I work Saturdays and fully expecting my legs to seize up if I’m sat at the computer all morning, so I do all the jobs that don’t involve sitting down. A lively photo shoot involving children and dogs see’s out the afternoon. It isn’t until watching the England match that my legs start to complain slightly. I spend the second half shifting position all around the living room and slightly stretching to relive the discomfort fully expecting to wake up Sunday morning unable to make the foot drop out of bed let alone the 1300ft of Edale.
But a strange thing happens; I wake up early and feel ok and my legs don’t complain as I head downstairs for breakfast. Kit grabbed, I set off for Edale. The car park’s open but as I park on the bulrushes I do wonder on the odds on getting out again. Down to the village hall to register, I ask about kit requirements and I’m told to “engage brain”. Thinking the odds of an injury are higher due to tiredness I do, and don’t drop the bag back at the car as I swap to my training designated pair of Roclites rather than the still soaking wet race pair from Castleton.
The first challenge of Edale, I’ve been reliably told, is the hill at the start. Its not. It’s finding the start. Up through the village over a bridge and into a field following the sound of the junior race just finishing. I’ve got some time so I decide to try and wake everything up with some drills along the path. This doesn’t feel great, no twinges but just not feeling all that energetic. Looking at the hill I’m thinking this could be a big mistake. This isn’t helped by the look on most people’s faces when I mention the Castleton race. A pep talk with a couple of people who know the route forms a plan in my mind. Walk the hill, run the top, stick to the path on the way down, get round.
The start’s fast up the hill, but just as quickly slows to a hike as people funnel through the first gate and turn right up where the path steeply continues. Walking the steep bits through the zigzags and running some of the flatter sections I look back and seem to be solidly in midfield. Moving into a run, the path undulates as it turns towards Ringing Roger and then climbs sharply up to the Kinder plateau, and my legs go into that slightly numb territory leaving me wondering if I’m going to be running the top section at all.
Onto the gritty path along the edge of the plateau and thankfully they start to come back to me slightly, I gain a place by leaping onto a boulder that the lass in front of me has stopped to mantle her way onto, must have some energy somewhere then! The undulating path leads to the first major route choice of the race, stick to the edge path or hop over a stile and follow a sheep trod through the heather; supposedly quicker if dry, but best avoided if wet. It’s definitely wet so I do the sensible thing and take it anyway. It’s a bit soft under foot, the first part climbs and I start to slow again. The guy in front of me kindly plows straight into the only section of bog we’ve come across with enough time for me to skip round to the left of it, a shout of “cheers” doesn’t seem to endear me to him. I rejoin the main path at a rocky stream crossing, with a very bewildered family stood in the middle of it.
I look back along the ridge and I’m pretty sure I’ve gained places. This morale boost makes it way to my legs and I seem to have some spring back as I make my way along to Grindslow Knoll. At the bottom of the final climb I notice that my double knot tying skills have failed me again and my left shoes come undone, I elect to stop and retie it and promptly lose two places for my efforts. Better that than losing the shoe halfway down the descent to come, and what a descent!
I pause at the top of Grindslow to neck a gel and get my bearings. The path goes off to my left but the two people who passed me on the hill are heading straight down a grass bank that cuts the corner off and rejoins the path at a gate. Before I know it I’m following them, being a bit over cautious as I nearly end up on my backside but just about keeping my footing. Through the gate and down the path which changes gradient from steep to very steep and back again. My sheep tendencies reemerge as I follow the two runners in front of me onto the grass and down a ridge that appears to cut another corner off. I’m expecting to drop out near the bottom but my direction is off and we rejoin the path. I move left to overtake the lady in front of me promptly finding myself hurtling towards a mound with a 3 foot drop the other side of it. Swearing rather loudly, I somehow make it down the drop without the expected spill. I repeat this slightly further down the path just before rounding a corner to a view of everyone else coming down the grass bank I thought I must be on earlier.
The path straight lines to a gate, that takes us down through the last field. A runner coming from the grass bank kindly gives me right of way as I hurtle through the gate and aim for the far right corner and the trail through the woods down to the dreaded tarmac. He comes past me just before the turn up the back of the Show field. I follow him and three other runners, along the last stretch. A lot of cheering before the last corner for the bloke in front picks me up and I sprint for the line finishing right on his shoulder. That kind of energy never shows up 1km earlier does it?
50:05 on the watch and I can barely get a sentence out to answer the guy who’s just started asking me about the race. I just about manage a thumbs up and cunningly spy the massage tent where I take a seat on the table just as the heavens open.
Nearly a week on and looking back at the races and I’m rather happy. My legs haven’t seized up, which I can only put down to the benefits of the sheer amount of hopping, jumping and skipping I’ve been doing down at wood run every week. I’ve found out that Edale was technically my best result of the year (so far) placing a good way the right side of the middle for the first time. Could I have been quicker if I hadn’t run at Castleton? Maybe. I’d definitely have been quicker if I could tie my shoe laces properly. Will I focus on one or the other next year to better my chances? Maybe. Although I cant see that suddenly propelling me to a top three finish. Both races had a different character, were great fun and that’s why I’ll probably end up doing them both again. Looking around at the finish of Edale I certainly wasn’t the only person who ran in both. I’d put money on some people having done the Calver race as well, it’s the time of year where you can enter 2, 3 or even 4 local races a week if you really want to. Despite the non-aching legs, this week (on advisement) has been a recovery week, as despite appearances I don’t actually want to break myself. And anyway it’s Blackamoor next week…
EXT. ECCELSALL WOODS – MID FEBRUARY – POST WOOD RUN
The Wood Runners are chatting; some drinking tea, some coffee and all eating well earned cake. Two blokes are looking through a new shiny black folder.
STU: Those two are a bit close together.
ME: I put them both down so I didn’t forget when I saw the dates pop up on Facebook. I’ll drop one of them closer to the time
STU: Ok, might be interesting to see how you run tired though…
So to the day of the Castleton Fell Race.
It’s 5pm, I’m driving home from work through the Peak District. I’d be better off in a boat. A months worth of rain is lashing down and I’ve just had to ford a newly formed river to get off Sheephill Road. In two hours time I’m supposed to be running up Lose Hill and Mam Tor in my 5th ever fell race. My 6th is supposed to follow 36 hours later. Being new to all this, I am wondering how much water cancels a fell race.
I needn’t have wondered.
Arriving in Castleton the torrent has abated. The car park turning has a kindly marshal stood in it with a big sign informing me that the car parks a quagmire and I’m to park in the village. Car parked at the other side of the village, racing Roclites on feet and kit on my back I head down to register chatting to another runner, Mark, about the race to come, races we’ve done before and how we’re both definitely taking full kit round with us as we’d be daft not to.
Despite the start being delayed, I get chatting and fail to warm up. The walk down from the car counts right? After being daft and accepting the offer of putting my kit somewhere secure I join the wide starting group, slightly further forward than the last couple of races, all the week’s contradictory advice about the race going through my head. “Steady to Back Tor… then go… go out fast otherwise you’ll get stuck in the bottleneck…”
And we’re off, forcing myself not to get dragged along I settle into my usual pace of just behind mid-field where I’m joined by fellow wood runner, Sam. We make headway up the tarmac and before we know it we’ve hit the dreaded bottleneck. A gated rocky gully that drops everyone to a walk because someone further forward deemed it un-runnable. At this point Sam leaps up the bank and disappears like a scolded rabbit. I think about following him for about half a second and then think better of it and stick with the shuffle to the gate.
Out of the gulley and the climb really kicks in. I gain places as I hike up the soft grassy path, Mark passes me and I notice he’s as daft as I am and also ditched his kit.
The climb levels off and starts to descend slightly. I pick up the pace through a slippery wooded section that ends rather abruptly at a fence and stile. Out of the woods, now level with a wispy cloud bank, Hope Valley stretches out below as I watch my pace through a few fields and over a couple more stiles. Then a left turn onto the climb to the top of Lose Hill and I’m walking again on the wet flagstone steps. At the summit I’m momentarily distracted from my now aching legs by the view across to Derwent Reservoir. The distraction doesn’t last long as I’m onto the first proper descent of the route and having to make decisions about whether to continue on the flagstone path or keep off to the side on the grass. I use both and soon the route starts heading briefly back up again to Back Tor.
The descent off Back Tor looks worse than I’d been told. Steep, rocky and freshly softened by the rainfall. Most people seem to be sticking to the right hand side down the rocks whilst I cleverly pick a route down the left grassy bank with the sheer drop next to it. The potentially more lethal route works in my favour as I’m rapidly at the bottom and in front of two more people. I try and keep an even pace towards Hollins Cross but struggle slightly on the wet grit, wet rock and wet puddles.
The flagstones reappear as the final climb up Mam Tor looms into view, this section also introduces Castleton’s other key feature; avoiding the descending quicker runners. For someone who nearly always goes the same way as someone coming towards him, this had me worried. Thankfully most seem to be taking a wide line out left for the descent to avoid the flagstones where possible, a route I make a note of for the return from the summit.
Halfway up the climb I slow to a walk and surprisingly see Sam just up ahead. He’s not having a good time of it. We chat and then get each other back into a jog as we round the summit of Mam Tor. Now the fun starts.
My heart rate drops to a nice level and I aim myself for the grass line I’d seen the faster runners hurtling down on my way up. A couple of gates break up the feeling of speed and before I know it I’m back on the flagstones again. I trust my shoes will grip and keep the pace up, a sharp right turn through a gate at Hollins Cross and I’m onto a dirt and stone descent that looks like the hillside has just decided to slip away from the rain. I pick a line to the right this time, again close to another sheer drop. My foot slips and for a second I think I’m going to be heading down it. I decide at this point that maybe the middle of the gully looks better and get off the edge. Past three more runners and a marshal is kindly holding a gate open. It takes me until halfway down it to realise I’m back in the bottleneck gulley which seems to be less fun to run down than it was to shuffle up. Then it’s the worse section of any fell race; back to the tarmac. I’m going as quick as I can but one of the runners I flew past on the hill descent comes back past me. I’m not going with him and after a quick look behind to see if anyone else is going to mug me I put all my effort into keeping my pace as the tarmac flattens off. The last turn into the field looms into view and I try to dig in across it but stumble and slow across the finish.
61 minutes, just outside my sub-hour aim and I’m feeling pretty wrecked. Edale is going to be very tough.
When Debs asked me and Fi to marshal at this years Accelerate Edale fell race I couldn’t help but say yes! I knew I wouldn’t be racing it as I’m doing the Bob Graham the weekend after, so watching everyone else push hard up the hills sounded like the next best thing.
We got there early to marshal the junior race first which is part of the Gritty series. I didn’t envy the younger runners at all after looking at the course. A steep hill to start with followed by a gentle incline that led to a fast descent and a long grassy section to the finish. 2 laps for the race, or 1 for the younger ones.
I counted around 40 starters and they soon came running past us. Just a couple at first then a steady line, each clearly giving it their best!
When the last runner passed us on the final lap we started our ascent up towards Ringing Roger where we had agreed to marshal. Fi was going to a fork in the path about 2/3 up the hill and I was off up to the cairn at the edge path. Still a 250m climb up!
Once in position I got chatting to some walkers who were asking about the race and we waited for the first runners to appear. Eventually to my delight, a brown vest appeared (Dark Peak) and Josh Williams came charging towards me with 2 others chasing him, including Dave Lund another brown vest. 20 seconds later and the rest of the race followed.
I gave my shouts and claps of support and received many a thank you from the runners for marshaling. Steph Curtis came past with Team Accelerate’s Helen Elmore not far behind, looking like a battle for the ladies prize was on!
After all the runners had passed there was a guy with an orange vest and a hat with a brush on it.. Obviously the sweeper! That was my signal to head back down to the finish and catch what was left of the race. Fi was waiting halfway down and we ran for a while but I lost her on the line off Ringin Roger (sorry Fi) then it was down the road to the finish. A few runners passed me here before I went round to the tunnel to see folk get their times.
The finish was busy as Edale Country Day was on so there was lots of stalls and music playing. I chatted running with lots of folk and hung around in the Accelerate stall out of the heavy rain until Debs did the prize giving.
A great race, great people and a great day out. Fellrunning is a fantastic sport and I was very happy to have helped make a race happen. I’d recommend being a marshal at the next race you aren’t running!
A week before the race Derbyshire was in the grip of a mini heatwave. The course had never looked better, hopefully the weather would hold…surely?
As I arrived home from work at 4:00pm on race night to prepare for the race, as if on cue, the heavens opened and for the next 30 minutes, Castleton was subjected to a months’ worth of rainfall! Thankfully it eased; however the deluge had saturated the parking field, and we had to make the decision to direct all competitors to park in the village, and walk up to the playing fields. Thanks to all of you who were so accommodating.
Despite the inclement weather, numbers were only slightly down on last year, with 231 finishers. The race saw a good tussle between Stuart Bond and Alasdair Campbell (pictured), with the Buxton runner coming out on top with a fine time of 42m 15seconds. The women’s race was won by Anna Hoogkamer (Dark Peak), who managed to hold off her team mate, Sally Fawcett by 21 seconds.
Many thanks to Stuart and Debbie from Accelerate who once again supported the race with numbers, goodies and enthusiasm!
Finally, to the many volunteers who turned out in the rain to ensure that the race ran smoothly. Many competitors thanked me after the race, and this would not have happened without all of your help and support.
The first challenge of Edale, I’ve been reliably told, is the hill at the start. Its not. It’s finding the start. Up through the village over a bridge and into a field following the sound of the junior race just finishing. I’ve got some time so I decide to try and wake everything up with some drills along the path. This doesn’t feel great, no twinges but just not feeling all that energetic. Looking at the hill I’m thinking this could be a big mistake. This isn’t helped by the look on most people’s faces when I mention the Castleton race. A pep talk with a couple of people who know the route forms a plan in my mind. Walk the hill, run the top, stick to the path on the way down, get round.
ssed me on the hill are heading straight down a grass bank that cuts the corner off and rejoins the path at a gate. Before I know it I’m following them, being a bit over cautious as I nearly end up on my backside but just about keeping my footing. Through the gate and down the path which changes gradient from steep to very steep and back again. My sheep tendencies reemerge as I follow the two runners in front of me onto the grass and down a ridge that appears to cut another corner off. I’m expecting to drop out near the bottom but my direction is off and we rejoin the path. I move left to overtake the lady in front of me promptly finding myself hurtling towards a mound with a 3 foot drop the other side of it. Swearing rather loudly, I somehow make it down the drop without the expected spill. I repeat this slightly further down the path just before rounding a corner to a view of everyone else coming down the grass bank I thought I must be on earlier.
