Summertime and the drinking is easy

Ben Lomond as May fades out

Setting up the Race in Killearn Park

Killearn Houses on the trail

Announcing the first finisher

32:44

Killearn 10k Trail Rcae

View from the Village Hall

Summer arrived on 31 May with two days of sunshine and a warmth that made you thirsty. It was the Killiearn 10k trail race, the sort of event I enjoyed in my running days. Gregor was competing for the first time in what is now his local race. A real beer festival was also taking place at the Old Mill pub. It seemed a good way of spending some time after a hard day in the garden and still feeling some aches from my latest COVID vaccination two days ago.

Killearn is one of the more salubrious villages that nestles beneath the Campsies and enjoys panoramic views towards the Highlands in the northwest. It was the home of George Buchanan, the historian and humanist who argued that the source of all political power is the people. The massive monument in the village suggests that, despite its twee characteristics, Killearn celebrates its radical roots.  

I arrived at 10:00am and watched the organisers erecting the tents, tapes and other paraphernalia that are required for well-supported community-run events. Dozens of marshalls were being despatched to locations along the trail that climbs out of the village and then runs along an old pipeline route to beyond the Dungoyne Distillery and back and involves over 150 metres of climbing. The field of 250 runners included lots of locals, a couple of football teams and a running club from Glasgow. There was an equal number of males and females. 

There were no over 70s, perhaps I should have entered. I jogged out to the 2.5-kilometre point to watch as the race climbed steeply to the pipeline. Gregor was going like a steam train and had over a minute on the next couple of runners.  I decided to run back to watch the finish and caused some confusion among the marshalls as I ran past at a pace that would barely achieve an hour for the 10k. The Police even stopped the traffic as I jogged down to the Main Road. The sergeant called me over, he had been at school with my daughter over twenty years ago and wanted to catch up.

I got back to the finish line about a minute ahead of Gregor who was 5 minutes ahead of the next finisher in an impressive time for a hilly 10k over tough terrain. Emily beat her hoped-for time and we hung around for the prize-giving. Then on to the Beer Festival, it was already heaving as the runners, visitors and locals soaked up the beer and the sun in conditions that restore your faith in summer days. After using up my couple of tokens and realising that the excellent draft Summerisle was perhaps a little too tempting, I baled out. I had just returned home when John called round he had been hillwalking in Glencoe as he nears the completion of his fourth round of Munros. We discussed a trip to Fisherfield later in the year. It had been a good day and the European Cup was still to come.

Buchanan Monument

Summerisle mythical island of the Wicker Man