WHAT A RACE!
PODIUM 5K
There may have been one or two big names and regular faces missing but this was surely the highest quality 5K in the short history of the Podium races, if not to rival recent roadraces elsewhere in the country. Won in a rapid time of 14:27 by Liverpool's John Ashcroft, they came in thick and fast behind him as the top fifteen all finished inside fifteen minutes. A further twenty-seven crossed the line inside sixteen minutes, twenty-two inside seventeen minutes and beyond those, eleven 'stragglers' of which a respectable 17:52 brought up the very rear of seventy-six runners. All that quality, yet still a relatively low key affair upon a dimly lit cycle track down a pitch-black lane in a little known East Lancashire outpost. It was an honour to take part.
In the national interest, former British track athlete Colin McCourt travelled from Glasgow to see out a bet that he could come back and run a sub-16 minute 5K this year after totally losing shape since retiring from the sport in 2012. Sure enough, after shifting the weight, the pedigree of a pair of fast legs returned. He smashed it with a 15:38 to win him £100 apiece from seventeen guys to whom he would forfeit having their names tattooed upon him if he didn't succeed. Of more local interest, it was a night of personal bests amongst which progressive Blackburn Harrier Tim Raynes dipped under fifteen minutes for the first time in a superb 14:51. Fellow Blackburner Ben Costello continued his rapid rise through the time barriers in recent months with a brilliant 16:05, made all the more miraculous after doubling this up with his best cross country race to date only four hours earlier when third in the Red Rose fixture at Bolton. From my former club then, to my new club and Nick 'blow a gasket' Gaskell. What can be said about the Gaskell? Like a maturing whisky in a barrel of ancient oak. Nick has been around the running block a long time now and at the age of 47 he thumped home a sensational all time 5K best of 16:21. He certainly inspires the rest of us older boys to believe.
Conditions on this Saturday evening were perfect - a bit chilly but not raw, very little breeze whatsoever and the surface was dry. Just how many personal best's were notched that night would be interesting to know. The preceding 'B' race also had it's fair share too.
No PB for myself, but the fastest I have run in my forties and for seven or eight years I think! Driving over the darkness of Pendle Hill after work to the race, I was thinking I ought to achieve a course best at the very least for my fourth attempt on the Barrowford circuit. Interval sessions have thinned a little lately, but training has been solid and last week's outing at Dunnerdale was a useful reminder of race pain. Mileage reduction in recent times has kept my legs fresh. The fear factor I have experienced in previous Podium races - certainly the last two - had been replaced by a quiet confidence. The grim target of mere damage limitation had been replaced by an excited air of expectation, although I didn't quite know exactly what to expect.
Even at the back end of a ferociously paced race like this it is difficult not to go out a little bit too quick. I didn't have my fancy watch on to delve in to the retrospective of split times, but I'm fairly sure I ran the first kilometre above my station. Fear of thinking I may be in last place was the driving force. But I settled down to a rhythm the next two laps and found myself in the thick of the ladies race at one point. I recognised Rebecca Robinson and Hannah England, these two surged in to lap three and there was no way I could risk trying to go with those two fasties. Another lass gave me a good elbowing on the inside before a bend, then cut in front and I couldn't help but nearly trip her - the Mary Decker Slaney and Zola Budd incident sprang to mind. Fortunately she stayed upright, but then also drifted further ahead as the race went on. I was still happy with things going in to lap four though and whilst the Lancaster & Morecambe girl who I had been in close proximity with all the way had now also gained a bit of yardage, I decided just to carry on trying to maintain pace and not get too excited as I could feel my stride just starting to tighten a little. The bell for the final kilometre or so was the cue to really start hurting myself properly though. I hung on to the L&M girl Scarlet Dale's shadow and finally managed to get past her with about 200 metres to go. Catching up on the next runner ahead, I can't help thinking now that if I'd started kicking a little earlier I might have snatched another place back, but at the time I was pretty pleased indeed to see 17:05 on the clock as I crossed the line. A sub-17 run is definitely still on here if I can go in to it with more recent speed sessions banked. As Nick Gaskell proves, age need not be a barrier.
Saturday 18th November 2017
PODIUM 5K 'A' Race Steven Burke Cycle & Sports Hub, Barrowford. Lancs.
1st Man - John Ashcroft (Liverpool Harriers) 14:27
1st Lady - Rebecca Robinson (Kendal AC) 16:39
My Stats - 17:05 67/76
Wednesday, 22 November 2017
Friday, 17 November 2017
OFF THE BOIL BUT STILL SIMMERING
DUNNERDALE
That title just about sums up both current running performance and my temper regarding the fell relays fiasco. The ranting must subside for the sake of my own sanity though. I got myself a bit too excited, spitting my vitriol on social media threads. All these frustrations about crooked behaviour in the world of athletics has got to stop for now. It's not a healthy burden to carry around and besides, I am helpless to do anything about it. I wish I was the geezer to sort it out, be sent on a mission to flush out the dirt and decay within the corridors of power, but sadly I'm not. Instead I remain just another lazy critic that's all gob and no action. But that doesn't mean I'm wrong, or that I'm not entitled to my opinion, or should supress it when I feel so let down and disgusted about a matter that of sheer sporting injustice. Oops, I'm off again!
So to the Dunnerdale fell race and as perversely promised to myself in a Fishwickesque literary challenge, the inclusion of the eight song titles on New Order's Power, Corruption and Lies album.
It was birthday weekend and so far as an age of consent is concerned, I've decided turning 44 permits me to do more and more races that I've not done before. This one dragged me out to the lesser known fells of the South Lakes and the village of Broughton Mills. What the fells lack in stature around here, they make up for in form and location. A mini-Langdales, the views were spectacular but there was no time to savour them once up there and in to action.
Pre-race warm ups are not always a true gauge of how it's going to pan out in the race and sure enough I felt quite good knocking out a few strides here, although Connie the dog wouldn't leave me alone. The poor girl was a bit confused as to why I had my running kit on and yet she wasn't coming with me. Ready for the midday start, we all stand and pay our very rightful respects on Armistice Day with a minute's silence. Blessed are we and indebted forever with the freedom to enjoy our fell running. It puts all the crappy politics in to perspective. Just over two hundred of us were poised on a narrow lane outside the little village hall and conveniently I retrospectively ponder that a field of say, 586, would be simply too many to set off in one wave. The first half mile or so is a jostle along these tight lanes before a sharp rise and eventually we are up on to the fell. I'd got myself nicely tucked in to the top twenty cluster but it became clear fairly early on to this first climb up The Knott that I'd been missing this sort of thing in training lately. I was fading back through the field and never felt like I got myself turning over efficiently throughout the rest of the race. The power to climb forcefully wasn't there, nor that little bit of hardness and madness to slap the descents in with more vigour - again a lack of recent practice upon gradient and terrain. This was a tough course of ups and downs and was catching me out after that early feeling of promise. Nevertheless I was enjoying it, giving it what I had and sucking it all in for when I hopefully have a crack at this one again some day. It's a belter of a five miler. Scaling a couple more mini peaks of cragginess in Raven Crag and Stickle Pike, alas there is a stretch of good running before the final moderate pull up the back of Great Stickle. I'd gained a place or two and lost a place or two in this latter half of the race but again I just couldn't open up on that final descent and was forced to consolidate my place which was just inside the top thirty. Neither agony nor ecstacy in the end, but I felt at least a minute, maybe more, behind where I thought I could be with cylinders firing. My form at the moment has gone off the boil but I don't think it's all that far away. I've just lost a racing edge and not been out on the fells enough lately with one thing and another. Not the best start in my new Ribble Valley vest, but as I said to somebody in the aftermath, every club has to have a slowest runner!
Worth much more of a mention than my own average ploddings would be Victoria Wilkinson of Bingley. Not only one of the best fell runners around overall, but by far and away the best lass, perhaps even in the history of fell running. The now five year reigning English champion smashed almost two minutes off a ladies course record at Dunnerdale that has stood for twenty-four years. Awesome. She placed sixth here in a top ten laced with quality. Outright race winner Sam Tosh is also an English champion, newly crowned, so it was high end to say the least at the front.
Staying overnight forty minutes away at Grange-Over-Sands, Sara had us stop off near Newby Bridge on the way for my 'cool down' walk up Gummer's How which was equally glorious. I'd earned my birthday beer after that.
Finally, should a New Order fan now be scouring this text, I can imagine your silent face bemused at how the hell I can include the song title Ultraviolence, but there you have it, I just did.
Saturday 11th November
DUNNERDALE 5m / 1800ft Broughton Mills, Cumbria
1st Man - Sam Tosh (Rossendale) 39:17
1st Lady - Victoria Wilkinson (Bingley) 41:21 (course record)
My Stats - 47:13 / 29/214
DUNNERDALE
That title just about sums up both current running performance and my temper regarding the fell relays fiasco. The ranting must subside for the sake of my own sanity though. I got myself a bit too excited, spitting my vitriol on social media threads. All these frustrations about crooked behaviour in the world of athletics has got to stop for now. It's not a healthy burden to carry around and besides, I am helpless to do anything about it. I wish I was the geezer to sort it out, be sent on a mission to flush out the dirt and decay within the corridors of power, but sadly I'm not. Instead I remain just another lazy critic that's all gob and no action. But that doesn't mean I'm wrong, or that I'm not entitled to my opinion, or should supress it when I feel so let down and disgusted about a matter that of sheer sporting injustice. Oops, I'm off again!
So to the Dunnerdale fell race and as perversely promised to myself in a Fishwickesque literary challenge, the inclusion of the eight song titles on New Order's Power, Corruption and Lies album.
It was birthday weekend and so far as an age of consent is concerned, I've decided turning 44 permits me to do more and more races that I've not done before. This one dragged me out to the lesser known fells of the South Lakes and the village of Broughton Mills. What the fells lack in stature around here, they make up for in form and location. A mini-Langdales, the views were spectacular but there was no time to savour them once up there and in to action.
Pre-race warm ups are not always a true gauge of how it's going to pan out in the race and sure enough I felt quite good knocking out a few strides here, although Connie the dog wouldn't leave me alone. The poor girl was a bit confused as to why I had my running kit on and yet she wasn't coming with me. Ready for the midday start, we all stand and pay our very rightful respects on Armistice Day with a minute's silence. Blessed are we and indebted forever with the freedom to enjoy our fell running. It puts all the crappy politics in to perspective. Just over two hundred of us were poised on a narrow lane outside the little village hall and conveniently I retrospectively ponder that a field of say, 586, would be simply too many to set off in one wave. The first half mile or so is a jostle along these tight lanes before a sharp rise and eventually we are up on to the fell. I'd got myself nicely tucked in to the top twenty cluster but it became clear fairly early on to this first climb up The Knott that I'd been missing this sort of thing in training lately. I was fading back through the field and never felt like I got myself turning over efficiently throughout the rest of the race. The power to climb forcefully wasn't there, nor that little bit of hardness and madness to slap the descents in with more vigour - again a lack of recent practice upon gradient and terrain. This was a tough course of ups and downs and was catching me out after that early feeling of promise. Nevertheless I was enjoying it, giving it what I had and sucking it all in for when I hopefully have a crack at this one again some day. It's a belter of a five miler. Scaling a couple more mini peaks of cragginess in Raven Crag and Stickle Pike, alas there is a stretch of good running before the final moderate pull up the back of Great Stickle. I'd gained a place or two and lost a place or two in this latter half of the race but again I just couldn't open up on that final descent and was forced to consolidate my place which was just inside the top thirty. Neither agony nor ecstacy in the end, but I felt at least a minute, maybe more, behind where I thought I could be with cylinders firing. My form at the moment has gone off the boil but I don't think it's all that far away. I've just lost a racing edge and not been out on the fells enough lately with one thing and another. Not the best start in my new Ribble Valley vest, but as I said to somebody in the aftermath, every club has to have a slowest runner!
Worth much more of a mention than my own average ploddings would be Victoria Wilkinson of Bingley. Not only one of the best fell runners around overall, but by far and away the best lass, perhaps even in the history of fell running. The now five year reigning English champion smashed almost two minutes off a ladies course record at Dunnerdale that has stood for twenty-four years. Awesome. She placed sixth here in a top ten laced with quality. Outright race winner Sam Tosh is also an English champion, newly crowned, so it was high end to say the least at the front.
Staying overnight forty minutes away at Grange-Over-Sands, Sara had us stop off near Newby Bridge on the way for my 'cool down' walk up Gummer's How which was equally glorious. I'd earned my birthday beer after that.
Finally, should a New Order fan now be scouring this text, I can imagine your silent face bemused at how the hell I can include the song title Ultraviolence, but there you have it, I just did.
Saturday 11th November
DUNNERDALE 5m / 1800ft Broughton Mills, Cumbria
1st Man - Sam Tosh (Rossendale) 39:17
1st Lady - Victoria Wilkinson (Bingley) 41:21 (course record)
My Stats - 47:13 / 29/214
Monday, 13 November 2017
POWER, CORRUPTION AND LIES
The title of one of my favourite New Order albums. Quite a digression there as this next submission of ramblings ought to be all about the little cracker of a fell race that is Dunnerdale.
I will get around to that at a later date and also in honour of a fell race report I read by Darren Fishwick recently, who decided to subtly and not so subtly incorporate as many names of punk bands as he could, I will try and blend in the eight song titles from that 1983 New Order classic in my pending Dunnerdale report. I read much of other runner's blogs and musings, but Dazza's self-styled gems of literature are always worth full attention.
But for now, why the the theme of Power, Corruption and Lies anyway? What in the name of sanity does this rambling have to do with anything in particular? Well there was much bigger beef that came to light as far as the sport I love is concerned. I'm talking about clear evidence of running authorities practicing unfairness and yes, let's go out there with the 'c' word... corruption. Just when we all thought Jonny Mellor's inexplicable emission from the Commonwealth Games marathon team was the epitomy of all things nonsense from the powers that be, fell running also took a hit as Ribble Valley's champion ladies from the British Fell Relays at Llanberis last month were latterly disqualified by a technical discrepancy that was actually the fault of authority and not the club. You couldn't make it up. In short, a runner's incorrect registration number was administered - not by herself or club - but by the custodians of righteousness at England Athletics. It's sad enough that some anonymous, deeply twisted poor loser dug deep enough to even discover this. That the champion ladies were actually dethroned as a result rather than somebody being big enough at UKA to accept fault is a complete travesty of sporting justice. Ok, so it's close to home as this is the club I have just joined, but that doesn't mean a jot of difference here to the outrage of what is essentially a decision which falls foul of anything associated with fairness and common sense.
The Fell Runners Association had already sold their soul to UK Athletics when really all they needed was a shoulder to lean on for things like liability and insurance. What's happened is, whether or not the FRA fought Ribble Valley's corner hard enough, they have had to submit the rights to govern their own competition. English Athletics had also concluded the club had done nothing wrong, but why couldn't they push harder when there has clearly been a wrong doing? In my opinion, this is a massive failure by all three of these authorities and a thorough disgrace, belittling the competition, competitors and the sport itself. An amateur sport all said. Even after calming down, trying to be rational and see the other side, I can only deduce a bottom line upon which corruption and lies are written upon it.
The FRA have to look at themselves and ask what role they play in actually managing fell running anymore. There are doubtless many people within the organisation that innocently work hard on a voluntary basis. The Fellrunner magazine is an institution, the website is great with results and forums and links galore. But what lies beneath? Boasting record FRA membership recently doesn't mean a lot when ultimately the organisation has forfeited powers to shape the destiny of the sport it was originally founded to protect and behold.
A couple of years ago I withdrew my membership of the Fell Runners Association because I thought they had got too close to UK Athletics in that they were rolling over and allowing the autocratic bigwigs from UKA to tickle their bellies in to submission before being kept close on a short lead. I can't see myself rejoining now! Has it made a difference to my life? I miss the magazine and more so the fixtures calendar, but other than that, no. As ever, my gratitude to enjoyment of racing on the fells falls firmly at the knees of the real heroes of our sport which are the race organisers.
My sympathy goes to the team of six lasses and their coach Chris Barnes. All that hard work, time and effort, unravelled in a glitch of paperwork and a blind eye to accountability. If I've got upset, they must be seething. If there is a conspiracy out there to pummel Ribble Valley's emergence, I think I am right in stating that this disgraceful episode will only serve to make them stronger.
The title of one of my favourite New Order albums. Quite a digression there as this next submission of ramblings ought to be all about the little cracker of a fell race that is Dunnerdale.
I will get around to that at a later date and also in honour of a fell race report I read by Darren Fishwick recently, who decided to subtly and not so subtly incorporate as many names of punk bands as he could, I will try and blend in the eight song titles from that 1983 New Order classic in my pending Dunnerdale report. I read much of other runner's blogs and musings, but Dazza's self-styled gems of literature are always worth full attention.
But for now, why the the theme of Power, Corruption and Lies anyway? What in the name of sanity does this rambling have to do with anything in particular? Well there was much bigger beef that came to light as far as the sport I love is concerned. I'm talking about clear evidence of running authorities practicing unfairness and yes, let's go out there with the 'c' word... corruption. Just when we all thought Jonny Mellor's inexplicable emission from the Commonwealth Games marathon team was the epitomy of all things nonsense from the powers that be, fell running also took a hit as Ribble Valley's champion ladies from the British Fell Relays at Llanberis last month were latterly disqualified by a technical discrepancy that was actually the fault of authority and not the club. You couldn't make it up. In short, a runner's incorrect registration number was administered - not by herself or club - but by the custodians of righteousness at England Athletics. It's sad enough that some anonymous, deeply twisted poor loser dug deep enough to even discover this. That the champion ladies were actually dethroned as a result rather than somebody being big enough at UKA to accept fault is a complete travesty of sporting justice. Ok, so it's close to home as this is the club I have just joined, but that doesn't mean a jot of difference here to the outrage of what is essentially a decision which falls foul of anything associated with fairness and common sense.
The Fell Runners Association had already sold their soul to UK Athletics when really all they needed was a shoulder to lean on for things like liability and insurance. What's happened is, whether or not the FRA fought Ribble Valley's corner hard enough, they have had to submit the rights to govern their own competition. English Athletics had also concluded the club had done nothing wrong, but why couldn't they push harder when there has clearly been a wrong doing? In my opinion, this is a massive failure by all three of these authorities and a thorough disgrace, belittling the competition, competitors and the sport itself. An amateur sport all said. Even after calming down, trying to be rational and see the other side, I can only deduce a bottom line upon which corruption and lies are written upon it.
The FRA have to look at themselves and ask what role they play in actually managing fell running anymore. There are doubtless many people within the organisation that innocently work hard on a voluntary basis. The Fellrunner magazine is an institution, the website is great with results and forums and links galore. But what lies beneath? Boasting record FRA membership recently doesn't mean a lot when ultimately the organisation has forfeited powers to shape the destiny of the sport it was originally founded to protect and behold.
A couple of years ago I withdrew my membership of the Fell Runners Association because I thought they had got too close to UK Athletics in that they were rolling over and allowing the autocratic bigwigs from UKA to tickle their bellies in to submission before being kept close on a short lead. I can't see myself rejoining now! Has it made a difference to my life? I miss the magazine and more so the fixtures calendar, but other than that, no. As ever, my gratitude to enjoyment of racing on the fells falls firmly at the knees of the real heroes of our sport which are the race organisers.
My sympathy goes to the team of six lasses and their coach Chris Barnes. All that hard work, time and effort, unravelled in a glitch of paperwork and a blind eye to accountability. If I've got upset, they must be seething. If there is a conspiracy out there to pummel Ribble Valley's emergence, I think I am right in stating that this disgraceful episode will only serve to make them stronger.
Friday, 10 November 2017
TOUGH CALL AS TRANSFER TAKES A TWIST
Many a polite sentiment expressed in a notice of resignation would not be worth the paper it is written on. Or, given a more contemporary twist, nor the micro-millibytes of whatever it is that powers the teleportation of an email. But every single trite soundbite and cliche imaginable in this circumstance would actually express my genuine sadness in leaving Blackburn Harriers & AC after nine years in the blue and white vest.
The initial intention for a move more geared towards my fell running interests was to join Bowland Fell Runners - an apolitical bunch of laid back sorts that would suit me just fine. That would leave me in a position where I could stay on at Blackburn as second claim for road and cross country and thus not conflict activities with Bowland who are affiliated for fell running only. This way I could be selfish and get in to the fray for fell team relay races and yet not entirely shun my existing club for whom I was nevertheless proud to be a member of. Obviously, I was never going to just bullishly send an application form to Bowland without some preparatory contact made to discuss my imminent membership, but strangely a reply to my message from their club secretary never came. There's no other source of connection to the club in the public domain, even such as a telephone number. I waited patiently, then wondered if perhaps the email had gone to spam and I should send it again? But then a twist in proceedings took place. My intentions and twitchy feet had previously cropped up in conversation with Ribble Valley Harriers re-founder Chris Barnes. A week or so later Chris was in the running shop and subtle seeds had been planted. Then he popped in again a little later that day with Mars bar cake from the Megabites shop across the road. Bribery?
Next news, the day after I'm in the shop again on a busy Saturday afternoon and had three separate visits from three fairly familiar faces that also greeted me with cake, a hand shake and nothing said. Definitely bribery.
Well it certainly got a laugh out of me, but also prompted the serious consideration that an opportunity to join Ribble Valley was now on the table. A newly reformed club and brilliantly successful so far, at least as far their majority contingent of high end lasses is concerned - British Fell Relay champions, sixth and twelfth respectively at Northern and National road relays. Yet also the black sheep in the eyes of some. A move to Ribble Valley would also have a controversy about it and given their affiliation in all running codes it would have to be an all or nothing switch which is not what I had planned at all.
I thought it through and against my procrastinating genetics, didn't overly dwell about it and decided to go for an adventure and join Ribble Valley Harriers. Ringing Blackburn Harriers' secretary George Davies with my decision was really difficult. The heart lay very heavy before, during and after that call. I have much respect for George on many different levels, as indeed I have for a good few more of the cogs inside the Blackburn Harriers machine. I knew he'd be disappointed about the situation, but more my concern was that he would be disappointed in me. One of many admirable traits George possesses is that he is straight and calls a spade a spade. If he thought I was an arsehole he would tell me. I'd expect nothing less from some of the guys at the club that I have got to know over the years once they catch wind of my transfer. Then again, it's a big move for me but barely a ripple in the pond at Blackburn Harriers. As one of the club's junior coaches Andrew Knowles put it to me today, "it's not like Ronaldo leaving Real Madrid". Exactly!
I certainly got the impression that George was not convinced my fell running team needs would necessarily come to fruition at a club like Ribble Valley, and it is a risk given the current small number of members, particularly blokes. But it's a relatively new venture and I think an exciting one with it's own particular ethos developing. George also touched on the fact that I might have given up on driving the fell running scene at Blackburn too easily. There is much truth in that too, but I did give it a go. Unfortunately my resolve as a team captain was never a match for my initial enthusiasm.
Ribble Valley becomes my third club in nearly twelve years of running. I've never quite been that one-club man and indeed one of the reasons I left Chorley for Blackburn in the first place was just to broaden my experiences and allow the running journey just to take it's course. That's certainly the case here where quite literally a lost email and a few pieces of cake conspired to influence a really tough decision.
So Tuesday night training now also takes a twist. Witton Park track is back off the agenda. I'll miss it because I enjoy it and there's a fantastic set up over there. But this was also one of the considerations to take in to account before completely severing official ties with Blackburn. Since switching from the off-road reps of the Summer months, I crossed over to the athletics track quite efficiently and ran some good sessions. But, if I'm truly honest with myself, Witton reps take more of a toll these days and particularly on the hamstrings, which is not conducive to fell running or indeed the rest of my week's running schedule. I was told Ribble Valley sessions are an ''accquired taste'' and certainly my first experience was a bit different with head torches aglow for ten reps up Clitheroe Castle. A real quad buster, but I would have to say most certainly up my street. With Witton now out of the picture it's the quirky sessions that the Barnes has to offer and, cut up badly or not, back to my circuit of turf I call 'Buttercup Meadow' to do some flatter interval stuff during the Winter.
Tempo in training has been generally back on the agenda in the last fortnight, including some truly cracking runs during a four night stay in Devon. We stayed there last year, a few miles outside the village of Colyton around the same time when I was so full of manflu and a rough chest that I couldn't even jog ten yards. It was a little frustrating given the perfect formula of quiet, tight, winding and undulating roads on offer where we stayed. But this year I did get to discover them and don't recall enjoying a couple of runs on a road surface in recent times quite as much as I did last week. Between those cheeky road four milers, over the county border to Charmouth on the Jurassic Dorset coast I sneaked off for a pre-lunch cliff top rep session from beach to the very tip of Stonebarrow Cliff and down, three times over. Four miles and 1400 feet of ascent in 36 minutes. Thank you very much! I day dreamed about doing that session last year. This year the day dream became a reality and a fantastic adrenaline rush.
This weekend Dunnerdale will be only my second race of the Autumn. The following Saturday, it's a rare tarmac bash with the Podium showdown and an opportunity to get a decent recent 5K time under my belt. Big names anticipated at this one. Hardly like I'll be in competition with them for more than the first five yards, but kudos to join them on the starting line nevertheless.
Many a polite sentiment expressed in a notice of resignation would not be worth the paper it is written on. Or, given a more contemporary twist, nor the micro-millibytes of whatever it is that powers the teleportation of an email. But every single trite soundbite and cliche imaginable in this circumstance would actually express my genuine sadness in leaving Blackburn Harriers & AC after nine years in the blue and white vest.
The initial intention for a move more geared towards my fell running interests was to join Bowland Fell Runners - an apolitical bunch of laid back sorts that would suit me just fine. That would leave me in a position where I could stay on at Blackburn as second claim for road and cross country and thus not conflict activities with Bowland who are affiliated for fell running only. This way I could be selfish and get in to the fray for fell team relay races and yet not entirely shun my existing club for whom I was nevertheless proud to be a member of. Obviously, I was never going to just bullishly send an application form to Bowland without some preparatory contact made to discuss my imminent membership, but strangely a reply to my message from their club secretary never came. There's no other source of connection to the club in the public domain, even such as a telephone number. I waited patiently, then wondered if perhaps the email had gone to spam and I should send it again? But then a twist in proceedings took place. My intentions and twitchy feet had previously cropped up in conversation with Ribble Valley Harriers re-founder Chris Barnes. A week or so later Chris was in the running shop and subtle seeds had been planted. Then he popped in again a little later that day with Mars bar cake from the Megabites shop across the road. Bribery?
Next news, the day after I'm in the shop again on a busy Saturday afternoon and had three separate visits from three fairly familiar faces that also greeted me with cake, a hand shake and nothing said. Definitely bribery.
Well it certainly got a laugh out of me, but also prompted the serious consideration that an opportunity to join Ribble Valley was now on the table. A newly reformed club and brilliantly successful so far, at least as far their majority contingent of high end lasses is concerned - British Fell Relay champions, sixth and twelfth respectively at Northern and National road relays. Yet also the black sheep in the eyes of some. A move to Ribble Valley would also have a controversy about it and given their affiliation in all running codes it would have to be an all or nothing switch which is not what I had planned at all.
I thought it through and against my procrastinating genetics, didn't overly dwell about it and decided to go for an adventure and join Ribble Valley Harriers. Ringing Blackburn Harriers' secretary George Davies with my decision was really difficult. The heart lay very heavy before, during and after that call. I have much respect for George on many different levels, as indeed I have for a good few more of the cogs inside the Blackburn Harriers machine. I knew he'd be disappointed about the situation, but more my concern was that he would be disappointed in me. One of many admirable traits George possesses is that he is straight and calls a spade a spade. If he thought I was an arsehole he would tell me. I'd expect nothing less from some of the guys at the club that I have got to know over the years once they catch wind of my transfer. Then again, it's a big move for me but barely a ripple in the pond at Blackburn Harriers. As one of the club's junior coaches Andrew Knowles put it to me today, "it's not like Ronaldo leaving Real Madrid". Exactly!
I certainly got the impression that George was not convinced my fell running team needs would necessarily come to fruition at a club like Ribble Valley, and it is a risk given the current small number of members, particularly blokes. But it's a relatively new venture and I think an exciting one with it's own particular ethos developing. George also touched on the fact that I might have given up on driving the fell running scene at Blackburn too easily. There is much truth in that too, but I did give it a go. Unfortunately my resolve as a team captain was never a match for my initial enthusiasm.
Ribble Valley becomes my third club in nearly twelve years of running. I've never quite been that one-club man and indeed one of the reasons I left Chorley for Blackburn in the first place was just to broaden my experiences and allow the running journey just to take it's course. That's certainly the case here where quite literally a lost email and a few pieces of cake conspired to influence a really tough decision.
So Tuesday night training now also takes a twist. Witton Park track is back off the agenda. I'll miss it because I enjoy it and there's a fantastic set up over there. But this was also one of the considerations to take in to account before completely severing official ties with Blackburn. Since switching from the off-road reps of the Summer months, I crossed over to the athletics track quite efficiently and ran some good sessions. But, if I'm truly honest with myself, Witton reps take more of a toll these days and particularly on the hamstrings, which is not conducive to fell running or indeed the rest of my week's running schedule. I was told Ribble Valley sessions are an ''accquired taste'' and certainly my first experience was a bit different with head torches aglow for ten reps up Clitheroe Castle. A real quad buster, but I would have to say most certainly up my street. With Witton now out of the picture it's the quirky sessions that the Barnes has to offer and, cut up badly or not, back to my circuit of turf I call 'Buttercup Meadow' to do some flatter interval stuff during the Winter.
Tempo in training has been generally back on the agenda in the last fortnight, including some truly cracking runs during a four night stay in Devon. We stayed there last year, a few miles outside the village of Colyton around the same time when I was so full of manflu and a rough chest that I couldn't even jog ten yards. It was a little frustrating given the perfect formula of quiet, tight, winding and undulating roads on offer where we stayed. But this year I did get to discover them and don't recall enjoying a couple of runs on a road surface in recent times quite as much as I did last week. Between those cheeky road four milers, over the county border to Charmouth on the Jurassic Dorset coast I sneaked off for a pre-lunch cliff top rep session from beach to the very tip of Stonebarrow Cliff and down, three times over. Four miles and 1400 feet of ascent in 36 minutes. Thank you very much! I day dreamed about doing that session last year. This year the day dream became a reality and a fantastic adrenaline rush.
This weekend Dunnerdale will be only my second race of the Autumn. The following Saturday, it's a rare tarmac bash with the Podium showdown and an opportunity to get a decent recent 5K time under my belt. Big names anticipated at this one. Hardly like I'll be in competition with them for more than the first five yards, but kudos to join them on the starting line nevertheless.
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