The cold season.

[Bierzo Baggie]

This was an unexpected addition to the race agenda while I was in the UK recently.

Somehow or other me and me dad, the Ludlow loper, ended up in the Shropshire village of Church Stretton at 11 am on a frosty new year’s morning. The Mercia fell runners were organizing the event in question and we joined 200 or so early starters in sub-zero temperatures for a 5 mile dash that proved well worth shivering for.

The route took us along paths and trails around surrounding hills and moor-land. I can only assume the countryside was glorious as the mist spoilt the views although the frosty whitescape was spectacular enough.

A couple of the climbs were very steep indeed and I had to walk on 4 occasions which is rather a lot for such a short race. Much of the time I was struggling behind a tiny young lad who was breezing up those steep bits with a near-effortless ease. At one point I called out “how old are you?” and the little fellow answered “nine!” Now I have become used to being overtaken by grisly 60-somethings but spluttering and wheezing in the wake of a primary school kid, most of whose training may well consist of games of playground tag, was a humbling experience. Must say that I was mightily impressed by the way he skipped up those hills,.. one to watch for the future maybe.

Finished in about 42 minutes and returned to the village hall for steaming hot soup and rolls. This was my first race in the UK since 2002 and a few things caught my eye.

1. An event held at 11 am on the first day of the year in a small Shropshire village attracted well over 200 people. You wouldn’t get many people from Ponferrada running on New Year’s morning…

2. There were plenty of very good lady runners, a much higher proportion than at any of the Spanish races I’ve done.

3. I don’t know if “Feet in the Clouds” has anything to do with it but there seemed to be a lot of new pairs of Walshes out there. This is clearly a sport which is growing in popularity in places not previously associated with fell running (the Midlands and Sussex for example!)

Apart from that, I'm more convinced than ever that Spanish mountain running is the bastard half-brother of English fell running.

I’m back in El Bierzo now and I’m toying with the idea of doing some proper training. Oh how I’m toying…