Yeavering to Wooler Trail Race 2022

Yesterday morning I lay on the bed with the sun beaming in and, armed with a cup of tea and chocolate oatie, entered myself into 3 hill races. Wtf. Have I taken complete loss of my senses I ask myself? Dunkeld's not going to know whats hit it.. (😨 ).

I've been bunged up with the cold again, but thankfully it wasn't lingering. This meant that I could get out for the Yeavering to Wooler fell race organised by Glen and his race vehicle, Cheviot Trails. Me and the youngster had entered this a wee while ago and we were delighted with the weather as we drove the 30 minutes north with Linds and Mrs Mac, who were out for a jolly. There were around 75 for this 7 miler. Its a point to point mostly using St Cuthberts Way as the route. We picked up our numbers, used the very clean toilets at the local hall and scratched our chins a little about how much stuff we needed. As I wanted a couple of snaps, I was resigned to taking the bumbag to carry the phone-camera, but its no burden. I also took a gel, jacket and a compass, although I had no idea where I was actually going and had no map. If in doubt, head for the low ground!

We were all bussed to Yeavering. Arriving at the start after a 10 minutes bus trip, there was really no opportunity for a warm up before being confronted with a good old 2 mile hike up yon big hill. We set off and I got into my stride after a mile or so and a very modest one it is these days. The route was grassy and undulating, but nothing too steep or rocky.

I passed a couple of folk over the next mile, and set my sights on a powerful well built chap with a white t-shirt some way in front. He slowed up one or two short inclines and I eventually reeled him in. About the midway mark, he slowed again and I passed him. Normally I would have stayed tucked in, but he stuck to the left side of the track, so there was no shelter to be gained from the head-crosswind by sitting behind him without going off the path.  After not quite a mile he caught me up again and although I got close to him once or twice, he powered away to take maybe half a minute out of me at the end. I felt I had put up a sprited defence even if I looked at times like I was stifling a random bowel movement, all facial contortions and angry, parboiled complexion. At the end I hadn't, thankfully, overdone it and the finish came more quickly than I expected, but that's not a bad thing. The gang shouted me over the line, turning a blind eye to my accelerating decrepitude. T shirt man thanked me for giving him a good race. A Scottish navy man, he was (said Yoda); 55 minutes and 14th for this one. I might have stopped a while longer to sneak a peak at the results for the over 50's, but some chap called Colin Donnelly appeared at the start line and he hasn't lost any of his speed (I later realised he's V60 - I'll have some of what he's having).    

Back in the hills

 It was a double-bubble weekend as some would say. It wasn’t my idea, but Speedy Joe has been directing traffic in the running calendar this year, her with the horn-rimmed tortoise shell half frame sunnies, big megaphone in hand and perched in the folding fabric chair with lattice legs (not hers, the chair). I think I am the Watson to her Sherlock, or more like it, the Porky pig to her Daffy Duck.

She suggested that Sundays rearranged Simonside Cairns might be do-able even though there was the final cross country league race the day before at Alnwick. The Cairns race is a formidable 11 miler with 1500ft of ascent and more boggy ground than my wee potato patch on a cold wet day in January. I concluded that if I took Alnwick easy, I could still have ‘something’ left in my legs for Simonside.  I was just not sure what that ‘something’ was. The forecast wasn’t bad, but it still represented an exacting moil. I am well out of hill running practice. My heart has shrunk over the last 5 years to the size of a pea and my legs are no longer capable of the quickstep, not that they ever were. While I’m on the subject of off-road-running, its such a shame the Scottish Hill Racing site has folded. A great wee facility it was.

Anyway, at Alnwick, I babysat the wee man for half an hour while Speedy J. cracked the whip around the 2 laps of the Womens race at Alnwick.  She ran well as did Linds and Mrs Mac. The men’s race was 3 laps and I set off in the slow pack and took it steady, measuring my effort. There was a cold northerly as we ran and I had forgotten my gloves so gesticulated wildy as I finished the first lap, waving my hands around to our lot like a loon. Sure enough, I was handed a pair of gloves after the second lap by which time the wind had dropped a touch and I had warmed up. I had to stop twice to tie my laces, which was further confirmation that I hadn’t prepared properly for the event and I waltzed around the 3^rd lap to finish somewhere, not first and not last.  I dressed expeditiously afterwards in the cold wind and got back home sharpish, mindful that Sundays extravaganza would be a much longer, tougher and probably a lonelier affair. 

 

I read that hills and even gentle inclines can improve glutes and leg muscles and are good for a high calorie burn. Who comes up with this guff? Flogging yourself around the wet heather, trying to keep up with two complete strangers and then chucking yourself off Simonside Ridge at nearly 60 in order to win a box of wine gums comes into the category of a near death experience or utter buffonery; or at least that’s what it felt like as I lay on my bed later on Sunday evening being over- tired. I think the common parlance is 'exhausted'. 

 No matter, 10^th place it was (out of 35) and I was happy enough to beat Carnethy man who followed my lead and stopped periodically midway and toward the end of the race to take snaps. I had initially got the camera out after 2 miles, but then gasping like a fish out of water, decided that was enough. 

At the finish in central Rothbury, Speedy Joe had finished around 2 or 3 minutes ahead of me, but she had to wait 3 or 4 minutes for the runner behind in order to find which way to go when confronted with a unsigned fork in the road. 

It was a blidy hard workout but good value for a tenner and the tea and buns in Rothbury Hall for the competitors was welcome.  I think we all got a prize.

It’s the Yeavering to Wooler trail run on Sunday. Seven miles of St Cuthberts Way. The forecast is good, so it should be very pleasant. Roll on the long nights.

Falkirk.. Tough Gig!

 

Today I was intending to do 6 miles or so to bring my mileage for the week up to 40 miles. Instead, I have dug out the laptop and pinched someone’s can of coke and, reclining on the bed, I feel that after yesterdays exertions, I probably deserve a rest. I am recovering from panning myself at Falkirks Callendar Park where 600 runners had similar vainglorious ideas at the Scottish National Cross Country Champs. I was ready to stake my claim for the Senior Mens title. Ok, maybe not, but after hirpling around Lanark last year at the short course, I wondered if I could improve. True, my fitness is not anywhere near what it was in late 2021. I had little work on then and was effectively a professional athlete. However, running at the Royal Signals Relays last weekend I clocked 13:31 compared to 13:14 last time around, so I’m not too far away from full fitness. More to the point there are no serious aches or pains.  Falkirk was a 3 lapper and I was clad in the purple and white of Bellahouston Road Runners, my first outing in their hard-to-miss colours. My short spell with the Falkland outfit didn’t amount to anything. They are not affiliated to Scottish Athletics. When Cat (aka Speedy joe) and Ant invited me to join the Glasgow club, I thought it a very decent offer and graciously accepted.

Back to yesterday. It was busy and plenty folk milling around, the tent enclosure a sea of colour and babble.  I jogged around the course with my wee camcorder recording Speedy joe running the womens race. She finished 10^th. In the mens race I ran well enough around the undulating course, losing only a handful of places in the last mile as I ran out of juice. 300th or so out of 600,. In my early 50’s this would have been mid-table mediocrity, but now it’s mid-table success. I am at the wrong end of the over 50’s  and have started rather worryingly to check where I finished compared to the over 60’s. I was buoyed up by Speedy joe’s performance in the womens race. I was well supported by the spectators every lap as I ran…’come on Cats dad’ they chanted, and then probably looked at each other in a bemused fashion, shrugging.  However, I came away from the race without a medal and with an image from the portaloos which I can’t unsee ...those things should be replaced by a ditch at these events.  It must be less offensive.

We made short work of coming back down the road and celebrated with a pint and a Chinese from 'Salty Joes'. I even had enough energy to wash my shoes and grease and replace my spikes.  I have, at last, finished my Mortlach 2007 malt. It was very good indeed. So I dug out the slightly less exotic  Knockando and poured myself a wee dram. Medicinal you understand. Perfectly acceptable, but I’ll be saving up for another old Mortlach when it becomes available again.  

I knocked out a 65 mile week a fortnight ago when we enjoyed a week at La Santa in Lanzarote. It was only the wind that stifled some of the outdoor activities, but it was nice to laze around in seventy degrees heat and enjoy the balmy evening trails. 

I was intending to run the Meadows marathon in preparation for the Perth 50k next weekend. However, when I thought about the petrol and chunky entry fee, I decided against completing the credit card entry form. I will, instead, run the local cross country next weekend at Alnwick and perhaps, if I’ve enough energy, trot around the Simonside Cairns fell race on the Sunday. The latter is an eleven miler with 1500ft of ascent and, hopefully, with a bowl of broth at the Newcastle Hotel at the end.  All this for a tenner. I dare say 90 minutes riding the tufty grasses and sinkholes of the Cheviots will be a useful workout.   

On the book front I am currently enjoying Liz Giffords ‘Lost lights of St Kilda’, after grinding my way through ‘the Last Snow’ by Stina Jackson, which I found slow. In the end I found myself ambivalent to the fate of the various characters. This was preceded by Ray Chandlers ‘the Big Sleep’, a 1939 ditty which was largely what I had expected.  Anyway, its an easy mileage week this week so we will see what next weekend brings.

More Citrus, less Patisserie

Its Christmas; and with it comes all things wintry. Pale shadows darting among the fir trees as I cut my way through the woods across a hardened frosty track. As I run, I see clouds of breath billow to the left and right across my face as I turn north and then south.  The recent storm has left the forest ravaged,  branches and ivy clad limbs scattered and strewn on the ground. Wind-Chill. I disturb a deer which trots off away from me.  Grey squirrels forage for pine seeds. I glance up to the grey translucent sky as I come to an opening. It gives nothing away. Still no sign of snow. As I break from the trees, I feel the wind carrying the frozen whisper of the Norse gods from the east.  I am ready for the Snowqueen’s hordes, for the onslaught of the night hag. Those Yule lads haven’t got near me this year. Spoon licker and Window knocker got close.  I have dug out my Christmas Jumper, knitted by Missus Mac and feel that annual pull northward.    

I have, at last, finished 'Lanark' by Alasdair Gray. If you asked me to summarise it, I would struggle to adequately describe the 581 page book and perhaps only to say that if they made a film of it, It would be one for David Lynch. I imagine Dante would be the scriptwriter, or at least have a hand with Hieronymus Bosch in the set direction.  There were long sections of the book that were highly readable with a flowing narrative based in and around Glasgow. However, elsewhere, things were substantially more surreal. I have now throttled back over Christmas to Ken Follett’s slightly less cerebral offering, 'The Man from St Petersburg'.  

A few weeks ago I managed to run two thirds of the Cross Country race in Durham before pulling up. I started late, well after the slow group had started. I realised that after two laps that this was about as much as I wanted. With nothing at stake and with light snow flurries, I was happy to put the day behind me and re-group.  I’ve still not fully recovered from the hip thing I had and have been treading water for the last 3 weeks or so, knocking out some good training runs and some not-so-good runs. I have, all in all, had a really good season though and was in rare form in the late summer. I have no races booked in, but should manage the cross country at Thornley early in January. If, however, I don’t, its not such a disaster, darlink.

I have been lucky enough to receive some lovely Christmas pressies this year including a new pair of Saucony’s and 6 or 7 seven books to keep me going well into 2022. I also got a dvd set of the films of Pressburger and Powell.  These films are thoroughly British, and, to be more precise, probably thoroughly English in the same way that I consider Elstree and the works of Morris, Elgar and Williams. I guess you could also squeeze in Holst’s ‘Venus’ into that pastoral thing. Anyway, The Canterbury Tale, a 2 hour wander through the heartland of rustic Kent was great last night. This stuff beats the nonsense and covid obsessed offerings that dominate the small screen. Yes, I even had Alistair Sims’s 1951 ‘Scrooge’ on. Another black and white masterpiece. Next it’ll be Will Hay (Aunt Aggies favourite).  The cyclo-cross has also been excellent on Eurosport.  As I wait for this cold to dry up, I have an idea of running a few fells over the next week or so. It’s the 3^rd cold I’ve had in 2 months which suggests that I need to be getting more citrus and less patisserie. Citrus and lemsips. Them and zinc, apparently.  

The forecast is for unusually warm weather, but a change as good as a rest.  The snow will arrive…eventually…

Lanark Short Course XC

Pride comes before a fall and all that! I was watching the scales plummet and getting 'right up myself' (as they say) with weight loss, decent mileage and gym work. I was running like a daftie while literally fading away. The sacrifice of Jammy Dodgers, tatties and Harviestoun pale ale was worth it when you're bouncing around like Tigger at sub-6 minute mile pace. My dopamine production had moved to reduced hours with the lack of sugar and carbs, but that's just the way it is.  I was to be found cruising near the front of the bunch in training nights. Deep joy. 

However, you can't foresee everything in life. It was a long day sitting in my chair at the desk plus a snatched gym session on the same day when my life as a professional athlete came to a stuttering halt. My left glute and hip seemed to go all loctite superglue when I got out of bed the next day. Must have been those weighted squats.  I thought I could run it off and kept my appointment at the track that night. However, it soon became clear this was something more than a niggle. That was 4 or 5 weeks ago I guess. I still managed gym sessions, but avoided hip and glute exercises and mileage went from fifty miles a week to around ten. Still, I remained patient and was still game enough to drive up to the Scottish Cross Country short course champs with Ant and Cat early in November. We arrived in good time and even had the temerity to visit a local farm shop and order coffee and shortie. Arriving at the Racecourse, we parked without any grief and sat in the car watching the wind whip the nearby flags hanging beside the old auction house into submission. Sure was windy. 

As the crowds gathered we walked the short distance to the tent village and took no part in the tent erection exercise. Well, its a specialist thing, isnt it?!  It was on with the spikes for the first time in almost 2 years and I, somewhat optimistically, waltzed out for a warm up. The discomfort was bearable  - it meant I could run, but not race with any effect. After exploring a quiet spot in the woods, I lined up in the squally rain and tried to find shelter behind some big burly men. But this being athletics, there weren't any.  We were soon dispatched and around 300 or so galloped ahead of me. It pretty much stayed that way all the way round. I took little satisfaction in seeing one or two men pull up. I was slightly jubilant when I caught another, but he was slipping and sliding around on the muddy patch with his road shoes on and I thought 'well, that doesn't really count, either!' I fairly minced my way around the 4k course and the race was finished before it began. A course for the fast boys; too flat, the surface too hard. Ant did fine and Cat had a stormer (top 10), so there was some salvation on the flat windswept hinterland of the town that apparently hosted the first Scottish Parliament and first Scottish aviation meeting. Who knew? 

Briefly stopping to watch the medals being dished out to Butchart and Muir, we were soon back in the car and shimmying past Tinto and before you could say 'pie and chips' we were on the M6 and heading south.  

I managed about 40 miles last week and things are much improved. However, the old spectre, the corpulent hooded monk who visits delivering flab and all things 'verbotten' has been and gone and its back to square one on the weight front. Well, lets be philosophical about this. Its winter and all my mammal friends are pretty much geared up to put weight on in order to get through the cold and dark dreary months. My punishment for all this? A trip to Liverpool this weekend for the Cross Challenge cross country. Mostly as chauffeur and supporter, but I will have a run out. Snow and high winds are forecast. Its the same dream team of three going down, so at least we'll get a music quiz as Cat tinkers around with the car radio stations. What a hoot! Wish us luck. I am happy that, given the shape I'm in, if I don't manage to finish the course at least I can have a crack at swimming the channel. 

    

Redcar 5k: We're in the money..

If it really is the 22nd of October already, my smoked salmon in the fridge is out of date and the next episode of the harrier league cross country is only a week away. Thankfully the black pudding keeps for longer. Full of iron that stuff. 

We gave the previous xc race at Druridge Bay a body swerve in favour of that lesser known carnival, the Redcar Running Festival. Ant was keen to do the 5k and Speedy Joe the half marathon. Linds was also up for the five while Mrs Mac preferred to get more miles under her belt and opted for the 10k. It was a warm morning and the esplanade road had been closed as we rocked up to get our numbers.  A wee running posse. 

The 5k was first and after a delay caused by gremlins in the super tech chip gazmotron, around 80 of us were off along the pan flat course. Within the first half mile, I realised I wasn't feeling the love and dialed down my expectations as I slumped to a 6:02 first mile. I was still clipping along and slowly dispatched the mature north shields poly runner who was present next to me early on. I was happy ploughing my own furrow, my mind lost in the gentle north sea breeze. We executed a dead turn at the half way point which gave all of us a gander at who was where in the field. I trolled on and perked up as I began to catch a diminutive runner in a pink vest around 3k I spent the remaining 2k trying to run him down. He looked about 12 from behind but maybe it was the distance. The shame of being beaten by a junior drove me on. His pacey pertinacious run helped me to a 5:46 toward the final mile. However, I was aware that the finish line wasn't coming as soon as I had anticipated, but come it did with the youngster still a few metres ahead. I was happy to cross the tape in 19:30. I congratulated the young runner and then went all mystic meg, telling him he had a bright future. As I accepted my medal, t shirt and mars bar, I caught sight of Ant, who had finished around a minute ahead. He was exasperated and berating the organisers for the extra 250 metres that the course appeared to be. He wasn't alone. It was too long. There was little that the course director could do, even if he wanted to, at this late hour, to remedy the cock-up, and the 10k and half marathoners just had to dig in and get on with it. 

As we waited and cheered on those who were running the longer races, I took my place and the queue for the coffees and teas and 25 minutes later was rewarded with 2 teas and a coffee. One would have thought that, having recently held the National Road relays, there would have been something more than the one cafe to serve the throngs of gasping and parched athletes, their adoring supporters and bored on-lookers. Linds finished 2nd and Speedy Joe won the half.  

Sometime later we wandered up the prom for an ice cream and fish supper which was truly the highlight of the day. Even later, some vouchers arrived in the post. The value of the various prizes totalled £225 so it turned out quite well and we can forgive New Markse Harriers on their course distance oversight.  Strangely, my time on the results have been reduced by 8 seconds. If they think that it would take me only 8 seconds to run the extra 200 or so metres, maybe they should stick me on the programme and enter me for the Worlds. I'd show them a thing or two with my black pudding. 

On another tack, I overdid it in the gym last Sunday with the squats and have, as a result, had most of the week off running, so I'm looking forward to an energizing, if drizzly, run around the woods at lunchtime. I've signed up for the Scottish Short Course XC early next month so a bit of off-road is what's required. Mrs Mac has been glossing yesterday, so I'll be pleased to get out of the volatile ridden house for a while.  

 

Giffordtown & the 'Autumn' Training Week 2021

It’s the penultimate day of the Aberfoyle training week. It’s been pouring these last 2 days. The bizarre heat of the Wrekenton Cross Country in Gateshead a fortnight ago is a long gone memory. All that dust and heat haze. There is something re-assuring about the cool west coast rain and misty clag that clings to the hills and forest at this time of year. We walked Conic Hill on Monday and Ben Lomond on Wednesday in bright sunshine. It was busy. Some folk had stripped down to their t-shirts. Several were in their trainers. On Lomond, as if trying to make a point, I ploughed on regardless wearing my camouflage goretex smock until we were almost back in Rowardennan when I submitted to the warmth of the lower slopes. The last time I was up Lomond was in 2009 when I was up and back in 1:27.  It snowed on the top if my recall is correct.  We had a tea in the garden of the Hotel. Wasn't too inspiring, I must admit. 

The plan today was to walk up the Corbett Ben Ledi, but this morning I settled instead for a 9 mile plod through the rain. Very wet I was when I finished. 

At the start of our week last Sunday, we mooched across to the old Kingdom to do the Giffordtown 5k. I don’t think it was a full field, but it was, nevertheless, a pretty decent field that gathered in deepest Fife for this out and back affair. Starting at 11am, I was raring to go and at the 1km mark, which came very quickly, I thought I’d better get a shifty on otherwise I might run out of road. The first mile was a 5:49 and I was still galloping forward at that pace into the second mile with purpose. Speedy Joe and Ant were running as was Mrs Mac, and I wasn’t too far behind Ant at the turn. I was aware that toward the end of the race I had to work harder when a Lothian runner crept up on my flank. I caught a glimpse of his grey hair and thought ‘M50’.  We ran the last 400m together before I dug into my reserves (which I had thanks to my weights work) in the last 50m to reclaim my lead. It was a well earned 18:32, 3^rd M50 and an 8 second improvement on July’s Sunderland 5k. Definitely worth the trip.  I warmed down with Ant and Speedy Joe who had finished second to Rebecca Burns of Edinburgh AC. We were joined by an affable young man with red hair who introduced himself as Noah Lambert. A Gloucester lad, he was running for St Andrews Uni. He had beaten the best Fife AC had to offer, crossing the line in 15:05 and only a handful of seconds off the record. We chatted a little before getting back to the car and after getting changed, we took off for tea and soup at the Pillars of Hercules café in Falkland. Organic, trendy perhaps, but not that cheap. Is anything anymore?

Back to today and this afternoon after getting dried out from this mornings run, It was a 5 mile slog in the mist and rain halfway up Ben Venue. There was no one else around but no shortage of interesting fungi. On this holiday I’ve finished Joe Haldemans Classic 'The Forever War' and moved on with Rankins novel 'The Black Book'.(not sure if I've read this before or not?). I've bought a wooden chess set and a set of old dominoes from an antique centre in Doune. I have also discovered the panorama tool on my phone. I haven’t managed to stick to the diet or weights regime, so I reckon my time for Sundays Redcar 5k might well creep into 19 minutes. However, it’s the price of a weeks holiday that has been one and a half years in coming, so I’m not too bothered. It was almost a sesh in the nearby hotel tonight before coming back with a fish supper to share. I’ve just changed the newspaper packing in several pairs of sodden shoes lined up and trying to dry out beside the door and tomorrow its goodbye to the cracking trails around Aberfoyle (until the next time).