Newcastle Quayside 5k 2022

 

I had no immediate plans to race in August, but got a chance of a transferred number for the Newcastle Quayside 5k. After a little chin scratching, I gratefully accepted and signed up. I've ran this course many times. It goes from the Pitcher and Piano on the quayside past 2 or 3 of the bridges along the banks of the tyne and after a dead turn near to where the Environment Agency offices are (or were) you return on the concrete, slabs and tarmac back to the start and nip across the winking eye bridge finishing at the Baltic on the Gateshead side. It usually gets a decent crowd. There's also a natty t-shirt that goes to each finisher.  Most of the clan had previously entered so it would be a family affair. On the night it was predictably scorchio and I had to sit out of the sun taking on water. I felt a sub-20 would be nice, but either way, I wasn't beating myself up about a slower time. Dave Nicholson was running and having done an early 19 a week or two before, I thought he would be good to follow. The dark destroyer and chef Linds also hover around the 19-20 mark, so I could also use them as pacers. 

We cracked on from the start. In a flat 5k there's no time to fanny about; In space, no one can hear you sweat. You've got to get into your pace as soon as possible. Once my pulse had settled down and my heart had realised 'it was another one of those events' , around a kilometre, I pulled ahead of Nicholson and at 3k just after the turn I passed the dark one. She sets off fast, so I knew if I could maintain the speed, I could do a 19. Focusing on ensuring I didn't slip or batter into the street furniture or Joe public, I stuck to my task and came across the final bridge to land in 19:26 and pretty fooked I was too, having a good old retch, translated as the lungs saying 'wtf'.  My vest was wringing. It sure was a hot one. We waited for the B race for Mrs Mac to arrive, finishing in a comfortable sub 30 and after a change of clothes we took off to a quayside hostelry, later wandering up to the Bridge to see if Johnny Depp was back. Nope, but in my haste I managed to spill my half. No drama, it was quickly replaced and we were on the train by 10pm.     

Ericstane & Skiddaw Recce

 It was a late Friday evening hike up to Moffat for the first of our two recce's. Speedy loves that hilly countryside. We had booked a hostel in Moffat and as we were running a little late, we decided to check in first to get our room and door key before we ran up Ericstane or Hartfell or wherever we were running. I saw the sign saying Hostel on Well Road and turned into the drive. The place was empty and not looking its best. Cat googled our booking as I wandered around the building stroking my chin and shaking my head. No-one around. She reckoned our hostel was 6 doors up and it was with some relief that we found our place with fairy lights and plush burgundy carpets. We got our key and took off for the run. Parking at the village hall which was nowhere near anywhere, we had a brief chat with two folk who were with their dog and mobile camper van and intended to spend the night there. We got our gear on and took off up the farm track and eventually found our way onto the hill. The grass was luxurious and no doubt tick-infested so we kept stopping to check our bearings and give our legs a good wipe down. 

We got to the top in just under an hour and with twilight in full swing, we took a couple of photos and horsed it back down the grassy track. The route veers right and takes you down into a wee glen and we found the beaten up old bridge which saved us getting our feet wet.  The run was spoiled for me after getting a fly in my eye which I hate and, of course, like a loon I rubbed it in so spent the rest of the evening with a sore eye.  We got back in time to Moffat for a visit to the Coop for some eyewash and a visit to the chip shop, well, for chips and whatnot.  Moffat looks like a canny wee place. It reminded me of Peebles.

We were back on the M74 the next morning to Keswick and were on Skiddaw in the murk before 9.30am. Speedy was soon out of sight as I ground out a jog-walk-jog toward the top. The weather deteriorated quickly as we ascended and getting near the top to the crag called the little man, I had had enough of the wind, the cold and the driving rain and made an executive decision to descend. The climb up this peak is all runnable but very steep and with it being the 4th highest hill in England, its a long trog.  We picked our way down through the wet grey slate on the way down and were soon drying ourselves in the car on the layby. 

In a very busy town, temperatures were very much better than up on the hill and after a visit for breakfast to Jaspers we wandered around the humid and heaving High Street making a quick trip to the New Balance outlet shop. I bought 3 pairs of socks for a tenner off the market sock stall where we engaged with the vendor who was entertaining and had a story for every pair. We made time on the way back east to drop into Sally's cafe in Warwick Bridge for takeaway cuppa's and top huge scones all for six quid. Lush.   

Beetham Fair Race, Milnthorpe

 
We had a free weekend for a change and there were 2 races which looked interesting. Turnslack, located somewhere down Rochdale way and Beetham Fair Day located near Milnthorpe not far from Kendal. Turnslack was pre-entry. Looking at the reviews it looked to have a bit of everything in, including thick heathland, moor and boggy marsh. As we've been casting around for runnable fell races, this didn't quite fit the bill. We opted, instead, for Beetham and drove the 2 hours west, then south to arrive in good time at the village. With most of the obvious parking places taken, we parked in a lay-by just on the edge of the town. It was Speedy Joe and me. We were wearing our Morpeth vests and paid our £2.50 entry fee to get into the fair, then another £3.50 odd for the race at the tent.  There were around 100 at the start. The vicar approached me and after inquiring if we had come from Morpeth, he said 'welcome', but stopped short of blessing us. There were plenty runners from Buckden, Nidd Valley and Clayton and a smattering of others, but we felt like the out-of-towners on this one. We had a quick jog some way up the course to the first hill to see how things looked. It was a B category race, so not too steep anywhere and more of a trail race. As we gathered at 3.30, a women came up and asked if we were from Morpeth, then advised us her sister lived there. We knew her. The race started to the applause of the crowd and we galloped down the playing field and out through the village. 

Photo taken by Linda Dean

The runners soon became a little strung out and I lost sight of Speedy. However, 'the Rev' was beside me; well at least that's what it had on the back of his vest - presumably another vicar. There was about 2 or 3 runners who came and went as we jockeyed for positions. The cream limestone underfoot was slippy in places but not a problem and with a course that went in and came out of the woods a few times, the route was interesting and made for an interesting run. On the final wee hill, I nearly went wrong after having passed Nolan from Buckden. However, he let me go a bit and I realised I was wrong just as he shouted left, by which time he had nipped ahead. I made sure I caught him again, but by then we were on the descent and he stuck to me like a limpet as we passed a Helm Hill runner.  As we came out of the wood and onto the grass the long legged Buckden runner made off and at the finish I had capitulated to give him 12 seconds.  Finished in around 47 minutes. Speedy won her race in 42 minutes and picked up £15 first prize. The prize giving took forever to start and we were happy to get away back east. In retrospect, a very enjoyable race which I would recommend, perhaps combined with a trip to nearby Kendal or, if you are of limited imagination, one of the M6 services.   Milnthorpe was announced as the venue for the 2023 British cyclo-cross champs recently. Having pre-qualified for the 3 peaks cyclo-cross in September I am aiming to have a decent cyclo-cross season this year, so could find myself returning in January. I reckon I will be aiming to win the wooden spoon and thats if I even get in.  I think the masters champs are in Sussex or somewhere; Bit of a hike, but who knows.

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.