Bute Park, Cardiff. 16/11/13
pic Beth Feechan
pic Danielle Glendinning
pic Danielle
Oldies' Olympics.
The road to Cardiff began at Masters
counter Pollok Park 10k back in August. A lot of the same faces
transferred from there to the flight South to Bute Park although
there were a couple of no shows due to injuries. You get to a certain
age and it's all about keeping the injuries at bay while trying to
crank out sufficient mileage to get in shape. And this event is all
about the oldies although as Billy the Shoe says, the lower age limit
now includes M & W35s – Kindergarten Vets. They are only just
out their teens although the winner in that age group event was
actually 45 so they don't have all their own way.
airport
Its too long since I have been abroad
and am out of the way of booking flights, hotels and such like. I
should have jumped as soon as the invite came through, but I hid my
head in the sand (waiting for an invoice to come through) while the
airfares soared. The team hotel was an option I was not happy about
as Mary tells me I snore (often waking me in the night to relay the
information which seems unnecessary, when the next day would be just
as good) and I didn't want to inflict this on another in the shared
room. I also felt I could get a B&B for less than the £50 each
per night, although as it turned out there wasn't a huge choice as a
lot of hoteliers had noticed there was a major rugby event and major
football game the same weekend in Cardiff.
Bute Park
After quite some time on the internet
(god bless the modern world) I found Ty Rosa, a Gay Boutique b&b
whose least expensive room that weekend was £42.50 and included a gourmet
breakfast. (By that point this seemed a TOTAL bargain as some
“budget” options googled were looking for £385 for 2 nights!) A
long time ago I worked backstage in the Playhouse Theatre. The
constant round of Lloyd Webber singy-dancey shows provided a fabulous
melange of mostly gay men romping around the corridors in flamboyant
outfits and attitudes. I thought the Ty Rosa might be similar only
with sharper décor, however I was almost disappointed to find the
apparently straight couples considerably outnumbered the same sex
couples. I imagined them saying later: “...we only saw one gay
guy the whole weekend – seemed to be there for a cross country
race?”
In the lead up to
the race there was the strange dichotomy of the honour of wearing the
Scotland colours weighing up against the hassle of interrupting my
training and running calendar (missing the Borders Series xc!!!) for
what would be less than half an hour's running and about 4 days lost
to travel and taper. Also it was costing a small fortune. (There is a
£40 expenses allowance from Scottish Veteran Harriers Club.) However
you get to wear a Scotland vest and of course it would be churlish to
complain. (So here goes.) In a further effort to stem the flow of
non-disposable income I flew to Bristol, a more mainstream airport
than Cardiff therefore about half the price by the time I realised
these things increase on a weekly basis. That tip from John Blair –
and it was a good one. Sadly he dropped out of the event with
injuries as I would have enjoyed his company on the journey. Google
let me know it was 44 miles (under the hour by car) from Bristol to
Cardiff and Paul from Ty Rosa gave me the low down on how to catch
the airport bus to Temple Meads and the train from there. My flight
got in a bit after 4pm. (Security didn't stop me carrying the
spikes from my spiked running shoes onto the plane the way easyJet
said they would so the extra set I sent on ahead to Ty Rosa turned
out to be additional to requirements.) So quite how it took 1 bus and 3
trains and four of the worst hours of my life, to get there, is difficult to
explain. Rush-hour-Friday-afternoon was the main hold up. As
the afternoon light fell so did my spirits. We sat on the Sardine
Special going nowhere for what seemed like hours. And as much of it
was spent sitting down surely I arrived like a coiled beast, fit and
aggressive for the fastest run of my life?
Grangetown near Ty Rosa
I felt utterly
wiped out and near to tears when I got to Ty Rosa, and it was a huge
relief to get a cup of tea and a warm welcome from Paul and Stuart
who were lovely and listened patiently to all my moans. I hadn't
eaten properly since breakfast although had hastily packed a couple
of slices of bread and honey when leaving the house at 11.30. Here I
was checking in at 8.30. Speaking later to some of the Irish girls
they had booked a taxi from Bristol (at £33 per head (return) x 6)
and done it that way. My £11 bus and £19 rail fare wasn't
significantly cheaper.
Here's a good idea as an accompanying dish: half rice half chips.
(These are hand cut chips - cross ref Sense of an Ending / book group.)
(These are hand cut chips - cross ref Sense of an Ending / book group.)
I slept very well –
too tired to be nervous. Also I was full of Indian food. I had been
directed to an Italian restaurant 2 streets away but found myself
unable to walk past an Indian Restaurant on the way there. I also
broke the temperance vow I had vaguely been entertaining for a few
weeks as a mark of respect for the Scotland shirt, and had 2 small
beers with the meal. The restaurant staff were very chatty and
friendly, the food inexpensive and reasonable quality and it really
hit the mark after the concentration camp train journey.
These look like Sequoia to me.
The team photoshoot
was at 10.30, my race at 12.15. So I had plenty of time to get over
the huge and game-changing breakfast as long as my elbows were in the
starting blocks before 9am. There was a choice of everything and
anything you could imagine being served for breakfast, and I limited
myself to a full traditional fry up after a fruit smoothy and yoghurt
just because I couldn't manage cereal as well. I rolled along to Bute
Park through Grangetown: slightly shabby but friendly streets of
terraced houses looking like a cross between Coronation St and
Walford. Nearer the town centre this swapped for a highrise jungle of
anonymous hotels and offices crowding round the hi-tech scaffolding
of the Millenium Stadium and the jumbled gothic shapes of the Castle.
The trouble with living in an attractive city like Edinburgh is that
everywhere else can seem less so. The gloomy weather wasn't showing
off Cardiff to its finest, but it was nearly perfect for running –
cool with no wind. I was very impressed with Bute Park. Even under
such grey sunless skies the multitude of well planted beautiful trees
was brilliant. If only there had been some sunlight for the camera.
All the day's photos were dogged by this and I apologise for all the
blurry less than sharp results – mind you, the runners were the
fastest old folk in the UK so they weren't standing still.
end of first lap
end of 2nd lap
both these photos by Danielle G
end of first lap
end of 2nd lap
both these photos by Danielle G
35~49s start
The women and oldest gents were
first up and after changing and pinning on numbers I took a couple of
photos of them while checking out the course. It was (as advertised)
flat and fast. Four 2k laps for us. Running on grass and dirt trails.
It was also very dry so you could have worn virtually any shoe. I
emailed the organisers to ask if it was spikes friendly but had got
no reply. I only took spikes (no more room in hand-luggage,) and was
concerned when Paul T said he had recced it the previous night and
was wearing trail shoes. There were a couple of carpeted tarmac
crossings, both 2 steps wide but otherwise no problems so I settled
down, as I enjoy how fast and light my spikes feel. This was the
second time I had worn them outdoors. Shortly before the race started
Paul decided to run in spikes after all. It was, I felt, the right
shoe for me.
Finally we lined up
and the gun went. I had got into a bad position on the start line –
towards the back, and as there were narrow sections later I went off
quite fast to get ahead while overtaking was possible. I was
surprised it was relatively easy to get towards the front of the pack
and it was possibly this and the Red Bull (first strong caffeine for
ages) that encouraged me to push it out for the first lap. I have
been trying to avoid this sort of thing of late but when you are
wearing a Scotland vest it would be wrong to do anything less than
faster pussycat kill kill!
Number one 35~49
Kerry had a great run finishing 3rd in his age group.
Stevie Cairns running for the enemy Northern Irish.
I had been thinking about lap length and how long it would take,
since I was going at about 5k effort and it was actually around 8k
distance and off-road, all be it fast off-road. So each of the 4 laps
was around 2k. Say 3.30 for a km and that's 7mins a lap and 28 mins
running. I noticed it was about 6.48 for the first lap and thought
well that will be why it's getting warm. I hadn't worn a hat or
gloves or anything under the vest because you could be sure the
winner wouldn't be. The course was pretty nice. It ran for a bit
through a wooded area and then on some dirt paths that skirted the
river Taff. (Occasionally thought to be the origins of Taffy
although this nickname is more often thought to be associated with
the pronunciation of the name Dafydd.) Then round some fields
and past the start finish area. Lap 2. Paul had been on my shoulder
for some time. I could hear the cheers for him getting progressively
closer and although we swapped places in Pollok Park a couple of
times, I suspected he was getting back to his more usual form (after
some time off for eye problems.) He spent the next 2 laps forging on,
increasing his lead, aware that 4th m55 was just yards
behind. Great to see him running so well and going on to finish as
3rd m55. At this level that is outstanding running. I
could also see Stan up ahead for my team – the m50s. That meant I
was second counter and I hoped I could hold it together to finish in
that position. I think there might have been a few more went past but
I was in the zone and just trying to keep things together and not
really noticing much – trying to deal with the roaring noise as the
effort of holding the needle into the red goes from bad to worse.
Trying to keep decent form, telling yourself only one lap to go,
hearing someone breathing hard behind, keeping them from going past.
Finally we are into the last field. A final effort to raise the pace
and dash across the line and its done. All that planning, all the
focus and now it's over. I stayed as second counter and this came as
something of a surprise. Around 27 and a half minutes and I think the Garmin said 5.53 pace. I had made the mistake of checking out some
of the team mates on the Power of Ten website and to my horror they all seemed to
be considerably better runners. I appeared to be the weakest link and
I was wondering what mistake had led to me being on the team. It had
seemed like there would be a far greater probability of disaster and
disgrace, than coming second counter. Talking to some of the runners
before I knew they were not all in ideal shape and I think out of all
of us I was probably in as close to best form as possible. A number
said afterwards they felt ok but had lacked a va-va-voom. Perhaps the
course being flat suited some more than others. And the pace of those
at the front was enough to discourage the strongest hearts. Kerry
Liam Wilson was one of the few Scotland vests keeping up with those
front runners, appearing in second place halfway through the 35~49s
race though dropping a couple of places by the tape.
Great image of the m55 team, bronze medalists. pic Feechan
pic Colin Feechan
pic Colin Feechan
I was glad to be finished racing and changed into dry warm kit then
jogged around taking photos of the 35~49s race. I was extremely
relieved to be over the age divide that meant I was among the
youngest in my event whereas there would be 49 year olds having a
much harder time with the youngsters in this race. Although as I said
earlier the overall winner was 45.
Some of the spelling was way out.
(Or ffordd allan if you like.)
TROLLLL!!!!!
Then
we were done and went back to our accommodations. I went back for a
long hot soak, then got some pre-creased clothes out to wear for the
“Evening Banquet
and Awards Presentation.” (£29)
(The food was really very nice.) This threatened to be
a bit dull as 400 folk waited a long time between each course before
they did the longest prize giving in history with each 5 year
age category from 35 to 70, getting 3 male and 3 female team prizes
and 3 individual prizes (both sexes.) (I think it might even have been longer than the West Highland Way prizes, back when Dario did individual speeches for every runner.) Fiona Matheson was the
only Scottish gold individual medal. She is a legend. There were a
few team medals for the Scots but by this time I was pouring drink
down my neck by the pint and you'll have to check the results which I
have not yet seen. The rest of the evening fades to black, or lager
colour with a couple of nice glasses of wine in there somewhere. Here are some trees to appreciate.
There were various animals sculpted round the castle walls.
With the flash picking out his marble eyes this bear now has an expression like he's lowered himself onto a spike on the other side.
There was a game on in the Millennium Stadium
Myself and John S have exactly the same percentage on Scottish Hill Racing: 118.2%!
Thanks to Colin for this great photo.
Thanks to Colin for this great photo.
Only about 7 hours to get home, and it
all went without to much of a hitch. 16 hours of travelling in 3 days
is more than I want. (And with so little running.) But overall there
were many things that could have gone worse and some bits that were
great fun. If I am ever in a position to be invited again I wouldn't
rule it out. Well done to all who ran and thanks to David F who
organised the m50s team and kept me up to speed, and turned up with
my vest and number on the day at the right place.
It was remarkably sunny at 34,000 feet
It was a much more modest breakfast on
Sunday! I had as much as I felt was safe, then walked across town to
the station and more by luck than good judgement caught trains and
buses in quick succession to the airport. It's a shame those
bloodthirsty religious sorts with their terrorism have made
travelling on planes so much less pleasurable these days, taking
shoes and belts off and having to drink all your water before
security then buy some more immediately afterwards. By this point I
had more spikes for my running shoes (the extra 2 sets sent on ahead
now returning North in my hand-luggage) than the average sports shop, and security
should really have checked why I was carrying the ingredients for a
nail bomb. But happily they didn't because I was also carrying 2
pairs of muddy shoes and fermenting sports kit in poly bags.
and home
(Cramond Brig at Barnton)
I didn't think I had much to write
about the weekend but actually there was quite a lot crammed into 3
days. I spent a lot of time with a map in my hand or between station
platforms scratching my head. And you can't let your guard drop at
any moment till you turn the key in the bedroom door. So it's all
fairly full on and as a result tiring. And much less running than the usual weekend to keep one sane.
Anyway I survived. And it wasn't all bad. And the trees were nice.
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