THE LONG AND SHORT OF IT
Training goes on, but there's been nowt to report on the racing front other than actual intention to do some in the weeks to come. More than anything, the geography and logistics of races which interested me lately have scuppered realistic hopes of pinning a number on. In the last week an underlying cold or virus of some description hasn't exactly knocked me out of action as such, but made it clear that running hard is not a good idea just at the moment. So, tentatively I continue to just cruise out some daily mileage.
One race forthcoming that is most definitely on my agenda is Dunnerdale. I remember the veteran Chorley Harriers fell runner Pete Starkey recommending this one to me probably ten years ago and so it's one of those to-do's that I might finally tick off. It's a bit of a trek, deep in to the South Western fells of Cumbria, but seeing as it's my birthday weekend a great excuse for a stopover perhaps? I planted the seed with Sara and she's up for it! (Based on the promise that I don't send her driving over Wrynose and Hardknott Pass again which I deceptively played down as just a scenic route a couple of weeks ago) After the unfortunate cancellation of Wasdale Show, hopefully this next mini-break over that way will at least incorporate the fell race and thus satisfy my more purely selfish needs.
I don't understand fishing - a diverse and sudden subject twist there, but I'm no fan of sticking a hook in a creature's mouth that has a similar nervous system to ourselves, even if the hook is removed and the fish chucked back in the water. But I don't get it as a pass time either. Peace and quiet, yes, but sat there just waiting for something to happen? I'm sceptical. I distinctly remember a moment at work some twenty years ago now when I asked my then Head Chef, Barry Williams, ''What do you think about when you are fishing Chef?''. The answer, with a very serious look and assuring nods of the head was, ''Fish. I think about fish.'' Of course he did, what a stupid question.
When I'm out running, what do I think about mostly? Well, running. Other stuff as well, but mainly running. Perhaps I am of a similar weird psyche to anglers I concede, minus the thrills at the expense of pain and discomfort to a living creature I hasten to add.
During this current period of damage-limitation-but-legs-ticking-over-ness until feeling fully well again, I have indeed thought a hell of a lot about running and made some very official decisions. Mainly that it really is time to forget the long stuff and stick to the medium and shorter distances. It's never been my bag and my body just doesn't want to play, certainly not any more. Three Peaks next year? No. A proper ''no'', not a ''no'' but actually ''yes'' nearer the time. It's an absolute ''NO''. That way, I carry on doing what seems to be working and I might just hit the ground running for next year's Spring and Summer season. Even the Tour of Pendle next month - it's a ''no''. The clash with Podium 5K on the same day had me deliberating, but even though the latter is on the dreaded tarmac, based on current training volume and a decent clip at speed sessions, I have to pick the one that I can go in to with confidence and despite the tarmac, Podium it is. The long and short of it is that shorter will be better than longer and road running avoided as much as possible. The idea of even just a 10K race on the road sounds horrible and too far these days, but anything up to fourteen miles on the fells I will gladly take and feel I can do myself justice in. Aside from maybe tackling a Lakeland Classic race next Summer such as Borrowdale which I've always wanted to do but found convenient excuses not to, I think it's a wise move in knocking long distance on the head for the foreseeable. I'm sure the temptation will come back to haunt me at some point, but for now it's well and truly off the agenda.
Also on the forefront of my running mind for a while has been the ever decreasing fell running fraternity at my club over recent years. It's never bothered me to be the only Blackburn Harrier at many a fell race, in fact I've quite enjoyed the notoriety sometimes. But it's the lack of team event participation and particularly at the national fell relays over the past couple of years that has been a dormant disappointment ready to spark some sort of reaction. I've raised it with the guys concerned but it boils down to numbers and the lack of them that are genuinely interested in the fells to form teams with any sort of strength in depth required to cover injuries and unavailability. It is what it is. Harriers remain a force to be reckoned with on the road, cross country, track and field. But, despite Blackburn's distinguished history being inclusive of some great fell runners, a fell running club it never was and also over recent years the amount of individuals interested or actively engaged in this discipline has diminished. In 2015 I had a go at managing teams myself for a year and started out with drive and ambition, but it was tough to keep on top of and in fairness to my own misgivings, I didn't have the management tools or the patience for the job.
Was it not for breaking in to a bit of decent form at the end of Summer, I wouldn't be getting itchy feet. But realising that the transition to Crown Green bowling would have to wait whilst the realistic belief of plenty more years of fell racing returned, this got me thinking that I don't want to waste a minute. I love the fell relays and there are other distinguished team competitions I've yet to get under my belt. I don't want to miss many more whilst I'm still fit and able.
The feeling amongst others at the club with off-road intentions on this matter is generally as consolidating as mine. All in all, this leaves me seeking a new club or a second club, at least as far as fell running is concerned. It's truly regretful in many ways, but instinctively it's just something I have to do.
Wednesday, 25 October 2017
Friday, 13 October 2017
LOST THE EDGE BUT NOT THE LOVE
WITHINS SKYLINE
October. Golden leaves, mulching earth, crisp air, super moons at dawn and of course Woodentops. For fear of waxing lyrical again to worryingly obsessive levels about the fell racing institution that is Dave and Eileen Woodhead, all I will add is that I ended up telling Dave that I love them both... again.
In the bustling rooms of Haworth West End cricket club's modest pavilion where race registration takes place, I am immediately 'outed' by Wayne Macintosh who, along with his Trawden AC travelling partner, caught me having a wee behind a stone wall somewhere along the road near the county borders. I was desperate. It was an emergency stop, I was done trying to find the perfect spot.
Thankfully it was then back to anonymity, merging in to the masses at the base of the disused quarry where the Woodhead barks the orders to get things started like only he does. Six weeks since my last taste of competition, I was nonetheless off to a decent start last Sunday at Withins, feeling pretty comfortable until we hit the bogs. Even by the usual standards of bogsville upon the Bronte Moors, this was as boggy as I have known it to be. I was all over the place. I cast my mind back a few weeks to a training run when I boasted to be bounding over bog like never before. Well, it wasn't bog like this was bog. This was proper bog. The boggy climb to the summit of Oxenholme Stoop seemed to be going great at first but then began to take it's toll and it was hard graft from there trudging across the moor towards Withins ruins. Then the stone slabs along that section were lethally slippy in a relatively new pair of x-talons, but after that I got myself back in to gear. I lost out to a young Dark Peak lad with a mile and a half to go and couldn't quite get back at him, but with a couple of hundred yards left I did at least manage to pass the Barlick vest that I had set my long term sights on. I was rightfully relatively pleased with fourteenth place and only half a minute behind my carrot from the Summer races that is Peter Coates. Although I got the better of Peter last time we met at the Golf Ball, in fairness he had been out for a couple of weeks with that all too familiar setback for fellrunners - a trampolining injury. But this is as near as I have got to him all year without excuses on the table. Not a bad result at all. I felt I didn't quite have the racing edge to dig that little bit deeper that I had ending August, but I'm not sure if that would have made much difference on the day.
This week, and more specifically tomorrow, I was really looking forward to the fell race at Wasdale Show. However, recent wet weather has flooded the show field and so the whole shebang has had to be cancelled which I'm sure is a massive disappointment to the many and certainly myself included. With accommodation already booked, Sara, Connie the dog and I will still be heading over that way for some sort of adventure, so all is not lost.
Sunday 8th October 2017
WITHINS SKYLINE 7m/1000ft Penistone Hill, Haworth. West Yorkshire
1st Man - Harry Holmes (Pudsey & Bramley) 42:40
1st Lady - Emma Clayton (Leeds City) 49:01
My Stats - 48:20 14/357
WITHINS SKYLINE
October. Golden leaves, mulching earth, crisp air, super moons at dawn and of course Woodentops. For fear of waxing lyrical again to worryingly obsessive levels about the fell racing institution that is Dave and Eileen Woodhead, all I will add is that I ended up telling Dave that I love them both... again.
In the bustling rooms of Haworth West End cricket club's modest pavilion where race registration takes place, I am immediately 'outed' by Wayne Macintosh who, along with his Trawden AC travelling partner, caught me having a wee behind a stone wall somewhere along the road near the county borders. I was desperate. It was an emergency stop, I was done trying to find the perfect spot.
Thankfully it was then back to anonymity, merging in to the masses at the base of the disused quarry where the Woodhead barks the orders to get things started like only he does. Six weeks since my last taste of competition, I was nonetheless off to a decent start last Sunday at Withins, feeling pretty comfortable until we hit the bogs. Even by the usual standards of bogsville upon the Bronte Moors, this was as boggy as I have known it to be. I was all over the place. I cast my mind back a few weeks to a training run when I boasted to be bounding over bog like never before. Well, it wasn't bog like this was bog. This was proper bog. The boggy climb to the summit of Oxenholme Stoop seemed to be going great at first but then began to take it's toll and it was hard graft from there trudging across the moor towards Withins ruins. Then the stone slabs along that section were lethally slippy in a relatively new pair of x-talons, but after that I got myself back in to gear. I lost out to a young Dark Peak lad with a mile and a half to go and couldn't quite get back at him, but with a couple of hundred yards left I did at least manage to pass the Barlick vest that I had set my long term sights on. I was rightfully relatively pleased with fourteenth place and only half a minute behind my carrot from the Summer races that is Peter Coates. Although I got the better of Peter last time we met at the Golf Ball, in fairness he had been out for a couple of weeks with that all too familiar setback for fellrunners - a trampolining injury. But this is as near as I have got to him all year without excuses on the table. Not a bad result at all. I felt I didn't quite have the racing edge to dig that little bit deeper that I had ending August, but I'm not sure if that would have made much difference on the day.
This week, and more specifically tomorrow, I was really looking forward to the fell race at Wasdale Show. However, recent wet weather has flooded the show field and so the whole shebang has had to be cancelled which I'm sure is a massive disappointment to the many and certainly myself included. With accommodation already booked, Sara, Connie the dog and I will still be heading over that way for some sort of adventure, so all is not lost.
Sunday 8th October 2017
WITHINS SKYLINE 7m/1000ft Penistone Hill, Haworth. West Yorkshire
1st Man - Harry Holmes (Pudsey & Bramley) 42:40
1st Lady - Emma Clayton (Leeds City) 49:01
My Stats - 48:20 14/357
Monday, 2 October 2017
FAREWELL HALLOWED TURF, HELLO AGAIN TRACK
Reluctantly I've been forced to make the inevitable seasonal switch with the weekly speed session routine and reverted back to track training with the club on a Tuesday evening. My grass circuit on Worden Park has been a weekend religion of running off-road repetitions which has served me well this Summer. But, with all the wet weather, it's starting to cut up in places and with a view to some weekend races approaching I decided to phase it out last Sunday with a sort of half-session really. But it felt like enough, conscious of keeping something in the bank for Tuesday and rounding off a great week in which an increase of quality running and also mileage had naturally released itself. So a Monday recovery plod would set me up for Tuesday evening and the session went even better than expected. Sparing the tedium of statistics which I will nevertheless detail elsewhere in smaller type, let's just say that it was my best track session since back in my late thirties and, certainly as a forty-something, nothing has come near it. The track at Witton Park Arena felt fast and smooth after a few months of solo slogs upon my favourite grassy loop. I've been fortunate in finding the almost perfect set up in a corner of my local park which at home we call 'Buttercup Meadow'. My very own theatre of dreams. So it's just a field surrounded by mature trees where coarse grasses (and buttercups!) grow wild in the summer. But within this acreage is a perimeter loop of lusher grass that the mowers regularly go over and keep short as a walkway, or should I say, runway.
It's almost as if the park maintenance team has purposely mowed an elongated oval around it specifically for the use of some idiot to run along as fast as he can. The bends are a little tighter and the straights a bit longer than the dimensions of an athletics track and a lap also falls a little shorter at 395 metres, but there is a gradual incline to get stuck in to on the back straight. It's an idyllic place for lonely interval sessions. Some days even the main car park can be heaving but you might not see a soul in this tucked away corner of Worden. I made this discovery some years ago but it's only this Summer that I have done it justice with regular sessions on there. If last Tuesday was owt to go by, they have been paying off.
Sunday Buttercup Reps: 6 x 790m (off 90 sec rec)-av. 2:55, 1 x 395m - 78 secs
Tuesday Witton Park Track: 2 x 1200m(2 min rec)- 2:57/2:52, 3 x 800m (90 sec rec)- av. 2:34, 4 x 400m(1 min rec)- av. 74 secs
Reluctantly I've been forced to make the inevitable seasonal switch with the weekly speed session routine and reverted back to track training with the club on a Tuesday evening. My grass circuit on Worden Park has been a weekend religion of running off-road repetitions which has served me well this Summer. But, with all the wet weather, it's starting to cut up in places and with a view to some weekend races approaching I decided to phase it out last Sunday with a sort of half-session really. But it felt like enough, conscious of keeping something in the bank for Tuesday and rounding off a great week in which an increase of quality running and also mileage had naturally released itself. So a Monday recovery plod would set me up for Tuesday evening and the session went even better than expected. Sparing the tedium of statistics which I will nevertheless detail elsewhere in smaller type, let's just say that it was my best track session since back in my late thirties and, certainly as a forty-something, nothing has come near it. The track at Witton Park Arena felt fast and smooth after a few months of solo slogs upon my favourite grassy loop. I've been fortunate in finding the almost perfect set up in a corner of my local park which at home we call 'Buttercup Meadow'. My very own theatre of dreams. So it's just a field surrounded by mature trees where coarse grasses (and buttercups!) grow wild in the summer. But within this acreage is a perimeter loop of lusher grass that the mowers regularly go over and keep short as a walkway, or should I say, runway.
It's almost as if the park maintenance team has purposely mowed an elongated oval around it specifically for the use of some idiot to run along as fast as he can. The bends are a little tighter and the straights a bit longer than the dimensions of an athletics track and a lap also falls a little shorter at 395 metres, but there is a gradual incline to get stuck in to on the back straight. It's an idyllic place for lonely interval sessions. Some days even the main car park can be heaving but you might not see a soul in this tucked away corner of Worden. I made this discovery some years ago but it's only this Summer that I have done it justice with regular sessions on there. If last Tuesday was owt to go by, they have been paying off.
Sunday Buttercup Reps: 6 x 790m (off 90 sec rec)-av. 2:55, 1 x 395m - 78 secs
Tuesday Witton Park Track: 2 x 1200m(2 min rec)- 2:57/2:52, 3 x 800m (90 sec rec)- av. 2:34, 4 x 400m(1 min rec)- av. 74 secs
Thursday, 21 September 2017
CARRY ON CARRYING ON
A waltz around an eery Pendle Hill in the wet clag and fading light yesterday brought something quite clear to my attention - bloody hell I am actaully in good nick at the moment! More specifically, I don't recall ever pounding through bog with such efficiency in a long, long time. It was one of those rare training runs when you just feel absolutely fantastic, invincible and wonderfully in tune with the terrain, the surroundings, the climate, mind and your body. Strong winds and nasty showers only served to make it more memorable. If it doesn't get better than that hour of high octane effort spent splashing around up there on East Lancashire's big hill last night, then at least I got there and made sure I bottled the whole experience.
Racing has dried up so far in September, partially down to the fact that the all too short period of evening races has come to an end. But also a tight calf put the skids on running hard for a week or two. Ideally I wanted to get to the final evening fell race of the year at Hades Hill near Rochdale, but I think I made the right call in sticking to the plan of boring flattish plodding until the calf strain started to go in to hiding. In fact, I seem to be making the right call on my running programme almost instinctively at the moment. How far, how fast, off road or on road, I just seem to know what I am doing. I've been running nearly twelve years - it's taken a while!
Ten days of cautious plodsville just took the edge off my form from August, but during this week in particular, I have been feeling the force again. A cracking grass circuit pyramid session on Sunday was followed on Monday by another hour's running on the rough stuff of Pendle, then a walk up Pendle on Tuesday morning with Sara and the Connie dog, returning to Pendle again on the Wednesday for last night's blow out. Pendle Hill has been my second home this week.
Selfishly, I declined the opportunity to run for the Harriers at this year's Northern Road Relays last weekend. The fact that I am in decent shape at the moment makes it perhaps even more selfish than I dutifully admit to for not putting one in for the team. But at the end of the day, what it boils down to is a real lack of interest in tarmac races these days and a fear that I would go and pick myself a niggle up and curse that horrible, contrived course around Manchester City's stadium even more than I did when running there last year. Blackburn's 'A' team did a sterling job, initially eleventh, but moved up to eighth following the disqualification of teams with second claim runners not affiliated for road running with them. A sensitive subject for some, but in my view a no-brainer. You can't go around cherry picking fast boys for second claim to bolster your squad in big competitions. It's just not fair and it doesn't happen in any other sport. I'm really pleased that the grenade has been dropped upon that sort of nonsense.
So the only race on a tarmac surface that pricks my ears right now is the Podium 5K at Barrowford. Recent news that the next one clashes with the Tour of Pendle fell race has put me in a bit of a quandary as regards what to do on the 18th of November. The two races couldn't be more different; five laps of a flat cycle track, or seventeen miles of almost every up and down that the Pendle mass has to offer. The problem is that my heart wants to do The Tour, but in current form I fancy myself in a 5K. Maybe not quite a PB, but certainly running under seventeen minutes. Seventeen miles is much, much further than any of my training runs right now and if there is a window of opportunity to run a decent 5K then I would regret not ceasing upon it. I suppose I will know which to go for nearer the time.
Another little quandary is whether or not to replace my grass reps on the park each week with a return to track sessions with the club. I'll probably give it a go in the next few weeks, but what I am doing at the moment is working and I don't want to risk upsetting the apple cart.
I keep looking out for races that I could fit in as a sharpener for the ones I have officially - at least in a mental capacity - booked in for next month's agenda. For the time being though, it's carry on doing what I am doing.
A waltz around an eery Pendle Hill in the wet clag and fading light yesterday brought something quite clear to my attention - bloody hell I am actaully in good nick at the moment! More specifically, I don't recall ever pounding through bog with such efficiency in a long, long time. It was one of those rare training runs when you just feel absolutely fantastic, invincible and wonderfully in tune with the terrain, the surroundings, the climate, mind and your body. Strong winds and nasty showers only served to make it more memorable. If it doesn't get better than that hour of high octane effort spent splashing around up there on East Lancashire's big hill last night, then at least I got there and made sure I bottled the whole experience.
Racing has dried up so far in September, partially down to the fact that the all too short period of evening races has come to an end. But also a tight calf put the skids on running hard for a week or two. Ideally I wanted to get to the final evening fell race of the year at Hades Hill near Rochdale, but I think I made the right call in sticking to the plan of boring flattish plodding until the calf strain started to go in to hiding. In fact, I seem to be making the right call on my running programme almost instinctively at the moment. How far, how fast, off road or on road, I just seem to know what I am doing. I've been running nearly twelve years - it's taken a while!
Ten days of cautious plodsville just took the edge off my form from August, but during this week in particular, I have been feeling the force again. A cracking grass circuit pyramid session on Sunday was followed on Monday by another hour's running on the rough stuff of Pendle, then a walk up Pendle on Tuesday morning with Sara and the Connie dog, returning to Pendle again on the Wednesday for last night's blow out. Pendle Hill has been my second home this week.
Selfishly, I declined the opportunity to run for the Harriers at this year's Northern Road Relays last weekend. The fact that I am in decent shape at the moment makes it perhaps even more selfish than I dutifully admit to for not putting one in for the team. But at the end of the day, what it boils down to is a real lack of interest in tarmac races these days and a fear that I would go and pick myself a niggle up and curse that horrible, contrived course around Manchester City's stadium even more than I did when running there last year. Blackburn's 'A' team did a sterling job, initially eleventh, but moved up to eighth following the disqualification of teams with second claim runners not affiliated for road running with them. A sensitive subject for some, but in my view a no-brainer. You can't go around cherry picking fast boys for second claim to bolster your squad in big competitions. It's just not fair and it doesn't happen in any other sport. I'm really pleased that the grenade has been dropped upon that sort of nonsense.
So the only race on a tarmac surface that pricks my ears right now is the Podium 5K at Barrowford. Recent news that the next one clashes with the Tour of Pendle fell race has put me in a bit of a quandary as regards what to do on the 18th of November. The two races couldn't be more different; five laps of a flat cycle track, or seventeen miles of almost every up and down that the Pendle mass has to offer. The problem is that my heart wants to do The Tour, but in current form I fancy myself in a 5K. Maybe not quite a PB, but certainly running under seventeen minutes. Seventeen miles is much, much further than any of my training runs right now and if there is a window of opportunity to run a decent 5K then I would regret not ceasing upon it. I suppose I will know which to go for nearer the time.
Another little quandary is whether or not to replace my grass reps on the park each week with a return to track sessions with the club. I'll probably give it a go in the next few weeks, but what I am doing at the moment is working and I don't want to risk upsetting the apple cart.
I keep looking out for races that I could fit in as a sharpener for the ones I have officially - at least in a mental capacity - booked in for next month's agenda. For the time being though, it's carry on doing what I am doing.
Sunday, 3 September 2017
SUMMER SUMMARY
The end of August and the end of the meteorological season of Summer. Like kilometre markings on a Marathon course, I don't see the point in the complication of BST and all that messing around with the clocks. It's September now, it's Autumn. Simples!
Back in the season of Spring (the meteorological one that spans from March to May of course) my running outlook was grim. I seemed to be putting in the shifts, but clearly not the right ones. I was going backwards, fast, culminating in three very weary race performances at the Stan Bradshaw Pendle Round, Darwen Half Marathon and Yorkshire Three Peaks. Those low points asked the biggest questions yet about whether I ought to accept that it was time to hang up the racing shoes and get cracking down at the local Crown Green instead. This most recent running blog of mine has always had an air of inevitability that it will one day morph in to a bowling blog. Another question was, what would finally push me over the edge and swap my inov8 x-talons for a set of weighted woods?
Absolutely all avenues would have to be expended before such drastic action, but there seemed only one avenue remaining which was to try racing myself to race fitness. Now many a runner would point this out as an obvious starting point rather than a last resort, but somehow foolish pride, fear, impatience or all of those feelings has prevented me from ever properly trying this out before. With midweek evening races about to start, this was the ideal time of year to just get stuck in, take the beatings and see if I could quietly make increments of progress through the Summer. Sure enough I took a real beating in the first night race at Harrock Hill. It was a shocker. Then came the revelation from a health check up that I had high cholesterol levels, but this unexpected news proved to be a blessing in disguise. My knee-jerk reaction of instantly cutting out probably eighty percent or more of my saturated fat intake shed six pounds in just fortnight and a couple more have also dropped off at a thankfully slower rate since. The general felling of fatigue that pushed me towards booking a health check in the first place has also faded away, perhaps down to my body not getting bogged down in processing nasty fats that it's not very good at processing? Who knows? But I started to feel much better in general.
Although lightening my load, progress at the races was very gradual over the first six weeks of weekly action, even staggered at times. It wasn't clear if I was going to improve enough to get back to my own very modest standards, but nevertheless I was starting to enjoy just getting out there and racing. By the time the Kentmere Horseshoe came around in mid-July, I had grown up a bit and was sucking in with gratefulness the fact I was out there competing. No point spoiling the enjoyment by chasing shadows I couldn't catch anymore. Kentmere turned out to be my slowest effort there in eight race appearances, but I was unusually very matter of fact about it all. I felt like I was hardening up to competition again at the very least and if not hitting the high notes, able to put a good rate of effort in. Around weekly racing, a training routine had naturally evolved which seemed to be working well in that I was staying fit enough to race withoiut running myself in to a hole.
Then came a welcome bolt from the blue. Just three days after Kentmere, the signs of a race pace lost unexpectedly returned. Widdop fell race was my first solid effort in a race from start to finish for a good few years. I set off strong, I stayed strong and I finished strong. Performances have continued to get better during August and it's fair to say that, certainly in short and middle distance fell races, I've just about started to tap in to the sort of standard that I haven't run for maybe five or six years. The race myself back to race fitness experiment has been a success this Summer. Just over three months and fourteen races in the bank to finally crack it. Perhaps my Indian Summer of running wasn't such a delusion after all. So, sorry bowling fans, if you were expecting the content of these pages to switch code to the intricate art of the Crown Green, then I must conclude that the prospect of running taking a final bow is no longer on the agenda for the foreseeable future.
AUTUMN OUGHT-TO-DO'S
It's all very well getting race fit and getting giddy about it. The hard bit will be managing to stay there and pushing onwards. Picking up a nuisance calf strain and then creasing my back gardening have been timely reminders that it's a fine line we runners tread to stay in decent enough nick to do what we so desire.
As the Summer race calendar thins a little going in to the colder seasons, it's important that I still get some racing in as this has been the key to a return of good form. Other than that, no big plans really, other than putting in some longer training runs. I suppose a focal point of some description would be The Tour of Pendle in November. If I can stay in good shape I believe I've still got a good race left in me at that one. But I'm thinking more longer term and next year. I may well eat these words, but right now I have no intention whatsoever of entering the Three Peaks. There's still plenty of Cumbrian classics that I would like to have a bash at before I hit the grave and especially Borrowdale. Finally making it to the Ben Nevis race is also on the to-do list if I am lucky enough to get on the start list again. There's only so much one can do though, so in the meantime I won't be looking much more than two weeks ahead and hope to just stay in good shape and injury free.
The end of August and the end of the meteorological season of Summer. Like kilometre markings on a Marathon course, I don't see the point in the complication of BST and all that messing around with the clocks. It's September now, it's Autumn. Simples!
Back in the season of Spring (the meteorological one that spans from March to May of course) my running outlook was grim. I seemed to be putting in the shifts, but clearly not the right ones. I was going backwards, fast, culminating in three very weary race performances at the Stan Bradshaw Pendle Round, Darwen Half Marathon and Yorkshire Three Peaks. Those low points asked the biggest questions yet about whether I ought to accept that it was time to hang up the racing shoes and get cracking down at the local Crown Green instead. This most recent running blog of mine has always had an air of inevitability that it will one day morph in to a bowling blog. Another question was, what would finally push me over the edge and swap my inov8 x-talons for a set of weighted woods?
Absolutely all avenues would have to be expended before such drastic action, but there seemed only one avenue remaining which was to try racing myself to race fitness. Now many a runner would point this out as an obvious starting point rather than a last resort, but somehow foolish pride, fear, impatience or all of those feelings has prevented me from ever properly trying this out before. With midweek evening races about to start, this was the ideal time of year to just get stuck in, take the beatings and see if I could quietly make increments of progress through the Summer. Sure enough I took a real beating in the first night race at Harrock Hill. It was a shocker. Then came the revelation from a health check up that I had high cholesterol levels, but this unexpected news proved to be a blessing in disguise. My knee-jerk reaction of instantly cutting out probably eighty percent or more of my saturated fat intake shed six pounds in just fortnight and a couple more have also dropped off at a thankfully slower rate since. The general felling of fatigue that pushed me towards booking a health check in the first place has also faded away, perhaps down to my body not getting bogged down in processing nasty fats that it's not very good at processing? Who knows? But I started to feel much better in general.
Although lightening my load, progress at the races was very gradual over the first six weeks of weekly action, even staggered at times. It wasn't clear if I was going to improve enough to get back to my own very modest standards, but nevertheless I was starting to enjoy just getting out there and racing. By the time the Kentmere Horseshoe came around in mid-July, I had grown up a bit and was sucking in with gratefulness the fact I was out there competing. No point spoiling the enjoyment by chasing shadows I couldn't catch anymore. Kentmere turned out to be my slowest effort there in eight race appearances, but I was unusually very matter of fact about it all. I felt like I was hardening up to competition again at the very least and if not hitting the high notes, able to put a good rate of effort in. Around weekly racing, a training routine had naturally evolved which seemed to be working well in that I was staying fit enough to race withoiut running myself in to a hole.
Then came a welcome bolt from the blue. Just three days after Kentmere, the signs of a race pace lost unexpectedly returned. Widdop fell race was my first solid effort in a race from start to finish for a good few years. I set off strong, I stayed strong and I finished strong. Performances have continued to get better during August and it's fair to say that, certainly in short and middle distance fell races, I've just about started to tap in to the sort of standard that I haven't run for maybe five or six years. The race myself back to race fitness experiment has been a success this Summer. Just over three months and fourteen races in the bank to finally crack it. Perhaps my Indian Summer of running wasn't such a delusion after all. So, sorry bowling fans, if you were expecting the content of these pages to switch code to the intricate art of the Crown Green, then I must conclude that the prospect of running taking a final bow is no longer on the agenda for the foreseeable future.
AUTUMN OUGHT-TO-DO'S
It's all very well getting race fit and getting giddy about it. The hard bit will be managing to stay there and pushing onwards. Picking up a nuisance calf strain and then creasing my back gardening have been timely reminders that it's a fine line we runners tread to stay in decent enough nick to do what we so desire.
As the Summer race calendar thins a little going in to the colder seasons, it's important that I still get some racing in as this has been the key to a return of good form. Other than that, no big plans really, other than putting in some longer training runs. I suppose a focal point of some description would be The Tour of Pendle in November. If I can stay in good shape I believe I've still got a good race left in me at that one. But I'm thinking more longer term and next year. I may well eat these words, but right now I have no intention whatsoever of entering the Three Peaks. There's still plenty of Cumbrian classics that I would like to have a bash at before I hit the grave and especially Borrowdale. Finally making it to the Ben Nevis race is also on the to-do list if I am lucky enough to get on the start list again. There's only so much one can do though, so in the meantime I won't be looking much more than two weeks ahead and hope to just stay in good shape and injury free.
Wednesday, 30 August 2017
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.
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.
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!
Friday, 28 July 2017
SNUFFED OUT BY SUMMER SNIFFLES BUT SECONDS STILL SNIPPED OFF
HARROCK HILL RACE SERIES [3]
Last week's race at Widdop was backed up by a couple of Thursday recovery miles and a steady Friday ten miler that told me all I needed to know about my fitness - I was entering a good place. The third rendition of the Harrock Hill quartet couldn't come quickly enough. I was going to smash it up. Confident that with a quicker start and now more durability in the legs for the latter stages, I could snap at least another ninety seconds off my June time. Delusion this was not, far from it, this was a realistic aim. I had mapped out the rest of the week's training and envisaged the race itself, knowing exactly what I had to do and was looking forward to getting on with it.
But Friday evening I sat down at the dining table when I suddenly felt the back of my throat drying. Strangely without any warning signs, there and then in an instant, a Summer cold was on it's way. I don't recall being able to pick out the key moment cold symptoms first kicked in before, but that's what happened here. Absolutely bloody typical though, just as I had got going! Then the potential consequences spring to mind. Harrock Hill was looking compromised if not altogether banished from possibility, and what if this thing gets on my chest and hangs around for weeks? Aaaagh!
By Sunday a fairly constant stream was depositing from my nose but I managed to get an interval session in, albeit at the expense of bringing on a full evening of sneezing and hardcore nose blowing. By Monday it was clear that the thing had peaked and wasn't getting on my chest in a bad way, but I was feeling tired and my head was aching. Tuesday, less reliant on tissues and now I'm thinking maybe I can do the race after all. Wednesday, race day, still not sure so a couple of miles in the morning as a tester run was a snotty affair, but the legs were ticking over fine. By 4pm and taking tonics from the Beechams range, I'd decided. Sod it, I'll be giving it a go. In this instance a professional athlete would be have been told to forget it by their coach and given a rehabilitative programme of cross training to tackle until back to full running fettle. But I am an amateur and a nobody in particular one at that. I am coached by the conflictions of my own conscience in which heart more often than not overrules the head. This under-riding force decided it was a good idea to stick my head on the block. I was racing. Last week I was thinking about this race in a fearless manner, now it was looking like an exercise in damage limitation and how deep I could dig having been under the weather for four days. I set off harder as originally planned and seemed to be coping fine until my race morphed in to a de ja vu of last month. Darren Fishwick forged ahead of me at precisely the same spot, then that Harkin chap got ahead of me and kept his distance again. A few more places went cheaply begging too as I really struggled in the respiratory department and lacked that bit of engine power that I had felt pre-sniffles. The latter half of this race was messy and I was hanging on very grimly indeed. I feared the worst at the finishing line and made a preparatory wince to brace myself before glancing down at my watch for what felt like a degenerative time. But in actual fact I had still managed to snip four seconds off last month's outing and under the circumstances, that will do.
Me, me, me. Have I nothing better to ramble about? I ought to spare a mention for the race organisers from the running club of Newburgh Nomads who continue to do a splendid job putting these races on in the Summer. They are an unassuming bunch but deserve much credit, particularly those race officials at the sharp end in the infamous cow field. This role demands above and beyond what your average marshal would be likely to experience, herding frisky cattle away from the invading running entourage. The sight of Nomad Andy Quickfall scampering across a field with well over a dozen burly young Belted Galloway's thundering along the far fence was a sight to behold and is just one of a number of things that make the Harrock Hill race what it is.
Wednesday 26th July
HARROCK HILL RACE SERIES [3] 5.2m/800ft Bispham Green, West Lancs.
1st Man - Josh Tighe (Northumberland FR) 32:10
1st Lady - Noora Ronkainen (Liverpool H) 38:49
My Stats - 37:00 / 14/224
I got thinking how many Harrock Hill races I have actually done and it turned out that was my 24th appearance, my third this year but only my sixth in the last six years. The other eighteen were condensed in to the previous six years between 2006 and 2011. Below is a stat attack of all those performances. In more recent years a slight course diversion adds maybe half a minute to forty seconds for the likes of myself, but even so my demise since 2011 is most evident!
Year [Race 1/4]
2006 - [1] 35:28 / 11th [2] 35:29 / 16th [3] 34:50 / 15th [4] 33:58 / 10th
2007 - [1] 33:36 / 6th
2008 - [1] 34:29 / 6th [2] 33:46 / 6th [3] 34:14 / 3rd [4] 34:22 / 5th ...Overall Series 3rd
2009 - [3] 34:13 / 4th [4] 34:08 / 5th
2010 - [1] 35:06 / 8th [2] 34:12 / 3rd [3] 34:00 / 6th [4] 34:07 / 4th ...Overall Series 2nd
2011 - [1] 33:37 / 5th [3] 33:41 / 2nd [4] 33:40 / 2nd ...Overall Series 2nd
2012 -
2013 -
2014 - [3] 35:59 / 6th [4] 35:39 / 5th
2015 - [3] 36:27 / 8th
2016 -
2017 - 2017 - [1] 39:03 / 16th [2] 37:04 / 8th [3] 37:00 / 14th
HARROCK HILL RACE SERIES [3]
Last week's race at Widdop was backed up by a couple of Thursday recovery miles and a steady Friday ten miler that told me all I needed to know about my fitness - I was entering a good place. The third rendition of the Harrock Hill quartet couldn't come quickly enough. I was going to smash it up. Confident that with a quicker start and now more durability in the legs for the latter stages, I could snap at least another ninety seconds off my June time. Delusion this was not, far from it, this was a realistic aim. I had mapped out the rest of the week's training and envisaged the race itself, knowing exactly what I had to do and was looking forward to getting on with it.
But Friday evening I sat down at the dining table when I suddenly felt the back of my throat drying. Strangely without any warning signs, there and then in an instant, a Summer cold was on it's way. I don't recall being able to pick out the key moment cold symptoms first kicked in before, but that's what happened here. Absolutely bloody typical though, just as I had got going! Then the potential consequences spring to mind. Harrock Hill was looking compromised if not altogether banished from possibility, and what if this thing gets on my chest and hangs around for weeks? Aaaagh!
By Sunday a fairly constant stream was depositing from my nose but I managed to get an interval session in, albeit at the expense of bringing on a full evening of sneezing and hardcore nose blowing. By Monday it was clear that the thing had peaked and wasn't getting on my chest in a bad way, but I was feeling tired and my head was aching. Tuesday, less reliant on tissues and now I'm thinking maybe I can do the race after all. Wednesday, race day, still not sure so a couple of miles in the morning as a tester run was a snotty affair, but the legs were ticking over fine. By 4pm and taking tonics from the Beechams range, I'd decided. Sod it, I'll be giving it a go. In this instance a professional athlete would be have been told to forget it by their coach and given a rehabilitative programme of cross training to tackle until back to full running fettle. But I am an amateur and a nobody in particular one at that. I am coached by the conflictions of my own conscience in which heart more often than not overrules the head. This under-riding force decided it was a good idea to stick my head on the block. I was racing. Last week I was thinking about this race in a fearless manner, now it was looking like an exercise in damage limitation and how deep I could dig having been under the weather for four days. I set off harder as originally planned and seemed to be coping fine until my race morphed in to a de ja vu of last month. Darren Fishwick forged ahead of me at precisely the same spot, then that Harkin chap got ahead of me and kept his distance again. A few more places went cheaply begging too as I really struggled in the respiratory department and lacked that bit of engine power that I had felt pre-sniffles. The latter half of this race was messy and I was hanging on very grimly indeed. I feared the worst at the finishing line and made a preparatory wince to brace myself before glancing down at my watch for what felt like a degenerative time. But in actual fact I had still managed to snip four seconds off last month's outing and under the circumstances, that will do.
Me, me, me. Have I nothing better to ramble about? I ought to spare a mention for the race organisers from the running club of Newburgh Nomads who continue to do a splendid job putting these races on in the Summer. They are an unassuming bunch but deserve much credit, particularly those race officials at the sharp end in the infamous cow field. This role demands above and beyond what your average marshal would be likely to experience, herding frisky cattle away from the invading running entourage. The sight of Nomad Andy Quickfall scampering across a field with well over a dozen burly young Belted Galloway's thundering along the far fence was a sight to behold and is just one of a number of things that make the Harrock Hill race what it is.
Wednesday 26th July
HARROCK HILL RACE SERIES [3] 5.2m/800ft Bispham Green, West Lancs.
1st Man - Josh Tighe (Northumberland FR) 32:10
1st Lady - Noora Ronkainen (Liverpool H) 38:49
My Stats - 37:00 / 14/224
I got thinking how many Harrock Hill races I have actually done and it turned out that was my 24th appearance, my third this year but only my sixth in the last six years. The other eighteen were condensed in to the previous six years between 2006 and 2011. Below is a stat attack of all those performances. In more recent years a slight course diversion adds maybe half a minute to forty seconds for the likes of myself, but even so my demise since 2011 is most evident!
Year [Race 1/4]
2006 - [1] 35:28 / 11th [2] 35:29 / 16th [3] 34:50 / 15th [4] 33:58 / 10th
2007 - [1] 33:36 / 6th
2008 - [1] 34:29 / 6th [2] 33:46 / 6th [3] 34:14 / 3rd [4] 34:22 / 5th ...Overall Series 3rd
2009 - [3] 34:13 / 4th [4] 34:08 / 5th
2010 - [1] 35:06 / 8th [2] 34:12 / 3rd [3] 34:00 / 6th [4] 34:07 / 4th ...Overall Series 2nd
2011 - [1] 33:37 / 5th [3] 33:41 / 2nd [4] 33:40 / 2nd ...Overall Series 2nd
2012 -
2013 -
2014 - [3] 35:59 / 6th [4] 35:39 / 5th
2015 - [3] 36:27 / 8th
2016 -
2017 - 2017 - [1] 39:03 / 16th [2] 37:04 / 8th [3] 37:00 / 14th
Monday, 24 July 2017
TURNING POINT?
WIDDOP
In these eighteen months since returning to writing ramblings about my running, an evening fell race on the remote moors of Calderdale was alas the scene of some genuine signs of progression and a taste of racing yesteryear. In fact it felt like my best racing performance for well over two years. I set off strong and I stayed strong. Clayton-le-Moors man Peter Coates has been a regular sight well ahead of me this Summer and as a consistent, solid fell runner who is hitting the sort of times and placings that I believe I can still reach, Peter has naturally become the main opponent upon which I gauge myself. I was tucked in about twenty yards behind him for most of the first half of the race like his stalker. It appeared I might just be trending towards better form. The Kentmere race three days earlier proved to be the catalyst for something good at Widdop as I ran uphill sections surprisingly competently and generally found the art of pushing hard to be a more comfortable process of which I had some control and confidence. It was only the long section of choppier moorland terrain in the latter half of the race that staggered my progress. I lost ground on Peter and the two guys he was chasing as they all excelled through the rough stuff. I felt like I was all over the place but I couldn't hear anyone gaining - even when I had to stop to tie a lace - so I just kept focus on giving what I could and looked forward to hitting a section of ground with better running again. When that came after passing the trig point of Standing Stone Hill it was clear I was going to make little or no impression on the three runners way ahead as they had gained a minute or more on me, so now it was all about positional preservation. Fairly sure I was inside the top ten after some good running off Standing Stone, a left turn through a small gate at a wall left me unable to resist the slyest little glance across to see what sort of gap I had. Once upon a time the golden rule was to never look back in a race, but this Summer it's crept in to my game whether through weakness, lack of confidence or both. Anyway, this really was just a peripheral peek, but enough to recognise the Rossendale vest of Ashley Holt no more than thirty yards in my wake. I'd forgotten about the Holt, having not seen him ahead earlier on and although far from on top of his own running game at the moment, he's a feisty competitor so I knew I had plenty still to do to keep him at distance. I could see the cars parked on the road so I knew there couldn't be that long to go and put everything in to the descent here thinking there would be a short sting in the tail at the bottom and to the finishing field. Not quite. A hurtful little road hill before a bobbly, cobbly gradually climbing traverse through high bracken was a real tester for legs and lungs now dying for the finish line. Eventually the stile in to the uphill finishing field came and I had kept my place and was, for the first time this Summer, very satisfied with how I had run. It felt like a turning point and my carrot, Mr Coates, was only seventy one seconds the better over seven miles which was a positive statistic in itself.
This was my first showing at the Widdop race, in fact I don't recall having been specifically up this way before, situated along the isolated narrow road from Brierfield to Heptonstall. Beautifully bleak moorland where Lancashire meets Yorkshire most indiscreetly.
A couple of days on, I bump in to Ribble Valley Harriers founder Chris Barnes who commended me on my performance and said if I carry on in the same vain, one day I might be good enough to wear the black vest of RVH. High praise, if somewhat tongue-in-cheek.
Wednesday 19th July 2017
WIDDOP 7m/1200ft Widdop, Calderdale, West Yorks.
1st Man - Sam Watson (Wharfedale) 52:13
1st Lady - Jo Buckley (Calder Valley) 1.05:31
My Stats - 58:22 9/146
WIDDOP
In these eighteen months since returning to writing ramblings about my running, an evening fell race on the remote moors of Calderdale was alas the scene of some genuine signs of progression and a taste of racing yesteryear. In fact it felt like my best racing performance for well over two years. I set off strong and I stayed strong. Clayton-le-Moors man Peter Coates has been a regular sight well ahead of me this Summer and as a consistent, solid fell runner who is hitting the sort of times and placings that I believe I can still reach, Peter has naturally become the main opponent upon which I gauge myself. I was tucked in about twenty yards behind him for most of the first half of the race like his stalker. It appeared I might just be trending towards better form. The Kentmere race three days earlier proved to be the catalyst for something good at Widdop as I ran uphill sections surprisingly competently and generally found the art of pushing hard to be a more comfortable process of which I had some control and confidence. It was only the long section of choppier moorland terrain in the latter half of the race that staggered my progress. I lost ground on Peter and the two guys he was chasing as they all excelled through the rough stuff. I felt like I was all over the place but I couldn't hear anyone gaining - even when I had to stop to tie a lace - so I just kept focus on giving what I could and looked forward to hitting a section of ground with better running again. When that came after passing the trig point of Standing Stone Hill it was clear I was going to make little or no impression on the three runners way ahead as they had gained a minute or more on me, so now it was all about positional preservation. Fairly sure I was inside the top ten after some good running off Standing Stone, a left turn through a small gate at a wall left me unable to resist the slyest little glance across to see what sort of gap I had. Once upon a time the golden rule was to never look back in a race, but this Summer it's crept in to my game whether through weakness, lack of confidence or both. Anyway, this really was just a peripheral peek, but enough to recognise the Rossendale vest of Ashley Holt no more than thirty yards in my wake. I'd forgotten about the Holt, having not seen him ahead earlier on and although far from on top of his own running game at the moment, he's a feisty competitor so I knew I had plenty still to do to keep him at distance. I could see the cars parked on the road so I knew there couldn't be that long to go and put everything in to the descent here thinking there would be a short sting in the tail at the bottom and to the finishing field. Not quite. A hurtful little road hill before a bobbly, cobbly gradually climbing traverse through high bracken was a real tester for legs and lungs now dying for the finish line. Eventually the stile in to the uphill finishing field came and I had kept my place and was, for the first time this Summer, very satisfied with how I had run. It felt like a turning point and my carrot, Mr Coates, was only seventy one seconds the better over seven miles which was a positive statistic in itself.
This was my first showing at the Widdop race, in fact I don't recall having been specifically up this way before, situated along the isolated narrow road from Brierfield to Heptonstall. Beautifully bleak moorland where Lancashire meets Yorkshire most indiscreetly.
A couple of days on, I bump in to Ribble Valley Harriers founder Chris Barnes who commended me on my performance and said if I carry on in the same vain, one day I might be good enough to wear the black vest of RVH. High praise, if somewhat tongue-in-cheek.
Wednesday 19th July 2017
WIDDOP 7m/1200ft Widdop, Calderdale, West Yorks.
1st Man - Sam Watson (Wharfedale) 52:13
1st Lady - Jo Buckley (Calder Valley) 1.05:31
My Stats - 58:22 9/146
Wednesday, 19 July 2017
PARADOXICAL REALITY CHECK
KENTMERE HORSESHOE
Kentmere Horseshoe is my favourite race. A bold statement because there have been lots of courses over the years that could stake a claim. But Kentmere was my first proper race in the Lakes back in 2006 and has been the 'must do-er' ever since - provided I am fit enough of course. It's also the first place that springs to mind on the rare chance of nipping so far Northwards for a cracking training run. For me, Kentmere has got the whole fell running package packed in to just under twelve miles.
I can look back fondly at three particularly gradely performances for a nobody in particular and also the fact I've never had a truly poor race here. I suppose I shouldn't be too surprised that I couldn't hit a time to be more proud of this year. In fairness, I'm a bit unhappy and perplexed to have been even five minutes slower than my last appearance two years ago, but then it's only just over six weeks since that Harrock Hill horror show. In the end I was competitive, ran the race to the best of my current ability and so mustn't indulge in too much self Johnny-bashing having taken just enough disappointment from this to further motivate rather than destroy me.
The reality check taken from Kentmere is a paradoxical one. Whilst the dark reality of my finishing time leaves me still plundering around in the shadows of previous performances, the enlightening reality of enjoying every moment of it, just being alive, fit and out there on the roof tiles of England, running, competing and pushing myself is what it's all about. It was like I had finally grown up, well in a running sense at least. I still strive for better, but I've accepted the level where I am at right now. Easy on the sulks, easier on the self deprecation. Just keep racing, training hard but sensibly and avoid obsessing with anything in particular. It's got to be the way forward, if I can sustain it.
By leaving out the usual midweek night race leading up to this weekend one, there seemed to be some kind of automatic anatomic shutdown as far as running was concerned. Aside from an interval session on the Monday, mentally distant and physically lacking some punch all week it was just a load of plods through the motions after that. By Sunday I did feel better although early on it was clear that climbing, my main weakness, was going to be extra tough that day. Hold on, a fell runner whose weakness is climbing? Well, John Terry has made a fantastic career out of football despite not being able to kick a ball very well. So did Neil Ruddock, Julian Dicks, Vinny Jones... but yes, it's the speed of climbing that's mainly letting me down and what's clearly been costing me valuable time at races lately.
After the steep ascent off the Garburn Pass and to the more gradual roll up to Yoke, I was losing places and conceded that I was certainly not going to be running a stormer this year. That was the longest uphill section of the race done, but plenty more pulls to come. A few more positions went begging but a few hauled back as I seemed to finally find my place in the field. The familiar sight of my old Chorley Harrier nemesis Dominic Raby had got a minute or two ahead and it was just like old times. But heading towards the high point of the race and the summit of High Street it became clear I'd got a bit closer to Dom and a few other guys in his mini-cluster. Regardless of time, which was relatively slow to High Street by previous splits, at least this boded well for a competitive second half when there is a chance to stretch out the legs to some decent running. After passing over Mardale Ill Bell, a couple of crags breaks things up and I started to get closer to the Chorley one there, although he seemed to react to my presence by kicking further on again.
A deceptive characteristic of Dominic Raby is that, at best, his style of running doesn't appear very economical and so it's difficult to tell if he is going strong or starting to buckle! It did seem to be the latter though, so unlike old times, after the drag up to Kentmere Pike and the main stretch of descent back to the valley, I'd almost caught him up. I took a slip on some wet rocks which took the wind out of my sails for a moment, but if anything, the pain bolstered my levels of adrenaline. I was thinking that a good old ding-dong with Dominic to the finish was on, but as we hit the valley floor with about a mile to go it was clear that Dom's goose was all but cooked, conceding his place which I was a bit disappointed about - for both of us in fact. I was feeling bashed up myself along the paths back to the village and pushed as hard as I could, but was still made to look extraordinarily ordinary with a few hundred yards to go by some young Macclesfield lad who had way too much left in the tank at that stage!
I've done 1.42 a couple of times and Dominic's done something like 1.37 or maybe even less. Today we were 1.53 and 1.54 not so respectively. Dom's got his work cut out more than me to get back where he wants to be, but he's certainly not one to right off and I'm sure there'll be a backlash from this at some other race soon. As this was my first run in excess of nine miles since April, I'm also living in hope that I get a positive reaction from this effort in the next few races to come, starting with Widdop fell race this evening. I've plodded out a couple of short recovery runs and a rehabilating walk of six miles up the majestic peak of Ingleborough since Sunday. During these couple of days my running stance has emulated one of those illustrated text book diagrams showing the historical development of man. I think I am now just about upright again to give it a shot tonight.
Sunday 16th July 2017
KENTMERE HORSESHOE 11.9m/3300ft Kentmere, Cumbria
1st Man - Joshua Jardine (Helm Hill) 1.32:57
1st Lady - Julie Briscoe (Dark Peak) 1.53:35
My Stats - 1.53:23 42/344
It's a love affair with the Kentmere Horseshoe. This year was my eighth appearance at the race itself and sadly it appears yet another personal worst time to burden my current ambition! Previous performances are listed below:
2006 - 1.52:52 - 49th
2008 - 1.42:20 - 46th (English Champs)
2009 - 1.47:34 - 22nd
2010 - 1.42:22 - 12th
2011 - 1.42:52 - 12th
2014 - 1.51:04 - 66th (English Champs)
2015 - 1.47:57 - 28th
KENTMERE HORSESHOE
Kentmere Horseshoe is my favourite race. A bold statement because there have been lots of courses over the years that could stake a claim. But Kentmere was my first proper race in the Lakes back in 2006 and has been the 'must do-er' ever since - provided I am fit enough of course. It's also the first place that springs to mind on the rare chance of nipping so far Northwards for a cracking training run. For me, Kentmere has got the whole fell running package packed in to just under twelve miles.
I can look back fondly at three particularly gradely performances for a nobody in particular and also the fact I've never had a truly poor race here. I suppose I shouldn't be too surprised that I couldn't hit a time to be more proud of this year. In fairness, I'm a bit unhappy and perplexed to have been even five minutes slower than my last appearance two years ago, but then it's only just over six weeks since that Harrock Hill horror show. In the end I was competitive, ran the race to the best of my current ability and so mustn't indulge in too much self Johnny-bashing having taken just enough disappointment from this to further motivate rather than destroy me.
The reality check taken from Kentmere is a paradoxical one. Whilst the dark reality of my finishing time leaves me still plundering around in the shadows of previous performances, the enlightening reality of enjoying every moment of it, just being alive, fit and out there on the roof tiles of England, running, competing and pushing myself is what it's all about. It was like I had finally grown up, well in a running sense at least. I still strive for better, but I've accepted the level where I am at right now. Easy on the sulks, easier on the self deprecation. Just keep racing, training hard but sensibly and avoid obsessing with anything in particular. It's got to be the way forward, if I can sustain it.
By leaving out the usual midweek night race leading up to this weekend one, there seemed to be some kind of automatic anatomic shutdown as far as running was concerned. Aside from an interval session on the Monday, mentally distant and physically lacking some punch all week it was just a load of plods through the motions after that. By Sunday I did feel better although early on it was clear that climbing, my main weakness, was going to be extra tough that day. Hold on, a fell runner whose weakness is climbing? Well, John Terry has made a fantastic career out of football despite not being able to kick a ball very well. So did Neil Ruddock, Julian Dicks, Vinny Jones... but yes, it's the speed of climbing that's mainly letting me down and what's clearly been costing me valuable time at races lately.
After the steep ascent off the Garburn Pass and to the more gradual roll up to Yoke, I was losing places and conceded that I was certainly not going to be running a stormer this year. That was the longest uphill section of the race done, but plenty more pulls to come. A few more positions went begging but a few hauled back as I seemed to finally find my place in the field. The familiar sight of my old Chorley Harrier nemesis Dominic Raby had got a minute or two ahead and it was just like old times. But heading towards the high point of the race and the summit of High Street it became clear I'd got a bit closer to Dom and a few other guys in his mini-cluster. Regardless of time, which was relatively slow to High Street by previous splits, at least this boded well for a competitive second half when there is a chance to stretch out the legs to some decent running. After passing over Mardale Ill Bell, a couple of crags breaks things up and I started to get closer to the Chorley one there, although he seemed to react to my presence by kicking further on again.
A deceptive characteristic of Dominic Raby is that, at best, his style of running doesn't appear very economical and so it's difficult to tell if he is going strong or starting to buckle! It did seem to be the latter though, so unlike old times, after the drag up to Kentmere Pike and the main stretch of descent back to the valley, I'd almost caught him up. I took a slip on some wet rocks which took the wind out of my sails for a moment, but if anything, the pain bolstered my levels of adrenaline. I was thinking that a good old ding-dong with Dominic to the finish was on, but as we hit the valley floor with about a mile to go it was clear that Dom's goose was all but cooked, conceding his place which I was a bit disappointed about - for both of us in fact. I was feeling bashed up myself along the paths back to the village and pushed as hard as I could, but was still made to look extraordinarily ordinary with a few hundred yards to go by some young Macclesfield lad who had way too much left in the tank at that stage!
I've done 1.42 a couple of times and Dominic's done something like 1.37 or maybe even less. Today we were 1.53 and 1.54 not so respectively. Dom's got his work cut out more than me to get back where he wants to be, but he's certainly not one to right off and I'm sure there'll be a backlash from this at some other race soon. As this was my first run in excess of nine miles since April, I'm also living in hope that I get a positive reaction from this effort in the next few races to come, starting with Widdop fell race this evening. I've plodded out a couple of short recovery runs and a rehabilating walk of six miles up the majestic peak of Ingleborough since Sunday. During these couple of days my running stance has emulated one of those illustrated text book diagrams showing the historical development of man. I think I am now just about upright again to give it a shot tonight.
Sunday 16th July 2017
KENTMERE HORSESHOE 11.9m/3300ft Kentmere, Cumbria
1st Man - Joshua Jardine (Helm Hill) 1.32:57
1st Lady - Julie Briscoe (Dark Peak) 1.53:35
My Stats - 1.53:23 42/344
It's a love affair with the Kentmere Horseshoe. This year was my eighth appearance at the race itself and sadly it appears yet another personal worst time to burden my current ambition! Previous performances are listed below:
2006 - 1.52:52 - 49th
2008 - 1.42:20 - 46th (English Champs)
2009 - 1.47:34 - 22nd
2010 - 1.42:22 - 12th
2011 - 1.42:52 - 12th
2014 - 1.51:04 - 66th (English Champs)
2015 - 1.47:57 - 28th
Friday, 14 July 2017
SPIRITED FINISH
DON ASHTON MEMORIAL TOCKHOLES EVENING FELL RACE
The race to racing fitness has had it's ups and downs so far this Summer, nothing dramatic mind you, but if there are any traceable signs at all of even the finest lines of improvement then one has to take them, bank them, cherish them and look for signs of more next time out. Up against some familiar faces at Tockholes, I made very marginal gains on some of the guys who have been further ahead of me recently, but more importantly I came out on top in a bit of a ding-dong with the chap a place ahead of me at Harrock Hill last week. This showed signs of, dare I say it, improvement.
On that same evening, an old favourite of mine the Bull Hill fell race was also on the calendar and despite some underlying deflation about this fixture clash, I had already committed to this one as a mark of respect. Bull Hill would have to keep for another year.
This year the race was renamed in the memory of former Vet 50 British Fell Champion Don Ashton. The Blackburn Harrier and Darwen Dasher very sadly passed away last year. I didn't know Don and I don't know his grandson Calvin Ferguson particularly well, but enough to know Calvin's a grand lad who is rightfully very proud of his grandfather, his fell running achievements and for his friends at the Dashers to name a race in his honour. At the start, we were told a record number of ninety nine were assembled for the off which was great to see. Treble figures next year for sure.
The sticky weather had returned for this one. Midway through the race my thermostat started playing up and just for a moment I wondered if I had blown and it was all over. I lost places, but back on the moors I managed some recovery, got back in to it and gained a few positions back. With a couple of miles to go I was closing in on a familiar black vest that I recognised from last week's race and decided this was my chance to affirm at least one statistical improvement from the night's shift. I cruised by and was feeling good, put in a surge and had the audacity to think that was that, Thomas Harkin taken care of. However, upon the short sting in the tail with less than a mile to go, Harkin came back at me and just on the brow of the climb nudged ahead. I was already screaming inside at this point, but I couldn't let him go now. I hung on desperately and as the track to the finish started to level out, Harkin made a few more surges of his own but I managed to respond and match him stride for stride before making my own move for the line. In running scared I somehow made up six seconds on him with a spirited finish. All that just to say that sixteenth is better than seventeenth. But it is!
It ought not to go unmentioned that prior to the race I was a very happy bunny indeed after treating myself to a swish pair of Walsh casuals that Calvin was selling as a one-off on the Bolton firm's behalf at special race-night-only rates. Looking forward to a pub outing in those babies, although I may have to pick carefully from my wardrobe to best compliment their purple colourway.
Thursday 6th July 2017
DON ASHTON MEMORIAL TOCKHOLES EVENING FELL RACE 5.8m/1099ft Tockholes, East Lancs.
1st Man - Jack Hindle (Blackburn H.) 37:35
1st Lady - Kirsty Hall (Wharfedale) 45:19
My Stats - 41:41 16/99
DON ASHTON MEMORIAL TOCKHOLES EVENING FELL RACE
The race to racing fitness has had it's ups and downs so far this Summer, nothing dramatic mind you, but if there are any traceable signs at all of even the finest lines of improvement then one has to take them, bank them, cherish them and look for signs of more next time out. Up against some familiar faces at Tockholes, I made very marginal gains on some of the guys who have been further ahead of me recently, but more importantly I came out on top in a bit of a ding-dong with the chap a place ahead of me at Harrock Hill last week. This showed signs of, dare I say it, improvement.
On that same evening, an old favourite of mine the Bull Hill fell race was also on the calendar and despite some underlying deflation about this fixture clash, I had already committed to this one as a mark of respect. Bull Hill would have to keep for another year.
This year the race was renamed in the memory of former Vet 50 British Fell Champion Don Ashton. The Blackburn Harrier and Darwen Dasher very sadly passed away last year. I didn't know Don and I don't know his grandson Calvin Ferguson particularly well, but enough to know Calvin's a grand lad who is rightfully very proud of his grandfather, his fell running achievements and for his friends at the Dashers to name a race in his honour. At the start, we were told a record number of ninety nine were assembled for the off which was great to see. Treble figures next year for sure.
The sticky weather had returned for this one. Midway through the race my thermostat started playing up and just for a moment I wondered if I had blown and it was all over. I lost places, but back on the moors I managed some recovery, got back in to it and gained a few positions back. With a couple of miles to go I was closing in on a familiar black vest that I recognised from last week's race and decided this was my chance to affirm at least one statistical improvement from the night's shift. I cruised by and was feeling good, put in a surge and had the audacity to think that was that, Thomas Harkin taken care of. However, upon the short sting in the tail with less than a mile to go, Harkin came back at me and just on the brow of the climb nudged ahead. I was already screaming inside at this point, but I couldn't let him go now. I hung on desperately and as the track to the finish started to level out, Harkin made a few more surges of his own but I managed to respond and match him stride for stride before making my own move for the line. In running scared I somehow made up six seconds on him with a spirited finish. All that just to say that sixteenth is better than seventeenth. But it is!
It ought not to go unmentioned that prior to the race I was a very happy bunny indeed after treating myself to a swish pair of Walsh casuals that Calvin was selling as a one-off on the Bolton firm's behalf at special race-night-only rates. Looking forward to a pub outing in those babies, although I may have to pick carefully from my wardrobe to best compliment their purple colourway.
Thursday 6th July 2017
DON ASHTON MEMORIAL TOCKHOLES EVENING FELL RACE 5.8m/1099ft Tockholes, East Lancs.
1st Man - Jack Hindle (Blackburn H.) 37:35
1st Lady - Kirsty Hall (Wharfedale) 45:19
My Stats - 41:41 16/99
Friday, 30 June 2017
A STEP IN THE RIGHT DIRECTION
HARROCK HILL RACE SERIES [2]
Unashamedly, the Harrock Hill races have a small place in my heart. In many ways it's a personal thing in that it's a familiar part of the world where I cycled and mucked about back in my kiddywinker years, but this is also a cracking little multi-terrain race with it's own atmosphere and a generous fruit and veg box awaiting the prize winners. Racing snobs may perceive it as a 'tin pot' or 'Mickey Mouse' race, but it is what it is and a regular turnout of up to two hundred runners tells it's own story.
Tin pot or not, for me, this was a very important run with the objective being a yardstick by which to judge my progress since the first race of the series back in May.
The conditions couldn't have been more different. Last month's muggy night into the seventies Farenheit gave way to temperatures barely in to the fifties for Race Two and with cold rain descending for added value. The weather may have deteriorated, but thankfully I can report, not my performance. Just as well really because any worse than that run in May and it was seriously time to pack up.
Since Race One I've lost a few pounds on the low cholesterol regime and got another four races under my belt. I wouldn't say I was confident by any stretch going in to this one, but I was backing myself strongly to knock at least a minute off last month's travesty.
Early on in the contest it became clear that I was a different animal to the one that laboriously trudged around here five weeks ago. A couple of miles in and I found myself quite handily placed without expending myself whatsoever which was a relieving feeling, safe in the knowledge that I was on for a much improved time. The mile-long uphill section in the middle of the course is often the battleground where positions are gained, consolidated or lost. I had worked out I was probably seventh at this point having just passed Chorley's Darren Fishwick who sounded like he was struggling with a marathon on the Devon coast still in his legs from the weekend. But Daz is a tough competitor and he pushed me hard up the climb and then started to get away from me before overtaking the next runner as well. I got thinking that having seen nowt but young puppies on the front line at the start, this could be the three-way battle to win the veteran category. I was banking on a really good recovery when the course levels out and to hit a bit of top speed if I was to reel them both nearer to make a race of it, but whilst maintaining a decent enough effort, that something extra wasn't there. Darren surged on to make half a minute on me and the unknown runner ahead matched me stride for stride in the last couple of miles and I just couldn't make a gain on him. Nonetheless, I was pleased enough with the result here with a whoppadooby whole two minutes hacked off my time from the May race. Although this still ranked as my second worst time of the many runs at Harrock over the years, it was a step in the right direction on a night when the conditions saw most runners go comparatively slower, so I can't complain. Still work to be done though, there is another two minutes at the very least to shave off in this series before I can claim my box of greengrocery with a feeling that I have truly deserved it.
Wednesday 28th June 2017
HARROCK HILL RACE SERIES [2] 5.2m/800ft Bispham Green, West Lancs.
1st Man - James Toohey (Liverpool RC) 34:45
1st Lady - Debbie Campbell (Liverpool Pembroke & Sefton) 40:20
My Stats - 37:04 8/175
HARROCK HILL RACE SERIES [2]
Unashamedly, the Harrock Hill races have a small place in my heart. In many ways it's a personal thing in that it's a familiar part of the world where I cycled and mucked about back in my kiddywinker years, but this is also a cracking little multi-terrain race with it's own atmosphere and a generous fruit and veg box awaiting the prize winners. Racing snobs may perceive it as a 'tin pot' or 'Mickey Mouse' race, but it is what it is and a regular turnout of up to two hundred runners tells it's own story.
Tin pot or not, for me, this was a very important run with the objective being a yardstick by which to judge my progress since the first race of the series back in May.
The conditions couldn't have been more different. Last month's muggy night into the seventies Farenheit gave way to temperatures barely in to the fifties for Race Two and with cold rain descending for added value. The weather may have deteriorated, but thankfully I can report, not my performance. Just as well really because any worse than that run in May and it was seriously time to pack up.
Since Race One I've lost a few pounds on the low cholesterol regime and got another four races under my belt. I wouldn't say I was confident by any stretch going in to this one, but I was backing myself strongly to knock at least a minute off last month's travesty.
Early on in the contest it became clear that I was a different animal to the one that laboriously trudged around here five weeks ago. A couple of miles in and I found myself quite handily placed without expending myself whatsoever which was a relieving feeling, safe in the knowledge that I was on for a much improved time. The mile-long uphill section in the middle of the course is often the battleground where positions are gained, consolidated or lost. I had worked out I was probably seventh at this point having just passed Chorley's Darren Fishwick who sounded like he was struggling with a marathon on the Devon coast still in his legs from the weekend. But Daz is a tough competitor and he pushed me hard up the climb and then started to get away from me before overtaking the next runner as well. I got thinking that having seen nowt but young puppies on the front line at the start, this could be the three-way battle to win the veteran category. I was banking on a really good recovery when the course levels out and to hit a bit of top speed if I was to reel them both nearer to make a race of it, but whilst maintaining a decent enough effort, that something extra wasn't there. Darren surged on to make half a minute on me and the unknown runner ahead matched me stride for stride in the last couple of miles and I just couldn't make a gain on him. Nonetheless, I was pleased enough with the result here with a whoppadooby whole two minutes hacked off my time from the May race. Although this still ranked as my second worst time of the many runs at Harrock over the years, it was a step in the right direction on a night when the conditions saw most runners go comparatively slower, so I can't complain. Still work to be done though, there is another two minutes at the very least to shave off in this series before I can claim my box of greengrocery with a feeling that I have truly deserved it.
Wednesday 28th June 2017
HARROCK HILL RACE SERIES [2] 5.2m/800ft Bispham Green, West Lancs.
1st Man - James Toohey (Liverpool RC) 34:45
1st Lady - Debbie Campbell (Liverpool Pembroke & Sefton) 40:20
My Stats - 37:04 8/175
Monday, 26 June 2017
TEARE DROPS ME AS FORM DIPS DOWNHILL
AGGIE'S STAIRCASE
Uh oh, these tedious ramblings about my running are in danger of taking a negative twist again. Having felt a bit beaten up, I didn't run at all in the two days leading up to the Aggie's Staircase race with a hope that my legs would lighten up. That proved not to be the case though as I struggled more than expected on the familiar territory of Darwen Moor. Last week's race at Holcombe was over the same distance to this one so I thought that might have broken me in for a better showing. But despite being fairly fast out of the traps, I started going backwards approaching the high point of the first climb up to Darwen Tower. From there, the descent was overstretching me and yet still felt laborious which is a sure sign of a tricky race ahead. The ascent of the locally known trod called Jacob's Ladder seemed to go ok until I lost more ground on the bunch ahead when failing to recover, or discover, something race pace on the following plateau over the moor to Aggie's. Last week I was hanging on, but I had the drive to do so. This week was just plain old hanging on in it's most primitive sense. Then came the generation game and how a race like this brings out the wonderful variety of old and new in close proximity; Ascending Aggie's Staircase, a veteran who (not wishing to be uncomplimentary) certainly looked half way through his fifties at least, steamed past in a well worn pair of Walshes. Later I realise it was one of the founders of the now seemingly departed West Pennine Runners club, Neil Holding, who I didn't recognise in his new red vest of Horwich. Running off the Tower, determined to hold whatever place I was still salvaging, I hear an encouraging chirp from behind, ''Come on John'', and to my surprise it's Blackburn Harrier Danny Teare's lad, Jamie. Jamie Teare completely dropped me like I wasn't even trying. I had no response, the young whippersnapper was gone and made a gap in no time whatsoever. It was impressive to see though, and a name to look out for in the future will be this young man's who I discovered afterwards to be just fourteen years of age and with a great attitude to boot. However, both Jamie and I got done late on by another member of our club, Derek Reilly, who had more than plenty left in reserve for the last half mile and I was surged past yet again as if I was standing still. Jamie made the top twenty, I followed in next and I couldn't help but feel very disappointed. My time was exactly one hundred seconds out from my previous showing here in 2014 - and I wasn't in amazing fettle then by any stretch. I suppose it's only four weeks since that really sluggish performance at Harrock Hill and there have been a few positives to take since then, but not from this race.
Back to some positive vibes in general though as well as Jamie Teare, signs of great youthful potential were the names of Ben Forrest who less than a minute behind the winner. This Rossendale junior finished a fantastic third overall. Salford runner Ruth Jones was also in her hilly element, storming away as first lady, she battered me on the first climb and held out for 14th. If not quite so young, but certainly still quick, Ben Fish made a rare appearance on the fells on his Darwen doorstep, yet an all too familiar appearance in the winner's enclosure.
Post-Aggie's I have punished myself. Eight miles of effort running on hilly roads the Friday morning after the race, three miles hard as my crooked self could turn over on the Saturday and then quarter mile reps on my grass track at Worden Park on the Sunday which I commend myself on bashing out at a record average time. Sixteen reps was the aim, but twelve quality ones ought to put me in a better place for this Wednesday*. Less intense as of today, I won't be stopping altogether as that didn't seem to work last week. Then again, what does work? I can't seem to find any routine that delivers consistency, let alone clear signs of improvement.
*So, this Wednesday. It's Harrock Hill Part Two. It can only be better than that first episode last month. Oh wait, it simply has to be better than that first episode last month.
Thursday 22nd June 2017
AGGIE'S STAIRCASE 4m/1100ft Darwen, Lancs.
1st Man - Ben Fish (Blackburn H) 28:20
1st Lady - Ruth Jones (Salford) 32:36
My Stats - 33:32 21/153
AGGIE'S STAIRCASE
Uh oh, these tedious ramblings about my running are in danger of taking a negative twist again. Having felt a bit beaten up, I didn't run at all in the two days leading up to the Aggie's Staircase race with a hope that my legs would lighten up. That proved not to be the case though as I struggled more than expected on the familiar territory of Darwen Moor. Last week's race at Holcombe was over the same distance to this one so I thought that might have broken me in for a better showing. But despite being fairly fast out of the traps, I started going backwards approaching the high point of the first climb up to Darwen Tower. From there, the descent was overstretching me and yet still felt laborious which is a sure sign of a tricky race ahead. The ascent of the locally known trod called Jacob's Ladder seemed to go ok until I lost more ground on the bunch ahead when failing to recover, or discover, something race pace on the following plateau over the moor to Aggie's. Last week I was hanging on, but I had the drive to do so. This week was just plain old hanging on in it's most primitive sense. Then came the generation game and how a race like this brings out the wonderful variety of old and new in close proximity; Ascending Aggie's Staircase, a veteran who (not wishing to be uncomplimentary) certainly looked half way through his fifties at least, steamed past in a well worn pair of Walshes. Later I realise it was one of the founders of the now seemingly departed West Pennine Runners club, Neil Holding, who I didn't recognise in his new red vest of Horwich. Running off the Tower, determined to hold whatever place I was still salvaging, I hear an encouraging chirp from behind, ''Come on John'', and to my surprise it's Blackburn Harrier Danny Teare's lad, Jamie. Jamie Teare completely dropped me like I wasn't even trying. I had no response, the young whippersnapper was gone and made a gap in no time whatsoever. It was impressive to see though, and a name to look out for in the future will be this young man's who I discovered afterwards to be just fourteen years of age and with a great attitude to boot. However, both Jamie and I got done late on by another member of our club, Derek Reilly, who had more than plenty left in reserve for the last half mile and I was surged past yet again as if I was standing still. Jamie made the top twenty, I followed in next and I couldn't help but feel very disappointed. My time was exactly one hundred seconds out from my previous showing here in 2014 - and I wasn't in amazing fettle then by any stretch. I suppose it's only four weeks since that really sluggish performance at Harrock Hill and there have been a few positives to take since then, but not from this race.
Back to some positive vibes in general though as well as Jamie Teare, signs of great youthful potential were the names of Ben Forrest who less than a minute behind the winner. This Rossendale junior finished a fantastic third overall. Salford runner Ruth Jones was also in her hilly element, storming away as first lady, she battered me on the first climb and held out for 14th. If not quite so young, but certainly still quick, Ben Fish made a rare appearance on the fells on his Darwen doorstep, yet an all too familiar appearance in the winner's enclosure.
Post-Aggie's I have punished myself. Eight miles of effort running on hilly roads the Friday morning after the race, three miles hard as my crooked self could turn over on the Saturday and then quarter mile reps on my grass track at Worden Park on the Sunday which I commend myself on bashing out at a record average time. Sixteen reps was the aim, but twelve quality ones ought to put me in a better place for this Wednesday*. Less intense as of today, I won't be stopping altogether as that didn't seem to work last week. Then again, what does work? I can't seem to find any routine that delivers consistency, let alone clear signs of improvement.
*So, this Wednesday. It's Harrock Hill Part Two. It can only be better than that first episode last month. Oh wait, it simply has to be better than that first episode last month.
Thursday 22nd June 2017
AGGIE'S STAIRCASE 4m/1100ft Darwen, Lancs.
1st Man - Ben Fish (Blackburn H) 28:20
1st Lady - Ruth Jones (Salford) 32:36
My Stats - 33:32 21/153
Friday, 16 June 2017
TWO TOWERS TOUGHER THAN I REMEMBER!
HOLCOMBE TWO TOWERS
Momentum gained of late hit the buffers here, but it was by no means disastrous. If you can say to yourself that you turned up with the right attitude and have given everything, then self criticism ought to be kept to a minimum, even for me. I last ran this race in 2010 and whilst my grey matter recollected the venue and parts of the course reasonably well, I had forgotten just what a tough little bugger of a four miler this really is. From the almost immediate steep scramble through the woods to the open moorland, the legs and lungs were burning up and there was absolutely no respite as the incline drags upwards and onwards to the iconic Peel Tower. A brief opportunity to get some wind back in the sails across Holcombe Moor comes to an end with another little pull up Harcles Hill. From there it's a testing flagged route up and down along the western slopes of the moorside before one final long slog back up to the tower, Peel Tower that is. By Two Towers, the race refers to the same tower, twice.
I knew I'd put a shift in and really needed a race like this to scrape the bottom of my resolve. I soon found myself pocketed alone between two groups. The bunch ahead were scrapping for top ten places and gradually got further away from me. But aware that behind me the nearest threat was maybe half a minute in my wake, I was determined to at least consolidate my place and stick everything I had left in to the descent towards the finish. Literally, there was just no section of this race to gain a bit of recovery, it was eyeballs out, tongue out, teeth out, the whole lot. It's a cracking descent from the tower with a bit of everything underfoot and when thundering down to the base of the woods for the final surge to the finish, a quick watch check revealed I had just surpassed my finishing time of seven years ago. Rather than be disillusioned though, I was spurred on to try and clock in within a minute or so of that previous time. But a spark from my memory jogger facility then recalled the finish being a little further on than where we started. So it wasn't terrific but not terrible either as I crossed the line two minutes and eighteen seconds behind my own shadow of yesteryear.
Holcombe Two Towers is a proper little blow-out of a fell race which served as good practice for short, high intensity races like this of which there are quite a few of similar ilk ahead on the summer evening calendar. It was also a sensual reminder of the pain involved!
Wednesday 14th June 2017
HOLCOMBE TWO TOWERS Holcombe Brook, Ramsbottom, Lancs 4m/1312ft
1st Man - Ben Coop (Bury) 33:54
1st Lady - Donna Cartwright 45:05
My Stats - 38:31 12/109
HOLCOMBE TWO TOWERS
Momentum gained of late hit the buffers here, but it was by no means disastrous. If you can say to yourself that you turned up with the right attitude and have given everything, then self criticism ought to be kept to a minimum, even for me. I last ran this race in 2010 and whilst my grey matter recollected the venue and parts of the course reasonably well, I had forgotten just what a tough little bugger of a four miler this really is. From the almost immediate steep scramble through the woods to the open moorland, the legs and lungs were burning up and there was absolutely no respite as the incline drags upwards and onwards to the iconic Peel Tower. A brief opportunity to get some wind back in the sails across Holcombe Moor comes to an end with another little pull up Harcles Hill. From there it's a testing flagged route up and down along the western slopes of the moorside before one final long slog back up to the tower, Peel Tower that is. By Two Towers, the race refers to the same tower, twice.
I knew I'd put a shift in and really needed a race like this to scrape the bottom of my resolve. I soon found myself pocketed alone between two groups. The bunch ahead were scrapping for top ten places and gradually got further away from me. But aware that behind me the nearest threat was maybe half a minute in my wake, I was determined to at least consolidate my place and stick everything I had left in to the descent towards the finish. Literally, there was just no section of this race to gain a bit of recovery, it was eyeballs out, tongue out, teeth out, the whole lot. It's a cracking descent from the tower with a bit of everything underfoot and when thundering down to the base of the woods for the final surge to the finish, a quick watch check revealed I had just surpassed my finishing time of seven years ago. Rather than be disillusioned though, I was spurred on to try and clock in within a minute or so of that previous time. But a spark from my memory jogger facility then recalled the finish being a little further on than where we started. So it wasn't terrific but not terrible either as I crossed the line two minutes and eighteen seconds behind my own shadow of yesteryear.
Holcombe Two Towers is a proper little blow-out of a fell race which served as good practice for short, high intensity races like this of which there are quite a few of similar ilk ahead on the summer evening calendar. It was also a sensual reminder of the pain involved!
Wednesday 14th June 2017
HOLCOMBE TWO TOWERS Holcombe Brook, Ramsbottom, Lancs 4m/1312ft
1st Man - Ben Coop (Bury) 33:54
1st Lady - Donna Cartwright 45:05
My Stats - 38:31 12/109
Tuesday, 13 June 2017
BLENCATHRA BLISS BLOWS AWAY HARROCK HELL
BLENCATHRA
Blencathra has always been one I wanted to tick off and despite the 168 mile round trip on a Wednesday evening, sometimes you've just got to go and do these things. I wasn't to be disappointed. What a midweek beauty this is. I thought nothing could better the Tebay race for a proper middle distance fell race on a midweek evening, but I think this one may just top it. This post-race euphoria is sugar coated by what I considered to be another encouraging performance, but even if I had completely bombed and ran a stinker, this tough course rewarded with some magical views would have still pinched at my heart strings and guaranteed some satisfaction regardless.
So I opted for discovering something new again as this week's choice of race. I also decided to raise the bar of the challenge, despite some reservations that the carry-over feel-good factor from Ingleton could be mind over matter. But another consistent week of varied running sessions had left me feeling even stronger and confident I had more to offer.
Blencathra, at 2847 feet is the most northerly Lakeland fell of prominence. From my first peek that evening of it's distinctive saddleback skyline approaching Penrith on the M6, I couldn't wait to get there and crack on with scaling a summit that I had last trodden over a quarter of a century ago.
Even the starting point of this race is impressive. Ever so slightly off the beaten track through tiny Mungrisdale, the aptly named Fellgate reveals a valley that suddenly opens up like a vast and wonderful theatre for the evening's performance. It is from here that one hundred and sixty odd runners lined up silently as the race organiser remembered fell runners no longer with us and then recited some choice words of the great Alfred Wainwright over the loud speaker. Blencathra was one of the fells AW enjoyed with the most affection. Hairs on the back of my neck stood to attention and had they not, I had no right to be there.
Then for a few seconds the only sound was that of race numbers flapping in the strong breeze before we were off. After a brief boggy squelch with diagonal intentions across the valley base, the course picks up a steep single file trod through the thick bracken up on to the immediate skyline from where a strong headwind accompanied an arduous but runable sequence of false summits which finally reaches Bowscale Fell. I got caught in traffic up that initial climb so it felt, dare I say it, a little bit too easy. I thought that not to be a bad thing however at this early stage and so only until the hillside opened up did I begin to pick off a few places and realise pretty quickly that my positive mentality was being partnered by positive physicality. The old legs were feeling lightweight and pliable, so I knew I could be on for quite a decent run despite having done no serious fell work for some time.
From the summit of Bowscale, a spectacular view of the main event comes in to the frame. From a north eastern aspect, Blencathra's dark jagged ridges leaned almost obtusely. From here I can see the leaders scaling the north ridge and there was a descent to come first, however I found myself still gradually picking away through the field and climbing Blencathra itself quite fluently and really able to put in a good rate of effort. I was racing. Not just surviving, but racing again and up here where it's at. I was a touch disappointed that the route didn't scale the northerly tip of the mountain and run along the saddle, instead we approached the southerly tip and Blencathra summit by a lesser spectacular traverse behind it, but what an incredible view to the West opened up as sunlight bled through pockets of hefty cloud upon the valley between Great Calva and Skiddaw.
I think the endorphines got to me at this point when initially descending Blencathra as if the finish was in sight. I shot past one of the leading ladies from Howgill Harriers and an Ellenborough guy, both of whom had been just ahead of me for some time. I was starting to wonder if I was getting a little giddy and whether or not there was an uphill sting in the tail to come and sure enough I could see it way down in the distance. The descent veers off in to the rougher stuff of bilberry bushes and longer grasses before a climb up and along Souther Fell ensues and it was on this next section of descent that I squeezed on the breaks realising there was still some work to be done. Some damage was already done as I'd smacked my quads up quite a bit and when that relatively short climb began, the black and yellow vests of Howgill and Ellenborough came back at me. However, I had the reserves to dig in and grit my teeth through a few more little undulations before the big drop down to the valley where it all began and managed to keep tabs on that Howgill runner, Heidi Dent. As the steep drop to the finish begins, an Ambleside veteran comes bounding along making light weight of both the terrain and of gravity itself to pick up probably ten places or more in this section. I may have picked back a place or two but my quad muscles were really numbing now. I hit the valley floor just behind Heidi and after two knee deep bogs followed by a paddle across the River Glenderamackin, I was still just hanging on to her shadow. A twelve yard but nevertheless killer incline from river bed to the farm track sees the finish in sight and probably less than two hundred yards to the line, but I just couldn't reel her in and in fairness I think the Howgill lass had a bit more left in the tank than I did. I just missed out on a top forty finish but was well satisfied with the manner in which I had run it more than times or positions. I enjoyed every single minute of it and this felt like a major breakthrough. Who was that plodder wondering why the the bloody hell he bothers at Harrock Hill just a couple of weeks ago? What a difference a fortnight can make.
Wednesday 7th June 2017
BLENCATHRA 8.1m/2707ft Fellgate, Mungrisdale, Cumbria
1st Man - Ben Mounsey (Calder Valley) 1.04:28
1st Lady - Lou Roberts (Ambleside) 1.16;19
My Stats - 1.18:44 41/164
''This is a mountain that compels attention, even from those dull people who are not habitually lifted to the hills. To artists and photographers it is an obvious subject for their craft; to sightseers passing along the road or railway at it's base, between Keswick and Penrith, it's influence is magnetic; to the dalesfolk it is the eternal background to their lives, there at birth, there at death. But most of all it is a mountaineers' mountain. - Alfred Wainwright
BLENCATHRA
Blencathra has always been one I wanted to tick off and despite the 168 mile round trip on a Wednesday evening, sometimes you've just got to go and do these things. I wasn't to be disappointed. What a midweek beauty this is. I thought nothing could better the Tebay race for a proper middle distance fell race on a midweek evening, but I think this one may just top it. This post-race euphoria is sugar coated by what I considered to be another encouraging performance, but even if I had completely bombed and ran a stinker, this tough course rewarded with some magical views would have still pinched at my heart strings and guaranteed some satisfaction regardless.
So I opted for discovering something new again as this week's choice of race. I also decided to raise the bar of the challenge, despite some reservations that the carry-over feel-good factor from Ingleton could be mind over matter. But another consistent week of varied running sessions had left me feeling even stronger and confident I had more to offer.
Blencathra, at 2847 feet is the most northerly Lakeland fell of prominence. From my first peek that evening of it's distinctive saddleback skyline approaching Penrith on the M6, I couldn't wait to get there and crack on with scaling a summit that I had last trodden over a quarter of a century ago.
Even the starting point of this race is impressive. Ever so slightly off the beaten track through tiny Mungrisdale, the aptly named Fellgate reveals a valley that suddenly opens up like a vast and wonderful theatre for the evening's performance. It is from here that one hundred and sixty odd runners lined up silently as the race organiser remembered fell runners no longer with us and then recited some choice words of the great Alfred Wainwright over the loud speaker. Blencathra was one of the fells AW enjoyed with the most affection. Hairs on the back of my neck stood to attention and had they not, I had no right to be there.
Then for a few seconds the only sound was that of race numbers flapping in the strong breeze before we were off. After a brief boggy squelch with diagonal intentions across the valley base, the course picks up a steep single file trod through the thick bracken up on to the immediate skyline from where a strong headwind accompanied an arduous but runable sequence of false summits which finally reaches Bowscale Fell. I got caught in traffic up that initial climb so it felt, dare I say it, a little bit too easy. I thought that not to be a bad thing however at this early stage and so only until the hillside opened up did I begin to pick off a few places and realise pretty quickly that my positive mentality was being partnered by positive physicality. The old legs were feeling lightweight and pliable, so I knew I could be on for quite a decent run despite having done no serious fell work for some time.
From the summit of Bowscale, a spectacular view of the main event comes in to the frame. From a north eastern aspect, Blencathra's dark jagged ridges leaned almost obtusely. From here I can see the leaders scaling the north ridge and there was a descent to come first, however I found myself still gradually picking away through the field and climbing Blencathra itself quite fluently and really able to put in a good rate of effort. I was racing. Not just surviving, but racing again and up here where it's at. I was a touch disappointed that the route didn't scale the northerly tip of the mountain and run along the saddle, instead we approached the southerly tip and Blencathra summit by a lesser spectacular traverse behind it, but what an incredible view to the West opened up as sunlight bled through pockets of hefty cloud upon the valley between Great Calva and Skiddaw.
I think the endorphines got to me at this point when initially descending Blencathra as if the finish was in sight. I shot past one of the leading ladies from Howgill Harriers and an Ellenborough guy, both of whom had been just ahead of me for some time. I was starting to wonder if I was getting a little giddy and whether or not there was an uphill sting in the tail to come and sure enough I could see it way down in the distance. The descent veers off in to the rougher stuff of bilberry bushes and longer grasses before a climb up and along Souther Fell ensues and it was on this next section of descent that I squeezed on the breaks realising there was still some work to be done. Some damage was already done as I'd smacked my quads up quite a bit and when that relatively short climb began, the black and yellow vests of Howgill and Ellenborough came back at me. However, I had the reserves to dig in and grit my teeth through a few more little undulations before the big drop down to the valley where it all began and managed to keep tabs on that Howgill runner, Heidi Dent. As the steep drop to the finish begins, an Ambleside veteran comes bounding along making light weight of both the terrain and of gravity itself to pick up probably ten places or more in this section. I may have picked back a place or two but my quad muscles were really numbing now. I hit the valley floor just behind Heidi and after two knee deep bogs followed by a paddle across the River Glenderamackin, I was still just hanging on to her shadow. A twelve yard but nevertheless killer incline from river bed to the farm track sees the finish in sight and probably less than two hundred yards to the line, but I just couldn't reel her in and in fairness I think the Howgill lass had a bit more left in the tank than I did. I just missed out on a top forty finish but was well satisfied with the manner in which I had run it more than times or positions. I enjoyed every single minute of it and this felt like a major breakthrough. Who was that plodder wondering why the the bloody hell he bothers at Harrock Hill just a couple of weeks ago? What a difference a fortnight can make.
Wednesday 7th June 2017
BLENCATHRA 8.1m/2707ft Fellgate, Mungrisdale, Cumbria
1st Man - Ben Mounsey (Calder Valley) 1.04:28
1st Lady - Lou Roberts (Ambleside) 1.16;19
My Stats - 1.18:44 41/164
''This is a mountain that compels attention, even from those dull people who are not habitually lifted to the hills. To artists and photographers it is an obvious subject for their craft; to sightseers passing along the road or railway at it's base, between Keswick and Penrith, it's influence is magnetic; to the dalesfolk it is the eternal background to their lives, there at birth, there at death. But most of all it is a mountaineers' mountain. - Alfred Wainwright
Wednesday, 7 June 2017
RISE AT THE FALLS
INGLETON SCENERY
The only way was up after that personal worst at Harrock Hill last week. The time clocked there, unknown until publication of the results after accidentally stopping my watch, turned out to be much worse than I had even imagined! So it was with a sense of relief and satisfaction that I put that diabolical result to bed with a performance far better than I expected at the following week's trail race in Ingleton.
During the previous week that was, my stringent avoidance of saturated fats had shed a couple of pounds which was always going to be advantageous. But on the morning of race day, a precautionary ECG I'd been booked in for found something called a 'heart block' which isn't a condition as such, but refers to an occasional disruption of the electrical pulses that control the heart beat. At the moment I am assured it's nothing to worry about and is not uncommon amongst those of lowly pulse rates. Nevertheless I am being referred to a cardiologist. I can't seem to bloody well shake off medical appointments at the moment, but it's been well worth the visits so far as I would have otherwise been carrying on gorging on mascarpone cheese completely oblivious for who knows how long? Medical blab aside then, and to the race. The doctor didn't say I couldn't run so there was no doubt I was going to pin a number on that evening. With plenty of local racing options to choose from midweek, I had opted for something new and low key instead. There aren't many races Clitheroe postman and fell runner Alan Life hasn't done and once I got the course details from Alan, my choice of race this week was confirmed with excitement after learning it was the whole route around Ingleton Falls.
This fell in nicely with half term and my days off as well, so the race was preceded by a glorious leisurely family walk around the falls on a warm and sunny afternoon. This culminated in some very decent looking fish and chips being deservedly devoured on the village green by the river - but not for me. I'd already snacked out on a comparatively dull but needs-must chicken salad wrap to keep me going. I pinched a couple of chips and a bit of fish, but the salivation was too much and I had to just leave them to it so cleared off to go and get my kit on.
The route bottle necks after a few hundred yards so it was important to find my place in the race and just before things narrowed off, I made the brave decision to surge past six or seven ahead of me based on their pace clearly slowing as the path got more technical underfoot. I thought it was a risk with last week's performance in mind, but no such troubles this time around. Much of the climbing up to the head of Thornton Force is on unforgiving flights of steps which I thought would beat me up, but I seemed to find a decent enough rhythm to hold my place. Over the top of Thornton Force, I glimpsed the unusual sight of the leaders probably not much more than a minute and a half ahead. I was feeling like there was a race in me at long last and gaining a bit of confidence.
Descending down a beautiful short grass slope with the might of Ingleborough in full view I could hear company behind, but once we headed back in to the tight woodland trails of steps and limestone I sensed I had pulled clear of that threat and was now concentrating on the vest colours of Helm Hill and Trawden AC not far ahead. I started to believe these two guys were for the taking if I didn't make any rash advances. The afternoon's recce was much to my advantage having spotted a few off piste second-saving short cuts and soon enough the Helm Hill lad was behind me and Trawden's James McIlvenny right in front. I was happy sitting behind, but once the course levels out a bit and the path widens I found myself naturally, though reluctantly at first, overtaking again. So yes, I wasn't overtaken and in fact I did some overtaking. This was a modern day revelation. I fairly powered back to the finish from there, buoyed by this long lost feeling of having a good run. It turned out my relative stats were also going in the right direction, less than ninety seconds behind the leaner than ever racing machine that is Darren Fishwick. That will do me fine right now after Darren ran a tactically perfect race to pick off his way up to fourth place.
It was that same Chorley runner Mr Fishwick who summed this race up in the car park afterwards, telling me, ''That's got to be the best value race on the calendar - three quid, bottle of beer and a Mars bar - it costs twice that to walk it during the day''. (In fairness, £15 for a family ticket, including all day parking and much more time to take in the natural splendour) It's a walk I've enjoyed a few times over the years and definitely a cracking route to race. It's certainly different with the steps, but rewarding in the second half of the race chasing through tight twisting trails like a human rollercoaster.
Gratefully, I'd been saved a few cold chips, curry sauce and mushy peas for the journey home and a miniature cholesterol blowout was had - swilled down with a warm bottle of Keighley brewed ale - perfect! One for next year? I reckon so.
Thursday 1st June 2017
INGLETON SCENERY 4.7m/886ft Ingleton Falls, North Yorks.
1st Man - Paul Webb (Settle) 30:48
1st Lady - Amie McAvoy (Garstang) 39:01
My Stats - 34:02 9/68
INGLETON SCENERY
The only way was up after that personal worst at Harrock Hill last week. The time clocked there, unknown until publication of the results after accidentally stopping my watch, turned out to be much worse than I had even imagined! So it was with a sense of relief and satisfaction that I put that diabolical result to bed with a performance far better than I expected at the following week's trail race in Ingleton.
During the previous week that was, my stringent avoidance of saturated fats had shed a couple of pounds which was always going to be advantageous. But on the morning of race day, a precautionary ECG I'd been booked in for found something called a 'heart block' which isn't a condition as such, but refers to an occasional disruption of the electrical pulses that control the heart beat. At the moment I am assured it's nothing to worry about and is not uncommon amongst those of lowly pulse rates. Nevertheless I am being referred to a cardiologist. I can't seem to bloody well shake off medical appointments at the moment, but it's been well worth the visits so far as I would have otherwise been carrying on gorging on mascarpone cheese completely oblivious for who knows how long? Medical blab aside then, and to the race. The doctor didn't say I couldn't run so there was no doubt I was going to pin a number on that evening. With plenty of local racing options to choose from midweek, I had opted for something new and low key instead. There aren't many races Clitheroe postman and fell runner Alan Life hasn't done and once I got the course details from Alan, my choice of race this week was confirmed with excitement after learning it was the whole route around Ingleton Falls.
This fell in nicely with half term and my days off as well, so the race was preceded by a glorious leisurely family walk around the falls on a warm and sunny afternoon. This culminated in some very decent looking fish and chips being deservedly devoured on the village green by the river - but not for me. I'd already snacked out on a comparatively dull but needs-must chicken salad wrap to keep me going. I pinched a couple of chips and a bit of fish, but the salivation was too much and I had to just leave them to it so cleared off to go and get my kit on.
The route bottle necks after a few hundred yards so it was important to find my place in the race and just before things narrowed off, I made the brave decision to surge past six or seven ahead of me based on their pace clearly slowing as the path got more technical underfoot. I thought it was a risk with last week's performance in mind, but no such troubles this time around. Much of the climbing up to the head of Thornton Force is on unforgiving flights of steps which I thought would beat me up, but I seemed to find a decent enough rhythm to hold my place. Over the top of Thornton Force, I glimpsed the unusual sight of the leaders probably not much more than a minute and a half ahead. I was feeling like there was a race in me at long last and gaining a bit of confidence.
Descending down a beautiful short grass slope with the might of Ingleborough in full view I could hear company behind, but once we headed back in to the tight woodland trails of steps and limestone I sensed I had pulled clear of that threat and was now concentrating on the vest colours of Helm Hill and Trawden AC not far ahead. I started to believe these two guys were for the taking if I didn't make any rash advances. The afternoon's recce was much to my advantage having spotted a few off piste second-saving short cuts and soon enough the Helm Hill lad was behind me and Trawden's James McIlvenny right in front. I was happy sitting behind, but once the course levels out a bit and the path widens I found myself naturally, though reluctantly at first, overtaking again. So yes, I wasn't overtaken and in fact I did some overtaking. This was a modern day revelation. I fairly powered back to the finish from there, buoyed by this long lost feeling of having a good run. It turned out my relative stats were also going in the right direction, less than ninety seconds behind the leaner than ever racing machine that is Darren Fishwick. That will do me fine right now after Darren ran a tactically perfect race to pick off his way up to fourth place.
It was that same Chorley runner Mr Fishwick who summed this race up in the car park afterwards, telling me, ''That's got to be the best value race on the calendar - three quid, bottle of beer and a Mars bar - it costs twice that to walk it during the day''. (In fairness, £15 for a family ticket, including all day parking and much more time to take in the natural splendour) It's a walk I've enjoyed a few times over the years and definitely a cracking route to race. It's certainly different with the steps, but rewarding in the second half of the race chasing through tight twisting trails like a human rollercoaster.
Gratefully, I'd been saved a few cold chips, curry sauce and mushy peas for the journey home and a miniature cholesterol blowout was had - swilled down with a warm bottle of Keighley brewed ale - perfect! One for next year? I reckon so.
Thursday 1st June 2017
INGLETON SCENERY 4.7m/886ft Ingleton Falls, North Yorks.
1st Man - Paul Webb (Settle) 30:48
1st Lady - Amie McAvoy (Garstang) 39:01
My Stats - 34:02 9/68
Thursday, 25 May 2017
STARTING AGAIN, YET AGAIN
HARROCK HILL RACE SERIES [1]
I don't like turning up for races when I'm not in racing fettle, which is precisely why I have been a rare sight at races in recent years. Listening to the usual pre-race excuses of others last night, I enjoyed sticking mine out there. Few people escaped from being told I have higher than normal cholesterol levels - I almost seemed to revel in it! A bit like these crazy folk who claim to have bespoke food allergies because it gives them a heightened, if deluded, sense of individuality, or even class. Of course, I wasn't claiming to be a special one. More a case of humouring myself and understandably, not everybody quite tunes in to that. Who was the crackpot banging on about cholesterol last night? That would be me.
Post-cholesterol diagnosis (there I go, mentioning it again - I am obsessed) I am implicating it in to my running like it is a new start again, yet again. Positive effects of diet tweaking will not be instant, if at all, but I have to give it a go. So what? I'm not in amazing racing shape but does that mean I don't race all Summer? Maybe I need to race regular to get back racing like I want to. Bizarrely, whilst regularly toying with this obvious idea the last couple of years, I have chickened out of doing it. I turn up for a race, get my ass kicked by guys who have never beat me before, don't like it, go back to the drawing board until I go and do it again when next I feel up to kidding myself. It's been a non-productive cycle which I thought I should go and break by dragging my sorry slow legs and partially clogged arteries over to West Lancashire for the first Harrock Hill race of the series - with a view to ticking off at least one race a week now during Summer, regardless of how pants a performance I can muster. Racing myself to race fitness is something not yet tried, so the bowls somehow still remain on hold until enough time has been had for the results of this latest experiment come to fruition.
Instantly I found myself off the pace in a race I used to regularly do very well in. Initially it was difficult in such familiar surroundings to accept this fate, but I did. There was no point trying to run against the tide on a course which I know only too well will bite you on the backside if you go out too fast in the first couple of miles without the confidence of good form behind you, especially on a muggy night such as this. So I settled down, ran it sensibly, tried to ignore who was immediately ahead and whether or not I thought they should be, but yet still had a sticky time on the dragging climb in the middle section of the course. However, the last two miles were a very small and yet important positive to grab on to in that my legs finally began to feel fluent, my breathing settled and I was pleased to remind myself that I am not so old that I can't jump a cattle grid with ease. I managed to gain a place back, fuelled in the closing stages by that runner ahead cutting a corner where the course is clearly marked in the right angle of a field. A petty cheating offence to which I shouted, ''nice one pal, saved a whole second there'', the reply ''any help I can get'' resigned me to think, 'good answer, but I'm really going to have to beat you now.' Spurred by this, I finished with a bit of a flourish which was, as I say, a flicker of light on a night when I smashed a personal worst time and lowest finishing position of my umpteen appearances at Harrock Hill. It's a yardstick of where I am right now, but I am looking to do much better at next month's meeting with a few more races in the tank and refraining from offending fats. Did I mention my higher than normal cholesterol levels?
Wednesday 24th May 2017
HARROCK HILL RACE SERIES [1] 5.2m/800ft Bispham Green, West Lancs.
1st Man - William Rawson (Leigh) 33:56
1st Lady - Jayne Taylor (Wigan H.) 43:18
My Stats - 39:02 16/197
HARROCK HILL RACE SERIES [1]
I don't like turning up for races when I'm not in racing fettle, which is precisely why I have been a rare sight at races in recent years. Listening to the usual pre-race excuses of others last night, I enjoyed sticking mine out there. Few people escaped from being told I have higher than normal cholesterol levels - I almost seemed to revel in it! A bit like these crazy folk who claim to have bespoke food allergies because it gives them a heightened, if deluded, sense of individuality, or even class. Of course, I wasn't claiming to be a special one. More a case of humouring myself and understandably, not everybody quite tunes in to that. Who was the crackpot banging on about cholesterol last night? That would be me.
Post-cholesterol diagnosis (there I go, mentioning it again - I am obsessed) I am implicating it in to my running like it is a new start again, yet again. Positive effects of diet tweaking will not be instant, if at all, but I have to give it a go. So what? I'm not in amazing racing shape but does that mean I don't race all Summer? Maybe I need to race regular to get back racing like I want to. Bizarrely, whilst regularly toying with this obvious idea the last couple of years, I have chickened out of doing it. I turn up for a race, get my ass kicked by guys who have never beat me before, don't like it, go back to the drawing board until I go and do it again when next I feel up to kidding myself. It's been a non-productive cycle which I thought I should go and break by dragging my sorry slow legs and partially clogged arteries over to West Lancashire for the first Harrock Hill race of the series - with a view to ticking off at least one race a week now during Summer, regardless of how pants a performance I can muster. Racing myself to race fitness is something not yet tried, so the bowls somehow still remain on hold until enough time has been had for the results of this latest experiment come to fruition.
Instantly I found myself off the pace in a race I used to regularly do very well in. Initially it was difficult in such familiar surroundings to accept this fate, but I did. There was no point trying to run against the tide on a course which I know only too well will bite you on the backside if you go out too fast in the first couple of miles without the confidence of good form behind you, especially on a muggy night such as this. So I settled down, ran it sensibly, tried to ignore who was immediately ahead and whether or not I thought they should be, but yet still had a sticky time on the dragging climb in the middle section of the course. However, the last two miles were a very small and yet important positive to grab on to in that my legs finally began to feel fluent, my breathing settled and I was pleased to remind myself that I am not so old that I can't jump a cattle grid with ease. I managed to gain a place back, fuelled in the closing stages by that runner ahead cutting a corner where the course is clearly marked in the right angle of a field. A petty cheating offence to which I shouted, ''nice one pal, saved a whole second there'', the reply ''any help I can get'' resigned me to think, 'good answer, but I'm really going to have to beat you now.' Spurred by this, I finished with a bit of a flourish which was, as I say, a flicker of light on a night when I smashed a personal worst time and lowest finishing position of my umpteen appearances at Harrock Hill. It's a yardstick of where I am right now, but I am looking to do much better at next month's meeting with a few more races in the tank and refraining from offending fats. Did I mention my higher than normal cholesterol levels?
Wednesday 24th May 2017
HARROCK HILL RACE SERIES [1] 5.2m/800ft Bispham Green, West Lancs.
1st Man - William Rawson (Leigh) 33:56
1st Lady - Jayne Taylor (Wigan H.) 43:18
My Stats - 39:02 16/197
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