Race Report: Ilkley Aquathlon 2017

Saturday September 16th, 2017

To club triathletes and seasoned multisporters, the Ilkley Triathlon & Aquathlon are highlights of the club & local tri calendar, and in the latter’s case, a fantastic introduction for junior athletes to get some early experience. Then there are people like me, who have never taken part in a full sprint or standard distance multisport event and basically want to have a go to see if they like it, or to have a bit of fun with the challenge.

In my case, the Ilkley Aquathlon had come to symbolize a little bit more for me. Just under 2.5 years ago, fresh off an incident at my local pool which led to me being dragged out before I got into further difficulty, I took part in the Go Tri Yorkshire Aquathlon, a 100 metre swim, and 1200 metre run. I swam the entire 100 metres head above water, but found it such an enjoyable experience that ever since, I’ve taken over two years of swimming lessons just to get to the point of being capable for this one race. If London and Snowdonia were my target races last year, this was arguably my target race this year. I’m now much improved, a capable front crawl swimmer who can move at decent pace (though not competitively fast), with a decent technique, and reasonable endurance. Though I’d never once swam 400 metres in one go, my swim training for this race left me believing I absolutely could. I was absolutely looking forward to this race, and absolutely couldn’t wait to take my first true step into the world of multisport, and one step closer to my ultimate goal of becoming a triathlete.

My trip to the race venue was going really well until I arrived, when I stepped on one of my elastic laces and snapped it, meaning I had to tie knots in it to prevent it from unravelling, and to keep it attached to my foot. Undeterred, and not reading into it as a sign of things to come, I walked to race registration and became reacquainted with the ankle tag – the thing they use in these events to time each part of your swim, transition and run consecutively. Even better was the offer of a free hat! An unexpected perk.

The setting out back was amazing. The lido was closed but it sits right with the backdrop of Ilkley Moor for company. I bet that’s a cracking place to be on a warm day. But I digress. The race briefing was given out by a man who looked not unlike WWE megastar John Cena. After he gave the crystal clear information to everyone, I proceeded to leave my vest, shoes and a towel in transition, convinced I would be fine with safety pins and not a race number belt, having carefully tried successfully to put the vest and pins over my head and over my t-shirt. With that taken care of, it was over to the spectator area. I wasn’t due to race until 4:47pm. I could easily have gone back into Ilkley for another hour or so, but to do what exactly? I thought I might as well soak up the atmosphere of my first aquathlon race proper. So I had my lunch and went out to the back where the run course was, walking once round it to get a good idea of the 600 metre route.

My race number (picture taken post-event)

In this country at least, the majority of aquathlon races (of which there aren’t many) are aimed at juniors getting into triathlon. So the first wave of runners where known as the Tri Start wave (for entrants born in 2009, would do two lengths of the 25 metre pool (50m total) and one lap of the 600 metre course. The three Tri Star groups, comprising slightly older children per category – Tri Star 1 (born 2007-08) would incrementally do four pool lengths and run two laps, Tri Star 2 (born 2005-06) swim eight pool lengths and run three laps, Tri Star 3 (2003-04) swim twelve lengths and run four laps up to Youth/Adult (born 2000 or earlier), doing a full sixteen pool lengths (400m) and five laps of the run course (3000m). Time passed, along with a passing rain shower that lasted for about 10 minutes, with barely anywhere to shelter. As I worried about changing into my now possibly wet shoes and vest, the rain subsided, the sun broke out a little, and the racing continued. At about 3pm, still just under two hours to launch, I went inside and observed the swim legs. There was a 10 second countdown for each event, and I keenly observed the swim pedigree of some of the older juniors, seeking an opportunity to just watch them go through their stroke and trying to observe the tumble turns, something I haven’t yet mastered. Although thankfully I wasn’t the only one. I would later get dressed into my swim shorts, then my hat and goggles, as time ticked down.
We were all briefed by one of the race marshals at the shallow end of the pool. There were about 10 or 11 of us. I generally have done well in races with smaller fields, but I wasn’t taking anything for granted given I was likely to come out behind in the swim. We were later assigned into lanes and (finally) led to poolside.

So this was it. After nearly 2.5 years, numerous swim lessons, and 22 prior waves on race day, it was time to get in the pool. I dunked my head into the water to check my goggles weren’t letting anything in. All good. I assumed the push and glide position as the 10 second countdown commenced. At 1, my head went under and the race began.

The first thing I noticed was the guy next to me was absolutely off like a rocket. By the time I’d completed 25m, he was already into his second length and by 50m he was already coming back to start his fourth length. But I wasn’t concerning myself with him. I just kept focused on completing the swim. But something wasn’t right. By 100m some sort of tiredness had crept into my right arm, and by 125m I was feeling very tired. I wasn’t trying to keep up with anyone, I was swimming how I normally swim. What on earth was going on? I made it to 150 metres and needed a few seconds to take a breather. I kept going and did the next 50m, but at 250m I had lost count of how many lengths I had left. I was taking an extra second or two at each end to gather myself. This was not what I’d come to expect.

I was getting a lot of encouragement from the volunteers to keep going though, and this was certainly keeping me from even contemplating the thought of not finishing. I certainly didn’t want to be the one ‘DNF’ on the results, having put so much into getting into shape to do the swim. But the encouragement poolside was helping me think positive and at 300m I was told I had four lengths to go. Finally, knowing the end of the swim was close, I got back to it and seemed to swim my best 100m of all. I knew I would grow into the swim, just not like this. In any event, I reached the end, to a few cheers from poolside and more encouragement from the volunteers. I climbed out and walked to the transition herehere, offering brief thanks and acknowledgment on my way out. I was the last one out.

A couple of years ago, at the Go Tri event I did, we didn’t have race numbers to attach, and I seemlessly got my shirt and shoes on that day. Here, I got my shoes on first, no worries. Now the vest – over it went. Then, it seemed to coil up, and just as I’d feared, the safety pins were causing a problem. That, and the fact I was still wet emerging from the water, it took a good 30 seconds alone to get the vest to cover my body. Then I’d realised as I left transition I’d forgotten to tighten my elastic laces, and bumped into John Cena who was coming back into the transition area. He was very apologetic but I honestly didn’t mind, I just had to get the awful transition behind me and get into my run. 

I always knew I could catch people up on the run, and so it proved here. Emboldened by my recent success in club handicap races, I overtook runners on the course which we all had to do 5 laps of. I worked out the best, least muddiest route and used this to my advantage, making sure to accelerate out of the tight angled turns with as much power as possible and in the end, completed the run without too much fuss. Upon receiving my time via a printout – 23:35 in total – I found out I was indeed the 3rd male. Out of four. Placing fourth overall.

As one of the top three men, I would be presented with a plaque. There was applause from those who’d gathered, and then that was it. Off to get my train back home.

My overall feeling was somewhat strange about the whole thing. I felt that my race, barring the run, had gone pretty badly and I felt I’d only won the plaque through sheer lack of numbers. I’d only come for the challenge and the experience. I was pretty ambivalent about receiving such a prize. That doesn’t mean I’m not grateful for it, but it kind of feels odd to see it sat there right now next to my trophies for the Sir Titus Trot and the Leeds Liverpool Canal Canter, both races where I’d placed highly in a more competitive field. Family and friends, at home and on social media, were much more encouraging (one of my kids said ‘you know, third place is still a good place to finish!’), others reminding me that you can only beat who turns up on the day, and third is third no matter what. I’m not going to reject that reasoning either!

Sporting my race swag (post-event)

But as for an experience in multisport, it was definitely a valuable one. In hindsight, my somewhat bad swim is one I’m putting down to psychological factors – I’ve never swam competitively before, and it honestly feels like my body went into some ‘fight or flight’ situation despite my best efforts to treat it as any other swim. It won’t put me off trying again someday, but it does put into focus what I need to work on. Namely adapting to cope mentally in competitive pool swims, build my swim endurance, and, should I come to race an aquathlon again, or indeed a triathlon, for all that is sacred, get a trisuit and a number belt! Transition would be a lot simpler if I did.
All in all, a slightly chasening welcome to multisport was endured, but at a great local event. Anyone wanting to take part in a well supported local multisport could do far worse than turn up here during the weekend of the aquathlon and triathlon. I can honestly say the encouragement from those poolside got me through that swim, and I’m absolutely grateful for it! Granted, Ilkley is a bit out of the way for some – it took me just under 90 minutes using public transport from Brighouse, about 15 miles away – but you’ll get a great, no pressure experience here and not to mention a great magnet for the junior triathletes. A big thank you must go to the volunteers and marshals, and indeed Leeds Bradford Triathlon, for making this event a success year on year.

I’m also sorry there aren’t many photos – there was a strict policy on photos at the event due to junior involvement, parental permission, etc, so I kept my phone away. I’ve not found official photos either since the event, but that’s no problem personally. I still have the memories of the event itself. 

Thank you all for reading.

Ilkley Aquathlon event page

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A Long Birthday Run on the Beach

I woke up on Saturday September 9th, at 3:46am, almost exactly 33 years to the very moment I was born. Yes, it was my birthday, but I had business to attend to. I’ve no other reason to be up at such an ungodly time (well, maybe, but thankfully not this time) other than to get on with my ultra marathon training. The White Rose Ultra, a mere eight weeks away, has a take no prisoners course that will surely take every last ounce of energy to get over the line. The training diary said 21 miles. There was no getting out of it, not that I had any intention of doing. Not even on my birthday. Not even on holiday. At Butlins Skegness. Again.

I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve been here in the last few years, and on this occasion it was to celebrate my mother-in-law’s 50th birthday, the day after mine. I personally wouldn’t choose to come back time after time, but it has its perks. Its great for kids and families, and its got a beach nearby. And in planning for this holiday, and holidays past, I’ve come to realise it has miles and miles of coastline to explore.

My training has had to account for plenty of steep hills, being a Yorkshire lad. But in route planning I found I’d have to travel too far inland to get even the slightest mound to have to run up. So my only realistic option was to plan this run on the Lincolnshire coastal beach. Having run as far as 3 miles to the north of Butlins, and 3 miles to the south – Skegness itself – I had become used to its camber, and the difficulty in running across those sands. Basically, I had the perfect equalizer for these hills lying in the sands. But 21 miles was going to require a massive step up. Was I truly physically prepared? Arguably not – how often do I run on sand? Maybe a couple of times a year at present. And as for the beach itself, not being familiar with just the unpredictability of the terrain alone was a major red flag.

But did I feel mentally prepared (or indeed, ‘certified’)? Absolutely!

South from Butlins wasn’t an option – beyond Skegness is Gibraltar Point Nature Reserve, which would mean getting forced inland onto the roads as the beach would run out, turning mostly into wetlands until Norfolk. Too far, and somewhat less enamoured with that potential out and back through the streets of Boston. So it would have to be northbound. Beach was guaranteed on this route the whole way, joining from Ingoldmells, and running to Sutton-on-Sea, via Chapel St. Leonards, Anderby Creek, Huttoft and Sandilands, before doubling back.

Outside at 4:21am!

Headtorch and race vest equipped, and a little older (& wiser?), I set off from with the grounds of the holiday village and north towards Ingoldmells, home to Fantasy Island theme park and various brightly coloured bars and shops. Turning right, I soon swapped the darkened streets for the moonlit beach.

The tide out and the sand was relatively flat and firm, with streams of water trickling back into the North Sea as it pulled back and forth. The streams varied in width, but it didn’t make much of a splash even if stepped in. Still, I had to keep an eye on my footstep, and on how close the sea was to reaching my feet. At one point, near Chapel St. Leonards, it was right up against me, and I had to make a quick shift upwards to not get caught. I doubt it would have been a major issue – it wouldn’t have been an excuse to go for a swim, but I wouldn’t want to get into any difficulty while it was still dark. With that considered, my headtorch was certainly coming in for good use in the early stages, particularly to avoid one particularly squelchy section of sand.

Not everything was coming up roses however. A few years back I saw a seal on the beach before it quickly made a move back into the water. I’d longed to see another one in the wild since. And around five miles into the run, I did. However, it was lying on the sands apparently not moving. There were no obvious signs of harm, no signs of an attack or a fight, but I struggled to be able to tell if this particular seal was simply just resting or very much deceased. I, like many I suspect, have no expertise on how exactly to check a seal’s vital signs, so after a minute or so gently trying to startle it, I had to assume the worst and accept it wasn’t coming round, simply washed up by the tide by its harsh mistress, its natural habitat, the great sea. There was a part of me that hoped I was wrong, but by the time I came back it was gone, presumably reclaimed by the now incoming tide, which I’ll come back to later. I can only assume the worst, as I’m sure it would have been alerted to my presence if I was pounding my feet in the nearby sand if it had half an idea I was there.

Looking out to sea at Huttoft (I think), 9/9/2017

I was roughly 8:30 miling up to about 7 miles, at which point I was beginning to struggle against the terrain, but having run for an hour, it was a good time to practise my refuelling strategy, which today was to eat half an orange. About five minutes later, I went back into a jog, and then a run, as I made it to a relatively grippy and firm stretch of sand, meaning it wasn’t so much effort trying to dig in and therefore my gait felt freer. However the tenth mile became awkward, as the sands approaching Sutton-on-Sea became deeper, making them effectively unrunnable, if such a word exists. I reached my target destination rather slowly, but I was able to get to the promenade and all in all I could feel happy at this point. 1:32, bar stoppages. All in all a good 10.5 miles, and pretty much how I’d expected, if I could have any expectations beyond tough at all.

Looking out from Sutton-on-Sea

I spent a good five minutes or so here checking out the information about the Mablethorpe to Sutton-on-Sea Cycleway, while taking on some carb-based drink to refuel for the second half of the run. I opted to run the next mile or so on the cycle path, to avoid the deep sands that seemed so stifling. And also to try and make up a bit of time so I wouldn’t be too late getting back to Butlins. Or so I foolishly hoped.

I recorded a 7:34 mile for the twelfth, and had hoped I could carry a little of that pace back onto the sands when I rejoined. However, I quickly found myself struggling for grip again and the next mile went for 9:22. Any gains had quickly been lost, and so the scene was set for the remainder of the run. I had another recovery walk at 2 hours into the run, but in truth I was beginning to walk more often, be it because of fishermen, people who couldn’t control their dogs, or growing tiredness. I’d covered just over 13.5 miles though, more or less where I’d hoped to be, but was now running more or less in the plus 9 minute miles as the sun rose over the North Sea.

Sunrise off the Lincolnshire coast, 9/9/2017

Everything was being taken incrementally now. Mentally I was fine, but physically I was up against it, and my quads were starting to ache in a rather dull fashion, like I’d taken on one too many hills. That’s what running on sand all this time was doing to me. I was counting debris that I’d seen on the way out as markers. However, the tide was coming in, and it was doing its bit to accentuate that one thing you can count on the guide you home along the stands (unless the tide swallows them up, that is). Yes, footprints. Something as simple as that is the mark of any journeyman, and to see my footsteps now lined up against the gentle waves hitting the shore, brightened up by a glistening sunrise, was great motivation. To see where I’d come from, and to show how far I’d come.

Rather than now focusing on 21 miles, I chose to count down the miles to Ingoldmells itself – merely single digits, literally taking one mile at a time, trundling along in search of the skull and crossbones flags I’d noted when I entered the beach in darkness. Eventually I spotted Fantasy Island in the distance, and knew it wasn’t far to go. But my footsteps were slowing. My pace had dropped again and I was now working harder than ever to keep going. Any notion that it was my birthday had long been left behind. I was absolutely in the zone, only thinking forwards and looking for the flags.

Finally, there they were. I was almost at a walk when I trudged up the steps. Over the brow of the tiny hill, and at last, concrete. Firm ground. I had roughly a mile and a half left now, and I managed to maintain a reasonably slow and steady rhythm until I reached the holiday park, running through the car park and clocking up the big 21, stopping there and then.

I had done it. My crazy training run, over 80% of it on sand, was complete, and I took my creaking legs back to the apartment to return to the real world, and receive my birthday greetings from my wife and kids. I also got to give anyone sat in view of the balcony a view of my stretching ability, perhaps enforced by not wanting to get my sandy, muddy feet all over the furniture.

A fellow runner on the Facebook group, Running The World, had wished me luck before my run and warned that 21 miles on sand will sap the energy out of me. He wasn’t wrong. This was perhaps the most destructive run I’ve ever experienced. Had I run about another half a mile of beach I’d have been ready to collapse. My legs had got ridiculously heavy at the point of returning to Ingoldmells, it didn’t make a difference if I was running on flat sand or deep sand. I was still absolutely mentally clear, but physically, I almost had nothing left when I got back onto the road in Ingoldmells. This relatively flat sandy run was quite possibly the most gruelling I’d had since the one where I ran to Dovestone Edge and spontaneously started rock climbing. A good long sand run will absolutely compare with any hilly one and quite the feat of endurance if you can manage it.

But without question, this was absolutely worth doing. Even on my birthday, ultra marathon training cannot and did not stop, and this was exactly the kind of brutal training I thrive on to prepare for the rigours of what lies ahead in November. It was awesome to be running on the beach in darkness, the tide out, relatively easy to run on. Sheer willpower got me to the end, but I achieved my training target and amazingly the recovery aspect went really well. By the evening I was well prepared for the night of boozing I was treated to by two family members.

All in all, this was a great way to start my birthday, even if somewhat an act of self-flagellation, and across an absolutely amazing setting. This was incredible preparation as a training run for the White Rose Ultra in November. But I know I’d be crazy to ever attempt this distance on sand again!

Race Report: Honley 10K Trail Run

Sunday August 27th, 2017

I booked this race very early in the year, when trying to fill my race calendar out for the year. This one popped up in my Facebook feed in what I’m fairly sure was a ‘sponsored’ (aka ‘targeted based on your interests) post, with the offer of entry for a fiver. A fiver! Money was tight, but I couldn’t honestly complain at a cheap race entry. I had a nice run into Honley once as well. I generally like Huddersfield and its valleys, so I didn’t need much convincing and my entry was booked. Hooray for cheap races in the age of austerity!

Fast forward seven months later, and its fair to say that some might have seen this as an inconvenience, given what I’d signed myself up for in the meantime. You see, that race I was meant to do back in June, The Drop, where you get blindfolded and all navigational aids are taken from you, leaving you to get back to Huddersfield from wherever you get dropped off 5, 10 or 15 miles as the crow flies – it got cancelled due to a lack of sales. So as compensation, I was offered to transfer my entry into one of Team OA’s other races. Lo and behold, I chose to ignore the Pieathlon, the Wineathlon, the Halifax Marathon, the Chocathlon and even the Aleathlon, and instead went for ‘the daddy’ – the White Rose Ultra. 30 miles of wonderful valleys and brutal hills. Niiiiice…

Training for an ultra obviously demands respect, so how exactly to tackle an 18 mile run taking in the first 13 miles of the course roughly 24 hours before said ‘bargain race’. Don’t say easy, because the course is anything but, though aside from one or two hills early in the route, my run this day was far more tipped towards beauty than brutality.

One day earlier…looking down on Butterley Spillway, near Marsden

Nonetheless, it was a fine balancing act, but judging by the fact I came through unscathed, ache free, injury free and relatively recovered by early evening, I felt ready to get to the business of running a 10K course that to all intents and purposes, had become a slightly square peg in my training plans. Although it did get me out on a Sunday, so I can’t complain at the mileage overall.

The weather this fine day was absolutely cracking. The sun was out, with only a little cloud cover, and so it felt pretty warm even before I’d exuded any effort. I perhaps stood out a little in my blue Halifax Harriers colours – they were all at the Tour of Norland fell race a few miles away; I was very much among the whites of the Stadium Runners of Huddersfield. Nonetheless, I guess I was coming into the race on an upswing, rather than having tapered leading to it. Its worked for me in the past, so I was hopeful of a good run in club colours, even with that 18 miler hidden away somewhere.

Before the race

The race started just after 11am, with an out and back from the cricket club, through a gate and down into Honley Village. In previous years, the race ended with a climb through the village centre, but the course was now reversed to ensure minimal disruption to motorists by sending runners through before they got strung out. From here the run went up another climb, before levelling out as the race ventured into Honley Old Wood. I took a cup of water at this point as my mouth felt fairly dry, but nearly choked trying to take a mouthful at speed, so I eventually took a sip and discarded the cup not far from the stop – I very much doubted I was going to spot a bin to deposit it, and I wasn’t near enough to offer it to anyone else.

I entered the woods in fifth place, and the fourth place runner was in sight ahead of me. I wasn’t reeling him in, but I was doing a good job nonetheless of sticking to my own race plan and just about keeping them in my sights. I was following the red tape around the trees and remembering the exact route as per my race recce about 12 days prior. Into the next part of the woods, where it got a bit more twisty-turny before an exciting downhill section followed by a switchback to head back in the direction of Honley. Through the woods I continued, as the mud began to accumulate. My race was going well – I felt I was running confidently in a discipline I’ve not altogether been at ease with in race situations over the years. 

Running through Honley Woods

The woods then hit a slight climb but I managed to get up and over it to little detriment, and I briefly exited onto a section of road. Soon there was a right turn right into a vicious climb up to the original woodland area. Here is where my 18 miler the day before caught up with me. I opted to powerwalk than try to run it, each step feeling like it was sapping my energy. I could see the runner behind gaining a little, but I emerged at the top still in fifth. Through the woods I continued, until I reached a section which completely flummoxed me. I stopped, unsure where to go. The runner behind caught up, assured me I was going the right way, and went past me. I made sure I thanked him but I wanted the place back. I knew the next part of the race was going to get particularly narrow in places.
The race entered some fields which followed a wall on the left and included various stone stiles to shuffle round. After a couple of these, I managed to surge and got back into fifth by the next stile. Next, a narrow, long-grassed section, and then another path, which led to a series of open fields. The paths across them were clearly defined, as we’re the arrows at each stile. I made a beeline for each one. At the second or third of these, I gashed my knee. I didn’t bother to check the damage. I just knew I wasn’t shaking off the runner behind me. Over and around more stiles. We were now in the streets. Through another public footpath, and there was the playing field above the cricket ground.

Over the stile I went. Initially I ran a little bit wide and I could see the runner behind alongside in my peripheral vision. I put in a surge and made sure I stayed in front as I got to the final stile post down the side of the cricket ground. I kicked hard as we approached the final switchback, and kicked hard out of there, surging for the line and finishing in 5th place, in an official time of 46:48. Not my fastest time, but an excellent result nonetheless, adding another top 5 finish to my records dating back to the Great Yorkshire Pieathlon last year.

After the race
T’is but a scratch

I can reflect positively on my race, given the 18 miles I had to carry over in my legs from the day before. Its not a PB course by any stretch, and although I couldn’t keep up with the leaders, or get up one of those hills, I feel I’ve improved on the trails as a whole and it showed in this race, most notably in the muddy woodland section, where I can say I felt as confident as I’ve ever been in that element – it helps to have good shoes with great lugs, like, that actually grip – the number of times in the past I’ve been underprepared underfoot! But in so much as having the confidence to run to my best across such terrain on the day, this was definitely one of my better races overall, despite needing help to regain my bearings around 3.5 km from the end!

This is a cracking little race in a corner of Huddersfield that’s been going now for six years. I only paid £5 to enter as a promotional charge and it seems like the organiser, Rob, tries his very best to run this event on a small scale, limited budget. The route only went out about two weeks before the event, and this was posted on Strava and captured on video by the organiser posting a shoot of the route. The start/finish arch was borrowed from a well known local race events company. It appeared family and friends were helping with handing out race numbers, baking homemade flapjack and rocky road for the runners. There were no medals, no t-shirts, just pure racing to be had (although the first male & female each get a prize). The times were all ‘gun-timed’ – perhaps the only let down, as on more than one occasion I’ve had to point out I finished 5th, not 6th, and both mine and the 6th placed runner’s time should be a minute slower – I have a new/refurbished Garmin and photos to prove it! However not at all results were affected, and I can accept things like this can happen. This race has now been going six years, and its evident that Rob is passionate about making sure the race is accessible and an enjoyable experience. I certainly feel the event was a success and would love to see it remain a part of the local race calendar.

All in all, a great day out and despite the slight issue with the result, I’d recommend the Honley 10K is a great race to try out your trail running skills, and at a very reasonable price too. Not the easiest course but not a bad place to start, and in an absolutely beautiful corner of West Yorkshire too.

As for myself, I’ve now got to juggle the demands of further ultra marathon training with the imminently approaching swim training for the Ilkley Aquathlon in a mere 15 days time. Crumbs!

Cheers to Wane Law and Andrew Swales for the ‘action’ photos.

Honley 10K Trail Run website

Epiphanies

Without question, one of the greatest and funniest episodes of television I’ve seen is episode 1.6 of the cult comedy sitcom Spaced, titled ‘Epiphanies’. For the uninitiated (get yourself acquainted now!), Spaced featured Simon Pegg and Jessica Hynes (nee Stevenson) as Tim and Daisy, two twenty-somethings who meet following splitting from their significant others, and pose as a ‘professional couple’ to get off the London streets and into a flat run by Marsha, a divorcee landlady with a penchant for alcohol, who doesn’t know they’re not actually a couple. It ran for two series and is a celebration of millennial positivity, bristling with pop culture references while riding on the dynamic between the lead characters. I discovered it 14 years late and its my favourite show ever. The said episode in question basically involves Tim, Daisy and their friends going out clubbing and forgetting their arguments in a night of pure hedonism. The rave scene absolutely has to be experienced, so immensely well executed, funny and true to life in equal measure.

Hold on, what does this have to do with my amateur sports lifestyle, you ask?

Well, I’m deep in training for the Ilkley Aquathlon, which, discounting the Go Tri Yorkshire Aquathlon which was a taster race if anything, will be a bona fide multi sport experience for myself. A race I’ve wanted to do for just over two years, involving a sport I ignored for just as long as I overlooked Spaced, it involves a 400 metre swim and a 3,000 meter run, consisting of 5 laps of 600 metres. And in recent weeks I felt I’d hit a bit of a snag.

See, I’ve absolutely no concerns about the run. Given I spent the best part of three months regularly pushing blistering pace around the Halifax Harriers running track, trying (and successfully managing) to break my 10K PB, I’m fairly confident that if my legs are working when I complete the swim – and they normally do – that I can have a storming run. But lately, its the swim that’s been concerning me. Although I’ve managed as far as 240 metres, swimming in a 20 metre length pool, I’ve lately got back to 25 metres and even once a 50 metre pool and have been finding it a little difficult to adapt back to that slight increase in pool length.

I can’t exactly pinpoint why this is and it had left me perplexed. Whether its a pacing issue, a technique issue, or something else, swimming in the main pool at my local has been a bit of a conundrum. Add to this no lessons due to summer break, an outbreak of head lice that my kids encountered, enforcing a break from the pool, and one night where I forgot to take my goggles, I went into last week actually questioning my ability to do a 400 metre swim. The question is not whether I can swim 400 metres cumulatively – I can do it in stages at the moment and can keep swimming for an hour. I have no problem swimming 25 metre lengths, per se. But its my competitive streak. I want to at least be competent. I want to be able to complete the majority of the swim in one take, if not all of it. Maybe I’m expecting too much from myself, but I genuinely felt in the last three weeks or so that I’d hit a wall. It frustrated me when I couldn’t go swimming. And when I did go swimming, I wasn’t getting out feeling I’d accomplished anything. Like I’d essentially hit a peak but was now on a plateau.

So this Wednesday, with my wife and kids away for the week with my mother-in-law, I was free to effectively go swimming without worrying about getting back to maybe help with housework or settle the kids if they were unsettled. I’d watched a vid on the newly launched Global Triathlon Network on YouTube, discussing different swim workouts. I picked a threshold session which involved the following:

4×100 metres at 80-90% max effort

100 metres easy

with 10-20 seconds recovery.

I’d never carried out a specific swim workout before – I get instructions in my lessons to do x of one stroke and y of another, and so on – but this was entirely how I would define it.

After a couple of warm up lengths there and back, I embarked. Initially, I had the problem of a crowded lane, meaning my rhythm would be disrupted, or I’d have to wait for a faster swimmer to pass before I could resume. But before long, space began to open up as one or two swimmers left, and the more I built into the session, the better I seemed to feel. I judged my fast efforts better and my easy lengths were working to great effect. For a first time, itI went extremely well, and I finished the workout much stronger than when I started it.

Having now swam 900 metres, I decided to finish by seeing how far I could swim without stopping. I’d had a touch of calf cramp in my right leg but I’d taken time to shake that off before getting back in the pool and resuming. Off I went, and back and forth I went. The longest I’d ever managed was 240 metres, and that was in the shallower, shorter teaching pool. Here, I seemed to be going great guns, reaching 150 metres and barely feeling out of breath. I reached 175 and genuinely felt good. I actually had belief. Real belief. 

And here’s where the post title becomes relevant. I suddenly didn’t just believe I could go beyond 240 metres. I absolutely knew I could. And I was going to do it right now.

I began to swim towards the 200 metre mark, when all of a sudden – yeeeeeeooooooowwwww! The calf cramp had returned with a vengeance. I immediately couldn’t swim further, and I instantly reached for the lane rope to save myself from going under. I assured the lifeguard I was OK. My swim was done. All I needed to do was haul my carcass back towards the shallow end. Only I then realised I’d actually swam half the length and was actually able to stand on one leg in the water. So instead, I sheepishly hobbled to the shallow end, acknowledging the concern of fellow swimmers and simultaneously trying to avoid eye contact – why I felt shame I’ve absolutely no idea, though its hard to be cool when swimmers are having a nosey at my predicament. I sat on the side once out of the water, tried to get some feeling back in the calf muscle, which at this point felt and looked rock solid. Having relieved the vice that was causing the worst of the cramps, I eventually I stood up and walked back to the changing room, to get changed and then to live with the effects of that temporarily excruciating cramp for a couple of days, costing me a second swim that week.

The cramp could be a result of a few things, though on this occasion it can’t have been hydration, and I’m not sure I was severely lacking magnesium – though I hadn’t had much in the day of dairy (for calcium), but I was on a High5 electrolyte drink during the swim. Maybe it was my technique. Maybe I hadn’t warmed up quite correctly. All, according to research, as apparent underlying contributors. Whatever it was, I’ve got time to work out why I occasionally get these cramps and how to stop them. I particularly don’t want that to affect my race, or it’ll be game over, a first ever DNF. Though I’m not thinking that will happen; its something I can control, and I doubt I will be in the water long enough for any cramp to emerge. The race doesn’t start until the afternoon, so I’ve no excuse not to be warmed up, fuelled and well-prepared for the race I’ve only targeted for the last two years, and the only one I could certifiably say at the start of the year as absolutely nailed on, no matter what else.

The cramp episode hasn’t eroded my sudden improvement in my self-confidence. I felt like I’d suddenly cracked how to prepare for the swim part of the aquathlon, a mere four weeks out from the race itself, and suddenly I wasn’t feeling so unsure of myself. All it needed was to change out how I approached my swim. Not to go in full pelt from the off. To actually warm up in the water correctly, build into my swim and to stay relaxed. From there the confidence will flow. And everything will be OK.

And with that, this budding multi-sporter got his swimming groove back.

Ayyyyyy!

Race Report: Royal Park Series – Regent’s Park 10K

Sunday July 23rd, 2017

It was 6:50am. I had overslept by around fifty minutes, woken only by my eldest daughter climbing into my wife and I’s bed for the week, as fortune would have it, which would mean I had little over an hour to get my porridge, cup of tea and a shower. My phone charger had somehow disconnected overnight, leading to a futile struggle to get it anywhere near a sustainable level for a big day ahead. And to compound matters, I had an urgent sit down pit stop, if you catch my drift, before I could run out to Mile End Road to see the 205 bus starting to arrive. My normally careful and meticulous race day preparations actually felt much more like my regular work commute, a situation I rarely feel at ease with. Thankfully, due to a red light, I made it across the road and onto the bus, and before long I decided to put my faith in the announcements on the bus over Google Maps to ensure I could look upon some of the sights and sounds of my journey to Regent’s Park Station and not nervously into the blue light abyss that radiates my eyes daily. And relax…

This quite urgent first morning of my holiday came about as they tend to do these days. Once my tickets were booked for the World Para Athletics Championships and once my arm had been twisted to make the trip a week long holiday and not a weekend break, I set about booking the AirBnB (a process which took a good few months), before searching for races in the area that I could get to. Lo and behold, I quickly found the Regent’s Park 10K, part of The Race Organiser’s Royal Parks Summer Series along with Hyde Park and Greenwich Park. Fitting neatly into my holiday plans, I wasted no time booking my entry and thus my entire preparations across spring and early summer were built around a long overdue tilt at my 10km PB of 37:15, set over three years before at the Epilepsy Action Bradford 10K.

Nothing seems small in London, and so the walk to the hub at Regent’s Park itself be considered. It was a good 15 minute walk from the bus stop to get to the park’s Hub, passing the lush green space, the beautiful lakes and waterfowl along the way. Still, the Hub was easy to find, and sitting atop a solitary mound in the middle of the park, and registration would be straightforward enough. With that done, I carried out my own warm up concluding with a kilometre jog round a roughly 250 metre circle of grass. This was all before the organisers gave their briefing and sent out a man named Richard to carry out an energetic warm-up just below the Hub. It wasn’t quite like that bloke who pumps everyone up for the Great North Run, but nobody could fault it for enthusiasm.

Pre-race
Pre-Race

The route, by the way, was three laps of 3.3 (and a bit) kms each, and the profile described as flat. The course follows the Broad Walk section of the park, taking in the drinking fountain and visible sights of London Zoo, apparently. The weather was warming up slightly, the sun deciding to appear from behind the clouds, but thankfully it wasn’t too warm as to potentially be uncomfortable at all.

I gathered at the front of the start line, amongst a group of about three or four other, more local runners, discussing taking it easy to begin with. I’d have done well to take that on board. Yet as the race began, I set off quite briskly, establishing myself in second place behind a runner in yellow. I didn’t try to keep up with him, but that didn’t stop me running my first km in 3:21, which meant in all likelihood I was in for a hard time later on. Sure enough, my pace began to drop back, but I was still feeling OK at this point, despite noticing that there was the occasional hill on this course. Always food for thought for the speeding runner.

First lap, before hitting the sufferfest

I reached the end of the first lap marginally in second place, but would soon cede the place as I began struggling for pace and wondering to myself if I’d ever trust myself to pace a 10K properly. At this point, compared to the Halifax Harriers Summer Handicap 10K, my performance seemed worse, and I really felt myself having to push hard to stay within 4:00/km pace. Not even the peculiar sight of a camel in the zoo could fire me up, it seemed, and I was passed halfway round the lap to drop to fourth. Nonetheless, I tried my best to push, and by the end of the second lap, I had slower runners to use as markers. I then noticed my mile pace had moved back below 3:50, even 3:45, so I resolved myself to keep pushing. It seemed I had a bit in the tank yet.

I went into the third lap, with a part of me wondering if I should give up the PB attempt as I was passed by another runner to drop into fifth, occupying the final prize spot. Keeping an eye on my watch, I could see I was marginally on point, but I had no room for error or complacency. I pushed on as much as I could, using the downhills to try and increase my pace and fighting for every last gain. Into the last kilometre, and I sensed I needed a big push to get within my 37:15 from over three years ago. Roughly a 3:40 to be absolutely safe. I was absolutely straining at this point, putting in strides, getting closer and closer to the finish.

Finally I hit the final straight, and the clock was ticking on around 36:44. I had the time in my grasp, but not quite sub-37. I sprinted as fast as my tired legs would carry me, and crossed the line in fifth place, in a new personal best of 37:07. Finally, after injuries, setbacks, and tribulation, what started out as a rather lofty and ridiculous target of going sub-35 had resulted in an eight second improvement. I was more than happy to take that.

Post-race with the rest of the top 5 – in no particular order

I got my goody bag items (an organic energy drink, a bag of Hippeas snacks, some iced tea (which I didn’t enjoy), and a Nature Valley bar; plus the medal, along with a t-shirt which cost a tenner (I normally wouldn’t, but heck, I was on holiday), and handed in my prize ticket (which would later be posted and would turn out to be fluorescent yellow running socks!). I also had my photo taken with the other four runners who placed ahead, as you can see above.

With that, I got my bag, changed out of my sweaty gear and proceeded to walk back through the beautiful surrounds of Regent’s Park, before wandering past the large queues of Madame Tussaud’s back for my Tube train from Baker Street, heading off to enjoy the rest of my day at Queen Elizabeth Olympic Park.

Race over, I could now look ahead to the remainder of the year and indeed, the rest of my holiday!
Looking back on my race, I clearly still, after all this time, need to learn a good pacing strategy rather than going hell for leather from the start. I almost paid for it here. I sound harsh on myself, but I had placed a lot on this race as far as a personal best goes, one that I knew I was capable of. That said, I can be pleased with my resilience in the last third of the race to make sure I wouldn’t keep looking back to 2014 and wondering what might have been. I can certainly take heart from refusing to give way to the thoughts on the third lap to hold back and try again another day. Had I done that, I feel I’d have truly regretted everything about how I approached the race, but the lull around halfway certainly gave me that glimmer that I hung onto.

Additionally, while where I finished wasn’t a concern this time, the fifth place was yet another top 5 finish in what is turning out to be my most successful calendar year yet.

A big thank you to The Race Organiser for such a great event, in terms of overall value for money, superb organisation and a real friendly, encouraging atmosphere, and indeed in selecting beautiful locations such as this one within the capital and beyond for staging their races. Should I be back in London any other time than the Marathon, I’ll be sure to check out what The Race Organiser might have going on in the area, and I’d certainly recommend you give them your consideration too, particularly if you’re on a longer break as I was.

Cheers to Basil Thornton for the race photos – these can be viewed here.

Event results here

The Race Organiser website

Race Report: The Keith Midgley Summer Handicap 10km

Tuesday June 27th, 2017

11 months ago, I walked down to the track at Spring Hall, Halifax, during the summer break from my swimming lessons. I walked into the small building near the track, where a few of the Halifax Harriers were gathered. I came to do laps of the track – instead, I quickly got talked into doing a 10km race with them, as a paying guest. I didn’t need much convincing, and before I knew it, I’d zipped down the Hebble Trail, the Calder Hebble Navigation and back again, in a time of roughly 39 minutes, and returning back to the track to enjoy pie and peas with the club members. At the time, it was a surreal experience, but at the same time, a thoroughly pleasant one, and one that eventually lead to me coming back around two months ago to initially trial, and finally sign up for the Halifax Harriers proper.

The Summer Handicap 10km is an annual fixture in the Harriers’ club calendar, but this year it was named in honour of Keith Midgley, who this year is celebrating 50 years of membership with the Halifax Harriers, having joined in 1967. Before setting off down to the Hebble Trail for the race start, Keith was presented with a commemorative club vest marking his fifty years from 1967-2017, which was warmly received as Keith got into the vest. He’s still running well and was taking part in the race, which sees runners set off in order of their personal best or predicted time, from slowest to fastest – a race open to all abilities, with the faster runners handicapped to ensure all have a fair chance to win. It makes for a competitive race, entirely in good spirit, and the added bonus of free pie and peas for all back at the clubhouse post-race.

Group photo before the race (taken from Halifax Harriers website)

I’d warmed up for this race by running a fast 5K on Saturday evening. For the first time in a stand-alone 5km, I clocked under 18 minutes, running in 17:54, seven seconds faster than my time earlier in the year at a club time trial. For the first time in a few weeks, I felt some genuine progress. I felt having lacked opportunities to go parkrunning lately or carry out some speedwork sessions outside of club training was harming my prospects of clocking at least a sub-37 minute time in London, but my 5K pace seems to be bang on and it did have me more optimistic as to how this Tuesday night might go.

Down at the race start, I waited as fellow runners were called forward in order of their predicted time downwards. I seemed to remember being on the third or fourth page of the list, which explains why twenty-one (21!) minutes after the first runners had set off, I left with Raymond’s words of ‘I don’t trust this guy, I don’t know what he’s going to do!‘ ringing in my ears. I felt 39 minutes was a safe estimate, given my last two 10km runs – one dating back to the Summer Handicap last year – both came in over 39 minutes, so I downplayed my expectations of getting close to that PB of 37:15. A 38:something time was more my expectation.

The Hebble Trail path was greasy from the rain earlier in the day. I went like the clappers but with an air of uncertainty I sensed a hesitancy about my gait and I tried to fleet foot down the trail. Soon, I would arrive at the bottom of Salterhebble, to navigate the crossing at the locks and the tricky cobbled section before the Calder-Hebble Navigation heads onto Sowerby Bridge. I started to catch some of a few of my club mates at this section of the race, but judging by the runners coming back the other way, I still had a lot of catching up to down, and this was around a kilometre, maybe more, before the turnaround at Sowerby Bridge.

The halfway point arrived, and I continued to motor on. By now there was a slight challenge of running past oncoming runners whom I’d already overtaken, but beyond here, I started to catch up with other runners ahead of me. I couldn’t tell if I was feeling the pace too much, with no watch to tell me if my pace was dropping. There was no discernable difference as far as I knew, my only measure now being the runners ahead. Running back past the village of Copley, I was now overtaking fellow club mates one by one but as the locks at Salterhebble drew into focus, I could still see a number of runners ahead. Back onto the Hebble Trail, I began the final push across the slight ascent back towards the start/finish.

It was on this stretch I caught up with Keith Midgley himself, still running well. As I passed, he told me ‘well done, now go for the win’. If I was tired at this point, those words felt like a shot in the arm. All I could do was to try and catch up with as many people as possible. I continued to pass runners one by one, and sensing the front was near, I put it a huge surge to overtake two runners as we reached the final corner. I turned, only to see more runners and the finish line ahead. I ran hard but the law of the handicap had spoken. All that mattered was the time. Over I went, hearing my time read out as 58:21. Immediately, I reached for my phone in my back pocket to end my tracking and check my real time. In actual fact, I’d clocked 37:21.

My fastest 10km run in over three years, and just six seconds below my personal best!

The post-race selfie

Realistically, I knew I was never going to win this race and so my main priority here was, more than anything else, to see how quickly I could do it. A time in the 38’s would have been great, but a 37:21 on a reasonably flat, occasionally technical course is stonking. All of a sudden, any doubts I had about improving my 10km time are firmly dispelled, and all without the aid of a watch as well. That time was the fastest out on the course out of all who took part. I seem to be really in tune with myself.

Looking back at my race stats, I ran the first 5K in 17:52, which means my latter half of the race went for 19:29 – something I have very little time to work on. Clearly I struggle to hold my early 5K pace for too long – my 17:54 the weekend before was far more consistent. Nonetheless, I have confidence that I will PB at my next race, the Regent’s Park 10km on July 23, given it ought to be a course free of cobbles, lock bridges, inclines and hopefully slightly warmer weather (but not too warm), which in turn should ensure a dry surface to run on. Plus, I’ll be starting equal in that race and with a good few hundred runners taking part, there will be plenty of runners ahead of me to try and cling onto as I pursue that time for dear life! The sub-35 I talked about a couple of months back is clearly too ambitious at this stage – I need to be able to at least run sub-18 in the second half to think I can get anywhere near that target. But a sub-37 minute time is certainly not out of the question.

Without question, club life is proving to be coming up roses every time right now, and I’m glad I finally took the decision to join a club, indeed the Halifax Harriers, the closest one to myself locally and without question improving my running ability in the space of a few weeks. Regular speed training has been great for my re-entry to the lower range of long distance running, and I’ve found after a few weeks of thinking getting back to 37 minute pace over 10km was going to be harder than I thought, in actual fact I’ve discovered I just had to settle back in to running hard, after a couple of years of only ever applying myself at the odd parkrun. So for that, I’ve got to thank the run leaders and fellow runners at the Harriers for pushing me from the get go to run harder, better and faster. 

This indeed is a race you cannot take part in unless you’re part of the club, or a paying guest. But as a format, the Summer Handicap is brilliant, and I certainly hope and expect many other clubs possess a race in the same style up and down the country. As it is, I’m quite happy to be a part of this race at this long standing, and quite awesome, athletics club.

To my fellow Harriers reading this, well done once again to all who took part, and thank you to all who volunteered in one way or another to support this great annual event. And congrats Keith on your big 50, here’s to many years of continued running!

Halifax Harriers AC online

Race Report – Hebden Bridge Fell Race 2017

Thursday June 1st, 2017
The Hebden Bridge Fell Race is the second of three fell races I’d earmarked for the year – four including Kilnsey, but that’s not happening now. Following my reasonable efforts in the Dick Hudson Fell Race on Ilkley Moor, I made it my intention to enter this race not just for the challenge, nor the experience, but to get back up that hill to visit the great black obelisk, Stoodley Pike, a site I visited on a walk in the summer of 2016 that really livened my spirit for journeying away from man and beast, if just for a few hours. Organised by the Todmorden Harriers, this race has attracted runners regionally and nationally since 2006, held on the first Thursday of each June and was now in its 11th consecutive year.

Unlike Ilkley, I didn’t get chance to recce the course – general life got in the way, and I found myself unable to commit to a morning or afternoon to navigate the course. Nonetheless, I had previously experienced the hills above the town on my adventures last year, so I had some background knowledge and was able to use my OS Map to study the course. I signed up a few days before the race without hesitation and for the first time was able to mark myself as a Halifax Harrier – although as a FRA (Fell Runners Association) race and not a UK Athletics race, the discount didn’t apply. £5 (or £6) is cheap as chips to enter a race, an attractive price for anyone from experienced runners to those new to the fells.

It was a gloriously sunny evening in Hebden Bridge, as evidenced by the blazing sunshine beaming down on Calder Holmes Park. I took the time to take in the sunshine, the River Calder, and head for a quick warm up jog out and back, clocking no more than half a mile. By 7:20pm, we were gathering the other side of the Station Road bridge, facing down where the start line was positioned.

The River Calder, Hebden Bridge, 01/06/2017

I did feel a sense of pride wearing my vest this particular evening – my first race not as an enthusiastic unattached runner, or as a charity runner – I was now part of a group. Although I’m fairly sure I only noticed one other Halifax vest, with many runners drawn from Todmorden (of course), the stripey Calder Valley Fell Runners, and there even seemed to be more Manchester Frontrunners in attendance. Nonetheless, I was on the start line, that’s what mattered.

Off we went. Immediately, something didn’t feel right. It seemed like nerves. Possibly because of the knee, but I got caught out by the pace of the start, and was overtaken on the inside by a good few runners. We then began the climb up through the woodland, which often bottlenecked and allowed for plenty of pauses to power walk and conserve energy. Once escaping the woodland, I seem to recall a narrow path which soon became a mix of flat and hilly sections, my speed at which quickened or slowed accordingly as I tried to traverse the terrain. My shoes weren’t helping – more than once I had to step to the side to tighten them as they didn’t seem to be supporting my heels so well – thankfully rectified by the halfway point – and so I struggled to maintain any real momentum, although I was gaining ground as the race ascended another level.

Before long, I was really starting to have problems climbing the terrain. I’m in tune with power walking and perfectly happy to use this method on a particularly steep hill, but as Stoodley Pike loomed ahead as to my right, I had very little power in my quads, and the result was an exhausted trudge to make the final metres to the top. Even on the final approach to Stoodley, I was struggling to maintain any momentum over what was really a perfectly surmountable hill. I mustered the strength to get to the top, touch the Pike itself and then head back, mercifully, down the hill again. At least now I could try and gather some momentum.

For the next mile or so, I seemed to go alright, occasionally interchanging places with other runners and making a fist of being competitive in the midfield. Towards the end though, my lack of experience started to show on the steeper sections, as foot placement on protruding roots became tricker, the inclines a little steeper, and I would have to cede one or two more places as the race returned through the woodland back to Calder Holmes Park.

To compound matters, there were one or two more roads which contained hills. Even after spending a long time coming down, I continued to struggle to ascend normally routine hills. It was similar to the Dovestone Edge run I did about 9 months ago – on that occasion I got to 13 miles before my quads gave up! Needless to say I felt pretty shattered, physically and psychologically by it all. Finally returning to the canal, I mustered one last hard effort to ensure I didn’t lose any more places. I crossed the line and promptly felt an overwhelming sense, not of accomplishment, but disappointment. A serious case of ‘that was fucking crap‘ overcame me, as I sat myself down on the deck. Not the race itself, but pretty much everything about how it went.

(I don’t often use curse words on my blog but that’s how I honestly assessed my performance. I wasn’t holding back!)

I took myself back to Machpelah, where I cleaned the mud off my legs (a bit), got changed into my Snowdonia Marathon t-shirt and opted to indulge in some fruit juice and ginger cake. I could have had a beer for £3, but what was there to celebrate really? I didn’t feel much like drinking alcohol, and even the slight surprise of finishing 35th (in a time of 54:53) did little to raise my spirits towards the race. I gladly made the short trip back to the train station before heading home. 

Had I written this in this immediate aftermath of the race, I could have come across far more negative than what I am about to say now. But I’ve had plenty time to reflect. I didn’t have a cracking night’s sleep beforehand, though I felt fine prior to the race. I don’t think the weather was a factor either – I felt warm but not hot, and at no point did I feel dehydrated. Maybe I paid the price a little bit for a recent lack of hill training – I spent a lot of time preparing for a fairly flat ultra marathon earlier in the year, and have only recently given hillier running again its full due. But ultimately, its my lack of experience in these races. I wasn’t expecting the earth in terms of a performance, but I at least always felt I could at least excel myself in these types of races. Instead, it seemed I had finally found something that’s not quite my forte – and indeed, finding my body had reached a limit that basically said ‘no’, and tried to hold me back again and again. And initially I found that to assess my performance as such. I realise I’m being overly harsh. I can more appropriately say it was a chastening experience, one which I hadn’t possibly foreseen but one which maybe I should. Brighouse has nothing you could class as a fell – a few hilly trails, but nothing more. A trip to Stoodley, or Ilkley Moor is a day trip to me. For some more localised runners, this is their bread and butter. I could just jack it in and argue I’ll never have a chance.

But that belies my own competitive spirit. I’ve not experienced a DNF yet. Or even a DNS. Even when I’ve struggled, I’ve found a way to finish. Even when I’ve got lost, or taken a wrong turn during a race, I’ve fought tooth and nail to make up the ground. And here, I took on one of Calderdale’s toughest races, and lived to tell you I was bloody awful, and still finished.

So I may well sack the Stoodley Pike 5K next month and instead redouble my efforts to get race ready for the Regent’s Park 10km later in July. I shouldn’t be lugging myself up a great big hill just for the experience when my chief focus is elsewhere. But that doesn’t mean I should ditch fell racing. Simply make sure I get out there, get some experience, build up my core strength, do my recce if I can, and take a look at the most appropriate challenges out there. I shouldn’t ever expect myself to win one of these things. All I want is to be competitive on the day. But I realise that everyone has an off day, everyone has a bad race in them, and mine just happened to be this one. There’s no time to sit around complaining, because my next race, The Drop Summer Sizzler, is right around the corner. Or at least it was, til it got cancelled due to low sales. But more on that another time.

A big thank you to the Todmorden Harriers and everyone who volunteered, marshalled and flagged out the course. 

Race info + results