Johnny Hall’s Travels and Travails

After Ollie died a year or so ago, we decided that it’d probably be a good idea to be cat-free until the girls were a bit older.

A year later and Becky had wound the begging up a notch, so I buckled and we found Milo at the local Cat’s Protection League.

He’s 9 months old. He’s really friendly, likes to sleep beside his Dad and has the loudest purr I’ve ever heard. Which is particularly pleasant when it wakes you up at 3am.

Emily loves him and chases him around all the time. Milo puts up with it all and despite being a bit irritated when he get’s his tail pulled, he never gets his claws out. If he did, Emily would be scarred by now!

I’ve been neglecting my blog over the last few months.  I’ll try to make more of an effort for the rest of the year.

My Dad died a week ago today, after suffering a final stroke after several over the last few years. His funeral was today and managed to hold it together to deliver his eulogy. I struggled a bit but it was really important for me, and I hope, my Dad, for me to do it, rather than leave it to someone who did not know him.

Here it is in full.

Those of you who were at my wedding might well have their doubts that I’ll make it through this in one piece but my Dad wasn’t prone to being over-emotional, so I’ll do my best to emulate him now. I’ve never done this before, so I hope I manage to convey a little of my Dad’s life and character, as well as my relationship with him. I wouldn’t normally read from pre-written notes but I hope you’ll forgive me if I do so on this occasion.

As you’ll know, Dad was well into middle age before he met and married my mum and had a family. Much of his 40-odd years before that is a bit of a mystery to me and I always imagined that my Dad liked to keep it that way, preferring to believe that everything that happened before he met my mum was simply a warm-up and that his real life began with us. I know I feel that way about my own family. Luckily for me, his best friend from his wartime service, Marshall, is still around, and he helped me piece together a few details.

Dad was born between the 2 great wars, in 1924, in South Queensferry. Despite an austere background, he won a scholarship to the Royal High in Edinburgh. He once confessed to me that he had liked science and engineering but was forced to learn latin and the classics, which helped to determine his career after the war, as a law clerk and then a solicitor. Because of this, he always told me that I could and should choose whichever path that I liked, for which I am very grateful.

In 1942, he joined the armed forces. Dad once told me a story about his conscription. Imagine a hall full of nervous 18 years olds. An officer addresses the group, asking for volunteers. Of course, most of them wouldn’t dream of volunteering for something without any knowledge of what they were volunteering for. Not my Dad, up his hand went and off he went - to the Isle of Man, where he began 10 months of intensive training to become a Special Wireless Operator in the Royal Signals. By volunteering, he managed to avoid seeing any action and through most of the war, he didn’t even have to wear a uniform. He met Marshall during this time and they became lifelong friends.

His job was to transcribe coded morse messages, which included learning the Russian and Chinese codes. He was posted to Palestine in 1944 before going to Egypt and after a time, he was seconded to the Intelligence Corp in Cyprus. He then spent time in Turkey before returning to Palestine after the war when Britain still controlled the country before Partition. We didn’t know much about Dad’s time in the army as he never really talked about it. We thought that he simply didn’t like to say much but it turns out that he wasn’t actually allowed to, since he had signed the Official Secrets Act. It’s only been in recent years that he would have been allowed to say anything about it but sadly, by this time, he was unable to for other reasons.

I discovered a couple of things about my Dad during this time - his friends knew him as “Johnny” rather than John (which made me smile) and he was always the fittest of his group of friends and the best at games, particularly hockey. I guess I inherited my Dad’s love of fitness and Chris has his sports skills. He took up golf with Marshall after the war but he played it like a hockey player, which I’m sure would have amused my brother to have seen.

In 1947, Dad returned to Britain and after being de-mobbed, he went to Edinburgh University to study Law. He became a law clerk and joined one of the only 2 firms that he ever worked for. He discovered fly fishing in the 50s through Marshall’s Dad. His work meant that he dealt with many of the big estates in the Highlands and he managed to enjoy the fishing at many private lochs and rivers. He was still fishing well into his 70s, sitting in a boat in the pouring rain for hours on end, happy as could be.

It was fishing that led him to meet 2 young Danish men, Henrik and Peter, while out near Edinburgh. They asked him where would be a good place to stay in the city and he invited them back to my grandparent’s house. They were friends for the rest of their lives and our first foreign holiday was to visit Henrik and his family in Denmark in 1980. Dad was always friendly and he could, and would, talk to anyone. He could talk about anything and he seemed to have knowledge of any subject you could think of but he never forced that knowledge on you - he let you discover things on your own but always helped you if you asked.

Dad met my mum at Dundas and Wilson, the big law firm that they both worked at and they were married in 1969. By all accounts, he doted on my cousins and Marshall’s 3 girls, so I imagine he was particularly happy, though perhaps a little apprehensive, to find himself the father of twins. Unfortunately, because of my mum’s health, she had to spend the last months of her pregnancy in hospital. Mum was the envy of the other women in the the ward though, because, without fail, every morning before work and every evening after work, Dad would visit. Nothing else mattered to him - my Dad loved my mum with all of his heart. As my Mum likes to tell Becky every so often, Dad used to bring her flowers every week throughout their married life, again, without fail. I like to think that there’s a lot of my Dad’s character in mine but I only ever occasionally remember to buy flowers!

After I left school, Dad and I went on a couple of fishing trips to the Highlands. When I was 17 or 18 we borrowed my Aunt’s car for a trip to Lochinver in Sutherland. Unfortunately, it rained continually the entire time we were there. We were using an ancient tent which couldn’t keep out the elements and Dad spent the first night sleeping in a puddle. Needless to say, for our next trip, we used a modern tent. I think Dad was a bit surprised at how small it was though. I often wish we’d taken more trips together but I spent most of my 20s living in England.

Dad retired when he was 65 but continued to work part-time for several years after. In 50 years of work, he never had more than a day or two of absence but unfortunately, it all seemed to catch up with him a few years ago. He was very tenacious though, and refused to simply give in and he managed to hang on a lot longer than we might have hoped. I’m glad he did, despite it all, since he got to meet all 4 of his grandchildren, which I hope gave him some comfort. I know they would have adored him.

My Dad was the gentlest, kindest, warmest man you could hope to meet. He was a man whose worst character traits were no more than a refusal to read road signs and a tendency to take too many photographs of the scenery. He always had a big smile for everyone and I can’t imagine that anyone who ever knew him would have had a bad word to say about him.

You were a wonderful Dad - I hope I can be even half as good.

Dad, I love you and I miss you, and I’ll miss you every day until I too am gone.

Mind you, my PB at 10k is poor anyway, having only ever ran 2 (both at the Great Edinburgh Run). It was around 47ish minutes, it’s now 43 mins (exactly, I think, though the results aren’t confirmed yet). Not brilliant but getting a bit more respectable. I honestly believe that if I concentrated on it, I could go under 40 minutes but that’s conjecture until I do it.

I did the Buchlyvie 10k, near Stirling, this afternoon. Out of 440 or so entrants (and who knows how many starters), I think I ended up about 58th or so. Again, that’s unconfirmed.

I started much too fast and I wore too many clothes (too warm for a base layer and a hat) but I kept it going pretty well to the end, despite the last km being more or less uphill and the nasty little run round a muddy playing field to trash you just when you are done.

I’ve got another 10k in a couple of weeks (at Grangemouth). Hopefully, I’ll be able to improve on that time a bit.

We’ve just booked our first family holiday abroad. We’re off to Barcelona for a week in March. We’ve got a 3 bedroom house on the edge of a National Park, about 30 minutes drive from the city itself. It looks like a nice place - I’ve never been to mainland Spain before and neither have the girls.

I’ve decided on my race calendar for 2008 already, pretty much. It’ll be one race a month until September, with the big one in July.

• January: New Year’s Day Triathlon
• February: Carnethy 5 hill race
• March: Alloa Half Marathon
• April: Coniston 14
• May: Fred Whitton Challenge (if I get in)
• June: IMUK 70.3 (and/or Bala)
• July: IM Austria
• August: Aberfeldy Middle Distance Triathlon (and possibly Wensleydale triathlon)
• September: Helvellyn Triathlon and the Ben Nevis Triathlon

The races after Austria will depend on how I recover and how my motivation is, but I’d love to do well at Aberfeldy and to give the mountain triathlons another go with some better training.

Since May when I was struck down with gastroenteritis, I’ve been laid low for a day on at least 3 separate occasions.

Yesterday, I was hit again.  It feels like I have flu - headache, joint ache, feverish, tired, no appetite.  It’s not pleasant at all.  Every time I have it, I wake up unwell, it stays with me all day and then the next morning, I feel good again.

It’s most unsettling but while it only stays with me for 24 hours, I can live with it.  I’ve been to the doctors but there’s not much they can do because by the time I get there, I’m well again.

I went out for the night on Friday (for the first time in a long time) and didn’t get much sleep (even compared to normal, with a new baby in the house) and I rarely drink nowadays, so perhaps that combination knocked me back a bit.

One more reason to take good care of myself.

This was my last event of the season, entered during a bout of over-enthusiasm earlier in the year. The Big Triathlon is an unusual, tough event in Fort William. The distances suggest that it is a middle distance (half Ironman) event, but the finishing time point towards it being closer to a long distance (Ironman) event.

1.9km in the sea water of Loch Linnhe, followed by 56 miles of mountain biking, topped off with an ascent of Ben Nevis, from sea level.

After Esme was born, my motivation and time for training seemed to disappear at the same time, and I’ve not followed much of a programme since early August. After Helvellyn, 3 weeks ago, all I had done was run once for 2 hours, cycle once for 2 hours and go mountain biking a handful of times. I’ve only been swimming once (at Helvellyn) in the last 6 weeks. So, I wasn’t too sure if I had the endurance to complete a grueling 10 hour race but there would only be one way to find out. I’d trained pretty hard most of the rest of the year, so I was hoping I had reserves. My original target had been about 9:30 (40 swim, 5:00 bike, 3:30 run plus transitions) but I wasn’t hopeful of getting anywhere near that, so I just wanted to finish.

I decided to camp again, to save some money but it’s not ideal preparation. So far, at Wimbleball and Helvellyn, it hasn’t done me any harm, and it’s certainly easier to get up and sort breakfast in the wee hours before a race if you don’t have to rely on a hotel or B+B to do it for you. I stayed at the Glen Nevis site, which I can recommend.

Triathlons require a lot of kit and a lot of organisation to sort out the kit into the right places. Mountain-based triathlons even more so. So most of Friday night and Saturday morning was spent wrestling with an inordinate amount of gear. Eventually I made it to the water’s edge, ensconced in my wetsuit.

I had an idea that the swim would be cold but it turned out to be pretty reasonable. The race started at 7:15 and after a bit of a bashing, I settled in towards the rear of the 70 or so competitors. No point in pushing it for the sake of a few minutes, so I cruised round the 2 laps, occasionally looking up to see if I was on course (which I usually wasn’t). 39 easy minutes later (on target) and I was out of the water and up to the change tent. I leapfrogged a few folks who decided to change into cycling gear because I had my trisuit on and then I settled into the first steep road climb up the Lundavra road and then onto the start of the offroad section.

Gradually, I began to catch people, and I think I passed maybe 3 or 4 people on the first long climb. The bike course was 4 laps, which went up and around Cow Hill above Fort William, then down a fast, loose, rolling descent to the Braveheart Car Park on the Glen Nevis road. The first of several accidents happened here on a trivial 180 degree turn where my front wheel (with high pressures in the tyres for the road section) lost traction and washed out, crashing me to the ground and banging my right hip and staving a finger. After dusting myself off, I started riding again but my hip was sore and I started to worry if I could walk on it, never mind run up and down a mountain.

After that descent, it began to slowly climb for a few miles, going eastward along a forestry track above the road. A short, bumpy technical descent took us back to the road. I managed to ride all of it (bar a step on a sharp turn, which only 2 people rode) and this helped me to make up time on those riders who couldn’t manage it (quite a few). However, accident number 2 happened here on my second lap when I washed out the back wheel and managed to strain my (weak) right achilles. It seemed ok though, so on I went.

Then it was back to transition along the road for about 4 miles for the start of the next lap. I consistently passed people during the whole ride, with only a couple of people passing me (who must have been even slower swimmers than I am!).

My lap times were pretty consistent, around 1:15 each and I finished in 5:02 (on target again). However, when I started running on the road towards the start of the track up the mountain, my hip wasn’t in good shape and every step hurt. I knocked back a couple of anti-inflammatories and continued though and it disappeared soon enough, to be replace with my usual sore lower back and my tender achilles screaming at me! If I was going to finish, I’d have to ignore the pain.

A few people passed me on the first lower section of track up the hill and I latched onto the back of a local girl who knew the shortcuts, which saved me some time, if not effort. Gradually, I started to feel better (as I knew I would - long races always have their ups and downs) and once we hit the zig zags and entered the mist, I started speeding up a bit. Lochaber AC had provided local runners to help guide the racers up the mountain at the top to ensure nobody got lost and that we went the quickest route. I joined up with a chap called Steve who whipped me up and down the last few hundred metres in good style. It took me about 2:15 to reach the summit, not too quick but not too bad either.

Now for the descent that was worrying me since my achilles wouldn’t like it too much. Luckily though, it had been well stretched out on the long, steep climb so it seemed like I’d get away with it. I seem to have improved my descending recently and I managed to catch a couple of people on the way down.

Accident number 3 happened, ironically, about 200m from the end of the track before the road. After running down a steep, loose, rocky descent for an hour, I managed to catch my foot on a rock on easy ground, and despite my best efforts, I went down hard. After a bit I managed to get up and dust myself down but I was a bit shaky and started off running again slowly. I had a badly bleeding knee, as well as cuts and scrapes on my ankle, elbows and hands. Perfect.

The last road section wasn’t too bad and I managed to run at a reasonable pace and catch the local girl who had passed me on the descent. I pushed hard to the line and finished the run in 3:35 (more or less on target) and the whole event in 9:27 (bang on) exceeding my expectations, which weren’t high.

The Big Triathlon is a great event, despite being pretty tough. I was pleased to finish the season on a high and I met some nice people over the weekend. I’m now recovering with a strained achilles, swollen finger, bruised hip and numerous scrapes and cuts. If I hadn’t fallen so often, I think I’d be in good shape, all things considered.

Now, a months rest before I start to think about training again for next year’s events.

Not perhaps the most groundbreaking news ever but to a parent, it’s an exciting (and nervous) time.

Emily decided to start attempting to walk about around the time that Esme was born - she probably didn’t want to be upstaged. Gradually she’s gotten better and better at it, and she’s reduced the amount of time that she spends crawling.

As she gets more confident, the likelihood of her battering herself against inanimate objects like tables and door frames becomes greater. If you look at the photo on the right you can just about see a wee bruise on her forehead.

She’s also developing in other ways too. Before she goes to bed, either Mum or Dad reads her a story. Last night she went over to the bookshelf, picked a book out and brought it over to me to read it to her. My heart melted.

Then, this morning, I put on Lazytown just in time for the song at the end. She got out of Esme’s bouncy chair (which she was hogging) and walked over to me with her arms up, so that we could dance to the song. I always pick her up and swing her about to the Lazytown song and she’s knows it. Some might say that I’ve brainwashed her, but I like to think it was done with love.

A week early, thanks to those lovely, incompetent people at Argos, Galashiels.

No play yet but I’ll give it a bit of a tanking after Emily has gone to bed tonight. Right now I have to work, then train, then get my dinner.

Life always gets in the way!