Hunters Bog Trot 26

 

I was up early and arrived at the station with 10 minutes to spare. The queue at the coffee stall was 6 deep, so I walked on to the deserted Platform Two and took a seat at the end of the short aluminium bench.   

An older woman sat down 2 seats away on the bench. Her daughter elected to stand outside the refuge on the Platform. ‘Well’, I mused, ‘everyone needs a bit of personal space’. After 2 or 3 minutes the daughter, in her sensible shoes and black jeans, poked her head round the opening and said to her mother ‘I’ve texted you your seat number’, adding, ‘just in case’….. Just in case of what? Was it about to kick off? Unexpected package on Platform Two. Was Travolta slouched in the drivers chair of this Trans-pennine train wielding a '45? Should I expect to see Denzel leaping up the stairs from the station underpass. 

On the train, the trolley woman announced that she and her trolley were on the train serving teas and coffee. She asked us to make our way down to the rear of the train, Coach E. Surely she should be coming to me?

I navigated my way through the gauntlet of slow moving doors and carriages, inquiring faces peering up from their seats. A sea of faces. Some were already tucking into beers and fizz. It was only 7.30!

Arriving at Coach E, the kitchen door was shut, so I knocked on the window. Trolley lady opened up and was happy to serve me an americano, adding that they only took 'cards' for payment. Wtf. Having lost my wallet earlier in the week I was, the day before, in receipt of two new near identical cards. The bank sent me two. I had tried one of the new ones in Lidls the previous evening. It had been declined. But what about cash? Nada. 

Armed only with the other, untested card, the question was ‘Did I feel lucky’? Well, do you? ‘.....No’ was the answer and I made my way, coffeeless, back up the train, simmering, with my tail between my legs. So much for promising to pay the bearer on demand.

I became a bit braver in the St James Centre and withdrew money with the other new debit card from the bank. Probably helps if you put in the right pin. It was a slow coffee in a café and then I dropped off my bag and jacket at half eleven in the bus station lockers. Always a worry that the contents won't still be there when you get back.

I jogged the short distance to the HBT race HQ, a gazebo sat at the edge of St Margarets Pond under Arthurs Seat. It became quite busy and there must have been around one hundred runners who eventually lined up in the sun. 

HBT, the self proclaimed ambassadors of dissidence were asking us to scan a bar code thing and complete a digital entry form on our phones. Whats going on? I said 'I'd rather not' and the lady said she would be happy to lend me her phone to do it. I took her up on the offer.  We're all getting led down a rabbit hole with nothing good at the bottom. Baah.

After the start I was passed by Des C. who kindly advised me that I was overdressed. I got into the familiar walk-run groove up Whinny Hill and tried to make progress, aiming at the wee group of six around ten seconds ahead. After the first hill, I passed one, but then was passed by another. The grass was dry and gradients forgiving, but the downhills were not in any way technical, so I had to rely on my stubby legs to do the grafting. The second hill which skirted Salisbury Crags was steep but short and before I knew it I was bombing down to the finish. Thirty five minutes. Mr C, who had finished, was jogging up toward me on his warm down. I evidently have work to do before Lomond.

I made a couple of new buddies who were also in my age group. They had come down from Inverness and after collecting my bag and jacket, I made my way to the local Weatherspoons and had a good chat for an hour over a pint and a plate of chips with the lads. 

Getting the train back, I heard the announcement over the tannoy ‘Tea and Coffee are available at the end of the train, Coach E.’  Sat in Coach A again, I couldn’t be arsed.  Trolley services; That’s a joke.  Substandard service? Digital progress? Don't make me laugh!  All in all, a jolly good day out.  

 

Jeffreys Mount

On the face of it the Jeffreys Mount fell race looked like an event that might not be expected to tax the system unduly. At a touch under 5 miles and perched on the edge of the Lakes at Tebay, it might have been construed as a likely candidate for a training session. Certainly these days, it would cost around forty quid to get there, such is the cost of fuel and add on tax, but with 2 of us going it made the trip slightly more justifiable and, well, we both need the hill training. This was the nearest workout we could find, short of Ben Ledi or Screel in Dumfries. With an ascent of 590m, it would be a respectable season opener for me. A modest training session. My expectations these days are such that I should be grateful to run any event and I need to pace myself, watch the heart rate and take in a little more of the scenery. However the best laid plans and all that! We sped across the A69 and down the M6 and were parked up in good time. The village Hall was race HQ and we paid our eight quid and got a recycled number. We joined the other 50 or so runners and jogged a mile down the narrow lane and across the footbridge to the start. Jeffreys Mount looked down on us as the sun broke through scattering grey clouds. It was still five degrees and the wind was brisk adding an element of wind chill. The race route has two steep ascents and is a figure of eight. There were plenty of locals from Helm Hill, Eden and Preston. I had my gopro and decided I might do a fell run video. We set off and I watched most of the field disappear over the hill. I was walking soon after the start and in a group with a few grey haired men and a couple of women. We were straight into a headwind and it was a slog, but we were soon past the first checkpoint and swinging north west, just as two of the fast lads came past, having gone left instead of right at the checkpoint. There were a herd of fell ponies on the ridge with the sun behind them, a super silhouette. It would have been a great photo. By the time I arrived they had scattered. I managed to get into a rhythm once we started to descend along a long grassy hollow out of the wind and I passed a younger bloke who said, ‘like your hat’, then added ‘I like the way you wear it’. Quite frankly I detest these west coast fashionistas masquerading as fell runners. They’re everywhere! Not to be put off I gave him the thumbs up and plodded on. It was a good slog across the long bleached grass and then we were swinging round to the second steep climb around a mile from the finish. This was a grassy mega steep affair and just as I began to ascend, Preston John came up on my peripheral vision. He was deffo a man of mature years and we climbed and scrambled the 300m or so of ultra steep climb together, spidering our way up and resorting to grabbing handfulls of grass to combat gravity and pull ourselves up. The hill was close enough to the M6 for me to hear the beeping and the abuse of bored passengers hanging out the car windows as we formed a bright and mental cavalcade scuttling up a bonkers gradient. ‘Fell running *ankers’ came the shout. I got to the crest just before Preston lad and he seemed to slow and I was off after hat man and the girl who had made light work of the hill. I passed hat man again just before the final checkpoint and had a huge tailwind down the final descent. However, once again like a bad dream, Preston John came up on my radar and I opened my stride…and still he came…I sped up…he was still coming….I was now full tilt and there was 50 metres to the line.The heart rate was on max. Johnie boy had to settle for 6th m60. There were five m60’s in the 6 runners around me, such is the sheer intransigence of truculent old men like me trying to prove theyre still someone on the hill. No matter, we shook hands and I was offski to the tea and cake table back at base with Speedy, who did alright. Checking my new heart rate monitor, I was doing really well until the last 400m, so it’s a ‘no thanks’ to having to fend off old gadgies trying to beat me on a sprint to the line.