Foxtrail Winter Race Series #3

With Sally. Very wet underfoot but dry overhead (just). Also still suffering from hangover from the 11th.

Enjoyed the long beach section.



01:13:58  31/218

Foxtrail Winter Race Series #1

Back for more of this....it was going to be my third running of this route, having done it twice in the 18/19 series. It had been very wet on the Friday, but Saturday was forecast to be showery. Mud had to be expected.

Avoiding the RWC2019 Final that kicked off at 09:00 between England and South Africa, I drove east to Dunbar and was directed along a forest track to a grassy field where some deep wheel ruts were already forming as cars parked up. I hoped there wouldn't be any stuck vehicles after the race. I trotted back along the track to the Foxlake centre to collect my number before returning to the car to tog up. I did have my raingear, but what precipitation there was, was periodic and light. I decided to run in shorts & t-shirt.

Back to the centre and a quick pee, feeling sorry for the massive queue of females. At the event briefing the audio was shocking and I don't think anyone heard much. I just about gleaned there was a slight change in the route where it recrosses the river at Dunbar but there would be no change to distance.

As expected, I saw the usual suspects - Nigel's cousin Jez, Ian Burdett whom I had spoken to at Athelstaneford in May and of course Roger Peppiette. We had a brief chat about his recent trip to California before being ushered to the start line.

My race strategy was to match Roger. Off we went along the deep wet grass around the lake into the woods, at quite a canter. I was blowing hard but found myself losing contact with Roger through the tricky wee copse and down to the track. Once back on the flat, I upped the pace and made sure he was two places ahead.

Passing East Links, there was a Llama at the fence feeling threatened by us and it kept lunging at the wire. A bit mad. Over the bridge and onto the tarmac, I overtook the guy in front and slowly gained on Roger until I was alongside him as we turned right onto the grass to go round the caravan park. I'm not sure if this was his trigger to put the foot down, or I had shot my load, but the gap between us immediately started to open out, and before long the 2nd placed female had nipped past me into the gap.

On the other side of the bridge, it was very wet and muddy and I was soon being overtaken by 2 or 3 blokes. There was now at least 4 between me and Roger, and he seemed to be so steady. We were now approaching the sand dunes which I despise and my pace slowed allowing more people through.

Anyway, the rest of the race continued in that vein, me being overtaken every km as if I was on a travelator going the wrong direction. For the last km, I managed to hold it together and stopped the watch on 57minutes. Suprisingly that was the fastest I had run that route, even in the slop. Roger was at least 2mins ahead of me.

00:57:12 23/242

Minigaig Pass (Kingussie to Blair Atholl)

Ruthven Ponies

 The Minigaig Pass has fascinated me for a long time. I probably first heard of it when reading Ralph Storer's 1994 book "Exploring Scottish Hill Tracks" that I've owned for years. I ventured onto its southern end when cycling from Calvine to Bruar Lodge to climb Beinn Dearg and ran the roughest northern section when doing a round of the Corbetts west of Glen Feshie.

After running the St Cuthbert's Way over two days in August, I realised long day distances were possible and looked for something to do. Measuring the approximate route with mapmyrun, it came in under 50km. Both ends were connected by the A9 and/or the railway. Although none of the route is waymarked, it was mostly on established tracks so all I'd need was a map and compass.

On doing some online research into the route, I found an excellent account  on blogspot from another likeminded runner who travelled the route in 2010. Even better, they had run it N-S which was the same as my plan. Since I would be arriving from the Central Belt, it made sense to leave the car at Blair Atholl and run back to it. I checked the bus and train timetables (and prices) to settle on the 08:55 Scotrail service from Blair Atholl on Saturday 12th October. On Thursday I suddenly remembered I would be crossing gaming estates and there might be stalking happening. I checked the Heading for the Scottish Hills site and called the Bruar Estates answerphone. I also sent an email to their office. Julia replied to confirm there would be stalking happening, but as long as I stayed on the right-of-way, then it would be fine.

I left home too late. Turning on the engine and programming Blair Atholl into the Sat Nav, it told me my ETA was 09:10. Fifteen minutes too late to catch the train. Some inventive driving resulted in me parking in Blair Atholl at 08:54. I sprinted to the station only to discover the train was delayed until 09:00. Phew.

On the train I fuelled up with some more Scott's Porage Oats before disembarking at Kingussie 40minutes later. I had originally planned to stop at Perth M&S to grab a sarnie for lunch, but that didn't happen and I decided the Kingussie Co-Op would have to do. Standing at the war-memorial waiting for the train to roll on north, the Co-Op (and even the thought of a sarnie) was dismissed and I just turned south and went on my way.

Crossing the Spey, some canoeists ready to set off

A mile of tarmac crossing the Spey and then under the A9 I arrived at Ruthven Barracks for a short piece to camera and check of the map. I wanted to follow the true military road route rather than taking the easier tarmac all the way to Tromie Bridge so climbed a gate and set off up a grassy vehicle track into a cow field.

The cows were spooked and ran up the path ahead for a while, stinking of shit. I climbed a stile and crossed a wee ford before following the track up to a high point west of the mast on Beinn Bhuidhe. The track narrowed to a faint trail in the heather and I was glad to reach a substantial cairn that confirmed I was on the right course.

Descending towards Glen Tromie now, I stopped for a pee before climbing a stile over a deer fence into the pinewoods and bracken above Glentromie Lodge. A month ago, this would have been inpenetrable jungle so I was glad for some browning dieback. Of course the vegetation was soaking and soon both my legs and feet were sodden.

The path was very boggy now as it ran parallel to a deer fence heading north instead of south. I could see the LR track not far beyond and even saw a couple of vehicles passing along it. I took the decision to climb the wobbly wires and soon was running at speed again joining the main track south up the glen.

I made good time and the miles beeped past on the watch as the landscape opened out. At the junction of the Gaick and Tromie glens I stopped to look at the map when suddenly a sheepdog appeared. It must have run out from the cottage in the distance and followed me up the track.

At the weir I left the comfort of the LR track and after a gel, set out on the next wild section of the route. I had previously been running nearby in 2014 so knew that the Minigaig route was 'indistinct' to say the least. I wasn't expecting much so just made sure to follow the easiest line until I reached the Allt na Culice. Bizarrely out of the corner of my eye, I spotted two mountain bikers on the left descending through deep heather from the forest. They were pushing/carrying bikes.

I filled up my water bottle and carried on, noting the bikers were heading north. The path was totally crap here and I was just stumbling through deep wet grass and heather, heading for a faint suggestion of a path up on the side of Leathaid an Taobhainn that was glinting in the sun.

The wind was getting up as I gained height, I was now at 600m. Lots of walking. Finally the gradient fell back and I spotted a quartz topped cairn the left of the path. This was obviously the summit at 820m so I stopped to put on another layer, my gloves and buff whilst eating some food.

As I continued south over flatter ground, the sky darkened and then it started raining. I stopped to don the cag making sure to keep the pace up to avoid getting cold. I knew this high section would be shortlived so wanted to make sure I was across it before the weather turned even worse. As expected, there were tiny white quartz cairns placed every 100m or so to help guide me. This place felt very remote and wild. In winter it must be respected.

The Caochan Lub - perfect high level camp spot?

Thankfully it didn't last long and I was able to take my hood down. Of course, my luck had to run out here and I managed to turn my right ankle somewhere here, falling in a heap on the short cropped heather beside the path. Typical. I couldn't get injured here, I was probably the furthest from any civilisation and any rescue would be tough. I stood up and tried it out - still functioning if painful. I carried on, gingerly.

The descent to Glen Bruar came soon and I spotted my salvation in the form of a LR track near a bridge at the head of the glen below me. Once there, I stopped for a protracted break to refuel and return my extra layers to the bag. 500m to the south of the bridge was the dark crag of Creag na h-Iolair Mhor (Cliff of the Big Eagle?)...while filming on the GoPro, I noticed the unmistakable silhouette of an eagle patrolling the air above me.

Although the LR track made for faster running progress, tiredness and a sore ankle slowed me down. I struggled to not stop every kilometre. I passed Bruar Lodge and some parked vehicles that looked like visting guns. Unfortunately the route left the LR track here to follow a damp path over the side of Druim Dubh.

Glen Bruar from the Druim Dubh

Not far from the sanctuary of the bothy ahead and probably distracted by the thought of another break, I managed to roll my ankle a second time. This time it was agony. Oh balls. After some rubbing and swearing, I stood up again and placed weight on it. If I kept it in a neutral position it was usable, but any lateral movement was painful. I limped the last 200m to the bothy and LR track.

There was a dog owner (two dogs) sitting at the picnic bench outside the wee bothy eating his lunch in the showery sun. I stopped to chat and eat my last food. I also signed the damp bothy visitors' book before setting off again for the final 10km to Blair.

Nothing remarkable to note until I reached the woods above Old Blair where the map told me there was a direct route back to my car but I was worried it would pass through the private grounds of Blair Castle. I stopped a dog walker to ask the very question and she gave me a wooly answer in pigeon English tinged with Polish. Fortunately the directions were correct, and soon enough I was slapping the tarmac past the castle, onto the main driveway and up to my car.

45.3km 5h30m

Penicuik House Trail Race

Sparse Runner had first introduced me to the grounds of Penicuik House in 2018 when I was looking for some Mountain Marathon advice as we prepared for the LAMM in Harris. As a member of the Penicuik Harriers running club, he was well aware of plans by the club to organise a 10km trail race in the grounds of the estate and he had previously shared the route online.

Unfortunately by the time he told me the inaugural 2018 race entries were open, it was full. I made a mental note to get in early for the 2019 event.

Over the next year, I made sure to run the course myself and even persuaded Sally along for one of them. Saturday 5th October was dry, but as per usual it had been chucking it down on the Friday and I knew we were in for a mudfest. On the way to Penicuik, I listened to England hump Argentina in the final pool games of the RWC2019 on FiveLive. A red card was awared to an Argentinian player as I parked up to register at Alderbank.

On the start line, nobody wanted to stand at the front, and the race marshall shouted at us. I stood forward. Eventually some stick insects also came forward and we eyed each other up. The race marshall reminded us of the course record - 39mins. I wouldn't be threatening that.

The whistle blew and off we went. Three guys went hurtling off at breakneck pace and were soon out of sight round the twists and turns of the ascending forest track. As expected, the mud was formidable and we sploshed along the top track trying hard not to slip and slide.

Along the top path

I judged the descent to the river well and kept my place and even managed to pass a baldy feller in a luminous yellow top on the way towards the main house.

Onto the tarmac I was going well, but a Westie passed me on the next ascent towards the walled garden. I kept up my pace through the woods turning sharp right back onto the tarmac briefly before passing the tower/doocot and over many slippy tree roots.

The descent to the river was very muddy indeed and a marshall warned us. I took it easy and lost two places to the first female and the guy in yellow. On the flat back to the ROman bridge, I regained those places and crossed the bridge to wave at the bagpiper with them on my heels. We stayed in that formation for the killer climb back to the top path and with 800m to go I was still ahead.

Just exiting the killer climb, first female on my heels

But...

I felt a loosening in one of my shoes and tried to ignore it. It got worse. I looked down and saw a flapping lace. Arrgghhhhhh. I knew the descent to the finish was loose and windy, not a place to be racing with an untied shoe. I could hear the breathing of my chasers behind me. I stepped to the side and stopped as they came flying past. Feck. Quick tying and off I went, I absolutely belted along to catch up the 50m they'd made. I got on their heels, but then the descent began and they stretched away (I'm no good at descending).

00:45:02 7/78  (would have been 5th save for my lace!!!)

Two Breweries Hill Race

Like an unclimbed Munro or Corbett that I've stared at on the map or in guidebooks, this race has dwelled at the back of my conciousness for a long time. Not surprising since it has been going for 36 years, but I've known of it for a while and wondered if I would ever do it. I actually entered in 2017, and during the summer of that year had done two recces of the route, returning to the car on bike. Unfortunately on the 2nd recce, when descending from Trahenna I had badly sprained my ankle in the heather. That year, my main race goal had been the Kielder Trail Marathon in October so with the 2BHR at the end of September, I decided the risk of injury was too high to jeopardise my marathon.

This year, having completed the Islay Marathon at the start of September, my year was now free to enter the 2BHR. 300 entrants is the limit for the race on EntryCentral, and when I signed up in the 2nd week of September, there were still at least a hundred places left. I bought a new pair of trail shoes (Hoka Torrent) after the SCW run and made sure to run in them as often as possible. Runs of note included the RedMoss Kips once evening, and a long (22km) run home from work over Blackford, Braid, Caerketton, Allermuir and Capelaw.

Race week arrived and keeping an eye on the forecast watched it change from stormy rain to dry and bright. Fortunately, it settled on the latter by Friday 27th September and I felt confident I'd be keeping the 'waterproofs' in the bag during the race. The race organiser mentioned the race was being used as a 'Scottish Hill Runners' counter meaning it would have a greater attendance than normal. Since the race base would be at the Primary School this year, he said that parking in Broughton would be at a premium. I contacted Ian Bradley who I knew was also running and arranged to car share with him.

Ian and I arrived in Broughton around 9:15 and he blethered away meaning we arrived at the buses as they were ready to leave. I grabbed a seat beside a fellow Sprocker owner from West Linton and had a good chat on the 50mins to Traquair. At the House, we politely queued up to register and then Ian and I met in the tearoom for a seat.

At 11:50 we were called for the 'EQUIPMENT CHECK!" which consisted of 10 runners being chosen to stand in a row, then runner numbers from 1 to 10 taking their bags up for inspection, then 11 to 20 and so on. Efficient, but I'm not so convinced of the thoroughness of the check.

At noon precisely, we were given the off. Up the grass and gradually across to the driveway since the famous Bear Gates would never be opened. The mile of tarmac was a good way to separate the field quickly and soon enough there were dozens of runners off in the distance. I held my pace, but passed a couple of slower folk.

Turn left onto the farm track and then the long climb to Birkscairn. The field separated even further now, and once I was into the bracken boundary that had caused so much trouble on my recce, I was on the heels of one guy, but no-one in view in front of him, and no-one behind.

Onto the hill path and I was overtaken by a fast baldy fella and a female who seemed capable of running up the steepest inclines even if walking was the same pace (as I did). I noticed I could overtake her on the flatter sections and maintain her pace on the uphill, but as soon as we hit the descent off the first checkpoint at Birkscairn, she stretched ahead.

The weather was pretty blustery and cold on the summit, and I made sure to thank the three or four marshalls with Arctic gear on taking our numbers as we passed.

The descent into Glen Sax didn't go too well as I had followed the female, who in turn had followed the runner ahead. We had gone the direct route rather than heading north and west to the grouse butts. This meant knee high heather to leap through and I noticed 3 runners haring down the hill past the grouse butts and overtaking us.

Quick splash through the river and past more marshalls before the long, steep climb to Hundlestone. I took the opportunity for my first gel here and noticed other runners doing the same as we plodded up the grass. After the CP at the trig point, it was back to a jog across the bog and focus in on the sheep trod along the hillside towards Stob Law. The 'path' was a balcony of mud, knee deep mud in some places and my pace dropped significantly. The female was now long gone, and I had other backs to focus on.

Descending off Stob Law was a bit of a lesson in hill running, I lost at least five places as the experts came careering past hurling down the short heather. I was mincing down the rough ground, paranoid about twisting my ankle on a stone or tussock. The farm track could not arrive quick enough and I voiced relief at the flat expanse in front of me. Perhaps 100m ahead I could see the last of the runners who had overtaken on the descent and realised I was quickly gaining on him. I passed him as we left the farm yard at Glenrath and he looked over his shoulder exclaiming,

"Spot the road runner!!"

I just laughed and said I much preferred the flat.

I overtook another three runners before we left the tarmac and headed towards the forested Whitelaw Hill. On the ascent I gobbled another gel, concious of the closing climbers behind. I was also very worried about getting lost hereabouts. I had got lost on my recce here, and Ian had told me some horrendous stories. Ahead I could see two Westies runners so cranked hard to keep them in sight. Perfectly I caught them just as they turned into the firebreak and I was on their heels for the awful slog to the hill summit.

I was spent here and struggled to get into a run even across the flat section towards the Dead Wife's grave. More runners coming past and down the slop to the road at Stobo Castle. The sun was out now and I watched a bearded runner streak past and then lead me on past the checkpoint off the road and into the next section.

I could see he was struggling like me, slowing to a walk on any ground that resembled a gradient as we plodded along a forest track. For me it was 60% mental here, I think I could have kept jogging but my mind wasn't in it. Looking over my shoulder, there was no-one visible; I think if there had been, I would have kept the speed up but I was beaten.

Over the dam and onto the open hillside to start the climb of hell aka Trahenna. All sorts of options here. On my recce I had taken the wrong shoulder, so that was out. Ian said go right of the trees but I had seen Stewart Whitlie's route from 2018 went left. Someone else online had suggested going left and over Louden Knowe was better ground due to some ATV tracks he had followed.

In the end I was overtaken by three very strong looking 'walkers' (2 males & a female) who were in train going left of the trees. I followed them and we contoured round Louden Knowe which was not as bad as expected before starting the real climb of Trahenna alongside the fence. This was truly awful. I was able to climb, but not fast and was acutely concious of the disappearing climbers ahead with the closing climbers behind.

It took me 12minutes. The only respite was the voices on the wind of the marshalls on the summit getting louder and louder as I slogged my way ever upwards, clinging onto the rusty fence at times. Over the style and past the checkpoint before starting the descent. First of all NW, then left W onto a horrible contouring sheep track that avoided Cat Cleuch Head. Of course I rolled my left ankle here and waved at yet another runner overtaking me.

Off Ratchill Hill the ground was hard rocky and mossy. I slipped at least twice before reaching more level ground. I noticed my hands and arms were starting to tingle with pins and needles. Not a good sign. As I passed the marshall holding open the farm gate into the next field, the tingling spread to my face and lips. It was an odd sensation and slightly perturbing.

Over yet another gate and Alan Robb from Carnethy clambered over with me before trotting off to the road. Tarmac at last, now for the last km to the finish. Jogging for 300m, I slowed to a brief walk, looked over my shoulder and then ran again. Onto the main road I received a new lease of life and cranked it up to the finish, making sure to trip on a kerb for good measure.

03:57:22 72/179

Islay Marathon

In April or May 2019, I decided I wanted to do another marathon. Having done Kielder (2017) and Copenhagen (2018), it would give me a focus for training over the summer. I knew I'd need to commit to a decent level of training to do it justice, and I did check with Sally first...

When I saw Uncle Phil at the end of March at the ERC Challenge Cup QF, he mentioned my cousin was planning to run the Loch Ness Marathon in October. Now, this was one race I'd like to do, and I seriously considered entering. But October was a long way away....the Scottish Running Guide came up with the goods again, listing the Islay Marathon in early September. After a quick scan of the  informative website and the 2018 results, I had made my choice. The route looked great - no loops, no repeated ground, a true A to B. In 2018, there had been just 13 finishers - yes 13! It was going to be a small event.

I emailed the organiser Stephen Harrison for more information in mid April and by early May had signed up. The race was scheduled for a 7.30am start on Sunday 8th September and they offered a bus leaving the finish line in Port Ellen at 6am to take runners to the start at Portnahaven. Scanning the CalMac timetables, I saw I could catch a ferry to Islay on Saturday and get back to the mainland on the Sunday which meant it was doable in a weekend. As for accommodation, assuming I would be travelling as Jack Jones, the options for the homeless and carless were limited. I asked Stephen if there were any camping options in Port Ellen. He replied that I could wild camp "behind the Ramsay Hall, and there are public toilets on the main road". Perfect, or so I thought.

August arrived and the Islay Marathon facebook page spluttered to life, informing us that registration was in the Islay High School in Bowmore which would be followed by the Pasta Dinner in the same location. What???? Bowmore?? 😨Panic set in. I had assumed from the race information that these were both taking place in the Port Ellen school, hence my camping request etc. To exacerbate my panic further, the Calmac timetables appeared to have changed, meaning the only sailing to Islay on Saturday arrived at Port Askaig, on the other side of the island. Brilliant.

After some frantic emailing of Stephen, I came up with a loose alternative plan.

The week prior to the race was for some windy weather passing through, but settling down by the weekend and my drive west on Saturday 7th was perfect. The mountains around Loch Lomond and Arrochar were memorable friends and I happily wiggled down the A83 through Inveraray to Tarbert where I bought lunch in the Co-op to eat on the ferry.

The Paps of Jura through the ferry windae

The crossing was uneventful accompanied by some absolutely stunning weather. We sailed up the sound of Islay and pulled into Port Askaig at 3pm. A short walk to the bus stop where a couple of others were waiting for the 3.20 bus. I paid my £2.75 and we trundled off towards Bowmore alighting in the main street. Another rucsac carrying male passenger approached me, "Are you here for the marathon?" he said. "I am, just going to registration now" I replied. This was Terry Connel, 20times veteran of the Islay Half from Glasgow. 2h33 marathon runner, heading for Berlin later this year.

We walked up to the High School together and found the registration area where Stephen welcomed us and we were given our race packs. It turned out Terry was also hoping to wild camp in Port Ellen so we both double checked the location with Stephen. Terry wasn't hanging around for the Pasta Dinner so buggered off soon enough to catch the 5pm bus, but I had to wait until 5.30pm. Fortunately the weather was condusive to that and I read the paper on the pier, visited the Bowmore distillery, looked at the round church.

The pasta dinner was great. Held in the school library, a gathering of about 25 were fed and watered with as much as we wanted to scoff. Conveniently, Fraser the Port Ellen Spar shopkeeper sat next to me and I brazenly asked for a lift to Port Ellen. He kindly agreed and by 6.30pm we arrived in the wee village. His car radio was playing bagpipe music all the way across the island, I kid you not.

Such was my luck, there was a travelling fairground established on the land behind the Ramsay Hall. I took one look and immediately decided it was not the place for wild camping. Loud music, groups of surly teenagers, screaming toddlers and the odd dodgy car hung around. Plan C came into force and I set off to walk to The Ard at the far side of the bay. After the last house, I followed a faint footpath through bracken up the hill onto a small moor of heather. Oh great. The wind had dropped and I knew the midges were gathering. After a quick scout, I found an area of tussocky grass that was reasonably flat and decided to pitch the tent.

Sunday 8th September

Sleep was fitful. Voices and music drifted across the bay until midnight, and then more drunken conversations until around 2am. I was ready for the alarm at 5am. I dressed in my running attire and struck camp, shouldering the rucksack by 5.30am with the headtorch lighting my way. I decided to find a bench or table to cook my breakfast so hurried along the street round the bay until stopping at a picnic table near the Co-op.

Quick boil and stuffed two porridge pots down my neck, struggling to not gag as the clock ticked towards 06:00. Some other figures in shorts appearing in the sodium lit morning and walking past. Contact lenses in, and rucksack repacked and then off to the junction where I could hear voices. It was 05:55. There was already a bus parked, and a group of four males at the rear. As I approached, the bus driver said he was full and was going to leave - there would be another bus along shortly.

Fraser (Spar shopkeeper) and Terry (other wild camper) appeared out of the darkness. Another bus arrived and we boarded. The journey to Portnahaven took almost an hour what with stopping to pick up other runners along the way and the single track road. I tried hard not to look at the long straights, knowing we had to run all the way back!

Into the wee village hall at Portnahaven where 20 or so others were already gathered, preparing gear, clothes, shoes, eating fuel, pinning numbers. I failed to lose some weight in the lavs. I went outside for a wee jog up and down the roads and checked out the other runners.

There was a large (10) group of German tourists, waiting in the car park. A couple of them in 'running' gear. They had been at the Pasta Dinner and it seemed were going to run the race as a relay. I recognised Robbie Drummond from the ferry, Fraser & Terry obviously, Tam Macneil (last year's winner), Tobias from Germany and lastly Captain 3D of YouTube fame. I introduced myself.

Stephen presented the race briefing in the hall and then we all posed for a group photo:

At Portnahaven, 5mins to start time

Outside, we were told to gather between two lamposts which marked the official start line. No problems to be at the front here. Three - Two - One and we were off. Like a hare out of a trap, a tall bearded chap in black gear left us for dust, literally sprinting ahead. "Whoah!" we all muttered, "where's he off to??" He was gone into the distance before we could comprehend what we had just seen. I think a lot of us all quickly came to a group conclusion...we would be second best to that.

Not to worry, I settled into a position about 5th or 6th as we did a 1km loop around the village before returning to the hall and set out on the return to Port Ellen properly.

Chatting to Robbie & Ben as we left Portnahaven, 1km in

 I found myself alongside Ben Hickson (Carnegie vest) and Robbie (Garscube) and we had a short chat. After 1.5miles, the first passing vehicle forced us into single file, I stayed in front and we reached the first water station at 2miles in the same order. Looking ahead, I reckoned this meant I was in 4th place.

Captain 3D had warned that the race mile markers were not placed correctly and this proved to be the case. For the first 15 or so, they were a long way distant but gradually came into the line, so that mile 26 on the watch beeped just as I passed the sign. Ahead of me I decided to keep the bloke in 3rd place in view about 50m on. He was keeping a good, steady pace although as the miles clicked by, I did sense I was going a bit too fast. Probably ~7:05 miles on average.

I took some video shorts and ate my gels to time. I noticed the photograpjher from the village hall was leapfrogging us in his orange car to take lots of snaps. I made sure to smile!

After Bruichcladdich

At the half-marathon water station marker, Graeme stopped to take a big drink and I passed him. I was now in 3rd!! I knew 1st and 2nd were long gone, so felt great pressure now. It was a weird feeling. I looked over my shoulder to make sure he was following and actually gestured to him to hurry up - I wanted him in front of me to follow!

15miles in, chatting to Graeme? 

At 15miles we reached Bridgend and turned sharp right towards Bowmore. A small crowd cheered and I slowed up to let Graeme pass me. He said he was struggling and I explained that I wanted him to lead again. We discussed our pace and I said I had broken my half-marathon PB, now with 1hr 31. For the next mile we actually ran together chatting, both stopping to drink at the hill road junction.

The next section looked awful - a long hill disappearing to the horizon. At the same time, Captain 3D made his appearance behind us looking like the professional I thought he was. No messing about, just a steady progression keeping a close eye on his watch for the pace and driving his body forward. This was the difference; I was running to how my body felt, he was telling his body to run to the watch. As he slowly overtook us, he said "top of the hill is at 21miles". Good encouragement, that is all I need to know. We had 5miles of this.

Graeme decided to keep on Captain 3D's heels but I couldn't follow. My legs were just too painful and before too long, I was on my own in the dips, no sign of a runner ahead or behind. Just mile markers and the odd car to highlight my journey. I was now in 5th.

The final hills did it for me and I slowed to a walk on the 'steeper' inclines. Of course, they weren't steep but they were enough of a gradient to pose the mental challenge of difficulty. I don't think I walked for long, and I certainly didn't stop moving forwards. Robbie came through at 20miles and we grunted at each other. Looking behind I could see no others. I was now in 6th.

The highest point of the road was imperceptible, but I suppose there was a gradual easing of the effort. To my left I spotted the grand white farm house I had seen in the early morning mini bus 4hours before and knew that Port Ellen was not far.

Robbie had passed Graeme now, and I could just about see him walking probably 400m ahead. "Good," I thought, "at least I'm not the only one." Road junction approached with another photographer...make sure to smile...

My watch had beeped for 40km. I was 3hrs 10minutes in. This was good. That meant I had 30minutes to run 2km in order to beat Copenhagen. I had known I would beat that time, but perhaps not by so much....even with some walking! The Port Ellen signpost arrived and I was soon passing the massive Maltings building. A woman appeared from a side road with an Irish Wolfhound on a lead lurching along the pavement. I said "Hi!" and "That is the size of a horse! Can I ride it??"

Round the corner and into the final straight to the finish at the Ramsay Hall where I could hear music and an amplified voice shouting my name. How did they know me?? Oh yeah, my number..right.

Through the finish tape (held for every runner) and beep on the watch.

3:21:56.
6th / 49

Very, Very Happy with that.

Relive 'islay_marathon.gpx'

       

St Cuthbert's Way

St Cuthbert's Way route 

The idea for this first came into my head in Spring 2018 but I can't remember why. I think it looked like a nice goal for a solo weekend trip with public transport options at both ends. 2018 passed without any serious plans to attempt it but when I set out on my 16week marathon plan for 2019, I thought I'd try to fit it in.

The Logistics

The tidal causeway at Holy Island was going to be the thing that dictated the trip. If I was to travel W-E on the more traditional direction, I would be under pressure to beat the tide. Perhaps if I was racing that might be a good thing, and infact I think there is an Ultra race that does just that. I felt there would be more control if I was to start at Holy Island and travel west ending at Melrose where there was no tide!

On the way out, I could get the early train to Berwick and then a bus to Holy Island. To return home, there were hourly trains to Waverley from Tweedbank close to Melrose. For accommodation, I chose the conveniently located Border Hotel in Kirk Yetholm which was just short of halfway between Holy Island and Melrose. At the quarter points, was the Wooler co-op for resupply, and on day two, the Woodside Garden Centre. Everything was set.

Day One

Waverley Station was remarkably busy for 8am on a Saturday morning, but I assumed it was Festival goers heading home after a week's culture. The 08:07 Crosscountry train to somewhere in the far south-west of England trundled in and I found coach D where my reserved seat awaited. Forty minutes later, we rolled into Berwick Upon Tweed where I disembarked. In the station car park, I waited for the Border Bus number 477 to arrive at 09:05. Along with ten or so other passengers, we boarded the wee bus and paid our fares to the driver who seemed to be learning the ropes of the ticket system.

The bus rattled its way south along the A1 soon turning left to head towards Beal and the tidal causeway. By the way the seawater puddles on either side of the road rippled, and the splash of the pools on the road blew up, I could tell it was going to be a windy run.

We pulled up in the car park of the wee village to alight. Most turned left to walk to the castle, I headed to the toilets for a last minute pee. I then walked to the Lindisfarne Priory, passing the various cafes and ice cream sellers. I thought the Priory would be a good place to start my run to end at Melrose Abbey. Whether those were the recognised SCW start/end points I have no idea, but it was good enough for me.

After a wee monologue to the camera, I started the watch and and lumbered out of the grounds onto the road, returning back towards the causeway.  Initially I was able to follow a pavement, dodging past the multitude of tourist daytrippers that were walking from the car park, but it soon ended and I was onto the road facing the oncoming traffic.

The shelter on the causeway where stranded drivers can wait out the tide/rescue

I was also facing the oncoming headwind which slowed the pace. I wasn't really bothered at this point about my pace, more about the energy being expended to move forward. I was going to get nackered pretty quickly if the wind didn't abate, or I didn't get some shelter. 30minutes in and I was across to the mainland turning left off the road onto boggy ground beside some WW anti-tank blocks.

At last there was some lee from the wind here and I bounced along the muddy grass until heading inland towards the infamous Fenham Hill railway level crossing. Before I reached it, I met my first SCW walkers, a large group of elderly grey-hairs with poles heading east. At the railway, I used the telephone to contact the Berwick signal box to check whether it was safe to cross.

"Hello, I'm at Fenham Hill, can you tell me whether it is safe to cross?"
"How many are you?"
"One"
"How long will it take you to cross?"
"Oh, ten seconds"
"Yes, on you go then."

And on I went, over the rails and back to the field and climb over Fenham Hill. Soon enough I hit a track and eventually tarmac reaching the very busy A1 road at an effective crossroads. There was a constant procession of northbound vehicles all travelling at 50-60mph with little or no spacing. On the opposite side, a small queue of cars was growing to pull onto the A1 from the Fenwick road, my destination. It was a frustrating wait, and I eventually took my life in my hands and 'ran' between a gap after several minutes.

I stopped in Fenwick to check the map as I stood beside the village hall. The wind was wild and I was physically pushed about where I stood. Not a good prospect for what was to come. Up the road passing a group of farmhands gathered beside their massive harvesters ready to spend the day in the fields. Past Blawearie and off the road onto the field boundary beside the woods. I was sheltered quite nicely here and chose to stop at 11km/1 hour to grab some flapjack.

The next punctuation would be St Cuthbert's Cave. Unfortunately the map I was using (greyscale inkjet screenshots from BingMaps of the OS 1:50K series) finished with the cave on the edge of the paper so I struggled to decipher precisely where I should be heading. I followed the obvious tracks, but at one finger post which was shared with the Northumberland Coastal Path, I took the wrong fork, not realising until I was 500m along it. Fortunately the terrain was easy with a grassy field of livestock between me and my correct path.

Over the hill and into the lovely pinewood, I stumbled down the rocky sandstone path and into the bowl in front of the famous cave. This was a chance for another breather to take a gel and film the cave entrance. 15.5km in.

On the way towards the road at Old Hazelrigg, I passed a couple more groups of walkers heading east. They all looked like multi-dayers and I wondered whether they would reach the causeway in time to cross. I stopped just short of East Horton which marked 20km, at a small rise in the track. I stupidly took the opportunity to have a sit down, which I soon regretted as it was pretty tough to get going again, especially at the foot of a hill.

Fortunately there soon followed a long section of gentle downhill tarmac until I crossed the fine old Weetwood Bridge over the River Till where the trail then climbed steeply through bracken onto moorland to the east of Wooler. This passed without event, and I happily jogged into Wooler with the thought of lunch and the delights of the Co-op. 28.6km in.

I bought lunch (Cheese & Onion sarnie, McCoys, port pie, lucozade) and ate it whilst sitting on a sunny bench in the churchyard that overlooked the square. It was very pleasant watching the world pass by and I briefly managed to forget what I still had ahead. After sorting out the maps and reminding myself of the route to Kirk Yetholm, I trotted round to the bus station WC to wash my face and refill my camelbak.

Then I was off up the steep road out of the village which I had come clattering down back in June during the Cheviot Hills Trail Half. I decided not to try running here, it really was too steep and I'd likely look like a numpty. Not far from the track that leaves the road heading for Waud House, an older gent came trotting along the road with 'ultra' gear on. We greeted each other in passing and I wondered about his source & destination.

Just as I left the road to start up the track on the weird SCW loop, I suddenly realised there might be a shortcut option by staying on the road and the map confirmed my guess. This was to be the first of a couple of other shortcuts/deviations that I would take in the weekend. Guiltlessly, I soon rejoined the SCW at the Wooler Common car park and familiar ground that took me onto the Cheviots.

As suspected, the higher I climbed, the windier it got. But it was mild and I was able to just pull my hat down and plough on in my t-shirt. Unfortunately of course, the rain made an appearance after a couple of km and I actually stopped to don the cagoule. As quickly as the rain began, it had stopped and off came the cag. Just a shower.

The wind was really strong now, not gusting, just a constant headwind which made even running on the flat hardgoing. I was jealous of those walkers I passed going with the wind; did they realise how lucky they were?

At last the climbing stopped and I dropped down the 170m off the hills to the track that would lead to Hethpool. At 38km I stopped in some woods on a style for another gel and some cheese which I'd bought at Wooler. Delicious! I also decided to try out the radio to take my mind off the miles ahead and was glad to find a crystal clear Radio2 signal, some Josh Lycett guff to entertain me on a Saturday afternoon.

At Hethpool I took another break to switch the maps over again and take water before jogging slowly up the tarmac to the road end at Elsdonburn. The climb up to the Border was long and slow and of course the wind was still blowing hard on the 340m summit but when I arrived and stopped for some sweeties, I was ecstatic. I knew I would be able to finish the day - Kirk Yetholm was within touching distance. 46km to here - longer than a marathon distance! OK, I hadn't been running the whole time, and had taken a wee lunch break, but still it was under my own steam. I made sure to send a text home in case there was no signal down in the village below.

Twenty minutes later, I was trotting into Kirk Yetholm where I made sure to run up to the famous wall of the Border Hotel and stop the watch, to the bemusement of some pub drinkers sitting at tables outside. I was very happy!


Relive:

Relive 'st_cuthbert_s_way_day1.gpx'

       

       

https://www.relive.cc/view/r10007597985

Strava:

Lowther Trail Half

This race fitted the marathon training plan of Week 12 which said for the Sunday long run "27km easy with 8 at marathon pace". I thought a 21km trail race would be a suitable alternative. Other attractive factors were it being a Martin Stone (he of LAMM fame) organised race. Also it had a relatively cheap entry price of £11. The only downside was the distance from Edinburgh, the race being on the edge of the Lake District, but the M74/M6 would help here.

Of course the British summer continued in the same vein of previous weekends and it was soaking. My drive south was a wet aquaplane to the junction at Penrith. Not far past Gretna, Martin sent a text to all runners to say the Lowther Show had been cancelled due to the weather, but the race was still on. The Lowther Show is an annual agricultural event in the grounds of Lowther Castle of which the race was one of the events.

I followed signs and marshall direction to the hard-standing car park where the usual running types were milling about. It was raining lightly with a reasonable breeze. A couple of minutes walk took me to the small white registration marquee where I collected my number and saw Martin doing his stuff. Back to the car to eat my lunch and tog up.

At 12:50 I headed back down to the tent where everyone was gathering in nervous groups. There were some VERY fit looking people there, with an air of experience about them. Hairy tanned legs, worn vests, tatty bumbags everywhere. Hardly any noobs as far as I could tell. Martin appeared with his obligatory megaphone and gave the race briefing. Of note was the 'proximity dibbers' we had all been issued with - no need to stick them in a box, just pass within 3metres of them and your time would be recorded.

The route had two compulsory checkpoints on the high ground which we had to pass. There was also a crossing of the River Lowther which normally is fordable, but today we were told to use the nearby suspension bridge. For safety reasons, Martin wanted us to walk the bridge, and the only way to enforce this was by stopping the clock at either end by getting runners to physically Dib.

At 13:00 he counted us down and we were careering under the archway of the castle onto some sodden grass running helter skelter towards the river where we turned left and joined a tarmac road heading towards the village of Askham. Over the old stone bridge across the River Lowther and then the big climb up to Heughscar Hill.

Although tough, it was a good way to separate out the field quickly and soon enough I was stuck on the heels of one grey haired guy who had a pleasantly relaxed gait. From the summit where we circled the cairn dibber (and it beeped), we headed south east across moorland (but still on paths) towards Butterwick. I managed to overtake the grey-hair as he stopped to grab a water at the 1st station on the minor road but he soon caught me up until he fell over crossing a small burn behind me.

At the suspension bridge I had overtaken two others and decided to use the wee hiatus to have a gel - somewhat tricky with a camera, dibber and gel in my paws. Soon after the bridge, we made the second big climb of the route which was a bit sloppy. I passed a female who was wearing those weird shoes that look like feet and have no grip. She was really struggling in the slippy mud.

Past a lovely limestone pavement with clints and grykes and eventually past the 2nd checkpoint before turning north and the long descent back towards the castle. The fields became a track which became a road and the pace just quickened all the while until I was averaging well below 4min/km pace slapping my feet on the tarmac. The only slowing was at the many cattle grids that had to be crossed.

With about 1km to go, the track turned gently uphill again and I was shocked (but not surprised) to see a finished runner jogging back along the track. He was young I suppose!

I was now officially knackered so struggled to keep the momentum up the hills. I walked the 'steeper' gradients of track, but made sure to run as soon as possible. There were some kind supporters cheering me in as I rounded the castle wall and under the archway. Up to the finish dibber and the tent where Martin welcomed me back, took my dibber and gave me my printout. 37th out of 37 finishers, 5th MV40. "Help yourself to a beer" he said waving me towards a table covered in bottles of 'Fuggles' beer. "Don't mind if I do."

I'd do that race again.

37 / 195 01:46:20 5th MV40.

A wee video :



Strava route:

Fort William Trail Half-Marathon

Another weekend, another race. This would be week 10 of my training schedule and fitted nicely with the plan of a '24km steady including 8 at marathon pace' description for the Sunday. OK, the race was on the Saturday but if I swapped the days round it would be doable. I actually skipped my Thursday run so that I'd have two full-days off before the race.

The race was part of the Fort William Trail Running Festival which was an inaugural event of trail races in the forest below Aonach Mor. No surprises there was a 5, 10, Half, Full and hill race being organised and if you really wanted to, could participate in all of them for superhero status. The Half was enough for me, and the advertised 13:00 start time meant I could drive up on the Saturday morning in good time.

Except, best laid plans and all that. Since it was the 'inaugural' event, the organisers hadn't thought of everything and decided to restrict race registration time to a short two hour window on the Saturday morning from 08:00 to 10:00. In response to the race information email sent earlier in the week, I asked if there could be some exception for people like me travelling a long distance. I received no reply, but I noticed other runners complaining on Facebook about the same problem. Thankfully the organisers agreed to keep registration open longer.

They also expected everyone to print out a section of the same email and fill it out as a medical form. More inflexibility - not everyone has a printer etc. Everyone was expected to carry a foil blanket? Another weirdism. And finally, there was only going to be one water station. I didn't see the point of that. Either enough, or none. Not one. So I brought my camelbak and prepared to be self-sufficient.

Of course, the weather was shite. Warm, very wet and still. When I arrived in the Nevisrange car park at 11:00 there was a very damp feel to the place. I hopped over the puddles in the car park to run across to the registration tent, receiving not only my number, but my T-shirt and medal at the same time. A bit daft.

I ate some lunch and togged up. At 12:45 I did some jogging round the car park just to stretch the legs before heading towards the registration tent for the brief briefing. There were over a hundred other runners, mostly wearing some sort of hydration pack. I headed to the start arch and we had a countdown. I stood very near the front.

The start at 13:00, the guy in the Ochils vest won it

Immediately we were onto an ascending forest track which separated the men from the boys. I watched five fasties heading off into the distance, but managed to hang onto a trio of younger males who were settled into a strong pace. After a couple of kilometeres we were reduced to three and we each rotated the lead. I became aware they were both French from their chat and attire. One of them kept clearing his nose which was a bit weird.

The nose clearer started to slow and eventually the faster one slowed to wait for his pal. I took the lead and kept at the pace we had been going at. At the same time, the path narrowed and eventually became an overgrown wet footpath beside The Cour river. It was fairly treacherous not being able to see my footing due to the bracken and puddled path as I splashed along.

Thankfully at 10km we emerged back onto a wider forest track and I took the opportunity to take my first gel. The Frenchies started to gain on me, now almost 50m behind.

After my gel I stepped up the pace and stretched away, sometimes glimpsing the next runner several hundred metres ahead. At 14km I passed the only water station which was busy with supporters and volunteers. They offered bananas and biscuits, but I just asked for my place and they said "Oh, 3rd, 4th or 5th!". Hmmm. I suspected 6th.

After the water station was a long descent which passed in a flash. I looked over my shoulder again - no sign of the French pair - they must have stopped for water. I was now on my own for sure and it allowed me to relax a bit. Soon I could hear the traffic on the wet A82 to my right; there must be a railway somewhere too. At 16km I decided I needed another gel and stuffed it down my throat on the run.

As the track neared the junction with the A82, the race route took a sharp left up a short steep hill which came as a surprise. I managed to plod up it until the track became an overgrown bracken path again. It weaved left and right higher and higher and I'll admit to walking briefly. It levelled off and was a technical MTB track heading towards the Nevisrange car park with the access road running parallel.

I heard some bells ringing and then shouts of support, then spotted the car park and a wee group of midgenet clad people waiting for me. I crossed the road, into the car park and followed a line of barriers towards the forest before turning left, under the MTB downhill track (tunnel) to the finish arch.

The RD congratulated me and asked how it went. I asked him my placing. 6th!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Crossing the finish line - wet but very happy

6 / 136 01:40:48

Glamaig Hill Race

Our summer holiday this year was one week east of Loch Ness and the second week in Skye. It just so happened that the Glamaig Hill Race would be on at approximately the same time as we'd be transiting between holiday houses. How could I not enter? So I did.

I don't know when I'd first heard of this race but it was a long time ago. I've never been up Glamaig, a Corbett. I had seen and laughed at the BBC 'personality' Monty Halls who had valiantly run the race in 2008 as part of a documentary series of him living in Applecross. It looked brutal. I knew that Finlay Wild was a record holder and regular winner of the race in the past decade. I met an acquaintance from another corner of the internet who had previously done the race and he just howled when I said I was going to do it.

When we arrived at Sligachan, I wasn't in the best of moods. I had had a bad sleep worrying about the race. The other early arrivals all looked like proper hill runners with wee bumbags and old eyes. I was nervous. I headed over to the hotel to register in the lounge bar. I recognised the chap taking my name but couldn't place him. Possibly from Meall Nan Tarmachan last year? He handed me slate coaster as my race memento and I jokingly said "Don't I have to finish the race first?". I took advantage of the hotel facilities and offloaded some weight before returning back to the car for some food and to get ready.

Eventually it was time to gather at the start line outside the hotel. Somebody had sprayed a white line across the tarmac and the eager beavers placed their toes on it. Finlay Wild sauntered up to it in a very relaxed manner. There was a short race briefing over a loudspeaker from the hotel - this was the first time the race had been organised by Skye and Lochalsh Hill Runners, after having been administered by Carnethy for 30-odd years. A countdown and we were off.

The start of the Glamaig Hill Race 3pm 6th July 2019

As suspected it was a frantic start over the old bridge and thence onto the A87 road for a couple of hundred metres. I overtook a few people here but soon we all turned sharp right onto the moor and the quagmire of a soft boggy 'path' heading directly towards the hill.

It must have been within 10 or 20metres of leaving the road that I turned my left ankle badly. Pain shot through my body and I limped to the side to let followers pass. But it still worked, so I pressed on taking it very easy until the pain gradually wore off. As the terrain steepened, it became easier on my now chocolate teapot ankle and I was able to regain the places I'd lost.

Out for an afternoon stroll

The gradient just got steeper and steeper until it felt safer to have both hands and feet on the ground at once to make upwards progress. Whenever there were loose rocks or stones I had to be very careful to not knock anything down on the following throng behind. Comparing the numbers ahead with behind, I felt I was actually in a good position and was only aware of being passed by one other 'runner'.

I am in bright green, a long way up

The hillside eventually formed a defined shoulder which was not obvious from below and we followed this the final summit screes. At this stage, the fast ones were now careering down the screes so it was a trial to keep out of their way. Onto the summit dome and a wee jog towards the cairn where three marshalls offered encouragement as we circuited the cairn and headed down.

The change in angle immediately resulted in shooting pain through my ankle again and I realised I was gubbed. There was not going to be a reckless descent. Survival was more important so I stepped to the side and followed what I thought was an easier line.

The scree was pretty awful with a bad ankle, especially when it changed from small, loose, deep areas to larger and solid sections. I fell on my arse several times and felt that gloves might've been a good addition. Some runners came thundering through causing sliding rock avalanches which moved as fast as them. It was pretty grim to see and the air smelled of rock dust.

At last the scree ended and we were back onto grass to follow a gentle traverse down and towards the ascent route.

Mincing my way down the grass

Of course I twisted my chocolate ankle at least twice more, and just watched in pain as slower runners came past. Soul destroying. Eventually I reached the road, not long after some other runner had just passed me. He was on the tarmac ahead so I set my sights on him. I caught him just before the bridge and cranked it up. So did he. "Quite a kick!" he said and I pressed past. I saw Sally and the kids on the parapet shouting. Keep going!

Just beating the fella that had overtaken me on the moor descent

 I got over the finish line and then fell in a heap on the grass to the side almost crying in pain. Sally and the kids came to save me. It was so sore. I wasn't tired, just cross and frustrated.

Washing the moor off

01:21:16 54/102

Tain 10k roadrace

Whilst planning the summer holiday, I had scanned all the usual running sites and found this race in Tain that was during the week we were staying 'nearby'. It was an annual event organised by the local running club Tain Runners as part of the week long Tain Gala celebrations. With a 7pm start, it allowed for a full day of 'holiday activity' before I would need to get up to Tain for the race. 

Infact, it became a family and friends event when Sally decided to run too, and the Taylors who were also on holiday in the area. Registration opened at 6pm, and both cars arrived on the Tain Links at 18:01. First in the car park! It was a bit breezy, not condusive to chatting outside so we headed into the marquee registration tent to pick up numbers. 

Previous results suggested 70-80 runners per year, so it wasn't going to be too busy. At 18:55 there was a general movement towards the coastal path and we joined them. I stood fairly close to the front whereas Sally moved to the middle. 

On the start line, lets get on with it

There was a bit of chat from the Race Marshall, then we all had to walk forward to the actual start line. We were off and heading into the wee town over the railway line. The pace was far too fast and within 400metres I was already peching and losing places. There was a nasty hill that reared up to the main road and I really struggled to keep my position amongst the leaders. We reached 1km and thankfully turned left onto flats and an easterly direction into the town.

The wind was on our backs here and I was able to get back the couple of places I had lost on the hill as we toyed with the traffic that was still trying to use the road. Through the other side, and then a long descent back down the hill and over the railway line again. At this point we passed the 5km race fork - they would head back to the finish line, whereas the 10km race went out on an out-and-back route.

The road was straight and flat so it was just a case of settling into a pace and trying to keep position. I could see the places in front were stretching out. In the far distance I could just about see the flashing light of the leader's following car who had reached the turning point. Soon enough he had run past me on the way back and he was going very fast. I started to count the following runners until I reached the turn - I was in 13th.

I noticed the guy in front of me had stopped for a drink from the water station and was looking to be in a bad way. I happily overtook him and started on my return to the town. I was then able to look at the following runners until I spotted Sally who I went over to high-five as we passed.

Then to my dismay I heard the guy I had overtaken on my heels and then come alongside. He mumbled some encouragement and carried on. I tried to keep up.

He died again on the other side of the wee hill over the railway so I managed to get past and leave the tarmac onto the farm track that avoided the hill back into the town. This was shared with the 5km route so I was now overtaking the backmarkers of that race. A few wee corners, over the railway one again and then back to the Links for a 'sprint' to the disorganised finish line.

The sprint to the finish! 

A miniature of Glenmorangie handed to me.

12 / 103 40:59

Seven Hills 2019

Hallelujah! The highlight of my running year has arrived again! I absolutely love this race and everything that goes with it. I made sure to wear my long-sleeved T to work on the Friday in an attempt to promote the race - everyone from Edinburgh should do it once in their lives! Ha Ha I doubt that will ever happen.

As with the weather so far this 'summer' there was no certainty on the forecast with showers predicted at some point in the day, and the previous week had seen some heavy periods of rain. On the Saturday, I had done a 5 pub crawl down the Water of Leith and seen the river in high levels, the Gormley at Stockbridge with various pieces of vegetation washed downstream and caught around his legs. This meant trail shoes were a must as the 'wilder' sections of the route would be muddy and slippy. The temperature was set to be 14C ish, not too bad.

Waiting for the Challenge start - all smiles

I watched the start of the Challenge race at 09:45, pleased to see the Sheach family at the back recording on their GoPros. I couldn't see Sally anywhere in the pack.

The Challenge start

I then spent the next few mins getting changed, taking on water, fuel and going for a pee before meeting AJ and Anya. Off we trotted to the start line for the 10:15 countdown and we were running.

Down the steps still running and I took a central route up the North Bridge and through the Arcades onto the hoaching High Street. Another pb segment. At the castle, the route through the gardens was closed due to rockfall so all runners were directed down the Johnston Terrace steps. I queued to clip my number, oblivious to the fact there were clippers all the way down the railings of the steps. Grrr. Some time wasted there.

Johnston Terrace to Haymarket passed in a blur, Lothian Road lights working in my favour. On the bus during the week, I had spotted the SGN works at Roseburn which looked like they would interfere with a smooth line on the traditional north side of the road. After Haymarket I tried to stay on the left (south) side of the road with that in mind, but was forced to cross by some other roadworks I'd not accounted for. As I passed the Roseburn Inn, I made sure to cross back south anyway and a guy in green (Mike Milner) that I had passed earlier had followed me and we both crossed back to the north pavement as soon as we were through the roadworks. No idea if that gave us an advantage, but mentally I felt it did.

Onwards to Murrayfield Road and the long slog up to Ravelston Dykes. Mike overtook me here but I kept him in sight as I spied Daisy Henderson walking down the opposite pavement. Onto Corstorphine Hill and it was chaos with people running in all directions, I've not seen it so messy before. After punching my number, I was pleased to see Kevin Gemson BEHIND me. That was a first - I shouted encouragement to him.

Down to Kaimes Road and some fast foot slapping past the house. Before I reached it, I could hear Meg barking from behind the gate and saw AB#2 with the video camera.

An easy crossing of Glasgow Road without waiting and into Carrick Knowe avenue where I caught the first of the obvious Challengers who were walking. Ahead of me up the straight road were runners of all paces. I settled into a rhythm, not following or chasing anyone in particular.

At the steps beyond the tram crossing, I took the wee path to the side and managed to gain a couple of places, even though one of them leapt down each group of 4 stairs like a loony. He muttered something about "That is not a good idea when recovering from an ankle injury." I just laughed. Through Stenhouse Cross round the roundabout on the left and into Chesser. I ran on the road as is my preference and managed to overtake a few more Challengers.

Checking the watch, I could see we were approaching 10km in and it was time for a gel. I took the opportunity at the slowdown of climbing the steps into Allan Park Drive and slurped it down before I reached the canal over the bridge.

The Craiglockhart Hill climb was the busiest I've experienced it, loads of people scrabbling up the roots and mud which was also the slippiest. One chap above me fell on his arse near the top, but without injury. I wanted to try running all the way to the summit, but once beyond the new steps onto the grass, I couldn't resist the walk and joined the crowd of zombies huffing their way towards the sun.

Once I'd stamped my number, I was on my way again and thundered down the track through the trees. I noticed Kate Crichton ahead and made sure to give her a shout. She had no idea who I was so I tried to remind her. At the water station I turned sharp right and took the wee shortcut through the arch in front of the houses; another wee mental advantage.

Greenbank and the Fly Walk passed without event and it was onto the grass of Braidburn Valley Park, slowing to a walk on the path up to Comiston Road. After jogging across I also dropped to a walk up Riselaw...a bit defeatist. At the Braids water station I ignored the water again, and hammered up the track passing as many as people as I could before it narrowed. But once again I felt defeat and slowed to a walk at any of the 'steeper' bits. Quite a few Racers passing me here.

I had to wait for a clipper on the summit - there only seemed to be two of them which was a bit annoying. Onto the golf course, setting free but knowing the wee gorse snicket ahead would likely be busy. I was not wrong, and had to drop the pace behind a group in front of me who were taking it slower than I'd want.

Free from the confines of the gorse snicket, about to enter the Lang Linn

Across the road and into the Lang Linn, as soon as the path widened I elbowed my way past and floored it to the T-junction. A wee jink left and then into the steep cross-slope slither down to the river. As expected, it was muddy and I did well to not skite down like others had clearly done with skid marks in the slope. I ran along the main path to the right alongside the Braidburn for a few metres until I was opposite the path I had spotted the week before. Splash across the burn and then up the path, initially muddy and I passed one bloke struggling through it.

Suddenly I was over the fence and into the field very close to the gate to Blackford and now the steps of punishment. I took my time, ignoring others and soon enough the punishment was over. Turning left, I jogged to the nettle snicket, walking up behind another guy, happy that most of the nettles and brambles had now been beaten back by others.

The summit seemed busy, but with no-one clipping. I think most were taking on water and fuel or looking at the view. I clipped and carried on straight down the northside managing to avoid slipping on my backside through the trees and onto the bottom track. Across the road and into Oswald Road obeying the roadwork barriers. Turning right into South Oswald Road and my lonely (1km flat) run towards Mayfield Road. I think I could hear some gaining feet behind me as I reached Mayfield but was otherwise alone until the turn left and rejoining the throng.

I realised Mike in the green t-shirt was beside me again, I asked him how he was doing as we puffed up towards the Old Bell. He said good, but then asked what time we were aiming for. I told him I wanted to beat 2hr17 and he thought that was definitely going to happen. Good encouragement and into Duncan St and Blacket Place, only pausing briefly for the traffic to pass in Minto Steeet. Mike was getting ahead now, so I decided it was time for another gel before Arthur's Seat.

Round the corner of the Commie Pool and past Pollock. A runner suddenly appeared on the top of the 8ft wall beside me and slipped down onto the pavement. I laughed and he said "That is not a shortcut!!"

The Gutted Haddie on Arthur's Seat was very busy, choked by three or four non-Seven Hillers which was slightly frustrating. I managed to get past them eventually and continue to the summit WITHOUT CRAMP!!!!! I was so pleased.

Slipping on the polished basalt, I got down the north side safely and into the Dry Dam path which appeared to be full of tourists further ahead. I tried to look as fast and crazy as possible as I approached and to my fortune, they stepped aside at my approach and I had a clear descent. Onto the tarmac, past the Parliament and Palace then into Calton Road. I spotted Mike in front again so put the foot down to catch him just as he turned into the steps up to Regent Road.

Up Calton he kept running whereas I slowed to a walk on the road but managed to run again for the final grassy slope to the finish line where Sally and Anja were waiting. I stopped the watch - 2h08!!!!! Yassssssss! I howled a cry of happiness. Yah beauty smashed it.

02:08:41 49 / 196