Self-inflicted pain (and the Hunters Bog Trot)

Tapering is such unsweet sorrow.  I dislike it at the best of times, but usually regard it as a necessary evil because I've got a time goal that I'm looking to hit and know that rest will make my legs fresher and give me a better chance of carrying speed for longer.

But with the Fling, speed isn't really the thing.  I don't have any target other than to finish.  And I'm not convinced that doing the odd 5 miler at barely raising the heart rate pace is going to make any difference to how knackered I'll feel at the end of 53 miles.  The phrase "rearranging the deckchairs on the Titanic" comes to mind.

So I found myself looking for something short and interesting that I could do today, to stave off the boredom.  Because all I really want is to be on the Fling start line.  RIGHT NOW.  No worrying about strange new pains, no worrying that I'm getting fat, no checking the weather for Milngavie and Tyndrum hourly, no holding my breath when someone sneezes, no registering, no preparing drop bags, no getting changed, no driving there, and certainly not another week at work.  In fact I'd like to be underway, with the nerves having stopped, and the actual running being done.

"Short and interesting" (and a couple of Friday night, post work, beers) led me to the Hunters Bog Trot.  The map of the course (see below) seemed relatively benign, and how bad can a race in the centre of town be?  Feel free to bring that up again later if you like.

I ditched the car near Duddingston village, and then jogged through the park to the start near the Commie. God but that felt slow and hard work though!  I almost thought about bailing out before I got there.  And typically I got there incredibly early.  There was no queue (at that point, it would grow significantly) and I got a nice low number.  I like low numbers - nice to pretend they've been given to you deliberately because you're an elite athlete!

Being an HBT race in the centre of Edinburgh, and what with it being a Porty championship race, it was nice to see a number of people I knew before the start.  Megan and Dave Wright (with only 2 of their 17 kids!), Steve Crane, David Limmer, Kerry Costello, Richard Hadfield, Alex Oliver. And Roy Buchanan who I last saw at the start line (and in similarly warm and sunny conditions) for the Amsterdam Marathon.  David and Kerry had both done the inaugural Porty/Figgy ParkRun in the morning (David winning in an amazing time), so we shared stories about how we weren't really going to "race it race it".

The lines coming from the sun are like on a kid's picture :)

 

There was a very informal race briefing from someone who didn't seem to expect to be giving it - lots of "follow the guys at the front" - then a bizarre comedy interlude that involved McCains finest (chip timing - geddit?) being handed out, and we were away.  I'm always terrible at judging where to stand on the line, but my plan was to hang back a bit (not least because there were so many lean and lithe looking HBT and Carnethy lads and lasses around), start slowly and then bimble round.  I had an idea that I didn't mind what time I took or what position I came, but that I'd like to run the whole thing.

 



Photo credit to John Hammond (I must be in there somewhere)

Away we go, straight into (what I regard as) a hill, and I manage to stick to my own instruction of not getting carried away and just try to concentrate on baby steps.  Don't panic about the folk flying past you as you come to a bottleneck Nick! 

Auto-edit must have lessened the gradient... (credit: John H)

 

The line up the Crags took me completely by surprise though. I'd done a warm up that took a relatively gentle line following the cliffs, and managed to run it all. For some reason however, we were taken down further into the Bog (don't lose height, don't lose height!!) and then fired up what felt like a really nasty climb.  I tried valiantly to keep running, but in the end had to accept that everyone in front of me was walking and there was no route around them that didn't involve long grass and unnecessary expenditure of energy.

 

Topping out was grand though, and it felt like I flew down to St Margaret's Loch, making up a few places on the way.  So much for not racing!

 

Some folk are good at climbing, some are good at descending, some lucky folk are good at both, and some unlucky folk are bad at both.  I dimly remember the Radical Road from when my parents were doing marathons back in the 80s.  I managed to run up it as a 10 year old with my Dad, and his tip was to pace yourself because it was long.  I've never run it since, and despite pacing myself managed about 20 metres before I broke into a walk.  Bugger.

 

By the time we had to go back down into the Bog (more than we should have to) for the cruel and unnecessary torture of that hill up to the Crags again, it felt like this:-

 



 

Another swoop down towards St Margaret's Loch, then the more or less flat bit through the Bog, before the nasty kicker, and then spat out with the finish line in sight.  I managed a pretty decent sprint for the line, reeling in a couple of places, but then cursing that I'd left more in the tank than I should have - again, so much for "not racing".

 







Great to see Alex back racing after the curious incident of the dog in his path



Richard H - smokin'

Steve proving that what doesn't hernia you only makes you stronger

 

Nice to spend some time afterwards catching up with everyone.  One of the problems of focussing on "big races" is that you don't have the regularity of other stuff.  Only wish that I could have joined Alex, Roy, and Steve with a bottle of cider, but the car wouldn't allow it.

 

I also saw Mr (Ian) Marshall afterwards as well.  As he was a teacher at PHS when I was a kid, I still can't bring myself to call him by his first name.  Top bloke though, and incredibly giving of his time (and probably petrol money to fill the minibus) when driving the PHS XC team to events.  It was during the teachers' strikes so I very much doubt that he was getting much in the way of pay and/or credit for it.

 

All in all, a good day out, and better than sitting in the house frettin'!

 

--------------------------------------------------------------------

 

And now, in what may come to be called "kit corner", I had a semi-brainwave yesterday at work when contemplating how foam rollers don't really do the business for IT band issues.  Stuart had mentioned that he has a handy portable slab of road that he uses to massage his upper thigh at his desk.  The less said the better.

 

Anyway.  I came up with this:-

 



 

 

Spindle from a child's stroller/buggy toy, and a drill through some golf balls.  Positive reports already from the ladies in the house, so I may be on to a winner.