Nobody knows where the Foot came from; it just turned up one Sunday morning during our run from Flotterstone.We were contouring round Turnhouse Hill, through the small wood halfway up on the south side, when Dave heard a funny flop-flopping sound behind him.He turned round and to his astonishment he saw a single foot hopping along the path behind him.He shut his eyes tightly and thought of all the malt whisky he had consumed the night before.When he opened his eyes again the Foot was still there, wriggling its toes in front of him.He was greatly relieved when Keith called out, "Hey, Dave, where did you find that foot?"We all gathered round to look and the Foot seemed to like being the centre of attention; it wriggled its toes some more and hopped up and down a little.We didn't know what to do and nobody wanted to touch the Foot.After a while we decided to continue our run.The Foot followed us back down toFlotterstone then it disappeared into the bushes at the side of the car park.You can imagine the conversation in the Inn afterwards; we just couldn't believe what we had seen.We were understandably reluctant to tell anyone else about the Foot.

The following Sunday the Foot was waiting for us in the car park.It was sitting under the bush where Eddie usually parked his car, slowly tapping its big toe on the ground as if it had been waiting for some time.The Foot seemed to enjoy our company and it followed us all around our usual route.It moved with a sort of bounding hop and could travel surprisingly fast when it wanted to.The only thing it didn't like was the big patch of bracken near the bottom of the hill.It slipped on a muddy patch and slid down off the path.We could hear it crashing about in the bracken and occasionally we saw it leap above the vegetation as it tried to see its way out.Harry had to call to it to guide it out of the undergrowth.

The Foot became our regular companion on our Sunday runs.We tried to hide it as we ran past walkers but inevitably a few people would see it.We got used to seeing people gaping open-mouthed and rubbing their eyes as we ran past.Whenever it rained the Foot would leave its print in the mud on the paths.Before long there were strange rumours of a one-legged vagabond living wild in the Pentlands.Unfortunately the Foot didn't help much with club recruitment.I well remember when two very attractive sisters wanted to join the club.They were very keen to accompany us on our regular Sunday run.We tried to dissuade them but they wouldn't take no for an answer.They turned up early the following Sunday but as soon as the Foot hopped out from under its usual bush one of the girls gave out a blood-curdling scream.The pair of them ran off as fast as they could and they never came back again.

Our relationship with the Foot changed as the season turned to autumn.We decided to humour it by having our first night run of the season from Flotterstone.Sure enough, the Foot was waiting for us when we arrived.It really seemed to enjoy running in the dark; every so often it would jump for joy with a little pirouetting hop into the air.We also noticed that the Foot seemed to have an uncanny ability to find its way in the dark.This was to prove a vital skill later in the winter.

The run was such a success that we decided to have all our night runs of the season in the Pentlands.The Foot really enjoyed the runs and we didn't have to worry about anyone else seeing it.Of course, we tried to vary our routes, which took us to some parts of the Pentlands we hadn't been to before.During the February run we got into bad trouble.We were a long way out in unfamiliar territory and the weather began to deteriorate rapidly.At first it got very misty but before long it began to snow heavily.Although the leader had brought a map, no-one had thought of bringing a compass.Before long, we realised that we were lost and getting colder by the minute; our situation was becoming serious.

It was Jim who had the idea of getting the Foot to help us back.He gently tied his head torch around the Foot's ankle and waited to see what would happen.The Foot began to hop slowly forwards into the mist so we all followed it.We seemed to follow the bobbing light for a long time and we were all praying that the Foot was going in the right direction.Eventually we saw other lights through the mist ahead - it was the Flotterstone Inn.

We were so thankful that we took the Foot into the Inn with us.We lifted it up onto a stool in the corner so that no-one else could see it.The Foot had a sort of little mouth on the top of its ankle so Willie tentatively tried to give it a few drops of beer.This went down very well and the Foot wriggled its toes with pleasure.The evening developed into a memorable event.Much beer was drunk by all and we adopted the Foot as our club mascot in appreciation of our rescue.Its official title became known as The Club Foot.The malt whisky was a bit of a mistake.Moira had some cask strength with her and decided to see if the Foot would like it.It did, very much so.Before long, the Foot became totally intoxicated.It jumped up onto the table and broke several glasses.Fortunately, before anyone else had time to see what was going on, the Foot fell off the table, bounced off the stool and dropped onto the floor.We lined a sports bag with a couple of jerseys and rested the Foot in the bag.Bill took it home to sober up.Apparently it woke up in the middle of the night and kicked at the door until Bill let it out.

I'm not sure who first had the idea of entering the Foot into a hill race.It was one of those crazy ideas that are thought up during a good night's drinking and are still around the next day.Chapelgill seemed a good idea as it was a short race and not too far away.We picked up the Foot from Flotterstone the following Saturday morning and took it to the race.It seemed to enjoy the ride and hopped up onto the dashboard to see where it was going.This wasn't too good for the driver but Ian managed to get it onto the back window ledge, where it hopped back and forth for the rest of the journey.

Hilary had knitted the Foot a special yellow sock with the name "Carnethy" in red around the top.We decided not to register the Foot in the race as there was nowhere on it to pin a number.We lined up for the start with the Foot in the middle of our group.When the starting gun went off, we all surged forward.At first the Foot followed Andy up the hill.Soon it seemed to get the idea of racing and began to pull ahead; it began to catch up with the leaders.Fortunately Richard had walked up to the top of the hill beforehand to spectate.When he saw the Foot hopping towards him, he managed to turn it round and send it back down the hill again.

The end of the race was an unforgettable disaster.The Foot turned out to have an astonishing descending speed.It came hopping down the hillside in great bounds.Even when it tripped, it just rolled over the right way up again and continued bounding down the hillside.The second runner, John, heard the Foot coming down behind him.As it passed, he took one look and fell down in a dead faint.The leader, Colin, half turned to see what the commotion was and saw the Foot coming up beside him.He totally lost his concentration and crashed head first into a thick clump of heather.Frank was manning the clock at the finish.He was so dumbfounded at the sight of the Foot bounding across the finish that he forgot to look at the clock and time anyone else across the line.Afterwards he refused to give out any prizes for the race and went home for a stiff drink.

Word quickly spread through the hill running community that a single Foot had won the race.Most people thought that it was an elaborate joke but shortly afterwards the FRA rules were changed to stipulate that every competitor must have two feet in order to qualify in the race results.The Foot continued to run with us as Winter turned to Spring and the leaves began to appear on the trees.It used to enjoy chasing any lambs that we ran past.One Sunday the Foot was not waiting for us in its usual place under the bush.We waited about for a while then decided to go on without it.Halfway up the hill, on a muddy patch, we saw the Foot's distinctive left footprint in the mud.Beside it was a perfectly-formed right footprint.We never saw the Foot again but sometimes, when I come down through the little wood on the side of Turnhouse Hill, I think I can hear the patter of tiny Feet.