Injuries, Ultrarunning nights and Mo Farah's incredible move at The European Team Championship

Please say hello in the comments if you manage to get to the end, I feel lonely on here!! You can also tweet me: @scott_leach 

My mountain bike attached to my new implement of torture/boredom- the turbo trainer

This week I have continued to battle with the rib injury I sustained last week with my epic face-plant fail, so my "running week" consisted of turbo-training, an ultra-running night and the European Team Championships in Gateshead. So let's start at the beginning.

The rib injury that I got by taking a quick face-down inspection of the floor at The Chevin last week is still very painful. A quick trip to the doctors confirmed that I hadn't put a hole in my lung and I left with some powerful pain killers. Of course, this left me wondering how I could keep up my fitness whilst I am unable to run. It seemed there was only one choice as anything that involved upper body would be very painful. An exercise bike. I don't dare cycle on the road as the jolting would hurt too much so I decided on a turbo trainer as seen in the picture above. For those of you who don't know, it basically transforms your road bike in to an exercise bike. An extremely generous friend, who ought to know better, took pity on me and bought me an early birthday present of an elite turbo trainer and very good it is too. I dislike cycling at the best of times, but at least I can do this in front of the TV with athletics/tennis/cricket to distract me.

INJINJI!! (Must be shouted in a kung-fu film style) Couldn't resist this new pair at Accelerate.

On Thursday night I made a trip to Sheffield to Accelerate, the best running shop I have ever come across. My main job involves me walking around shopping areas across the whole of Yorkshire and sometimes further afield. The one type of shop I never pass without going in is a running shop, and if it's an independent, all the better! In the course of my job I see a lot of running shops! I have grown pretty tired of listening to the total rubbish that is spouted by the "knowledgeable" assistants in the biggest chain (who shall remain nameless) so it was a real pleasure to meet Chris in Accelerate and hear him talk sense. The first thing that impressed me was when he told me that Accelerate only stock neutral shoes. Blimey!!

So, back to the point- the shop have started to run Ultra Running evenings and I attended my first one on Thursday. A short film about the Transvulcania race in Palma provided massive amounts of motivation to step up to ultra running and this race has now been entered on to my ever-increasing list of "must dos"  

This was followed by a talk about the West Highland Way (WHW)  race by John, a veteran of 11 finishes. The WHW is 95 miles long and is run in June each year. John explained the stages of the race, and then it got very interesting as we started to fire questions at him to find out his personal tactics and ploys for getting around such a long race. The best part was a story he told to us:

He was running through the night many miles in to the run when he ran past a house. In the garden was a row of big flowers. In between each flower he could see woman's face turning their heads backwards and forwards. In his exhausted and sleep-deprived state he could just about work out that it was an hallucination, but he tried to decided which bit wasn't real. The women's faces, he concluded, must be the hallucinations.

A while after the race he decided to revisit the spot so he could check on what he had seen. As it turned out, there were no flowers in the garden at all- the whole thing had been in his head. It just serves to show you what ultra-runners put themselves through!

Deb then gave us a talk on the Ultra-Trail Du Mont-Blanc. Debs explained that she was used to doing extreme events and had raced for 24 hours before, but never in a purely running race. She entered the UTMB  on pretty much a whim and it had clearly been one of the best experiences of her life. She explained it with an excited enthusiasm that seems like it hasn't diminished despite the years since her race experience. She raved about the incredible crowd and made us all want to sign up right there and then, if any of us had the points required to enter it or managed to beat the incredibly quick-closing ballot for this now extremely popular event.

After the talks there was an open discussion on all things ultra including kit and training and many a good tip was picked up and funny story told. An excellent night that is soon to be repeated. You will not regret spending your evening there! I picked up a couple of things before I left including some more Injinji socks (I never race or run long in anything else now) and some Clif Bars which may look like squished up squirrel poo, but they taste great and are made from entirely organic ingredients. If they're good enough for Scott Jurek.... they're far too good for me, but I'll eat them anyway!

Gateshead international Stadium. that's Mo Farah leading the 5000m

Saturday found me at the Gateshead International Stadium for the European Team Championship with 7 friends and boy did we get lucky as the 2nd day on Sunday was conducted in torrential rain! 

Mo Farah's outrageous run in the 5000m will live with me forever and I am pretty sure I will tell the story many times over, but back to that later...

The stadium proved easy to get to and was well set up. The lack of toilets and concessions stands inside had been thought about and extra facilities had been set up outside; all you had to do was get a free pass-out bracelet. 

Our seats allowed us a wonderful view of the women's pole vaulting. And what an incredibly impressive set of athletic and, dare I say it, sexy women, they were too! Sadly our seats were a little too low to gain a great view of the 100m and the long and triple jumps on the other side of the stadium, but other than that, they were great. I was amazed about just how much was going on all the time. It was great fun trying to keep up with all the things being flung around the stadium as the track and field events over-lapped. You see much more in person than you ever do on TV!

We really had got lucky with the day I picked as we witnessed, amongst other things,  Jessica Judd's fantastic winning performance on her senior début, the  men's 4x100 team actually passing a baton without dropping it and Mo Farah essentially taking the p@#% out of a European field of athletes. If you didn't get to see it, here's what happened:

Mo set off slowly, actually at the back of the field for the first lap. He slowly moved up and then was content to sit behind whichever other athlete lead the field for the next few laps. A lap or so out he claimed the front spot with consummate ease, but it was when the bell went that I witnessed the most outrageous piece of running I have ever seen.

A split second after the bell went Mo literally jumped and started sprinting away from the pack like a startled rabbit. The crowd immediately and spontaneously jumped to their feet. He began to put distance between the rest of the runners and in seconds was already metres in front. I could only imagine how demoralizing that must have been to the also-rans in the race. Mo had been toying with them. The race was so easy to him he could just cruise along then blow the field away as he pleased. The final time was very slow for Mo which perhaps explained his tactics.
Here's the last lap on the BBC website. 

I had a brilliant day in Gateshead and can't wait to go to another meet there but I have to say, what a sad reflection of this nation's taste in sport that an amazing event like this failed to fill a relatively small stadium when the tickets are an incredible bargain at £17 each, when you consider a bunch of men-children falling about on a football pitch can command triple that and fill much bigger stadia. It's just wrong. Add to that the fact that this is the first time the championship has been held in the UK for 13 years and I am baffled as to the relative lack of interest in the event.

I could go in to much more detail but I am sure I have waffled long enough. I hope your running week has been enjoyable as mine turned out to be, despite the absence of actual physical running.

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Twitter : @scott_leach

A Runner's Guide to Face-Planting

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Some fine reading to be had in them thar books

face-plant

 - vb 1. (intr) To fall on to one's face, usually during a sporting activity, as a consequence of tripping and falling, often in a way that is humorous only to the on-looker and not to the face-plantee.

- n 2. The act or instance of falling on to one's face.

As a child I played lots of different sports but I don't remember having face-planted very often. Perhaps it's not the sort of thing you choose to commit to memory. I do however, remember chasing a player down the wing during a rugby league training session, as our paths coincided I flung myself at his legs. Somehow I managed to make a huge mess of it and speared myself in to the floor, face first. Nothing more was damaged then my dignity and I quickly got up and played on.
A few years later I managed to face-plant from my bike. I was crossing my old school's running track on my racer when I misjudged lifting my front wheel on to the grass. I went straight over the handle bars and snapped my collar bone. My audience was about 20 school children.

As I wasn't a skate boarder and parkour hadn't been invented my chances to face-plant whilst a child were perhaps limited. As an adult, the consequences of a face-plant can be much more serious. You could break the bottle of wine you've just bought, smash the screen of your smart phone, break your neck of femur or all three.

So, with no race this weekend I planned to hit it hard in training. Of course, as a mouse, my plans oft gang agley....

On Wednesday I trotted around the Chevin with Simon and Phil of Fellandale, following Phil as he plunged down banks and off the paths, thoroughly enjoying myself. Half way around the run, Simon managed a poor-effort of a face-plant. He didn't really get his face right in to the ground and did little to no damage, apart from possibly his pride. Phil and I, not being morons or children, knew that these things can be serious and actually, they're not funny. So we asked if he was alright. He has a pretty serious long race coming up and has been preparing and training for it for a long time, missing it due to  fall on his local run would be a disaster. So we were pleased to see him bounce back up with no real problems and carry on. 

We talked about falling as we carried on running and I decided to shout out, "Oy! Fate! You're a big girl's blouse, come here while I tweak your nipples and give you a wedgie" Not literally of course, but as good as. I waxed lyrical about how I rarely fall. How I have a low centre of gravity and that though I may trip and/or stumble, generally, I regain my feet. Oh no, I don't fall often....

Fate didn't like this and obviously believes that revenge should be delivered on a chilled platter. On Friday this week, it donned an apron, prepared a lovely meal, turned up in the Chevin with a clean tea-towel draped over an arm and hid behind a corner waiting for me.

I don't have a problem, I can give up trainers any time I like

I woke on Friday quite excited. A whole day off, no injuries, a car full of petrol and the world was my running lobster. After talking myself out of an attempt at the 3 peaks, I decided to do a couple of laps of the Chevin with full pack as training for getting used to carrying what I would need on a long trail/fell run.

Fate must have been in a good mood that day as she did try to warn me. I forgot my GPS watch and instead of taking this as a sign of not to run, I decided that I would have lunch at the Cheerful Chilli, read a bit more of the Brownlee brothers' book, then nip back for my watch. Even when it turned out the Cheerful Chilli was closed, I didn't take that hint, I just changed plans to eat at home instead. 

Yes- I know I could have run without the watch, but as my first training run with full pack, I really wanted to see what distance I covered and at what speed.

Later that afternoon I returned with my watch and set off running. I was already blowing hard with 2k covered when I rounded a corner. A very innocuous corner on a very well made and even part of the trail. A split second later I found myself lying face down on the floor, wheezing for breath, winded.

Looking behind me it seems I had tripped over a rock. Not even a small rock. A big rock. An obvious rock. How the hell had I missed it? I had just run directly through the forest, off the path, managing to miss roots and branches and covering completely uneven ground with no problems and I had tripped over a giant rock, smack in the middle of the path. It wasn't even hiding, it was obvious. Or it was fate sticking out her foot. Yeah, that's what it was. Well played fate, well played.

There was no stumble from which to recover,  no warning at all. I wasn't able to brace myself or lessen the fall in any way, I had already hit the ground before I knew what was happening.

I was grateful no one else was around, not because of the embarrassment factor, but because I hate having to wave away the offers of help and assuring them I am ok.  When I got to my feet, everything felt reasonably ok and I walked for a minute to regain the breath that had been knocked out of me. When I tried to run I discovered a sore patch on my side, just below my right pec, that was pretty painful. I stopped again and walked to give me a minute or so more to recover then I tried to run again. No chance. I knew my running was over for the day.

On the way home I did a couple of errands with the pain building in my ribs. By the time I got home it was becoming difficult to move. I assessed my injuries and was amazed at the amount of damage I had managed to do to myself. Grazes above my right eye, my right shoulder, my right forearm, a knuckle on my right hand and the outside of my right knee. By far and away the worst is the injury to my ribs. Also, to make it a little worse, I had to face up to the fact that most likely, the injury to my ribs was caused by landing on my own arm.

Seriously though, how do you manage to hit the floor with 6 points of contact?! That has to be some sort of talent.

If only I had looked more like this on Friday

The next morning getting out of bed was a real ordeal. Moving any part of my upper body was agony. I hadn't cracked a rib or punctured a lung, but moving anything on my body shot pains through my whole torso. Applying ice just made it further stiffen up and caused more pain. Thankfully, applying heat, via a heat-wheat pack loosened it off and lessened the pain. 

This morning I woke up in a slightly better state, I had managed to get comfortable in bed and had slept well. I'm still stiff and I think it is going to be a while before my next run, but at least it's beginning to get better. I now begin another battle to be better before my next scheduled race, the Humber Bridge half marathon in 2 week's time.

Telling Simon about my fall and how I felt silly after having told him about how I rarely fell, he mentioned that he had felt pretty silly that he had been talking about the grips on his numerous different trainers just before he had fallen. Fate, what a fickle little madam. 

So to summarise, if one wishes to face-plant effectively with maximum impact, one must:

1) Ensure to have thoroughly pissed off fate by telling everyone of how unlikely you are to fall, or something similar.

2) Go straight to ground at speed, no stumbling which could lessen the impact or enable you to brace yourself.

3) Make sure one has an audience, preferably of giggling school children.

4) Make sure someone has it on video so you can be laughed at around the world via the wonder of youtube.

5) If you can land in muddy water to cause a spectacular splash, this is all the better.

6) If performed in front of an audience, ensure you ask for marks out of 10

Race review: The Otley Chevin Fell Race. 5/6/13

Please feel free to say hello in the comments or tweet me: @scott_leach

Last week I finished reading Richard Askwith's, required-reading-for-all-fell-runners-book, Feet in the Clouds. This week, I felt like I stepped straight in to the pages as I entered my first ever fell race on the Otley Chevin. The course is simple; start from Station road in Otley, run up the huge hill that is The Chevin, a small loop at the top, then straight back down again. And what a wonderful, exhausting, terrible, punishing, joyous, fun-but-not-fun, experience it was.

I picked up my Saloman trail runners, selected a pair of shorts, donned my Manchester marathon t-shirt (probably a faux-pas at a fell race) and headed out. Half an hour later I arrived in Otley, a lovely little market town just north of Leeds and I was about an hour early. It's only a small place so I expected to see a little marquee set up and a few people milling around; I didn't. Hmmmm, best check to see where it actually starts.....

I parked very close to the start on Station Road where a small hand full of runners were milling around next to the ricketiest folding table you have ever seen, oddly it was never used and a good thing too as I nearly knocked it over when I grazed it slightly later on.
Station road is a cobbled street with beautiful Victorian stone houses on either side. If you created a street in a studio to scream "Yorkshire" you really couldn't do any better unless you included ferrets, pigeons and a small boy with bread in the basket of his bike. A battered sign, leaning against a wall, marked the start of the race. Having never been to a race like this before, I wasn't quite sure what to do; even the other club races I had been to before I had signed up for on line. Luckily I over-heard someone giving directions to registration, which turned out to be in a small shop front of a plumber's merchant. At least I think that's what it was. I filled out my details, signed the bit that promised I wasn't likely to keel over and die half way up (a blatant lie on my part) paid my £4 and picked up my number.

Looking around the assorted runners as they arrived was a scary experience. I have never seen so many incredibly fit-looking, sinewy people in all my life. Almost every one of them looked like they could sprint up Everest, wrestle a wild boar at the top, then carry it back down and make every one a bacon butty before the sun was over the yard arm.

I got talking to a friendly guy from Otley AC. He told me a little about the race and we idly chatted about our running history. He mentioned that the worse part of the race was a tarmac section that was really punishing. I misunderstood him entirely and said that it would probably be the only section I'd enjoy. I found out just how right he was later on and just how much I'd misunderstood him.
I was trying not to notice the way the Chevin looked down on us all with a black scowl from so high up. I have run around the Chevin enough times now to know that it can be a tough place to run, but I had never stared up at it from the very bottom. From this angle, if it was a person, it would be a socio-path with serial killer tendencies.

Yes, that's definitely a noose

I soon spotted some of the guys from Horsforth Fellendale and said hello to Simon, who, impressively, recently ran the Fellsman. You can read about his epic run here:

Simon has run the race before and gave me a few welcome tips, "Don't get frustrated on the steps, it'll be congested and you won't be able to over take"  As it turns out, by the time I got to the steps, running was out of the question, I was so tired. I think more than one person told me that I had picked a tough race for my first ever fell outing.

The starter stood on a wall with an air horn and everyone lined up at the imaginary start line. He counted us all down and caused a large laugh as he failed to get the air horn to work; the field set off running anyway, then laughed again as the horn finally went off 5 seconds later while everyone sprinted up the cobbles.

Judging the pace of this race was going to be impossible for me as I didn't know the course and had no idea exactly how to run to the top of a 925ft peak and remain alive at the end. I decided to tuck in behind Simon and use his pace.
The first section isn't very steep up Station road, then the route turns along a very brief flat section. I couldn't decided on whether to use the flat section to get in some quick running while I could and unsure as to what I should do, I adopted a moderate pace. Tentatively I moved passed Simon, also unsure if that would be a wise move. Another turn, some tarmac, then the route turned past a white building  that appears an intimidating height up the hill when viewed from the bottom.

I started to walk long before I saw anyone else start. Luckily my challenge walking experience meant my walk was pretty much as fast as the people running around me. I tried to adopt a run 10 metres-walk 10 metres strategy. Not long after the steps started, I abandoned the strategy and just walked. I was trying to keep the speed up as much as possible, but with sweat dripping from every pore and failing to gasp in anywhere close to the amount of air I required, it was, literally, an uphill struggle.

Mercifully the the path turned right at the top of the steps and levelled out somewhat. I tried to cruise to regather some breath. I wasn't able to.

Once again, Steve Prefontaine spoke to me, asking me how much guts I had, in his strange Yorkshire accent (I've never actually heard his voice, so naturally, to me, his accent is pure Dales)
 "Does thee have the guts, lad?"

After 2.8 BILLION steps. (I counted them all) the relief at seeing surprise view car park was muted. Although I was pleased to reach that point as I knew it to be the very top of the Chevin and it would all be down hill after that, I was still blowing incredibly hard. Too hard. Here I am, reaching the top in around 13 gruelling minutes:

 Many thanks to Woodentops for this fantastic picture. Now, why do I run with my thumbs up?

So the expected relief that came with the down hill bit never arrived. I may not have the iron will of an Olympian, but I do have enough desire that cruising down the hill after the immense effort of getting up there just wasn't going to happen. I kept pushing as hard as my burning muscles and lungs would allow.

We plunged back in to the forest and I accelerated. I started to reel in the runners in front. The forest seemed to flash by and we rounded the white building very soon (I really must find out what it is!) telling me there wasn't much further to go.

Through the small yard and I was staring down the steep tarmac hill that the Otley runner had mentioned. We had run up it, but it hadn't registered with me. Free speed! I thought. This was a chance to really open up, the only question was how fast did I dare to go?

I passed a mountain goat who was complaining about this stupid hill

Otley runner's words soon started to hammer home. My feet were beginning to burn within seconds of hitting the tarmac and I was reaching what felt like a dangerous speed. Did I engage my quads and cause those to burn and also slow me down, or did I just go for it? I settled for a half measure. It was still enough to reel in and pass 2 runners including a young man in his early 20s who I would encounter a little later. Unfortunately, slamming that hard in to tarmac injured my left heel. Thankfully it was only a bruise to the soft tissue which was better inside 4 days and during the race, I didn't feel it.

A trot back through the tiny industrial section as the young runner behind me caught me with every step, and we were back looking down the cobbles of Station road. As usual, my brain informed me I had absolutely nothing left and a sprint would not be possible. In fact, you should give up and walk, nay crawl, to the finish. Actually no, hot-wire a car and drive down.

Back in the real world and the young runner behind audibly upped his pace, I could tell from his breathing and foot fall. I idly wondered if I would be able to out-sprint him. I tried to up my pace and managed a tiny amount. I heard the young runner respond. I pushed a little harder and actually found something there. There was less than 100 metres of steep downhill cobbles to go. I always tell myself with 100 metres to go, no matter what, you can manage a sprint. After all, what does it matter if you collapse over the line? Everyone would be impressed, I am sure!

The relentless downward progress continued with everything on fire, it was taking all my will power not to just give up and walk; then wonderfully, I heard the young runner give up. He wasn't going to catch me. I was way happier than that should have made me. But still, I had heard the challenge, responded, and won my own little race. Perhaps a little bit of Dom's heightened determination was beginning to sink in. There is no logic in thrashing yourself to finish one place higher when you are nowhere near a podium finish, but it's that very attitude which slows you down, and it's rejecting those thoughts, believing in racing whomever you are up against, regardless of your position, that spurs you on to greater things. Honestly, it felt like a small break-through in that I was able to force myself to "beat" that young runner....

Who had the most guts, Steve?....Me, lad, me!

There was no finish line as such, just a small funnel created by ribbon and some traffic cones and I was confused as to where the race finished (other runners coming in behind me had the same trouble and many ran way past the official finish) Then I heard the time keeper call out a place, which sadly, I was too tired to commit to memory, but I realised I could stop running.

My time of a little over 22 minutes (I forgot to turn off my GPS at the end, so ignore the last split and overall time) would have placed me around 20th last year when just under 100 people raced. This year's field was something like 120, so we shall see what happens when the official results are published. 

After the race my legs continued to shake for quite some time and it took me far longer to recover from any road race I have ever done, including much longer races. I continued to gasp for air for far longer too.

Soon I had the unexpected pleasure of cheering in the other Horsforth Fellandale runners. Having never been part of a running club before, it really was a great feeling to stand at the end talking  to the other runners about their races. Simon felt he could have gone harder, but his only real aim for the race was just to get up and down in one piece, probably due to his training for the brutal 10 mountain challenge he is undertaking soon. 

Race Summary:

I had to be pleased with my run in my first ever fell race. I finished in a respectable time, in a respectable position. Although I walked much of the uphill sections I doubt I could have paced it much better as I don't think I am capable, yet, of running very far up a hill so steep. So, small injury aside, I couldn't have hoped for much better. Bring on the next one!

Update:

I finished in a slightly disappointing 42nd, although the official time I was given is a good 30 seconds more than I estimated it to be! Ah well, next year!

Race Review: The Pennine Lancashire 10k in Burnley Sunday June 2nd 2013

After the disaster at the Hull 10k a couple of weeks ago that resulted in a shortened course, I was looking forward to my first racing 10k of the year. Sadly, once again, I was involved in a race against time with the lingering chest infection. At this point the council had come to remove the bags of cement from my chest, but they'd left a bit of mess on the road behind that still needed clearing up.
On the Wednesday before, I went for my, hopefully-to-become-regular, run around the Chevin with Horsforth Fellandale.  I became aware of the starter's pistol going off and I dropped in to step along side Mr Chest Infection. 8km and a couple of hundred metres of elevation later and it was neck and neck. Would I be in front come race time on Sunday?

Friday night found me in Hull at the KC stadium watching Hull FC trounce Leeds Rhinos despite taking their collective feet off the accelerator in the second half. I hoped it wasn't an omen. As I was in Hull on Saturday I picked up my running buddy, Dom, from his flat instead of Leeds' station.

Travelling down the M62 we were free to analyse our running in minute detail in a way that would bore the pants off almost anyone else in our circle. We ran over scenarios for the race and talked about how our training had been going and how we felt coming in to the race. Turns out Dom hadn't been running in a week due to a trip to London and a few other things. A niggling plantar problem is curtailing his trojan spirit only slightly.

Back in Leeds we decided to head for a gentle jog down the canal so Dom could remind his muscles they were required for running and to keep me moving. Having not run for a week, Dom was raring to go. I tried to keep him sane, but no dice, at one point we put in a 4:18 kilometre. I found myself wishing I'd brought a pair of baby reins for him. My lungs didn't hurt on the run for the first time in weeks. Definitely a good sign and I began to feel optimistic about the race to come.

Saturday evening and I decided to cook my famous pasta (The non-secret-secret ingredient being chicken stock) which went down well, rather than a trip to the pub. Then we decided to look up the race route to gauge how difficult/easy it would be.

The Burnley route. Twisty turny, huh?

Typical for a Jane Tomlinson race there was no elevation information on their website, but a quick google revealed that some helpful soul had posted the route on mapmyrun. Going by this, the first 5.6km would be a gentle-ish up hill, then the rest of the race would be downhill. The whole route was twisty with a lot of sharp bends built in. We discovered during the race, that though the mapmyrun route was correct, it started and finished it in a different place to the official race, meaning our info wasn't quite right....

This is the info from my GPS. Not terribly accurate but it shows it's far from flat!

As is the tradition on race day, being the giant Muppet I am,  I forgot something important; this time it was my wallet. As I had no petrol and we were already 10 minutes from home when I pulled in to fuel up, it was a good job Dom had some money on him.

We parked up in a municipal car park only a 1 minute walk from the race village. The parking in Burnley is free on Sundays and this is always enough to put a true Yorkshireman like me in a good mood and start a feel-good factor. Even better, I found some perfect "toilet facilities" just next to the car park where someone had been dropping all this year's grass cuttings. No queuing for loos and a totally private spot. Ace!

The race village was the usual efficient and friendly Jane Tomlinson style. No queues for the bag drop; they really have got that one right. Dom got his number at the info desk in no time (He had signed up too late for them to send him one) then came and found me at the bag drop before he joined in with the race day Muppetry tradition. He had left his timing strip in the envelope at the info desk. Luckily it was still there when he went back.

Off we went to find the race start. On a short street that turned out to be at a 90 degree angle from the actual start line we found the cordon markers for sub 35, sub 40 and sub 45 randomly attached to some lamp posts. So they weren't going to even pay lip service this time. I we just had to hope there weren't going to be 50 corporate fun runners wedged in right at the front (There weren't)
Then it got a little confusing. We walked up the side of Mount Everest to the the start (Ok, it wasn't that steep) under the start banner and across timing mats.......what's this about? Then it became clear, the start cordon went up the hill, turned 180 degrees then back again. The start was downhill, not what we had been expecting. We hopped the barriers and settled in near the front. 1141 runners lined up.

At the front were a small bunch of serious-looking club runners. Dom eyed up his competition, he wanted a top 10 finish. Me, I just wanted to get around somewhere close to my PB to have a good starting point for the season.

Then a moment of comic relief. As we waited for the race to start, whilst the local DJ's tried desperately to engage the crowd, a figure appeared at the bottom of the hill being escorted up to the race start.
Whilst not wanting to drop in to stereotypes, we assumed, correctly as it turned out, that this was the winner.
He looked like the type of tall, lean Kenyan that wipes the floor with everyone else at race meets all around the world. The crowd couldn't help but laugh. Uh oh, here comes a ringer! Wonder who is going to come second? I turned to Dom- Won't it be funny if actually, he's a 50 minute runner and we all blast past him from the start?

We didn't.

Also, he turned out to be from a Salford running club.

One of race MC/Local DJ's was a very pretty girl with her shirt tied in a knot at her waist in a cow-girl stylee. "Come on!! Are you up for it?!" She yelled. I bit my tongue hard as I really wanted to shout:
"Yes love, but I've got a race to run, maybe later?"  The trouble I could get myself in to if the small filter in my head ever broke.

The race set off smack on time and we all careered down the hill, through the small city centre and soon in to Thomson park. The first kilometre flashed by in 3:36. I had needed to take advantage of the first 50m of the course being down hill, and I had. But now the hills cut in. Coming up to 2k we disappeared through a wall with the first of many sharp bends. At this point I could still see the leader but it would be the last time I would. The route was now on to a good solid trail.

The "tactics" Dom and I had discussed were pretty basic- Get to 5.6km in one piece (The end of the uphill bit) then murder the rest of the course as it was all down hill. At that point, of course, we didn't know that we had the elevation info slightly wrong.

The route twisted uphill through beautiful woodland and as per usual, I drifted in to a different world so my memory of it is sketchy. I kept glancing at my GPS watch willing 5.6km to come. I popped back to reality as we rounded a corner and were staring down at least 500m of very steep downwards hill. It was a perfect,  wide tarmac path. At last- the down hill bit!

Concentrate.....relax.....let gravity take you.......catch up on your breath whilst moving as quickly as possible.

I had reached the down hill section averaging 4:04 minutes per kilometre, it would take a monumental effort to bring that down to 3:55 to break my PB and I doubted that I had it in me.

I flew down the hill, the runner on my shoulder disappeared behind me and the one in front was quickly reeled in and he disappeared too. I resisted the urge to shout "Free speed!!" as I passed him. My friend Debi informed me that that was from Scott Jurek's excellent book. Odd that my mind had remembered the phrase and told me it was my own even though I had read the book only a couple of months ago.

At the bottom of the hill my average had come down to 4:02. It wasn't enough. Was there enough down hill left and enough left in me to keep dropping the average? The plan to catch my breath down the hill had only partly worked.

At the bottom of the hill was another sharp bend and a fair crowd had gathered. After the incredible crowd response in Manchester I decided to try again.

"Give us a shout out Burnley!!"

There was a pause. The pause was too long. I could hear the crowd thinking "Errrrm, guess we'd better not let him look like a prick"

Then there was a small half hearted cheer.

I looked a prick.

Ah well.

The 6km marker passed and unhelpfully my multiple personality syndrome kicked in and "Evil Me" had a word. "You're knackered" she said, "Walk now. You're not going to beat your PB. Walk"

Urgh. P'soff.

Now I was just trying to maintain the pace, just trying to hang in and not slow down. The next kilometre was a horrible struggle with my mind and body. And then......

Up spoke "Good Me". I see a lot of memes on facebook about running, and this week you might be aware that there has been a lot of stuff about, and from, the iconic Steve Prefontaine, it being 38 years since his untimely death. "Good Me" reminded me of a Pre quote; and I paraphrase: "I don't run to see who is the fastest, I run to see who has the most guts"

So. How much guts you got fat boy? How much?

It was enough to keep me going.

The runner I had over taken down the hill was obviously a local favourite with lots of support spotted around the course. There were a lot of shouts of, "Come on Richard!!" He was racing me, using me the way Dom does to get a good time. I wish my brain would think that way, but it doesn't. I didn't have it in me to race him. I was too tired. I knew I couldn't get my PB and I honestly don't care who beats me. (Well ok, I really didn't want the guy in the cotton t shirt with the board shorts on to beat me. Thankfully he faded badly fairly early in the race)  I knew Richard would reel me in and what's more, I didn't care.

About 1km to go, the road spiked out to our right. A quick 50m detour with a 180 degree turn that was obviously there just to ensure the course was a full 10k. Things like this in Jane Tomlinson races is why lots of serious club runners ignore them and call them "fun runs" I came in at the turn at a wide angle and leaned right in to it trying to keep my speed up. I trusted my trainers to grip in to the road and they held. Richard didn't do so well and he lost a few metres on me.

Just after the turn, a chap who I will assume knew Richard well, was in the middle of a wide road. Probably a member of his running club, maybe even a coach, and he shouted, "Sit in behind him Richard, just tuck in behind him. Use him"
I was the "him" and I was flattered. A club runner was using me to get a "good" time. And a club runner in the age group below me to boot.

Richard and I had been swapping places but at this point my quick turn had put me in front. I could hear him behind me working hard to reel me in. We ran the last half k shoulder to shoulder. "Good running" I gasped. impressed he had quickly made up the distance he had lost at the turn. "Thanks, no PB today for me though" he said. "Me neither" I replied.

Now we were back in the centre and the end was very close. The final bend came.....and then.... the horror.
I had been expecting a last sprint down a hill to the finish. In fact, it was uphill. Roughly 50m with something like 20 metres of ascent. Nasty. The mapmyrun runner had started his run at the bottom of the hill, in front of the start, making it look like the entire first 5.6km was uphill and the last 4.4km was downhill. It wasn't.

Richard put on his sprint with about 100m to go. "Off you go feller" I thought, "I haven't got it in me today. Good luck!"
It was then that another runner came sprinting past us both at a terrific speed. Impressive!

I managed a slight surge up the hill and near collapsed over the line 3 seconds behind Richard. We shook hands, "Good running" The MC approached me as I was bent double gasping. I think the microphone was off, thankfully. I muttered something about it being a hard course.


I picked up the vilest coloured race t-shirt I have ever had the misfortune to receive and a medal that is, disappointingly, exactly the same as the Hull medal, save for the ribbon.

I'm thinking of donating the t-shirt to a light house to keep ships off the rocks if the light ever fails

In the end the chest infection had maybe knocked 2% off on the day. I had been able to run hard without discomfort, but it was certainly slightly harder than it would normally have been.

I found Dom around the corner in the near-deserted race village, "Did you do it?" I asked. We both knew I meant the sub 36 minute time he wanted. He shook his head. No. "Top ten though?" He'd finished 6th. An amazing result. He'd also come 1st in his age group- and by a long way. As always, he was disappointed with his time as he hadn't made his target. Pointing out the hills and twists in the course proved no comfort to him, but of course, this is what makes Dom such a fierce competitor and a fast runner.

Myself, I'd finished 21st over all and 6th in my age group. Also, a fantastic result for me. When I stacked up my excuses and coupled it with the time and placing, I was very pleased, but I really had forgotten just how difficult and uncomfortable it is to run that hard for 40 minutes. Really bizarrely, I gave myself only my second ever running-related blister; the first had been caused by a sock problem. This one was a tiny spot right in the middle of my second toe. I finished a marathon only a few weeks ago without even a sore spot, so I have no idea how a blister happened!

My time official chip time of 40:15 was only 48 seconds outside my PB and had looked impossible for most of the race; it sat well with:

This Week's Excuses (™) :

1) The remnants of the chest infection
2) 3 weeks of the chest infection seriously curtailing my training
3) A very hilly course
4) Sagittarius being in Orion
5) The last one may just have been silly

Reasons to be cheerful:

1) The chest infection being taken in to account, there is a lot of improvement to come
2) I can start full on training again now the chest infection seems to have gone
3) It's sunny at last!!

Race summary:

As always, Jane Tomlinson runs are well organised and we must remember that the wonderful organisation behind them "Runforall" is not for profit and raises vast amounts for great causes. That said, as always, a few more loos would never go amiss as would a less twisty course. I have waxed lyrical about the lack of effort when it comes to cordoning the runners in to their timings so I won't go over it again, but it's not good.

Right, that's the bad stuff out of the way, now the good stuff:

The race villages have grown since I first ran a JT a few years ago and they really have become exceedingly efficient. There is never a wait for the bag drop, everything is close together and the small tent with the the story of Jane Tomlinson's incredible life and legacy always chokes me up. The woman completed an ironman whilst on chemo for f***'s sake! She really is a true hero of mine and a very sad lost to us all.

The atmosphere around the race was great as ever, the course was really beautiful. I have a vague recollection of Burnley from about 15 years ago when I visited it twice and it had left little to no impression on me. As we drove there I tried to recall anything about it. I failed.
Jane Tomlinson races are very careful to make their courses as picturesque as possible taking in all the local sights. I didn't think Burnley would have any, but I was pleasantly surprised. Wonderful well kept parks and trails and wide clear roads. It was a tough, hilly, twisty course, but it really was gorgeous.

I forgot to turn my GPS off as I crossed the line! The uneven splits tell a story of the hills on the course.

All in all, this really isn't ever going to be a PB race, it's just too tough a course, but if you're looking for a race with great organisation, a wonderful atmosphere and  beautiful route, look no further.