unironedman

“The true meaning of life, Wesley, is to plant trees under whose shade you do not expect to sit.”
Nelson Henderson

According to the internet – our modern-day oracle – the Henderson family left Ireland during the Great Famine (1845-52). One of the offspring, Wes, wrote a book about his life, and you can find a little more here. I only mention it as I stumbled upon this lovely quote, and wondered who the author was. It was Nelson, the father of Wesley, on the author’s graduation day. It’s a lovely thought, and one I would wholeheartedly endorse.

I am sure the Henderson family were all remarkable people in their own way, but they are not the ones I refer to in the title. But more of that shortly.

The last week or so has been relatively easy in training terms. Indeed, I hadn’t looked at the Total Distance bar charts on Garmin for months – possibly not even this year. It’s a handy little reckoner when you’re putting in some miles for a programme. Once you make sure to record all your runs, the stats will tell the story. Perhaps not the true story of pain, suffering, sweat, joy and ecstasy (sorry, what? ed.), but at very least, it will give you the bald facts in terms of how many miles you have done, and you can view these by the week, month or year.

Well, I can safely say my no-training-plan programme has been a success. In the sense that I have made a conscious decision to not have a training programme for the Wicklow Way attempt, and have decided to cut back on the mileage. This I have achieved with some aplomb. I look back at October of last year, for example, with nearly 230 km, or December, with nearly 245 km. And then a quick glance at April this year: 155 km. May will be even less.

And of course, we can now officially start to reduce that mileage even more, as we enter the tapering phase of the programme (that isn’t a programme). My last ‘long run’, such as it was, happened on the 19th May, when I reprised an out-and-back loop (I know, that sounds like a contradiction in terms…) that I fashioned last year. I go out along the canal towards Dublin, over the M50 aqueduct, turn right at Ashtown and skirt along in the inside boundary of Phoenix Park, and back home via the Strawberry Beds. This time, I made a slight variation on a theme when I cut out half of the Strawberry Beds road by staying on what I have always called the upper road (Porterstown Road is its official name). I dropped back down to the Liffey via Somerton Road, and made a small detour at Wren’s Next weir, a spot I haven’t visited for many a long time. It’s still there, needless to say 😉

That same weekend, Tamsyn and I did The Spinc at Glendalough. I was there recently for the scattering of Auntie Gráinne’s ashes, so we made a point of detouring off the beaten path to pay our respects at the slab of granite in the woods near the lake shore. As resting places go, it’s a good one. I appreciate, dear reader, that you have seen pictures from this walk recently, but I think it’s one of the more spectacular looped walks in the country, so you’ll just have to endure yet more photographs. I particularly like the insect photobomb of the Blackthorn tree. For the wildlife enthusiasts, the beetle is a Two-banded Longhorn, and the place was alive with them!

It’s fun to be a tourist in your own town. Glendalough is obviously a trap for many coach tours and locals alike, so on a fine day like the one we had over the weekend, you will be sharing the paths with others. (Along with the expected more seasoned and mature travellers from across the pond – the Atlantic, I mean – there is always a gaggle of Spanish youngsters on these trails. They never seem to be particularly enjoying the views, and I’m not sure why they are there, really, other than it’s part of a package deal, and it burns off some steam…).

By the time we had made our way back from the Miner’s Village and cooled our feet in the Upper Lake, the overflow car park was jammed. In other words, my dear friends, if you are planning to visit this little green Mecca of loveliness, do so off-peak if you can, and certainly arrive early and make the most of the day. And bring a packed lunch; I had some chips last month from the burger van, and even the Rooks threw them back at me…

Continuing with the ‘be a tourist in your own town’ theme, Saoirse and I went to Glasnevin Cemetery last week, as part of her birthday celebrations. As you do. We met up with her best mate, Emma and her friend, Andy. Glasnevin is, in simple terms, Ireland’s answer to Père Lachaise in Paris. Indeed, the two are not dissimilar in age: Glasnevin Cemetery was established by Daniel O’Connell in 1832, and Père Lachaise in 1804. If you’ve been to Paris, you have probably been to Père Lachaise as well, and if not, I would simply ask ‘why?’ According to our online oracle friend once more, it is the most visited necropolis in the world. And it’s not often you get to use that word in a blog about running…

We didn’t have a whole heap of time to spend there, but we were able to track down my grandfather’s grave. We also had a wander around the 1916 Civil War section, where rest some of the various leaders of the Rising. If, perchance, the good people at the cemetery are reading this (unlikely), I should point out that the rather fetching brochure and map leaflet, whilst well-designed in the most part, fails in its primary duty of helping you locate specific graves. I can’t recall if the French have a similar ‘laissez-faire’ attitude to this conundrum, but I suspect they probably invented the whole concept of not caring what others think, so on the balance of probability, I am going to say that finding anyone in Père Lachaise is based on pure chance. That said, I don’t see why the cemetery couldn’t solve this puzzle with a little more discreet signage, and a better map. And I accept there are over 1.5 million souls in there, so finding your lost soul is not going to be easy…

My last longish (not long, okay? Just longish) run was on Saturday morning. Total coincidence, but I went up via the canal once more, and went west towards Maynooth and turned off at Intel (13th Lock) to head over to Castletown. And I arrived just as parkrun was setting off, at 9.30am. I wondered if Abdul was amongst the runners, and as I was at the tail end, I made a point of moving up through the field, and sure enough, there he was, with a colleague on his shoulder. We had a chat and a laugh, and then I left them after a kilometre or two and headed out of the demesne for home. 17k on the button got me to the local shop on the main street, so I stopped the watch, bought an ice-cream and went back up to the lake for a dip.

Which brings me to last Friday, when I found myself along the quays of Dublin’s fair city shortly after 7am. I was too early for an 8am breakfast appointment, but it gave me a chance to stroll around the docklands and take some pictures. Again, if you view your own cityscapes with an unjaundiced ‘tourist’ eye, you can enjoy the commonplace, and indeed, often find new things you had overlooked. I was there due to my previous life as a graphic designer. When I worked for Frontline Defenders, I would get invited to their annual awards ceremony. I guess I am still on a list somewhere, because an invite dropped into the postbox a month ago, and I decided it would be nice to drop by and meet up with some old acquaintances.

Once you have had your breakfast, which is always rather pleasant, you get to hear the human rights defenders speak as they accept their awards, and it is at this moment when you realise your own paltry struggles (a faulty washing machine at home for me, for example) are nothing in comparison to what these amazing people are doing with their lives.

Mostly, I find Dublin to be a place best-avoided. But in this last week or so, it has restored my faith. And it hasn’t really done anything, to be fair – it’s just that I gave it a chance, and it repaid me many times over. And I admit sunshine has a most restorative effect.

Incidentally, hot tip for tourists: if you find yourself close to a pair of Dublin gulls and fancy taking a candid shot of them eyeing up the town for their next mark, be warned they will try and charge you twenty quid per photo. Don’t be conned; it’s only ten quid. And they take card payments, too…

Before I leave you to your own devices, let me mention a remarkable lady. Candice Burt has just finished running 50k a day for 200 days straight. Here’s one article. I’ve been following her amazing journey on Twitter, and it’s quite the thing. Some of us here have done the odd ultra, and indeed, 50k would be seen as the gateway distance to the longer of the race distances, such as 100 miles. But 50k is no small beer. It’s 31 miles, if you are not keen on metric. I am delighted with myself if I finish one a year. To ‘warm down’, Candice has been doing a few marathons. And as she says herself, she feels great after her achievement.

Enjoy the weather, folks. And now, some dogs.