Well.....its taken me a bit of time to get racing again. This is my first fell race of 2024! I am not going to lie, marathon training combined with the continual wet weather has made me dread running. I haven't been particularly inclined to go to the hills as there was always a session to do, and it would be muddy anyway. Plus there has been a bit much 'life' this year so far. There have been a few little trips but nothing big for a while.
But somewhere on Pendle Hill last night, I found 'me' again. Thank goodness for fell racing huh?
I nearly didn'y go. With 10 days to the marathon one could argue running fast down hill might be foolish, and combine this with a very heavy cold which laid me out for 3 days and malingered for longer, I wasn't sure it was a good idea. But I had booked on and an element of 'if not now, when?' seized me. So I rummaged to find my gear, tried not to think about the weather forecast, and headed for the village of Barley.
This was a new race for me. I don't know Pendle well at all; I don't know why we haven't been much but in my head the roads were a mare to get there, and its that thing of not knowing an area. Which is weird, because I love a bit of witchy folklore (which is entirely unrelated to history btw, the witches' story is much sadder) and Barley is a delightful village with two nice pubs and (I am not sure if it still runs) a lovely cafe. Plus the parking payment is now easy as its a machine which takes card (not an honesty box). So really, I should go more and get the good workout it offers.
The race registration was based at the village hall and had a relatively simply vibe except for the excessive numbers of mountain rescue milling around (it was RPMRTs fundraiser). On the drive in I had seen snow on the top and with 40mph winds forecast I was grateful to see so many of them. The race was on our club calendar, so there were a few people signed up but there were a lot of Trawden vests, along with a smattering of familiar clubs and faces. It was still early season for a midweek race, and obviously headtorch running is not everyone.
The start line was on the road outside and classically a car approached just as we all lined up but stopped and immediately reversed back out of some kind of fear or reverance for all the headtorches staring it down. It was a simple 'go' and we were off.
I made good progress along the road, my legs feeling surprisingly good probably as I haven't run much whilst ill/stressed/grieving. We hit the left hand in to the footpath and I was worried I was going to hold everyone up but there was a queue for the gate anyway. In my mind, the first few fields were going to be muddy as I tried to think back to when I had walked Pendle Hill several years ago, but for the most part it was good underfoot with made path and the odd muddy section. We were gently rising, but it was runnable for the most part. We crossed a few driveways and field boarders, eventually rising to the very edge of the village.
And then we climbed.
For those who have not taken the main route up Pendle Hill, nor seen its unique bulk, it sits relatively alone in the landscape and is incredibly steep on the Barley side. I had noticed its bulk looming against the increasingly black sky as we ended the field system at the bottom. It has a sesne of massiveness, and that massiveness was to be summited tonight. The path has been part paved/stepped as you go up. It is mostly steep with sections of extreme steep, and relatively uneven (as to be expected). I slightly cheekily tucked in behind a chap and climbed in his wake. It was relatively windless to start, and mercifully the 40mph gusts never materialised. We climbed towards the inky black sky which I noticed was clear, and full of stars. I kept it slowish, pushing but remembering this was just the start of a race. Eventually the snow patches lined the path, but it was a mere smattering, not thick and the path was mercifully ice free. One or two people went past, but on the whole I held my position. The steps went and were replaced by a steep packhorse style path of extreme steepness and my calves cried out. Up we went. It felt endless despite knowing there would always be an end.
And eventually, there was the marshal for the top corner (wrapped in many many layers). I continued to walk a few paces past them before picking up a jog towards the trig which was barely visible ahead except for the line of headtorches heading to it. The wind was picking up a bit more now but it wasn't grossly unpleasant and we weren't in it for long. The lights of Burnley and Nelson were visible below. The track was good here and I was at the trig in no time.
We hung right at the trig where two more MRT were sheltering. The path then gave way to flags and initally I worried they would be icy so tried to pick up the moorland trod either side but as a chap I had just passed came back past me, I realised they were actually okay. But they were incredibly uneven and pittted so I was actually grateful to be following feet for this section. We were descending relativley gently but my legs didn't seem to be making fantastic progress. I decided just to keep pace and see. One person came past.
After a section of swooping and swerving on the slabs, we hit the gate at the bottom and crossed a small stream before turning left on to a muddier path. Here, my race went south. The path wasn't initially technical but I was making hard work of it. My footwork was appalling and I was getting bogged down in the rockier sections. A few people came past me and I couldn't keep up as the path twisted and turned and occasionally sank in to a deeper bog. I let people pass; I am a firm believer in ceeding when you can.
This section was good fun though and went on a good way. But at the end was the descent in to the clough and this section I completely floundered. My blacksheep friend Brian had just passed me and headed down faster than anyone else around us, and the group I was sort of on the back of also made good pace. It was slippery and you either took the steep tussock band or the muddy path with lumps missing. I did an effectual attempt at both and landed at the stream crossing a good minute behind everyone else and was over taken just after (again!) as I saw headtorches disappearing over the rise.
'Right' I told myself as I climbed back on to the muddy path on the other side (now less sleep but possibly more wiggly), 'time to catch up'. This did not happen as I once again found myself wallowing in the mud holes, unable to coordinate my feet and getting bogged down in the bouldery bits. The headtorches drifted away and I felt I was in a gap but didn't mind. It is weird, I worry less about the dark on these things than when walking the dog near home in Manchester. I tried to push on but only really managed an ungainly amble.
But I knew at the end we hit the reservoir track and the road. And that had to be coming soon right. I saw a lady just ahead of me who was also seemingly getting a bit bogged down with footwork (she hadn't been one of the people passing me so must have been quick to the top) and eventually caught up and over took her about 100 meters before we hit the track. I was sure she would come past again as I am not famously fast on the road. But the first bit of the track is steep and gravelly, and I managed to not skid over on this. And then we were on the road and I could see headtorches in the distance. Somewhere to my right were the reservoirs but they were only really discernable as patches of stiller, shinier black in the darkness. It was so dark that if it hadn't been for the chap a little way ahead slowing for a cattle grid, I wouldn't have seen it until I was atop it (and probably smashing my face on it). I over took the older man ahead, pushing my pace but aware there were no lights from the village yet and this road seemed to be going on some for a fell race.
Eventually there was a definite tilt down in the road, and a bend and what looked like some house lights reflecting in to a tree. I pushed to keep momentum down the hill and not skid over. A club mate Paul was stood in the road clapping but I don't think he recognised me without my club vest on (I'd gone for a warm long sleeve!) and I felt I was moving fast but there was no one to over take. The finish line sort of just appeared around another bend and I was glad to get across it, but also, happy for the first time in what seems like months. I chatted, possibly slightly manically, with other finish line people, lamenting slabs and cattle grids and bogs but also cherishing that I can do this still. I clapped the last few Blacksheep across the line.
Thanks Rossendale and Pendle MRT for a great evening out.
No comments:
Post a Comment