Wallace & the wrong shoes...

West Yorkshire Winter League

6^th January 2013

Venue - Temple Newsam

Host - Leeds & Bradford Triathlon Club (LBT)

‘Flat, scenic and good trail running’ - this was how the latest fixture in the WYWL series was described by various sources in the week leading up to the race.  And, the fixture was touted as ideal for new runners, especially those with one eye on the imminent arrival of the Temple Newsam Parkrun. ‘Just turn up, trail shoes will be fine and plod round…’

Follow the ‘yellow aggregate road’

The teams congregated among the beech trees in their familiar bundles of colour.  Not much was different to other race meets.  Warm-up runs crunched through the fallen leaves, there was nervous chatter of team tactics and then a deafening whistle to alert runners to the start. But Russell’s paisley-pattern shirt and pink wooly hat combo certainly raised some eye-brows!! A thorough route run-through by the race marshall, then all slightly dipped in the direction of travel. Ready.  Pause. Silence. Belch, laugh and we were off – all hurtling in a collective stampede between the trees and across a sea of copper leaves. Well, to be honest I was just pootlin’ here, really.

The first slippy, downhill grassed area (few sneaky ones on the tarmac to the right, eh?) was safely navigated.  Phew, no early fall. A few bemused on-looking golfers with brightly coloured Pringles (sweaters, not party popping snack) and those mighty titanium shafts watched the field of runners promptly turn left on to a solid, gravel track. The course then dipped marginally downhill, turned 90° left after approximately 500 metres and merged on to a trail with freshly applied golden aggregate that resembled large, crushed nuts. No sign of Dorothy or Toto, mind?

Click-click, slip-slop

The A1 ran parallel to the right as the course rose uphill and turned left. Cars beeped and runners creeped; firstly in quick succession across two stiles then turning sharp left on to a wide and muddy-puddled track, leaving the vehicle beeps behind.  Grazing fields opened to the right, but my mind was attempting to orientate Temple Newsam house somewhere beyond the trees up to the left.  Prowling Pacers paparazzi captured me (and possibly others) blowing out before the anticipated climb up to the halfway point. My legs grew heavy as the course turned right and then sharp left up a hedge-lined gravel track with the going soft underfoot.  I did the best I could and puffed hard, plodding forward.  I also utilised the well-known runner’s tactic of focusing on a shapely rear just ahead! 

A marshall warned of the expected ‘claggy’ conditions as the runners traversed left across a wooden stile. I’m not a cunning linguist but I would perhaps suggest substituting ‘claggy’ with the use of ‘sloppy’ or even ‘right sloppy’!  The next 500 metres did three things for me: (1) provided a mental regret for not wearing studs; (2) allowed me regular (and somewhat unwanted) acquaintance with the gorse; and, (3) presented me with visual image of observing Roy ‘Bampot’ effortlessly speedily striding through the slippy, slop section.  Great effort RB!

Firm prompt from behind 

As my legs attempted to recover from the recent ‘bush/ track’ nightmare, another wooden stile was crossed and the course turned right, uphill into mixed woodland.  In something of a blur a large number of the field ferreted past me on the first section upward. Stainland, Idle and Dewsbury all scurried by.  Then, from nowhere, a loud burst from a mighty Byrom recited powerful prose (oh, that was Byron…) that would not have been out of place in Braveheart. Freedom? Wishful thinking! Runners trundled on through soft, muddy puddles strewn across the trail and I looked up ahead as Pacer ‘Dances with Paws-on’ ambled by with ease.  Fine recovery race, MP.

The route turned sharp left almost back on itself and I could witness the filtered colours of team vest through the scrub and low branches.  A compact track centered on the wide, linear avenue with Temple Newsham house way off in the distance. Some power returned to my legs as I grunted alongside ‘Dances with  Paws-on’ and we both picked off other runners as the wide trail fell away between the trees. A triplet of yellow then carefully descended across a further muddy section before navigating through a metal stile. ‘Paws-on’ then danced away as the course veered left and out of the trees. 

Where’s the scorpion, then?

A chorus of marshalls encouraged the field 90° right up a grassed trail that was sheltered by hedgerows on both sides. The pace quickly sank and the groans increased as the gradient sharpened.  There was chat of a steep hill close to the finish.  This had to be the sting in the tail.  I couldn’t see the summit due to the might of a Byrom.  As the course levelled out and all runners attempted to recover a normal breathing pattern, the trail again returned to soft underfoot.  Legs were well and truly zapped.  As the route turned half right on to a path the Temple Newsam house came into view.  The finish was near.  My mind screamed ‘kick-kick’; the engine and power to my legs cursed and declined. 

The course then veered left and Baildon runners who'd already finished announced a final 300 metres to end.  Again, my inner coach shrieked for a significant response to chase down the ‘Dancing Paws-on’.  But alas he was too recovered. I was among several runners navigating between red and white ticker tap, the beech trees and again across copper leaves. Head down and firm stride on the soft ground. Breath. Breath. Hold the place. Core conditioning.  Months of DJB training.  And finish. Arrrrrgh!!!! 

Post-script

Well, a few anomalies were noticed in the pre-race narrative and route description.  Firstly, the route wasn’t so flat.  There was also a minor omission of the slop-fest half-way round.  Mmm, trail shoes eh? Pah! Second, the constant hum of nearby A1 traffic cancelled out the scenic, cross-country venue.  Personally, a Rombald’s Stride reccie the day before was perhaps not great planning.  And, being a winter league, when is the start of the season that’s synonymous with frost, snow and wooly mammoth?  Likely by the end of January me thinks…

Next race: 27^th January 2013 – Skipton