This morning it’s the traditional Boxing Day run at the Furnace Inn
in Derby.
I
run the 5k attached to both the dogs but forget the ‘dual lead
attachment’ thing and have to cobble together a replacement using the younger one's
halti. They are also rather difficult to handle at the start. The eldest is
hyper, which is making the other hyper and when he does hyper, he does hyper
with knobs on. We stand in the next street but not only can all the
other runners still hear their barking, most of Derby can.
My
lead replacement doesn’t work very well and just seems to glue the two
dogs together. Which isn’t too bad but I worry that it prevents the old man trying to stop when he tires. So I keep stopping and untangling them,
while checking that in his advancing years is ok. He seems fine
and we even have enough in the tank to overhaul a terrier near the end
and perhaps be first dogs across the line. Although we’re only 84th, so
not sure if anything else with four legs was further up the field.
Wednesday, December 26, 2012
Sunday, December 16, 2012
Great Langdale Christmas Pudding 10k
After a wet trip up on Friday it’s stayed pretty much dry since. Although we’ve already had enough rain to make parking on the usual fields impossible. So we have to make a £4 donation to the National Trust to use their car park. It should have been more but we’ll take the risk that no one spots we’re going to overrun the two hour limit.
As usual its a 12 noon start for the traditional Great Langdale Christmas Pudding 10k. The new owners of the Sticklebarn - the National Trust, who annoyed us last time by changing the pub so much, now appear to have annoyed the race organisers as well. Consequently the race HQ is now at the adjacent New Dungeon Ghyll Hotel. This also makes for a slightly changed course due to a new start and finish position.
Even then I start too far back, this is of course L’s fault as she told me to take it ‘steady’. So it’s a congested start and the first km takes me 6:35. Which is slightly misleading because the 1 km marker hasn't moved despite the new start beign further down the road. When I finally get my running legs together, I can start getting on with the task of overhauling Spiderman.
Once he’s been despatched I turn my attention to Wonder woman, who isn’t so easily dealt with and hangs like a carrot in front of me for the entire race. That is until near the end where she finds a finishing kick from somewhere. It comes from a place that I haven’t been informed about because I can’t find one and she edges further out of my range. Then just to complete my misery, who should sprint past me but bloody Spiderman. Woe is me.
The last km here is usually way shorter than a km and due to the repositioning of the finish, will be even shorter today. Only the marker doesn’t turn up at all, clearly it is now so close to the finish it’s not worth putting out at all.
My time is not good, 46 minutes something, my slowest Langdale ever, clearly my legs are now officially falling apart. I am handed my Derbyshire Mathew Walker Christmas pudding and a mince pie before heading back to the car to unleash the boys.
The rain holds off but for a shower in the middle of the race followed then by another shower at end after I’ve got changed and I’m wandering around looking for L who has sneaked across the line when I wasn’t looking. To be honest I was probably being pulled towards a wall for a long peeing session at the time.
There’s not the usual post-race crush in the Sticklebarn due to the race not being based there any more but it’s still busier than the New Dungeon Ghyll which simply does not have the room to be busy. The lack of space means they hold the presentation in the tent at the finish which detracts from the atmosphere a touch. We at least do frequent their bar for a swift one.
As usual its a 12 noon start for the traditional Great Langdale Christmas Pudding 10k. The new owners of the Sticklebarn - the National Trust, who annoyed us last time by changing the pub so much, now appear to have annoyed the race organisers as well. Consequently the race HQ is now at the adjacent New Dungeon Ghyll Hotel. This also makes for a slightly changed course due to a new start and finish position.
Even then I start too far back, this is of course L’s fault as she told me to take it ‘steady’. So it’s a congested start and the first km takes me 6:35. Which is slightly misleading because the 1 km marker hasn't moved despite the new start beign further down the road. When I finally get my running legs together, I can start getting on with the task of overhauling Spiderman.
Once he’s been despatched I turn my attention to Wonder woman, who isn’t so easily dealt with and hangs like a carrot in front of me for the entire race. That is until near the end where she finds a finishing kick from somewhere. It comes from a place that I haven’t been informed about because I can’t find one and she edges further out of my range. Then just to complete my misery, who should sprint past me but bloody Spiderman. Woe is me.
The last km here is usually way shorter than a km and due to the repositioning of the finish, will be even shorter today. Only the marker doesn’t turn up at all, clearly it is now so close to the finish it’s not worth putting out at all.
My time is not good, 46 minutes something, my slowest Langdale ever, clearly my legs are now officially falling apart. I am handed my Derbyshire Mathew Walker Christmas pudding and a mince pie before heading back to the car to unleash the boys.
The rain holds off but for a shower in the middle of the race followed then by another shower at end after I’ve got changed and I’m wandering around looking for L who has sneaked across the line when I wasn’t looking. To be honest I was probably being pulled towards a wall for a long peeing session at the time.
There’s not the usual post-race crush in the Sticklebarn due to the race not being based there any more but it’s still busier than the New Dungeon Ghyll which simply does not have the room to be busy. The lack of space means they hold the presentation in the tent at the finish which detracts from the atmosphere a touch. We at least do frequent their bar for a swift one.
Saturday, December 15, 2012
Sticky Chocolate Trail Run
I quote...
“Winter has now arrived in the Lakes, with deep snow on the tops, and some cold days with blue skies. We're keeping fingers crossed that our new Sticky Chocolate Trail Run at Cartmel will have a light dusting of snow to keep with the festive spirit of the event.”
Sadly it doesn’t. The recent rise in temperatures and rain has made the going officially ‘soft’ at Cartmel Racecourse, which we again struggle to find a way into but we get there eventually.
It’s a leisurely 2pm start and even we are there in enough time to walk around the village first and visit the pudding shop.
Entries are still open, as they keep reminding us. Do they think I might be tempted? Nope.
I’m sitting this one out, so the boys and I settle down to watch the football match going on nearby, as assorted Santas, elves and even a couple of Christmas Crackers head off on a wade through 10k of sticky mud. L has unforgivably, not that either of us gave it a thought, left every possibility of festive fancy dress at home and we had quite a few options.
I do feel slightly miffed to be missing on the mulled wine and mince pies that are being served at the drinks stations out on the course, that is until I have a beer from the local Cartmel brewery in my hand and then all is forgotten.
When the runners re-emerge and cross the finish to be handed their locally produced Sticky Chocolate Puddings, they’re not actually even that muddy... Not that I’m saying I’d like to have done it.
“Winter has now arrived in the Lakes, with deep snow on the tops, and some cold days with blue skies. We're keeping fingers crossed that our new Sticky Chocolate Trail Run at Cartmel will have a light dusting of snow to keep with the festive spirit of the event.”
Sadly it doesn’t. The recent rise in temperatures and rain has made the going officially ‘soft’ at Cartmel Racecourse, which we again struggle to find a way into but we get there eventually.
It’s a leisurely 2pm start and even we are there in enough time to walk around the village first and visit the pudding shop.
Entries are still open, as they keep reminding us. Do they think I might be tempted? Nope.
I’m sitting this one out, so the boys and I settle down to watch the football match going on nearby, as assorted Santas, elves and even a couple of Christmas Crackers head off on a wade through 10k of sticky mud. L has unforgivably, not that either of us gave it a thought, left every possibility of festive fancy dress at home and we had quite a few options.
I do feel slightly miffed to be missing on the mulled wine and mince pies that are being served at the drinks stations out on the course, that is until I have a beer from the local Cartmel brewery in my hand and then all is forgotten.
When the runners re-emerge and cross the finish to be handed their locally produced Sticky Chocolate Puddings, they’re not actually even that muddy... Not that I’m saying I’d like to have done it.
Sunday, December 2, 2012
Percy Pud 10k
So, the comeback. The weather dawns a touch on the chilly side for it. Well, -3 to be precise. At least that’s what it was on the drive up to Sheffield for the charmingly named (if you’re drunk) Percy Pud 10k. At least it’s sunny, very sunny, so it doesn’t feel that cold.
First problem is getting there, the directions are vague and Sheffield seems to have A61s, the road we have to follow, going off in all directions. After a complete lap of the ring road we decide we’re on the wrong A61.
The second problem, when we find the right road, is parking, basically because there isn’t any. People are parking up on the road a good mile from the start and, with only 20 minutes to go to start time, that’s tantamount to a course extension. You would have thought the police would have something to say about so much haphazard street parking but they seem to be ok with it and are directing more traffic onto already full streets.
Eventually we manage to cram the car into some gap fairly close to the start, abandon the already howling dogs and leg it down to the start, which means a more vigorous than we had planned warm up.
As we line up at an equally overcrowded start line with around 1700 others I tug L forward as she is way too far back. Then once we start I realise that I’m still too far back myself. There are so many people walking from the off that it takes me 5:40 for the first km. Terrible but there’s just no room. It takes almost 2k to finally get some space. It’s the 20th running of the race and this is the biggest one ever, the race appears to fill very quickly every year no matter what the limit, but I fear it’s now too big.
The route itself, once I get going, is very pleasant. We run along the Loxley Valley on closed roads and across what is a more or less flat course. There’s a wonderful view as we approach and then run alongside a damn. It would have been nice to have gone all the way around but I guess that isn’t feasible or else we’d have done it, instead it’s an out and back.
As we approach the turnaround point I have no idea how the returning runners are going to get past us because we’re still covering both sides of the road. In fact what they do is squash us up by driving a car down the other side of the road. Then just in case that doesn’t create enough room, they send Santa down as reinforcements. He tries to run us down in his classic car but it seemed to do the trick.
As runners start coming back the other way I can see just how many people are ahead of me, a lot, including a man who may be dressed as a reindeer or perhaps it’s Scooby Doo, it’s hard to tell, his suit has seen better days.
Then I reach the turn myself. Now somewhere coming towards me will be L but the sun is low and I’m squinting into it so I don’t see her.
Then the finish is in sight. 48 minutes FFS. Well, 47:49 on my watch but naturally I mentally rounded it up. Even at that pedestrian pace I still feel the need to faint but there’s nowhere to do it as I queue endlessly for chip removal, Christmas pudding and t-shirt with the reviving water handed out last.
L in contrast has a relative stormer. Although she was only supposed to be setting a baseline time as something to improve on. Doing 1:01 is setting a pretty high base.
In short, it’s a very pleasant race over a nice route but slightly spoil by too many entrants.
First problem is getting there, the directions are vague and Sheffield seems to have A61s, the road we have to follow, going off in all directions. After a complete lap of the ring road we decide we’re on the wrong A61.
The second problem, when we find the right road, is parking, basically because there isn’t any. People are parking up on the road a good mile from the start and, with only 20 minutes to go to start time, that’s tantamount to a course extension. You would have thought the police would have something to say about so much haphazard street parking but they seem to be ok with it and are directing more traffic onto already full streets.
Eventually we manage to cram the car into some gap fairly close to the start, abandon the already howling dogs and leg it down to the start, which means a more vigorous than we had planned warm up.
As we line up at an equally overcrowded start line with around 1700 others I tug L forward as she is way too far back. Then once we start I realise that I’m still too far back myself. There are so many people walking from the off that it takes me 5:40 for the first km. Terrible but there’s just no room. It takes almost 2k to finally get some space. It’s the 20th running of the race and this is the biggest one ever, the race appears to fill very quickly every year no matter what the limit, but I fear it’s now too big.
The route itself, once I get going, is very pleasant. We run along the Loxley Valley on closed roads and across what is a more or less flat course. There’s a wonderful view as we approach and then run alongside a damn. It would have been nice to have gone all the way around but I guess that isn’t feasible or else we’d have done it, instead it’s an out and back.
As we approach the turnaround point I have no idea how the returning runners are going to get past us because we’re still covering both sides of the road. In fact what they do is squash us up by driving a car down the other side of the road. Then just in case that doesn’t create enough room, they send Santa down as reinforcements. He tries to run us down in his classic car but it seemed to do the trick.
As runners start coming back the other way I can see just how many people are ahead of me, a lot, including a man who may be dressed as a reindeer or perhaps it’s Scooby Doo, it’s hard to tell, his suit has seen better days.
Then I reach the turn myself. Now somewhere coming towards me will be L but the sun is low and I’m squinting into it so I don’t see her.
Then the finish is in sight. 48 minutes FFS. Well, 47:49 on my watch but naturally I mentally rounded it up. Even at that pedestrian pace I still feel the need to faint but there’s nowhere to do it as I queue endlessly for chip removal, Christmas pudding and t-shirt with the reviving water handed out last.
L in contrast has a relative stormer. Although she was only supposed to be setting a baseline time as something to improve on. Doing 1:01 is setting a pretty high base.
In short, it’s a very pleasant race over a nice route but slightly spoil by too many entrants.
Sunday, November 25, 2012
Coombe Abbey 8 Mile
(well 8.3 miles actually)
Today we’re in the grounds of the 13th century Coombe Abbey. I’m well wrapped up in my waterproof, walking boots and have just been handed a bag of sweets. They look after the supporters around here. L meanwhile is in running gear and stood practically ankle deep in a waterlogged field, probably debating with herself whether to take her coat off or not. Some others have decided on ‘not’.
Previous comments on this race include the words bomb craters, frozen molehills and hurdles only this year you can delete frozen and replace it with wet, very wet. One does like to read the small print before one enters a race. Not that L will be fazed; she likes a dose of the unusual. It also looks like they’re selling bacon butties over there, where would you rather be?
The hurdlers turn out to be just bales of hay, and just the one bale high, so nothing of Survival Of The Fittest proportions. The bomb craters are also apparently not too bad but then there’s the water... there’s plenty of that with the footpaths and bridges flooded to the extent that I would be well over my boots should I have ventured in that direction. So I think I’ll stay put.
They all seemed to enjoy themselves though and the hot soup they are handed at the end.
Today we’re in the grounds of the 13th century Coombe Abbey. I’m well wrapped up in my waterproof, walking boots and have just been handed a bag of sweets. They look after the supporters around here. L meanwhile is in running gear and stood practically ankle deep in a waterlogged field, probably debating with herself whether to take her coat off or not. Some others have decided on ‘not’.
Previous comments on this race include the words bomb craters, frozen molehills and hurdles only this year you can delete frozen and replace it with wet, very wet. One does like to read the small print before one enters a race. Not that L will be fazed; she likes a dose of the unusual. It also looks like they’re selling bacon butties over there, where would you rather be?
The hurdlers turn out to be just bales of hay, and just the one bale high, so nothing of Survival Of The Fittest proportions. The bomb craters are also apparently not too bad but then there’s the water... there’s plenty of that with the footpaths and bridges flooded to the extent that I would be well over my boots should I have ventured in that direction. So I think I’ll stay put.
They all seemed to enjoy themselves though and the hot soup they are handed at the end.
Saturday, October 27, 2012
Petzl Nao Pitch Black Night Run, Grizedale Forest
For saying we know the area pretty well, we have some problems finding Grizedale Visitor Centre. My mistake is probably to try and follow the race organiser’s directions, rather than a map, road signs and common sense. We get there and acclimatise ourselves with the forest and the course, which is already marked out. As we walk the first part of the course we find it horrifically uphill and treacherous, at least when attached to a dog.
Then we go pick up our numbers, don trail shoes and I introduce L to her head torch. I hope it works. It should, as it’s fresh out of the packet.
So the Petzl Nao Pitch Black Night Run. All three run distances, that’s 5k, 10k and 20k start together at 6:00pm, by which time the light is fading but it’s far from ‘pitch black’.
In fact I leave my head torch off for the first ten minutes, conserving battery power, not that I should need to... but just in case. Even when it gets a bit darker there still no need for it, as I can see where I’m going in the light of everyone else’s. When I do turn it on it seems to make running across the rocky terrain easier than in the daytime, the light illuminates the rocks making it easier to avoid them.
The head torches also pick out the reflective arrows which way-mark the route. So it’s almost impossible to get lost despite the darkness, unless you’re like L and take directions from a marshal on a bike, who sends her the wrong way.
I quite enjoy it, the hills aren't as horrific and treacherous without a dog, there’s even a water station. I continually catch and overtake people on the up-hills and the flats but then plummet back down the field on the downs.
My time of 53 minutes is not bad considering the terrain, the dark and the dodgy knee. Which is sore throughout but bearable. L is 20 minutes behind me and seems to have enjoyed herself.
We don’t get a lot for our endeavours. Just a bottle of water, a Cliff bar and the smug knowledge that we’re donated to The MS Society.
Then we go pick up our numbers, don trail shoes and I introduce L to her head torch. I hope it works. It should, as it’s fresh out of the packet.
So the Petzl Nao Pitch Black Night Run. All three run distances, that’s 5k, 10k and 20k start together at 6:00pm, by which time the light is fading but it’s far from ‘pitch black’.
In fact I leave my head torch off for the first ten minutes, conserving battery power, not that I should need to... but just in case. Even when it gets a bit darker there still no need for it, as I can see where I’m going in the light of everyone else’s. When I do turn it on it seems to make running across the rocky terrain easier than in the daytime, the light illuminates the rocks making it easier to avoid them.
The head torches also pick out the reflective arrows which way-mark the route. So it’s almost impossible to get lost despite the darkness, unless you’re like L and take directions from a marshal on a bike, who sends her the wrong way.
I quite enjoy it, the hills aren't as horrific and treacherous without a dog, there’s even a water station. I continually catch and overtake people on the up-hills and the flats but then plummet back down the field on the downs.
My time of 53 minutes is not bad considering the terrain, the dark and the dodgy knee. Which is sore throughout but bearable. L is 20 minutes behind me and seems to have enjoyed herself.
We don’t get a lot for our endeavours. Just a bottle of water, a Cliff bar and the smug knowledge that we’re donated to The MS Society.
Sunday, October 7, 2012
Congleton Half Marathon
We go to all the glitzy places and today’s its Congleton’s turn.
Now I’ve had a bad knee all week, well longer actually, so I’m not at all sure how this is going to pan out. I intend to start slow and not build up to a faster pace.
As is now the norm, someone with an Olympic torch helps start the race. Then as we leave the start at the High School, we find the first few miles to be a bit hectic, very busy and we all end up crammed on a pavement next to a busy main road. It was a bit like the ark, two by two, as the field hadn't had chance to thin out by then. Although I suppose this did it. There was the grass verge but I didn’t want to get my trainers muddy and I think everyone else thought the same, so congested it stayed.
Then across a busy roundabout heading into a supermarket before we finally quit the built up area. Thereafter it’s mainly country lanes, villages and plenty of room to run or hobble. Where I’m sure the view would have been really pleasant, if it wasn’t for some high hedges and a covering of low lying mist that didn’t lift. Actually perfect conditions for running, just not for sightseeing and despite a few undulations it seemed a fairly fast course. Not that dissimilar to Ipswich the other week, in fact that was probably hillier.
The race is chip timed and well marshalled. The drinks were in cups but for once I didn’t mind easing down to walk to drink from them, to give the knee a rest. All the drinks stations also advertised sponges, but they proved elusive, I never saw one. There was an extra drinks stop, set up outside the Black Swan and I eased up, just in case... but it was only soft drinks.
The race is called the 'Sting In The Tail' which is because, on the map at least, there was a huge dip, or may crevasse is a better word, at 12 miles, that you would think you’d need full climbing gear to get out of. Ahh, the wonders of map scales. The dip was not that severe. I didn't have to crawl.
My partner is racing too, she’s chosen the Quarter Marathon option, which I think is a first. At only £6 it’s bargain. Although she doesn’t get the t-shirt, which was a bit dull anyway, to be honest. Instead she gets a teddy bear and a much better goodie bag than me. There’s not much in mine at all.
I queue up for a massage but it’s not looking like a proper leg breaking sports massage, just two women playing patter cake on peoples’ legs. Which is always welcome but not worth queuing half an hour for.
Now I’ve had a bad knee all week, well longer actually, so I’m not at all sure how this is going to pan out. I intend to start slow and not build up to a faster pace.
As is now the norm, someone with an Olympic torch helps start the race. Then as we leave the start at the High School, we find the first few miles to be a bit hectic, very busy and we all end up crammed on a pavement next to a busy main road. It was a bit like the ark, two by two, as the field hadn't had chance to thin out by then. Although I suppose this did it. There was the grass verge but I didn’t want to get my trainers muddy and I think everyone else thought the same, so congested it stayed.
Then across a busy roundabout heading into a supermarket before we finally quit the built up area. Thereafter it’s mainly country lanes, villages and plenty of room to run or hobble. Where I’m sure the view would have been really pleasant, if it wasn’t for some high hedges and a covering of low lying mist that didn’t lift. Actually perfect conditions for running, just not for sightseeing and despite a few undulations it seemed a fairly fast course. Not that dissimilar to Ipswich the other week, in fact that was probably hillier.
The race is chip timed and well marshalled. The drinks were in cups but for once I didn’t mind easing down to walk to drink from them, to give the knee a rest. All the drinks stations also advertised sponges, but they proved elusive, I never saw one. There was an extra drinks stop, set up outside the Black Swan and I eased up, just in case... but it was only soft drinks.
The race is called the 'Sting In The Tail' which is because, on the map at least, there was a huge dip, or may crevasse is a better word, at 12 miles, that you would think you’d need full climbing gear to get out of. Ahh, the wonders of map scales. The dip was not that severe. I didn't have to crawl.
My partner is racing too, she’s chosen the Quarter Marathon option, which I think is a first. At only £6 it’s bargain. Although she doesn’t get the t-shirt, which was a bit dull anyway, to be honest. Instead she gets a teddy bear and a much better goodie bag than me. There’s not much in mine at all.
I queue up for a massage but it’s not looking like a proper leg breaking sports massage, just two women playing patter cake on peoples’ legs. Which is always welcome but not worth queuing half an hour for.
Sunday, September 23, 2012
Ipswich Half Marathon
We head to the Race HQ only to find that the signs to the car parks, that I’m sure were there last night, seem to have disappeared. Eventually we are directed to where to park and we walk across to the start at Northgate Sports Centre.
The race is catchingly known as the Larking Gowen Ipswich Half Marathon. Larking Gowen I assumed were a firm of solicitors but it turns out they are actually chartered accountants. Whether this is an improvement or not I’m not sure.
Also involved in the 4th running of the event are the delightfully named Ipswich Jaffa Running Club. Who, yes, run in a delightful orange strip.
As part of the Olympic Legacy idea, the organisers have made today’s fun run free to enter. Quite why everybody doesn’t already do this, I’m not sure. I imagine that 95% of event income must come from the main race anyway.
It all starts a little early, at 9am, but this is perhaps no bad thing today with rain forecast for 1pm. We head out though a guard of honour of sorts formed by three Olympic Torchbearers.
The race itself is a little drab at first, through the local housing estates, but then heads into the rather nice and downhill Christchurch Park before taking a brief excursion along Ipswich’s High Street. After which it’s out into the countryside, which I enjoy, but you could really have been anywhere and it doesn’t showcase Ipswich. That said, there was encouraging support from spectators and marshals everywhere we went. The water stations were good too, plenty of them and all with bottles rather than cups.
Tumbling downhill through Christchurch Park was obviously a bad sign because the course had to climb back up and the route in fact proved quite undulating, as well as twisty, throughout. It was not as hilly as Ashbourne obviously but it was certainly not flat either.
As we run back into the grounds of the Sports Centre, a big crowd cheers up in through the gates, yet worryingly we still have three quarters of a mile to go. Which means they divert us for a loop around the pathways of the adjacent school, pathways that are devoid of spectators and therefore atmosphere. Which is quite a soul destroying way to end a decent event. Then finally it’s on to the squishy surface of the running track for the final 400m.
By now it’s already dawned on me that I’m well up on schedule. I had hoped to break 1:40 today but now a very smug 1:38 was looking likely. In fact, even 1:37 looked possible but I shied away from that thought and anyway it’s best to leave something in reserve (a good excuse, to ease up) to be chipped off in the coming weeks. At last, I feel like I’m getting back to where I want to be.
At the end, having bagged 1:38:32, I am handed a better than average medal and a t-shirt. Although I got the size of t-shirt I wanted, this wasn’t the case for many. The later finishers, many being women who wanted Small or Medium, were faced with a choice of Large or Extra Large.
The goody bag was good. A drink, a cereal bar, chocolate and not too much in the way of pointless leaflets.
As I lie on the floor trying to collect my wits, I hear the announcer telling everyone that free massages are available. So I scrape myself off the floor and go in search. When I got there, there was no queue. The reason for which was apparent later when I saw a child wearing the sign which said 'massage this way'. It was a decent long painful massage, just what the doctor ordered before a three hour drive home, for which I now feel fine.
I meet L, who is running this one as well. She does good, very good, particularly considering she hasn’t really being training for this distance.
In all there were just over a 1000 runners. The race would need alterations if they wished to grow it as an event but perhaps they have no wish to.
Then the forecasted rain arrives bang on time.
The race is catchingly known as the Larking Gowen Ipswich Half Marathon. Larking Gowen I assumed were a firm of solicitors but it turns out they are actually chartered accountants. Whether this is an improvement or not I’m not sure.
Also involved in the 4th running of the event are the delightfully named Ipswich Jaffa Running Club. Who, yes, run in a delightful orange strip.
As part of the Olympic Legacy idea, the organisers have made today’s fun run free to enter. Quite why everybody doesn’t already do this, I’m not sure. I imagine that 95% of event income must come from the main race anyway.
It all starts a little early, at 9am, but this is perhaps no bad thing today with rain forecast for 1pm. We head out though a guard of honour of sorts formed by three Olympic Torchbearers.
The race itself is a little drab at first, through the local housing estates, but then heads into the rather nice and downhill Christchurch Park before taking a brief excursion along Ipswich’s High Street. After which it’s out into the countryside, which I enjoy, but you could really have been anywhere and it doesn’t showcase Ipswich. That said, there was encouraging support from spectators and marshals everywhere we went. The water stations were good too, plenty of them and all with bottles rather than cups.
Tumbling downhill through Christchurch Park was obviously a bad sign because the course had to climb back up and the route in fact proved quite undulating, as well as twisty, throughout. It was not as hilly as Ashbourne obviously but it was certainly not flat either.
As we run back into the grounds of the Sports Centre, a big crowd cheers up in through the gates, yet worryingly we still have three quarters of a mile to go. Which means they divert us for a loop around the pathways of the adjacent school, pathways that are devoid of spectators and therefore atmosphere. Which is quite a soul destroying way to end a decent event. Then finally it’s on to the squishy surface of the running track for the final 400m.
By now it’s already dawned on me that I’m well up on schedule. I had hoped to break 1:40 today but now a very smug 1:38 was looking likely. In fact, even 1:37 looked possible but I shied away from that thought and anyway it’s best to leave something in reserve (a good excuse, to ease up) to be chipped off in the coming weeks. At last, I feel like I’m getting back to where I want to be.
At the end, having bagged 1:38:32, I am handed a better than average medal and a t-shirt. Although I got the size of t-shirt I wanted, this wasn’t the case for many. The later finishers, many being women who wanted Small or Medium, were faced with a choice of Large or Extra Large.
The goody bag was good. A drink, a cereal bar, chocolate and not too much in the way of pointless leaflets.
As I lie on the floor trying to collect my wits, I hear the announcer telling everyone that free massages are available. So I scrape myself off the floor and go in search. When I got there, there was no queue. The reason for which was apparent later when I saw a child wearing the sign which said 'massage this way'. It was a decent long painful massage, just what the doctor ordered before a three hour drive home, for which I now feel fine.
I meet L, who is running this one as well. She does good, very good, particularly considering she hasn’t really being training for this distance.
In all there were just over a 1000 runners. The race would need alterations if they wished to grow it as an event but perhaps they have no wish to.
Then the forecasted rain arrives bang on time.
Sunday, September 16, 2012
Ashbourne Half Marathon
I missed the deadline for advance entries for the Ashbourne Half Marathon, so we turn up nice and early to enter on the day. Which was a good thing really, as it seems they will reach the 300 race limit. L isn’t running the half but is instead meeting up with a friend who’s local to Ashbourne to do her daily 5k. Did I mention that her latest ‘challenge’ is 5k a day?
Meanwhile my latest challenge is upon me and starts with a one mile hill climb. This isn’t as bad as it sounds as at least we're all nice and fresh for this first test of the day. Then there’s a long downhill followed by a similar climb at around three miles as we go out to Thorpe village and past Thorpe Cloud before a descent to Ilam village.
The real test comes at about six and a half miles which involves a steep half mile climb up to Blore. Then after that, Wa-hey, it’s pretty much flat and downhill to the finish, with just the one minor uphill blemish on the landscape.
In fact, OMG, these last five or so miles are well fast. At least the group of seven I’m in are. A group I stay with until the last mile when the elastic keeping me with them snaps spectacularly.
In this group was a young lady with unfeasibly tight shorts who chats to everybody, tells them how hard it is and then drops them. She does this to me as well. Don’t you just hate people like that.
Perhaps she read my blog from the other day, which L said was rather sexist because I referred to the runner I met on the street as ‘only’ a girl. Well I’m sure this one thought ‘only a man, and an old one at that’ as she whizzed past us all. What goes around comes around.
My club shirt gets some comments, so much so that I may not wear it again. Not that is gets out much anyway, this is only its second outing ever and the other one was on the Hebrides. I’m only wearing it today because the club I’m in (and I use the phrase loosely) has this race as part of its club championship. People in similar vests keep welcoming me to the club because they haven’t seen me before. I feel like the new boy and I think I’d like to go back to being anonymous.
It’s all very well marshalled and there are plenty of drink stations, although the water is in cups, which probably costs me a minute overall, as I stop five times for a drink. I simply cannot drink from cups on the move. They also have sponges and I love a good sponge, I take three. Not at the same time though.
There were a lot of spectators, although the majority of these were tourists, who were more bemused rather than supportive. My time 1:41:20 is twenty seconds quicker than Wolverhampton the other week, so I must be doing something right.
Meanwhile my latest challenge is upon me and starts with a one mile hill climb. This isn’t as bad as it sounds as at least we're all nice and fresh for this first test of the day. Then there’s a long downhill followed by a similar climb at around three miles as we go out to Thorpe village and past Thorpe Cloud before a descent to Ilam village.
The real test comes at about six and a half miles which involves a steep half mile climb up to Blore. Then after that, Wa-hey, it’s pretty much flat and downhill to the finish, with just the one minor uphill blemish on the landscape.
In fact, OMG, these last five or so miles are well fast. At least the group of seven I’m in are. A group I stay with until the last mile when the elastic keeping me with them snaps spectacularly.
In this group was a young lady with unfeasibly tight shorts who chats to everybody, tells them how hard it is and then drops them. She does this to me as well. Don’t you just hate people like that.
Perhaps she read my blog from the other day, which L said was rather sexist because I referred to the runner I met on the street as ‘only’ a girl. Well I’m sure this one thought ‘only a man, and an old one at that’ as she whizzed past us all. What goes around comes around.
My club shirt gets some comments, so much so that I may not wear it again. Not that is gets out much anyway, this is only its second outing ever and the other one was on the Hebrides. I’m only wearing it today because the club I’m in (and I use the phrase loosely) has this race as part of its club championship. People in similar vests keep welcoming me to the club because they haven’t seen me before. I feel like the new boy and I think I’d like to go back to being anonymous.
It’s all very well marshalled and there are plenty of drink stations, although the water is in cups, which probably costs me a minute overall, as I stop five times for a drink. I simply cannot drink from cups on the move. They also have sponges and I love a good sponge, I take three. Not at the same time though.
There were a lot of spectators, although the majority of these were tourists, who were more bemused rather than supportive. My time 1:41:20 is twenty seconds quicker than Wolverhampton the other week, so I must be doing something right.
Sunday, September 2, 2012
Wolverhampton Half Marathon
Today is the 15th running of the Wolverhampton Half and Full Marathon, which was a bit of a strange one. Parking is handy at Wolverhampton Wanderers’ Molineux ground for £2, in fact it's so close to the start in West Park you would have thought the club would have offered them a stadium finish.
The start area in the park was nice and the organisation fine but the course itself was a bit dismal. Almost scenery free, a bit of parkland but little of Wolverhampton and it was remarkably twisty, mainly through housing estates where most of the ‘support’ came from slightly bemused residents peering out from behind their curtains.
Ii is true that I often like a bit of dismal but preferably straight and dismal, twists and turns just interrupt your stride and tire you out. The worst of which was a short out and back around some parked cars in a cul-de-sac, that appears to have been intended for the marathon runners only, on their second lap, lucky them, but it seems we all ended up doing it, lucky us.
It was quite a small event. 255 in the marathon, 796 in the half marathon, 530 cyclists doing 19.4km and one wheelchair. Apparently Hugh Porter was there, I assume he was cycling and not running. There were also 23 relay teams which they set off first, which gave us something to chase and pass. Finally there was a group of lads dressed up as the Jamaica Bobsled Team complete with bobsled; they were in for a long hard morning.
Drinks stations were bountiful and they had bottles but they’ll get crucified for leaving the tops on, which will have left a course resembling a bed of nails for the later runners.
At half way the housing estates disappeared and instead we went uphill. Long dragging uphills that just kept coming and coming with very little down, which made me think the flat first half of the race must actually have been downhill.
I recall going through a place called Billbrook but other than that I had no idea where we were most of the time. We certainly didn’t really get to see such of Wolverhampton which I think contributed to the lack of supporters along the route. At least I haven’t got to go around twice like the marathoners. The last mile or so was better, apart from its uphill nature and the finish in West Park was pretty good.
The hills and the turns meant that this wasn't going for be the sort of course on which I’d improve on last week’s time at total flat Fleetwood. So to be only 40 seconds down is a result of sorts but I resist doing the ‘Mobot’ like almost everybody else is. I’m not sure if the Jamaica Bobsled Team had the energy to do that when they came in four and a half hours after they started. Ouch.
I was handed my Greggs goodie bag. Sponsored by Greggs, I ask you. I was expecting a sausage roll but thankfully didn't get one. Instead, just a drink, some chocolate shortbread and a bag of crisps. Crisps that MD helped himself too, dragging them out of my goodie bag with his teeth. He and Doggo got to eat them eventually, Ready Salted are not really my flavour.
The T-shirt was fine but the medal was a bit naff, very cheap looking. All in all though, a well organised if uninspiring event.
Sunday, August 26, 2012
Fleetwood Half Marathon
Today is actually a glorious day, nothing like a Bank Holiday weekend and it’s a good day for a run as we head up to the YMCA Leisure Centre in Fleetwood. L grabs our numbers, whilst I find somewhere shady to park the boys.
The race route starts off very dull and boring, as we meander through a housing estate or two, heading roughly in the direction of Blackpool. Which is good, because with nothing to look at, I can concentrate on the run.
The course consists of two differing loops and as we complete the housing estate tour we turn and head back to Fleetwood, along the sea front road. We pass the 11 and 12 mile markers but we’re only approaching the half way point. Then they turn us left before we reach the Leisure Centre and onto the Esplanade pointing us again towards Blackpool.
Now it’s more scenic and dare I say it enjoyable. There is a slight headwind along the Esplanade but nothing to be too concerned about and, sadly, not enough to noticeably propel us home again after we turn for home. This turn comes after a short out and back, that enabled you to size up those just ahead and pick a few targets. An old man with a limp, a guy who looks about twelve, a banana and a girl in an impossibly brief pair of shorts were my disparate selection.
Then it’s the repeat of those last two miles, which I like, as it gives me a nice cosy feeling to be on familiar territory. I reel in 50% of my targets, although sadly not the lightweight racing banana nor, even more sadly, the girl in the impossibly brief pair of shorts, who both prove elusive. e.g. too fast. Aided no doubt by a course that has been mega-flat throughout, so despite aiming for 1:45, I do 1:42. Which is very satisfying, as is whipping past the man with the limp and the twelve year old.
It could have been better... as someone shouts to me to sprint to break 1:42 as the clock clicks over 1:41:55... 56... 57... with thirty metres to go. Hmmm. Who do they think I am? Usain Bolt? Even Usain Bolt couldn’t run thirty metres in three seconds, especially not after running a half marathon. 1:42:08 is fine with me.
Then I am handed a medal (ugh), a banana (ugh) and a Wagon Wheel (ugh ugh). Shouldn’t complain really. I simply cannot face food at a time like this anyway but to be fair to Wagon Wheels, I’ve never been able to face them full stop. They tell us to only take one each, this isn’t a problem. There’s also a guy handing out promotional sachets of recovery drink, which I do make use of.
I’m sort of surprised not to see L waiting for me. She’s injured but not injured enough to admit the full details to me. She had threatened to jog round to the 10K mark and then stop at the ice cream van. Can’t see her in the queue though.
Overall it was a good event. Lots of water out on the course, in bottles as well and nice small bottles at that. Which I powered myself round with, along with three energy gels. Excellent weather and a good all round vibe to the event.
A vibe that is aided by a very pleasant sea front cafe selling tea and bacon cobs. Which is a good way to start a refuelling operation.
The race route starts off very dull and boring, as we meander through a housing estate or two, heading roughly in the direction of Blackpool. Which is good, because with nothing to look at, I can concentrate on the run.
The course consists of two differing loops and as we complete the housing estate tour we turn and head back to Fleetwood, along the sea front road. We pass the 11 and 12 mile markers but we’re only approaching the half way point. Then they turn us left before we reach the Leisure Centre and onto the Esplanade pointing us again towards Blackpool.
Now it’s more scenic and dare I say it enjoyable. There is a slight headwind along the Esplanade but nothing to be too concerned about and, sadly, not enough to noticeably propel us home again after we turn for home. This turn comes after a short out and back, that enabled you to size up those just ahead and pick a few targets. An old man with a limp, a guy who looks about twelve, a banana and a girl in an impossibly brief pair of shorts were my disparate selection.
Then it’s the repeat of those last two miles, which I like, as it gives me a nice cosy feeling to be on familiar territory. I reel in 50% of my targets, although sadly not the lightweight racing banana nor, even more sadly, the girl in the impossibly brief pair of shorts, who both prove elusive. e.g. too fast. Aided no doubt by a course that has been mega-flat throughout, so despite aiming for 1:45, I do 1:42. Which is very satisfying, as is whipping past the man with the limp and the twelve year old.
It could have been better... as someone shouts to me to sprint to break 1:42 as the clock clicks over 1:41:55... 56... 57... with thirty metres to go. Hmmm. Who do they think I am? Usain Bolt? Even Usain Bolt couldn’t run thirty metres in three seconds, especially not after running a half marathon. 1:42:08 is fine with me.
Then I am handed a medal (ugh), a banana (ugh) and a Wagon Wheel (ugh ugh). Shouldn’t complain really. I simply cannot face food at a time like this anyway but to be fair to Wagon Wheels, I’ve never been able to face them full stop. They tell us to only take one each, this isn’t a problem. There’s also a guy handing out promotional sachets of recovery drink, which I do make use of.
I’m sort of surprised not to see L waiting for me. She’s injured but not injured enough to admit the full details to me. She had threatened to jog round to the 10K mark and then stop at the ice cream van. Can’t see her in the queue though.
Overall it was a good event. Lots of water out on the course, in bottles as well and nice small bottles at that. Which I powered myself round with, along with three energy gels. Excellent weather and a good all round vibe to the event.
A vibe that is aided by a very pleasant sea front cafe selling tea and bacon cobs. Which is a good way to start a refuelling operation.
Friday, August 3, 2012
Jägermeister 10k
L works from home to keep the boys company, and then we meet up straight from work at Nottingham University for the Jägermeister 10k. Well I try to. As I leave Derby on the bus, the driver backs into another bus from a rival company before we’re even out of the bus station. This could delay me, they’re exchanging insurance details... you wouldn’t think they’d be any need as both companies have offices at the bus station.
The bus has only received a slight flesh wound, yet we are asked to jump ship to another one anyway. At least we’re on our way now... or rather, we’re not.
We’re going back to pick up more passengers. FFS. We only have around 10 free seats and there are at least 30 waiting... so that was a fruitless exercise, as the driver tells the unsuccessful customers they’ll be another one along in a few minutes. Which is a bit of a not-so-white lie, more like half an hour.
We’re off again, if we can get out of the bus station without hitting anything else.
Finally I make it to the University, get changed and make it to the start, after queuing for the one toilet, with about five minutes to spare. Whether it's worth the rush, I don't know. I’m trying to give up 10ks but for some reason I’ve made an exception for this one. I need a run, any sort of run, even a painful one like this.
At least by the time I turn up they’ve turned the radio off which had apparently been blaring out the Team Pursuit. So thankfully I can still watch that later in ignorance of the inevitable but, hopefully still thrilling, result.
This is my fifth Jägermeister in six years and after peaking with 40:42 in 2008, I’ve declined ever since. It’s a testing course that seems get more testing with each passing year. This year’s 44:56 is 50 seconds down on last year even. Oh dear. They do say 'the older it makes you feel, the younger it makes you look'. I have my doubts and they certainly won’t be painting any post boxes in my honour.
The bus has only received a slight flesh wound, yet we are asked to jump ship to another one anyway. At least we’re on our way now... or rather, we’re not.
We’re going back to pick up more passengers. FFS. We only have around 10 free seats and there are at least 30 waiting... so that was a fruitless exercise, as the driver tells the unsuccessful customers they’ll be another one along in a few minutes. Which is a bit of a not-so-white lie, more like half an hour.
We’re off again, if we can get out of the bus station without hitting anything else.
Finally I make it to the University, get changed and make it to the start, after queuing for the one toilet, with about five minutes to spare. Whether it's worth the rush, I don't know. I’m trying to give up 10ks but for some reason I’ve made an exception for this one. I need a run, any sort of run, even a painful one like this.
At least by the time I turn up they’ve turned the radio off which had apparently been blaring out the Team Pursuit. So thankfully I can still watch that later in ignorance of the inevitable but, hopefully still thrilling, result.
This is my fifth Jägermeister in six years and after peaking with 40:42 in 2008, I’ve declined ever since. It’s a testing course that seems get more testing with each passing year. This year’s 44:56 is 50 seconds down on last year even. Oh dear. They do say 'the older it makes you feel, the younger it makes you look'. I have my doubts and they certainly won’t be painting any post boxes in my honour.
Saturday, July 7, 2012
Heb3: Harris Half Marathon
The weather has been great since we arrived on the islands. Today though, we could actually do with it being a little cooler and as if on prescription, the week of glorious sunshine abates and it’s quite a bit cooler, Just what the doctor ordered both for us running.
However, when we said cooler we didn’t actually mean we wanted a gravity defying Hebridean breeze, otherwise known as gale force eight (approx).
Just what you don't need when you’re about to do the Heb3 Part 3 with a bad back. I blame a dodgy sleeping position in the our ‘green tent of tranquillity’ E.g. sandwiched between two dogs who like half of it, each, rather than L roughing me the wrong ‘shade’. ‘That book’ has sort of dominated our conversation this week.
Our campsite by the beach at Horgabost is at mile two on today's course and several times this week we’ve driven along the other eleven miles, experiencing the experience of the route to Tarbert in advance, only with wheels. It was actually quite exhausting just looking at it from the car. As for running it? Oh my.
This morning we drive up the course again. The tables are out with water bottles and cups on them ready for the race, all weighed down with rocks against the wind. Then after we’ve registered a bus takes us all the way back up the route again to the start at Borve. This race is an A to B, in roughly a straight line, give or take a few hills, into the wind. Nice. Not. Holy cow.
The bus actually stops a mile from the start. Loo stop, on the beach. It's very well organised though. Men to the left, women to the right. Just hope the women weren’t downwind from the men, one’s aim could seriously go amiss in this wind. We both stay on the bus.
Then we travel the rest of the way to the start where we all huddle in some bloke’s driveway sheltering from the wind. No peeing in his hedge allowed, apparently he doesn’t like it.
It’s already quite apparent that today is not going to be a day for fast times. Although at first my pace isn’t too bad, as we run along the beautiful coastline and I hide from the elements in the middle of a bunch of about ten hardened Scots folk. I think this is a good strategy or was, until the group somehow dissipated. I think perhaps some of them got blown into the sea but I can't be sure.
My times were good until the serious hills began after about four miles and from that point onwards I took up a new, previously untried, racing position of being bent double against both the gradient and the horizontal ‘breeze’ from which there isn’t a degree of shelter anywhere. Scenery? What scenery? Nice tarmac. I spend 90% of the race looking downwards. My bad back is going to be even worse after this.
The wind is that strong it half rips my race number from my chest. Using my lightweight race pins to attach it now looks folly, a nail gun might have been more appropriate.
Oh my, this is tough. It would be a hard course on any day but today’s conditions are simply cruel. I look on the bright side, at least it isn’t raining.
If Barra was supposedly like pushing a wardrobe uphill then, holy s***, this was like pushing the entire bedroom suite. Fifty shades of hell.
For a while I battle with my nemesis, the winner of the over 60's category at the other races and likely to do the same again today, with knobs on. I beat him at Benbecula but here, like at Barra, he leaves me floundering in his wake. For some reason my 'inner runner' vows to keep chasing, pushing onwards and upwards or is it downwards? The wind is a great leveller, making everything seem impossible. My 'subconscious' meanwhile is in the pub knocking back its third Red Cuillin and whiskey chaser.
Apparently we have now crested the main peak but the 'mostly' downhill last five miles is not very evident, not with this fierce wind trying to push you back up the hill you’ve just come down.
Tarbet is just around this corner I’m sure or is it this corner? or this one? It’s here somewhere or at least it was yesterday. Finally I see the man trying to hold the finish line up against the prevailing gale and know that it is all nearly at an end.
1:47 is slower than Barra but that wind must have added ‘hours’. The boys and I sit by the finish and await L, watching all the others runners ‘plummeting’ down the final incline like tumbleweed in... well, quicksand.
The post-race buffet isn’t as bountiful as Barra’s but doesn’t need to be and at least they have tea. They also have Heb3 t-shirts, which is what we came for. In black as well, very nice. We also have our medal with its Harris Tweed ribbon, very authentic.
However, when we said cooler we didn’t actually mean we wanted a gravity defying Hebridean breeze, otherwise known as gale force eight (approx).
Just what you don't need when you’re about to do the Heb3 Part 3 with a bad back. I blame a dodgy sleeping position in the our ‘green tent of tranquillity’ E.g. sandwiched between two dogs who like half of it, each, rather than L roughing me the wrong ‘shade’. ‘That book’ has sort of dominated our conversation this week.
Our campsite by the beach at Horgabost is at mile two on today's course and several times this week we’ve driven along the other eleven miles, experiencing the experience of the route to Tarbert in advance, only with wheels. It was actually quite exhausting just looking at it from the car. As for running it? Oh my.
This morning we drive up the course again. The tables are out with water bottles and cups on them ready for the race, all weighed down with rocks against the wind. Then after we’ve registered a bus takes us all the way back up the route again to the start at Borve. This race is an A to B, in roughly a straight line, give or take a few hills, into the wind. Nice. Not. Holy cow.
The bus actually stops a mile from the start. Loo stop, on the beach. It's very well organised though. Men to the left, women to the right. Just hope the women weren’t downwind from the men, one’s aim could seriously go amiss in this wind. We both stay on the bus.
Then we travel the rest of the way to the start where we all huddle in some bloke’s driveway sheltering from the wind. No peeing in his hedge allowed, apparently he doesn’t like it.
It’s already quite apparent that today is not going to be a day for fast times. Although at first my pace isn’t too bad, as we run along the beautiful coastline and I hide from the elements in the middle of a bunch of about ten hardened Scots folk. I think this is a good strategy or was, until the group somehow dissipated. I think perhaps some of them got blown into the sea but I can't be sure.
My times were good until the serious hills began after about four miles and from that point onwards I took up a new, previously untried, racing position of being bent double against both the gradient and the horizontal ‘breeze’ from which there isn’t a degree of shelter anywhere. Scenery? What scenery? Nice tarmac. I spend 90% of the race looking downwards. My bad back is going to be even worse after this.
The wind is that strong it half rips my race number from my chest. Using my lightweight race pins to attach it now looks folly, a nail gun might have been more appropriate.
Oh my, this is tough. It would be a hard course on any day but today’s conditions are simply cruel. I look on the bright side, at least it isn’t raining.
If Barra was supposedly like pushing a wardrobe uphill then, holy s***, this was like pushing the entire bedroom suite. Fifty shades of hell.
For a while I battle with my nemesis, the winner of the over 60's category at the other races and likely to do the same again today, with knobs on. I beat him at Benbecula but here, like at Barra, he leaves me floundering in his wake. For some reason my 'inner runner' vows to keep chasing, pushing onwards and upwards or is it downwards? The wind is a great leveller, making everything seem impossible. My 'subconscious' meanwhile is in the pub knocking back its third Red Cuillin and whiskey chaser.
Apparently we have now crested the main peak but the 'mostly' downhill last five miles is not very evident, not with this fierce wind trying to push you back up the hill you’ve just come down.
Tarbet is just around this corner I’m sure or is it this corner? or this one? It’s here somewhere or at least it was yesterday. Finally I see the man trying to hold the finish line up against the prevailing gale and know that it is all nearly at an end.
1:47 is slower than Barra but that wind must have added ‘hours’. The boys and I sit by the finish and await L, watching all the others runners ‘plummeting’ down the final incline like tumbleweed in... well, quicksand.
The post-race buffet isn’t as bountiful as Barra’s but doesn’t need to be and at least they have tea. They also have Heb3 t-shirts, which is what we came for. In black as well, very nice. We also have our medal with its Harris Tweed ribbon, very authentic.
Saturday, June 30, 2012
Heb3: The Barrathon
Today the race they call the Barrathon.
A 13.1 mile tour of the island that takes you clockwise right around the main and only road. It starts and finishes from Castlebay School where they have the flags out, literally.
Castlebay so named because somebody has submerged a castle in the middle of the bay.
The day starts drizzly but fines up sometime around the start of the race, I’m so ‘focused’ aka terrified that I don’t actually notice the precise moment that this happens. Terrified perhaps because everyone is taking about the hill they call Heaval, which appears to be some Gaelic misspelling of the coming together of the words ‘hell’ and ‘evil’. We have been warned.
‘Just like Leek then?’ L quips ‘but with a few downhills by the sound of it’. She really didn’t like Leek.
To make matters worse I’m still trying to fight off a touch of cold that I’ve brought on holiday with me and I’m feeling well bunged up, which could make panting in exhaustion difficult.
True to expectations the race is very lumpy although it actually starts downhill but that’s just a ruse because we’re soon going uphill. Then down, then up, then down, then up, it’s like a tarmac rollercoaster and there’s no way to get off. They’re not big hills but the sheer lack of flat gradually wears you down.
At around 10.5 miles we start the climb up Heaval, a climb apparently described as a bit like pushing a wardrobe uphill. Unfortunately I have forgotten to empty my wardrobe before I started pushing it and my demons quickly come tumbling out of it, falling on top of me. I’m also hyperventilating; my touch of cold is getting touchier. So I walk up part of the Evil-hell but believe me it’s almost as quick as running up and I still overtake people. Finally after about a mile of climbing, the ‘hill’ tops out at around 340ft and then it’s downhill to the finish, Wa-hey, or so we thought.
There’s a final short sharp kick uphill just before the finish and on the top of this unwelcome distraction a morbid crowd has gathered simply to laugh at these mad people.
Finally it’s over. 1:45 isn’t good but in the circumstances, not too bad either. I retrieve the dogs from the car and we sit somewhere, I can’t stand, to wait for L.
Post race they serve us with an amazing buffet, which consists of everything you could possibly imagine except for the one thing I’m really gagging for right now. A humble cup of strong tea. Shouldn’t really complain, they have bottles of Hebridean at the bar. No draught obviously.
In the evening there’s a Ceilidh, that's a knees up I believe but my knees won’t do 'up' tonight and we ought to spend time with the dogs anyway so we skip it.
A 13.1 mile tour of the island that takes you clockwise right around the main and only road. It starts and finishes from Castlebay School where they have the flags out, literally.
Castlebay so named because somebody has submerged a castle in the middle of the bay.
The day starts drizzly but fines up sometime around the start of the race, I’m so ‘focused’ aka terrified that I don’t actually notice the precise moment that this happens. Terrified perhaps because everyone is taking about the hill they call Heaval, which appears to be some Gaelic misspelling of the coming together of the words ‘hell’ and ‘evil’. We have been warned.
‘Just like Leek then?’ L quips ‘but with a few downhills by the sound of it’. She really didn’t like Leek.
To make matters worse I’m still trying to fight off a touch of cold that I’ve brought on holiday with me and I’m feeling well bunged up, which could make panting in exhaustion difficult.
True to expectations the race is very lumpy although it actually starts downhill but that’s just a ruse because we’re soon going uphill. Then down, then up, then down, then up, it’s like a tarmac rollercoaster and there’s no way to get off. They’re not big hills but the sheer lack of flat gradually wears you down.
At around 10.5 miles we start the climb up Heaval, a climb apparently described as a bit like pushing a wardrobe uphill. Unfortunately I have forgotten to empty my wardrobe before I started pushing it and my demons quickly come tumbling out of it, falling on top of me. I’m also hyperventilating; my touch of cold is getting touchier. So I walk up part of the Evil-hell but believe me it’s almost as quick as running up and I still overtake people. Finally after about a mile of climbing, the ‘hill’ tops out at around 340ft and then it’s downhill to the finish, Wa-hey, or so we thought.
There’s a final short sharp kick uphill just before the finish and on the top of this unwelcome distraction a morbid crowd has gathered simply to laugh at these mad people.
Finally it’s over. 1:45 isn’t good but in the circumstances, not too bad either. I retrieve the dogs from the car and we sit somewhere, I can’t stand, to wait for L.
Post race they serve us with an amazing buffet, which consists of everything you could possibly imagine except for the one thing I’m really gagging for right now. A humble cup of strong tea. Shouldn’t really complain, they have bottles of Hebridean at the bar. No draught obviously.
In the evening there’s a Ceilidh, that's a knees up I believe but my knees won’t do 'up' tonight and we ought to spend time with the dogs anyway so we skip it.
Sunday, June 24, 2012
Humber Bridge Half Marathon
Today we head up to the Hull area for an intriguing half marathon, well at least I thought so, but not one for the bridge-phobics because the Humber Bridge Half Marathon crosses the bridge twice.
L is not usually one for bridges, so she might have to shut her eyes, but then that could have nasty side effects. Although I think they have barriers... I hope they have barriers and hopefully no crosswinds.
Last year they had a few problems with the weather, it was extremely hot and a poor chap died as a result. This has meant an earlier 9am start this year to avoid the heat of the day but heat shouldn’t be a problem this time, as we have rain on tap.
Car parking is good, if a little muddy and right across from the start. Although toilet facilities seem limited, there are plenty of bushes.
The start is rather dramatic. First we have a period of silence for the unfortunate chap from last year, this quickly turns into applause and then while this is going on the gun and klaxon signal the race start.
First a two mile loop around the local area of Hessle, which strings the field out a little before the first crossing of the bridge, for which they have closed a lane to traffic. Although it’s still a bit narrow and it’s a choice between tripping over feet or the cones at the edge of the course.
It’s a long bridge, almost 1.4 miles in length, so you get plenty of time to ‘enjoy’ the experience. Waiting at the other end is an inordinately long slip road, about a mile long, that seems to edge uphill forever. Once that is out of the way the course takes a largely flat route around the area of Barton Upon Humber.
The early rain had eased to drizzle by start time and then soon after stopped completely, creating near perfect race conditions. I was having a good run and by nine miles I was two minutes up on my Benbecula time meaning going under 1:40 was a real possibility.
That was when they threw a nasty little hill at us and then when that was out of the way we ran into a headwind on the return bridge crossing, using the footpath rather than the main carriageway this time. All of which mean I came in at just over 1:41.
Water was mostly in cups, which meant I ended up wearing more than I drank, although there was one bottle stop and they had a sponge stop too. I love a good sponge. I carried it all the way to the finish and then brought is home as a souvenir.
L is not usually one for bridges, so she might have to shut her eyes, but then that could have nasty side effects. Although I think they have barriers... I hope they have barriers and hopefully no crosswinds.
Last year they had a few problems with the weather, it was extremely hot and a poor chap died as a result. This has meant an earlier 9am start this year to avoid the heat of the day but heat shouldn’t be a problem this time, as we have rain on tap.
Car parking is good, if a little muddy and right across from the start. Although toilet facilities seem limited, there are plenty of bushes.
The start is rather dramatic. First we have a period of silence for the unfortunate chap from last year, this quickly turns into applause and then while this is going on the gun and klaxon signal the race start.
First a two mile loop around the local area of Hessle, which strings the field out a little before the first crossing of the bridge, for which they have closed a lane to traffic. Although it’s still a bit narrow and it’s a choice between tripping over feet or the cones at the edge of the course.
It’s a long bridge, almost 1.4 miles in length, so you get plenty of time to ‘enjoy’ the experience. Waiting at the other end is an inordinately long slip road, about a mile long, that seems to edge uphill forever. Once that is out of the way the course takes a largely flat route around the area of Barton Upon Humber.
The early rain had eased to drizzle by start time and then soon after stopped completely, creating near perfect race conditions. I was having a good run and by nine miles I was two minutes up on my Benbecula time meaning going under 1:40 was a real possibility.
That was when they threw a nasty little hill at us and then when that was out of the way we ran into a headwind on the return bridge crossing, using the footpath rather than the main carriageway this time. All of which mean I came in at just over 1:41.
Water was mostly in cups, which meant I ended up wearing more than I drank, although there was one bottle stop and they had a sponge stop too. I love a good sponge. I carried it all the way to the finish and then brought is home as a souvenir.
Sunday, June 10, 2012
Two Castle Run
So the Two Castles Run, which has an appealing bio, as it starts in Warwick Castle and finishes in Kenilworth Castle. Meaning it’s an A to B, which I like, and there aren’t too many of them about.
However I was already getting second thoughts about this race when emails started arriving every day, and I mean every day, for about the last three weeks. Many of them referring to the whopping eight pages of race instructions. This is for a mere 10k run, it’s not a Ironman. It’s been a real case of too much information.
The most worrying of which has been repeated dire predictions about the lack of car parking around Warwick Castle (and associated expensive) and a repeated insistence that we be in the Castle grounds for 7.50am. This for a race that already starts too early (for me) at 9am. Hmmm.
So we leave well early, only to find that parking is a doddle. We park in the street by the entrance to Warwick Castle for free.
Spectators are banned from the grounds of Warwick Castle, presumably in case they get to see something historic for free. This is a shame as it would have added to the atmosphere but may also have added to the toilet queues. The toilets were a bit of a cock-up to say the least. I think there were actually enough of them, they were just very badly signposted which meant long queues at the most obvious ones and a lot of people, included women, taking unplanned tours of the immaculately turned out Castle gardens.
The start was on a narrow driveway but congestion wasn’t too much of an issue, despite an entry of 3300. Only as usual, many slower runners starting too close to the front.
There was plenty of water, not that I’d usually partake on a 10k but I did here as it was quite hot. Well I tried to, the first plastic cup I grabbed, exploded in my hand, which is one reason why water in bottles is a better option. Then on the final drinks stop I attempted to grab the fourth cup from the end of the line, only to see another runner grab that one and then others grab the other three. So none there either but almost entirely my own fault that time.
The marshalling was good and I though the route was fairly pleasant, although L disagreed. The first and last few miles were nice, only the middle bit through a few housing estates bored me.
I hadn’t researched the route and perhaps I should have done, as it was pretty much uphill all the way. It’s always a risk that the finish may be higher than the start with an A to B. I don’t think they’ve ever ran it in reverse but it would be a nice idea to have it alternating. The uphillness perhaps partly explains my slow time of almost 46 minutes, only partly.
For our trouble we got an ok t-shirt and a medal, which will be boxed as I’m not into medals and a pile of leaflets in the goodie bag. Not a chocolate bar or anything to eat in sight, which is a bit stingy.
There was an excellent baggage service that whisked your kit to the finish and buses laid on to get you back to Warwick. Although we did question the route the bus took to get us back, it took ages, we could almost have ran back quicker. We also had no idea where it dropped us, as we don’t know Warwick, but we found our way back to the car eventually.
However I was already getting second thoughts about this race when emails started arriving every day, and I mean every day, for about the last three weeks. Many of them referring to the whopping eight pages of race instructions. This is for a mere 10k run, it’s not a Ironman. It’s been a real case of too much information.
The most worrying of which has been repeated dire predictions about the lack of car parking around Warwick Castle (and associated expensive) and a repeated insistence that we be in the Castle grounds for 7.50am. This for a race that already starts too early (for me) at 9am. Hmmm.
So we leave well early, only to find that parking is a doddle. We park in the street by the entrance to Warwick Castle for free.
Spectators are banned from the grounds of Warwick Castle, presumably in case they get to see something historic for free. This is a shame as it would have added to the atmosphere but may also have added to the toilet queues. The toilets were a bit of a cock-up to say the least. I think there were actually enough of them, they were just very badly signposted which meant long queues at the most obvious ones and a lot of people, included women, taking unplanned tours of the immaculately turned out Castle gardens.
The start was on a narrow driveway but congestion wasn’t too much of an issue, despite an entry of 3300. Only as usual, many slower runners starting too close to the front.
There was plenty of water, not that I’d usually partake on a 10k but I did here as it was quite hot. Well I tried to, the first plastic cup I grabbed, exploded in my hand, which is one reason why water in bottles is a better option. Then on the final drinks stop I attempted to grab the fourth cup from the end of the line, only to see another runner grab that one and then others grab the other three. So none there either but almost entirely my own fault that time.
The marshalling was good and I though the route was fairly pleasant, although L disagreed. The first and last few miles were nice, only the middle bit through a few housing estates bored me.
I hadn’t researched the route and perhaps I should have done, as it was pretty much uphill all the way. It’s always a risk that the finish may be higher than the start with an A to B. I don’t think they’ve ever ran it in reverse but it would be a nice idea to have it alternating. The uphillness perhaps partly explains my slow time of almost 46 minutes, only partly.
For our trouble we got an ok t-shirt and a medal, which will be boxed as I’m not into medals and a pile of leaflets in the goodie bag. Not a chocolate bar or anything to eat in sight, which is a bit stingy.
There was an excellent baggage service that whisked your kit to the finish and buses laid on to get you back to Warwick. Although we did question the route the bus took to get us back, it took ages, we could almost have ran back quicker. We also had no idea where it dropped us, as we don’t know Warwick, but we found our way back to the car eventually.
Saturday, June 2, 2012
Heb3: Benbecula Half Marathon
Let me tell you about the Heb3 Challenge. Which is to complete at least three of the five Western Isles Half Marathons - Stornoway, Benbecula, Skye, Barra or Harris in any one year. Apparently this is the longest running series of half marathons in Scotland and probably the most ridiculous for someone from the centre of England to attempt. So, here we go.
The first challenge was to get an entry into the hugely popular Barra race, which we managed, despite it selling out in 40 minutes. The second challenge is the 530 miles from Nottingham to Uig on the Isle of Skye, from where we will catch a ferry. Which will have to do twice. We couldn’t make Stornoway which was last week, so will return at the end of June to take in Barra and Harris. We could have done Skye of course but that would have been far too easy.
For all this we will get a t-shirt, complete with the Heb3 logo. We like little things like that. If we could have done all five, and this would have been a near impossibility in travel, cost and holiday allowances they would have overprinted our t-shirts with 'rinn mise na coig' on the back. Which I thought was Gaelic for ‘smart arse’ but apparently just means ‘I did the five’.
The next day we get the early-ish morning ferry (9:40am) over to Lochmaddy on North Uist.
The ferry journey takes an hour and forty-five minutes.
Then we’re rolling off the ferry and driving across North Uist which looks simply stunning in the sunshine. The terrain here is rather Icelandic, rocky but very flat with lots of little ‘tarns’ (to steal a Lake District description) everywhere. In fact more of the land is probably water than land, if you know what I mean.
There are a few villages but mostly the houses seem to be scattered around almost at random.
Benbecula is the next island to North Uist but is actually connected via a causeway. As is South Uist. Then there are the islands of Berneray (linked by causeway to North Uist) and Eriskay (linked to South Uist), so you can island hop across five islands without even, well, hopping. In fact there are more smaller linked islands, which we’ll have to research further on our next trip.
So we ‘hop’ on to Benbecula this morning and to a place called Liniclate where a compact field of 77 runners is assembling for the race. It’s sunny again but it’s also windy, something which is probably an ever present factor on these islands. It is noticed that they leave putting up the start/finish signs and the mile markers until as late as possible. Probably, lest they blow away.
Then at about 11am our debut in the 23rd running of the Western Isles Half Marathon series gets under way.
The course is mildy undulating with that strong Hebridean breeze to keep you alert. The mostly straight roads mean that you can at least you can see who you’re stalking.
It’s actually a surprisingly quick course, perhaps because despite the frequent head winds, once it gets behind you, you can really start to fly.
I team up, accidently, with another chap, who puts me to shame because he's far older than me but we pull each other along for most of the way. That is until two miles from the finish when I spot a Wrekin Road Runner, a fellow Sassenach who's come as far as we have. The urge to beat him spurs me onto a good finish.
My time of just over 1 hour 40 minutes is excellent, my best for some time but I worry about a suspiciously quick last mile of 6:30. Not something I thought I was capable of, in fact something I’m sure I’m not capable of after 12 miles, so perhaps I took a wrong turn somewhere and accidentally cheated.
Then there’s a free swim for all runners but neither of us partake. It would be a bad tactical move anyway as this would give others a head start on the huge post race buffet. From which the best cakes seem to get picked over very quickly. I did wonder why some folk started with the cakes and then worked their way back to the sandwiches and soup.
Thanks to the Jubilee weekend we at least now have three days to wind our way back to Nottingham.
The first challenge was to get an entry into the hugely popular Barra race, which we managed, despite it selling out in 40 minutes. The second challenge is the 530 miles from Nottingham to Uig on the Isle of Skye, from where we will catch a ferry. Which will have to do twice. We couldn’t make Stornoway which was last week, so will return at the end of June to take in Barra and Harris. We could have done Skye of course but that would have been far too easy.
For all this we will get a t-shirt, complete with the Heb3 logo. We like little things like that. If we could have done all five, and this would have been a near impossibility in travel, cost and holiday allowances they would have overprinted our t-shirts with 'rinn mise na coig' on the back. Which I thought was Gaelic for ‘smart arse’ but apparently just means ‘I did the five’.
The next day we get the early-ish morning ferry (9:40am) over to Lochmaddy on North Uist.
The ferry journey takes an hour and forty-five minutes.
Then we’re rolling off the ferry and driving across North Uist which looks simply stunning in the sunshine. The terrain here is rather Icelandic, rocky but very flat with lots of little ‘tarns’ (to steal a Lake District description) everywhere. In fact more of the land is probably water than land, if you know what I mean.
There are a few villages but mostly the houses seem to be scattered around almost at random.
Benbecula is the next island to North Uist but is actually connected via a causeway. As is South Uist. Then there are the islands of Berneray (linked by causeway to North Uist) and Eriskay (linked to South Uist), so you can island hop across five islands without even, well, hopping. In fact there are more smaller linked islands, which we’ll have to research further on our next trip.
So we ‘hop’ on to Benbecula this morning and to a place called Liniclate where a compact field of 77 runners is assembling for the race. It’s sunny again but it’s also windy, something which is probably an ever present factor on these islands. It is noticed that they leave putting up the start/finish signs and the mile markers until as late as possible. Probably, lest they blow away.
Then at about 11am our debut in the 23rd running of the Western Isles Half Marathon series gets under way.
The course is mildy undulating with that strong Hebridean breeze to keep you alert. The mostly straight roads mean that you can at least you can see who you’re stalking.
It’s actually a surprisingly quick course, perhaps because despite the frequent head winds, once it gets behind you, you can really start to fly.
I team up, accidently, with another chap, who puts me to shame because he's far older than me but we pull each other along for most of the way. That is until two miles from the finish when I spot a Wrekin Road Runner, a fellow Sassenach who's come as far as we have. The urge to beat him spurs me onto a good finish.
My time of just over 1 hour 40 minutes is excellent, my best for some time but I worry about a suspiciously quick last mile of 6:30. Not something I thought I was capable of, in fact something I’m sure I’m not capable of after 12 miles, so perhaps I took a wrong turn somewhere and accidentally cheated.
Then there’s a free swim for all runners but neither of us partake. It would be a bad tactical move anyway as this would give others a head start on the huge post race buffet. From which the best cakes seem to get picked over very quickly. I did wonder why some folk started with the cakes and then worked their way back to the sandwiches and soup.
Thanks to the Jubilee weekend we at least now have three days to wind our way back to Nottingham.
Friday, May 11, 2012
Notts 10
It’s the Notts 10 race this evening, otherwise known as a forgettable number of loops around Holme Pierrepont rowing strip. It always feels like about five laps but is really only two. L has already entered and now having survived Helsinki I decide to take the plunge as well.
The Notts 10 has traditionally been ran on a Friday evening but last year it moved to a Sunday because of the lack of evening light and increasingly rigorous Health & Safety regulations. E.g. they were worried that someone would still be out there come dusk and would take the plunge more literally, into the rowing strip.
So I’m not sure why it’s back on a Friday this year but I’m glad it is. We had planned to bus/run/walk there and then pub crawl our way back home but those Health & Safety regulations seem to have bit back because they have now moved the start time from 7:30 to 6:55. Now I can’t really see how I can get there early enough to register without driving, so the car it is.
This is a sort of a bonus for the boys who now get to come with us, if only to loiter in the car park. We park at the back of the car park so as not to have the boys disturbed. It’s nicely away from the course and away from most other people, so that they won’t be tempted to bark/howl etc.
This is not a popular decision with one of only two other cars at the back of the car park. The guy in the passenger seat scowls at me, as does the girl who is sat on his lap. Sorry guys, don’t stop on our account. The boys will avert their gaze.
In his email the organiser promised us light nights, good weather and that the T shirts will not be orange like last year. Personally I quite liked last year’s T-shirt but they’ve moved the start to guarantee the light and the weather is good, if a little windy.
L meanwhile has promised me plenty of Finnish style blonde ponytails but without the multiple layers of clothing they sported in Helsinki. She’s right, everybody is wearing less than your average Fin, and it looks like there may even be the odd off-the-shoulder running vest. If only I can keep up with them.
I can’t. They all leave me for dead at the start as I stick to a steady but sensible pace.
The run goes ok actually and I gradually get in to it. I manage to run in a nice sized group for the first six miles but they all gradually drop off the pace. So I must have been doing alright. Then half way around the lake, on the second lap, I make my apologies to the only chap still with me as I up my pace a little. He grumbles something which could have been an obscenity, an apology or just pain, perhaps all three.
The problem then is that I end up on my own, all lonely, as I can’t seem to catch up anyone ahead. Then at 7.5 miles I’m caught by a panting blonde, which is always nice. That is until they dump you, which is exactly what I expect this one to do and sail off into the distance. She doesn’t though. In fact she seems thankful that she’d caught me. She should have said, if I’d know I’d have stopped and waited for her.
Her presence spurs me and is particularly welcome, as she arrived just as I was beginning to flag. We catch people up and scythe through the field together, sort of. The only downside is she wants to chat. I can’t do that. I can’t talk and run. So she talks, I nod. Then at 9.5 miles, she dumps me and sails off into the distance. I feel so used.
Still I need to thank her, my time of 1:14 is only a minute off last year, so that’s very pleasing considering my injury problems. L is quick as well and runs 1:37, a PB.
We head back to the car and the boys. The first car has now gone but has been replaced by another, it’s two occupants locked together at the mouth. It’s disappointing when they opt to move their car across to the other side of the car park, clearly worried we’re going to upstage them.
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