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