Herod Farm is the first race in this year’s GVS Summer Fell series. No-one I’ve spoken to seems to like the race, and just about everyone refers to it as “Horrid Farm”. This is probably because, whereas most shortish fell races go up a hill, along a bit then down the hill again, Herod Farm does that twice. Up the same hill. So I’m not exactly bursting with the thrill of anticipation as I make my way to registration at the Reliance Garage on Turnlee Road in Glossop, on a pleasant Wednesday evening. It’s lucky the weather is warm and dry, as Race HQ is in the open air, and there isn’t a pub within sensible walking distance.
I think the start is somewhere around here
I bump into a few Striders, though I thought there would be a few more: maybe the others are saving themselves for the races that only go up a hill once.
I’m quite relaxed because I’ve been pretty organised (for me). Not only have I completed the registration form in advance, and brought my own safety pins for my race number, I’ve also done a recce. Actually, I’ve done two, but the first one was a minor disaster involving getting a bit lost and a bit cold, and beating a hasty retreat back to the car. The second was OK though – a pleasant morning walk with Helen, taken at a relaxed pace, in very pleasant weather – and I’m quite happy that I know what’s coming and where I’m going. I even have a plan!
I’ve mentioned before that I have a running mantra which goes: “You’re doing this to enjoy yourself, no need to rush, it’s not a race!”. This works quite well for me, even when it actually is a race. I’m not that interested in racing, I know I’m not going to win, and there’s no-one I’m desperate to beat, so I can focus on running purely for the joy of it. So my plan, for pretty much every run I do is:
Remember you’re here to enjoy yourself
Don’t go off too fast
Run when you can, if it doesn’t hurt too much
Walk when you need to
Walk even when you don’t need to, if you know there are some tough bits coming
This doesn’t mean I don’t push myself: there’s a lot of enjoyment to be had from getting out of my comfort zone, and from pushing myself and running hard when I can. And there’s enjoyment from the improvement that happens when I do push myself.
One view from the back…
Anyway, point 5 pretty much covers the first part of the route, the track up to Herod Farm, and point 4 takes me me up to the crest of the hill – the end of the first trip up Whiteley Nab. Then it’s a fun lollop across the moor towards Monks Road, before turning at Herod Edge Farm – Thank you marshal! – where the serious downhill to Simmondley begins. (Lollop is a good word: there are a number of different definitions: please choose whichever definition best suits the mental picture you may or may not have in your head just now.)
…and another
The good thing – one of the good things – about being at or near the back of a race, is that the field is quite spread out – actually I’m not sure I can see any other runners at all just now – and you can go at whatever pace takes your fancy without having to dodge or show consideration for other runners. So now I can fly (slight exaggeration perhaps) downhill through heather and across fields until I reach the path before the houses at Simmondley – Hello and thank you another marshal!
More lolloping, some crossing of muddy streams, past Whiteley Nab Farm, and then I’m outside the Pennine Care Home, where some serious point 5 kicks in again, up a track past some posh-looking houses. When I reach the field, there’s a very long bit of point 4: real runners might be able to run the first bit, but I’d pay good money to see anyone actually run the last couple of hundred yards to the top of the Nab. Even walking, I’ve pushed myself quite hard by the time I get to the top, so a quick sip of water, some incoherent words to a marshal, and it’s back to pleasant running around the top of the Nab, before the lovely long downhill across fields and – carefully this time, let’s not have a fall here – through heather, down to the track and let gravity take me to the finish.
I’ve finished, and it wasn’t actually that horrid, but mostly because there was lots of points 4 and 5, so the race as a whole for me was a mixture of a fairly pleasant run, and a good, stiff walk. Which is OK, but I’d prefer something where I can actually run a bit more and walk a bit less. Something like the Rainow 5 maybe, which happens to be in a couple of weeks 🙂
These llamas are not at Herod Farm, they’re somewhere else entirely…
…but I didn’t take enough pictures at Herod Farm
Thirteen Striders made the long trip to Glossop, with James Rees first GVS gent, in 28:43, and Linette Ruston first GVS lady in 38:48. Thanks to Glossopdale Harriers for organising the race. See you next year.
Sometimes being wrong is OK – misreading a map, ignorance, and not doing a recce can sometimes be blessings in disguise. But more of that later…
The Whitehall Wiggle is my first real race in this year’s club championship: Lyme Parkrun and the Pavilion Gardens 5k are timed runs rather than races (and being a road event, the latter has no place in any civilised club championship 🙂 At least it’s the only one I have to do this year). It’s the first time this year that my running mantra – “You’re doing this to enjoy yourself, no need to rush, it’s not a race!” – doesn’t quite work. Still, it’s only a mantra – I don’t think there’s any legal requirement for running mantras to be strictly correct, so we’ll let it go.
An athlete prepares…
There’s a good turnout of Striders, and fifty-odd other runners, milling about in the centre, pinning on numbers, chatting about race tactics and split times, and eyeing up the impressive display of cakes waiting to be consumed after the race. As the clock nears 11:00, we head away from the cakes, outside for the start. The race starts at the back of the Whitehall Centre, runs along Old Road for a while until it heads off-road for an anti-clockwise lap of Ladder Hill, taking in the track of Long Lane and a bit more of Old Road, then a lovely long down hill into Combs village, before heading back up to the finish at Whitehall (and the cakes).
Not long till the cakes…
Soon after the start, I’m in my customary position, getting on first name terms with the tail runner – hello Nigel – and plodding along happily. There’s a friendly Strider face in sight though, and Melanie Watts and I swap places a few times, with me slightly faster on the downhills, but Mel faster on the flat and the uphills. The running is grand on the tour of Ladder Hill, with not too much walking on the uphills. And the downhill into Combs is great, except for the big dark cloud on the horizon (a metaphorical one, the actual weather is lovely).
A view from the back, of Ladder Hill
As most Striders will know, looking across to Combs and Chapel from Ladder Hill, the view is dominated by the sight of Combs Edge, looming intimidatingly from Castle Naze all the way round to somewhere above the Whitehall Centre. I didn’t do a recce for the Wiggle, because I know the area quite well, from running, and from staying with friends who lived just down the road from Whitehall when we moved up from London many years ago. I did spend some time studying the route map though, working out where the race went as it lapped Ladder Hill, and noting the long descent into Combs. I didn’t look too closely at the rest of the route – obviously it’s going to be uphill, because we’ve got to get back to Whitehall, but I don’t want to know the details. I’ll probably be walking, and with luck the marshals won’t have given up and gone home by the time I get there. Mostly though, I didn’t want to think about it because – for no good reason that I can think of looking back on it – I’ve convinced myself that the route must go up onto Combs Edge, and that does look like a horribly long climb, and I hope all the cake won’t have gone by the time I finish.
So as I’m flying (poetic licence) down the road into Combs, I’m trying – and failing – to stop myself looking over at the Alpine Himalayan-scale climb to Combs Edge, thinking (and swearing to myself) about how hard and unpleasant it’s going to be, wondering how long it’s going to take to get all the way up there, and whether there will be any cakes left if I do.
I’m not looking forward to going up there…
Luckily, I don’t have to
Imagine my surprise and delight when a friendly marshal (is there any other kind?) smilingly directs me up a track that leads away from Combs Edge, and climbs at a pleasantly runnable – even for me – gradient, through a couple of farms to a flattish stretch, and possibly even some downhill, before the final steep – not runnable – pull up the hill back to the centre. It’s a long enough uphill for Mel to overtake me again, and build a lead too big for me to pull back on the last short downhill to the finish (and the cakes), but nowhere near as tough as the climb to Combs Edge would have been. Sometimes being wrong is OK…
The cakes were worth the effort too, especially that flapjack which contained just enough oats to hold the huge amounts of syrup and sugar into a vaguely solid cuboid: my best sugar buzz of the year so far!
There were some great performances by the participating Striders, with Nathan Porter in 11th place, beating Aidan Grant in 12th by just 2 seconds. That would have been fun to watch, but I was a little too far back to have a good view. Special mentions for Rebecca Sullivan – 1st Lady Of A Certain Age – and Mike Hudson – 1st Gent Significantly Older Than The Ladies Of A Certain Age. I hope they both enjoyed the bottles of wine they won (although as Mike had to leave before prize giving and Helen Parry offered to take Mike’s bottle for him, he may not have seen it). Due to an oversight, there was again no prize for 1st Gent With A Coronary Stent And A Couple Of Screws In His Leg, so I went away happy, but empty-handed (apart from another piece of that flapjack).
Thanks to the Thomas Theyer Foundation and the Whitehall Centre for putting on a great race. Thanks too to all the volunteers and marshals who made the event run so smoothly. And special thanks to whoever made that flapjack. Whether or not the race is in next year’s championship (I’m sure it will be), I’d recommend everyone to turn up. If you don’t fancy running, I’m sure they’d welcome some help marshalling. Or just turn up to support and cheer the runners on. Did I mention that the cakes are very good? See you there next year.
The human mind has a remarkable ability to suppress painful memories and focus on the happy ones, which probably goes some way to explaining why, a year after our first experience of the Equinox 24 hour race, “Team WB” found ourselves once again in the grounds of Belvoir Castle, ready to run round and round in circles for exactly a day. The team was headed up once again by some-time Strider Amanda Skeldon, and though we’d lost Anna Aspinall and Caz Whittle to long-term injuries this year, the team still had a strong GVS core of myself, Julie Elison, Sally Kaill, Connor Lomax, and new recruit James Hobson.
Our first attempt, in 2016, had actually been surprisingly successful considering our strongest runner, Team GB age-group triathlete Dane Stanley, was struck down with a stomach bug. After an entertaining all-night battle with our friends from Marple Runners, we’d ended up finishing one place above them in 25th out of 116 large (8 person) teams. We managed 26 laps of the 10km course, but given that the 5th place team only did 4 more, we came away feeling that with a bit more luck and a bit less illness we could come back and challenge for a top 10 place. With Julie on top form as newly crowned Summer Fell champion, and on the verge of also adding the main championship, and James also fresh from winning the men’s Summer Fell series, we had no shortage of fast runners. Add in the fact that Amanda and Dane had recently completed half iron-mans (iron-men?), I’d just done my first ultra, Sally was in the late stages of training for her first marathon, and we hoped to have the endurance side covered. And that’s without mentioning our new recruit Paul “Kingy” King, who had just cycled the length of the country on a reclining bike and was known to be a strong runner too (though quite how strong, we were yet to find out!).
The race starts at midday on the Saturday, and having all turned up mid-morning last year we’d had to settle for a camping spot well away from the track and main “village” area. So this year we resolved to head over on the Friday, get set-up in a prime spot, and enjoy the Friday night entertainment, the highlight of which is a “beer run” around the section of the course through the camping field. Things didn’t work out quite as planned though. My own participation in the Friday fun was cancelled well in advance when one of my favourite bands, who I’d been waiting to tour the UK again for several years, announced they were playing the Apollo on the Friday night. Sally and Dane were also unable to get over on the Friday, but the others were good to go… or so we thought.
The first sign that we may not be heading into the race in the top-10 form we hoped came when, a week or two before, Amanda was struck down with a really nasty bout of tonsillitis, with an accompanying fever for good measure, and by the Monday before had been told by the doctor to rest for two weeks. Obviously she interpreted this advice as “only go to Equinox on the Saturday morning, and maybe only do 2 or 3 laps instead of 4”. But no matter, we still had four of the team on the way to get there good and early and get the tents up… or did we?
Team HQ
Connor was first on the scene on Friday, travelling alone with the bulk of the tents while the others followed in James’, erm, trusty VW campervan. He soon picked a prime spot on the finishing straight, 100m or so from the start / finish, and directly opposite a much expanded Marple Runners contingent and what can only be described as their tent city, and got to work getting the tents up. A couple of hours later, and there was still no sign of the others, so our heroic adventurer continued on with the erection single-handed (sorry). By later afternoon Connor had managed to put up two family tents and the GVS Coleman shelter, but there was still no sign of reinforcements. The reason soon became clear, when he received an SOS call from James. The clutch on his van had failed, about 15 miles short of Belvoir castle. The only course of action was for Connor to head out in his little Toyota Yaris and give them a tow. Eventually they all made it in, just in time to sit out a rain-drenched evening, gazing wistfully at Marple and their huge marquee, complete with two pizza ovens. Eventually they were invited over for drinks, where they found out that Marple were fielding no fewer than four large teams this year… we’d have our work cut out to beat them all! But at least we were through all the set-backs and on course to give it our best shot… or just about.
Rest and recovery is crucial…
When you’ve earned your recovery drink…
Midday soon rolled round, and we were off, Dane leading out on the first leg. We were a little surprised when he took a couple of minutes more than expected to complete the lap, but we were more surprised still when we found out the reason for the delay. We won’t go into the details in these pages… you can ask him in person if you see him, or failing that you can ask a squirrel. Solid first laps from Sally and James followed, and then we sent Kingy out. If we were surprised that Dane’s first lap took a little longer than we thought, that was nothing compared to our shock when Kingy came cruising past the tent looking like he hadn’t broken a sweat with less than 41 minutes on the clock for his lap. Suddenly that top 10 finish looked on once again if he could keep that pace up. 7 of the 8 were in fine form and the game was on… if everybody else could just stay fit.
By Saturday morning we were finally all assembled, the rain had gone and we were raring to go. Amanda was still suffering badly and expecting to only manage one or two laps, but that was the least of her worries when she got a call from home to say that the slight eye infection her daughter had woken up with was proving worse than thought – the doctor had advised her husband to take her to the hospital to get it sorted, throwing childcare plans into disarray. It was looking like she might have to jump straight back in a car and head home before the race even began. Fortunately my wife Jac came to the rescue and stepped in to look after Amanda’s son, and the news from the hospital was good, so total crisis was averted.
Connor and I were next up, and then Julie. When it got to 52 minutes and she hadn’t finished we were a little concerned, but thought maybe she was just pacing herself, knowing that there would be another 30km to run. The look on her face as she passed the tent said otherwise, and we soon found out what an incredible effort she’d put in to get round in 52 minutes, having been struck with agonising pain early in the run. Something had gone very wrong in her hip, and she was soon loading up on pain killers and heading over to the free massage tent. Amanda was our last runner out for a first leg, knowing that it could well be her only one. She fought her way round in an hour and after one lap each we were holding our own in the mid-teens.
As darkness fell, we headed out one-by-one for our second laps. Kingy once again put in the performance of the round, once again hitting 41 minutes while looking like he was enjoying a casual stroll. For my own part, with my second lap scheduled for 22:30, and the temperature dropping, I was starting to realise that much as I love camping, there’s a reason it’s usually accompanied by plenty of beer. I’d allowed myself a small can of Brew Dog at around 8pm, but two hours later the effects had worn off as we huddled around the small bbq that was our only heat source. We just tried to ignore the massive pizza and prosecco party which seemed to be going on over the track in the Marple camp! I got that lap done, and then came the trickiest part of the day to manage. Having just done a 10k run, there’s no way you’re going straight to sleep, but at the same time, you know you need to get some rest before the next one. And that next lap would be coming round earlier than planned, as we wouldn’t be getting any more laps from Julie or Amanda… or so we thought.
Marple runners – thriving on pizza and prosecco
Faced with the prospect of us only having 3 or 4 hours between our night-time runs, Amanda bravely stepped forward and offered to go out again, despite hardly being able to stand up. She knew she’d be well over an hour, but to be honest, the rest of us were happy for the delay to our next run to be as long as possible. So out she went, at 23:20, and I headed off for a massage. By the time I’d queued for and had my massage and got back, it was well after midnight, so I tried to hit the hey. This is when I realised I’d forgotten something essential… ear plugs. While our camp was now reduced to 2 or 3 people awake at any given time, quietly chatting around the embers of the bbq, in other nearby camps the party was clearly in full swing. The last time I remember looking at my watch it was coming up to 3am… and I was due to be woken up at 4:20 to get ready for my next run.
It felt like I’d literally just dropped off when a voice started calling me name to get up. It’s hard to over-state quite how low I felt at this point. I’ve never been a morning person, and the standard 6:30 alarm on a work day, after 8 hours sleep, is torture. This was another level though, as I dragged myself out of my sleeping bag on the verge of tears, cursing the day I ever agreed to take part in this stupid enterprise. As Connor handed over the baton, I was feeling no more optimistic about the situation, and the next 55 minutes were quite possibly the least enjoyable 10k I’ve ever run, save maybe the last 10k of Manchester Marathon. I eventually stumbled across the line, and this time headed straight back to bed, and was asleep within minutes.
This time I managed over two hour’s sleep, and actually woke up by myself, as bright morning sunshine streamed into the tent, along with the smell of fried bacon. As I emerged bleary eyed into the world, the horrors of 4am suddenly seemed like nothing but a bad dream. Admittedly the lack of sleep was probably still playing a part, but this time the tears that threatened to roll as I saw the constant stream of runners of all shapes, sizes, ages and abilities passing the tent were tears of joy and an overwhelming sense of community and achievement. As the morning progressed and more people came to, the crowds lining the last km around the camping field grew, and with them the shouts of encouragement and praise. To see a solo runner dragging themselves past 150km was mind-blowingly inspiring (a lot of the ladies present finding this to be especially true of a certain athlete from Vegan Runners!). As 10am, and my final lap approached, I was once again raring to go.
This time I felt like I floated round, spurred on by shouts of encouragement as I passed the solos and pairs, who had done four times as many laps as me, and I hit that last lap of the field in a state of euphoria. I knew that Julie had, incredibly, put herself forward to hobble around a final lap, if Dane could get the baton round to her before the midday cut-off. Crossing the line and handing over to Dane, with over an hour to go, I knew we’d done enough to record a fantastic 29 laps. What’s more, although the organisers had been having massive problems since early in the morning with keeping the live results going, we knew that we were not only on for a top 10 finish with this many laps, but were somewhere around the top 5 or 6.
Unfortunately, the guys from Stuweb were still struggling to get the results confirmed, but the gob-smacking news was that, from what we could see we’d not only achieved our aim of a top ten finish, but were somehow in 3rd place out of 94 large teams! And so ensued a long and marginally tense wait for the results to be ratified. It took over an hour, which at least gave us time to get the tents down and packed up, but eventually, finally, the prizes were handed out, and sure enough we were called up to the podium. Having never before come close to being involved in the post-race prize shenanigans, this was the perfect end to an amazing weekend.
As I sat with the in the camp for that last hour or two, watching other teams take it in turns to join up and cross the finish line for the last time as one, roared on by ever-increasing crowds (a special mention once again to Marple Runners, who were immense in their support), it was hard not to feel that we were part of something truly special. And then, finally (though earlier than expected given her injury!) it was our turn, as Julie rounded the corner onto the finishing straight. Remembering the slightly-obscured-by-other-teams finish line photos from last year, we made sure to drop back until we ensured we had a good space ahead of us, and then over the line we went, hand in hand, a joyous finish to a crazy 24 hours. And then we headed to the timing tent to find out how we’d done…
So, how’s that ability to suppress painful memories, and will we be back next year? Well, yes and no. If you’d asked me at 4am if I’d ever do it again, my answer would have been a very definitive no, but in the end the positives outweigh the negatives, and for some crazy reason I’m looking forward to the next one. As it happens, though, next year’s Equinox 24 clashes with a triathlon which three of the team, myself included, have already entered… but it seems there’s a very similar 24 hour event in Leeds in June. And guess what, there’s only a couple of hours darkness in June, so count me in! If any of this has inspired you to give 24 hour relays a go, there’s always room for us to start trying to rival that Marple encampment for numbers. If you want to hear any more about the whole experience, give me a shout some time!
