Shettleston Open Meeting: Too Hot to Trot

 I’ve never ran a 3000m before; and I’ve not been to half the well known bars in Glasgow, even though, for 2 years, I went to school there. So I thought I’d combine both by entering the Shettleston open meet at ‘Crownpoint’. Yes, its sounds a glorious venue, majestic even, but don’t get your hopes up.  I managed to get an entry even though the website entry failed to take any money off me. The organiser kindly advised that, upon enquiry, my name was down.  A freebie then? A reward for my summer of toil.

 

I took the train to Waverley and then jumped on the Glasgow Train. Boy, it was hot. Arriving at Queen Street, I had 4 hours to burn. Did I mention it was hot. The wall clock thermometer thingy said 26 degrees as it began to wilt down the side of the window.  I checked out the Burger Bar on St Vincent Street that I had previously identified for a post race feast. I then moseyed along to the café at St Enoch Square in the Bank which I knew was air conditioned and, armed with a pot of tea, spent 45 minutes watching the world go by out the window.  There were some sites, Glasgow all t shirts and ice creams. Saltcoats, but without the sand or sea and more discarded sweety papers and plastic. Stepping back out into the heat I wandered to Greaves Sports and then Blacks where I bought a small backpack. It was more secure than the shopping bag I had brought. I re-packed my belongings and wandered across the Waterstones for another tea and glass of iced water. It was soon 5.30 and I made a move to find the Trongate, then Gallowgate. 

 

Passing the Barrowlands, things became rather unloved with litter and dereliction rather more prominent than the gleaming shiny buildings I had left around Buchanan Street.  The sun was melting the pavement and, even though I had a t shirt on, I was lathered. I heard the voice in my head ‘we’re all going to fry tonight’ as I passed the Wee Mans Bar. I registered at the track and looked for a secure place to put my bag before I ‘warmed up’ (an unfortunate phrase in the circumstances). I was referred to the leisure centre. However, when I enquired at the leisure centre, which was near empty, they advised the lockers were not in use due to Covid. What complete b#’ocks.  Bureaucratic nonsense. Bureaucraps. I returned to the track and left the bag with the officials and had a run along Crownpoint Road. Partway along I was invited in for a pint by 2 amused smokers standing outside a bar, but I declined.  I made my way onto the track and stepped up in lane 3 with around 15 others. I started promptly and made my way around 3 or 4 runners during the first 3 laps. On lap four I was passed by 2 males, one Cambuslang and a Bellahouston Harrier. I tried to tuck in but they ran away from me, lost in their own wee battle. I cracked on but my mouth was dry, my reserves were failing. The sweat was dripping across my face. The red track and sky, the searing heat, it was like Mars. I thought for a moment I saw Matt Damon in a spacesuit; the arid surface, a hostile sky bearing down on me. I was passed by one, then two women but grabbing the shreds of my dignity, I rallied on the final lap and ran across the line in around 10:50. It was hardly the stuff sonic booms are made of, but it was sub 11 and that was, in my book, a result.In the other 3000m heat, I noted an infringment of the new rules on nasal discharges being transgressed right in front of the crowd. It will be interesting to see if the runner is DQ'd or not.

 

I made my way out of Bridgeton as the sun came down and made my way to the Scotia Bar, before moving swiftly on to Bread Meat Bread on St Vincent Street where I enjoyed the meal. I had visions of walking to the accommodation but, by then, the meat sweats had got me in their grip and I elected for the underground to Partick. I managed a half in Deoch an Dorus, self styled as a ‘Partick Institution’.  It was tea and bed at eleven. 

 

The following morning I opened the day with a 5 mile run along the quayside with Ant’ before the weather broke and I made my way to the ‘Clockwork Orange’, thanking my host for his hospitality.  The rain had returned half a day early and I ended up with tea, bacon and eggs in a quiet Weatherspoons. It wasn’t my choice, but I had been around several blocks looking for a wee café rather than a coffee bar. When I asked what street it was on, the girl said cheerily ‘Jamaica Street’. I never recognised it, even though in the 70’s I’d spent my time twice a day on the bus coming up and down the grey grimy thoroughfare.  It was up to Queen Street for the train home and another 30 pages of my Denise Mina book ‘Still Midnight’. She sets her novels in Glasgow. Maybe her next novel will be called ‘A hot night in Bridgeton’ or perhaps ‘Scunnered with 2 laps to go’? Then again, maybe not.