unironedman

By the time I caught up with her, she was out of sight. It’s one of those daft things you hear as a kid, and it sticks with you. Not sure of its provenance, nor does it matter, I suppose, though I recall my Mum used to say it to us, and she found it very amusing, so perhaps it’s not Irish in origin. If anyone out there can shed some light, please do. It’s not even a particularly good segue into the main theme of this stupendous blog (stupendous? so close… ed.) but it came to mind when I sat down to start tapping away on the laptop. To wit: isn’t it amazing how you wait for something for ages, and then it’s suddenly on your doorstep, inviting itself in for tea and biccies. And then it’s all awkward when you realise you haven’t got any biccies… (sorry, where’s this going? ed.)

I am talking about the Connemarathon, and this particular event is even more of a slow burn event than most, as it was postponed from last year due to… well, I think you might recall last year’s challenging moments (roof: 1, me: nil). Typically, us runner-types will sign up for an event or three in the coming year, and then have months of prep and training before the big day(s). And invariably they remain on the horizon much like David Lean’s sweeping shot of Omar Sharif in Lawrence of Arabia (which apparently was twice as long as the scene that made the film – an edit the great director regretted). Fun fact: When you look at that shot, you can see they made lines on the sand to help the actor direct his camel towards the camera crew. The other more fun version of this ‘will they ever arrive’ scene in a film happens in Monty Python and the Holy Grail when Lancelot attacks a castle and slaughters most of the wedding guests. If you know the scene, you understand what I’m getting at. They clearly were taking the mickey out of famous films like the one Lean directed.

And now I’m beginning to think this entre is as contrived as anything Python created, so I’ll move on before it becomes so meta it grinds to a halt… Look, what I’m trying to say is that the camel is going to arrive, okay?

Tuesday’s run was a decent 11k or thereabouts, and I was happy with the pace, which was exactly four-hour marathon pace, or 5:42. Not that it was in any plan of mine, for I didn’t make a plan for this race, despite having a lot of time to consider such a thing. My only thought was to get out three times a week, and supplement that with a few gym days. Well, the gym days vanished like hoar frost in Spring, not least when I began working full-time in the hire shop (which I lovingly refer to as my free workout…).

I had planned to pop by and have a look at an old ruin that I have photographed from a distance several times, but never investigated. But on that fine, sunny evening, a farmer was out ploughing the massive field in which this ruined building sits, so I plodded on and thought I’d try again on Thursday’s run.

Thursday arrived, and the fine weather was only getting better by the day, and I spent most of the day at work gazing at the sun and longing for half-five when I could get home and straight back out the door again. As it happened, a dear old friend of my Mum’s had passed away, and we drove over to the house for the wake that evening. All of which is to remind you about perspective and the passage of time.

Friday turned out to be the last of the fine weather, but probably the warmest of the lot, and I finally got back out to follow my footsteps from earlier in the week as I mooched through the park and out past the Lucan Golf Club and on towards Tubber Lane. The field was a masterpiece of ploughing, but I had it all to myself, so made my way carefully across the furrows and finally came face-to-face with this little landmark. Here is some blurb from the rather excellent Irish historic buildings database:

Aderrig Church and graveyard: we reach an ancient road called Alderg, or Aderrig lane, and, at a little distance, the thickly ivy-covered ruin of the very ancient church presents itself, standing in a field in which can be indistinctly traced the boundary [DU017-028001-] of the grave yard and there are few in the county that present such as forgotten and desolate appearance. As in many other instances that we have had to record, the ancient road-way has been appropriated by the owner of the adjoining land, and the graveyard will soon cease to contain any monument of those who in silent hope repose under the green sod…

And for another overview, you can also read this nice piece here. It’s a lot older than I thought!

I did also detour to the lake, and had my first dip of the year. The lake is colder than I thought…

Saturday was a day of work. Not AT work, but in the garden, working on the shed. I can safely say if I was put in front of a firing squad and shot for being a blocklayer, I would die an innocent man. All of which gives me continued and renewed respect for trades-folk. But I am getting there, and the blocks are (mostly) square and plumb, and if they are a little out, I can fiddle the figures at the end when I am getting to the roofing stage. And cosmetically, most of my sins will be absolved by a few coats of sand and cement render.

Saturday night found us in Newbridge playing to a packed bar. Kildare had just won a Gaelic football match against Westmeath in the town, and spirits were high. It was a late one, though, so only about six hours of sleep before it was time to rise once more and get the running gear on.

Gary arrived bang on time, and we did a decent 15k which his Garmin watch referred to as a tempo run, and who am I to argue with that? 5:39 wouldn’t be my idea of tempo, but it certainly felt lively enough. Along the way, I spotted plenty of Marsh Marigolds flowering in a ditch, and I swear they weren’t there a few days ago. So I had to stop and take a few pics. Back home, and Gary headed off, but not before he reminded me that this time two weeks, we would be trotting around Connemara.

I think I can see someone riding in on a camel…

Whilst I made it back from the run in time to get Mum off to church, I didn’t join her as I wanted to keep working on the shed. But she got a lift home in style in a classic 1978 Mercedes, and she insisted on having her photo taken.

Work continued in the garden, and I had the pleasure of Chris Hadfield’s company. Not, alas, in person, but on the radio. He was doing a Desert Island Discs format show with an Irish presenter, and he’s just that kind of fascinating guy you have to listen to. Great insights. A literally out-of-this-world human being but still down to earth (that’s it! I quit! ed.).

And so here are some flower pics from recent sojourns, including those sneaky Marigolds:

And now for some funnies:

Plus the obligatory doggos shot:

But I can’t leave without plugging this great documentary, if you haven’t already seen it. You don’t need to know the intimate details of the madness and mayhem that is the Barkley Marathons, but I might advise you watch it on your own, in case your significant other walks in and catches you crying in front of your laptop. 🙂