Poem 2

This poem was written two years ago.


The Athlete From Gaza

The athlete from Gaza
Is training for the marathon
The Gaza strip is 25 miles long.
A marathon is 26 miles and 800 yards long
So he runs diagonally
He likes to end his runs at the beach
Letting the Mediterranean sea
Cool his burning thighs

The athlete from Gaza
Is twenty two years old
He will be twenty six when the Olympics are held in London
A good age for a marathon runner.
He wants to stand on the starting line
Amongst all the other the athletes from all the other countries.
In a vest of red and green and black
And hear the bang of the gun
He thinks he could win.

The athlete from Gaza loves to run
Through Gaza city
He likes to hear the music coming from every taxi
And the shops and the sounds of the city
Coming from every wall and stone and the hot
Tarmac and his breath coming regular and deep
The fighters on the corner shout ‘look at him go!’
‘One day he’ll win a medal for Palestine!’
‘A medal for Gaza.’
‘Go on! Go on! Go on!’

The athlete from Gaza
Has what runners call ‘a big heart’
He can keep going even when the pain is immense
When his legs are on fire
And his lungs are burning
As if the oxygen is being scraped out of them
And he feels like he will die.
He can keep going. He has
A big heart.

The athlete from Gaza also has a good ‘kick’
A turn of speed for the end of the race.
His coach gave him that – he told him
‘Run every day along that beach.
Running through hot sand is hard, boy.
But it builds up your muscles.’
So at the end of the race
When all the other athletes have nothing left –
You’ll kick hot sand in their faces.’

Marathons burn calories
So the athlete from Gaza’s mother has a lot of cooking to do!
This is what he is supposed to eat -
Slow release carbohydrates like bread and wholemeal pasta
High quality proteins like chicken and fish and
Vitamin supplements.
And his coach recommends chick peas – to put a fire in the soul.
The athlete from Gaza eats with his family
Sometimes his sister gives him her portion.
She doesn’t eat so much anyway.

Training has recently been difficult
For the athlete from Gaza
His interval training – short dashes of a hundred yards or so
Up and down the alleys of the camp
Has recently been disrupted
And his long runs of 12, and 15, and 18 and 20 miles
Have had to be abandoned.
The training plan his coach wrote for him
Has red pen all over it now.
‘Postponed.’

Eating has recently been difficult
For the athlete from Gaza
His mother has not been able
To find the slow release carbohydrates and
The high quality proteins, the chicken and fish,
Although he still takes vitamin supplements
And bread, of course, and
His sister still tells him
To take her portion
She doesn’t eat so much anway.

The athlete from Gaza’s coach
Doesn’t care about running any more
This whole thing’s finished it for him,
he says. He smokes, he’s stressed all the time.
He thought once he’d help his boy break records
In stadiums all over the world
But he doesn’t care about running any more
‘What’s the point, boy?’ He says. ‘There’s no point.’
His eyes are red.

‘But I’m a runner.’
Says the athlete from Gaza
I’m a runner like Hicham El Gerrouj
and Haile Gebreselassie and Said Ouita
God gave me this runners body –
This runners heart and these long legs!’
On his bed, in his room, while his brother sleeps beside him
The athlete from Gaza thinks
I have only one life!
That’s the point.
His eyes are red.

The athlete from Gaza is training now
On a treadmill in a basement
Of an apartment block in Gaza City.
He runs his ten, fifteen, eighteen, twenty mile runs
Looking at the concrete wall
And when there is no electricity
He runs on the spot
Even when the ground shakes under him
He keeps going.
He has what runners call
‘A big heart.’

Every day the athlete from Gaza looks at that wall
That wall of concrete
He is forever running toward
And he thinks
You are not real
I will catch you
One day I will run through you
I will smash you –
Like a world record.

The athlete from Gaza is made of rage
His blood is hot and his body is burning
His eyes sting and his lungs ache
And that concrete wall is blank before him
You are not real. You are not real.

What would happen if he could run through it?
The athlete from Gaza
Smash through that wall
Like a world record?
Perhaps he would burst into this poem?
Into these words?
Perhaps he’d make a track of these lines
And a stadium of this page
And perhaps out of you and me
He’d make a crowd
To watch him run
In his green and black and red vest
Shouting
Go on! Go on! Go on!

Or perhaps he’d take these words -
this sentence
And he’d make of it a long road for himself to run on
And always put one step ahead of himself
An ellipsis
To form a road that can never end…

Poem 1

Satisfied that - in a race against myself - I can still, at least, come fourth.


So I take the headphones out of my head
And sure enough, about a minute later
I’m overtaken

By the boundless freedom
Of legs and a forest to run in.
Intoxicated by cold and
The sound of the bounce
Of gravel and trainer
The hit of the track
And the give of the hips.

Six Kilometers up the forest road
I need a pull uphill and once more
I’m overtaken

By the boundless freedom
Of breath and a heart for running
Cut by the cold and
Jumping into the stream
Stone stepping the rocks
The soaked heat of my socks.

Through the puddles to the station
And one last time, I’m overtaken

By the boundless freedom
That comes of running
Burnt by the cold
Along the riverbed
Of road unwinding,
Over the moor
Grey-Silted by the moon.

Fling 2010 Report

Despite the weather forecasts it ended up being a good day for running; slightly overcast, warm and no wind. I had developed sore ankles during my respite from training and I was worried that they would stop me running but when I woke up last Saturday morning at 5am the pain had mysteriously gone. I made my way in the misty dawn light up to Milngavie Train Station car park where I met the other hundred or so Male Vets (40+) with whom I'd be running for the rest of the day.

I footered about anxiously with my drop bags full of food for the run - deciding which ones to go to which checkpoint and what to put in them. I had, of course, spent weeks planning this and worrying over it but in the end I was still re-arranging half an hour before the race. For breakfast I ate a banana, a muller rice and a couple of fruit smoothies. Then the food bags went in the cars to take them to the checkpoints and my main bag went in the van to go to Tyndrum.

We gathered for the race briefing which was short and to the point -' follow the waymarkers, tell a marshal if you drop out, see you in Tyndrum' - and then, before I knew it, we were all in the tunnel and off.

It was gorgeous to be finally running after a couple of weeks off. I ran at first with Neil Campbell and Andy Sim, my Carnegie Harrier team mates. They're both experienced hands and we took it very slowly through Mugdock country park. Somewhere near the Carbeth huts I fell into running with a Carnethy runner called Ian. He was a three times veteran of the fling and he told me that our pace was perfect. He said he tried to stay in good shape till Rowardennan. It was only after that he would start to push.

The mist was rising off the hills as we moved out towards Drumgoyne. I plugged into my ipod and settled into a rythym. The running here is mostly flat and the danger is going too fast so I just tried to keep Iain in view and otherwise I enjoyed the massive 400 song race playlist that people had suggested for me. I had not run this section before so it was new to me. There are a lot of gates to open and shut which break the stride and the landscape is mostly farmland but it felt so good to be running in the cool of the morning that I was very quickly on a high.

I tried out some of my food as I ran. I ate my first slice of black pudding and found it surprisingly good. I followed it with some jelly babies and a slosh of thick banana carbohydrate drink. Before I knew it we were moving across a field towards a fluttering saltire flag and I realised we were at the first checkpoint - Drymen. I beeped my wrist band against the strange red carpet tile and carried on through the checkpoint. I checked my watch. I was bang on my target time. 1hr 50.



I had spent a very nerdy evening looking at the split times of all the people who had finished within 10hrs 30 - 11hrs in previous years. What was very clear was that fast times in the first two sections did not necessarily carry over to the end. Runners could be half an hour ahead at Drymen but be two hours behind by Tyndrum. So I took the biggest cluster of times for the successful runners I was aiming to emulate, at each checkpoint, and I made them my targets.




Into the forest after Drymen and the first real ups and downs of the day. It was nice to vary the pace a little. Walking fast on the uphills and running the downs. Out of the forest I saw the big whaleback of Conic Hill rising out of the moor. I was still feeling strong but I didn't want to lose energy before the climb so I downed another slice of Black pudding and ate a flapjack. The path was a bit tricky for running over the moor - slippy in places - but I kept my footing and then took the hill at a fast walk. I felt good and I was overtaking folk which was encouraging. Before I knew it, the climb was over. All those Arthur's seat training runs must have prepared me well. I crested the shoulder of the hill and suddenly saw Loch Lomond laid out before me, the islands seemingly floating on the still grey surface of the loch. I stopped to take a photo.



I love descending. It's the one bit of running I feel totally confident about. I threw myself down the hill, let my knees go soft and just put my feet where it seemed right they should go without thinking, I knew it was downhill all the way to Balmaha. I knew my ankles were going to hold. I could see the sun shining. I had 'Common People' (The William Shatner Version) accompanying me as I let go - a great grin energising me.

I hit Balmaha car park twenty minutes ahead of schedule. A marshall handed me my green co-op bag for life drop bag... felt a but wasteful using a bag for life but the colour made it easy to spot... I peeled and downed a muller rice and a few spoonfuls of mashed potato. A marshall kindly filled up my water bottle and I set off across the car park. I took the chance of a slash in the public conveniences. A day tripper stood next to me at the urinal 'Go on son, you're doing well.' He said, referring I think to the running not the peeing.

I was on familiar territory now. I'd run this in training. I felt strong and was bowling along the lochside at a good pace. I saw Lesley Halstead, a team mate, up ahead. She started in the women's race an hour before me. I was surprised to have caught up with her so soon. I came alongside and walked with her for a bit. She wasn't well. She was shivering and hadn't kept any food down. I felt very sad for her because she had trained incredibly hard and I knew how much she had been looking forward to the race. It didn't look like she could finish. In fact, I learned later that she finally pulled out at Inversnaid, thirty six miles in. She showed real courage to pull herself through that distance. I said cheerio to Lesley and enjoyed running through the lochside forest. Lesley being ill brought it home to me how lucky I was to be feeling fine at this stage. I reminded myself to enjoy the day. Speed was nothing; enjoyment everything. And, the loch side is great for enjoyment, it winds and twists and throws up amazing sudden views of loch, or island or hills. The field was thinning out by now but the fling is a friendly race and when runners passed they would often chat. Before Rowardennan I fell in with Paul Appleby from Northumberland Fell Runners. He was also a first timer – although he had done some of the big hill races like Jura so he was strong on distance. It’s so much easier to run when you’re talking. It felt like no time and we hit the big Car park at Rowardennan where we found the next checkpoint.

Over half way now. I ate another Muller Rice and I picked up my homemade pot of mashed potato and a banana. At 4hrs 36 I was bang on my target times. I didn’t stop at the checkpoint as I knew there was a section of long slow uphill forest track not far ahead and I planned to eat as I walked up it.

In the event it was further than I thought. I ran about a mile holding a wee pot of potato and a spoon. There was a runner a little ahead of me whom I could never seem to catch. Holding the pot and spoon I felt like I was chasing him carrying his lunch. Eventually the slope began to rise and I settled into a fast walk. I ate the potato and another black pud and the banana and powered on up the hill.

There’s a lot of hill between Rowardennan and Inversnaid but I still felt I was moving well. The music and a chats with fellow runners kept me going. The path eventually narrowed and then began to twist and wind up and around rocks and trees close the loch edge as it made its way to Invesnaid… sooner than I thought I found I was crossing the bridge over the Inversnaid falls. Hopkins wrote about Inversnaid - ‘This darksome burn, horseback brown, this rollrock highroad rolling down’ and it was much the same today. It’s roar was comforting and the spray cooling just as the sun seemed to be coming out.

I picked up a few power bars in Inversnaid checkpoint and looked at my watch. All still bang on. I decided to push through without resting. I was looking forward to the next section. It’s a very technical section with narrow path and very few runnable bits but lots of squeezing between rocks and trees, jumping tree roots, climbing rock steps and traversing narrow ledges. I remembered a running book that advised the reader to think like a child when running, to smile and stay relaxed as if it were playing. Well, that’s what it felt like, play. The sun was warm now and coming dappled through the trees. This remotest section of the route felt wild but at the same time familiar. I stopped to drink from the cold streams and to dip my head in the water. I craved he burn water as the flat coke was cloying now.

After some time I emerged into the sunlight, passed the bothies and left the lochside to turn up to Glen Falloch and what I feared would be the hardest part of the run. On the way to Bein Glas farm I caught up with Helena Sim, another Carnegie Team Mate. We went into the check point together. This time I did stop for a last rice pudding and to fill my bottles up with GO Powder. This turned out to be a mistake as the go powder didn’t dissolve properly some property contained in it’s alchemy produced a terrible flatulence and so I ended up farting all the way to Tyndrum.



I had feared the slow rise of Glen Falloch but I still felt I was running well and so I powered on up the hill until Derrydaroch. Here I caught up with another Teammate- Fabienne Thompson. She was very encouraging about how I was going. Unfortunately – this was my race high point. Shortly after meeting Fabienne I started to feel faint and dizzy. It was hot. The section I was going through was a stiff climb up to a muddy farm track and I decided to walk and eat. I downed jelly babies and two power bars. I drank a load of Go powder. I walked for about ten minutes. Eventually I felt good again and began to run.

The farm track was six inches thick in cowshit and if it was cowshit it was actually cows. This was horrible running. My legs were now pretty sore and I was beginning to wish the race was over. To avoid the shit meant leg hammering detours through heather but to go straight into the shit meant ankle deep slithers and morale sapping slips.

There is a sign at this point which says ‘Path improved by… ‘ and then namechecks some scheme or other. I do wish the people who improved it would come back and look at it again. It’s horrid running and I doubt it’s better walking.

I caught up with Fabienne again at the Crianlarich turn. For me this was a great moment as I felt I had broken the back of the race. As far as I was concerned, it was six miles downhill from here. The run through ewich forest is a rollercoaster ride on soft forest turf. I loved letting rip on the downhills and I began to believe I might break 10hrs 30. I would have to keep up a good pace.

Finally I emerged from Ewich to the flat of Auchtertyre farm. Some spectators shouted ‘Go Carnegie’ as I went past. I found it suddenly, and surprisingly touching to be encouraged by them. My legs were very sore now and I was moving slowly.

Through the farm each step was hurting. Minutes now started to feel much longer than they were. Fabienne passed me again going well. I knew I was slowing down. I only had three miles to go and I had 45 minutes to complete within 10hrs 30. That should mean doing fifteen minute miles. That should be easy. But it wasn’t. The grinding route by the river and through the community woodland before Tyndrum itself felt endless and unbearable. I was very worried I would lose my time.

Finally I hit tyndrum and reciecved more encouragement from a family sitting in their garden. Some strolling pensioners shouted ‘Go on.’ I found I was very emotional. I knew I would finish but each step felt so sore. Every muscle in my body wanted me to walk but I knew I would be gutted to have got this far and to miss 10.30.

Finally I reached a turn where I could see the track winding up to the end. A wee boy perched on the fence with a walkie talkie said ‘Go on, you’re doing brilliant, only 300 yards to go.’ A piper stood on a wee hummock and played. I was welling up with tears as I ran through the river and on up the soft slope to the end. I was the only runner at this stage and so the small crowd cheering me on felt stupidly personal. I was determined not to blub but I was struggling to hold it back. I looked at my watch. I knew I was going to do it.

I tried to put on my best dignified run for the camera and I threw myself over the line and pressed my wrist against the weird carpet tile for the last time. 10.25.15.

My Carnegie colleagues welcomed me in. They told me Richie Cunningham, our top runner, had pulled out. That meant I was second Carnegie runner home after Pete Humphries. Andy Sim came a few minutes after me and the three of us made 4th Male Team.

Someone handed me a bag of goodies and someone else handed me a beer. I took myself off to a quiet corner and drank the beer and just contemplated. Fifty three miles. Five years ago the thought of running five miles would have astonished and horrified me and now here I was. I took of my shoes. Toenails mostly intact. One black. One blood blister. I could barely walk but I had done it.

The fling was one of the most enjoyable and moving experiences of my life. I will definitely be doing it again next year. The organizers and the marshals do a terrific job and the atmosphere of the race is very special. It feels like everyone – runner and supporter and relay runner and organizer – is all part of a family. I wish I could have stayed for the ceilidh afterwards – if only to see how runners dance after 53 miles – but I was too tired and my hotel too far away. I’ll save that for next year.