The Scottish Masters Cross Country was held last weekend in Dundee. I like Camperdown Park and thought rather than go 'tete a tete' (fnarr) with the youngsters in Falkirk, I would mix it with the oldies. My rationale was solid. I was old just like them, and am still wrestling with my competitive ego. I just might not come last. Visoins of nearly making the the podium - laughable, I know.
We had Master T, Marg and Lins up for the ride and after a sleety shower, the sun burst out of a grey leaden sky. It was still pretty cold.
I got my number and bumped into 3 clubmates from the Bella club. They were all M40, so no use to me in my pursuit of Scottish Gold in the M60 team competition. The course was a 2 or 3 lapper and I was definitely not 'at the races'. I lined up. I had my hands in my pockets if I'd had any. I commenced with faint vigour, tucking into the pack as they snaked up the first long grassy drag. There were isolated pockets of spectators, but otherwise we swept along and down one grassy bit and then grovelled up through the woods, stepping over the roots.
I slowed and puttered: idling mode. I was, not surprisingly, passed by a succession of folk keener than me. As we all had our age group labels on our backs, the first thing anyone does, is check out whose passing you (club) and then peer at their back with old eyes to see how old they are. If they're not in your age group, happy days. If they are, more heaps of misery. On the second lap I let around five M60's past and had neither the interest nor energy to track them. Normally, I would have used each of them to tow me along for a good bit, but not today, no fight. I finished in 34 minutes for this 8 kilometre extravaganza and 12th M60, although the five that passed by were all within a minute of me at the end.
We said goodbye to leafy Camperdown and we headed down to the Beinn Inn with the dog. It was dark when we arrived. We bathed, we dined and we crashed.
More work on the core required. And perhaps a pep talk....!
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