There it went; Bank Holiday Weekend. Not the best in terms of weather it has to be said.
Still, I do not hold with the pessimistic messaging being bleated out by whatever nit-wit Radio 2 DJ it was on Friday afternoon;
“Why does it always do this...” he mused, desperately seeking approval from his audience in a way that only desperate newcomers to the celebrity circus or washed up has-beens do. Being Radio 2 I would wager it’s the latter, “... every Bank Holiday, it always has to rain”.
Really?
How short is the memory of this man?
We’ve only just had the double Bank Holidays of Easter Weekend, and the weather was beautiful.
If I look back through fell running or hill walking pictures taken on Bank Holidays over the last few years, I can guarantee they’ll have been taken in sunshine.
If I think back to my childhood, memories of my nana coming to pick us up in her MK1 Escort to drive us off to such exotic locations as Langley Reservoir on the outskirts of Macc, or Llandudno over in Wales, are likewise filled with summery sun.
Where does this idea that Bank Holiday weather is always crap come from?
It has no grounding in the reality that I know.
Why do people listen to dumb-ass DJs like that and absorb their ill-considered words into their picture of reality when it is actually a long way removed from the truth?
The world is full of pessimistic ruminants that listen to fools like him.
It saddens me.
Last week was a cut back week in terms of the training plan I’ve cobbled together for myself; a long steady build up to the Loch Ness Marathon on October 3rd.
There’s another weekend that has mostly yielded surprisingly gorgeous weather in my experiences of the last 10 years.
Next week, who knows? It was supposed to be a trip up to Scotland to participate in an off-road marathon amongst the beauty of Glencoe and the West Highland Way. We’re still going to Scotland, but my participation in that event has had to be postponed until 2022.
Not sure if I’ll still want to be running by then. Damage to my already broken body is stacking up. This week I’m meant to be starting to add a little bit of faster running into my training mix. Something is flaring up in my right hip though, a definite “clunk” as it moves through its range of motion on a nice sedate walk.
Walking has definitely been the highlight of this week just gone. My boy asked me if I’d take him over to Snowdonia. This, is a minor miracle some 8 years in the making. Of course I am happy to take him.
Based on the forecasting of the mountain weather, we decided to stay low, just an amble around Llyn Ogwen, and a munch of our sandwiches with the reassuring presence of Tryfan on our shoulders. It was a bit chilly, but it wasn’t wet.
Lockdown effect was clear to see. Whenever we bumped into people, the anxiety in my boy was palpable. By and large, we avoided other folks. It’s not that difficult to do. People are like sheep, they all follow each-other along already established trods (paths). We simply made like the goats.
We chatted, we strolled, we hopped about on rocks and picked our way across bogs. It was busy there, cars were parked in every available space along the entire Ogwen valley.
In the whole 3 or 4 hours we were out, we met 2 women with a dog, a couple of families during the brief time we were on the main path, avoided what felt like crowding at the Ogwen Café, across the road met 2 lads and a lass doing some bouldering, and another family as we neared the end of our walk.
It was nice to be able to spread out like that.
It is better not to be a sheep.
