Incisive

I celebrated my 60 years on the planet by bustling my way through the lumpy crowd at the Morpeth Park run to claim 5th place and a new 20.25 p.b. on the testing course. 

It was all going swimmingly. I was up, then, for the 4 miler at Keswick (Latrigg) on the Wednesday night, but I had a niggle and felt tired, so I opted for a pint and an early night. We were all set to then do the Eildon 3 Hills on Saturday. Money had changed hands - you can't seemingly rock up last minute anymore - you have to enter online and pay the money well in advance. This means that if youre knackered before the event, you lose your money. As Speedy joe was crocked as well, this left Mrs Mac to carry the torch. However, she said it was pointless going up for just her, so we didnt and someone else won.  Mind you, that said, it was another Colin Donnelly appearance so I wouldn't have got near him, even if I had tried for the M60 prize.

I had been going out on the bike recently to assist Speedy in her ankle recovery, and I should know by now that when I do this, I almost always end up injured within the first week - not sure if its different muscles or what; sure enough, after a 6 mile run I developed tendonitis and my left calf was so tight you could have invited the GB trampoline team in to train on it. Its eased over the last week and we sent the team away; this weekends trip to Fort William to do Melantee and then a recce of Nevis seems back on the cards. I may have to take it easy however, as I really don't want to miss Snowdon in just over 2 weeks. 

Ant meanwhile has got me an entry into the Bridges of Tyne 5 miler; so next week I should see how things are going. My weight was right down and I was feeling like a righteous dude. Hopefully this short setback will only be a blip. Regardless of how I do, I am assured that wherever I come in the next few races, I will be able to provide a full on 'scottie-beam me up' smile, having spent what seems to be half my pension on a new front tooth (implant). Even the temporary one they put on is better than the last one, which died when I was 7 after an accident and started going brown. I really wasnt looking forward to having an upper incisor pulled, but it was not too bad (after half a gallon of anaethestic) and both dental nurses in attendance were impressed by its length as it was withdrawn, so good to know my roots are up to scratch! 

I will try 2 miles today after my fishnchips lunch, cut up smally, slowly and carefully masticated and eaten like a sleepy 2 year old. Its been mashed potatoes, mushed weetabix and yoghurts so far - no apples or raw carrots for a fortnight or 3. The good news is I might be allowed a shandy on Friday though at Tyndrum. I'll keep you posted.

Goatfell Hill Race - Hypertension on the slopes

 

A couple of weeks after the NEMAA relays at Jarrow it was time for the Trip to Arran. This year, Goatfell is a Scottish Championship counter in the hill running calendar. Apparently, it was also the Scottish Athletics Hill Running Championship race, not that, it seemed, many knew about this as Angela Mudge carried out a great armful of medals to the presentation table at the end of the race. 

Me, Speedy Joe and Marg took ourselves up the M74 to Irvine on the Friday night to some accommodation at the Harbourside. The pubs were in full swing and we ambled over to the Ship Inn which was quieter and sampled their Neck Oil, with Speedy Joe opting for an Irn Bru. Athlete. I was sanguine that we had driven past Glasgow on the way up and we could have picked up the footie at Firhill where Thistle were playing Ayr. They won 3-0 so it would have been a good game. Getting back to the room, I caught the last 5 minutes on the tele. 

It was a reasonable nights sleep and we surfaced at 7am. After a coffee, I went for a 2 mile jog along the river. The litter along the footpath was disappointing but predictable, and as I jogged I reflected how easily the morons who are responsible for this can get away with it with impunity. A disgrace. As I eyed the Greggs and McDonalds wrappers, my eyes were caught but something other than a discarded cup. I backtracked, stooped and picked up a soggy £10 note lying forlorn on the grass. A result. Buoyed up with this good omen I got back to the accommodation, showered and breakfasted on a plastic pot of porridge.

We were in Ardrossan by 9am and on the ferry to Brodick shortly afterwards. We were travelling light as foot passengers. The ferry was stowed out with golfers, runners, cyclists and grandparents taking their wards for a day by the seaside. The golfers were engaged in a full on session with bottles of Peroni and cans of Guinness in much demand. It was a calm crossing and while we were on the boaty mcboatface, we picked up our numbers.     

Arriving at Brodick, we sauntered to the pavilion in a long line of running pilgrims, all of whom who had made the effort. We changed - it was mild and a 'one-layer' day for sure. After all, it is May. 

Goatfell was present on the skyline, grey whispy clouds grazing the peaked summit. The race has around 800m of ascent. There were comments about the long run in, a mile and a half of tarmac before we hit the slopes proper. I took a bit of salt and a swig of water and sagely advised Speedy Joe to keep a bit up her sleeve for the long flat tarmac on the road back. We had a headcount; then another, and then just after noon, with the pipe band giving it large, we were off. I was well toward the back, but felt good and had soon worked up a sweat, passing Nicola Duncan and I soon found myself at the heels of Alan Smith on the lower slopes. We worked through several competitors ahead, Alan cutting a familiar figure in his woolly socks and small but relentless steps. I had the temerity to pass him after a while, but then, halfway up, I was sweating heavily and took some snaps before fishing out more salt. However, as soon as I’d taken it (without water), I wretched and my stomach heaved and I had to stop for half a minute. The severe reaction soon dissipated and I was soon back up behind Smith. 

Near the top the leaders started haring down to the left and right of us including Speedy Joe, and I dug out the phone again, but in doing so slipped and dropped it, and my wee group got away a little. I had put the phone away by the time I crested the summit and began to get into my stride on the downhill element. It was just like old times. With dry conditions underfoot and a very technical descent with a wide range of obstacles and mild risk of breaking bones, it was all coarse grey granite, I twisted and turned, skipped and hopped at what seemed to be at high speed down the hill. There were plenty of punters who were stood bewildered by the side of the path. I passed around 10 or so runners on the way down, stopping only at the wooden bridge to scoop up handfuls of water from the burn. I was soon back on the case and passing runners and was pleased to see and pass Penecuik man, and the big hitters Mudge and Davis toward the bottom of the hill. As we came out of the wood and back onto the flat tarmac, I had failed to take my own advice and slowing to a snails pace, I was passed in turn by the two stalwarts that I had just passed plus another just for good measure. The finish couldn't come sooner and I was surely happy to reach the line in 1:40 for 9.4 miles. A warm shower at the end was a bonus. The tea and cake were abundant and I chatted with Colin Donnelly after initially thinking he was speaking to someone else beside me. There were also a few bloodied bodies. Speedy got 2^nd and we finished the day with a massive but lack-lustre curry on the boat and a 3 hour drive back via Edinburgh. It was the first time this year I felt light on my feet and was pleased with my race.  More photos at https://photos.app.goo.gl/XPofB28L5ebCjgVx8

Hartlepool Marina 5

 It was the last Sunday in April. With the recent arrival of Mollie, the Tulip killer (puppy), we were pretty much all up early. I was in the driving seat and it was the dark destroyer and Ant who joined me for this jolly charabang to Hartlepool, home of 'canoe man' who faked his own death, West Hartlepool, a very good rugby team in days gone by, (the football team not so much) and the Hartlepool Marina 5. I have done this event some time in the distant past and I recall a small cannon being used to start the runners.  

There used to be quite a big field, but this year around 200 early risers coagulated around the Mecca bingo hall for the numbers and free t shirt. Me and Speedy Joe had been exploring the delight of the Howgills at Sedbergh the day before and very nice it is as a hilly running venue. All cropped grass and pathways and rolling hills. However, I wasn't feeling the love and plodded around the car park warming up, all the while looked down upon by the Napoleonic frigate HMS Trimcombalee, her icy stare, crows nest and rigging resplendent in the early morning sky.  The North Easts answer to the Cutty Sark or the Discovery. 

We kicked off at 10.30 and the conditions were mild, calm, near perfect. After things settled down I found myself tucked in behind 2 women who were running a 6.30 pace. I was struggling after a mile though. As I ran wondering how long I could keep this up, one looked behind and took a step to the right. The other did something similar, but to the left, and both made for me to pass. I said I was trying to keep out of the wind. There was a slight headwind. Sunderland girl then made some comment about 'feeling the drag' of me behind them. I said 'it wasnt a thing and it didn't work like that' and 'that when she was old she'd be doing something similar'. Sunderland then responded saying she was forty and suggested that she was old already. Far too much chatter. I didnt last long after this however, and the pace dropped to 6.45 for mile 3. And so it remained as I looked for shelter on the way back. But shelter from what?..,there was a slight tailwind and nothing to do but just run back up the pan flat prom. I was passed by a couple of lads, but was too far gone to stay with either,  and there was nothing left at the end but a PW of 33.11 and the cold embrace of a dry boak. However, I was sweaty and sanguine. It wasnt too much more than the 33 minute ceiling that I had given myself before the event. 

The Dark destroyer had had a great run and won, and Ant delivered a time to match his old PB and was 2nd m40, so all in all, it was a decent morning.  The victors celebrated with a McDonalds. Decadent, I know.

Birnam Hill Race 2023

It was an all embracing full-to -the-brim field of Scotland's Best and Blessed hill runners with a smattering of southerners which gathered at this years Birnam Hill Race. This 4 miler, organised by Adrian Davis and the good folk from the Lomond Hill Club, rises 1200ft up the side of a wooded hill nestled behind Birnam Railway Station, then it spits you out and throws you down the other side with a wee sting at the end; a mile of flattish uppy-downy running through the woods. If you get up the hill at the start, it’s a downhillers delight; and I’m a downhiller. Around 350 took the line. The field was so swollen, this being the first of the Scottish Championship races, they had to run 2 races, rather than 1: one for the wimmin and old gents at noon and one for the gents which started half an hour later. Although well past my sell by date, I went with the men on the 2^nd race. Speedy left with the women half an hour earlier.

As I ran up the lane toward the Birnam Hill, I saw the bright cavalcade, the cream of the crop, ahead of me. Of the oldies, Davis was tracking Smith who was down on Whitlie. I was just behind Davis at the toe of the hill, but as we ascended, he and Smith gradually pulled away and I ended up behind a tall thin bloke with long legs who was high stepping up the hill. I just couldn't go any faster.

At the top we plodded through some wet peat, had our ankles tickled by woody ground hugging heather and clambered over a crag before ‘the hurlting’ began. I was already passing a couple of uncertain types along the flattish gravel before it got tasty and as it steepened, I put it in top gear and careered past a couple of carnethys and another. Once in the woods the gradient levelled off and jelly legs took hold and I lost a place. As the gravel arrived to herald the last 500m I caught sight of Smith, but he was a good 20 seconds ahead and I had to make do with trying (and losing) the final mental slaver inducing sprint with some random and a Penecuik m50.  The sweat was dripping off me. Job done tho. 

Mrs mac was in attendance somewhere on the Hill, but her being in the medical profession, she was seeing to a runner who had bloodied himself, dashing himself on the rocks of despair, so she missed getting what would surely have been a blurry image of a fleeting runner ghosting past her camera-lense. Speedy finished 3^rd in the womens race and picked up a bottle of wine behind Page and Hodgson. I was 142^nd.  Strangely, quite similar in finishing position to last weeks Mourne Race. Donnelly arrived late on his bike and still got round in 34 minutes as first M60. An m65 Moorfoot runner beside me at the end seemed chuffed to take Smiths scalp. However, they all will take some catching.  Good cake stall and soup at the end supplemented by Adrians sweetie throwing antics. Best short hill race around.      

Cupar 5 & the Mourne Marauder

 

My cautious start to the year has been steady and if nothing else, without any unwelcome drama. I have not covered myself in glory, but rather I have put in some reasonable shifts, first at the Cupar 5 and yesterday at the Mourne Marauder Mountain Race in Newcastle, County Down. 

I had a birthday party to attend in East Kilbride on the Saturday last and, as you do, I travelled up via Fife. There was a very handy field who lined up for the Cupar 5 miler road race. It’s a very reasonable course, but certainly not pan flat. They do, however, get a road closure on so at least you’re not dodging the public or motorists. It used to generate stunningly fast times; that was before they re-measured the course and added a good few metres. I was aiming for a sub33 which I thought was a pretty  modest target. However, I stuck in behind a very steady Central runner on the way out and then when he ran off, I dived in behind a Perth runner on the way back as we ran into a light headwind. It was torture but he led me to a 32.50 and we passed Bryce Aitken of Fife about 30m from the line. The Fife runner finished 3^rd v60, so as a gauge, I’m not too far off the pace for folk around my age, not that there are that many still competing.

The big trip of the Spring was to the mountains of Mourne in County Down for the first race of the British Fell Running Championships. Not done any of these before. We normally have a week in Scotland in March, so this year we decided to extend the trip to Northern Ireland and arrived in Belfast late on Wednesday to be greeted by heavy downpours. Staying at a self-service hotel, we nipped out to Nicos between the rain showers for some pizza and pasta and then after getting turned away at the door by the burly but polite bouncers at the Benedicts Hotel for wearing sports gear (Salomon trainers) we retired to Laffertys opposite for a pint of the black stuff in a welcoming Edwardian style bar. It reminded me of the bar in 'Cheers' a little. Saturday saw us having a wander in the town and a short run around the Gasworks and up Donegall Road before grabbing a bus and going south to the seaside town of Newcastle. We lugged our bags along the front and past the Harbour Bar and Lifeboat Station to our cottage. It was compact, whitewashed and well appointed looking out to the sea. Me and missus mac had a late evening jog along the front and onto the beach before getting back and sorting out the fajitas. It was an early night. We decided that a short recce of the course was wise and speedy joe, the missus and me took off up ‘yon big hill’ with Ant deciding to do a run round the town instead. We ascended through the wood and then up part of the Granite trail, a steady straight stairway which rose and rose toward Slieve Donard. Skirting an old quarry, I came across some frog spawn on the grass, abandoned, and re-located it to a nearby pond where there was some already. We climbed up through the short heather and reedy grass around halfway, but being a little short on route information, we went northward and, having had enough, we eventually reached the main path which follows the glen between Donard and the nearby Slieve Commedagh.  We made our way down through the drizzle to meet Ant at Nicos Café.  It was Quinns for a half and then the Harbour for another where we bumped into Caroline Marwick and family. 

Saturday looked good early doors and we bailed out of the cottage at 9.30am and walked the half mile to the race registration. There were around 250 entered and after a kit check we took the bags to the tent at the park and warmed up. I thought 2 hours would be a good time to aim for. Around 200 set off at 11am and the field which included a good handful of Helm Hills, Keswicks, Amblesides, Pudsey and Bramleys, Carnethys as well as those from the local clubs, began to thin out as we climbed and climbed toward the first of the 3 peaks. At 859m, Donard is the highest peak in Northern Ireland. Commedagh is the 2nd highest.

 

The weather looked threatening at the start and in this area, cold and heavy squalls can kick up at the drop of a hat. I was spooked a little by the weather forecast at registration which had suggested wind chill would make it feel like zero at the summit. However, as we ascended I began to simmer and the hat came off. The gloves were still on, but I was over-dressed. Typical. At the top of Donnard we dibbed at the checkpoint and were faced with a very bouldery and testing descent, where I lost around 5 places. We were soon down and making our way through a bog to the Chimney Rock. The girl in front of me lost her leg to the knee a couple of times in the soft peaty and slippy conditions and she dropped behind. I had already had some salt at the 3 mile mark and attempted another foiled wrap boost at mile 6, but the method and wrapper were poor and I managed to tip the contents onto the ground as I picked my way along the rocky path trying to catch up with a band on 3 local runners just in front. 

We were soon pulling our way up the grassy slopes of Commedagh, another brutal gradient and an excuse for a spider-shuffle, exhausted limbs flailing to try to get some purchase on the parched grass. Baby steps. head down, just getting through it. My ascending was ok and I picked up a place or two. However, the descent along the ridge of Commedagh which should have been a pleasure was, instead a slippy grind, as my Scott shoes failed to give me the grip I needed on the wet grass and I went down a second time into the peat. I was cursing not wearing my Salomons. By then, Rik (Mourne Runners) had caught me and coming off the hill we jogged the last mile to the finish passing two older runners, both suffering from cramp.  It made a nice change from me suffering from dehydration, although I had had to stop twice around the course to cup water from streams into my thankful gob. Speedy finished 15 minutes before me. My time of 2hrs.32mins put me and Rik in 144^th place and an hour slower than the winner. It was a tough workout with more than 4000ft of ascent. Stewart Whitlie was first v60 and Adrian Davis 3rd. I was around 10 minutes down on him, so work to do. 

The very irregular and rocky surface made it a tough workout in places and I was pleased to get on the bus to Belfast at 3pm. I was puggled. We travelled on to Ballyrobin beside the airport in the evening and after checking in, we enjoyed a couple of pints and a decent meal before…yes, you guessed it, another early night. All in all a very enjoyable and memorable few days, it was, to be sure.   

Signals Relays 2023

Wading my way through a series of recurring colds since December, it was a case of deja-vu at Saturdays Signals Relays. Held at Houghton near Sunderland on a rolling 1.1m circuit, the event attracts the best of the north east (England) runners. It is a wholly club event. It's a good litmus test for your form. My form was improving last weekend to such an extent that I did a slow 19min. at the Blyth parkrun on the Saturday, then got up Simonside Rothbury way with our kid for a chunky 9 mile hill session. The next day it was such a nice morning that I fancied a long run. With nothing pressing in the way of work, I ran a steady 2 hours and 14 miles into Newcastle. Bringing a change of clothing, I was soon in M&S, changed and parked in front of a pot of tea and an inviting bowl of Salmon Tartar. They do it downstairs in the sushi department as a takeaway. I buy it and take it up to eat in the cafe. Avocado, rice, salmon, pickled red onion and soy sauce. A treat if you like that pickled thing, and I do. 

However, on the Tuesday I was down but not out with a running sinus and sniffle. I've ignored this all week and Saturday gone I felt reasonable enough to line up as 3rd leg in the v50 four man relay. I think this will be my last appearance for the club in this event on this team. Next year I'll be on the wrong side of 50 and as there is no v60cat, I think it unlikely that I can offer a performance of sufficient quality (typically sub-14 for 2.2 miles/6.35 minute miles). 

Jason was off first, a diminutive 52 years old. We were mid-field as he finished and I relaxed a little, thinking we'd be well out of the medals. Lee B was next and as he pitter-pattered away for his2 laps, I stripped off and shouted support as he came round to start his 2nd lap. However, as the leaders arrived after the second lap, he was well up and must have done some damage. A little flustered I heard the shouts for the next Morpeth runner to step up; that meant me. North Shields were just behind, and I got off just before the Shields runner set off in pursuit. Clad in red vest, he was all grey hair and head-band and armed with compression socks he had me in his sights. A dogfight. All I heard on the way round was 'come on Martin'. I knew he was close. My first mile was 6.11 and I think I pulled away a little, but then it all began to slow and I slumped to a 6.39 for the second mile. He was on my shoulder on the last drag and got passed me at the top corner, but I rallied and, tucking in, let him lead me to the line before I nipped ahead. 14m:07secs. Not a disaster. It was left to Rob H. to put 10 seconds or so between us and Shields and we finished 2nd with New Marske from Teesside providing an unassailable  gold winning performance. 

I managed a 4 miler on Sunday, but have had to rest this week to try and shake the lurgy. Probably run down. Either way, I will look forward to receiving another North East medal. It remains to be seen if I will be well enough for the Scottish Nationals XC at Falkirk on Saturday, but I'll go anyway.  If I can't run, I'll keep entertained with Ian Rankins 'The Flood'. 

 

Falkland Yomp & Feel The Burns

The new year started in solid, if rather phlegmy fashion (sorry) with appearances at the inaugural Falkland Yomp. I know my way around the Falkland Estate having ran there a handful of times in the past and twice last year. The Falkland Yomp is organised by the Lomond Runners and it was fully subscribed with around 150 pre-entrants and 120 who managed to finish on the day. There was an opportunity to set off half an hour early if you considered yourself slow and half the field took this option. As such it was toward the end of the race when we started to come across some of the backmarkers who had set off early. 

The course took us through corridors of moody low hanging larch, narrow carpets of needles, up and down the gravel tracks and there was even a wee stretch up at the Monument in more open ground where we wound our way around a narrow track lined with rusty ferns and across black peaty puddles that tried, but failed, to suck us down. We were largely sheltered from the wind and at a distance of 11km and with 480m of ascent, it was a tough but scenic affair. 

I was still a little choked from the residue of the flu over the New Year and was a still under par, but I'd paid my money and was, as a result, committed to appear. I was overtaken by a couple of women in the latter stages, but I was running within myself, knowing that its not very clever to run flat out with the vestiges of a chest infection squatting in your lungs.  Towards the end of the race I was overhauled by a couple of  Falkland psycho squirrels, but the day wasn’t the day to go head to head. On another day I suspect I might give both a run for their money. Spluttering over the last wee hill, I trotted down the final stretch to the end and was nearly pipped at the post by the leading F50 who crept up on my right hand side.  I finished 26^th and dipped under the hour by a matter of seconds. The race was won by Eliot Sedman of Carnethy in 46 minutes. My car buddy. ‘Speedy Joe’, managed to win the ladies race despite her also suffering the hacky chest syndrome. Sixty quid said it was worth the trip. When she did the Lomonds of Fife last year she managed to get lost so she was glad to see the marshalls and tape at every corner and made no mistake this time around. The spread at the end in the village hall was good with soup and tea and plenty of cakes. I would do this trail race again.

We signed up for the 'Feel the Burns' hill race at Selkirk in December and there was a field of around 300 last weekend. There had been a little snow the night before on the tops and running conditions were very similar to the conditions I encountered in 2016 (see entry) when I did this race previously.  In moderately better shape than I had been at Falkland, I dragged my sorry carcass around the 13 mile course armed with a bum-bag and 2 gels to finish around 90^th in 2:08, only 2 minutes down on my 2016 time when I was around 60th. 

Speedy was again up front and we came away with a haggis, a Selkirk Bannock and a bottle of wine. I think the runners-up got a turnip, modest prizes indeed, this being a fund raiser for the mountain rescue. The organisers had done a sterling job of the catering as we sat in the rugby club drinking our thick, hot soup and chomping on a tasty hot pie and flapjack washed down with a couple of mugs of hot sweet tea. Champion.  Ian Maxwell of Gala won the M60 and I'm looking forward to the Spring when I might have a better crack at this racing malarkey. 

This week just gone I have, at last, recovered fully and, although I've only cranked out 38 miles, some of my runs have included some sub seven miles, and some run in icy conditions which have prevailed all week.  I feel much more energized. Almost tempted to enter a late season cyclo-cross, but on reflection, maybe not. Instead I will continue on with Alistair MacLeans 'Caravan to Vacares', my first dip into his work. He was born in Shettleston. Who knew! 'The Sea' by John Banville was a slow, nostalgic affair with a thin plot. However, the terrific poetic prose was adequate compensation and I have been lucky enough to have been given another two of his novels as a Christmas pressie.