Verticale Kilometre Lagunc

Since I started running in the hills, its long been an aim to compete in a race on the continent. An adventure. With my advancing years coupled with all the aches and pains this past 12 months, I've almost left it too late, but I eventually got there this weekend with a race in the Southern Alps. That said it was hardly a race, in so far as it involved a stylish start in front of the camera followed by an hours sweaty slog up a huge mountain through the Alpine forest, a forced march up a thousand rock steps culminating in a glorious 'almost-jog' for the cameras on top of the hill, a thousand metres up from the start.

The Kilometre Verticale Lagunc this year was a time trial. With 250 competitors, it formed half of the weekends offering for runners in Chiavenna, an attractive town up past Lake Como in Lombardy.  I had entered both the vertical kilometre and the 25k trail race, the latter on the Sunday, along with Linds and Speedy Joe. Mrs Mac had also stepped up gamely for the Kilometre challenge. 

We had been in intense training for at least a week, with Mrs Mac making regular appearances at the gym on the stepping machine. I had spent time going up the stairs at home and trying to remember what I'd come up for. I'd also found the cross trainer and knocked out an unconvincing 10 miler around the lanes during the week. I told myself that I would have enough energy for the 25k.  

After a short flight we arrived on Thursday at our hotel and had a poke about the town. Friday came and went, the sun was up and I was beginning to get a handle on the local lingo.   

Fueled by honey and croissants we rocked up for Saturdays event. The village was buzzing with runners from the local clubs and a smattering of running tourists. The prize money for both events was generous and stretched to 10^th place, with local produce provided for 11^th to 15^th, but despite the attraction of packets of pasta, biscuits and jars of jam, for me, it was all about just getting up the hill in one piece. 

The start list was in chronological order with the women setting off first at 30 second intervals followed by the men. Oldies first. There were three seventy year olds in front of me. Surely I could catch them? 

I was off number 197, so there was scope for 196 runners to come past me. As it was I 'galloped' up the 1000m climb, all steps and roots passing Mrs Mac near the top and, all the while, trying to avoid being run over by faster runners passing or being struck down by the large spiky seed husks the size of small tennis balls that fall from the chestnut trees which cover the lower slopes. Toward the top, the woodland turned to spruce, the airspace got safer and I grovelled my way over the line in 195^th place and 2 minutes inside the hour. Mrs Mac was a valiant 247^th and got an impressive reception finishing as the lantern rouge. 

Waking up the next day, I wasn’t up to 25k, so we waved Linds and Cat off in the race bus under cloudy grey skies. They both had good races, with Speedy picking up 2^nd place and some proper prize money. Linds came in strongly and just missed out on some local produce. 

We dined like the athletes we are on the Sunday night (pizza and wine) and cleared off south to Bergamo on the Monday morning, before getting an early flight back to Blighty on Tuesday, a flight that included being rattled around the turbulent skies for half an hour.    

 

Sorrowful Service Alert

Just back from another wee jolly to Edinburgh. Nice trip up and straight into a 5 mile jog around Holyrood Park, then a wander to the Portrait Gallery and a couple of pubs before things went off the rails on the 'delightful' pseudo-first-class service back home, courtesy of Cross Country trains. It really is a shambles. First world problem I know. Its also deeply unpopular to come across as entitled. But who gives one? If I detailed the farcical performance and sorrowful lack of resources we witnessed you would think it a modern day faulty towers on tracks. How much effort does it take to keep 10 customers on a carriage, daft enough to pay extra, remotely happy?  Seemingly looking at the small print, they only sell you a fancy seat - any more palaver is subject to x,y and z. Even as I went looking for teabags off the 'retail' trolley at the other end, the trolley operator quizzed me on what was happening in the posh-end, then suggested I didn't waste my money in future. 

The saving grace, however, was that I did indeed have a comfy seat and we got back on time. Its a race to the bottom for Brand Britain. Shocking. The City is increasingly expensive and I might have to rethink my patronage of the Auld place.  

On a different subject, I have the 5th cyclo cross of the season this Sunday at Ryton. It was Hetton Country Park last week and after a slow start, I fairly got into my stride. Ryton's an unknown quantity, so wish me well.

The running has been very patchy in the last fortnight. My left knee's still not right, but these days, after a mile mincing through the town, my right knee is equally grumpy and, after a mile or two, I wonder, on each run, just how far I might manage.  Seems 4 miles is about what I'm able to do at a reasonable pace. 

After a month of tuna salad, nuts and soup peppered with moments of lasagne, beer and carb' weakness, the weight has stabilised  but its still at the heavy end of 'acceptable'. No matter, at my age no one gives a hoot apart from the other twenty blokes my age who are also in their own wee bubble of denial. Happy days.