Falkland Hill & Trail Race: or maybe just Hill Race...

It was about this time last week that Linds' brought in a new kettle. The old one was on the blink and we do a shedload of tea hereabouts. It was fresh, in a pastel green and very tidy unlike my big toe, which became the physical manifestation of the carnage that was endured at the Falkland Hill and Trail race last Sunday. In a naïve decision some time ago, I entered this race organised by my new running clubbies in Ecosse. I reasoned that I could also pick up the new vest and t-shirt that I had ordered and, better still, meet some of my new buddies. 

I belted up to Fife early doors, stopping at Kirkcaldy for a cuppa and was outside the Community Hall in Falkland with an hour to spare. Speedy Joe and Ant came up under their own steam. Speedy Joe (Cat) was running, Ant in support. Cat had said she’d enjoyed the race 2 years ago when it hosted the Scottish Trail Race champs. However, we concluded that this event was not the same one. And what about its title? Was it a trail race or was it a hill race?  As I pinned my number onto my vest I had visions of a gentle canter through the woods past the Stables café. ‘Not too challenging’ I mused. It was, as the Blancmange song, a ‘blind vision’. We warmed up and then doused our legs with neat TCP to ward off any sort of arachnids. I smelt like a WW1 field hospital. Perhaps a one in twenty solution might be more appropriate next time. 

With a field of 60 out of the 80 or so who had pre-entered, we made our part way up the hill to the start. After a lengthy pre-race synopsis of what we were about to experience we were off, me in my new psycho squirrels (the clubs mascot and nickname, apparently) oversized t - shirt.   I slotted in behind Steve Mathews of Hawkhill as we wound our way up and up through a narrow grassy path. The climbing eased off after a little as we crested a heather clad ridge and then hit a long grassy path.  My heart rate was off the scale. Speedy Joe disappeared somewhere up front and was soon lost from view. Meanwhile I sat in behind the Hawk. on the level he was bearing down on a Highland Hill Runner in front - lets call him Eric (cause that’s his name). However, the highlander from Alness was proving elusive and too busy trying to run down a Falkland runner (Dave Clark) ahead of him who was going well. Could I use Steve to slingshot myself to overhaul these two. Well, not likely. We turned left and began a steep grassy climb to some yon big hill with a trig point on it. Falkland man and Eric pulled away a little more and disappeared over the crest. 

Hands on knees working hard up the incline, I imagine Steve the Hawk had had enough of me, the Klingon heavy breather on his shoulder. I was invited to make my move just below the summit. I took the front near the top and got my first view of the descent. I thought if I can’t make up some ground on the runners ahead, I should perhaps think about trading in my Salomons for a crochet kit and a bottle of buckie. I was well out of practice having not raced in the hills for more than 18 months, but what I lacked in practice I made up in misplaced bravado (is there any other?) and I hurled myself down the hill through the heather to the style and, as we entered the forest with only 800m of greasy grey boulder and gravelly paths remaining, I went straight past Eric and just around the corner, I spied the flying speedy Joe. She was motoring downhill along the track ahead. It was quite a technical descent, but she was running with just a hint of consideration for her own well being. Me, not so much and with 200m to go I felt my toenail catch the top of my shoe momentarily as my toes were repeatedly forced into the end of the shoe as gravity, momentum and impact came together repeatedly on this last gasp dash. Would I have tried to pass her if I had had a chance? Well, I guess we’ll never know. I took away 2 bottles of beer and a hobble from the race. We finished 6^th and 7^th. Afterwards, we sat outside Campbells tearoom in the village with a coffee and scone before heading off. It took me all week to recover from a trashed set of quads and a general weakness and malaise which I put down to being old and trying too hard.  And for those of you who were still wondering…this is definitely a hill race.

Shettleston Open Meeting: Too Hot to Trot

 I’ve never ran a 3000m before; and I’ve not been to half the well known bars in Glasgow, even though, for 2 years, I went to school there. So I thought I’d combine both by entering the Shettleston open meet at ‘Crownpoint’. Yes, its sounds a glorious venue, majestic even, but don’t get your hopes up.  I managed to get an entry even though the website entry failed to take any money off me. The organiser kindly advised that, upon enquiry, my name was down.  A freebie then? A reward for my summer of toil.

 

I took the train to Waverley and then jumped on the Glasgow Train. Boy, it was hot. Arriving at Queen Street, I had 4 hours to burn. Did I mention it was hot. The wall clock thermometer thingy said 26 degrees as it began to wilt down the side of the window.  I checked out the Burger Bar on St Vincent Street that I had previously identified for a post race feast. I then moseyed along to the café at St Enoch Square in the Bank which I knew was air conditioned and, armed with a pot of tea, spent 45 minutes watching the world go by out the window.  There were some sites, Glasgow all t shirts and ice creams. Saltcoats, but without the sand or sea and more discarded sweety papers and plastic. Stepping back out into the heat I wandered to Greaves Sports and then Blacks where I bought a small backpack. It was more secure than the shopping bag I had brought. I re-packed my belongings and wandered across the Waterstones for another tea and glass of iced water. It was soon 5.30 and I made a move to find the Trongate, then Gallowgate. 

 

Passing the Barrowlands, things became rather unloved with litter and dereliction rather more prominent than the gleaming shiny buildings I had left around Buchanan Street.  The sun was melting the pavement and, even though I had a t shirt on, I was lathered. I heard the voice in my head ‘we’re all going to fry tonight’ as I passed the Wee Mans Bar. I registered at the track and looked for a secure place to put my bag before I ‘warmed up’ (an unfortunate phrase in the circumstances). I was referred to the leisure centre. However, when I enquired at the leisure centre, which was near empty, they advised the lockers were not in use due to Covid. What complete b#’ocks.  Bureaucratic nonsense. Bureaucraps. I returned to the track and left the bag with the officials and had a run along Crownpoint Road. Partway along I was invited in for a pint by 2 amused smokers standing outside a bar, but I declined.  I made my way onto the track and stepped up in lane 3 with around 15 others. I started promptly and made my way around 3 or 4 runners during the first 3 laps. On lap four I was passed by 2 males, one Cambuslang and a Bellahouston Harrier. I tried to tuck in but they ran away from me, lost in their own wee battle. I cracked on but my mouth was dry, my reserves were failing. The sweat was dripping across my face. The red track and sky, the searing heat, it was like Mars. I thought for a moment I saw Matt Damon in a spacesuit; the arid surface, a hostile sky bearing down on me. I was passed by one, then two women but grabbing the shreds of my dignity, I rallied on the final lap and ran across the line in around 10:50. It was hardly the stuff sonic booms are made of, but it was sub 11 and that was, in my book, a result.In the other 3000m heat, I noted an infringment of the new rules on nasal discharges being transgressed right in front of the crowd. It will be interesting to see if the runner is DQ'd or not.

 

I made my way out of Bridgeton as the sun came down and made my way to the Scotia Bar, before moving swiftly on to Bread Meat Bread on St Vincent Street where I enjoyed the meal. I had visions of walking to the accommodation but, by then, the meat sweats had got me in their grip and I elected for the underground to Partick. I managed a half in Deoch an Dorus, self styled as a ‘Partick Institution’.  It was tea and bed at eleven. 

 

The following morning I opened the day with a 5 mile run along the quayside with Ant’ before the weather broke and I made my way to the ‘Clockwork Orange’, thanking my host for his hospitality.  The rain had returned half a day early and I ended up with tea, bacon and eggs in a quiet Weatherspoons. It wasn’t my choice, but I had been around several blocks looking for a wee café rather than a coffee bar. When I asked what street it was on, the girl said cheerily ‘Jamaica Street’. I never recognised it, even though in the 70’s I’d spent my time twice a day on the bus coming up and down the grey grimy thoroughfare.  It was up to Queen Street for the train home and another 30 pages of my Denise Mina book ‘Still Midnight’. She sets her novels in Glasgow. Maybe her next novel will be called ‘A hot night in Bridgeton’ or perhaps ‘Scunnered with 2 laps to go’? Then again, maybe not.

Signals Relays & the Perth 10k

 

It was a tad on the warm side when we appeared at Hetton in Durham for the annual Signals Road Relays last weekend. The sun had broken through and we had plenty of time in hand before the start of the women's and vets race. It’s a 2 lapper, each lap comprising 1.1miles of rolling tarmac enveloping a large pond (or small lake if you don’t get out much). I was running leg 3 for the vets M50 team and with Hancox, Bennett and Bracken making up the team, it would need to be a heck of team that would beat us. The numbers were a little down on the usual, but with 60 or so teams from perhaps 30 clubs, there was plenty going on.

We led on the 1^st leg with Bracken. Hancox came in on the 2^nd leg still with only a few seconds over North Shields. They had won the vets title for the past however many years. However, the defection of Bracken from Shields to Morpeth a year or so ago changed the dynamics in our favour.  The Shields lad was a little close for comfort, but I told myself I was in good shape and blasted off for a terrific first lap. The second lap became blidy hard work very quickly as I ran out of steam, but I sensed I had put time into my opponent and sure enough I had put around 20 seconds into him at the finish. I crossed the line in 13:13, the fastest I’d run this event since 2017. And I needn’t have worried about the slim lead as Bennett, running the final 4^th leg flew around the course for the days fastest time and we ended up winning by a minute or so. Sunderland were 3^rd but were never in the running. In the woman's race, Speedy Joe ran the days fastest women's time and they also won their event. Tea and medals all round.

We took off soon after, not waiting for the presentation. We got to Perth at around seven, stopping only for fuel at Dunbar and a bar meal at the Steading off the Edinburgh By-pass. Still plenty of masks on and frayed nerves up here.  A couple of pints before bed and before we knew it, it was Sunday Morning. It was a pot of porridge and a coffee for breakfast before we hot-footed it down to North Insch, collecting our chips for the Perth Festival 10k. There was a queue for the toilets. I took the initiative and sauntered casually past reception at the Leisure Centre to use the other toilets where the queue was negligible.  Mrs Mac tried this tactic 5 minutes later, but by then the way to toilet nirvana had been blocked and the lavatory interlopers were chased back from whence they came.

Conditions outside were ideal and me and Speedy Joe warmed up. There was around 350 running and it was good to see things almost back to some semblance of normality in the running scene.  We started after a brief preamble and I got my head down and cracked on.  I overshot a junction at the end of the Park after 2km and doubling back, found myself behind Fife runner Alan Gibson. I sat behind him for 5 kilometres as he ground out a metronomic pace of around 6:05/km. I mused that from behind, the lines on the back of his neck and his cap pulled tight over his head, he might be in my category. However, it became harder and harder to maintain contact with him. There was no let up. I was goosed. It was almost a re-run of the Tay Ten in 2017 when I lost contact with my wee group. At 8km the elastic finally snapped and I lost contact. I was chased hard by Hawkhill runner Sandy McDougall who had been in front, but overshot the same junction on the return at the same place where I had gone wrong on the way out. She passed me with 50m to go. I crossed the line in 38:35, finishing 2^nd M50 to a Perth runner who managed a 36 minute run. Gibson won the M60 category and he certainly had a good run. We nipped up to Bankfoot to see some family and then took the long road home.  Speedy Joe won the Woman's race and managed a big PB. Mrs Mac also had a good run, so all in all, a pretty successful weekend on the running front.

I promised myself an easy week this week, but have, somehow, I've still managed 2 sessions and a weekly total of 50 miles looks imminent tomorrow. My next target is the 3000m at the Shettleston Meet next Wednesday. It’ll be a PB for sure….In all the years I’ve been running, I don’t recall ever running the 3000, so anything under 11 minutes will do nicely.  

Renaissance Man: Any excuse to Blog.

 

As I sit here with a cuppa half-watching the 'Lost Boys', I am already aware that I won’t watch the film to the end. I can hear the washing machine spin in the kitchen, the high pitched whine competing with something vague with canned laughter on Radio 4Extra. Everyone's out, and I’ve been slacking. But the previous load is out on the line and the potatoes are on the hob. 

I ground out a very solid 12 miles this morning. About 7:25 pace. Twenty kilometres sounds better. The conditions were cool and humid and I was soaked by the time I got back.  I was surprisingly fresh given that I had attended a wedding reception the previous night and, hours before that had competed in the NE track champs, finishing 7^th out of eight in a time of 5m:07s. It took me 1hr 45mins to get down the 50 miles to Teesside on the congested A1 in the pouring rain and I was late to get my number and then almost missed the registration call-up 10 minutes before the start. I had to remind myself that gobbing on the track was a no-no. Out of an impoverished original entry of 12. I counted 9 starters as we were led onto the track like modern day gladiators. Back in the day this 2 day event would have attracted a big field of elite runners. Not any more. The crowd craned their necks in an effort to get a better look at the contenders. I wasn’t one of them, having decided only to run this short event as a marker to test my form and to boost my Power of Ten ratings. Call it an ego boost. I was drawn in the first lane nearest the inside track line. However, I had no illusions of running anything near to the 3:56 or whatever was required to win the event. If I could go sub-5:30 I would be pleased. Sub 5:15 would be very encouraging. At the gun I settled early into my pace, letting all but one of the others fire on ahead and witnessing them disappear around the top bend and into the distant horizon.  There was very little to report as I pushed round the nearly 4 laps, beating Hughes of Sunderland by a handful of seconds at the end. At least I wasn’t lapped. I won a modest applause as I finished and wondered if I had had some competition at close quarters, would I have squeezed another two or three seconds out of the track.  Who knows?

There, I’ve changed the film to the Twelve Monkeys with a brooding Bruce Willis and a delusional Brad Pitt. Much more watchable.  A mix between Bladerunner and the Fifth Element.  

Next on the calendar are the Signals Relays at Hetton Lyons. My two interval sessions a week coupled with 3 visits a week to the gym and regular core exercises at home, iron supplements and the ongoing assault on carb intake seems to be paying dividends.  If nothing else, I can get into my jeans more easily and feel better about myself. This psychological fillip is important when you’re under duress and you can call on all these minor gains as the going gets tough. Well, at least this is the rationale and mental mantra I have adopted.  I better get a Hill race under my belt before the end of the year if I am to avoid a duck for the year on Chris Upsons Site. Eildon looks favourite.

Ten Squats

 

Well, we’re into August already. My October Aberfoyle training week may hold up if this easing of the so-called lockdown and restrictions continues. Aunt Aggie has weathered the whole debacle fairly well. She has just finished a sherry trifle wearing her hairnet. Like Nicola, she insists that I maintain mask wearing. She says it gives everyone’s eyes a rest.

After a 3 week course in core training off the Youtube, I have paid thirty quid to rejoin the gym for a month. With a further modest reduction in weight, I have reverted to pushing, squatting and pressing in order to save my chest caving in altogether and in the hope of building some muscle density. I confess that on the first session I could only manage 10 squats with 20kg. When I stepped forward for a second set, I could barely walk such was the acute contraction in my inner thighs. Today I managed 3 setts of 15, so something must be improving.  With my spindly concave chest and spider like legs, I admit that I do cut a strange figure amongst the heaving mass of puffed up bodybuilders. 

I have the North East Track champs on the 21^st when I have entered myself for the 1500m. There’s a joke in there somewhere.  My names also down for the relays a week later although I’m not at all sure that we’ll manage to assemble a 4 man squad.  Its then up to Perth for the Festival 10k. What a busy calendar I hear you say. I'm already trawling the various fixtures for September. I have already spotted the Eildon hill race and one or two trail races. 

I was up in Glasgow a fortnight ago and me and Speedy Joe ventured out for a sharp 3 miler before dinner. Running along toward Scotstoun we ran past a huge puddle at the side of the road, a result of the recent deluges. As we passed the unnamed reservoir of murky water, a silver audi drove at high speed through the pond and we were caught in a huge spraying wave of clag. Speedy Joe was miffed, but I could only laugh. This demonstrates that my 'weight loss no carbs except beer and chips' diet has gone too far and has, perhaps, began to affect my mental status.

In between training runs, I have hammered through Asimovs Foundation (nothing to do with make up), the gritty Garnethill by Denise Mina, Brett Easton Ellis’s rather disturbing 90’s novel American Psycho and Robert Harris’s compelling novel Munich.  I attempted The Sickness by Tyszka, rather a deviation from the recent genre of fiction. It had positive reviews, but after a spirited effort, I’ve binned it half way through in favour of My Crimbo pressie The Great Swindle by Pierre Lemaitre.  

The weather's gone all autumnal with the thermometer falling below 20 and with the days shortening, I will need to make the most of the remaining season. but then again, there's always the cross country season. 

Busy July (aka all change part 2)

 As previously suggested in the 'All Change Part 1' blog, I have had a packed July of racing. Scotland's racing calender appears to have stalled. I suspect the politics of fear have had everything to do with this. However, down here, 50 miles south of the border, I have, in recent weeks, tucked 3 very satisfying performances under my belt. With the Sunderland 5k, my original target the re-commence the season with, I bookended a run on either side of the Sunderland run to spice things up. The track meeting in Middlesbrough on the 10th July went ahead in warm but overcast conditions. They were ideal for a good run. After a 2 mile warm up, I felt a little slothful and apprehensive. However, I was in a slow heat and around 12 of us started in Heat A. Gotta start somewhere, right? I tucked in 4th on the first lap and felt surprisingly lucid as I commenced the second lap, so I tentatively moved up to 3rd on the 2nd lap and moved to 2nd on the 3rd lap, sitting behind a high kicking female. However, I still thought the pace too easy and, as I was after a time, I moved to the front and never looked back. I lapped the field at the end and crossed the line in 19:11. This sort of malarkey is very good for the ego, but really only revealed that I should of, perhaps, been in a different heat. I was given the race winners wooden or bamboo medal and had the minimum of a race warm down, before high tailing it back up the A19.

North of England Champ Speedy Joe (courtesy of Stuart Whitman)

After 3 days walking the Fife Coastal path between Kincardine and Lower Largo with Mrs Mac in glorious weather, it was backdown for the Sunderland 5k on the 22nd. This was the North of England and North East England 5k champs and there were some proper athletes present for the 2 lapper with the ski-slope start. I had been looking for a sub 20 time, but after Middlesbrough, I was really hoping for a sub 19. Some of the family were also running and it was Cats (aka speedy joe) boyfriend, Ant's first run in a Morpeth vest, him in the process of re-locating down south of Hadrians Wall.  I was in the first race for the m50's and women and competing against Catmac and Mrs Mac. I glimpsed Cat powering ahead across the course some way through the event but never saw her again as she won, beating a Rotherham runner in a time of 17:20. I landed sometime later sprinting hard to beat a Newton Aycliffe runner at the end for a time of 18:44, which was just the job. Mrs Mac came in 9 minutes later. It was a happy car load that returned to Morpeth, with everyone running well in ideal conditions. 

Three days later it was down to Redcar for the New Marske 5 mile Penguins race, a new race comprising 2 laps of the esplanade. Ant and Cat decided to join me armed with camera and after collecting my number, we all jogged up the course. We didnt reach the turning point, however, as the course had been taped off by police due to an accident apparently involving joe public and a car. After a little re-jigging, the race organiser still managed to get us underway, albeit that the course had been changed to 3 laps with a reduced distance of 4.75 miles. This was a little disapointing as the original course looked good and had been properly measured. However, I was happy to get underway with 120 other runners in hot conditions, cooled with a light whispy breeze coming in off the sea. There were plenty of punters out taking in the sea air so a good crowd of onlookers. The air quality might have been a different story 50 years ago as the course basked in the shadow of the former British Steel plant.  

I found myself after the first lap tucked in behind the Aylciffe runner whom I had managed to beat 3 days earlier. I had borrowed Ant's Saucony carbon plated trainers to see if this new fangled sole technology is for me and I can report that I fairly bounced my way up the tarmac. We were joined on the 2nd lap by the 2 leading ladies, Kay Neasham and Dawn Richardson who were having a battle royale. I took advantage of this to tuck in behind the duo and out of the headwind until the final turn, at which point I unleashed the Kracken and took to the front with the aim of putting time and distance between me and Aycliffe man who was still hanging on in there.  It was only Neasham who managed to keep in contact with me, and, after running a very measured race, it took me a good 50 metres of application at the end to keep her from coming past. Aycliffe man was 10 seconds or so behind.

At the end, having not been aware of the shorter distance, I thought I had won the pools when I glanced at the time (29.04) on my garmin. However, I realised then that it was a short course; but extrapolating the performance, it was still 90 seconds faster than my run at the Cupar 5 in 2020.  There was a goody bag at the end, but alas it didn't contain a new pair of Vaporfly's. Cat had snapped some great fotos from the sidelines and I had been spurred on by the support. We concluded the days extravaganza by tracking down a chippy in Ormesby for the passengers. I myself, being an athlete, could not entertain a wholesome battered fish; but, I admit, I did have a few chippies. Well, even athletes have to eat.....

 

All Change (Part 1)

Having entered a clutch of races in July and one in August, I have celebrated by losing 3 kilograms and changing my club. Having been at Dundee Hawkhill as second claim member since 2005, I failed to pay the increased subs on time and after a couple of short emails, I found myself having left the club. I don’t read my emails too often and failed to heed the requests. Dohh. Anyway,  I don’t know too many folk there anymore and a change is as good as a rest. Soo, having had such a good time on the trails of Fife earlier this year, I was accepted into the ranks of the psycho sqwerls (squirrels), and should be donning the baby blue vests of the Falkland Trailrunners soon. I got onto their Strava page early and was later accepted to their facebook page after stumping up a very reasonable twelve peanuts and an acorn.

The Sunderland 5k is not until the 22^nd of July and with a little bit of time, I thought I would enter the Middlesborough 5000 metres on the 10^th,  hoping for a 'sub twenty', I am in Heat A at 5.40pm. I have checked out the opposition and think I should be well up. 

The carbohydrate and incahol intake has been slashed and I am working daily on fortifying my core with a series of exercises that threaten to expunge the remaining shag pile on the bedroom carpet. I'm aiming for the rippled washboard effect, that Roman centurion look. I have also been down the track 3 times over 3 weeks and while this hardly represents a commitment of an Olympian, it does, at least provide a foundation for some enhanced running.  The bike has been parked up for 3 weeks now as my mileage creeps up to fifty a week. Not much speed I grant you, but I need to be sensible. 

Today I need to get round each km in less than 4 minutes to dip under the 20 minute mark. I have changed my garmin from miles to km's. Not having a race since March 2020, I am very light on recent experience and admit to feeling a little apprehensive. I added to my recent battery of commitment by buying a pair of Brooks Glycerin last week and they seem just the job. I won’t bother with my spikes; too much potential for achilles damage. 

When I was out earlier this week pounding the lanes, I was in a reflective mood. Why am I putting myself through the mill again? There’s nought wrong with running for pleasure, surely? Well, If I can stay fit, I reasoned with myself that I should try and be the best I can. After all, I might, one day, not be able to race at all. That day is getting nearer each year. I am also inspired by one of my training buddies who has reached the No. 1 ranking in his age group and the kids, who continue to run well, although that said, two of the trio are laid up with ankle trouble.  I have had an easy morning with a short 2 mile run and some stretching followed by coffee and leek soup at lunchtime. I always go well on soup. I’ve had a short nap and I reckon I’m as ready as I will ever be. Lets hope there’s not too much smog on Teesside and I manage to remember my club vest, safety pins and how to find my way to the finish line Wish me luck....