Lairig Ghru 2022

 The Lairig Ghru was my big target for the year and it didn’t disappoint. With 250 or so entered, there were eventually 200 finishers for this mountain marathon. I can’t recall why I wanted to do this originally, but its remained a goal over the last year or three. We found the hostel in Braemar after a little confusion and I paid the bloke an extra twenty quid for the 6 bed room rather than the 3 bedder we had booked a fortnight earlier. We were in the attic and the room very basic. We were glad to get to bed around ten after a cuppa. Sunday morning arrived. After rescuing Mrs Mac from the shower cubicle which she had somehow managed to lock herself within, it was breakies. I had porridge and a croissant and listened to the other 3 guests in the dining room speculate about the impending race in the light of their past race experience. I wandered into the village to get my kit checked and got my number and warmed up along a back road. I elected to go with a long sleeve top and tights in the light of the forecast which wasn’t very encouraging. However, after 2 or 3 miles along the road, I was cooking as the sun came out and the mercury rose. 

There was a good mix of folk and I recognised Davis and Duncan but not many others.  I latched onto a small group as we made our way west then north. Thankfully, as the wind rose, it was behind us, which was a big bonus. 

The camera-phone was out, then in, then out and I dropped a few places here and there fannying about trying to capture the remote, ancient beauty of the setting. As we headed north it clouded over and by the time we got to the river crossing it was cool and cloudy. One of the two girls I was with at the time lost her footing on the rocks and went for a dip; not quire fully immersed but near enough. She dropped back a bit shortly afterwards. 

With it being so dry there was a lack of burns with fresh water crossing the route and I stopped to top up my water supply on several occasions. I had one bottle of 330ml and a spare. Predictably, being over-dressed and the heavy showers turning out to be no more than a drizzle, I sweated like an overdressed runner and the supply of salt tablets disappeared. 

The route became increasingly cobbly and boulder strewn and it took an effort to concentrate to avoid tripping. At around 18 miles we reached the highest point and the 2nd checkpoint but my earlier hopes of being able to hammer down the remaining 8 miles of descent through Rothiemurcus forest were dashed as I was completely puggled and my lateral knee ligament was giving me grief. I thought ‘there’s my meal ticket’ when a new runner came past, me thinking that if I stuck with them, they will lead me to the finish, but I let every one of them go and as we hit the better paths through the forest I was so tired that I nearly went flying on more than one occasion. First rock-kicker, then root-kicker.

I slowed and slowed and was walking by the end. I  scrounged some salt tablets from a wee group that passed with a couple of miles to go. The last mile went on forever and as the rain began again I was happy to see my wee support group and the finish line. After, I was treated to a pint and as I coiffed the foaming ale, there was, outside the window, a continual stream of exhausted individuals finishing after me . An epic day out and a very memorable one. Finished around 4:48 and enjoyed a slap up feed in the posh hotel that I had booked in Dundee. It was luxury and still cheaper than the hostel.  

Yetholm & Windy Gyle 2022

 

The full-on running season that is 2022 continues. After watching Speedy at the Mountain Trials at Alva late in May, it was suddenly June. The Yetholm Hill Race was on last weekend and using the extra bank holiday we had for lizzies jubilee, me and Speedy Joe continued our goodwork and race prep. by doing a recce before the race. Armed with the OS map, we were largely alone as we clambered our way up the various incisors of this toothy no-nonsense hill course. The Curr was blidy hard work. It’s a beast and with the grass thick and reedy we got round in about 3 hours. In the past I have basically turned up at races and got my head down. Most of the time, I have had no idea where I was or where I was going. I would be only mildly impressed with folk who were able to name the hills; what difference could it possibly make? Well, I can tell you that it makes a 'shoite load' of difference as my old auntie flossie used to say. Not only can you gauge your effort, you can also prepare yourself mentally for the expected.  On the following Sunday, the turnout was a little disappointing with only 35 runners. I guess most were at the Skye race. But the weather was good. Speedy was off and running at the start and I managed to get to the top of Staerhaugh Hill without any dramas. Tim McColl of Norham caught me after a mile or so, and then another grey haired Norham went past. I was catching an Edinburgh Uni girl after 2 miles and by the Curr, her head was down and I think I heard her swear as she was faced with  yet another ascent. 'Had she not done the recce?' I mused  I grimbled along the Pennine Way to the end and reflected about past glories for me at this race. No matter, it was on and upwards this weekend at the Windy Gyle near Alwinton. Sixty five runners appeared including me, Speedy, Missus Mac and her support for the day, Linds. It was cool in the valley. After strong arming Missus Mac into paying my £7, I changed from a short sleeve top to a long sleeve. 

I popped a salt tablet before the start and off we went. Having run this perhaps 4 or 5 times previously, I have a good idea where the course goes and what topography to expect. I found myself in between Kath Davis of North Shields and course record holder Karen Robertson. McCall was also running and while I let Keith Murray of Teviotdale go ahead (largely because her was running faster than me), there was no sign of McCall catching me. With me pushing Kath on the uphills but her holding her own on the descents, I eventually broke free of my running partner with 3km to go and I was pleased to re-discover some of my old mojo which re-lit my down hilling as I grafted after a NFR runner ahead. The road ran out but I would have had him, given another 100m. maybe. 

No matter, the sun had appeared and we had a good natter with a nice crowd, some of whom I hadn't seen for a good wee while.  Speedy Joe was 6^th overall and broke the women's course record. Perhaps the best hill run in the Cheviots. This coming Sunday is the Cairngorm extravaganza they call the Lairig Ghru, so wish me well. 28 miles. Its gonna be a blast.  

As a result of all this running, the reading list has taken a back seat. 'The Passenger' was not dissimilar to Hans Fallada’s 'Alone in Berlin', but not quite as gripping and I think it lost its way toward the end. I moved onto 'Golden Hill' by Frances Spufford, a tale of a stranger with a secret in 18^th Century New York. Not bad. I’m currently well into the Neuromancer by William Gibson. A rare adventure into SciFi.