As I ran up the lane toward the Birnam Hill, I saw the bright
cavalcade, the cream of the crop, ahead of me. Of the oldies, Davis was tracking
Smith who was down on Whitlie. I was just behind Davis at the toe of the hill,
but as we ascended, he and Smith gradually pulled away and I ended up behind a
tall thin bloke with long legs who was high stepping up the hill. I just couldn't
go any faster.
At the top we plodded through some wet peat, had our ankles
tickled by woody ground hugging heather and clambered over a crag before ‘the
hurlting’ began. I was already passing a couple of uncertain types along the
flattish gravel before it got tasty and as it steepened, I put it in top gear and careered past a
couple of carnethys and another. Once in the woods the gradient levelled off
and jelly legs took hold and I lost a place. As the gravel arrived to herald
the last 500m I caught sight of Smith, but he was a good 20 seconds ahead and I
had to make do with trying (and losing) the final mental slaver inducing sprint
with some random and a Penecuik m50. The
sweat was dripping off me. Job done tho.
Mrs mac was in attendance somewhere on the Hill, but her
being in the medical profession, she was seeing to a runner who had bloodied
himself, dashing himself on the rocks of despair, so she missed getting what
would surely have been a blurry image of a fleeting runner ghosting past her
camera-lense. Speedy finished 3rd in the womens race and picked up a
bottle of wine behind Page and Hodgson. I was 142nd. Strangely, quite similar in finishing position
to last weeks Mourne Race. Donnelly arrived late on his bike and still got round
in 34 minutes as first M60. An m65 Moorfoot runner beside me at the end seemed
chuffed to take Smiths scalp. However, they all will take some catching. Good cake stall and soup at the end
supplemented by Adrians sweetie throwing antics. Best short hill race
around.