Killiney Hill: Where Stamina Goes To Die

[Post started on Friday 20th of March]

Bless me wordpress for I have sinned it has been a week and a half since my last blog entry. Many factors have come into play in this protracted absence but thankfully a cessation in my running habit is not one of them. I would like to lay the blame for three days of me not blogging, squarely at the feet of the Non Running Boyfriend. Recently since the termination of his employment in construction he has taken to sitting at the table with the laptop looking very busy and filled with concentration and intent. Three days in a row I have decided not to disturb him thinking that he was looking for a new job on the internet. It transpires that he  has not been looking for a new job but has instead developed a very severe addiction to a game on my computer that involves making different coloured blocks adjoin before eliminating them to score points. I’m guessing he thinks that in the absence of real bricks and mortar that virtual coloured squares are going to keep his eye in while we weather the storm of recession. I have to stop this compulsive behaviour before he gets himself in trouble. Failure to do so could lead to his immediate expulsion from his next job after he enquires “eh boss, I’ve managed to get forty green blocks to touch each other across this wall here, can we get them out of here please” I wouldn’t mind, but he wasn’t even a brick-layer in the first place, he’s demoted himself.

Enough about the NRB let us get down to brass tacks. Much has happened in the last number of days so i will break it up into nice readable chunks for you kind three folk who have been following me every now and again. Week five began normally with me running down in the old faithful Clonker. Clonkeen park has become a reliable friend over these weeks of training. As I was running, I mused how I like the familiarity of the stream which i will occasionally run across, I like the repetitive thwack of tennis balls in the tennis club, I even like the way if i run through the goal posts on the football pitches I almost fall over on the mud. I really felt like I was growing to love the Clonker. And then it dawned on me; I was going to have to start seeing other parks. It had become my running safety net, if i didn’t feel like running up a hill, I’d go run in the Clonker, come back with a smile on my face and tell myself that I was a good girl for training but in reality the Clonker and I want different things from life. The Clonker has no ambition greater than a 5 degree gradient whereas I, to my detriment, have lofty plans for 3km scree lined ascents that have no goal posts or thwacking tennis balls or any of the other trappings of the suburban park. It was over, I just didn’t know how I was going to end it.

The next day I didn’t run, I was too traumatised at the end of my relationship and I wanted to think about my next destination. I needed to get the hell out of my comfort zone, where I had been happily nestled for the last few weeks, thinking I was a real runner, god I am an eejit. This train of thought led me to the obvious destination of Killiney Hill. Now Killiney Hill is a lovely spot on the southside of Dublin, the real estate of which is held in high regard by every two bit multi millionaire who ever caught their own reflection in the condensation droplets on the side of a quality pint of stout. It is also a renowned haunt of dog walkers (obviously), ninja warriors (fact) and devil worshippers (unconfirmed rumours). It looks a bit like this:

 

Where's Wally, I mean, Bono.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I was less concerned with the part involving all the steps and gorse and getting to the top where the big pointy obelisk is, I was more interested in the grassy hill at the entrance where the car park is. Is has a fairly substantial slope going from the road to the car park which is just under 400m long and it was my intention to run from the bottom to the top and repeat that ten times. It looks like this when you are looking down from the car park.

 

Looking innocently gentle but in fact twice as steep as Cabinteely Park. Booo Hissss.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I started off at the bottom as planned at a merry jog, about a half of the way up my muscles began to run out of oxygen. “Eh, oxegen please” they demanded from my bloodstream, “we’ve none left you f**king idiots, stop running!!!!” “But we’re on strict orders, we have to keep running”, retorted the brave muscles ” it’s your funeral amigos, I’m out” retorted the bloodstream “AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!” screamed the muscles like a load of witches being burned at the stake. As i reached the limit of my exertion the air rasped my trachea as I panted like a post Grand National racehorse and there was a noise in my ears like a whistling kettle. When I was at the car park I stopped with the absolute certainty that I was seconds away from a full blown cardiac arrest. There was snot streaming from my nose and spots in my vision. I turned around and walked back down the hill for one minute before turning around and doing it again. I did this ten times. By the time I was finished my appearance was so alarming that anyone close enough was staring at me in mild amusement. my face had turned the most unnatural colour that Crayola called Torch Red, the area around my nose was a snot festival, my face bore an expression of acute distress and I was lying across the bonnet of my car silently praying for death.  And so began my hill training in earnest. Come back Clonkeen park, all is forgiven.