Well, on Sunday morning, I donned my tracksuit, wired myself up to the heart monitor, and headed out. Given the lack of training over the last week, and the fact that I was going be running in Edinburgh (less flat than Peterborough) I decided that a circuit of Arthur's Seat, which should take about an hour from the flat, would be an excellent start. I went outside and turned the Garmin on, whereupon it started to tease me. It has to locate the necessary satellites, and often takes a few minutes to do this. Irritatingly, it has a bar that supposedly indicates its progress in this, but what actually happens, especially when you change locations, is that the bar indicates almost complete, and then drops back to half way. Sometimes it does this several times. I think it's going, "yep, yep, yep, Woah, it says we're in Edinburgh. That can't be right! I'd better check that again. Woah... still Edinburgh. Right, once more. NO!" Then it asks some questions, which go, "Are you indoors right now?" "Have you moved several hundred miles since you last used this?" (This part is true, by the way). Then it starts again. This is OK in Peterborough, where summer means that the temperature is, you know, over 16C, but let me tell you, ten minutes of this in Edinburgh, I had nipples like bullets.
Anyway. (I definitely overuse the word anyway). I set off eventually. I was struck by how much less friendly runners, and passers by generally, are in Edinburgh, than in either Thornbury or Chirk. Never mind. I suppose in cities you have more reason to be suspicious. I passed two American ladies out for a run, when I'd started my ascent of Arthur's Seat, and caught a snippet of their conversation "so all the hours of organising and making sure the clients were covered, has all been absolutely worthwhile, because I got to do THIS". Which made me wonder if she's always been looking forward to running around Arthur's Seat as some sort of dream goal, or whether she was enjoying the Edinburgh Festival.
I had a minor dilemma over which way round I should run Holyrood Park. I intended a complete circuit this time, so could choose - either downhill first, then a slow ascent, and then downhill again, or steep ascent, slow descent, and then a climb. I suppose in potential energy it shouldn't make too much differenece, but I decided that the second would bethe more challenging option, and I needed challenge. I could tell you about managing to get my running nose to go down my throat without gagging, instead of down my face, and then almost choking, but you wouldn't thank me for it, so I won't. Oh, whoops.
On the way back home, I observed how quickly a light breeze reduced my warmth gained from running to shivers in an instant. Moments later I passed a lady wearing a green sari and a full length woolly winter coat, whose shoulders were hunched into the wind and we exchanged a meaningful glance that said - this chill is miserable, isn't it? Although in all honesty, her glance might equally have said - what on earth are you doing out dressed like that, in this weather? Generally I like having meaningful exchanges of glances with people, though it almost always happens in foul weather, I've noticed. (Mind you, I tend not to notice the more romantic sort...)
I somehow struggled all the way home, egged on by some heavy droplets of rain, and maintained a good spead of 10 m/m average, for my 6 miles, which I was pleased with. The shower helped warm me up, and I hastily set out to catch "Best of the Fest", which again, had a guest appearance from The Magnets (again, enabling me to a comp ticket). After the shenanigans of a ventriloquist, a card sleight of hand artist and an Australian comedian (who made me think of Sally, actually, as he recounted a problem he'd had with gulls waking him in the morning. In Australia, it was a couple of crows, and in Ireland, it was pigeons. But in Edinburgh, it was seagulls. He said they tapped on his window in the morning. And as he said, "But you know, your seagulls aren't just bird-sized, they're like 12-year-olds in costume" which I thought was remarkably true.). After the show, I set out to see a show by a girl I met at Andi Osho's show early in the month. I don't know what it was that had impressed me about her and her friend, but they both told me about their shows, and they sounded powerful stuff, so one of the things I really wanted to use my extra time for was to see their shows. Happily they hadn't sold out. Hers was called Dream Pill, and was about the sombre subject of sex trade of young girls from Nigeria.
I saw my friend in the ladies just before the show, and she remembered me, too, and seemed really pleased I'd come to her show - it was her last day. But, wow. It was brilliant. The two little girls (well, actually young women, but convincingly playing a 9 and 10 year old) were utterly charming, and we loved them straight away. It was with trepidation that we engaged with them. We knew this story wasn't going to have a good ending. And we were right. The innocence of the two girls made their horror story unbearable. It made me feel utterly helpless and genuinely horrified and sickened. I was in tears by the end of the show. I wanted to do some shopping, but my emotions were so intense, I felt it was only right to wait for the actress to come out so I could congratulate her. And her friend, who I'd met with her, was also waiting - like her, he remembered me immediately. He was delighted when I said I was coming to his show, Mad about the Boy, the next day. I was excited to learn that he had picked up a Scotsman Fringe First award earlier that week. It baffled me that Dream Pill hadn't had an award too, in all honesty.
Well, the evening held my penultimate Magnets gig for the 2011 Fringe, and had a drink with the Magnets and their fanbase, including Britta, who regularly travels over from Germany to see them (when they aren't touring there), proving that they do have fans more devoted than me (you can also replace that with "bonkers") and was actually celebrating her anniversary of the first time she saw the Magnets; then I was honoured to be a guest at the Magnets "aftershow party" (even though they hadn't quite finished, it made most logistical sense to have the party then) which was a meal in a delightful family-run Italian restaurant, Cafe Artista, in Marchmont. It was a merry occasion, with much vino consumed, and toasts made by all. I suggested a song for the owner, Bruno, which, once he understood that we weren't asking him to sing, seemed quite pleased, and certainly tapped his foot all the way through "I don't feel like dancing", which was sung by not just the boys, but all the "WAGS" as well. (I didn't spoil it, although I did hum along a little). Maybe the Magnets should consider broadening out a little...
Perhaps a little too much wine though... to really consider myself "back on track".
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