November 2012

[glaconman]

The High Striker
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Today saw round two of the West Yorkshire cross country league at Nunroyd Park in Leeds. I've only ever done one county-standard cross country, about 2 and a half years ago. The Yorkshire and Humberside Champs. I got into the top 100 and was really pleased. But I do remember it stood out as being very, very hard.

A race is as hard as you make it, right? Well, yes and no. Cross country seems to be at the cross roads of road, track and fell racing. On off-season show-down. The standard is high. And at 10k it can be a long and painful death.

And even the old, overweight and out-of-sorts like myself, lingering at the back, mumbling about making up the numbers, seem to get sucked into the tempo of the race. Like some invisible force. Ensuring you go hard for the first two laps then hang-on grimly for the last two.

So there I was this afternoon, in bright Autumn sunshine, lumbering through the mud in the last kilometer like some wretched drunk. The shoes didn't help. A pair of old fell shoes that have seen countless visits to the pub but very few actual fell races. I have spikes but didn't take them. For whatever reason.

I staggered back to the car punch-drunk and dizzy with fatigue, GlaconGirl precariously balanced in my arms. Straight to McDonalds. Fries, burger, tea, coke, apple pie. Better. Then home. Shower. Better. Then a bath. Ahhh better still. Then feet up and a bottle of beer (Taylors Landlord followed by Saltaire Triple Chocolate). Bliss.

The race was dominated by Leeds AC and won by an international distance runner in imperious fashion. I saw him fleetingly coming the other way (we share the same physio if little else).

I don't care where I finished. The race absolutely destroyed me from head to toe. But I was a counter for my club and it was the focal point of a great day out for everybody.

I had vowed to just concentrate on easy-to-moderate mileage for the next few months. But that doesn't seem to be enough. I think it should be the backbone of any runners life. But periodically we also need to pick up the hammer, drop it as hard as we can and try and hit that bell.

I didn't hit any bells today. I don't think the puck rose more than a foot to be honest. But I had a bl**dy good go at it. And that's what this incredible sport is all about sometimes.

Now, where's me peanuts?