Barrathon

so I survived.

It says something of how gruelling the Barrathon is that someone actually commented that the blustery rain showers were the "perfect conditions" for the race. You need something to cool you down on those hills...

Pictured at the ceilidh is the very nice New Zealand lass who won the thing. She's just moved to the island as a kayak instructor and entered on a whim when a place came up. It's one of those races where everyone, all 250, get talking at some point - whether it's the contagious community feel of the island or just the shared veteran horror once you've survived that BIG hill at the end, I don't know. Maybe it's the joyful consumption of the vast replenishments afterwards (bottom left); trout, crab, crayfish.. it's a feast of biblical proportions. I can't show you the epic pavlova dessert. I ate it too quickly.

Not my best time this year. Mainly because I sauntered round at a more leisurely pace caught up in the misty views of the rolling Atlantic, briney coves and rocky crofts - and fearing the inclines ahead. Me and Father Roddy had a bit of a head to head battle at one point, such are the delights of the slow-mo action at the back of the pack. Priests in their 50's vs Me. Sheesh. I passed him when he stopped for a pee (I thought he was praying). He blessed me as we met again on the big hill at the end, though claimed he was in dire need of some holy water. A late sprint finish didn't prevent an embarrassing 2hr time, but bustin a last minute lung did get me a few cheers.

After all that I was further refreshed with a few remedial Guinness's and a big sweaty ceilidh with the Vatersay boys (famous for being able to play accordion even when paralytic). Val's pal Joss from Holland was much bemused but joined in with gusto, and Sheen was in great form despite not being able to take part. She admitted later to a wee snooze and latte while she waited for us. Survival celebrations continued in the bar. A little randomly we met Michelle McManus and ended up back at her house singing into the wee hours. Worth every pulse of the hangover and sore legs the next day

very very back blip (damn near time travel) as I've been having a wee break