Birnam Hill Race 2023

It was an all embracing full-to -the-brim field of Scotland's Best and Blessed hill runners with a smattering of southerners which gathered at this years Birnam Hill Race. This 4 miler, organised by Adrian Davis and the good folk from the Lomond Hill Club, rises 1200ft up the side of a wooded hill nestled behind Birnam Railway Station, then it spits you out and throws you down the other side with a wee sting at the end; a mile of flattish uppy-downy running through the woods. If you get up the hill at the start, it’s a downhillers delight; and I’m a downhiller. Around 350 took the line. The field was so swollen, this being the first of the Scottish Championship races, they had to run 2 races, rather than 1: one for the wimmin and old gents at noon and one for the gents which started half an hour later. Although well past my sell by date, I went with the men on the 2^nd race. Speedy left with the women half an hour earlier.

As I ran up the lane toward the Birnam Hill, I saw the bright cavalcade, the cream of the crop, ahead of me. Of the oldies, Davis was tracking Smith who was down on Whitlie. I was just behind Davis at the toe of the hill, but as we ascended, he and Smith gradually pulled away and I ended up behind a tall thin bloke with long legs who was high stepping up the hill. I just couldn't go any faster.

At the top we plodded through some wet peat, had our ankles tickled by woody ground hugging heather and clambered over a crag before ‘the hurlting’ began. I was already passing a couple of uncertain types along the flattish gravel before it got tasty and as it steepened, I put it in top gear and careered past a couple of carnethys and another. Once in the woods the gradient levelled off and jelly legs took hold and I lost a place. As the gravel arrived to herald the last 500m I caught sight of Smith, but he was a good 20 seconds ahead and I had to make do with trying (and losing) the final mental slaver inducing sprint with some random and a Penecuik m50.  The sweat was dripping off me. Job done tho. 

Mrs mac was in attendance somewhere on the Hill, but her being in the medical profession, she was seeing to a runner who had bloodied himself, dashing himself on the rocks of despair, so she missed getting what would surely have been a blurry image of a fleeting runner ghosting past her camera-lense. Speedy finished 3^rd in the womens race and picked up a bottle of wine behind Page and Hodgson. I was 142^nd.  Strangely, quite similar in finishing position to last weeks Mourne Race. Donnelly arrived late on his bike and still got round in 34 minutes as first M60. An m65 Moorfoot runner beside me at the end seemed chuffed to take Smiths scalp. However, they all will take some catching.  Good cake stall and soup at the end supplemented by Adrians sweetie throwing antics. Best short hill race around.      

Cupar 5 & the Mourne Marauder

 

My cautious start to the year has been steady and if nothing else, without any unwelcome drama. I have not covered myself in glory, but rather I have put in some reasonable shifts, first at the Cupar 5 and yesterday at the Mourne Marauder Mountain Race in Newcastle, County Down. 

I had a birthday party to attend in East Kilbride on the Saturday last and, as you do, I travelled up via Fife. There was a very handy field who lined up for the Cupar 5 miler road race. It’s a very reasonable course, but certainly not pan flat. They do, however, get a road closure on so at least you’re not dodging the public or motorists. It used to generate stunningly fast times; that was before they re-measured the course and added a good few metres. I was aiming for a sub33 which I thought was a pretty  modest target. However, I stuck in behind a very steady Central runner on the way out and then when he ran off, I dived in behind a Perth runner on the way back as we ran into a light headwind. It was torture but he led me to a 32.50 and we passed Bryce Aitken of Fife about 30m from the line. The Fife runner finished 3^rd v60, so as a gauge, I’m not too far off the pace for folk around my age, not that there are that many still competing.

The big trip of the Spring was to the mountains of Mourne in County Down for the first race of the British Fell Running Championships. Not done any of these before. We normally have a week in Scotland in March, so this year we decided to extend the trip to Northern Ireland and arrived in Belfast late on Wednesday to be greeted by heavy downpours. Staying at a self-service hotel, we nipped out to Nicos between the rain showers for some pizza and pasta and then after getting turned away at the door by the burly but polite bouncers at the Benedicts Hotel for wearing sports gear (Salomon trainers) we retired to Laffertys opposite for a pint of the black stuff in a welcoming Edwardian style bar. It reminded me of the bar in 'Cheers' a little. Saturday saw us having a wander in the town and a short run around the Gasworks and up Donegall Road before grabbing a bus and going south to the seaside town of Newcastle. We lugged our bags along the front and past the Harbour Bar and Lifeboat Station to our cottage. It was compact, whitewashed and well appointed looking out to the sea. Me and missus mac had a late evening jog along the front and onto the beach before getting back and sorting out the fajitas. It was an early night. We decided that a short recce of the course was wise and speedy joe, the missus and me took off up ‘yon big hill’ with Ant deciding to do a run round the town instead. We ascended through the wood and then up part of the Granite trail, a steady straight stairway which rose and rose toward Slieve Donard. Skirting an old quarry, I came across some frog spawn on the grass, abandoned, and re-located it to a nearby pond where there was some already. We climbed up through the short heather and reedy grass around halfway, but being a little short on route information, we went northward and, having had enough, we eventually reached the main path which follows the glen between Donard and the nearby Slieve Commedagh.  We made our way down through the drizzle to meet Ant at Nicos Café.  It was Quinns for a half and then the Harbour for another where we bumped into Caroline Marwick and family. 

Saturday looked good early doors and we bailed out of the cottage at 9.30am and walked the half mile to the race registration. There were around 250 entered and after a kit check we took the bags to the tent at the park and warmed up. I thought 2 hours would be a good time to aim for. Around 200 set off at 11am and the field which included a good handful of Helm Hills, Keswicks, Amblesides, Pudsey and Bramleys, Carnethys as well as those from the local clubs, began to thin out as we climbed and climbed toward the first of the 3 peaks. At 859m, Donard is the highest peak in Northern Ireland. Commedagh is the 2nd highest.

 

The weather looked threatening at the start and in this area, cold and heavy squalls can kick up at the drop of a hat. I was spooked a little by the weather forecast at registration which had suggested wind chill would make it feel like zero at the summit. However, as we ascended I began to simmer and the hat came off. The gloves were still on, but I was over-dressed. Typical. At the top of Donnard we dibbed at the checkpoint and were faced with a very bouldery and testing descent, where I lost around 5 places. We were soon down and making our way through a bog to the Chimney Rock. The girl in front of me lost her leg to the knee a couple of times in the soft peaty and slippy conditions and she dropped behind. I had already had some salt at the 3 mile mark and attempted another foiled wrap boost at mile 6, but the method and wrapper were poor and I managed to tip the contents onto the ground as I picked my way along the rocky path trying to catch up with a band on 3 local runners just in front. 

We were soon pulling our way up the grassy slopes of Commedagh, another brutal gradient and an excuse for a spider-shuffle, exhausted limbs flailing to try to get some purchase on the parched grass. Baby steps. head down, just getting through it. My ascending was ok and I picked up a place or two. However, the descent along the ridge of Commedagh which should have been a pleasure was, instead a slippy grind, as my Scott shoes failed to give me the grip I needed on the wet grass and I went down a second time into the peat. I was cursing not wearing my Salomons. By then, Rik (Mourne Runners) had caught me and coming off the hill we jogged the last mile to the finish passing two older runners, both suffering from cramp.  It made a nice change from me suffering from dehydration, although I had had to stop twice around the course to cup water from streams into my thankful gob. Speedy finished 15 minutes before me. My time of 2hrs.32mins put me and Rik in 144^th place and an hour slower than the winner. It was a tough workout with more than 4000ft of ascent. Stewart Whitlie was first v60 and Adrian Davis 3rd. I was around 10 minutes down on him, so work to do. 

The very irregular and rocky surface made it a tough workout in places and I was pleased to get on the bus to Belfast at 3pm. I was puggled. We travelled on to Ballyrobin beside the airport in the evening and after checking in, we enjoyed a couple of pints and a decent meal before…yes, you guessed it, another early night. All in all a very enjoyable and memorable few days, it was, to be sure.   

Signals Relays 2023

Wading my way through a series of recurring colds since December, it was a case of deja-vu at Saturdays Signals Relays. Held at Houghton near Sunderland on a rolling 1.1m circuit, the event attracts the best of the north east (England) runners. It is a wholly club event. It's a good litmus test for your form. My form was improving last weekend to such an extent that I did a slow 19min. at the Blyth parkrun on the Saturday, then got up Simonside Rothbury way with our kid for a chunky 9 mile hill session. The next day it was such a nice morning that I fancied a long run. With nothing pressing in the way of work, I ran a steady 2 hours and 14 miles into Newcastle. Bringing a change of clothing, I was soon in M&S, changed and parked in front of a pot of tea and an inviting bowl of Salmon Tartar. They do it downstairs in the sushi department as a takeaway. I buy it and take it up to eat in the cafe. Avocado, rice, salmon, pickled red onion and soy sauce. A treat if you like that pickled thing, and I do. 

However, on the Tuesday I was down but not out with a running sinus and sniffle. I've ignored this all week and Saturday gone I felt reasonable enough to line up as 3rd leg in the v50 four man relay. I think this will be my last appearance for the club in this event on this team. Next year I'll be on the wrong side of 50 and as there is no v60cat, I think it unlikely that I can offer a performance of sufficient quality (typically sub-14 for 2.2 miles/6.35 minute miles). 

Jason was off first, a diminutive 52 years old. We were mid-field as he finished and I relaxed a little, thinking we'd be well out of the medals. Lee B was next and as he pitter-pattered away for his2 laps, I stripped off and shouted support as he came round to start his 2nd lap. However, as the leaders arrived after the second lap, he was well up and must have done some damage. A little flustered I heard the shouts for the next Morpeth runner to step up; that meant me. North Shields were just behind, and I got off just before the Shields runner set off in pursuit. Clad in red vest, he was all grey hair and head-band and armed with compression socks he had me in his sights. A dogfight. All I heard on the way round was 'come on Martin'. I knew he was close. My first mile was 6.11 and I think I pulled away a little, but then it all began to slow and I slumped to a 6.39 for the second mile. He was on my shoulder on the last drag and got passed me at the top corner, but I rallied and, tucking in, let him lead me to the line before I nipped ahead. 14m:07secs. Not a disaster. It was left to Rob H. to put 10 seconds or so between us and Shields and we finished 2nd with New Marske from Teesside providing an unassailable  gold winning performance. 

I managed a 4 miler on Sunday, but have had to rest this week to try and shake the lurgy. Probably run down. Either way, I will look forward to receiving another North East medal. It remains to be seen if I will be well enough for the Scottish Nationals XC at Falkirk on Saturday, but I'll go anyway.  If I can't run, I'll keep entertained with Ian Rankins 'The Flood'. 

 

Falkland Yomp & Feel The Burns

The new year started in solid, if rather phlegmy fashion (sorry) with appearances at the inaugural Falkland Yomp. I know my way around the Falkland Estate having ran there a handful of times in the past and twice last year. The Falkland Yomp is organised by the Lomond Runners and it was fully subscribed with around 150 pre-entrants and 120 who managed to finish on the day. There was an opportunity to set off half an hour early if you considered yourself slow and half the field took this option. As such it was toward the end of the race when we started to come across some of the backmarkers who had set off early. 

The course took us through corridors of moody low hanging larch, narrow carpets of needles, up and down the gravel tracks and there was even a wee stretch up at the Monument in more open ground where we wound our way around a narrow track lined with rusty ferns and across black peaty puddles that tried, but failed, to suck us down. We were largely sheltered from the wind and at a distance of 11km and with 480m of ascent, it was a tough but scenic affair. 

I was still a little choked from the residue of the flu over the New Year and was a still under par, but I'd paid my money and was, as a result, committed to appear. I was overtaken by a couple of women in the latter stages, but I was running within myself, knowing that its not very clever to run flat out with the vestiges of a chest infection squatting in your lungs.  Towards the end of the race I was overhauled by a couple of  Falkland psycho squirrels, but the day wasn’t the day to go head to head. On another day I suspect I might give both a run for their money. Spluttering over the last wee hill, I trotted down the final stretch to the end and was nearly pipped at the post by the leading F50 who crept up on my right hand side.  I finished 26^th and dipped under the hour by a matter of seconds. The race was won by Eliot Sedman of Carnethy in 46 minutes. My car buddy. ‘Speedy Joe’, managed to win the ladies race despite her also suffering the hacky chest syndrome. Sixty quid said it was worth the trip. When she did the Lomonds of Fife last year she managed to get lost so she was glad to see the marshalls and tape at every corner and made no mistake this time around. The spread at the end in the village hall was good with soup and tea and plenty of cakes. I would do this trail race again.

We signed up for the 'Feel the Burns' hill race at Selkirk in December and there was a field of around 300 last weekend. There had been a little snow the night before on the tops and running conditions were very similar to the conditions I encountered in 2016 (see entry) when I did this race previously.  In moderately better shape than I had been at Falkland, I dragged my sorry carcass around the 13 mile course armed with a bum-bag and 2 gels to finish around 90^th in 2:08, only 2 minutes down on my 2016 time when I was around 60th. 

Speedy was again up front and we came away with a haggis, a Selkirk Bannock and a bottle of wine. I think the runners-up got a turnip, modest prizes indeed, this being a fund raiser for the mountain rescue. The organisers had done a sterling job of the catering as we sat in the rugby club drinking our thick, hot soup and chomping on a tasty hot pie and flapjack washed down with a couple of mugs of hot sweet tea. Champion.  Ian Maxwell of Gala won the M60 and I'm looking forward to the Spring when I might have a better crack at this racing malarkey. 

This week just gone I have, at last, recovered fully and, although I've only cranked out 38 miles, some of my runs have included some sub seven miles, and some run in icy conditions which have prevailed all week.  I feel much more energized. Almost tempted to enter a late season cyclo-cross, but on reflection, maybe not. Instead I will continue on with Alistair MacLeans 'Caravan to Vacares', my first dip into his work. He was born in Shettleston. Who knew! 'The Sea' by John Banville was a slow, nostalgic affair with a thin plot. However, the terrific poetic prose was adequate compensation and I have been lucky enough to have been given another two of his novels as a Christmas pressie.  

Plean, West Districts & Thorneyford

‘How did last weeks West District Cross Country champs go ?’ I hear you ask. Well, you’re jumping the gun a wee bit. As Mrs Mac is without a Scottish Club, she couldn’t run the cross country. So as a wee treat, we identified a parkrun for her on the route between Dunkeld, the base for last weeks training camp, and Kilmarnock, the venue for the cross country. It turned out to the Plean parkrun. It is not a village I was familiar with. The parkrun advertised itself as a ‘Trail’ affair with a modest weekly turnout and some patronage from nearby Dunblane. We arrived with 15 minutes to spare and there were about 30 or so at the start. She set off with purpose. Mrs Mac said she thought she might win after leading the women for 100 yards, but was soon dissuaded after being passed by a handful of women who had other ideas. I was simply getting some early miles in and plodded around the scenic forest paths and patches of colliery spoil on an 8:30 pace. It was short and sweet and we hurried back to the car and burnt the rubber to Killie, travelling via Newton Mearns to pick up Speedy Joe and Ant. Parking 40 minutes later at the retail park, we used the facilities in Asda and then walked up to the Leisure Centre. I fancied a cuppa, but the outside catering caravan was trying to charge £2.50 for tea and I recoiled with repugnance in a lazy, slow motion speech drawling manner like you see in the movies. ‘Reeep oooaaff priii sess’.

Speedy Joe was off first. One of the favourites set off at a suicidal pace, and it took Speedy a mile to reel her in, before then spending the next 3 miles going toe to toe with her and eventually dropping her 500 yards before the end. Perfect tactics for the win and a strong performance. Needless to say, Ant and I were buoyed up by this and we both started our race with lusty determination. I had Gerry Scullion and McParland for company in the first mile and it all took a while to settle down. However, I felt light and started hopping from vet to vet, pulling in a couple of Bellahouston Harriers and a Garscube. In the process I dropped my 2 clubmates and I finished strongly reaping the benefits of the good air, expensive beer, light diet and quiet nights at the Dunkeld training camp.  I would have been 4^th M60, so there’s still work to do for next year and my anticipated entry into Supervet territory.

Not satisfied with 2 races on the Saturday, I had entered the cyclo cross on the Sunday at Thorneyford near Ponteland. It was cold and it had been raining all morning and I knew it was going to be a wet one. It was grim. We were off sharpish and right enough after a lap or two my bike was fully clagged up. The pedalling became more laboured and I struggled latterly to move the gears as they became mudbound. I stopped for 10 or 20 seconds to get my feet sorted out, the cleats on my shoe soles also becoming ineffective in the clag. I finished toward the rear of the field and was truly envious of those who had pitmen and 2^nd bikes – yes, it’s a thing – you can change your bike every lap if you have someone to spray down the bike you discard – its clearly an unfair advantage and I found myself being a little contemptuous of the whole affair toward the end. No matter. Forty minutes of cycling and another 40 minutes of washing the bike afterwards in a big puddle beside the car. How Glam! Once I got home, I had to wash it again with clean soapy water…another 20 minutes. So this weekend, after looking at the forecast, I’ve decided to abstain from the world of 2 wheels. S’pose there’s always next week.  

They're out there...

It was the Dunkeld autumn training camp this week. To kick it off I took myself and mrs mac to Bo’ness, the centre of Scottish UFO sightings, if reports are to be believed, but which they never are.

Why Bo’ness I hear you ask? Had I been drawn there by a secret force? Have I been mysteriously stressed and been found modelling a small mountain of mashed potato on our kitchen table in the wee small hours? No; instead it was another of those very terrestrial cyclo-cross events. 

We got parked up some way down the hill at Kinneil House, quite a grand setting for the event. I picked my number up and nodded to a few riders I’ve begun to recognise over the course of the season. At 10.30am we got on the course for a warm up and it seemed flattish, with no stretches where running would be required. Worse luck. The course tape wound its way around a section of woodland which was interesting. Elsewhere, the surface was very divetted (if that’s a word). With my mild improvement continuing at these events, I have begun to pick up league points, but not enough seemingly to feature in the gridding at the front, so its left to us losers to battle our way from the ‘very back’ to ‘nearly the very back’ of the peleton. 

It was a moderately muddy 40 minutes of intense cardio and I was well pleased to have remained upright throughout the whole affair. Mrs mac provided some solid support and took any number of photos in the low morning light. After loading a clagged up bike into the back of the car and chatting to a guy from Prestwick, we sat and discussed the aerial light show we had witnessed and the odd oval eyed  and almond skulled locals who were gathered around the street corners. Later, we repaired to a café in Kinross for a steak sandwich and pot of tea before heading north. Among other highlights so far this week, we’ve jogged 15 miles to Pitlochry along part of the Atholl Path and clocked up 10 miles around Tentsmuir; that is before ruining all the good work with ingesting a huge tray of chips from the Salt and Pine crepe hut. Its 2 steps forward and 2 steps back. With the cross country at Kilmarnock on Saturday and then more cyclo-cross on Sunday back home, It’ll be a busy weekend. In the meantime, I'll have a go at trying to extricate the strange metal probe I've found inserted into my privates.     

Scottish CX Champs, Camperdown

 

I found myself in Pathhead on Saturday with both the Condor road bike and Moda cross bike in the back of the car and the sun beginning to wane. It was evident that by the time I would get to my accommodation in Perth that the sun would be too far below the horizon to spare me ninety minutes on the bike. So an executive decision was made to ditch the car in Dalkeith and take a lap round Musselburgh and surrounding countryside. 

It took my a few minutes to dig the bike out and get my shoes on, but I was soon off and heading north. The traffic was very heavy and making my way toward the coast, my ride was hampered by traffic lights and people in cars living their retail lives. After Musselburgh High Street, I worked my way round to Wallyford and back to Dalkeith and then ended going up towards Lasswade. By the time I returned I had 20 miles on the clock and my daily thirst for mileage was sated. 

It was a quiet Saturday night in the Perth Travelodge and I was up at the crack on Sunday for a 2 mile jog around Huntingtower. The mist was down and it was atmospheric and damp as I jogged around this fortified house with only a few crows for company. After a shower, it was porridge in a plastic tub and a yogurt for breakies. Donning my distinctive zebra-zigzag arm warmers, my monogrammed cycling gear and diamond cufflinks I was soon ready and it was off to Dundee for the 2022 Scottish Cyclo Cross Champs. When I was asked last week why I do cyclo-cross but not road racing on the bike, I answered that its because there are age related fields. With eighty or so 50's and 60's, there is no chance of coming up against some of the young guns and finding yourself out the back and isolated after 2 minutes. Instead, you get an experience that lasts long enough to enjoy and maintain the illusion  that youre still a  'player'. 

There was no commissionaire at the sign on tent to interrogate me as to why there is no photo on my licence card. No dramas. I collected my number after parking on the grass. Camperdown was chocca. It was cool and grey, but sheltering in the trees with the grey squirrels looking on perplexed by the whole affair, the course appeared straightforward with a couple of sandpits but no obvious bits for running. 

After the kids, we were on, mid morning. I was gridded near the back and were soon off and belting down the finishing straight. There were a couple of other guys from the club riding, and one nipped in front of me shortly after the start. The sheer temerity of the move made me smile as did the white rimmed googles he was hiding behind. However, I was soon back in front and chasing Jim Foulis (Dundee Wheelers) whom I'd met at Irvine the previous week. I nearly stayed in touch with him, and even managed to pass a Falkirk rider just before the finish. It was a most enjoyable 40 minutes of off-roading and I'm sure my confidence at attacking off-camber bends and slippy bits is rising with every race. I still managed to derail myself in one of the sandpits, but I'm learning. If I trained I might improve, but reports of my impending retirement were premature -  I'm still ploughing that dull furrow during the week. 

Finishing toward the back again, the bike wasn't too mucky and I retired to the Tartan coffee shop on Perth Road for a haggis and mango pannini (yes, really) and a pot of steaming tea. Top trip. Its Bo'ness next weekend after the Cross Country at Durham.