The new year started in solid, if rather phlegmy fashion (sorry) with appearances at the inaugural Falkland Yomp. I know my way around the Falkland Estate having ran there a handful of times in the past and twice last year. The Falkland Yomp is organised by the Lomond Runners and it was fully subscribed with around 150 pre-entrants and 120 who managed to finish on the day. There was an opportunity to set off half an hour early if you considered yourself slow and half the field took this option. As such it was toward the end of the race when we started to come across some of the backmarkers who had set off early.
The course took us through corridors of moody low hanging larch, narrow carpets of needles, up and down the gravel tracks and there was even a wee stretch up at the Monument in more open ground where we wound our way around a narrow track lined with rusty ferns and across black peaty puddles that tried, but failed, to suck us down. We were largely sheltered from the wind and at a distance of 11km and with 480m of ascent, it was a tough but scenic affair.
I was still a little choked from the residue of the flu over the New Year and was a still under par, but I'd paid my money and was, as a result, committed to appear. I was overtaken by a couple of women in the latter stages, but I was running within myself, knowing that its not very clever to run flat out with the vestiges of a chest infection squatting in your lungs. Towards the end of the race I was overhauled by a couple of Falkland psycho squirrels, but the day wasn’t the day to go head to head. On another day I suspect I might give both a run for their money. Spluttering over the last wee hill, I trotted down the final stretch to the end and was nearly pipped at the post by the leading F50 who crept up on my right hand side. I finished 26th and dipped under the hour by a matter of seconds. The race was won by Eliot Sedman of Carnethy in 46 minutes. My car buddy. ‘Speedy Joe’, managed to win the ladies race despite her also suffering the hacky chest syndrome. Sixty quid said it was worth the trip. When she did the Lomonds of Fife last year she managed to get lost so she was glad to see the marshalls and tape at every corner and made no mistake this time around. The spread at the end in the village hall was good with soup and tea and plenty of cakes. I would do this trail race again.
We signed up for the 'Feel the Burns' hill race at Selkirk in December and there was a field of around 300 last weekend. There had been a little snow the night before on the tops and running conditions were very similar to the conditions I encountered in 2016 (see entry) when I did this race previously. In moderately better shape than I had been at Falkland, I dragged my sorry carcass around the 13 mile course armed with a bum-bag and 2 gels to finish around 90th in 2:08, only 2 minutes down on my 2016 time when I was around 60th.
Speedy was again up front and we came away
with a haggis, a Selkirk Bannock and a bottle of wine. I think the runners-up
got a turnip, modest prizes indeed, this being a fund raiser for the mountain rescue. The organisers
had done a sterling job of the catering as we sat in the rugby club drinking
our thick, hot soup and chomping on a tasty hot pie and flapjack washed down with a couple
of mugs of hot sweet tea. Champion. Ian
Maxwell of Gala won the M60 and I'm looking forward to the Spring when I might
have a better crack at this racing malarkey.
This week just gone I have, at
last, recovered fully and, although I've only cranked out 38 miles, some of my runs
have included some sub seven miles, and some run in icy conditions which have
prevailed all week. I feel much more energized. Almost tempted to enter a late season cyclo-cross, but on reflection, maybe not. Instead I will continue on with Alistair MacLeans 'Caravan to Vacares', my first dip into his work. He was born in Shettleston. Who knew! 'The Sea' by John Banville was a slow, nostalgic affair with a thin plot. However, the terrific poetic prose was adequate compensation and I have been lucky enough to have been given another two of his novels as a Christmas pressie.
