unironedman

The weekend has been a little tough on the liver, and the heart. My brother came over for another flying visit, and we had a few pints in the local on Thursday, and then we soaked up a little trad music in a local hotel on Friday, which ended up back in the local pub. The singer in the old band was over from Boston for his Dad’s funeral, so we made sure to toast our late Dads.

Then Saturday came and Rob and I headed into Dublin, so there was yet more hardship on the internal organs, and of course, the French team were too strong for us on the pitch. Still, it was a good day out. In my head, I didn’t imagine I would be up early on Sunday to get my long run in, but my busy head seemed keen to stir me from the bed, and I was up about eight, getting some breakfast and fishing out the various bits for the outing.

The two runs during the week had netted about 23k in total, so I knew what I had to do. I had no plan in mind, other than to pass through the park and pick up the canal. The obligatory ‘sniff the air’ test out the back door confirmed that it was shaping up to be a fine day. Still cool, but the sun was up into a clear blue sky.

The first stretch was a bit of a slog, and I wondered if perhaps I might throttle back on my distance. After all, I knew Gary was taking a week’s rest from running, and JC was still carrying a bit of a knock… I shooed these thoughts from my mind as I emerged from under the tree canopy of the Avenue into the wide open space of the wet meadow by the river where the Highland Cattle graze. This morning, with just the finest of mists to add an Impressionist touch to the scene, it was clear that while I was faffing around in work, trying to find my feet (and despite walking dogs and running through the park several times a week), Spring had arrived with its usual subtle fanfare, and was beginning to put on a display. Clumps of shy Wood Anemone accompanied the Lesser Celandine. Buds are about to burst forth.

By the time I hit the canal, the sun was well up, and I was reminded of the OMIL’s sage advice about dressing for the second mile. I plodded on for another few kilometres, settling for unzipping my outer jacket, before admitting defeat, and stopping to remove it altogether and stashing it in the hydration pack. I was now in a short-sleeved top for the first time this year, and it felt glorious.

I have started listening to the radio again on my long runs. This is courtesy of a pair of bluetooth earbuds and my mobile phone. And one of life’s little pleasures is getting out on a fine Sunday morning and listening to RTÉ Radio One. Depending on your departure time, you will get some classic ‘gold’ tunes, then John Bowman’s history programme, followed by the eclectic mix of Sunday Miscellany. For your listening pleasure, dear reader, I have included the link to last Sunday’s smorgasbord of delight. In particular, I was taken by Cornmeal, by Laoighseach Ní Choistealbha. In it, the poet is traveling on a bus to her home in Connemara when she is inspired by a chance view in the landscape. I did think to explain her story, but I would fumble it in the most clumsy fashion, so instead I would highly recommend giving it a listen. Indeed, why not take in the whole show? It’s about three-quarters of an hour of stories, poems and music. Cornmeal starts about 18 minutes in. (Non-Irish speakers will probably struggle with the poet’s name. If it was in English, it would be Lucy Costello, if that helps).

I passed the usual landmarks; the entrance to the Deep Sinking, the abandoned schoolhouse, the crossing over to the far side, and finally, the barges of Castleknock and the double-lock gates of the 12th Lock. And then, you are out onto the M50 Aqueduct and standing over Ireland’s busiest motorway, the canal at your feet, and traffic whizzing away below you.

I was still feeling reasonably good so pressed on to the next lock. Rather than stop here, I continued further towards town and the Tenth Lock at Ashtown. Here I left the canal behind and made my way into the Phoenix Park. The park was gently humming, with lots of folk like me out enjoying the day. I jogged around the perimeter, and exited at Farmleigh. I was now on what I would call the ‘top road’; a route that travels roughly in parallel to the Strawberry Beds in the Liffey Valley below – a road made famous in song. I now passed under the M50 on my way home. Most of this section of my journey was okay, but the footpath peters out eventually, so you need to keep your wits about you, and I was glad to leave the road and get back onto the canal again at the Clonsilla station.

I needed to do a little detour in the park on the way home, just to get the total up to 27k, and even though the distance, pace and time for the last three of these runs are very similar as far as the data goes, the good news, from my end, is that the body feels in better shape at the end of it. Which suggests progress of a sort, I guess.

The weekend was nicely topped off with a family lunch in the local pub, and then dogs were walked before we returned to the pub once more to watch Man Utd. play Arsenal. A bit like my liver versus Guinness Group Sales this weekend, it was hard-fought score draw…

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