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....