Questions and answers.

Liver Hill fell race, Rawtenstall. 27th March 2012
http://www.flickr.com/photos/minnellium/7023305613/
Glib advice to someone doing the race for the first time. 'Oh yeah, balls out right from the start.' How can I then forget what I've said, or at least be so casual as to forget exactly what that means and how it feels? I've been doing Dashers fell race series and it's been going surprisingly well. I've done 3 and been 2nd Dasher in all of 'em, but of course it's a false position. A fluke due to most of the fast lads not turning up, or the 'new fast lads' still finding their feet. The series proper hasn't really begun yet.
Liver Hill is always well attended by Dashers. It's the first of the mid week races as it takes place just after the clocks change, it's virtually on our doorstep and it's free. All of these and the almost bizarrely decent weather was enough to get 22 Dashers (including 2nd claimers) turning up for it. After rushing home from work and wolfing my tea down, I picked up George T and Mark W and shot over to Rawtenstall.
On the start line I was feeling full and tired. Never mind. Get head straight. Get in the 'zone'. And we're off. Across the field and then the start of a whole lot of up. Mark W flew off as expected with Des and Gifford not far behind. I worked hard to keep Gifford in sight and was succeeding, only a few places behind. Russ Corsini was right with me and said something about me dodging onto the tarmac for a better line at one point. Sorry Russ, no breath for talking. The steep up finally over it's then onto the open moor and gradual climb, interspersed with stiles and stride breaking bog. My breath is now ragged and burning. Sweat is coursing out of me and all my effort is going into keeping this pace up.
It's almost nightmarish. I am watching as if remotely as Des and Gifford extend their lead on me. I can do nothing. I cannot run any faster, in fact I am running too fast already. My brain is screaming its negative messages at me. Somehow I blank them out. I near the last of the 20 (!!) stiles just as the leaders head back towards me. I'm sure I've managed to clear it before they have passed me in previous years but no matter. No point thinking about that and adding fuel to my brain's treacherous fire.
Des passes me, then Giff. I stagger up to the summit and round it as the marshals, oblivious to my mental and physical distress, share a joke. Can't they see my pain?? Back down now but it's no easier. You can't rest. Russ and Jonathan B are right behind me now. I pass other Dashers coming up as I struggle on. Some shout encouragement but I can't answer. 'Hang on, keep going', I tell myself. Russ appears at my side briefly and then vanishes again as he takes a bad line through a boggy ditch. Pressure, pressure. Crossing one of the flattish fields I see Giff ahead. Surely not? My brain struggles with this one for a while and provides a momentary distraction from fell running hell. So, yes - it's Gifford. He's about 40 yards ahead. Can I catch him? Not sure. Got to try. Pick the pace up? Not an option, already bouncing off the redline. Hang on, hang on. Then Russ passes, followed closely by Jonathan. Keep it together, don't let the head go. Descending now, legs flailing. I need to pull it together a bit here, get some semblance of form. Force myself to run 'neater'. Steady the breathing a bit. It's not working, they are drawing away.
A few fast plunges and I'm on the finishing field. No chance of catching any Dashers ahead of me, the first Lady, a girl from Rossy Harriers, is just in front. I thrash on as I can't risk looking back to see who is behind and  I'm damned if I'm going to let anyone else pass. On, on. And finish. Mouth agape, sucking air in. Chest is burning and I'm staggering. I nod at Jonathan to congratulate him on a great run and walk off to have a pee in the trees.
When I come round a bit I start working out how I've gone on. I make it 6th Dasher (it later turns out to be 7th) - not surprising given who's there but still disappointing. For a while I'm thinking 'What is the point? I have just absolutely run my bollocks off and for what?' My chest is still burning and I'm coughing like a consumptive (hay fever?), my knee is now throbbing and I am really disheartened. I don't really want to hang about after so I collect George and Mark and head home.
It was only the day after that I start to rationalise things and put them into perspective. Ok, I was 7th Dasher but I was within 30 seconds of 4 of them. Out of that 7 I am the oldest but one. And 28th (equal) out of 174 isn't too shabby really. I still can't say that I was anything like happy with my performance but I also know that I gave it everything I had. I can't say that I enjoyed it either but I know that most races aren't like that. Will I be at the next race? Damn straight I will. This is what I do, after all.

http://www.fellrunner.org.uk/results/race12/LiverHill.pdf
Thanks to Rossendale Harriers putting it on.
Pic by Dave Haygarth.

Heptonstall fell race

http://www.sportsunday.co.uk/hfr-10047

For years (and years and...) I have been doing fell races of the smaller nature. 6 to 10 miles has been plenty for me. So why, we ask, did I enter the Heptonstall fell race? 15 miles and 3000' of climb. It wasn't going to be easy was it? Anyhoo, filled as I am with the desire to complete the Dasher fell race series I entered.
Luckily enough the weather could not have been better. Cool but sunny. NO RAIN. Signing on it emerged that there were only 5 Dashers there. Well 6 if you count Sarah taking pics at the start. Mark Walsh who is on the form of his life was never going to be anything but 1st Dasher. Also starring was 'Young' Jonathan Bruton, Kev Smith and Pete Murphy as well as yours truly. We started off on the cobbles of the picturesque village of Heptonstall (imagine a mini Haworth) and were soon dropping into the first steep valley. Mark W buggered off ( natch) with Jonathan not that far behind. As this was the longest race I've ever done (I know -the shame) I decided the best course of action was steady away.
15 miles is a looong way. No, it really is. Up and down. Across occasionally. Bogs, tussocks and a lot of mud. I had to work hard at keeping my pace in check at first. After a while I didn't. I just had to work hard. At one point I spotted a yellow vest in front of me so I put it in and gradually reeled him in. Eventually I caught him. To my disappointment it turned out to not be Jonathan but some bloke with glasses on. Bugger.
On we went, eventually dropping down to a large reservoir which we then skirted. Part way along the track we came across my mate Ady from Accy, the SportSunday photographer, lying in the track taking photos (what are the chances?). I couldn't help breaking into a big grin ( see link above).
At another of the intermninable valleys that the race was littered with I glanced back and spotted Kev Smith behind me. Kev is a really decent distance runner. I am not. I got my finger out. Ah, pride.
A long time later I became aware that there was a change in the atmosphere amongst the runners around me. A tangible buzz and a picking up of speed. Being a luddite and not using the new fangled devices like GPS and er, watches I rightly surmised that we were nearing the end. I had done a bit of research and knew that the race's final climb was up from the Blue Pig and that there was rumoured to be around 100 steps involved. This may have been a cause for despair amongst some, but not me. As a one trick pony - and that trick is climbing - I had a little mental jump for joy. I had an even bigger one when I saw a yellow vest above me on the climb. This time it actually was Jonathan. Ooh, game on!
Just as I was hoping to creep up on him he looked back. I waved energetically and grinned. He gave me a look that said many things. 'I am tired'. 'I have had enough now'. 'No, actually, I am not really that pleased to see you although I am prepared to give a little wave back'.
I started to nip past people. 5 behind. 4 behind. A bit of a body swerve and 3 behind. We reached the top of the climb. I was buzzing and said to the marshal 'That was brilliant!' He seemed confused. Over a stile and across a field. I found I could run where others were walking. Gradually, gradually I reeled Jonathan in. And then passed him. I didn't speak as
a. I didn't want him to think I was taking the piss
b. Couldn't think of anything appropriate
and c. Actually I couldn't speak.
A road crossing to negotiate and then a field ahead with a big red flag at the crest of the hill. I remembered that hours ago at the start there was a field next to the car park with a red flag in it where the finish was. Tunnel vision now, everything was about reaching that flag and stopping all the pain. I staggered on, passing a couple of people. I reached the flag. It wasn't the finish. 'Oh, fuuuu...!!' Another two big red flags and then the real finish. The lovely, lovely real finish. I staggered faster and again passed somebody. Nearly there now. One ahead of me. Can I catch him? I lurched faster into what I fondly imagined was a sprint finish. Just as I was about to duck past him and pip him some swine shouted 'Come on Striders, there's one right behind you.' and he sped up. Bloody unsporting if you ask me!
Orange juice and Nice biscuits at the finish. Jonathan came in not long after me looking a bit broken. Good experience though and a lesson learnt about pacing. He won't let that happen again and I will soon be bragging about finishing in front of him. Mark Walsh was waiting at the finish and had had another superb run finishing 6th overall. Wow! Kev soon arrived back and then Pete a short while later.
I have to say that I really enjoyed this race. At times it was a bit of a grovel and I did a good bit of suffering BUT I did it, was still fairly human at the finish and yet again finished second Dasher. Big up to the organisers of the race, they did a superb job. All in all a great day out. Next up - Liver Hill. That'll be a different kettle of fish.

Mates

It wasn't a special day, just an ordinary Sunday. Nor was it a special route - we'd done it or a variation of it many times. It was pretty much the usual crew. Livsey was away skiing but the rest of us - Dave the Builder, Laughing Dave, our Will and me - were there. Maybe it was that Spring was starting to make an appearance, it was definitely warmer and drier than we've had of late. Whatever it was there was a really chilled, lighthearted vibe to the ride straight from the off. As usual Will was moaning about something and I was giving him grief. As usual the Dave's were taking the piss.
The big hairy chested climb up 'Pickabonk' was despatched and even at the re-group where we shovelled our lungs back in, jokes were flying back and forth. Over the muddy cheeky bit and onto the Grane Rd. Suddenly a race was on. The Dave's were duking it out in front while I made like a hamster in a wheel on the singlespeed trying to keep up. Then Will who had been whingeing and off the back until then, shot past everybody.
Another big climb up Robin Hood's Well and across to Peel Tower we went. A pause here for choccy biccies and a chance to critique the performance of the charity abseilers struggling down the side of the tower. The tricky, techy cheeky descent seemed a bit more cut up than normal. Ace! Three of us really enjoyed that bit!
On we went and even the walkers on the track above the shooting range were in a good mood, sharing the craic as they held gates open for us. Eventually we fetched up at Little Wayoh and its stream crossings. A small child and a big dog were playing in the water as I rode through. As Laughing Dave followed me I heard a bit of commotion and, inevitably, laughter. Half way across the dog had wandered straight in front of Dave nearly having him off. A bit of discussion on the new work on the path and we were on past the Strawbury Duck. I was really enjoying my first singlespeed ride for ages and I managed to get to the top of Edge Lane with only one dab. When I looked back at the top Dave and Dave were racing each other culminating in the Builder shoving the Laugher out of the way to take the win! More banter. Will then arrived and, far from being knackered, he just kept going. Steadily on towards the A666 we rode together and again exchanged easy conversation. A final mini race back to my front gate and the ride was over.
I said at the start - it was nothing special but somehow it was. It's great to do something you love, with your mates.

Sad it's all over

After months of planning, organising, preparation, emailing, and worrying, the night of Mr Sparkle's Dark Un finally arrived. A fell race, at night, in winter - what could possibly go wrong? As it turned out - not a lot! My romantic idea of setting the race off with a fire cracker had to be abandoned when 3 attempts failed to light it, other than that everything just seemed to fall into place.
Call me a sentimental old sod but there was a lot of love floating about that night. I had put a lot into the event, drawing on things I'd learned from other fell races, mountain bike races and singlespeed events, and I like to think that people picked up on that vibe. I was aiming for 'endearingly shonky' rather than 'seriously racey'. Fun more than competition.
Sixty runners charged off into the darkness of Roddlesworth Woods taking with them a weight off my shoulders. Although quite a few runners had recce'd the route very few knew what they would be encountering! I had put something on twitter about the race being one where you could experience woodland, moorland and Jungle. I suspect this caused a bit of confusion until the Drum 'n Bass disco on the top of the moor was reached! Not your usual fell race fare...
Almost before I was ready word came through that the first runner was on his way. We got the fire lit and then it was action stations. Mark Russell of Salford Harriers came through to take the win in 34:55, which is bloody quick for daylight let alone darkness. Other runners were soon approaching. Lights bobbling about in the darkness as they flew down the rocky track to the line.
I made sure to shake hands and thank every runner for taking part. Although sweat soaked and mud spattered they all seemed to have a big grin on their faces when they could get their breath back. In they came - from Blackburn, Burden, Dashers, Rossendale. More and more arrived home, buzzing. As I got their reaction to the course and the whole experience I must confess that I was buzzing too. Relief, excitement and pride all combined in a huge emotional cocktail inside me. Finally they were all back safe and well, the spirit of the race perhaps personified by the last 2 runners coming in together laughing.
Everyone mucked in to get the finish line stuff cleared away and then we made our way back to the packed pub. Alison, the Landlady and one of her staff were battling their way through the crush with plates of chip butties. Ale was drunk and numbers were crunched until I could lead everyone outside to do the presentation in the beer garden. The winners were Mark Russell and Sarah Sherratt who were presented with the Star shaped trophies. As well as the usual age group prizes I gave ones for last place, best reaction to the disco and best marshal as voted for by the runners. You could have hardly called it a professional proceedings but everyone seemed to enjoy the light heartedness of it all and forgive my cock ups.
Then it was back to the pub for the social. I got social as a newt and had a great night, yapping away to people. I'm not good with receiving praise but I think it's fair to say that the race was a success and I got many positive comments.
I have a whole host of 'thank you's' and 'without whom's' and I really mean every last one of 'em. Deep breath...
The people who encouraged me to go ahead with the daft idea in the first place - Paul Livsey, Jonathan Stubbs and Joanne Nelson, all the fantastic marshalls, timekeepers and finish line 'staff', Mark and Alison from the Royal who kindly donated the bottles of wine for age group prizes, gave us the chip butties at a great price and ensured that I had a thick head on saturday morning, Sweatshop Chorley for the £5 vouchers and race numbers,FDS and RPL for their sponsorship donations, Kath GP for her assistance,Hopey from Lostock who did some serious prize blagging, George Thompson who couldn't be there but still donated a prize, Linda Clarkson who bought a load of sweets to give out at the presentation, Dave Moir who knew he couldn't be there but insisted on putting a fiver in as he would have liked to have done it, Spud for loan of the megaphone, Dave the Builder Billington for use of the lights, David Barnes for use of the flashing skip lights, Bolton Mountain Rescue for attending in numbers and providing me with a lovely sense of security if owt had gone wrong, SportSunday for sending a 'tog,'Wheezing Donkey' for turning up and just mucking in, Jane Woodburn from Skelmersdale Boundary Harriers for turning up and offering advice and assistance at start and finish, the people from various clubs who helped promote the race to their club members, Jason Terrahawk Miles for the red and white tape, Richpips for getting a posse to come all the way up from Derbyshire, Cath, Will, Emma and Hannah for their various roles, people who had to pull out and insisted on putting the money in anyway. There are probably more- if I've missed you then apologies.
Suffice it to say that I will do my level best to put the race on again next year and if it's only half as good as the first one it will still be bloody great!

Goodbye

About 5 years ago on a winters night, I had just finished reading Richard Askwith's excellent 'Feet in the clouds' for the first time. I was siezed with the desire to get out - there and then, and run on the moors. I grabbed a headtorch, and the dog and I set off. We climbed the road and then turned off at the top of the hill and onto the moorland. Initially I turned my headtorch on, my breath creating clouds of steam in the cool air. I soon realised that due to the almost full moon reflecting off the snow on the ground that the light was unneccessary. Through silent fields we ran, Conn keeping pace with me. Another climb and we finally reached the highest point on the moor. The snow, as I remember it, was still clean and crisp, easy to run on and still unmarked by any tracks. We ran together. It felt almost effortless, the wind behind us. It was a run just for the pure pleasure of running. Conn would get slightly ahead and then he'd suddenly pick up the hint of a smell of something interesting and wheel back to locate it, snuffling into the snow. I felt true joy at this shared magical experience. The moonlight created shadows on the snow, little scuffs of cristals thrown up by our feet as we sped on. I think the memory of that night will stay with me forever. When I think of Conn that's how I remember him - bounding easily along, fur blown back, mouth slightly open as if in a smile. Conn was put down on Thursday. Run free boy. You were loved.

The Stanbury Splash

The Dashers fell race Championship kicked off today with the good ol' Stanbury Splash, a perenial favourite. The wind howled and we duly froze our asses off in the quarry before the start. Not too bad a turnout of Dashers, maybe down on previous years. It was good to see our latest members Jonathan and Paul turning up. I looked round and did the 'what position will I be amongst Dashers' thing. I came up with 5th, potentially 6th. Hmmm. Anyway, the race started and off we splashed through the mud, through the car park, over the road and onto t'moor. I heard afterwards that the wind was blowing at 30mph. It felt pretty strong to me.
In the melee of the start I had no idea who was in front of me and who was behind. I got on with suffering. I felt surprisingly good, certainly A LOT better than I was recently. Turning off the track we took the muddy plunge down to the 'splash' which wasn't quite as high as some had predicted. What goes down... and so we then flogged our way up the slippy, muddy climb. I spotted new man Jonathan just ahead and tried to keep him in sight whilst being all too aware that he is pretty much half my age (oh. my. god.)... On and on, up and up. Then another steep slippy descent to the next stream crossing where t'other new man Paul shot by. 'Here we go' I thought to myself.
Working hard I re-passed him and again tried to get close to Jonathan. Finally we reached the top of the waterfall crossing that signalled we were on our way back. Obviously the killing headwind became a tail wind and it all went a bit 'roadrunner'. An ultra steep descent led to a bridge crossing over 't'beck'. As I neared it a photographer said 'Watch the bridge, it's really slippy. Somebody has already fallen off it' Inevitably I got onto the bridge a bit sideways and WOAH! Feet shot from under me and I came so close to plummeting off. Bloody hell, that was proper sphinctal twitch time.
Onwards and we were soon back to the muddy field before the 'splash' again. I was right next to Jonathan by now and I warned him to save a bit for the next climb. and then fell on my arse. Splash again and then uuuuppp.
A bit more foot battering track and then we were on the last bit of muddy moorland before the car park and (hooray) the finish. I got to the gate before the road crossing just ahead of Jonathan and well aware that Paul wasn't far behind. Could I hang on? I had the advantage in that I done the race many times before and knew how far we had to go. I pushed hard and my oxygen depleted brain persauded me that I could no longer hear Jonathan's footsteps behind me. I wasn't going to have a look!
Finally I reached the line and discovered that there was only Mark Walsh ahead of me. Right behind me was Jonathan and then Paul, closely followed by Russ C, Stubbsy and Gary (incognito) Taylor.
Anyroad up, it was time for a quick change and down to the Sun Inn for the presentation. This was another highlight for me - I won some biccies and a Soreen malt loaf as a spot prize BUT best of all was fell running legend Rob Jebb sitting at our table with his missus and kids. What a nice guy!

Mr Sparkle's Dark 'Un

An idle daydream became a run route became an idea for a race became reality.
I like fell running at night. I like fell races. Loads of people have decent lights these days so why not organise a night time fell race? How hard can it be??
Well, if truth be told, it's been a bit hard but not too hard. The route was no problem. Sorting out with the pub for race HQ and chip butties was no problem. I was very lucky to deal with a very helpful lady at United Utilities for the land access permission. The FRA were as heplful and efficient as you would expect from such an esteemed organisation whilst sorting out the insurance etc. I should be ok with marshals as plenty of Dashers have come forward to say that they will help. All good so far.
My main concern is getting enough people to enter it. I came up with the figure of 60 as a limit due to concerns about
a. safety
b. enviromental concerns
c. the size of the pub (and car park)
I wanted to try to get it filled by pre-entry so that I could let the pub know numbers. To achieve this I started a thread on the FRA site and emailed as many of the local running clubs as I could to let them know. I also got busy on Twitter as @darwendashers
I have been sent several postal entries but I think people are holding off to enter on the night. Hmm, not so good.
Anyway, on the positive side I must say that I have been blown away by the positive reaction I have had so far, especially from Paul Livsey, Jonathan Stubbs and Joanne Nelson from Dashers. They have been really enthusiastic and encouraging.
I've still got quite a bit to sort out but I am looking forward to it (with only mild trepidation!).

Go to www.dashers.org.uk and click on 'The all new Dark Un'