HARSH REALITIES
PINHAW MOOR
It may not be politically correct and quite possibly offend some individuals that this statement could implicate; the fact of the matter is though that I've started getting done over by guys who aren't quite built like racing snake pillars of running athleticism.
It might be an overall lack of brawny definition, thick-set arms and shoulders, a larger bum than me... all sorts of similar details that can make me think during a race, "Oh shit, how's he running faster than me?".
There's absolutely no malice or disrespect intended here, it's just an observation. These are still very fit lads who can run up and down hills and that makes them way fitter and stronger than probably 99% of the population in my view. But in the heat of the contest of late, this observation leaves me scratching my head wondering why this is happening and why am I going backwards so quickly?
Running is my sport of choice, my hobby, my passion and with the time and effort invested, it's difficult to accept that this probably is the moment when I have to acknowledge my own standards have crashed so hard they are beyond repair.
Adding to the post-race frustrations, my little Citroen had been boxed in by some thoughtless hoon in a red Peugeot. After shuffling back and forth maybe ten times to finally squeeze a way out, once the drive home from Earby began that Friday night was when the devastation set in after another race that I'd rank in my bottom five performances. Maybe the worst ever. To go backwards when there doesn't seem to be any more room for regression is really hard to take.
Once again, I didn't set off like a nutter and yet struggled to get in to the race. I got picked off time and time again over the gradual incline to Pinhaw's trig point. I could only hope I had a decent descent in my legs to pick some back. But no. I'm still getting overtaken. I have no reply, no change of gear. Some chaps put over a minute in to me on the way back down who shouldn't be doing. That's not to take anything away from them, it's a condemnation of my own lack of ability.
Just lately, running and racing has been like trying to fill a teapot with a huge crack in it - the more you put in to it, the more seems to drain away. Or to finish off my analogy about the bathtub and the whirlpool forming at the plughole from a couple of weeks ago... this Pinhaw race was like the burp when the very last vortex of liquid slips away.
When I got home, Sara asked me how I'd got on. I apologised for completely wasting a Friday evening that we could have spent together and won't get back. ''Don't be daft'', she says, looking at me slightly puzzled. There was only one thing for it, three pint sized cans of very cold Stella Artois duly consumed within an hour and a half before bedtime. That didn't help though, I was awake for a long time in the night thinking about running.
My shop boss Ben Fish was in a class of his own at this race and won by a healthy margin. After throwing away victory in the first race of this Pendle & Burnley Grand Prix series last Sunday, that big navigational cock-up was appeased in style at Pinhaw. With navigational confidence clearly in tatters, The Fish followed me over to the race venue from work on his Royal Enfield motorbike. As it turned out, it would be me losing my way that evening and in more ways than one.
. . .

What now? Well I wasn't awake in the night for ages without good reason. Tuesday evening plans to race one of my favourite shorties, Mearley Clough, are now well and truly off the agenda. With grave doubts of performing any better, there seems little point. Instead, I'll be finding my own little patch of Pendle Hill where I do my morning loops to see what's left and race the clock over two or three circuits. Then Saturday, it's the real deal and the Fairfield Horseshoe. Fairfield was one of my first tastes of proper fell racing and even if I run poorly, I will still take pleasure from this epic route. If it turns out to be the last race I do for a while, then the perfect swansong.

Friday 10th May 2019
PINHAW MOOR
Earby, East Lancs.   5m/700ft
1st Man - Ben Fish (Blackburn Harriers) 29:56
1st Lady - Jacqueline Collins (Barlick FR) 37:32
My Stats - 35:39   32/255