Ridgeway 40 was, well, 40 miles...unless you are Jason Harrison who decided (for the second year running!) to park at the finish and run to the start of the event making his total for the weekend, and without sleep, a grand total of 80 miles.
I was on a voyage of discovery, to see what it would be like to go on past the marathon distance so I wasn't much worried about speed or times so I kept company with the increasingly knackered Jas. Actually running on past 26 miles, then 30, 36, and eventually 40 miles was no problem at all and I know I could have done another 10 miles. (but only at gunpoint)
It was a good event with drinks and cakes etc at regular checkpoints. The checkpoints were mostly an exercise in accounting for the walkers and runners and caused some delay as runners are forced to queue with everyone else (it is principally a walk, not a run) but later in the event the runners become the leaders on the road and the delays at the checkpoints were mostly self imposed as we became less and less hurried, preferring to linger over a piece of swiss roll and a mug of tea.
I was very pleased to be able to run at a (for me) great rate for the last two miles, finishing in a lather of sweat at about the same speed as I might have finished a 10km race.
Good day out - no idea of actual time but it was just under ten hours. An hour could be knocked off that easily without the extended chats at the check points. Glad I did it but it wasn't really a race. Not really an issue when you consider yourself lucky to get in the top half of the field!
Showing posts with label running. Show all posts
Showing posts with label running. Show all posts
Sunday, 8 May 2011
Wednesday, 12 March 2008
A race called Grizzly
I took part in the 2008 Grizzly. It's a race across a variety of terrains (all of them horrid) which is now about 19 miles in length, though the race varies from year to year for operational reasons. There were about 1400 starters. The race is always fully subscribed so you have to enter quite early to stand a chance of getting in. The question that burns a hole in your head is why would 1400 people develop such insanity simultaneously?
The start is on the sea-front at Seaton, Devon, a quiet and pleasant place to be on a sunny morning in March. I travelled down to Seaton with Allan Cox, a member of Corsham Running Club and also one of my work colleagues. Seaton was still quiet when we arrived though the streets were quickly filling up with people in strange attire and talking loudly about PBs and racing flats etc.
Then the real noise started and the sleepy residents of the town were shaken from their slumbers by the Tannoy.
Soon the front was rather full and people were gathering at the start line (still being hastily marked on the road with a chunk of rock-chalk) I managed to bump into a few of the other Chippenham runners who had entered, Bumble, Nelo, Dave Jones, Sue and Tom and there was time for a crafty 'pee' in the sea (working on the theory that there is no-one out there whose decency I might outrage - it works at Weston Super Mare too) Looking around me on the start line, there were all the usual suspects but worryingly most were carrying drink bottles, wearing 'bum-bags' and sporting gel sachets pinned to their racing vests. In contrast I was not carrying anything edible. This did little to calm my nerves, though the nerves were soon forgotten as someone sounded the 'off' and we were all tripping over each other to get going. The race immediately turned left onto the beach, a shingly affair with a steep slope and big waves crashing against it. We turned through 180 degrees and headed east for about a quarter mile, some of the runners so far down that they were almost in the sea (some were even less lucky) while some runners were high on the shingle trying to run on the very biggest of the stones. Which is best? - I never found out but soon we were leaving the beach and pounding amongst small craft over-wintering high above the water on the 'hard'. Then we came back through the start area and set off for Beer, which means a wicked steep climb over into the next bay.
I had never been to Beer before which is odd, given that it has a youth hostel and sports a name I might normally be attracted to. It was a steep and slightly worrying place. Off-road shoes are quite poor when worn on tarmac and the road was slippery.
Beer is a small place and we were soon through it and on our way up through a static caravan site, a steep place with a huge view. (The whole area has a similarly comprehensive view of the caravan site which is a bit of a shame but it brings in holiday makers in a place with no industry)
Above the caravan site is a flatter area, agricultural in nature, which was hugely enhanced by a Scotsman (to judge by his attire) playing the bagpipes to everyone in the neighbouring fifty square miles. Excellent! I forgot to suffer briefly though we were all breathing quite heavily after the first few minutes of the Grizzly.
The fields continued and we were treated to superb views of the Devon coastline stretching way ahead of us. Then we started to descend quite sharply and we arrived at a beach; it is Branscombe where the course had been crafted to send 1400 willing idiots through almost waist deep water. Luckily my waist is higher than most...
At Branscombe a man was standing on the roof playing a saxaphone. We ran past,trying not to look surprised.
The next hour or so was spent up hill and down dale through woods and fields with all-too-frequent visits to boggy morasses. In one bog I pulled myself out using the over-hanging branch of a small tree which cracked and collapsed under my weight, making me no friends at all amongst my fellow strugglers.
We ran into a farm-yard where there was a drum band playing a thunderous but unrecognisable tune. Shortly after this the sky darkened and it grew colder. Hail started to beat down like machine gun fire. I could hear squeals and groans from all around. It really was painful and it went on for quite a while. Of course it did end eventually as we dropped down into a wooded valley, having passed the farm with the drummers again.
The miles passed by, many with mileage markers -useful, if only to tell how much more hell to expect. A sharp descent led to a dash through the patio area of a pub and for a few short seconds applause filled our ears and it was necessary to dodge someone carrying a loaded tray of drinks. Beyond the pub was tarmac but that was one of the hardest parts of the course, a serious climb which saw all around me walking.
A woodland climb had me puzzled. I could smell incense, not a normal woodland smell. As we mounted a sticky wooded track there was a Buddhist temple complete with prayer flags, incense burners and Buddha himself. The 'monks' handed me a couple of jelly babies as I grafted my way past and up round to the left and more woodland climbing.
In a while the runners emerged onto Branscombe beach where we ran past the wreck of the Napoli, a ship which had achieved some fame the previous year when it was wrecked there. Certain of the locals discovered that the ship contained a fortune in imported products, even some brand new BMW motorbikes. By the time we arrived all the goodies had been 'saved' from the ship and it was in the process of being broken up to remove it from the beach. The beach turned out to be memorable in other ways, most notably that once again it was necessary to run across the slope of nasty shifting shingle, hard at the best of times but evil as we tired in these later stages of the race. This shingle section seemed to go on for some while, certainly not less than a mile, before the marshal pointed the way off the stones...and up the cliff!
During the climb of the cliff I was caught up by Jason, a newly joined member of the Harriers. Jason lives for these odd off road epics and runs a diet of Long Distance Walking Assoc events, some of which are as much as 100 miles long. Given that he had taken about 14 miles to catch me, he seemed strong and on the cliff, while I increasingly looked like 'the deceased', he strode up purposefully and was quickly lost to sight. The ascent of the cliff was windy and steep, single file all the way, so we all went at the same speed up that bit. (Sorry to all behind me; you went at my speed!)
At the top of the cliff was, not suprisingly, a cliff top and some mercifully easy running for a short while. This is shortly followed by descent through the caravan site and return via Beer to Seaton. By this time I had started to really fade, so much so that I couldn't run down the slopes and was more or less walking up and down hills with a sort of jogging-like-a-statue on the flat bits.(What flat bits?) The beach had one last nasty go at us all as we ran in to the Start/Finish line. Within seconds of crossing the line, Bumble, a pretty and phenomenally tough member of the Chippenham, was telling me that she had almost caught me - it was down to just a few seconds after almost 4 hours.
to be continued
The start is on the sea-front at Seaton, Devon, a quiet and pleasant place to be on a sunny morning in March. I travelled down to Seaton with Allan Cox, a member of Corsham Running Club and also one of my work colleagues. Seaton was still quiet when we arrived though the streets were quickly filling up with people in strange attire and talking loudly about PBs and racing flats etc.
Then the real noise started and the sleepy residents of the town were shaken from their slumbers by the Tannoy.
Soon the front was rather full and people were gathering at the start line (still being hastily marked on the road with a chunk of rock-chalk) I managed to bump into a few of the other Chippenham runners who had entered, Bumble, Nelo, Dave Jones, Sue and Tom and there was time for a crafty 'pee' in the sea (working on the theory that there is no-one out there whose decency I might outrage - it works at Weston Super Mare too) Looking around me on the start line, there were all the usual suspects but worryingly most were carrying drink bottles, wearing 'bum-bags' and sporting gel sachets pinned to their racing vests. In contrast I was not carrying anything edible. This did little to calm my nerves, though the nerves were soon forgotten as someone sounded the 'off' and we were all tripping over each other to get going. The race immediately turned left onto the beach, a shingly affair with a steep slope and big waves crashing against it. We turned through 180 degrees and headed east for about a quarter mile, some of the runners so far down that they were almost in the sea (some were even less lucky) while some runners were high on the shingle trying to run on the very biggest of the stones. Which is best? - I never found out but soon we were leaving the beach and pounding amongst small craft over-wintering high above the water on the 'hard'. Then we came back through the start area and set off for Beer, which means a wicked steep climb over into the next bay.
I had never been to Beer before which is odd, given that it has a youth hostel and sports a name I might normally be attracted to. It was a steep and slightly worrying place. Off-road shoes are quite poor when worn on tarmac and the road was slippery.
Beer is a small place and we were soon through it and on our way up through a static caravan site, a steep place with a huge view. (The whole area has a similarly comprehensive view of the caravan site which is a bit of a shame but it brings in holiday makers in a place with no industry)
Above the caravan site is a flatter area, agricultural in nature, which was hugely enhanced by a Scotsman (to judge by his attire) playing the bagpipes to everyone in the neighbouring fifty square miles. Excellent! I forgot to suffer briefly though we were all breathing quite heavily after the first few minutes of the Grizzly.
The fields continued and we were treated to superb views of the Devon coastline stretching way ahead of us. Then we started to descend quite sharply and we arrived at a beach; it is Branscombe where the course had been crafted to send 1400 willing idiots through almost waist deep water. Luckily my waist is higher than most...
At Branscombe a man was standing on the roof playing a saxaphone. We ran past,trying not to look surprised.
The next hour or so was spent up hill and down dale through woods and fields with all-too-frequent visits to boggy morasses. In one bog I pulled myself out using the over-hanging branch of a small tree which cracked and collapsed under my weight, making me no friends at all amongst my fellow strugglers.
We ran into a farm-yard where there was a drum band playing a thunderous but unrecognisable tune. Shortly after this the sky darkened and it grew colder. Hail started to beat down like machine gun fire. I could hear squeals and groans from all around. It really was painful and it went on for quite a while. Of course it did end eventually as we dropped down into a wooded valley, having passed the farm with the drummers again.
The miles passed by, many with mileage markers -useful, if only to tell how much more hell to expect. A sharp descent led to a dash through the patio area of a pub and for a few short seconds applause filled our ears and it was necessary to dodge someone carrying a loaded tray of drinks. Beyond the pub was tarmac but that was one of the hardest parts of the course, a serious climb which saw all around me walking.
A woodland climb had me puzzled. I could smell incense, not a normal woodland smell. As we mounted a sticky wooded track there was a Buddhist temple complete with prayer flags, incense burners and Buddha himself. The 'monks' handed me a couple of jelly babies as I grafted my way past and up round to the left and more woodland climbing.
In a while the runners emerged onto Branscombe beach where we ran past the wreck of the Napoli, a ship which had achieved some fame the previous year when it was wrecked there. Certain of the locals discovered that the ship contained a fortune in imported products, even some brand new BMW motorbikes. By the time we arrived all the goodies had been 'saved' from the ship and it was in the process of being broken up to remove it from the beach. The beach turned out to be memorable in other ways, most notably that once again it was necessary to run across the slope of nasty shifting shingle, hard at the best of times but evil as we tired in these later stages of the race. This shingle section seemed to go on for some while, certainly not less than a mile, before the marshal pointed the way off the stones...and up the cliff!
During the climb of the cliff I was caught up by Jason, a newly joined member of the Harriers. Jason lives for these odd off road epics and runs a diet of Long Distance Walking Assoc events, some of which are as much as 100 miles long. Given that he had taken about 14 miles to catch me, he seemed strong and on the cliff, while I increasingly looked like 'the deceased', he strode up purposefully and was quickly lost to sight. The ascent of the cliff was windy and steep, single file all the way, so we all went at the same speed up that bit. (Sorry to all behind me; you went at my speed!)
At the top of the cliff was, not suprisingly, a cliff top and some mercifully easy running for a short while. This is shortly followed by descent through the caravan site and return via Beer to Seaton. By this time I had started to really fade, so much so that I couldn't run down the slopes and was more or less walking up and down hills with a sort of jogging-like-a-statue on the flat bits.(What flat bits?) The beach had one last nasty go at us all as we ran in to the Start/Finish line. Within seconds of crossing the line, Bumble, a pretty and phenomenally tough member of the Chippenham, was telling me that she had almost caught me - it was down to just a few seconds after almost 4 hours.
to be continued
Monday, 9 July 2007
Golden Cap Challenge
This weekend was the Charmouth to Golden Cap Challenge. It's a rather hilly race and held under fell race rules. How they differ I have no idea but they weren't kidding if they likened it to a fell race!
The start of the 8 mile race is through the back streets of Charmouth in Dorset then it takes to the rural lanes and immediately climbs a steep,narrow tarmac lane through a wood, and then just before the first mile is done, it gets onto looser surface. Pretty soon comes a water station and it is popular despite coming so soon. The Chippenham Harriers seem to have taken it over (following their success watering the Cotswold Relay last week)
There follows a more level section. It's an illusion of course, as soon we can see our fellow runners, the tearaways, up way ahead and more to the point, way above us.
Despite the heat and maybe because of the climb, it is cooler up here. Subsequent water stations get ignored by me.
Eventually though we are at the real top, only to be tormented again by the level of concentration and sheer effort of descending. No rest here at all, just a different sort of hard work! The surface is mostly grass but the gritty, worn patches are a bit scary as the stones cause you to slide. I choose grass where it is available as I feel I can slow myself a bit better here. I never forget my nick-name in the Harriers: Birdman. Am I going to go flying this time too? My luck seems to hold however, only one slight trip in the whole race.
Down to a boggy section under the trees. Nothing to worry those of us who have run Dursley or Sodbury. We start to climb to the highest point in the race. Moreover, Golden Cap is the highest point on the south coast of England. The path has been eroded in the past by heavy use as part of the South West Coast Path and has wooden steps built into it. These are a mixed blessing. Usually they are a help but of course this depends if they suit your leg length and stride. A shorter runner might prefer no steps. I suffer; we all do, but I make it to the top without walking. This really is my specialist subject so I can't walk this! The top is billiard table smooth but only for about 200 yards and then it's down, but down with a vengeance: more of those steps. On the way down they are treacherous. I am very wary of a trip or a twisted ankle. The steps had path material built up behind them once but now the steps themselves are worn and eroded and are a real tripping hazard. Somehow it all goes well and steps give way to open steep grassland and I am able to let myself go, somewhat recklessly. A level section allows me to look around and I realise that the last climb is almost as big as Golden Cap and in fact it is the hardest of the three hills. More Harriers shouting support at the top and I finally see tiny Charmouth down below me. The way is barred by a succession of stiles and gates and the path is 'improved' by more of those steps but I'm getting into my stride now. I'm passing more cautious, more sane, runners as I quick step and jive down through the steps and finally reach the narrow footbridge just before the finish. A final moment of worry as a toddler plays right into my path on the bridge but his guardian angel wisks him aside just in time.
In the school play-ground the Fire Brigade are spraying over-heated runners and many of us are showing signs of sunburn. It's true; the sun causes premature ageing. I feel a hundred years old...
I drink and I drink. One competitor is loaded into an ambulance, worried Axe Valley runners gathered around her. I think she is the runner who has been with me for the majority of the race. Thanking my luck that I seem to thrive in the heat.
Club-mates arrive in the finish funnel and I start to realise that I have done rather well and am 3rd Harrier and 2nd vet. My time is 1:10:39 giving me 73rd place. Great but 17 mins slower than the winner!
The weekend was spent camping at Seatown, an ambitiously named hamlet to the east of Golden Cap. The campsite is first class and so is the pub, the Anchor, which feels unimproved and historic but still seems to have everything in place for the 21st century patron. I love this sort of pub. Our first evening is spent on the front terrace of the pub, drinking a range of Palmer's Ales. Caution is thrown to the wind a little (a lot by some members of the club, though I remember that some of them are not racing the next day) I seem to be up all night for a succession of 'pees' and then before dawn I get up and walk to the top of the first hill to watch the sun appear. Back down from the hill I see the sun rise again - now that's a first for me! I have a walk on the beach towards Golden Cap and find a few fossils including a perfect 2" diameter Ammonite. Other fossils are visible, some I recognise from books I have read. Later we return and a man is chipping a dinosaur bone from the cliff face.
During the Golden Cap Challenge Lynne goes off with Lisa, and her friend Kirsty, to a donkey sanctuary near Seaton 25 miles to the west. They come back itching and sneezing. A donkey allergy? It sounds fun though, Lynne's sort of thing.
Later, after the race, we have a club barbecue which defies the smoke free regulations enforced last week by being more like a charcoal burners' convention. The food is good though and I have more than my fill, plus a bottle of red stuff.
Sunday is spent visiting Weymouth, though the rest of the club pack up and leave. We return to the camp-site in the afternoon and take the tent down ten minutes too late to avoid getting it wet in the only rain of the weekend...
The start of the 8 mile race is through the back streets of Charmouth in Dorset then it takes to the rural lanes and immediately climbs a steep,narrow tarmac lane through a wood, and then just before the first mile is done, it gets onto looser surface. Pretty soon comes a water station and it is popular despite coming so soon. The Chippenham Harriers seem to have taken it over (following their success watering the Cotswold Relay last week)
There follows a more level section. It's an illusion of course, as soon we can see our fellow runners, the tearaways, up way ahead and more to the point, way above us.
Despite the heat and maybe because of the climb, it is cooler up here. Subsequent water stations get ignored by me.
Eventually though we are at the real top, only to be tormented again by the level of concentration and sheer effort of descending. No rest here at all, just a different sort of hard work! The surface is mostly grass but the gritty, worn patches are a bit scary as the stones cause you to slide. I choose grass where it is available as I feel I can slow myself a bit better here. I never forget my nick-name in the Harriers: Birdman. Am I going to go flying this time too? My luck seems to hold however, only one slight trip in the whole race.
Down to a boggy section under the trees. Nothing to worry those of us who have run Dursley or Sodbury. We start to climb to the highest point in the race. Moreover, Golden Cap is the highest point on the south coast of England. The path has been eroded in the past by heavy use as part of the South West Coast Path and has wooden steps built into it. These are a mixed blessing. Usually they are a help but of course this depends if they suit your leg length and stride. A shorter runner might prefer no steps. I suffer; we all do, but I make it to the top without walking. This really is my specialist subject so I can't walk this! The top is billiard table smooth but only for about 200 yards and then it's down, but down with a vengeance: more of those steps. On the way down they are treacherous. I am very wary of a trip or a twisted ankle. The steps had path material built up behind them once but now the steps themselves are worn and eroded and are a real tripping hazard. Somehow it all goes well and steps give way to open steep grassland and I am able to let myself go, somewhat recklessly. A level section allows me to look around and I realise that the last climb is almost as big as Golden Cap and in fact it is the hardest of the three hills. More Harriers shouting support at the top and I finally see tiny Charmouth down below me. The way is barred by a succession of stiles and gates and the path is 'improved' by more of those steps but I'm getting into my stride now. I'm passing more cautious, more sane, runners as I quick step and jive down through the steps and finally reach the narrow footbridge just before the finish. A final moment of worry as a toddler plays right into my path on the bridge but his guardian angel wisks him aside just in time.
In the school play-ground the Fire Brigade are spraying over-heated runners and many of us are showing signs of sunburn. It's true; the sun causes premature ageing. I feel a hundred years old...
I drink and I drink. One competitor is loaded into an ambulance, worried Axe Valley runners gathered around her. I think she is the runner who has been with me for the majority of the race. Thanking my luck that I seem to thrive in the heat.
Club-mates arrive in the finish funnel and I start to realise that I have done rather well and am 3rd Harrier and 2nd vet. My time is 1:10:39 giving me 73rd place. Great but 17 mins slower than the winner!
The weekend was spent camping at Seatown, an ambitiously named hamlet to the east of Golden Cap. The campsite is first class and so is the pub, the Anchor, which feels unimproved and historic but still seems to have everything in place for the 21st century patron. I love this sort of pub. Our first evening is spent on the front terrace of the pub, drinking a range of Palmer's Ales. Caution is thrown to the wind a little (a lot by some members of the club, though I remember that some of them are not racing the next day) I seem to be up all night for a succession of 'pees' and then before dawn I get up and walk to the top of the first hill to watch the sun appear. Back down from the hill I see the sun rise again - now that's a first for me! I have a walk on the beach towards Golden Cap and find a few fossils including a perfect 2" diameter Ammonite. Other fossils are visible, some I recognise from books I have read. Later we return and a man is chipping a dinosaur bone from the cliff face.
During the Golden Cap Challenge Lynne goes off with Lisa, and her friend Kirsty, to a donkey sanctuary near Seaton 25 miles to the west. They come back itching and sneezing. A donkey allergy? It sounds fun though, Lynne's sort of thing.
Later, after the race, we have a club barbecue which defies the smoke free regulations enforced last week by being more like a charcoal burners' convention. The food is good though and I have more than my fill, plus a bottle of red stuff.
Sunday is spent visiting Weymouth, though the rest of the club pack up and leave. We return to the camp-site in the afternoon and take the tent down ten minutes too late to avoid getting it wet in the only rain of the weekend...
Tuesday, 3 July 2007
The Cotswold Relay
I've just about recovered now from Saturday's Cotswold Relay. It's a big event, 105 miles or thereabouts, from Chipping Campden to Bath Abbey. The event is divided into 10 unequal parts which start and finish where the Cotswold Way long distance path crosses roads. I was given the tough Leg 2, from Stanway to Cleeve Common, on which to represent Chippenham Harriers Mixed Team. Not only a long way and very hilly too but also the early stages are a long way from Chippenham and are a bit of a trek to get to, both on the big day and on the 'reccies' which are so essential to acquaint oneself with the route. They're essential because there are no marshals and of course, on foot a mistake costs big time and may even decide the eventual result of the overall race. I had reccied Leg 2 twice beforehand, once walking with Lynne, when we just covered the second half, and once at running speed with four club-mates. Initially we walked the second half as I believe that this is where most people would go wrong, when the field spreads out and the next runner might be some way off in the fog... It acts an as insurance against not getting the chance to run it if illness or some other problem prevents a proper reccy. Not only that, but the Cotswold Way can be breath-takingly beautiful, not least the second leg which has marvellous views out across the Severn Vale.
Because of time constraints, the Relays are not handed over like a short track relay with a baton handed on from runner to runner. Instead each stage starts after the previous one , separated by the time taken by the course record holder. Only someone breaking course record for a leg would ever see the next stage's runners before they depart. I missed the Leg 3 runners by about half an hour! The result is calculated on cumulative time, a feat of administrative organisation equal to any that the runners perform on the day.
Saturday is forecast to be a horrendously wet day and as we stand on the start line just before 8.15 (that meant rising at 05.15) there is indeed gentle rain falling. I don't remember the rain stopping but sometime after that it does stop and we have quite a dry run. I had deliberated over whether to wear my road-running shoes or some off-road shoes. I have two pairs of off-roaders, a truly terrible, but much loved, old pair and a pair that are not really comfortable yet. I choose the newer pair, hoping that I will not blister badly on the tough and wet 12.5 miles ahead. The shoe choice turns out to be a good one as runners in road shoes are sliding all over the place on the first slope, providing an additional hurdling hazard to be cleared. After just half a mile the course starts the first of three big climbs, finding out those who are unfit or, like me, not good at starts. The climb seems endless and the pace is pathetic but I am slowly passing a few people and dropping a few too. We all finally reach the top and then it is a couple of gentle downhill miles of farm land and a dark rutted bridle-path down to Hailes Abbey and then a tarmac surface to Winchcombe. We run through the streets of Winchcombe, not many people about yet, and out of town we are back briefly onto farm tracks. Then a half mile more of tarred road where we meet the Chippenham Harriers-organised water station (why didn't they give us a w. station nearer to Chippenham? dunno.) The water station provides good cheer, some not very necessary water and some jelly babies - can't remember what colour they were.
Mixed feelings at seeing the water station as I know it is placed at the foot of the longest hill which drags us unwillingly up to the Long Barrow at Belas Knapp. If you haven't seen Belas Knapp, go when you get the chance. Very interesting. B.K isn't quite the top although it signifies the end of the steep part. The next two miles are mostly gently up though you don't really notice.
Back at the water st. I have picked up a hitch-hiker, a pretty girl called Emma from the Great Western Runners. She's been dropped in at the deep end by her team captain as she has been given Leg 2 just 12 hours earlier after conscientiously reccying Leg 1 . I tell her to think herself lucky - she got a lie-in! The other thing about Emma is that she's a man - well, she's in the GWR men's team. You've got to pity someone in a predicament haven't you; I hardly notice how attractive she is... So I say "Follow me; I know the way."
Soon we are on the open land of Cleeve Common and it is quite misty. My boast of knowing the way is getting to be a bit hollow now as the way markers are hard to see in the fog. In general the rule is to keep to the right as the path is designed to take advantage of the views out over the Vale. In theory there are views but all we can see is the fog and a few gorse bushes. It all goes well though and soon we are dropping down the big descent to a stream with a weir which we cross before the last truly awful climb. This is a hands and knees job, even our fast man, Rich, confesses to having walked it - in fact running just isn't any quicker - but despite being twice the size of the Slaughterford hill we do eventually get to the summit and then all that remains is to rush in a bit of a daze across the public golf course past all the puzzled golfers and finish in front of the Golf Club house. Emma shows her gratitude by out-sprinting me. (Later Joc, one of my club mates and running for the Chippenham Harriers Ladies team, gives me a telling-off for helping the opposition but that's not the spirit in which the Cotswold Relays are run. It turns out that Joc needn't have worried about her and I think she was only joking anyway - well maybe.)
So that is our share of the long day. We drive back to Chippenham and I try stiffly to do a drop of DIY. Later Lynne drives me into Bath to see the leg 10 runners finish and to attend the presentation and visit 'Lambrettas', the very last evening of smoke-filled public houses before the ban on smoking in public places starts. Leg 10 is over, a City of Bath runner first and a first lady too from the same club. Our runners take an agonisingly long time to arrive. Every runner, no matter how humble, gets a big cheer and a clap as they run down Milson Street to the Roman Baths weaving between bemused late shoppers and tourists.
The presentation is huge and noisy and we all have to shout a lot to be heard over all the people who are shouting a lot... The results are read and we can't believe our ears - our Men's Veterans have been beaten after 105 miles by 8 seconds. In the next couple of days it is reckoned that the winners have inadvertently short cutted during the middle part of the day at a place where the route has been washed away by the recent terrible weather. Much discussion about appealing but, as I said before, that's not in the spirit of the race so they let it stand without complaint.
Then we all go to Lambrettas and boy, we 'supped some stuff'! Sunday is a quieter day altogether.
Because of time constraints, the Relays are not handed over like a short track relay with a baton handed on from runner to runner. Instead each stage starts after the previous one , separated by the time taken by the course record holder. Only someone breaking course record for a leg would ever see the next stage's runners before they depart. I missed the Leg 3 runners by about half an hour! The result is calculated on cumulative time, a feat of administrative organisation equal to any that the runners perform on the day.
Saturday is forecast to be a horrendously wet day and as we stand on the start line just before 8.15 (that meant rising at 05.15) there is indeed gentle rain falling. I don't remember the rain stopping but sometime after that it does stop and we have quite a dry run. I had deliberated over whether to wear my road-running shoes or some off-road shoes. I have two pairs of off-roaders, a truly terrible, but much loved, old pair and a pair that are not really comfortable yet. I choose the newer pair, hoping that I will not blister badly on the tough and wet 12.5 miles ahead. The shoe choice turns out to be a good one as runners in road shoes are sliding all over the place on the first slope, providing an additional hurdling hazard to be cleared. After just half a mile the course starts the first of three big climbs, finding out those who are unfit or, like me, not good at starts. The climb seems endless and the pace is pathetic but I am slowly passing a few people and dropping a few too. We all finally reach the top and then it is a couple of gentle downhill miles of farm land and a dark rutted bridle-path down to Hailes Abbey and then a tarmac surface to Winchcombe. We run through the streets of Winchcombe, not many people about yet, and out of town we are back briefly onto farm tracks. Then a half mile more of tarred road where we meet the Chippenham Harriers-organised water station (why didn't they give us a w. station nearer to Chippenham? dunno.) The water station provides good cheer, some not very necessary water and some jelly babies - can't remember what colour they were.
Mixed feelings at seeing the water station as I know it is placed at the foot of the longest hill which drags us unwillingly up to the Long Barrow at Belas Knapp. If you haven't seen Belas Knapp, go when you get the chance. Very interesting. B.K isn't quite the top although it signifies the end of the steep part. The next two miles are mostly gently up though you don't really notice.
Back at the water st. I have picked up a hitch-hiker, a pretty girl called Emma from the Great Western Runners. She's been dropped in at the deep end by her team captain as she has been given Leg 2 just 12 hours earlier after conscientiously reccying Leg 1 . I tell her to think herself lucky - she got a lie-in! The other thing about Emma is that she's a man - well, she's in the GWR men's team. You've got to pity someone in a predicament haven't you; I hardly notice how attractive she is... So I say "Follow me; I know the way."
Soon we are on the open land of Cleeve Common and it is quite misty. My boast of knowing the way is getting to be a bit hollow now as the way markers are hard to see in the fog. In general the rule is to keep to the right as the path is designed to take advantage of the views out over the Vale. In theory there are views but all we can see is the fog and a few gorse bushes. It all goes well though and soon we are dropping down the big descent to a stream with a weir which we cross before the last truly awful climb. This is a hands and knees job, even our fast man, Rich, confesses to having walked it - in fact running just isn't any quicker - but despite being twice the size of the Slaughterford hill we do eventually get to the summit and then all that remains is to rush in a bit of a daze across the public golf course past all the puzzled golfers and finish in front of the Golf Club house. Emma shows her gratitude by out-sprinting me. (Later Joc, one of my club mates and running for the Chippenham Harriers Ladies team, gives me a telling-off for helping the opposition but that's not the spirit in which the Cotswold Relays are run. It turns out that Joc needn't have worried about her and I think she was only joking anyway - well maybe.)
So that is our share of the long day. We drive back to Chippenham and I try stiffly to do a drop of DIY. Later Lynne drives me into Bath to see the leg 10 runners finish and to attend the presentation and visit 'Lambrettas', the very last evening of smoke-filled public houses before the ban on smoking in public places starts. Leg 10 is over, a City of Bath runner first and a first lady too from the same club. Our runners take an agonisingly long time to arrive. Every runner, no matter how humble, gets a big cheer and a clap as they run down Milson Street to the Roman Baths weaving between bemused late shoppers and tourists.
The presentation is huge and noisy and we all have to shout a lot to be heard over all the people who are shouting a lot... The results are read and we can't believe our ears - our Men's Veterans have been beaten after 105 miles by 8 seconds. In the next couple of days it is reckoned that the winners have inadvertently short cutted during the middle part of the day at a place where the route has been washed away by the recent terrible weather. Much discussion about appealing but, as I said before, that's not in the spirit of the race so they let it stand without complaint.
Then we all go to Lambrettas and boy, we 'supped some stuff'! Sunday is a quieter day altogether.
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