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!