Tour of Fife - Stage 1 - Chariots of Fire Beach Race

We're all going on a Summer Holiday.  To Fife.  To run a series of five races over five days.

Some folks take time off work to fly abroad, to walk bare-foot on sun-kissed beaches, to sip lurid cocktails, and to ingest other dubious substances.  Not me.  Because, as Arnold and Willis knew, the world don't move to the beat of just one drum.

Although, I suppose I did find myself on St Andrews' West Sands this evening, I did have a swig of Peter's pre-race Red Bull, I did remove my shoes to have a dook in the sea afterwards, and I probably inadvertently swallowed all manner of foulness in said body of water.  But we are in danger of getting ahead of ourselves.

The idea behind this race series is similar to the Tour de France.  Five stages, back to back, with different types of course to test a variety of skills, and with category placings decided by aggregate time.  Miss one or more races and you're effectively out - crying in the back of a car after having been forced to hand your number over to a marshal.  All very serious.  And yet, reading Peter's blog of last year's event, it looked like he and Michael G had had a blast.  I signed up and took the time off work.

I'd spent a chunk of the morning consulting the entry list, searching for over 40s, and then looking up their records on Power of 10.  This revealed a couple of guys to keep an eye on - not out of my league, but capable on the right course and the right day of beating me, although the reverse could happen if it was my course and my day.

After collecting Peter from Edinburgh, we made our way over to the Kingdom.  No other Dunbars are doing it this year, although hopefully that might change next year.  There were additional Porties in the shape of the aforementioned Michael, Willie J, and Andrew S, all of whom were coming from Fife or further North.

Following registration, and after a quick confab with Peter, I elected for the HOKAs (out of the 3 options I had brought with me) and we went off for a warm up.  This revealed two things - the sand was largely smooth and firm, and there was a headwind for the first two miles out which would turn into a tailwind on the way home.

We were soon under starter's orders (a guest starter called Beverley, I think, from Fife AC) and chugging up the beach.  I quite quickly settled into a secondary group, behind the lead group of five.  Scanning that group of 5, I couldn't see anyone that looked the right age to worry about.  Even if I could see someone, it became abundantly clear that there was little I was going to be able to do about it.

(photo: Peter Bracegirdle)

(photo: Graham Bennison)

Also in the secondary group were Peter, Michael, a Dundee Hawkhill (who looked like he may well be in his 40s), and a young Fifer with big hair.  Peter, Michael and I all took turns on the front in aptly cycling style.  I was a little miffed that the Hawk and Big Hair were less willing to pull their weight.

Approaching the turn you are taken around a spit of land where the sand became softer.  The lead group headed right across the really soft stuff, cutting the corner a little.  At this point I was on the front of the secondary group and debated going the longer route round the headland, but keeping to wetter harder sand.  But I'm not that brave, so I followed them across the soft stuff.  And then spent the next half mile or so trying a succession of different lines - hoping that each would be better than the last, but none were and I was probably running twice as far from all of the zig-zagging.

I was still on the front of the second group though, and indeed had opened up a little bit of a gap to Peter and the Hawk.  Maybe the HOKAs were helping on the soft stuff - their very large flat soles acting like snow shoes and spreading the pressure on the surface?

(photo: Peter Bracegirdle)

After the turn I told myself how much I was enjoying the wind behind, and how much easier everything felt.  I didn't entirely believe myself. 

I was listening for the sound of footsteps or heavy breathing behind me, and couldn't hear any.  But then we were running on sand, so footsteps were probably unlikely to carry very far.

I'd been warned that the inward half is v-e-r-y long - St. Andrews like the end of a constantly moving rainbow in the far distance.  But eventually we came back to humanity, and I could make out the "200 metres to go" sign ahead, and thought it would be ok to risk a look over my shoulder.  I saw that I had a healthy enough gap to the Hawk behind me in 7th, so figured I wasn't going to be caught.  Thankfully it dawned on me quite quickly that this was about overall time, so I pressed on for the finish in case a second or two gained here might make a difference later in the week.

(photo: Ethan Lee)

(photo: Paul Roarty)

Sure enough I finished in 6th, with Michael, Peter and Willie not far behind.  After a gentle warm down (one eye on preserving the body for the races still to come), Michael and I had a quick splash in the water, while Peter elected to keep his powder (and feet) dry.  He does enough open water swimming anyway, and may not be entirely over his run-in with Lyme Disease.

Stage 1 - Yellow Jersey (Overall Classification):

1. Scott Cassidy (Fife AC): 22:38
2. Derek Rae (Anster Haddies RC): +0:00
3. Alastair Brockie (Corstorphine AAC): +0:15
4. Ewan Gault (Unattached): +0:17
5. Tom Brian (Metro Aberdeen RC): +1:00
6: Nick Williamson (Dunbar RC): +1:39
7. Keith Taylor (Fife AC): +1:57
8. Ian McNulty (Dundee Hawkhill Harriers): +2:02
9. Brian Lees (Falkirk Victoria Harriers): +2:03
10. Michael Geoghegan (Portobello RC): +2:08

Stage 1 - White Jersey (Best Old (V40) Rider Classification):

1. Nick Williamson (Dunbar RC): 24:17
2. Steven King (Carnegie Harriers): +1:09
3. Scott Strachan (Kinross Road Runners): +2:19
4. Colin Thomson (Unattached): +2:33
5. Craig Love (Dundee Hawkhill Harriers): +3:00

 

FULL RESULTS - STAGE 1

The Roaring Forties

A couple of short races this week, both approached with the same tactic of going out hard and trying to hang on.

First up was the East Lothian Summer Series on Thursday night, and the inaugural Porty leg masterminded by Mark Fry.  And as has been the case for the majority of the races over the past couple of years, the sun was out and things were pleasant.  There was a slightly stiff breeze coming from Seafield, but nothing to get too concerned about, and it would be helping to push us home. 

We got under way with Peter B leading us out on his bike, turning round to take pictures as he went.  Have a look here for his account and photos, as well as a lovely bit of video footage from the end.  The few shots below were taken by Syd Woods.

 
The course started and finished at the Dalriada Bar at the Joppa end of the Prom, and took us straight along to the Cat & Dog Home, before coming back along Seafield Road (past the car dealerships), and then down Kings Road, on to the Prom and eastwards for a final blast to the line.  A little short of 3.5 miles in total.

Youngster Ali Wilson, our winner at Haddington, immediately took the lead, with me initially in second.  Porty's David L was absent, and Andy S was nursing a sore calf after Kelso (and ahead of a Half Iron Man in a couple of weeks).  I knew that I was being hotly pursued though, but couldn't tell by whom until David came past around Tumbles.  Positive as ever, he said, referring to Ali, "if we keep our pace up, we'll reel him in."  Trying to match his optimism, I responded, "nah, no chance".

The pair of them stretched away from me on the rest of the way out, and at the turn I could see that Stuart was closing in fast, with Mike J of Musselburgh only a wee bit further adrift.

Stuart drew alongside at the first (Vauxhall?) garage, and I gave my self a stern talking to, and vowed to try to stick with him.  After a further few hundred yards we came to a woman walking bang in the middle of the pavement, who clearly hadn't heard us coming.  There wasn't much room either side, so we passed closer than we might have liked which unfortunately seemed to give her a fright.  I swear I think she spat at us though, which was unexpected to say the least!

Stuart and I ran side by side down Kings Road, the slope being very welcome by this point.  As we got to Towerbank I started to ease away from him and managed to secure 3rd behind Ali and David.
 

 

 
An enjoyable evening, with the Prom being just the right level of busy - no problems getting through, no dogs getting in the way, and good vocal support from the random strangers who were out and about.  Mark and his team had also laid on food afterwards which was much appreciated and tided me over nicely until I got home.  The course was, for someone who was brought up in Porty, a nostalgic nod back to the old summer race that I first did when I was about 11 or 12.

RESULTS

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The second event was the Oxton Border Games Hill Race on Saturday.  Which coincided with my 40th birthday.  Jo had asked me what I fancied doing for my birthday, and just shook her head when I told her I wanted to race for the first time as a V40.  I'd had a similar bemused reaction from work colleagues who'd asked if I had anything nice planned.

But I reckon that if more folk took part in competitive sport, far fewer people would look on milestone birthdays with a sense of doom - what's not to like about going up an age category?

Anyway, I'd done this one last year (looking back at my records, I see that I did it after the ParkRun at which I got my PB), when there had been only 8 entrants.  I had received a prize for 3rd, ahead of the first Vet and the first lady, who both also took something home for their troubles.  5 prizes for 8 runners represents very good odds in my book, and I harboured hopes that this might see my V40 career off in style.

The first piece of bad news came when I returned from my warm up to see Brian Marshall of Haddington leaving the registration gazebo.  Nothing personal you understand, but Stuart had introduced me to him at the Berwick Law Race last year, before explaining that he was a multiple National Hill Running champion.  And a V50.

The second piece of bad news was delivered by the organiser, who said that they'd had to scale back on the prizes, with only 1st overall, 1st Vet, and 1st lady up for grabs.  Hmm, maybe 1st Vet would be possible if Brian took the outright win and wasn't allowed both.

A bit of discussion about the course followed (a little like the Traprain Law Race's wee brother - fast and flat alongside a burn on the way out, before a short sharp hill, a descent and then back along the burn to the finish - half the distance at just shy of 3 miles).  In a spot of blatant ageism, one of the other entrants suggested that he hoped I knew where I was going, and then he would just follow me.  I said that I'd likely be behind Brian, who himself referred to another lean-looking chap with silver hair, and said, "Colin's fast".  Oh dear, he did have the typical fast and lithe hill runner build.  The third bit of bad news.

And then the 6 (six!) runners were called to the start line in front of the crowds gathered for the main draw of the handicapped track events, with the "benefit" of an introduction from the announcer over the PA.  Nowhere to hide in such a select grouping!

I made up my mind that my only chance was to hare off like a maddie, try to hold it to the foot of the hill, before marching up as fast as I could and pray that it was steep enough to prevent Brian and Colin from actually running up.  So hare off like a maddie I did.  Which led the announcer to provide the following audible commentary as we did a half circuit of the track: "our early leader is Nick Williamson.  Nick has run the race before, but I'm not sure if he has won it".  Oh dear, further scope for humiliation.

The first field was pretty rough with long grass and no obvious line through it.  We then went along a rough track before a couple of burn crossings, crashing straight through a load of thistles, before a disused railway embankment took us to the hill.  I was giving everything here to eke out a lead, so was shocked when Colin suddenly burned by.  He absolutely flew past, and that despite the fact that I was on sub-6 pace.

Brian followed at around the mile mark, and I could only watch as the pair scampered up the hill.  Getting to the top myself, I looked back to see that I had at least opened a decent gap to 4th and 5th.  And then settled into a pretty lonely return leg.  Which involved some trail, a bit of tarmac road, another bit of railway embankment, another stream crossing, before the field again and up the sprint track to the finish.

I finished around 30 seconds faster than last year, but well behind Colin in first, and Brian in second.  So an inauspicious start to my V40 racing career then.  But a good wee race, with a friendly vibe and low entry cost (free with your entrance to the Games).  It would be nice if they could get a bit more support next year as it would be a shame if it died.

A look at Scottish Hill Racing when I got home revealed that Colin Donnelly is a two-time winner of the Two Breweries (as well as a number of other races).  I guess that is the problem with small fields - small doesn't mean a lack of quality!

Next up is my first crack at the Tour of Fife from Wednesday onwards.

RESULTS

Bric a brac

I'm not sure if anyone has noticed, but it's been a while since I last blogged.  Part of the explanation is that I've been in a bit of a funk.  A semi-funk, if you will.  Work has been busier than I normally like (and threatening to get in the way of my life, tsk), and Jo has been away for 10 days, which left me pining like our equally pathetic spaniel.  He stares at the window, and I stare at Facebook.

Plus my left shin has taken a bit of time to recover from the whack it took at the Lairig Ghru.  Jo's assessment is that the collection of lumps I have on my left leg (including what I think must have been a chipped bone from a fall on rocks last year) now have it looking like a series of vertebrae.  If Butlins still go in for knobbly knee contests then I need to get myself there tout de suite.  Or "sweet toot" as my Gran used to say on French holidays to our huge amusement.

But most importantly, I've taken no photos at all.  And no one enjoys a blog without pictures.

Anyway, I'll try to fill in as quickly as possible - focussing on races and only the most interesting training runs.

First up, back on Wednesday 1 July, was the East Lothian Summer Series Race at Longniddry.  I almost didn't go at all as I had a meeting scheduled from 5 to 6pm, but in the end thought "f#ck it" and decided to take that on the phone in the car.  Nevertheless, I still turned up with the wrong head on - torn between racing and "just having a fast training run".  I managed about half a mile before the red mist descended and thought "oh no, I'm too far back here".  After closing the gap to those in front, I found myself in a bit of a ding-dong battle with clubmate Jamie, Mike J from Musselburgh, and Mike L from Carnethy.  I was telling myself that I was well placed at the back of the group - just ready to pounce with my legendary(!) kick - when we encountered "the horse".  Now contrary to what Facebook says, the girl was in no way thrown from her horse.  In fact, she was standing on the ground and holding it on the leash(?), when it reared up at the sight of us and made off down the path.  I heard later that she'd actually been given fair warning that 50 runners were about to pile down the track towards her, but elected to carry on regardless.  Any guilt I feel is therefore owed to Jamie, Mike and Mike as I ploughed on without so much as breaking stride.  I put it down to the fact that I ride motorbikes and have a relatively limited imagination.  Mike L said later that he could see a hoof to the head, and promptly dived into the bushes.  Jamie almost stopped entirely, out of sympathy for the rider (his mum has horses).  I felt pretty bad on the drive home - Jamie seeming a mixture of hurt and angry that I didn't stop, for which I can only apologise.  After that, the results are pretty academic/hollow.

Next up, after a useful 18 miler with Stuart on Sunday the 5th (trying to maintain some semblance of marathon fitness across the summer), was the Kelso 10k on Sunday the 12th.  I underestimated the travel time and got parked (having spotted Steve P with his number in hand) only 30 minutes before the start, which, coupled with an inability to find the rugby club, left me in a bit of a flap.  Although it was nice to drive past Kelso races, and the scene of my one and only race win in the last 25 years!

At the start I was swept along in the wake of Rab W and the fast Porties (David, Michael, Andy, Peter and Dougie).  Despite the initial incline over the first mile, I was reasonably well-placed and my average pace was in the right sort of range. 

With a sense of deja vu, I realised that I was mixing it with Mike J and clubmate David.  So far, so Dechmont Law/Longniddry.  While I've been aware of David for some time (obviously), Mike J is a newer face to me - looking back at results over the last year it appears that he has taken a big step up of late, which is no doubt just reward for hard work in training. 

In any event, both passed me on the muddy/puddly section past the front of Floors Castle at around 5k.  First Mike (who I noticed has a nice forefoot strike - fast and graceful looking), followed shortly after by David.  David, as ever and to his credit, suggested that we work together.  He looked much too strong and I simply wished him well. 

We then came to what had been described as the "short and sharp hill" at 6k.  Porty Andy (2nd at Longniddry) was unexpectedly walking around at the foot of it (his calf apparently blown) which distracted me a bit from what was to come.  It may have been sharp, but it certainly didn't seem short.  And it was a rocky trail to boot.  After wrestling with the thought that I should walk up it (as Pete said afterwards, "On a 10k! You've been doing too many ultras!"), I managed to get back past Mike, and shortened the distance to David.

But that was how we stayed until the finish.  I was much more focused on whether Mike was coming back past me than trying to catch David in front - if anything he just drew further ahead. 

Checking my watch at the finish brought what can only be described as an "oh shit" reaction - how/why am I that slow?  My slowest time for a 10k for 2 years.  Excuses about slow courses and hills only go so far.   I enjoyed the chat afterwards, including with Graham H, who had come out specially to "support" ("G: Hey Nick, how are you?  N: I feel shit.  G: You look shit! Only 1200m to go..."), but sloped off feeling no better about my current short course prowess.

KELSO 10K RESULTS

My funk started to dissipate on Tuesday though thanks to a combination of a really excellent club run, coupled with the knowledge that I'd be picking Jo up from the airport on Wednesday.  The club run really couldn't have been better.  Stuart had checked the tides and saw that we'd have a very low one which would allow a longer run to Tyninghame and then across the Tyne and the mussel beds back to John Muir.  We had a stunning night for it, and good company with David along for the ride.

Which brings us to the Musselburgh 10k today (18 July).  The weather forecast had been consistently terrible all week and for once it was accurate (the Open golf was suspended on account of it being too windy - apparently balls were being blown off their spots on the greens).  Jo said that she'd never seen me look so unenthusiastic on the way out to a race before.  A short warm up with Rhona and Andy confirmed how stiff the breeze was - almost rocking you back on to your heels at times on the exposed first mile of the course. 

But once you've entered you might as well give it a go.

After the usual hurly burly round the playing field we headed out in the wind towards the harbour at Fisherrow.  Peter, Willie and Michael G from Porty were directly ahead and, as I was alone, I spent more energy than was probably wise trying to catch them so that I could get a TdF-style draught.  I couldn't catch them.

After the turn at a mile, the wind became favourable, and I made the most of it all the way out towards Mrs Foremans. 

I was losing distance to the Portys (with 3 EACs coming past as well), but my Garmin suggested the pace was still below 6m/m, so I tried to rein myself in and not completely bury myself in keeping up.

I got to the outpoint feeling surprisingly fresh for a change (but well aware that by far the worst of the race was yet to come).  A chap in all black was breathing down my neck as we crossed the duckboards shortly after Rab's marshalling point.  That became my "thou shalt not pass" moment.

Working into the wind, I noticed that the "Kiwi" started to sound less close, and Michael G and Willie appeared to be getting closer.  I made my mind up to try to bridge the gap to them.  On doing that, I sat for a moment or two, not wanting to push on past, realise that I'd been benefitting from the windbreak and then slip back with my tail between my legs.  But push on while I did and, curiously, it stuck.

And then I realised that Peter (Peter!) suddenly didn't look so far ahead.  I should explain that last year I managed my PB on this course (36:44 - CHUFFED!), and Peter still finished ahead of me by a good 30 seconds.  But, after a further minute or so, it was clear that I was definitely making ground.  I'm not sure why that would be - perhaps I have decent leg strength, or have a low to the ground shuffling style that counters the wind, or perhaps all of the Portys were simply tired after a really tough Wednesday night session.

In any event, I drew alongside Peter, we had a brief chat and ran together towards the Electric Bridge, before I steeled myself to push on in pursuit of the Carnegie ahead. 

A final blast into the wind brought us out onto the playing field, where I consciously put the hardest pass on the Carnegie I could muster ("don't even think about coming back at me!"), before the run into the finish.

I crossed the line a full minute slower than last year, but studying last year's results reveals that a large number of people (including race winner Andrew Douglas) were also a minute slower, so maybe that is today's "par" rating.  And (without wishing to blow too much smoke up their arses) any time you finish a 10k ahead of the likes of Peter and Willie can't be bad.

MUSSELBURGH 10K RESULTS

Mojo restored?  We'll see.  If nothing else, Jo is back.

I'll sign off by intimating that a significant event is on the horizon - my 40th birthday next Saturday.  Significant because it brings my entrance into the V40 category.  I'm celebrating by taking part in the Tour of Fife series - hope to see you there!

Lairig Ghru

A long, but ultimately satisfying, day out this.  

It was identified early as one that I really wanted to do this year - a long classic in stunning scenery.  Although when I signed up for it, I didn't really consider the logistics involved.  It meant getting up at 4:45am, and collecting James from East Linton at 5:30am, to be sure of getting there in time for registration.  And then there is the fact that it is a point to point race, the finish being 27 miles away in Aviemore (over the hills), or 60 miles on tortuous roads, but with the car stranded in Braemar.

Having allowed time for eventualities such as traffic and roads we of course got a clear run and arrived before 8 for a 10 o'clock start.  The public toilets weren't even open!

The place was buzzing when we arrived

Don't mess with the local ducks...

This mother duck and her ducklings were all carrying concealed flick-knives

A crocheted shelter - Braemar isn't twee at all

We had a bit of a wander around, taking in all the sights that Braemar has to offer.  Which wasted about 10 minutes.  I did get to inspect a really interesting war memorial though - part of an engine salvaged from a crashed aircraft.   I'm always amazed how young the protagonists were - of the 8 that this memorial commemorates, the eldest was 25, and the two pilots were aged only 19 and 21.   My son is 17 this year, and the idea of him in control of a car causes me some concern, never mind a Wellington Bomber.  I can't escape the idea that the whole country was basically blagging it during WW2 - loads of people with almost no training or experience, but nobody wanting to be the one to point it out to the rest so everyone just got on with what they had to do.  Giving it a bloody good go, rather than being paralysed by the fear that you'd fuck it up.

Take your pick of the war memorials

I'll go for the salvaged bomber engine

After registration and a really cursory kit inspection (which I thought was a little surprising, given this might be one where proper safety kit could be called into service), I had a wee jog up the road.  For two reasons - one was to bag the extra 3 miles I knew I'd need to add to the 27 of the race to qualify this as a Tynecastle Bronze.  The second was so that I could test out Jack's GoPro with a chest harness for the first time.  I thought 3 miles might be enough to reveal whether it was going to be irritating or uncomfortable over 27. But it felt ok, so I went with it.

First glimpse of sun

Toad of Toad Hall bought it during the warm up

Time, at last, to join the masses

Away we go!

The first section is on roads, but there is a balance to be struck between making the most of it before the slower stuff to come, and burning yourself out much too early.  James and I ran together here and were able to hold a conversation so hopefully we'd judged it ok.  James also got talking to a Dundee Hawkhill runner that he recognised from the recent Haddington 10K.

A couple of miles on, James asked how my legs were feeling.  I opted for a positive spin (trying to persuade myself more than anything), but James admitted later (hence the question) that he found the first 9 miles or so really tough.  He'd had a swimming session the day before and, despite trying to take it easy (is that really possible?), it appeared to have taken quite a bit out of him.

Supporters offering high-fives... jelly babies would come later

Sun bright enough to cast shadows, but drizzle misting the lens - the weather was really changeable all day

Footbridge to the Mar Lodge Estate

Stable block

Around the back of the stable block was the first uphill section.  This acted as a bit of a shake down, and did quite a lot to establish positions for what was to come.  Luckily I managed to move up the field a bit, and this was where James and I separated.

The next section along the side of the River Dee was pretty flat and fast, so again I tried to make the most of it and gap the runners behind.  There were a couple of water stations on the way, which I ran straight through (having my hydration bladder filled with 1.5 litres), and gained a few places as a result.

I was with a group of 3, soon to be joined by a 4th, when we crossed the river.  The guys in front were taking their time a bit which frustrated me, but I then promptly slipped and almost sat down in it.  Fair enough, take your time.

The climb off of the river is short but steep, so I decided to walk it.  

Steep bit after the river crossing

There is then another quite long stretch of decently runnable terrain. The path is narrow and littered with rocks and puddles, but after a while you get into a rhythm and begin to develop a sense for where to put your feet.  Until you caught your toe on a rock and had to save a tumble, giving yourself a scare, and having to build the confidence again.  To being with I'd been trying to avoid the puddles, but after a while I realised that that was pretty pointless - my feet were wet anyway, and often the rocks were more slippery than whatever lay beneath the surface of the water.

Decent running for a while

At times the path would get really rocky, and I started to wonder whether we might have arrived at the boulder field.  Surely you'd know it when you saw it?  Or maybe not; perhaps folk were exaggerating how bad it was?  I was trying to remember at what distance we were meant to top out and begin our descent back down to Aviemore.  I had it in my head the worst of it was over by 18 miles, so was counting down the miles to that point.

Then came another nasty (at this stage of the race) incline.  The 3 guys in front kept running for the most part, but I employed a walk-jog strategy, with an emphasis on the walk.  I convinced myself it was not a complete waste by using the lull to take on an energy bar.

Slog up to the boulder field

On arriving at the boulder field, I saw two of the three (the other had cleared off entirely) in front head up on quite a high line to the right - presumably trying to get above it.  Having spoken with both Ians at the club, they had suggested that this was a false diseconomy - energy expended that wouldn't pay back.  I ploughed straight through the middle, and it wasn't actually that bad.  I run occasionally on the rocky beaches on the East Lothian coast, so that practice may have come in handy.  The last of the 3 had been around 200 metres ahead but was very quickly the same distance behind. I did take one tumble, but all that happened was that I scuffed my left hand up a bit.

Before long I closed right up on the chap lying a place ahead. I was happy enough at this point to settle in behind him and just follow him down.  We got to chatting, and I made sure to tell him that he wasn't holding me up - I didn't want him to feel pressured into going faster than he felt comfortable, and injuring himself in the process.  And I was pretty disappointed that the tricky rocky ground was continuing as far as the eye could see - in my head, once we'd cleared the boulder field proper, it was meant to turn into fantastic, smooth, fast, wide cinder trails that I could fly down at 6m/m pace.  No such luck.

First glimpse of Aviemore in the distance

Last photo before the camera's battery died

There was a surreal moment when I saw a walker approaching up the path from Aviemore, and realised that it was my son's S2 form teacher.  "Hello Mr Jackson!"  Quick smile and handshake and away we went again.

The sun was beginning to come out now, and it was getting warm.  But the ground was still slippery and deserving of respect.  I came very close to breaking a leg when, on approaching a drainage channel, my foot slipped on a granite flagstone and fell down into the narrow but deep trench.  I managed to stop very quickly, but still bashed my shin off the flagstone on the other side.  It took me a good 5 minutes or so to work out whether my leg was now sore-sore, or merely sore.

On entering the forest there were a couple of marshalls counting in runners.  I asked what position we were, and they said about 10th.  That'll do nicely.

The light through the forest was lovely (shame I don't have any pictures to show you), but the tree roots were problematic.  I nearly tripped again a couple of time, as fatigue was kicking in, and I wasn't lifting the moon boots high enough off the ground.  But in other respects the Hokas were fab for this job - the big wide cushioned soles smoothing out sharp stones, roots, and spreading the pressure on sandy sections. I had been worried at the start when I'd seen that Salomons seemed to be the plat du jour, but having got this far knew that things would only get better when we hit the road.

And then, all of a sudden, we moved on to proper smooth trails where I found I could open up again.  In no time I'd gapped my erstwhile companion.  Which proved a little bit of a problem as a couple of times I found myself at forks with minimal signage (one advertising a choice between Loch Something-or-Other and Coylumbridge - neither of which, you'll note, is Aviemore) and was reduced to shouting to tourists for directions.

Approaching the turn on to the road I found the mum and 2 kids (the high-five supporters) from earlier in the race.  The mum said that I had a choice between the cycle path or the pavement on the other side, and that the pavement was probably easier/quicker.  James said that she hadn't been so clear with him about his options, and he'd taken the path which was twisty and went up and down.  Not what you need at that stage.

In the distance I could see a runner with a white top - the firstmost of the group of 3 approaching the boulder field.  But he was like a desert mirage and refused to get any closer to me.  I asked a man clapping if he could see anyone behind me and he said no, so at least I could concentrate on simply getting home.  

And with only a mile or so, I could for the first time start to believe that I was going to hit my targets for the race.  I had studied the results for previous years, picking out the times of the good runners that I know, and decided that anything under 4 hours was good (a "B target"), and anything close to 3:45 was, well, better (an "A target").  Ian R's time of 3:40 from 2008 was dismissed as an extremely impressive out-lier.  Translating that into minutes per mile equated to 9m/m for 4 hours, and 8:30 for 3:45.  And I was sitting bang on 8:30!

The last blast up Aviemore High Street didn't go on for as long as I feared - I even had to ask "is this the finish?", as I couldn't see the Police Station that we were supposed to be running to!  

I got my 3:45, and finished in 8th place.  Very pleased.  James came in not long after in 12th, and beating the 4 hour mark.  He was also very pleased, having beaten his time from the first time he'd run this race, and having recovered well from his early-race funk to finish feeling much stronger.

With a few hours to kill, James and I hit the Mountain Cafe, where had a fantastic all-day breakfast - something I'd been craving since daybreak.  

After an eventful coach journey (one poor guy had a fainting episode and was in quite a bad way) back to Braemar, we eventually got home around 9pm.  With sun-burnt face, shoulders and arms!  

As I said at the start, a long, but ultimately satisfying, day out. 

RESULTS