Lost Breakfast at Tinto

Crikey. Carpe Diem they say, though they don't know what it means. It means that if you have the energy and inclination, you can shoe horn in two races over the weekend, rather than one. Now I realise its foolish, only a dummy would think that this is a good idea, especially when you're in your later years. But if you accept that you've only got a single good run in your legs at any one time, you have options. You can race one, jog the other, you can ease your way through both, or simply jog both. The case for hammering yourself two days running is a poor one. As it was, I had a wizard idea. I would do the Tinto Hill Race on the Saturday and the Templeton 10 road race on Sunday. Both were pre-entry and I had put down good money for both. I had also booked a hotel in Biggar and then one in Dundee for what emerged as a wee misadventure. Speedy is abit laid up at the mo, but she was game and provided some company and the foties on this mad-cap foppery. 

After a wet 2 mile shake down (or is that shake up?) we cruised round Biggar window shopping early on Saturday. It was dreich but passable. We then nipped into a cafe for a modest breakfast. I asked for black pudding and fried egg and tea. This was to add to my earlier coffee. I reasoned that with 2 hours before the event I had ample time to digest the best of lowland scoff. We rocked up in the car park and I parked on the end of the row to avoid a bog-down scenario of team Volvo. With my number firmly pinned on, we joined the throng walking and jogging to the base of Tinto. I couldn't find my iRocs, so went with a pair of old Salomon speedcross with worn studs, so a fast descent was going to be unlikely. No matter.

There were may 180 or so warming up and down the red gravelled lower slope. I went with 2 layers. We set off and I thought I'd play it be ear. As it was I was walking quite soon after the start with Murray from Teviotdale and Crowe just ahead. Alan Smith was just behind, so as we ascended, I was under the misapprehension that I was, maybe, 3rd. There was no sight of Gilmore or the Hartfell Chap who frequently finishes close to me. Smith got past near the top and then Dark Peaks Joe Blackett came striding past. I have ran against him around Yorkshire previously and I stuck with him.  We rounded the cairn and trig point and the decent came into view. I took it steady, sitting in behind Dark Peak as we descended. Toward the bottom of the steep section I caught Alan Smith in view and decided to go for it. Passing Dark Peak I was up and past Smith in double quick time; I presume he was jogging in. However, I generally adopt a no-looking back policy and envisioning 2 crusties in tandem behind me waiting to spring past, just before the line, I predictably hammered it. As I neared the finish line, the oily fusion that was breakfast conspired and the contents ejected themselves in 2 or 3 gushing dark brown mouthfuls as the line was crossed. It wasn't a good look. Its happened before in Glasgow.  

Was it all worth it? Apparently not, as there were at least 2 or 3 other M60's that I hadn't recognised and who were having a much better and faster day out than me, so it ended up around 7th. The price of a lost breakfast. 

This is, purportedly, what's happening now. The tight wee group of vets that used to fight it out for podium places has been usurped by youthful incomers; youngsters who have moved up from M55. What a brass neck. However, there's no doubt that my late breakfast buffoonery will have to stop.