Scottish Masters XC Trials

A target for my newly acquired M60 status was to try for a Scottish Masters cross country vest. I was aware it was quite a long shot. Even though I am not a member of the Scottish Vets Association, I emailed the selectors with my details. They advised that I could join if I was selected. 

I duly trooped up to Glasgow on Saturday, arriving by train at Queens Street in good time. After a series of earlier minor mishaps (initial train delay, spilled juice) I found myself sat in the cool and quiet upstairs of St. Enoch Square supping a mug of tea, reading Glasgow educated William Boyd’s novel ‘The Romantics’ and surreptitiously eating my home made cheese roll.  I wandered to the bus stop and was re-directed to another, eventually boarding the No 61 at the Gallowgate. 

It took no time to arrive at Tollcross and I was still early for the 2pm kick-off. It was another cuppa for a quid at the Wellshot café in Shettleston (full breakfast for a fiver!) and an easy amble to the park. It occurred to me that the trials might not be on the grass but, instead, on the paths. I had only brought spikes and was wearing my trail shoes. Thankfully as I crested the hill I saw the tape and gave a gasp of relief. 

The temperature was well into the 70’s, as were a good handful of competitors, all either in denial or just living life and running 'cause they could. I lay under a tree finding the shade and listened to the various observations and pearls of wisdom rolling out from all corners. ‘Start steady and consolidate’; ‘There’s only 2 places for sure, so make sure youre up there' and so on..  

The familiar sound of drums and flutes from a small band making its way along Tollcross Road reached us and slowly ebbed away.  Lots of happy hot motorists backed up behind them, no doubt.  

Steve Cairns was warming up and I noted a few other notables. I pinned my M60 number on the back of my Bella vest and warmed up. I noticed one or two DNF’s in the Womens & M65+ race that preceded the 'young mans race' and wondered how hot it actually was. We lined up and after a 3,2,1 we were off. I found myself near the back of the field within 100 metres and the penny dropped that I was in the oldest age group and, as a result, should expect to be at the back. It was, nevertheless a surprise. Upson from Cambuslang was alongside but not for long and he bagan to steadily pull away. Halfway through lap 1 of 4, two wrinkly M60 grafters from Shettleston and Central AC pulled up alongside and then went ahead. They got around 30 or 40 metres on me and then I pegged the gap into the next lap where the Central boy pulled out. 'Happy days', I muttered. 

I continued to sweat my way around the laps and on the 3^rd lap convinced myself that Shettleston’s Williams was coming back. I tried to up the pace (this resulting in an impressive acceleration from 7 minute mile pace to 6.50 pace!). However, he was still around 10 seconds ahead well into the 4^th lap and I ran out of grass in the end. I finished the 8k in 34 minutes and 4^th M60. 

I have no illusions of selection, but was pleased I’d made the effort and after towelling myself and rehydrating on the way to the bus stop, I quaffed a cool pint of lager at the Tollbooth bar where I was royally entertained watching the characters and interaction from a corner of the bar, before moving on for a hot roll and another pint in Max’s. A session!  It was an easy train ride home and I had the next day off, cause I’m old and that recovery thing is important.   

Ben Nevis 2023: Top Run in the Sun

The penultimate long trip of this years season. The Ben Nevis Mountain Race in Fort William. Britain’s biggest hill and a race I took part in back in 2009 when the conditions were atrocious. I recall being intimidated by them, the prospect of running across wet boulder fields and super saturated scree probably armed with Salomon Speedcrosses which were, on reflection, not really suited to the steep terrain. It was unfinished business for me. I extended the invite and Speedy joe said she was ‘in’, although it was fair to say she dithered for a good while.  It’s a good path all the way, only the race takes off up the side and ignores the walkers path. If the clag is down, you can’t see where you’re heading and as the grey boulder field merges with the grey mist, you can become a disorientated towards the top.  Otherwise from the Red Burn down, about the halfway point, it’s straightforward and you have only the walkers to dodge.

We got up around 5.30pm on the Friday evening and we went for a shake down along the Loch front. I felt remarkably chipper as the pace greased along at 7 minute miles.  A bowl of pasta and a comfy bed for 8 hours kip and it was up at 7am. The forecast was good, but I didn’t want to tempt fate. I had a 2 mile jog around the town then wolfed down some Weetabix and a caramel shortie before driving Missus Mac and Ant to the Parkrun.

It was five quid for the parking at the Ski and Mountain Bike centre, but we decided to just accept that the town is pricey and with no shortage of tourists, rates for most things are greatly inflated.  The park run was a modest affair and a little traily and before we knew it we were back in the car and heading for a jog to registration for the Ben race followed by a 40 minute lie down: a little time to consider your future, to imagineer the race, to fortify your mind.

We returned to the football park at 12.20pm and completed our preparations, pinning on numbers, nodding to the various great and the good. There were around 430 or so athletes from across the UK.  Headed by the pipe band, we walked around the field for a lap, gladiators before the cheering crowd bathed in early afternoon sunshine. It was a good day to run. We were soon off and I must admit I was pretty focused. Having made such as hash of the 2009 race, I was adamant that there would be no fear today, no distractions from the task in hand. We were soon threading our way up the hill and I was at the first checkpoint at about 32 minutes. We passed the red burn on the ascent and I gulped 3 handfuls before moving on.  We hung a sharp left and hit the scree slope and then it was up and up for 2 miles. My 4^th mile took me 27 minutes, a slow slog.  Alan Smith and a Highland Hillrunner came past on the right at around 4 mile. I wondered if I should have tucked in behind him, but he seemed happier on the boulders than on the finer scree and I stayed put.  

Some bloke behind wanted to chat, but I have no time for the misplaced false bonhomie in a race and I was happy when the one-way chatter stopped toward the top. Soon the bodies were careering back down. Speedy passed me on her way back – she looked to be in 3^rd place and gave me a wave – always a good sign. 

There was some light mist around but visibility was good as I came to the turn. It was busy and it was as though we had ambushed the walkers on the hill – they looked bewildered as runners selected their own line down the hill cutting across paths and appearing and disappearing in a sweaty arm flailing morass. As I descended, I was very happy with my shoes, VJ Irocks, and I got past a good handful of less suicidal or committed athletes. Conversely, I was passed by a good handful as well and tried to take inspiration from some and a better line down the hill from the others who looked like they had some confidence or route knowledge about them.  Hitting the walkers path at the Burn, I gubbed 5 mouthfuls of water and was off again. I vowed to take it easy on the way down as I didn’t want the legs to go all rowntrees jelly in the last mile on the tarmac run in to the finish. I was still making good progress and elected to take only one cut through the ferns near the base of the hill, gaining me perhaps 2 or 3 places.  Missus Mac made an appearance in support and Ant handed out the water bottle, which, as arranged, was gratefully received. It had been hot and I gulped another mouthful before discarding it. Three of us ran along the tarmac. As we entered the football field the Highland Hill runner and Calder Valley runner forged ahead, but I suspected neither were in my category and had just about energy to fall over the line in 2:20 and 128^th place, a minute slower than 13 years earlier but 80 places higher up. Smithy had taken 3 minutes out of me in the last mile of ascent and a further 5 minutes on the descent, so hats off to him. As it was, I was 2^nd M60 and had executed my plan successfully, the weather making this race such a contrast to my earlier experience. I cramped for a bit as I caught my breath, lying spreadeagled on the grass, but was soon up and about and well chuffed with my race performance. We dined royally in the evening and I slept the sleep of Hades afterwards.

Speedy managed to conjure up 2^nd (womens) place, passing previous multiple winner Sharon Taylor in the last wee bit of the hill in just over 2 hours, so it was a double celebration, and with the parkrun experience, our wee party were a pretty happy bunch.  With the news that Linds had won her race in the Cheviots earlier in the day, it was all going very well, I must say.