I learnt to swim in the 1980s. My dad taught me using the “do not drown” approach.

He got me to stand two metres from a pool wall. I then tried to swim to the wall. If I did not drown, he would increase my swim to three metres from the wall, and then four metres etc.

My fear of drowning meant I quickly learnt to swim. Unfortunately, my Dad only knew the breaststroke so that was all I learnt. He did not see the point in freestyle swimming. His view was “Why do you want to stick your head under the water? There is nothing to see there except peoples feet.”

My school attempted to teach me other strokes but I was not very good at them. I hated the weekly swimming lesson at our local leisure centre. I found the smell of chlorine in the pool overbearing.

I have subsequently discovered chlorine has no smell. The smell in the pool was from chloramines, which build up in pool water when the water is not properly clean. A smelly pool is an unclean pool.

If I had known that, I would have hated swimming even more than I did.  

A common sight, in a leisure centre, in the 1980/90s was a footbath in the changing rooms. A sign above it would read, “Always dip your feet into the foot-bath before entering the swimming pool.” Supposedly the foot-bath contained chemicals that prevented foot infections like verruca’s.

Modern leisure centres do not have footbaths. Therefore, have we discovered a cure for verruca’s? No – we haven’t. What we have found is the cause of verruca’s. It was the foot-bath! Leisure centres did not clean them often enough. The foot bath was basicaly a seething cesspit of fungal infection.

I got a foot wart. Andrew got a verruca. Everyone in my school class got something.

As well as pool swimming my first ever open water swim occurred during my school years. My class went away for a weekend to an outdoor centre by the Atlantic sea.

For some reason, which I cannot remember, the teacher made us all stand on a pier next to the sea. Strip to out swim shorts and then jump in the sea. It was November. The water was freezing. I nearly drowned. As soon as I divided into the cold water, my body seized up and I struggled to breathe.

Imagine the scandal now if a teacher forced a class to jump into the Atlantic in November without checking if the pupils could swim!

 Its no wonder that I didn’t swim again after leaving school for university. My abiding memory of learning to swim was verrucas, unclean pools and nearly drowning.

The route is called Antonine because it passes along Antonine’s Wall. The wall was the last line of defense for the Romans against the Scots.

It also gets a mention in the book World War Z, which is about a zombie apocalypse. The wall was the last line of defense for humanity against zombies.

As the event was close to Halloween the organizers encourage runners to wear fancy dress. I think I spotted some zombies on the hillier sections of the course. I think they were zombies, they were groaning and shuffling slowly along in a walking dead manner.

Disappointingly this years race seemed to attract more serious runners than previous years. There was far fewer costumed runners. For example, last year I was chased through a cornfield by a man dressed as Death. This year I was chased by a man wearing a Bellahouston Road Runners outfit.

It didn’t have the same level of excitement and danger.

The start of the race is on a narrow path.

The first mile can be slow as its tricky to overtake people. Annoyingly some slow runners started near the front and then ran beside each other blocking the path! I don’t mind slow runners being at the front but at least have the common sense to leave room for people to get past.

After the first mile the course enters Croy Hill. The overnight rain had made this section muddy. I always try to run through the first puddle rather than avoid it. There’s no avoiding mud during a trail race so its best to get it over and done with it.

The longest hills are towards the end of the course. Last year I walked some parts of the hills. This year I ran most of them. I was pleased to see on Strava that I’d PB’d on all the climbs.

My aim for the race was to finish in under two hours. I managed it with a couple of minutes to spare.

My name is Iain. I have a cousin called Iain. I have another cousin called Iain. I also have another cousin called Iain. Finally, I have a cousin called John. Which is the Gaelic version of Iain.

There was not much imagination in my family when naming children.

It’s common in the Western Isles for children to be named after a grandfather. Which is fine when if you are boy but annoying for a girl.

I once worked with a woman called Murdoina Donaldina Morrison. Her grandfather was Murdo Donald. Adding -ina onto the name supposedly made her name more feminine. I don’t think it works.

Whilst visiting a relatives grave in Lewis. I noticed the grave next to it had “Hugh Machonald and his wife Hughina” written on it. Shug is a common nickname in Scotland for people called Hugh. I wonder if they were Mr and Mrs Shug?

Check out the video to see the amazing view my relative has. Definitely a view to die for.

The last days cyling was a relatively short 28 miles. The weather was beautiful. The sun was shining and their was very little wind. The last section is mostly flat and boring so there isn’t much too say about it.

The route only get interesting once it reaches Ness. Ness has one of my favorite signposts. It’s always good for a childish laugh.

It also has an example of sign failure. The route of the Hebridean way is very simple to follow but there is one left turn just before the end of the route.

The left turn is hidden by other signs and is impossible to see on approach to it. I bet many people bike and only realize when the road runs out about one mile down the road.

The official route ends at a lighthouse. On a normal day there is a great view out to see.

But I enjoy going there on a bad day. Waves batter the cliffs as the full force of Atlantic storms reach land. The sign that marks the end of the route used to be in a much more open place. Watch it move back and forwards as the wind batters it.

It has now been moved to somewhere more sheltered.

There is one thing a cyclist does not want to hear when they complete a long distance cycle. My wife finised and asked “Where the car?” I replied “Two mile away!”

Its fair to say she looked at me in the same way a hungry lion looks at an antelope just before mauling it to death.

I was lucky to escape Ness unscathed.

We had lunch in Port of Ness. At a cafe with an amazing view but the slowest service. We had to with 45 minutes from ordering before the food arrived!

Considering how lucky we’d been every other day one late meal was a small price to pay for a great experience seeing the Islands.