unironedman

Gym continues, and I have managed to fulfil my duties as regards getting in three sessions per week. I am noticing a few improvements in some areas, but I can’t say the classic bench press is doing a whole lot, as far as I can tell. We’ll stick at it, anyway. I have at least another nine months to see what can be done. This week, Saoirse also joined a gym (but not the one I’m in; this is in a neighbouring town and it has not one but two pools. We had a visit to set up the details, and managed a nice swim. It turns out I am still crap at swimming.

Last weekend, I decided I had had my fill of sweaty gyms, and headed out for a decent run. It was morning, but very warm, and within minutes, I remembered you sweat when running too, and I had to remove and stash my running cap in my hydration vest. I mooched through the park and out onto the Clonee Road, before joining the canal at Collins Bridge.

There is a long and straight stretch before you reach the Deep Sinking, and the welcome of the shade. The towpath here is rather ropey in places, and a few patches were a bit slick, but overall, I managed to make it out the other side unscathed. Next stop was my planned destination; the aqueduct over the M50 Motorway. It’s always quite the change emerging out of the relative calm and shelter of the Sinking to found yourself perched over the busiest road in the Republic. But here we are. And exactly 10 kilometres from my front door.

I decide to push on to the 11th Lock before I turn for home, thus ensuring I’d clock up a half-marathon.

During the week, disturbing news was breaking from across the pond in the UK. A famous tree had been deliberately felled overnight.

It may have been but a humble Sycamore, but what made it special was its location, situated in a gap along the famous Hadrian’s Wall in the north of England. It featured in Kevin Costner’s Robin Hood film, and was voted UK’s most-loved tree. It became quite the celebrity towards the end of its 300 year lifespan which met a hideous and grotesque end to a chainsaw wielded by two people with a grudge against the National Trust who manage this public space.

The news was met with shock and grief and understandably so; the tree was not just a pleasing photo-opportunity but a touchstone for a nature-loving public. So many stories started to appear. Ashes had been scattered underneath its canopy, lovers had proposed; many memories were made under its branches.

The story even made it across the Atlantic. Here is an article from the Washington Post. It’s worth a read, because it’s clear that UK’s wildlife is in serious decline. Here in Ireland, we are not faring too much better.

It’s not clear yet what the full motives are behind this wanton act of vandalism; no doubt that will be revealed in time. It won’t bring back the tree, of course. Some kindly soul has already planted a replacement sapling which I gather was a spontaneous act and not endorsed by the National Trust. And there is a possibility that the felled tree will throw up some shoots and grow again. Though it would not regain its photogenic shape.

What is perhaps interesting to note about the landscape in which the tree once dominated is that it is devoid of any others. Like many upland areas of Ireland, this area of Northumberland is grazed by sheep, and trees have been cleared from the land for many years. This is perhaps the greater tragedy, but of course, when we can’t see that something is missing, it is hard to notice its absence. Or mourn its loss.

I wrote a little piece in response and posted it on Twitter. There was little else I could do, but it felt necessary to try.

I took the dogs out for a walk in Castletown House demesne during the week. This stately home is well-managed by the Irish version of the National Trust, but they have fumbled the ball recently, allowing a large parcel of land attached to the estate to be bought by developers. This has resulted in access to the main car park being cut off, and now we are in a stupid standoff between the Office of Public Works (OPW) and the developers. When it comes to snatching defeat from the jaws of victory, the OPW have a long track record, unfortunately.

This weekend, I managed another 10k. This wasn’t really a planned run but I had to collect my car. I had left it up at the rugby club as we all gathered to remember our dear friend Ciaran on his anniversary. We had a mass at 6pm, and then repaired to the clubhouse to watch the Scotland v Romania game, drink a few pints and tell stories. So I needed to collect the car the following morning, and a run seemed a decent way to shake off the grogginess. It didn’t particularly work, but at least I lost my own bodyweight in sweat. (this is not possible, ed)

We’ve bought a bag of daffodil bulbs and will plant them around the cherry tree we planted for Ciaran last year at the entrance to the park in a little open patch of grass.

And apropos of nothing in particular (other than it was one of my Dad’s favourite words), here are a few pictures…