As I stepped out in Dublin City

There wasn't a finishing line, a crowd, a medal, not even a water station, but I completed my fourth half marathon today; and all in a day's training.  What's really funny is that I was only supposed to do twelve miles, but I wasn't fully convinced that my planned terminus was the full twelve miles and so decided to run three minutes further and three minutes back, just to be sure. When I checked on Google maps later, I realised that my original terminus was slightly more than the twelve miles (19.6km) and the additional stretch was .7km each way, bringing me to the grand total of 21km or 13.1 miles of a half marathon.
I had a great run. One of the reasons I didn't believe it was far enough was my time of 1hour 48minutes and 16 seconds, giving me a 5m32sec kilometre. Not bad, not bad at all.
My route today took over the whole day, but was worth it. With number-one supporter busy for the morning at a conference, I decided to take the time to run somewhere nice. I headed down the M50, across to Howth Head and set off from the Dart Station there (commuter train in Dublin city), to run along the coastline of Dublin city. My goal was Booterstown Dart Station.  It was my original intention to run out and get the Dart back to the car. As it happened, I got a phone call about an hour into my run with an offer to meet me at Booterstown, get lunch and bring me back to my car. I was delighted; it has been a busy week for both of us.
And so, I trotted out from Howth, through the village of Sutton, until I was running parallel to the sea. It was a grey morning, lacking in visibility, but quite mild. I cantered along the cycle/run path for the next 9 or 10 kilometres, enjoying the comings and goings of people around me, in all shapes and sizes.  There were kids on scooters, couples, singles, pet lovers and lycra-wearing sportivos everywhere! The elderly couple moving along ever so slowly as she manoevured a walking frame, he protective at her side, left an impression. Her goal is no less significant than my own, I am sure. The sea on my left, I passed St. Anne's Gardens, the entry to Bull Island, the Bull Wall.  I looked up at the Ringsend Chimneys today, not down on them as I usually do from Deer Park.  As I ran, memories came and went, and I realised that I have been living in  Dublin for the best part of 12 years now. I have spent many a Sunday afternoon on Howth Head, even introducing my language students to its charms and the delicious Beshoff Fish and Chips afterwards. Memories of strained talking and walking along Bull Island as love tried to find its way came back. I pass the turn for Raheny Hospice and I am reminded of a late night, fragile drive with someone who needed to say their last farewells to a relative. Most keenly, though long before I ever lived in Dublin, I remember the week spent sailing around Dublin Bay on the Asgard II (now sitting on the floor of the sea in the Bay of Biscay), the salt burns on my face, and I wonder at how familiar Dublin has become since. I know, for exmaple, that my beloved cousin, and much loved friend, is but a stone's throw from here and I know where to find two of the training pitches frequented by her very sporty sons.
I leave the Clontarf Road, swing left with the Bay (Dublin Bay is kidney shaped), cross through a more industrial, warehouse zone, over the Royal Canal and down to the Liffey. I am surprised to see the O2 depot and wheel (Dublin's equivalent to London's Eye). At this point, I catch a glimpse of the Aviva Stadium, again looking up at, not down from a height, on its lovely curves. The Gardaí are busy checking tax and insurance, I skip past them, almost gleeful. I cross the Liffey, looking up river at the Celtic Tiger buildings, some quite beautiful in all their glassy glamour. I pass under the toll, along the dock, looking over at a P&O freight ship, just docking, I think.  I swing right, manoevure a few junctions, and then I am passing the Ringsend chimneys and cantering along Sandymount, once again parallel to the coast. The tide is out and, for some reason, it is much colder along here. I know, however, that I have but a few kilometres to go and there is no point in pausing to put on clothes. Sure enough, who do I spot coming towards me, only my chauffeur. I pause briefly, check out how much further, and canter off towards the Dart station and the car, although I have to pause with the traffic to let a Dart train pass. And the rest is history.  To complete the memories, we have a bite of lunch in Café Java Blackrock, the favourite Sunday-brunch site of the brother (next in age, and between Etty and I) when he lived in Dublin and with whom I lived when I first came here. It is late afternoon before we finally get home. A great day.