Falkland Hill & Trail Race: or maybe just Hill Race...

It was about this time last week that Linds' brought in a new kettle. The old one was on the blink and we do a shedload of tea hereabouts. It was fresh, in a pastel green and very tidy unlike my big toe, which became the physical manifestation of the carnage that was endured at the Falkland Hill and Trail race last Sunday. In a naïve decision some time ago, I entered this race organised by my new running clubbies in Ecosse. I reasoned that I could also pick up the new vest and t-shirt that I had ordered and, better still, meet some of my new buddies. 

I belted up to Fife early doors, stopping at Kirkcaldy for a cuppa and was outside the Community Hall in Falkland with an hour to spare. Speedy Joe and Ant came up under their own steam. Speedy Joe (Cat) was running, Ant in support. Cat had said she’d enjoyed the race 2 years ago when it hosted the Scottish Trail Race champs. However, we concluded that this event was not the same one. And what about its title? Was it a trail race or was it a hill race?  As I pinned my number onto my vest I had visions of a gentle canter through the woods past the Stables café. ‘Not too challenging’ I mused. It was, as the Blancmange song, a ‘blind vision’. We warmed up and then doused our legs with neat TCP to ward off any sort of arachnids. I smelt like a WW1 field hospital. Perhaps a one in twenty solution might be more appropriate next time. 

With a field of 60 out of the 80 or so who had pre-entered, we made our part way up the hill to the start. After a lengthy pre-race synopsis of what we were about to experience we were off, me in my new psycho squirrels (the clubs mascot and nickname, apparently) oversized t - shirt.   I slotted in behind Steve Mathews of Hawkhill as we wound our way up and up through a narrow grassy path. The climbing eased off after a little as we crested a heather clad ridge and then hit a long grassy path.  My heart rate was off the scale. Speedy Joe disappeared somewhere up front and was soon lost from view. Meanwhile I sat in behind the Hawk. on the level he was bearing down on a Highland Hill Runner in front - lets call him Eric (cause that’s his name). However, the highlander from Alness was proving elusive and too busy trying to run down a Falkland runner (Dave Clark) ahead of him who was going well. Could I use Steve to slingshot myself to overhaul these two. Well, not likely. We turned left and began a steep grassy climb to some yon big hill with a trig point on it. Falkland man and Eric pulled away a little more and disappeared over the crest. 

Hands on knees working hard up the incline, I imagine Steve the Hawk had had enough of me, the Klingon heavy breather on his shoulder. I was invited to make my move just below the summit. I took the front near the top and got my first view of the descent. I thought if I can’t make up some ground on the runners ahead, I should perhaps think about trading in my Salomons for a crochet kit and a bottle of buckie. I was well out of practice having not raced in the hills for more than 18 months, but what I lacked in practice I made up in misplaced bravado (is there any other?) and I hurled myself down the hill through the heather to the style and, as we entered the forest with only 800m of greasy grey boulder and gravelly paths remaining, I went straight past Eric and just around the corner, I spied the flying speedy Joe. She was motoring downhill along the track ahead. It was quite a technical descent, but she was running with just a hint of consideration for her own well being. Me, not so much and with 200m to go I felt my toenail catch the top of my shoe momentarily as my toes were repeatedly forced into the end of the shoe as gravity, momentum and impact came together repeatedly on this last gasp dash. Would I have tried to pass her if I had had a chance? Well, I guess we’ll never know. I took away 2 bottles of beer and a hobble from the race. We finished 6^th and 7^th. Afterwards, we sat outside Campbells tearoom in the village with a coffee and scone before heading off. It took me all week to recover from a trashed set of quads and a general weakness and malaise which I put down to being old and trying too hard.  And for those of you who were still wondering…this is definitely a hill race.

Shettleston Open Meeting: Too Hot to Trot

 I’ve never ran a 3000m before; and I’ve not been to half the well known bars in Glasgow, even though, for 2 years, I went to school there. So I thought I’d combine both by entering the Shettleston open meet at ‘Crownpoint’. Yes, its sounds a glorious venue, majestic even, but don’t get your hopes up.  I managed to get an entry even though the website entry failed to take any money off me. The organiser kindly advised that, upon enquiry, my name was down.  A freebie then? A reward for my summer of toil.

 

I took the train to Waverley and then jumped on the Glasgow Train. Boy, it was hot. Arriving at Queen Street, I had 4 hours to burn. Did I mention it was hot. The wall clock thermometer thingy said 26 degrees as it began to wilt down the side of the window.  I checked out the Burger Bar on St Vincent Street that I had previously identified for a post race feast. I then moseyed along to the café at St Enoch Square in the Bank which I knew was air conditioned and, armed with a pot of tea, spent 45 minutes watching the world go by out the window.  There were some sites, Glasgow all t shirts and ice creams. Saltcoats, but without the sand or sea and more discarded sweety papers and plastic. Stepping back out into the heat I wandered to Greaves Sports and then Blacks where I bought a small backpack. It was more secure than the shopping bag I had brought. I re-packed my belongings and wandered across the Waterstones for another tea and glass of iced water. It was soon 5.30 and I made a move to find the Trongate, then Gallowgate. 

 

Passing the Barrowlands, things became rather unloved with litter and dereliction rather more prominent than the gleaming shiny buildings I had left around Buchanan Street.  The sun was melting the pavement and, even though I had a t shirt on, I was lathered. I heard the voice in my head ‘we’re all going to fry tonight’ as I passed the Wee Mans Bar. I registered at the track and looked for a secure place to put my bag before I ‘warmed up’ (an unfortunate phrase in the circumstances). I was referred to the leisure centre. However, when I enquired at the leisure centre, which was near empty, they advised the lockers were not in use due to Covid. What complete b#’ocks.  Bureaucratic nonsense. Bureaucraps. I returned to the track and left the bag with the officials and had a run along Crownpoint Road. Partway along I was invited in for a pint by 2 amused smokers standing outside a bar, but I declined.  I made my way onto the track and stepped up in lane 3 with around 15 others. I started promptly and made my way around 3 or 4 runners during the first 3 laps. On lap four I was passed by 2 males, one Cambuslang and a Bellahouston Harrier. I tried to tuck in but they ran away from me, lost in their own wee battle. I cracked on but my mouth was dry, my reserves were failing. The sweat was dripping across my face. The red track and sky, the searing heat, it was like Mars. I thought for a moment I saw Matt Damon in a spacesuit; the arid surface, a hostile sky bearing down on me. I was passed by one, then two women but grabbing the shreds of my dignity, I rallied on the final lap and ran across the line in around 10:50. It was hardly the stuff sonic booms are made of, but it was sub 11 and that was, in my book, a result.In the other 3000m heat, I noted an infringment of the new rules on nasal discharges being transgressed right in front of the crowd. It will be interesting to see if the runner is DQ'd or not.

 

I made my way out of Bridgeton as the sun came down and made my way to the Scotia Bar, before moving swiftly on to Bread Meat Bread on St Vincent Street where I enjoyed the meal. I had visions of walking to the accommodation but, by then, the meat sweats had got me in their grip and I elected for the underground to Partick. I managed a half in Deoch an Dorus, self styled as a ‘Partick Institution’.  It was tea and bed at eleven. 

 

The following morning I opened the day with a 5 mile run along the quayside with Ant’ before the weather broke and I made my way to the ‘Clockwork Orange’, thanking my host for his hospitality.  The rain had returned half a day early and I ended up with tea, bacon and eggs in a quiet Weatherspoons. It wasn’t my choice, but I had been around several blocks looking for a wee café rather than a coffee bar. When I asked what street it was on, the girl said cheerily ‘Jamaica Street’. I never recognised it, even though in the 70’s I’d spent my time twice a day on the bus coming up and down the grey grimy thoroughfare.  It was up to Queen Street for the train home and another 30 pages of my Denise Mina book ‘Still Midnight’. She sets her novels in Glasgow. Maybe her next novel will be called ‘A hot night in Bridgeton’ or perhaps ‘Scunnered with 2 laps to go’? Then again, maybe not.

Signals Relays & the Perth 10k

 

It was a tad on the warm side when we appeared at Hetton in Durham for the annual Signals Road Relays last weekend. The sun had broken through and we had plenty of time in hand before the start of the women's and vets race. It’s a 2 lapper, each lap comprising 1.1miles of rolling tarmac enveloping a large pond (or small lake if you don’t get out much). I was running leg 3 for the vets M50 team and with Hancox, Bennett and Bracken making up the team, it would need to be a heck of team that would beat us. The numbers were a little down on the usual, but with 60 or so teams from perhaps 30 clubs, there was plenty going on.

We led on the 1^st leg with Bracken. Hancox came in on the 2^nd leg still with only a few seconds over North Shields. They had won the vets title for the past however many years. However, the defection of Bracken from Shields to Morpeth a year or so ago changed the dynamics in our favour.  The Shields lad was a little close for comfort, but I told myself I was in good shape and blasted off for a terrific first lap. The second lap became blidy hard work very quickly as I ran out of steam, but I sensed I had put time into my opponent and sure enough I had put around 20 seconds into him at the finish. I crossed the line in 13:13, the fastest I’d run this event since 2017. And I needn’t have worried about the slim lead as Bennett, running the final 4^th leg flew around the course for the days fastest time and we ended up winning by a minute or so. Sunderland were 3^rd but were never in the running. In the woman's race, Speedy Joe ran the days fastest women's time and they also won their event. Tea and medals all round.

We took off soon after, not waiting for the presentation. We got to Perth at around seven, stopping only for fuel at Dunbar and a bar meal at the Steading off the Edinburgh By-pass. Still plenty of masks on and frayed nerves up here.  A couple of pints before bed and before we knew it, it was Sunday Morning. It was a pot of porridge and a coffee for breakfast before we hot-footed it down to North Insch, collecting our chips for the Perth Festival 10k. There was a queue for the toilets. I took the initiative and sauntered casually past reception at the Leisure Centre to use the other toilets where the queue was negligible.  Mrs Mac tried this tactic 5 minutes later, but by then the way to toilet nirvana had been blocked and the lavatory interlopers were chased back from whence they came.

Conditions outside were ideal and me and Speedy Joe warmed up. There was around 350 running and it was good to see things almost back to some semblance of normality in the running scene.  We started after a brief preamble and I got my head down and cracked on.  I overshot a junction at the end of the Park after 2km and doubling back, found myself behind Fife runner Alan Gibson. I sat behind him for 5 kilometres as he ground out a metronomic pace of around 6:05/km. I mused that from behind, the lines on the back of his neck and his cap pulled tight over his head, he might be in my category. However, it became harder and harder to maintain contact with him. There was no let up. I was goosed. It was almost a re-run of the Tay Ten in 2017 when I lost contact with my wee group. At 8km the elastic finally snapped and I lost contact. I was chased hard by Hawkhill runner Sandy McDougall who had been in front, but overshot the same junction on the return at the same place where I had gone wrong on the way out. She passed me with 50m to go. I crossed the line in 38:35, finishing 2^nd M50 to a Perth runner who managed a 36 minute run. Gibson won the M60 category and he certainly had a good run. We nipped up to Bankfoot to see some family and then took the long road home.  Speedy Joe won the Woman's race and managed a big PB. Mrs Mac also had a good run, so all in all, a pretty successful weekend on the running front.

I promised myself an easy week this week, but have, somehow, I've still managed 2 sessions and a weekly total of 50 miles looks imminent tomorrow. My next target is the 3000m at the Shettleston Meet next Wednesday. It’ll be a PB for sure….In all the years I’ve been running, I don’t recall ever running the 3000, so anything under 11 minutes will do nicely.