REET GOOD RUMBLE
ROYAL RUMBLE
As an all be it non-active member of English Hill Runners, it was time I turned up and supported one of their races at least. History reveals that in two years of this Royal Rumble race, turnout has not been spectacular in terms of numbers so I was a little apprehensive that this Bank Holiday evening affair could end up with a thin, stretched out field in which I could be pocketed somewhere on my own for most of the course. That couldn't have been further from the truth. Rolling up at Tockholes, I spotted an array of potential competitors and it soon became clear there was a race on the cards tonight. Ribble Valley's Stephen Hall was always going to be a bridge too far, but could I get nearer Mark Walsh and Paul Brindle than a month or two ago? Could I finally get one over the strong veteran of fifty-five-plus that is Neil Holding this Summer? How would I fair against my old Chorley pal Dominic Raby now that I've got my ass in gear recently? What's Dan Balshaw doing here? The only non-fell running Barlick Fell Runner posed a dark horse threat in a very rare race outing for his off-road shoes. Then there's one or two younger lads that I didn't recognise strutting around looking dangerous. Game on!
I was pleased as punch for organiser-in-chief Richard Taylor to see what was around seventy runners congregate at the start, almost double the total of previous years and it turned out to be a race that indeed warrants better numbers with a tough but fast course out of Roddlesworth woods and on to the tracks of Darwen Moor. I felt really easy on the kilometre long climb out of Roddlesworth and had pushed up to a nose-bleeding second place with only Stephen Hall having got away from me at this point. Then the rumble really started after crossing the road on to the open moorland with a late sun beating down strong. Edging up towards the Cartridge Hill skyline, I'm pushed back to third as one of those younger lads I didn't recognise slips by in a Red Rose vest. Then it's another red vest, but this time of Horwich and Mark Walsh. I'd got this far, so decided I was going to hurt myself here pretty early on by latching on to Mark's shadow on this ascent, come what may. I paid for it a little as both he and the Red Roser got away from me as we then undulated onwards. What I wasn't expecting though was to catch them both up on the next descent of note and then even feel held up by them through a strictly single file section of heather-hidden gully. In any case I used this as an opportunity to get my wind back and suddenly I was feeling quite confident as I tucked in behind these two on the short climb and traverse to the brow of one of my least favourite descents. The main track from Darwen Tower towards Sunnyhurst is hard and road-like and asking for an injury should I show it disrespect, but briefly I sniffed second spot again before Mark decided to let himself go more than I could down there. At the u-turn for the final mile long climb along Darwen Hill's west face, it's almost impossible not to notice who's behind or at least what colour of vest they are wearing and I accidentally met eyes with fellow Blackburn Harrier Paul Brindle for a fleeting split second. Mark Walsh clearly had plenty left and ever so gradually made a few more yards on me. Then as the track steepens nearer the hill plateau, suffering came my way and that Red Rose runner Dan Hughes showed his uphill strengths again to come back, knocking me back to fourth before Paul then tip-toed past and all three had made seemingly too much on me before we drop down again and towards the half mile run in to the finish. Once more though, descending got me back in it without even stretching myself and at the foot of Aggie's Staircase I was back on terms and in with a shout. However, those three had a surge from there and I didn't, so all I could do was work as hard as I could to stay as close as I could. An excellent jostle for places ensued just ahead as Hughes nudged up to second again from Walsh, before Paul Brindle impressively powered past the pair of them. Stephen Hall may have had it all his own way at the front by over a minute, but a reet good rumble was had for the other podium places. Nevertheless, another fifth will do just fine for me. I won't be beating myself up too hard for fizzling out at the business end of things, it was just a great feeling to be there and in the mix at least.
Monday 28th August 2017
ROYAL RUMBLE Tockholes, East Lancs.
1st Man - Stephen Hall (Ribble Valley) 34:59
1st Lady - Joanne Nelson (Blackburn Harriers) 41:00
My Stats - 36:42 5/70
There's always one. I had finished roughly between five and ten minutes earlier when some runner was banging on to Richard Taylor about having felt cheated when following the zig-zagged vehicle track rather than splintering off on to the more direct route to the brow of Cartridge Hill. It was in fact flagged, and even in the unlikely event of the flags being removed by idiots (highly unlikely given the fairly remote geography of said place in question) surely there were enough runners ahead by then to spot the general consensus of course line that had been taken by others. If not consulting the course map or route description provided wasn't ignorant enough for anybody in doubt, either he hadn't been looking ahead early enough or simply wasn't looking ahead at all and just followed the way of the main track religiously. I enjoyed listening to the wise words of vast experience from Neil Holding who shouted him down, basically telling him it's fell racing and to get a grip! It's frustrating when you go wrong in a race, but the last place to go having a whinge is in the face of the organiser and particularly when you've just finished and all your emotions are getting the better of you. It will be water off a duck's back to Richard, but all the same, his time and effort invested to put a good race on... it's just not on.
Wednesday, 30 August 2017
Monday, 28 August 2017
HIGH FIVE HARROCK FINALE
HARROCK HILL RACE SERIES [4]
Preparation for the fourth and final Harrock Hill wasn't as clear cut as it ought to have been. In training I got greedy, chucking in a couple more reps than planned in a speed session on the Sunday and then chucking on a couple more miles to a sore legged plod on the Monday. By Wednesday I was still feeling a bit more creased up than I would have liked on a race day. Then by the time I got around to thinking I ought to be getting my kit together about ten to six, it dawned on me from some deep chasm of subconscious that recent midweek races had been starting that bit earlier because of the fading daylight. I immediately checked this one for time just in case and discovered that the start was indeed half an hour earlier than usual. Well, at least that got the adrenaline pumping! I scrambled my stuff together and then had to chance it on the motorway rather than the usual scenic route and hope there was no hold ups, but fortunately all was fine and I got there in time to enter and warm up without any further fretting. Not so, though, for some poor fellows who were turning up too late and some having made the journey from Liverpool where this trail race is a popular hit with the Merseyside clubs.
Tired legs or not, I was up for this one and finally nailing a time and position here this Summer that rolled back the years somewhat. This was my twenty-fifth Harrock Hill and I wanted to make it count. Instinctively I got off to a hard working start and shifted up to fifth until a young lad came past and held modest yardage on me until going in to the final third of the race. Prior to that though, the infamous cow field was at it's most chaotic. Despite all the efforts of the race marshals with the job from hellfire, the herd got themselves giddy at the sight of us runners and had come charging down to greet us, splitting in to micro-herds and getting way too close for comfort. It was every man, woman and cow for themselves and fortunately I found a gap to get through there unscathed without too much time loss.
With the top four fast lads all out of reach, it was clear that this was all about fifth now and also, whilst I've never really considered the veteran category much and prefer to measure myself overall, there was no hiding from the knowledge that with only those pups ahead, I was also the leading old dog over-forty and wanted to keep it that way. In previous outings here this year, the uphill drag of the mid-section had blunted my sword for the final third, but this time around I knew I had something extra for when the course flattens off again. I tucked in behind the lad ahead but half expected to be forced in to more effort by a challenge from behind, yet it seemed I was doing enough. When the course does speed up again, this time my sword was sharp so to speak and I was able to build up some good momentum right to the finish. Once I had managed to nudge one more place ahead, I had the bit firmly between my teeth. I attacked the final hill and had a good changeover of flat speed to see out the last mile and comfortably hold on for a top five finish - and at the age of forty three and three quarters, finally secure a long overdue first victory within the veterans category. Ideally I thought I could have dipped under thirty-six minutes and even had delusions of going a minute quicker than that if I ran a blinder, but as far as the positional race was concerned I couldn't have run it any better. Forty-six seconds quicker than last month and my third quickest time on this slightly longer course of recent times is gratifying enough and so I stuck around to collect my box of fruit and veg.
Coming in not far behind me and back on fine form was a well known runner on the North West circuit by the name of Paul Muller. What can I say about this chap? He's broken in to his sixties now but continues to run hard and kick ass, knocking out decent times, beating lads and lasses young enough to be his grandchildren. Not surprisingly, in his age group, Muller is ranked top five in the country for all distances ran this year and looks as effervescent as ever. He has real pedigree too, it's not like he discovered the sport late. What a legend. I've had a good few battles with him, particularly at Harrock Hill but road races too. The mere seventeen year age gap between us has handicapped us (well, him) to roughly around the same pace ever since I started running. I plead forgiveness for even briefly considering that, now I'm in some sort of racing fettle again and Paul is also that bit longer in the tooth, that perhaps he was no longer one to eye up as a threat on the starting line that night. How wrong was I. My eyebrows were certainly raised when he rocked up just over twenty seconds behind me. But that is the measure of Paul Muller. He's an amazing competitor and an absolute thoroughbred athlete.
Finally, I simply couldn't believe what I was reading upon a notice put out by the organising club Newburgh Nomads, that a runner in last month's race damaged a car mirror in a seemingly deliberate act on a private road when crossing a cattle grid. Whatever happened there, all I can say is that there are various rehab groups for little men with anger management problems and I would hope he attends one of those soon before thinking of racing again. Assuming it's a he, well of course it will be a he. Testosterone can be a dangerous chemical and especially an excess of it.
Wednesday 23rd August 2017
HARROCK HILL RACE SERIES [4] 5.2m/800ft Bispham Green, West Lancs.
1st Man - William Rawson (Leigh) 33:15
1st Lady - Lyndsey Brindle (Horwich) 38:33
My Stats - 36:13 5/215
HARROCK HILL RACE SERIES [4]
Preparation for the fourth and final Harrock Hill wasn't as clear cut as it ought to have been. In training I got greedy, chucking in a couple more reps than planned in a speed session on the Sunday and then chucking on a couple more miles to a sore legged plod on the Monday. By Wednesday I was still feeling a bit more creased up than I would have liked on a race day. Then by the time I got around to thinking I ought to be getting my kit together about ten to six, it dawned on me from some deep chasm of subconscious that recent midweek races had been starting that bit earlier because of the fading daylight. I immediately checked this one for time just in case and discovered that the start was indeed half an hour earlier than usual. Well, at least that got the adrenaline pumping! I scrambled my stuff together and then had to chance it on the motorway rather than the usual scenic route and hope there was no hold ups, but fortunately all was fine and I got there in time to enter and warm up without any further fretting. Not so, though, for some poor fellows who were turning up too late and some having made the journey from Liverpool where this trail race is a popular hit with the Merseyside clubs.
Tired legs or not, I was up for this one and finally nailing a time and position here this Summer that rolled back the years somewhat. This was my twenty-fifth Harrock Hill and I wanted to make it count. Instinctively I got off to a hard working start and shifted up to fifth until a young lad came past and held modest yardage on me until going in to the final third of the race. Prior to that though, the infamous cow field was at it's most chaotic. Despite all the efforts of the race marshals with the job from hellfire, the herd got themselves giddy at the sight of us runners and had come charging down to greet us, splitting in to micro-herds and getting way too close for comfort. It was every man, woman and cow for themselves and fortunately I found a gap to get through there unscathed without too much time loss.
With the top four fast lads all out of reach, it was clear that this was all about fifth now and also, whilst I've never really considered the veteran category much and prefer to measure myself overall, there was no hiding from the knowledge that with only those pups ahead, I was also the leading old dog over-forty and wanted to keep it that way. In previous outings here this year, the uphill drag of the mid-section had blunted my sword for the final third, but this time around I knew I had something extra for when the course flattens off again. I tucked in behind the lad ahead but half expected to be forced in to more effort by a challenge from behind, yet it seemed I was doing enough. When the course does speed up again, this time my sword was sharp so to speak and I was able to build up some good momentum right to the finish. Once I had managed to nudge one more place ahead, I had the bit firmly between my teeth. I attacked the final hill and had a good changeover of flat speed to see out the last mile and comfortably hold on for a top five finish - and at the age of forty three and three quarters, finally secure a long overdue first victory within the veterans category. Ideally I thought I could have dipped under thirty-six minutes and even had delusions of going a minute quicker than that if I ran a blinder, but as far as the positional race was concerned I couldn't have run it any better. Forty-six seconds quicker than last month and my third quickest time on this slightly longer course of recent times is gratifying enough and so I stuck around to collect my box of fruit and veg.
Coming in not far behind me and back on fine form was a well known runner on the North West circuit by the name of Paul Muller. What can I say about this chap? He's broken in to his sixties now but continues to run hard and kick ass, knocking out decent times, beating lads and lasses young enough to be his grandchildren. Not surprisingly, in his age group, Muller is ranked top five in the country for all distances ran this year and looks as effervescent as ever. He has real pedigree too, it's not like he discovered the sport late. What a legend. I've had a good few battles with him, particularly at Harrock Hill but road races too. The mere seventeen year age gap between us has handicapped us (well, him) to roughly around the same pace ever since I started running. I plead forgiveness for even briefly considering that, now I'm in some sort of racing fettle again and Paul is also that bit longer in the tooth, that perhaps he was no longer one to eye up as a threat on the starting line that night. How wrong was I. My eyebrows were certainly raised when he rocked up just over twenty seconds behind me. But that is the measure of Paul Muller. He's an amazing competitor and an absolute thoroughbred athlete.
Finally, I simply couldn't believe what I was reading upon a notice put out by the organising club Newburgh Nomads, that a runner in last month's race damaged a car mirror in a seemingly deliberate act on a private road when crossing a cattle grid. Whatever happened there, all I can say is that there are various rehab groups for little men with anger management problems and I would hope he attends one of those soon before thinking of racing again. Assuming it's a he, well of course it will be a he. Testosterone can be a dangerous chemical and especially an excess of it.
Wednesday 23rd August 2017
HARROCK HILL RACE SERIES [4] 5.2m/800ft Bispham Green, West Lancs.
1st Man - William Rawson (Leigh) 33:15
1st Lady - Lyndsey Brindle (Horwich) 38:33
My Stats - 36:13 5/215
Thursday, 24 August 2017
GOT MYSELF OUT OF A HOLE
GOLF BALL
The Golf Ball fell race is so named after the so-shaped radar construction which is a landmark upon these hills between Burnley and Rawtenstall. Thankfully the race has absolutely nothing to do with golf whatsoever. I'm not dismissing golf as a skill, or even a sport, but the associated stigma of pretentiousness, pomposity, sexism... just the sort of things that could distract me from the subject in hand with one big massive huge rant and so I must quickly return to the ramblings about my running. But I may as well sum up this latest midweek battle on the Rossendale moors by using corny golfing analogies; comparing my fortunes to a strong tee shot down the middle of the fairway, only for a careless chip towards the green left me stranded in a bunker. But resolve was shown with the sand wedge, recovering well to set up a perfectly weighted putt for a birdie fifth - or, translated in to real terms, I got myself off to a handy start, held my ground and then went wandering in the final mile but managed to salvage my place back.
Familiar faces were present at the top end in this last of the Rossendale Midweek Series with Callum Davidson on home turf once again leading the way from quality veteran Shaun Godsman of Calder Valley. As was also the case at Pilgrim's Cross seven days earlier, it was that Rochdale Harrier vest of Danny Bennett directly ahead of myself and once again gaining ground as the race went on. However he didn't get too far out of sight this week, but again his superior descending speed made the difference and particularly in the latter part of the race. I was feeling strong, but deciding not to risk blowing a gasket by making a futile attempt to close down Bennett, instead I buzzed at being in the top five of a race for the first time in ages. After the first ascension of the moorland plateau, all that height was about to be lost and I looked across at the distant Golf Ball knowing we'd be back up there again shortly so I did just take my foot off the gas a little here in the knowledge of having plenty of work to do yet. Down and down we went, off the moor and winding through a disused quarry which was one of the few sections I recall from my other appearance here in 2014. Still nobody breathing down my neck at this point, but as the gradual climb begins again up a rocky path I began to hear the regular cough-come-grunting sound that I recognised instantly as that of Ashley Holt's. As the minutes went by, the noise came closer. I put an extra effort in once I could see there wasn't much of the climb left as I felt fairly confident I could hold my own when the gradient subsided and that seemed to be the case. I think Ashley had got quite close, but I sensed I was pulling away again and particularly along the manmade stoney track along side the Golf Ball. I could see Danny Bennett fairly clearly here, but when the track starts to head back down, he had vanished again. Still holding fifth, at the bottom of the track and in to the next enclosure I took my eye off the taped guiding canes and was instead drawn left and downwards by a sheep trod which led to a maze of tussock patches. Aaagh! I stopped, flapped my arms in frustration and then heard a call from behind when a Radcliffe runner, not many yards behind Rossendale's Holt, shouted and pointed,''This way mate!''. ''Cheers!'' I replied, but inside I was livid. What an idiot. I even remembered the gap in the woods we were heading for from three years ago but I just switched off and it looked like it was going to cost me. It was a messy scramble back up and across to the pair of them but when I managed to get back on track it was enough to nestle in between them both and give myself a chance of making amends. Holding on to Ashley's coattails, I was hoping I might get a bit of recovery after that detour if I could just stick in behind him for a few minutes. The Holt had smelled blood but I kept up with him and had the legs to kick on in the final thirty yards to retain my place. Relief and in some ways, double the satisfaction after that little cock up.
I shouldn't depart from this particular race report ramble without mentioning again that the Rossendale Series throws up some cracking little races of which Golf Ball is certainly one of them. A great atmosphere in Love Clough's proper Northern working man's club after where I enjoyed a pint with the still age-proof Mark Ellithorn and fellow Chorley raceaholic and man of great fettle for his age, Bill Beckett. I just love Summer night fell races, this is what it's all about!
Wednesday 16th August 2017
GOLF BALL 5.5m*/800ft Love Clough, Rossendale, Lancs.
1st Man - Callum Davidson (Rossendale) 38:21.
1st Lady - Sarah Bell (Barlick) 48:52
My Stats - 43:32* 5/150
*41:27 back in 2014?... The course must surely be longer now! I simply can't imagine how I could have run quicker at all that night three years ago when it felt like a struggle - but by over two minutes as well?! No chance. It certainly felt more like six miles or so with much more running in the first half of the race than I remember. Of course I'm trying to defend with vigour my right to take a feel-good factor from this year's effort, but if I'm wrong then I must accept the harsh truth. However in fairness, times comparatively by others then and now also seem to suggest the course is now slower.
GOLF BALL
The Golf Ball fell race is so named after the so-shaped radar construction which is a landmark upon these hills between Burnley and Rawtenstall. Thankfully the race has absolutely nothing to do with golf whatsoever. I'm not dismissing golf as a skill, or even a sport, but the associated stigma of pretentiousness, pomposity, sexism... just the sort of things that could distract me from the subject in hand with one big massive huge rant and so I must quickly return to the ramblings about my running. But I may as well sum up this latest midweek battle on the Rossendale moors by using corny golfing analogies; comparing my fortunes to a strong tee shot down the middle of the fairway, only for a careless chip towards the green left me stranded in a bunker. But resolve was shown with the sand wedge, recovering well to set up a perfectly weighted putt for a birdie fifth - or, translated in to real terms, I got myself off to a handy start, held my ground and then went wandering in the final mile but managed to salvage my place back.
Familiar faces were present at the top end in this last of the Rossendale Midweek Series with Callum Davidson on home turf once again leading the way from quality veteran Shaun Godsman of Calder Valley. As was also the case at Pilgrim's Cross seven days earlier, it was that Rochdale Harrier vest of Danny Bennett directly ahead of myself and once again gaining ground as the race went on. However he didn't get too far out of sight this week, but again his superior descending speed made the difference and particularly in the latter part of the race. I was feeling strong, but deciding not to risk blowing a gasket by making a futile attempt to close down Bennett, instead I buzzed at being in the top five of a race for the first time in ages. After the first ascension of the moorland plateau, all that height was about to be lost and I looked across at the distant Golf Ball knowing we'd be back up there again shortly so I did just take my foot off the gas a little here in the knowledge of having plenty of work to do yet. Down and down we went, off the moor and winding through a disused quarry which was one of the few sections I recall from my other appearance here in 2014. Still nobody breathing down my neck at this point, but as the gradual climb begins again up a rocky path I began to hear the regular cough-come-grunting sound that I recognised instantly as that of Ashley Holt's. As the minutes went by, the noise came closer. I put an extra effort in once I could see there wasn't much of the climb left as I felt fairly confident I could hold my own when the gradient subsided and that seemed to be the case. I think Ashley had got quite close, but I sensed I was pulling away again and particularly along the manmade stoney track along side the Golf Ball. I could see Danny Bennett fairly clearly here, but when the track starts to head back down, he had vanished again. Still holding fifth, at the bottom of the track and in to the next enclosure I took my eye off the taped guiding canes and was instead drawn left and downwards by a sheep trod which led to a maze of tussock patches. Aaagh! I stopped, flapped my arms in frustration and then heard a call from behind when a Radcliffe runner, not many yards behind Rossendale's Holt, shouted and pointed,''This way mate!''. ''Cheers!'' I replied, but inside I was livid. What an idiot. I even remembered the gap in the woods we were heading for from three years ago but I just switched off and it looked like it was going to cost me. It was a messy scramble back up and across to the pair of them but when I managed to get back on track it was enough to nestle in between them both and give myself a chance of making amends. Holding on to Ashley's coattails, I was hoping I might get a bit of recovery after that detour if I could just stick in behind him for a few minutes. The Holt had smelled blood but I kept up with him and had the legs to kick on in the final thirty yards to retain my place. Relief and in some ways, double the satisfaction after that little cock up.
I shouldn't depart from this particular race report ramble without mentioning again that the Rossendale Series throws up some cracking little races of which Golf Ball is certainly one of them. A great atmosphere in Love Clough's proper Northern working man's club after where I enjoyed a pint with the still age-proof Mark Ellithorn and fellow Chorley raceaholic and man of great fettle for his age, Bill Beckett. I just love Summer night fell races, this is what it's all about!
Wednesday 16th August 2017
GOLF BALL 5.5m*/800ft Love Clough, Rossendale, Lancs.
1st Man - Callum Davidson (Rossendale) 38:21.
1st Lady - Sarah Bell (Barlick) 48:52
My Stats - 43:32* 5/150
*41:27 back in 2014?... The course must surely be longer now! I simply can't imagine how I could have run quicker at all that night three years ago when it felt like a struggle - but by over two minutes as well?! No chance. It certainly felt more like six miles or so with much more running in the first half of the race than I remember. Of course I'm trying to defend with vigour my right to take a feel-good factor from this year's effort, but if I'm wrong then I must accept the harsh truth. However in fairness, times comparatively by others then and now also seem to suggest the course is now slower.
Friday, 11 August 2017
LESS IS MORE AND MORE TO COME
PILGRIM'S CROSS
Back to business then with a midweek fell race. Those Summer sniffles were a thing of the past and along with a week of training banked in the big country, this left me bereft of excuses for anything short of a progressive run at Pilgrim's Cross. This race has somehow escaped my presence if not my attention over the years so it was time to give it a whirl. As one of the Rossendale Harriers Four Race Midweek Series, these fixtures never fail to deliver a cracking evening's racing in my experience and this one delivered as expected. Bill Beckett may beg to differ however; in the immediate aftermath of winning an epic battle with a rival from Bowland, the gasping Chorley fellsman complained the course was ''too runnable'' - quote of the evening for sure! But spiderman climbs on this one there was not. It's all about the running.
Parts of the course I have trodden before over Bull Hill and Harcles Hill, but other than that it was another exercise in extending my mind map of the Rossendale moors. Early on as we ascended from road, to track, to moorland I was tucked in behind the distinctive hipster of Horwich that is Andy Ford. That shaven head, substantial brown beard and red vest has passed me quite a few times in the latter half of races recently so I thought I was in sensible company at that point. Unusually though I was feeling very strong on this initial incline and had to push past him, with a nothing ventured - nothing gained approach, because if he kicks my ass later on then I'm expecting it anyway.
As the course levelled out I picked off a couple more places and roughly totted up that I may be in the top ten. I then gave chase to the next vest ahead in the distinctive colours of Rochdale Harriers, all be it briefly until he dropped off Harcles Hill so rapidly the realisation was accepted that position-wise I had probably found my limit in this one. The Rochdale runner seemed to push further away but I sensed I was creating a gap myself on those behind and felt good entering the second half of the race until a bad patch struck. On the gradual upward drag towards Bull Hill I felt the rarity of a stitch coming on. I debated with myself whether or not a slice of Soreen only an hour before kick off could be the culprit, or maybe it was just down to plain old running hard that had brought it on. Regardless, I bared my teeth to try and maintain momentum but approaching the top of Bull Hill I could hear company behind and it was getting closer. Just before the summit, a figure sneaked in to the left of my periphery vision and nudged ahead and I was very surprised to find it was not Andy Ford. Encouraged by that, I dug in to keep with this yellow vested intruder to the summit when, like the flick of a switch, my stitch subsided and it was all systems go again as I regained my position and some distance on the following descent. I knew there must still be a bit of a climb to come somewhere so I flogged it as hard as I could to give myself a buffer in case I was to struggle again with an incline. However I felt strong when that final little pull arrived and I knew as the gradual run back down to Helmshore began that if anybody was going to try and pinch my place now then I would have an answer.
Tenth place was a good night at the office, although that Rochdale man Danny Bennett had gained not far off two minutes on me, leaving a visible gulf in class from ninth spot to myself. But I was top of the second string at least and managed to finally do enough to keep Andy Ford from striking range who finished next in eleventh place.
Other than a fell race per week, there really hasn't been, or is, a specific plan or a long term goal right now other than trying to get stronger and faster and I'm loving it. Less mileage, of which I'm averaging no more than thirty per week at present, but of more quality and built around when I race. It has been a long, long time coming but at last I genuinely feel like my running is going in the right direction now and with a fair bit more to come yet.
Wednesday 9th August 2017
PILGRIM'S CROSS 6m/1100ft Helmshore, Rossendale, Lancs.
1st Man - Callum Davidson (Rossendale) 38:48
1st Lady - Sarah Bell (Barlick) 49:15
My Stats - 44:43 10/149
PILGRIM'S CROSS
Back to business then with a midweek fell race. Those Summer sniffles were a thing of the past and along with a week of training banked in the big country, this left me bereft of excuses for anything short of a progressive run at Pilgrim's Cross. This race has somehow escaped my presence if not my attention over the years so it was time to give it a whirl. As one of the Rossendale Harriers Four Race Midweek Series, these fixtures never fail to deliver a cracking evening's racing in my experience and this one delivered as expected. Bill Beckett may beg to differ however; in the immediate aftermath of winning an epic battle with a rival from Bowland, the gasping Chorley fellsman complained the course was ''too runnable'' - quote of the evening for sure! But spiderman climbs on this one there was not. It's all about the running.
Parts of the course I have trodden before over Bull Hill and Harcles Hill, but other than that it was another exercise in extending my mind map of the Rossendale moors. Early on as we ascended from road, to track, to moorland I was tucked in behind the distinctive hipster of Horwich that is Andy Ford. That shaven head, substantial brown beard and red vest has passed me quite a few times in the latter half of races recently so I thought I was in sensible company at that point. Unusually though I was feeling very strong on this initial incline and had to push past him, with a nothing ventured - nothing gained approach, because if he kicks my ass later on then I'm expecting it anyway.
As the course levelled out I picked off a couple more places and roughly totted up that I may be in the top ten. I then gave chase to the next vest ahead in the distinctive colours of Rochdale Harriers, all be it briefly until he dropped off Harcles Hill so rapidly the realisation was accepted that position-wise I had probably found my limit in this one. The Rochdale runner seemed to push further away but I sensed I was creating a gap myself on those behind and felt good entering the second half of the race until a bad patch struck. On the gradual upward drag towards Bull Hill I felt the rarity of a stitch coming on. I debated with myself whether or not a slice of Soreen only an hour before kick off could be the culprit, or maybe it was just down to plain old running hard that had brought it on. Regardless, I bared my teeth to try and maintain momentum but approaching the top of Bull Hill I could hear company behind and it was getting closer. Just before the summit, a figure sneaked in to the left of my periphery vision and nudged ahead and I was very surprised to find it was not Andy Ford. Encouraged by that, I dug in to keep with this yellow vested intruder to the summit when, like the flick of a switch, my stitch subsided and it was all systems go again as I regained my position and some distance on the following descent. I knew there must still be a bit of a climb to come somewhere so I flogged it as hard as I could to give myself a buffer in case I was to struggle again with an incline. However I felt strong when that final little pull arrived and I knew as the gradual run back down to Helmshore began that if anybody was going to try and pinch my place now then I would have an answer.
Tenth place was a good night at the office, although that Rochdale man Danny Bennett had gained not far off two minutes on me, leaving a visible gulf in class from ninth spot to myself. But I was top of the second string at least and managed to finally do enough to keep Andy Ford from striking range who finished next in eleventh place.
Other than a fell race per week, there really hasn't been, or is, a specific plan or a long term goal right now other than trying to get stronger and faster and I'm loving it. Less mileage, of which I'm averaging no more than thirty per week at present, but of more quality and built around when I race. It has been a long, long time coming but at last I genuinely feel like my running is going in the right direction now and with a fair bit more to come yet.
Wednesday 9th August 2017
PILGRIM'S CROSS 6m/1100ft Helmshore, Rossendale, Lancs.
1st Man - Callum Davidson (Rossendale) 38:48
1st Lady - Sarah Bell (Barlick) 49:15
My Stats - 44:43 10/149
Sunday, 6 August 2017
LIVING THE LAKELAND DREAM (WELL, FOR A WEEK)
Hindsight had a right old go at me after Harrock Hill; ''That cold has just got worse now, look at the state of you... coughing, spluttering and snotting everywhere and for what exactly? A four second 'improvement'. Wow. Yep, well done John. What an athlete." - a harsh, sarcastic, but sound self assessment delivered from the hindsight department of my subconscious.
It was just as well then that the following week I was away on holiday with Sara and Co in the Lake District. No temptation of Cumbrian races on the calendar either during that period, other than Borrowdale which, at seventeen miles and shed loads of climbing, wasn't a realistic proposition right now. Instead, as far as running fitness was concerned, the week became focused on rehabilitation and finding a progressive balance between shaking off the remains of my cold whilst getting some decent running sessions in. On a family holiday, running is just something I try and squeeze in. I wouldn't be so selfish as to bugger off for half a day at a time, it just doesn't feel right to me. There could be a window for such self indulgence if I was enough of a morning person to leap out of bed at six bells, bag the Fairfield Horseshoe and be back in time for breakfast with the gang. I really wish I was that sort of morning person, but sadly I am not!
Despite temperamental weather, we got some good walks in during the day, a bit of climbing too, and then early evening when back at the ranch I would take my chance and slip on the trusty x-talons. Nothing of more than fifty minutes or so, but six consecutive days of running Loughrigg Fell to death and it's surrounding lumps and bumps was simply fabulous. Staying near Rydal, a quarter of a mile down the road and I was on the fell. Living the dream.
Loughrigg is of only very moderate prominence at around 1100 feet, but it's contours were more than enough for me to get some worthwhile training runs in. I never bored of it's plateau of rocky outcrops, endless faint weaving trods through the bracken or least of all the immense panoramic view at the summit which reveals Coniston, the Langdale Pikes, Helm Crag and Grasmere, the ridges of the Fairfield Horsehoe and Lake Windermere in such splendour.
Yes, I wish I could have got my ass out of bed early doors and done Fairfield or something major to break the mould, but as hindsight casts judgement once more, I enjoyed what I did, ran hard some days but without running in to a wall and finally shaking off the cold symptoms. Most importantly I enjoyed every minute. Even when sore from the previous outing and tired from the day's holidaying events, I could easily find the will to just get out there and do it. Quite simply, the location was more than sufficient inspiration.
But to the Saturday and when back home, the stark reality of Leyland's flatlands kicked in. I needed a hill, forcing me to run an out and back route on the tarmac to seek albeit moderate undulation with the almost forgotten distraction, but equally stark reality, of traffic and particularly knobheads driving too fast. The joys of returning to 'civilisation'.
Last week ought to give me a boost for forthcoming races, but what it did do was further deepen my rekindled love affair with running the fells. In my ideological little world I need to live up there on the doorstep of the Cumbrian mountains, to train on them daily. I need a million people to follow these running ramblings and then maybe I could fund it. Only another 999,999 followers required then to really live that dream!
Hindsight had a right old go at me after Harrock Hill; ''That cold has just got worse now, look at the state of you... coughing, spluttering and snotting everywhere and for what exactly? A four second 'improvement'. Wow. Yep, well done John. What an athlete." - a harsh, sarcastic, but sound self assessment delivered from the hindsight department of my subconscious.
It was just as well then that the following week I was away on holiday with Sara and Co in the Lake District. No temptation of Cumbrian races on the calendar either during that period, other than Borrowdale which, at seventeen miles and shed loads of climbing, wasn't a realistic proposition right now. Instead, as far as running fitness was concerned, the week became focused on rehabilitation and finding a progressive balance between shaking off the remains of my cold whilst getting some decent running sessions in. On a family holiday, running is just something I try and squeeze in. I wouldn't be so selfish as to bugger off for half a day at a time, it just doesn't feel right to me. There could be a window for such self indulgence if I was enough of a morning person to leap out of bed at six bells, bag the Fairfield Horseshoe and be back in time for breakfast with the gang. I really wish I was that sort of morning person, but sadly I am not!
Despite temperamental weather, we got some good walks in during the day, a bit of climbing too, and then early evening when back at the ranch I would take my chance and slip on the trusty x-talons. Nothing of more than fifty minutes or so, but six consecutive days of running Loughrigg Fell to death and it's surrounding lumps and bumps was simply fabulous. Staying near Rydal, a quarter of a mile down the road and I was on the fell. Living the dream.
Loughrigg is of only very moderate prominence at around 1100 feet, but it's contours were more than enough for me to get some worthwhile training runs in. I never bored of it's plateau of rocky outcrops, endless faint weaving trods through the bracken or least of all the immense panoramic view at the summit which reveals Coniston, the Langdale Pikes, Helm Crag and Grasmere, the ridges of the Fairfield Horsehoe and Lake Windermere in such splendour.
Yes, I wish I could have got my ass out of bed early doors and done Fairfield or something major to break the mould, but as hindsight casts judgement once more, I enjoyed what I did, ran hard some days but without running in to a wall and finally shaking off the cold symptoms. Most importantly I enjoyed every minute. Even when sore from the previous outing and tired from the day's holidaying events, I could easily find the will to just get out there and do it. Quite simply, the location was more than sufficient inspiration.
But to the Saturday and when back home, the stark reality of Leyland's flatlands kicked in. I needed a hill, forcing me to run an out and back route on the tarmac to seek albeit moderate undulation with the almost forgotten distraction, but equally stark reality, of traffic and particularly knobheads driving too fast. The joys of returning to 'civilisation'.
Last week ought to give me a boost for forthcoming races, but what it did do was further deepen my rekindled love affair with running the fells. In my ideological little world I need to live up there on the doorstep of the Cumbrian mountains, to train on them daily. I need a million people to follow these running ramblings and then maybe I could fund it. Only another 999,999 followers required then to really live that dream!
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