White Peak Marathon 22nd May, 2010

Perhaps, 11am, in the Peak District would take the edge off the heat. Eager thoughts turn to the cool breeze wafting through hair, carressing, mopping up any small traces of perspiration. The soft grass greens, lambs bleating, endless fields and limestone walls. Silky striding, sub 6 minute miles eating up the cinder path, onto a pb well under 2:30. The disbelief of the crowds, speechless with admiration.

Unforgettable camaraderie

And then the sun turns its attention to this reverie. Evaporated.

A mixture of Beau Geste and Lawrence of Arabia shimmers throught the heat-haze: the promise of a distant oasis, 26 miles away. Radiant heat reflects from the path, other runners, limestone walls, everywhere. Running in a microwave, dial turned to high, and someone’s just pressed the start button.

The sub 6 minute plan is quietly shelved. Gebrselassie heaves a sigh of relief. He is safe for another year. Sub 7.30 is more the order of the day, in fact, just staying alive seems to be coming (rather too) quickly up the agenda.

The High Peak Trail on the day

We couldn’t be in better hands than Ian Milne and the organisers and helpers from Matlock AC. Plenty of water and much more support than expected around the course. Alsop, Hartington, Parsley Hay, Friden are heaving with cheering crowds. Steve Holt, and his melt in the mouth jelly babies (actually, they were just melted anyway) at Gotham. A rather disinterested chap at Alsop will never know just how close he was to having his Cornetto pinched – I daresay he would have quite easily caught up with me, so I hastily abandoned my cunning plan. Target a toddler next time, must make a note.

The ever present Tommo and Karl (Ripley), a  jigsaw of faces, cheers, mile markers, very familiar paths, perfect perspectives off into the hazy distance. Longcliffe; runners slowing, window shopping at drinks stations, browsing, can’t decide; orange or water? 6 miles to go. Hopton Incline, oooh! sub 7.30 pace, then back into any rhythm that suits. The wonderful cool tunnel requires immense willpower to leave.

Middleton Top and the great freewheel into Cromford.  A freewheel, apart from Cromford Canal, that seems to exist in some perverse temporal spasm. The mile that isn’t. The camber that shrugs off weary runners into the canal. The bodies taking life at an easier pace, some compliant, moving thoughtfully aside, others inert and oblivious. Helen will tackle this problem with her Tourettes Gun. Finally, the little bridge that signals the turn into the short finish, and the cheer from the NDRC group having taken up station at this point. The gazelle like finish has morphed into a shuffling sweaty, nearly blind and deaf shambles, lurching towards a rather blurry finish line.

And the Oasis? The Rugby Club Bar, and a pint of Ice Cold in Alex, of course.

Cheers!

Larwood 10k 10th May, 2010

I last ran this race in 2006, and recollect it being a fast run, on quiet rural roads. So, four years later, with a marathon in two weeks’ time, I thought it would be ideal to revisit this run and set down a marker. I was quite apprehensive to recive notification of a route change; the accompanying map showed what looked to be a convoluted and rather contrived route with a mixture of road, trail, track and (horror of horrors!) fields and stiles. Bye, bye pb. My initial reaction was to withdraw and run the Holymoorside 10k instead, but curiosity got the better of me. Thursday evening found me with map in hand, trotting around the course. A key section of canal path was closed for resurfacing and forced me to reroute. It was getting worse – I hoped that the organiser was aware of this work (I did later contact David, the organiser with Clowne Road Runners – he was aware). I wasn’t sure of the route for the last mile over the fields, and returned home being resigned to running a race which would tell me nothing about my relative marathon fitness.

The race itself was a complete revelation. A fast start from the Hewett Arms, and up to the old colliery site – a dead-ringer for Teversal, hiding a coy slope on the far side. This was to be the only climb, other than the mini mountains over each canal bridge. Some nifty slalom squeezes by closed lock gates protruding into the fastest running line, a little wobble, trying to avoid falling into the lock, and a deja-vu of running along Froggatt Edge. The field has well spread by this point and the leaders have vanished (abducted by aliens? – I may be in the prize money!).  A jink right, over another little hump-bridge, a bit like the mogul skiers, and into Rhodesia. Rather sweetly, several families have set up camp in their front gardens, and the “keep going, duck” makes me smile. Some greenery now makes an appearance;  hurdling stiles (are you watching, Colin Jackson?) and cutting a swathe through the grass is a stark contrast.

Back into Shireoaks once again, and up the main street, to find our second section of canal, a sharp 180deg. turn across to the other side and watch the runners behind. Now for the grind. Rather sadistically, the quick return back to the Hewett Arms, and the finish, is blocked by a marshall. The only choice now is to take the long 1km section of road to the end and turn back over the fields. This road section is the only part of the run on which to hit a good sustained rhythm – but this strangely unsatisfying. The earlier twists and turns, like a Le Carre novel, make this punch line almost one-dimensional. Uncertainty is restored across a wheat field (shades of North by Northwest, especially with the nearby aerodrome), a simple rotary stile/ gate, which I contrive to get lost in, and then the last dash for the finish.

A superb course, full of scenic variations, run on all surfaces along with homely support en-route. I hope I’m not underselling this one!

A delight from start to finish.

Results      Map