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.