Race report: The Ian Roberts Memorial Fell Race

This was the first of the Chorlton Runners Blacksheep series races proper after the February race was cancelled due to the storms. I should have learnt my lesson from the week before but once again turned up to race with a weeks worth of marathon training in my legs and having done the long run the day before. And the weather was looking......changeable.

The Ian Roberts memorial is held out in the Pennines above Marsden. The Pennines are a different shape to the Peaks, steeper gullies and generally more boggy. As I drove past Pule Hill on the way to the start line I bulked slightly but little did I know this would be the least of my problems.

The race had asked all runners to carry full kit and technically this includes a map. The night before I had been asked to print a few spares for team mates with no printer access. Fortunately, they weren't needed as the print quality was terrible. There had also been a bit of a panic about compasses but fortunately these too were not needed. Chorlton Runners has a bit of a rep as the 'famous inner city fellrunning club' and a bit of a joke. And whilst a lot of our guys and gals are extremely good and they occassionally rock up and win stuff (they really are very good), this sort of fluster is a nice reminder that I am not the only disorganised hobbyist in our ranks.....

Todays start point is a cricket club. There is more than 1 type of entrance form and I get moderately confused and fill out the wrong one. Never mind. Money paid and once again I am set to run. Being a series race, there is a good Chorlton Runner turn out. I am the least proficient one there but that's okay, I am used to being last one back. I don't expect people on the finish line if its cold. But its nice to walk up to the start line with Sarah and Aisla. None of us know where it is and we are all wobbling around the lanes following the other lost lemmings. When we find it there is a bit of sunshine and the obligatory team photo.

Attending Blacksheep. The sunshine actually last most of the race.

The organsiers then try and move us all back to the actual start line, further down the track whilst trying to count everyone. Pretty chaotic. Then to add to the madness, someone comes driving a car up the track towards the runners and we all pile on to the banks. Finally, the race is ready to start. 

Having started half way up the hill, we charge along the track towards the first road crossing where suddenly it becomes a narrow track and on to the moor. At this point I can't over take or really be overtaken as we are all in one long people snake on single track trod on our way to the catch water. So I settle in to the dictated pace and wait for a chance to open up a bit. When it finally comes, towards the top of the catch water, I fall face first in the bog. Its going to be one of those races.....

Along further narrow trod and the slightly excitable women from Leed's are still holding me behind. But the bleakness of the moor is nice and the reservoirs and pretty if bleak. There is a little bridge over what must be deeper bog than we have already been running and we join the Pennine way. 

Suddenly I am flying down the paving slab path and flying away from the women behind me and in to blessed space. I enjoy this section of the run and approach what I thought would be the tough section at Pule hill with enthusiam and energy, pounding up the hill at a fast walk, getting closer to the people in front of me. The descent off the top in the battering wind is marvellous and I am running well. 

There is a marshal at the right hand turn on to a sheep trod to take up back towards Marsden. I continue with reasonable smoothness but here it gets tussocky. Bit cuboid tussocks that are more solid than the clumps of moor grass I am used to. Nevermind, I can keep moving and its gently sloping down.... to the track where we started and one of our club, Brian, standing with a camera. He catches a photo of me mid-stumble as I descend the bank to the track. The photos of everyone else at this point look elegant.... I look like a hippo. 

Out on the track I want to take a breather but know I need to push on to make sure I am in space as we go round and up to the catch water again. The second time around, the ascent is more muddy and my legs make harder work of it. I have another little walk before running to the left hand turn towards Butterly Clough. One of the marshal jokes that they save the best until last, but at this point I didn't know what he meant as the race instructions had been vague...

My tired legs make hard work of the next tussocky section and I am falling and stumbling every other step. The marshal is laughing as I slowly bob towards him, landing on my arse more than once. I can't seem to do my normal trick of bobbling across the top of the path but little do I know how little this will matter shortly.....

Suddenly the man in front drops away as the ground drops away. Its blooming steep and I am clinging to the side as I attempt to lower myself down. The older man in front of me is going very cautiously as well, but the man behind keeps threatening to slip straight in to us both. At the bottom the man in front pulls away up the far side and I make a push up the steep bank. Coming out the top of the gulley I follow the flags then somehow (and I have no idea how) go wrong and end up cutting off 100-200 meters of the race. Two othe rmen follow me down the precarious path and I am mortified. But we rejoin the race, probably not having gained any places, just before the next terrifying gully.....

Scrambling down we go. Skittering and sliding as the young boy marhsal at the bottom tries not to laugh. Fortunately the river has gone down but its still a cold crossing at the bottom before another scramble up the otherside. I am done by this point. So done you could stick a fork in me. I lose the will to race an let two men pass me. Which is a shame because just down a muddy footpath is the finish and I really should have blasted it. 

As I come across the finish line, it starts to hail. But Brian and Paul have waited for me! What heroes! I apologise to the finish marshals and tell them about the short cut, but they say it probably doesn't matter and let me keep my place. We stomp back to the cricket ground quickly to get out if the storm. 

A change of clothes and a slice of cake later and I feel a bit better. I am laughing about the race, and how much I was enjoying it until the last section. Most people seem to feel the same way. But it was quite funny in a 'I might slip and die' way. Fellrunners are not normal in the head. There is quite a spread laid on by the event but we are off to the Waterhead pub in Marsden for lunch. 

Would I run this event again? As a sucker for punishment yes I think I would. Bits of it were pretty fab. But it would depend if there was something else on that weekend. It might come second to a couple of things. Though I would love to know how I managed to go the wrong way near the end.....