Growing old disgracefully......

     I'm forever telling myself I'm not an old man yet but, judging by the way I sometimes feel, I'm simply deluding myself.  Last Tuesday was one of those days.  I'd got up early and was lacing up my studs while the kettle boiled for a strong mug of coffee.  In spite of secondary glazing I could hear wind racing up and down the Beaufort scale, a noise that should have told any sensible runner to stay low, or stay indoors. Better still, go back to bed.  

I went up Castle Hill..

Another day is born - No 31,322 for me!        (Click to enlarge pictures)

      For the past week I hadn't seen a sunrise.  Every morning had dawned cold, drizzly, cloudy and windy.  But on Tuesday I stepped out the door to a clear sky with a thin rosy glow on the eastern horizon.  And a wall of wind.  As my wonderful partner might tell you, I like wind, particularly if it's warm and gentle.  Whenever I experienced a  'runner's high', that floating out of body phenomenon, it was always windy.  But not like Tuesday. 

I cowered along the hedge side on the run home

As I struggled up the steep flanks I was blown all over the place and frequently forced to a standstill, panting for breath. I reached the summit just as the sun was peeping over the horizon and steadied myself, as best I could, to take a photograph of the dawning day.  I ran to a more sheltered section, behind trees, and took a few more shots of the waking landscape before beating a hasty retreat down the leeward side of the hill to return home by a leafy lane, sneaking between hawthorn and holly bushes where the wind was less likely to find me.  Then I did something I've never done before.  I went back to bed for an hour, feeling somewhat knackered.  But of course, I tell myself, it's nothing whatsoever to do with age.   It was that damn wind...

Autumn tints along the Wharfe as the week got better

On Thursday I sensibly stayed low for a session of 10 faster paced hill reps in the cemetery.  No-one complained!  I felt good, fully recovered from Tuesday's epic and was back home in ½ hour, before sunrise and before my neighbour went to work. 

Saturday was a grotty, wet and windy day in the Dales so, other than a quick visit to the coal shed for reinforcements, I'm afraid we never stirred from our warm cottage.

Skipping along the riverbank 

Sunday dawned sunny and clear, a wonderful autumn day that lured us out for a 6 mile jaunt round Burnsall and Appletreewick.  After holidays in Spain and Portugal it felt wonderful to be back in our old haunts again, despite the somewhat cooler temperature.

Autumn tints near Burnsall

We were not alone.  Cyclists sped along the road in their obligatory lycra, helmets, gloves and goggles.  I sometimes wonder if they ever actually see much of the beautiful countryside through which they travel, or whether they just cycle for cycling's sake?  Anyway, they all looked lean and mean so I suppose it must be good exercise...

Running past Loup Scar

A group of teenagers with huge rucksacks of backpacking gear dawdled along the riverside seemingly clueless as to where they were or which way they were supposed to be going.  They took some convincing their final destination, Barden Bridge, was actually down river and not upstream from whence they'd just come.  They did have a map but none appeared to have a compass.  We took them to be a party of High School kids but it seemed ludicrous they'd been sent out on a multi-day trek without first being taught some basic navigation skills.
So that was the week that was.  Three good runs with 667ft of ascent is surely proof enough I'm not an old man yet....

New workout......

      Not only was I running before sunrise this morning but I was home and showered before sunrise.  OK, I only ran two miles but it was a good workout.  I'd taken a page from the late Ed Whitlock's book and ran round the local cemetery.  The old part of the cemetery is on a slope that's intersected by seven paths between the gravestones.  I found it ideal for short hill reps, running hard up one path and jogging down the next, all the way to the end. 

Then back again.

Cemetery workout

      Although hardly daylight I was surprised to find I wasn't alone in the gloom.  A Personal Trainer was already there with one of his clients doing step-ups onto a kerb.  I've seen him before, mostly putting plump ladies through their paces, hopping sideways, running backwards or doing press-ups on the grass beside the graves.  And they pay him for this?  

I think I've missed my way.

Menorca again......

Mentions of mistiness in my last posting were not intended for the ears of my Consultant Ophthalmologist.  Regardless, his latest corticosteroid injection to my Rt eye on  25th August produced so much milkiness and floating crystals I was unable to run safely for more than a week.  I was relieved to survive a run round Castle Hill eight days later without falling all over the place.

Getting back into my stride  (Click to enlarge pictures)

My house has been in turmoil too as plumbers, plasterers, electricians, painters and tilers went about their various duties tearing out my old bathroom  and fitting a brand new one.
It puts the rest of the house to shame! 

Work in progress

However, you can't keep a good man down and throughout September I've been making up for lost time in wild and wonderful places.

Putting in the mileage before Menorca

Long trails over local hills with hundreds of feet of ascent were all part of my preparation for a two week holiday in a favourite corner of the world, the beautiful island of Menorca.

The Xuroy in its beautiful setting

Once again we were booked in at the Xuroy, a wonderful little family run hotel that sits with its feet in the water by the old fishing village of Alcaufar.  

Snorkeling in the warm waters by the hotel

Residents can step out the door and plunge straight into the warm sea to swim, swish, swirl and snorkel among the shoals of fish - or maybe shake hands with a visiting octopus.  I never had the privilege of the latter...

Dawn erupting outside our window

Delightful dawn skies lured us from our beds each morning to don our studs and run for miles along the undulating trails, mainly on sections of the Cami de Cavalls (Way of Horses), a long distance trail that encircles the island.

Sunrise on the Punta Prima run

Sadly, unlike in May, there were no nightingales to serenade us as we greeted the sun on an inland trail towards Punta Prima.  The land we ran on is private but we only ever met one man exercising his dogs and I'd guess he was trespassing too.

Rough running along the Cami de Cavalls 

We'd return along the Cami de Cavalls, a much rougher trail of pitted and spiky limestone that calls for sure footedness and a certain amount of concentration to avoid catastrophes. I'm rather good at the latter and have a few good scars to prove it!

After the storm, a flooded trail

Overall the weather was good, sunny with temperatures reaching low 80's, but we'd a couple of rogue thunderstorms that flooded the trail and made it very muddy in parts.  On the plus side, grass began to shoot and patches of green emerged.

Running the Rafalet Vell route

On other mornings we headed northwards on dawn runs, again braving the precarious underfoot conditions of the Cami de Cavalls as far as a farmstead at Rafalet Vell.  

Wild tortoise

On previous occasions we'd invariably encounter many wild tortoises, the main attraction of this route for us, but this time we saw only one. We wondered if some unscrupulous person was collecting them for commercial purposes?

Rafalet rooster

The posse of little piggies that previously entertained us at Rafalet Vell were conspicuous by their absence. We surmised they'd all gone to market or sliced up to embellish the breakfast plates of an estimated 22,000 visitors that passed through Menorca's airport each day the previous month.  Instead of their cheery little grunts a brightly coloured rooster crowed from over the wall.

Wild Horses  (I love this song, click to listen)

Occasionally we met cows, some with evil looking horns and some with calves.  None of them bothered us but on one occasion we turned tail as they eyed us with a little too much attention.  This time it was horses that blocked our path but we patted them aside and they let us pass without ado.

My favourite swimming pool

 Cala Rafalet is one of Menorca's hidden gems, a secluded little cove of clear, deep water surrounded by magnificent limestone cliffs that trap the sun and make this a delectable place to swim.

As rough as it gets

On one of our longer runs we ran the Cami de Cavalls as far as Cala de Sant Esteve, a section that's as rough as it gets.  The final ¼ mile is a delight for masochistic runners who delight in extreme off-road fun.  Like me...

Across limestone slabs at Cala de Sant Esteve

The delights continued as we ran across an expanse of limestone slabs.

On the coast path to Cala Rafalet

Then a little climb out to join a gravel cliff path with a curious cave formation.

Pock-marked cave

From thereon the trail was thin on the ground requiring the mind and expertise of an Indian tracker to stay on route.  But we congratulated ourselves on reaching our objective without once referring to the guide book.

Cooling off at Cala Rafalet

We'd deliberately dressed in running gear that doubled as swimwear so were able to wash the sweat from our bodies after an almost vertical descent down the rocks for another exquisite bathe in the sparkling waters of Cala Rafalet.  

Celebrating our morning's activities

It was two very happy bunnies that jogged the last mile back to our hotel where we showered and changed before a celebratory meal at the stylish restaurant of Piccolo Mundo in Alcaufar. 

Talayot Curnia Nu where excavations are still taking place

Our holiday wasn't all running and swimming.  We did lots of walking too, notably to a couple of archaeological sites and a trek from Son Bou to San Tomas, and back, to suss out a hotel, the Lord Nelson, where we plan to celebrate my 86th birthday next May.

San Tomas - our destination next May

 We discovered it's 4* and a little too posh for the likes of me.  Among the many residents we encountered, we didn't notice any wearing tracksters or trainers.  I may have to update my wardrobe.  And buy some shoes!

A 'Happy hour' picture taken on our last evening at Xuroy

We fitted an awful lot into our fortnight holiday, so many things my old brain can't recall them all.  But at the end of each day as the sun was setting I well remember our 'Happy hours' relaxed with a beer, or wine, on a terrace beside the lapping sea with heads full of wonderful memories of each day's activities.

Holidays don't come better than that...

Play misty for me......

Below was the sight that greeted me as I stepped out the door for the first of my dawn runs last week.  The sign points downhill, towards Huddersfield, but I ignored it and, as usual, went uphill.
To the Castle, of course.

Stepping out to greet the sun - or was it greeting me?
 (Click to enlarge pictures)

Fields were awash with dew and an eerie mist was spreading through the valleys as I climbed higher.  Rabbits ran ahead of me, indicating the absence of dog walkers.  I'd the hill to myself, which is just how I like it...

Then the mist came

It was Thursday and my first of only three runs last week.  I'd set off to do 4 miles but got a bit carried away with the beauty of my surroundings.  I finished up running 5 miles and felt fresh enough to have run farther.

Misty valleys

Mileage was down on last week, but still managed a very enjoyable 15 miles with a little over 1,300ft of ascent to spice it up a bit.

Clear and bright on Friday

Friday's run was kept to a strict 4 miles.  Unlike the previous morning's run there wasn't a shred of mist to be seen.  Perfect for photography if only I'd had time to take more.

Poetry in motion

Descending past the wood on my way home three young ladies were setting off up the hill, running in line, perfectly synchronised.

Ah, no-one will notice me scrumping at 6 in the morning!

Passing someone's  garden I noticed that apples were turning russet and would soon be ready for scrumping.

Uphill but enjoyable in the clear air on Sunday

Sunday dawned clear and fresh with not a cloud in the sky.  Instead of running directly uphill I turned left, dropping down into Mollicar Wood, then up through Roydhouse and a steep field towards Farnley Tyas.

Castle Hill from Farnley Hey

Turning right towards a distant Castle Hill presented me with a couple of problems.  The first was a virtual swamp of evil smelling slurry flooding across the public footpath. It appeared to flow from a hole in the ground.

There's a footpath somewhere under those clods

The second was a long, roughly ploughed field with ankle twisting clods that slowed me down a bit.

Arrival on Castle Hill...

As ever, I had to finish over Castle Hill and again I had the place to myself.  The views were superb and I was reluctant to descend.

...and a view from the top, to the heathery heights of West Nab,
purple in the morning light

 It was one of those days I felt I could run forever.  I love these wild runs, often with some wild and wonderful music (click to play) rushing around in my mind, helping my pace, drawing me on, transporting me, obliterating discomfort.  Except my tummy was crying out for porridge, and running across dusty, ploughed fields had proved thirsty work!  I contented myself with 6 memorable miles.
But thinking about that run while relaxing in the garden afterwards, it brought back memories of a poem I wrote,  many years ago:

WILDRUNNERS
There are days
On paths that  zig-zag
High into the hills
We pass beyond the pain,
Catch that tingling in the scalp
That tells us soon
We'll treadmill out of time,
Out of self.

To rufflings of raven's wings
We'll rise above the stones,
Sail in the eye of the wind
To worlds beyond the womb.
In that transmigratory state
That's neither flesh nor blood
Male or female, warm or cold,
We'll run, like disembodied joys,
The gauntlet of eternity.

Only 15 miles in total but a thoroughly enjoyable week.  Deserves another glass of wine methinks.  Or maybe even a wee dram....

Dawn runs......

Last week marked a return to early morning runs, up at 5am and a quick cup of coffee before running to some vantage point just as the sun came peeping over the horizon.   The vantage point was, of course, Castle Hill, just one mile and a couple hundred feet of ascent from my garden gate to the landmark tower.
I'd forgotten how good it felt.

A new dawn    (Click pictures to enlarge)

So good in fact I maybe got a little carried away and ran it on three consecutive mornings before deciding it might be a good idea to save some of my energy for weekend.

Up, up and away

Running came easy as I powered non-stop up the steep bits in a cool morning breeze, racing the sun to the summit.  It beat me. I shall have to get up earlier!

Sun - shining upon the righteous!

Surprisingly, as I stood admiring the view and taking the above picture by the tower, another runner came pounding up the steps, hooded with ear phones rammed into his lug-oles.  He touched the wall of the tower and made off before I'd time to accost him.

A young pretender on my patch!

Friday was a rest day as I travelled to the Dales, stopping in Ilkley to do an extra large weekend shop, before the arrival of my wonderful partner's sister-in-law.  Sue arrived later in the afternoon by some devious route all the way from Carp in Ontario.

Bare House route

Saturday dawned bright and sunny, pleasant enough to lure us up the ghyll on a 700ft climb to Bare House.

A bit of colour on the moor

Heather was coming to its best as we ran up the lane beyond Yarnbury. Keepers, with their dogs, were out assessing the state of the grouse moor prior to next Saturday's so called glorious twelfth.
 Prelude to the annual slaughter.

Running towards Bare House, above left in the picture

From the end of the lane we'd a little respite, chance to catch our breath on a short downhill stretch towards Bare House, known locally as Barras. The landscape was bare too, and silent.  Curlews and lapwings have all finished breeding and returned to their seaside haunts.

Closing the gate at Bare House.

After closing the gate at Bare House there's a wonderful two miles of turfy trail down into Grassington. It undulates slightly in parts but one gathers enough momentum on the downhills to cruise over the uphills.

Downhill to Grassington

It's a popular trail for walkers as well as runners, so much so that indigenous sheep and cattle seem quite used to us all and hardly bat an eyelid as we sweep past.  It's wonderful, wild country and one of our favourite runs.

Ancient but still in good running order

Returning to Hebden through meadows of scabious and meadowsweet we popped out onto the road to find an ancient old wagon parked on the green, a relic of Longthorne's, the village hauliers, with an equally ancient tractor strapped on its back.

A glance at my Garmin told us we'd exceeded 7 miles as we closed the door just when it began to rain.
Ha ha, you missed us that time!

Heather by Grimwith reservoir

After that illustrious effort we'd a lie in on Sunday morning, till 6am.  After a quick coffee we were soon scattering the hundreds of partridge and pheasant poults along the road to Grimwith. Apart from those we saw just one solitary lapwing.

A dreich, misty morning

It was a driech morning, cloudy and misty but with very little wind.  A gentleman walking three beautiful Staffordshire Bull terriers was the only other person we met as we set off to run our circuit.

Running up that hill...back o' Grimwith

Two miles in, I tripped and fell heavily on the gravel track, bashing my elbow, bending a finger and knocking the wind out of my sails.

 I was hauled to my feet after a couple of minutes and was so mad that I set off to do some 5.50 pace reps - just for spite!

End of run - with bent finger

It had been a good 22 mile week, my highest mileage for some time, but with several imminent commitments it's doubtful if I'll achieve similar mileages in the coming two weeks.
Happy running everyone.