Tóg go bog é

The recovery from the double marathon last weekend has been pretty spectacular. One blister and back running by Wednesday. I’ve allowed that last week (since Sunday) to be an easy week and have only gone running when I felt like it as opposed to sticking to some sort of training plan.

This is because, in the past I’ve been guilty of over doing it in the week or two following a big event and have allowed the confidence boost the event gives you to over ride the recovery you need to come back from a long weekend. This normally manifests itself in a niggling injury getting progressively worse after event as the numbskulls in my head ignore the ones in the legs.

So my plan is to take it easy and then do another few build up weeks to the Wicklow Way Ultra and start testing off-road gear at that.

The blog post title? If you’re Irish it’ll make sense and you can stop now. But if you’re one of the 11 people from Kuwait, the 4 from Albania or the guy from Afghanistan who’ve read the blog in the past year (stats are great, aren’t they?) then read on:

Part of being Irish is having to study our mother tongue until you’re 18. As a final test of how little you’ve learned in 14 years they test your oral proficiency in Irish. To be fair, it wasn’t hard but when I was a little boy they were less than useless at teaching it.

The big problem with this when I was a kid was that you had to not only be fluent in Irish but you had to pretend you’d come to school on a donkey and cart with a bit of turf for the fire and smoke a clay pipe and take your orders from the Big House. Speaking it with a broad and barely decipherable rural accent was also mandatory. Kind of like trying to speak English with a west country cider accent or a Glasgow accent.

In short it was a kind of cultural brainwashing that pretended the 100 years from 1890 – 1990 hadn’t happened.

To master this clay pipe dialect you ended up learning a whole load of what we’d call pishógs – saying and mannerism that you’d expect from a man who passed his days supping flat porter to the ticking of an old clock. But you were only 17.

Some of these saying make their way into Hiberno-English – the sort of English that Hollywood would go mental for in some sort of plastic paddy comedy. All passive emotions and curly-wurly ways of saying yes and no.

Anyway, only a few of them stayed with me. Nadair ó neamh anuas, Ar eagla na heagla, Fé mar is eol duit, Seachain do gnó fein, Fadhb an dífohstaíocht and the the one that brings me to the title of this post:

Tóg go bog é

Take it easy.

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