As with most addicts, I’m always having just one last coffee before I give up. Never is this as true as when I am running. “After this run, I will have a nice coffee, then I will stop, because I drink too much of it, and I want to be healthy”. That is the sort of thing that goes through my coffee high thoughts as my legs pound away on the road or the trail. At the exact same instant as the thought flashes through my mind, there is a marked (although perhaps unperceivable to the outside observer) quickening of pace, and an involuntary licking of my lips as I rev up into top gear and head for the finishing line / coffee stand, or whichever comes first.
A rather memorable example of this was when I ran a half marathon in Aviemore last October. This was only my second half marathon, and only my fourth race, so I was nervous, apprehensive and really quite excited. The drive up there was beautiful. The spooky hotel I had booked over the internet less so. There were some Nescafe sachets in my room and as soon as I arrived I had a coffee, in full knowledge that it was to be one of my last, and then not one, not two, but all three of the bourbon biscuits in the little packet that had been thoughtfully provided. Later that evening still feeling a little peckish, I headed down to the hotel restaurant on my own to get some pre-race tucker in.
Therestaurant was not very accommodating to my carb- loading requirements and the waiter suggested that I might prefer the hotel bar if I didn’t want the three course fixed menu, and duly shoed me off in that general direction. I ordered scampi and chips and a (large) glass of chardonnay and was invited to take a table while my order was being made. As I sat down my mobile phone went, it was my cautious and dear friend and confidant.
“Hi, where are you?”
“In a bar in Overlook Hotel just outside Aviemore, having scampi and chips.”
“What on earth are you doing there?”
“I’m doing a race.”
“I thought you weren’t doing that race?”
“I changed my mind.”
“Are you there on your own?
“Yes.”
“Don’t let anyone know you’re on your own it’s dangerous, there could be strange men lurking about.”
“But nobody knows I’m here on my own.”
“Well make sure your room is in a good place.”
“Its fine, it’s on the first floor, right beside the fire doors by the stair case, directly above the restaurant, I could escape easily.”
At that moment, I looked up as the waiter delivered my scampi, and noticed a weird looking gentleman, sitting on his own at a neighbouring table studying me, closely. Great, now not only did he know I was on my own, but he also knew exactly where my room was and how I planned to escape.
“Well, just move any heavy furniture in the room against the door in case a weirdo tries to get in.”
“But what if they’re already inside?”
“Hmm, good point…”
When dinner was over I made my way through reception and noticed the same slightly strange looking character sitting, motionless, in a chair in the reception hall, watching me ; creepily. I hurried up the stairs to my room and eyeballed the wardrobe, oh hell, I’ll just jump out the window if I have to I thought to myself.
Against all odds, I survived the night without interruption from any would be assailants, and awoke in fairly good sorts, got my race kit on and headed down to the restaurant again. I had been warned that the reception staff would not be there at this early time. There were a few more runners in the room, and that was all. Two of them; men, on their own, looked like serious runners, and there was also a couple, who in fact looked like quite serious runners too. The waiter seemed very hung-over. He brought toast with no butter, then tea with no milk. I overheard a conversation he was having with one of the other runners about paying, as there was no one at reception, and he assured him that there was no need to worry the hotel would surely just send the bill. This seemed a little unlikely to me, however, you do get a good class of customer service in Scotland, and so I too popped my keys on the reception desk and left.
The race itself was beautiful. It was sunny but chilly, perfect for running through the breath-taking Cairngorms and along the banks of Loch Morlich. I met my cousin at the start line and we ran together chatting all the time. About four miles from the finish line it hit me: I can have another coffee in four miles time. I could almost taste it. Naturally, I wanted water too, and lots of it, but my system was craving the wonderful caffeine coffee hit, and I’ve never been one for those caffeinated sports drinks. Perhaps a muffin too. Four miles! That’s just from Balmaha to Drymen, I can do it! And with the wind in my sails I sped off ( using that word in the most generous of ways).
Crossing the finish line and hobbling over to the coffee stand whilst inhaling the banana and chocolate I had found in my finisher’s goodie bag, I noticed a missed call on my phone. It was Fiona, from the reception at the hotel phoning about the small matter of my unpaid room bill. I phoned her back and explained that I would come at once to settle the bill. It was really quite embarrassing. Damn it I thought, I’ll just get coffee there, I can’t be bothered hobbling back to the car to get money then all the way back over here again.
I made my way back to the hotel and parked outside the main door. Heading into reception I was most surprised indeed to see that reception was being “manned” by a large Border collie cross with a jaunty ear. It was resting its front paws on a shelf just below the reception resulting in the comical appearance of it being waiting to serve the next customer. As I approached, I noticed that it wasn’t even looking at me , on the contrary, it seemed lost in thought as it gazed over my shoulder and out through the window.
“Ahem, Hello there!” I addressed the dog.
“Hello, how can I help you?” came the reply, thankfully not from the dog, but from the open door at the back of the reception cubicle. A few seconds later Fiona, the receptionist ,came into view and gave me a look that said quite clearly “I know you tried to run away without paying” which I thought was a little unfair. I'd had very intention of paying.
We settled the matter and I made my way once more along the old fashioned dining hall to the hotel bar, where I hoped I could at last secure myself a latte, and thought; let’s make it a large one too. Unfortunately the bar was full of locals warming their cockles over a few whiskies, and I felt a little self-conscious in my sweaty running gear, and so I asked for a takeaway. Sadly it was not to be, they didn’t do take away, but the post office on the corner apparently did.
In the end, I headed to the post office and got a little takeaway coffee from the automatic machine. This is hardly fitting for a last coffee before I give up, I thought as I drank it in about three mouthfuls (not hot enough and a bit too watery). Never mind, with any luck there will be a Costa Coffee at one of the service stations on the way home...And with that most happy of thoughts I skipped back to the car and began the journey home.
