Criffel Hill Race 2014

I took a trip to the west today to run the Criffel Hill Race. Six miles and 2000ft. No probs.

sullied rear quarters

I had consulted the excellent Scottish Hill racing site with regards to the start time, course and likely numbers.  Given my varying form, it seemed dooable and I had to make a proper start to the season at some time.   Coming off at Gretna along the A75 to Dumfries I stopped at a couple of roadworks. The skies were that patchy, petrol grey and barely blue affair with more than a few smoky, belligerent looking clouds stroking the higher ground to the south. As I waited for the lights to change my eyes wandered across a far off hillscape. They stopped when I clocked a pretty hefty looking mound that was head and shoulders bigger than its minions. Was it the hill they called ‘Criffel’. It looked like someone had cut free a piece of the Pennines and floated it halfway down the Solway. Not being too familiar with this patch of turf, I thought there was a good possibility. Snow free, thankfully, but big enough.

Arriving at the wee village of New Abbey, I parked up with the most of the rest of field beside Sweetheart Abbey. I dug out my kit and took a look at my Salomon's. Past it. The soles looked shinier than my bonce after a good polishing. They were ready for the bin. Given its early season, I thought, the route would probably be straightforward, maybe a gravelly path, so I would manage fine.  

After some fun and games by the race organiser during the kit check, we set off with half a mile of tarmac. Half of the field were ahead of me, but I had my camera and the only way was up, so what was the rush. Soon enough we were hitting some early gradient through the woods cutting a narrow path over the red brown clay and kicking conifer cones.

I moved up and settled into a steady pace.  The wood soon opened up as we began to climb and we were faced with a hillside of soft black peat, black mush and a few straw tussocks. Sometimes there were reeds and peat. Sometimes moss and reeds and peat. ...and so it went on.  I saw Ian Sills about half a minute ahead, and a few others. Nice to be in a group, I thought. I had worked out at an early stage that if this soft boggy ground kept up, I may as well descend on my backside as there was no way I was going to stay upright on the way down.  There seemed no clear runnable path up the hill. The best of the peat was soft, but more often than not I lost a foot, ankle or calf.  Very difficult to find any rhythm.

As we got higher into the grey, damp and windy clag, a Dumfries runner came past. I stopped to take a couple of snaps then moved on and kept him close.  He went down, I went down. I went down again, but at least the gradient had eased. Next minute, Al Anthony is coming down past me, then a collective of Carnethies (what is the collective noun?) and I’m hoping we're near the summit.

It wasn’t too far ahead and I got the top and turned and had lost Dumfries man sooner than I’d wanted to. On the way down I stopped a few times to take a really close look at the reeds and peat and at one point beside the Mountain Rescue guys, did a double face plant which wasn’t my finest moment, catching my knee on a gritstone cobble.  It added a bit of red to the otherwise blackened legs. What a state.....

The Hill takes another victim

A youngster came hurtling past soon afterwards running for the hardrock hoodlums. A few minutes later, another one came past. This time a runner from the  Irvine club. I was only buoyed up by the fact that I was catching the second female who was making heavier weather of the boggy conditions than me and as I passed her (Dumfries ultra runner Jo Zakrzewski) she asked ‘if there was any more bog’, to which I answered ‘I hope not’. Back onto dry land, I soon had Irvine runner Tommy Begley in my sights, but before I could close the gap, I heard the rapid cadence of Jo Za eating up what little distance I had put between her and me, and she belted past me just before the line. I thanked the organisers and took off. Enjoyed the run out, but need to be investing in some new kit if I’m going to take myself seriously this year. Also: Note to self: find somewhere to practice suicidal descents or stick to trail races.   

(-I'd paste in some photos, but can't find the cable so you'll have to make do with the words just now) - Results on the Dumfries Running Club website.  Great photos at https://www.flickr.com/photos/64932248@N04/sets/72157642454901163/page2/ 
 

Brough Law run out

I was best actor in a supporting role today at the Brough Law Oscars. It was good to see over 100 runners turn out and even better to see the sun trying to break through in a mild but breezy event. Ran around near the back keeping my promise to look after the my good lady as she worked hard around the Cheviot foothills. Grabbed some photos at the start. Might try Criffel next week if the weather stays nice. Need to get the mileage up though and lose some of this flesh.

Shang a Lang at Croft



Yesterday was a re-baptism of fire. Fire in the hole? No, Mr Segal; fire in my quads. Usually after a hard race, I breeze through the next 24 hours with no aches or pain. That is until the covert Doms squad creeps in the back door. This usually happens in the wee small hours, and by next morning I become wooden, animated and creaky. Hauling myself up stairs, levering my body up off the chair or supporting my legs with my arms when bending. Yesterday though, I ached as soon as the race finished...but why? Cause I was racing on a bike.
One of the newer members of the cycling club said he was riding at Croft. Another prospective member was going also. Croft is used mainly for motor racing.  A flattish circuit near Darlington it is (said Yoda.)  I thought I'd better join him (not Yoda, the other guy)
I wasn't looking forward to it. Apart from a short lived comeback 10 years ago on the bike, I haven't bike raced in earnest since the early and mid 80's. The thing about a bike race is if you stay in the bunch you get about 20% benefit from less wind resistance. But once you let a gap open, you lose that and then its 'bye bye baby' (as my once favourite group sang. I loved that tartan look. Which one was your favourite?!)
Anyway, when you're off the back, its a lonely world. Perhaps that's why sportives are so well attended as its easy like Sunday morning. Its not the case in a bike race. Eyeballs out.
After swapping a tube on the Condor, I loaded the crack road bike up into the car and took off, arriving in bright sunshine in good time.
There weren't many there.
It was just above freezing, but frost free thankfully. I met the lads and geared up, paying my £10 and nipped around the 2 mile circuit for a warm up. After the warm up I changed from my calf length tartan trews to lycra and on top to a long sleeve tracksuit. There was a nippy wind chill.  Around 30 lined up. Quite a small field but there were still some proper racers in there. They had shades, voluminous legs and everything stretched tight as a drum, including smiles. 
We set off in two groups. I had blundered my way into the first group and off we went. The others setting off a minute or two later. We managed two laps before our little group split and it was me and Tim M off the back of the first group.
Never mind; we knew, like buses, there would be another along in a minute; and there was. But as we had been lapping at 22 mph, the peleton came past at 24 and it was a short lived charabang. That said, a few others also got spat out mercilessly. Being dropped from the pack can be abrupt but more often its a yo-yoing, longer lingering and snaking demise.
No matter. The ejectees formed a 5 man band. We continued all to take turns at the front and picked up a few stragglers. It was hard but like fell racing, concentrating on slip streaming and zooming in
on the wheel in front soon makes the time pass quickly.
With 27 miles of the 30 mile race completed the leader lapped us. He was flying solo, having decided that 25mph was more within his capability. The last lap slowed as a few caught their breath before attempting a sprint for 18th-23rd places. It was just like old times. Hambleton man jumped too early, I went in close behind and and came out with 50 to go.
va va voom.  Tea and cake for a quid afterwards made this Velo 29 organised event a reet gid day oot.  Celebrated my return by signing a pro-contract and going to see the Scottish Fiddle Orchestra. How much tartan can a guy get in a day?

Thou shalt not pass

I've developed a nasty squeak in my crank. It could be my bottom bracket, but leaving the bike last week in the garage without a wash-down has evidently resulted in some 'mechanical'. 
The weekend was run free. Not that that is anything to crow about, especially when nuggets like the national xc, Devilla trail race and the Netherhall 10 mile road race were on. Instead, I opted for a club ride on the Saturday morning, an easy 35 miler, followed by a gutsy 55 miler on my own on Sunday. Spring is trying to muscle in to the last vestiges of Winter (or what Winter we've had). It's elbows aren't quite sharp enough yet though, so even though it was mild, there was a force 7 south westerly blowing as I ploughed a lone furrow past Ponteland and Stamfordham to the A69 where I turned and stopped to take in the delights or the Matfen café shop. Although it's only a wee village, the café charges more for sitting in for a cuppa, than sitting on the bench outside and only having come out with a couple of quid, I sat outside watching the occasional bikie fly past in the tailwind. It was then up to Walridge and onto the Belsay road with a billowing, hornblower of the wind behind me. I wasn't tempted to gallop though and, instead cut north to the Molesden road where progress was baulked by this inconsiderate tree.

This morning, its back on with the trainers, with 5 slow miles round the lanes and tracks and another session at the running club tonight (if I'm lucky).  In the meantime, I'll get the hot soapy water out to give the bike a rub down and full on lube with the WD40.
 

Roond in circles

I had Wednesday afternoon off. I hadn't planned to, but it was a quiet morning and rather than shuffle around the office, I decided around 3pm get my gear on and do some proper bike miles. I headed out past Pigdon and Netherwitton, round the back to Rothley and back. I added a few more to clock up 35 miles around the top of town. It was cool but still. Good bike therapy.

Last night I missed the group so spent nearly an hour trawling around town looking for them. As I ran around in the dark, I wondered what the chances of coming across them were. Given that there are three or four main areas for running at night in the place, in theory, you would think the odds are around 3 or 4 to 1, but the timing makes it nearer 30 or 40 to 1. The direction of travel is also important. Afterwards, having ran 7 miles on my todd, the young un came in and asked why I wasn't with the group. I said I had got out late and ran around the town looking for them. She had seen them in all the places I had been, where she'd been also, but not seen me. She then added she'd seen another clubmate running around on his own doing the same thing. Think of it; all these lone figures scratching around the dim, dank Morpeth streets looking for running company. Makes you a bit sad, n'est ce pas? The bottom line was if we as a group had got our s*#t together, we could run down the club and find out where the group was on any one night and save ourselves a lonely night out on the streets.

I'm planning a 7 miler through the woods at lunchtime today and maybe an hour on the bike later.
Having shelled out £30 a pop for an Edinburgh Half marathon place in May, I need to be thinking about dipping my foosty toe into a sweaty competition or two. The main aim is to coach the broken body through 13 miles never mind a podium place.  Mrs M has advised me I'm accompanying her to Ingram Valley on Sunday for a recce for the Brough Law race. I remember getting lost in thick fog there the first time I did it. Finished well up, but probably because I'd cut half the course out.

Foxlake Cyclo Cross and Trail Race

It was an early start for the trip to Dunbar this morning, but we were away for 7am, cutting our way north along the empty, black expanse of tarmac that is the A1. The sky was a burning orange above.

Having entered the cyclo-cross at Foxlake, the young 'un had decided she was going as well, to run the earlier trail race, so we were parked up and I was supping coffee by 9am just as Prasad showed them a clean pair of heels over the 14km beach and forest trails.

By 11.30, I was geared up and ready for a mudfest along with around 100 others. The course took in some gravel road, a long flat boggy straight of grass and then it was into the woods for some seriously technical ascents and descents. Logs, roots, ruts and stumps. But the killer section were the bunny hops and short, sharp grassy knoll at the finish line which was super heavy, cloddy and sapped the very life out of your limbs. 

Starting at the rear,  the first 200 metres were marked by a couple of pile ups and I was lucky to be riding at the outside and kept well out of the way. I had taken time to do a couple of practice laps around the woods and was pretty happy with the way things were going during the first couple of laps, passing riders who were either low on endurance or losing time with tiredness...that's when the bike handling can get pretty ragged. There was a great crowd there and the finishing area was thronged with folk, many no doubt enjoying the spectacle of men and women flogging themselves into oblivion, coming unstuck in the mud or coming off on the tight bends as the course cut up.

My training has been poor in the last few weeks as I've been bothered with a bad knee, and just as I was getting over that, a dose of the lurgy, so nothing to blog about: I put any negative thoughts aside and concentrated hard as I battled to keep the work ethic going over the last 20 minutes of the 50 minute event. I could feel the lactic building up in both quads through the last climb in the woods but it didn't amount to anything and I was relieved to see the finish line, finishing somewhere down the field.

Funny thing. Had I ran the trail race I might have finished top 6 or 7 perhaps. In this event , I was well down, but the course, weather and crowds made the experience memorable. The downside (and there's always one) was that it took 2 hours to clean the bike, my gear and me afterwards but nothing that a pint and a curry couldn't sort.  That's the CX bike hung up now until October.

Photos of the event at Bob Marshalls excellent site (see link on right hand side).  

Welcome to my world

Its been a while since I last entered the blogging arena. I ran the Morpeth 11k at the New Year. It was a good workout, but I couldn't stay with Penn of Shields who eased away at 6k to V50 victory. After a longish run on the following Sunday I developed some pain.
My right knee has decided to come out in support of the left one. Knees together. I would tell you more, but I don't think they deserve any more attention than they're trying to get at the mo, so we'll leave the thing at that.
I've managed a measly 25 on the road and in the woods this week, supplemented by 35 on the bike yesterday with some of the lads, and then 35 minutes on the turbo in the garage today. I cleared myself a wee space by the freezer and plugged myself in for some laboured spinning. This years main target, l'etape in July means I'll be on the bike as much as in the trainers, but the longer, warmer days can't come soon enough. There's not much on in the calendar this month in any case and I need to manage the race quota to ensure this creaky carcass maintains its sleek lines and purring motor!  I suppose a cross country or two might not be too demanding. I'll see what I can come up with.  In the meantime we're all taking a trip to Dunbar early in February for a cyclocross, so that'll be a laugh and something to look forward to.