Not far from the Castled city of Edinburgh lie the Pentland Hills. Diminuative in stature, they have nonetheless taken on an exceptional importance in our running lives.
2 years ago I first came here, yearning for a long run in the hills, and finding myself in Edinburgh to accompany my husband as he attended his course of vocation. Since then, there have been more trips, always to be with him in his travels, always an opportunity to run and be alone.
On my first trip to the Pentlands I wanted to do the full circle, Ranger station, Turnhouse Hill, Carnethy, Skald Law, East & West Kip and then down, down over the reservoirs to return. But I overestimated my strength and underestimated the little hills. I beat a retreat from Carnethy Hill and gained the reserviour road and relief. These little hills had shown me who was boss.
Two Kimm starts and a Lamm later I returned to Pentland, (having been turned away last year by the Foot & Mouth hazard.) and this time we came together and it was easy.
The ritual started as I left the train in Edinburgh on the Saturday and the cold wind bit me hard. And I had a shirt and a pertex shell, thin gloves. Hmmmm…not enough.
I got a fleece sleeveless vest and a windstopper headband. Although it got mighty nasty (85mph wind, hail) and gorgeous by turns I was never more than 3 degrees outside perfect comfort. Bless the gear…
Two quite awful ditties about nice warm gear…told you all along I was a gear freak
So the day started very cold and very wet and I was more than a little worried about my actual ability to carry this thing through. Still with a little forced bravado and lots of telling of people that I, the great "Mountain Runner" was going out there in the gales, I felt I could not longer back out.
"Got space blanket, got compass, got whistle, got map, got food, water, gaffer tape. Got cell phone. Got the road never more than 30 mins walk downhill. Stop faffing and go already…..oh well yes. Should I have brought my Walshes?…Quiet!…oh yes right…running is good…yes..yes"
I dropped my husband off at his course, and left to complete my part of the bargain.
The first long run of the year. Deep breaths and remembering some wonderful moments from Austria's triumphs last year got me to the base of the first hill. Then the wind hit.
It blasted, and yes, I walked. I was ready for this. I recited the words of the Ultrarunner - "What you can't see over, walk over" and wisdom from a KIMM veteran for C-Class competitors. "You'll be looking to walk fast uphill, trot on the flats and run down hills." Adding to that the fact of the strong wind and this being the first long run of the year, I was OK. I walked up, fast and felt no guilt.
On the way up this first steep pull, there were a few walkers who had a strange recurring need to consult the map on this completely obvious path. I think they must have been map-fetishists because they were panting very hard as they were looking at it. And they say fell-runners are weird.
(Talking of fell-runners, there was one. He was coming downhill - fast, he was wearing Walshes. He was wearing Ron Hills. He was wearing a bobble-hat. He had a big moustache. He was a fell-runner. )
So I paced up the Turnhouse Hill and up, up into the wind. I tried to run several times but the wind more or less stopped me in my tracks so I hunkered down and shouldered my way through it like deep snow.
My cap was in danger of being blown off every moment and I decided to take it off as I arrived at the first summit.
As I came up onto the rise feeling quite rugged and sexy for being out in this weather in running gear, the hat came off and the view rushed me.
My heart leapt as the full width and brightness of the view slapped into me. I flung my arms out and let the wind hold me as I ran and sang my way down that first hill.
The sun, going down behind the Pentlands, cast golden lights
and blue shadows on their snow-clad summits, slanted
obliquely into the rich plain before them, bathing with rosy
splendour the leafless, snow-sprinkled trees, and fading
gradually into shadow in the distance. To the south, too,
they beheld a deep-shaded amphitheatre of heather and
bracken; the course of the Esk, near Penicuik, winding about
at the foot of its gorge; the broad, brown expanse of Maw
Moss; and, fading into blue indistinctness in the south, the
wild heath-clad Peeblesshire hills.
From the description of the Battle of Rullion Green
With that view and my heart happy and my wind sound, I continued, running wherever I could, walking when I must. I easily reached the path at the bottom of Carnethy Hill. This had been the point of my return when I last attempted the round and rejoicing in how much stronger I felt now, I moved on towards the summit of Skald Law, knowing that it was done now.
I passed heavily anoraked walkers with packs and sticks and balaclavas and now the wind's fury truly struck and it began to hail.
I held the brim of my cap to shelter my face but could do nothing for my legs as they were whipped by Gaia's grim lashes. It was a splendid place, to be thus exposed and ravaged. I would have been so easy to make it all stop, just by going down to the road, waiting below. But I didn't want it to stop. This was a glorious stripping away. Of worry, of complication, of all the world's weight, of the London pollution, of doubt. The wind sucked the filth right out of me and bore it all away, leaving blazing sunshine and dashing clouds chasing each other.
I dropped down from West Kip to path towards Logan Burn and ran and ran and ran. I ran with the knowledge that I can still do this.
Strong, happy, fit, sound. No trace of the virus. Running is Chi-Management. I ran a long way down and it passed easily and gracefully.
Oh relief…I am addicted again.
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