Run Reports

How can I describe the park near Wakefield? Imagine if Sandall Beat Woods were in Sheffield… hilly.

Unfortunately, the race takes place on a Wednesday evening at seven. Myself and Dave Langofrd set off early to avoid the weekday rush hour. It was a good thing we did because the car park had gotten full really quick. This was because the car park was free after six, and we Brits’ love anything that is free. We parked by the gentle waters of Newmillerdam lake, and began our ascent to the start line by climbing the wooden steps to HQ. Once on top of the stairs, I was already out of breath… that was not a good start. After following the signs to the start line, we arrived at the event shelter. I noticed something unusual about this tent. On all the sides, there were many rubber yellow ducks hanging with their individual nooses. I thought “Is this some strange New Pagan ritual? Or West Yorkshire’s version of Midsommar?” Then I noticed a woman dressed as a giant yellow duck. “She’s the one that is going to be sacrificed?” It wasn’t until I got my number that I realised the “Newmillerdam 5k” is actually called “Newmillerdam Quacky 5K”. It was a duck themed event, the woman dressed in the duck costume was the Tailwalker, and it’s not some shrine to Quacker from Tom and Jerry. (You young ones won’t get that reference). I say “until I got my number”; myself and Dave arrived at ten minutes past six, only to learn that the numbers hadn’t arrived yet. This was worrying, because the race was commencing in fifty minutes. So we went for a walk to the car, and by the lakeside to see purple Clematis blooming in the summer. When we returned from our wonder, (and the standard lake photographs) the numbers had arrived! With half an hour before the race, we stretched. I definitely needed to stretch becauseI had damaged my ankle whilst climbing up to Everest Basecamp (oh, did you not know? I went to Nepal to climb Everest Basecamp.) Seeing many twigs, roots, stumps, rocks, and hills did not boost my confidence. Dave was worried that he would be injured before the Edinburgh Marathon. To be fair; on the course, most of them had been red taped – so they were easily visible.

We started the race downhill, winding our way down towards the lake. Dave was way ahead of me running below seven minute miles. I started at the back taking it slow, because I’m recovering from an ankle injury. (The injury that was caused by climbing Everest Basecamp). However, I started to feel stronger, so I began to pick up and started to overtake a few people (feeling superior to them in every way possible). The descent became sharp, so it was time to be more cautious with the footing. The flat section was concrete, I ran past a few locals who’d let their dogs play in the small stream. After crossing the man made bridge, I turned left to the Marshall, to get back onto the muddy trails. Sadly, the circular path was a scramble to the first (and only) water station at one point two miles. The water’s there to prepare you for a steeper climb. One tree had a sign, which read “rough terrain”. I thought “well Durrhh”… then I nearly went over my other ankle. I couldn’t afford to have two bad ankles (because I damaged my left ankle, whilst climbing Everest Basecamp). Once me and the runners reached the apex of the high ground; one runner asked a Marshall, “How many K’s is it now?” The Marshall replied with a simple, “I don’t know.” Further down the path; he approached another Marshall and asked the same question. However, he got the same response… “I don’t know mate”. This was Marshalled just as well as a Grim Up North race. Why would you want to know anyway? It takes the fun out of it.

“What goes up, must come down.” After doing the small loop, we descended down another path, which led back to the concrete around the stream – and towards the right hand side of the first Marshall. This time there were more spectators, and just as I approached the sharp descent I came down on earlier – I thought, “they’re going to give me some encouragement before I tackle this gigantic hill”. Two girls in their late teens, or early twenties, spotted me – one asked the other, “Do you think he’s fit?” The other girl just went, “No.” That was not very motivating. This is where some people started to walk. I had spoken out the usual encouraging lines of: “well done” and “keep going” (works every time). I could have been exaggerating the hills here; they were sharp at times but they were not as long as some in Round Sheffield Run, Norton Nine, or Ambles Revenge. After struggling up the hill; I believed we were doing an out, a loop, and back – like a hilly trail version of Brigg 10K… Ok, so nothing like Brigg 10K. But, you get what I meant. However, the route had taken me down another path. I ran along a lumpy path by the side of the road, some suspicious looking teenagers, and into the woods. Most of the path was sealed off by red tape between trees, so you didn’t make a wrong turn. In fact, it was probably more sealed off than running through the woods for KMR: Santa Special in Rotherham. Perfect for people like me, who tend to get lost easily.

The finish was amazing; I expected a standard Parkrun finish by receiving a few claps. But, lots of people were screaming, clapping, and not one person told me I was unattractive. It was enough to lift my spirits at the end of the race. Dave ran the course in an amazing time of 20:21 minutes, and was probably top three in his age category. Out of the 160 runners, I finished in 74th place with a time of 27:36 (watch time). The race did not have a chipped time, it was done the old fashion way, via: a stopwatch, notepad and a pen – similar to Burringham 10K. We celebrated by going to The Fox and Hounds pub, which is conveniently placed opposite to the car park. ‘Twas there, I enthralled him with the tale of the time I walked up to Everest Basecamp (because he did not know that I went to Nepal to hike Everest Basecamp).

Mid-February saw the welcome return of Kingstone Runners’ Wombwell five-mile race.

I was determined to do well, as I had set one of my best ever times here in 2020, so as Saturday Night turned into Sunday Morning I felt a little nervous excitement about my first race this year.

Alas, it was wet out. ‘It Always Rains On Sunday’, according that overlooked 1940s novel and film, and precursor to the kitchen-sink realism movement. And here at Wombwell Football Club, with its puddle-filled potholes and rickety stands next to the disused railway line it seemed particularly bleak.

We’re in Barnsley, setting for Barry Hines’ novel A Kestrel for a Knave. Me, Melissa and Simon, three trail running enthusiasts have turned up to this all-road race. It starts on a Go-Kart track, then feeds onto the road to Darfield, known as Snape Hill, a testing climb, the only one.

Or was it? Feeling pleased at making it up okay, me and the runners around me approached a marshall on a corner who assured us “it’s all downhill from here! Except…” I didn’t catch the last bit, but rounding the corner realised that comment was a cruel sort of assurance, as we had another hill to run up. Still, type 2 fun, as they call it, is A Kind of Loving.

Heart pounding by now, I did my best to keep up with the person in front, a Steel City Strider, easing away, but I didn’t mind having a little Room at the Top. Certainly no sense of Loneliness of the Long Distance Runner, anyway.

From here I did my best to run fast downhill and hold on when it turned flat around the 4-mile point. A lap of the Go-Kart track and then a battle with another runner in a very fast sprint resulted in a three-way photo-finish and a satisfactory 35:04 chip time. I Looked Back, not so much in Anger, but in mutual respect for the other runner.

Simon was waiting to congratulate me, apparently already recovered, and it wasn’t long to wait to watch Melissa Come Home.

Going into this race wasn’t sure what to expect 6 hours to run as far as possible seems fun yet daunting.

Got up early as usual kit all sorted Katie got kids ready and packed the car and off we went weather was pretty good after the cold ice we had days before.

Met a few of my friends from other running clubs and after race brief and hugs and good lucks I set off.

Steady pace to get a feel for the route which turned out to be pretty flat apart from two slight hills which turned out to be mountains towards the end ?

It was good as after every 3.5mile loop I got to see the family and fill my boots at the aid station.

I got to lap 9 passing and chatting to various people on route but I could feel the groin giving me a little problem so thought once back into the aid station I’ll call it a day ??

As I hit the aid station my friend said to me come on we have 45 min another loop we got this so I topped up the tailwind took some painkillers and off we went for one final loop I was now running the downs and walking the hills but finally made it back 34 mile later to the families relief as they were looking ready for home ?

All in all a great day out well organised and easy to follow great volunteers and such a fun race to be part of great to be representing the harriers ??

They say that the weather is unpredictable in Scotland. I wouldn’t say it was “unpredictable”, I knew exactly what it was going to be… cold, wet, and windy.

A collection of coaches, and double decker buses collected myself and four thousand other runners from Bught Park in the cold dead of night (7 a.m.!!). The back of the coach seats were each lined with plastic, and we all had to wear a mask. Despite the extra covid measures that the company had taken, we were all sat next to a complete stranger. The guy next to me was from America. He had traveled to many different continents to try different marathons, some of these included: Antarctica, Norway, Istanbul and Hawaii (I get it, he’s much more interesting than me, so I’m going to move on and stop talking about him).

Just past Fort Augustus; we all departed the coach on top of a large hill, to stand in the cold pouring rain. From the distance you can see other mountain peaks, clouds, and – more importantly – portaloos. Everybody broke the social distancing rule to huddle together, protecting each other from the bitter cold and the sharp wind. This is one of the reasons why I love the running community, everybody has an instinct to look after each other. Another guy from America (who also flew to Scotland for the first time, just for the marathon) noticed how cold I was, and offered his spare space jacket. A girl I was talking to at the start line also offered me her spare bin bag liner, which I gratefully accepted. For this race, it is essential that you bring a disposable poncho, and an old jumper to throw at the side of the road, because the last thing you want before the race is hypothermia. One of the benefits about this marathon is the bag drop is close to the start line, so you can wait till the very last minute before you abandon your layers. (Of course, the truck where your bags are stored will get transported back to the finish line).

To initiate the race; a traditional Scottish bagpipe player walked down the centre of the crowd to the start line, completely unfazed by the cold and wore his kilt. Once he had finished playing his banging tune, the race had begun. The run started with me descending downhill to the base of another hill, then I ran around the hill by the side of two forests. However, the fifth mile was a long, sharp and curvy ascent (every runner’s nightmare). At this point, people had started to walk, which was unnerving.

For the next seven miles, there was a mixture of two things: a long undulating segment or a short sharp incline. Either way, they both end with a long downward drop. Meaning, I ended up going more downhill than up. This was a perfect opportunity to let gravity do the work, which allowed my legs to recover after the ascent. From the sixth mile, I could see the River Ness from the gaps of the trees. The trees had yet to receive Autumn’s cold grasp, meaning they still held much of their green thick leaves, which made the view on the left hand side even more spectacular. It was a sight for anyone with sore eyes. The view on the right was just a slight landslide risk.

The reason why headphones were banned from the course is because of the passing emergency motorcycle first aiders. There were other runners who did not heed the warning, and decided to wear headphones anyway. Between miles 10 – 12, you wouldn’t believe the amount of times I had to shout at people “bike behind”, or “keep to
the side”, but they still never caught what I was saying. I wore my bone conductors… like the professional athlete that I am. The heavy metal music blasting on top of my ears was a blessing between miles 12.5 – 17.5, because it was a long five mile drag in the rain. If it were not for the runners beside me, I could have easily stopped. There was nothing new to see, just trees closing in on the road. Running on the hard tarmac had become very uncomfortable for my legs, I had to have a few Jelly Babies (which are always recommended for a long run) and the race’s free gels (which is at every 10k) for muscle recovery.

After mile 17.5, the village Dore was a welcomed sight. It was the first wave of supporters since mile nine. The echoes of clapping and cheering were a much needed boost. Also, as we got into Dore the paths opened up, allowing me to see more of the landscapes that Scotland had to offer. Unfortunately, the route took me up one of these landscapes. Between miles 18.5 – 20 was one long climb uphill… and that’s when the sun decided to show its face. “Not now! You big yellow warm b*stard!”. A few people I met at the hostel and at the Wetherspoons said this is where they struggled after going too fast at the beginning – so remember “it’s a marathon not a sprint”.

Once at the top, it was a fast 10k finish. About 95% of it was either downhill or flat. It reminded me very much of the last 10k at Sheffield Half Marathon. Speaking of Sheffield Half; it’s worth noting that a very steady hilly half (or any race), a week or two before a hilly marathon, will help a great deal when it comes to hills. Unless you run a lot of hills in your area.

As I approached Inverness town centre, more and more spectators came out. By mile 25, I could see the finish line… it was just on the wrong side of the river. This was very disheartening. Especially since I had nothing left in the tank. But, once I crossed the bridge onto the correct side – the atmosphere at the finish line was phenomenal (and so was the free carrot soup). The achievement of beating my estimated time (under four hours), the adventure, the good atmosphere at the finish line, the scenery, and the carrot soup – definitely made me want to sign up for another marathon soon.

Oh, I’ve forgotten – something strange happened on the 16th mile. Whilst I was running behind two people with headphones on, I noticed all the birds flew from the trees and little wooden creatures fled across in one direction out of terror… away from the river. The water’s gentle motion had turned into a vicious whirlpool, and from the dark centre of the vortex – a beast like no other had risen from the depths of the deep blue water. It gave an almighty roar that had caused the ground beneath to quiver at its mercy. Its long scaly skinned neck stretched out and devoured the two runners in front of me. They would have heard it coming… if only they weren’t wearing headphones.