RUNNING... AND RANTING AGAIN

So in the end I took seven days out from running and by then I was ready to have a go again. I came back refreshed, de-niggled, with a fresh purpose and now absolutely convinced that tarmac is a sin. For road running, read repetitive stress. Note to self here, it's been noted before but it's time I took notice of my own advice! Almost two weeks back in to training and it's all been about trying to replicate the routine of last Summer with a few seasonal twists. So far, so good. Back at club training it was the rarity of a flat session with 5K broken up in to sixteen reps and half minute recoveries - I think we were meant to be doing some sort of particular pacing or other, but this served only to confuse me so it was head down and just get on with it. Feeling good, I ran them all pretty solid at a flattering pace. This came on the back of just over a week of running steady stuff in strictly bog and mud only, with a couple of short rep sessions up Clitheroe Castle chucked in. As such, a flat speed session on a hard surface in racing shoes was a welcome contrast. Since then, more Castle reps and more bogs. This sort of routine needs to be ticking over now to build strength and speed going in to races later this month. Well, that's the plan at least.
Back training with the club then last Tuesday, an incident occurred which backed up some of the rant I touched upon here a few weeks ago. We were just on a mile and a half or so warm up before the session, innocently going about our business down Whalley Road and about to pass a lady jogger to whom we gave plenty of space, even stepping wide off the pavement and in to the road for. Bizarrely she overreacted by stopping as if physically barged out of the way and complaining loudly, ''Oh, I didn't know it was a race?!''. What? Oh sorry, is it criminality to overtake now? This backs up recent stories I've heard about some runners shouting things like ''show off!''. What is it with these people? That's what I'm talking about when I fear Neo-Liberal Conservatives are trying to hijack the sport. They might still be a minority, but it's a growing trend and hence my concern and irritation.
Running as an activity is simple - slip a pair of shoes on and from your doorstep, off you go - you have a right to do so who ever you are and at whatever pace you select. But that anybody can do it is precisely why in some ways running as a sport is vulnerable to holding it's own as a competitive outlet first and foremost. If running hard - or in this case just warming up before running hard - is to be frowned upon because it makes a slower runner feel somehow belittled, intimidated or offended, then I would prefer to challenge why the hell that is than bow to it and tip toe around these people. They may dress up their right to be a runner in a robe of pure equality and opportunity for all - which is great - but only on their terms it would seem, and so there you have it - your archetypal Neo-Liberal Conservative runner! Aspiring to a challenge, but resenting competition.       

THE SMILING FACE OF RUNNING'S FUTURE?
Whilst temporarily out of action, I thought a good old rant to myself should exhale some of the tensions that brew when I'm not getting a running fix in.
The whole running scene has changed quite a bit, even in the relatively short time I have embraced it since 2006. Fell running to an extent, thankfully remains intact. Not entirely, but generally speaking. There are still fell races on the calendar where everything is still as blissfully raw and uncomplicated as it was when I first started racing.
Some races have bitten the dust though unfortunately, including my old favourite the Winter Hill fell race. What I consider to be a very strange rationale from conservation groups such as English Nature and land owners United Utilities were behind this. In this particular case it was deemed unacceptable for generally less than 200 runners to make that once a year invasion upon some areas deemed sensitive moorland. But what about the mountain bikers with wheels far more erosive than feet and given a 24-7-365 license to go where the frig they want? What about the weather? Water from the sky does it's fair share of damage, perhaps they should ban rain as well or put the whole of the West Pennine Moors under a protective canopy? It seemed unfair and certainly a knee-jerk reaction rather than a more considered move. I, and I am sure the many, would have happily paid more for the privilege to race it and seen those extras go towards conservation work on the moor for example. But that sort of offer never reached the table I don't think, which was a pity. An opportunity to continue the race but rerouting to official paths was on the table, but I was with the organisers on this and not settling for second best. The whole distinct character of the race would be lost. Soon enough and equally as sad, even the shorter race over Winter Hill from the Belmont end was also pulled off the calendar.
And what of the Fell Runners Association? Things have changed there. For the better when initially engaging UK Athletics to become involved in the insurance side of things. When a race organiser was remortgaging their house to fight a court case against them, rational action and a proper liability framework was long overdue. For the worse though, the FRA have since let that said national governing body interfere too much, bowing down to generic UKA rules and regulations, of which some frankly don't apply to the discipline of fell running. Tick-box culture has filtered it's pretentious way in to the very nooks and crannies of this simple amateur sport. I would argue the FRA have become a lap dog organisation and have ultimately handed over the governorship of their own sport. It might be easy for me to say, sat on my backside rambling my thoughts as an outsider trying to look in. But rather like in politics, I can't help thinking that well meaning folk get involved on committees for all the right reasons but then become detached of their original values and get sucked in to the system, losing the ability to question their own actions - or indeed the lack of them.
Anyway, on to online entries for races. That was always going to snowball, but in some cases to the detriment of racing as an actual contest. Probably more so in road racing than on the fells, but with some races filling up very quickly and awash with nobody in particular's, many athletes of higher end ability may not want to commit six months in advance to some low key but highly attended race. They certainly won't be hanging around on waiting lists, and so the quality runners that surely we all want to be involved to give any race more credence and competition are being squeezed out and so the standards slip. 10K races with a thousand runners won in 36 minutes and all that sort of carry on... once upon a time 36 minutes wouldn't get you on the first results page. Not only can pre-entry detract the more serious athletes, but it's actually an advantageous system for runners who all along were planning just to plod around the course with a groin strain and fuzzy head from the best part of a bottle of wine the night before. Somehow that's not right and it certainly isn't progressive for the sport.
A massive new wave of beginner runners in recent times has seen the rise of events companies popping up left, right and centre, creating and taking over the organisation of races. These guys have spotted the boom and found a niche in the market. Charging incredulous fees of up to £25 for a 10K race around the stark streets of suburbia, chuck in a cheap looking finishing medal and a bag of tacky goodies and everybody is happy. Well, happy for now perhaps. Twenty five quid for a 10K, ten quid for a 5K... holy smoke, I thought Dick Turpin wore a mask? Prizes for actually winning some of these race are often reported as very poor indeed given the entry fee. Again, another turn off for the faster boys and girls.
Then there's Ultra runs for the sake of  'Ultra' status, 24 hour races, 'Great Run' such a place, 'Great Run' the other... these events are undoubtedly popular to the new wave, but I don't like the whole corporate attachment which intrudes on what ought to be - and I repeat - a simple amateur sport. Times will change again I am sure. The boom may go bust as folk wise up to the big rip off. These event companies threaten to price themselves out of existence just as much as they threaten to take over. For the good of the game, I hope it's the former rather than the latter. It will be interesting to see the future unfold.
Proper race organiser's do it for the love. Certainly I for one will ensure that races I enter either support the organising club, make a direct contribution to a worthwhile cause, or both.
Speaking of the current running boom, somewhere along the lines since I got involved in running, Parkrun has exploded on to the scene. The free, weekly 5K time trial, fun run, jog with your dog, whatever you want it to be. The positive effect Parkrun has had on hundreds of thousands of lives worldwide should not be underestimated, but I would like to see a couple of key amendments made so far as Parkrun UK is concerned. I think participants should be asked to consider sticking a quid in the bucket at parks which are open and managed by voluntary organisations that have to raise their own funds. This would, and I believe should, be the case at my local Cuerden Valley Parkrun for example. A few pay for parking on site which is fair enough, but we all know there's loads of places nearby to park for free that some tight arses will find. I doubt this motion would be popular though, I mean heaven forbid some participants being asked to stick their hands in their pocket for a Parkrun!
Parkrun is massive and a great success. But why are the statistics from these runs religiously updated on UK Athletics' Power of Ten website? Parkun is many things, but a proper race it is not. No entry fee, no race numbers... and besides, Parkrun have their own excellent website from which one can dig a result or statistic out from anywhere in seconds. It's like UK Athletics attaching themselves like leeches to something popular and progressive in the sport that in fact they have had absolutely no input towards. Is this the best they can do for grassroots? Pretend they are a player on the Parkrun bandwagon? I did plenty of actual races last year, but no signs of them on Power of Ten  - not that I'm particularly bothered about that - but it's this strange prioritising of Parkruns on there which makes me smell a rat. Strange processes at UK Athletics are nothing new, just look up the history past and present when it comes to selecting (or not selecting) athletes for major championships. In the corridors of power at UK Athletics, I have a vision of grey suits with a very studious eye for business, opportunism and political game playing. A lack however, of understanding and passion for athletics - from the very grass roots right through to rising talent who we know are not supported anywhere near like they ought to be. Where does all the money really go?
I'll finally put this rant to bed by controversially perhaps, expressing my disdain as I peruse various running magazines with photographs exclusively of people doing daft stuff for the camera during races. All this jumping in the air, smiley faces and thumbs up nonsense does my head in. If it's at the finishing line and they've something to celebrate, then I get it. But this habit of runners perceiving to be having the time of their life in a race when, as is often the case, they really can't wait for it to end - it really is a complete nonsense. Just be natural, let's see your pain please if there is some. And if there isn't any and you can't be arsed making an extra effort, don't devalue the occasion for the rest of us!
Killjoy? Who, me? If you like, but it's almost like pain, effort, competitiveness and even reality itself is to be censored and that we must all run for fun and purely for fun and even if we don't find it fun, let's just pretend and make it look like it's fun. And what do we class as fun? I find competing fun. Is competing allowed to be classed as fun? This brings me on to a theory that Neo-Liberal Conservatives with too much money and a desperation to find a healthy hobby are trying to take over the sport, over-socialising it, trying to ring-fence and demote running as some sort of purist inclusion activity. These people are the sort of lobbyists who endorse non-competitive sports at school, but then scratch their head in dismay when the country falls short of medallists at major competitions. I'm not denying anybody their right to inclusion, but I fear this smothering effect could indefinitely send some quarters of the running scene spiralling in to something where style and smile prevails at the expense of substance.
Racing is essentially an ugly spectacle where hours, weeks, months of hard graft and toil may or may not boil down to a brief moment of success. When the good old Athletics Weekly magazine starts filling up with pictures of jolly jumping, smiley faces and thumbs up... well that could be a whole new and very different reason for me to take up Crown Green bowling instead.

LANCS CHUMP
LANCASHIRE CROSS COUNTRY CHAMPIONSHIPS
Straight to the point - that was bloody awful. Down there with my worst five races - and that's saying something. This was the first time I had taken on the County Champs, for I have never had a particular enthusiasm for cross country. But it was a debut to quickly forget. In a very meagre defence of the return of self deprecation and sorrow to these pages, I suppose the training leading up to the race was a bit hotchpotch with annoying niggles just not going away. But the very lack of engine to battle against the odds on the day was the biggest disappointment. I just felt knackered and was stuck in one pace from the very off. With a race in the bag the previous week, I wasn't expecting too much, but had every right to expect progress. So regression, and the extent of it, took me by surprise and with the legs not turning up, it didn't take long for the head to go. For me, this was a bit of a humiliation and felt like a public one too. The reality is that few people watching probably cared or even noticed, and of those that did they probably sympathised. But to return to the home soil of Witton Park so to speak and with most other Tom's, Dick's and Harry's within the local running circles in attendance, this was a really frustrating and ultimately not very enjoyable afternoon of racing. Despondent war cries could be heard from yours truly on the climb known colloquially as 'The Saucer'. I lost the plot. 
If it wasn't nice for me personally, there was also the burden of doing a major injustice to the new club vest. Thankfully my very weary performance paled in to insignificance as far as the Ribble Valley men's team was concerned. The first four counters of Gaskell, Livesey, Hall and Barnes all did the business and stormed to a Veteran's team victory for gold medals all around. As expected, the Ribble Valley ladies were all over the medals table as well. Pleased as punch as I was for all these guys, I was nevertheless the black sheep in the black vest who ran crap and went home deservedly empty handed. Ah well, there's always next year.
Since that race, things have continued to go backwards. Winter has got the better of me. Never truly shaking off that gluet strain from last month, one of half a dozen other aches and pains which have culminated in me being shackled and unable to actually enjoy a single run so far this year. Currently on day three of sidelining myself, I'll put some running shoes back on once body and mind are genuinely in agreement that it's a good idea again. All I can do is to look forward to starting again and getting in shape for Spring.

Saturday 6th January 2018
LANCASHIRE CROSS COUNTRY CHAMPIONSHIPS   Witton Park, Blackburn.        
1st Senior Men's Race (9.8K) - Daniel Bebbington (Preston H.) 31:01
1st Senior Ladies Race (6.5K) - Sarah Astin (City of Norwich) 24:04
My Stats - 39:25   73/154      

ALI'S LANG SYNE
DALESIDE BREWERY AULD LANG SYNE RACE
Well you really had to be there, and I'm glad to say I was. The swansong race for the brilliant Mr and Mrs Woodhead after thirty years of organising fell races. Fitting then, that at least one of the Brownlee's, of whom both brothers started racing here at the Quarry Runs in their very younger years, should honour this occasion and it was Alistair that did so by gracing it with his fifth Auld Lang Syne victory. Alistair's presence speaks volumes about how the Brownlee's, even now as two of the country's most famous sportsmen, are so refreshingly grounded. Brother Jonny was meanwhile engaged at the other side of the county border racing the Ribble Valley 10K at Clitheroe with the Northern Road Championship at stake. Each to their own, but I'm with his older bro on this one - no other place to be on New Year's Eve morning than packed in to the Penistone Hill quarry where Dave Woodhead yelled, "Reight yeeuo lot! Get baaack 'ere!" for the very last time.
I tried to even ever so briefly thank the man personally after the race and was completely ignored! That's just how it is with him on race day. You can't get near him. I was more embarrassed than offended though. Maybe I'll send Dave and Eileen a nice card that might get their attention to accept my gratitude.
The Woodentops thing captured my heart ever since my first appearance as a keen fell racing beginner at the Withins Skyline race back in 2006. Ever since, if fit, if able, Woodentops races have always been high on the agenda.
AULD LANG SULK
I can be a ridiculous creature at times. Sara would verify this, she lives with me. My well rehearsed mindset that this race was all about just being there and less about hoping for performance went out of the window. Recent weeks suggested performance wasn't going to happen anyway, but pre-race nerves somehow crept in to abandon all those sobering, rational thoughts that I had carefully put in place. Suddenly I was taking myself and indeed my place in the race way too seriously. It turned out I even forgot to pin my race number on - never done that before - so my head was certainly up my backside for some reason. Just as expected though, I didn't have a flyer and so the clouds of disappointment built up in the aftermath. In short, I got in to a bit of a sulk.
Woodentops races never do quite start on time so no chance in this one, especially with Alistair Brownlee poised on the front line - even more photographs taken than usual as we all freeze our bits off - but as one would rightfully expect in the presence of greatness. Once off and away I avoided trouble where the field bottlenecks out of the quarry and felt fairly strong at probably twenty somethingth, beginning to build confidence until around the halfway mark. Then I realised that for the easier, mainly downhill and wind assisted second half of the race I didn't have another gear to crunch in to and it was hang-on time as the testing ascent out of Ponden Valley took it's toll. There was very little kick left in my legs at all for the final mile to the finish. Past they came, I wasn't counting, but probably in to double figures and that's never a nice feeling towards the end of a race, culminating in a state of said post-race sulky chops.
All done then, and it really was just about being there in fact. Heading back across the moor towards the welcome warmth of Sara's car with heated seats, I spot a nearby runner and turn to Sara, already suitably impressed at seeing Brownlee in action to compensate enduring the bitter wind; "Look at that, a double Olympic champion there just tootling along, you don't get that every day when your out with the dog" ...thirty yards ahead, the lonesome figure of the race winner casually jogs across our path. "Go and ask him for a photo, I'm sure he won't mind", says Sara. I wished I had, he probably wouldn't have minded but I just couldn't do it. The lad was on his cool down and it was great enough just to keep an eye on him as he faded in to the distance, dropping off the moor towards Haworth. Besides, he deserved a few moment's peace to himself and had probably got a bit cold after sticking around at the finish for the final Woodentops photo shoot.
And so, with that inspiring sight, that was that for 2017 and the end of a Woodentops era.

Sunday 31st December 2017
DALESIDE BREWERY AULD LANG SYNE RACE Penistone Hill, Haworth, W. Yorks. 6m/1000ft
1st Man - Alistair Brownlee (Bingley) 44:54
1st Lady - Nichola Jackson (Ribble Valley) 49:49
My Stats - 51:47   44/368| 

2017 Mileage Total: 1528.3
  

END OF YEAR REPORT
I didn't want to believe it, but back in Spring, very strong forces were present in the over-thinking cranium of yours truly telling me to step aside from competitive running and finally hit the bowling green instead. Of course, there had to be one last crack of the whip before fully conceding to a change of sport. As it happened, the time of year was sympathetic to my plight, in that the season of midweek evening races was kicking off and I just absolutely love evening fell races. If I was going to pack it all in, I was going to do so by enjoying it at least. In my favour, if by default, was a surprisingly high cholesterol reading at that time, from which dietary adjustments saw weight drop off that I didn't think possible. As much as a possible swansong, Summer also became a race-myself-to-fitness experiment. One race a week, looking for increments of improvement and eventually stumbling upon decent form by the end of Summer and a training routine that was working really well for me. After the fell race at Widdop by mid-July, I dared to believe. I felt like I was racing again. Some good results followed. Even going in to Autumn and losing that little extra snippet of sharpness from weekly racing, I proved in mid-November that there really is some racing life in this old dog yet with a 5K time of 17:05 at the Podium race.
Looking back at some low points earlier on in the year - a capitulation on Pendle at the Stan Bradshaw, a punchless plod at the Darwen Half Marathon, pulling the plug at the Yorkshire Three Peaks, pulling out of a track session so not to hold the rest of the group up - it's been quite a turnaround. Initially, I had to take some hidings, but in the end I made it and I think I still have more to offer in 2018 before the next serious consideration of signing up for the Crown Green.
There almost endeth my ramblings for the year, but not quite my running. One last bite of the 2017 cherry will be the Auld Lang Syne fell race at Haworth on New Year's Eve. I'd like to do it some justice as this will be the final race that Woodentops legends Dave and Eileen Woodhead will be organising from Penistone Hill. A real sadness about that for many hundreds, thousands of fell runners by whom they are loved and admired. But their great races will continue at least with Wharfedale Harriers taking on the mantle of Woodentops madness. 
Winter niggles have pestered my progress during December - a bit of a cold snap and all sorts of bits and pieces start nagging. As such, regarding Sunday's race and the Lancs Cross Country Championships the following weekend, in all honesty I am expecting potentially disappointing outcomes for myself. But just to be there and able to race them without further hindrance would be a suitable underlying success.

MAKING LIGHT OF THE DARK
Since switching clubs, one or two have remarked on me turning to "the dark side". I laughed it off - all in good spirit - but actually, is it? There does seem to be this underlying reputation of elitism attached to the Ribble Valley club which gets up some people's noses. That very deluded stigma in itself gets right up mine. As I have said quite clearly to all inquisitors, my own presence at Ribble Valley Harriers proves the club is anything but elitist!
It's a tightly knit group of runners who are very competitive. There is no shame in this and nor should there be. Let us remember that running is not just an activity, but firts and foremost it is a sport. Let us remember that running clubs can be more than just social clubs with a running habit.
On a local level at least, RVH founder Chris Barnes has stirred up volcanic reaction in recent times with his forthright opinions on the current state of amateur running. Notably, the diminishing numbers of fast runners at local races and the massive increase at the slower end. That opens up a separate can of worms, but generally speaking, from that volcano, Ribble Valley Harriers emerged as a new island flying the flag of the purely competitive. Ok, so Ribble Valley would appear to be a closed shop to the new wave of 'social runners' and to an extent beginners, but then I don't understand people being offended by this. Why should every running club have to try to accommodate and please absolutely everyone? Adhering to a misled culture of box ticking and extreme political correctness has got to stop somewhere. Provided there's no sexism, racism, or other immoral ism's in place, surely a club is entitled to it's own ethos? RV runners just want to get better times, better positions and pull each other along. Some folk can get a bit Neo-Liberal about the old saying, ''t'is not the winning but the taking part that counteth.'' Cue another potential can of worms here - non-competitive school sports days. What on earth is all that about? 
But all that said, Ribble Valley's lack of popularity, partially at least, probably boils down to personality and that Chris is not everybody's cup of tea. He says what he thinks and he also loves a wind-up. I don't always agree with him entirely, but I believe his passion for what he thinks is right makes him a great asset to the sport. He's re-founded a club with an ethos he strongly believes in and where would the world be without the Podium 5K's and the December Turkey Trot? He organises races that, contrary to the elitist tag, cater for absolutely all. He's giving plenty back to the sport and people are probably too quick to forget this just because he likes to drop a grenade of uncomfortable discussion now and again. If this is the dark side, then I have seen the light.

PAIN IN THE BUM
A quick update on the running then as well whilst on the page. After ticking over nicely the past couple of weeks I now find myself nursing a pull in the gluteus regions which is quite literally a pain in the bum. Cold weather doesn't help. I knew that Tuesday night's hill rep session with the club would be a tester for what has been an ongoing niggle of sorts for some time. Foolhardily, I ran the last few reps with things tightening up quite a bit and then once the muscles cooled down later that evening, so the soreness kicked in. It was a fest of Tiger Balm and ibuprofen yesterday. Another day on and it doesn't nag when walking at least. The very steadiest of a steady mile or two will be tested out later. With a couple of races coming up this month and again in January, I feel I'm suddenly treading on thin ice to be in good fettle for them at the moment. As always, time will tell.

WHAT A RACE!
PODIUM 5K
There may have been one or two big names and regular faces missing but this was surely the highest quality 5K in the short history of the Podium races, if not to rival recent roadraces elsewhere in the country. Won in a rapid time of 14:27 by Liverpool's John Ashcroft, they came in thick and fast behind him as the top fifteen all finished inside fifteen minutes. A further twenty-seven crossed the line inside sixteen minutes, twenty-two inside seventeen minutes and beyond those, eleven 'stragglers' of which a respectable 17:52 brought up the very rear of seventy-six runners. All that quality, yet still a relatively low key affair upon a dimly lit cycle track down a pitch-black lane in a little known East Lancashire outpost. It was an honour to take part.
In the national interest, former British track athlete Colin McCourt travelled from Glasgow to see out a bet that he could come back and run a sub-16 minute 5K this year after totally losing shape since retiring from the sport in 2012. Sure enough, after shifting the weight, the pedigree of a pair of fast legs returned. He smashed it with a 15:38 to win him £100 apiece from seventeen guys to whom he would forfeit having their names tattooed upon him if he didn't succeed. Of more local interest, it was a night of personal bests amongst which progressive Blackburn Harrier Tim Raynes dipped under fifteen minutes for the first time in a superb 14:51. Fellow Blackburner Ben Costello continued his rapid rise through the time barriers in recent months with a brilliant 16:05, made all the more miraculous after doubling this up with his best cross country race to date only four hours earlier when third in the Red Rose fixture at Bolton. From my former club then, to my new club and Nick 'blow a gasket' Gaskell. What can be said about the Gaskell? Like a maturing whisky in a barrel of ancient oak. Nick has been around the running block a long time now and at the age of 47 he thumped home a sensational all time 5K best of 16:21. He certainly inspires the rest of us older boys to believe.
Conditions on this Saturday evening were perfect - a bit chilly but not raw, very little breeze whatsoever and the surface was dry. Just how many personal best's were notched that night would be interesting to know. The preceding 'B' race also had it's fair share too.
No PB for myself, but the fastest I have run in my forties and for seven or eight years I think! Driving over the darkness of Pendle Hill after work to the race, I was thinking I ought to achieve a course best at the very least for my fourth attempt on the Barrowford circuit. Interval sessions have thinned a little lately, but training has been solid and last week's outing at Dunnerdale was a useful reminder of race pain. Mileage reduction in recent times has kept my legs fresh. The fear factor I have experienced in previous Podium races -  certainly the last two - had been replaced by a quiet confidence. The grim target of mere damage limitation had been replaced by an excited air of expectation, although I didn't quite know exactly what to expect.
Even at the back end of a ferociously paced race like this it is difficult not to go out a little bit too quick. I didn't have my fancy watch on to delve in to the retrospective of split times, but I'm fairly sure I ran the first kilometre above my station. Fear of thinking I may be in last place was the driving force. But I settled down to a rhythm the next two laps and found myself in the thick of the ladies race at one point. I recognised Rebecca Robinson and Hannah England, these two surged in to lap three and there was no way I could risk trying to go with those two fasties. Another lass gave me a good elbowing on the inside before a bend, then cut in front and I couldn't help but nearly trip her - the Mary Decker Slaney and Zola Budd incident sprang to mind. Fortunately she stayed upright, but then also drifted further ahead as the race went on. I was still happy with things going in to lap four though and whilst the Lancaster & Morecambe girl who I had been in close proximity with all the way had now also gained a bit of yardage, I decided just to carry on trying to maintain pace and not get too excited as I could feel my stride just starting to tighten a little. The bell for the final kilometre or so was the cue to really start hurting myself properly though. I hung on to the L&M girl Scarlet Dale's shadow and finally managed to get past her with about 200 metres to go. Catching up on the next runner ahead, I can't help thinking now that if I'd started kicking a little earlier I might have snatched another place back, but at the time I was pretty pleased indeed to see 17:05 on the clock as I crossed the line. A sub-17 run is definitely still on here if I can go in to it with more recent speed sessions banked. As Nick Gaskell proves, age need not be a barrier.

Saturday 18th November 2017
PODIUM 5K 'A' Race   Steven Burke Cycle & Sports Hub, Barrowford. Lancs.
1st Man - John Ashcroft (Liverpool Harriers) 14:27
1st Lady - Rebecca Robinson (Kendal AC) 16:39
My Stats - 17:05   67/76      

OFF THE BOIL BUT STILL SIMMERING
DUNNERDALE
That title just about sums up both current running performance and my temper regarding the fell relays fiasco. The ranting must subside for the sake of my own sanity though. I got myself a bit too excited, spitting my vitriol on social media threads. All these frustrations about crooked behaviour in the world of athletics has got to stop for now. It's not a healthy burden to carry around and besides, I am helpless to do anything about it. I wish I was the geezer to sort it out, be sent on a mission to flush out the dirt and decay within the corridors of power, but sadly I'm not. Instead I remain just another lazy critic that's all gob and no action. But that doesn't mean I'm wrong, or that I'm not entitled to my opinion, or should supress it when I feel so let down and disgusted about a matter that of sheer sporting injustice. Oops, I'm off again!
So to the Dunnerdale fell race and as perversely promised to myself in a Fishwickesque literary challenge, the inclusion of the eight song titles on New Order's Power, Corruption and Lies album.
It was birthday weekend and so far as an age of consent is concerned, I've decided turning 44 permits me to do more and more races that I've not done before. This one dragged me out to the lesser known fells of the South Lakes and the village of Broughton Mills. What the fells lack in stature around here, they make up for in form and location. A mini-Langdales, the views were spectacular but there was no time to savour them once up there and in to action.
Pre-race warm ups are not always a true gauge of how it's going to pan out in the race and sure enough I felt quite good knocking out a few strides here, although Connie the dog wouldn't leave me alone. The poor girl was a bit confused as to why I had my running kit on and yet she wasn't coming with me. Ready for the midday start, we all stand and pay our very rightful respects on Armistice Day with a minute's silence. Blessed are we and indebted forever with the freedom to enjoy our fell running. It puts all the crappy politics in to perspective. Just over two hundred of us were poised on a narrow lane outside the little village hall and conveniently I retrospectively ponder that a field of say, 586, would be simply too many to set off in one wave. The first half mile or so is a jostle along these tight lanes before a sharp rise and eventually we are up on to the fell. I'd got myself nicely tucked in to the top twenty cluster but it became clear fairly early on to this first climb up The Knott that I'd been missing this sort of thing in training lately. I was fading back through the field and never felt like I got myself turning over efficiently throughout the rest of the race. The power to climb forcefully wasn't there, nor that little bit of hardness and madness to slap the descents in with more vigour - again a lack of recent practice upon gradient and terrain. This was a tough course of ups and downs and was catching me out after that early feeling of promise. Nevertheless I was enjoying it, giving it what I had and sucking it all in for when I hopefully have a crack at this one again some day. It's a belter of a five miler. Scaling a couple more mini peaks of cragginess in Raven Crag and Stickle Pike, alas there is a stretch of good running before the final moderate pull up the back of Great Stickle. I'd gained a place or two and lost a place or two in this latter half of the race but again I just couldn't open up on that final descent and was forced to consolidate my place which was just inside the top thirty. Neither agony nor ecstacy in the end, but I felt at least a minute, maybe more, behind where I thought I could be with cylinders firing. My form at the moment has gone off the boil but I don't think it's all that far away. I've just lost a racing edge and not been out on the fells enough lately with one thing and another. Not the best start in my new Ribble Valley vest, but as I said to somebody in the aftermath, every club has to have a slowest runner!
Worth much more of a mention than my own average ploddings would be Victoria Wilkinson of Bingley. Not only one of the best fell runners around overall, but by far and away the best lass, perhaps even in the history of fell running. The now five year reigning English champion smashed almost two minutes off a ladies course record at Dunnerdale that has stood for twenty-four years. Awesome. She placed sixth here in a top ten laced with quality. Outright race winner Sam Tosh is also an English champion, newly crowned, so it was high end to say the least at the front.
Staying overnight forty minutes away at Grange-Over-Sands, Sara had us stop off near Newby Bridge on the way for my 'cool down' walk up Gummer's How which was equally glorious. I'd earned my birthday beer after that.  
Finally, should a New Order fan now be scouring this text, I can imagine your silent face bemused at how the hell I can include the song title Ultraviolence, but there you have it, I just did.

Saturday 11th November 
DUNNERDALE   5m / 1800ft   Broughton Mills, Cumbria
1st Man - Sam Tosh (Rossendale) 39:17
1st Lady - Victoria Wilkinson (Bingley) 41:21 (course record)
My Stats - 47:13 / 29/214

POWER, CORRUPTION AND LIES
The title of one of my favourite New Order albums. Quite a digression there as this next submission of ramblings ought to be all about the little cracker of a fell race that is Dunnerdale.
I will get around to that at a later date and also in honour of a fell race report I read by Darren Fishwick recently, who decided to subtly and not so subtly incorporate as many names of punk bands as he could, I will try and blend in the eight song titles from that 1983 New Order classic in my pending Dunnerdale report. I read much of other runner's blogs and musings, but Dazza's self-styled gems of literature are always worth full attention.
But for now, why the the theme of Power, Corruption and Lies anyway? What in the name of sanity does this rambling have to do with anything in particular? Well there was much bigger beef that came to light as far as the sport I love is concerned. I'm talking about clear evidence of running authorities practicing unfairness and yes, let's go out there with the 'c' word... corruption. Just when we all thought Jonny Mellor's inexplicable emission from the Commonwealth Games marathon team was the epitomy of all things nonsense from the powers that be, fell running also took a hit as Ribble Valley's champion ladies from the British Fell Relays at Llanberis last month were latterly disqualified by a technical discrepancy that was actually the fault of authority and not the club. You couldn't make it up. In short, a runner's incorrect registration number was administered - not by herself or club - but by the custodians of righteousness at England Athletics. It's sad enough that some anonymous, deeply twisted poor loser dug deep enough to even discover this. That the champion ladies were actually dethroned as a result rather than somebody being big enough at UKA to accept fault is a complete travesty of sporting justice. Ok, so it's close to home as this is the club I have just joined, but that doesn't mean a jot of difference here to the outrage of what is essentially a decision which falls foul of anything associated with fairness and common sense.
The Fell Runners Association had already sold their soul to UK Athletics when really all they needed was a shoulder to lean on for things like liability and insurance. What's happened is, whether or not the FRA fought Ribble Valley's corner hard enough, they have had to submit the rights to govern their own competition. English Athletics had also concluded the club had done nothing wrong, but why couldn't they push harder when there has clearly been a wrong doing? In my opinion, this is a massive failure by all three of these authorities and a thorough disgrace, belittling the competition, competitors and the sport itself. An amateur sport all said. Even after calming down, trying to be rational and see the other side, I can only deduce a bottom line upon which corruption and lies are written upon it.
The FRA have to look at themselves and ask what role they play in actually managing fell running anymore. There are doubtless many people within the organisation that innocently work hard on a voluntary basis. The Fellrunner magazine is an institution, the website is great with results and forums and links galore. But what lies beneath? Boasting record FRA membership recently doesn't mean a lot when ultimately the organisation has forfeited powers to shape the destiny of the sport it was originally founded to protect and behold.     
A couple of years ago I withdrew my membership of the Fell Runners Association because I thought they had got too close to UK Athletics in that they were rolling over and allowing the autocratic bigwigs from UKA to tickle their bellies in to submission before being kept close on a short lead. I can't see myself rejoining now! Has it made a difference to my life? I miss the magazine and more so the fixtures calendar, but other than that, no. As ever, my gratitude to enjoyment of racing on the fells falls firmly at the knees of the real heroes of our sport which are the race organisers.
My sympathy goes to the team of six lasses and their coach Chris Barnes. All that hard work, time and effort, unravelled in a glitch of paperwork and a blind eye to accountability. If I've got upset, they must be seething. If there is a conspiracy out there to pummel Ribble Valley's emergence, I think I am right in stating that this disgraceful episode will only serve to make them stronger. 

TOUGH CALL AS TRANSFER TAKES A TWIST 
Many a polite sentiment expressed in a notice of resignation would not be worth the paper it is written on. Or, given a more contemporary twist, nor the micro-millibytes of whatever it is that powers the teleportation of an email. But every single trite soundbite and cliche imaginable in this circumstance would actually express my genuine sadness in leaving Blackburn Harriers & AC after nine years in the blue and white vest.
The initial intention for a move more geared towards my fell running interests was to join Bowland Fell Runners - an apolitical bunch of laid back sorts that would suit me just fine. That would leave me in a position where I could stay on at Blackburn as second claim for road and cross country and thus not conflict activities with Bowland who are affiliated for fell running only. This way I could be selfish and get in to the fray for fell team relay races and yet not entirely shun my existing club for whom I was nevertheless proud to be a member of. Obviously, I was never going to just bullishly send an application form to Bowland without some preparatory contact made to discuss my imminent membership, but strangely a reply to my message from their club secretary never came. There's no other source of connection to the club in the public domain, even such as a telephone number. I waited patiently, then wondered if perhaps the email had gone to spam and I should send it again? But then a twist in proceedings took place. My intentions and twitchy feet had previously cropped up in conversation with Ribble Valley Harriers re-founder Chris Barnes. A week or so later Chris was in the running shop and subtle seeds had been planted. Then he popped in again a little later that day with Mars bar cake from the Megabites shop across the road. Bribery?
Next news, the day after I'm in the shop again on a busy Saturday afternoon and had three separate visits from three fairly familiar faces that also greeted me with cake, a hand shake and nothing said. Definitely bribery.
Well it certainly got a laugh out of me, but also prompted the serious consideration that an opportunity to join Ribble Valley was now on the table. A newly reformed club and brilliantly successful so far, at least as far their majority contingent of high end lasses is concerned - British Fell Relay champions, sixth and twelfth respectively at Northern and National road relays. Yet also the black sheep in the eyes of some. A move to Ribble Valley would also have a controversy about it and given their affiliation in all running codes it would have to be an all or nothing switch which is not what I had planned at all.
I thought it through and against my procrastinating genetics, didn't overly dwell about it and decided to go for an adventure and join Ribble Valley Harriers. Ringing Blackburn Harriers' secretary George Davies with my decision was really difficult. The heart lay very heavy before, during and after that call. I have much respect for George on many different levels, as indeed I have for a good few more of the cogs inside the Blackburn Harriers machine. I knew he'd be disappointed about the situation, but more my concern was that he would be disappointed in me. One of many admirable traits George possesses is that he is straight and calls a spade a spade. If he thought I was an arsehole he would tell me. I'd expect nothing less from some of the guys at the club that I have got to know over the years once they catch wind of my transfer. Then again, it's a big move for me but barely a ripple in the pond at Blackburn Harriers. As one of the club's junior coaches Andrew Knowles put it to me today, "it's not like Ronaldo leaving Real Madrid". Exactly!
I certainly got the impression that George was not convinced my fell running team needs would necessarily come to fruition at a club like Ribble Valley, and it is a risk given the current small number of members, particularly blokes. But it's a relatively new venture and I think an exciting one with it's own particular ethos developing. George also touched on the fact that I might have given up on driving the fell running scene at Blackburn too easily. There is much truth in that too, but I did give it a go. Unfortunately my resolve as a team captain was never a match for my initial enthusiasm.
Ribble Valley becomes my third club in nearly twelve years of running. I've never quite been that one-club man and indeed one of the reasons I left Chorley for Blackburn in the first place was just to broaden my experiences and allow the running journey just to take it's course. That's certainly the case here where quite literally a lost email and a few pieces of cake conspired to influence a really tough decision.
So Tuesday night training now also takes a twist. Witton Park track is back off the agenda. I'll miss it because I enjoy it and there's a fantastic set up over there. But this was also one of the considerations to take in to account before completely severing official ties with Blackburn. Since switching from the off-road reps of the Summer months, I crossed over to the athletics track quite efficiently and ran some good sessions. But, if I'm truly honest with myself, Witton reps take more of a toll these days and particularly on the hamstrings, which is not conducive to fell running or indeed the rest of my week's running schedule. I was told Ribble Valley sessions are an ''accquired taste'' and certainly my first experience was a bit different with head torches aglow for ten reps up Clitheroe Castle. A real quad buster, but I would have to say most certainly up my street. With Witton now out of the picture it's the quirky sessions that the Barnes has to offer and, cut up badly or not, back to my circuit of turf I call 'Buttercup Meadow' to do some flatter interval stuff during the Winter.
Tempo in training has been generally back on the agenda in the last fortnight, including some truly cracking runs during a four night stay in Devon. We stayed there last year, a few miles outside the village of Colyton around the same time when I was so full of manflu and a rough chest that I couldn't even jog ten yards. It was a little frustrating given the perfect formula of quiet, tight, winding and undulating roads on offer where we stayed. But this year I did get to discover them and don't recall enjoying a couple of runs on a road surface in recent times quite as much as I did last week. Between those cheeky road four milers, over the county border to Charmouth on the Jurassic Dorset coast I sneaked off for a pre-lunch cliff top rep session from beach to the very tip of Stonebarrow Cliff and down, three times over. Four miles and 1400 feet of ascent in 36 minutes. Thank you very much! I day dreamed about doing that session last year. This year the day dream became a reality and a fantastic adrenaline rush.
This weekend Dunnerdale will be only my second race of the Autumn. The following Saturday, it's a rare tarmac bash with the Podium showdown and an opportunity to get a decent recent 5K time under my belt. Big names anticipated at this one. Hardly like I'll be in competition with them for more than the first five yards, but kudos to join them on the starting line nevertheless.   

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.                         

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

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 

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.

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.

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.

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

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. 
                        

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

 

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!