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.