Bagels, birthdays, Black Mountains and a salutatory lesson to recce your races.
27/09/2009 by Ivan.
On the journey to Llanbedr with Lou and Mark, Lou interrupts my riveting tale about what I had to eat and drink the night before.
“Right, both of you – as neither of you have recced this route, I’m going to talk you through the course, so you won’t get lost. You go along the flat in the village for a bit, and then uphill on the road, and then uphill on the hill, then when you get to the first proper hill, you go uphill, and then a bit of down, and then up the really really big hill, and along a ridge, then down to a stream, then through the woods – with a bit of uphill and some downhill, followed by the last hill”
“OK, Lou – you lost me at the village. I think my strategy will be to follow someone in front who knows where they’re going. Hopefully that’s everyone doing the race except for me, and er. Mark”
15 minutes before the race, I was surprised, alarmed but somehow reassured by the sight of Vanessa and Matthew eating bagels. I was also told by Vanessa that this had been preceded by a big piece of chocolate cake before they left home. I had imagined the Lawson pre-race breakfast regime would be one of 6 am alarms with scientifically weighted out porridge, followed by a food tapering programme until the start of the race. So mesmerised was I by this unexpected spectacle of cavalier bagel eating, that I temporarily forgot my reserve and asked if I could pinch one. They were very tasty. Also, I was to find out later, this bagel eating strategy was to pay dividends to the Lawson family.
Sue Ashton kindly took our £5 for the race entry whilst informing us that this was exceptional value for money as we got a lot of miles for our fiver.
Lots of Harriers were standing around earnestly pouring over maps. I tried to pick out the ones that most looked like they knew where they were going. My strategy would be to hang on to their shirt-tails until they got too fast, or too slow, and then I would attach myself like a limpet to some other human compass.
There was a truly impressive number of Harriers – both male and female turning up for this event. I believe the vast majority had either done the race before, or recced it more times than Vanessa had birthday cakes presented to her on Saturday. I was quite worried at one point over the last two weeks that Dick had developed a severe case of obsessive compulsive Black Mountain reccying disorder. However, as we will discover later, this OCRD was to bear fruits for Dick. It was certainly to prove more fruitful than those in denial that a peak at the map beforehand might be beneficial.
At the start I had to reach for my sunglasses – nothing to do with the sun – just to shade my eyes from Gareth Jones’ dazzling attire of United Jack shorts and fluorescent Kanadia trail shoes.
Although conditions were remarkably clement for the time of year – clear skies and temperatures in the 20’s – Gill Stott was taking no chances. Her 60 litre rucksack complete with overnight bivvi stove, 5 season sleeping bag, 20 day expedition rations and a 4 man tent did appear to be weighing her down slightly – but not dampening her irrepressible spirit and good humour. It was canny training for the OMM and as she beat her husband, she now has proved herself worthy of carrying all their kit for the OMM. Bit of an own goal there Gill.
So, the race. Well, it was long and hilly. Actually, it was very long, and very hilly. I think there were 3 big hills in it, but my maths isn’t good so there could have been more, but there definitely weren’t less. There were lots of little hills as well, and lots of downhill – but I can’t recall too much flat – other than a couple of superb ridge runs. The scenery was truly stunning – unsurprisingly comprising more hills – near hills and far hills, trees, woods (more about those later), valleys – and all bathed in an abundance of glorious sunshine. The only downside of the glorious sunshine was that it was hot. Fortunately I’d had the foresight to ask Mark if I could pinch his water bottle about 5 minutes before the start of the race. I hadn’t even considered water – being a novice to this fell running game I assumed there would be water stations. A couple of well placed streams provided the essential rehydration substance . However, I still arrived at the finish with my head and mouth feeling like I’d spent a month in the desert with nothing to drink but a crate of red wine.
The beginning of the race was as Lou had described – up basically, with a bit more up and a lot more up after that. Just when you were convinced you must be at the top of Mount Everest or at least Pen Cerrig-calch, you would realise you had reached a false summit and the true summit lay tantalisingly in the distance. After Pen Cerrig-calch had been bagged, there was a brief period of running on something which resembled a path. I had Andy Blackmore firmly in my sights here. Esther and I followed him for a good 15 minutes or so. He looked strong, he looked confident, more to the point, he looked like he knew where he was going. I tucked in behind him looking forward to a nice 15 mile navigational free run in his slipstream. Suddenly, he sat down. “I’m just having a little rest” he said. “But you can’t! “ I thought “you are our guiding navigational beacon of hope”. He didn’t look like he was about to do anything more strenuous than open up his sandwiches. Despondent Esther and I trudged on – negotiating a bracken forest to arrive at our first stream.
It was after this point that the false summits really came into their own. The bracken infested vertical climb up to the summit of Pen y Relentless Slog Gadair Fawr proved to be quite a sociable occasion. As Esther and I seemed to have given up competing with each other because basically we were going at the same pace, we had a nice chat and caught up on events in each other’s lives for the last 6 months. Despite the convivial chat, we managed to catch up with Luke and Mark. This is the first (and I am sure the last) time I have ever encountered Luke and Mark half way through a race. I worried for one minute I was back in the Amsterdam coffee shop hell suffering the hallucinogenic effects of dodgy dope cake.
“You’re in a race. Stop talking”. Bellowed Luke, seconded by Mark. We ignored them and continued toiling and chatting until we reached the summit. On the knee wrecking descent we caught up with Andy Stott and Andy Hughes. It occurred to me at this point that we have an excess of Andy’s in the club, but just at that moment – when breath was in short supply, it was good economisation to utter “Hello Andy’s”. We arrived at the second stream like 4 rabid, slathering beasts – all desperately taking in as much water as possible before the steep slog up the other side of the valley. Hand over hand on the fence wire, we hauled ourselves up the grassy bank.
At the top we had the cheery (and it turns out incorrect) news from James (our budding economist – who needs to try harder at numbers) that Esther and I were 3rd and 4th lady – in fact, we were 4th and 5th at that point. At the prize giving I noticed that none of the leading 3 ladies looked like men – which can sometimes be the case in these competitions – so it was just a case of sloppy accounting on James’ part. Anyway, other than that, he did a great job and it was lovely to see his smiling (or was it grimacing?) face – he did mention that he was cold, but that problem could easily be solved if he just ate a bit more. I should have mentioned that the Lawsons had a surplus of cakes and bagels for general consumption.
This was the point at which the long awaited “nice ridge walk” I had been promised, arrived. It was indeed very lovely. I worried a bit that I was finding it a bit too lovely. I did quite a bit of looking around and admiring the scenery and commenting to Esther about its loveliness. I realised that perhaps I shouldn’t be focusing on scenery and enjoyment, and be getting down to the gritty business of having a knarly, hard, unpleasant time – i.e. I should have been running a bit faster. Esther said her energy levels were dipping and that she was having a gel, and would I like one. I declined on the grounds that I didn’t want to deprive her of a gel she might need later on. About 5 minutes later, the effects of this ‘rocket fuel’ propelled her down the hillside like a chamois in sight of its prey. It’s prey was a red speck in the distance – a fellow competitor – i.e. someone in front who knew where they were going. She tore through bracken and brambles with the agility of a gazelle leaving the poor fat knacker (me) trailing and flailing around in her wake. Only one thing for it I thought. “Er, Est – could I have one of those gel things please?” She very generously gave me her last gel.
We were now entering the woods – without a fellow competitor in sight. Oh dear – I thought – not a good place to be when I haven’t a clue where we’re going, and Esther has only done this race once before. However, it all began well – we followed the red and white tapes diligently, until, well, we couldn’t see any more. We had been running about 10 minutes up some random forest track before I realised Esther had stopped to consult her map and compass. Oh dear – I thought – not a good sign.
“I think we are going the wrong way” Est announced “we’re heading North West when we should be heading South West”.
“Oh, that’s a shame. It looks like there’s a clearing a bit further on – and then we can, you know, see stuff, and maybe we can get back on track”
“No, Niki – we are going completely in the wrong direction. We need to turn back and get on the right path”
I reluctantly had to concede that Esther had a point. It did not make any sense to continue in the wrong direction just because it was nice and sunny ahead and we would be out of the woods. We headed back into the thick of the woods, despondent that our brains hadn’t saved our legs. Esther continued to navigate us out of the forest and back on the right track – I have no idea how she managed it – other than genius, cunning and brilliance.
“I recognise this track” she said euphorically. It was then only 15-20 minutes or so to the top of the last hill and checkpost, where we began to forget our navigational crisis and focus on our imminent death by thirst crisis. Orange juice and lemonade was voted our No. 1 fantasy drink. Est politely begged the marshal for water, and he offered us the remaining dribble of his carbonated water. The end was now firmly in sight. Sue Ashton was taking photographs on the final descent and told us that Dick and Vanessa were in front. It was at this point we realised that our navigational error had cost us dear, but then, that’s what fell racing is all about – you can be the fastest person in the world – but you need to be running in the right direction. Vanessa was a worthy No. 1 Female Chepstow Harrier to cross the finish line – in 4th position. It was her birthday too so what better birthday present could she have had. Well done Vanessa – and thanks for the bagel!
On the very final descent, past all the Essex Scouts on a hill walk, I thought I saw Dick ahead. This spurred me on – the competitive spirit kicking in (eventually after 16 miles) and I hammered down the trail, only to reach the bottom and discover two things 1) it wasn’t Dick, 2) I finally understood what people meant when they talked about their legs turning to rubber. I thought it was highly probable that my legs would collapse underneath me – which would have given me a nice rest, but sadly they didn’t – so Est and I slogged up the final small uphill bit to the finish line and as we’d agreed half way round – crossed it together. Upon crossing the line she said “So, it’s b*ll*cks that you don’t need to recce it then”.
Lou was next female Harrier in, looking as fresh as a daisy, but having had some foot trouble along the way. Gill was another to arrive beaming from ear to ear – complete with her OMM training pack and glow that we all get when we beat our male partners!
Colin mysteriously appeared quite some time after the prize presentation. I believe he had got lost, found himself outside a pub (funny that) in some random village which wasn’t Llanbedr, persuaded some locals to take pity on him and give him a lift to the finish. And he’d recced it!
Our leading 3 men won the Team Prize – Paul Murrin, Matthew and Steve Caldwell – all having had really excellent runs. Dick won 1st MV60 prize, and Gareth won 2nd MV60 prize. A fantastic effort by our men. However, I think it was also a fantastic effort by Chepstow Harriers women – but no team prize or Vets prizes were awarded for any women – presumably due to the small number of women taking part. But we’re not bitter – much.
The event was rounded off perfectly by Lou and Gill driving 10 drunk blokes from Kent to Crickhowell. They were on a walking and beer-drinking weekend, and were halfway through the day’s walk when they found the pub in Llanbedr and remained there until they’d given up any ideas of walking over the next hill to Crickhowell – and had resigned themselves to getting a taxi when they could no longer stand. They were certainly very lively and entertaining, and Lou and Gill generously spared them the taxi fare by shuttling them back to their hotel.
A massive thank you for Lou for a fantastic post Black Mountains party in the evening to celebrate Vanessa’s birthday. The pasties and puddings were awesome. A perfect finish to a perfect day.
Photo by Alastair Tye, more here http://picasaweb.google.com/alastair.tye/BlackMountains#
Photo by Sue, more at http://picasaweb.google.com/gerry.ashton/BlackMountainsFellRace2009?feat=email#
