TAT

I could never be an Ironman but I can 'Runfurther'. It was about time I got myself branded to affirm my allegiance. Thanks to originator Mark Hartell for his permission to use the symbol from the Runfurther series, now into its 6^th year of existence.

Here's the handywork of One Way Tattoo in Great Moor, Stockport - a friendly bunch of professionals indeed who deserve all the success they can get.



No, it's not a transfer.

2012 race schedule with some gaps filled in

Running friends and work colleagues think I have more weekends free than I have. On the one hand I'm being offered suggestions for more races to fill my spare time, while on the other I'm being invited abroad for customer visits when I've got nothing on (how very thoughtful that they should consult my personal diary when planning business travel, though ;-)

I think it's time to post an update. Red means Runfurther series. Blue means Hayfield fell race series. There will be plenty of LDWA events to fill later gaps, depending on mental and physical health.

Sun 08/01/2012 Belle Vue Racers - HIT THE TRAIL 5mi. Reddish Vale 0:38:59

Sat 14/01/2012 Woodbank Parkrun 5k 3.125mi. Woodbank Park 0:23:10
Sun 15/01/2012 Lamb's Longer Leg fell race 3.125mi. Hayfield 0:39:50

Sat 21/01/2012 The Hebden 22mi. Mytholmroyd 4:30

Sat 28/01/2012 Kinder Trial fell race >11mi. Hayfield 4:25
Sat 04/02/2012 Rombald's Stride 22mi. Guiseley 4:04 PB1
Sun 05/02/2012 Pennine Bridleway Relay leg 4 5.5mi. Rossendale CANCELLED due to ice

Sat 11/02/2012 Anglezarke Amble 25mi. Rivington 5:55 PW thanks to ICE

Sun 04/03/2012 The Peelers' Hike 22mi. Bury

Sat 10/03/2012 Wuthering Hike 32mi. Haworth 1 of 12

Sun 25/03/2012 27th Two Crosses Circuit 25mi. Tottington (if I get back in time from USA business travel)

Sat 31/03/2012 The Three Shires 29mi.

Sat 14/04/2012 34th Calderdale Hike 37mi. Sowerby Bridge 2 of 12

Wed 18/04/2012 Herod Farm fell race 3mi.

Sun 22/04/2012 Kinder Downfall fell race 9.6mi. Hayfield

Sat 28/04/2012 50th Fellsman 61mi. Ingleton 3 of 12

Wed 02/05/2012 Buxworth 5 road race 5mi. Buxworth

Wed 09/05/2012 Rainow 5 fell race 5mi. Rainow

Sat 12/05/2012 Might Contain Nuts Brecon 40 40mi. Talybont on Usk 4 of 12

Sat 19/05/2012 Shining Tor fell race 6mi.

Wed 23/05/2012 Vanessa Chappell fell race 5.6mi.

Sun 27/05/2012 Shires and Spires Northants Ultra 35mi. Lamport Hall, Northants 5 of 12

Sat 02/06/2012 The Games 100 100mi. Hackney - Windsor

Wed 13/06/2012 Kettleshulme fell race 6mi.

Sun 17/06/2012 Edale Country Day fell race 5mi.

Sat 23/06/2012 Classic Quarter 44mi. Lizard Point - Land's End 6 of 12

Sat 30/06/2012 Whaley Waltz fell race 5.5mi. Whaley Bridge (shame I hate water)

Sat 07/07/2012 Osmotherley Phoenix 33mi. Osmotherley 7 of 12

Sat 14/07/2012 White Peak Walk 26mi. Monyash

Sun 22/07/2012 Great Hucklow fell race 6.1mi.

Sat 28/07/2012 Lakeland 50 50mi. Coniston

Wed 01/08/2012 Cracken Edge fell race 7mi. Hayfield

Sun 05/08/2012 Dovedale Dipper 26mi. Hartington

Sat 11/08/2012 Long Tour of Bradwell 33mi. Bradwell 8 of 12

Wed 15/08/2012 Eccles Pike fell race 3mi.

Sat 01/09/2012 Bullock Smithy Hike 56mi. Hazel Grove 9 of 12

Sun 09/09/2012 Coombs Tor fell race 6.8mi.

Sat 15/09/2012 High Peak 40 40mi. Buxton 10 of 12

Sat 29/09/2012 Hardmoors 60 60mi. Saltburn - Filey 11 of 12

Sun 14/10/2012 Windgather fell race 14mi.

Sat 20/10/2012 International Round Rotherham 50mi. Wath upon Dearne 12 of 12

Sat 27/10/2012 Snowdonia Marathon 26.2mi. Llanberis

Sun 25/11/2012 Famous Grouse fell race 5.2mi.

Sun 02/12/2012 Gravy Pud fell race 5mi. Tintwistle

Sat 22/12/2012 Tour de Helvellyn 38mi. Askham

Sun 30/12/2012 Peak 'O' Trial fell race 8mi.

Anglezarke Amble 25mi. 11/02/2012.



Although billed as 24 miles, the Anglezarke Amble comes out at 25 miles give or take, when plotted out on Tracklogs.

With the exception of 2010 when a broken metatarsal denied me, I have done this event every year since 2000. (Coincidentally, this year I was probably sporting a broken little toe on the same foot after catching it violently four days earlier, but that's another story.) Finishing times have varied wildly, due mainly to the wild variation in conditions at this time of year. The route changed in 2004, which lengthened times a little. My PB is 4:07 in 2009. As always I was hoping to improve on that. 2012 could be the year, since I was expecting good conditions with frozen ground and no mud, just like last weekend. Ha! Oh innocent child that I am.

There had been freezing rain on Thursday, which had quickly melted. Since then the temperature had fallen again. Nothing could have prepared me for what remained at higher altitudes. I had taken my Kahtoola micro spikes with me, but when I arrived at an ice-free Rivington I did not bother to hang them onto my backpack. That would prove to be a massive error of judgement.

We were sent on our way as usual by Nigel Dean of West Lancs LDWA. As we ran up the road, another runner's footsteps sounded strange. I joked that they sounded like snow tyres. As it turned out, they were in effect. He was wearing the Inov-8 shoes with the metal dobs in the studs. Ian Charters said that we'd need such grip enhancement as soon as we got onto the hill. I should have turned around there and then to fetch the Kahtoolas. It would only have lost me 5 minutes at that early stage in the game.

Walk, don't run

We hit the first sheet ice within the first mile as we climbed through the Chinese gardens. Trying to find ground without the varnished sheen that would become ubiquitous, and only being able to walk, soon began to haemorrhage time. I immediately forgot about a PB this year. I thought back 40 years to my junior school days and the echo of a teacher shouting across the quadrangle: “Walk, don't run”. That early education would prove valuable today. I was thankful for having worn leg cover this time (most unusual for me), since the gnawing cold and slower pace meant that I would need the extra warmth.

Piste & glazed

Climb to Rivington Pike.

We climbed the frozen hill to Rivington Pike. We soon cottoned on to the need to go off-piste wherever possible, since all paths, stones, rocks, in fact any surface without vegetation, were glazed and offered zero traction.

Glass & tinkle

Descending the Pike wasn't too bad down the grassy hill, though the frozen rutted terrain was not kind to anyone with fragile ankles. Winter Hill with Checkpoint 1 was negotiated without too much trouble. Here our ears were first treated to the sound that would become very familiar throughout the day – the delicate tinkle as each stride launched the thickly encrusted marsh reeds into a thousand glass-like splinters (see top photo). Again I was thankful for full leg cover.

Ice road teeterers

The ice road.

As we struggled to find footing along the ice road to Belmont I harboured thoughts of taking the short route option at Checkpoint 2. Come decision time I carried straight on as usual. I never take the easy option and I figured that the conditions couldn’t get any worse.

Wimp out left or straight on at the split point.

Stick the boot in

The climb from the A666 towards Turton Heights saw the first refrozen snowfields; they were effectively aerated ice. To achieve a relatively safe crossing I kicked my heels in with each stride as I ran across. There was still just enough trapped air to allow enough imprint to give some grip.

Hard

We had long since realised that nothing could be trusted. Anything that looked wet, wasn’t. Even rutted mud patches were in reality glazed hard and offered zero traction. Any piece of exposed vegetation was searched out for trampling because it gave us the only grip.

Checkpoint 3 offered, as always, a superb range of food to fuel us for a long day out. We’d need it today. However it appeared a little sooner than expected; it was down on the road at the end of the Turton and Entwistle Reservoir dam instead of up at the camping barn. I soon realised why. The road ahead was covered with ice, giving no chance for any vehicle to pass.

Checkpoint 3.

John Wayne

As I approached the Strawberry Duck pub I almost gave up. The road was glazed thickly from edge to edge, with not even an inch of grip to be had. I stood unsteadily in John Wayne pose clinging onto a rickety garden fence, wondering how I could possibly make my way across this latest hazard that stretched out of sight around the corner. Another runner breezed past wearing micro spikes. I lusted after them and kicked myself for the 100th time for leaving mine back in the Hall.

Mince

I feared for the fence as I minced my way forwards, feet flying off uncontrollably in all directions. If I’d really lost it the fence would have gone down with me, since it was on its last legs. Weren’t we all? On the climb back up to the A666 I was amazed at how others were overtaking me even though they were not enjoying the luxury of grip enhancement.

Weetabix

Climbing the track from the A666 and Cadshaw Farm brought us past the big stack of giant Weetabix on the right that has been amalgamating over the years. It was once heavy duty chipboard, but each year that passes makes it look more appetising. I always look forward to reacquainting myself with this delicacy in the visual sense. Give it a few more years and I may be tempted to sample it a little more closely. I’ll consider taking along some semi-skimmed next year.

We continued to seek out whatever grip we could on the fringes, sometimes in the centre of the track. Crossing between the two was always hazardous. A chap in front slipped over. We offered to help him up but he felt safer standing up of his own accord, since he had more chance of exerting force vertically downwards through his feet and not falling down again. He was left with a sore ankle which hopefully was short lived. We checked that he was alright before we carried on.

Drunken

Drunken staggers, slips and stumbles had become a familiar sight. Most spills occurred when, in the absence of vegetation, ‘wet mud’ was chosen for the next foot plant. It was invariably more treacherous than the flat ice, since it was usually sloping and it offered minimal contact area. Barbed wire fences offered convenient hand holds, since their thick coating of ice had rendered them safe to grip firmly.

Bladder

I noticed that my water bottle nozzle was clogging up with ice and denying me my regular fix of electrolyte. Another runner remarked that her bladder tube was in a similar condition. The frigid air continued to do its worst.

Tinkling passage

The climb onto Darwen Moor and the regular detours through the rough brought safer passage and more tinkling, now augmented by the crunching of the ice already broken off by the previous passers-by. The stile at the top of the moor looked wet but, as always, was draped in icicles, encased in shiny danger and friction free. You were safe only if you let gravity exert its influence through it and force was perpendicular to the surface. This invariably required a slow, relaxing sit-down on the top mid crossing. It was cold but dry.

Sit down and rest awhile to avoid injury.

Punch drunk

The run down, up, down and up to Darwen Tower proved to be dangerous for many. I was lucky, having my only fall on the initial run down when my feet flew out from under me and I landed on my back, bashing my right elbow, left hand and hitting the right side of my head on the ground, while the bottle from my right hand went spinning down the path. I lay there dazed for a few seconds to see if anything pained me unduly. I slowly stood up to test a little further. I was clumsy and punch drunk and I suddenly had a headache. I picked up the bottle and staggered on down the track waiting for this new sensation to pass. I let my right arm dangle because it pained too much to lift up my forearm. Fortunately the symptoms were only temporary and I was able to function almost normally within ten minutes.

Touching

On the final approach to Darwen Tower now with its hat back on, the same thing happened to another runner. In trying to find safe ground to walk on (note, she wasn’t even running) her feet flew out from under her and she landed on her back on a lump of ground with a loud cry of anguish. I turned around and cringed as she sat there holding her head. A couple of us who were close by picked our way across the path to her as quickly as we dared to check the damage, fearing the worst. Mercifully there was no visible damage. A careful check confirmed that it was probably shock more than injury that caused the outcry. There were many such displays of care and compassion through the day, which I thought was touching. We were all in it together and looking out for each other.

Darwen Tower with a new hat.

Cloth

The run from Checkpoint 4 at Darwen Tower down to Checkpoint 5 at Slipper Lowe was less eventful. Safe grip was available for the majority of the leg. We could pick up a bit of speed for the first time all day. Some cloth stuck rigidly to the fence near Slipper Lowe, encased in its own straight jacket of ice. (It was most likely a dropped garment long since rescued from the ground by a well-meaning passer-by and tied to the fence.) CP5 provided our second opportunity for a good feed. I did not linger for long because I was beginning to smell the finish and I was enjoying the novelty of running.

Petrified

Leaving Slipper Lowe and descending towards the ruins of Hollinshead Hall brought a veritable cresta run of ice (see right). So much for the running. The ascent of Great Hill brought our final sight and sound of petrified grasses, reeds, stiles and fences encased in their icy embraces, because the descent of the other side down to Checkpoint 6 at White Coppice brought us out of the sub-zero temperatures for the first time. We were back into the traditional runnable conditions. Woo-hoo, bring it on. Let the pace pick up.

I ran the final 3.6 miles faster and fitter than ever before due to the enforced slow pace. It was probably a first and last time for a negative split on this event. Plenty of new kissing gates marked our way back to Rivington Village Hall. My time of 5:55 was a Personal Worst by a long way and nearly 2 hours slower than my fastest time. If only I’d taken the ‘spikes I could have been enjoying dinner well over an hour earlier.

Over dinner back in the Hall we exchanged stories from the day. Various injuries were on view. One poor chap had a dislocated shoulder and would soon be off to casualty to get it put back in place. I helped him to change before his journey to the repair shop. I hope he’s now well into recovery. The same goes to everyone else who may have come a cropper. I felt very fortunate that my concussion was only transient, with no lasting effect.....

What an experience though, never to be repeated. Here are some of the pictures I took.

Rombald's Stride 22mi. 04/02/2012.

Rombald's Moor (he didn't need to jump; it was solid)

A snow storm was forecast for after midday and there were worries about making it back home safely to the other side over the M62, but since it was my 13th consecutive year on this event and I was feeling lucky I embarked on the 1.5-hour journey to Guiseley anyway.

After a frigid week we set off in sub-zero temperatures and weakening sunshine. The ground was frozen solid to give us the best running conditions we are ever likely to get on this event. The freshly flagstoned path across the bogfest (in normal circumstances) near Whetstone Gate added to the PB potential. PBs all round then.

Whetstone Gate

The first snow started in the form of micro pellets of hail that tinkled down onto the dead vegetation delicately but very audibly as I crossed the fields towards The Chevin, with three miles to go. Proper snowflakes were coming down by the self clip halfway up the stiff climb of The Chevin. A push to the top and the last checkpoint at Yorkgate Quarry brought the final 1.6-mile downhill to the finish at the school. A sub-4 remained annoyingly elusive, but nevertheless 4:04 was a PB for this new route.

Final self clip on the steep climb of The Chevin

A quick feed of meat pie, boiled potatoes and peas washed down with a pint of tea and I was off quicker than usual to make it back over the watershed before the weather really closed in. I made it safely to conclude another successful day.

This weekend's effort proved to be less farcical than last weekend's - twice the distance took less time. That'll do me. :-) Here are the pictures.

Kinder Trial: >>11 miles of orienteering across the rough. 28/01/2012.



Levitation and teleportation; that’s the only way I can conceive of moving over that stuff in under three hours. It took me 4:25. Tom Brunt won it in under 1:45. How can that be possible?

You may recall from a previous wittering of mine that orienteering combined with running are not my bag. I can’t really do either properly, but put the two together and I am on the brink of total meltdown. That’s why I rarely do it, far too stressful. However, as part of my new strategy for 2012 of doing more short, sharp, local races, I’m doing as much of the Hayfield race series as I can. I can just about squeeze in four of them, which entitles me to enter the championship, which I shall be doing (I fancy the idea of a winner’s trinket on my mantelpiece anyway). Lamb’s Longer Leg was the first one and this was the second. Watch out podium, prepare to feel the soles of my feet....;-)

Race organiser Andy Howie described as “shocking” the conditions on Friday when he was up on the western flanks of Kinder Scout hiding the 13 controls. However, come Saturday morning at Hayfield scout headquarters, the sun shone out of a calm blue sky and the hills were plastered with the previous day’s issue from above. Let the fun begin.

The staggered starts lasted from 10:00 to 11:00. I was issued with my map at 10:26. I leaned nonchalantly on the door frame to appear in control of the situation while I decided whether to go clockwise or anticlockwise to pick off the 13 controls. It was an easy decision for me. Anticlockwise it was. Within 30 seconds I was off, micro navigating my way along the footpaths and lanes out of Hayfield and up the track to K7. Several runners had already overtaken me and one of them found the control hidden around the back of a tree off-path up the hill. I was surprised how small, inconspicuous and hidden it was. I had a lot to learn.

The expansive snow-covered fells basking in bright winter sunshine were grabbing my attention as I climbed towards Mount Famine, checking my compass that I was on the right heading. Navigation was still going perfectly as I went straight to K10 as described: “Below crag south of summit”. This wasn’t so bad, I thought. I set a compass bearing towards the next one (K12) and made a beeline for it steeply down and across really rough terrain, stumbling more than running. On hindsight I would have been better contouring more around to the right. I found a trod through the snow and fell into the trap of following it. It led me astray, bypassing K12 down into the River Sett valley. Even the trees above which K12 was situated were out of sight above me. A long backtrack uphill was required to find it.

The climb towards K11 was across thousands of snow-covered baby’s head tussocks. Trips and stumbles were frequent as I plodded upwards. The levitators runners who were overtaking me seemed to be having less trouble.



K11 would have been easy to find even without the trodden trail in the snow because it was off the path in a wall nook – a very easy feature to find. A Pennine runner who I’d seen closing in the far distance was suddenly there and clipping his tally. How on earth did he cover that ground so quickly? I suspected teleportation this time, the cheating scoundrels ;-)

The run down in a northerly direction towards K9 seemed quite pleasant to begin with. I decided to try a bit of proper fell running down the easy snowy trod left by others as I followed in pursuit of the Pennine runner, who was already pulling away rapidly. Within 10 seconds my face was pressed firmly into the snow (I straightened my testicles spectacles later after I got home). That’ll teach me to get ideas above my station and think I’m a fell runner. With a snap back to reality I bounced back onto my feet to resume the clumsy shuffle-cum-walk down towards the sloppy slip-slidey valley and up the other side towards K9. At this point the first clockwise runners started to overtake in the opposite direction, to add to the anticlockwise runners already overtaking me. It was starting to get busy.

First clockwise runner descends from K9.

K13 was in a NNE direction, but there was a trod and there were people to follow, so no problem. I hit a track and turned right. (My depleted brain had only taken in the headings from each control to the next, but little else, so I only found out two days later that this was the track down from Edale Cross.) I turned left through the next gate and proceeded to run down the track, but something didn’t feel right. I should not be descending like this and it’s turning too far round to the right. I turned around and ran back up to the gate, to be confronted by lines of runners coming and going in all directions. Were they clockwise or anticlockwise runners? Where did I just come from? I was totally confused. (I now realise I must have been running down towards Jacob’s Ladder, but I didn’t recognise it in the snow and had no inkling I’d been along there so many times on the Bullock Smithy Hike.) I looked at the fingerpost and saw one finger pointing more to the left, more in the direction I should have maintained. Streams of other runners were coming back from that direction. A quick check with one of them confirmed that K13 was indeed down there. Off I plodded again.

K13 was even busier, like Piccadilly Circus. I made way for the proper runners to clip their tallies first while I took a few pictures. We couldn’t have these proper athletes being held up by an incapable rank amateur of such monumental incompetence.

Ian Winterburn leaves K13 going clockwise.

From K13 I set my compass on a NW heading and made a beeline uphill and across the top over terrain that could only be tripped over, on the way getting overtaken by the final anticlockwise runner. I was now bringing up the rear. My compass bearing took me straight to the steep valley that hid K8. Here I had my last human contact as the last of the clockwise runners climbed up in the opposite direction (see top picture). (At this stage I was pleased to have chosen anticlockwise; I didn't envy the clockwise runners who had difficulty finding this checkpoint.)

A very difficult crossing of a snow-covered boulder field in a northerly direction, where legs disappeared down holes and running was quite impossible, brought me eventually (thankfully without any broken bones) to K6. I looked behind to where I’d come from. The expansive fells were devoid of any other human life.

K5 was still on the same heading. I looked at the horizon to pick out a feature to aim for as I picked my way precariously across the boulder field with its copious man traps. There were so many opportunities to break a leg or an ankle that great attention had to be paid to each footfall. Running was impossible. Did I mention that? I hit the fence and descended the sloppy muddy hill to cross a small river (later found out to be the River Kinder with Kinder Downfall at its head). I climbed the equally sloppy opposite side of the valley and continued upwards. I was halfway up the next 'mountain' when I checked my map, wondering when K5 was going to appear. It should have been well before the river crossing. The air turned blue.

I turned around and slid back down the hill, across the river and back up the other side. I eventually came upon K5, nestling discreetly at the base of the rock where Andy had secreted it. Not only can I not run and navigate, I can’t walk and spot anonymous, almost hidden micro orienteering flags either. I've been far too used all these years to checkpoint locations shouting at me on the events I do. Did I say I have a lot to learn?

I turned back downhill to repeat my journey across and up to the next control at the foot of the crag. The geographical location was obvious and brightly sunlit, so K1 was easy to find despite its diminutive proportions.

K1 and the way ahead.

K2 would be easy to find. It was just a contour along the hillside in a westerly direction to a stream source. I followed the trod in the snow, enjoying the warm sunshine along the way. I came upon the stream source. There were footprints all around. I added to them copiously. I stood on high and scanned downwards. Nothing. I went lower down and scanned upwards. Still nothing. I must have missed the control at an earlier stream source as I concentrated on placing my footfalls safely. The air became blue again. I turned around and plodded back almost to K1 while scanning every little valley and depression for that elusive flag. NOTHING. The blue turned to indigo as I convinced myself that the previous runner must have thought he was the last one and was doing a tidying-up job for Andy.

I turned around again and plodded slowly back to the stream source while rehearsing my excuse speech for Andy as to why I could not get all the controls. I scanned around one final time. Still nothing. I carried on. Ten yards further on was another stream source. There was K2 basking in the sunlight and laughing at me in all its dinky glory.

K2 mocked me, oh yes it did.

K3 in a south-westerly direction was easy to find (at least the boulder under which it retired shyly was easy to find). A sheep viewed me suspiciously as I went about my important business of bringing up the rear.

From K3 a traverse westwards and a steep descent to cross the inlet to the Kinder Reservoir brought me to the footbridge and climb up the other side. The footpath ascent to the shooting cabin brought the final control, K4, camouflaged nicely in shadow around the back. From there it was an easy run down the Snake Path back to Hayfield, except that I walked most of it. I was too drained by the previous four hours plus of hard slog across that terrain. There was no point in finishing myself off completely. The débâcle would not be turned into any less of a débâcle by any attempt at personal competitiveness at this irretrievable stage of the game. Anyway I might twist an ankle on a pebble on my way back to Hayfield and that would just add insult to injury, so I continued to do what I do best: PLOD and enjoy the views. I did save myself for a half-arsed trot up the steps to the scout hut though, just to convince myself and anyone else who happened to be watching that I'd given it my best shot, which you might say had already landed in my foot.

Strangely enough, most of my lost time was caused by failing to find controls even though I was on the correct route. With the two detours and all the to-ing and fro-ing I probably covered 13 miles. Perhaps if I ever do one of these again, my eyes might be better tuned to spot the small controls and to look sooner. I’m not used to events where checkpoints are so close together and so inconspicuous. It can only get better next time. I am even more in awe of those who can do these events so quickly.

Many thanks go to Andy and crew for allowing me another new experience. The home made broccoli soup back in the scout hut was excellent too.

I finished the ordeal unscathed, then back home I smashed my middle left toe on the edge of the bath as I climbed in. The various shades of red, purple and black provide an extended reminder of a rather special day in my life ;-)

We were blessed with an amazing day with amazing views to behold. Here's the best of the pictures I took.

The Hebden 22mi. 21/01/2012.



The rain was kind enough to leave a window of dryness for most of us, but the wind, oh the wind (no baked beans or sprouts involved). It was enough to knock us off our feet. The mud we expect in Calderdale in winter, but even that was as bad as it could possibly be. Put the two together and you get slip-sliding and no traction, which requires much pusseyfooting. The inevitable result is slower times.

I had decided to go all out for a fastest possible time, such that I sampled not one morsel or drop from any of the checkpoints (I know, this strategy is criminal on The Hebden). I kept myself lean and mean with energy gels and my own electrolyte and water, and devoted every second to getting myself around the route back to Mytholmroyd. The result was a decidedly average (for me) 4:30. As always, it was the best I could manage. I have always run at my limit on this one.

Then followed nearly 3 hours of chatting with folk and refuelling on the wonderful comestibles (which always include mulled wine as an aperitif, would you believe). The post-race 'do' is half the reason why I come back year after year. I know of no event with such attention to detail that goes to such lengths to delight us. I'm not surprised it now sells out, even without promotion or issue of entry forms now.

Homemade crumble with proper custard. They spoil us.

Heartfelt thanks and big accolades once again to Alan Greenwood, Carole Engel and their ARMY of cheerful helpers. If you don't do this one you're missing out!

SportSunday took an excellent crop of pictures, shown here (this link won't last long I'll bet). Below is a tightly focussed example of their handiwork (fully paid for).

Predictably, my pictures are mostly before and after.