Previous race reports have taken readers to Stockholm, Paris, and Mallorca, around the Bob Graham, and to London Marathon glory. Apologies, I cannot offer this - and most people’s - version of romantic running, but I can mine: rock up, pay a fiver, run as hard as you can over hills and through bogs, somehow finish first, and come away with a box of Corona for your efforts.
T’was a hot, still, humid evening, and the legs were sore. I had cheated on Queens Park and joined my partner Molly for a track session at her club the night before. I must say it wasn’t nearly half as good as a blast around Willesden Track ;). Nice excuse for the pressure to be off and to just plod round and enjoy it, mind.
Anyway, after the briefest brief ever (“Look after each other up there everyone. 3, 2, 1, off you go”), and several questions about my club vest, off we went. I knew the first few miles were going to be tough, with around 700ft of climbing through first quarry and then tussock-infested moorland. I set off comfy and let a few lads get away, but found myself having caught them after a mile or so and in third place. First place was off in the distance so I used the chap in second to pace me up to the highest point on the race before we set off down a lovely long descent to familiar trail around the back of my house.
Even the descending was slow on overgrown moorland. Keeping on second place’s heels, I completely forgot I was racing and just enjoyed the views and chilled; I was fairly content with coming third and knew there was tougher climbing to come. It was during said tougher climbing - literally hands and feet climbing; pictured below - that I overtook second and first place was finally in sight again.
Whilst the rest of the country had enjoyed consecutive days of glorious sunshine, the Pennines had received sufficient rain to keep the bogs in full spirit. Through these I caught first place. We chatted and it appeared we were both ready for the finish line, before our inner Paula Radcliffe’s were summoned up on the hill (you asked for an honest and open race report!).
From here it was just a case of holding him off in the circa mile back to where we’d kicked off 50 minutes prior. I managed to fend off the race anxiety, and come home 90 seconds ahead of second. My first fell race win! It felt quite surreal; I don’t get to race up on the fells as often as I’d like, and don’t put myself in the same category as the people I race against when I do.
My previous best was third at a brutal race in the Calder Valley (Yorkshire; boo) just after Christmas; the only race I’ve ever come across where you get a prize for coming last, but not third. So it was nice this time around to get something for my efforts, in a pretty tough race (6.4miles, 1200ft climb), on home turf, in London-club colours. The eagle-eyed among you will notice I even put my hand in my pocket and paid for a race pic, so I must’ve been happy!