Philiphaugh Hill Race

New Hill Race on the block at Selkirk - the Philiphaugh Hill race. First run last year as a 4 mile race to raise money for the Selkirk Play Park Project, it was run again this year with a 4 or 7 mile option. There was a crowd of people at registration when we arrived and we quickly let go of our hopes that this might be pot-hunter's paradise! Shortly after we arrived we bumped into Graham Henry and Kathy Henly, also flying the Porty flag.

The race started not far from the Selkirk Rugby Club - up a stony road - and up, and up, and up, and along and up until we finally topped out at the iconic (I've been using that word a lot lately, but they really are iconic) Three Brethren.

On the way up the road I passed a few people, including Kathy. This always cheers me up immensely. There were plenty of uphills in the Tour of Fife and I think that stood me in good stead today. The last pull up to the three brethren was made hellish by a plague of big flappy black flies, which can't have had the capacity to sting or I would be stung - but I didn't  know that at the time. I swatted and swore and tried to keep my head down so they wouldn't get in my mouth.

It was a double relief then to get to the top and set off down hill at a quicker pace and out-distance the flies.

The downhill was about as good as it gets for me. Not too steep down and on peat which makes a soft and reassuringly grippy landing. I was over-taken by a few bods but not many and then regained places on the next up.

After a while running some ups and downs I had forgotten about the people behind me  and felt I was running on my own. Once we got back down to the tree line the route took a number of twists and turns. I've forgotten the sequence now. It included a run though ferns beside a wall, some newly logged forestry ground, a run across a field and into another field and then into a path through the forest. By now I couldn't see anyone ahead or hear anyone behind. "Maybe I can stop anyone else getting past" I thought to myself as I finally came out on the stony road back down to the finish. Right on cue I heard feet behind me and a muscly looking bloke blew by. Oh well. I tried going faster but it wasn't working...then some more footsteps...and it was Kathy going by determinedly. "Oh its you, you bugger" I greeted her, but she was moving well and had soon shot off into the distance. Enough already - no more I thought, and I think maybe one other guy got past me til I got over the line and finished.

There was a good spread of cakes (£1 for a plate of 5) and coffee and tea for 50p a cup. Peter had most of the money and I only had a £1 so I had a cup of coffee - and Kathy pointed out that as we had Mars Bars from finishing the race we didn't need a plate of 5 cakes! I could see her cruel logic and contented myself. (Sigh).

Afterwards we were quick to take up the offer of a visit to Graham's house as we'd heard how nice he's making it. He is indeed making a good job of it and its just at the good stage when you can see the plaster which is better than once you have to make a decision about how its finally going to be. We took our wallpaper off when we first moved into this flat and lived with it like that for about 3 years because in a way we preferred it like that - full of potential and possibilities.

It was a sunny afternoon, with only the odd light shower of rain and we sat up the back and chatted and Graham made us a pot of tea and pizza and salad and coleslaw.  Superb day out and really enjoyed running again. I tried to garner some advice about what to do now that my ability to run long is broken. But people looked at me like that isn't a real problem. I'm tempted to go out tomorrow and try a longy to see if I really can't run long anymore. Maybe a couple of good night's sleep will have made a difference. I'm on paid annual leave this week for the first time in over a year and I'm loving it.

Foodies' festival run

Time to get back in the saddle after Wednesday's truly awful run. We want to go and do the new hill race in Selkirk tomorrow so we went out for a leg loosener and stretcher at Arthur's Seat. Legs were like poured concrete initially with the tendons that keep my feet on twanging away in a discouraging kind of a way. We went for a perimeter run to start with but all the rain has turned some of the nice dirt paths into nasty rivers so we made a few diversions along the way on and off the main track. I was enjoying running off road on the softer ground ( oh my old bones), so we ran up towards the summit - a rocky candelabra with tourists for candles. At the top of the grassy bit we veered round and down the shoulder to avoid said tourists, and set off for what we call the middle way which runs halfway between the path that goes round the top of the crags and the lower path in Hunter's Bog.

As we set off up the middle way I saw a runner behind catching up to us so I urged Peter to hoof it a bit as he was right behind us. "Are you guys local?" came an NZ twang from behind. "Grmmphh" we replied. "I'll follow you then, you'll know where the paths are." There followed a noticable increase in pace as we tested this fellow's metal while pretending to be friendly (smiling assassins). At first he got pretty out of breath but once he settled into it he was going well. He was quite nice. The middle way has a very easy, nice, long sweep down which even a chicken like me can appreciate and enjoy. At the bottom we were still wanting to do more, so we took him another of our routes and I settled in behind to huff and puff while he and Peter compared hill-running and trail running in NZ and Scotland. He was a running fool. Could talk running indefinitely as could we and by the time we parted at the top of the park there were handshakes and smiles all round.

Good game. A nice splosh home after that through the absolutely sodden water-logged ground down below the crags and then past a tented area which was apparently a "Foodies Festival". We never got a glimpse inside so don't know what was taking place within....

Still very stiff but that was better than plodding for 19+ miles at snail's pace.

Sluggish

Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear.... I went out for a long run today having failed to go out on Sunday. Like Sunday it was tipping down but this time I was ready for it. Lucy Colquhoun had given me this advice - "Man up, Mary!". She was right of course. It was just a bit of rain. Surely I could dress for it and then get on with it.
I might have made the mistake of dressing too warmly as I remembered getting soaked and then too cold on previous rainy long runs. I was wearing a helly hansen and my Skins (which I was pleased I could still wriggle into frankly). Peter was around and came along too. We drove to Musselburgh and parked at the Quayside and set off up the Esk to the Pencaitland cycle path.

It was much warmer than I had estimated and not nearly as rainy either. I hope it was partially because I was overdressed that I was running miserably slowly. I thought it would pass and I did feel better after a mile or two. The lushness of the undergrowth up the side of the Esk was quite entertaining. There was some really giant Giant Hogweed and those lovely smelling pink and white flowers you often get up the side of rivers - no idea what they are...

It was clear very early on that Buchanan was feeling good and he was galloping on ahead so we figured out how to cater for our two very separate abilities...the plan was...he gets the car-key and a loose arrangement to be back there round about 4pm. As the miles went by it became increasingly clear that I was making very heavy weather of this indeed and instead of the roughly 21 miles I had set out to do I changed my plan to run to 10 miles and turn around. Fortuitously, Peter had just done one lap of the woods and was just setting off to do another as I arrived at the 10 mile mark so I was able to pass on this change of plan and give him some jelly-babies as he had no drink or fuel with him. I then turned around and sploshed back at snail's pace and found myself thinking that I was going to give up this running long business as it is absolutely pointless and its not working for me. Every time I go out for a long one I am worse! 2 days ago on a nice short 6 miler I was delighted by being out running and really enjoyed it. This was a joyless plod. The ligaments in my ankles hurt, my legs were as stiff as boards and I couldn't raise the pace at all. (I tried a few times thinking a faster pace might feel a bit better.) So that's it. I've given up long running. At the time the thought was incredibly cheering.

In the car I changed it to just giving up the Speyside Way race and then maybe doing the Kielder Forest marathon and then backing off a bit. But then the thought of not doing the Speyside Way and everyone setting off and me not competing gave me pause for thought. I don't know if I want to do that. I'll have to think about it.

Oh and there were lots of slugs out gliding around because it was so wet.    

Largo Law Hill Race 2011

Start photo from Haddies website

Jablonski at 17,500ft, feeling like he's been out at the pub til 3am.

Yesterday's race was the Largo Law Hill Race, my 28th race this year. I first did this race last year, really liked it and was looking forwards to it but felt a bit older and achier at the start than I might have hoped. Also along was Michael Geoghegan, needing some Scottish Hill racing action as an antidote to the dulling effects of living "down south".

Its a wonderfully informal-feeling race organised by the Anster Haddies. I know I'm sounding like Peter Buchanan's mini-me but £5 gets you a well-marked and interesting and well-marshalled race route including not 1, not 2, not 3 but 4 stream crossings!!! Well its (presumably) the same stream but you cross it 4 times. Fast and involving single-track, a good stiff hill in the middle, then also water, a medal, a packet of crisps and jelly babies at the end - plus a free drink at the Crusoe Hotel on production of your race number. The staff at the Crusoe hotel are remarkably un-sniffy about having sweaty racers squeeze into their pleasant environs. The results were processed pretty quickly and were up on the web-site by the time we got home. Compare this to the Scottish Gas "Gassy 10K" where you get to do your least favourite local run, a sniff of the Granton Gas tower, a series of bottlenecks and a guaranteed headwind all for the princely sum of £13.

I had it in my head that this race was 7 miles long and took me 1hr and 2 minutes last year. Wrong on both counts! Its pretty much exactly a 10K distance and after bewailing a 2 minute loss of form at the end got home to find I'd run about 20 seconds slower than last year. A mere nothing, in the grand scheme of things.
Still I wasn't feeling very race-tastic as I barrelled through the ferns and thorns and tricky rocky muddy bits. On the first descent to the first stream crossing I found myself slowing down and taking care, picking my way cautiously through the water which meant I didn't really have my racing hat on. I can be pretty cautious but usually at least some of that goes with the excitement and adrenaline of racing. For entertainment I had my yellow vested racing nemesis Derek Jablonski along for company. He is off the boil at the moment, and trying to find his motivation. I suggested to him that given time it would come back on its own, but I don't know if that's really true and spent a good bit of the race weighing over in my mind whether its better to actively seek motivation to continue our running or to let it go on the back burner from time to time...I suspect pride is a major stumbling block for people who have been going really well and then for whatever reason can't perform up to their previous standards...

Anyway, Jablonski's talents lie in the area of utterly fearless downhilling. He bombed past me at the river crossing, caring nothing for boulders or slippery bits, but I caught him on the uphills where his lack of enthusiasm for training and his voracious drinking until 3am the night before was telling on him. We swapped places a few times on the slowly climbing trails up to the main hill, but I got away from him quite decidedly on the steep up and I wondered if I'd see him again. However, I was at my nanciest coming downhill, not liking the dry soil which had formed itself into a friction-free ball-bearing type surface where not even the eager grip of my Mudclaws was any guarantee of staying on my feet. Towards the bottom of the steep bit I heard a terrifying roar and feared, it turned out justifiably, that this was Jablonski coming for my soul. He burst out from between the high gorse like the original mad man, uttering strange oaths. He took the gate at the bottom at a single bound and bowled on down the rocky path below.

Well, I sped up a bit, now that I was on easier ground - but it wasn't that easy - plenty scope for ankle-twisting and my legs felt pretty wrung out from the steep up and down. Jablonski must have been suffering from the hellish mix of Guinness and other beverages he had imbibed only 12 hours earlier and I caught up to him once again, getting past him on the trails. Then I was on my own or swapping places with a guy from Central AC (who appeared to be wearing a fleece neck warmer!) and as the route twisted and turned you had little awareness of what was happening just ahead or just behind and it did occur to me that I could slow down and "nobody would know" and it was only the thought of Derek coming back at me that kept me moving as quick as my tired legs and burning lungs would allow. At the final river crossing Peter was there with the camera already (I cursed at him - that meant he'd finished, got the camera and then run a  steep uphill to get there in time for me!) He was just telling me I'd have to go round again to get a decent shot when there was a thrashing in the bracken and Peter let out a warning shout that Jablonski was once more hot on my heels! He let out a roar and I let out a scream and sprinted uphill as hard as I could - then kept the pace up every inch to the final turn onto the steep downhill on tarmac where my Garmin tells me I ran the last wee bit at 4m51s pace...

Good game again!

No prizes for the Porties except for Peter who got not one but two spot prizes! Peter came a respectable 6th and Michael came in 7th. I was roundly beaten by those Fife AC women who had decided to rub it in by wearing pink fairy costumes.

Today I am sore and very tired, partially due to being awake from 4am to 6am to get the police round to intervene with our 18 year old techno-loving, party-having, arrogant fuckwit of a neighbour. (The police had  been round at 1am already, called by somebody else. And we thought we'd just put up with it for the sake of a relatively peaceful life - but then it got louder at 4am.) I am hoping I can harness my desire to do him extreme mischief into the motivation to go for a long run on this miserable, wet, grey uninspiring Sunday.

Oucha!

WARNING: The following is just an unfocused ramble...

I thought I was going to have an easy long run. It was a nice sunny day and I had a day off work. I'd had two days off running and I thought my legs were going to be fresh. I thought I'd take a nice long run to North Berwick and get the train back.

The first 6 miles were easy and enjoyable. It was sultry and warm but there was enough of a breeze off the sea to keep it bearable. My legs started to hurt around 7 miles and at about 8 miles I was feeling empty. As I was nearing the Pans I thought I would revise my plan to try and stop eating so much on long runs.

(During the TOF I had a chat with Helena Sim about doing long running. She, like me, found she was putting on weight while training for longer races. She said her husband Andrew remarked wryly that it was not running that made you fat it was eating... hmmm. I did think that I might try to cut down on long run snacking.)

Anyway...I was dying on my feet. And despite also deciding that I was going to have a better attitude towards my fellow man I was finding Prestonpans a bit irksome and surreal. As I entered the Pans (twinned with...was it Boloney in Italy?) a plump young mum of 19 or so pushing a pram stopped me and said "Excuse me, could you let me have a pound because I have to get to the town of Pinkie?" All I know about Pinkie (which is a part of Musselburgh - about 1 mile along the road) is that if I used to say to Sheana our ward clerkess that she came from Pinkie she would become very indignant and insist that she was from Joppa. Needless to say this was irresistible so we used to say it quite a lot. In fact over time all you had to do was hold up the small finger at the opposite end of your hand from your thumb and she would explode with fury. Oh ho ho..those were the days. That was how the tax payer's money was spent....anyway, I digress.

Yeah, so I didn't have a pound which I was quite pleased about, because quite frankly this young lady could use the exercise. I did, however, have a tenner, which I took to a bakery which looked promising and exchanged some of it for some caramel short-bread and a coffee. Maybe that would sort me out.

Right next to the bakery was a little square with benches to sit on. "This might be nice" I thought to myself but as I sat down I was less than pleased to see there was a small boy in a green t-shirt sitting across the courtyard from me (he had been obscured from my view from the road). He sat and stared at me intensely. "Maybe I'll just ignore him" I thought and busied myself with other things. Like taking a picture of my caramel shortbread and coffee. The small boy started to make pigeon noises, which put me in mind of the Coen Brother's version of True Grit which I watched last night and had a man called Rooster who crowed and grunted all the time. I was growing increasingly uncomfortable. I did not want this situation to develop into some incomprehensible Pansian farce so I decided to move along.

I finished off my caramel shortbread and coffee and trotted on a bit hoping I might recover. There was a small headwind and I thought maybe this was contributing to my inability to get going so I thought I would save myself some money and turn around at the 10 mile mark (the 2nd lamppost into Cockenzie) and head back. If Peter was there he would moan because the roads and paths get a lot nicer right after Seton sands but I was too challenged to care much about the view. Getting the wind at my back did help a bit but that in turn made it feel a lot warmer than it had up to then.

So to cut a long story short I didn't really recover - although I did make it. My legs got awfully sore, but I also found a fiver on the road on the way into Musselburgh...

I don't know why it was so difficult today. Maybe the Tour of Fife took more out of me than I thought it would - or maybe it was the heat, or maybe it was both.

Tour of Fife Day 5 - the twisted twisted chicken run

I pulled a number of funny faces today

This being another of them

But this being the strangest - what expression is this?

Last day of the Tour of Fife. I felt more relaxed right from the start. Not so Peter who had a margin of just 7 seconds between himself and Patrick O'Kane in the competition for the V45 prize. I tried to amuse him by singing the "7 seconds away" song (still don't know what its about)  but he didn't seem to find this as funny as me and went about scowling and muttering.

Ruth and Willie arrived at the flat for 1 pm and we set off in the Porty bus together. The Berlingo knew the way by now and it took very little attention or thought to get to Strathmiglo. We arrived with over an hour to spare so all went our separate ways to pass the time until race time. I went a run a mile up the course and then back. It was a sultry kind of day and everything was looking superb. The crops were lush and golden and there were giant pink flowers and grasses lining the cycle path. I decided to just live in the present and enjoy the day.

Back down at the car Ruth was getting ready and her nemesis Brian came and told us the most alarming story of Melanie Sinclair falling in the river in the winter and getting pulled under by the currents and swept away to under the bridge where she just managed to hold on and the runners that were with her just managing to grab her hands and haul her out. It was a sobering tale.

Up the road I caught up with Judith Dobson and had a chat with her til it was nearly time for the off.

Julia arrived looking lean and mean but nervous having come in second yesterday. We didn't help - pouring the pressure on!

Pretty soon we were lined up in the field and we were off. I felt good this race and felt better as the race went on. I was finding the uphills do-able and I was mercifully free of any kind of tummy pain which was a pleasure in itself. I didn't have anyone I needed to beat particularly being a good ways ahead in my category and no competition for the FV45s. There was just the enjoyable swapping places with people who I'd come to look for over the week. Helena Sim went past me at about the 1st mile and said she'd see me later on - which was possible but I wouldn't have put money on it. She is quite clear about not liking going up hill, but even if I caught her I knew she would catch back up on the downhills. I was interested to see what Jonathon Whitehead would do as well having been around him all week.... I did catch up to Helena but didn't draw any conclusions about it having been in this position before. As the leaders started to race back down towards me I got involved in shouting and cheering people on. It was great fun and really very exciting and I found I'd forgotten the pain of climbing and given myself a big boost by the turn around at the half way post.
I was right behind Jonathon Whitehead and bellowed at him - "Right then Jonathon, show me how its done!" a bit loudly and intensely I think in retrospect - its just I'd got hyped up seeing the leaders fly downhill. My thinking was that I have been catching him on the ups but he's been better than me on the downhills and the flat so maybe he could show me what he's been doing....

I was still feeling good and still didn't have a sore tummy running downhill which was just so relaxing. I found myself edging away from Jonathon and catching up to another guy in yellow. Helena and a girl in blue came past and I tried not to let them get too far ahead - there was after all one more short hill on the cycle path before the last downhills to the finish. I did catch up on the uphills, but not enough - still I was pleased with myself and although breathing wildly and very hot, enjoying the excitement of the whole thing. I got a bit held up on the path on the way down - wanting to hop over to the other lane before the bottom of the field but some chap was running in parallel and I couldn't cross without knocking into him. At the same time I couldn't run faster than him so I had to slow up marginally to fit in behind him. My side of the path had run out and gone under some trees. As I reached the bottom turn, someone (Alan?) drew even with me and it was clear it was going to be an all out sprint for the line. I did everything I could think of to get myself to the finish line as fast as I could. I'm sure it looked bizarre. I think he just pipped me but I didn't care - it was just great fun and good to feel that I was competing.

And on to the cake eating, speeches and prize giving. It was a great end to the tour. Chris Russell did a great job of thanking everyone and there was a buzz of warmth in the hall. When he said he wanted to say something serious now my stomach turned over. I was pretty sure he was going to speak about Andrew Henderson and I wanted him to and I also didn't want him to. I've certainly been thinking about him all week. Its impossible not to. Andrew was a big part of our last two tours and you expected to see him at every race. It was almost like he was nearly there but just not quite. And it was just so good to see Julia there and running so fiercely and determinedly and knowing Andrew would be so proud of her. There was massive applause in the room and then a deep silence and Chris managed to pull us all back together somehow. I think he slagged someone off so we could all laugh and move on from the poignancy and sadness.

The prizes came thick and fast, and Porty were in line for a few of them! Peter had held off Patrick O'Kane to retain his lead and his V45 prize. Willie was more comfortably 1st over 50. I got the ladies' V40 prize. It wasn't fair for Ruth as we all got prizes and she didn't and she'd run much better than me. In retrospect I wish I'd given her one of my caramel eggs! Sorry Ruth! The men's winner was the swift and light Lewis Millar and the lady winner was - hurray! - Julia. She got a massive round of applause.

Brian Cruickshank had made some Andrew Henderson fridge magnets for the people he knew that would be missing Andrew. It was such a lovely gesture. If I'm ever hating the human race - which I do from time to time - I'm going to think about being in that village hall and the sense of kindness that was around. I'm very impressed with Chris Russell for having the courage to speak about what isn't easy to speak about but was in the room anyway.

One last thing...the prizes were great!!!! I got a mug with my own lovely self on (among other things) - heaps of chocolate, miniatures of drink!!and oats so simple -the staple of any runner. Thanks so much to BC and all the organisers of the tour. I'm exhausted and I think I should have a shower...

Tour of Fife Day 4 - Chariots of Fire (and Water) race

Photo from the Tour of Fife Photos site - thanks

Last night was the iconic Chariots of Fire Beach Race. Much as people moan and groan about the uphill race, I dread this one as if you've been dodging your basic speedwork (and I have) well - this race will find you out! Decision of the day was to wear old road shoes as I've worn trail shoes for the last 2 years and had come to suspect that the narrower trail shoes were more apt to sink in the sand and far from providing grip were actually counter-productive. We had a recce of the course beforehand - but not the whole course of course because if we had we'd have had to run 4 miles (2 miles out and back again). So I congratulated myself on the flat hard-packed sand that my footwear was just fine...until...

No shoe would have helped much on the horrible sinky sands around the headland but then we were onto some vile green slippy surface and my road shoes skated around and provided no traction at all. I'd heard that the word was that we would get our feet wet in this race but I had assumed it would be some mild river crossing - that kind of thing - not a deliberate diversion into the sea and round a pole! By this time my fine athletic focus was broken as I was teetering and giggling and muttering to myself. I saw Jonathon Whitehead's Carnethy-vested back romp off into the distance and take a piece of pay-back pie...

Before the start I had exchanged a few words with Sophie Mullins and conveyed my sense that I had no plan, no purpose, no hope. She helpfully reminded me of a few basic essentials of beach running. Make sure and be with people when you turn around into the headwind on the way back. Aaaaah. If only it were so easy. I slo-moed as runner after runner presented their back to me for me to duck in behind but my legs refused to move faster and I was out, once again, not to be too dramatic, but like Jesus in the Wilderness as the devil muttered in my ear "just ease up a bit, nobody will know".  I had a bit of a stitch in my left side - nothing too bad, just a discomfort. I addressed the problem of what to do with my mind  as I ran along the flat, endless expanse of sand. I tried counting. I tried shutting my eyes. (This was quite relaxing but I felt foolish). I tried "reeling in" the runners ahead. I was holding steady on the man ahead in the distance, but reeling in I was not.

And at very long last the tiny figures at the finish grew taller and I could hear the polite encouragement of spectators who have already watched much better runners fly past ages ago...and... it was over.

We milled about on the beach for a while. Ruth had run a stormer and was in fine fettle. Julia had just been pipped to the post for the first time and was thinking about how to get fresh for tomorrow so she and Adam went in the sea and bathed their legs Paula style. I eventually followed when I saw how amazing the beach was looking with the shining sand and the low sun. Peter was a bit disconsolate as a certain Patrick O'Kane has taken a bite out of his lead of the O45s and feels he has his work cut out for him today. Willie, like me (but much faster), had found himself in the wilderness on the way back and had dropped back a few places.

What we needed was the healing and restorative power of chips, so we stopped at the chippy on the way back. (Heaving with Carnegies it was.)..and we had a chippy tea. Less guddling about when we got home. As this was the first full meal our Mr Jarvie had had in a week he promptly fell asleep in the back of the car. It was a beautiful clear night for driving back. There wasn't much chat, just listening to music and cruising along in the darkness. So I suppose I better start thinking about today, for in less than 2 hours we'll be away again - off to Strathmiglo for the Fin de Tour....