SNUFFED OUT BY SUMMER SNIFFLES BUT SECONDS STILL SNIPPED OFF
HARROCK HILL RACE SERIES [3]
Last week's race at Widdop was backed up by a couple of Thursday recovery miles and a steady Friday ten miler that told me all I needed to know about my fitness - I was entering a good place. The third rendition of the Harrock Hill quartet couldn't come quickly enough. I was going to smash it up. Confident that with a quicker start and now more durability in the legs for the latter stages, I could snap at least another ninety seconds off my June time. Delusion this was not, far from it, this was a realistic aim. I had mapped out the rest of the week's training and envisaged the race itself, knowing exactly what I had to do and was looking forward to getting on with it.
But Friday evening I sat down at the dining table when I suddenly felt the back of my throat drying. Strangely without any warning signs, there and then in an instant, a Summer cold was on it's way. I don't recall being able to pick out the key moment cold symptoms first kicked in before, but that's what happened here. Absolutely bloody typical though, just as I had got going! Then the potential consequences spring to mind. Harrock Hill was looking compromised if not altogether banished from possibility, and what if this thing gets on my chest and hangs around for weeks? Aaaagh!
By Sunday a fairly constant stream was depositing from my nose but I managed to get an interval session in, albeit at the expense of bringing on a full evening of sneezing and hardcore nose blowing. By Monday it was clear that the thing had peaked and wasn't getting on my chest in a bad way, but I was feeling tired and my head was aching. Tuesday, less reliant on tissues and now I'm thinking maybe I can do the race after all. Wednesday, race day, still not sure so a couple of miles in the morning as a tester run was a snotty affair, but the legs were ticking over fine. By 4pm and taking tonics from the Beechams range, I'd decided. Sod it, I'll be giving it a go. In this instance a professional athlete would be have been told to forget it by their coach and given a rehabilitative programme of cross training to tackle until back to full running fettle. But I am an amateur and a nobody in particular one at that. I am coached by the conflictions of my own conscience in which heart more often than not overrules the head. This under-riding force decided it was a good idea to stick my head on the block. I was racing. Last week I was thinking about this race in a fearless manner, now it was looking like an exercise in damage limitation and how deep I could dig having been under the weather for four days. I set off harder as originally planned and seemed to be coping fine until my race morphed in to a de ja vu of last month. Darren Fishwick forged ahead of me at precisely the same spot, then that Harkin chap got ahead of me and kept his distance again. A few more places went cheaply begging too as I really struggled in the respiratory department and lacked that bit of engine power that I had felt pre-sniffles. The latter half of this race was messy and I was hanging on very grimly indeed. I feared the worst at the finishing line and made a preparatory wince to brace myself before glancing down at my watch for what felt like a degenerative time. But in actual fact I had still managed to snip four seconds off last month's outing and under the circumstances, that will do.
Me, me, me. Have I nothing better to ramble about? I ought to spare a mention for the race organisers from the running club of Newburgh Nomads who continue to do a splendid job putting these races on in the Summer. They are an unassuming bunch but deserve much credit, particularly those race officials at the sharp end in the infamous cow field. This role demands above and beyond what your average marshal would be likely to experience, herding frisky cattle away from the invading running entourage. The sight of Nomad Andy Quickfall scampering across a field with well over a dozen burly young Belted Galloway's thundering along the far fence was a sight to behold and is just one of a number of things that make the Harrock Hill race what it is.
Wednesday 26th July
HARROCK HILL RACE SERIES [3] 5.2m/800ft Bispham Green, West Lancs.
1st Man - Josh Tighe (Northumberland FR) 32:10
1st Lady - Noora Ronkainen (Liverpool H) 38:49
My Stats - 37:00 / 14/224
I got thinking how many Harrock Hill races I have actually done and it turned out that was my 24th appearance, my third this year but only my sixth in the last six years. The other eighteen were condensed in to the previous six years between 2006 and 2011. Below is a stat attack of all those performances. In more recent years a slight course diversion adds maybe half a minute to forty seconds for the likes of myself, but even so my demise since 2011 is most evident!
Year [Race 1/4]
2006 - [1] 35:28 / 11th [2] 35:29 / 16th [3] 34:50 / 15th [4] 33:58 / 10th
2007 - [1] 33:36 / 6th
2008 - [1] 34:29 / 6th [2] 33:46 / 6th [3] 34:14 / 3rd [4] 34:22 / 5th ...Overall Series 3rd
2009 - [3] 34:13 / 4th [4] 34:08 / 5th
2010 - [1] 35:06 / 8th [2] 34:12 / 3rd [3] 34:00 / 6th [4] 34:07 / 4th ...Overall Series 2nd
2011 - [1] 33:37 / 5th [3] 33:41 / 2nd [4] 33:40 / 2nd ...Overall Series 2nd
2012 -
2013 -
2014 - [3] 35:59 / 6th [4] 35:39 / 5th
2015 - [3] 36:27 / 8th
2016 -
2017 -
2017 - [1] 39:03 / 16th [2] 37:04 / 8th [3] 37:00 / 14th
Friday, 28 July 2017
Monday, 24 July 2017
TURNING POINT?
WIDDOP
In these eighteen months since returning to writing ramblings about my running, an evening fell race on the remote moors of Calderdale was alas the scene of some genuine signs of progression and a taste of racing yesteryear. In fact it felt like my best racing performance for well over two years. I set off strong and I stayed strong. Clayton-le-Moors man Peter Coates has been a regular sight well ahead of me this Summer and as a consistent, solid fell runner who is hitting the sort of times and placings that I believe I can still reach, Peter has naturally become the main opponent upon which I gauge myself. I was tucked in about twenty yards behind him for most of the first half of the race like his stalker. It appeared I might just be trending towards better form. The Kentmere race three days earlier proved to be the catalyst for something good at Widdop as I ran uphill sections surprisingly competently and generally found the art of pushing hard to be a more comfortable process of which I had some control and confidence. It was only the long section of choppier moorland terrain in the latter half of the race that staggered my progress. I lost ground on Peter and the two guys he was chasing as they all excelled through the rough stuff. I felt like I was all over the place but I couldn't hear anyone gaining - even when I had to stop to tie a lace - so I just kept focus on giving what I could and looked forward to hitting a section of ground with better running again. When that came after passing the trig point of Standing Stone Hill it was clear I was going to make little or no impression on the three runners way ahead as they had gained a minute or more on me, so now it was all about positional preservation. Fairly sure I was inside the top ten after some good running off Standing Stone, a left turn through a small gate at a wall left me unable to resist the slyest little glance across to see what sort of gap I had. Once upon a time the golden rule was to never look back in a race, but this Summer it's crept in to my game whether through weakness, lack of confidence or both. Anyway, this really was just a peripheral peek, but enough to recognise the Rossendale vest of Ashley Holt no more than thirty yards in my wake. I'd forgotten about the Holt, having not seen him ahead earlier on and although far from on top of his own running game at the moment, he's a feisty competitor so I knew I had plenty still to do to keep him at distance. I could see the cars parked on the road so I knew there couldn't be that long to go and put everything in to the descent here thinking there would be a short sting in the tail at the bottom and to the finishing field. Not quite. A hurtful little road hill before a bobbly, cobbly gradually climbing traverse through high bracken was a real tester for legs and lungs now dying for the finish line. Eventually the stile in to the uphill finishing field came and I had kept my place and was, for the first time this Summer, very satisfied with how I had run. It felt like a turning point and my carrot, Mr Coates, was only seventy one seconds the better over seven miles which was a positive statistic in itself.
This was my first showing at the Widdop race, in fact I don't recall having been specifically up this way before, situated along the isolated narrow road from Brierfield to Heptonstall. Beautifully bleak moorland where Lancashire meets Yorkshire most indiscreetly.
A couple of days on, I bump in to Ribble Valley Harriers founder Chris Barnes who commended me on my performance and said if I carry on in the same vain, one day I might be good enough to wear the black vest of RVH. High praise, if somewhat tongue-in-cheek.
Wednesday 19th July 2017
WIDDOP 7m/1200ft Widdop, Calderdale, West Yorks.
1st Man - Sam Watson (Wharfedale) 52:13
1st Lady - Jo Buckley (Calder Valley) 1.05:31
My Stats - 58:22 9/146
WIDDOP
In these eighteen months since returning to writing ramblings about my running, an evening fell race on the remote moors of Calderdale was alas the scene of some genuine signs of progression and a taste of racing yesteryear. In fact it felt like my best racing performance for well over two years. I set off strong and I stayed strong. Clayton-le-Moors man Peter Coates has been a regular sight well ahead of me this Summer and as a consistent, solid fell runner who is hitting the sort of times and placings that I believe I can still reach, Peter has naturally become the main opponent upon which I gauge myself. I was tucked in about twenty yards behind him for most of the first half of the race like his stalker. It appeared I might just be trending towards better form. The Kentmere race three days earlier proved to be the catalyst for something good at Widdop as I ran uphill sections surprisingly competently and generally found the art of pushing hard to be a more comfortable process of which I had some control and confidence. It was only the long section of choppier moorland terrain in the latter half of the race that staggered my progress. I lost ground on Peter and the two guys he was chasing as they all excelled through the rough stuff. I felt like I was all over the place but I couldn't hear anyone gaining - even when I had to stop to tie a lace - so I just kept focus on giving what I could and looked forward to hitting a section of ground with better running again. When that came after passing the trig point of Standing Stone Hill it was clear I was going to make little or no impression on the three runners way ahead as they had gained a minute or more on me, so now it was all about positional preservation. Fairly sure I was inside the top ten after some good running off Standing Stone, a left turn through a small gate at a wall left me unable to resist the slyest little glance across to see what sort of gap I had. Once upon a time the golden rule was to never look back in a race, but this Summer it's crept in to my game whether through weakness, lack of confidence or both. Anyway, this really was just a peripheral peek, but enough to recognise the Rossendale vest of Ashley Holt no more than thirty yards in my wake. I'd forgotten about the Holt, having not seen him ahead earlier on and although far from on top of his own running game at the moment, he's a feisty competitor so I knew I had plenty still to do to keep him at distance. I could see the cars parked on the road so I knew there couldn't be that long to go and put everything in to the descent here thinking there would be a short sting in the tail at the bottom and to the finishing field. Not quite. A hurtful little road hill before a bobbly, cobbly gradually climbing traverse through high bracken was a real tester for legs and lungs now dying for the finish line. Eventually the stile in to the uphill finishing field came and I had kept my place and was, for the first time this Summer, very satisfied with how I had run. It felt like a turning point and my carrot, Mr Coates, was only seventy one seconds the better over seven miles which was a positive statistic in itself.
This was my first showing at the Widdop race, in fact I don't recall having been specifically up this way before, situated along the isolated narrow road from Brierfield to Heptonstall. Beautifully bleak moorland where Lancashire meets Yorkshire most indiscreetly.
A couple of days on, I bump in to Ribble Valley Harriers founder Chris Barnes who commended me on my performance and said if I carry on in the same vain, one day I might be good enough to wear the black vest of RVH. High praise, if somewhat tongue-in-cheek.
Wednesday 19th July 2017
WIDDOP 7m/1200ft Widdop, Calderdale, West Yorks.
1st Man - Sam Watson (Wharfedale) 52:13
1st Lady - Jo Buckley (Calder Valley) 1.05:31
My Stats - 58:22 9/146
Wednesday, 19 July 2017
PARADOXICAL REALITY CHECK
KENTMERE HORSESHOE
Kentmere Horseshoe is my favourite race. A bold statement because there have been lots of courses over the years that could stake a claim. But Kentmere was my first proper race in the Lakes back in 2006 and has been the 'must do-er' ever since - provided I am fit enough of course. It's also the first place that springs to mind on the rare chance of nipping so far Northwards for a cracking training run. For me, Kentmere has got the whole fell running package packed in to just under twelve miles.
I can look back fondly at three particularly gradely performances for a nobody in particular and also the fact I've never had a truly poor race here. I suppose I shouldn't be too surprised that I couldn't hit a time to be more proud of this year. In fairness, I'm a bit unhappy and perplexed to have been even five minutes slower than my last appearance two years ago, but then it's only just over six weeks since that Harrock Hill horror show. In the end I was competitive, ran the race to the best of my current ability and so mustn't indulge in too much self Johnny-bashing having taken just enough disappointment from this to further motivate rather than destroy me.
The reality check taken from Kentmere is a paradoxical one. Whilst the dark reality of my finishing time leaves me still plundering around in the shadows of previous performances, the enlightening reality of enjoying every moment of it, just being alive, fit and out there on the roof tiles of England, running, competing and pushing myself is what it's all about. It was like I had finally grown up, well in a running sense at least. I still strive for better, but I've accepted the level where I am at right now. Easy on the sulks, easier on the self deprecation. Just keep racing, training hard but sensibly and avoid obsessing with anything in particular. It's got to be the way forward, if I can sustain it.
By leaving out the usual midweek night race leading up to this weekend one, there seemed to be some kind of automatic anatomic shutdown as far as running was concerned. Aside from an interval session on the Monday, mentally distant and physically lacking some punch all week it was just a load of plods through the motions after that. By Sunday I did feel better although early on it was clear that climbing, my main weakness, was going to be extra tough that day. Hold on, a fell runner whose weakness is climbing? Well, John Terry has made a fantastic career out of football despite not being able to kick a ball very well. So did Neil Ruddock, Julian Dicks, Vinny Jones... but yes, it's the speed of climbing that's mainly letting me down and what's clearly been costing me valuable time at races lately.
After the steep ascent off the Garburn Pass and to the more gradual roll up to Yoke, I was losing places and conceded that I was certainly not going to be running a stormer this year. That was the longest uphill section of the race done, but plenty more pulls to come. A few more positions went begging but a few hauled back as I seemed to finally find my place in the field. The familiar sight of my old Chorley Harrier nemesis Dominic Raby had got a minute or two ahead and it was just like old times. But heading towards the high point of the race and the summit of High Street it became clear I'd got a bit closer to Dom and a few other guys in his mini-cluster. Regardless of time, which was relatively slow to High Street by previous splits, at least this boded well for a competitive second half when there is a chance to stretch out the legs to some decent running. After passing over Mardale Ill Bell, a couple of crags breaks things up and I started to get closer to the Chorley one there, although he seemed to react to my presence by kicking further on again.
A deceptive characteristic of Dominic Raby is that, at best, his style of running doesn't appear very economical and so it's difficult to tell if he is going strong or starting to buckle! It did seem to be the latter though, so unlike old times, after the drag up to Kentmere Pike and the main stretch of descent back to the valley, I'd almost caught him up. I took a slip on some wet rocks which took the wind out of my sails for a moment, but if anything, the pain bolstered my levels of adrenaline. I was thinking that a good old ding-dong with Dominic to the finish was on, but as we hit the valley floor with about a mile to go it was clear that Dom's goose was all but cooked, conceding his place which I was a bit disappointed about - for both of us in fact. I was feeling bashed up myself along the paths back to the village and pushed as hard as I could, but was still made to look extraordinarily ordinary with a few hundred yards to go by some young Macclesfield lad who had way too much left in the tank at that stage!
I've done 1.42 a couple of times and Dominic's done something like 1.37 or maybe even less. Today we were 1.53 and 1.54 not so respectively. Dom's got his work cut out more than me to get back where he wants to be, but he's certainly not one to right off and I'm sure there'll be a backlash from this at some other race soon. As this was my first run in excess of nine miles since April, I'm also living in hope that I get a positive reaction from this effort in the next few races to come, starting with Widdop fell race this evening. I've plodded out a couple of short recovery runs and a rehabilating walk of six miles up the majestic peak of Ingleborough since Sunday. During these couple of days my running stance has emulated one of those illustrated text book diagrams showing the historical development of man. I think I am now just about upright again to give it a shot tonight.
Sunday 16th July 2017
KENTMERE HORSESHOE 11.9m/3300ft Kentmere, Cumbria
1st Man - Joshua Jardine (Helm Hill) 1.32:57
1st Lady - Julie Briscoe (Dark Peak) 1.53:35
My Stats - 1.53:23 42/344
It's a love affair with the Kentmere Horseshoe. This year was my eighth appearance at the race itself and sadly it appears yet another personal worst time to burden my current ambition! Previous performances are listed below:
2006 - 1.52:52 - 49th
2008 - 1.42:20 - 46th (English Champs)
2009 - 1.47:34 - 22nd
2010 - 1.42:22 - 12th
2011 - 1.42:52 - 12th
2014 - 1.51:04 - 66th (English Champs)
2015 - 1.47:57 - 28th
KENTMERE HORSESHOE
Kentmere Horseshoe is my favourite race. A bold statement because there have been lots of courses over the years that could stake a claim. But Kentmere was my first proper race in the Lakes back in 2006 and has been the 'must do-er' ever since - provided I am fit enough of course. It's also the first place that springs to mind on the rare chance of nipping so far Northwards for a cracking training run. For me, Kentmere has got the whole fell running package packed in to just under twelve miles.
I can look back fondly at three particularly gradely performances for a nobody in particular and also the fact I've never had a truly poor race here. I suppose I shouldn't be too surprised that I couldn't hit a time to be more proud of this year. In fairness, I'm a bit unhappy and perplexed to have been even five minutes slower than my last appearance two years ago, but then it's only just over six weeks since that Harrock Hill horror show. In the end I was competitive, ran the race to the best of my current ability and so mustn't indulge in too much self Johnny-bashing having taken just enough disappointment from this to further motivate rather than destroy me.
The reality check taken from Kentmere is a paradoxical one. Whilst the dark reality of my finishing time leaves me still plundering around in the shadows of previous performances, the enlightening reality of enjoying every moment of it, just being alive, fit and out there on the roof tiles of England, running, competing and pushing myself is what it's all about. It was like I had finally grown up, well in a running sense at least. I still strive for better, but I've accepted the level where I am at right now. Easy on the sulks, easier on the self deprecation. Just keep racing, training hard but sensibly and avoid obsessing with anything in particular. It's got to be the way forward, if I can sustain it.
By leaving out the usual midweek night race leading up to this weekend one, there seemed to be some kind of automatic anatomic shutdown as far as running was concerned. Aside from an interval session on the Monday, mentally distant and physically lacking some punch all week it was just a load of plods through the motions after that. By Sunday I did feel better although early on it was clear that climbing, my main weakness, was going to be extra tough that day. Hold on, a fell runner whose weakness is climbing? Well, John Terry has made a fantastic career out of football despite not being able to kick a ball very well. So did Neil Ruddock, Julian Dicks, Vinny Jones... but yes, it's the speed of climbing that's mainly letting me down and what's clearly been costing me valuable time at races lately.
After the steep ascent off the Garburn Pass and to the more gradual roll up to Yoke, I was losing places and conceded that I was certainly not going to be running a stormer this year. That was the longest uphill section of the race done, but plenty more pulls to come. A few more positions went begging but a few hauled back as I seemed to finally find my place in the field. The familiar sight of my old Chorley Harrier nemesis Dominic Raby had got a minute or two ahead and it was just like old times. But heading towards the high point of the race and the summit of High Street it became clear I'd got a bit closer to Dom and a few other guys in his mini-cluster. Regardless of time, which was relatively slow to High Street by previous splits, at least this boded well for a competitive second half when there is a chance to stretch out the legs to some decent running. After passing over Mardale Ill Bell, a couple of crags breaks things up and I started to get closer to the Chorley one there, although he seemed to react to my presence by kicking further on again.
A deceptive characteristic of Dominic Raby is that, at best, his style of running doesn't appear very economical and so it's difficult to tell if he is going strong or starting to buckle! It did seem to be the latter though, so unlike old times, after the drag up to Kentmere Pike and the main stretch of descent back to the valley, I'd almost caught him up. I took a slip on some wet rocks which took the wind out of my sails for a moment, but if anything, the pain bolstered my levels of adrenaline. I was thinking that a good old ding-dong with Dominic to the finish was on, but as we hit the valley floor with about a mile to go it was clear that Dom's goose was all but cooked, conceding his place which I was a bit disappointed about - for both of us in fact. I was feeling bashed up myself along the paths back to the village and pushed as hard as I could, but was still made to look extraordinarily ordinary with a few hundred yards to go by some young Macclesfield lad who had way too much left in the tank at that stage!
I've done 1.42 a couple of times and Dominic's done something like 1.37 or maybe even less. Today we were 1.53 and 1.54 not so respectively. Dom's got his work cut out more than me to get back where he wants to be, but he's certainly not one to right off and I'm sure there'll be a backlash from this at some other race soon. As this was my first run in excess of nine miles since April, I'm also living in hope that I get a positive reaction from this effort in the next few races to come, starting with Widdop fell race this evening. I've plodded out a couple of short recovery runs and a rehabilating walk of six miles up the majestic peak of Ingleborough since Sunday. During these couple of days my running stance has emulated one of those illustrated text book diagrams showing the historical development of man. I think I am now just about upright again to give it a shot tonight.
Sunday 16th July 2017
KENTMERE HORSESHOE 11.9m/3300ft Kentmere, Cumbria
1st Man - Joshua Jardine (Helm Hill) 1.32:57
1st Lady - Julie Briscoe (Dark Peak) 1.53:35
My Stats - 1.53:23 42/344
It's a love affair with the Kentmere Horseshoe. This year was my eighth appearance at the race itself and sadly it appears yet another personal worst time to burden my current ambition! Previous performances are listed below:
2006 - 1.52:52 - 49th
2008 - 1.42:20 - 46th (English Champs)
2009 - 1.47:34 - 22nd
2010 - 1.42:22 - 12th
2011 - 1.42:52 - 12th
2014 - 1.51:04 - 66th (English Champs)
2015 - 1.47:57 - 28th
Friday, 14 July 2017
SPIRITED FINISH
DON ASHTON MEMORIAL TOCKHOLES EVENING FELL RACE
The race to racing fitness has had it's ups and downs so far this Summer, nothing dramatic mind you, but if there are any traceable signs at all of even the finest lines of improvement then one has to take them, bank them, cherish them and look for signs of more next time out. Up against some familiar faces at Tockholes, I made very marginal gains on some of the guys who have been further ahead of me recently, but more importantly I came out on top in a bit of a ding-dong with the chap a place ahead of me at Harrock Hill last week. This showed signs of, dare I say it, improvement.
On that same evening, an old favourite of mine the Bull Hill fell race was also on the calendar and despite some underlying deflation about this fixture clash, I had already committed to this one as a mark of respect. Bull Hill would have to keep for another year.
This year the race was renamed in the memory of former Vet 50 British Fell Champion Don Ashton. The Blackburn Harrier and Darwen Dasher very sadly passed away last year. I didn't know Don and I don't know his grandson Calvin Ferguson particularly well, but enough to know Calvin's a grand lad who is rightfully very proud of his grandfather, his fell running achievements and for his friends at the Dashers to name a race in his honour. At the start, we were told a record number of ninety nine were assembled for the off which was great to see. Treble figures next year for sure.
The sticky weather had returned for this one. Midway through the race my thermostat started playing up and just for a moment I wondered if I had blown and it was all over. I lost places, but back on the moors I managed some recovery, got back in to it and gained a few positions back. With a couple of miles to go I was closing in on a familiar black vest that I recognised from last week's race and decided this was my chance to affirm at least one statistical improvement from the night's shift. I cruised by and was feeling good, put in a surge and had the audacity to think that was that, Thomas Harkin taken care of. However, upon the short sting in the tail with less than a mile to go, Harkin came back at me and just on the brow of the climb nudged ahead. I was already screaming inside at this point, but I couldn't let him go now. I hung on desperately and as the track to the finish started to level out, Harkin made a few more surges of his own but I managed to respond and match him stride for stride before making my own move for the line. In running scared I somehow made up six seconds on him with a spirited finish. All that just to say that sixteenth is better than seventeenth. But it is!
It ought not to go unmentioned that prior to the race I was a very happy bunny indeed after treating myself to a swish pair of Walsh casuals that Calvin was selling as a one-off on the Bolton firm's behalf at special race-night-only rates. Looking forward to a pub outing in those babies, although I may have to pick carefully from my wardrobe to best compliment their purple colourway.
Thursday 6th July 2017
DON ASHTON MEMORIAL TOCKHOLES EVENING FELL RACE 5.8m/1099ft Tockholes, East Lancs.
1st Man - Jack Hindle (Blackburn H.) 37:35
1st Lady - Kirsty Hall (Wharfedale) 45:19
My Stats - 41:41 16/99
DON ASHTON MEMORIAL TOCKHOLES EVENING FELL RACE
The race to racing fitness has had it's ups and downs so far this Summer, nothing dramatic mind you, but if there are any traceable signs at all of even the finest lines of improvement then one has to take them, bank them, cherish them and look for signs of more next time out. Up against some familiar faces at Tockholes, I made very marginal gains on some of the guys who have been further ahead of me recently, but more importantly I came out on top in a bit of a ding-dong with the chap a place ahead of me at Harrock Hill last week. This showed signs of, dare I say it, improvement.
On that same evening, an old favourite of mine the Bull Hill fell race was also on the calendar and despite some underlying deflation about this fixture clash, I had already committed to this one as a mark of respect. Bull Hill would have to keep for another year.
This year the race was renamed in the memory of former Vet 50 British Fell Champion Don Ashton. The Blackburn Harrier and Darwen Dasher very sadly passed away last year. I didn't know Don and I don't know his grandson Calvin Ferguson particularly well, but enough to know Calvin's a grand lad who is rightfully very proud of his grandfather, his fell running achievements and for his friends at the Dashers to name a race in his honour. At the start, we were told a record number of ninety nine were assembled for the off which was great to see. Treble figures next year for sure.
The sticky weather had returned for this one. Midway through the race my thermostat started playing up and just for a moment I wondered if I had blown and it was all over. I lost places, but back on the moors I managed some recovery, got back in to it and gained a few positions back. With a couple of miles to go I was closing in on a familiar black vest that I recognised from last week's race and decided this was my chance to affirm at least one statistical improvement from the night's shift. I cruised by and was feeling good, put in a surge and had the audacity to think that was that, Thomas Harkin taken care of. However, upon the short sting in the tail with less than a mile to go, Harkin came back at me and just on the brow of the climb nudged ahead. I was already screaming inside at this point, but I couldn't let him go now. I hung on desperately and as the track to the finish started to level out, Harkin made a few more surges of his own but I managed to respond and match him stride for stride before making my own move for the line. In running scared I somehow made up six seconds on him with a spirited finish. All that just to say that sixteenth is better than seventeenth. But it is!
It ought not to go unmentioned that prior to the race I was a very happy bunny indeed after treating myself to a swish pair of Walsh casuals that Calvin was selling as a one-off on the Bolton firm's behalf at special race-night-only rates. Looking forward to a pub outing in those babies, although I may have to pick carefully from my wardrobe to best compliment their purple colourway.
Thursday 6th July 2017
DON ASHTON MEMORIAL TOCKHOLES EVENING FELL RACE 5.8m/1099ft Tockholes, East Lancs.
1st Man - Jack Hindle (Blackburn H.) 37:35
1st Lady - Kirsty Hall (Wharfedale) 45:19
My Stats - 41:41 16/99
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