With three of ‘team Mac’ having entered a month ago in the online frenzy in a field limited to 1000, we decided that to get the full Black Rock experience, we should tent at Pettycur and stay over on the night. Trouble was, you can’t book in advance and there are only 12 pitches; so we horsed it up the A1 to Kinghorn on Friday morning to arrive at Noon. As it was, we needn’t have worried as there was only one other tent there. After erecting the 'luxury' shelter, we nipped off to Kirkcaldy for lunch after considering the local pub, the Ship. It had changed since we were last there from what we remembered as a cosy hostelry to a restaurant affair. Not quite what we had in mind.
As with all top athletes, I read to settle my pre-race nerves (joking) and drank copious cups of tea, interrupted only for a small rhubarb tart and a 2 hour kip in the tent in the late afternoon. It was soon 7pm and we walked the mile along the road to the race HQ. The village was heaving with runners bobbing up and down the road. Numbers and chips secured, I left Mrs Mac and the young ‘un to their own strange pre-race rituals and tried myself to look sporty, warming up along the road to the beach. We were soon under the viaduct at the start and it was a pretty quick pre-race speech before we were launched westwards with bodies tumbling forwards in a helter-skelter dash up the hill.
I moved up along the road and as we hit the beach I fell in with a couple of HBT’s. One of them was Huw Jones. I recalled I had finished close to him in a previous race, so with no idea of my form currently, I dropped in behind him. We tramped through the small pools and across the brown catenary rippled sand, picking our way to find any semblance of a firm foothold. As we splashed from pool to pool, across the wet sand, there was something mesmerising about the sinuous geometry of the beach as the tide receded and we neared the turn.
Before any time at all, we got to the rock (with piper a top) and waded through only about 30 metres of water this year, before resuming on the return leg. Jones kicked just after the rock and I was slowly dropped coming back; but I didn’t fancy capitulating too soon and as we hit the tarmac I tried to lift the pace a little back into the final mile and through a good and noisy crowd in the village. Just before the viaduct I was passed by another HBT and fought to stay with him until the killer finish, up the short steep hill past the Auld Hoose and up to the Ship Inn. An Edinburgh AC runner passed me at the final ten, but by then I was reaching for the oxygen mask.
Pleased to have delivered a 28 minute run and surprised by 3rd V50, although I wasn’t on the same page or even in the same library as the v50 winner from Portobello who had a stormer, taking over 2 minutes out of me and the 2nd v50 from Dundee Roadrunners who finished just in front of me. Picked up my bottle of ale and waited for the others to come home before showering and getting a change of clothes. Strangely the showers were boiling, but only discharging a thimble full of water at a time.
We made the most of the evening visiting the Crown and then the Auld Hoose, where we chatted with a few of the locals. It’s a great race and a good night out.
On the way back in the dark to the campsite, we tried to avoid crunching the hordes of snails who seemed intent under a full moon on Friday the 13th of reaching the beach themselves. Less bright this morning. Lying on the ground for 7 hours is not quite what its cracked up to be. (www.blackrock5.org/) -thanks to Mrs Mac for the photies