Running with Mr Grumpy
Two very different runs at the weekend - with two very different characters.
First up: The Doogie. I had to drive out to his home in North Berwick, plant my younger son, and then wait for him at the Marine Hotel.
“I’m going to be grumpy,” he’d warned me the previous night.
“I’ve never known you anything but grumpy,” I replied. Tartly.
Anyway - he did not disappoint. He arrived ten minutes late and immediately started moaning about children or some twaddle like that. Is that why we run - so that I can listen to him bellyaching about his kids?
“Can we talk about something else?” I said.
“I’ll be glad when this is all over.”
“What - this run? We’ve only been going for ten minutes!”
“No - not this run. The whole Marathon des Sables stuff. It’s boring.”
“Well it’s lucky you’ve worked that out before we got to the desert.”
“It’s just boring. Running is boring.”
“Yeah - but you, of course, are not boring. Have you paid up your two grand yet?”
“What two grand?”
“The race money that is due on Monday.”
“Oh, yeah - that. Yeah. I’m thinking about it.”
“Do you always get out of bed on the wrong side?”
We tramped off to Gullane on the roads and then back to North Berwick on the beach - virgin beaches where nobody ever goes. Muirfield beach is a real gem, but you’ll never see a family there, as it’s quite a hike. The beach is only really accessible via the golf course and, surprise, surprise, regular punters are not allowed to tramp through the course.
The Doogie had several things to complain about. He had wet feet and sand in his shoes.
“I’m going to get blisters,” he said.
“Are you sure you’re cut out for this desert run?” I asked.
“I’m not sure at all,” he said. “I’m only doing it because you’re making me.”
“Me?” I said. “Me?! How old are you - 35?? And you’re blaming me for this desert run?”
“My feet hurt.” A pause. “And I think I need to go. Have you got any toilet paper?”
The next morning, I went for a run with the altogether more civilised and grump-free Angus McLean. My cousin-in-law. We were running The Seven Hills. Angus was very excited.
“I’ve never done the seven hills before,” he said. “Is it going to be fun?”
“It’s going to be more than fun,” I said. “You’re going to love it!”
How refreshing to be running with somebody who is not constantly bellyaching about their feet/stomach/legs/children/general tiredness…
“I’m loving this!” said Angus. We were trotting up Craiglockhart, my favourite of all the hills. Some tough nuts take the direct route, but we go up the stairs, wending our way through the trees with all those hidden bowers for lovers and for dreamers.
“I’m surprised you haven’t signed up this Marathon des Sables bollocks,” I said.
“Naaah,” he said. “You’ve got to be certifiably insane to do something like that.”