Melantee: Quad Hell

As well as being nearly unpronounceable to a non gaelic speaker like me, the Meall an-t Suidhe (Melantee, Fort William) was a hill race that just kept on giving. It’s given me the worst case of Doms (delayed onset muscle soreness) I have ever had; and it wasn’t even delayed. After jiggling my wheezy carcass down the impossibly steep grassy drop from the summit, I temporarily lost the means of forward propulsion (‘running’ in other words); Sure, my legs knew broadly what was expected of them, but my hips and quads were all over the shop, melted under the gradient and I felt like Bambi. I had been done in on a grassy knoll.  Its 4 days later and I’m still hobbling and even had to miss last nights 5 mile race at Newcastle Quayside.

The 4 miler, a short affair on Saturday, was a Scottish and British Championship race and there were some big hitters present both in the mens race, and also in the womens which had taken place 2 hours earlier. We (me and Speedy joe) had travelled up earlier in the day to Tyndrum. We had to change cars and rearrange some insurances after my car decided it wasn’t going (and jammed the rear handbrake caliper just to make sure).  The borrowed fiesta performed admirably and got us up to Fort William in good time, the heavy rain and leaden skies beginning to lift as we arrived at Claggan.  We got our numbers and after a jog, I set off a little way up the course with the camera. The women were soon on their way and Speedy was around 10^th sitting in the Sharon Taylor group. On the way back there was certainly some fun and games as many navigated the muddy track successfully, but some misjudged the terrain and found themselves face down in the bog.  Speedy, a relative novice at the fell race game, dropped 10 places on the return and jogged in after getting down and dirty in the mud.  She advised that we had the wrong shoes on.

At the start of the mens race around 150 lined up. Sure enough as I cast my eye around the competitors footwear I saw a sea of Inov’s and a handful of VJ’s but no Speedcross…’ Ah, well, I mused, can’t matter that much, can it?’

For a crusty trooper like me, the hill ahead didn’t seem to offer anything sinister and I was well up with Davis and then dropped to be passed by Smith and his woolly socks halfway up. Near the top both had drifted ahead and I began to falter, frothing gaily while grabbing at handfuls of grass and reeds near the windy summit.  ‘Come on shoes, get me up yon ‘kin hill,…’ I gasped…

At the turn I was 45 seconds down on Smith and an amazing 2 minutes on Davis. ‘Could I do anything on the way down’? ‘No’ was the answer. I gathered my loins and headed downhill. My technique was crapulent and I was passed by a good handful of punters. I haemorrhaged a shetload of more time on the way back, tripping once on concrete near the track.  It took me 28 minutes up and nearly 16 minutes to get back, coming in after an unconvincing lap of shame around the football pitch in 122^nd place. My claggy chest didn’t help, but I was puggled.

We retired to the B&B after a mooch up the High Street which never fails to disappoint and we dined at the Nevis in before having a swift one in the Volunteers.   The next day we were up and out and on the Hill by 9 and spent the next 3 hours padding our way up and down Nevis in between the showers. Both sets of legs were shot. We had 10 minutes at the bottom to watch the ‘Half Ben’ racers come past, a handful of them having put in a shift the previous day.  How do they do that, then?

The order has gone in for a batch of VJ irocs. It remains to be seen if these will arrive before Snowdon a week on Saturday, but either way, that Welsh beauty is quite a different beast to the Meall. Thank frock.