Thropton Show Fell Race

It’s a sunny and cool Sunday Morning. I’m sat in the car watching the dog agility class out the window while spooning a porridge pot which comes with an added suggestion of microplastics. The local Hyrox club are going through their routine from their gym on a road nearby.

We turned out yesterday at the Thropton Show Race which starts in a field at the edge of Thropton and makes its way up through more fields and woods to Simonside, a craggy, heathery ridge which looks down on Rothbury, nestled in the Coquet Valley in Northumberland.

It was raining. Upon arrival the car struggled to get more than 20m into the adjacent field which was used as a car park due to the soft ground.  Much to the annoyance of the gate marshall, who, despite being 13, was doing a sterling job, I reversed out against the flow of traffic and elected to park on the side of the road near Snitter, about 200m away from the show field. I have a phobia about wet fields and cars or maybe its a completely rational anxiety.  

It was five quid to get into the show and another three quid to enter the 7 mile medium distance, medium ascent, fell race. Speedy Joe and me spend most weeks training on parts of the course, so the least we could do is pay our money and take our chances. First prize is eighty crisp notes, so not to be sniffed at. 

As I pinned on my number I was approached by one of the other runners. He had a medical setback at the event 2 years previously. He was quite emotional and wanted to thank me for my assistance when, on the day, after he retired early from the race, I noticed he wasn’t quite right. He said it took him 4 hours to get to hospital. We were both a little emotional, but it was uplifting to see him pull on his vest and take part, even if, as he professed, he was happy just to be out and running.Him and me both.

Around 40 runners set off. Speedy soon disappeared into the distance. The rain continued as we made our way up across the wet pasture and entered the wet woods, cutting through up a shallow ravine which had turned into a stream. I recall the proliferation of new mushrooms along the way, me having previously ran the wooded section of the course 3 days earlier.  A group of perhaps 10 runners were just ahead, mostly made up of Saltwell Harriers in their red and white hooped vests. 'If only I could stay with them' I gasped. However, the  group began to disintegrate near the crag. I caught two on the way up. One was wearing road trainers which would do him no favours on the descent. The marshall on the Crag, Paul, was doing a man-sized job on his own and he shouted encouragement in the wind. 

We began the descent, which I was up for. I got passed three before the end of the heather under the Crag and caught another down the ravine, which was, by this time, flowing freely as the rain set in properly.  Through the woods was a joy, all downhill, and just before the fields there were another 3 in front, but each running on their own. I focused on the front runner, the 2^nd lady, Karen, and tried to muster all my reserves. Passing the Alnwick runner and another, I was making good ground through Thropton and into the field toward the show. However, with 200m to go I was caught by both the guys I had just passed. I crossed the line in around 1:07. The garmin said 7.40 pace, which I was happy enough with. Times don't really matter in these type of races. However, I was a good few minutes down on last year. 

We waited for the presentation for Speedy, and then it was off to a dog trainer for 2 hours stood in the rain. We were soaked and getting back home, it was a fish supper to share. Another top day making memories and enjoying hill running again. We have entered the an Alpine half marathon next month.  This will be the big trip out this year and should be ace. It will go better if I can continue with the losing the lard.

I’ve finished Neil Gaimans ‘The Ocean at the end of the Lane’ and Willaim Boyds ‘Gabriel Moon and am currently enjoying J.L.Carr’s short pastoral novel ‘ A month in the Country’. So many books, so little time.

Drink from the Red Burn

 Having not run a hill race since April, my recovery from a foot injury was complete a few weeks ago, and its been all hands on deck to try and reduce my BMI fatness in time for the Ben Nevis Mountain Race. Having raced this twice previously (2009 and 2023), I was under no illusions about the size and shape of the challenge, even without the extra 10lbs of flesh hugging my waistline. Speedy Joe has had a good season, so at least one of us was going well. Four of us zoomed up to Fort William on Thursday stopping off at Straiton to buy all the Beetroot shots that Holland and Barratt had in their store. We stopped off at the Glen Nevis Centre for a single evening before moving to Inverlochy. 

On Friday we did a short recce of the zigzags at the base of the Mountain in an attempt to establish the best way up and checking out possible short-cuts. Of course, with the race being on Lochaber's door step, all that might have been required was to follow one of their runners. However, over the last few years, we've found that there is no substitute for decent preparation for off-road races. After a quick trip to Torlundy for the Park Run for Ant and Marg, we got back to Inverlochy for a cuppa before setting off to Race HQ. Around 400 turned out on Saturday for the race. 

We got our numbers and were hopeful that the weather would hold up and that the rain would stay away. We were walked around the playing field led by a pipe band (as is tradition) before being set away. There were around forty M60's, but settling in near the back I intended to try and keep the heart-rate down. You can't fool gravity. Carrying extra lard up 4400ft of ascent will slow anyone. As it was, I took my phone and during the early stages, I stopped to take some photos, the rationale being that this would encourage me to moderate my pace and remind me that I am quite a way off full fitness. Surprisingly, a few well kent faces in the form of a Carnethy and a Hartfell whom I recognised were close by, but they went on ahead. 

Halfway up, I had a few gubs of water at the Red Burn and then the serious, steep gravelly ascent commenced. It was truly a slog, but I reached the top in 1:40, catching the Hartfell chap just at the summit. He passed me back down at the Red Burn when I stopped for another few handfuls of water and I tucked in behind him. We caught the Carnethy runner shortly afterwards. As the series of rocky steps began I decided to put in a burst and did my best to put some time into both. I was pleased with my descent, passing perhaps 25 runners and getting off the hill in around 43 minutes. However, with a mile to go on the undulating tarmac, sheer exhaustion caught up with me and I found myself walking for short spells, completely puggled. I collapsed over the line in 2.33, for 7th M60. Done in. Evidently my 'take it easy' mantra failed once I had gravity on my side. I guess my mass gave me an edge on the way down.

As per 2023, my inner thighs cramped quickly and Mrs Mac managed to source some salt tabs, which was a god send. Speedy was first woman to the top and eventually finished 4th; Both our finishing places were a little down from 2023, but neither of us were down-beat with the day and we celebrated at the Garrison Kitchen later in the town with a slap up feed. All in all a tough day out, but life affirming. Clearly not enough beetroot!