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.

Superquaich 2: The Farce Awakens

(courtesy Anth Robson)

Sunday saw the return of Superquaich; Superquaich Two. A trigger for an appropriate sequel title: The farce awakens; Welcome to the Jungle: Fury Road , yadda, yadda... 

I had had a pretty poor nights sleep fueled by a late fish supper and a couple of beers, an intermittent sweat about whether the car would be o.k. where I had parked it and the periodic shouty noises in the hotel corridor in the wee small hours in one of Dundees once finest establishments. They keep the windows closed to keep out the streetnoise, but the air-con is a poor second place to fresh air. 

Everything was still intact in the morning and we traveled to Lochgelly and blagged our way into the Marshalls car park within Fife Cycle Park. I had, after all, volunteered to Marshall a couple of races; but, ultimately, we were not required. We hauled the bikes off the roof rack and bolted on the wheels and took in the landscape of tape and plastic pegs. 

We picked up our numbers and watched the women warm up. They were off at 11.30am. A field of around 20 bolted off after the starting whistle and soon were spread out all over the course. There was a short sandpit where Speedy came to grief and a short steep click at the other end of the course, but generally it was head down-erse up along the soft mossy grass.  Speedy did remarkably well to finish 10th and seemed to enjoy the 50 minute thrash.  

I joined in the 45 men in the mens B race. I was feeling abit naff. Another Dundee Thistle rider was in the field and we nodded at each other. There is a gridding system in operation and I found myself on the 2nd row. I can't start quickly and braced myself to be overrun, which I duly was. However, I got into my stride after a couple of laps and a couple of spills and worked my wee sox off to pass and catch anyone remotely near. The course had become well cut up by the time we got on it and it sure was a slog. However, I collapsed over the line exhausted and pleased it was done. 

I didn't wait for the bike wash that was on offer and slinging the bikes back on the roof, we were off and relieved that we had done o.k. 

No medals, but this is cyclo-cross where you can gauge your success by how much of Fife's native clagg you can carry off in your knobbly tyres, the sticky brown mud caking everything in the car and a bit more.

Marg did the fotos and Ant did the videos, so we're not short of evidence that shows that we must try abit harder next weekend at Strathallen.     

Superquaich

Morning All. The big news is that its not raining; well, at least, not at the moment. The running has been patchy in the last month with a poor week following a good week. I find myself having to stop every so often when I'm out. Life moves pretty fast. If you don’t stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it in the words of Bueller. However, its more to do with managing my diminished energy resources and trying to maintain the myth that runnings fun in your 60's.  

I dodged a bullet at the weekend when I was due to run the last leg of the Royal Signals Relays for an over 50's team. The course was too icy. ice, ice, baby. I had secretly been out the night before with my ice gun giving it large on the course. However, it's lush to see blue sky and light after 4pm. 

As an alternative, we've been investing in the world of Bikes. Speedy got a new gravel bike last month and I've spent all the housekeeping on getting 2 bikes serviced. This is to ensure that we are in good shape for the 2nd Superquaich, a series of 3 late season cyclo-cross events. 

Speedy opened her account at Falkirk last month. It was a long day but a good laugh. I took part in the B race. I was surprised to see Des Crowe there and we had a right old battle - a battle of the ragged grimbles. This weekend its Lochgelly for Round 2. Should be a hoot. In preparation, we've been out a couple of times now on the bikes. I can see me reverting to a ride today rather than a run. Its a lot more fannying about getting ready for a bike ride than a run, but a damn site easier once you're out. My new years resolution of packing in more races has shriveled in the rain like the gaunt and bedraggled plan it was. Still, running is about the only thing that I can rely on to keep my weight in order, so I can't ditch it altogether.  

Elsewhere I am making steady progress with David Granns 'The Wager', a tale of shipwreck, murder and mutiny. Ahoy me land lubbers. Nearly time for another cup of grog.   

Life's a snowy Labyrinth

The new year has started with an interesting mix of weather. It has carried with it a hint of menace which has developed (in the north east of the country) into something pretty adverse and, for some, downright hostile.  As long as you're not driving and are not elderly or otherwise disadvantaged, its only been a mild distraction hereabouts. We've had to crank the heating up, mind.  

As a confirmed chionophile (who knew?), plodding around the woods in fresh snow brings a welcome change of aspect and I've managed to get out a few times last week. 

This weeks efforts have been much less successful. We have had to deal with the snows frigid icy legacy which offers a challenge, at least in terms of staying upright.  I like to think I know my limitations, but breaking my foot last year suggests that even the most assured off-road runner can misjudge conditions.  

As a sporty type, its an expensive time of year and various club subscriptions are increasingly bloated with additional costly contributions to national bodies in order that they can fund whatever it is they do. 

Checking a website used by several clubs for membership, I noted the average club membership to be around twenty quid with an additional twenty quid 'tax' in some cases for the national body. The fell running membership (FRA) is 16 notes, but as the magazine and website are very good, I don't grudge this at all. I'm never very sure what a tenner buys you for Scottish Hill Running, but an improved website would be welcome. 

At a time when most are squeezed financially from all directions, I find myself looking very closely at value for money. As an old grimble, club membership doesn't seem all that relevant, but if you like to take in the odd race or find that you are interested in masters title races and the like, you're stuck with putting your hand in your pocket. This, coupled with rising costs of race entry, makes for an expensive hobby...and don't even get me started about cycling and the cost of kit. Bah, humbug. 

On a separate note, we arrived in Pitlochry last Tuesday for a fleeting visit in time for a huge dump of snow, but as I was driving and we were staying over in Perth, I failed to embrace the conditions and, instead, found myself stressed out and impatient to leave, lest we got stuck somewhere on the A9. The snow disappeared around Dunkeld and by the time we got to Perth it was freezing rain, which is the worst. 

We also failed to get our entry in on time for the Falkland Race spending all week languishing on a virtual waiting list. Given the fresh wet snow this morning, I doubt we would have even attempted the trip to Fife.  Corresponding races at the Lakes and North York Moors were cancelled, so today its a jog around the woods or maybe half an hour in the gym, or a wee cup of hot coffee in one of our many cafes. Shouldn't grumble really, but I'm old and that's my prerogative. I've binned 'The Go Between' (L.P. Hartley). I struggled with the book when I was 16 and it seems my reading stamina has not improved. Instead I'm giving 'Mr Pottermacks Oversight' by Austin Freeman a go. Apparently its an inverted-Mystery classic - whatever that means.          

Hogmanhoway 5k

We entered Steve Crams newest race, the above named 5k. He had secured most of the Newcastle University Estates roads and some of Newcastle City Streets for this evening affair in deepest Midwinter. 

The number of entrants had swollen to around 1800. This probably reflected the need for many folk to do something other than getting bladdered and eat stuff on Hogmanay. There was an accompanying elite race with around 15 in the mens and the same number in the womens races. I was not surprised to have been passed over this time for the elite race, what with just getting over the lurgy thats going around. It s been some time since I did sub 15 (like never). With a first prize of two grand, there was no shortage of fast lads and lassies who flew around the 3 lapper. The plebs on the other hand were asked to experience a different course. It was quite a tortuous affair involving swithchbacks, sharp turns and so on. This baffling circuitous route was countered only by the relative flatness of the terrain. Twenty quid got you a number and a medal, buff and 'goody bag' at the end. There was also alcoholic and non-alcoholic warm mulled wine which was very welcome, given that the temperature was a midgies-didgie over zero degrees with a perky biting northerly wind. Still on the recovery path, I was hoping for a sub-21, but it was going to require a bloody minded effort. The consequences of failing to do a sub-21 were that I would do a 21 something, so the vapour clouds which I exhaled probably gave off an air of algid apathy. I didn't bother to remove my tights and kept my woolly hat and gloves on. 

We watched the elite race, which was entertaining. I tried to run along parallel with Beattie as he darted his way to a sub 14 minute win, but even at a flat out sprint effort, I was dropped. We lined up at the Civic Centre and I dumped my trackie top, tying it to a handrail. The bloke on the microphone was trying his best to keep folk jovial as they stood outside in the refrigerator and slowly turned blue, but the wait soon came to an end and it took me only 10 seconds to get over the start line. I was joined by Mike from the club and we ran together for a while, before I pushed on ahead. However, he was, I suspect, sat just behind me and not breathing quite as hard or gurgling along with a chestful of mucus, unlike me. The field went back and forth, round, up and down the streets, the super-cooled wind channeling between the buildings to give you a helpful push or an unwelcome dose of wind chill and red nose. Around 4k, Mike came past me. However, I didn't chase him as I was done in and also unsure how far into the race we were. Turns out we were just about done and he crossed the line around 10 seconds ahead of me. It was a sub-21, but only just, and after waiting for Missus Mac, who went sub 30, we repaired to a hostelry for a modest imbibement. It was a surprise that we could get served straight away on Hogmanay, and this probably shows how frail the hospitality business is presently. Either way it was a good event and one we might do again next year.

Simonside Cairns Fell Race 2025

Its pure Pixar, innit.....?!

I had a good trawl through the results from the previous 10 years or so and couldn't find any with my name on. Later, Speedy advised me that we had run a re-scheduled Simonside, meant to be run in December 2021, in March 2022. Then I was 10th, finishing in 1:40. I vaguely remember the poor field (40) and relative unease after that race - I think we were just getting back to normality after the Covid debacle. Anyway, I was surprised at how few times I've ran this 11 mile race, especially as half of it takes in my Simonside, my training ground and the nearest location that offers topography which might provide some semblance of mountain running terrain. 

Speedy is still out of sorts, but still took time to accompany me to Rothbury with 2 marginally dysfunctional dogs. 

Around 80 had turned up at the hall including some Penecuiks, a Dark Peak and a sprinkling of Norhams and Teviotdales. No Carnethys that I could see this year, but plenty of Saltwells and Elvets from south of the Tyne and, of course, loads of NFR's, the local fell running club and in the ascent, members-wise, it would seem. I said hello to Adam from Wooler whom I hadn't seen for years. 

We set off out of Rothbury and after a mile I passed Teviots Murray and the Penecuik Runner, Ball. There were plenty ahead, but unlike last weeks Hexham Hobble, I felt good. 

As we made up and over Simonside past Lordenshaws, I hopscotched between runners, trying to keep out of the stiff headwind as much as possible. After 4 miles we changed direction and it became a sidewind. It was super-mild, though and I had only a thin white Tshirt on.  I continued to catch runners, passing perhaps 4 or 5 on the moors. The terrain, between mile 4 and mile 8, was testing, with a mix of heather tracks and wet reedy grass. The duck boards over the boggy ground were lethally slippy. The greasy hummocks of grass waiting to ambush you as you tired. 

I forged ahead, feeding on a gel at 4 miles and trying to continue to track down some of the runners ahead. I was tracked closely by Duff of NFR, so had to push hard and caught the first lady around 7 miles. At that point we hit the high ground and with 4 miles to go, I was on home territory. I reached for a second gel. However, my eagerness to gel-up coupled with some inattention was rewarded by a fall early once we were onto the slabs, but that was a result of me turning on the peat which I knew had been dry all year, but with recent rain was unusually yielding. I dusted myself down and fairly hammered back along the path and down the various sets of zig-zaggy sandstone steps, my wee legs going ten to the dozen and putting taller less certain runners to the sword. I was stoked. 

I moved up the rankings well in the last few miles, almost all of it downhill and although a young Elvet lad tried to overhaul me near the finish as we re-entered Rothbury, I told myself that it was important to apply myself - at the time, all I could hear were the footsteps padding on the tarmac behind me, and for all I knew, there could have been loads of the blighters waiting to pounce. In all my excitement I realised that Adam might be in my age group and that I hadn't seen him all race. He must have been well ahead and won the M60 cat. I was happy enough with 2nd finishing in 1:41 and realising that I had enjoyed the event and had had a good run.  Thanks to all the marshalls and Speedy for the foties. 

Some photos from yesterdays Simonside Cairns Fell Race (catmacd) link - https://photos.app.goo.gl/PHoLmeCMmtbZVnjP6

Hexham Hobble 2025

Another weekend, another race. This time around it was the Hexham Hobble, a 10 mile trail affair held in Allendale in deepest, rolling Northumberland.  The course is relatively tame once you get the initial ascent out of the way. 

I was accompanied by Missus Mac and Speedy and two dogs. The posse took off soon after arrival to take snaps while I fannied around in the toilet queue. There was no warm up for me, which was a bit of a mistake, as the steepest bit of the course is just after the start and it took me several minutes to get the old ticker going. By that time, many of the 150 field were somewhere up the lane, and no doubt some M60's with them.  I eventually got going and clawed probably ten or so places back.  

I had a gel at 5 miles and stopped to strip off a layer and my gloves. I am terrible at being over-dressed. However, I caught two more guys in the last 2 miles on the descent and I finished with a little in reserve, which was nice. 1:27, 43rd and snaffled 1st M60 by a commodious margin of 3 minutes. 

At race HQ, there was a one-cake per runner policy, but I thought this rather dogmatic. 'If you want cake, you simply have to run faster', I mused, so I had 3 cakes; but then, feeling a bit guilty (not really) I gave the nice tea ladies a fiver as an inducement and grabbed another cuppa before fleeing. Nearly another 40 miles this week. Getting a bit sick of the rain and dark nights though.