After day 4’s hard run I decided to something a bit easier. So it was back to plodding around Stornoway. No hills, no trail, no fun!
It wasn’t too bad, I ran to the nearest beach which is also one of the most scenic graveyards on the island. Which is probably not something the tourist board will mention but it should. Lewis has amazing graveyards.
But it would help if graveyards had maps. The previous time I was home I spent thirty minutes wandering about trying to find a “Mackenzie with a fancy headstone” as that was the only info mum had!!
Lewis and Harris is famous for its wildlife. I spotted a deer and a golden eagle.
Run 4 complete – 13.5 miles. Only 37.7 miles to go!
For centuries, the only way for the outside world to reach Rhenigidale on the Isle of Harris was by boat, or by a path that threads its way along the Harris coast and over a mountain pass.
The path is known as the Postman’s Path as it was the path the postman used. I mentioned in a previous blog the very mundane naming convention used by Gaelic speakers. The same is true of the English names here.
When Rhenigidale was finally connected by a road in 1989, it was claimed to be the last community to be linked up to the UK network. The cost of the road was £750,000. Which would be about £1.8 million today. I always thought it would have been cheaper to offer the few residents who lived there £100K each to leave.
The route was tough. 700m of ascent over boggy rough ground. Strava claims it took me two hours. It must not have added in all the time I stopped to take pictures of the beautiful views. It was closer to four hours!
Due to a battery fail the run was recorded in two parts but done as one. I must have been taking too many selfies. My iPhone couldn’t cope.
Run 3 complete – 14.8 miles. Only 51.2 miles to go!
Each day of the challenge I try to vary the running surface. 100 miles on just one type of surface would give me a injury. A mental injury. I’d be bored out of mind.
So, for this run, I varied the surface by running on a beach. The downside to this plan is time. I would cover more miles in less time on concrete than on a beach but I wouldn’t enjoy it as much. It is a balance of fun versus miles.
I choose Traigh Mhor beach which translates in English to ‘Big Beach’ Gaelic is quite a straightforward language when it comes to naming things.
Some exampes are:
Conic Hill: Cnoc Còinnich – ‘mossy hill’
Creachan Mòr: An Creachann Mòr – ‘the great bare rocky hilltop’
Meall Reamhar: – ‘hill of large circumference’
I wasn’t sure how long a length of the beach would be but but I fancied trying to do as many lengths of it as possible until I got bored. Although if I got bored of a beach with amazing views then that means I am bored with life itself.
I manged 4 laps which was about 15 miles. I started off slow as I was tired from the previous days log concrete run. Thankfully, I felt better as the run progressed. Lap one was awful but lap four was great.
The tide was in when I started but out on the last lap which meant I could visit the caves at the end of the beach. They are only accessible at low tide.
Andrew previously discussed the run every street challenge here: Run Every Street.
I attempted here and its fair to say I underestimated the challenge. I thought it would be shorter and easier than it was.
This time I was mentally prepared. I realised I’d be seeing the same streets again and again as I crisscrossed Stornoway looking for elusive new streets and roads
I felt good after yesterday’s run, No aches or pains. I’d also done what many sportsman who doubt their ability do when faced with a problem. I threw money at it.
I’d bought a new pair of Hoka’s and used them on the run. The first run of any new shoe always feels amazing so I used it to my advantage and managed a long stint on the road.
Things I learnt today:
Garden Road has no gardens.
Percival Square is round.
Seaview terrace has lots of houses that can not see the sea.
Whoever names the streets in Stornoway enjoys a joke.
My legs started to ache towards the end of the run. I’ve done more miles in two days than I normally do in a week.
To run 100 miles in a week I have to average 14.3 miles a day. Just over a half marathon length. I normally only run three or four half marathons a year so its a big ask to do seven in seven days.
My plan is to get some runs longer than 14.2 miles in at the start so I bank up some spare miles in case I need an easy day.
The Start
I started the run at 0730. I didn’t set off with a distance in mind. I also didn’t set off with any food, drink or my GPS watch! D’oh!
In my defense I had initially planned a run loop thinking I’d return to my car every few miles. But I didn’t stick to my plan! Double D’OH!
I decided to use a my patent pending running technique that always makes long runs easier – I call it the distraction technique! if I don’t have to think too much about running then I run better.
So I decided to give my self the challenge/distraction of videoing my run. This meant I was always thinking about
a) Why is it so difficult to talk to a camera when nobody else is there
b) Why is it even harder to talk to a camera when someone else is there
I think its fair to say talking to a camera is not a skill I possess. It will be interesting to see whether I get better at it as the week progresses.
I also had to set up my camera to record the run as it was taking place. This mean I would occasionally run, set up a camera, run away from the camera to get a running shot and then have to run all the way back to retrieve my camera.
No wonder Michael Palin does all his travel shows with someone else doing all the camera work! It is hard work!
I then had to run back and get my camera
I felt good on the run. The distraction technique meant my pace was slow and easy due to frequent stops to film. Which should mean I’m good to run again tomorrow.
The weather wasn’t great but it is Scotland in summer. Rain is guaranteed!
Why does it always rain on me?
The highlight of the run was spotting the stone painted to look like a rabbit. It is so good I thought at first it was a real rabbit.
Tomorrow the aim is to a similar distance but all on concrete. I’ll try to run as many streets in Stornoway as I can.
I knew it was bad when I started to cry. Not in a sad type way. More in a “AAAAAARRRRGGGGHHHH FLLLLIIIIIIPPPPPPPIINNNNGGGG NOOORRRAAA!” type way.
I was playing football and I knew as soon as I tried to tackle another player that they had a foot made of concrete and I had a foot made of napkins: strong enough to pick up pasta, not strong enough to build a house. There was only going to be one winner. I swung. He swung. He went right through me and I fell. I didn’t get up for three days.
When I hit the ground I snapped a tendon in my ankle. I tried to stand, I tried to hobble. I even tried to carry on “It’s alright, I’m okay!” but I quickly realised that you can’t play fives while hopping on one foot.
Someone drove me home while the game continued but as I didn’t have keys or my phone I was left standing outside my flat with no means to get in because I’d forgotten to bring my bag home with me. D’oh!
I then had to hop to my girlfriend (now wife) and hope that she was in.
I’m not sure what I looked like. Trainers, shorts, one legged and bawling but I do know that I saw no one on the way there. The same way that a charging lion doesn’t tend to see anyone because all the antelopes run away when they hear it roar. Hop. AAAAAARRRGGH. Hop. AAAAARRGGH. Hop.
That night I tried to sleep but I couldn’t even lay a blanket on my foot as the weight of even a silk sheet was like an elephant jumping on my foot.
“I think I need to go to the hospital,” I said.
“You think,” said the now Mrs TwinBikeRun, looking very haggard after a night of failing to sleep because I kept screaming.
At the hospital a doctor confirmed I’d snapped an ankle.
“But I’ve got some good news,” he said.
“Really?”
“Yes, you’re in luck, we’ve just had an orthopaedic boot returned so you won’t need crutches, instead you can wear a massive plastic welly with no toes that’s impossible to keep your feet dry when it rains and it makes it look like you’re doing a good impression of Robocop’s leg”
(Not his exact words, but that’s what he meant).
He then took out the boot.
“That looks like a moonboot,” I said, trying to convince myself that it would be cool to be an astronaught and that my return to work would see me being asked:
“How did you get injured.”
And I’d say: “Injured? Me? No, I’m off to the moon!”
But all the doctor said was: “A moonboot? Don’t be daft. It’s a surgical shoe.”
Trust a doctor to ruin things by naming it correctly. Just like they spoil that innocent headache you’ve had for three weeks by calling it a brain tumour. The spoilsports.
That’s why most runners don’t go to see the doctor when they’re injured. They’ll only tell you that you’re injured and that you have to stop running. And no one wants to be told that. Instead, if you don’t go to the doctor, you’ll never be injured…. unless someone snaps your ligament. Then definitely go and see a doctor.
It is 110 days since I last went to a shop. Now that lockdown restrictions have eased, and shop are allowed to open, I promise that I will wear a mask and only shop for absolutely essential purchases. Fudge donuts are essential purchases? Right?
The donut was a celebratory donut to as I’m on vacation. I haven’t had a week off since September 2019.
Normally, I would have a break at Christmas but my Dad took ill just before I was due home. I spent the holiday season in the Western Isles hospital. Which wasn’t too bad as they do delicious, cheap food there. One of the best places to eat on the island. So, at least I’d look forward to the food even if the reason for the visit wasn’t as jolly.
My dad is now in a care home in Lewis. He went in the week before lockdown began. Which means both he and I have both being locked up against our will. Thankfully we have both come round to it and we’ve tried to make the best of a bad situation.
Last week he told me he has a Tardis in his care home. Which is impressive, I didn’t think he even had a television. He say’s it takes him from Stornoway to Glasgow in seconds but its a bit small so he’s not allowed luggage.
I blame Tory cutbacks for care homes not being able to afford a decent sized Tardis.
He also mentioned that a Tardis is quite expensive so we won’t be getting one at home.
It took a few days before I worked out what he was doing. He was confusing the care home elevator with a Tardis. The care home is on two floors. He is on the second floor. He thinks his room is in Glasgow but when he comes downstairs and see’s my mum he remembers he is in Stornoway.
I could be wrong. It could be that my dad is Dr Who.
I’m heading up to see him this week and one of my aims whilst I’m there is to try and run 100 miles in 7 days.
For no reason other than – I’m not sure I can.
I haven’t worked out a plan yet. I’ll think about that when I get there.
UPDATE 1 AUGUST 2020AND MORE SWIM DETAILS FROM SEPTEMBER HERE
Original review below but as visit was mostly huddled in a car waiting for the rain to stop I thought it best to add a couple of comments after returning a few more times.
Entry shown below is good but you can also enter from south side of loch as there’s parking at a gate here.
The loch is in a ‘bowl’ so provides some shelter from strong winds but, as it’s at the top of a hill, and the wind farm next to it is a clue, the water can be choppy. On the plus side, if you’re swimming with the wind then you’ll now what it’s like to swim as fast as Michael Phelps.
As the loch is next to the road and one of the most popular cycle routes from the Southside be prepared to ‘flash’ a few cyclists as you get changed.
Loch feels very safe, it’s compact, not as ominously deed as one of the larger lochs to the north of Glasgow and a good place to learn open water swimming.
And, as always, don’t swim near the barrier and don’t swim alone!
ORIGINAL REPORT
I’ve never been to Egypt but I know that if I go to Cairo then there will be pyramids everywhere. And a sphinx. But mostly pyramids because when I look at photos of Egypt that’s all I see: pointy buildings nestled in golden sands.
But if I did go to Cairo I know that what I would actually see are the MacDonald restaurants, KFC and tourist tat shops that surround the small handful of pyramids that look like they’ve been plonked in the middle of dirty quarry. The reality is very different from the image. Just like wild swimming.
Wild swimming can look fantastic when viewed on Instagram or on Facebook posts of happy smiling swimmers in beautiful locations around Scotland . The reality can be very different – as we found out on Saturday.
We were trying a new loch – the White Loch, just outside Newton Mearns and on the way to Stewarton. I’d passed it a couple of days previously and saw people swimming in it. I’d shouted over:
“Is it good to swim here?”
Yes, they said, but they jokingly added that “You can only swim here if you know us!”
“Well, I do now” I said!
So, with my membership of the secret White Loch swim club confirmed we returned on Saturday only to find…
RAIN! RAIN! RAIN! AND RAIN!
After huddling under the open boot of my car while trying to get changed, I sheltered in Iain TwinBikeRun’s car while we waited for the rain to pass. Which might seem strange? Why wait for rain to pass when going for a swim? We were getting wet anyway, dodging rain wouldn’t make us any less wet than a deep water loch. But I didn’t want to be wet when I tried to dry off and get changed afterwards. There’s no point driving home cold and wet. So, we waited for a clear patch.
After 20 minutes, we had 10 minutes of sunshine – the photo above shows the blue sky – and we had a very quick dip and a promise to return to try it out more fully as the car park is beside the entrance, the loch has a shallow entrance and a nice beds of flat reeds to protect your feet from rocks as you enter. Almost perfect. Except for the rain.
So, while the top photo may show sunshine like an Egyptian desert, the reality was that this swim was a bust and more time was spent struggling at the side of the road to get changed into and then out of a wet suit then actually swimming in the loch.
This week it struck me, that with no competitions taking place, I’m still officially the ‘Yellow Todd’.
I have to admit that I’m not sure about the title of ‘Yellow Todd’, it either sounds like I have a serious liver problem, or I ran away from the convoy when the injuns came to town in an old fashioned western movie.
“Who’s that at the bar by himself?”
“That be Yellow Todd, a craven and a coward!”
But since neither Iain or I speak French, officially, as both of us achieved the lowest possible mark it was possible to achieve at secondary school French, a mark so low that my teacher’s main criticism was: “You couldn’t even pronounce the English words right,” Yellow Todd it is, and not the more exotic sounding Jaune Todd (as per the Maillet Jaune or yellow jersey).
(Though Jaune Todd, does sound like John Todd and John is the English version of Iain, so perhaps it’s with some irony that I will talk about the Todd Championships and a jersey that’s named after Iain but one he rarely wins.)
Competition is important. It started in school with the rather healthier competition of academic achievement. Who could win the most prizes at the end of year prize giving?
One year, I won two – English and Technical Studies. Afterwards, walking along a corridor, a teacher stopped me and said “Congratulations on your award.”
“Awards,” I said, holding up two certificates because I won the English prize and he’d used the singular “award” when clearly he’d meant to use the plural.
I don’t remember Iain winning any awards – but who remembers losers? I bet James Cameron, after winning umpteen Oscars for Titanic, couldn’t name another nominee. He didn’t need to. He was king of the world.
Our sporting rivalry didn’t start until university. Iain played squash because he went to Edinburgh and that was the kind of thing you did in Edinburgh while waiting for your turn on the real tennis court or, when you couldn’t play croquet on the lawn.
We had two squash courts in Stornoway, both in a single building with a shared balcony where people could watch. As the balcony stretched across both courts it meant that anything said on one court could be heard on the other. Which was okay, for the first five minutes. And then Iain would claim a ball was out, or below the line or I’d blocked his shot or any of many other minor rules he claimed I’d broken. After 10 minutes, he would introduce a some random swear words to emphasise how strongly he felt about me breaking the rules. Then I’d introduce a few more, then voices would rise, racquets would be gripped with white knuckles and then next disputed point would lead to shouting so loud you could hear it on the mainland and not just the balcony or the court next door. After a few months we had to abandon our games after one angry father barged onto the court and told us exactly what he thought about our language and the words his two young sons could hear. An argument which was validly made but undermined by him teaching us a few more swearwords too as told us exactly where we could stick our squash rackets.
Either way the Todd Championships were born and every year we race for a symbolic yellow jersey given to the Todd with the most victories over the year. And, since I hold the jersey from last year, with no events, I’m still the Yellow Todd.
I watched the Gaelic news and discovered there is a Gaelic pronunciation of “coronavirus” – it is “coróinvíreas.” But they haven’t changed “self-isolate” they pronounce it as “self-isolate.” it is surprising nobody has invented that Gaelic term as there is nothing more self isolating than a wet and windy day in Lewis.
My first school in Lewis was Point Primary. I don’t remember much about it as I was only there for a year before moving to the larger Primary in Stornoway.
Babyle beach is just along the road from my first School.
The School had been knocked down and replaced by a new building so I wasn’t able to see anything that would jog my memory about my time there.
It was whilst living down here that Andrew and I got two sheep as pets. They were called Donald and Shona.
A sheep is not a particularly good pet. It does not respond to commands. Donald would not fetch, sit or wait. He would only eat grass and baa’d occasionally. Shona was no better. She never once responded to her name and showed complete indifference to us as owners.
One day we came home and the sheep were gone. Mum said they ‘d gone to a better place where they’d be happier. In later life she admitted the better place was my uncles’ belly! He chopped them up to eat them.
REVIEW
Ease of Access: There is a car park next to the beach (by the pier)
Water quality: The water was clear and I could see a good distance under the water.
Swim Quality: 12.3C in June. You can swim from one beach to another just a few hundred meters away along the coast. The Pier blocks the worst of the waves. It was flat calm during my visit.
Other People: There was one couple sitting on the beach having their breakfast. Which was impressive as it wasn’t that warm a day and there was light rain.
Would I go back: Yes. Nice spot for a swim and easy to access.
Twin brothers swimming, cycling and running in Scotland 