GROUNDHOG RELAY
NORTHERN SIX STAGE ROAD RELAYS
I'm always happy to help out the team, but a return to racing on this contrived course from hell at Sportcity expanded my flexibility to it's limits. If running the inside and outside shape of a horseshoe around the Etihad Stadium, followed by an equally featureless journey around the outer expanses of a car park wasn't bad enough, I had to do two laps of it all. I was here two years ago for Blackburn Harriers - it was the most dull, flat, mundane, contrived course I had ever raced then, so with an extra 1.2 kilometres of it this time around, that did nothing to ease my fraught relationship with this place.
That said, and repeating sentiments expressed from that last trip here, it is a great venue from a logistical point of view. No traffic, no pedestrians or cyclists to dodge around, easy parking, good for spectating and a super base camp in the athletics arena. For the fast lads and road heads I dare say the course is ideal too, but for a lover of hills, greenery and vintage architecture, running around there as fast as I could was done for absolutely no other reason than a sheer primitive duty to my club.
Manchester City might be the best football team in the land right now and the stadium may look lush on the inside, but this concrete corner to the east of the city is a soulless spanse of clinical design. As a regular visitor to City's old ground at Maine Road in my teenage years, I guess the aesthetics, or should I say the distinct lack of them at this modern replacement and relocation, disappoints me even more. I just can't connect the two Man City's together. The name of the club hasn't changed but everything else has. My Dad was a Bolton fan and similarly, I was a regular visitor to Burnden Park. Now The Trotters trot out at a stadium on a retail park out of town. Sentiment probably clouds my vision on this subject to a degree, but soul and character is something modern football stadia just doesn't encapsulate in my opinion. At least not in Manchester City or Bolton - or should I say, East Manchester and Horwich.
Back to the racing then and for all my moaning and groaning about the course, these relays bring out plenty of great running talent from the North of England and it's a rare opportunity to see some of the best up against each other.
At Ribble Valley Harriers, on paper great things looked possible with our prospective line ups in the Ladies and Men's 'A' teams. But Katie Walshaw was bolted off her horse the night before and only deemed herself unfit to run just before the start. Prior to that, two potentially big players in the Men's 'A' team dropped out. Michael Cayton's calf strain didn't hamper his impressive training run the day before and suggested that a more than adequate shift could have been put in for the team. However it seems Michael brings nothing less than his A+ game to the race table and had disappointingly opted out. Unpredictable Josh Boyle went quiet on the days leading up to the race and when prompted, said he had a niggle. A gifted and talented young individual, but ultimately unreliable. For me, both guys a little void of spirit and ambition when it comes to team competition, which is crazy when one considers how good they are and how good this team could have been with them in it. The pair missed a fantastic opportunity to team up with fellow big hitters Chris Holdworth and Callum Davidson. They could have played a part in something special on the men's debut at this competition, but it wasn't to be. In contrast, Chris and Callum seem very team orientated and always at the ready the relish a challenge.
In the final reckoning though, the Ladies 'A' team held out for a fine 7th place and the patched up Men's 'A' did enough to qualify for the National's, so far from entirely disastrous in the end. The Team 'B's ended up all at sea though. To buffer the 'A' team, Ladies 'B' ran a lass short and finished incomplete, as did our men's who were also one short. We ended up as either an incomplete team, disqualified, or both. There was a rumour that Ste Hall ran twice, the second time under the disguise of a black cap. I mean, how ridiculous. What sort of an outfit would pull a stunt like that? To quote Arsene Wenger on this one, "I didn't see anything".
I ran the third leg and there really wasn't that much to report other than I passed a few and probably a good few less than actually went past me. If the course wasn't repetitive enough, then the continuous sight and sound of Clayton-le-Moors coach Phil Hall all over the course did nothing to reverse by ailing state of mental wellbeing.
I wasn't particularly pleased with my time and thought I was probably thirty seconds shy of what I can do at the moment. But road racing creases me up these days. After two miles or so of hard running on the hard stuff, it's one ache and pain piling on top of the other and eventually feels like every niggle I've ever had comes back to haunt me. On that second lap it was just bloody awful, grimly hanging on to pace in the hope something doesn't go permanently ping. Get me back running on those fells please. The day after, I did just that and thankfully all was forgotten and those pavement pounding pain points subsided slightly.
Sunday 23rd September 2018
NORTHERN SIX STAGE ROAD RELAY CHAMPIONSHIPS
My Stats - Ribble Valley Harriers 'B' Leg 3 (6.7K) 23:58
Tuesday, 25 September 2018
Saturday, 15 September 2018
LIGHTNING STRIKES TWICE
DAVID EAMANUEL COWM RESERVOIR 5K
The night races hadn't quite finished in fact. A remote fell race at Egremont initially pricked my ears and prodded my imagination. Wishing for an ideal world to just get over there and explore, a round journey of over four hours to Cumbria's most Western extremes just couldn't really be justified on a Thursday night. Fortunately that man Andy O'Sullivan came to the rescue with another Reservoir 5K on the calendar. So I headed over to Whitworth instead for the second Thursday in succession and to Cowm Reservoir in particular - a third visit this year - and a welcome test of speed on the flat.
The morning of race day though, I felt rough. Heavy head, puffy glands and slow metabolism. No amount of fresh air, purifying water and good coffee seemed to shift it. I was resigned to thinking there was no chance of racing for a good portion of the day and that was the case until late afternoon when I finally showed signs of life.
I still didn't feel full shilling but decided to give it a go. Encouraged by the words of Ben Fish still ringing in my ears from a couple of years ago and the David Moorcroft syndrome - if Moorcroft felt a bit crap on race day, he knew he was on for a good one - then that, along with another decent week of training, was the hope I was clinging on to.
Fear me not though, it didn't take much of a warm up to get things moving and realise I could probably end up running quite well... again? Could lightning strike twice? Lap one of two certainly didn't take anything out of me. Early on I shared the pace with club mate Helen Glover who went on to win the ladies contest easily. Then I nudged up to fifth spot having passed the Holcombe runner that I thought could be John Raho, but wasn't for believing it was him as I don't recall getting near him in a race before. Pace felt good and it was only in the last three quarters of a mile that I had to start working a bit harder to sustain it. I thought I'd shook off that Holcombe vest for good but could hear company closing in with maybe half a mile to go. As we turn towards the head of the reservoir for the last time I decided to try for an early break and stretch out a gap, but the Holcombe man matched my efforts and squared up with me on the drop towards the finish. With a hundred yards to go, he nudged ahead and I accidentally clipped his heels in a desperate attempt to stay with him before saving a surge for the final twenty strides. But, having thankfully stayed on his feet, he was clearly in command and responded again to pip me by a second. Turned out it was John Raho, probably not at his best, but I gave him a race. Turned out I'd knocked half a minute off my last appearance here and I didn't have to hang on so grimly either. Good signs and job satisfaction to reflect on for this now well worn journey back via East Lancashire gems like Bacup, Stacksteads, Brittania, Rawtenstall and the Grane Road which connnects the M65 to the wild West of home.
A final word then for organiser Andy O'Sullivan and the Andems Runners team, of whom I seem to be waxing literal about most frequently these days. But what a cracking guy. His organisation is impeccable, his races directly fund local causes and he does it for the love. He does it for us runners. What does he say to us at the end? ''Did you enjoy it lads?'' and you feel it's important to him that you did enjoy it. That's just it, our pleasure is his pleasure. As race organisers go, they just don't make many like this guy anymore. He was at the table doing registration, he was at the start to get us all off, he was on the course commentating on his loudspeaker after lap one - I even got a mention to treasure - ''...John from Ribble Valley coming through...'' - then he's down at the finish commentating on that too, then he's back doing the presentation at the pub... he was everywhere.
It's a bit of a bind getting over to Whitworth from my neck of the woods, but I'll be at it again next Spring for sure. I'd been absent from Andems races for a good few years, it's great to be back. In this era of ruthless profit making events companies bastardising running races as we knew them, we need the Andy O'Sullivan's of this world to keep amateur running honest, genuine and real. I heard he's been campaigning for the great Ron Hill to be knighted - the powers that be could do a lot worse than recognise Andy himself in the honours list as well.
Thursday 13th September 2018
DAVID EAMANUEL COWM RESERVOIR 5K Cowm Reservoir, Whitworth.
1st Man - Will Smith (Halifax Harriers) 16:29
1st Lady - Helen Glover (Ribble Valley Harriers) 18:13
My Stats - 17:39 6/85
A final word then for organiser Andy O'Sullivan and the Andems Runners team, of whom I seem to be waxing literal about most frequently these days. But what a cracking guy. His organisation is impeccable, his races directly fund local causes and he does it for the love. He does it for us runners. What does he say to us at the end? ''Did you enjoy it lads?'' and you feel it's important to him that you did enjoy it. That's just it, our pleasure is his pleasure. As race organisers go, they just don't make many like this guy anymore. He was at the table doing registration, he was at the start to get us all off, he was on the course commentating on his loudspeaker after lap one - I even got a mention to treasure - ''...John from Ribble Valley coming through...'' - then he's down at the finish commentating on that too, then he's back doing the presentation at the pub... he was everywhere.
It's a bit of a bind getting over to Whitworth from my neck of the woods, but I'll be at it again next Spring for sure. I'd been absent from Andems races for a good few years, it's great to be back. In this era of ruthless profit making events companies bastardising running races as we knew them, we need the Andy O'Sullivan's of this world to keep amateur running honest, genuine and real. I heard he's been campaigning for the great Ron Hill to be knighted - the powers that be could do a lot worse than recognise Andy himself in the honours list as well.
Thursday 13th September 2018
DAVID EAMANUEL COWM RESERVOIR 5K Cowm Reservoir, Whitworth.
1st Man - Will Smith (Halifax Harriers) 16:29
1st Lady - Helen Glover (Ribble Valley Harriers) 18:13
My Stats - 17:39 6/85
Saturday, 8 September 2018
...AND LIFT OFF
HADES HILL
Delusion it was not. This turned out to be my best outing of the year and a bloody long time in the making. Hardly a result to turn heads on the local running scene, but the rare satisfaction of giving a decent account of myself was finally savoured.
In all probability I expected to be the only one there representing my club, but it seems I'd been kept out of the loop as I immediately spot Chris Holdsworth galloping around, Matt Lalor in the loo, Ste Hall, Chris Barnes, then Helen Glover at the start... the army was here to sweep up.
The out and back Hades Hill race is generally the final evening fell race on the calendar and it's eight years since my last run here. For the last five of those years, Andy O'Sullivan's Andems Runners have taken over the organisation. As I will have mentioned before, Andy is a thoroughly top chap and, well, just a little bit eccentric - you couldn't have written the script that evening. With his trademark loudspeaker at full whack, he shepherds everyone along to the bottom of the road to get us all off on time. But then, to Andy's dismay, a bloke in a car rolls up waiting to pass through the swathe of over 150 runners. ''There's a car waitin'. We'll 'av to let him through. Move to t'side everyone, we'll have to let him through...... he's pulling his face.....'' Andy is still on loudspeaker!! It was comedy genius, real life Peter Kay material.
The present organiser then introduces the former Hades Hill race organiser of over thirty years, Derek Clutterbuck, (A proper Lancashire name) to get us started and hands over the loudspeaker telling him, ''Keep it short, we want to get 'em off, then just say go''.
Well Mr Clutterbuck doesn't use the loudspeaker, doesn't keep it that short and then asks, ''Should I say 3-2-1-go, or just go?". ''Just say go!'', stresses Andy. You had to chuckle.
Despite a missing runner at the start, we were finally off and soon enough the lass in question comes bounding down the road in the opposite direction to catch on to the back of the field. Holdsworth's off up the road like a man possessed, Lalor shifts up to high places, Hall and Barnes are always quick out of the traps and I get a biting tightness up my left adductor which is a cause for concern. I keep it fairly steady in the hope the pain fades, still find myself having a decent start. With no more twinges to report as we leave the top of the road for the open moor, directly ahead are Ste Hall, Chris Barnes and Dan Gilbert. Although I'm thinking these lads are going to beat me, I set out to try and see how close I can get. It turned out to be a tasty race for top ten positions. As I tried to keep ground on those just ahead, the very distinctive grunts of Ashley Holt were pressuring me from right behind. Finding myself in the most unusual place of just behind Ste after the first climb, whether or not he was on his full mettle that night, it was encouraging to be up there. With the final climb to the turnaround point in view, I briefly gained a place before losing one again seconds later. I pass the Grenfell lad of Rossendale, when another Rossendale vest of Ashley's surges past the pair of us. But I was set on staying with Ash as long as I could. Soon after levelling up with him with about a mile to go, his red diesel engine produced a bit extra and started to edge away from me. Ash then passes Barnes and he's dragged me in to closer contention with him, so I make the Barnes my final target. A ten second gap to shrink for a top ten spot - I got it down to three or four just before we hit the road near the finish, but I knew Chris would relish hitting the tarmac more than me and he restored his gap over that last quarter mile. So 11th it was, but less than half a minute behind Ste Hall in 7th who led a cluster of V40's that read Gilbert, Holt, Barnes, Sutton.
Holdworth won easily with another course record, Glover took the ladies race in a new record too and completed the sweep. Lalor was an impressive 3rd, then us three oldies made it five Ribble vests in the top eleven. It's been a familiar story at many races over the Summer. Invariably the incarnation of Ribble Valley Harriers is loved or hated, respected or resented, but it looks like the club is here to stay.
Thursday 6th September 2018
HADES HILL 5m/1200ft Whitworth, Nr Rochdale.
1st Man - Chris Holdsworth (Ribble Valley Harriers) 30:15
1st Lady - Helen Glover (Ribble Valley Harriers) 37:04
My Stats - 35:47 11/152
HADES HILL
Delusion it was not. This turned out to be my best outing of the year and a bloody long time in the making. Hardly a result to turn heads on the local running scene, but the rare satisfaction of giving a decent account of myself was finally savoured.
In all probability I expected to be the only one there representing my club, but it seems I'd been kept out of the loop as I immediately spot Chris Holdsworth galloping around, Matt Lalor in the loo, Ste Hall, Chris Barnes, then Helen Glover at the start... the army was here to sweep up.
The out and back Hades Hill race is generally the final evening fell race on the calendar and it's eight years since my last run here. For the last five of those years, Andy O'Sullivan's Andems Runners have taken over the organisation. As I will have mentioned before, Andy is a thoroughly top chap and, well, just a little bit eccentric - you couldn't have written the script that evening. With his trademark loudspeaker at full whack, he shepherds everyone along to the bottom of the road to get us all off on time. But then, to Andy's dismay, a bloke in a car rolls up waiting to pass through the swathe of over 150 runners. ''There's a car waitin'. We'll 'av to let him through. Move to t'side everyone, we'll have to let him through...... he's pulling his face.....'' Andy is still on loudspeaker!! It was comedy genius, real life Peter Kay material.
The present organiser then introduces the former Hades Hill race organiser of over thirty years, Derek Clutterbuck, (A proper Lancashire name) to get us started and hands over the loudspeaker telling him, ''Keep it short, we want to get 'em off, then just say go''.
Well Mr Clutterbuck doesn't use the loudspeaker, doesn't keep it that short and then asks, ''Should I say 3-2-1-go, or just go?". ''Just say go!'', stresses Andy. You had to chuckle.
Despite a missing runner at the start, we were finally off and soon enough the lass in question comes bounding down the road in the opposite direction to catch on to the back of the field. Holdsworth's off up the road like a man possessed, Lalor shifts up to high places, Hall and Barnes are always quick out of the traps and I get a biting tightness up my left adductor which is a cause for concern. I keep it fairly steady in the hope the pain fades, still find myself having a decent start. With no more twinges to report as we leave the top of the road for the open moor, directly ahead are Ste Hall, Chris Barnes and Dan Gilbert. Although I'm thinking these lads are going to beat me, I set out to try and see how close I can get. It turned out to be a tasty race for top ten positions. As I tried to keep ground on those just ahead, the very distinctive grunts of Ashley Holt were pressuring me from right behind. Finding myself in the most unusual place of just behind Ste after the first climb, whether or not he was on his full mettle that night, it was encouraging to be up there. With the final climb to the turnaround point in view, I briefly gained a place before losing one again seconds later. I pass the Grenfell lad of Rossendale, when another Rossendale vest of Ashley's surges past the pair of us. But I was set on staying with Ash as long as I could. Soon after levelling up with him with about a mile to go, his red diesel engine produced a bit extra and started to edge away from me. Ash then passes Barnes and he's dragged me in to closer contention with him, so I make the Barnes my final target. A ten second gap to shrink for a top ten spot - I got it down to three or four just before we hit the road near the finish, but I knew Chris would relish hitting the tarmac more than me and he restored his gap over that last quarter mile. So 11th it was, but less than half a minute behind Ste Hall in 7th who led a cluster of V40's that read Gilbert, Holt, Barnes, Sutton.
Holdworth won easily with another course record, Glover took the ladies race in a new record too and completed the sweep. Lalor was an impressive 3rd, then us three oldies made it five Ribble vests in the top eleven. It's been a familiar story at many races over the Summer. Invariably the incarnation of Ribble Valley Harriers is loved or hated, respected or resented, but it looks like the club is here to stay.
Thursday 6th September 2018
HADES HILL 5m/1200ft Whitworth, Nr Rochdale.
1st Man - Chris Holdsworth (Ribble Valley Harriers) 30:15
1st Lady - Helen Glover (Ribble Valley Harriers) 37:04
My Stats - 35:47 11/152
Sunday, 2 September 2018
TO PEAKS OR NOT TO PEAKS? THAT IS THE QUESTION
August was clearly the heaviest month of mileage for eighteen months and I dare say one of the best. Just a few weeks of genuinely good, solid training is all it takes to get the love back, but also to get a bit giddy and start thinking way ahead of myself... oh no, the Three Peaks Race has got inside my head again. I expected it would do at some point. I was never going to be able to part company with this epic race on a DNF. The Peaks may well be eight months in to the future unknown, but now is the time to provisionally plant a seed in my head if the shoots of redemption really are to be sewn. A provisional plantation of such a seed at this time is merely to intend, rather than commit just yet. But it means Autumn training must start slowly trending towards that eventual goal at the end of next April. Initially though, gearing up for The Tour of Pendle Race in November will be the telling factor. A long overdue return to this tough seventeen miler should tell me whether my legs are going to comply with my intentions. If there's no sign of promise at The Tour, then I won't waste Winter chasing the impossible and so forget Three Peaks and revert back to normal service.
Normal service lately has been promising. Plenty of hard work on the fells, effective speed sessions on my grass track on Worden Park and a toughness starting to build up. Recovery seems speedier and a capability to run half decent on battered legs has returned. I've been blaming the ageing process, when actually just a little more application, a few more miles and bit more bit between the teeth feels like it has made a real difference. Seizing this moment and not ruining it all by running myself in to an injury hole is now the trapeze wire which I carefully tread.
This week's race at Hades Hill is sadly the final evening race on the fells until next Spring. I really ought to bang out my best run of the year so far at this one. I'm actually really looking forward to the contest, without any hang ups that I may run completely crap or at best, below average. That's not going to happen. This can't be another case of desperate delusion, can it?
August was clearly the heaviest month of mileage for eighteen months and I dare say one of the best. Just a few weeks of genuinely good, solid training is all it takes to get the love back, but also to get a bit giddy and start thinking way ahead of myself... oh no, the Three Peaks Race has got inside my head again. I expected it would do at some point. I was never going to be able to part company with this epic race on a DNF. The Peaks may well be eight months in to the future unknown, but now is the time to provisionally plant a seed in my head if the shoots of redemption really are to be sewn. A provisional plantation of such a seed at this time is merely to intend, rather than commit just yet. But it means Autumn training must start slowly trending towards that eventual goal at the end of next April. Initially though, gearing up for The Tour of Pendle Race in November will be the telling factor. A long overdue return to this tough seventeen miler should tell me whether my legs are going to comply with my intentions. If there's no sign of promise at The Tour, then I won't waste Winter chasing the impossible and so forget Three Peaks and revert back to normal service.
Normal service lately has been promising. Plenty of hard work on the fells, effective speed sessions on my grass track on Worden Park and a toughness starting to build up. Recovery seems speedier and a capability to run half decent on battered legs has returned. I've been blaming the ageing process, when actually just a little more application, a few more miles and bit more bit between the teeth feels like it has made a real difference. Seizing this moment and not ruining it all by running myself in to an injury hole is now the trapeze wire which I carefully tread.
This week's race at Hades Hill is sadly the final evening race on the fells until next Spring. I really ought to bang out my best run of the year so far at this one. I'm actually really looking forward to the contest, without any hang ups that I may run completely crap or at best, below average. That's not going to happen. This can't be another case of desperate delusion, can it?
Friday, 24 August 2018
BACK IN THE SWING
GOLF BALL
A record turn out at Golf Ball of 236 is quite a crowd for a low key race in the Rossendale valleys. It wasn't short on quality at the top end either. Three fellow Ribble Valley Harriers had made the trip, including international machine Chris Holdsworth, a Summer signing from Clayton-le-Moors. He's at the very top of the fell running game and still in ascendancy. With Holdsworth present, all bets were off to pick the night's winner. Scanning around at the other talent on show, it became clear that a repeat of last year's top five spot was not going to happen, even if I ran a better time. In fact, it became clear that even a top twenty position was going to be a challenge. So there's also Ste Hall and Shaun Livesey Jnr from my club, a resurgent Andy Buttery from Rossendale, two Royton lads that I knew were handy, Matt Driver from Holcombe, Chadderton and Gilbert of Horwich, the Preston lad Oliver Heaton that I can't get near, then I spot Alex Whittem of Calder Valley for the first time in many a while... it had the makings of an interesting race. This is how it should be. A mid-forties nobody in particular like myself shouldn't really be getting top five placings when still running up to a minute per mile slower than the winner.
Finally though, I managed to make a decent account of myself and felt back in the swing of things. It wasn't special, but it was solid. For the first half of the race I found myself on the trail of Clayton's Peter Coates who was making a comeback to racing after injury. His pace seemed to suit mine early on. I felt I had to overtake Rossendale's Marc Barrett, even though he's been kicking my arse in the latter stages of races all Summer. I did say to him that he might well see me again later - there's confidence for you, not - but I didn't see him again as it turned out. I was feeling pretty strong and in control. After the moorland descent of Hameldon Hill I passed Peter and another chap before dropping down on to the quarry tracks. I lost a place to a young dread-locked Todmorden runner on the following rocky climb and briefly thought about making an extra effort to sit on him. But then that could backfire later on, I considered. This was a lack of confidence in motion, but equally a decision based on stark reality of recent racing. I couldn't risk the wheels coming off. Back on the tops again and heading past the golf ball transmitter, a descent not really to my liking follows. Hard track on the same gradient, slap-slap-slap... give me something technical any day of the week. I wasn't going to force the issue on this section and near the bottom the breath down my neck revealed itself in a Holcombe Harriers vest. I was actually confident that I could mop him back up over the fields to the finish, but having got a few seconds over me, the Holcombe man Matt Dunn was equal to what I had to chuck back at him. That cost me a top twenty spot, but my time was up on last year so there was no sulking. I reminded myself what a cracking little race this is and appreciate the simple things in life like just being there, competing and enjoying it.
Sure enough Chris Holdsworth quickly ran away from the rest and showed why he is a complete class apart to win with a whopping three minutes to spare. Prior to this race, the last time I saw him was last Saturday night on the box when belatedly catching up on S4C's coverage of the Snowdon International Mountain Race. He beat Britain's best and came an amazing second place overall to Italian Alberto Vender. It was fantastic viewing and certainly the best thing I've seen on television since that Scandi police drama 'The Bridge' came to an end.
A quick pint in the social club at Loveclough then and I get talking to a chap who I used to see around at more or less every race in the first few years of my time on the fells, Rick Solman of Rossendale Harriers. Rick's been out of the racing game for some time because of a recurring injury he can't seem to shake, but he came along with Buttery to this one to watch the latter roll back the years with another great run. Utterly Buttery looks ridiculously good for nearly 48, but for me, Chorley's hardy perennial Mr Ellithorn still tops the charts in the looking good for age contest. Not so well preserved are my own looks it seems. Rick thought I was in the Vet50 category, now that was one thing - then he says I, "did well to be around top twenty in that company for a big lad''. Cheeky fecker!
On a parting note, one of the first sights I saw on approaching race headquarters and searching a parking place that evening were the Todmorden shorts of Duncan Cannon again. They seem to be haunting me. It wasn't an accident at Lee Mill, he deliberately races in them. I'm going to have to pluck up the courage to politely question him next time I see him at a race. This may seem like some weird obsession from my end, but genuinely I just want to help save someone valuable seconds per mile!
Wednesday 28th August 2018
GOLF BALL 5.5m/800ft
1st Man - Chris Holdsworth (Ribble Valley Harriers) 36:27
1st Lady - Heather Hughes (Manchester YMCA) 48:31
My Stats - 42:37 21/236
GOLF BALL
A record turn out at Golf Ball of 236 is quite a crowd for a low key race in the Rossendale valleys. It wasn't short on quality at the top end either. Three fellow Ribble Valley Harriers had made the trip, including international machine Chris Holdsworth, a Summer signing from Clayton-le-Moors. He's at the very top of the fell running game and still in ascendancy. With Holdsworth present, all bets were off to pick the night's winner. Scanning around at the other talent on show, it became clear that a repeat of last year's top five spot was not going to happen, even if I ran a better time. In fact, it became clear that even a top twenty position was going to be a challenge. So there's also Ste Hall and Shaun Livesey Jnr from my club, a resurgent Andy Buttery from Rossendale, two Royton lads that I knew were handy, Matt Driver from Holcombe, Chadderton and Gilbert of Horwich, the Preston lad Oliver Heaton that I can't get near, then I spot Alex Whittem of Calder Valley for the first time in many a while... it had the makings of an interesting race. This is how it should be. A mid-forties nobody in particular like myself shouldn't really be getting top five placings when still running up to a minute per mile slower than the winner.
Finally though, I managed to make a decent account of myself and felt back in the swing of things. It wasn't special, but it was solid. For the first half of the race I found myself on the trail of Clayton's Peter Coates who was making a comeback to racing after injury. His pace seemed to suit mine early on. I felt I had to overtake Rossendale's Marc Barrett, even though he's been kicking my arse in the latter stages of races all Summer. I did say to him that he might well see me again later - there's confidence for you, not - but I didn't see him again as it turned out. I was feeling pretty strong and in control. After the moorland descent of Hameldon Hill I passed Peter and another chap before dropping down on to the quarry tracks. I lost a place to a young dread-locked Todmorden runner on the following rocky climb and briefly thought about making an extra effort to sit on him. But then that could backfire later on, I considered. This was a lack of confidence in motion, but equally a decision based on stark reality of recent racing. I couldn't risk the wheels coming off. Back on the tops again and heading past the golf ball transmitter, a descent not really to my liking follows. Hard track on the same gradient, slap-slap-slap... give me something technical any day of the week. I wasn't going to force the issue on this section and near the bottom the breath down my neck revealed itself in a Holcombe Harriers vest. I was actually confident that I could mop him back up over the fields to the finish, but having got a few seconds over me, the Holcombe man Matt Dunn was equal to what I had to chuck back at him. That cost me a top twenty spot, but my time was up on last year so there was no sulking. I reminded myself what a cracking little race this is and appreciate the simple things in life like just being there, competing and enjoying it.
Sure enough Chris Holdsworth quickly ran away from the rest and showed why he is a complete class apart to win with a whopping three minutes to spare. Prior to this race, the last time I saw him was last Saturday night on the box when belatedly catching up on S4C's coverage of the Snowdon International Mountain Race. He beat Britain's best and came an amazing second place overall to Italian Alberto Vender. It was fantastic viewing and certainly the best thing I've seen on television since that Scandi police drama 'The Bridge' came to an end.
A quick pint in the social club at Loveclough then and I get talking to a chap who I used to see around at more or less every race in the first few years of my time on the fells, Rick Solman of Rossendale Harriers. Rick's been out of the racing game for some time because of a recurring injury he can't seem to shake, but he came along with Buttery to this one to watch the latter roll back the years with another great run. Utterly Buttery looks ridiculously good for nearly 48, but for me, Chorley's hardy perennial Mr Ellithorn still tops the charts in the looking good for age contest. Not so well preserved are my own looks it seems. Rick thought I was in the Vet50 category, now that was one thing - then he says I, "did well to be around top twenty in that company for a big lad''. Cheeky fecker!
On a parting note, one of the first sights I saw on approaching race headquarters and searching a parking place that evening were the Todmorden shorts of Duncan Cannon again. They seem to be haunting me. It wasn't an accident at Lee Mill, he deliberately races in them. I'm going to have to pluck up the courage to politely question him next time I see him at a race. This may seem like some weird obsession from my end, but genuinely I just want to help save someone valuable seconds per mile!
Wednesday 28th August 2018
GOLF BALL 5.5m/800ft
1st Man - Chris Holdsworth (Ribble Valley Harriers) 36:27
1st Lady - Heather Hughes (Manchester YMCA) 48:31
My Stats - 42:37 21/236
Tuesday, 21 August 2018
ONE NIGHT IN HEAVEN
There could be an argument that I appreciate things more as I get older, M-People perhaps not so much. Saying that, I'll steal one of their famous song titles for this week's ramble as it sums up a warm, wild and wet Wednesday night in which I had the most running fun in training I've had all year. Just shy of nine miles over some favourite old haunts on the West Pennine Moors with no specific happenings to make it so memorable. It was just one of those rare outings when everything clicks. On my own, running hard, enjoying pushing myself and absolutely at one with the terrain, the surroundings, the elements, the body and the soul. Now that IS what it's all about! This Summer's invariably rubbish race results paled in to insignificance in just seventy four minutes of unadulterated fell running love. As peak training performances go, this was quite unexpected and I wasn't particularly feeling the love before I started. But this wasn't a fluke either. I've been seizing every opportunity to train on the fells as much as possible the last few months and a bit of extra steel and grit had to surface at some point. A really decent and varied week's training has been had overall and even when feeling buckled I've been able to push through it and find more. Ultimately though, converting this latest mirage of form in to an actual race performance is the next step. The last time I had confidence going in to a race on the back of a good training onslaught, I raced like I had a sack of spuds on my back at Lee Mill a few weeks ago. So confidence ought to go about things quietly I think.
At long last this Summer of all Summer's has finally cracked and we've had a bit of rain to report. Some long overdue give in the ground has brought immediate benefits to the aching soreness of my knees which has now started to fade despite upping the beat last week. The down side is more on the domestic front - it's weed city in the garden, the grass needs cutting and the hedges have had a growing spurt.
Next contest up is the Golf Ball fell race at Rossendale, where things just started to come together last year. It clashes with Harrock Hill this time around, which toyed with my strong affections for the latter. But having missed the last two Harrock's and run the first one like a plank, any series potential is out of the window and frankly, Golf Ball is more of a tester out of the two and one that I shouldn't shirk.
There could be an argument that I appreciate things more as I get older, M-People perhaps not so much. Saying that, I'll steal one of their famous song titles for this week's ramble as it sums up a warm, wild and wet Wednesday night in which I had the most running fun in training I've had all year. Just shy of nine miles over some favourite old haunts on the West Pennine Moors with no specific happenings to make it so memorable. It was just one of those rare outings when everything clicks. On my own, running hard, enjoying pushing myself and absolutely at one with the terrain, the surroundings, the elements, the body and the soul. Now that IS what it's all about! This Summer's invariably rubbish race results paled in to insignificance in just seventy four minutes of unadulterated fell running love. As peak training performances go, this was quite unexpected and I wasn't particularly feeling the love before I started. But this wasn't a fluke either. I've been seizing every opportunity to train on the fells as much as possible the last few months and a bit of extra steel and grit had to surface at some point. A really decent and varied week's training has been had overall and even when feeling buckled I've been able to push through it and find more. Ultimately though, converting this latest mirage of form in to an actual race performance is the next step. The last time I had confidence going in to a race on the back of a good training onslaught, I raced like I had a sack of spuds on my back at Lee Mill a few weeks ago. So confidence ought to go about things quietly I think.
At long last this Summer of all Summer's has finally cracked and we've had a bit of rain to report. Some long overdue give in the ground has brought immediate benefits to the aching soreness of my knees which has now started to fade despite upping the beat last week. The down side is more on the domestic front - it's weed city in the garden, the grass needs cutting and the hedges have had a growing spurt.
Next contest up is the Golf Ball fell race at Rossendale, where things just started to come together last year. It clashes with Harrock Hill this time around, which toyed with my strong affections for the latter. But having missed the last two Harrock's and run the first one like a plank, any series potential is out of the window and frankly, Golf Ball is more of a tester out of the two and one that I shouldn't shirk.
Friday, 10 August 2018
OFF THE HOOK IN MORE WAYS THAN ONE
PILGRIM'S CROSS
I must be a sucker for punishment. After waking up with a really stiff and sore back for the fourth morning in succession, there was still this uncontrollable compulsion to think I could race. The back trouble had got in to a rhythm of easing by afternoon, to the point were I had still been able to do a run later in the day. Even though I couldn't even bend down properly to put on my socks this particular morning, Pilgrim's Cross remained firmly on the agenda for the evening. Why risk it? Well, it's a case of use it or lose it. Racing may not be going great right now - may not come good ever again - but if I'm fit enough to have a go in time for the start and still compelled to persevere, shying away from competition is certainly not going to improve my results.
It was difficult to make head or tail of how I ran at Pilgrim's Cross. On the one hand, I was blowing up for a period in the latter half, losing half a dozen places during a sticky half mile and failing to hang in for a chance to catch them back. On the other hand, I looked back in surprise to find I was 84 seconds quicker than last year. That was odd, I thought I ran alright last year! It may have been a little windier last time, the going underfoot marginally faster in places this time, but not enough to make up that sort of time. So am I actually doing a bit better than I think? This is one of those instances where the very finest threads of positivity are worth clinging on to and taking in to the next race.
I arrived for this one in good time. Given my lower back's state of fragility, a good warm up was essential. The pain and stiffness had subsided so I considered myself off the hook and officially fit to race.
Whilst warming up I found myself trotting around the local recreation grounds at Helmshore, where maybe a dozen football pitches are closely concentrated. I could envisage the action, hear the noises and smell the smells of all these pitches soon to be a hub of activity when the new season kicks off. It brought back a memory or two to my exceedingly modest playing days, but it was a group of six lads which caught my attention. (I say 'lads', probably in their mid-twenties - I must be really getting on a bit) They were just having a knock around, but with some proper goal nets attached to one of the goalposts. I had already admired the goalposts around here for their substantial stanchions in the top corners. You can't beat a good old hooked stanchion in the top corner of a net. Stanchions give goal nets extra depth and characteristic - to actually strike the stanchion makes any goal look extra fabulous in my opinion. Trevor Brooking's goal for England versus Hungary back in 1981 forever sticks in my mind because Trevor actually stuck the ball in the hook - optimum magnificence for a stanchion geek like me. Even I stuck it in the hook once - 1993 on the Witton Park astroturf at Blackburn. I was only playing Wembley Doubles with college mates mind you and my strike was from barely six yards out, but suffice to say the subsequent celebration outweighed the occasion a thousand fold.
Anyway, back to Helmshore and the six lads... unforgivably they hadn't netted up over the top of the hooked stanchions. To make matters worse the nets were pegged in all tight and rigid. No sag, no shape, no depth and what a complete waste of stanchion. There's lots wrong with football in recent generations that has naturally waned my interest, and generic goal netting would be one of the most recent. You don't see many stanchions at all these days, particularly hooks. So what I witnessed here was borderline criminality. I felt like going over and advising them on the matter, but it wasn't actual criminality I suppose and, in fact, absolutely none of my business. I doubt they would have even remotely related to my enthusiasm and passion for goal stanchions. More likely I would have been told, ''f*ck off, weirdo''. It is to be hoped though that all the stanchions get fully utilised here on official match days or Helmshore should be forced by the authorities to give them up to more appreciative footballing communities!
That my warm up provoked more thought and retrospective than the actual race tells it's own story. That bad patch in the second half saw a recently improving old foe of mine Ashley Holt come by with two fellow Rossendale Harriers and a Clayton-le-Moors man getting away from me on the last climb up to Bull Hill. My hamstrings and glutes were screaming, which may link up to this recent lower back trouble, but besides, there just wasn't the next gear required to come back at them. A better time, but it felt like a poorer result. I keep believing I'm only as good as the next race, rather than the last. I think that's what's keeping me motivated at the moment.
Wednesday 8th August 2018
PILGRIM'S CROSS 6m/1100ft Helmshore, Rossendale. Lancs.
1st Man - Luke Turner (Clayton-le Moors) 40:05
1st Lady - Heather Turner (Rossendale) 48:50
My Stats - 43:19 17/192
PILGRIM'S CROSS
I must be a sucker for punishment. After waking up with a really stiff and sore back for the fourth morning in succession, there was still this uncontrollable compulsion to think I could race. The back trouble had got in to a rhythm of easing by afternoon, to the point were I had still been able to do a run later in the day. Even though I couldn't even bend down properly to put on my socks this particular morning, Pilgrim's Cross remained firmly on the agenda for the evening. Why risk it? Well, it's a case of use it or lose it. Racing may not be going great right now - may not come good ever again - but if I'm fit enough to have a go in time for the start and still compelled to persevere, shying away from competition is certainly not going to improve my results.
It was difficult to make head or tail of how I ran at Pilgrim's Cross. On the one hand, I was blowing up for a period in the latter half, losing half a dozen places during a sticky half mile and failing to hang in for a chance to catch them back. On the other hand, I looked back in surprise to find I was 84 seconds quicker than last year. That was odd, I thought I ran alright last year! It may have been a little windier last time, the going underfoot marginally faster in places this time, but not enough to make up that sort of time. So am I actually doing a bit better than I think? This is one of those instances where the very finest threads of positivity are worth clinging on to and taking in to the next race.
I arrived for this one in good time. Given my lower back's state of fragility, a good warm up was essential. The pain and stiffness had subsided so I considered myself off the hook and officially fit to race.
Whilst warming up I found myself trotting around the local recreation grounds at Helmshore, where maybe a dozen football pitches are closely concentrated. I could envisage the action, hear the noises and smell the smells of all these pitches soon to be a hub of activity when the new season kicks off. It brought back a memory or two to my exceedingly modest playing days, but it was a group of six lads which caught my attention. (I say 'lads', probably in their mid-twenties - I must be really getting on a bit) They were just having a knock around, but with some proper goal nets attached to one of the goalposts. I had already admired the goalposts around here for their substantial stanchions in the top corners. You can't beat a good old hooked stanchion in the top corner of a net. Stanchions give goal nets extra depth and characteristic - to actually strike the stanchion makes any goal look extra fabulous in my opinion. Trevor Brooking's goal for England versus Hungary back in 1981 forever sticks in my mind because Trevor actually stuck the ball in the hook - optimum magnificence for a stanchion geek like me. Even I stuck it in the hook once - 1993 on the Witton Park astroturf at Blackburn. I was only playing Wembley Doubles with college mates mind you and my strike was from barely six yards out, but suffice to say the subsequent celebration outweighed the occasion a thousand fold.
Anyway, back to Helmshore and the six lads... unforgivably they hadn't netted up over the top of the hooked stanchions. To make matters worse the nets were pegged in all tight and rigid. No sag, no shape, no depth and what a complete waste of stanchion. There's lots wrong with football in recent generations that has naturally waned my interest, and generic goal netting would be one of the most recent. You don't see many stanchions at all these days, particularly hooks. So what I witnessed here was borderline criminality. I felt like going over and advising them on the matter, but it wasn't actual criminality I suppose and, in fact, absolutely none of my business. I doubt they would have even remotely related to my enthusiasm and passion for goal stanchions. More likely I would have been told, ''f*ck off, weirdo''. It is to be hoped though that all the stanchions get fully utilised here on official match days or Helmshore should be forced by the authorities to give them up to more appreciative footballing communities!
That my warm up provoked more thought and retrospective than the actual race tells it's own story. That bad patch in the second half saw a recently improving old foe of mine Ashley Holt come by with two fellow Rossendale Harriers and a Clayton-le-Moors man getting away from me on the last climb up to Bull Hill. My hamstrings and glutes were screaming, which may link up to this recent lower back trouble, but besides, there just wasn't the next gear required to come back at them. A better time, but it felt like a poorer result. I keep believing I'm only as good as the next race, rather than the last. I think that's what's keeping me motivated at the moment.
Wednesday 8th August 2018
PILGRIM'S CROSS 6m/1100ft Helmshore, Rossendale. Lancs.
1st Man - Luke Turner (Clayton-le Moors) 40:05
1st Lady - Heather Turner (Rossendale) 48:50
My Stats - 43:19 17/192
Wednesday, 8 August 2018
NOT EVEN RUN OF THE MILL
LEE MILL FELL RACE - BEMBRIDGE 5 TRAIL
So I turned up at Bacup ready to have a real go with faith in the investment of a period of solid training runs to dig in to. I was particularly looking forward to the climbs, to see how some sustained loopy loops of hill work on Pendle might pay off. But instead of revelling in the fruits of my labour at the Lee Mill race, climbing was laborious and the result was ultimately fruitless. Then, just when I thought I might have salvaged a thread of self respect with a mile to go, I took a silly detour that effectively ended what was left of the contest.
Without any recognisable super-quickies evident on the start line, I said to Johnny Horrocks that this race was anybody's. Turned out it was very nearly his with John finishing second - by a second - in a very close battle at the front. Early on I was in third place and wondering just how close to the front I might stay with only Dan Gilbert and Johnners ahead of me - neither beyond my sight if I could run a decent one. But once the first climb of any real substance began, it was clear that the only way was backwards from there. I skipped my mind back to two days earlier and a seven mile run with two thousand feet of ascent - it was an easy excuse, but the most likely one as to why I was having to work so ridiculously hard to sustain such lumbersome movement.
The front two quickly got away, another two soon passed me and this race quickly degenerated in to one of those exercises of gurning the whole way around and dreading the uphill sections that I thought I would relish. With plenty more uphill to come in the second half of the race, an eventual plateau and subsequent downhill back to the mill seemed a long time coming. I was seventh by then and just intent on consolidating this when the not so great got decidedly worse. I'd taken my eye off the distant lads ahead when I came across a mini-labyrinth of trods where old slag heaps from a disused quarry were scattered. With much of the course well marked up to this point, the tape ran out here and so in some doubt, I aimed upwards and left towards a stationary mountain biker on the skyline who I assumed to be on the course watching the race. Of course downwards and veering right is where I should have gone. In fairness I eventually got shouted back in to line by some guys in a group behind me, but negotiating a simple cut across wasn't tenable - it was a time inducing detour of broken boulders, steep gullies and fine gritty scree before getting back on track. Positions had obviously gone begging so I firstly set about catching an old road racing adversary of mine, Steve Nolan, who was tussling with a Todmorden runner. But I made little gain on them on the descent and then had no more to offer than they had in the final half mile, then my head went. Disgracefully, I lost interest and the effort rate subsided. I got psyched out by the Tod runner's shorts. Red knee-length non-technical numbers - I think they even had turn-ups and pockets. No personal offence intended to the chap concerned, Duncan Cannon, who I have no reason to believe is nothing less than a lovely guy - I clocked him as I left the scene, all smiles and proudly reunited with his other half and baby. But he might have been ahead of me even before I strayed off course if he wasn't hampering his racing in those things. Unless he'd genuinely forgotten his running shorts and had to make do, somebody at Todmorden Harriers needs to get him sorted out!
Driving home, hindsighting the waste of a lovely evening and petrol money, I pondered the need these days for probably two easy days prior to a race to properly freshen up. But then again, I argued to myself, during training days I can sometimes thrive off a tough run a day or two after. Or perhaps, in the depths of yet another state of racing crisis, I consider whether I need a coach or advisor to sort me out? But then, who can? Even the best electricians in the world couldn't do a proper job without a reliable power supply. Some days I run like a dream, some days there's just nowt in the tank and there seems no rhyme or reason to any of it. All in all though, the good days don't seem to land on race day and this was another crap result.
Four days on from that not even run of the mill showing at Lee Mill and it's day two of a holiday on the Isle of Wight. Holiday time clashed with Kentmere Horseshoe this year which was unfortunate, but naturally I had already investigated to see if there were any races on the island. It turned out the only one that week was right on the doorstep of where we were staying at Bembridge. Rude not to, then. Alas the baking Summer broke that Sunday with rain all day and considerable fifty miles per hour winds hurtling up the English Channel. It was a wild one and made for a refreshing change to run in these much more oxygenated conditions. The race was a multi terrain five miler that strangely only shaved the lower woodlands of the one climb of note around here - up to the monument upon Culver Down. As such, it was fairly flat and fast going. Once the race settled down I found myself in fourth spot with the distance to the front two not really altering much after their initial surge at the start. Third place was clearly my only realistic aim though and with about a mile to go I started to fancy my chances. The lad ahead was getting closer and close enough for me to note a shoelace undone which I thought might further hamper his progress. Closing down a ten second gap, I got just behind him coming off the coastal path and heading back towards the village. I'll play the age card here then, as this fit and lean early twenty something held me off before retaining the gap and then stretching it further once we hit the final half mile on tarmac. I gave it a go, though the old legs just wouldn't engage any quicker and refused to be pushed beyond their boundaries.
A good run of form has yet to show itself this Summer. It's August now and I've barely had a couple of truly decent performances to note. I'm back in that dark place again, thinking what's the bloody point. But it didn't stop me pleasuring in a daily beach and cliff run to the top of Culver and back from where I was staying, time trialling the route on the occasions I felt like it. And maybe that's the future that I must also consider, just enjoying the random good days and seeing out the plod days in my own privacy rather than publicly disappointing myself by pretending I've still got some decent racing days left.
Wednesday 25th July 2018
LEE MILL FELL RACE 6.6m/1100ft Lee Mill, Bacup. East Lancs.
1st Man - Dan Gilbert (Horwich RMI) 50:55
1st Lady - Claire Ward (Hunter's Bog Trotters) 56:13
My Stats - 54:21 11/76
Sunday 29th July 2018
BEMBRIDGE 5 TRAIL 5m Bembridge, Isle of Wight
1st Man - Andy Weir (Thames Hare & Hounds) 32:10
1st Lady - Hannah Walker (Ryde) 41:54
My Stats - 33:35 4/66
LEE MILL FELL RACE - BEMBRIDGE 5 TRAIL
So I turned up at Bacup ready to have a real go with faith in the investment of a period of solid training runs to dig in to. I was particularly looking forward to the climbs, to see how some sustained loopy loops of hill work on Pendle might pay off. But instead of revelling in the fruits of my labour at the Lee Mill race, climbing was laborious and the result was ultimately fruitless. Then, just when I thought I might have salvaged a thread of self respect with a mile to go, I took a silly detour that effectively ended what was left of the contest.
Without any recognisable super-quickies evident on the start line, I said to Johnny Horrocks that this race was anybody's. Turned out it was very nearly his with John finishing second - by a second - in a very close battle at the front. Early on I was in third place and wondering just how close to the front I might stay with only Dan Gilbert and Johnners ahead of me - neither beyond my sight if I could run a decent one. But once the first climb of any real substance began, it was clear that the only way was backwards from there. I skipped my mind back to two days earlier and a seven mile run with two thousand feet of ascent - it was an easy excuse, but the most likely one as to why I was having to work so ridiculously hard to sustain such lumbersome movement.
The front two quickly got away, another two soon passed me and this race quickly degenerated in to one of those exercises of gurning the whole way around and dreading the uphill sections that I thought I would relish. With plenty more uphill to come in the second half of the race, an eventual plateau and subsequent downhill back to the mill seemed a long time coming. I was seventh by then and just intent on consolidating this when the not so great got decidedly worse. I'd taken my eye off the distant lads ahead when I came across a mini-labyrinth of trods where old slag heaps from a disused quarry were scattered. With much of the course well marked up to this point, the tape ran out here and so in some doubt, I aimed upwards and left towards a stationary mountain biker on the skyline who I assumed to be on the course watching the race. Of course downwards and veering right is where I should have gone. In fairness I eventually got shouted back in to line by some guys in a group behind me, but negotiating a simple cut across wasn't tenable - it was a time inducing detour of broken boulders, steep gullies and fine gritty scree before getting back on track. Positions had obviously gone begging so I firstly set about catching an old road racing adversary of mine, Steve Nolan, who was tussling with a Todmorden runner. But I made little gain on them on the descent and then had no more to offer than they had in the final half mile, then my head went. Disgracefully, I lost interest and the effort rate subsided. I got psyched out by the Tod runner's shorts. Red knee-length non-technical numbers - I think they even had turn-ups and pockets. No personal offence intended to the chap concerned, Duncan Cannon, who I have no reason to believe is nothing less than a lovely guy - I clocked him as I left the scene, all smiles and proudly reunited with his other half and baby. But he might have been ahead of me even before I strayed off course if he wasn't hampering his racing in those things. Unless he'd genuinely forgotten his running shorts and had to make do, somebody at Todmorden Harriers needs to get him sorted out!
Driving home, hindsighting the waste of a lovely evening and petrol money, I pondered the need these days for probably two easy days prior to a race to properly freshen up. But then again, I argued to myself, during training days I can sometimes thrive off a tough run a day or two after. Or perhaps, in the depths of yet another state of racing crisis, I consider whether I need a coach or advisor to sort me out? But then, who can? Even the best electricians in the world couldn't do a proper job without a reliable power supply. Some days I run like a dream, some days there's just nowt in the tank and there seems no rhyme or reason to any of it. All in all though, the good days don't seem to land on race day and this was another crap result.
Four days on from that not even run of the mill showing at Lee Mill and it's day two of a holiday on the Isle of Wight. Holiday time clashed with Kentmere Horseshoe this year which was unfortunate, but naturally I had already investigated to see if there were any races on the island. It turned out the only one that week was right on the doorstep of where we were staying at Bembridge. Rude not to, then. Alas the baking Summer broke that Sunday with rain all day and considerable fifty miles per hour winds hurtling up the English Channel. It was a wild one and made for a refreshing change to run in these much more oxygenated conditions. The race was a multi terrain five miler that strangely only shaved the lower woodlands of the one climb of note around here - up to the monument upon Culver Down. As such, it was fairly flat and fast going. Once the race settled down I found myself in fourth spot with the distance to the front two not really altering much after their initial surge at the start. Third place was clearly my only realistic aim though and with about a mile to go I started to fancy my chances. The lad ahead was getting closer and close enough for me to note a shoelace undone which I thought might further hamper his progress. Closing down a ten second gap, I got just behind him coming off the coastal path and heading back towards the village. I'll play the age card here then, as this fit and lean early twenty something held me off before retaining the gap and then stretching it further once we hit the final half mile on tarmac. I gave it a go, though the old legs just wouldn't engage any quicker and refused to be pushed beyond their boundaries.
A good run of form has yet to show itself this Summer. It's August now and I've barely had a couple of truly decent performances to note. I'm back in that dark place again, thinking what's the bloody point. But it didn't stop me pleasuring in a daily beach and cliff run to the top of Culver and back from where I was staying, time trialling the route on the occasions I felt like it. And maybe that's the future that I must also consider, just enjoying the random good days and seeing out the plod days in my own privacy rather than publicly disappointing myself by pretending I've still got some decent racing days left.
Wednesday 25th July 2018
LEE MILL FELL RACE 6.6m/1100ft Lee Mill, Bacup. East Lancs.
1st Man - Dan Gilbert (Horwich RMI) 50:55
1st Lady - Claire Ward (Hunter's Bog Trotters) 56:13
My Stats - 54:21 11/76
Sunday 29th July 2018
BEMBRIDGE 5 TRAIL 5m Bembridge, Isle of Wight
1st Man - Andy Weir (Thames Hare & Hounds) 32:10
1st Lady - Hannah Walker (Ryde) 41:54
My Stats - 33:35 4/66
Wednesday, 25 July 2018
OBSESSED WITH A LOOPY LOOP
Unusual cancellations at short notice of the Bull Hill and Widdop fell races forced a change of agenda from weekly racing. Alternative midweek fixtures posed over ambitious chances of getting to them on time, so reluctantly I had to concede to a mid-summer mini-break from racing. Well it was that, or race on the road. I'd rather win a competition to spend a day in the company of Lewis Hamilton than racecon the roads - that's how much I can't stand the thought of a tarmac surface at the moment. So instead, this was an opportunity to rub my hands at the prospect of indulging in fell training. Time to get my head down with the intention of bouncing back from that Tockholes show. Still rankling as a minor step backwards, it's also a small Chantenay carrot of motivation. You're only as good as you're last race, but some say you're only as good as your next one. I wonder which is true?
Onwards to the subject of obsession though. Obsession can be the backbone to the success of a runner. The very catalyst of their unwavering commitment. But obsession can also be a detrimental distraction. Over the years I've discovered obsessing over running stuff is a fine balance that requires a regular reality check. It's endless what runners can obsess over. Most common traits would be over mileage targets, perhaps the need to run every single day, particular training routes, nutrition fads, average pace, cadence... yes cadence for crying out loud (technology has a lot to answer for) to name but a few.
Obsession, and particularly ones driven by gadgetry, can be further fuelled by the scrutiny of statistics on Strava and similar applications. The daily consciousness of who is watching could become more important than what you're actually doing and the long term goals. Some obsess in regular posts on social media as well, with almost every single time their running shoes get an outing being posted on Facechat, Instatwit or whatever. If it motivates individuals in a positive way then who am I to knock it? But equally, if it induces foolish pride, overtraining or impairing focus, then being continuously needy for public endorsements of fellow runners may not be all that advantageous in the long run.
Allowing any running obsession to override sensibility is a first class ticket to a place called delusion. I've been there a few times, I still frequent it from time to time.
My own running obsessions have changed over the years and I can't deny my own fleeting moments of over-inflated vanity in the past. It is a sport which can naturally release an overdose of happy chemicals to the brain and as such I'd say most runners can't keep a lid on their emotions all of the time. Even those that don't shout from the rooftops will enjoy it when others do it on their behalf sometimes. It's natural. We work hard to try and get good results. When we get them, we have a right to savour that moment. We are only here once. Oddly though, some of my best racing moments of yesteryear were not savoured half as much as I should have, for I was always overly self critical thinking what I could have done - what I could do - to get even better.
To this day, harsh self criticism still surfs upon the ebbs and flows of my fluctuating self esteem. Luckily I can never take myself seriously for too long and will humour myself out of those black holes by revelling in my own self deprecation. Although I will give myself a quick pat on the back these days when I do actually have a good race - rarity that it is. Whilst I'm not partial to all that Strava palaver and self hype on social media which I do find tedious and annoying at times, I guess these pages are my own little outlet of self gratifying tedium which has, to some extent, become an obsession too.
If I do seek or have sought a real source of public validation as a runner, then for me it's always been about the race results. Results are the part of running that history cannot fudge and does not forget. Ultimately that's what one's efforts are judged on. Not that anybody else may be looking or judging, but I am, so it's important to me and I dare say the reason I get upset when I race below par.
Crikey, reading back on those last few paragraphs is quite heavy duty even for me, so pardon the self counselling session there and after yet another subject digression, back to my own current obsessions and alas to the loopy loop...
Racing at least once a week in Spring and Summer has been - whilst also a preconceived plan - something of an obsession. Hopefully this enforced racing break will be a blessing in disguise. But in the last month or so my training has taken a twist by a new obsession over a training route which is a particular loop I enjoy on Pendle Hill. I am now religiously running this loop over and over again. I'm not getting bored of it, far from it. The stopwatch tells me it's making me stronger and that's all I need to know. It's also got me inspired enough to run regularly in the morning. Now that in itself is a revelation! Setting off a little earlier to work for a blast on the fell... I didn't know I had it in me.
This last fortnight or so has seen me up there looping, well I'm not sure how many times, but well in to double figures... obsessed! It feels like some progress is being made and certainly as far as running routines are concerned, there's no fix required to the unbroken. I put all this loopy training to the test last Wednesday with a time trial that was once an obsession in itself and one of the reasons I finally got in to fell racing. Nearer my neck of the woods at White Coppice, a run to the summit of Great Hill and back was once a regular feature in my schedule. My history with this route goes back to first running on the hills with my pal Stix in 2005. It soon became a time trial, an obsession and one which eventually led to joining Chorley Harriers in 2006 and an end to my footballing days. I've run up there more times than I could ever remember, but I don't recall actually running this route as an out and out time trial for maybe six years or more which is a crazy statistic in itself. Where have I been? What have I been doing? Anyway, subconsciously inspired by the excellent theme tune to Scandinavian cop drama 'The Bridge', which Sara and I have been binge watching recently, ''everything goes back to the beginning''. I thought this old classic up and downer would be an acid test for where I'm up to and replace the absence of a race recently. It was certainly the latter. I got really nervous for this and more so than I would do for an actual race! There was the fear of delusion, a fear that I wouldn't get anywhere near the sort of time that I used to bash out. But there was also a quiet confidence, based on recent training runs that I could still knock out a time to be satisfied with. These conflicting emotions combined to create those quite intense pre-time trial nerves. This long overdue return proved to be a positive experience though, with a very respectable time to the summit and deceptively very good split on the return. So this told me what I needed to know. The uphill work is getting better whilst it seemed like normal service had resumed on the flat and downhill. All boding well for the next race then. After another week of loopy loops since, tonight it's back to the racing game in Rossendale.
Unusual cancellations at short notice of the Bull Hill and Widdop fell races forced a change of agenda from weekly racing. Alternative midweek fixtures posed over ambitious chances of getting to them on time, so reluctantly I had to concede to a mid-summer mini-break from racing. Well it was that, or race on the road. I'd rather win a competition to spend a day in the company of Lewis Hamilton than racecon the roads - that's how much I can't stand the thought of a tarmac surface at the moment. So instead, this was an opportunity to rub my hands at the prospect of indulging in fell training. Time to get my head down with the intention of bouncing back from that Tockholes show. Still rankling as a minor step backwards, it's also a small Chantenay carrot of motivation. You're only as good as you're last race, but some say you're only as good as your next one. I wonder which is true?
Onwards to the subject of obsession though. Obsession can be the backbone to the success of a runner. The very catalyst of their unwavering commitment. But obsession can also be a detrimental distraction. Over the years I've discovered obsessing over running stuff is a fine balance that requires a regular reality check. It's endless what runners can obsess over. Most common traits would be over mileage targets, perhaps the need to run every single day, particular training routes, nutrition fads, average pace, cadence... yes cadence for crying out loud (technology has a lot to answer for) to name but a few.
Obsession, and particularly ones driven by gadgetry, can be further fuelled by the scrutiny of statistics on Strava and similar applications. The daily consciousness of who is watching could become more important than what you're actually doing and the long term goals. Some obsess in regular posts on social media as well, with almost every single time their running shoes get an outing being posted on Facechat, Instatwit or whatever. If it motivates individuals in a positive way then who am I to knock it? But equally, if it induces foolish pride, overtraining or impairing focus, then being continuously needy for public endorsements of fellow runners may not be all that advantageous in the long run.
Allowing any running obsession to override sensibility is a first class ticket to a place called delusion. I've been there a few times, I still frequent it from time to time.
My own running obsessions have changed over the years and I can't deny my own fleeting moments of over-inflated vanity in the past. It is a sport which can naturally release an overdose of happy chemicals to the brain and as such I'd say most runners can't keep a lid on their emotions all of the time. Even those that don't shout from the rooftops will enjoy it when others do it on their behalf sometimes. It's natural. We work hard to try and get good results. When we get them, we have a right to savour that moment. We are only here once. Oddly though, some of my best racing moments of yesteryear were not savoured half as much as I should have, for I was always overly self critical thinking what I could have done - what I could do - to get even better.
To this day, harsh self criticism still surfs upon the ebbs and flows of my fluctuating self esteem. Luckily I can never take myself seriously for too long and will humour myself out of those black holes by revelling in my own self deprecation. Although I will give myself a quick pat on the back these days when I do actually have a good race - rarity that it is. Whilst I'm not partial to all that Strava palaver and self hype on social media which I do find tedious and annoying at times, I guess these pages are my own little outlet of self gratifying tedium which has, to some extent, become an obsession too.
If I do seek or have sought a real source of public validation as a runner, then for me it's always been about the race results. Results are the part of running that history cannot fudge and does not forget. Ultimately that's what one's efforts are judged on. Not that anybody else may be looking or judging, but I am, so it's important to me and I dare say the reason I get upset when I race below par.
Crikey, reading back on those last few paragraphs is quite heavy duty even for me, so pardon the self counselling session there and after yet another subject digression, back to my own current obsessions and alas to the loopy loop...
Racing at least once a week in Spring and Summer has been - whilst also a preconceived plan - something of an obsession. Hopefully this enforced racing break will be a blessing in disguise. But in the last month or so my training has taken a twist by a new obsession over a training route which is a particular loop I enjoy on Pendle Hill. I am now religiously running this loop over and over again. I'm not getting bored of it, far from it. The stopwatch tells me it's making me stronger and that's all I need to know. It's also got me inspired enough to run regularly in the morning. Now that in itself is a revelation! Setting off a little earlier to work for a blast on the fell... I didn't know I had it in me.
This last fortnight or so has seen me up there looping, well I'm not sure how many times, but well in to double figures... obsessed! It feels like some progress is being made and certainly as far as running routines are concerned, there's no fix required to the unbroken. I put all this loopy training to the test last Wednesday with a time trial that was once an obsession in itself and one of the reasons I finally got in to fell racing. Nearer my neck of the woods at White Coppice, a run to the summit of Great Hill and back was once a regular feature in my schedule. My history with this route goes back to first running on the hills with my pal Stix in 2005. It soon became a time trial, an obsession and one which eventually led to joining Chorley Harriers in 2006 and an end to my footballing days. I've run up there more times than I could ever remember, but I don't recall actually running this route as an out and out time trial for maybe six years or more which is a crazy statistic in itself. Where have I been? What have I been doing? Anyway, subconsciously inspired by the excellent theme tune to Scandinavian cop drama 'The Bridge', which Sara and I have been binge watching recently, ''everything goes back to the beginning''. I thought this old classic up and downer would be an acid test for where I'm up to and replace the absence of a race recently. It was certainly the latter. I got really nervous for this and more so than I would do for an actual race! There was the fear of delusion, a fear that I wouldn't get anywhere near the sort of time that I used to bash out. But there was also a quiet confidence, based on recent training runs that I could still knock out a time to be satisfied with. These conflicting emotions combined to create those quite intense pre-time trial nerves. This long overdue return proved to be a positive experience though, with a very respectable time to the summit and deceptively very good split on the return. So this told me what I needed to know. The uphill work is getting better whilst it seemed like normal service had resumed on the flat and downhill. All boding well for the next race then. After another week of loopy loops since, tonight it's back to the racing game in Rossendale.
Sunday, 8 July 2018
LEGS DEFY ORDERS
DON ASHTON MEMORIAL TOCKHOLES FELL RACE
It's been a crazy English Summer so far. Hot and sunny every day for two months, a day has not gone by where it's not been fit to peg washing out. England's football team have been the most aesthetically pleasing that certainly I can ever rememberand reaching the World Cup Semi-Finals - but in the world of this running nobody in particular, the wait goes on to run a good race. Excuses are futile and should not detract from the fact that even if the old pins are a bit jaded, I ought to be conditioned enough to grind out something a little better than this.
It was great to see numbers up by almost half for Calvin Ferguson's race, in honour of his veteran champion fell running Granddad. I raced this one last year and whilst I wouldn't put my keen reappearance down to a particular fondness of the course, plenty of decent local competition turn out, there's a good atmosphere about it, a decent pint and natter at The Rock Inn and it's got the sort of no nonsense, rock up and race atmoshere that fell running is all about. So I rocked up again this year and when pondering the evening's line-up, I had good reason to expect to be having a close battle with the likes of Barlick's Andy Berry and a rival from last Summer, Thomas Harkin. I got off to a decent start despite being narked by a couple of incidents early on. Firstly, a Preston runner decided the road sized bridleway we were running down was simply not wide enough. Suddenly and needlessly he cuts across and right under my feet, nearly taking us both out. Raised arm of acknowledgement? There was not. Half a minute later there's a narrow downhill section where a cluster of lads got a bit excited, thrusting themselves down there as if the finishing line is approaching already. One of whom sounds to me from behind in a panic stricken tone, ''COMING THROUGH INSIDE!!''. What the fff...?!?! Now THAT is just bad manners in this game and oh, just five and a half miles remaining at that point. I've seen this lad from the Red Rose club out before, I think he ought to know a bit better than that. I've no qualms about somebody passing - it's a race! But for me, it's the responsibility of the over-taker to do so with a bit of etiquette at least. Nip past if there's a gap, wait a few seconds if there isn't, especially when it's so early in a race. Either way, shouting that sort of nonsense out loud was absolutely ridiculous behaviour in my opinion. I think to myself how great it must be for Josh Boyle and Rob Hope at the front, avoiding all these instances of nuisance value amongst us also-rans.
One of my targets for the evening, Andy Berry is off to flyer. That short stride kicking onwards and away from me, but with still plenty of the race left to go I'm feeling relaxed. That man Fishwick's only just gone past as we get to Bold Venture Park and so has Preston's Jon Green who is on a comeback and just behind me at Tebay last week. Climbing up through the park and on to the moor I'm pretty steady, holding my place. Harkin is now in the mix and I'm sat on him until we plateau upon the moor. That's where engine failure kicked in. I'm not even busting my lungs yet, but I just can't get my legs to turn over quick enough. This seems to have been the case since upping the weekly elevation considerably. The knees just seem a touch stiffer than usual. Oxygen supply was sufficient, but there was a breakdown of electrical communication from brain to legs and they basically defied my orders. Harkin and the Darwen Dasher lad James France get away from me, Berry, Fishwick and Green have now long gone. So I start to properly bust a gut a bit earlier than I would have liked and yet it makes no difference to my pace. There's about a mile of flat and slightly downhill running in to the final third of the race, some of it on a tarmac surface, but even this speedy section was feeling like a wade through treacle. Two runners come by before we pop over a stile back towards Sunnyhurst Reservoir - Rossendale's Marc Barrett and Stephen Smithies of Calder Valley. If I'd been diary writing during the first few years of running, then Steve would have got plenty of mentions. We had some good battles over all sorts of distances and terrains. Now a Vet 50, he's looking in fantastic shape again after quite a few years in and out of the game with a knee injury. He seemed very comfortable here as he cruised by. This was a wake up call for me though. Barrett unfortunately lost his footing and crashed forwards in to the next stile, which I dare say knocked the stuffing out of him a little as Steve and I nudged ahead of him. Then as we approach the road over the damn of the reservoir, it's Steve who sounds like he's puffing a bit now, whilst I seem to catch a second wind and get ahead again. There's a bit of a sting in the tail which I saved myself for and once at the crest of it, I put the work in for the final half mile and managed to keep Mr Smithies behind me on this occasion. Far from delighted with my overall run at the finish, retrospectively I was only about a minute down on what I would have considered quite satisfactory.
If I didn't quite do myself justice in the Ribble Valley Harriers vest this evening, then two that did would be Josh Boyle and Katie Walshaw who won with new course records to their name. I'd like to be getting a bit nearer to Katie in races, but maybe I should be looking behind me. Katie was sixty nine seconds ahead, but only forty five in my wake was the legend Shaun Livesey Snr who continues to make progress on his comeback. In equine terms, Shaun is a thoroughbred, regardless of his age or years spent out of the racing loop. As a comparative carthorse, there is only so much I can do to stop him catching me up eventually. Hitting a run of consistently decent form would certainly help stave Shaun off a bit longer.
Thursday 5th July 2018
DON ASHTON MEMORIAL TOCKHOLES FELL RACE 5.8m/1100ft Tockholes, East Lancs.
1st Man - Josh Boyle (Ribble Valley Harriers) 35:42
1st Lady - Katie Walshaw (Ribble Valley Harriers) 40:20
My Stats - 41:29 15/143
DON ASHTON MEMORIAL TOCKHOLES FELL RACE
It's been a crazy English Summer so far. Hot and sunny every day for two months, a day has not gone by where it's not been fit to peg washing out. England's football team have been the most aesthetically pleasing that certainly I can ever rememberand reaching the World Cup Semi-Finals - but in the world of this running nobody in particular, the wait goes on to run a good race. Excuses are futile and should not detract from the fact that even if the old pins are a bit jaded, I ought to be conditioned enough to grind out something a little better than this.
It was great to see numbers up by almost half for Calvin Ferguson's race, in honour of his veteran champion fell running Granddad. I raced this one last year and whilst I wouldn't put my keen reappearance down to a particular fondness of the course, plenty of decent local competition turn out, there's a good atmosphere about it, a decent pint and natter at The Rock Inn and it's got the sort of no nonsense, rock up and race atmoshere that fell running is all about. So I rocked up again this year and when pondering the evening's line-up, I had good reason to expect to be having a close battle with the likes of Barlick's Andy Berry and a rival from last Summer, Thomas Harkin. I got off to a decent start despite being narked by a couple of incidents early on. Firstly, a Preston runner decided the road sized bridleway we were running down was simply not wide enough. Suddenly and needlessly he cuts across and right under my feet, nearly taking us both out. Raised arm of acknowledgement? There was not. Half a minute later there's a narrow downhill section where a cluster of lads got a bit excited, thrusting themselves down there as if the finishing line is approaching already. One of whom sounds to me from behind in a panic stricken tone, ''COMING THROUGH INSIDE!!''. What the fff...?!?! Now THAT is just bad manners in this game and oh, just five and a half miles remaining at that point. I've seen this lad from the Red Rose club out before, I think he ought to know a bit better than that. I've no qualms about somebody passing - it's a race! But for me, it's the responsibility of the over-taker to do so with a bit of etiquette at least. Nip past if there's a gap, wait a few seconds if there isn't, especially when it's so early in a race. Either way, shouting that sort of nonsense out loud was absolutely ridiculous behaviour in my opinion. I think to myself how great it must be for Josh Boyle and Rob Hope at the front, avoiding all these instances of nuisance value amongst us also-rans.
One of my targets for the evening, Andy Berry is off to flyer. That short stride kicking onwards and away from me, but with still plenty of the race left to go I'm feeling relaxed. That man Fishwick's only just gone past as we get to Bold Venture Park and so has Preston's Jon Green who is on a comeback and just behind me at Tebay last week. Climbing up through the park and on to the moor I'm pretty steady, holding my place. Harkin is now in the mix and I'm sat on him until we plateau upon the moor. That's where engine failure kicked in. I'm not even busting my lungs yet, but I just can't get my legs to turn over quick enough. This seems to have been the case since upping the weekly elevation considerably. The knees just seem a touch stiffer than usual. Oxygen supply was sufficient, but there was a breakdown of electrical communication from brain to legs and they basically defied my orders. Harkin and the Darwen Dasher lad James France get away from me, Berry, Fishwick and Green have now long gone. So I start to properly bust a gut a bit earlier than I would have liked and yet it makes no difference to my pace. There's about a mile of flat and slightly downhill running in to the final third of the race, some of it on a tarmac surface, but even this speedy section was feeling like a wade through treacle. Two runners come by before we pop over a stile back towards Sunnyhurst Reservoir - Rossendale's Marc Barrett and Stephen Smithies of Calder Valley. If I'd been diary writing during the first few years of running, then Steve would have got plenty of mentions. We had some good battles over all sorts of distances and terrains. Now a Vet 50, he's looking in fantastic shape again after quite a few years in and out of the game with a knee injury. He seemed very comfortable here as he cruised by. This was a wake up call for me though. Barrett unfortunately lost his footing and crashed forwards in to the next stile, which I dare say knocked the stuffing out of him a little as Steve and I nudged ahead of him. Then as we approach the road over the damn of the reservoir, it's Steve who sounds like he's puffing a bit now, whilst I seem to catch a second wind and get ahead again. There's a bit of a sting in the tail which I saved myself for and once at the crest of it, I put the work in for the final half mile and managed to keep Mr Smithies behind me on this occasion. Far from delighted with my overall run at the finish, retrospectively I was only about a minute down on what I would have considered quite satisfactory.
If I didn't quite do myself justice in the Ribble Valley Harriers vest this evening, then two that did would be Josh Boyle and Katie Walshaw who won with new course records to their name. I'd like to be getting a bit nearer to Katie in races, but maybe I should be looking behind me. Katie was sixty nine seconds ahead, but only forty five in my wake was the legend Shaun Livesey Snr who continues to make progress on his comeback. In equine terms, Shaun is a thoroughbred, regardless of his age or years spent out of the racing loop. As a comparative carthorse, there is only so much I can do to stop him catching me up eventually. Hitting a run of consistently decent form would certainly help stave Shaun off a bit longer.
Thursday 5th July 2018
DON ASHTON MEMORIAL TOCKHOLES FELL RACE 5.8m/1100ft Tockholes, East Lancs.
1st Man - Josh Boyle (Ribble Valley Harriers) 35:42
1st Lady - Katie Walshaw (Ribble Valley Harriers) 40:20
My Stats - 41:29 15/143
Thursday, 5 July 2018
TIGHT TUSSLE WITH CAPTAIN JACKO
WHALEY WALTZ
There's an in-house club championships on the agenda at Ribble Valley Harriers this year and this race in Derbyshire's Peak District was the first of four on that fixture list. Not far as the crow flies to these parts, but nevertheless an hour and twenty minutes away from my resides in central Lancashire. It's a fair old way just for a 9K trail race and fair to say I probably would not have picked this one out to race but for the fact it was on the club champs list and I had pre-entered months ago. Heading South down the M61, the huge plumages of smoke bellowing from the moorland fires on my favourite training ground Winter Hill completely dominates the skyline. It's been on fire for days, with up to two square miles of precious peat, heather and grasses scorched beyond recognition. It's really upsetting on many levels, not least that it was seemingly started deliberately by some 22 year old scratbag who, we are led to believe, has now been arrested. If it's him, they should throw away the key. Akin to similiar fires on Saddleworth Moor last week, whilst firefighters and armed forces from around the region do an incredible job trying to attain the impossible of suppressing the blaze in continuously hot, dry weather with a strong flame-fanning breeze, just what the hell are the Government doing about this situation to bring extra assistance? Do they even know about it, sat in their ivory towers of some suave London suburb with a Champagne in one hand, polishing their trumpets with the other? Whilst the cost of human life fortunately remains zero, it's a catastrophe on a massive scale. If this was happening in the southern Home Counties we would have had a state of emergency declared and the kitchen sink thrown at it by now. I guess a positive aspect of the government's ignorance is that they haven't made a political stunt out of the situation, for example sending the Home Secretary and Environment Minister in yellow helmet and fireproof jacket for some kind of propaganda photo-shoot. Well, not yet at least.
Back to the running then and I'm joined by just five other clubmates who also made the journey - Ste Hall is expected to kick all our arses, Ben Walmsley versus Andy Payne will be interesting and
ladies captain Nichola Jackson is fresh from - well maybe not fresh - the World Long Distance Mountain Champs in Poland the previous weekend, where she finished a fantastic 24th overall and helped win a Silver medal for the GB team. Chris Barnes put his excuses out there having ran the Twighlight Snowdon race up and down Wales' highest peak the previous evening.
It was the Rose Queen Carnival day in Whaley Bridge and first the parade passed, headed by the local brass band, followed by a rich assortment of floats flowing down the crowded main street. Once the prosession had cleared, it was race time - or seemingly. Unfortunately there was a problem somewhere down the line and a delay to the start. High vis health and safety folk were scuttling about active on thier walkie-talkies about something further down the road. This wasn't a problem, but for the fact that two hundred and odd runners were all lined up ready and absolutely baking in the high sun. I looked down and my inov8's were making in-prints in to the melting tar. There was no direction or communication in the meantime as to when we were going to set off and so it must have been twenty minutes stood there, thinking we must surely be going off at any moment. Not ideal. I'd stiffened up in fact as we finally got let out of the traps, but I loosened off a bit and started to edge my way up in to the top dozen or so. There was some welcome stretches of running under the shade of trees early on which was a brief relief after getting sun struck at the start. But when the climbing began it was in stifling heat, beaming down hard and bouncing back off the parched grasses. It felt like a struggle was imminent, but I could see Andy Payne not too far ahead and so based on that I considered I was doing OK. I was near enough to see that Andy was doing something weird with his vest and turning it in to a cropped top. In some ways I'm glad I didn't get close enough to see the hairy bellied details! But the heat was desperate and when it's like this, male cropped tops isn't such an odd concept if not a great look. Before the main sections of ascent up to the summit on the Wind Gather Rocks, I realise Nichola Jackson is right behind me as she apologised for nutting the back of my leg on a ladder stile. This is going to be tough now. The climbing continues and she stays right my on heels. I'm thinking all sorts of things, like in recent years on the odd occasion we've been in the same race at Woodentops, I've never got near her. Nichola's just done a mountain marathon in a GB vest last weekend, but then I'd raced Tebay only three days previous... did Barnes give her instructions to 'sit on Sutty on the climb until he buckles'?...all these sort of factors were being weighed up in my head as we slogged upwards. But then I thought to myself, 'Hang on, Jacko's got eighteen years on me, this lass is fair game!', so I challenged myself to stay ahead of her for as long as I can on this climb. I might just fancy my chances against her on the way down. I sensed Nic coming along side a time or two but there really wasn't much between us at all on the day. It sounded as if I'd managed to make a little gap on the first downhill stretch across a field, but then she closed in again and it wasn't until a couple of unpleasant downhill road sections where the few seconds of gap that eventually counted were mustered. I'd now set my sights on the young lad ahead who was looking like he was hanging on. Just before the finish there's a river crossing but it took me by surprise how deep it was, popping out of some woods and straight in to four or five feet of water. Panic set in, not through fear of water, but because Nichola is also an ace swimmer! I flapped and stumbled my way across. It cost me a chance to catch the lad ahead but was fortunately enough to hold my place.
So Nichola had big distance in her legs and she has bigger long term fish to fry than busting a gut in the short term to nudge ahead of the likes of myself. But she is a fierce competitor and a class fell runner, so I would be hard on myself not to take some satisfaction from staying ahead of her for once. Besides, it may never happen again.
For the rest of the team, Ste was on cue to finish third overall until he and another lad excruciatingly missed a left turn inside the final mile and lost nine places. So Ben ran well to take over for third place and first Ribble Valley home, keeping himself half a minute ahead of Andy all the way around. Ribble Valley Harriers were on the map in Derbyshire with six inside the top sixteen.
On the way home and immediately on the top road out of Whaley Bridge, the Winter Hill fires are prominent in the distance even here, some fifty miles away. Like some smoking volcano, the plume stretches West beyond Southport and in to the Irish Sea. They still can't see it from London though.
Saturday 30th June 2018
WHALEY WALTZ 5.8m/900ft Whaley Bridge, High Peak, Derbyshire
1st Man - Jack Ross (Staffordshire Moorlands) 39:48
1st Lady - Nichola Jackson (Ribble Valley Harriers) 43:55
My Stats - 43:47 10/208
WHALEY WALTZ
There's an in-house club championships on the agenda at Ribble Valley Harriers this year and this race in Derbyshire's Peak District was the first of four on that fixture list. Not far as the crow flies to these parts, but nevertheless an hour and twenty minutes away from my resides in central Lancashire. It's a fair old way just for a 9K trail race and fair to say I probably would not have picked this one out to race but for the fact it was on the club champs list and I had pre-entered months ago. Heading South down the M61, the huge plumages of smoke bellowing from the moorland fires on my favourite training ground Winter Hill completely dominates the skyline. It's been on fire for days, with up to two square miles of precious peat, heather and grasses scorched beyond recognition. It's really upsetting on many levels, not least that it was seemingly started deliberately by some 22 year old scratbag who, we are led to believe, has now been arrested. If it's him, they should throw away the key. Akin to similiar fires on Saddleworth Moor last week, whilst firefighters and armed forces from around the region do an incredible job trying to attain the impossible of suppressing the blaze in continuously hot, dry weather with a strong flame-fanning breeze, just what the hell are the Government doing about this situation to bring extra assistance? Do they even know about it, sat in their ivory towers of some suave London suburb with a Champagne in one hand, polishing their trumpets with the other? Whilst the cost of human life fortunately remains zero, it's a catastrophe on a massive scale. If this was happening in the southern Home Counties we would have had a state of emergency declared and the kitchen sink thrown at it by now. I guess a positive aspect of the government's ignorance is that they haven't made a political stunt out of the situation, for example sending the Home Secretary and Environment Minister in yellow helmet and fireproof jacket for some kind of propaganda photo-shoot. Well, not yet at least.
Back to the running then and I'm joined by just five other clubmates who also made the journey - Ste Hall is expected to kick all our arses, Ben Walmsley versus Andy Payne will be interesting and
ladies captain Nichola Jackson is fresh from - well maybe not fresh - the World Long Distance Mountain Champs in Poland the previous weekend, where she finished a fantastic 24th overall and helped win a Silver medal for the GB team. Chris Barnes put his excuses out there having ran the Twighlight Snowdon race up and down Wales' highest peak the previous evening.
It was the Rose Queen Carnival day in Whaley Bridge and first the parade passed, headed by the local brass band, followed by a rich assortment of floats flowing down the crowded main street. Once the prosession had cleared, it was race time - or seemingly. Unfortunately there was a problem somewhere down the line and a delay to the start. High vis health and safety folk were scuttling about active on thier walkie-talkies about something further down the road. This wasn't a problem, but for the fact that two hundred and odd runners were all lined up ready and absolutely baking in the high sun. I looked down and my inov8's were making in-prints in to the melting tar. There was no direction or communication in the meantime as to when we were going to set off and so it must have been twenty minutes stood there, thinking we must surely be going off at any moment. Not ideal. I'd stiffened up in fact as we finally got let out of the traps, but I loosened off a bit and started to edge my way up in to the top dozen or so. There was some welcome stretches of running under the shade of trees early on which was a brief relief after getting sun struck at the start. But when the climbing began it was in stifling heat, beaming down hard and bouncing back off the parched grasses. It felt like a struggle was imminent, but I could see Andy Payne not too far ahead and so based on that I considered I was doing OK. I was near enough to see that Andy was doing something weird with his vest and turning it in to a cropped top. In some ways I'm glad I didn't get close enough to see the hairy bellied details! But the heat was desperate and when it's like this, male cropped tops isn't such an odd concept if not a great look. Before the main sections of ascent up to the summit on the Wind Gather Rocks, I realise Nichola Jackson is right behind me as she apologised for nutting the back of my leg on a ladder stile. This is going to be tough now. The climbing continues and she stays right my on heels. I'm thinking all sorts of things, like in recent years on the odd occasion we've been in the same race at Woodentops, I've never got near her. Nichola's just done a mountain marathon in a GB vest last weekend, but then I'd raced Tebay only three days previous... did Barnes give her instructions to 'sit on Sutty on the climb until he buckles'?...all these sort of factors were being weighed up in my head as we slogged upwards. But then I thought to myself, 'Hang on, Jacko's got eighteen years on me, this lass is fair game!', so I challenged myself to stay ahead of her for as long as I can on this climb. I might just fancy my chances against her on the way down. I sensed Nic coming along side a time or two but there really wasn't much between us at all on the day. It sounded as if I'd managed to make a little gap on the first downhill stretch across a field, but then she closed in again and it wasn't until a couple of unpleasant downhill road sections where the few seconds of gap that eventually counted were mustered. I'd now set my sights on the young lad ahead who was looking like he was hanging on. Just before the finish there's a river crossing but it took me by surprise how deep it was, popping out of some woods and straight in to four or five feet of water. Panic set in, not through fear of water, but because Nichola is also an ace swimmer! I flapped and stumbled my way across. It cost me a chance to catch the lad ahead but was fortunately enough to hold my place.
So Nichola had big distance in her legs and she has bigger long term fish to fry than busting a gut in the short term to nudge ahead of the likes of myself. But she is a fierce competitor and a class fell runner, so I would be hard on myself not to take some satisfaction from staying ahead of her for once. Besides, it may never happen again.
For the rest of the team, Ste was on cue to finish third overall until he and another lad excruciatingly missed a left turn inside the final mile and lost nine places. So Ben ran well to take over for third place and first Ribble Valley home, keeping himself half a minute ahead of Andy all the way around. Ribble Valley Harriers were on the map in Derbyshire with six inside the top sixteen.
On the way home and immediately on the top road out of Whaley Bridge, the Winter Hill fires are prominent in the distance even here, some fifty miles away. Like some smoking volcano, the plume stretches West beyond Southport and in to the Irish Sea. They still can't see it from London though.
Saturday 30th June 2018
WHALEY WALTZ 5.8m/900ft Whaley Bridge, High Peak, Derbyshire
1st Man - Jack Ross (Staffordshire Moorlands) 39:48
1st Lady - Nichola Jackson (Ribble Valley Harriers) 43:55
My Stats - 43:47 10/208
Sunday, 1 July 2018
TEBAY JUST TOPS THE BILL
TEBAY FELL RACE
For a classic midweek evening fell race it is fair to say that I have had my head turned by the glories of Blencathra in recent times. It's a few years since I've managed to get up to my old favourite at Tebay, but on this long overdue return I think it may just about have stolen back my affection for top billing. For a start off, I love the Howgills. Distinctive by their contrast to the rest of the Cumbrian fell set, these huge green lumps of mountainous beauty stand out by their sheer mass and endlessly fascinating curvature which rolls out Eastwards in to North Yorkshire. To admire them from below and afar is satisfaction in itself. To be up there, running up and down them... amazing. It's been way too long.
The route of the Tebay race touches the Western fringes of the range, visible on approach as the M6 gets as spectacular as any section of motorway can in this country. The road and mainline railway meet side by side, literally carving through the base of the valley that splits the Howgills from the craggier Birbeck Fells. This is what my well fell weathered Mum considers to be the gateway to proper Northern wild country! I'm inclined to agree.
When I say I'm doing the Tebay race, those not in the know think it's a long way to go on a weekday night, what's so special about Tebay? It's a motorway services isn't it? Tebay is a rustic village of mainly terraced cottages, built on the back of it's former prominence as a major railway yard and junction. The place has probably lost a little bit of it's soul like many of it's kind over the years. But rather than just another cluster of lettings owned by people from Surrey, there are some genuine signs of industry, self sufficiency, proper local life and community still here. Race headquarters at the working man's club is charmingly old school and the recreation ground from where the race starts from most certainly isn't under threat by a tyrant borough council bowing to the pressures of toy town housing developers, unlike in my neck of the woods and the rapidly diminishing green spaces of South Ribble.
The first couple of miles of the race route are pretty unspectacular to be fair. First timers racing on the back of my endearing review would have a right to ask what all the fuss is about. A gradual incline crossing from choppy moorland to farm track and back again on a crow flies line to Ellergill Beck. Even the first climb of distinction up Rispa Pike is just a tough upward plough through long grass and tussock with nowt much to get excited about other than the relief of nearing the top of it. Runaway race leader and man of the moment Carl Bell was almost at the top of it by the time I'd started from the Beck. An incredible talent is that guy. Once upon that broad plateau and over the next mile or so, this could still just seem like your Average Joe race over rugged moorland. Then things change all of a sudden. Just shy of the second checkpoint there's a little steeper slant for twenty yards upon the seemingly featureless mound which has been on the horizon for the last ten minutes. Then that's it - a moment that took my breath away the first time I did this race and has done every time since - the whole of the Howgills opens up in to view and suddenly you realise how high you have climbed already. This is Uldale Head and it's a fabulous reward for a laborious slog until that point. Then you know you are in the Howgills and the racing from here is spectacular. No matter how serious a runner one might be, if you can't afford yourself the odd glance of the awesome landscape around you and suck it all in, then the question would have to be, what the hell are you doing racing up there in the first place?
Up to this point I was holding my own. Briefly I had dreams of sitting on Chorley's Darren Fishwick. Not in a literal sense of course, although that might be one way of stopping him going past me. I haven't beaten Daz in a good few years and I'd say he is much stronger and certainly more consistent in recent times than ever, so it will take some doing. But both he and a small pack had got away from me by about a minute up to Uldale, but I sensed I was somewhere in the top twenty and was ticking over fine on a sweltering evening. It was a ridiculous 27 degrees fahrenheit when we kicked off on the Tebay Recreation Ground at 7:00pm. The drop off Uldale Head is quite sudden and I had nobody in view to follow. Faint trods forked off in various directions and whilst a straight ahead bearing down the middle made sense off memory, I found myself sucked in to the most trodden trod to the left. Descending quite steeply, I still couldn't see anyone ahead which was strange. I realised the error of my ways and started cutting off back over to the right and the middle line that I should have taken in the first place. But still, weirdly, I couldn't see Fishwick and Co scrambling up the opposite hillside. As I started that scramble myself after crossing the beck, low to my right and behold, a Fishwick appears with that posse still following him. They had gone way over to the right it seems, or somewhere. Only Darren knows for sure. One thing I wasn't expecting in this race was to get back ahead of Daz by this point, but after following me along the traverse towards Black Force he took his chance and got ahead again, by maybe two minutes by the time we'd ticked the next summit of Linghaw off and descended to the base of Blease Fell for the final big climb. His group of hangers on followed, some over enthusiastically with the main event still to come. I may have inadvertently shot up in to the top ten somewhere, but lost those places again eventually. Oddly, I couldn't descend quick if I'd tried that evening. Whilst getting my uphill game in to better order, my much stronger downhill skills deserted me. My knees were a bit achey and I just couldn't let my legs go. That wasn't a bad thing here though, as the very business end of the race was still to be ironed out and an empty tank at the bottom of Blease Fell isn't a pleasant experience. Been there and done that one before. Instead I was climbing pretty well, picking a few places back and catching some of Daz's cluster. But by now, he'd burned them off a bit up this big steep slog of a climb and caught up with another solid fell machine I would like to get nearer to, Mark Chippendale of Bowland. It's deceptive on these steep climbs just how far you are behind other runners. It seemed as if I had caught up with Fishwick and Chippendale after they had been out of view on the long descent from Linghaw. What looked like a minute behind these two on the climb was obviously more as when the running begins again off the summit, the black and white stripes of Chorley and the orange and green of Bowland looked half a mile away. My legs just wouldn't kick in to a decent rhythm for the gradual downhill two miles or so off Blease Fell back to Tebay. After losing a couple of places straight away after the summit checkpoint, I did enough to get one back and was somehow holding my place, although in some disbelief really. I was waiting for the cavalry to arrive at any moment as I didn't feel I was moving at all quick enough to sustain my position. The breathing tackle felt fine, but the legs just wouldn't stretch out. I took a few dodgy route choices which needlessly put me through some energy sapping rougher stuff and cost some seconds. Near the finish when company did finally merge on my tail, we all had different ideas where the farm gate off the fell might be situated. The finish line isn't far through that gate. I remembered the track we were running on and that the gate was hidden by the grassy mounds to the left - whereabouts exactly I just daren't gamble. Then Bowland's Sam Harrison and former Nemesis from my time at Chorley Harriers, Dominic Raby, came shifting by and I briefly got distracted by this, setting out to stay with Dom. History tells me trusting Dominic's navigation isn't wise though, so keeping an eye out to my left, a Borrowdale runner had taken the plunge and cut off the track and on to the grass. So I veered off back towards him and once realising he'd got the correct line to the gate, I gave Dominic a shout. But Dom either didn't hear me or was just too focused on the Bowland lad just ahead as these two stuck rigidly to the slightly longer route on the farm track. Well I wasn't going to shout him over twice! I managed to cut them up before the gate and keep the Raby behind me just about, but the young Bowlander Harrison and the Borrowdale guy had that bit of kick to see me off just before we turned back in to the recreation ground. A retrospective disappointment was that this cost me sneakage in to the top fifteen. As for Darren Fishwick, so good at the moment he beat me twice! He must have flown off that final summit, burning Chippendale off by two minutes and moving up to eighth place - more than four minutes on me in the end. I tried not to beat myself up with a time of 1.35, which is tough when I have done 1.21... but I was in tip top form then, the weather was far cooler that night... and, well I was a bit younger. Studying time comparisons from fell races can be a pretty irrelevant pass-time in any case, for realistically never in a million years would I be good enough to get within ten, let alone five minutes of the night's race winner on this or any course.
What a great race though. A truly great race and a tough one. Staying fit enough to make this one an annual habit again would be well worth the toil.
Wedneday 28th June 2018
TEBAY FELL RACE 8m/3000ft Tebay, Cumbria
1st Man - Carl Bell (Keswick) 1.16:39
1st Lady - Clare Nance (Lonsdale FR) 1.43:55
My Stats - 1.35:44 17/82
TEBAY FELL RACE
For a classic midweek evening fell race it is fair to say that I have had my head turned by the glories of Blencathra in recent times. It's a few years since I've managed to get up to my old favourite at Tebay, but on this long overdue return I think it may just about have stolen back my affection for top billing. For a start off, I love the Howgills. Distinctive by their contrast to the rest of the Cumbrian fell set, these huge green lumps of mountainous beauty stand out by their sheer mass and endlessly fascinating curvature which rolls out Eastwards in to North Yorkshire. To admire them from below and afar is satisfaction in itself. To be up there, running up and down them... amazing. It's been way too long.
The route of the Tebay race touches the Western fringes of the range, visible on approach as the M6 gets as spectacular as any section of motorway can in this country. The road and mainline railway meet side by side, literally carving through the base of the valley that splits the Howgills from the craggier Birbeck Fells. This is what my well fell weathered Mum considers to be the gateway to proper Northern wild country! I'm inclined to agree.
When I say I'm doing the Tebay race, those not in the know think it's a long way to go on a weekday night, what's so special about Tebay? It's a motorway services isn't it? Tebay is a rustic village of mainly terraced cottages, built on the back of it's former prominence as a major railway yard and junction. The place has probably lost a little bit of it's soul like many of it's kind over the years. But rather than just another cluster of lettings owned by people from Surrey, there are some genuine signs of industry, self sufficiency, proper local life and community still here. Race headquarters at the working man's club is charmingly old school and the recreation ground from where the race starts from most certainly isn't under threat by a tyrant borough council bowing to the pressures of toy town housing developers, unlike in my neck of the woods and the rapidly diminishing green spaces of South Ribble.
The first couple of miles of the race route are pretty unspectacular to be fair. First timers racing on the back of my endearing review would have a right to ask what all the fuss is about. A gradual incline crossing from choppy moorland to farm track and back again on a crow flies line to Ellergill Beck. Even the first climb of distinction up Rispa Pike is just a tough upward plough through long grass and tussock with nowt much to get excited about other than the relief of nearing the top of it. Runaway race leader and man of the moment Carl Bell was almost at the top of it by the time I'd started from the Beck. An incredible talent is that guy. Once upon that broad plateau and over the next mile or so, this could still just seem like your Average Joe race over rugged moorland. Then things change all of a sudden. Just shy of the second checkpoint there's a little steeper slant for twenty yards upon the seemingly featureless mound which has been on the horizon for the last ten minutes. Then that's it - a moment that took my breath away the first time I did this race and has done every time since - the whole of the Howgills opens up in to view and suddenly you realise how high you have climbed already. This is Uldale Head and it's a fabulous reward for a laborious slog until that point. Then you know you are in the Howgills and the racing from here is spectacular. No matter how serious a runner one might be, if you can't afford yourself the odd glance of the awesome landscape around you and suck it all in, then the question would have to be, what the hell are you doing racing up there in the first place?
Up to this point I was holding my own. Briefly I had dreams of sitting on Chorley's Darren Fishwick. Not in a literal sense of course, although that might be one way of stopping him going past me. I haven't beaten Daz in a good few years and I'd say he is much stronger and certainly more consistent in recent times than ever, so it will take some doing. But both he and a small pack had got away from me by about a minute up to Uldale, but I sensed I was somewhere in the top twenty and was ticking over fine on a sweltering evening. It was a ridiculous 27 degrees fahrenheit when we kicked off on the Tebay Recreation Ground at 7:00pm. The drop off Uldale Head is quite sudden and I had nobody in view to follow. Faint trods forked off in various directions and whilst a straight ahead bearing down the middle made sense off memory, I found myself sucked in to the most trodden trod to the left. Descending quite steeply, I still couldn't see anyone ahead which was strange. I realised the error of my ways and started cutting off back over to the right and the middle line that I should have taken in the first place. But still, weirdly, I couldn't see Fishwick and Co scrambling up the opposite hillside. As I started that scramble myself after crossing the beck, low to my right and behold, a Fishwick appears with that posse still following him. They had gone way over to the right it seems, or somewhere. Only Darren knows for sure. One thing I wasn't expecting in this race was to get back ahead of Daz by this point, but after following me along the traverse towards Black Force he took his chance and got ahead again, by maybe two minutes by the time we'd ticked the next summit of Linghaw off and descended to the base of Blease Fell for the final big climb. His group of hangers on followed, some over enthusiastically with the main event still to come. I may have inadvertently shot up in to the top ten somewhere, but lost those places again eventually. Oddly, I couldn't descend quick if I'd tried that evening. Whilst getting my uphill game in to better order, my much stronger downhill skills deserted me. My knees were a bit achey and I just couldn't let my legs go. That wasn't a bad thing here though, as the very business end of the race was still to be ironed out and an empty tank at the bottom of Blease Fell isn't a pleasant experience. Been there and done that one before. Instead I was climbing pretty well, picking a few places back and catching some of Daz's cluster. But by now, he'd burned them off a bit up this big steep slog of a climb and caught up with another solid fell machine I would like to get nearer to, Mark Chippendale of Bowland. It's deceptive on these steep climbs just how far you are behind other runners. It seemed as if I had caught up with Fishwick and Chippendale after they had been out of view on the long descent from Linghaw. What looked like a minute behind these two on the climb was obviously more as when the running begins again off the summit, the black and white stripes of Chorley and the orange and green of Bowland looked half a mile away. My legs just wouldn't kick in to a decent rhythm for the gradual downhill two miles or so off Blease Fell back to Tebay. After losing a couple of places straight away after the summit checkpoint, I did enough to get one back and was somehow holding my place, although in some disbelief really. I was waiting for the cavalry to arrive at any moment as I didn't feel I was moving at all quick enough to sustain my position. The breathing tackle felt fine, but the legs just wouldn't stretch out. I took a few dodgy route choices which needlessly put me through some energy sapping rougher stuff and cost some seconds. Near the finish when company did finally merge on my tail, we all had different ideas where the farm gate off the fell might be situated. The finish line isn't far through that gate. I remembered the track we were running on and that the gate was hidden by the grassy mounds to the left - whereabouts exactly I just daren't gamble. Then Bowland's Sam Harrison and former Nemesis from my time at Chorley Harriers, Dominic Raby, came shifting by and I briefly got distracted by this, setting out to stay with Dom. History tells me trusting Dominic's navigation isn't wise though, so keeping an eye out to my left, a Borrowdale runner had taken the plunge and cut off the track and on to the grass. So I veered off back towards him and once realising he'd got the correct line to the gate, I gave Dominic a shout. But Dom either didn't hear me or was just too focused on the Bowland lad just ahead as these two stuck rigidly to the slightly longer route on the farm track. Well I wasn't going to shout him over twice! I managed to cut them up before the gate and keep the Raby behind me just about, but the young Bowlander Harrison and the Borrowdale guy had that bit of kick to see me off just before we turned back in to the recreation ground. A retrospective disappointment was that this cost me sneakage in to the top fifteen. As for Darren Fishwick, so good at the moment he beat me twice! He must have flown off that final summit, burning Chippendale off by two minutes and moving up to eighth place - more than four minutes on me in the end. I tried not to beat myself up with a time of 1.35, which is tough when I have done 1.21... but I was in tip top form then, the weather was far cooler that night... and, well I was a bit younger. Studying time comparisons from fell races can be a pretty irrelevant pass-time in any case, for realistically never in a million years would I be good enough to get within ten, let alone five minutes of the night's race winner on this or any course.
What a great race though. A truly great race and a tough one. Staying fit enough to make this one an annual habit again would be well worth the toil.
Wedneday 28th June 2018
TEBAY FELL RACE 8m/3000ft Tebay, Cumbria
1st Man - Carl Bell (Keswick) 1.16:39
1st Lady - Clare Nance (Lonsdale FR) 1.43:55
My Stats - 1.35:44 17/82
Friday, 29 June 2018
ILKLA MOOR WI' T'BELL
BRADFORD MILLENIUM WAY RELAY
Midweek racing had to skip a week to give that calf strain a chance to recover and besides, I had to be fit for team duty in the BMWR and certainly didn't want to jeopardise my chances of racing another Wednesday night Cumbrian cracker at Tebay later in the week. Our Ribble Valley Harriers team were seeking to retain the Mixed Team category title and our team was mixed in the very purest sense with a male and female partnership on all five legs. I was selected to run Leg 4 from Silsden to Ilkley with up and coming former Barlick Fell Runner Sarah Bell. Sarah had a fitness worry herself in the build up after going over on her ankle and unable to get out to reccie the course - so only three days prior to race day, commander in chief Chris Barnes was kind enough to take me around. There's no avoiding reccie runs on routes like this. Race day would otherwise be a disaster to negotiate with countless gaps in walls, holes in hedges, multiple choice stiles and gates, unmarked paths... As lone navigator I was quietly confident I had recollected the whole way, but even just a few days later, my grey matter was starting to succumb to grey areas. With a great chance of sealing the category win again, going even ever so slightly astray was simply not an option. Early on in the leg I did feel just a little bit of pressure to keep us on the straight and narrow. The Helen Thornhill and Chris Barnes pairing from Leg 3 not only handed over to us in a commanding category lead, but also 5th place overall. With greyest areas in the first half of the route, it was concentration time and when doubt did cast it's cloud, fortunately we could see a team or two ahead. Two Wakefield vests passed us early on, but around the half way mark we got our place back when catching the Wharfedale men's pair. Sarah ran really well and paced things just right. There was some graft put in to the mercilessly hot and sticky climb up to the cairn on Ilkley Moor, but she had a great turn of pace off there for the final two and a half miles down to the town and we sealed the eighth fastest Leg 4 time of the day. My legs were certainly sore enough the morning after. Louisa Powell-Smith and Shaun Livesey Jnr took over from us at Ilkley, gaining two more places to secure the Mixed win and third overall with only Bingley and Saltaire's men's teams ahead.
Ilkla Moor baht 'at* - a well known folk song in Yorkshire dialect and testimony to the wildness of Winter up here - fair warning that lkley Moor is a very cold and windy place indeed baht 'at. But if it's week six of the longest and earliest heatwave I can remember, and if there is receding hair upon one's crown - which once resembled a little Amaretto biscuit but is now the size of a Rich Tea - then head cover is of equal importance up on t'moor in the Summer too. Said Rich Tea biscuit seems to be first to take the sunburn these days, although my sizeable Neanderthal nose still comes a close second.
*Although the official Blogger viewing figures of these pages rarely surpasses the figure of six, it appears there are readers from overseas and maybe even UK readers south of the River Trent. In which case I ought to mention for their benefit alone that the translation of 'Ilkla Moor Baht 'at' is 'Ilkley Moor Without A Hat'... tha knows.
Sunday 24th June 2018
BRADFORD MILLENNIUM WAY RELAY Leg 4 8.5m/1250ft Silsden to Ilkley, West Yorkshire
1st Men's Team - Bingley 'A' 5.44:46
1st Ladies Team - Wharfedale 7.29:01
1st Mixed Team - Ribble Valley Harriers 6.18:50
My Stats - Paired with Sarah Bell 1.21:00 8/50
BRADFORD MILLENIUM WAY RELAY
Midweek racing had to skip a week to give that calf strain a chance to recover and besides, I had to be fit for team duty in the BMWR and certainly didn't want to jeopardise my chances of racing another Wednesday night Cumbrian cracker at Tebay later in the week. Our Ribble Valley Harriers team were seeking to retain the Mixed Team category title and our team was mixed in the very purest sense with a male and female partnership on all five legs. I was selected to run Leg 4 from Silsden to Ilkley with up and coming former Barlick Fell Runner Sarah Bell. Sarah had a fitness worry herself in the build up after going over on her ankle and unable to get out to reccie the course - so only three days prior to race day, commander in chief Chris Barnes was kind enough to take me around. There's no avoiding reccie runs on routes like this. Race day would otherwise be a disaster to negotiate with countless gaps in walls, holes in hedges, multiple choice stiles and gates, unmarked paths... As lone navigator I was quietly confident I had recollected the whole way, but even just a few days later, my grey matter was starting to succumb to grey areas. With a great chance of sealing the category win again, going even ever so slightly astray was simply not an option. Early on in the leg I did feel just a little bit of pressure to keep us on the straight and narrow. The Helen Thornhill and Chris Barnes pairing from Leg 3 not only handed over to us in a commanding category lead, but also 5th place overall. With greyest areas in the first half of the route, it was concentration time and when doubt did cast it's cloud, fortunately we could see a team or two ahead. Two Wakefield vests passed us early on, but around the half way mark we got our place back when catching the Wharfedale men's pair. Sarah ran really well and paced things just right. There was some graft put in to the mercilessly hot and sticky climb up to the cairn on Ilkley Moor, but she had a great turn of pace off there for the final two and a half miles down to the town and we sealed the eighth fastest Leg 4 time of the day. My legs were certainly sore enough the morning after. Louisa Powell-Smith and Shaun Livesey Jnr took over from us at Ilkley, gaining two more places to secure the Mixed win and third overall with only Bingley and Saltaire's men's teams ahead.
Ilkla Moor baht 'at* - a well known folk song in Yorkshire dialect and testimony to the wildness of Winter up here - fair warning that lkley Moor is a very cold and windy place indeed baht 'at. But if it's week six of the longest and earliest heatwave I can remember, and if there is receding hair upon one's crown - which once resembled a little Amaretto biscuit but is now the size of a Rich Tea - then head cover is of equal importance up on t'moor in the Summer too. Said Rich Tea biscuit seems to be first to take the sunburn these days, although my sizeable Neanderthal nose still comes a close second.
*Although the official Blogger viewing figures of these pages rarely surpasses the figure of six, it appears there are readers from overseas and maybe even UK readers south of the River Trent. In which case I ought to mention for their benefit alone that the translation of 'Ilkla Moor Baht 'at' is 'Ilkley Moor Without A Hat'... tha knows.
Sunday 24th June 2018
BRADFORD MILLENNIUM WAY RELAY Leg 4 8.5m/1250ft Silsden to Ilkley, West Yorkshire
1st Men's Team - Bingley 'A' 5.44:46
1st Ladies Team - Wharfedale 7.29:01
1st Mixed Team - Ribble Valley Harriers 6.18:50
My Stats - Paired with Sarah Bell 1.21:00 8/50
Sunday, 17 June 2018
CLICKED OR CROCKED?
WALSH TWO LADS
With a genuine intention of avoiding too much repetition and picking out more new races this year, a recent sequence of Harrock, Ingleton and Blencathra would beg to differ. This is the familiar line-up of the same time last year and with Holcombe Two Towers coming up, it was difficult to refrain from the temptation of making it four repeats in a row - simply because it's a tough little cracker of a race. But strangely, I had never got myself around to running the classic Walsh Two Lads race over my Western end of the Pennines which was also listed the night after. Spoiled for choice then, what to do? Racing Wednesday and Thursday back-to-back was a brief consideration, although I don't feel ready to do that - at least not very effectively. But going back to the Tuesday, my mind was made up for me after an innocent few miles of easy running irritated a previously something and nothing stiffness in my right calf. I figured it would need an extra day to shake off and so the Two Towers was officially off the menu and the Two Lads now very much on it. Wednesday was an indulgence of ice and ibuprofen gel, including a careful four miler test run without making it worse. More of the same treatment on Thursday and all seemed well for the evening's race.
I got over to Horwich nice and early straight after work which meant I had, at last, the luxury of time on my hands to warm-up and stretch out properly. I felt as good as I have in a long time on the starting line of a race. Legs pumped up nicely, head in the right place and with Chorley's Martin Quinn having assured me ''It's a great race, I think you'll really enjoy it'', I had no reason to disbelieve the vastly experienced Mr Quinn. I got off to a great start without really realising it, which is always a good thing. Recent hill work in training is paying off as I seemed to be gliding up the first climb to Wilderswood with a real confidence boosting ease. I could see I was seventh, I could even still see eventual winner and multiple fell running champion Rob Hope after three quarters of a mile. Maybe I got a little too ambitious when thinking I could start working harder and sit on the young Achille Ratti runner Robert Green just ahead when things steepened up a bit more. Green got a bit of distance on me there and I ended up burning up a little bit by the time we popped out of the woods on to Wilder's Moor. This is where I could hear a threat looming from behind and took an educated guess that it would be the red vest of Horwich veteran Mark Walsh. Correct.
Mark's a strong fell runner when he's on his game and there were signs here that he was heading back towards form... and that I may be too! He seemed to quickly establish a gap of around twenty seconds on me when I had that sticky spell, but then that gap between us remained more or less the same throughout the rest of the race. Heading over towards the gradual climb to the Two Lads cairn itself, silly seconds were lost when I fiddled with the complicated latch on a swinging gate, glancing just ahead at that runner in red thinking, ''I can't believe Walsh has stitched me up and put the bloody latch back on, what a .....'', only to then realise there was a huge gateless gap to the left that I hadn't seen! What a plonker. In fairness, Mark is a real gentlemen and not the type to engage in such gamesmanship.
I was under the cosh a bit from that point up to the cairn. I could certainly hear more than one race number flapping in the wind behind me and at another swinging gate just before the summit, my periphery vision noted three or four of the buggers queuing up and right on my tail. I pushed hard and saw it out to the summit before switching to cruise control for the start of the descent. One place lost straight away to a young lad (they all seem young these days if I don't recognise them!) who turned out to be another runner called Robert Green, this one of the Penny Lane Striders variety. But no panic, that seemed to be that in terms of being overtaken and I had the very best intentions of reeling this particular Mr Green back in eventually. Soon enough when hitting a briefly steeper section I got that eighth place back off him and was now intent on holding it. But seconds later as we turned left on to a section of flat farm track, my calf clenched up with anger. I'd forgotten all about that.
Straight away I'm back to ninth again and wondering just for a few seconds if it's all over and whether I should pull out. But the initial pain seemed to run off a little and then just before we left the track to descend again I thought 'Ah bollocks to it'. It's going to tighten up later but I could hold my place here at least. The cries of ''come on George'' from a group of spectators there told me another young 'un, Chorley's prodigy George Norris, was the immediate threat from behind. He was the youngest competitor at the Yorkshire Three Peaks back in April and since then has shown more consistency at the sort of middle and shorter distances that he tends to do much better at. The descent goes on, and on, and on... all without technicality at a very nice runable gradient just as Quinny had foretold me. I managed to hold on to ninth though and was definitely satisfied with my time having done some pre-race research of Two Lads results in recent years. As expected, the calf ceased up right away and I had to rear up and walk when trying to jog back to the car. Back to the ice and ibuprofen then with fingers crossed that I'm not completely crocked just when things are looking like they may have clicked.
Thursday 14th June 2018
WALSH TWO LADS 5.2m/1200ft Bridge Street, Horwich, Nr Bolton.
1st Man - Rob Hope (Pudsey & Bramley) 31:12
1st Lady - Kimberley Chadderton (Horwich RMI) 41:39
My Stats - 36:21 9/108
WALSH TWO LADS
With a genuine intention of avoiding too much repetition and picking out more new races this year, a recent sequence of Harrock, Ingleton and Blencathra would beg to differ. This is the familiar line-up of the same time last year and with Holcombe Two Towers coming up, it was difficult to refrain from the temptation of making it four repeats in a row - simply because it's a tough little cracker of a race. But strangely, I had never got myself around to running the classic Walsh Two Lads race over my Western end of the Pennines which was also listed the night after. Spoiled for choice then, what to do? Racing Wednesday and Thursday back-to-back was a brief consideration, although I don't feel ready to do that - at least not very effectively. But going back to the Tuesday, my mind was made up for me after an innocent few miles of easy running irritated a previously something and nothing stiffness in my right calf. I figured it would need an extra day to shake off and so the Two Towers was officially off the menu and the Two Lads now very much on it. Wednesday was an indulgence of ice and ibuprofen gel, including a careful four miler test run without making it worse. More of the same treatment on Thursday and all seemed well for the evening's race.
I got over to Horwich nice and early straight after work which meant I had, at last, the luxury of time on my hands to warm-up and stretch out properly. I felt as good as I have in a long time on the starting line of a race. Legs pumped up nicely, head in the right place and with Chorley's Martin Quinn having assured me ''It's a great race, I think you'll really enjoy it'', I had no reason to disbelieve the vastly experienced Mr Quinn. I got off to a great start without really realising it, which is always a good thing. Recent hill work in training is paying off as I seemed to be gliding up the first climb to Wilderswood with a real confidence boosting ease. I could see I was seventh, I could even still see eventual winner and multiple fell running champion Rob Hope after three quarters of a mile. Maybe I got a little too ambitious when thinking I could start working harder and sit on the young Achille Ratti runner Robert Green just ahead when things steepened up a bit more. Green got a bit of distance on me there and I ended up burning up a little bit by the time we popped out of the woods on to Wilder's Moor. This is where I could hear a threat looming from behind and took an educated guess that it would be the red vest of Horwich veteran Mark Walsh. Correct.
Mark's a strong fell runner when he's on his game and there were signs here that he was heading back towards form... and that I may be too! He seemed to quickly establish a gap of around twenty seconds on me when I had that sticky spell, but then that gap between us remained more or less the same throughout the rest of the race. Heading over towards the gradual climb to the Two Lads cairn itself, silly seconds were lost when I fiddled with the complicated latch on a swinging gate, glancing just ahead at that runner in red thinking, ''I can't believe Walsh has stitched me up and put the bloody latch back on, what a .....'', only to then realise there was a huge gateless gap to the left that I hadn't seen! What a plonker. In fairness, Mark is a real gentlemen and not the type to engage in such gamesmanship.
I was under the cosh a bit from that point up to the cairn. I could certainly hear more than one race number flapping in the wind behind me and at another swinging gate just before the summit, my periphery vision noted three or four of the buggers queuing up and right on my tail. I pushed hard and saw it out to the summit before switching to cruise control for the start of the descent. One place lost straight away to a young lad (they all seem young these days if I don't recognise them!) who turned out to be another runner called Robert Green, this one of the Penny Lane Striders variety. But no panic, that seemed to be that in terms of being overtaken and I had the very best intentions of reeling this particular Mr Green back in eventually. Soon enough when hitting a briefly steeper section I got that eighth place back off him and was now intent on holding it. But seconds later as we turned left on to a section of flat farm track, my calf clenched up with anger. I'd forgotten all about that.
Straight away I'm back to ninth again and wondering just for a few seconds if it's all over and whether I should pull out. But the initial pain seemed to run off a little and then just before we left the track to descend again I thought 'Ah bollocks to it'. It's going to tighten up later but I could hold my place here at least. The cries of ''come on George'' from a group of spectators there told me another young 'un, Chorley's prodigy George Norris, was the immediate threat from behind. He was the youngest competitor at the Yorkshire Three Peaks back in April and since then has shown more consistency at the sort of middle and shorter distances that he tends to do much better at. The descent goes on, and on, and on... all without technicality at a very nice runable gradient just as Quinny had foretold me. I managed to hold on to ninth though and was definitely satisfied with my time having done some pre-race research of Two Lads results in recent years. As expected, the calf ceased up right away and I had to rear up and walk when trying to jog back to the car. Back to the ice and ibuprofen then with fingers crossed that I'm not completely crocked just when things are looking like they may have clicked.
Thursday 14th June 2018
WALSH TWO LADS 5.2m/1200ft Bridge Street, Horwich, Nr Bolton.
1st Man - Rob Hope (Pudsey & Bramley) 31:12
1st Lady - Kimberley Chadderton (Horwich RMI) 41:39
My Stats - 36:21 9/108
Saturday, 9 June 2018
BACK ON THE SADDLE
BLENCATHRA
So it was back to the mountain also known as the Saddleback for as big a feast of fell racing that any midweek evening would have to offer. Upon the second appearance here at this belting race, hosted generously and yet very modestly by the Eden Runners club, I can now confirm that Blencathra could be establishing itself as a clear personal favourite of mine. What's not to love about this challenging middle distance cracker in such an incredible setting? In a fantasy book entitled 'Top Ten Lakeland Fell Races', by John Sutton - in which I'm confident Blencathra would still make the cut despite much research still to be done - only being very picky and trying to suit all fell runner's tastes would I suggest perhaps the lack of a crag or two to scramble over is what's missing to deny this compact eight miler it's claim to having a little bit of almost everything. Essentially it's a runner's race and rarely very technical underfoot. It may not suit the mountain goats that prefer the rock hopping rough stuff of the Langdales, but Blencathra is still a tough beast in it's own right. Aside from the initial steep plough out of the valley through a barely visible trod in the bracken, the climbs are all teasingly runable. Or simply runable in fact, if you are of international class like Ricky Lightfoot who made it all look very easy on his way to victory. But for most of the rest of us, the race offers many of the sort of invariable gradients that prick a fell runner's conscience as to whether power-walking is acceptable or if running would perhaps seem possible. My mindset for the evening was to absolutely run as much of the climbs as I possibly could and not get bogged down in too much back breaking, hands on knees power walking stuff. I've been messing with it in training, trying to discipline myself to a technique that works for me and doesn't stiffen this fragile lower back of mine. Not only did this help keep my focus on the upward sections of this race, but also bought me time and places. My climbing really has been in need of sorting out if I'm going to make progress, it's always been my weakness. The words of our legendary Ribble Valley Harriers president, Shaun Livesey, have certainly resonated when he said to me, ''I never walked any climbs at any race, I always ran them''. Shaun was twice English Champion and has won most races on the calendar, whilst I'm a running nobody in particular and a 44 year old one at that. With that in mind, I haven't taken what he's said absolutely literally, but have nonetheless been trying to build up the ability to run uphill with more efficiency and resilience. If I feel I'm going to break, then I just remember Shaun's words!
After that rehabilitating race at Ingleton last week, I felt a bit more race fit... so more fit to race. It's nice to get back to turning up for a contest confident that, at worst, it's not going to be a complete capitulation. Managing to balance the effort rate put in to the first half of races on this scale is key for me, this being my longest and certainly toughest run for two months or more. Whilst having to hurt a bit, there needs to be plenty of hurt left in reserve for later. Upon the first climb up to Bowscale Fell I found myself around Barlick Fellrunner Andy Berry, who sounded as if he was over-hurting too soon. But he's a consistent racer with a pair of thick set muscular legs that tick over way quicker than they appear to. It took me back to Withins Skyline last October when I spent the whole second half of the race trying to wind in a 100 metre gap on his deceptive pace and only just managing to do so with less than 200 metres to go. Back to Blencathra though and Berry shot off with a few others after that first checkpoint as a stretch of good running then wields it's way down to the base of Blencathra's upper sanctum. But some good climbing from there saw me claw back some of that cluster and eventually catch up to Bowland's Sean Bolland, who I remember had shown a return to faster form at Harrock Hill a fortnight earlier to finish well up and way ahead of me. But he was chuffing like a steam train here as we traversed the back of the saddle towards Blencathra's highest point where I passed him. Then I caught up with Andy Berry again at the summit checkpoint who was still working himself hard. It's fruits of your labour for a while after that - if you haven't already laboured too much that is - with a decent couple of miles of descending to be done. A couple of lovely ladies of considerable seniority had made the very considerable climb up to the ridge upon Scales Fell to watch the race unfold from where the course veers off left and continues to lose height towards Suther Fell. They had kindly placed a signposted jelly baby station there and were telling runners their current position. ''Top twenty, well done'', I was told, so duly expressed my gratitude. I guess if there is a bit of disappointment from the evening, it's that I saw the race out fairly strongly and yet didn't quite manage to hold that top twenty slot. I passed some guys, some guys passed me and by the time we were all still jostling for places on the plateau of the last climb upon Souther Fell I didn't have a clue what position I might be. One thing on my side is the ability to make gains on silly descents and I did manage to pick off one place on the ridiculously steep finale with a quarter of a mile to go. Almost consolidating that one place gained on this leg buckling drop - knowing there was still a swampy bog, a river crossing and a 200 metre run on the farm track still top negotiate before the finish - I took my eye off the ball and hadn't noticed the Keswick vest ahead could have been for the taking until it was just too late. I had to have a go anyway, but with an absolute outpouring of everything I had left put in to that final gallop to the line, there was no chance of sneaking up with a silent stealth attack. I'd made my presence too obvious and the Keswick runner, James Haworth, must have heard me coming and seemed to pick up his pace and matched me for the last 50 metres to hold his position which turned out to be 20th - mine 21st. Bugger! Decent night's work though and over a minute and a half quicker than last year's time in racing conditions that continue to remain warm and sticky. Enough to ensure overall satisfaction felt on the long journey home. If Harrock Hill was like a buck-a-roo moment two weeks ago, I felt very much back on the saddle at this one.
Wednesday 6th June 2018
BLENCATHRA 8m/2700ft Mungrisdale, Cumbria
1st Man - Ricky Lightfoot (Ellenborough AC) 1.02:18
1st Lady - Sophie Noon (Cumberland FR) 1.18:23
My Stats - 1.17:12 21/134
BLENCATHRA
So it was back to the mountain also known as the Saddleback for as big a feast of fell racing that any midweek evening would have to offer. Upon the second appearance here at this belting race, hosted generously and yet very modestly by the Eden Runners club, I can now confirm that Blencathra could be establishing itself as a clear personal favourite of mine. What's not to love about this challenging middle distance cracker in such an incredible setting? In a fantasy book entitled 'Top Ten Lakeland Fell Races', by John Sutton - in which I'm confident Blencathra would still make the cut despite much research still to be done - only being very picky and trying to suit all fell runner's tastes would I suggest perhaps the lack of a crag or two to scramble over is what's missing to deny this compact eight miler it's claim to having a little bit of almost everything. Essentially it's a runner's race and rarely very technical underfoot. It may not suit the mountain goats that prefer the rock hopping rough stuff of the Langdales, but Blencathra is still a tough beast in it's own right. Aside from the initial steep plough out of the valley through a barely visible trod in the bracken, the climbs are all teasingly runable. Or simply runable in fact, if you are of international class like Ricky Lightfoot who made it all look very easy on his way to victory. But for most of the rest of us, the race offers many of the sort of invariable gradients that prick a fell runner's conscience as to whether power-walking is acceptable or if running would perhaps seem possible. My mindset for the evening was to absolutely run as much of the climbs as I possibly could and not get bogged down in too much back breaking, hands on knees power walking stuff. I've been messing with it in training, trying to discipline myself to a technique that works for me and doesn't stiffen this fragile lower back of mine. Not only did this help keep my focus on the upward sections of this race, but also bought me time and places. My climbing really has been in need of sorting out if I'm going to make progress, it's always been my weakness. The words of our legendary Ribble Valley Harriers president, Shaun Livesey, have certainly resonated when he said to me, ''I never walked any climbs at any race, I always ran them''. Shaun was twice English Champion and has won most races on the calendar, whilst I'm a running nobody in particular and a 44 year old one at that. With that in mind, I haven't taken what he's said absolutely literally, but have nonetheless been trying to build up the ability to run uphill with more efficiency and resilience. If I feel I'm going to break, then I just remember Shaun's words!
After that rehabilitating race at Ingleton last week, I felt a bit more race fit... so more fit to race. It's nice to get back to turning up for a contest confident that, at worst, it's not going to be a complete capitulation. Managing to balance the effort rate put in to the first half of races on this scale is key for me, this being my longest and certainly toughest run for two months or more. Whilst having to hurt a bit, there needs to be plenty of hurt left in reserve for later. Upon the first climb up to Bowscale Fell I found myself around Barlick Fellrunner Andy Berry, who sounded as if he was over-hurting too soon. But he's a consistent racer with a pair of thick set muscular legs that tick over way quicker than they appear to. It took me back to Withins Skyline last October when I spent the whole second half of the race trying to wind in a 100 metre gap on his deceptive pace and only just managing to do so with less than 200 metres to go. Back to Blencathra though and Berry shot off with a few others after that first checkpoint as a stretch of good running then wields it's way down to the base of Blencathra's upper sanctum. But some good climbing from there saw me claw back some of that cluster and eventually catch up to Bowland's Sean Bolland, who I remember had shown a return to faster form at Harrock Hill a fortnight earlier to finish well up and way ahead of me. But he was chuffing like a steam train here as we traversed the back of the saddle towards Blencathra's highest point where I passed him. Then I caught up with Andy Berry again at the summit checkpoint who was still working himself hard. It's fruits of your labour for a while after that - if you haven't already laboured too much that is - with a decent couple of miles of descending to be done. A couple of lovely ladies of considerable seniority had made the very considerable climb up to the ridge upon Scales Fell to watch the race unfold from where the course veers off left and continues to lose height towards Suther Fell. They had kindly placed a signposted jelly baby station there and were telling runners their current position. ''Top twenty, well done'', I was told, so duly expressed my gratitude. I guess if there is a bit of disappointment from the evening, it's that I saw the race out fairly strongly and yet didn't quite manage to hold that top twenty slot. I passed some guys, some guys passed me and by the time we were all still jostling for places on the plateau of the last climb upon Souther Fell I didn't have a clue what position I might be. One thing on my side is the ability to make gains on silly descents and I did manage to pick off one place on the ridiculously steep finale with a quarter of a mile to go. Almost consolidating that one place gained on this leg buckling drop - knowing there was still a swampy bog, a river crossing and a 200 metre run on the farm track still top negotiate before the finish - I took my eye off the ball and hadn't noticed the Keswick vest ahead could have been for the taking until it was just too late. I had to have a go anyway, but with an absolute outpouring of everything I had left put in to that final gallop to the line, there was no chance of sneaking up with a silent stealth attack. I'd made my presence too obvious and the Keswick runner, James Haworth, must have heard me coming and seemed to pick up his pace and matched me for the last 50 metres to hold his position which turned out to be 20th - mine 21st. Bugger! Decent night's work though and over a minute and a half quicker than last year's time in racing conditions that continue to remain warm and sticky. Enough to ensure overall satisfaction felt on the long journey home. If Harrock Hill was like a buck-a-roo moment two weeks ago, I felt very much back on the saddle at this one.
Wednesday 6th June 2018
BLENCATHRA 8m/2700ft Mungrisdale, Cumbria
1st Man - Ricky Lightfoot (Ellenborough AC) 1.02:18
1st Lady - Sophie Noon (Cumberland FR) 1.18:23
My Stats - 1.17:12 21/134
Sunday, 3 June 2018
REASONS TO BE CHEERFUL
INGLETON WATERFALLS
Mainly because of the below average and at best, barely average, results accumulated so far this Spring, the actual enjoyment of training and racing has been missing. For a time consuming, energy sapping pass time like running, enjoyment is undoubtedly a major factor in whether or not there is a point to it all. For me, a big part of the enjoyment of running these days is about proving a point to myself that in fact I am not at the knackers yard yet, that there is still a solid period where I can really get stuck in to some races and do myself a bit of justice. Right now, my body continues to protest and even easy runs have felt like really hard work. Infact I haven't really felt fully awake for at least a month! It could be the really warm weather which is now in to it's fourth week, perhaps a pollen allergy... but it can't be that cholesterol thing as I've been eating with intense saturated fat awareness for a whole year now like a good boy, and it's not too much mileage because I know in my heart of hearts I'm not quite doing enough - and that's the catch - I need to, but feel I'm not capable. Trying to fish a way around this by limiting training runs to fairly short distances but mixed with intensive climbing, keeping the length of off-road interval reps down to 400 metres - this doesn't seem to be working either. It just feels like I'm running myself in to a big crevice of knackeredness.
Knackered or not, I'm just going to keep on racing through the Summer and hope something clicks. It was back to Ingleton for a crack at the Waterfalls trail race with a day spent almost as identical to my last visit here twelve months ago. Family walk around the falls during the day in even warmer conditions this time, followed by chippy tea (I saved most of mine for later, again) then the race, renamed from Ingleton Scenery to the more self explanatory Ingleton Waterfalls. I suppose I'd got a bit of a thing going on in my head that I ought to smash last year's time given that I have a hat full of races behind me compared to this time last year. But it was really still quite warm and humid at 7:30pm and in any case on recent form, chasing times or going off hard was never going to work for me. I set out at a reasonable clip and with most of the uphill work done at Thornton Force, I found myself eighth. But it took a good quarter of a mile for my legs to finally engage in to some sort of efficient stride as we headed in to the faster latter half of the course. Once past a lad who was struggling a bit after taking an earlier tumble on the limestone cobbles, there was only the yellow and green vest of Keswick and a red t-shirt in my eye shot now but with some serious work to do to have any hopes of catching them. Where the might of Ingleborough comes in to view and the descent to the Eastern section of falls begins, over the brow of the drop I noticed the two guys ahead had followed the main zig-zagged path rather than the grassy direct route marked and I made up some good yardage on them here. Once it get's all windy and technical again by the falls, I got right behind them and with a thorough lack of confidence, decided to bide my time before making a move. Besides, the pressure was on them for as long as I stuck to their tail. Eventually though I had to make a move, sneaking by the Keswick runner at the bottom of some steps and then gambling a shorter line over some exposed tree roots and limestone roughness to nip ahead of man in red. He wouldn't be shaken though initially, but my head took charge of proceedings here with some tactical ingenuity rather than petulance and indiscipline as displayed a week previously. Before the waterfall trail meets the end of the main tree line, there is a section of very slight incline and I admit to taking it easy here, sandbagging and allowing red man to come by just before the gate to the old quarry. No point in killing myself here, and expecting him to take the slightly lower path from the gate - which he did - I stayed high and cut in front again. Up to fifth place now and with some reserves left in the tank, I wasn't going to let it slip. Forget times, this was all about racing the race. I gradually cranked it up from there and put a comfortable distance between us. Although bemused at the finish by my time which was ten seconds slower than 2017, I had to be happy with the way I had run the race and finally been able to engage the gearing system rather than running the whole way around gritting my teeth. I'll say it quietly after a low key race like this one, but it was also only my second time finishing as a first over 40. Reasons to be cheerful and enough to try again next week when I will be repeating another race from last year that I simply have to go back to - Blencathra.
Thursday 31st May 2018
INGLETON WATERFALLS 4.7m/886ft Ingleton, North Yorks.
1st Man - Mathew Richardson (Saltaire Striders) 32:08
1st Lady - Jessica Behan (Norwich Road Runners) 38:16
My Stats - 34.12 5/67
INGLETON WATERFALLS
Mainly because of the below average and at best, barely average, results accumulated so far this Spring, the actual enjoyment of training and racing has been missing. For a time consuming, energy sapping pass time like running, enjoyment is undoubtedly a major factor in whether or not there is a point to it all. For me, a big part of the enjoyment of running these days is about proving a point to myself that in fact I am not at the knackers yard yet, that there is still a solid period where I can really get stuck in to some races and do myself a bit of justice. Right now, my body continues to protest and even easy runs have felt like really hard work. Infact I haven't really felt fully awake for at least a month! It could be the really warm weather which is now in to it's fourth week, perhaps a pollen allergy... but it can't be that cholesterol thing as I've been eating with intense saturated fat awareness for a whole year now like a good boy, and it's not too much mileage because I know in my heart of hearts I'm not quite doing enough - and that's the catch - I need to, but feel I'm not capable. Trying to fish a way around this by limiting training runs to fairly short distances but mixed with intensive climbing, keeping the length of off-road interval reps down to 400 metres - this doesn't seem to be working either. It just feels like I'm running myself in to a big crevice of knackeredness.
Knackered or not, I'm just going to keep on racing through the Summer and hope something clicks. It was back to Ingleton for a crack at the Waterfalls trail race with a day spent almost as identical to my last visit here twelve months ago. Family walk around the falls during the day in even warmer conditions this time, followed by chippy tea (I saved most of mine for later, again) then the race, renamed from Ingleton Scenery to the more self explanatory Ingleton Waterfalls. I suppose I'd got a bit of a thing going on in my head that I ought to smash last year's time given that I have a hat full of races behind me compared to this time last year. But it was really still quite warm and humid at 7:30pm and in any case on recent form, chasing times or going off hard was never going to work for me. I set out at a reasonable clip and with most of the uphill work done at Thornton Force, I found myself eighth. But it took a good quarter of a mile for my legs to finally engage in to some sort of efficient stride as we headed in to the faster latter half of the course. Once past a lad who was struggling a bit after taking an earlier tumble on the limestone cobbles, there was only the yellow and green vest of Keswick and a red t-shirt in my eye shot now but with some serious work to do to have any hopes of catching them. Where the might of Ingleborough comes in to view and the descent to the Eastern section of falls begins, over the brow of the drop I noticed the two guys ahead had followed the main zig-zagged path rather than the grassy direct route marked and I made up some good yardage on them here. Once it get's all windy and technical again by the falls, I got right behind them and with a thorough lack of confidence, decided to bide my time before making a move. Besides, the pressure was on them for as long as I stuck to their tail. Eventually though I had to make a move, sneaking by the Keswick runner at the bottom of some steps and then gambling a shorter line over some exposed tree roots and limestone roughness to nip ahead of man in red. He wouldn't be shaken though initially, but my head took charge of proceedings here with some tactical ingenuity rather than petulance and indiscipline as displayed a week previously. Before the waterfall trail meets the end of the main tree line, there is a section of very slight incline and I admit to taking it easy here, sandbagging and allowing red man to come by just before the gate to the old quarry. No point in killing myself here, and expecting him to take the slightly lower path from the gate - which he did - I stayed high and cut in front again. Up to fifth place now and with some reserves left in the tank, I wasn't going to let it slip. Forget times, this was all about racing the race. I gradually cranked it up from there and put a comfortable distance between us. Although bemused at the finish by my time which was ten seconds slower than 2017, I had to be happy with the way I had run the race and finally been able to engage the gearing system rather than running the whole way around gritting my teeth. I'll say it quietly after a low key race like this one, but it was also only my second time finishing as a first over 40. Reasons to be cheerful and enough to try again next week when I will be repeating another race from last year that I simply have to go back to - Blencathra.
Thursday 31st May 2018
INGLETON WATERFALLS 4.7m/886ft Ingleton, North Yorks.
1st Man - Mathew Richardson (Saltaire Striders) 32:08
1st Lady - Jessica Behan (Norwich Road Runners) 38:16
My Stats - 34.12 5/67
Monday, 28 May 2018
HOT AND BOTHERED
WHOLAN NOOK TRAIL RACE - CALDERDALE WAY RELAY - HARROCK HILL RACE SERIES [1]
Another three races under the belt - three in eight days to be precise - a ratio which is pushing the boat out for this old boy. Still sore from the bone dry conditions at the Wholan Nook trail race, Sunday's Relay was sufferance in the midday sun. Any hopes that I could run through the stiffness, soreness and lethargy on another hot and sticky affair at Harrock Hill three days later were dashed as I got really frustrated with my complete lack of engine power and resorted to petulance and ill behaviour.
Wholan Nook didn't go so badly, aside from the ball ache at registration. This cost me valuable warm-up time. I would never blame the organisers, it's just a sign of the times. The third race of the Burnley & Pendle Grand Prix, this was a series that looked to be on the wane a few years back but it's popularity has recently boomed. Once upon a time, arriving with three quarters of an hour to spare after work used to be easily enough to get parked up, get your number, get warmed up and then crack on. Not any more. I must have spent up to twenty minutes here going through the process of shuffling through the masses to get to the table of entry forms, then to wait for an available biro and finally join a long and coiled queue. Aside from those queuing, runners already registered seemed to be hanging around chatting in there rather than taking their conversations outdoors on a perfectly pleasant evening. It all felt a bit chaotic and claustrophobic to be quite honest. With all due respect to the otherwise commendable ambience of Clowbridge Reservoir Sailing Club's HQ, I couldn't wait to get my number and get the hell out of there.
I hadn't decided if I was going to go Yorkshire bound instead for a bash at the Kildwick fell race until quite late in the day. Ultimately - and ironically - what turned my head in favour of Wholan Nook was a shorter distance to travel and therefore more time to warm-up... not so.
The course, up on the moors above Burnley, turned out to be fast on mainly hard tracks weaving out beyond Clowbridge Reservoir. Even the few sections upon grassier trods were hard as nails after over a week without a decent downpour. As well as opting for the wrong race perhaps, I also picked out the wrong footwear - a rather silly faux pas from somebody who works in a shop advising and selling running shoes - but I didn't realise actually how much man made hard track there was going to be. Looking around at other runners and asking one or two I knew beforehand, there was no definitive slant evident in favour of shoe type - so if in doubt, I thought, just go with the trusty fell racing x-talons. Yet the unforgiving ground took it's toll late on and I was begging for the feel of some cushioning or give in the ground. The race had gone reasonably but for a sticky five minute patch where I lost ground on a few guys I was hoping to be closer to. Once off the moors and upon the long, flat run in to the finish by the reservoir's edge I started feeling a bit leggy. I was overtaken in front of a spectating Phil Hall, once a prestigious local track athlete and now a coach at Clayton-le-Moors. I admire Phil for some of his track running achievements and still cutting the mustard as a veteran. Also the distinction of winning a fell race on Pendle Hill in a pair of cross country spikes is a feather in his cap. His suggestion that my black Ribble Valley vest was weighing me down and that I change it to the white one of Clayton was harmless banter, or at least I would normally think so if it wasn't for his bitter disdain of all things Ribble Valley Harriers! Thankfully his little quip had a positive effect on my finish to the race though, salvaging back that placing lost with thirty yards to go. Thanks 'coach' ;-)
Four days later it was team duty at the Calderdale Way Relay. My first time involved in the competition and a first for the Ribble Valley club. With a team of twelve required, our hand was forced as to which category we were chasing. With not quite enough ladies and certainly not enough men, it had to be a Mixed team and with the exception of this particular nobody in particular, we had the quality in the team to be quietly confident of winning the Mixed Team shield. This is one of the things that attracted me to joining the club. Not attaching myself like a leech to a team of winners (even though that's a bonus!) but just being there in a team, competing in this type of relay race. I was on the fifth leg out of six on the near 52 mile Calderdale Way which winds it's occasionally complicated way along the rolling hills surrounding Halifax. Leg 5 is second shortest at 7.5 miles and is picked up from a road crossing just outside the small settlement of Wainstalls Road. I had reccied the route a fortnight earlier with my then partner to be, Ben Walmsley. We unintentionally added a little entertainment by going off piste and spent far too much time not even being able to locate exactly where we were... this, despite map, compass and GPS gadgetry on our phones! Other than that it was fairly plain sailing. A week later though and unforeseen injury required team jugglery and Ben was switched elsewhere. Now Caitlin Rice is down to join me on Leg 5. I was quite looking forward to that, not just because she is an esteemed fell runner, but because this was another novel and unique beauty of the Ribble Valley set up - wherever else in the club running world would an ageing Lancashire lad be paired up with a top class lass from Derbyshire? But then there was another twist, as the evening before race day the chairman rings and tells me it's had to change yet again - and that now I'm running with him instead! No offence to Mr Barnes, but I was a touch deflated by this. Suddenly novelty and unknown quantity was replaced by familiarity and also a bit of fear... Barnes is on really good form of late.
Being a rather poorly organised individual, whilst I knew the date of this relay race well in advance, it was maybe only ten days prior to it that Sara brought it to my attention it was also her birthday weekend. Now let's get it straight, I hadn't forgotten Sara's birthday - I'd just inexplicably failed to connect the two together! I managed to get away with it though, fortunate enough to get a late booking at a place to stay nearby Wainstalls at The Crossroads Inn. On Saturday I took Sara and Connie dog out on to Haworth Moor for a walk up to Within Ruins via the Bronte Bridge. A cracking day in weather beautiful to walk in if not to run in. Sara is now reading Wuthering Heights, so she certainly got in to the spirit of things. I just enjoyed walking - rather than running for a change - routes that I've raced so many times. It's amazing what a different perspective you get and the wonderful things that go unnoticed. Back to race day though and almost with regret must I remind myself that this a running diary rather than an account of my private, social and recreational activity. I was right back there then, on that bench up at Withins having my butty with Sara. What a wonderful moment.
So Sunday morning and another lovely, but much shorter walk this time, around Ogden reservoir more to the direct North of Halifax. Oops, there I go again indulging in social and recreational references, but the link to racing was that much as I was enjoying the stroll, I wasn't realistically conceiving how I was going to switch in to some sort of running race mode in an hour or two's time. Sure enough the nerves were there, the anticipation - but physically I wasn't exactly looking forward to racing midday in this Spring heatwave and I felt a bit tired. Three steady pints of Peroni the previous evening might not have helped, but it was Sara's birthday and I would argue that having a fourth would have been a much more considerable hindrance. I managed to resist that fourth one and besides, I felt a bit livelier by the time Sara had dropped me off at our starting point. Chris turns up in Union Jack shorts, his original RV vest coarsely self crop-topped and splattered in what looked like bullet holes, but what he described as air holes to help him keep cool. The outfit was some sort of tongue in cheek ode to the Royal Wedding of Harry and Meghan, whilst also a celebration of new club kit on the horizon. Maybe part of it was also to teeter with the regulation of club vest uniformity? Maybe it was just Barnes the exhibitionist? Who knows - a rebel with his own cause is Chris Barnes. I'd pay good money to have a fish around inside that cranium of his to see what makes it tick. As it was, I felt under-dressed and straight laced in my untampered club vest and boringly matching black shorts.
The warm conditions were not conducive to particularly fast times and so we were hanging around a fair bit longer than projected to take the baton from our Leg 4 runners. I probably made a mistake of letting Sara go off to meet me at the other end without taking a water out of the car first. I went almost an hour without a sip before setting off, which was probably not ideal whilst trotting about and generally dehydrating a little whilst we waited. I didn't think much of this at the time, until during and certainly after the run when I was absolutely spitting feathers. Suddenly Andy Payne and Katie Walshaw came in to sight after what looked like a beast of a final climb up the valley and we were off at last. Barnes set the pace but then I ended up ahead at a stile after he took a crap line through a very rare patch of boginess. Then I took it on a bit harder than I should on the following first bit of climb and probably got Chris thinking, "Oh shit, Sutty's on it". I felt like it at that point, easing down the next valley thinking 'I'm going to smash this'. Then my partner nudged ahead again on the flat and I carelessly clipped a toe end on the top of a stile in full flow, crashing to the deck from a height on to my shoulder and face and forming a crumpled heap for a few seconds. Chris hadn't even realised and was now thirty yards ahead. That tumble had no lasting physical effects, but seemed to symbolise the sort of lumbersome and clumsy runner I feel I have become this year.
I couldn't get near Chris again and he had to rear up at times so not to get too far ahead. The following little road hill really started to hurt, my legs were stiffening up and we were barely two miles in. Now I'm thinking that Barnes is thinking, ''Oh shit, Sutty's bombed already''. Off that backwater road and at a most unlikely outpost through a small gap in a big stone wall, up some steps along a very narrow path and my favourite fell race legends Dave and Eileen Woodhead were hiding out taking photographs. That put a smile on my... well perhaps not my face, but I was smiling inside at least. Getting a bit of encouragement from these two was the very last recollection of any positive or heart warming emotion I experienced until we finally popped out of a ginnel at Shelf and it was all over. Uphill sections were really punishing me and there was no recovery there to kick in to decent flat speed. I could blame the hot sun, the punishing heat in the baking bottoms of theses windless little valleys, but it was the same for everybody. It would be easier to concede that I'm just not up to the job, which would be the frankly honest explanation. On the plus side though, we - or should I say 'I'? - because the run was basically dictated by my own lack of pace, well we/I didn't lose a place for the team and in fact even gained one late on. Barnes seemed happy enough, so that was the main thing. In actual fact our Leg 5 time turned out to stand up as a decent effort in the broader picture of things and surprisingly eighth quickest on the day. Relief for me that no damage was done to jeopardise the team's chances in the Mixed category which we went on to win convincingly. Given three of our lasses were on Inter Counties Fell Champs duty the day before - and, well, and that I was in the team - a very good return and for me personally my first ever team winning honours in a relay. Equally impressive was our 11th place overall. 11th then became 10th thanks to Clayton-le Moors receiving a time penalty - one of their young fast lads Danny Collinge returned from an ill-fated transfer to Salford Harriers too hastily before the paperwork came through.
Spring had barely showed it's hand before what feels like the height of Summer has descended on us all unexpectedly. Now in to the third week of the hot stuff, if it's good for the flowers and the bees, it's a tougher time than usual for ducks and runners. Even the evenings are starting to get muggy as well which was the case at the opening Harrock Hill fixture three days on from that Calderdale slog. I really did get hot and bothered at this one. There was debate during the day whether to take it on as I certainly didn't feel at all refreshed after Sunday. But the first Harrock Hill has often been a 'where I'm at or where I'm not' race at this time of year and besides, it's a race and I need to keep racing.
Best intentions to finally nail a relaxed and thorough warm up were foxed again - this time by my own stupidity. I got in the car, the petrol gauge beeps - ok no problem - five minute detour to stick a tenner in - I can do this. No I can't, I opened my wallet to be reminded I'd left my bank card and cash in the shorts I was wearing earlier in the day. Aaaagh! I phone home for Sara's youngest to find my card, tell me the details and hope that some sort of manual transaction could go through - ''it might work'', said the patient cashier. But it didn't, so it was time to hand over my valuables and nip back home to get the bank card. Just over twenty minutes wasted there and whilst still enough time to have a bit of a trot and a stretch, I'd got in a tizz and so proper pre-race preparation went to the dogs yet again.
I'd set my stall out in the race with a two part plan to run the first half nice and steady and not get sucked in, then engage racing gear in the second half and try to pick off as many places as possible. Well, the first part of the plan went well. As for the second half, the gearbox went knackered. I felt I was having a real stinker and it got to the point where I'd basically tossed the towel in on myself. I graciously conceded a place to a Liverpool runner on the final climb, thinking it only good manners really as his need sounded greater than mine on this single file section. But the gentlemanly consolidation of my fate ended right there. The next guy to pass by when the path broadens out again really wound me up a bit as he needlessly cut right in front of me, making contact when there was enough room for a small car to overtake. That got the fire back in my belly, but then I proceeded to race the last mile on negative energy and got it all wrong, which unfortunately brought out the temperament of my former footballing self - never that far from the surface it would seem in the boiling pot of competition. As I started to reel the perpetrator of my annoyance back in, a Warrington vest came by and so rather than sit on him to guide me by, I immediately surged past the pair of them. Now hunting down that Liverpool vest, I got past him again down the last descent but could hear more company building up on the final road section. I held out until the young Warringtonian completely steamed me on the short pull to the line - my goose was cooked here and I had no reply. Then I felt somebody else gaining yardage just as I approached the funnel. Still 'juiced up' as John McEnroe would say, thinking it was that runner who had got my heckles up I petulantly and blindly gesticulated rudely to the opponent behind, stopped a yard short of the line and with guiding hands said, ''just f**ing 'av it then!''. Oops... wrong person. It was that Liverpool guy again - I still let him have it, but was quick to apologise for my actions. I don't think he took much offence fortunately. I still don't know who the seemingly clubless runner was who gave me the elbow and the subsequent results don't seem to shed any light on it either.
So I'd got myself all wound up, behaving like a childish brat just because I wasn't on it, then spitting out the old ''I'm done, it's over, I've got to the end'' spiel to Johnny Horrocks. He's heard it all before. I've always been a poor loser - you'd think I'd got used to it by now. Despite my behaviour, the finishing time was actually not quite as catastrophic as it felt. Significantly though still some one hundred seconds off where I finished the series here last Summer. The real legend that is Paul Muller, now 61 and the country's finest for his age, overheard my 'the end is nigh' routine to Johnners and basically talked me out of it whether or not he intended to. I just listened intently and lapped up what he had to say for five or ten minutes. If the words of the great Mr Muller weren't enough to put things in to perspective when a race doesn't go to plan - and they were - then the truly saddening news later that a competitor from Wirral AC had collapsed and died during the race most certainly was.
Wednesday 16th May 2018
WHOLAN NOOK TRAIL RACE 5m Clowbridge Reservoir, Burnley
1st Man - Tom Corrigan (Barlick) 29:37
1st Lady - Pauline May (Todmorden) 36:13
My Stats - 33:10 12/288
Sunday 20th May 2018
CALDERDALE WAY RELAY Leg 5 7.5m Wainstalls Road to Shelf, West Yorkshire
1st Men's Team - Calder Valley Fell Runners 6.07:30
1st Ladies Team - Todmorden Harriers 8.08:54
1st Mixed Team - Ribble Valley Harriers 6.54:53
My Stats - Paired with Chris Barnes 1.01:37 8/100
Wednesday 23rd May 2018
HARROCK HILL RACE SERIES [1] 5.2 m Bispham Green, West Lancs.
1st Man - Peter Bray (Chorlton) 33:01
1st Lady - Joanna Goorney (Lytham) 40:44
My Stats - 37:45 17/232
WHOLAN NOOK TRAIL RACE - CALDERDALE WAY RELAY - HARROCK HILL RACE SERIES [1]
Another three races under the belt - three in eight days to be precise - a ratio which is pushing the boat out for this old boy. Still sore from the bone dry conditions at the Wholan Nook trail race, Sunday's Relay was sufferance in the midday sun. Any hopes that I could run through the stiffness, soreness and lethargy on another hot and sticky affair at Harrock Hill three days later were dashed as I got really frustrated with my complete lack of engine power and resorted to petulance and ill behaviour.
Wholan Nook didn't go so badly, aside from the ball ache at registration. This cost me valuable warm-up time. I would never blame the organisers, it's just a sign of the times. The third race of the Burnley & Pendle Grand Prix, this was a series that looked to be on the wane a few years back but it's popularity has recently boomed. Once upon a time, arriving with three quarters of an hour to spare after work used to be easily enough to get parked up, get your number, get warmed up and then crack on. Not any more. I must have spent up to twenty minutes here going through the process of shuffling through the masses to get to the table of entry forms, then to wait for an available biro and finally join a long and coiled queue. Aside from those queuing, runners already registered seemed to be hanging around chatting in there rather than taking their conversations outdoors on a perfectly pleasant evening. It all felt a bit chaotic and claustrophobic to be quite honest. With all due respect to the otherwise commendable ambience of Clowbridge Reservoir Sailing Club's HQ, I couldn't wait to get my number and get the hell out of there.
I hadn't decided if I was going to go Yorkshire bound instead for a bash at the Kildwick fell race until quite late in the day. Ultimately - and ironically - what turned my head in favour of Wholan Nook was a shorter distance to travel and therefore more time to warm-up... not so.
The course, up on the moors above Burnley, turned out to be fast on mainly hard tracks weaving out beyond Clowbridge Reservoir. Even the few sections upon grassier trods were hard as nails after over a week without a decent downpour. As well as opting for the wrong race perhaps, I also picked out the wrong footwear - a rather silly faux pas from somebody who works in a shop advising and selling running shoes - but I didn't realise actually how much man made hard track there was going to be. Looking around at other runners and asking one or two I knew beforehand, there was no definitive slant evident in favour of shoe type - so if in doubt, I thought, just go with the trusty fell racing x-talons. Yet the unforgiving ground took it's toll late on and I was begging for the feel of some cushioning or give in the ground. The race had gone reasonably but for a sticky five minute patch where I lost ground on a few guys I was hoping to be closer to. Once off the moors and upon the long, flat run in to the finish by the reservoir's edge I started feeling a bit leggy. I was overtaken in front of a spectating Phil Hall, once a prestigious local track athlete and now a coach at Clayton-le-Moors. I admire Phil for some of his track running achievements and still cutting the mustard as a veteran. Also the distinction of winning a fell race on Pendle Hill in a pair of cross country spikes is a feather in his cap. His suggestion that my black Ribble Valley vest was weighing me down and that I change it to the white one of Clayton was harmless banter, or at least I would normally think so if it wasn't for his bitter disdain of all things Ribble Valley Harriers! Thankfully his little quip had a positive effect on my finish to the race though, salvaging back that placing lost with thirty yards to go. Thanks 'coach' ;-)
Four days later it was team duty at the Calderdale Way Relay. My first time involved in the competition and a first for the Ribble Valley club. With a team of twelve required, our hand was forced as to which category we were chasing. With not quite enough ladies and certainly not enough men, it had to be a Mixed team and with the exception of this particular nobody in particular, we had the quality in the team to be quietly confident of winning the Mixed Team shield. This is one of the things that attracted me to joining the club. Not attaching myself like a leech to a team of winners (even though that's a bonus!) but just being there in a team, competing in this type of relay race. I was on the fifth leg out of six on the near 52 mile Calderdale Way which winds it's occasionally complicated way along the rolling hills surrounding Halifax. Leg 5 is second shortest at 7.5 miles and is picked up from a road crossing just outside the small settlement of Wainstalls Road. I had reccied the route a fortnight earlier with my then partner to be, Ben Walmsley. We unintentionally added a little entertainment by going off piste and spent far too much time not even being able to locate exactly where we were... this, despite map, compass and GPS gadgetry on our phones! Other than that it was fairly plain sailing. A week later though and unforeseen injury required team jugglery and Ben was switched elsewhere. Now Caitlin Rice is down to join me on Leg 5. I was quite looking forward to that, not just because she is an esteemed fell runner, but because this was another novel and unique beauty of the Ribble Valley set up - wherever else in the club running world would an ageing Lancashire lad be paired up with a top class lass from Derbyshire? But then there was another twist, as the evening before race day the chairman rings and tells me it's had to change yet again - and that now I'm running with him instead! No offence to Mr Barnes, but I was a touch deflated by this. Suddenly novelty and unknown quantity was replaced by familiarity and also a bit of fear... Barnes is on really good form of late.
Being a rather poorly organised individual, whilst I knew the date of this relay race well in advance, it was maybe only ten days prior to it that Sara brought it to my attention it was also her birthday weekend. Now let's get it straight, I hadn't forgotten Sara's birthday - I'd just inexplicably failed to connect the two together! I managed to get away with it though, fortunate enough to get a late booking at a place to stay nearby Wainstalls at The Crossroads Inn. On Saturday I took Sara and Connie dog out on to Haworth Moor for a walk up to Within Ruins via the Bronte Bridge. A cracking day in weather beautiful to walk in if not to run in. Sara is now reading Wuthering Heights, so she certainly got in to the spirit of things. I just enjoyed walking - rather than running for a change - routes that I've raced so many times. It's amazing what a different perspective you get and the wonderful things that go unnoticed. Back to race day though and almost with regret must I remind myself that this a running diary rather than an account of my private, social and recreational activity. I was right back there then, on that bench up at Withins having my butty with Sara. What a wonderful moment.
So Sunday morning and another lovely, but much shorter walk this time, around Ogden reservoir more to the direct North of Halifax. Oops, there I go again indulging in social and recreational references, but the link to racing was that much as I was enjoying the stroll, I wasn't realistically conceiving how I was going to switch in to some sort of running race mode in an hour or two's time. Sure enough the nerves were there, the anticipation - but physically I wasn't exactly looking forward to racing midday in this Spring heatwave and I felt a bit tired. Three steady pints of Peroni the previous evening might not have helped, but it was Sara's birthday and I would argue that having a fourth would have been a much more considerable hindrance. I managed to resist that fourth one and besides, I felt a bit livelier by the time Sara had dropped me off at our starting point. Chris turns up in Union Jack shorts, his original RV vest coarsely self crop-topped and splattered in what looked like bullet holes, but what he described as air holes to help him keep cool. The outfit was some sort of tongue in cheek ode to the Royal Wedding of Harry and Meghan, whilst also a celebration of new club kit on the horizon. Maybe part of it was also to teeter with the regulation of club vest uniformity? Maybe it was just Barnes the exhibitionist? Who knows - a rebel with his own cause is Chris Barnes. I'd pay good money to have a fish around inside that cranium of his to see what makes it tick. As it was, I felt under-dressed and straight laced in my untampered club vest and boringly matching black shorts.
The warm conditions were not conducive to particularly fast times and so we were hanging around a fair bit longer than projected to take the baton from our Leg 4 runners. I probably made a mistake of letting Sara go off to meet me at the other end without taking a water out of the car first. I went almost an hour without a sip before setting off, which was probably not ideal whilst trotting about and generally dehydrating a little whilst we waited. I didn't think much of this at the time, until during and certainly after the run when I was absolutely spitting feathers. Suddenly Andy Payne and Katie Walshaw came in to sight after what looked like a beast of a final climb up the valley and we were off at last. Barnes set the pace but then I ended up ahead at a stile after he took a crap line through a very rare patch of boginess. Then I took it on a bit harder than I should on the following first bit of climb and probably got Chris thinking, "Oh shit, Sutty's on it". I felt like it at that point, easing down the next valley thinking 'I'm going to smash this'. Then my partner nudged ahead again on the flat and I carelessly clipped a toe end on the top of a stile in full flow, crashing to the deck from a height on to my shoulder and face and forming a crumpled heap for a few seconds. Chris hadn't even realised and was now thirty yards ahead. That tumble had no lasting physical effects, but seemed to symbolise the sort of lumbersome and clumsy runner I feel I have become this year.
I couldn't get near Chris again and he had to rear up at times so not to get too far ahead. The following little road hill really started to hurt, my legs were stiffening up and we were barely two miles in. Now I'm thinking that Barnes is thinking, ''Oh shit, Sutty's bombed already''. Off that backwater road and at a most unlikely outpost through a small gap in a big stone wall, up some steps along a very narrow path and my favourite fell race legends Dave and Eileen Woodhead were hiding out taking photographs. That put a smile on my... well perhaps not my face, but I was smiling inside at least. Getting a bit of encouragement from these two was the very last recollection of any positive or heart warming emotion I experienced until we finally popped out of a ginnel at Shelf and it was all over. Uphill sections were really punishing me and there was no recovery there to kick in to decent flat speed. I could blame the hot sun, the punishing heat in the baking bottoms of theses windless little valleys, but it was the same for everybody. It would be easier to concede that I'm just not up to the job, which would be the frankly honest explanation. On the plus side though, we - or should I say 'I'? - because the run was basically dictated by my own lack of pace, well we/I didn't lose a place for the team and in fact even gained one late on. Barnes seemed happy enough, so that was the main thing. In actual fact our Leg 5 time turned out to stand up as a decent effort in the broader picture of things and surprisingly eighth quickest on the day. Relief for me that no damage was done to jeopardise the team's chances in the Mixed category which we went on to win convincingly. Given three of our lasses were on Inter Counties Fell Champs duty the day before - and, well, and that I was in the team - a very good return and for me personally my first ever team winning honours in a relay. Equally impressive was our 11th place overall. 11th then became 10th thanks to Clayton-le Moors receiving a time penalty - one of their young fast lads Danny Collinge returned from an ill-fated transfer to Salford Harriers too hastily before the paperwork came through.
Spring had barely showed it's hand before what feels like the height of Summer has descended on us all unexpectedly. Now in to the third week of the hot stuff, if it's good for the flowers and the bees, it's a tougher time than usual for ducks and runners. Even the evenings are starting to get muggy as well which was the case at the opening Harrock Hill fixture three days on from that Calderdale slog. I really did get hot and bothered at this one. There was debate during the day whether to take it on as I certainly didn't feel at all refreshed after Sunday. But the first Harrock Hill has often been a 'where I'm at or where I'm not' race at this time of year and besides, it's a race and I need to keep racing.
Best intentions to finally nail a relaxed and thorough warm up were foxed again - this time by my own stupidity. I got in the car, the petrol gauge beeps - ok no problem - five minute detour to stick a tenner in - I can do this. No I can't, I opened my wallet to be reminded I'd left my bank card and cash in the shorts I was wearing earlier in the day. Aaaagh! I phone home for Sara's youngest to find my card, tell me the details and hope that some sort of manual transaction could go through - ''it might work'', said the patient cashier. But it didn't, so it was time to hand over my valuables and nip back home to get the bank card. Just over twenty minutes wasted there and whilst still enough time to have a bit of a trot and a stretch, I'd got in a tizz and so proper pre-race preparation went to the dogs yet again.
I'd set my stall out in the race with a two part plan to run the first half nice and steady and not get sucked in, then engage racing gear in the second half and try to pick off as many places as possible. Well, the first part of the plan went well. As for the second half, the gearbox went knackered. I felt I was having a real stinker and it got to the point where I'd basically tossed the towel in on myself. I graciously conceded a place to a Liverpool runner on the final climb, thinking it only good manners really as his need sounded greater than mine on this single file section. But the gentlemanly consolidation of my fate ended right there. The next guy to pass by when the path broadens out again really wound me up a bit as he needlessly cut right in front of me, making contact when there was enough room for a small car to overtake. That got the fire back in my belly, but then I proceeded to race the last mile on negative energy and got it all wrong, which unfortunately brought out the temperament of my former footballing self - never that far from the surface it would seem in the boiling pot of competition. As I started to reel the perpetrator of my annoyance back in, a Warrington vest came by and so rather than sit on him to guide me by, I immediately surged past the pair of them. Now hunting down that Liverpool vest, I got past him again down the last descent but could hear more company building up on the final road section. I held out until the young Warringtonian completely steamed me on the short pull to the line - my goose was cooked here and I had no reply. Then I felt somebody else gaining yardage just as I approached the funnel. Still 'juiced up' as John McEnroe would say, thinking it was that runner who had got my heckles up I petulantly and blindly gesticulated rudely to the opponent behind, stopped a yard short of the line and with guiding hands said, ''just f**ing 'av it then!''. Oops... wrong person. It was that Liverpool guy again - I still let him have it, but was quick to apologise for my actions. I don't think he took much offence fortunately. I still don't know who the seemingly clubless runner was who gave me the elbow and the subsequent results don't seem to shed any light on it either.
So I'd got myself all wound up, behaving like a childish brat just because I wasn't on it, then spitting out the old ''I'm done, it's over, I've got to the end'' spiel to Johnny Horrocks. He's heard it all before. I've always been a poor loser - you'd think I'd got used to it by now. Despite my behaviour, the finishing time was actually not quite as catastrophic as it felt. Significantly though still some one hundred seconds off where I finished the series here last Summer. The real legend that is Paul Muller, now 61 and the country's finest for his age, overheard my 'the end is nigh' routine to Johnners and basically talked me out of it whether or not he intended to. I just listened intently and lapped up what he had to say for five or ten minutes. If the words of the great Mr Muller weren't enough to put things in to perspective when a race doesn't go to plan - and they were - then the truly saddening news later that a competitor from Wirral AC had collapsed and died during the race most certainly was.
Wednesday 16th May 2018
WHOLAN NOOK TRAIL RACE 5m Clowbridge Reservoir, Burnley
1st Man - Tom Corrigan (Barlick) 29:37
1st Lady - Pauline May (Todmorden) 36:13
My Stats - 33:10 12/288
Sunday 20th May 2018
CALDERDALE WAY RELAY Leg 5 7.5m Wainstalls Road to Shelf, West Yorkshire
1st Men's Team - Calder Valley Fell Runners 6.07:30
1st Ladies Team - Todmorden Harriers 8.08:54
1st Mixed Team - Ribble Valley Harriers 6.54:53
My Stats - Paired with Chris Barnes 1.01:37 8/100
Wednesday 23rd May 2018
HARROCK HILL RACE SERIES [1] 5.2 m Bispham Green, West Lancs.
1st Man - Peter Bray (Chorlton) 33:01
1st Lady - Joanna Goorney (Lytham) 40:44
My Stats - 37:45 17/232
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