Race Review: The Ingleborough Fell Race 19/7/14

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All running pictures reproduced by kind permission of Debi Nicholson

The Ingleton Gala Field

Ingleborough, Baby

Only a few short years ago, before I took running up again, I was a walker/rambler/hiker/fashion-criminal (Have you SEEN walking get-up?) On several occasions during that time I was half-way up some FSM-forsaken mountain, covered head-to-toe in goretex, shivering from the cold, when a bunch of nutters would come running past us in shorts and vests. Slack-jawed, us walkers would gape at them as they sweated and grunted past and we would reflect on these seemingly mentally deranged people. A few years before that I had decided out of the blue that I would climb the highest mountain in England, Scafell pike. I set off with no gear and no idea, especially if the weather turned bad. As I toiled to the top in scorching weather I watched a young guy as he ran up to the top, back down and up again in the time I managed to reach about half-way up. When I mentioned the "nutter" to some other walkers also climbing the mountain, they said he was their mate and that he was a "fell runner". I instantly forgot the term and wouldn't hear it again for many more years until I started looking for an off-road running club.

Fast forward many years and I arrived at the Ingleton gala for the classic fell race up Ingleborough. Although I have done quite a few fell races since I joined Fellandale last year, Ingleborough is one of the big ones. I have walked up and down this mountain many times, and I know that it is not to be taken lightly, in fact, the last time I climbed it, the cloud came in very close leaving visibility at a minimum despite it being perfectly clear at the bottom. I then spent quite some time circling the summit before I found the right path down again. So I knew this would be tough, I knew this was a real fell race at nearly 7 miles in length and 2000ft to climb. I was actually nervous.

A Gala Atmosphere

I arrived a couple of hours early so I could enjoy the excellent Ingleton gala. Sadly the weather forecast was bad and I needed to don a waterproof jacket as I wandered around the stalls with Debi. The poor forecast no doubt was effecting the attendance at the gala, but everyone there was determined to have a good time. The MC was giving an hilariously Yorkshire commentary telling people to "get their hand out of their pockets and get spendin'" The highlight of the stalls for me was the raptors complete with all sorts of large and small owls.

I decided to forego an attempted at wanging a welly, although I was very tempted.

Unexpectedly I bumped in to Simon from Fellandale. I say it was unexpected as he was supposed to be with his other half in the lake district doing a mini-mountain orienteering challenge. Turns out they'd blown it off due to lack of sleep. I called him a few choice names as it seriously damaged my chances of full Runner of the Year (ROTY) points and closing the gap in the race for the trophy. My chances had already been badly dented by so many months of injury.

The route- Straight up then back down again. 

Back at the gala there was an amazing trial bike display by Ben Slinger which I thoroughly enjoyed and by the time the mountain race was due to start, bizarrely, it was held up by sheep dogs herding geese. You can't make this stuff up. Wish I'd taken a photo because I am not entirely sure I didn't dream it. 

As an AM race, the new FRA rules state that emergency kit had to be carried; the first time I have ever had to during a race. Cue much furtling around in bags and cupboards to ensure I had a full waterproof layer, compass, whistle, hat and gloves. Luckily I had already bought a bum bag to carry it in. Stupidly, I had never run in the bag before and had no idea how it would effect me. At least all my kit fitted comfortable in it and the bag has adjusters to pull it tight to eliminate any bounce.  I looked around at how the other runners were dealing with the kit issue and saw all sorts of different solutions, but the most popular one seemed to be the one I had adopted. Phew. On the shoe issue, however, I didn't seem to be with the consensus. I know the paths on Ingleborough pretty well, although not from the Ingleton side, so I was a little concerned to see so many runners in really aggressively-soled fell shoes when I had plumped for my Adidas kanadias. I wondered if this would prove a mistake.

A hot dog from the local badminton club and a cup of tea from the WI later and I was ready to start.

My first mistake was to be far too casual at the start and set off right at the back of the field. Although this did mean I got to have fun over-taking people rather than being over-taken.
Out of the gala field and there is a short run through the village until you hit the lower slopes of Ingleborough.
A little way along the road, I over-took Simon and  jokingly shouted, "Full runner of the year points for me!"
I meant this entirely as a joke as Simon has been much faster than me for quite a while now and I definitely didn't expect to finish in front of him.

In it for the Long Haul

As we hit the lower slopes I had a chance to consider the bag that I was wearing like a weird victorian bushel. It felt pretty comfortable. No bounce and it felt light - the super-light Innov8 racing jacket in there hadn't been cheap, the over trousers, however, were cheap as deep-fried potato slices, but it all felt ok.

I was smart enough to know that this race would be very far from a sprint, so I tip-toed the fine line between keeping moving swiftly and preserving energy for the tougher, upper slopes. A lot of other people obviously didn't have my strategy though as I began to pass a lot of people who I can only assume had gone off too fast.

Simon had over-taken me pretty soon after I had passed him, but to my surprise I moved back in front of him not too far in to the lower slopes.

As the gentle inclines became something a little more challenging the field began to spread out. Before long, almost everyone was walking. Oddly, this is where I have an advantage, I can hike up hill as fast as a lot of the runners can run up hill and can go faster than the people walking. I only mean this about the people running at around my speed, not the winners who obviously run the whole thing much quicker than me and don't stop to walk much, if at all. 

I had been expecting the burning, scouring feeling in my lungs that I was used to, but it wasn't happening. Although I felt tired I actually felt fine. The night before at the Washburn relay, 80% of my missing fitness suddenly came back like flicking a switch after months of tough training plodding along at a crawling pace. My newly rediscovered pace seemed to be continuing here. 

Amazingly, this graph shows that I went slowly up hill, then quite fast down hill. I know, I was shocked too

The path got steeper and steeper and my left gluteus maximus (arse muscle) felt like it had grown a full set of adult teeth and each and every one of them had tooth ache. I inched up the mountain bracing my self with my hands on my thighs. Before long the leaders came flying past us but I still had a fair way to go to the top before I'd have the sweet relief of the descent (although I was fully aware the relief wouldn't last too long before the descent would start to hurt too)

The path was now steps that were treacherously slippy and they began to feel like they would never end, but at last, I saw the marshal at the top next to a tiny cairn. I didn't have time to admire the view from the top before I plunged back down. This was in part due to the fact the visibility at the top was pretty poor from the drizzling rain.

Going Down

Descending the steps was tough; I was desperately trying to keep my feet whilst moving swiftly, but I felt like I was crawling along. In a couple of places there were grippy grass slopes that I manage to get some speed up on. We came up to a section of dark gravel that looked like a cinder path, only very steep. The leaders had flown down this section as I was coming up the steps next to it. I remembered thinking there was no way I would be doing that on the way down, but as I reached it, it felt like a much better plan than the steps so down I went. It actually turned out to be a good move and not too difficult to manoeuvre on. 

A couple of times I found some good routes and really felt like I was flying. It was all I could do not to give out a war cry or two, next time I probably will!

Getting back to the lower slopes the steepness evened out and I settled in for the path home. I actually felt pretty good, well until my nipples started to seriously complain about the heavy, wet club vest I was wearing and my thighs began to complain about all the down hill.

Many thanks to racingsnakes for this image and the last one

Eventually we popped back in to the village and I could see the runner in front of me. I was still feeling pretty good, sore nipples, thighs and feet aside, and I felt that I could move a lot faster. I debated for a while as to whether it was worth chasing the guy in front down, after all, it was only one place and I was in no danger of a high finish. But what the hell, I'm nothing if not competitive. I caught him at the edge of a car park and I could see the gala field. Simon had warned me about the steep, sharp slope that brings the runners back in to the field for the finish, thank goodness. 

I always find pulling a monkey-face helps when descending

I managed to negotiate the slope without making a tit of myself and even managed to sprint to the finish. 

Not too long afterwards Simon and Carl crossed the line.

It would be ungentlemanly of me to point out that Simon was beaten by his girlfriend. Again. So I won't.

Carl managed a fine sprint to out-run a much younger adversary

Afterwards, as ever, we enjoyed de-constructing our races in a way that would thoroughly bore anyone not seriously in to running. Then the prize giving gave out so many prizes down the positions that we began to wonder if we would get one, but that didn't quite happen. 

It had stopped raining a little way before I got to the bottom of the mountain and by the time I was tucking in to junk food the sun was shining gloriously. I bought a burger from the local cricket club and basked in my *cough*glory*cough*

Damage Report

Getting in to the shower after the race on the evening the water felt like acid as it hit my nipples. Too much info?
My feet had begun to feel mashed by the end of the race, pretty much like they had been stood on, but the next day they are fine, only a little soreness remains, much the same as my thighs.

So, I survived. Bring on the next one