Race Reports
October 10, 2021,
by Pete
I remember thinking, as I limped from my car to the Spar on Friday night, that maybe a sky race was not the best idea for the following day. Recovery had being going well. I was back to training as normal until a busy weekend and some misadventures in the north sea had plunged me back to limping, with occasional bags of frozen peas strapped to my knee as I drove. I’d come to worry it was Schrodinger’s knee – either recovering well and fine or the tendons were gradually peeling off the knee cap and I’d fall down with a ruptured quadricep. Unobserved, it was hard to decide which was true. But also, I was there. I didn’t get a ferry to Northern Ireland to watch other people compete. More than that, after a two month lay off my mind was clamouring for the clarity that only mountain racing... View Article
September 27, 2021,
by Pete
The Great North Run. One day, I’m going to have a proper crack at it. This was going to be my year. I’d ran a 1:28 in April at Dorney Lake and was feeling great until roughly the moment I picked an unexpected fight with Scafell Pike. Having hurt my quadricep tendon falling, it was touch and go whether I’d be back running at all. A proper effort was never on the cards. If you’d asked in July, I’d have told you I was frustrated with being in the orange wave as I was now running sub 90-min half marathons. Now I was more concerned that I’d start next too fast for my injured legs and fitness lacking lungs. The day before the run itself was the first day for a month I hadn’t limped. I took that as a good sign, slapped on some KT tape and headed for... View Article
There’s a beautiful section at the start of the Scafell Pike Trail Marathon. You skirt the side of Derwentwater, past jetties glistening in the morning sun, clouds breaking over the hill tops around about. The route undulates along trails and paths, behind Castle Crag and through the ferns into picturesque Borrowdale. If you’re not careful, you could start to think you were in for a fast and pretty trail race. You breeze into Seathwaite, the first drinks station, and feel unstoppable. Smiles all around. Someone asks a marshal if there’s coke, and they’re cheerfully told that’s for the way back down. And so we continue on with the sound of cow bells ringing in our ears. Leaving Seathwaite there’s another mile of gentle undulation before the mask slips and Dr Jekyll transforms suddenly into the evil Mr Hyde. We start to climb steeply into the rocky corridor route and the... View Article
I’d like the record to show there was a moment at the Ennerdale Horseshoe when I overtook Brennan Townshend. Unfortunately it was before the race started—he was jogging his warm up, I was legging it from the car park to try and register and go to the loo. Suffice to say once the race started I never saw him again. The Ennerdale is one of the Lake District Classics, a 37km/23 mile circuit of the fells surrounding one of the most beautiful valleys in the Lakes. It’s been ran for over fifty years and is steeped in the mythos of the sport. The list of winners reads like a who’s who of fell running greats; Joss Naylor, Kenny Stuart, Billy Bland. I was excited to be pulling on the purple and green of Northumberland Fell Runners for the first time, and after so many cancellations in the past eighteen months... View Article
Racing. It’s been a ruddy long time coming. Aside from virtual events, I only raced twice last year and neither was the type of race I was used to. The road races over familiar distances that form the staple of so many runner’s routines were all cancelled. My last half on the road was the Great North Run in 2019 where, after an injury lay off, I was pretty disappointed with my time. At the very end of 2019 I decided to prove myself and ran what I thought would probably be a lifetime best – ragging myself on a windy day up the North Tyneside Coast. I’d just squeaked in under what was for me a landmark target and accepted that it was all I had for the distance, and maybe all I ever would. With lockdown easing the last few weeks has seen the diary for the year... View Article
October 18, 2020,
by Pete
It was about lunchtime, wandering along the Silent Valley, when Bearnagh first caught my eye. I’d crossed the dam, enjoying the views, when the sunlight poked through and danced across the summit tor. I turned and ran back to my viewpoint to get a photo. Slieve Bearnagh. I knew I’d be climbing her twice the next morning and was enraptured. Reinhold Messner once said: “The most beautiful mountain in the world is not the highest, or the most difficult. It is personal. It is always the one I am currently dreaming about.” By that standard, she was the most beautiful mountain in the world that day. I was in Northern Ireland for the Mourne Skyline race but the trip wasn’t exactly going to plan. I’d flown out on Wednesday only for Stormont to vote on a new lockdown and the race to get cancelled. It was the right decision, but... View Article
Three weeks ago, head hung low, trudging defeated back into Wooler, I pronounced my ultra running attempts for the year done. The stance had softened slightly when I blogged about it later that week, but I still had no intention of attempting another any time soon. I wasn’t lying, I just lacked foresight. A week later, my phone buzzed with a message from a mate: “Fancy that ultra on 3 Oct?” We text back and forth a bit and then next thing you know we’re booked on with only six days to prepare. I’m not sure that’s how you’re supposed to go about these things but hey, it’s 2020. Nothing’s exactly happening as it’s supposed to. We’d both been intending to do this event in April when it was cancelled, and had kept weekly mileage good. It was too tempting to have a race on our doorstep and not go... View Article
It seems a cliche to say we live in unprecedented times, but it’s also true. Much of the world is now on some form of lockdown, with a variety of rules and restrictions. There are many things more important than running and it’s right that our activities are restricted. It’s moving to see society agree to sacrifice things we love for the greater good. But it’s also understandable for many of us to miss racing, it’s a big part of our lives. For city dwellers as well – I really miss the hills and the trails and the fells. With all races cancelled it can feel like training lacks purpose and definition. Step up the IRunFar #OperationInspiration virtual race. It’s a great way to exercise and be part of something bigger while sticking to the rules in each country. What’s better than that is that all proceeds go to the WHO COVID-19... View Article
February 24, 2020,
by Pete
Clarty. There’s no better word to describe the conditions at Saturday’s Saucony National Cross Country Championships. It was right clarty. Back to back winter storms had seen fit to empty the heavens, leaving the course a mess of mud and sludge. Or, as I like to think of it, perfect cross country conditions. This year’s championships were at Wollaton Hall in Nottingham, used as Wayne Manor in The Dark Knight Rises. An Elizabethan Country House surrounded by 500 acres of park land, it made a fantastic venue for racing. A good friend from the club had told me that I had to experience the nationals, and he was spot on. The atmosphere is great with thousands of runners coming from across the country. Tents spring up in club colours, with flags fluttering outside to show their crests. There are ten races across the day, ranging from under thirteens to seniors.... View Article
December 18, 2019,
by Pete
I always said no to Cross Country. Marathon training was my usual excuse. Saturday is long run day, but really it was the memory of how crap it was at school running along the grassy cliff tops in the cold. This season though, I ran out of excuses. I’m not marathon training yet and my enjoyment of the fells made me think cross country might be worth a try. My first two outings have been in the Harrier League, and it turns out this cross country running lark is popular. Wrekenton proved to be a pretty dry and pleasant affair and then, as if to show how grim things can get, Aykley Heads was a mud bath of epic proportions. We’re talking like the fields of Agincourt kind of muddy. There are probably people still out there, crying for help under a foot or two of sludge. Aykley Heads was... View Article
