Race review: Belper Rugby Rover 30k trail race

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2 weeks ago I was planning on embarking on a long run. It was going to end up being a relatively boring street-pounder from my front door, until I heard about the Belper Rugby Rover; a race organised by the Belper Rugby Union club. 30km (18.5m) entirely off-road around Derbyshire and a 1.5 hours drive from me. It seemed perfect. Why not?! Oh yeah, maybe because the furthest trail run I've ever done is 6 miles and the furthest I've run recently is 13.5 miles. Ah well, what could possibly go wrong? Storm, plague and death knowing my luck.

If you haven't worked out that this is the route, then stop reading my blog and go away

I contacted Dom to see if he would be up for this at very short notice. To my surprise, he was. Plans were made for me to stay at his in Hull on Saturday, then travel from there to Belper the following morning.

On Saturday night, after a too-speedy 8km around Hull (it's impossible to get Dom to do our "warm up" runs slowly), we popped in to the Rugby Tavern for a couple of pints. Wonderfully it's a Samuel Smith's pub, which is some of my favourite beer. And it was in the pub, whilst playing pool that I had my oddest injury ever.
Suddenly, with no warning, my left knee began to hurt. A lot. A small spot on the inner aspect of my knee, just above the knee cap began to hurt. I hadn't twisted it or walked in to anything. It just started hurting, apropos of nothing. I did a deep squat to try to stretch it out thinking it might just be an odd muscle spasm, but that just made it hurt even more. 5 minutes later it began to ease off. I could put full weight through it without any problems but the actually site of it was very, very tender to the touch. I have suffered no knee pain since my chronic (2 decade-old) knee pain disappeared 2 years ago when I received some decent physio.

That night in bed the knee pain woke me up at about 3am. I began to wonder if I would actually be able to run.

In the morning the tenderness was still there. I decided not to think about it and set off. The drive went smoothly, (Although pressing the clutch was interesting) until we arrived at Belper. We had looked up the postcode of the rugby club where the run finished and started. Somehow, however, we had managed to get the post code for the address for postal entries and arrived at someone's house. Cue quick googling whilst Dom's stress levels began to rise rapidly. Luckily we were close to the rugby club as Belper is pretty small and arrived in good time whereupon we parked next door in a hospital car park where we were directed.

We quickly sussed out our "competition" also known as, "checking out what everyone else is carrying and wearing"
Most people seemed not to be carrying water or wearing too much. A lot of people wore road trainers.
I selected a vest, my Salomon trail shoes and my shades from the pile of "everything-from-Arctic-to-tropical wear". I reasoned that my trainers were good on the road too, so they should be fine. It was a mistake, but more of that later.

 The race director gave us a pre-race briefing and the police escorted us around to the road where the race was due to start. I spotted Dom on the line after losing him between signing up and getting my race number and listening to the briefing.

Off we went and the field set off at a sprint. I wondered why? Did they know something we didn't? The answer was a resounding yes. During the first mile there are lots of bottle necks, mainly in the form of stiles.
Dom and I ended up queueing on more than one occasion. The sprinters had avoided most of the queueing.

You can just see me looking down starting the GPS watch

The usual discussion had taken between Dom and I about race pacing the night before and continued on the drive there. It went as it always does. I talk about taking it easy because of the previously mentioned reasons. Dom agrees. Then over the next few hours Dom talks himself from taking it easy, to running it fairly hard, to naming a very tough time that he would like to beat and finishes off by wanting to beat everyone.
I reiterate that I will be taking it easy.

After a few fields and queuing at the stiles the race took a dramatic turn up an extremely steep hill section, which turned out to be the steepest of the day. At this point my recent fell running experience took over and I passed Dom for the 1st time, who squeaked, "I thought we were taking it easy?!?!"
"This is easy Dom..."
I had heard genuine terror in Dom's voice. He was obviously worrying that my fell running and his doing all his training in entirely flat Hull,  might mean that I would beat him for the first time ever, bearing in mind his 10k PB is 3 minutes faster than mine, and his marathon PB 22 minutes faster.
He needn't have worried.

As soon as the track levelled out again, Dom passed me with ease. At about 5k the track began to descend and I sped up. I find that I can descend a fair bit quicker than the majority of people who finish races around me.

I passed Dom again. I didn't see his face, but I bet it was a picture. But of course, when the track flattened out again, Dom cruised back in front of me with consummate ease.

Not long before the first water stop at about 7k I heard two people catching me. They were busy chatting and one voice was a woman's. I was going to be chicked... At the water stop I paused and drank 2 full cups of water; it was a hot day and I had decided not to carry any water. I grabbed 2 of the proffered jelly babies and ate them as the couple passed me. I saw them many times throughout the run as they caught me each time I paused to drink and eat jelly babies at the water stations. The lady was in her mid 40s I would say, the guy around 30 in a Kirkstall Harriers vest, and he seemed to be pacing her.

Dom had now long disappeared and I was thoroughly the meandering route through beautiful countryside.
My GPS watched bleeped off the kilometres and the sun shone away with few clouds in the sky. The field had spread out and I saw few people.
At the third water stop, another couple caught me, this time a pair who were probably late 20s. There was something like 10k to go, but don't quote me on that because as usual, my post-race memory is pretty poor.
The soles of my feet had now started to get pretty sore and I was regretting my choice of footwear. This new couple passed me with jelly babies stuffed in my mouth. I trotted behind them on one of the few sections of road and started to catch them with the help of the jelly baby-buzz.

We followed another large red arrow in to a field which was steeply down hill and I rapidly caught and over took the couple, a de-chicking! I then realised the couple had been heading in to the wrong corner of the field, the tell-tale red and white striped tape was in the other corner. I quickly changed direction and called out, "I blame you!" at the couple.
"I blame me too!" the female half said.
"Who let the woman navigate?" I said.
"Just for that I am going to beat you!" she announced.
I should point out that this exchange was all in good humour!
In to the next field and the descent continued with me pulling away with each step. By the time we entered a forest section I was flying and sore feet aside, felt great. Thankfully, I didn't see the couple again so she was unable to make good on her promise to beat me.

This was taken earlier in the race, but I thought I'd best break up all this waffle

As the last 10k wore on my feet were starting to be a real problem. I had to face it, there were almost certainly blisters in there. With about 5k to go, I could feel warm liquid in my left shoe and I really wondered what I would find in there at the end...

Now I was really ready for the end, if not ready to stop "racing". I pushed on harder. Despite this I was passed by a man at least 10 years my senior, "Is there anyone else to catch?" he asked.
"Don't think so, the guy in front of me was moving pretty quickly"
I was wrong, 5 minutes later I went past a runner who was clearly examining grout.

With 3k to go, I was amazed to hear the Kirkstall harrier and his friend catching me. Something awoke in me.....

"Oh hell, No!"

I put down the hammer (ok, I put down the mini screw driver) If I was to keep in front of Kirkstall harrier's mate and avoid a late chicking, I would have to work hard.
I recognised the trail we were on as being back on the start of the route. I paused at a bridge to contemplate the route and Kirkstall Harrier and I decided we needed to go over the bridge, thankfully, we were right. Now I knew exactly how far I had to go. A quick run through an industrial estate, along the main road, down the drive to the club house and in to the field to finish.
The pause at the bridge had given my nemesis the chance to catch me up again but I found enough energy to speed up down the main road with her following close behind me. The drive appeared and I started to sprint, such as I could manage anyway, and I heard her fall away. Triumph! (which is exactly the same as disaster, Mr Kipling) I rounded the corner in to the field and crossed the line. As always, I was way happier than I should have been to finish in 73rd place out of close to 300 runners, one place in front of a woman probably 10 years my senior, but hey ho, I'd won another tiny, tiny, insignificant battle.
My legs which had felt ok(ish) suddenly announced that they had actually just been keeping quiet and uncomplaining (which is very unlike them) and quickly deposited me on to the floor, refusing to pick me up again without a struggle.
The orange segments provided by the rugby club were extremely welcome and the outside taps provided tasty cold water.
I found Dom who had finished around 9 minutes in front of me, a phenomenal performance for someone who has never run off-road and rarely on hills. Predictably, he had crippled himself and was walking much worse than me. Good job he doesn't drive really!

The race had been great fun. Really relaxed and friendly with a beautiful, fun route. It was anything but flat of course, but that was part of the challenge and one of the reasons I wanted to do it.
When I eased off my shoes to check the damage to my feet, I was amazed to find there was none. There was only reddened sore sections and none of them too bad. I had been convinced there would be blood and blisters in there!

The pint in the club afterwards was incredibly cheap of course, as was the burger and huge portion of chips, all of which tasted brilliant after 18.5 miles.

All in all the Belper rugby Rover turned out to be perfect training for both my upcoming Oslo marathon in September and my desire to run ultras which are usually off road. A highly recommended race.

Race review: Stirton fell race 10th of July 2013

Google earth really fails to capture the elevation of this route. That's 2D pictures for you.

On a hot day in July I entered my 2nd ever fell race at Stirton, near Skipton organised by Keighley and Craven AC. Like a lot of fell races, it basically involved this:
"Ey lad, see ' big hill over theer?"
"Aye"
"Run up it"
"Reet"
"Back down it"
"Aye"
"Round the back"
"Ok"
"Back up it again"
"Yup"
"Then back here"
"Reet, Ah'll see thee later, get me one in"

Once again I wasn't fully fit, the ribs aren't getting worse, but they aren't getting fully better either and on Wednesday mornings I finish a 9 hour night shift at 7am, so I wasn't full of high-hopes, I was just going to enjoy myself.

After much to-do involving meeting in a car park, facebook messages from Fellandalers pulling out and a lovely drive through Yorkshire, Carl and I arrived in Stirton, a tiny village that was now taken over with fell runner's cars. I queued up for my number and paid £3. I chatted briefly to another runner who wished me well and asked how I did after the race, a lovely, friendly touch.

A while later, with absolutely no to-do, we set off up a country lane towards the hill that would be our torturer. It's name is Sharp Haw (no childish giggling now) The starter didn't give us any spiel at all, there was no starting line and no air horn. Off we went.

The first part on the road isn't very steep so I maintained a decent pace as we trotted along. As always, I decided I needed to get in some decent speed while I could. The route turned off the road and Sharp Haw loomed in to view, looking menacing. I knew next to nothing about the route of the race, which was perhaps for the best. I over heard someone say the second ascent would be hard. A least I now knew there was going to be a second ascent.

I managed to keep running until I was about half way up the first time, but then slowed to a walk. I was the first person around me to start walking, and this time, it wasn't as fast as the people around me who were still running. I tried to maintain as quick a walk pace as I could, but I was already dying and sweat was dripping off me like a faulty shower.

Mercifully the top of Sharp Haw arrived and I threw myself in to the descent. The runners in front of me had opened up a substantial gap of a few hundred metres, but I slowly reeled them in and by the time we started the second ascent, I had over taken a few of them. They returned the compliment soon after when I had to walk up hill again. Each time there was a flat or down hill section I would catch the runners in front with relative ease, but they would then pull away on the up hill as I just couldn't keep running. 

By the time the top of Sharp Haw arrived again I was desperate for some down hill and off I plunged, once again catching the runners in front. We didn't have to return right to the start point in the village so the finish arrived quickly, in a field, next to the van they had used as the race office.

My prizes for finishing have to be the favourite race rewards I have ever received and here they are with the once-white socks I wore on the day:

One of the most fun parts of the day was chatting to Simon afterwards, who, unbeknownst to me, had been hot on my heels the whole way around. He had nearly caught me on each ascent, but had watched me pull away on the descents. He had witnessed my not-quite-long-enough leap over a bog that soaked my right foot and blackened my socks as I staggered and spluttered my way around.  It's an odd and pleasing feeling to know a good runner like Simon sees me as a target and to know I am spurring him on to faster running.
We also chatted to Carl and Christine, other members of Fellandale about their races and the upcoming Leeds 10k after cheering them through the finish.

I had gone out a little slower in this race than at the Otley fell race in an attempt to keep running up the hills, but it hadn't even nearly worked. I like to think I am a brave descender and able to move quickly when going downhill but I really need to keep working on the ascents. If I can get to the point where I am running up hill for the majority of the time, my overall pace is going to improve dramatically.
I finished 46th out of 98 in a time of 47:37 Simon finishing a minute and 22 behind me. The winner clocked 37:04. At least I was in the top half, and they kindly knocked 3 years off my age too. I must look young. Yes, that's it. I look young.

Here's the run on Garmin connect. As is my recent tradition, I forgot to turn my GPS off at the end so ignore the time.

All in all a really enjoyable and friendly no-frills fell race, just the type I hope to be doing for many years to come.

Run review: The classic Malham round with an extra twist

The stunning Malham Cove.

A Friday off work and with the world my running lobster, I decided to set off for Malham, a truly beautiful corner of the world. I have walked the classic Malham round on many occasions and the appeal of running in "the wilds" without navigating was very appealing. The classic round is not much more than 6 miles however, so I decided to extend it somewhat. A trip round the back of the tarn seemed to fit the bill.

Usually, the round is thus: From Malham to the cove. Up the 300+ steps to the top. Along one of the valleys to the tarn. Lunch at the waterside, then down through Gordale scar, along past Janet's Foss and back to Malham. I didn't feel that 6 miles would justify an hour's drive so I decided to add on a little "getting lost" session behind the tarn to extend the run to about 10 miles. I know my way around part of the back of the tarn (It's only one path, it'd be tough to get lost) but didn't know exactly how to keep going right around the back then join up with the path back to the cove. Still, it didn't look that hard. I decided to do the route in the opposite direction to usual, that way I would be able to take the path I knew around the back of the tarn and then find my way from there. What could possibly go wrong?

I could forget my map.

But I would never be stupid enough to do that, would I? Hmmmmm, good job I committed it to my photographic memory before I set off *cough*

Malham: Yorkshire cliche No5.

 Having avoided the wooly "traffic" in Malham, I set off for the Janet's Foss. This involved a run down a track that follows the side of a lovely stream and through a forest. Even though I wasn't running fast and the way was easy and flat, I was already blowing quite hard soon in to the run. It had to be due to there being some actual heat for once!  I started to receive the first of many odd looks I got from the walkers that day. It wasn't that long ago I was one of those walkers looking with incredulity at the runners. I didn't pass a single other runner the whole day.

On my way to Janet's Foss. The wild garlic was out in force

It's not far to Janet's Foss but by the time I got there I already needed a rest, so I stopped and took some photos and had a drink.

Janet's Foss is a little waterfall if you didn't know. Faeries live here. Yes they do.

The next stop was Gordale scar, also, not very far away. I have never climbed up the scar, only down, so it would be a new experience. The scar is very dry at the moment, so I knew that it wouldn't be too difficult.

Shame there is nothing in this pic for scale; to give you an idea, the bottom waterfall is probably about a 30ft drop

The climb proved quite easy with the lack of water and was great fun as always. 

The view from the second, higher waterfall looking down through the scar.

On reaching the second waterfall there is a long set of rough-hewn steps to negotiate before running along a valley to the tarn. The climb up the scar and the steps isn't for the faint-hearted and I have scared the life out of several people with it, but in reality, it's really not very hard; if you've ever climbed at all, you wouldn't struggle and I have got several people down through it who have never climbed before.

The run continued through the gorgeous countryside in glorious sunshine and it wasn't very long before I arrived at the tarn.

It wasn't actually dull, but I can't be arsed to correct the light in photoshop

As I got around the "back" of the tarn, I stopped at a beautiful viewing point and had a bite to eat and a drink. The clif bar went down especially well. The deuter waist pack is just large enough to carry the things I need on a warm day.

Nom, nom, as they say, nom

Now it was time for the adventure to start; find my way around the back of the tarn with only the magnets in my head and a vague recollection of a map to go by. I basically navigated by heading in the direction I thought the cove was. Amazingly, it worked and I soon found the road I needed and headed down the valley towards the cove.

The valley isn't very long and I soon hit the famous limestone pavement.

The limestone walk is slippery as the Devil's banana skin in winter, but this day it was dry and easy to run on. The cove itself is, essentially, a giant cliff. Once upon a time it was a waterfall bigger than Niagara, but that was a few thousand years ago, so I missed it.

The view from the top of the cove is stunning.

The looks of incredulity increased tenfold as I ran down the steps of the cove but everyone was very kind in making sure they gave me enough room to get by.  

 Looking back up from the bottom of the cove steps. These are just the first few....

 Always nice to linger at the bottom of the cove.

A quick trot across the ancient stone bridge and I was on the path back to Malham, which was getting a bit over grown.

I was happy to provide a moving buffet for a variety of flying insects as I moved along the path and they certainly dined out. Hope I was tasty.

The run back to Malham flew by and I settled down in one of the local cafes after discovering it wasn't possible to buy a newspaper in Malham!

The moist carrot cake was absolutely delicious and even better, the waitress decided the last 2 pieces of it were too small so gave me both to make one giant slice. Maybe I looked like I need it after 10 miles.

The local wildlife is very friendly/cheeky.

Malham is a truly beautiful place to run and navigation is pretty easy, which is always a bonus to me! I picked a lovely, if rather hot, day. Bonus! If you haven't been to Malham yet, why not?

Here's the run wot I did, as seen in google earth.

My Garmin had a strange freak-out and decided that I had also run back to Leeds afterwards and drew it on the map, yet didn't add the distance. Odd. But here's the run on Garmin connect

Race Review: The Humber Bridge Half Marathon 30th June 2013

We ran over this. Jealous? You should be.

Awesome- In the true sense of the word

If you've driven east along the M62 until it becomes the Clive Sullivan way, in Hessle, near Hull, you will have experienced the sense of awe as the Humber bridge appeared in the distance, filling your vision, and dropping your jaw open.
Majestically, this breath-taking structure strides out over a mile across the Humber estuary, landing (or taking off, depending on your point of view) in Barton-Upon-Humber in Lincolnshire. Finally finished in 1981, 7 years over-due and millions over budget, I stood on the approach to the bridge as a 6 year old watching the Queen shuffle past me, close enough to throw some rotten fruit at. Unfortunately I didn't have the presence of mind to shout "Get a job you tax-dodging, inbred sponger!" but still.

Each of the 2 towers of the bridge climbs to over 500ft, scraping the very sky and visible for miles around. My favourite statistic about the bridge is that the towers are 2 inches further apart at the top than  the bottom, because of the curvature of the earth. That's how vast it is. Weighing over 500,000 tonnes in total and with 44,000 miles of suspension cable, it sways up to 10ft in high winds (Don't worry, it's supposed to!) Jeremy Clarkson once famously said of the bridge, "It's just like the Golden gate bridge in America, only bigger."
When driving towards Kingston Upon Hull, where I grew up, and for all those people who also did, the sight of the Humber bridge announces that you are home. And what a truly magnificent sight to greet those lucky East Yorkshire folk.
When built, the Humber Bridge was the longest single span suspension bridge in the world and remained so for the next 16 years. Although it has now been relegated to number 7, it is still the largest bridge in the world that you can walk and cycle over on the purpose built paths ether side of the bridge.

Perhaps now you've grasped some of the excitement I felt at finally being able to take part in the Humber Bridge half marathon. I had been meaning to enter for years but something had always managed to get in the way. One of my motivations for taking running up again a few years ago was wanting to emulate my brother who has 2 Humber Bridge medals. My Dad also ran the Humber Bridge marathon twice before the event was consigned to history.

No race of halves

The race itself starts at 9am as an attempt to avoid the worst of the heat (if there actually is any) so it was a very early start from Leeds to arrive in time. I assumed that the Clive Sullivan would have a queue down the slip road to Hessle so didn't want to risk missing the start. As it turns out the queue started much farther up, but I avoided it with my local knowledge and parked up 10 minutes away to enable my legs to warm up with a brisk walk.
Underneath the bridge is a very large country park and a vast, under-used car park area where the race village had been set up. It's traditional for me to complain about the toilets at every race, but this was a particularly large "intercourse at height". The queues for all 7ish (not an exaggeration) of the loos was huge. At least they'd had the forethought to put in some urinals for the men to ease the congestion a little. I hate to imagine what it would have been like without them. After waiting in the queue for 10 minutes and realising that there was no way I would reach the front in time, I nipped in to the thankfully plentiful bushes. I know, I know, TMI.

I had been warned about the notoriously tough course for this race with the killer hill at about 9 miles and adding this to my lack of training due to the still-sore rib injury, I knew a PB was never going to be on. The long-awaited summer heat would also be another toughening factor.
Eventually the runners lined up on Ferriby road that crosses underneath the bridge on the Hessle side. I turned around to look back and the dip of the road afforded me a fantastic view of pretty much all 2000 runners, apparently a record field. I had taken pain killers to dull the inevitable pain from my ribs and hoped they would last the race out.
The race is pretty much uphill for the first 3-4 miles. The course starts with a loop around to the approach road for the bridge before hitting the bridge itself, so basically, all uphill. Standing still on the start line I was sweating, so by the time I hit the not-so-subtle hill that is the bridge itself, I was already struggling. I have seen the amazing view from the bridge on many occasions and felt the feeling of vertigo when staring upwards from the bottom of the towers, so I perhaps wasn't as distracted by the setting as a first timer might be. I could do nothing to stop myself concentrating on just how difficult this was feeling and how my ribs still hurt.
Towards the south end of the bridge there was a brief respite from the climb before hitting what I felt was the worst hill of the day- the slip road up to the roundabout above Barton. It was interesting, as always, to see the way different runners took this hill, some over taking me and some falling behind me.
Left at the top of the slip road at the roundabout and down a long, long, looooooooooong hill in to Barton, followed by a loop around this pretty little market town. Usually a long descent like this would have me shouting, "Free speed!!" and hitting it as hard as I could to make up for the slow ascent, but today, I felt I had to save some for later and I just didn't have it in me. At this point the sun was really beating down and I grabbed water at every water stop, a thing which I don't usually do, but I needed to wet my mouth. Mercifully the route through Barton is flat once you've got down the first hill.

And so it continues

The miles ground on and the thought of the hill at 9 miles was playing on my mind. In my only other 1/2 marathon, the Great North Run last year, I had been wondering when it would feel hard. I had cruised along for mile after mile feeling fantastic. This one was the polar opposite. I wondered if it would feel easy at any point, if I would fall in to that wonderful rhythm-place where it feels so easy that I could carry on for ever. It didn't happen. But at least I knew about the giant hill to come and it wouldn't come as a surprise to me.

Hilly? Naaaaah

Turning down Far Ings road, a Barton resident had set up a hose pipe from the front door of his terraced house which many runners took advantage of- hope he's not on a water meter! A little further down the road another Bartonian shouted offers of "Magic beans for the hill" They were jelly beans, natch. I declined as I find it hard to chew on the run, but she did make me laugh.

Under the bridge again, this time on the south side when up popped Gravel Pit Lane, so named because when you've run up it, you want to be buried in a gravel pit. I heard the hill referred to by many scary names on the day - "3 hill mile", "Killer hill", "Cardiac hill" and some just referred to it in expletives.
As I started up this hill, the runner next to me looked up and exclaimed, "Oh shit! This wasn't in my training plan!"
"Don't worry," I said, "It gets worse"
I started slowly and turned down the proffered wet sponges half way up. 3/4 of the way up I suddenly realised I could run faster and I started to over take a few people, but I wasn't sorry to see the end of the hill. A quick jaunt back to the roundabout followed and down the other slip road and once again back on to the bridge to face the deceptive curve, with the end now in sight.
Once again I was trundling along very slowly, but as the bridge went on I got a little stronger. I started to speed up and began over-taking people who had sped past me ten minutes beforehand. There were people littering the path who had clearly "hit the wall" and were struggling badly, perhaps deceived by the "easy" hill of the bridge.

Excuse me Sir, but do you know your race route looks a little bit, erm, well........phallic

At the end of the bridge the route curves sharply left and I found myself running alone. The crowd on the corner gave me a huge, galvanising cheer and I could have hugged every one of them. Just the sprint back down to the car park and the finish to go. Pretty much all the crowd gathers at the finish and it feels good to run through them at the end.
My time at the GNR last year had been 1:34, pretty pleasing on my first ever half and at the Manchester marathon I had turned around at 1:35, so I had every reason to believe that I would do ok here. Sadly, given the rib injury curtailing my training and the fact it was still bothering me on the day, I came in at 1:37. Another race to put in to my all-too-bulging folder marked "Not too bad, all things considered."

The winnings

Here's me finishing at about 22:50 on the video, running like a hippo, only slightly less graceful.
http://youtu.be/ZZblY6nyElM?t=22m45s

Overall race impression:

I know I always complain about lack of loos, but this time it was ridiculous and really needs to be sorted.
The route itself is incredible, especially if you've never been to the Humber Bridge before, but it is challenging and don't expect a PB, it's just too hilly and the chances are it will be a hot day at the end of June.
The crowd is sparse and subdued, especially on the south side in Barton, but the finish makes up for it a little. The race village is excellent with a great atmosphere and plenty of stalls so you can fill your face with food afterwards.
I did wonder how the rotary club manage to undertake such a huge organisational nightmare for only 2000 runners and still make a profit, but the long list of sponsors on the back of the t-shirt explains that. And fair play to them for attracting that many backers!
It's a little disappointing that the t-shirt is cotton and not tech material, but the race is cheap to enter so you can't complain too much and the medal is more than acceptable.
All in all The Humber Bridge Half Marathon is a fantastic race to have under your belt.

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 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.