The Mountains Are Calling

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Ihad not been to the Pentlands for almost a month. After ten days in Galicia, we had embarked on a lengthy road trip north from Gatwick to Edinburgh. Spain had been hot; England – riding on an August heatwave – was hotter. The “hills of home,” at last, offered refuge. I was among a group of four Carnethy runners, at first climbing the broad back of Blackford Hill, then turning south to our objective. Once over the bypass, the view of the Pentlands was unbroken, with the evening light sharpening every dimple and crack, and clouds raced over the tops. We gained Capelaw, the final half-mile across long grass and tussocks, and turned to face Allermuir. From there, the ridge to Caerketton inevitably summoned. Pausing by the pile of stones on the summit, we gazed down at Edinburgh, struck silent at the marvellousness of the summer evening – an evening we wished could last forever, the type of evening we knew would soon evaporate.

Manuel Zeller, an engineer from the Black Forest region of south-western Germany, stood on my right. His first taste of life as a Carnethy athlete was a Thursday hill session on Arthur’s Seat, a weekly fixture known fondly as Wintervals. It was raining and dark when he arrived at Holyrood Park. After a short warm-up, the runners climbed onto the inky slopes of the Seat.

“I didn’t have hill running shoes, only my road running shoes,” Manuel said. “I was slipping. I hated the downhill. It was still fun and friendly though. ‘You should get proper running shoes and come back next week,’ they said.” “They” were Iain Whiteside, the then club captain who was leading the group, Liam Braby and Konrad Rawlik. There was a woman too. “I saw her and thought, at least there’s a girl, I won’t be last. And then she kicked my ass on the first rep. I thought, even the girls are super-fast here.” Manuel had made the acquaintance of Jasmin Paris.