Gladiator too

Its been a fortnight since the Heaton Memorial 10k, a 2-lapper held in Heaton Park. When the wind behaves itself, its a decent course and has seen a handful of sub-30's in its long history. I'm doing in preparation for the Ribble Valley 10k late in December.

I did Heaton last year without commitment. Why? Because running performance depends on a number of key factors. Fitness is obviously one. Another one of these is psychological state. The third is 'where you are in your life and whats going on'. Factors 2 and 3 are closely linked, Factor 2 depending very much on Factor 3, unless you can separate your axons from your neurons and park your cerebrum well away from your cerebellum. Diet...that's another. 

Last year I was happy to finish and trotted in with a 41 minute effort. Although I cannot really recall it too vividly, I can read about it on my blog (runnerwanderings.blogspot.com/2023/12/winter-training-camp-23). Marvelous. 

This year, I was tentatively hoping to slide in a 40 minuter. The conditions were good and I had been super happy with Tinto a fortnight earlier (see earlier blog also!). I parked up and met A&C at race HQ - they had jogged the 14 miles in from 'Peth for a Sunday run and I had their change of clothing. 

I jogged abit before the start with Gav B and hid myself in the crowd at the start. The first lap was pretty good and I took it steady, working my way up slowly through the field and passing a few I recognised. There was a North Shields who looked my age and he was around 20 seconds ahead. However, I played it canny and as one or two came past me, I rode their wave and tucked in as best I could. Shameless, I know.

The second lap arrived and I sat in behind a strong looking Saltwell youngster. There was little wind, but I studiously avoided what there was of it. We caught the North Shields guy, who strangely began a little weave, trying to shake me. He should have known better. I wasn't waiting for him; I was with my new Saltwell buddy aka Windshield Willy. He dragged me all the way to the finish line and a 39:30. Deep joy. That's all I have for you today. 

Today's cross country has been cancelled due to everyone frightening themselves about possible insurance claims, parking problems and athlete well-being. I would too, if I was an organiser. So, instead, we have had to entertain ourselves with watching the Liverpool XC on youtube and going for a jog around the woods. We were going to see Gladiator 2, but strangely the movies were full.  I knew a man once who said, “Death smiles at us all. All a man can do is smile back." A toothless one, in my case. 

On the reading front I finished Robert Harris's Act of Oblivion, plodded my way through the short novel The Geometer Lobachevsky by Adrian Duncan (mmmm..?), and I am now immersed in Carl Hiansen's 'Skin Tight'...ooh, sounds a bit racy! (unlike me).

'Tinto:Tell them about the Honey, Mommy'

I was keen to do Tinto this year; maybe finish the season with a flourish? 

I've always considered this the final major hill race of the Scottish Season; After Manor Water (see previous Blog) I wanted to test myself on something shorter and sharper. There is probably not a faster more intense descent than Tinto. A big lump of rock nestled close to Biggar, its a 2 mile up and 2 mile down affair with 1500ft of ascent. 

The on-line entry had swelled to over 250 when entries closed and there was a formidable M60 entry. I joked to Speedy and A. as we drove up the M74 that I would be doing well to get into the top 5. We arrived in good time and after some shenanigans with the entry system computer, I got my number and jogged the mile or so to the start. Speedy had asked about the course, and, from memory, I said it was all gravel and should suit her. 

Around 200 lined up. I had taken off a layer last minute and it was mild and dry, albeit a little grey at the foot of the hill. We cracked on to the first and only obstacle, a fence and narrow gate after 500 yards and soon everyone was vaulting over, being careful to avoid the string of fresh barbed wire the landowner had strung along the top of the wood. Nice touch.

Predictably, I had Carnethys Gilmore in my sights once more and without any planning, we came together as the field thinned. I sat on his heels, staying close for the first mile, covered in 11 minutes. The second mile was steeper and slower and he just got further and further ahead, so, instead, I concentrated on trying not to let too many get by me. I was tucked in trying to get some shelter behind a young guy, but eventually I moved ahead.

Soon the faster runners were careering down past us and I was hopeful we were nearing the top, the low cloud shrouding the Trig point and marshall. I could smell the turn. Speedy came past going downhill after about 20 runners shadowed closely by 2 Shettleston vests. I shouted encouragement. Des Crowe came past, descending, and was a good minute or two ahead of me. He looked determined. 

This was damage limitation. I think Pippa Dakin passed me near the top, but frankly, there were that many Carnethy vests coming and going, it was difficult to guess who was who. 

We got to the top and rounded the Trig point and off I went, lighting the after-burners. It was full gas all the way down. I had to change gear and shorten my stride two or three times when the route crossed patches of reedy grass and mud, but I wasn't taking prisoners and passed 4 or 5 runners carving out a 7 minute mile followed by a 6 minute mile. I regret to say that I nearly had to manhandle one chap out of the way, and I apologised as I passed, but he wasn't the strongest descender and I was on a mission. No time to spend dawdling. Harsh, I know.

Toward the bottom I could see my Carnethy target, and while I was cutting into his lead, it was just too little, too late and I collapsed in a heap over the line in 42 minutes, and 20 seconds behind him. 53rd or something overall. A bloke landed beside me immediately afterwards and spewed his fruity sports drink mixture across the grass. Charming, I'm sure. I was evidently not alone in giving it 110%. 

All was not lost, however. Lomond's Davis crossed the line just after me, as did the M60 bloke from Hartfell. It was a right wee charabanc of crusties to be sure. Looking at the results later, it turned out that Stewart Whitlie was also just behind me. Crikey.

We were treated to pies, cakes and soup after the race. I was chuffed and surprised to hear my name at the tea and medals ceremony. I accepted my prize, a pot of Galloway honey for 3rd M60. I was, however, mincing and wincing slowly around the car park, the soles of my feet were on fire and my big toe-nail was in some sort of private torment. 

It was a quiet drive back home, before a quick dip and trip to the pub. Speedy was 2nd and I had to accept some liability for omitting in my earlier description that there was patches of grass and mud up-top; She should have gone with the I-Rocs. I didn't recall any grass when I did the event 5 years ago. No matter, we'll know next time. 

Twenty four hours later and I am still hobbling and bathing the hobbit feet in saltwater and dettol. All worth it, of course. Thanks to Ant&giz. for the photos and support. Thanks also to the marshalls, the production team and my dance coach without whom all this would not be possible! 

Capitulation at Manor Water Hill Race

I think I've ran the Manor Water Hill Race twice. I'm sure I could check if I was bothered. Certainly, I recall arriving late one time and seeing the back of the pack disappear over the ridge. 

My abiding memory of this race is of a 'moor' run, a long ascent, a nice long descent and spending an inordinate amount of time during both trying to find good ground dodging around patches of peaty mud, mats of rushy grass and mattresses of spongy sphagnum. 

 This time, as we drove up past Gala, we were hampered by axes of foreign lorries, shuffling grimbles in their old cars and regiments of horsey people and their steeds on the road. I swear that the many sets of temporary traffic lights were slung off the wagon the night before to slow us down. It took us over two hours to get to Kirkton Manor up by Peebles and a wee bit longer to find the new race HQ. 

They parked us in a field, which, in my book, is a recipe for trouble when the claggs in, and the rain is out. 

We had our kit checked and I remarked how thin the field was. There were 60 pre-entered. The pre-race count made it 49. or was that 46? In the M60 category Gilmore from Carnethy was there. He's had a good season and I had my work cut out for me on this 9.3 mile, 2000ft affair. I also spied Plummer from Hartfell who is also handy. I've had a passable one and my weights dropping, so it could be interesting. 

There had been some rain an hour before and the sky promised more at any time. But the sun made an appearance at the pre-race briefing. We were advised to 'stick close to the wall and fence'. Its an out and back affair. 'Not too much of a navigational challenge' I mused.

I had had a decent breakfast of porridge and a banana in the car, but little else. I bumped knuckles with Speedy and off we went. We kicked off up along the path and within five hundred yards I was already falling behind Gilmore. Not a great start. I sat in with two younger runners as we turned left and began the ascent proper and stuck to my task for a mile or two. But Gilmore, who like me, slowed to a walk on the ascents, began a slow advance. My wee posse split and I invited myself out the back. It was a slow death. Death by slog. Grassy, boggy slog. I counted 40 seconds at the next feature as I ran-walked. I entertained myself with thoughts of a death defying descent after the turn to snatch V60 victory. But I was deluded. In the low sun, all I could see were disappearing silhouettes making their way up and over the difficult boggy ground.

I spent the third and fourth mile alone in the wind, picking my way through the sinuous field of broken dry heather roots, a brittle forest of calf high jagged sticks that had been exposed by a farmers hedge cutter. They stuck up just high enough to force everyone to lift their legs just that little bit higher with every step. I adopted a 10 second walk, 10 second run strategy to keep my sanity. This seemed to work for a while as I overtook the runner ahead. But, like a kid in a car, all I could hear in my mind was 'are we nearly there, yet?'

Near the turn, at a hill top called 'The Scrape', the runners in front started to come back down and with the path being so narrow, I was nearly mashed twice by the faster path-huggers descending at speed. Speedy looked relaxed as she passed me and shortly after the tall Carnethy vet came past with 3 or 4 behind him. I realised the game was up. To add insult to injury, it had began to hail at the top. Horizontal hail. We love that shit. The lone marshall at the top must have been brassicks and I thanked him. Upon turning, I realised that there were about 10 runners within a minute of me and quite the coachload.  Better get my skates on.

I wish I could tell you that I careered downhill like a runaway juggernaut, but I lost a place immediately to the lad I had passed near the top and he made effective use of gravity. After 7 miles I realised that I was slowing badly. At 8 miles I wasn't even sure I was going the right way. I seemed to have been running downhill for a long time. The landscape was unfamiliar. There was no one is sight. All the hills ahead looked the same. 

I glanced back and saw that I was about to be overhauled by a women runner. As she glided past, she gave me some encouragement; which was nice. 

She was descending with some certainty. I tried to up my game, but my body was an empty larder. I had become a shuffling grimble. The reserves had gone and the last packet of biscuits had been snaffled. I was running on empty. Low blood sugar is a bummer. You begin to feel a bit light headed and I was going all daffy duck. I was completely daffy ducked.

We turned right and passed the last marshall. I had already fallen about 20 seconds behind the young lady. It was back along the gravel path, pockmarked with cattle hooves. More rain. More puddles. Would this ever end?  With four hundred to go, I looked back and saw Hartfell bloke tracking me. I could feel his laser eyes. That was just enough of a 'kick up the erse' I needed to find the last vestige of a spark and I just got to the line before another place was lost.  

The hail had returned and it was blowing a hooly outside the finish tent. All I could think about was getting a pie from Greggs. Saddo. That, and managing to get the car out of the wet field. Depriving Speedy of her moment of glory at the presentation, we left immediately to run along the wet road to the field to retrieve the car. Thankfully we got it out onto the road. Relief. Speedy remarked that she had begun to get concerned at how long it was taking for me to get to the finish. 

During my laboured descent, it had dawned on me that this sort of affair was a great long grassy slog, like Sedbergh in many ways and that my short fast-twitch muscles were lost on these type of affairs. They are designed for something more dynamic, like the sharp twisty turns of a rocky Goatfell or Lomond. Maybe I should stick to that type of course. 

We made it to Greggs in Peebles. I am ashamed to admit to succumbing to greasy pie and tea. Shortly afterwards, I couldn't stop myself turning right at the Metropolis that is Galashiels for a box of salty chips and a hamburger smelling of fish at McDonalds. No wonder I can't get up the hills!                   

Pacey at Thropton & Blyth

I was fair delighted with my parkrun a fortnight ago. I don't like to commit before I have to, but when I awoke on the Saturday, there wasnt a breath of wind and the sun was stretching. I dug out the fancy trainers and headphones and took off to Blyth. I had enjoyed the Thropton Show Race near Rothbury the weekend before and wanted to check my form. I havent been sub-20 for 2 years, though I've got close a couple of times. 

At Thropton, there were the usual suspects. No McCall, but I did see the Murray of Teviotdale. He got the better of me at Eildon, and I thought, what with this being my local training hill-range, I fancied my chances. 

I skulked away at the back of the pack as the organiser said whatever they say, and we were piped out by the wee band. For some odd reason, I ended up in front of Teviot man as we left the show field and my presence was no longer a surprise.  More skulking practice required. I shouldn't have been too concerned, however, as the bridge and road began to rise after a mile, I pulled away and latched onto 2 leggy types who, being larger, were making comparatively slow work of the hill. At the top of the crag I got away from one, the other took a better line through the heather and it took me a mile to catch him. As we came out of the forest, a NFR runner appeared from nowhere 80 yards ahead  - he had clearly taken a short-cut. Somewhat irked, I encouraged my running buddy to speed up, but he mumbled that he was tired. 'So is the guy in front', I yelled, and tried to appeal to his sense of justice. He had ran out of juice tho.

I cracked on, weaving through the gorse and got the farmhouse road turning at Tosson where suddenly there were 4 in front. It turned out that 3 had taken a wrong turn and had only just got back on the course. The last mile is across a field and along the river, then across another field, down the road and back into the showfield, and with no-one around me, I could have jogged in, but I still beat myself up like a dolt. It was a good run and I'd enjoyed it. 

Speedy did well and was 3rd behind Mens winner Nick Swinburn. Teviot man came back a few minutes later after I'd finished - he said he'd lost his mojo recently and couldn't find top gear. We've all been there.  No prize other than a shared tray of 4 quid chips - its not a good show unless you're getting mercilessly fleeced for hot food. 

Anyway, I digress. Last Saturday. Blyth. All I needed was a pacer and low and behold, there was a 20 minute pacer present with a 20 in big numerals on his bib. Around 400 lined up. 

After the start around 6 were close to Pacer Chris, including me and a leggy 14 year old. He cranked out a good first 2km, then apologised for going a little fast and slowed, at which point I felt better. After 3km, there was only the youngster and me clinging to him like flailing limpets. At 4km he started talking again but my brain was in neutral and the frothy slaaver was coming out of the mouth as the lung department struggled.  I wanted to slow, but my head said no. My headphones made me look like some hate figure out of Doctor Who.

With 400m to go he peeled off and the young lady launched herself. This was fine as the final bit is flat and it gave me a new target and I crossed the line in 19.29 - Wowza; chicken dinner. With that in the back pocket, I've put my name down for the Ribble Valley 10k in December - supposed to be a flat course. 

In the meantime, its back to normal with a run out this weekend at Manor Water. It'll be boggy, given the blidy weather over the last 2 days, but that's showbiz.

    

Giants Causeway Trail Half Marathon

Well, as I sit nursing the gap in my gum that used to house my favourite molar, I have time to reflect on last weekends activity. The tooth extraction should have happened last Tuesday, but the dentist checked my running schedule and postponed the delight. Armed with that news, I positively bounced out the door feeling like I'd won the pools and treated myself to chips and curry sauce. Oh yes, I know a celebration when I see one. The postponement was chiefly down to our trip to Portrush at the north end of Northern Ireland to take part in the Giants Causeway off-road half marathon (https://www.26extreme.com/take-part/causeway-coast-marathon-events2024/) . Originally, I had planned to do a European event this year, but with one thing and another, this was as far as I had got. 

The flights from Newcastle to Belfast were a tenner each, but with baggage of more than a snuff-box in size, it was gonna cost twenty grand for Me and Marg. The ferry was an extra ton, but offered us more flexibility, albeit that we would have to suffer the A75 to Stranraer. Twice.  Speedy decided to come along and also dipped her hand into her pocket for fifty notes for the entry - I know, pretty steep. That's the price of running tourism, however. 

We arrived at the ferry port with 15 minutes to spare, the A75 having been shut for a 2 lorry smash. It was plain sailing to Belfast and a quick getaway to Portrush, only an hours drive up the dual carriageway. We were in our digs by six and had time for a jog around the town. The Friday saw us out for a longer run then brunch and Bert n' Bobs in Port Stewart. We nipped across to Coleraine around lunchtime for a poke around and coffee and returned later in the afternoon to Portrush for a pint in the toetie Harbour Bar, moving to the back room with the fire on and 4 tables occupied in a room no bigger than your kitchen. Class. I could have stayed there all evening. The promise of pasta and apple tart beckoned though, and it was an early night as the wind began to pick up.  

The Causeway Events include an Ultra, a Marathon, a Half and a 10k. The aim is to set them off at staggered times so that everyone crosses the line at around 3-4pm. We saw the 100 or so Ultra-runners first thing running along the promenade having left Port Stewart at 7am. The weather was blustery but mild. Speedy said it was warm. 

We took the car to Portballintrae and after a coffee in the Bayview Hotel (nice toilets; recommended), we jogged down to the race HQ where the 8 double deckers were waiting for the 400 or so half marathoners (21k for you metric types). There were plenty of tourists, but mostly irish runners. We were bussed to Balintoy. As the buses arrived and spewed their eager cargo onto the cliffs, the faces of the folk who were set to leave the place fell and they were stuck for 15 minutes. 

The coastline here is mega. Its where some of Game of Thrones was filmed. The Iron Islands, I am reliably informed. 

Soon enough we were off. The route follows the coastline and there were early stretches of sandy beach, a small seaweed covered boulder field under the cliffs and some narrow gravel and grassy paths that hugged the cliff edge. The field began to thin and I was making some progress, feeling too warm as the wind eased and the sun emerged from behind the clouds. I stopped too often to snap and video the route with Marg's go-pro. However, there was an old gadgie ahead and I didn't want to lose him. After 3 miles I passed him and fell in with a wee group ahead. However, the ability needed to take short drops and rises at speed seemed to be lacking with many and I cracked on, dropping in then behind a tall leggy bloke who looked like Andy Murray, at least from behind. He set a good steady pace.

At the 6 mile mark, we encountered the 10k runners who had just started. There were significant bottle necks in places with kissing gates and styles, but I had decided early on that it was best just to crack on, so I ditched etiquette as I hurdled fences and gingerly eased my tackle over barbed wire where it was ready to pounce. I lost Andy Murray in the melee. 

I began to feel tired around 10 miles. However, with plenty of bodies ahead and the nuances of the course to deal with, I had little time to think about fatigue and before I knew it, I was on the beach and down the gravel to the finish.  It was 20th for me and a pretty good result that means nothing to nobody. No world cup points here. Speedy managed a win against some very handy runners and finished 6th. Marg worked hard to come in a little later and we repaired to Larne for a slap up feed and a good nights kip. 

Sunday morning was a jog up the Antrim Coast in the early morning sunshine. Excellent work all. 

 

Border & Bridges Triathlon

Some time ago my cousin challenged me to a triathlon. Being in a jovial and lubricated mood, I was happy to thrust out my hand and accept. I thought he'd forgotten all about this, but last week he appeared out of the foggy abyss that's Whats-up and said he'd entered a half ironman in Shropshire. Its not until June next year.

Now, you should understand that I have never taken part in a Triathlon. True, I had a short lived duathlon career when I took part in the Morpeth Duathlon 10 years ago and took 2nd M50 place, which was nice. I also qualified for the World Age group thingy, but I had no intention of trying to repeat the run-bike-run affair in a tropical climate with strange food and insects with compound swiveling eyes and unknown intentions. 

Mulling over the Shropshire event and whether I actually, seriously, had the will to do a long swim-bike-run which would take around 6 hours or so, I thought that I should try a short event, at least, to see how my swimming has come on. 

I dusted off the time trial bike and spent 52 greenbacks on the entry for the Borders and Bridges Sprint Tri. I also paid eight quid for a day licence. The Tri', comprising a 500m swim, 22km bike and 5.7km run was centred on Berwick Leisure Centre. There were around 70 entrants and I guessed it would be worth a look. I know parts of the area quite well and knew that the bike course and run course weren't flat. 

I was up and about at 5.45am. Soon me and a eager band of groupies were off up the road at 6.30am. It was a grey still day, but not cold. Arriving at race HQ there was a distinct lack of shopper bike, mountain bike or anything that looked like it had previously belonged to Dorothy out of the Wizard of Oz, or for that matter, the wicked witch of the east. The competitors all looked pretty geared up. 

At the sign on, I was asked for my Licence. Apparently it was an attachment to the email from entry-central. Who knew? So Speedy had to liaise with Lornie back home to find passwords and what not. What a chew on. Anyway, I got in and got togged up. I had brought the naff bike pump so I had to make knew friends and scrounge a pump and fresh air for the tyres. After the briefing, I asked where my coloured cap for the swim was to be found. The marshall said it was in my bag that I received at the sign on. The bag was back in the car. So with 5 minutes before the swim I had to jog to the car to retrieve my white cap - I could have just tippexed my head, I guess - same effect. 

We had 5 or 6 in a lane and I was last off. I was concerned that I might be too slow for my fellow swimmers, but I need not have worried. The pace was all over the place. According to a source the duffers all go first, so that's good to know. I was out after 11 minutes and then spent nearly 3 minutes waving to the crowd and meeting and greeting at T1 (transition 1). Someone commented that this could be the most laid back transition they'd seen and I thought I'd better get a shifty on. 

Once on the bike I knew the routine and having been hardly on the bike in a good wee while, I had to apply myself. I was, however, positively looking forward to the steepish climb out of the Chainbridge and caught 2 riders at this point. The three of us jockeyed back and forth until the end when I pulled out some time on a short clip and arrived ahead, back at base. Taking just over the minute for my T2, I was off and gone down into Berwick where Speedy was just finishing her training session. The last kilometre was a slog back up the hill, but I crossed the line with no dramas other than a mild heave, which, by know I have come to expect when I'm in the red.  

Pleased to have finished in 24th spot and 1st vintage (whatever that means?). While I sort of enjoyed the new challenge and was pleased with the swim, I wasn't won over by the sport. If I do another it will also be a short distance sprint affair. However, no complaints to the organisers or marshalls - there's a lot of coming and going in one of these events. My brain and bod are frazzled.   

 

Lomonds of Fife Hill Race (2024)

Meeting friends on the Friday night, it was a couple of beers and a curry. We wandered up the Corbett Farragon the next day. It was a hoot with everyone falling into the clagg at some point or other. However, by the time I got back to the celebrated plastic bridge in Feldy, I had clocked up 22km of walking and was hobbling. 

We dined out again that evening and it was another late-ish night. All this was hardly the preparation for the Lomonds of Fife Hill Race on Sunday, a tasty romp across the heather and along the tourist track beside Sleepy Strathmiglo. 

Speedy and Ant had come up from Morpeth and were camped out in Dundee on the Saturday night, so I swung round to collect them and we sped down to the village hall arriving in good time. I scrounged a cup of tea (what am I like!) before the crowds appeared but was still feeling groggy from Saturday's exploits. It was coolish but there was no sign of rain, so it was a single layer affair. I spied Adrian Davis arriving, but only in his capacity, thankfully, as a marshall. 

There was an early start for some of the slower runners and around 10 or 12 left twenty minutes before the official start. The remaining 50 or so runners lined up as the sun broke out and we began the long trog up through the woods and across the moors to the East Lomond. 

I fell in with a woman from Carnethy and, feeling heavy and sluggish, I sat in for the first 3 miles. Speedy passed us in the other direction in 5th place as we began the first ascent. It was back down to the water station and then into the headwind along the tourist track. I began to feel better as we worked our way west and left the young Lomond runner and the Carnethy; but she was still shadowing me. 

I grafted up the West Lomond and the marshalls were positive, upbeat and windswept at the top. I passed a runner who looked like she'd run out of steam and fixed onto a Falkland runner ahead. However after the turn around the Bunnet Stane it was back up and along a sheep path. As we traversed the side of the hill, I wasn't sure where we were to descend and fannied about, initially dropping halfway down the slope, but then, when I looked back up to the path, I saw Carnethy woman and another runner running level with me. She was wearing mitts I thought she looked like she knew where she was going, so I changed direction and began to work my way back up to the path. By the time I got there she was away, her mitts no doubt used to fend off the gorse as she dropped down a narrow ravine. I followed but with less certainty and experienced 'death by gorse'. Suitably inoculated, I eventually arrived, bloodied, on the lower path . Carnethy was away ahead with 40 seconds or so on me. Worse still, there were another 2 runners descending parallel with me and they hit the path 30 metres in front. One was a v60 for sure - they must have gone further along the sheep path - it also seemed a good line they were taking. 

Disgusted with my antics, I ramped up the speed and caught both runners as we entered the woods. I caught Carnethy's Michelle in the last mile and crossed the line an exhausted mess in 1:59 for this 11 miler.  I was 4 minutes down on the Falkland runner. How could I have lost so much time? 

Speedy broke the course record finishing in 1:38, but she had also spent too long looking for a good line of descent.  The prize giving was curtailed as a runner had fainted after becoming dehydrated, but he was fine after a trip to the Hospital. If I do that race again I'm deffo going to spend a random morning seeking the best line down the hill. First v60 - but only by a whisker and after a mega-effort in the last mile. Its no wonder I am preferring swimming at the mo! 

        

Balmullo Trail Race: Caketastic

 

The original idea last winter was to be up in Fife or Perthshire for some long weekends this summer. In order to make this a reality we looked for a wee but-n' -ben somewhere around there to use as a base. To date that objective hasn't yet been achieved, but it doesn't mean you can't still go awol at work on Thursday and take off.  I had the running and cycling gear and a road bike in the car as I hoofed my way up north around lunchtime. I got to Dundee around 3pm and checked in at the Hotel. They had offered us a free room and breakfast (after we used it last year after a race and had an awful night on mattresses that were shot (or should have been)). 

As I lay on the crisp white sheet-ed king size bed with a cuppa, I scrolled down the race calendar. I noticed that the Balmullo Trail Race was on that evening.  It was only 10 miles or so from where I was. This race was the last of the Fife summer series. I texted Fife's Ken, the organiser, to see if I could get a late entry. I received a warmly worded invite and so it was, a trip over the bridge for the 5 mile trail race. 

The Tay Bridge was down to single lanes and this delayed me by 20 minutes. However, I arrived in enough time after a short detour to Guardbridge - I'd obviously been given the wrong postcode.  It was warm but breezy. I paid my four quid and warmed up. Unusually good value. There were plenty from the Fife, Falkland and Kinross clubs in the 90 strong field. 

Looking at the setting for the race, it appeared that it was a hill race in disguise and the first 2 miles were all up. But that meant that the last 2 miles would be all down. After passing a few including vet Tony Martin, I stuck with a tall fife runner in red T-shirt. He had a big stride but like me, he was making the ascent hard work. I took the phone camera and grabbed a few snaps on the way up. At the turn I was still with the Fife lad. I expected him to pull away and capitalize on his size and stride on the way down, but he waved me on soon after and I focused on the runner ahead. 

As on the way out, it was a varied surface on the way back, a mix of grass, road and gravel tracks and I crossed the line in 38 minutes for 26th place. After getting changed in the car, I wandered into the Burnside Hall and was confronted with a cake table that looked like it was out of a cartoon - it went on forever and was heaving with sugary delights. I had a tea and some lovely frosted Madeira cake and, after thanking the organisers, I left. 

The following morning, after a 5 mile jog around Dundee City Centre, I returned to the hotel for a fry up. I know, its not athletes food. Picking up my phone, I found a text from Fife Ken saying I had won a bottle of wine and he could drop it off if I was based locally. Now that's service. Not being much of a wine drinker, I thanked him and asked him to redistribute it. The day was spent in Perth and then it was up to Aberfeldy to meet friends.  Top Stuff.

The Lowther Trail Race

There was some mid-week discussion as to whether the Lowther Trail Race was something that me and Speedy fancied. I remembered the castle, but couldn't remember the course. At 13 miles, I should have had. 

I had a vague notion of running along a slowly rising long draggy and wide gravel path and another mental snapshot of a section of wet reedy grass and a river crossing, but beyond that I was stumped. I checked the results and found my name down in a set of results from 2017. Surely I had blogged about it. However, on checking the blog, there was no mention. What did all this amnesia mean? Was it a good sign? 

There were no entries on the day, but the pre-entries were held open until the night before the event, so on Saturday lunchtime we committed the 13 quid each and checked the forecast. It looked like it could be a hot one. A quid a mile. Thats more like it.

My time in 2017 was just under the 2 hours so I had an idea that if I finished around 2 hours or so it would be acceptable. We left the house around 8am and drove to the Estate. Until recently the Castle facade and some low walls were all that remained of the buildings, but someone has recently put in a bit of money and its changed since I last didn't remember it. 

We got our numbers and used the communal cafe toilets. Very avant garde I must say. A set of non gender assigned cubicles. People were visibly confused. We initially had bumbags, but after checking that there were actually water-stops, we ditched these and decided to travel light. 

It was, after all, a trail race. There were around 150 or so present and I reminded Speedy to take the first 3 miles super steady what with the mercury rising and the skies clearing to reveal strong warm sunshine...who knew...summer!?  

We took off down the grassy slope heading away from the Castle onto a wide estate path and then past a church and old bridge. Half the congregation were peering over the low stone wall and the kids hanging off the iron gate in their best sunday gear, watching the stream of misfits take on the best the Lowther Estate could throw at us. We ran through Askham village and then the road began to rise - yes, here it was, the long draggy gravel path. 

The path rose for around 3 miles before we were confronted on the ridge with a stunning view of Pooley Bridge and the north end of Ullswater. It was awesome, and had I not been chewing on trying to track a spidery looking old gadgie 15 seconds ahead, I might have stopped and taken a photo. 

On the way down off the ridge it became grassier with more heather as we crossed the moor. I sat in with a high stepping tall runner who looked like he was out for a jog. Lolloping across the heather. Needless to say I wasn't lolloping and he soon lolloped his way ahead. After around 5 miles spidery gadgie had extended his lead on me and I relinquished any hope of catching him. This put me in a better mood and after a water stop at 6 mile and the river crossing at 8 miles (squelch, squelch) I took some comfort in there being less mileage ahead than there was behind. At around 9 mile, we came to a craggy outcrop and I decided to take a couple of snaps. I asked the runners behind to look lively and make it look like they were enjoying themselves: click. The wee group ahead fragmented over the next mile and toward the end there were a few runners caught and a few passed by. The ones that I caught were down to a shuffle and had clearly overcooked it in the early stages. It was 1:57 and 3rd M60 over the line. A short sprint was required when an Eden Runner had the temerity to try and pass me. I had to snap myself out of my dreamlike heat riven plod-bubble and he soon ate my shorts. 

Speedy did well for 2nd to Hannah Russell. We all collected a bottle of beer. The prize-winners collected a further 3 bottles - I commented that this was probably not something that should continue - giving alcohol out to athletes. What hope is there for the next olympics. A gold medal and a bottle of brown ale? Anyway, consider yourself updated.     

Darlington 10k

 I'd never ran the Darlington 10k before. When the Dark Destroyer (Lornie) advised us that she fancied a run around her gaff, we thought we'd jog on down and see what was occurring. Its an early Sunday morning affair with a 2 looper around the leafier parts of the the town.  It was around 20 bangers to get in, but at least there wouldnt be any proper hills and the roads were closed. Bonus. Last year there were 3 or 4 who went sub 30, so it must be flattish. 

We parked up just outside the town centre, up some side street, and I looked back fondly as we walked away from the car wondering if it would still be in one piece when we returned. There was already a good crowd assembling when we reached the shops and arcades and we grabbed our numbers and took in the spectacle. Those wearing bright club vests, all those fluorescent platform boat-soled carbon shoes and all that money spent, gymsharks in their body hugging gear and slick backed hair and some locals who, bemused, were accidentally caught in the carnival crossfire and were only on their way to Greggs for a bacon sarnie and a coffee.  I noticed on my mid town warm up that there are at least two Greggs in Darlo city centre. That's how they roll down there. 

There were 7 pens for the runners (no, not parkers) and after a mile warm up in cool below average temperatures, I mosied surreptitiously to Pen 2. It felt about right. I had a target of sub 43, but secretly (and I can tell you this now..) I would have been disappointed with a 42. Forty one minutes seemed a realistic time.

Off we trundled and I soon got into my stride. When you've got to keep the gas on for a good wee while, it soon takes it out of you and with a crowd of around 1800 runners, there was quite a bit of tooing and frowing. I tucked in behind a green vested runner with Mark printed on his back - he might have had something to do with Northallerton. He was tall with grey hair and had a nice even pace. However, after 4 km it was just too even for me and the elastic snapped and I began to drift back. 'Come back Mark', I cried inside. Beyond that, there was not much to report; no dramas and a workmanlike 41.05 for 4th M60 on gun time, but 3rd on chip time. Lornie had finished just before me, in 41.10, her having set off in the first wave and Linds was there to give us support at the end. We repaired to the nearby coffee shop, truly Neros for Heroes and found a seat and ordered before the throngs arrived. All in all not a bad day out. Lornie was 5th senior and seemed happy to get a voucher.  We all got a t shirt, but none of us went to Greggs.

'Blimey, its Blisco'

 

After 6 months of denial, I have bought a set of new scales. The last ones were a little unsteady. Unreliable scales are a waste of space. Over the late winter and spring, I put my generous body shape down to swimming twice and, occasionally, three times a week. There was not much running mileage going on and this was coupled with creeping biscuit and beer intake. Fair enough, I had some reasonable race results, but most (or all of them) were off road, where placings tend to be of more interest than times.

As I gingerly mounted the sleek glass 'speak your weight' machine, it just spluttered and said 'you're having a laugh, fat boy...put that cake down.....welcome to this years slimmers club'.  

It was no wonder that I struggled up Blisco Pike on Saturday at the UK fell running championships. It was so steep that I didn't bother to look up to check out who the various runners were who were passing by on the ascent. It was so steep that I didn't even bother to look back or look around to take in the stunning scenery of the North Lakes. What a tedious slog.

My first mile along the rising tarmac was around 9 minutes, but in this short steep (AS classification) event of 4.5miles, my second mile came in at 26 minutes. The last wee bit to the top was a scramble up a couple of rocky outcrops and I nearly got my fingers stood on by the guy in front as he faltered trying to get his grip. It took 40 minutes to the summit, a 2000ft rise. 

At the top, I clambered around the ridge trying to work out a reasonable line downhill, I wondered if I still had Snowdon in my legs, having spent last week wandering around with Doms. Maybe I shouldn't have been surprised. With the sun shining after a grim wet morning I tried to make a fist of it on the descent and went hammer and tongs at it against a Mercia Runner called Mark (or at least thats the name his supporters were shouting). He took the grass, I was on the path, but it was too little, too late and while I got him on the lower slope, he caught me later on the tarmac. It was 13th M60 and just over the hour at the line. Looking at the finishers, I might have been 4th-6th possibly, although I accept these short steep hills and scrambles are not my forte. 

Anyway, yesterday was a 10 miler and with another 6 miler today and a swim booked for later, the flab fightback has begun. I've a 10k this weekend which will make a pleasant change.  Get those calories burnt. On the book front I easily made my way through 'The Restraint of Beasts' by Magnus Mills, a short quirky delight. But its on to 'Dispatches' by Michael Herr, a sobering read about 60's Vietnam.   

Ras Yr Wydffa

With the Snowdon Mountain Race shortened last year, Mrs Mac developed a deep seated desire to complete the full 9.5 miler after her initial 2023 taster. Speedy was privileged to get a call up for the Scottish Team and I was voted as best driver for the intended trip, and, strangely, I also found my name down on the entry list. 

Mrs Mac hasn't managed much training in recent weeks so, in preparation, we rocked up last week to a local low key trail race. We hadn't pre-entered but I was assured that there were entries on the line. It was 17 quid for UKA members; 19 for others. It was a warm muggy evening as we approached the organisers table. We had our names and ages taken and received our numbers. 'That'll be 40 quid please' advised the young lady as she looked up. I looked a little nonplussed, then inquired why the inflated charge. There seemed little debate and that's what she wanted, I think because that was the 'enter on the line' charge. However, for some reason, I bridled at this rampant runflation and handed my number back. Mrs Mac considered the developing situation, and then, to my relief, handed hers back. The scene reminded me of the advert where the bloke tries to buy onions, only for the vendor to say that he only accepts crypto currency.  What a load of Malarkey.

We went instead back home via a chip shop and pub where we enjoyed the life of Joe Public for an hour and spent some, but not all, of the 40 quid the run was going to cost us.  I admit, chip shop and pubs are not destinations that any self respecting athlete should be frequenting, but my self respect is a little down in the polls right now and, anyway, a 'bonding' session is a term used routinely for this sort of deviancy, is it not? 

With 800 extra calories on board, our small troop took off at 9.30am on Friday and we made our way to Llanberis. We arrived just before four in the afternoon and the sun was high, the mighty slate mountains looking down on us as we let ourselves in the end of terrace cottage we had booked for the 2 days. It was right on the course along the road that leads up to Yr Wyddfa, all 3500ft of it. After unpacking, it was a steady 4 mile shake down along the lake followed by a short refreshment and pasta. The forecast for the next day was bleak for July, but not apocalyptic with steady rain but light southerly winds and we were hopeful that we would get to run the full race course. 

We rested on Saturday morning, letting our porridge and bananas settle, before picking our numbers and t- shirts up at a local church. Speedy was no 13 and I recommended she wore the number upside down. However, she's not superstitious (at least with regards to that number) and we wandered back to the cottage for a last minute cuppa as the crowds and air of anticipation began to rise. 

A light drizzle had arrived as expected as we warmed up next to the start, Mrs Mac picking up a new lightweight waterproof at Pete Blands stall in last minute prep for the start. My experience last year (where I found out it was gun time that counted at the finish line and not chip time) meant that, this year, I was starting as close to the start line as possible and we were soon off, the international runners streaking away in front. 

The steepest sections of the race are the first mile and the fourth, and I knew I had to work hard to get up the hill in good time in order to take advantage of the long runnable descent. I was sitting behind an irish runner and kept close to a bloke from Horwich. He kept walking-jogging and this reflected my 'style'. He might have also been M60 so I didn't want to let him go. There was water on the course at two water stations and even though I was completely saturated, it was welcome. 

We moved higher up the hill and soon the paths had become rivulets of brown gravelly water. There were, as ever, loads of walkers peppered about the place. What a treat for them. Four hundred mental runners coming at them from all angles. Soon enough the leaders started tearing down past us and Speedy looked like she was doing well. I got past Horwich man near the top and rounded the turn with the Irish runner. I hoofed on then down the hill, passing an ascending Mrs Mac who had beaten the cut-off. On the long descent I managed to pick off a good handful of runners which is excellent for morale. 

Ant gave me a shout near the bottom and that spurred me on but it seemed a long way down. However, it only took 30 minutes and I hit the tarmac with little reserve but determination to avoid getting caught on the mile run-in to the finish. Irish girl came past easily as gravity reverted to normal, but she was not in my age group and I gritted my teeth for 1:38 on the line and, as it turned out, 1st M60. I was convinced that the phenomena that is Bingley's Ian Holmes would have been 1st, but he's still in his late 50's. He still managed 1.22. Speedy finished 9th (again), a great result considering her episode of lurgy a fortnight ago. 

 

We opted to go to the presentation and, in doing so, missed Mrs Macs glorious return. It was raining heavily at this point, but there was no sign of her new waterproof..... 'Keeping it for good?!' 

It was a 30 quid token for the race and a free curry in the evening. .

Note to self: don't drink beer immediately after eating red onions. Taste buds all over the place. 

All in all a decent weekend.  

I'm in Aberfeldy next month for a friends meet-up. In browsing the race programme for races, I came across the Kenmore trail race on the Friday evening. Six miles. Ideal. The price? Thirty five notes. Give us a break!

      

Hit and Mist: Bottoms Up Cup

Training for Snowdon this coming weekend has been a bit hit and miss, what with work and this blidy rain getting in the way of my leisure activity. I had 2 days work near Lewes on the south coast this week. The work was ok, but the driving was truly awful. The A1 and roads all around Peterborough were jammed up going down and the M1 was almost all 50 mile-an-hour road works all the way to Sheffield. Eight hours down and nearly as much on the return trip. 

I watched Parkrun on Saturday and, in the afternoon, Speedy and I took off to run/shuffle up Scald Law and the Cheviot. It's a 3 mile ascent of 2000ft; not huge or greatly steep, but short of going north or west, we're a bit limited around these parts for big hills. We got soaked and nearly lost as the clag descended as we ascended and on the way down we took the wrong path in the thick swirling mist and rain. We retraced our steps, found the right path and I was happy to get dry gear on after 80 minutes in the rainy wilds of July. No prizes for being a mountain rescue statistic.

Later, I was skimming the events page of running events and I noticed a 5km Bottom Up trail race on Sunday morning at Washington, which is about half an hour from us. 

We duly loaded up on Sunday Morning and got down early to buy a 'enter on the day' special. Thirteen notes. Around 120 lined up for this rock around the park and urban woods affair. The dark destroyer was their with Barns the dog in support. 

The start was seriously narrow and there was a bike sportive coming through in the opposite direction. Coupled with wet and slippy conditions, I tried to get the start moved 60 yards further up, but the organiser was happy to tell me that they were looking at this for next year, but just not today. Thankfully no one got flattened, but it wasn't very clever. 

After a fast start, I settled into a good pace. I could still see Speedy ahead after a mile but the twisty-turny nature of the course as it weaved its way around the park and wooded corridors and underpasses left me disorientated and around 2 miles I lost a couple of places on two small clicks where I slowed, and the passing youngsters powered on up. I kept them in my sights and at 6.45pace, with a final spurt of 5.45 for the finishing straight, I finished 13th. 

It was a nice wee cup and 50 bangers for Speedy as first lady and several cups of tea and a square of carrot cake for me. I was first m50/m60 and enjoyed the event. Ok, not the best field, but so what. The sinuous nature of the course occupied my brain. Staying upright on my posh trainers as we traversed greasy tarmac and soft gravel stretches took my mind off the hard graft I was putting in. Finished in 21:10 in the end.  

The published results initially omitted the names and details of all those who entered on the day, but after I texted someone, it was sort of amended. Given that the winners of both male and female races were enter on the day, it was the least they could do. However, on the day a great wee club event and recommended. 

https://www.trailoutlaws.com/event_results/bottoms-up-cup-results-2024

       

Black Rock, Eildon, Benarty Triple Lock

Its been a fortnight of exertion. Sometimes the best way to get fit is just to race. They say 'what doesn't kill you makes you stronger'. I don't know who 'they' are (someone said Nietzsche), and I am certain that what doesn't kill you could still cause appreciable damage. I never regarded it as a truism, but never had the energy or mental capacity to challenge the ditty. 'Misery loves Company'..there's another one. Anyway, it was, of course, the Black Rock 5 at Kinghorn which was attended by 1200 runners in their plummage and old trainers. Great fun and very wet this year. I had my adidas long-shorts on and they clung to me as they became wet. This had me looking down more than once to check I was still actually wearing the shorts. 

Speedy got some poundage for 2nd place, but nothing for moi, other than sand in my pants and a half an hour wait and 30 bangers at the fish in chip shop. You can't help your chin falling when the guy in front of you orders 14 fish suppers. They did famous business at the chipper.  A couple of pints later and I fell into the tent. 

Saturday arrived and it warmed up as we took Marg and Ant to the Lochore parkrun in the morning and dined famously at the park cafe on sausage rolls and hot drinks. It's a great venue for outdoor sports. 

Afterwards we drove to Melrose for the Eildon 3 Hills Race. I was nut-bushed after a disturbed sleep the night before and found myself a park bench for half an hours kip in the sun. There was a good turnout at the Gala Harriers event and after getting counted into the pen we were sent on our way. I wanted to stay close to Keith Murray of Teviotdale, but as we ascended I was baulked on the narrow heather track by a group of Saltwell Harriers who had come over the border in their red and white strips for some sun and sarsaparilla. 

At the top of the first hill it was all go and I passed 4 pretty quickly on the gravel toward the 2nd hill which is only a wee one. I pushed on, unhindered, to the third hill and descended on the main path passing a Gala blokey and Keswick lady and began catching the Teviotdale runner whom I spied ahead.  However, the gap was still around 15 seconds and I made little inroads. He told me later he was chasing Carnethys Gilmore who was a little way ahead of him and won the M60. Speedy won her race after a crisp performance and collected more poundage and a trophy that needs a good clean. The recce last month deffo helped.

This weekend was a local parkrun on the Saturday where my time came down again and is, at last, beginning to look respectable. The Sunday came and there was only Me and Mrs Mac making our way up to the Benarty Trail Race, a Brian Cruickshank production at Lochore (again!). Speedy was down with the lurgy and Ant was doing the lemsips. 

With a field of around 90, it was just under 5 miles and I held onto 5th place until the end of the 2nd mile. However as we dived into the woods and up yon big hill, I couldn't find the wattage, the heart rate was maxed out and a posse of 3 young pretenders cruised past.  I made no impression on the curving descent but tracked them all the way back to the finish for 8th place and 1st m60. It was apparently the ARC Scottish trail race championships, so I got an extra medal and 2 cans of Tetleys, which made me feel like a Champion!  

On the way back we peeled off for a cafe stop at Rankins in North Queensferry and afterwards it was back down the road. All and all full on busy. 

There are two different types of people in the world. Those that want to know and those that want to believe and those that want to run...oh, that's three then. I think I'll leave it there.                     

Scottish Trail Race Championships 2024

It was a snap decision to enter the Scottish Trail Championships a fortnight ago. Its how I celebrate my birthday. A chance to get back to Perth, a chance to thrash myself around the lower reaches of the forest at Birnam and meet up with all the like minded folk who the public deem a bit nutty. 

A double header weekend. It was the local Parkrun on Saturday on a hilly wee course in Morpeth. This saw me finish in just over 21 minutes in my new expensive Asics trainers. Boing, boing.

Sunday: After bailing out of the Ibis Budget in Dundee first thing, we arrived at the Scout Hall in Birnam with plenty of time to spare and I got my number from Andy Douglas who was helping out. Organised by ProTay, Sharon told me this title race was her baby. She advised that it was a tough wee course. We had a wander to the Gallery at the heart of the village and sat outside with a cuppa. The sun was out, albeit there was a cool breeze. I doubted that the wind would be an issue running through the woods. I had both road shoes and studs with me, but gambled that the course would be sufficiently dry for the former. I have also been training in road shoes up on Simonside on the edge of the Cheviots and feel happy enough with them on gravel. 

Around 70 had pre-entered for this off-road 10k and there were a good lot from Cambuslang, Edinburgh AC and Central and a smattering of others from around and about. There is, questionably, no awards for M60/W60s vets for this race. I find that odd considering that there were more over 50's entered than there were seniors.  Needs sorting. 

Around 55 lined up at noon and were sent on our way into the wilderness. The course was a mix of wide gravel forest track, short bouldery 'technical' sections and narrow winding cut-throughs across grass, fern lined leafy and sun dappled glades. All in all, very nice. 

The first bouldery section downhill saw me getting past a few including Dave Thom who was picking his way down the stones. It takes me a good while to get my heart rate up, even after a warm up. Thom passed me after a mile or so. I tried to stay with him but dropped back a little. I was then caught by an Edinburgh AC runner Phillip as I was catching his clubmate at the same time. Janet Dunbar, also sporting the blue and white vest caught up with me and suddenly we had a wee posse, all sweltering and struggling with the very uppy-downy course. It was then a Fife runner, Aitken who came past.  I realised I was slipping down the rankings and had better dig in. I regained this wee group on the descents, but spent the ascents clawing my way at the back and holding on for grim death. Extreme yo-yoing. 

I have developed rather an unwelcome death-rattle, the rasping type cough that old men have sometimes when running and while it doesn't bother me so much, it does announce your presence to your competitors in front. Its not something to nurture. Not any sort of advantage.

After around 7k, it crossed my mind that I should let the posse go, but I was buoyed up by the faint hope that the last mile might be bouldery and could suit me, and, going by the earlier observations, some of the other runners were clearly not descenders and not at all comfortable running on the rockier stuff. The marshalls were out where needed and included Des C and Angela M. 

Sure enough, as we turned right I recognised the rocky path that forms the back end of the Birnam Hill Race and was instantly rejuvenated, leaving my would-be captors at speed. I even had the temerity to catch Louisa Brown of Garscube who had been well ahead as well as gaining on Phillip of Edinburgh who had passed me early in the race. With a kilometre to go it was back into the forest on the track and I checked back a couple of times as my heart and internal organs were in meltdown, but there was no-one behind and I allowed myself to breeze to the finish feeling that I had at least salvaged some pride in what could have been a very lowly result. Forty eight minutes, 33rd and 7th O50 and a choc ice afterwards was my reward. We were soon in the car and heading south to get back for the Blaydon race where my taxi and photographic duties awaited. Good day out.   Photos by Mrs Mac.  Link to Fotos -  https://photos.app.goo.gl/odUEEWrXfpnNTijPA

Pilgrimage to Goatfell

It felt like a pilgrimage. A three hour drive to Irvine, an overnight stay at the harbourside, a morning drive to Ardrossan, the ferry to Brodick and then a half a mile walk to the hall, race HQ, for the mighty Goatfell Mountain Race. I think it should be re-branded 'Mountain' not 'Hill' as it sits proud on the edge of Arran with a 'come and get me if you think you're hard enough' attitude. A beacon for the intrepid racers and dozy public alike. 

I paid a visit to the Harbour Lights for a nightcap on the Friday night when we got to Irvine to watch the end of the Raith Partick match. Many of the punters were evidently less interested in the game,  numerous bodies lingering in and across my line of sight. Maybe it was a blessing in disguise, given the result. 

A light sea-haar threatened as we passed a rather nasty looking single vehicle crash on our way to Ardrossan. Speedy Joe and I arrived in good time and parked the car. It was a cuppa in the terminal before boarding the compact McBrayne ship. Boatymcboatface.  We got our race numbers on the boat. I was happy to get out on deck during the voyage due to the very questionable air quality circulating around our seats. Nobody was putting their hands up for this anti-social behavior. There was no view on the trip out with the damp grey clag gripping the sides of the ship, but it had cleared to reveal the island as we began our approach. 

Last year when I ran this race, I was overhauled by 3 runners in the last mile on tarmac after my legs went all Rowntrees. This year I planted a pair of road trainers at the bottom of the track to Goatfell where gravel meets tarmac. My plan was to change quickly from fell shoes to the road shoes. Studs offer no bounce on road surfaces. I needed all the help I could get.

I replaced my waterproof trousers from my bumbag with 2 bottles of water. This was also a first; me taking water up a hill. However, it was hot, cloudless and windless and I knew we were going to cook. Speedy had done Ben Lomond the week before and said there was no water on the hill. I knew there was a stream on Goatfell, but its at the bridge near the bottom. 

Around 130 or so set off and I took up my place toward the back. The run-in was bearable with a 7.05min. first mile. However after the second mile through the forest I had begun to walk. When you walk, the folk behind you, for the most part, also take this as a signal to walk and I enjoyed a period where no-one came past. I did hear a lot of heavy breathing so they were close enough.  I decided early on that the heat was such that I needed to manage my body and it would be better to keep my energy for the descent. 

The hill was busy with walkers of all shapes and fashions and I shipped a few salt tabs on the way up. I kept a bottle of water handy for Speedy. With this race being a straight 'up and down' affair, I knew she would pass me at some point. As we ascended, a chap behind insisted on a bit of 'merry banter' with fellow runners and the passing public and it did my nut in. I'm afraid I was rather curt with him when he tried to engage me, when I turned and in a rather sour tone said that 'I wasn't interested in a chat'. It didn't deter him, maintaining his commentary to various as I sat in front and then behind him toward the peak. In the meantime, Speedy had come past on the descent going well and duly took the water bottle: jobs a good 'un. I thought.

At the top the view was apparently splendid, but my mind was on other matters. I binned 3 runners straight away, 2 of them looked like they were M60's or perhaps they had just had a heavy night at the Harbour Lights. A younger lad got past me early on, but I tracked him all the way down and he ran out of steam toward the bottom. Another younger guy was catching us.  Onto the road, I glanced back to see both runners around 15-20 seconds behind. I dived to the side of the road and changed shoes - probably losing around the same amount of time as I had on them and, as I set off, they were almost on top of me. The road shoes had bounce and were fresh and cool. I put my hands in my fell shoes as I carried them and realised how hot they (and my feet) must have been. The new shoes also gave me a psychological boost and I began moving away from both runners. At the junction ahead, the Marshall lauded me on the shoe change strategy and I began wondering if the change also had an effect on the psyche of the runners behind. 

I plugged on toward the finish and felt the last sparks of energy ebb away. I was done in. Entering the field, it was a lap on grass left to do and I was caught and dropped by one of the youngsters. Collapsing over the finish in around 2 hours, this 10 miler in the sun had drained me. I spent several minutes splayed out on the grass before the inner thigh cramp struck and it took another minute or two to stand and recover. It was a nice spread of cakes. I am certain that I won the competition for most cups of tea drank. I caught up with Will Horsley of NFR who is running again. 

Speedy won her race and I finished 2nd M60, losing to a Musselburgh chap who I had spied passing me near the top. He was well ahead and regardless of strategies, I wouldn't have caught him. More training required. However, I will enjoy the beers I won. It was an ice cream afterwards where I got chatting with an old just retired couple on holiday from Louisiana. It was back onto the ferry at 4 and the long drive home later in the evening, via the chippy in Dalkeith. Good work, but exhausting.

   

    

 

The Rehab reaches Deuchary

The rehab continues.  After another Parkrun on Saturday, I was still intact and had shaved another sliver off my 2024 5k times. Such was my excitement that I was happy to rock up at Dunkeld the next day for Adrians Deuchary Hill Canter. Forty eight hours earlier I had sat and stated for the record that my racing days were over, that my body needed a break and that I should park the ego and accept my decrepitude. 

Run, yes, good :)

Race, no, bad :(

Me and Speedy Joe arrived early. Sufficiently early for me to get my number and have a catch up with ProTays Sharon and Partner.  I was all for the joining with the early start group who set off half an hour before the main race. There were 7 of us and I led from the gun. I ran with purpose but my lungs weren't bursting. The route had been altered to accommodate cows in a field. I also recalled going off course last time round, so I was wary. However, Adrian had done a sterling job on the tape and route marking. The sun made a brief appearance and, as always, I was overdressed, but stuck to my task and reached the hilltop in an hour. The Marshalls seemed surprised at my quick appearance. I looked back down the hill and saw a lad not far behind me. Best get a move on. Ooops, not racing...remember! 

I trogged back down the hill and came to a junction which threw me. The sign was pointing right, but the tape said left. There was also a straight-on option. I stopped for a good wee while to let the blokey catch me. We decided if we were going to get lost, we would do it together and we went left with the tape. It proved the correct option and I was soon on my own padding across the gravel and hard packed forest tracks. I was caught with about a mile to go by the eventual race leader who passed me at a fair pace. I felt a few tweeks of cramp in my calf, but at 11 miles I didn't have far to go and finished in just over 2 hours. Pretty pedestrian and well down. However, I was pleased with the run and with no after effects other than some blood blisters, I think we're going in the right direction. 

With only 40 finishers, this race deserves much more and coupled with the soup, tea etc and prizes galore afterwards, its a cracking wee race. Speedy got back as first female after also having to stop and cracking herself on the face with a deer gate - daftie. We were a box of chocs and a bottle of malt better off on the way back.

 

 

 

The exercise-ist

Bless me father. I'm making some progress at last. I know you'd want to know.  Two sports massages banked and stretching every day peppered with gym or swimming is sorting me out. No hills yet, mind. 

I felt goodish as I lined up at the Elder Park run on Saturday. I happened to have a social in Glasgow over the weekend and with it being such a beautiful morning, I took the clockwork orange into Govan and walked to the Park with Alma from Reigate. From her accent she sounded Australian, but I didn't want to ask. As I warmed up, Chris Upson appeared from out of the early Spring foliage. I wasn't phased, however. I had to run my own race and wanted a sub 23, and was probably up to a sub22 given that there are no hills on this course. Right enough, I clocked 21 minutes and left the park smartly with a spring in my step. It was a fancy lunch from one till 5pm at Exchange Square. The meal was first class and the company entertaining. I gave myself a high-five, keeping away from the alcohol. I even elected for a mocktail at the Blue Dog as the gang took up the back of the bar. We left around 7pm and I celebrated by making a whistle stop visit to The Griffin, a pub which on another visit, I will have a proper mans pint of frothing ale. 

Making the most of the weekend, I breakfasted on Sunday on scrambled egg and tea. We mosied along the streets to Glasgow Green for the 10k. Marg was doing the 5k. It was drizzling and the organisers had taken 40 quid off us for the experience, promising a medal at the end. I bridle at the cost of some of these things.

It was cool and grey as I mashed up and around the park, clocking 21 minutes again for the first 5k. Having not done 6 miles since December I worked hard on maintaining my old mans shuffle during the second half of the event but slowed to a 23 minute second half. As I turned the final corner, the large coffee I had had at McDonalds made itself known and exited in a fashion that reminded me of the exorcist, even as I was gagging for air and trying not to let my head swivel round so much. Hopefully the blokey at the end with the camera failed to capture this caffeine projectile art installation and, by the time I got to the finish, in a touch under 45 minutes, I had got it back together and was smiling, albeit with brown teeth, watery eyes and a snotty nose. I know, I know, too much information. We didn't need the priest after all! It was back to the hotel for a shower and the train south. What a palavar.