I might have done another run when I got back from Kent, but I don't remember it. What I do remember was having about half a day to write a poster for a conference I was heading out to the next day, in Cork. While I was at work I had an email from a guy I was at uni with, who said he now lived in Cork, and was helping with the conference. So that was nice - I had something to look forward to.
I also had meeting up with Cat and Martin to look forward to. Cat's an
awesome friend who used to work with me in Peterborough, but saw the
light and moved back to Ireland with her husband. I met up with them for
the weekend before the conference, which was the August bank holiday. I
insisted on going for a run there, which was lovely, and had peat
cutting going on (naughty) - I'm not sure I've ever seen it piled up
like this, although I'd seen banks that have been cut before.
I had a rare set of treats - I also was taken to visit a cave called the Pigeon Hole, a lovely disused railway line, and on Sunday, a trip including the most amazing cakes (you're allowed cakes if you run), at a cafe that caused dispute among my hosts. Martin said it was Irish for The Hungry Man, and Cat said, no, it had a falta on the e which meant it translated as "The Hungry Grass". Clearly only one of these made sense, so obviously, Cat was the one who was proved correct. Then we went for a walk at the The Burren, which has what I described on Facebook as "some not too dis-interesting grassland". This was my way of trying to wind up Richard, who is a grassland ecologist. Unfortunately, he was in The Pantanal at the time, so didn't rise to my bait, as he was being wowed by jaguars, caiman, capybaras, and a gazillion birds. So why would he care if I'd seen some Grass of Parnassus? Anyway, I took leave of The Burren and Galway, and headed down to a week-long conference in Cork, on Biodiversity in Forest Ecosystems and Landscapes. It was REALLY interesting. I obviously got academia-envy, and PhD envy in a big way, but this happens pretty much every time I go to a conference. Secretly, I just want to be called Dr.
Anyway, here's someone who is, and I knew him BACK WHEN HE WAS A NOBODY. Obviously, in the eyes of most of the world, someone with a PhD in ecology pretty much is a nobody, unless they are also a TV personality or something.
So, while I was in Cork, I went running a couple of times, the first time, accidentally stumbling on a sort of gypsy camp. I made a rapid assessment of the situation, and decided to leave. A lovely Irish guy I'd met at the conference looked pretty shocked when I related this adventure, and remarked "Nice to see you, so!" in a voice that clearly indicated his surprise.
The second time I went out, not really because of the gypsy thing, but more because we were both trying to prove that we were really going to go running in the morning, I went running with Keith. Yes, the bearded one. This was funny, I've never been running with him before. Anyway, I was kind of worrying about Summer, because of how tired she looked when we went for a short run in Edinburgh, and the fact that she was trying to persuade me to run a marathon (a full one) with her at the end of October. "But if I can run it, you definitely can!" was her argument. I was less than sure that she could, though, and that's what started off the conversation with Keith. "How far would you have to be running in training for a marathon, if race day was at the end of October?" I asked him. "Why, are you running one?" he (not unreasonably) asked. "NO!" I told him, and then explained. "Oh, let's see, probably about 17 miles" he told me. I made a mental note of it for later arguments.
At the end of the conference, I got to go and stay with Mark and Anneli, which was slightly unplanned, and meant that in my hasty departure I left my phone charger at my B&B, but accidentally removed their hand-towel. I made Mark promise to return the hand-towel, and if he could, retrieve my charger, but I'm not sure how that went. He did give me a huge bottle of home-made elderflower champagne, which almost tipped my luggage over its weight limit, and threatened to give me some eggs from his rather fine chickens, although I wasn't entirely sorry that I didn't have to explain them to airport security.
And when I got back, I agreed to go running again with Summer, we planned to do a half-marathon together. It emerged that one of her running party had dropped out of the race, but they had found out that you could switch the place for 10 Euros. "I know you don't want to do it" Summer said, in her beseeching voice, "but if you know of anyone...". I don't know how it happened. I found myself striking a deal. "Look, at the end of this, if I can run another four miles, I'll have done 17, and if I can do that, and I feel OK, I'll speak to Sal about it."
Sal was delighted. She said if I could do 17 miles, with appropriate training, I could expect to get round the course, although we agreed not to set a time-target.
So that's it. I seem to have agreed to run my first marathon. And it's at the end of October.
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