Carnethy 5 2020, 50th Edition.

Another year, another Carnethy 5 Hill Race - but not just any C5 Hill Race - the 50th one!

It was Peter's 20th and I think it was my 15th. I told someone on the bus I'd done 'about 10 or 12' but then came home and had a proper look.

But I'm getting ahead of myself.

We thought we'd kick off training for this by doing the Feel The Burns Hill Race in January. Good start, I think anyone would agree. But we kind of left it there. When it came to hill versus trails at the weekends - well the trails always seemed more appealing. It didn't help that I hurt my right achilles a bit on the Foulshiels Hill. (There's a ballad in there. "I hurt my heels on Foulshiels.")

I had 5 days in Sheffield where I did my level best to do some hill training. But it was all at 6am, and I struggled. Och that's worth a wee picture or two...

I could either go running at the end of day or at the start of the day, but the lunch was paid for so I had to eat a lot. I don't like running in the evening at the best of times and not at all with a full belly so I opted for the morning. I was there in November too, so I'm not quite as clueless as I was at first - but still fairly lost most of the time. Sheffield, it turns out, is hilly - or it was where I was staying - and it has lots of trees. In the early morning the air is delightful. I was staying really near the Botanical Gardens but have never been around when they are open. One of these days.

So I think I did well to run 4 out of the 5 mornings I was there. I was rewarded each morning by coffee and a pain au chocolat - also paid for - so it would be rude not to.

On the last day I was there, the weather was turning, and there was a freezing fog.

"That's marvellous" I hear you say, "but what about the Carnethy?"

Oh yeah. THAT! 

Last year Ollie Pound (aka Mixture) came with us in the Berlingo for his inaugural C5 race. Being a good sort however (Allsort HAHA liqucorice allsort - Dolly Mixture!! Get it?) he helped out with a rescue for someone who fell on the battlefield, thus sacrificing his own race, and was rewarded with a free entry to THIS year's Carnethy. 

Older, more cynical competitors might have queried at the time whether this was really a reward or in fact a punishment. But Ollie was keen. He texted me the Tuesday before the race, saying did we want a lift? He seemed excited. It was hard to fathom. The forecast was for STORM DENNIS. High winds and rain. Peter seems to think he has to continue to do it to get his damn quaich. Then I think I might as well do it too. Then it's nearly time and you haven't really trained, and it's all too late, and it's going to be a storm.

Nick W, who has been quite unwavering in his decision never to do it again having done the C5 once, decided to sign up instead for marshalling duties and also offered us a lift. It seemed like it would be fun for all of us to travel together, so that's what we opted for.

Soon the day was upon us and Nick arrived and then Ollie, and it was fun! I helped Nick with his driving by making noises and giving advice. Being a passenger never worried me until I became the driver, but relinquishing control, wow it's a thing. Nick was coffee'd up and we passed the time exchanging ear-worms - each more dreadful than the last - Playlist; 1. theme to the Banana Splits, 2. Bros - When will I be famous?, Ollie chimed in with 3. Robin Hood, riding through the glen. All of these came back on me at various times during the race....

So we arrived in the hall and I stood around feeling doomed. It hadn't started to rain outside yet and I tried as hard as I could to hold it off.

I know I'm no fun but I've got fuck all to say before a race. 

We were joined by fellow Porties including Peter's spiritual brother Roy. Roy has been in great form but he was bemoaning a recent cold which had left him feeling sluggish.

I got a chance to chat a little to Laura Blazey there in the purple leggings. I was asking her about her hill-running history as she did a very good job of Feel the Burns coming in around the 2 hours mark. She is from London and didn't know she was good at running hills! 

By the time we arrived up at the battlefield race start the wind was picking up. The field was incredibly wet. It wasn't raining yet though and I remained somewhat hopeful. It seemed a cop out to set off in a race with a waterproof on so I packed away my nice blue coat before the actual race start.

during the warm up "choosing a line" photo PB

The rain started in earnest just as we stood on the start-line. Someone probably said a poem about the English. Someone piped a bag. Off we went. Into the valley of cold bog ran the 550 or so.

Photo Paul Dobson

photo Paul Dobson

Photo Paul Dobson - I had fallen in the bog shortly before this picture so wasn't friends with my ringing muddy gloves.

Photo Paul Dobson.

Shortly after the race start I disappointed myself by standing in a deep bit of the bog and falling forwards. I was never going to go fast but this left me far behind and already with wet legs and hands. My gloves were disgusting and I considered tossing them - not really knowing whether wet gloves or no gloves would be worse in terms of freezing my hands up. I thought on balance it was better to keep my gloves. I actually cleaned them shortly afterwards by falling forwards into a snowy patch and was quite pleased with this partial solution. There were other efficiencies to be had out on the course. You could simultaneously sprain your ankle and ice it. You could also wash your shoes as you ran. I got home with my shoes far, far cleaner than they were when I set out.

Going up Scald Law was initially unpleasant, but amusing, as my fellow competitors teased John Coyle as he marshalled by initially shouting at him - "More support please marshal!". When he started to shout enthusiastically one of them demanded "less support please marshal!". There is doubtless a story behind this but I don't know it. 

Going up the upper-storey of Scald Law was less relaxing. The wind drove the rain into the side of my head and neck like sharp stones and icy needles. I deeply regretted my clothing choices but not enough to bother getting my coat out and putting it on. The wind drove the rain through my buff and into my ears until quite soon I was deaf in that ear but could hear a high singing noise. Up we plodded, up we plodded. You had to watch out for staggerers and fallers. The wind was pushing us around and people weren't moving nicely, but rather leering and lurching. Uppity-up-up.

The run to South Black Hill was exposed too, but the return journey to East Kip not so much and it was nice to have a reprieve. East Kip was pretty bad. West Kip there was a screaming, stinging, biting, in-your-face wind.

Photos - PB

Photos - PB - Ollie called this "angry rain"

The West Kip - photo Peter MacDonald. That's me on the right in the yellow.

It was a relief to come off West Kip but my legs were already a bit untrustworthy and it was very slippy. I couldn't fathom the surface. It seemed to be covered with cut grass. "Has someone been up here with a lawn mower?" I was wondering. The grips in my shoes filled up with grass and so I teetered down. I saw a few people go their lengths. I wasn't in the mood for that kind of thing, so I stayed upright. I mentioned the cut grass to other people afterwards and they had no idea what I was on about.

Anyway - we're getting there. I hadn't worried about time but I knew there was a cut-off time at the Howe of 1 hr and 15 minutes. If you got timed out I gather it wasn't getting on to a warm dry bus and being given a cup of tea before getting a nice ride back to the finish. I think it was doing a forced march of shame over the track in between the hills - still a steep old climb...so best just keep on keeping on.

Nobody was running and I didn't feel like it but I did run when I could because I knew I was a numpty and was actually too cold and needed to get back as soon as I could.

The hellishness of going up to the top of Carnethy was ameliorated a bit by there being a helpful if icy wind. 

Coming down the other side my legs were wobbly and I teetered down through the heather and on the scree, which looked and behaved for all the world like a concrete mix. 

Nearly at the finish - here comes Roy Buchanan - photo Paul Dobson

When I finished I kept running and went and changed most of my top half in the tent as quickly as I could. My hands were numb and I was soaking wet and it was difficult pulling dry clothes over wet skin. I skipped having a cup of tea and made straight for a bus, which was probably a mistake. When I got on the bus the shivers set in. My jaw had been shaking uncontrollably since I'd stopped, but then I started a full body shake. It was kind of embarrassing. A nice guy from Livingston was sitting next to me and he was trying to make conversation, but I could hardly speak. I was trying to let him know I was okay but at the same time shivering so much I couldn't breathe properly. I grew up thinking that shivering was your body's way of warming you up - I have no idea if this is true - but anyway I hoped that sooner or later I would be done with the seizure and start to function a bit normally again.

When I got back to Beeslacks School I went and changed my bottom halfs in the changing room. All my clothes were ringing wet. I didn't have a shower but the warm steam hanging in the air was heaven and I started to feel okay again. Phew.

Carnethy had made a curry this year with rice and mango chutney and chapattis and yoghurt. They'd really outdone themselves. It was all good. I was still feeling pretty weird though and was glad to see Peter. He got me a cup of tea and kept me company. 

Wow am I still writing? Yep. Let's pick up the pace shall we.

I never mentioned we got 50th anniversary mugs and coasters and even better - 50th anniversary beers just for being there! We found Nick who had finished marshalling and he later told us he had given us this choice..."will I go and get my dinner or do you just want to leave now?" I don't think any of us (we'd found Ollie by this point) really took in the full implications of the choice and just heard "Do you want to leave now?" And we all said we did. So Nick didn't get any dinner. And I also tried to boss his driving all the way home, whilst simultaneously apologising for being so bossy. There was no hiding it though - the truth was well and truly out. Peter and I gratefully spilled out onto the street outside our house, waved goodbye to Nick and Ollie, and it was all over.

THE END.

January 2020 - Feel the Burns and Dracula

I've just noticed how behind I am with my blog. Probably more happened in January than Feel the Burns Hill Race and the recent BBC production of Dracula, but those are the two things that spring immediately to mind.

According to my photos there were some runs on grey days, some runs on sunny days and some good sunrises.

 

 

Then there was the Feel The Burns Hill Race. I didn't really want this to happen but it did anyway. Nick, who was instrumental in getting us to sign up, looked likely to not turn up, having discovered he had a prior engagement to go and get bladdered the day before. Despite a massive hangover he decided on the day to come along anyway. 

Peter and I had done some fair training in Tenerife in terms of doing quite a lot of ascent and descent, but then couldn't bring ourselves to get back out into the hills on gloomy January days.

I took the attitude that the race would be good training for the Carnethy 5 which helped me get round, but wasn't really true as I've done no hills since.

Unlike last year we arrived in plenty of time and had time for a warm up.

I went off enthusiastically uphill and was just behind Richard Hadfield at the big beehive cairn thing. I had over-cooked it though, being much more used to a gentle saunter than red-lining it these days. I was rewarded with a killer stitch that threatened to  make me walk. I had to throttle right back after the 1st heathery descent. Was it my imagination or did every one of the many people who went past me then say silently "I told you so."? Eventually a burp bubbled its way to the surface and I felt better.

Last year the race had felt pretty desperate all the way through. Up at the heights it had been foggy and I had been focusing on keeping sights on the people ahead so I didn't get lost. This year once I'd 'let' the people go past me I didn't feel so much pressure and just tried to keep up a reasonable pace.

Not much time seemed to pass before I arrived at the turn and the long swoop downwards. It is just before 7 miles I think. This is a mixture of enjoyable elements and new challenges. Enjoyable - it's downhill all the way and gravity does most of the work. Challenging - it's single track and slippy and not much warning about what's going to be under your feet next. I'm not the most talented of down-hillers and I don't like holding other people up. Like last year, I collected a clump of people behind me - and I tried to create opportunities for them to pass when I could without actually having to stop and stand aside. They didn't take my opportunities. I tried not to let the pressure affect me. It seemed to be about 2 miles downhill. I've got it all on Strava so if I wasn't so lazy I could actually find out.

Great to see Alex Oliver at the start and apres-race. He made my day by telling me about being robbed when he was in Tenerife. Of course he was. Alex's luck is legendary.

Last year I quite enjoyed the stomp up Foulshiels hill. I think I had more steep climbing in my legs from doing long days out in the Pentlands. This year I had some jelly babies and water just before the hill. I think all the blood went to my stomach and I felt pathetic setting off up the hill. I started getting pain in my left foot so compensated by over-using my right one. I think I kind of stretched my right achilles tendon, and it is still a bit weird now. Normally, or in the old days, I could stomp past people on ground like this, but this year I had to 'let' a couple of girls go by me. Sad, grumpy face.

I think these 2 pictures were taken by Michael Philp Photograpy. I was in my own wee world at this point.

Finally it was time for the long run back down the hill to the finish. I was keeping up a good pace and looking forwards to finishing, but was unnerved to hear a number of female voices drawing nearer and nearer. Surely I wasn't going to have more girls going past me this late in the day? "It's not fair" I said to another runner making his way home. I think he turned out to be 1st M70. He looked a bit surprised. I raised my speed.  Realising the finish was but a short field away I gave it everything I had - and just as well, as seconds after I'd finished what seemed like 6 or 7 women came piling in.....

A couple of elite runners.

I was 4 minutes slower than last year, but there were reasons. There might have been reasons. Maybe it was the course. I didn't care. Time for some haggis. Some young men had spoiled it for everyone else by setting a new record. Nick had had a horrible time with his hangover and was kind of woe-begone in the car on the way home, as was Peter. Jeezo. I'd hate to be a good runner. It seems kind of depressing.

 

 

 

 

Yeah, so Dracula. Someone at work was telling me the BBC had done a remake of the Dracula story in serial form. It was by the people who did the recent Sherlock. They said it was good.
"Why not?" I thought. Fast forwards a couple of nights. It's the middle of the night and I need a pee, but it's dark and I can't bring myself to even put an arm out from under the duvet. I can see flies walking about under people's eyelids when I shut my eyes. I am not cut out for this stuff.

I have never quite managed to put my finger on why I find Dracula and the whole vampire thing so horrifying but surely I do.

Yesterday I got a bit of it though. There is this long sequence where Jonathan Harker has ostensibly escaped from Dracula's Castle and is telling his story to a rather  swash-buckling nun called Van-Helsing. (Nice twist Dracula writers!). Harker definitely looks like he's seen better days - he looks shit in fact - but we're carried along by his narrative and heartened by the fact that he has in fact survived. The writers drop some heavy hints that all is not well....a fly keeps landing on his face and he doesn't swat it away....the fly crawls inside his eyelid and he does nothing. The power of denial is strong though. Johnathan believes he survived and so do I. Somehow or other he over-threw or at least evaded the Count and got safely away from the castle. Then they show his last scene there - grappling with Dracula - Johnathan bathed in the last of the evening sunlight and Dracula reaching for him from the shadow. How is he going to beat Dracula? SPOILER ALERT He isn't. Dracula snaps his neck and throws him over the wall. Then how is he going to survive? SPOILER ALERT he isn't. He's dead stupid. He's dead and it's all over.

That was cruel. Even in the original Dracula, only really Lucy, Mina's sister, gets vampired - and she has questionable morals. She more than likely has it coming to her. Johnathan makes it out alive and makes it all the way back to Transylvania to eventually defeat Count D. Mina is a little bit soiled for a while after Dracula getting her to drink his blood, so soiled in fact that a communion wafer burns a mark on her forehead, but after Johnathan has taken care of Dracula that's all alright.

That is all I have to say about that. Looking forwards to the Carnethy 5 on Saturday NOT!!!!