Order and Discipline for the Win
Granny is the picture of discipline and order as she peers into her purse for the wee plastic disc for the shopping trolley which she has kept since her last campervan trip to France about 4 years ago. When we found a trolley that didn’t need it, she took the time to pop it back in her purse and her purse back in her bag. In contrast to my own approach which is, bestcase scenario - I do in fact have a pound coin or the fake equivalent in my purse or worst case I have 3 hand baskets with the 3rd one being shoved around the floor shop with my foot. On the occasions that I have a coin, it will be shoved in my trouser pocket when I return the trolley and these will not be the trousers I’m wearing next time I need it. The coin will either be on the bedroom chest of drawers for weeks on end, or in the workings of the washing machine. I found a discontinued pound coin that looks like the current one but with smooth round edge, and I kept this in my purse for a while. Twice I tried to pay for coffee with it, to be met with a disdainful look that suggested I was no more than a common criminal and fraudster. Even keeping my purse in the correct place is a challenge. Engaged in absorbing conversation with the woman behind me in the queue, I got through checkout to discover I didn’t have my purse. She kindly paid for my shopping and reassured me it could happen to anyone. Searching for my car keys afterwards, I found my purse tucked under my armpit. This would never happen to Granny.
‘Less haste, more speed’ was one of my mothers favouritewisdoms and was regularly aimed at me as I raced around trying to find things at the last minute. My disorderly approach to life has affected many aspects of it. With the Ben Nevis Race returning this Saturday, there’s a fine balance to be struck between haste and speed. As a marginal runner, the cut-offs are difficult to achieve. You must be at half way by the hour and at the top by 2 hours and that gives you exactly 1hr and 15 mins to get to the finish line. 3hrs 15mins is the final cut-off time. If you don’t make this, you will receive a letter from the Ben Nevis Race Association - a humiliating 4 days after the shame of it- when the emotional and physical wounds are raw, informing you that you have one more chance and if you don’t make it, you’ll be barred for life.
Much practice is required as well as strategic planning and the ideal weather conditions which are different for different runners. Strategic planning involves hydration. You need enough water to get you safely up the hill without weighing you down. You can’t drink too much or your bladder will weigh far more than the bag you carried your water in.
Over the years, I’ve had the honour to train with LochaberGirls. These women run every week, talk non stop, support each other through all that life throws at them – and drop to their haunches without a word of warning, empty their bladders and are back running before anyone has even noticed. This is speed = more speed. It’s a practice I’ve never managed to adopt. As the weight of my bladder grows and gravity builds pressure, I have to watch for a length of track where there’s no one too close coming up, and keep glancing back to make sure there’s enough distance from any innocent walkers coming down. By this stage of the race, as someone who never got off the back page of the results in all my 14 Ben Races, there’s not a lot of runners coming through. I then have to select a point where I can get a little off track and away from any stream of water. High speed evacuation whilst scanning the horizon comes next and then it all goes wrong. Less haste would mean pulling my undies up first, followed by my shorts. However, panic caused me to pull them up in one move, creating a tight twine of knickers and shorts as they rolled over each other leaving the thinnest line of material that left little to the imagination. Then there would be much hopping about trying to straighten them out as the precious minutes to the final cut-off ticked away. I could visualize the race officials licking the ends of their pencils, and hear their typewriter echoing around the glen as they prepared the dreaded letter of condemnation.
Over the years, an ex member of the Lochaber Mountain Rescue team would give me a dram. Firstly it was at the summit and over the years he would be further and further down the hill. On my last Ben Race, he was quite close to the bottom of the hill and I was very late, having got my clothes and dignity back in order. I ran straight passed him but he yelled me back “I’ve waited a long time for you to get here!!” So I had to run back up, gulp the dram down and head for the finish line with my throat on fire. 3hrs and 18 mins. The cacophony of keys bashing out the words was already in process. My fate was sealed.
Spook is hoping to complete his 21st Ben Race this year for which he gets a well-deserved prize. May everyone competing tomorrow have their speed, their haste and their bladders all under control.