Race for the title

(No, it’s not as exiting as the Premier League!)

Road running, marathons, relays, track, trails, x-country. I had ticked most boxes in my running life, but there was one more challenge still left to try – fell running. I’m not sure why I haven’t tried this form of running yet; maybe it’s just because I have just not got round to doing it. I wasn’t even planning on this year, but it just happened that a fell race landed on the same night I was free, and since it was mentioned at the club the previous evening I decided it was time to give it a go.

I needed to invest in a new pair of shoes, and chose a pair of Innovates, which were not cheap at £65, but was assured they would be just the job for the fells. Well, I’ve no complaints there, they are a decent shoe and they do the job. I decided that even if I was no good I would have to do a number of races, as they were too expensive for just one race. I think I only do cross country because I didn’t want too waste money on my shoes for just one race (just kidding Alan, I love cross country really).

So, it started with a ‘stroll’ up Parlick Pike…..

Paddy’s Pole Fell Race (Tuesday 3^rd June 2008 19:30)

This was to be my first fell race, up what I think is one of Lancashire’s finest hills (Parlick) and then along the top to Fairsnape Fell and Paddy’s Pole. There is a short tarmaced run up before going through the gate and on to Parlick Fell, and then everyone just walks up the steep incline. There is no set route; you just climb, vaguely heading for the summit. There is no point trying to run up, that’s far too inefficient. Once near to the top, the gradient eases, and running can continue. It’s a long, hard, slog with head down and digging in. I pushed in front of Pete Waywell, and spotted Lee Barlow 7 or 8 places in front. The ground was uneven, quite soft in places, but firm enough that my feet didn’t slip, (which I hate). Upon reaching a stile and turning left, the route slowly descends, and at this point I started to enjoy it. The air was cool and fresh, and I could smell the peaty earth. There are great views of the Fylde coast, if you dare look up. I was more interested where I was putting my feet over the crater like surface. At Paddy’s Pole, (who the hell was Paddy and what was his pole for? - OK don’t answer that!) We turned left and bounded down the hill towards Parlick Pike. The gradient was just perfect. I was running, jumping and leaping at scary speed down the fell. Had I a pair of wings on my back I would have took off. I passed a marathon weary Lee, which put me into first Wesham position. I had to keep my concentration, so as not to fall down any pot holes. There was a short climb again before hitting the top of Parlick again, and then the fun began - the run down Parlick to the bottom. It was at this point I realised I was not a natural fell runner – I didn’t have the bottle to let myself go down the mountain. I didn’t have the bottle because I could only see about 10 yards in front of me before the terrain disappeared, so I ended running down like a wuss. I expected the finish to be where we started on the road, but all of a sudden a marshal pointed to the left and I saw the finishing tape. In most races the finish never seems to come, but here I had crossed the line before I knew it!

I was first for Wesham, and picked up 1 championship point. I immediately got on the website to look for the next race….

Race verdict: Good challenging run, beautiful Lancashire scenery, perfect for an early summers evening.

Gibson Grind (Sat 28th June 2008 14:00)

Unfortunately this was the day before the SOTOS 10K, and I was in dire need of a decent 10K time. I need not have worried, as the headwind in the 10K would have meant little chance of a PB anyway. I came to the GG with a game plan: Beat Richard, be first Wesham and gain 1 championship point. Richard tried to psych me out by bandaging his ankle, trying the old ‘I’m injured routine’. Well, he was injured! It wasn’t Richard I needed to worry about, but Pete Waywell. He seemed to be lurking every time I glanced over my shoulder, making me work like a dog. He was closing in along Scout Scar and I only shook him off in the second half of the race, in some really hard, head down, all hands to the pumps, screwed up face painful running. The last two miles are along a leg thumping, downhill path, almost, (but not quite), making up for the torturous first two miles along the same route.

Well, it was job done, first Wesham home and 1 championship point.

Race verdict: I think the name adequately describes the first 2 miles, then the middle 2 as well. Good views along scout scar.

Oldfield Fell Race (Sun 20th July 2008 11:00)

If I thought this would just be a case of turn up, run and get a championship point, Mr Barlow would soon shatter that illusion. With four more races left, he could be favourite to take the championship. I had beaten Lee at the Interclub on Monday night, so I reckoned I was in with a chance of beating him here. He told me he was here to give me some competition, and he wasn’t lying. Too much competition, as he flew past me up the first hill, and slowly started to pull away. He was far too good on the moor tops, with its tussocky grass, rough ground and swampy pastures. I gave up on catching Lee then Richard flew past me, lightly springing past me as if the terrain was not an issue. I had a rough mile or two up there; my breathing was all over the shop, and was always a slip away from a twisted ankle. I expected the route to follow the moors in circular fashion before returning back down to the road. Well, it does, but someone had thoughtfully built a tarmac roadway up to the dam we ran across at the top. What a bonus! Once on the hard stuff I could get going again. I caught Richard, smiled, and breezed past him, gaining a 3-4 second lead before the race, unfortunately for me, returned on to the open moorland. Richard ate my lead in no time, and then we had to navigate our way across hidden streams and tall grasses, occasionally disappearing up to our waists in water. He had the lead at the next stile, until the path hit a rough track and again I overtook him.

I stayed in front once we were back on ‘terra un-firma’, and really had to dig in to prevent him catching me. It was tough going; the waterlogged sections becoming an increasing challenge. I managed to stay in front until we got off the moor tops, but my wet shoelaces had come undone and I had to stop and re tie them. I took the Guinness World Record for fastest shoe lace tie, (6.3seconds), got up and I could hear Richard on my shoulder. The track was fairly steep, and I had to run in the “slightly too dangerous for my liking” zone and hope I wasn’t going to go head over tit down the hill. My target was the bottom of this track, upon which I would hit the relative safety of the tarmac and a 300m sprint to the finish. I got to the tarmac first, but Richard wasn’t for giving up; he was going to make sure I worked for this one. I knew I had the advantage now, but he was going with the flow and it wasn’t until I was about 50m from the finish that I heard his breathing die away, and I finished second for Wesham.

Lee had been out of sight for the last third of the race, and this was a cracking run for him, (not even in a pair of fell shoes). I had banged in the races over the past week and a bit, so knew I was in good form. The question now was, with three races left, I would have to beat Lee in at least one of those.

Race verdict: Typical bleak northern moorland. Felt like autumn at the top with the strong wind. Rough grass and moors more than made up for the lack in climbing. Sections of tarmac road were most welcome though! Decent (if expensive) pub with good views at finish.

Whittle Pike Fell Race (Wed 20th August 2008)

Well I had plans to race this, but a work meeting was scheduled at a very inconsiderate time, meaning I would have to get from Tamworth to Rawtenstall during rush hour in three hours. Not impossible, but far from ideal. As it happened the meeting finished early, but I felt tired, the weather was atrocious and I decided to wait until the next outing

Hodder Valley Fell Race (Sat 13th September 2008)

This was the clash of the races. Should I help Team Wesham in pursuit of glory at the North West counties team relays or go for first place in the Hodder Valley Fell Race? To make things easy for me, Lee had committed to the relays leaving me just to beat Richard. But that just wouldn’t be the British thing to do, would it? It may be an opportunity, but my conscience told me the right thing to do was the relays and leave the Fell Race Championship to the next, and last, race of the season. It was a good decision, as I came home with a bronze team medal for Lancashire.

Rivock Edge Fell Race (Sun 23rd November 2008)

I set of on a very cold, wet and dull morning trying not to think about the race ahead. The race started near Keighley, which meant a drive up the M65 to Colne and beyond. This is a landscape of misery, of industrial units, poor housing stock, desolate moorland and, this morning, a fitting sky of dull grey rain clouds. It’s what Southerners call “Up North”. I’ve never been across it with the sun shining yet.

So this was it, the title was still undecided. I needed one more race to complete the required minimum of four. With two wins and a second place, a win would put me on five points; second place would put me on 6 points. With Richard on five points, I needed the win to equal his points tally. Lee was not in a position to claim the title, but he could be a real party pooper and stop me from getting joint first place! I wasn’t sure of Lee’s form, but after doing the New York Marathon only t6hree weeks before I thought he may still be recovering from that.

There was just a spattering of Weshamites here, but I could not see Lee. Richard was here of course, and I soon realised I would be competing with him and not Lee, unless he made an eleventh hour appearance. I wasn’t sure of the pub to register and I drove through the village twice before deciding ‘The Bridge’ looked the more likely candidate.

A few minutes before the start we went to line up, but still no sign of Lee. All I had to do was beat Richard. With only 400m of tarmac in the race, I wasn’t sure I could pull it off. I set off well, before we all turned on to the canal side and ran single file, wind assisted for about a mile. My shoes were providing slightly less than satisfactory traction and occasionally, to my annoyance, my foot would slip out, and throw me momentarily of balance. The lead runners ran left, over the canal bridge and on to a rutted farm track that started to rise towards the 255m of hill we were about to climb. The route crossed a field before reaching a steep copse which reduced us all down to a hands-on-knees, fell runner’s power walk. Leaves and dead branches on the forest floor were pushed back as we all ascended the arduous climb ahead of us. I had lost three or four places by the time the route turned and followed the contour of the hill. There was a bit of ducking and leaping to do before having to jump a gate and traverse more rutted grassland, a short section of tarmac and then a narrow footpath that climbed steadily. I kept checking my watch for distance, as the route was supposed to be 10K, so I looked out for the three mile mark on my watch. It took me a while to read as an error message kept coming up saying it had run out of memory, and I would have to delete previous records. It kept beeping at me and was starting to get on my nerves. We turned on to some cold, windswept moorland which I was convinced was the summit. My watch confirmed it too, at just over three miles. Over the top the ground slowly descended and I was able to stride out and take a few places. There were a few streams and another gate to jump which led onto a stony, forest track. To my surprise, and displeasure, the route turned sharp right, up through the silent and soft footed coniferous forest and came out close to the summit. I knew this was the real summit this time as the trig point, that romantic block of concrete with a hole down the middle where walkers can put their apple cores and mars bar wrappers, was the turn around point. I looked down and saw Richard, perhaps 45 second behind. He clocked me clocking him.

The steady summit soon descended into anarchy; a 45 degree downwards slope through the forest. My fell running ability was as exposed like a ‘page 3 dolly bird’. Three runners leaped past me without fear as I side stepped timidly along the soft, forest floor, dodging branches and tree trunks. My brain’s risk assessment department (corpus callostum disasterous) worked overtime giving signals to the co-ordination department, (Diencephalon runious jumpious leapious), to enable my body to clumsily avoid the crunch of skull on bark. The runner behind told me, a little sarcastically, he thought I was going to let the branch I’d just ran into spring back to hit him. In all the frantic action, I’d never given it a thought, and I felt slightly guilty all the way down. It could have turned out to be a very unsporting gesture, so I will definitely be a bit more aware for next time.

We were soon back onto the path we came up, through the rough grasses with hidden streams and down a well worn single file path that was no use to apprehensive runners like me. A sprained ankle awaited one wrong foot strike. The path evolved into a nicely tarmaced drive, but no sooner were we on that we got directed of it, chicaned through a gate and across the rutted field we crossed before and through the soft carpet of leaves. I knew the course would turn sharp right soon and down a crazy gradient only the insane would run down. I side stepped down, with getting to the field below in full working order my number one priority.

I had forgotten about Richard, and cockily assumed I had him in the bag, but when he came past in a blur, bounding fearlessly past me down that hill I realised that the race for the title was well and truly back on. This was it, final race of the season, final mile and a half, and no tarmac in sight. I was just over half way down by the time Richard had reached the bottom, and though I went a little faster, was nowhere near his fell running competency at free downhill running.

At the bottom the course went across a farmer’s field, but the ground was so rough I could get no speed up. I held on to Richard on an invisible leash, not gaining, but not losing ground either. On to the rutted farm track, I slowly ate away at his lead before running stride by stride with him a few meters behind.

I wanted to get in front before returning onto the canal, so I put in a surge for 20 seconds and hoped he wouldn’t latch on. Over the bridge I turned right and the cold wind hit me like a slap in the face. I wanted to stride out but the wind had me down to a frustrated jog. I heard footsteps and heavy breathing behind me. Richard was fighting to the death on this one, I thought. I tried to push on but struggled. My feet lost grip and slipped out on the muddy path. The canal twisted left, then right. I was unsure how far there was to go and my watch was no good as we were well over 10K, (the distance I assumed the race was). My breathing got heavier and I could push no more. There was no option but to let Richard pass, and then try to hang on in there, maybe outkick him in the last 100 yards. He came past and got a few yards on me very easily, but too my surprise it wasn’t Richard but another runner! I was still Wesham’s first counter! I didn’t look behind, but could hear no one, and surely there cannot be much more of this left? I saw a large, old, disused mill, and instinct told me this must be by the main road – Instinct was right; I turned the corner and could see the finish, less than 200m away. I looked round but could not see Richard. I sprinted the rest of the way, crossed the finish and stood bent double with the rest of the finishers at the climax of one hell of a race.

I swapped race stories with Richard at the finish, and he told me he was catching me all the way down from the top, but could not stay with the group of runners he was with once over the canal bridge in the last mile. I said I thought he was on my shoulder which had me worried and he laughed. I may be the better runner on the flat and uphill, but he has the fearless knack of getting from the tops to the bottoms without looking like a wuss. I still have a bit of learning to do with this fell running lark.

Race verdict: A bit of cross country, steep climbs, fence jumping, stream jumping, suicidal descents and a pub at the bottom – what more could you want (and only four quid).

Written by: Steve Myerscough

Submitted: 3^rd December 2008

Edited by: Brenda J Earnshaw WRR Editor