You can ring my Cowbell 5K

 I was going to be at a bit of a loose end last weekend. A number of family asked the loaded question 'What have you got planned this weekend, then?'...I was supposed to be doing a bit of insulation and cladding in the wee utility room, but I drilled through a water pipe a month ago; had to get the plumber out. He turned up after 36 hours. I never recovered from the trauma, so the project has tip-toed on at a slugs pace.  

The forecast was good for the weekend, and, on the Saturday morning, I was drawn to the local Parkrun. Its around the river and only down the hill from me. 

I have a recent history of using the Parkrun as a training run. I sometimes start with the crowd. On occasion, Ive joined in randomly and confused both the marshals and the runners. All good stuff. On this particular morning I did 2 miles and peeled off. Neil M was behind me using me as a pacemaker, I could hear him gently rasping the rhythm of a vet, behind me. But the 2 mile mark arrived and off I walked and left them all to it. I had bigger fish to fry, bigger bells to ring. Yes indeed. I had an entry for the Cowbell 5k at lunchtime. It's organised by Newcastle University and is held on the Town Moor. 

I walked back home and, at 10am, sat down to a plate of carrot soup - I find I run well on soup - although, not lentil soup - I presume something to do with the pulse (rate - get it!). I read the paper for a wee bit, then rounded up my trainers and vest. 

The 20 minute trip into Newcastle Central was easy enough. They have replaced all the parking meters now with 'flash your card' types and the parking charges have been ramped up accordingly. 

I jogged to the Uni. sports hall and got my number, then jogged up to the park. The crowd was pretty modest, and after a stretch and warm up, I counted about 80 or so starters. It was £11 to enter, so it couldn't have been the cost that put folk off. 

A few club mates were running and LR said she was aiming for a sub 19, which, if delivered, would be a P.B. It was a good day on a flat course, and she had TI in attendance as a pacer. I had a thought of jumping on this PB wagon and hanging on, but a wee dose of reality said 'don't be a numpty'  - you'll be doing well to go sub20'. 

We were counted down and off we went. I never saw them again, as they rattled off the front and into the distance. Instead, I put my head down and puffed my way around the course, having that continuous conversation in my head trying to keep the pace going and, all the while, distracting yourself from the absolute discomfort of being on the edge, all those old organs shuggling along and trying to squeeze out a convincing tune on an old body.  Squeezebox.

I hung on, feeling pretty reasonable halfway round, but by 4k my pace began to slow and I had to dig deep. 'Its only 2 laps round the track' came the voice..'Don't let him go'...said the voice.....' open your stride, its the same effort'...went the rhetoric. I managed to cross the line in 19.29. Fine. Sub 20 right enough. It took me a couple of minutes lying on the pavement to get my breath back. Old slapper.

There were celebrations by the tent - LR had managed a low 18 minutes, quite comfortably inside her P.B.   I came away with a warm glow that I'd equaled my S.B. from last year. I immersed myself in a short half an hour buying spree, a positive retail frenzy of new jeans and hoodie in the Toon. It was super busy, but its good to be good to yourself.  

This weekends extravaganza is the Balbirnie Trial Race - quite a different event. Should be a laugh.  Needless to say, no DIY was done that day.

Signals Relays 2025

It's been quite a while since I blogged. My last outing was the Royal Signals Relays in Mid February. This race, together with the Newburn Relays on Easter Friday, are about the biggest club events on the North East England Athletics Calendar. 

I can't quite remember how often I've run the Signals. For vets, its an Over 50 ticket for teams of 4. We run in a combined race with the Women, so plenty of runners on the course at any one time. 

I managed to shuffle in as one of four in a Morpeth team with Rob, Lee and Jason; all very decent runners. I was accompanied in the car to the event by Lornie, Cat and Linds who were variously in the women's senior teams. 

I felt pretty reasonable and collected my number  - 2nd leg. From what I heard there seemed to have been quite the discussion as to the most effective rationale in leg selection - who's to go first, who's to go last; but I don't subscribe to that, other than perhaps if you're on leg 1, you probably have more bodies around and in front of you to chase. As the race develops, the gaps ebb and flow, but generally stretch. 

This year they started the M50s around a minute behind the women, maybe longer, but I think I prefer it when we start together. 

We were sitting in around 8th position when I picked up the baton from Rob (there's not actually a baton - its just a term - so to speak). It's two rolling laps around the Hetton Lyons country park and there's a couple of good drags to deal with, although its true to say you also come down each hill after the ascent. 

It was cool and I started with my zebra arm warmers and thin kiddies wool gloves - you know the cheap ones. I find that cotton doesn't suit my hands. I soon had a grey haired runner from Crook in my sights, but I didn't want to over-cook it so it took me until the second lap to overhaul him. However, there was no-one else in sight, at least not in my race.  As it was I took it steady up the long drag around 200m from the end, and, as I came round onto the downhill and finish, I opened my stride, trying to look in control. 13.57 for 2.2 miles. Ten seconds up on 2023, but 20 seconds down on 2022. We finished 4th. Not too bad but no cigar. 

The girls did well and did even better after the race to wait 20 minutes in the snaking queue for the teas and coffees. ProTay came down from the frozen north to do the timing, so it was a big hello to Sharon for the second time in a week. 

I picked up the lurgy that's going around a week later and, although its not been a bad cold, its a clingy affair, so I was pleased to get out on the bike today for a slow 20 miles in the early Spring sunshine. Nearly finished 'The Hobbit', so I'm stroking my chin in eager anticipation of my next read.  

Bag O' Spanners

The Scottish Masters Cross Country was held last weekend in Dundee. I like Camperdown Park and thought rather than go 'tete a tete' (fnarr) with the youngsters in Falkirk, I would mix it with the oldies. My rationale was solid. I was old just like them, and am still wrestling with my competitive ego.  I just might not come last. Visoins of nearly making the the podium - laughable, I know. 

We had Master T, Marg and Lins up for the ride and after a sleety shower, the sun burst out of a grey leaden sky. It was still pretty cold. 

I got my number and bumped into 3 clubmates from the Bella club. They were all M40, so no use to me in my pursuit of Scottish Gold in the M60 team competition. The course was a 2 or 3 lapper and I was definitely not 'at the races'. I lined up. I had my hands in my pockets if I'd had any. I  commenced with faint vigour, tucking into the pack as they snaked up the first long grassy drag. There were isolated pockets of spectators, but otherwise we swept along and down one grassy bit and then grovelled up through the woods, stepping over the roots. 

I slowed and puttered:  idling mode. I was, not surprisingly, passed by a succession of folk keener than me. As we all had our age group labels on our backs, the first thing anyone does, is check out whose passing you (club) and then peer at their back with old eyes to see how old they are. If they're not in your age group, happy days. If they are, more heaps of misery.  On the second lap I let around five M60's past and had neither the interest nor energy to track them. Normally, I would have used each of them to tow me along for a good bit, but not today, no fight. I finished in 34 minutes for this 8 kilometre extravaganza and 12th M60, although the five that passed by were all within a minute of me at the end. 

We said goodbye to leafy Camperdown and we headed down to the Beinn Inn with the dog. It was dark when we arrived. We bathed, we dined and we crashed. 

More work on the core required. And perhaps a pep talk....!   

Free the (AXA) Raheny 5

I'm not a good flyer. I don't know whether to admire people who fly extensively and are impervious to the jeopardy of air turbulence, reverse thrust and the clandestine threat of the reinforced steel drinks trolley that they insist on wheeling out. I always feel I need to buy something from it to passify it, to appease the air gods. What is the Roman god of trolleys, anyway? 

So it was, last weekend, to be sure, as we took to the sky to Dublin to run the Raheny 5. The Irish National 5 mile Championships. A race that attracts 4000 competitors. A race that's got a reputation for fast times. A little bit of running tourism is what it was.

In fairness, our window of passage with Aer Lungburst was sandwiched between two low pressure systems, Eoywn and Herminia, so we had struck lucky. Cat had scouted out a small but perfectly serviced palatial next to Lansdowne Road on the south side of the City and I got a tad wet walking from the centre to the hotel.  I can add that I wasn't properly attired. We dumped the gear and the 3 of us ran four miles out along the dark, flat streets of the Suburbs for a shake-down before an evening meal in The Cow. From there we crossed the road and had a quick drink in the O'Shaugnessays. It was an early night. It was still raining outside. 

Come the morning we had a slap up breakfast and I helped myself to a pile of cheese to keep myself going until 3pm when the race was. We caught the Dart, the Dublin inner city train service to the centre. Wiping away the condensation with my sleeve, I sat peering out the window of the carriage. It was pouring. 

We had visions of spending an hour or two wandering around Dublin like the tourists we were, but the rain was so heavy, we repaired to cafe Nero. After coffee, I bit the bullet and took the gang to Primark to get a towel and umbrella. However, by this time the gear in my bag was already damp. After making a visit to Decathlon, where Ant made some purchases, we just hung around trying to keep warm. Shortly afterwards we grabbed a bus to Raheny on the north side, happy to be out of the rain again. 

We arrived very early and after picking up our numbers, we sat huddled in the corner of an old school hall trying to keep warm. As the crowd began to swell, folk were shaking the water off their winter jackets and dumping their wet bags all over the Hall. Behind us, on the low stage, was a wide assortment of housewares, such as sets of plastic plates, latte mugs and a toaster. I noticed the toaster was for the 1st F60. Crikey, I wondered if there was one for the 1st M60. If I was the lucky lad, would Michael O'Leary let me take it back across the Irish Sea without a 'extra baggage' surcharge? 

We changed into our vests and put our tracksuits back on and ventured out for a warm-up. The wind was dying down. Was it my imagination or was the rain receding also? By this time, with 15 minutes to go, the streets were jumping with all colour of Irish running vests. The Garda had closed the roads and there were plenty of supporters mulling around. 

We got back to the hall suitably warmed up and I jogged to the portaloos before the start, as there were no handy bushes to hide behind. Such were the queues, that I began to time the folk in front to see if I was going to miss the start, and I only just made it, squeezing through the gates with around three or four hundred in front of me. Not ideal. Was this going to be another start like Dribble Valley last month, where I spent ages trying to get past folk? The gun went and we began to shuffle forward. It was almost a full minute before I crossed the line, but after that I never looked back and it was full gas for 5 miles. I passed a rake of folk - always a mystery why they would be up front near the start. 

My pace was good and I felt fine. Both the wind and rain had dropped and we were cracking on. The course was mostly around the houses, with one stretch along the waterside. Difficult to anticipate the wind, but where I found it, I tucked in (as you do). 

There was a long drag a mile before the finish where I toiled, but overall it was a 32:18 for 5 miles, around 6.30 pace and 5th M60 place. I had a good dry boak at the end, much to the disgust of some of the unfortunates standing at the railings, but other than that, I was right as rain and up for a pint of the wet stuff. 

Cat did a quick 29 minutes for 15th, but both of us could have been quicker, as Ant pointed out, him being the trip team manager and all. 

We got the bus back and celebrated our runs with a set of dry clothes and a couple in the pints in the Flowing Tide on Abbey Street. The Dublin Publopedia website states that 'one barman takes no nonsense, and has been seen ejecting undesirables with considerable gusto and foulmouthed alacrity'. I don't know about that, but we were on our best behaviour. It was a slap up feed at the Old Spot on the evening. Top grub. 

We flew back the next day on Ryanhair. I didn't have anything from the trolley, cause as it came past, we were having some turbulence. Flying, eh? who needs it. 

Falkland Yomp 2025

I ran the Falkland Yomp in 2023 (link:http://runnerwanderings.blogspot.com/2023/01/). I wasn't in the best state, but I enjoyed the event and the course had a bit of everything. The youngster set the course record, but then she does that shit.  So we entered it again last year, but I had a medical, so none of us went. The organiser (Ian), however, advised that he would defer our entry until this year. That was pretty good of him - The Lomond Club are a decent bunch, so this year, we rocked up eager and ready to go. It was Cat, Marg and moi. Ant came along to shepherd us. 

There were 2 starts. One for the slowies and one for the fasties. Marg decided she would do the early start. I fancied it, but my ego hasn't quite deflated sufficiently.  The event, a 7 miler around the Falkland Estate in Fife is an adventure through Scots Pine, heather moorland and forestry gravel paths. This year,  Ian had even put on a bit of snow at the top of the hill to spice things up. Hill races are a little thin on the ground in Scotland in January. This event was oversubscribed, but we were in. 

The race HQ this year was at the Covenanters Hotel. Warm toilets provided and a small crowd. Very civilised. We got our numbers and said goodbye to Marg as she set off. I warmed up by running back to the car and then back to the start. The clothing choice was 2 layers, hat, woollen gloves and the i-rocs. Around 60 or so set off in the second group. After around 200 metres I was passed by Adrian from the Lomies. He looked comfortable and was in my age group, so I took my cue and tucked in behind him. And there I sat.  For 3 miles. We passed a few in front of us. He passed them; I passed them. I was attached like a limpet. He's a better runner than me, but I was up for a challenge. As I sat there, I fully expected to have to sit in for the whole race and take my chances in the sprint at the end. However, just as we ascended the second climb, he slowed. I assumed that he wanted me to take the lead, and I did, but he didn't follow and, not looking back, I ploughed on without any idea where he was. I finished in just under the hour. First V60 and 30 notes. Ego intact. Very nice. 

We caught up for a chat in the hotel afterwards and had a good natter. This is an ace race, and no wonder its in demand. The Youngster took another chunk out of her course record, which was impressive, and Marg enjoyed herself, so a good day all round. Thanks to Peter Bracegirdle for the excellent photographs.

DribbleValley 10k

I had a very pleasant Christmas, Thank you. Pressies all over the shop. Including a crisp pair of bamboo socks. Turquoise in colour. 

I indulged somewhat, as you do, but with the Ribble Valley 10k creeping over the horizon, I didn't overdo it.  

Sunday duly arrived and we were off sharpish, making our way down past Skipton and Gisburn to Clitheroe. I had planned to try and crack 40 mins for 10 kilometres before the end of the year and I identified this race as the likely vehicle for my attempt at this lung busting, misguided feat of endurance. The course had a reputation for fast times and a stellar field, so surely I could do something there. Anyway, as it was, I ran sub40 last month at Heaton, so the trip to Lancashire's best known 10k was a no-pressure event. Supposedly. Fifty quid in diesel and a 6am start said otherwise.

Speedy and Ant were in attendance and arriving in good time, we parked up around half a mile up the road from the race HQ. The toilets were clean when I paid a visit which was nice. The field of around 1200 were soon in evidence, the closed roads and abundance of weaving athletes warming up causing some mild road rage among the locals. As the field assembled at the start I began making may way toward the front of the crowd. However, I met clubmate Rob coming back from the front and we chatted before the off. I thought there were about 100 or so ahead of me, but as the gun went bang, it took me around half a minute to get over the line; we were still jogging/shuffling after a minute or so. There was no room to get round, the pavement was busy with punters and I realised I had made a fundamental mistake. As we descended into a dip and over the bridge, I caught sight of the field ahead, a mass of humanity in running vests climbing the drag in front. There must have been around five or six hundred in front. It took well over a mile to find some space to settle into my pace. The first mile over the snaking country roads was in excess of 7 minutes, the second a shade below that. There was a breeze ahead, but plenty of groups of runners to skip between as I worked away and I certainly had my work cut out.

I caught sight of Rob around 20 seconds ahead and thought he must have had a similarly baulked start. 

After halfway, I was waiting for the long slow downhill, but it never materialised. It was like running in Cumbria - short descents and short rises. I missed the 9k marker and was pleased to find myself on the finishing straight. I crossed the line, glancing at the digital clock at the side. 41minutes. Pants. My last 4 miles had averaged 6.26's/mile, But I had paid for the poor start. As I lay on a low wall by the side of the road wiping the slaver off my face and trying to recover, I mused that I had lost perhaps 40 seconds or so fannying about early doors. No matter. It was a decent 10k that, perhaps next time, should have an A and B race. My turquoise socks hadn't done it for me this time around. Even though I thought I'd worked them off.

Speedy delivered a 37 minuter, so not a disaster, but it was evident that we hadn't perhaps responded well to the course, our expectations had been a little high and the wind wasn't kind to us. 

We repaired to the car and made a quick getaway, stopping at the Gisburn Cafe and Deli for coffee and tasty warmed buttered scones. 

Meanwhile, back home, there's plenty of washing to do and I've just hung a load of washing out on the line. But a bit of bad news. Only one turquoise sock made it out of the washing machine. I suspect there is a hub of borrower sized sock freedom fighters around here and the close knit highly trained network spirits away socks to who-knows-where at any opportunity. Its either that, or its the old urban myth; that socks in a washing machine induced swirl can create their own black hole. What an enigma.

On the Book Report: Carl Hiaasens 'Skin Tight' was very good. Its my first foray into the world of Inspector McAdam in Last Man Standing by Dalgleish. Wonder if his socks disappear        

  

  

Irvine no more

Car trouble this week. The car itself was fine. It would have passed its MOT if it hadn't been for the fiendish array of fancy sensors that it carries. They failed. Its gonna be an arm and a leg again. Ouch. kerching. 

The immediate upshot of this, however, was that the Volvo team bus was grounded and I had to scrounge another car for the weekend trip to the West Coast. We had put our names down for the West of Scotland Cross Country on the Saturday at Erskine. This was followed by the Scottish National Cyclo-Cross Championships on Sunday to be held at Irvine. The borrowed car was, lets just say, 'modest', in the room department. We could fit 4 adults in. We could fit their bags and shoes in. We could even fit in the 2 dogs. However, there was no room for the cross bike or associated fittings, spare wheels and associated paraphernalia. Not, that is, without buying a roof rack. On the basis that I wasn't ever going to be in the top half of the field at the 'cross it wasn't such a big deal. A loss of twenty five notes. We still had the accommodation booked for the Saturday night in Irvine, not to mention an evening meal booked at the Ship (so I won't mention that). The Harbourside in the old town is surprisingly Bohemian; well, OK, some places might have visions of grandeur, but that's not a bad thing if it pulls the rest of the place up.  

The Saturday trip up the M74 was only punctuated by a tea and scone stop at the Warwick Bridge Cafe. We arrived without drama at Erskine and parked up. The junior races were in full swing. It was strangely mild which was a bonus. Cat cleared off to get her number and warmed up. I wandered around with M and the dog, all of us stretching our legs. It looked a good course. Last year at Strathaven I had to pull out around halfway due to a tightening calf. This year I had my eye on an adversary in the same age group.  Cat was offski and I warmed up shouting encouragement. She finished 5th and had to work hard for it. 

I lined up with shorts, vest and spikes. I was near the front. Start as you mean to go on. After the gun, I settled into the middle of the lengthening pack. There was no sign of the target for the day, so I ploughed on ahead. It was a three lapper, 7.5k affair. 

Come the start of the second lap I was caught and passed by an old bloke. He didn't seem to be breathing hard, but I was certain he was in my age group. I stuck with him for the second lap, but the string snapped at the start of the 3rd and final lap and he drifted off ahead, but not very far ahead. I tucked in behind a tall young Ayr bloke and he towed me to the line. I was done in. Full gas and the bottle had been emptied; the gas purged. 

After catching my breath, I jogged back to the tent. The wind was picking up and it was time to change and make for the car. I said my goodbyes to the good folk at the Bella club and we took off, getting down the road to Irvine. The results service these days is pretty amazing what with live results and all. Not so long ago it could take days before a pdf or excel sheet of results appeared somewhere on the web. Turns out I was 1st M60 and the old bloke who passed me, whom I was sure was even older than me, was, in fact, quite a bit younger. Really? Well, blow me down with a feather. Nice to get a result, even if the competition wasn't all there. Then again, neither am I.

It was a slap up feed at the Ship and bed before 9pm. Cat took me on a splendid 9 miler on the Sunday Morning and we had a nice brunch at Go - also on the harbourside. All good. Thanks to A & M for the foties and support.

There's still time to do a couple of crosses. I finished one last weekend at Hetton Lyons and it was as daft and as good fun as I recall.