unironedman

It was one of those March days when the sun shines hot and the wind blows cold: when it is summer in the light, and winter in the shade.

Charles Dickens
‘Great Expectations’

I have no doubt in some esteemed academic circles, paraphrasing Dickens is a sackable offence. We have no fear here, dear reader, at unironedman© holdings, PLC, mainly on the basis that we have committed far more egregious sins than this in the past, and here we are, still typing away any ol’ shite on the computer, and pressing ‘publish’ to boot. My excuse is alliteration; clearly Dickens had already used ‘sun’ at the start, so he couldn’t do so again. Where as I… (GET ON WITH IT! ed)

My point is, the weather this last week has been exactly as Dickens described. There is a promissory note of Summer, but the goods have yet to be delivered. Neither a borrower or a lender be is my motto, so I will sit patiently and wait for the real heat to come. And on that score, we have a holiday booked in Biarritz in the middle of May, so even if Ireland’s weather fizzles and splutters before then, we do have that to look forward to. A whole week of shorts and sandals, and swimming in the sea. And annoying the locals with my poor French, tant pis!

This week, I throttled back on the running in terms of distance. I did two 7k runs during the week, the second of which was on a fine day, so I toddled up to the lake and woods to see what sort of shape it’s in. The Wild Garlic is beginning its annual annexation of all woodland floor territory, gains which will all be be seceded by the height of Summer. But at its height, it is a marvel to behold, and impossible to resist when you have a camera to hand. I’m even thinking of the months ahead and that first dip in the water when the air temperature has persuaded you to risk your lot, but the water temperature has other ideas. That first one is always refreshing!

Mid-March is also Primrose season, and they have not disappointed. As I left the lake behind me and took in some of the little farm lanes that would bring me back to the road, the fringes were dotted with creamy yellow. As I jogged along by a field, a herd of frisky young bullocks spotted me from the far corner of the field, and stampeded over to get a closer look at this interloper. Of course, once we met over the wooden fence that divided us, they were less keen to get close, and after several minutes, the closest we got was one tentative sniff and lick of an outstretched hand. If they only knew they could crush me to death in seconds…

Sunday arrived, and the now ritual long run had to be completed. With heavy rain from yesterday fresh in my mind, I steered away from the towpaths, and instead journeyed through the park on solid tarmac pathways, and exited at Lucan, and headed for Tubber Lane. At the end of this lane, there is a charming bank on the roadside, and it’s always had the most glorious display of Primroses. And it kept its promise. I took some photos and pushed on through Stacumney towards Hazelhatch. Soon, I was trotting through Celbridge village main street, and on into Castletown Demesne. Homeward bound at this point. Just needed to cross the motorway and pick up the canal. As I reached Cope Bridge, I had the choice to push on and get some more miles, or take the option here to head for home, and my legs seem to make the call, and within minutes I was back at my front door with 20k on the clock. That would do.

During the week, I had finally got around to trying to solve the not particularly trying issue of plastic-tasting water from the hydration pack. It’s one of those minor issues that pop up at the time (you take a mouthful of water on a long run, make a funny face, and then promise yourself you’ll find a way to get rid of that taste), and then you get get home, strip off the gear, jump into the shower, and promptly forget all about it. Until the next time. And so it goes.

Well, no doubt several of you out there are now sagely nodding to yourselves, and mouthing the words ‘lemon and baking soda’. Google agrees. Aren’t ye all the clever feckers. So whilst pottering around the shops the other day, I picked up some fresh lemons and a tin of baking soda, and treated one of the bladders that I would use at the weekend. Half a lemon was squeezed in, along with a large spoon of soda, plus a good splash of water, and the whole thing was shaken up and left for a few hours, then thoroughly rinsed. So today, on the long run, the water does not taste of plastic anymore, but rather of lemons and baking soda…

Like all far away events, the Connemarathon is now on its final approach. I was supposed to do this race last year, but, well… events, dear boy, events! But as with all races that are on the calendar and seem so far off in the distance, they do eventually arrive. All we can do is hope we have done the training. Gary and I are now discussing travel arrangements. Accommodation has been sorted already (thanks again, Gary), so all we can do is try and get to the start line in decent shape. It sounds like JC has already dropped back to the half due to injury but for now, Gary is hoping to stick with the ultra. It would be great to have some company.

As I headed out the door with the dogs for their evening walk up the park, I could hear the station phone ringing across the road. It’s unmanned, so I knew it would ring out. It rang again. Then I smelt smoke. Glancing down the road, I could see thick black smoke over the tree-line. It was clearly a large fire but perhaps some distance away. I rang my old station officer to let him know, then made haste up the avenue to see if I could a better sense of where the fire was. It was clearly beyond even the park, and then I met a neighbour who had taken some photos from the woods who was able to confirm it was farm buildings out on the Clonee Road. I hope there isn’t too much damage, but it did look bad. Once a fireman…