healthiest when we live our history, and so become what we are.
Beside me runs a living representation of this truth. We race down a steep lane that will swing around to the left and bringus to Charles Fort. This is a star-shaped fort built in the seventeenth century on the site, like so many things in Ireland, of something far older: Ringcurran Castle. The fort was on most of our running routes and marked the lowest point in this rollercoaster of a run. The south and west of its walls â the Cockpit Bastion and the Devilâs â loom over us as we round the bend, and promise us a speedy turn, at least it might have been speedy if it had not involved climbing a frighteningly steep hill to the east and the start of the long road home to Knockduff.
I have to be careful on this descent. There is a Welsh proverb: Henaint ni ddaw ei hunan â old age doesnât come on its own. Lately, incipient old age has been consorting with some calf issues. Down a hill this steep, there is anywhere between seven and twelve times my body weight being put on each stride, and my left calf has already gone a couple of times in the past six months (I had to buy a mountain bike to exercise the beasts during my recuperations). Armed with new running shoes and new caution, my former charge down the hill has transformed into a careful plod. At the bottom of the hill, in the shadow of the Devilâs Bastion, I relax, if thatâs the right word, and prepare for the climb home.
Nina has the markings of a shepherd, but the massive, muscled shoulders and barrel chest of a dog bred for pulling. She is in effect the result of a great split in the wolf nation that occurred, according to current estimates, between 15,000 and 30,000 years ago (yes, current estimates are that exact). The division came about through random mutation and natural selection. No one is really sure why it happened, but probably the most plausible story looks like this. Some wolves, as a result of simple genetic variation, developed a lower flight threshold distance. That is, they were more ablethan the average wolf to tolerate the proximity of these new, strange, big-arsed apes. As a result, as well as obvious dangers, they were also presented with certain opportunities that escaped their more cautious peers. These wolves started to specialize in the refuse of the apes. They became scavengers, not hunters. Some wolves learned early on that if you canât beat the big-arsed apes â and it turns out you canât â then you have to join them.
The rest is history, and a momentâs thought is enough to convince us of just how incredibly successful this evolutionary strategy was: 400 million dogs on the planet compared to 400,000 wolves is pretty conclusive evidence. As a result of their new niche, dogs did undergo certain, relatively minor, phenotypic changes. Their heads became somewhat smaller in proportion to their body size: scavengers typically have smaller brains than hunters. But fundamentally the dog and the wolf are the same: 15â30,000 years is not enough time for evolution to finish its morning coffee, let alone fashion any decisive biological modifications. That is why, since 1993, wolves and dogs have been classified as the same species.
What use would a scavenger have for running â the sort of running we do together, the running of the pack? You can understand why short bursts of speed would be of use to a scavenger specializing in human refuse. Humans can be unpredictable. But what use would this mile after mile of metronomic trotting be to such a creature? But if it were no use to her kind, why does Nina love it so much? Why the blistering excitement, once we have hurried out of the door and she realizes what is happening?
You might think it is her breed. German shepherds were bred for herding, and Malamutes were bred for pulling sleds. There is a lot of running involved in both. This is true, butthis canât be all that
Beside me runs a living representation of this truth. We race down a steep lane that will swing around to the left and bringus to Charles Fort. This is a star-shaped fort built in the seventeenth century on the site, like so many things in Ireland, of something far older: Ringcurran Castle. The fort was on most of our running routes and marked the lowest point in this rollercoaster of a run. The south and west of its walls â the Cockpit Bastion and the Devilâs â loom over us as we round the bend, and promise us a speedy turn, at least it might have been speedy if it had not involved climbing a frighteningly steep hill to the east and the start of the long road home to Knockduff.
I have to be careful on this descent. There is a Welsh proverb: Henaint ni ddaw ei hunan â old age doesnât come on its own. Lately, incipient old age has been consorting with some calf issues. Down a hill this steep, there is anywhere between seven and twelve times my body weight being put on each stride, and my left calf has already gone a couple of times in the past six months (I had to buy a mountain bike to exercise the beasts during my recuperations). Armed with new running shoes and new caution, my former charge down the hill has transformed into a careful plod. At the bottom of the hill, in the shadow of the Devilâs Bastion, I relax, if thatâs the right word, and prepare for the climb home.
Nina has the markings of a shepherd, but the massive, muscled shoulders and barrel chest of a dog bred for pulling. She is in effect the result of a great split in the wolf nation that occurred, according to current estimates, between 15,000 and 30,000 years ago (yes, current estimates are that exact). The division came about through random mutation and natural selection. No one is really sure why it happened, but probably the most plausible story looks like this. Some wolves, as a result of simple genetic variation, developed a lower flight threshold distance. That is, they were more ablethan the average wolf to tolerate the proximity of these new, strange, big-arsed apes. As a result, as well as obvious dangers, they were also presented with certain opportunities that escaped their more cautious peers. These wolves started to specialize in the refuse of the apes. They became scavengers, not hunters. Some wolves learned early on that if you canât beat the big-arsed apes â and it turns out you canât â then you have to join them.
The rest is history, and a momentâs thought is enough to convince us of just how incredibly successful this evolutionary strategy was: 400 million dogs on the planet compared to 400,000 wolves is pretty conclusive evidence. As a result of their new niche, dogs did undergo certain, relatively minor, phenotypic changes. Their heads became somewhat smaller in proportion to their body size: scavengers typically have smaller brains than hunters. But fundamentally the dog and the wolf are the same: 15â30,000 years is not enough time for evolution to finish its morning coffee, let alone fashion any decisive biological modifications. That is why, since 1993, wolves and dogs have been classified as the same species.
What use would a scavenger have for running â the sort of running we do together, the running of the pack? You can understand why short bursts of speed would be of use to a scavenger specializing in human refuse. Humans can be unpredictable. But what use would this mile after mile of metronomic trotting be to such a creature? But if it were no use to her kind, why does Nina love it so much? Why the blistering excitement, once we have hurried out of the door and she realizes what is happening?
You might think it is her breed. German shepherds were bred for herding, and Malamutes were bred for pulling sleds. There is a lot of running involved in both. This is true, butthis canât be all that
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