PENDLE ROUND GOES PEAR SHAPED
STAN BRADSHAW PENDLE ROUND
There have probably been a few too many race post mortems scrolled on here searching rhyme, reason and excuse for why things have gone wrong. But in this instance I am genuinely at a loss as to what happened and why. I felt immediately compelled to let George Davies know of my stinker to somehow validate my excuse, or the actual lack of one, to the public domain of our club's website news. In hindsight, this was an act of narcissistic spin doctored desperation which I regret, but brought about by the magnitude of shock and disappointment I felt with myself. I've dreaded being asked how I got on since Saturday, enduring that sceptical look from quite a few people this week... the look that says, "bull shit, Johnny boy". But I sleep tight knowing I told it as it was; fine after four and a half miles and then the wheels fell off without much warning. That's what happened.
I certainly didn't go off too hard, I recovered quickly from the early slog up to the Pendle Hill trig and had settled down to a decent enough pace heading West to the Scout Cairn checkpoint and then South towards Churn Clough reservoir. These sections of the route are boggy and rough but not enough to stifle momentum. The engines were now firing fully after that sticky first climb and I was cruising along nicely. I distinctly remember thinking to myself that there was plenty in the tank for later in the race when the jostle for positions heats up. Consolidation at this point was no bad thing as I was inside the top thirty, breathing and running easily with big ideas of gaining places. But down at Churn Clough, something went wrong. I suddenly drained. If this had been mile fourteen or something similar I could have at least half expected and dealt with it. But this was less than mile five. My daily average this year is over six miles so this wasn't exactly outside the comfort zone.
I tried to run through it on the short flat section along the reservoir, unable to accept what was happening, but as Accy's Graham Morris slipped by casually, asking me if I was OK. Graham always seems to be around when I've having a rough time these days! I slurp up all own drink as we hit a short scramble back up on to the moorland, but it wasn't enough to revive me and in fact I got a mouthful of plastic shards from one of those mod collapsable flasks. In desperation I bit the end trying to get some juice of it. Then I totally lost it here on steep little embankment back on to the fell. My hamstrings and calves clenched up, momentum completely lost and conceding more than half a dozen places. It got worse from there, on a side of the Pendle mass I'm not familiar with, I could see the arduous climb out from the penultimate checkpoint and I knew this was going to be an ungraceful shuffle to the finish. Now the head had totally gone too. More and more runners came by as I dropped through the field faster than I was going forwards. Club mate Shaun Livesey was out and about on the course spectating. He must have wondered if I really have done any training lately as I walked up the climb to Spence Moor effing and jeffing to him about my plight. It was walkies again up the final sting in the tail to Buttock Gate. Barely capable of even that in the cut up cross country pasture on those lower slopes. Then oddly, at the Gate, a chap spectating who I don't know or have even seen before says to me with a wry smile, ''Your always walkin' at t'end o'races you. Every time.'' He got a glare in return. A very quick a, b and c sprung to mind... a) It's easy being a fell running expert when you're leaning on a fence scratching your genitals from within your pocket. b) When do I race much these days for you to see me 'walk'? And more to the point... c) Who the bloody hell are you anyway?
Realising I wasn't particularly amused as I negotiate the gating system, the chap reveals to me ''I'm a mate of Matt's, we go out on't bike Friday's''. Bizarre. I think I know which Matt, but we aren't exactly bezzies or owt, so even a secondary license to banter me when in this fragile state of low sporting ebb was neither warranted or appreciated!
There was at least still time for one last incident to put a smile back on my face and reiterate why one should never follow a Clayton Harrier on their own turf. Tucked in behind Dominic Carr through the finishing fields, I follow him over an awkward ladder stile only for him to then point out aghast that the gate just beside it was actually left open to run through! Comical. Dominic then tried encouraging me with a challenge to the finishing line with extra discount at the shop at stake if he beats me. But I couldn't get going again.
No idea where I finished and not really interested in looking just yet. This week I'm going to drop the mileage a little, be careful not to slap the track session too hard, stretch the hamstrings out and put it right at the Roddlesworth Roller this Sunday. If it's another clanger again this weekend though, then it's hello www.secondhandbowls.co.uk for sure.
Logic says that should not be the case, but logic said I should have been fit enough to see the job out properly at Pendle.

Sat. 4th March 2017
STAN BRADSHAW PENDLE ROUND   (9.3m/1900ft)   Barley, Lancs.
1st Man - Rob Hope 1.07:15 (Pudsey & Bramley)
1st Lady - Rebecca Patrick 1.30:17 (Todmorden)
My stats - Not good, haven't looked yet    

COURSE REVIEW
The last and only time I did this race was in it's former guise of the Half Tour of Pendle in 2009. That year it was an English champs race and I ran well to finish 61st in 1.14:06. I'd say the Stanley Bradshaw Round version is tougher, certainly the terrain is choppier across the moor to Churn Clough than it was when formerly following decent trods to a checkpoint at the Nick. I think the back end is tougher too, the climb up Spence Moor is significant and in soggy ground, the final little drag up to Buttock Gate is nastier than the gradual and more easily runable route from Ogden Clough.