us decided that all of our dads should get together for a regular weekly pub night.
Then it was pizza and a night out with Carla's pals. I met her new boyfriend, who seemed lovely, and spent far too long talking about DIY and gardening. Or not actually - I happen to like talking about DIY and gardening. So there.
I persuaded the parents to meet us for lunch on Saturday and we had a scenic drive back past the downs. They'd arranged a special meal of lamb shanks to be accompanied by the bottle of Chateau Neuf du Pape I bought them a while back, though M ended up preparing it under strict supervision as D had hurt his thumb and was all bandaged up. It was delicious, although, after the champagne and strawberry dessert, I was tiddly enough to let slip how much the wine had cost...it was still really good though!
A trip to Tesco in the morning resulted in more purchases than the whole of the Kings Road, as I picked up a long brown cardigan for £12. I wish my local Sainsbury's sold clothes.
And I would have been home in good time, had one passenger inexplicably been unable to find the gate so we had to wait half an hour while they tried to find either him or his bag. Eventually he turned up, by which point most people on the plane were ready to strangle him. But one particularly unpleasant passenger actually did harangue him so unnecessarily that our (or at least my) sympathies ended up being with the latecomer.
It was good to be back in Edinburgh, though.
'Yes,' she replied, 'but when are you going on holiday?' I resisted the temptation to reply that if I was paid a living wage then maybe I could afford to swan off to the Bahamas and bit my tongue.
Anyway, London was a sort of holiday, in that I managed to do remarkably little. On Wednesday it was Sam's birthday so I met her after my conference, admired her new flat (actually not that new, but the first time I'd seen it) and we got a bus to Clapham and my favouritist tapas bar in the world, El Rincon Latino. Lovely Freddo remembered me even when I worked out it was two and a half years since my last visit. Not many people can be as addicted to cheesy patatas bravas as me.
Sam's boyfriend Andrew and my old flatmate Damian met us for dinner and what turned into rather a lot of drinks. The guys were getting up early to travel to a stag do in France and Damian was concerned that he wouldn't be able to get his portable car fridge across London on the tube. How was he going to keep his beer cold?
Luckily I was beyond such concerns, being able to enjoy a lovely lie in in Sam's spare room while the boys left and Sam went to to work the next day. I spent the day shopping, in a leisurely sort of way. Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately, I couldn't find anything I wanted to buy except a pair of shoes which I spotted in Next in Edinburgh. All this bright eighties style stuff really doesn't do it for me. But I had a very pleasant wander round the Kings Road before it even occurred to me that I should have gone to an exhibition or something 'cultural'. For a moment I felt guilty. Then I though 'sod that'. My new tactic of not doing things I don't want to do is paying off. (For example, upon my return Al invited me to the cinema to watch an hour-long documentary on mountain biking. 'No thanks,' I cheerily replied. And I regret it not a whit.)
As it happened, Jenny was changing trains in London after an interview so we met for a quick drink before I headed back to Sam's for takeaway and a cheesy girlie movie. The film in question featured a bloke who was cheating on his wife so she seduced him on the phone and when he was blindfolded. So he thought he was having an affair when actually he was with his wife. Who then left him. Oh, and ended up with his strong, silent, Scottish friend after she ran after his train and he pressed the emergency stop button. All very predictable, and so lacking in merit that I can't even remember what it was called. The silent Scot was Dougray Scott though, and he was very nice.
I headed down to Brighton the next day after lunch with Sam near her work in Farringdon. There's a direct train and I was at the seaside in little more than an hour. I duly met Carla at the pub where, along with most of the other teachers from her primary school, she was having an end-of-week drink. It still simultaneously amuses and terrifies me that my generation is allowed to be in charge of young minds.
We met Emma for a quick drink at another pub (equipped with outdoor heating in preparation for the smoking ban - surely the electricity used by those things is bad for the environment?). She revealed that her dad was soon to retire so the three of us decided that all of our dads should get together for a regular weekly pub night.
Then it was pizza and a night out with Carla's pals. I met her new boyfriend, who seemed lovely, and spent far too long talking about DIY and gardening. Or not actually - I happen to like talking about DIY and gardening. So there.
I persuaded the parents to meet us for lunch on Saturday and we had a scenic drive back past the downs. They'd arranged a special meal of lamb shanks to be accompanied by the bottle of Chateau Neuf du Pape I bought them a while back, though M ended up preparing it under strict supervision as D had hurt his thumb and was all bandaged up. It was delicious, although, after the champagne and strawberry dessert, I was tiddly enough to let slip how much the wine had cost...it was still really good though!
A trip to Tesco in the morning resulted in more purchases than the whole of the Kings Road, as I picked up a long brown cardigan for £12. I wish my local Sainsbury's sold clothes.
And I would have been home in good time, had one passenger inexplicably been unable to find the gate so we had to wait half an hour while they tried to find either him or his bag. Eventually he turned up, by which point most people on the plane were ready to strangle him. But one particularly unpleasant passenger actually did harangue him so unnecessarily that our (or at least my) sympathies ended up being with the latecomer.
It was good to be back in Edinburgh, though.
Monday, 18 June 2007
Back for more
Well, Fiona told me I had to keep blogging because she was bored and wanted something to read. I'd stopped because it was supposed to be a blog about running and, er, I'd stopped running (long story short: abandoned training in an attempt to save the knee so was only fit enough for a 4 hour 40 min marathon but hey, my leg didn't actually drop off).
But I guess I can find other stuff to dribble on about. At the moment I'm supposed to be training for the Rat Race which is in five weeks. I've done:
But I guess I can find other stuff to dribble on about. At the moment I'm supposed to be training for the Rat Race which is in five weeks. I've done:
- a gentle gym session (2km on the treadmill brought the knee on again...Jesus, what's it's problem?)
- a walk in the Pentlands, laudably described elsewhere
- some random swimming/gossiping
- a weekend hiking and camping
The last was good fun, as both a training and bonding experience with my Rat Race team mates Lee and Jo. (Despite their names, they are both female.) We'd scheduled the weekend ages ago so were lucky enough to have a good forecast. Jo had planned a great route up from Glen Clova and we followed a delightfully pretty stream past sheep and ponies ('Ruth! It's nudging me!' cried Jo as an enthusiastic Shetland pony investigated her rucksack for snacks). If it had been just a little warmer we could have taken a dip in some inviting pools.
Then a steep climb led us over the shoulder and we paused for a breather and left our rucksacks in a handy ditch before nipping up to the summit of Broadcairn and back. I still can't decide if I want to become a serious munro bagger - it seems a daunting task and not necessarily the best way to enjoy the highlands - but if if I ever do, then this inaccessible but otherwise easy peak is ticked off. It lived up to its name, with the top covered in rocky stones. As in stones that rocked due to being precariously balanced. Obviously all stones are rocky in the sense that they are made of rock...
It took us a good hour and a half up and down but it was good to be rid of the rucksacks for a bit and to get my hands dirty.
Back on track, we walked along the ridge to the south east of Loch Muick (pronounced 'Mick') and down a steep track half way along the loch, tracking back at lake-level to camp at the south end. There were horse tracks along a lot of the path and I'd love to go back and find a stables that would let me ride through this countryside.
We'd walked for some seven hours and covered about 11 or 12 miles (Jo's estimates varied wildly and the lack of roads makes it difficult to map online). Walking with a pack is exhausting but the advantage was that we could set up camp all alone in this beautiful spot. With drinkable stream water and tuna pasta and iced fingers to sustain us, we fell asleep ludicrously early.
The next day dawned damply, but it brightened a little and we decided that instead of tackling the peaks, which were covered in cloud, we'd walk around the loch on the lower path. This we duly did, speeding along the level path and passing a house which belongs to the Queen and has a bothy in the garden for walkers. Al later informed me that he and his pals once nearly set fire to the bothy, and thus the nearby house as well. Anyway, the house was shut up so we couldn't peek through the window and see what sort of sofa the Queen has.
The six mile circuit brought us back to camp, where we packed up and trekked back up the ridge that had been looming over us threateningly all day. We took it steadily and, apart from one slippery stream to cross, it was fine. Retracing our path in from the day before was a doddle and we arrived back at the car ahead of schedule. Luckily the Forth Road Bridge had predicted this and was able to supply some useful roadworks to delay us half an hour.
Back in Leith I delivered Al's camping gear back to him and was persuaded to stay for dinner. A lack of clean clothes meant that I did do clad in his t-shirt and shorts - a style that, with my new short hair-do, frankly made me look like a boy. But the boys have wussed out of the Rat Race, so clearly it is a job for the girls.
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