Race 1 of 12 in the 2017 Runfurther ultra-running
championships.
‘The Hobble’ always has a fast and competitive attendance
but this year’s depth of field was exceptional. In addition to its familiar
status as the first Runfurther race of the year and the first (arguably the largest)
annual gathering of quality trail and fell ultra-runners, it was also a qualifying
race for an international ultra-running championship. For the first time ever,
entries had to be closed in advance at 500. The size of the entry was reflected
by the registration queue, which wound its way out of the school, up the path,
up the steps and onto the road, while the queue for the eight Portaloos snaked
back and forth around the school grounds. A late start was certain. I was
amazed when we were only barely 15 minutes late in shuffling our way up the
Haworth cobbles towards Cemetery Road. Race organiser Brett, out of sight and
earshot up the hill at the head of the throng, must have given the sign.
Hundreds of conversations were suddenly cut short as we got on with the day’s
task.
Bronte Bridge was soon reached. My shoelaces were already
coming undone. The first climb to the stile queue provided the ideal
opportunity to get them sorted out with double knots. We snaked our way via the
first photographers of the day to Top Withins and down to the Walshaw Dean
Reservoirs. The flagstones, which thankfully were dry (apart from the submerged
ones, obviously) made for easy running, while the runner at the front of the
queue prevented overdoing of the effort early on.
Climbing from Bronte Bridge.
I was feeling good as we approached the first checkpoint at
Widdop Reservoir (7.6 miles). Rick Ansell, a familiar face for many years on
these events, overtook me for the final time as we climbed away from the
reservoir. He slowly disappeared ahead on the long crossing to Hurstwood
Reservoir. A steady stream of runners was now overtaking me. True to form, my
slowdown had already begun. The leader over Top Withins must have been too fast
after all. I’d probably need to set off walking to avoid a slowdown.
Rick follows me out of CP1. He would finish 53 minutes ahead.
The turbines on steroids (they’re much bigger than they used
to be) loomed into view as we approached Checkpoint 2 at Long Causeway (13.3
miles). The aerofoils disappeared into the cloud base at the top of their
rotation but the day was already shaping up to be warm. What little breeze
there was had disappeared, and humidity was high. I grabbed a quick biscuit in
the hope that its energy would somehow find its way into my legs and keep me
going until Checkpoint 3 at Mount Cross (15 miles).
HOT DOGS, with cooked onions! I stumbled away from CP3 down
the washed-out, freely swilling footpath-cum-stream bed in scoffing heaven.
Ketchup smeared my chops. This would keep me going for a bit.
Sustenance at CP3.
For the first time ever we had to queue at the stile at the
bottom in Todmorden. The event really was busy. The climb up the other side was
laboured, to say the least. The hot dog didn’t quite have the effect I’d been
wanting. The legs were emptying fast. Perhaps the whisky at Checkpoint 4 at
Mankinholes (19.2 miles) would sort me out, if there’s any left.
TWO BOTTLES! AMERICAN OAK CASKS!! A snifter was dispensed
and a fairy cake was downed to put out the fire.
A cheeky little snifter at CP4.
I set off running along the
path to the foot of Stoodley Pike with renewed vigour. That’s as far as it
lasted. The haul up to the Pike wasn’t pretty. The run/walk down the other side
towards Hebden Bridge wasn’t much better. Andy and Sarah Norman caught me up on
the descent down the road. Comments to the effect of “what are you doing back
here?” were made. On the steep climb up the steps towards Heptonstall I virtually
ground to a halt with no energy, jelly legs and feeling faint. I held onto the
hand rails like some unfit thing who hardly ventures out of the house. Andy and
Sarah said I should be speeding on miles ahead as they left me for dead in
their wake. “Something’s not right”, I thought. “Perhaps I should go to the
doctor for a full service and MOT”. Walking as fast as I could go up the road
to Heptonstall I was still getting overtaken, but all the overtakers were walking
too. I looked forward to the next food infusion at Checkpoint 5, New Bridge
(24.5 miles).
Descending to Hebden Bridge before the haul up to Heptonstall.
JAM DOUGHNUTS! I sank my teeth into a soft, moist,
luxuriously juicy example as I shuffled my way onwards and upwards. I was still
getting overtaken by others whose walking was more energetic than mine.
I had just about missed my previous PB finish time (5:58) by
the time I arrived at Checkpoint 6 at Grain Water Bridge (27 miles). Another
refill of my water bottle and I was off up the road without wasting a second, in
pursuit of anyone in my sights. I was overheating in the humid, stagnant air so
I removed my long-sleeved running top. I felt an energy return as my sweat
began to evaporate and cool me down. Running vest was far more appropriate
right now. I walked and shuffled my way to Top of Stairs (yes, really), picking
off one or two along the way. However, the group I was really targeting pulled
away on the descent of the treacherous rocky track towards Lower Laithe
Reservoir. I didn’t trust my clumsy jelly legs down that so clumsy bimble it
was for me. I downed my second gel of the day to get me over Penistone Hill
without getting caught. It must have worked because I continued to be the one
doing the catching. However, it wasn’t quite enough to avoid another PW. I ran
in to the finish in 6:51, equalling my PW of 2015, nicely in the bottom 29% of
finishers. The good thing was, I didn’t feel wasted afterwards so I was fit for
a productive first Runfurther committee meeting of the year and late return home.
Being unable to run fast (or run at all) can have its advantages.
Seconds to finish.
Now if we look to the front end of the race, Thomas Payne
was the first in 3:54:18 and first woman was Julie Briscoe in 4:31:54. Astonishingly,
the first eight finished in under 4 hours. Furthermore, the previous record (I have no idea) was broken by the first few finishers (can anyone fill me in on the details?). I can image less what it must be like
to cover that distance on foot over that terrain in that time than it must be
to teleport, shape-shift, levitate or penetrate a wormhole through the
space-time continuum to the finishing desk.
I took some pictures, which tend to concentrate around
checkpoints when I wasn’t exerting my supreme efforts, or dying on a climb and seizing an opportunity for a few seconds' rest.
SportSunday's pictures are here.
Here are the the WoodenTops pictures:
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