Purple Heather

I had seen the Tour of Norland Moor in the race calendar a few weeks ago and it appealed immediately - 10km, 800 ft of climbing and not too far from home. But the virus I had a Saltburn seemed really hard to shake off and after studying the finish times from previous years, I completely lost confidence in myself.  Somewhat foolishly, however, I had happened to mention my interest in participating in the bar after training, so before I knew it, I found myself in a car full of club members being conducted around the back roads of Halifax towards the start at Copley Cricket Club.

I had two aims for the day: 1) to make it round and 2) not to finish last. Although in reality, more like a trail race, this was officially a BM fell race (average 25m climb/km, 70% off road, 10 - 20km) and it was hard!

Norland profile

Starting from a small bridge over the River Calder the first kilometre was an absolute killer, up the side of the clough. Reaching a more steady gradient at the top, my lungs were screaming and my legs uncooperative. I knew we climbed to some degree until 4.88km so I just kept plodding on, trying to keep something in reserve for the descent. The heather on the moor was a beautiful purple in the sunshine, however, there was no time for looking at the view as I made way along the dry peat paths, picking my route through the gritstone boulders and pebbles. Finally, we started descending and I tried hard to increase my pace past the dog walkers and mountain bikers. The marshals on the bend before the road shouted 'Come on Queensbury - racing line!' which at least raised a smile! Crossing the field, I could hear someone breathing down my neck and he stayed there, right though the woods, until he overtook me on the final descent (boo!). The section we had recce'd from the starting bridge to the finish seemed to go on for days but finally I passed under the railway and saw the cricket pitch over the wall. Passing through the stile, my club mate was waiting and she ran alongside me, up the finishing straight, shouting encouragement to run as fast as I possibly could, all the way to the line.

The race route

So I achieved my objective of making it round and not coming last, even if I was last open female (this, I think, earned me a spot prize of a bottle of wine so I am not complaining!) and given that my flat 10K PB from Leeds in July is 56:59, I am not too disappointed with 62:32 for an off road race with a hill in the middle. I think going from week 6 of couch to 5K in January, to a 10K, 800ft race in August is an achievement in itself.

The other Queensbury runners did fantastically, the club write up is here, with full results here.

The Main Event

And so the big race, the Saltburn Hardmoors Trail 10K, has been and gone. And I made it round, so far managing to raise £310 for Upper Wharfedale Fell Rescue Association. The route was lovely, through a wooded clough, along a stream, passed the beached fishing boats, up some evil steps and along the cliff tops on the Cleveland Way, across a railway, through some fields, down some pretty country tracks and back to the sea, before retracing our steps to the leisure centre. The sun shone and the views, when I finally bothered to look, were beautiful. As suspected, the route wasn't 10K at all, and after the entire field took a wrong turn, it ended up being 11.99 km (exactly), with something like 775 to 831 ft of climbing.

(Not) ready for the off

But I was really not well and had not been well all week. On the morning of the race I started to lose my voice, which is generally never a good sign and nearly 3 km in, the evil steps at the Ship Inn really took it out of me. Despite power walking up half of them, I felt like I never recovered for the following 3km of gradual incline along the cliff top, my quads aching like they have never ached before! I have to admit that after a good 10 minutes of trudging uphill, I took a sneaky quick walk, I just didn't seem to have anything in me. At around 6 kms, at which point I was telling myself that I was never racing again when I was ill and that surviving to the end was going to be a huge achievement, never mind any thought of target times, I could hear some people behind me having a chat. They overtook me, but frankly, because I thought dying was a genuine possibility, I didn't really care. I followed on their heels and then, when they crossed the railway and immediately started walking up the hill, I overtook. I should have been able to run that hill, but I decided perhaps a little recovery before the descent was not a bad idea and marched up it at pace, thinking of Feet in the Clouds as I did so.

The Ship Inn - the evil steps can be seen zig zagging up the slope behind (https://c1.staticflickr.com/5/4097/4874499211_0f71e4a9cb_b.jpg)

On the descent my legs ached (all over) like never before and I found myself reciting a mantra involving the hardness of Geraint Thomas, 'Shut Up Legs' from Jens Voigt and Richard Askwith quotes regarding the success or failure of his fourth Bob Graham round. I felt like I was forcing my leaden legs to move, pretty much by will power alone and because my pace was poor, the yellow ladies caught me again. I kept reciting what little I know about descending technique, urging myself to let the hill take me and when the gradient really steepened again, tried to concentrate on not braking with my quads. I heard another lady behind me too and at that point I literally hurled myself down the path as fast as I dared go, refusing to lose another place. I overtook the slower of the yellow runners again, but inevitably they then left me for dust. 

Nearing the half way point on the Cleveland Way (www.sportsunday.co.uk)

Running back along the burn and up through the woods, passed the tea rooms, my tenacity kicked in and I found myself just unconsciously running, albeit pretty slowly. As we passed the coffee shop and people out enjoying a beautiful Sunday, a number of them stopped and cheered us on, it was really rather heart warming. The lady behind me kept running really fast and then stopping on each little hill but I just kept chugging along, until the last (steep) hill, where I am afraid there was another sneaky walk. Back on the road, I was convinced I would be overtaken, but I thought about Richard Askwith again and decided I shouldn't presume defeat before it had happened, so I plodded a bit faster, attacking the hump of the railway bridge like it wasn't there. 

Finally I saw the traffic lights and the road to the Leisure Centre and ran as hard as I could round the back of the building to the finish line in the hall, my support crew failing to take any pictures as I passed. Hearing someone behind me at the very last minute, I put on one of my famous long legged sprints, only to discover he was in a different race! 

It was all too much in the end!

And so it was done, I had made it. Back in the hall there were finishers' medals, t-shirts and plates of delicious cake and everything was really jovial and friendly. There were only 300 runners in all three races which gave everything a very relaxed atmosphere. 

A medal and a big plate of CAKE!

I don't know the official results but my watch gave a time of 1:17:36 and I was about 18th overall and 10th woman (from a very small field of around 40). Given that I had (still have) laryngitis and couldn't speak, this wasn't too bad, but I know from my training that I should, and could, have done better. This race, part of a series, is apparently now moving to February due to issues of car parking etc. The date is already in my diary...

After Upper Wharfedale Fell Rescue Association came to the aid of my seriously injured climbing partner, way back in April, I really felt that I wanted to give something back to the organisation. Running this race was my way of doing so and if you so desire, you can still sponsor me here. When I started training all those months ago, I never quite expected that it would turn into the journey it clearly has become, that I would find a real passion for off-road running or that I would end up joining my local running club and finding my competitive streak. More than anything, I  think I have learnt a lot about myself.