Omen Recce at the Ochils

 
We found ourselves in Alva on Saturday in the mid morning sunshine. A part of Scotland I was not very familiar with and a village that appears to be going through a transition. A more spectacular backdrop is hard to find, the Ochils rising majestically vertically from behind the town. The yellow gorse was in full bloom and there were loads of walkers out. We donned our gear for the recce for next weeks 'Up and Down Mountain Trials' and eventually found our way through the Silver Glen onto the start of the Alva Glen, a river cut ravine. There were other couples who we spied salted around the course and who looked suspiciously like they were also familiarising themselves with the topography. All looked lean, upright postures...folk who hadnt had a good slap up feed in weeks. 

We hit the wide gravel path and headed straight up the glen. It rose steadily and I was soon lagging behind Speedy Joe. At the top we saw two others running down from the right. We nodded and then spent a good several minutes looking at the photo copied map I had squirreled away in my bag. I couldn't get my bearings at all. The visibility was good and the hills rolling. However, I didn't have enough features on the map to fix my position. Speedy dug out google maps on the phone and we eventually got going on the right route, but only after a 2 mile excursion to Ben elsewhere - don't ask me where? We said hello to the various walkers and folk who seemed more intimate with this part of the Countryside than we were. The clouds began to clear and it warmed up as we descended before climbing again and I stopped for a gel and some water and salt at the top of Ben something at 8 miles or so. We began to descend and this time managed to keep to the course, meeting a walking couple whom we had passed on the way up to compare notes. Of the bizarre sights on our travels, we noticed a single black lambs leg on the grass, and, later, a grey squirrel wandering around the moors without a tree in sight. Omens or what? and if so, omens of what?  Squirrels are totems of preparedness, animals known for preparing for harder times. They are also known for their playfulness and energy, but I certainly wasnt feeling 'the squirrel'. As far as the lambs leg goes, I am really not sure. An omen of a big feck- off raptor, maybe? The dreamzone website suggests a lambs leg represents a gathering of friends and family to an important event. Where do they get this stuff? That said, it seems to fit, given Speedy has managed to get herself selected for the Home Internationals Womens Team this coming weekend and a wee posse are trooping along.  Just watch out for the raptors; that's all I have to say on that matter!

As we came down to the bottom of the Glen we noticed a big bloke on the ground and I enquired if he was alright. He said he had bad leg cramps - so it was my turn to dish out the advice and salt tablets to him  - his friend, who had been walking ahead, arrived and apologised for abandoning his buddy. No worries. We said our 'take care' and no sooner had we began to descend when I bumped into Roger Van G. an old clubmate from the Hawks. We had a wee chat and with the sun beginning to generate serious joules, we soon got going again. We nearly took a shortcut through a farmyard, but the posh bloke who owned it shooed us away, blidy plebs - we were sent packing. The very idea of it! Precious... 

Back at the car we changed, checked for beasties and took off to find a nice deli to have a coffee and Panini. Regrettably, neither Alva nor Menstrie appear to have thought of opening anything as advanced as this, so there's a business opportunity for someone out there. We stopped at the rather less exotic Baynes Bakers outside Stirling and sat in the sun on the kerb for 15 minutes with a basic pastry thing and a cuppa.  Its Lomond Uphill on Friday and a return to Alva on the Sunday. Wish us luck!      

5K Champs & Ben Lomond: Double Header...

 

We rocked up early Friday evening at Marine Drive in Granton. After a dispiriting encounter with a faceless and regressive self-ordering kiosk at McDonalds that refused to issue us with a receipt for 3 coffees, we re-grouped, we regained our composure and we were all set to do battle with the north-westerly that was going to make landing a PB at the Scottish 5k champs a big-ask. The course at Silverknowes is flat and scenic. There was plenty of joe public around as the 700 or so competitors of all shapes, gender and age preened, stretched and went through their cooky pre-run routines. Our no.1 5k champ had injured his ankle a week before so he couldn’t run, but had come along in support for me and speedy joe. He was nominated principal jumper carrier. After a 2m warm up, we were set to go and I lined up with the other 500 or so men. I was stood next to Willie Jarvie whom I hadn’t seen for a long time and a wee group from Motherwell and Edinburgh AC toward the back. We took off from the gun and with a tailwind careered down the promenade at breakneck speed. It was a 5.59 first mile. At 2km, we turned into the wind. It was then that I instigated ‘Operation windshield’: A shameless display of drafting into a brisk headwind. I was sandwiched between a huge Motherwell runner and a tall Edinburgh A.C athlete. It was a masterful display in the art of minimising drag; RuPaul wouldn’t have approved. God knows I’ve had enough practice at hiding behind runners, a skill developed during my formative years hiding in the peloton. My second mile was only 5 seconds slower than my first. I sat in with the wee group, a flying ‘v shape’ being buffeted ahead of me and my wingmen close around me. If they got too close, I extended my elbows with just enough lift to ensure they knew I was the central occupying force. I kept my eyes fixed on Edinburgh mans tail-lights and my head down. At the turn with 1km to go, I was flat out back in with the tailwind and immediately the group broke and I drifted into the finish on nothing but fumes and slaver, finishing in 18:54. I was rewarded with a discreet dry boak behind the portaloos (as you do when you’ve over done it!).  Speedy joe started with the women and came in 21^st in 17:50 something. We eased off with a warm down, a fish supper in Pilton and bed in the Travelodge in Livingston – and very nice it was too. Remarkably. Quiet, cheap and comfortable.

Saturday saw us up and out by 8.30am and we were sat in the Drymen Inn by 10 dining on egg and sausage rolls and what-not, in readiness for the Ben Lomond Hill Race. If you recall we had been up here on a recce a month ago so we felt full of vim and vigour at the prospect of getting to the top within the hour on a course we knew.

We caught the shuttle bus from Balmaha  and were in Rowardennan in good time. The kit check was painless and after some thought, we agreed it was a one layer vest day. There were around 90 in for this classic and it was my second running of the race. I made my way to the start overhearing one runner describe the race to his partner as being ‘like a park-run, but just with a lot better runners’. We were sent on our way by the organiser and there were plenty of startled folk on the path meandering up and down the hill as the long colourful line of puffing billys came past. I had an early ding-dong with a leggy Gilmore from Carnethy before leaving him behind near the summit as we were taken off the path by the crafty folk of Westerlands.  Not sure why. However, the fast lads were soon coming back our way out of the mist at breakneck speed on their return and I spied Speedy joe who passed me with a nonchalant nod and a look of steely determination. I was soon at the top, enveloped in grey cool cloud, and grabbed a gubful of water before tear-arsing it back down the hill, weaving and dodging the various punters, trying not to trip and thanking those who yielded and harumphing at those who stood their ground. It was a 1:32 finish and 27^th for moi. Speedy joe had landed first lady and 10^th overall, so that made all the difference to the mood on the way back. It was a quick soup and chat with a Bella clubmate before we grabbed the first bus back and made the long pilgrimage back to Northumberland. I’ve now got 6 weeks to get a couple of long runs under my belt before the target event at the end of June.            

Stuc a Chroin 2022

 

The Stuc a Chroin 5000 hill race has a formidable reputation. I always fancied Jura, but never managed to commit. I did Ben Nevis is 2009 in bleak conditions. That's unfinished business. It left a mental scar, a wet one. This year there appears to be no dodging some of these big beasts for me. If you enter them, you have to turn up and run. Speedy Joe was up for this challenge and Missus Mac fancied a trip away and a supporting role. The event which starts and finishes in Strathyre is organised by the village. We were advised last week that more than 300 were running this Scottish Championship event, but there was no start list, so we weren’t any the wiser. I had consulted the Mountain forecast the night before and it was grim. Minus wind chill, wind and rain. We were a little apprehensive on how well the course would be set out and agreed that if we found ourselves lost in the clag, just go west to descend down into Glen Ample. 

We drove up through the borders. At Lauder the car went through a pool of sewage slurry and we were blasted by a revolting stench that seemed to have come straight from the vomitorium.

We arrived in the village with 2 hours to spare and after the kit check, we fannied about in the back of the car trying to decide what to wear. It was cool and spitting, but not half as bad as the forecast. However, what’s down in the valley is not always what’s up in the peaks. We went with a couple of layers and a lightweight jacket and headgear. Some of our buddies were waltzing around like it was the height of summer. Most were in shorts. We considered the tick risk ‘high’. Given that much of the race involved stretches of heather and reedy grass, we were both in tights. I sprayed my leggings with a dilute elixir of tcp. However, had we wanted a proper insecticide that would repel all insects and mammals we should have simply scraped some of the putrid slurry that had coated the underside of the car.

They were selling some Stuc merchandise at the kit check. However, it was evidently stuff from the 2019 edition, which was a pity. I fancied the hoodie, but they only had one, and that was in a 2xl size. I decided I might have a t-shirt. However, they only had small sizes in the fluorescent pink, and the small size looked like it would be too big for Billy Bunter. I think they missed a trick there in terms of fund raising. At the start I noted some familiar faces, Mudge, Harris, Lennox, Smith, Davis and a large turnout from the south of the border. We were sent on our way by a piper after a short address by the organiser. ‘Stick to the path and if you jack, report yourself to the nearest marshal’…’and consider yourself to have failed’, I thought). 

We wound our way up through the forest and onto the first ridge, where we doubled back on ourselves to follow a deer fence on a tricky camber. We dropped down into Glen Ample and I had already consumed 3 of the 7 salt capsules I had with me.  After the 2^nd water stop we began the steep ascent to Ben Each and it was long and steep. Some parts were so steep I was forced to grasp the old bent and pock-marked cast iron military fence posts and rusty wire that periodically marked parts of the route. No one came past. I was grateful my face wasn’t stuck up behind someone’s backside as I led up our little group vertically. The gradient soon yielded and the visibility dropped. We were into the grey swirling clag. There was little chance of getting lost however. This was the best pegged out course I have ever ran, so route selection was one thing less to worry about. We went through a checkpoint and came down out of the clag and, catching my breath, I was relieved that we were on the descent.  I even cracked a couple of jokes, but no one was speaking.  This is because the descent was a pre-curser to another impossible rocky rise. Up we went again and back into the mist and it took another 30 minutes of up, up and more up to reach the summit of the Stuc by which time any number of fast runners were passing us on their return.  One lad went flying as he came toward us and I momentarily thought that I was going to get wiped out. Euthanised at 3000ft. What a way to go! His choice of language was unfortunate as a few of us daytrippers looked on, bemused. We could have been offended, but we didn’t have the energy. Speedy joe came past and we exchanged looks of modest bewilderment and mild anxiety.

I began to descend picking my way down through the many jagged mini crags that jutted out from the grassy hummocks. Thankfully the peat was dry underfoot, although the drizzle was making some of the rock surfaces dicey.  We were up, then we were down again, and then up and then it was the second checkpoint at the Ben. Still nothing to see as the rain and cloud hugged the mountain. I was a little dismayed at how few folk there were behind me. I had a couple more salt capsules and by then, I had finished my 3 gels. On the way down I fished into my sports vest and dug out a cereal bar. I stopped at a burn to gulp in several mouthfuls of water from my cupped hands. Various runners came past me, but by then I was so puggled I had stopped racing and was just trotting, trying not to trash my quads. It was another capsule in Glen Ample but there was still another 30 minutes of running to reach the end. The speed of the runners in front of me going back up the valleyside was glacial, everyone knackered, everyone walking. The Stuc had made silent, bankrupt zombies of us all. Back at the top, the plod along the deer fence was murder and I nearly tripped a couple of times on nothing much through sheer fatigue. I finished around 3:17 mins, all thoughts of keeping up with messrs. Smith and Davis now just a wisp of fresh air. 

Within 20 metres of the finish line, I sporadically got down and crawled toward the line, before rising and shaking my head as I ran over the line. The time-keeper said he thought he’d have to go and help me to the finish when he saw me on my knees. I was messing about. I’m not attention seeking, it was just how I felt. It was plenty of juice and a sad half cup of tepid soup at the end, but I was happy to finish. Speedy joe came in around 10^th, but we agreed it wasn’t our sort of event; not enough continuity of running. Too steep, Too long maybe, certainly for me. Had we lived in the Lakes or Mamores maybe, but you need to enjoy flogging yourself endlessly in training on the hills for this sort of sport. The occasional Sunday in the Cheviots isn't going to cut it. Dalkeith gave us a fish supper and it was an easy drive home, with no obvious injuries or hirpling afterwards. The rain washed the smell off the car. The salt ensured I didn't cramp, but I'm going to have to go and get my physiology tested to see how much I need to be taking for these daft carry-ons.  Not an event for a budding 60 year old. Mind you, I would have been 3rd in category had I been a year older! wishing my life away, I know. On the upside, its Ben Lomond next week. ffs....