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