There can have been no better antidote to my recent runner's blues (too many long races, too little training, and too many underwhelming performances) than the 7 Hills. I LOOOOVVVEEEE the 7 Hills! Such fun, and there will never ever be one definitive best route, no matter how much anyone tells you otherwise. I am happy to spend hours on researching minutiae but, in this year's June race proper, was amazed to find that Dessie (and the rest of the top 3 ) went a radically different route along Haymarket rather than the Modern Art Galleries.
How could you make it better?
Jim H knows! Re-institute a race that had lapsed since the 80s, and ask teams of 2 to run the same course, but stopping between each of the hills to drink a pint of beer. Everything is better with beer!!! The constraint being that you weren't allowed to double up on the pubs. I'll let that sink in, and wait for the penny to drop when you think about East Corstorphine Hill, Braid Hill and Blackford Hill...
This was its second year back, and last year Gordon C and partner had set a new best of 3h 08m - the previous record holder from the 80s on hand to verify the feat (trumpet in hand). Which makes it a WORLD RECORD surely?
Jim thoughtfully organised the best weather you're ever likely to receive in Edinburgh in November, even if it was a little cool standing still.
I'd gratefully taken up the challenge of finding pubs that fitted neatly along the route with the minimum of detour but, oh balls, that ECH-BH-BH segment really was the spanner in the works. My first effort (based upon a Google Streetmaps recce of the course) was to hit the Sitting Room just before Craiglockhart Sports Centre (before ECH), then the Hermitage Bar in Morningside (before Braids), and then the Braid Hills Hotel (after Braids and before Blackford). Partner Peter thought we could do better.
A recce using the car, while Jack was at hockey, revealed that the Sitting Room was closed for redevelopment, but that there were 2 distinct bars at Braid Hills Hotel - the hotel itself and the associated Buckstone Pub and Kitchen. Swings and roundabouts. It also revealed that the Council's clubhouse at the Braids Golf Course had no license, nor did the cafe at the top of Lang Linn Path. And yet, there was something called the Harrison Golf Club...
In the midst of much frenzied e-mail traffic in the week leading up to the race, Peter intimated that he was in the grip of the dreaded MANFLU, seemingly contracted on the way to the Tinto Hill Race and exacerbated near Dunbar at the Borders XC the following day. He sounded in a terrible way, and I (only half jokingly) suggested to Stuart at club on Thursday night that he might like to put 10 years of teetotalism to one side, just for one weekend.
But a slight improvement towards the end of the week meant that Peter was determined to give it a go.
A typically early arrival meant that I found myself in Clarinda's Tea Room at 10.30am, waiting for the Kilderkin to open at 11. A most refined counterpoint to the debauchery that was to follow.
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| Before the Start: (relatively) bright-eyed and bushy-tailed |
Jim set us off at 3 minute intervals so as not to have us all arriving at the same first pub at the same time. Which turned out, almost universally to be the Ensign Ewart. Getting there was more troublesome than usual with the later (Saturday as opposed to Sunday) start, and a diversion round St Giles. A sober but suicidal dash across the top of the Mound saw me arrive first and get the beers in.
We then followed Dessie's route out past Donaldsons to Roseburn Terrace and the Murrayfield Arms. I burst through the doors to find the barman on his hands and knees restocking little bottles of pineapple juice and said, as breezily as I could, "2 pints of Best please". He looked at me like I'd asked to f*ck both his Mother and his Sister, and asked what the rush was. I explained that I hadn't meant to seem short, but we were in a race and that every second counted. And that we weren't interested in picture perfect pints - we simply wanted liquid in a glass and to be throwing it down ASAP. He eventually warmed to the idea, and started talking about his home town (which sounded somewhere in Eastern Europe - perhaps explaining why there had been a "misperception of tone") and a kilometer beer run they used to do as kids. Great - we're on the same page! Although, by now, Peter was finished his beer (it barely touched the flipping sides!!), and I had yammered my way to only half way.
We emerged back into daylight, blinking and belching, to be passed by Ross and Michael, who had set off after us - bugger. But hastily recovered when they admitted they were only on one pint versus our two.
As they peeled off into the Murrayfield Hotel, we made our way up Murrayfield Road towards the path at the end of Ravelston Dykes. And were greeted with the sight of Jamie and Stewart, and another pair (the fog of drunkenness means I can't recall who - sorry!).
We passed the mystery pair after a bit of traffic shenanigans at the top of the road (I managed to hold things up by accidentally finding myself on the wrong side of the road and running in the gutter), and got quite close to Jamie and Stewart near the tower.
My guts probably felt as bad as they did all day on the next, speedy, descent off Corstorphine towards Stenhouse. I cautioned myself and Peter not to confuse sober daring for drunken recklessness on the crossing of St Johns Road.
Before long we caught up to Gio and Rich. And then set off in pursuit of Jamie and Stewart, who had gapped us again.
We had the most amazing stroke of luck at the Corn Exchange when Jamie and Stewart headed into the cafe, rather than "The Pub" despite being a 100 metres or so in front. There was only one, very nice, but very slow, bar maid on in The Pub, so it made a huge difference. By the time that Peter and I had finished our beers, things had concertina'd and there was a long queue forming at the only hostelry available this side of ECH. Game changer!
The run under the bridge before Allan Park was even more ballsy than usual - I seem to remember raising a hand to indicate that a BUS should slow down to let me pass, Thankfully it did, although my memory doesn't record the gestures I received from the driver.
On the run up to Craiglockhart Sports Centre I remarked to Peter that I was having "just the best time". He seemed less enthusiastic given the amount of phlegm he was regularly evacuating from his lungs, but was absolutely working his arse off.
On the run down towards Greenside, I was doing my best to say hello, thank you, and sorry to walkers (with or without dogs) that we encountered, and explained to Peter that I considered this my penance for being a little short-tempered with the tourist hordes while heading up the Royal Mile. Peter pointed out that bar staff were finding me a little curt as well. Damn, I really thought that I had found the right balance of polite but not wanting to dawdle.
At the next stop (the Buckstone Pub and Kitchen) we encountered record-holder Gordon, who said lots of nice encouraging things, despite acknowledging that he really ought to trip us or spike our pints. Fourth pint down.
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| 9 miles high and rising! |
Which brings us to the most important part of the course. After the trig at the Braids, I had initially thought that we'd have to return the way we came and use the bar inside the Hotel. An e-mail to Harrison Golf Club had been met with a polite, but firm, refusal of our business. Not unreasonable given it would involve opening outside of regular hours for 2 pints of 70 shilling.
But Jim accidentally uploaded a run to Strava on Thursday night (which I managed to spot before it was deleted 10 minutes later) that suggested that the surrounding environs were worth a second look. Which led me to the Edinburgh Thistle Golf Club. Another e-mail was met with the response that we'd be welcome.
IF they were open, which was weather dependent.
It was such a nice day that we figured there was no way that golf would not be being golfed, and so we threw all our eggs into that basket. I showed Peter that I literally had both fingers crossed. After a little bit of fannying around (the guy in the downstairs shop telling us that the bar was upstairs, without telling us how to find the not-particularly-intuitive outside staircase, and then being held up on those stairs by an elderly chap with two sticks - must bite tongue and not rush him; must bite tongue and not rush him), we arrived in the bar. To find the sole barman deep in conversation with another chap about some pages in poly pockets in a ring binder (must bite tongue and not rush him; must bite tongue and not rush him).
The barman explained that the draught beer was off, but we could have what we liked from the fridge. Two cans if Best didn't fill our respective pint glasses so, in a moment of honesty, we asked for a third to make them up. And pushed forward the extra £2 for that can. Which appears to have been missed by the bar man, if the Carnethy home page is anything to go by. Having finished his pint, while I was again yammering and explaining to make up for my pushiness, Peter filled out the visitors book.
We then followed the bridle path round the back of the main Braids clubhouse (I believe used for the Braids XC) which lead nicely back to the top of Lang Linn and back onto the beaten track.
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| The sleeper steps are always tough, but never more so than after 5 pints |
Olly S and friends were on hand at the top of Blackford to provide jelly babies and other assorted treats before we moved on.
With the allotments closed, we headed right towards the Harley Davidson garage, before ending up at Swanny's for our penultimate pint.
I was slowing up on the beers at this point, so Peter motored ahead (just visible as a black speck on the right pavement in the distance in the photo below).
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| If it is an offence to be drunk in charge of a bicycle, this face could see me in trouble for being drunk in charge of my own legs... |
While I believe that Jim and Graham went to the Salisbury Arms for their sixth, Peter and I were at liberty to take the usual short-cut through Pollock Halls. I removed my bumbag, lobbed it through the gate, and then performed a well-executed, if ill-advised, forward roll through the bars.
The slog up Arthur's Seat is rather foggy, but I don't think we deviated too much.
The descent is seared into my memory though, for I took the wrong path off the top (down the right side of the Dry Dam), while Peter bore left towards the Bog. I heard his shout and prayed that it was simply a warning that I had gone the wrong way, and not a plea for help due to a broken ankle. Desperate to make up lost ground, I threw myself down the hill more quickly than was remotely sane, and slipped not once but four times (thankfully surfing/catching them on my hands without more serious incident).
I was delighted when Peter and I were reunited at the bottom and sank our final pint in the Kilderkin.
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| Peter, in the Kilderkin - honest! |
On the way to the start Jim had very kindly shown us a short-cut through a close at the back of the Kilderkin, which saved us running back down to the Parliament, and we employed it again to good effect on our way to the finish at Calton Hill.
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| Nearing the finish: bleary-eyed and dog-eared |
We arrived in 2h32m, a full 36 minutes ahead of last year's record. Which made us WORLD RECORD HOLDERS!!!
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| Peter reflects on his achievement, his delight all too visible |
It was a record that we were not to hold for long. Jim and Graham arriving a mere 90 seconds later, and taking a further 10 minutes off the record. Very well done!
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| Rachel McWhirter was on hand to validate Graham and Jim's record |
I was really amused to find out that Jim and Graham had been sure that they were the only ones to know about Edinburgh Thistle, but found our names in the guest book ahead of them. It must have been a little like Captain Scott arriving at the South Pole, only to find he had been beaten to it by Amundsen. Although thankfully without a similarly catastrophic conclusion!
A really fantastic day out, in great conditions, with a wonderful bunch of guys. Special thanks to Jim for organising, and to Peter for his truly HEROIC effort in conquering his manflu - Jim and Graham may have won, but Peter's was undoubtedly the run of the day. If I am lucky enough to be invited back next year, I'll sign up for it in a shot!
superb!
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