SATISFACTORY DISAPPOINTMENT!
THREE PEAKS RACE
I kept running right up until race day with a pacey two and a half miles to waken the lungs up on the penultimate day but one. On the penultimate day itself I jogged what I thought was a tootle of three miles or so back home from the garage after dropping my car off for MOT and servicing. The 'or so' turned out to be a good bit more than I had loosely estimated. Coupled with a headwind and squally showers, it ended up a bit of a slog but I kept it as steady as I could.
Race day arrived and by my own normally zombified standards of morningness I felt pretty good. It takes me a few hours to come round in to the land of the officially conscious, so I got up early enough to allow for that process to kick in. Whether it was excitement, adrenaline, or even fear, I was in the zone from the moment I awoke which was a rarity indeed. Another rarity was Yorkshire's highest peaks heavily awash with snow on the last day of April. It was also a fabulous and inspiring sight to see.
As the masses flowed through the marquis for kit check I found myself in the familiar company of ex-Blackburn clubmate Chris Barnes. ''I've not trained for this Sutts, I'm running round with Andy Heys'' (That's Andy Heys of Blackburn Harriers, a Peaks first timer and with respect most likely a little further along the estimated finishing time than Barnes and I) The runner that turns up for a race saying they feel great and are going to frigging smash it are a very rare breed indeed, so obviously Barnesy's pre-race self assessment got the heavy pinch of salt it deserved. ''Aye Chris, whatever. Just have a drink ready for me at the finish''.
Cometh that half way mark past the tenth hour and the trip-hazardous surge from the starting field begins and we were off. My main plan was to hold back from temptation to push on in the first half of the race and have something left in the latter half. Although with a time in mind, I wasn't actually going to be very time conscious and essentially just run my own race. Pen-y-Ghent is the first peak to tick off which I pitter-pattered up without much energy expended.
Coming off the top I was in familiar company again, ''I thought you were running with Andy?'', said I. ''I can't find him. I'm just going to jog round now sub-4.15, I'll be happy with that'', said Mr Barnes. ''Like I said, have a drink ready for me''. The Barnes cracks me up. I couldn't help thinking he'll still be changing his race plan with half a mile to go. We ran together for a few miles as our steady pace certainly suited myself but started to realise I was in danger of losing concentration of my own job. In fact in the nicest possible way, Chris was becoming a complete pain in the arse. Should I try and push on from him or hold back? I went for the latter as he gained some considerable yardage on me during a short uphill section beyond High Birkwith. I was able to get back in to the solitary mental zone again and just keep myself to myself for a bit, but with Chris toing and froing ahead, he was a like a loose cannon and one that I was trying hard to ignore as having any baring whatsoever to my own performance.
By Ribblehead Viaduct, just shy of the half way mark, I was still feeling fairly fresh but I took a curious peep at my watch which made grim reading as far as my timekeeping ambitions were concerned. Having reached this point in 1.27 back in the PB year of 2013, this time I trotted down to the iconic twenty four limestone arches in 1.39. No wonder I felt fresh! There's no denying I was a little despondent about that. Although I was feeling fine, equally there was no point showing a lack of respect to the next section and trying to play catch up on the long and arduous slog up Whernside. I decided to lunch on the lower reaches of this largest of the Three Peaks and whilst that sounds like some idyllic picnic sat on a Burberry blanket, the reality was a seed bar and some chocolate coated coffee beans with nothing but your nearest competitor's backside in view as the incline steepens. I just thought take it easy here, fuel up and then give it a bit more energy further up the hillside. Occasional running bud Johnny Horrocks is up there with his stepdad Simon spectating and they give it a bit of ''Come on Sutty'', which was an unexpected welcome boost.
Upon the brow of Whernside's long plateau, a prolonged hail shower blew horizontally which was enough a reason to get off there as quickly as possible. The descent was a little precarious in places, slushy snow made life interesting but at one point where the path becomes a zig-zag of foot holes on one of the steeper sections, walkers and runners alike were tottering about all over the place trying to stay on their feet. It was chaotic. If I hang about too much on steep descents it aches my knees so I spotted a clear, direct line through this mayhem and went for it. Faintly - and I mean so in the most minimal sense - I brushed the rucksack of a walker who, in fairness to myself, had suddenly frozen to a halt right in front of me, forcing my body shape to contort accordingly to avoid a crash. The young lady in question shrieked in an entirely over-exaggerated way as if I'd actually knocked her off her feet. Despite her overwhelming lack of traffic sense, I nevertheless raised an arm and sounded an apology for my own incidental part in this minor skirmish. But the apology was snubbed. All I could hear was South of England accentuated chunnerings of disgruntlement which continued until finally fading out of my earshot.
I suppose walkers and particularly inexperienced ones don't take kindly to scantily clad nut jobs hurtling through their personal space and I can relate to that, but here was somebody with a very low threshold of what one might consider to be trauma. It's not as if I had taken her by surprise. More than 200 runners had already passed her at this point. There really is nowt queerer than some folk.
As the gradient off Whernside began to shallow, that man Barnes came in to sight again, pulling away a little on the road and bridleway section to the Hill Inn. Again, at the Hill Inn I didn't feel bad at all. I could tell I'd done some miles, but I wasn't dreading the final climb up Ingleborough and was in fact looking forward to it as I felt there was going to be plenty left to put in a decent effort from that final checkpoint at the summit. I'd given up on the stopwatch. I was starting to realise that regardless of the time, I was actually starting to learn how to run this race and actually what I do need to do next time to not only run it sensibly, but get the time I aspire to. More than anything, it's about being in good enough shape to have the confidence to run that first half with more aggression than conservatism and have it in the bank to hold it together after that. That said, my own conservatism did pay off once at the sunny summit of Ingleborough where the gloves literally came off along with my racing cag. I risked a sly glance at my watch again and winced. About twenty minutes outside where I wanted to be! More importantly though, I had something left at this point which couldn't be said of many competitors around me.
Beginning the initially tentative rock hopping descent off Ingleborough's jagged brow, I wasn't surprised to see Barnesy again. But it did raise an eyebrow that he was way over to the left, slipping around on a bank of snow having told me earlier about a quicker route over to the right that Three Peaks legend Rob Jebb uses! The race route is briefly taped in this area so I just followed the tape and seemed to get a decent line. Once I hit the main path I opened up my stride and started to build up a strong pace which I maintained pretty solidly for the final five miles back to Horton. I pulled back forty-five places on this closing section, only for my final victim to surprise me with an avenging late counter-surge in the finishing field. It was the sprint of a younger man that these slightly older legs sadly had no answer to.
I clocked 4.00:27 and was it not for messing about at food stations with my electrolyte tablets, would have sneaked under the four hour mark. Chris 'I've not trained for this' Barnes was only four minutes behind me so not bad for a 'jog out' or whatever it was in the end. Up at the front, the elites of the elite came very close indeed to the course record which Andy Peace has held since 1996. Lauenstein and Lightfoot had probably warmed down, dunked their legs in the chilly Ribble, dined and had forty winks by the time I returned to Horton, but I really enjoyed it this year and more so maybe than my previous five appearances at this great race. As for the much documented Achilles trouble, not once did I even think about it during those four hours. Perhaps that is testament indeed to not running hard enough! Walking in a normal fashion the following day though was obviously a bridge too far, but no running hangover since and normal service resuming. I suppose underlying disappointment could never quite be so strangely satisfying as in last Saturday's race.

Sat. 30th April 2016
62nd THREE PEAKS RACE   23.5m/5276ft   Horton-in-Ribblesdale, North Yorks.
Ist Man - Marc Lauenstein (Team Salomon) 2.48:58  
1st Lady - Victoria Wilkinson (Bingley) 3.26:47
My Stats - 4.00:27   177/703