'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.