Monkey Business at the Snowdon International Race 2022

It was back to Snowdonia for the Snowdon International two days ago. I was on taxi duties. I was also on camera and water mule duties for the race which Speedy Joe was in, but you can't do both and water and cameras don't mix well. We got down on the Friday afternoon and jogged around Llanberis. This was followed up by a bit of retail therapy in one of the four outdoor shops and then a visit to the chippie. It was a half an hour wander up toward the slate quarry before a cooked breakfast on Saturday morning. I then ran-jog-walked my way up most of Elidir Fawr, the southern face of which mostly has been carved up  those old slate workers. There were many abandoned buildings. The place was stunning and bathed in a heat-haze in the early morning light. 

There were some climbers on one face and walkers dotted here and there, but after 3 miles of ascent I thought it best to descend and grab a cuppa before the next ascent halfway up Snowdon. The village was bedecked with green and red bunting, the main road had been coned off, the banners and flags were up and there was an air of excitement as 400 runners gathered for a 2pm start. We had left an hour before and Ant and Missus Mac stopped around halfway while I went a little higher. There were, as usual, throngs of Joe Public on the hill and we passed a woman who had tripped and fallen and was waiting for the Mountain Rescue.  Many we heard to mutter 'whats occurring?'...

I got to the steps just before the 2nd Tunnel in good time and positioned myself beside the drone cameraman. The cameras were there and you can apparently see the race on BBC Wales iplayer in a weeks time. Tidy. The runners were soon streaming up the hill like ants and I offered a drink to a few. Some drank, some poured it over their heads and others declined. I filled up the bottle twice from the tottie wee burn that I had found last week and I could tell some of the runners were super hot. 

 Speedy was well up, but also toiling and after she passed I jogged down to the halfway mark to wait her return. It wasn't long before they were careering downhill at breakfast speed (or was it breakneck) and one lad went absolutely flying in front of me as he caught his toe on a rock.  Speedy passed in good time and took a gub of water as I ran beside her like something out of the TDF. I got down half an hour later, my hips beginning to grumble and we enjoyed an ice cream and a dip before the hour long presentation which bizarrely was in reverse and not at all respectful to the Elite runners, some of whom had come from Italy, Ireland and the north of Scotland. Some had even come from Wales.  

The ice cream man tried to charge me 50p a shot for the red monkey blood when I bought 3 cones. What a brassneck.  I told him he was having a laugh and as he reluctantly gave me my change, he said 'I hope you sleep well tonight'. He was raking it in, so I don't know what he was on about.  We had a curry at the hotel on the night and a few beers and after a short jog on the Sunday assisted by a mushroom and fried egg fuelled breakfast we were back on our way north. It was truly boiling at Lancaster Services, and I was glad that the race had not been on the Sunday.           

Snowdon

 As we drove past the turn-off for Runcorn, we were driving into unknown territory. I'd been to south Wales, and even to Mid Wales in the past, but North Wales was a mystery. 

The A55 was forgiving, and having spent 2 hours on the M6, we arrived on Friday Evening at Colwyn Bay Travelodge. The town was deserted. It should have been jumping. I always remember a cheesy BBC programme on Saturday night called 'Seaside Special'. It had 5 or 6 acts on it and was presented from various resorts, of which Colwyn Bay was one. Les Dennis, Ken Dodd and all those tattyfellarious dancers from the dancing troops that were the staple of that decade. I read now that Colwyn is one of the most deprived areas in Wales. Certainly, the large supermarkets have sucked the living daylights out of the heart of the place. Anyway, I digress. We, being me and speedy joe, had an expensive pint in the Station and then were tucked up by eleven. I heard a few shouts from the late night revellers in my sleep, but we were up and out by 8am the next morning and arrived at Llanberris half an hour later as the sun was creeping up and the sky promising a clear blue day. We parked up beside the lake and were plodding up the high street 10 minutes later armed with bum bags and Speedcross shoes. The track up from Llanberis to Snowdon was heaving. Several charity groups were walking it and after the initial stage on tarmac which is super steep, we began threading our way up the Mountain. It levelled out a bit and the path reminded me a little of Ben Lomond. 

There sure were alot of folk trudging up to reach the giddy heights at the top. We got up to the top in around 1:15. The views were terrific. There was an orderly queue of around 30 waiting to get their photo taken at the trig point. I guess for some, this might be the highspot of their walking careers. We took a couple of staged snaps at the edge, but standing around waiting for a trig point foto was not an attractive option and we were soon horsing it down the hill, weaving in and out and around the masses. This included a lad in a wheelchair who was out of his chair and attempting to crawl up the Mountain. Respect. Halfway down I stopped, cupping my hands-solo to take a drink of the water from a trickle of water which was all that was on offer from this behemoth during this dry summer.  Ah, Welsh Water! 

We were up and backdown in under 2 hours, which was tidy and left us time for a dip in the nearby lake and then, after drying off, a slow cheese on toast and some potato and chorizo hash affair at the local cafe (30 minute wait). We then picked up a slow coffee takeaway at another cafe (12 minute wait) while the girl served everyone else. Was it something I said, was it something I was wearing? Is it because I'm Scottish? I shouldn't sound ungrateful.

All in all not a bad wee jaunt and we elected not to drive back via Shipley for the Baildon carnival fell race which I'd considered picking up on the way back. Speedy was up for it, but not moi. The spirit is willing but the flesh is weak. Driving back past Colwyn Bay, the huge sandy beach was empty. I wondered 'just where are all the people?' 'Probably walking up Snowdon' I mused. 

Lairig Ghru 2022

 The Lairig Ghru was my big target for the year and it didn’t disappoint. With 250 or so entered, there were eventually 200 finishers for this mountain marathon. I can’t recall why I wanted to do this originally, but its remained a goal over the last year or three. We found the hostel in Braemar after a little confusion and I paid the bloke an extra twenty quid for the 6 bed room rather than the 3 bedder we had booked a fortnight earlier. We were in the attic and the room very basic. We were glad to get to bed around ten after a cuppa. Sunday morning arrived. After rescuing Mrs Mac from the shower cubicle which she had somehow managed to lock herself within, it was breakies. I had porridge and a croissant and listened to the other 3 guests in the dining room speculate about the impending race in the light of their past race experience. I wandered into the village to get my kit checked and got my number and warmed up along a back road. I elected to go with a long sleeve top and tights in the light of the forecast which wasn’t very encouraging. However, after 2 or 3 miles along the road, I was cooking as the sun came out and the mercury rose. 

There was a good mix of folk and I recognised Davis and Duncan but not many others.  I latched onto a small group as we made our way west then north. Thankfully, as the wind rose, it was behind us, which was a big bonus. 

The camera-phone was out, then in, then out and I dropped a few places here and there fannying about trying to capture the remote, ancient beauty of the setting. As we headed north it clouded over and by the time we got to the river crossing it was cool and cloudy. One of the two girls I was with at the time lost her footing on the rocks and went for a dip; not quire fully immersed but near enough. She dropped back a bit shortly afterwards. 

With it being so dry there was a lack of burns with fresh water crossing the route and I stopped to top up my water supply on several occasions. I had one bottle of 330ml and a spare. Predictably, being over-dressed and the heavy showers turning out to be no more than a drizzle, I sweated like an overdressed runner and the supply of salt tablets disappeared. 

The route became increasingly cobbly and boulder strewn and it took an effort to concentrate to avoid tripping. At around 18 miles we reached the highest point and the 2nd checkpoint but my earlier hopes of being able to hammer down the remaining 8 miles of descent through Rothiemurcus forest were dashed as I was completely puggled and my lateral knee ligament was giving me grief. I thought ‘there’s my meal ticket’ when a new runner came past, me thinking that if I stuck with them, they will lead me to the finish, but I let every one of them go and as we hit the better paths through the forest I was so tired that I nearly went flying on more than one occasion. First rock-kicker, then root-kicker.

I slowed and slowed and was walking by the end. I  scrounged some salt tablets from a wee group that passed with a couple of miles to go. The last mile went on forever and as the rain began again I was happy to see my wee support group and the finish line. After, I was treated to a pint and as I coiffed the foaming ale, there was, outside the window, a continual stream of exhausted individuals finishing after me . An epic day out and a very memorable one. Finished around 4:48 and enjoyed a slap up feed in the posh hotel that I had booked in Dundee. It was luxury and still cheaper than the hostel.  

Yetholm & Windy Gyle 2022

 

The full-on running season that is 2022 continues. After watching Speedy at the Mountain Trials at Alva late in May, it was suddenly June. The Yetholm Hill Race was on last weekend and using the extra bank holiday we had for lizzies jubilee, me and Speedy Joe continued our goodwork and race prep. by doing a recce before the race. Armed with the OS map, we were largely alone as we clambered our way up the various incisors of this toothy no-nonsense hill course. The Curr was blidy hard work. It’s a beast and with the grass thick and reedy we got round in about 3 hours. In the past I have basically turned up at races and got my head down. Most of the time, I have had no idea where I was or where I was going. I would be only mildly impressed with folk who were able to name the hills; what difference could it possibly make? Well, I can tell you that it makes a 'shoite load' of difference as my old auntie flossie used to say. Not only can you gauge your effort, you can also prepare yourself mentally for the expected.  On the following Sunday, the turnout was a little disappointing with only 35 runners. I guess most were at the Skye race. But the weather was good. Speedy was off and running at the start and I managed to get to the top of Staerhaugh Hill without any dramas. Tim McColl of Norham caught me after a mile or so, and then another grey haired Norham went past. I was catching an Edinburgh Uni girl after 2 miles and by the Curr, her head was down and I think I heard her swear as she was faced with  yet another ascent. 'Had she not done the recce?' I mused  I grimbled along the Pennine Way to the end and reflected about past glories for me at this race. No matter, it was on and upwards this weekend at the Windy Gyle near Alwinton. Sixty five runners appeared including me, Speedy, Missus Mac and her support for the day, Linds. It was cool in the valley. After strong arming Missus Mac into paying my £7, I changed from a short sleeve top to a long sleeve. 

I popped a salt tablet before the start and off we went. Having run this perhaps 4 or 5 times previously, I have a good idea where the course goes and what topography to expect. I found myself in between Kath Davis of North Shields and course record holder Karen Robertson. McCall was also running and while I let Keith Murray of Teviotdale go ahead (largely because her was running faster than me), there was no sign of McCall catching me. With me pushing Kath on the uphills but her holding her own on the descents, I eventually broke free of my running partner with 3km to go and I was pleased to re-discover some of my old mojo which re-lit my down hilling as I grafted after a NFR runner ahead. The road ran out but I would have had him, given another 100m. maybe. 

No matter, the sun had appeared and we had a good natter with a nice crowd, some of whom I hadn't seen for a good wee while.  Speedy Joe was 6^th overall and broke the women's course record. Perhaps the best hill run in the Cheviots. This coming Sunday is the Cairngorm extravaganza they call the Lairig Ghru, so wish me well. 28 miles. Its gonna be a blast.  

As a result of all this running, the reading list has taken a back seat. 'The Passenger' was not dissimilar to Hans Fallada’s 'Alone in Berlin', but not quite as gripping and I think it lost its way toward the end. I moved onto 'Golden Hill' by Frances Spufford, a tale of a stranger with a secret in 18^th Century New York. Not bad. I’m currently well into the Neuromancer by William Gibson. A rare adventure into SciFi.

Omen Recce at the Ochils

 
We found ourselves in Alva on Saturday in the mid morning sunshine. A part of Scotland I was not very familiar with and a village that appears to be going through a transition. A more spectacular backdrop is hard to find, the Ochils rising majestically vertically from behind the town. The yellow gorse was in full bloom and there were loads of walkers out. We donned our gear for the recce for next weeks 'Up and Down Mountain Trials' and eventually found our way through the Silver Glen onto the start of the Alva Glen, a river cut ravine. There were other couples who we spied salted around the course and who looked suspiciously like they were also familiarising themselves with the topography. All looked lean, upright postures...folk who hadnt had a good slap up feed in weeks. 

We hit the wide gravel path and headed straight up the glen. It rose steadily and I was soon lagging behind Speedy Joe. At the top we saw two others running down from the right. We nodded and then spent a good several minutes looking at the photo copied map I had squirreled away in my bag. I couldn't get my bearings at all. The visibility was good and the hills rolling. However, I didn't have enough features on the map to fix my position. Speedy dug out google maps on the phone and we eventually got going on the right route, but only after a 2 mile excursion to Ben elsewhere - don't ask me where? We said hello to the various walkers and folk who seemed more intimate with this part of the Countryside than we were. The clouds began to clear and it warmed up as we descended before climbing again and I stopped for a gel and some water and salt at the top of Ben something at 8 miles or so. We began to descend and this time managed to keep to the course, meeting a walking couple whom we had passed on the way up to compare notes. Of the bizarre sights on our travels, we noticed a single black lambs leg on the grass, and, later, a grey squirrel wandering around the moors without a tree in sight. Omens or what? and if so, omens of what?  Squirrels are totems of preparedness, animals known for preparing for harder times. They are also known for their playfulness and energy, but I certainly wasnt feeling 'the squirrel'. As far as the lambs leg goes, I am really not sure. An omen of a big feck- off raptor, maybe? The dreamzone website suggests a lambs leg represents a gathering of friends and family to an important event. Where do they get this stuff? That said, it seems to fit, given Speedy has managed to get herself selected for the Home Internationals Womens Team this coming weekend and a wee posse are trooping along.  Just watch out for the raptors; that's all I have to say on that matter!

As we came down to the bottom of the Glen we noticed a big bloke on the ground and I enquired if he was alright. He said he had bad leg cramps - so it was my turn to dish out the advice and salt tablets to him  - his friend, who had been walking ahead, arrived and apologised for abandoning his buddy. No worries. We said our 'take care' and no sooner had we began to descend when I bumped into Roger Van G. an old clubmate from the Hawks. We had a wee chat and with the sun beginning to generate serious joules, we soon got going again. We nearly took a shortcut through a farmyard, but the posh bloke who owned it shooed us away, blidy plebs - we were sent packing. The very idea of it! Precious... 

Back at the car we changed, checked for beasties and took off to find a nice deli to have a coffee and Panini. Regrettably, neither Alva nor Menstrie appear to have thought of opening anything as advanced as this, so there's a business opportunity for someone out there. We stopped at the rather less exotic Baynes Bakers outside Stirling and sat in the sun on the kerb for 15 minutes with a basic pastry thing and a cuppa.  Its Lomond Uphill on Friday and a return to Alva on the Sunday. Wish us luck!      

5K Champs & Ben Lomond: Double Header...

 

We rocked up early Friday evening at Marine Drive in Granton. After a dispiriting encounter with a faceless and regressive self-ordering kiosk at McDonalds that refused to issue us with a receipt for 3 coffees, we re-grouped, we regained our composure and we were all set to do battle with the north-westerly that was going to make landing a PB at the Scottish 5k champs a big-ask. The course at Silverknowes is flat and scenic. There was plenty of joe public around as the 700 or so competitors of all shapes, gender and age preened, stretched and went through their cooky pre-run routines. Our no.1 5k champ had injured his ankle a week before so he couldn’t run, but had come along in support for me and speedy joe. He was nominated principal jumper carrier. After a 2m warm up, we were set to go and I lined up with the other 500 or so men. I was stood next to Willie Jarvie whom I hadn’t seen for a long time and a wee group from Motherwell and Edinburgh AC toward the back. We took off from the gun and with a tailwind careered down the promenade at breakneck speed. It was a 5.59 first mile. At 2km, we turned into the wind. It was then that I instigated ‘Operation windshield’: A shameless display of drafting into a brisk headwind. I was sandwiched between a huge Motherwell runner and a tall Edinburgh A.C athlete. It was a masterful display in the art of minimising drag; RuPaul wouldn’t have approved. God knows I’ve had enough practice at hiding behind runners, a skill developed during my formative years hiding in the peloton. My second mile was only 5 seconds slower than my first. I sat in with the wee group, a flying ‘v shape’ being buffeted ahead of me and my wingmen close around me. If they got too close, I extended my elbows with just enough lift to ensure they knew I was the central occupying force. I kept my eyes fixed on Edinburgh mans tail-lights and my head down. At the turn with 1km to go, I was flat out back in with the tailwind and immediately the group broke and I drifted into the finish on nothing but fumes and slaver, finishing in 18:54. I was rewarded with a discreet dry boak behind the portaloos (as you do when you’ve over done it!).  Speedy joe started with the women and came in 21^st in 17:50 something. We eased off with a warm down, a fish supper in Pilton and bed in the Travelodge in Livingston – and very nice it was too. Remarkably. Quiet, cheap and comfortable.

Saturday saw us up and out by 8.30am and we were sat in the Drymen Inn by 10 dining on egg and sausage rolls and what-not, in readiness for the Ben Lomond Hill Race. If you recall we had been up here on a recce a month ago so we felt full of vim and vigour at the prospect of getting to the top within the hour on a course we knew.

We caught the shuttle bus from Balmaha  and were in Rowardennan in good time. The kit check was painless and after some thought, we agreed it was a one layer vest day. There were around 90 in for this classic and it was my second running of the race. I made my way to the start overhearing one runner describe the race to his partner as being ‘like a park-run, but just with a lot better runners’. We were sent on our way by the organiser and there were plenty of startled folk on the path meandering up and down the hill as the long colourful line of puffing billys came past. I had an early ding-dong with a leggy Gilmore from Carnethy before leaving him behind near the summit as we were taken off the path by the crafty folk of Westerlands.  Not sure why. However, the fast lads were soon coming back our way out of the mist at breakneck speed on their return and I spied Speedy joe who passed me with a nonchalant nod and a look of steely determination. I was soon at the top, enveloped in grey cool cloud, and grabbed a gubful of water before tear-arsing it back down the hill, weaving and dodging the various punters, trying not to trip and thanking those who yielded and harumphing at those who stood their ground. It was a 1:32 finish and 27^th for moi. Speedy joe had landed first lady and 10^th overall, so that made all the difference to the mood on the way back. It was a quick soup and chat with a Bella clubmate before we grabbed the first bus back and made the long pilgrimage back to Northumberland. I’ve now got 6 weeks to get a couple of long runs under my belt before the target event at the end of June.            

Stuc a Chroin 2022

 

The Stuc a Chroin 5000 hill race has a formidable reputation. I always fancied Jura, but never managed to commit. I did Ben Nevis is 2009 in bleak conditions. That's unfinished business. It left a mental scar, a wet one. This year there appears to be no dodging some of these big beasts for me. If you enter them, you have to turn up and run. Speedy Joe was up for this challenge and Missus Mac fancied a trip away and a supporting role. The event which starts and finishes in Strathyre is organised by the village. We were advised last week that more than 300 were running this Scottish Championship event, but there was no start list, so we weren’t any the wiser. I had consulted the Mountain forecast the night before and it was grim. Minus wind chill, wind and rain. We were a little apprehensive on how well the course would be set out and agreed that if we found ourselves lost in the clag, just go west to descend down into Glen Ample. 

We drove up through the borders. At Lauder the car went through a pool of sewage slurry and we were blasted by a revolting stench that seemed to have come straight from the vomitorium.

We arrived in the village with 2 hours to spare and after the kit check, we fannied about in the back of the car trying to decide what to wear. It was cool and spitting, but not half as bad as the forecast. However, what’s down in the valley is not always what’s up in the peaks. We went with a couple of layers and a lightweight jacket and headgear. Some of our buddies were waltzing around like it was the height of summer. Most were in shorts. We considered the tick risk ‘high’. Given that much of the race involved stretches of heather and reedy grass, we were both in tights. I sprayed my leggings with a dilute elixir of tcp. However, had we wanted a proper insecticide that would repel all insects and mammals we should have simply scraped some of the putrid slurry that had coated the underside of the car.

They were selling some Stuc merchandise at the kit check. However, it was evidently stuff from the 2019 edition, which was a pity. I fancied the hoodie, but they only had one, and that was in a 2xl size. I decided I might have a t-shirt. However, they only had small sizes in the fluorescent pink, and the small size looked like it would be too big for Billy Bunter. I think they missed a trick there in terms of fund raising. At the start I noted some familiar faces, Mudge, Harris, Lennox, Smith, Davis and a large turnout from the south of the border. We were sent on our way by a piper after a short address by the organiser. ‘Stick to the path and if you jack, report yourself to the nearest marshal’…’and consider yourself to have failed’, I thought). 

We wound our way up through the forest and onto the first ridge, where we doubled back on ourselves to follow a deer fence on a tricky camber. We dropped down into Glen Ample and I had already consumed 3 of the 7 salt capsules I had with me.  After the 2^nd water stop we began the steep ascent to Ben Each and it was long and steep. Some parts were so steep I was forced to grasp the old bent and pock-marked cast iron military fence posts and rusty wire that periodically marked parts of the route. No one came past. I was grateful my face wasn’t stuck up behind someone’s backside as I led up our little group vertically. The gradient soon yielded and the visibility dropped. We were into the grey swirling clag. There was little chance of getting lost however. This was the best pegged out course I have ever ran, so route selection was one thing less to worry about. We went through a checkpoint and came down out of the clag and, catching my breath, I was relieved that we were on the descent.  I even cracked a couple of jokes, but no one was speaking.  This is because the descent was a pre-curser to another impossible rocky rise. Up we went again and back into the mist and it took another 30 minutes of up, up and more up to reach the summit of the Stuc by which time any number of fast runners were passing us on their return.  One lad went flying as he came toward us and I momentarily thought that I was going to get wiped out. Euthanised at 3000ft. What a way to go! His choice of language was unfortunate as a few of us daytrippers looked on, bemused. We could have been offended, but we didn’t have the energy. Speedy joe came past and we exchanged looks of modest bewilderment and mild anxiety.

I began to descend picking my way down through the many jagged mini crags that jutted out from the grassy hummocks. Thankfully the peat was dry underfoot, although the drizzle was making some of the rock surfaces dicey.  We were up, then we were down again, and then up and then it was the second checkpoint at the Ben. Still nothing to see as the rain and cloud hugged the mountain. I was a little dismayed at how few folk there were behind me. I had a couple more salt capsules and by then, I had finished my 3 gels. On the way down I fished into my sports vest and dug out a cereal bar. I stopped at a burn to gulp in several mouthfuls of water from my cupped hands. Various runners came past me, but by then I was so puggled I had stopped racing and was just trotting, trying not to trash my quads. It was another capsule in Glen Ample but there was still another 30 minutes of running to reach the end. The speed of the runners in front of me going back up the valleyside was glacial, everyone knackered, everyone walking. The Stuc had made silent, bankrupt zombies of us all. Back at the top, the plod along the deer fence was murder and I nearly tripped a couple of times on nothing much through sheer fatigue. I finished around 3:17 mins, all thoughts of keeping up with messrs. Smith and Davis now just a wisp of fresh air. 

Within 20 metres of the finish line, I sporadically got down and crawled toward the line, before rising and shaking my head as I ran over the line. The time-keeper said he thought he’d have to go and help me to the finish when he saw me on my knees. I was messing about. I’m not attention seeking, it was just how I felt. It was plenty of juice and a sad half cup of tepid soup at the end, but I was happy to finish. Speedy joe came in around 10^th, but we agreed it wasn’t our sort of event; not enough continuity of running. Too steep, Too long maybe, certainly for me. Had we lived in the Lakes or Mamores maybe, but you need to enjoy flogging yourself endlessly in training on the hills for this sort of sport. The occasional Sunday in the Cheviots isn't going to cut it. Dalkeith gave us a fish supper and it was an easy drive home, with no obvious injuries or hirpling afterwards. The rain washed the smell off the car. The salt ensured I didn't cramp, but I'm going to have to go and get my physiology tested to see how much I need to be taking for these daft carry-ons.  Not an event for a budding 60 year old. Mind you, I would have been 3rd in category had I been a year older! wishing my life away, I know. On the upside, its Ben Lomond next week. ffs....