The Joy of Winning
3 Peaks Preview
I fell in love with this race last year. I almost didn't make it to the start line but was put back into the car by Mrs G and told to man-up and enjoy the experience. Which I'm pleased to say I did. I got around in a modest time and with only moderate suffering.
This year I was seduced by the mesmerising, comfy chair of complacency. I didn't train properly for the race. So it punched me to the floor then battered my legs with a heavy bat until I could barely walk.
I did some training. I was doing tempo runs and speed sessions twice a week with the juniors. And I did a couple of 16 milers. Not enough. You need to do the distance with this one because you can never replicate the terrain. The near vertical ascents; the long, steep limestone descents; the long approaches in-between; the cold, sapping winds high up.
I was running in the same trainers I'd run in last year and I felt every stone underfoot. I relied on gels and felt sick after the 3rd. I'd been on the sauce every night for the previous week (I was on holiday). I forgot to take suncream or a hat. I could go on with the schoolboy errors and lack of respect I'd shown this race.
Yet despite all the problems and a badly executed plan it still sits in my mind as a wonderful memory. As I was picking my way between one painful footfall and another on the descent of Ingleborough I promised myself I would never do it again. Never. But I'm already planning next year and what I need to do to put in a good run.
Fifteen minutes before the start all the 900+ runners were crammed into a marque nervously chatting and adjusting waterproofs as the rain came down outside. In the corner was Tom Owens checking his kit and looking very confident. BB's fave runner (and Zagamara record holder) Rob Jebb was here and in good form. As was Ricky Lightfoot who had probably shown the best recent form. Victoria Wilkinson had parked opposite us and looked very calm. The outstanding women's favorite.
The difference with these guys is probably more marked after the race. They stand around having a beer looking no different to when they set off. I feel and look like the charred husk of a human being. It takes 3 days for the veins to go down on my forehead.
Just before the start and squeezing into the marque comes Mrs G and Junior G. I'm really pleased. If you read the article above (The Joy of Winning) the record holder for this race talks about watching his Dad doing the race and being in awe. I wanted my own son to experience this spectacle. I want big adventures and challenges to be normal for him. And who knows? I hope he runs it one day.
Before we know it we're off. The quiet clatter of studded shoes pushing through the streets of Horton heading for Pen-y-gent.
It's often been said that great Art has the ability to make you feel alone and together simultaneously. And that's what I feel about races like this when I'm running for my club. That's why I've transformed from the archetypal Outsider into a Club Runner.
On the first hill there is wonderful cameraderie as we push easily upto the summit. My training has at least made this summit feel effortless. On the final descent before the finish I stumble across a teammate. A legend in his 12th Peaks race but in some trouble on this one. I stay with him and we pull each other along, the time irrelavent now. It's time to talk about races done and learn a thing or two. It's a pleasure. Then the sound of the tannoy in the field below. Indescribable.
But at the final valley check-point I'd never felt so alone and desolate. Deserted by my body and literally with a moutain to climb. It just seemed totally effing pointless.
Next time I really need to do this race justice. Loose the weight. Do the long runs. The mile repeats. The 10 mile tempos. The hill reps. The core strengthening. The beetroot juice.
Or I could just grit my teeth and hobble around for a couple of days afterwards. Either way is fine actually. As long as I can make it to the start line and make the cut-offs.
