5th September So close and yet so far

Taking place as part of the oldest sheepdog trials in the world, the Longshaw fell race was another little jolly not too far from 'TOMs'. and so while he enjoyed some 'me' time, which should actually be called some 'him time without me' I set off to torture my tired limbs up, down and around Burbage edge, Higgar Tor and Owler Tor

Organised by the Dark Peak Fell Runners, a club based out of Sheffield as I stood awaiting the start, kitted our in the most vivid flourescent yellow T shirt just to give the Mountain Rescue team a fighting chance of finding me, looking at the lithe and lean runners I was struck by the realisation that this was a serious fell race rather than a social plod in the Peak District. And then with the B of the bang, that realisation became a reality.

For some reason I had expected that the route would follow that of the Wildest Run event that started from an alomost identical location but that illusion was soon shattered. There was to be no gradual slow slog up the walking path to Higger Tor, instead we were faced with the calf crunching climb along an adjacent but certainly steeper ascent. 

Now some people know how to pace a run, others don't seem to even bother and they just run. My plan was to stay as close to another competitor in the race who I knew ran just slightly faster than me for as long as was possible. In reality that turned out to be for just over half the race, until her little legs carried her up yet another brutal climb, like a rabbit escaping something that chases rabbits. And despite lots of encouragement from the marshalls, no matter how much I tried that was it. So close and yet so far.

As if the 'ups' weren't bad enough, I'd have to describe the 'downs' as technically challenging as well, being either along foot wide narow trails with overhanging vegetation on either side or involving leaping over / around large slabs of boulder. 

I wasn't tired by the time I reached the finish line, because the word 'tired' doesn't come anywhere close to describing how I felt, with the last 400 yards across a clumpy, lumpy, bumpy (and with me feeling decidedly grumpy) field feeling like trying to run through treacle wearing diving boots. Or to use the local vernacuar like a sheep that had been worried and then savaged by a dog off a lead.

And for those of you thinking I am prone to a little literary licence when describing the route, here is one of the uphill runs / scrambles.


 

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