06/11/2009 by Niki.

Having recced this fell race with both Andy C and Ian (consecutively), it would be most inappropriate and politically incorrect for me to observe here that Andy hadn’t a clue where he was going, and that Ian’s nav was faultless.  So, when it came to deciding who to share a lift with to the start, it was a no-brainer.  Also, there’s the small matter of Andy refusing any lifts from anyone – obviously in uber-psyched racing “don’t talk to me, I’m far too serious an athlete to be distracted by a silly girl” mindset.

We arrived at the start to see many a familiar face – including, most notably, that of Marianne.  Good, I thought – excellent to have such fine female Harrier talent at this event.  OK then, what I really thought was “right, that’s any vague hope of glory out the window, unless I have a sex change, an injection of steroids, and locate a time portal to propel me back to my mid-20’s – all in the next 15 minutes”.  Marianne purported to have a hangover, which may have made her 1% less completely awesome than normal – but she still put on a fantastic performance to be first female Harrier by many minutes.  Clearly, she didn’t drink enough.

Lou arrived with her brood in tow, and decided to cheer the Harriers on, which as well as being hugely motivational and very sweet (especially the cheers of Ceri and Polly), proved to be a most useful navigational aid – more about that later.

It was a delight as always to see Esther’s smiling face, and we did a brief warm up together, before reality dawned.  Behind Esther’s cheery, laid back demeanour lies a woman of cast iron.  Her steely determination, fortitude and ruthlessness on the hill make Genghis Khan look like a blancmange.  Having just about recovered from the Herculean effort of trying to keep up with Es on the Black Mountains fell race some months ago, the mental scars were still lingering.  As I cast around to see if there were any LV80s I could swap my warm up routine with, runners began to mass at the start.  We passed Andy C running towards us.  No eye contact, no verbal contact, a vague raise of the hand in acknowledgement.  Inexplicably, Andy’s ultra-focused pre-race preparation put Esther and I in a fit of giggles.

“So Ian, what’s your race strategy then?” I nonchalantly enquired.

“It’s to go as fast as I can uphill, and as fast as I can downhill” he replied.

“That’s really uncanny Ian.  That was my strategy too.  Golly, we must have some amazing brain-linked chemistry synch vibe going on”.

“Whatever” replied Ian.

It was good to see the indefatigable, indestructible, irrepressible Gill Stott on the start line (and her lovely hubby), pointing her broken arm defiantly towards the summit of Sugarloaf. I believe she said she would trot round with Rob Brown, and he foolishly believed her…  a woman of fortitude to rival Esther’s.

It was also great to see Sue and Gerry there – more OMM survivors returning to the Welsh hills the weekend after for more pain and misery.

At the start we were told there would be no prizes for any winners, just spot prizes.  That reduced the pressure to just trying and beat as many of your mates as possible for the hell of it. 

The Start – well, this was steep up, and if one was feeling particularly super-human, deranged, inadvisably ambitious and masochistic (most of Chepstow Harriers), one could run up it.  The ideal would have been to attempt to do this all the way up, but the harsh reality of a finite lung capacity, a middle-aged body and depleted oxygen to the legs soon made this fantasy, just that.  I am sure the uber-quick boys such as Steve Caldwell and Matthew Lawson managed to achieve this.

Having decided that the OMM was just a load of old tussocks, it felt good to be running on something resembling a path – and even better to watch the warped course planner struggle up the steep hillside on Sugarloaf.  It would have been even better to show him a clean pair of heels, but he was going well (damn him).  All that Ommmmm chanting and eschewing frivolous chat at the start must have paid off.

Ian shot off like a scalded cat - maybe it had something to do with my worrying (to him) comment about us having our brains linked.  It was to prove an ill-advised tactic though because I overtook him after about 10 minutes. 

Esther and I had a titanic battle throughout the entire race.  We solved this ‘having an identical pace’ problem at the Black Mountains by running round together, but that was a 17 mile very tough race where our mutual support was extremely helpful to get round, and this was just 5 miles – we couldn’t do the girlie thing of coming in together hand in hand at the finish line again.  Not without a lot of p*ss taking from Andy C anyway.  We would have to fight to the death.  I was convinced just about all of the way round that this battle would be won by Esther as I have the mental resolve of your average hibernating hamster – I can barely focus for a 20 yard sprint finish yet alone a 5 mile fell race.  Esther obviously used this to her advantage by encouraging me to look at the view.  This I did thinking “ooh, look at those lovely trees, and those glorious autumnal colours, and is that Pen Carig y wotsit I can see over there in the Black Mountains – rather than thinking “you must run this woman into the ground at all costs”.  I don’t really like being uber-competitive with my friends, because, well, they are my friends, and it seems like unseemly behaviour.

After feeling on the verge of a quadruple heart bypass several times, I found myself standing on the summit of Sugarloaf.  Only I didn’t find myself in a stationary position.  That’s the problem with fell races – you completely and utterly slaughter yourself to get to the top, but because it’s uphill and you aren’t really moving very fast at all, you know that you have to really, really slaughter yourself completely and utterly on the descent to make up for all that wussy walking you did on the way up.  The result is that you beast yourself up, and you beast yourself down, and there is absolutely no point whatsoever in a short fell race where you will not be absolutely beasting yourself into a pulp – unless you’re not trying hard enough, which is just pathetic and you should be ashamed of yourself, and take up basket weaving.

Anyway, where was I – ah yes, the top of Sugarloaf.  Esther was ahead of me at this point, and that was to continue for some of the descent, until I sensed a slight easing in her stride and went for an overtaking manoeuvre.  My descent strategy was simple.  To take my brain out and move as fast as possible.  The first part was not difficult for me as it comprises fluff and air, but the second part was more difficult.  I was beginning to tire, and Esther was closing in for the kill.  I now have empathy for wildebeests. 

There was a bit of ascent in the descent, which I thought was unnecessarily harsh.  I managed to overtake one woman around this point, before we started descending again.    On the descent I was uncertain of the correct path to take, and then I heard this tremendous cacophony of “Niki, Niki” coming from the lovely Summers’ children and Lou reverberating around the mountains.  “Ah, that’ll be the correct route then” I thought, and hurled myself towards them at alarming speed.  What I didn’t know at the time was that the woman just behind me that I’d just overtaken was also called Niki, so she must have been impressed by this new fan base.

“You’re 3^rd woman” bellowed Lou, encouragingly.  That spurred me on the finish in this position.  I’m not sure how I managed to cross the finish line without throwing up, but it was immensely pleasing to stop.  Es was just seconds behind me.  My lungs are so trashed I haven’t stopped coughing since and am convinced I have bronchitis at the very least.

Great event – I’ll be back next year.

Congratulations to everyone who took part, especially first lady – Marianne.

Posted in Fell Running | 2 Comments »

11/10/2009 by Niki.

I’ve taken an overdose.  I’m not running tomorrow” announced Andy C

“Isn’t that a bit of a drastic measure to ensure I don’t beat you?”  I suggested.

“I accidentally overdosed on anti-inflams, plus my achillies in painful.  If you don’t like my excuses, I have others.”

“The overdose is sufficiently inventive and dramatic thanks.”

Matthew, looking worrying fit and hyperactive, approached the chip fat van at the Leisure Centre, armed with some very tasty looking chocolate chip and raison flapjacks (made by team Vanessa and Reubin).  After the Black Mountains and Bagel-gate, I was mentally prepared for this.  I thought I would try and be especially nice and ingratiating to Matthew in the hope he’d offer me one either before or after the race, and I wouldn’t be forced into unseemly begging.  Gerry arrived looking alarmingly cheerful, smiley and happy.  I didn’t want to squash his effervescent demeanour by pointing out that he was about to do something very unpleasant, in the wind and driving rain for 13 miles.  We piled in the chip fat van with our injured driver and sole supporter – Mr Creber.

“This wet stuff coming out of the sky.  This wasn’t forecast until 4 pm.  I haven’t got the right footwear, I’m wearing the wrong vest, and quite frankly it’s unacceptable.” I whined.

Half an hour before the start, there were more changes in the chip van than in your average Milan Fashion Show.   It quickly became apparent that we’d all got too much technical kit and were boringly obsessing about which particular garment would provide optimum performance.  We decided the 3 of us could wear whatever we liked, and we’d use Andy as a human coat hanger on the way round.  Surprisingly he acquiesced to this blatant p*ss taking.  Perhaps he wasn’t thinking straight – what with the overdose and the disappointment of not running in a mud infested bog for 13 miles.

So to the start – where Andy saw us off – armed with a rather large, and slightly girlie plastic umbrella – which quite frankly I found a bit wet.  I mean this is Grubby – who prides himself in wallowing in mud and large puddles.  What was he doing cowering under a bit of plastic to escape a couple of dribblettes of water.   Pathetic.

Matthew took position at the front – or near it – or a long way in front of me and Gerry anyway.  I optimistically positioned myself ahead of Gerry – employing mind tactics.  He overtook me after about 20 yards.  Conditions were not clement – although I think I’ve already mentioned that.  In fact, it p*ssed it down all the way round.  However, that did not deter the steely contingent of male Chepstow Harriers – all 2 of them, and Andy was trying his best to look steely under the plastic umbrella, with various discarded bits of sodden kit hanging off him.

The course was as fabulous as I remembered from last year – only last year there was the added bonus of unbroken sunshine, and dry conditions.   A few miles in there were some stiles, and as it was early on, there was a bit of a queue.  I tried to practise a state of zen-like calm, employing a mantra of “look at all this lovely scenery, and isn’t it a perfect opportunity to have a bit of a rest and recoup some energy, whilst waiting at this stile”,  which was effective for 2 nanoseconds.  The rest of the time I thought “Oh for f***’s sake – get a bl**dy move on, you slow, ponderous Jessies.”   I did try to vault over one fence – following the bold lead of the guy in front – and promptly banged my knee really hard.  Karma I thought – serves me right for being so impatient and having such grossly uncharitable thoughts about my fellow competitors.  I ran with a limp for the next mile.

There were some slightly rocky bits near the start too – which led to more ponderous, pussy-footing around and intense irritation.

After about 5 miles, I came across Gerry who I thought I’d lost forever – well, until the end of the race at least.  He looked very strong and fit and was still smiling – which I found worrying.  He’s obviously enjoying it I thought, and this smiling business will mean that he’s obviously got some reserves of energy.  I overtook him, and thought – oh well, he can overtake me when he decides to unleash these hidden reserves.  I wasn’t going to be using up any precious energy by making congenial facial gestures – this is a fight to the death I thought.

There followed a bit of running in the woods, which was pleasant and it wasn’t so noticeable that it was p*ssing down and howling a hoolie.  I had jettisoned my windproof on the obliging human coat-hanger about 3 miles in, so was a bit worried about on-set hypothermia – not that I’m given to melodrama.

After what seemed like a long time – 1 hour and 35 minutes, to be precise – I thought “that Matthew character will have finished now, and I still have 2 miles to go.  He’ll be smugly tucking into his 5^th chocolate chip flapjack and be sat in the warm chip van having nice chats with Andy about how he was in top 20 finishers”.  At this low point, I reached for a gel to give me the oomph to get a shift on and get finished so that there would still be a flapjack left for me when I got back to the van.

At the finish, I realised that Gerry was about 10 seconds behind me – I’m amazed he didn’t go for the sprint finish to burn me off.  Very gallant Gerry – thank you.

Matthew was 20^th overall, and 7^th MV40 – fantastic running Matthew!

Gerry and I were about 1 hour 50 minutes – both of us feeling like we’d had a decent run.  I beat my time last year by about 4 minutes so I thought I might be getting old, grey and wizened, and more bad tempered, but at least I’m not getting slower – just yet.

All being cold and wet, our thoughts turned very quickly to drying off.  I had brought along a brand new cuddly otter as a mascot for the race and he was resting in the van.

“How absorbent is your otter Niki? I think I’ve forgotten my towel” Gerry quipped.

After a long, luxurious shower back at race HQ – I heard the distinctive tones of Andy – disconcertingly emitting from inside the Ladies.

“There’s a cup of tea here for Miss Morgan” he bellowed.

Thanks Andy – for embarrassing me out of the shower in front of a shower block full of women!  I wasn’t even drying my hair or applying make-up so I can’t possibly have been in there longer than one hour.

We hung around for what seemed (to the blokes anyway) an eternity before the prize-giving ceremony commenced.

“If you haven’t won a prize Niki – we’ll all be really p*ssed off with you.   It will mean we could have all b*gg*d off home an hour ago” pointed out Matthew in his inimitable style.

Fortunately, I won the Female Vet 40 prize – a nice memorial trophy and a very useful free gym membership to somewhere about 100 miles away from Chepstow – I swapped it for some beer.  The organiser looked shocked when I asked for the beer – he said, wouldn’t you rather have this yoghurt, and “is this beer for you?”

“Too chuffing right it’s for me” I thought. 

I did fleetingly consider giving Matthew, Gerry and Andy one each as a reward for their patience, but – as I say, it was a fleeting thought.

Fantastic race, fantastic organisation, fantastic prizes, and the company wasn’t bad.

by Niki

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