Surfing

"Yeah, I think the left looks rideable".

Back in the summer, Cian went surfing.
Alright, that sentence needs some qualifying.
Back in what passed for a summer this year in Ireland (this was our fourth year home in a row and weather-wise, by far the worst), Cian stood up, rather shakily, on a foam board as it was pushed ever so gently in shore by the crumbling wash of a gentle wave.
We were down in Clonakilty, the beating heart of West Cork, for a few days and let me begin stating straight off that An Sugan serves the best pint of Murphys anywhere. That glorious glass of velvet smooth goodness is reason enough to visit the town.
And then there is the surfing down at Inchydoney beach where we enrolled Cian in a beginners surfing class for 2 days. Motivating us was a chance to meet my cousin Kay and her two boys who were over from England at the same time we were home. And why did we want to meet with the boys (besides to commiserate with them for having a Cork woman for a mother)? Well, I had managed to convince Kay and her family to come over and visit us all here in Japan later on in the autumn (a long post for another day), and we thought it would be a good idea to meet up beforehand so the second cousins could get acquainted.
And get acquainted they did. Along with getting very wet. Kay had enrolled her boys in the surf school the year before, by all accounts they had loved it, and they were back for another session this summer. Cian, in awe of his father's exploits all along the Pacific side of Hokkaido, wanted to experience some of that gnarly big wave magic for himself, so he readily agreed to take part. Unfortunately the weather didn't agree to take part.
God, but it was bitter those two days. I have surfed in February here in Hokkaido when its been so cold that ice forms on your wetsuit as you are walking back from the shore to the car. But it still wasn't as bitter as the weather in Inchydoney last August. If it wasn't for the fact that Cian was (a) born in the depths of a Hokkaido winter and from a very young age (i.e. 2 days old) was exposed to freezing temperatures; and (b) he has inherited some of his Mammy's ahem, 'roly-poly' subcutaneous fat genes, especially around the midriff section; he would surely have succumbed to hypothermia. But the boy put on his game face (along with his 5 mm wetsuit, hood, gloves and booties), and caught himself some waves.
And so it begins...dudes.

Summer 2015 in Ireland.

The Hiroo Santa Land Marathon Taikai

Well, well, only 37 posts for the the year and only a month to go until we say sayonara to 2015. I am determined to beat last year's paltry total of 49, which, yes maths fans, requires that I write something new every 3.333 recurring days. And unfortunately those days don't recur.
But where to begin? It's not like I have nothing to write about. Quite the opposite in fact. We had a busy summer and an even busier autumn and it is only now, as the first snowflakes fall (as they did today. On my bare head. Whilst sitting atop a surfboard down at Itanki this chilly afternoon. I really should have worn my 5mm booties. And at my age and scant hair coverage, I should definitely have worn a hood), that we have time to pause, take a breath, and catch up with the past couple of months.
So, indeed, where to begin. The prompt came from my good friend Master down in Hiroo (another good surfing spot), who rang during the week to inquire if everything was alright in the Gaynor-Takahashi household. Having not added anything to this blog since my fey, the-elvenfolk-go-to-Lake-Toya post, he was concerned that I might have succumbed to a prolonged illness or something.
Nope, I reassured him, just lack of time and eh, commitment.
But he did make me think that for my 'comeback' post I should really write about one of the highlights of the sporting year, the Hiroo marathon. Or rather, the 2015 Ougon-Douro Hiroo Santaland Marathon, to give event its full, majestic title. As Sanae and myself met, married and ahem, 'made' Cian in Hiroo, our ties to the town are many so it was only natural that we participate. Especially as this was the inaugural event and when history is being written you want to be holding the pen, or something. I have no idea - that metaphor came and went before I could fully grasp it.
So on Saturday, October 3rd, we hopped in to my trusty little Mazda and drove the four and half hours to Hiroo. And by the end of the journey my stiff body knew exactly how little my trusty Mazda is.
However, the aches and pains were eased by the marvelous dinner the Master of Goody and his wife gave us, followed by a mountain of ice cream for Cian who claimed he was 'calorie loading' before the big day.


Their generosity also extended to hosting us for the night so that we were fresh and ready for the race. Or rather, races, as Cian, Sanae, and myself were running different distances. Cian was up for the 3km, Sanae was going for gold in the 5km, and Daddy was aiming to be the first foreigner home in the 21km. We were blessed with the weather, a cool, crisp, blue sky day, with only a gentle breeze to contend with. I was off first and the route took us through Hiroo town before going out and back along the Ougon Dooro (Gold Road - so named for the exorbitant amount of money it cost to build it). The road runs along side the sea and this part of Hokkaido is renowned for its great waves (something I was happily oblivious to when I actually lived there. Love will do that to you). As I jogged along I couldn't help but notice the nice swell rolling through and then just beyond Funbe, a group of surfers lined the road cheering us on while out on the sea on a stand-up paddle board, Santa himself waved to us. Man, I nearly quit the race right there, but I kept going, to finish in 1:48, my best time in over two years. That's Hiroo for you. Cian finished 6th in his age group while Sanae stunned the world of athletics by being the 8th women home in the highly competitive 5km race. (Though there was subsequent talk of 'Russian methods' being used to achieve this.)
Then it was back in my little Mazda for the still-no-shorter four and a half hour drive back home. And if I thought my body was stiff after the drive on Saturday...