Benbecula Half Marathon, 2nd of the Heb3 series, 5/06/10
High Anxiety and the Seven Pound Shit
On the surface a weekend away to the famously laid back Western Isles; to camp in the middle of nowhere and run a summery half marathon among friends. What could be more relaxing? However a certain degree of tension underwrote the 40 hour trip, making this far from stress free.
2 mins before we cross the bridge its closed for 15 while someone moves house.
First there was the drive there. The 250+ mile drive to the Uig terminal took about 6 hours though we did take a small diversion and had a sandwich at a nicely weird American sponsored memorial to dead MacPhersons, with the fetishistic motto “Touch not the cat but a glove.” Something lost in translation there? (WikiAnswers says: The motto is a warning to those who would be so imprudent as to engage in battle when the claw of the wildcat is ungloved.)
If you have to watch a non-narrative 6 hour video of driving behind caravans and old ladies taking their first driving lesson then the countryside beyond Dalwhinnie at least makes this less painful. There was tension about arriving in time for the ferry but that was extraneous as we were considerably more punctual than the ferry itself. A glorious crossing on flat calm seas begged the question why were the ferries running late? The PA-ed excuse was additional traffic which reminded me of Ben having a run in with the Heathrow Staff who were trying to explain that if it wasn't for all the passengers the planes would follow the timetable to the second.
Over the bridge to Skye.The knock on effect was that the volunteer mini-bus driver was missing his Friday night, propping up the pier instead of elsewhere. This had an unfavourable effect on his mood and had it not been for the passengers insisting on stopping for the twat who had to visit the cash-point in Loch Maddy, I think I would have been left behind. The antique cash-point had a certain amount of local charm asking whether you will be wanting a pound note or the whole five pounds. Being last aboard the bus I had to sit out the 35 minutes on the cold hard illegal floor. (The naughty step?)
I had braced myself for the harshness of the campsite. We camped and ran here in 2006 and I shuddered to remember the experience. This time it was £14. Yes the facilities are immaculate and the soil a perfect blend of sand and rock free dirt that welcomes your tent pegs but £14! I double checked that it wasn't the Chris Hoy Benbecula Campsite. Andy McMahon was behind me in the queue but baulked at the price and spent the night within a stone's throw behind the campsite near the beach for £14 less. I would have done the same but Mary was inclined to use the facilities before the race. I tried to view this as bolstering the local economy but next time (if there is a next time) I will be using the Terry Coyle unofficial site which boasts access (over a small fence) to the outdoor tap of the community hall. (And the name of the campsite owner? Buchanan. Proud to see one of the clan doing the business.)
Having dined chez Calmac we went for an evening stroll on the machar and rather ordinary beach. The landscape is flat and littered with lochans. If the icecaps melted everything would be shin deep in no time. The water and reeds and grassy sand banks of the machar are home to loads of birds and is both spectacular and isolated. The houses seem randomly placed – not in villages but singularly and the place has a slightly haunted feel. The sunset was immense and the birds – varieties of black and white jobs, lapwings curlews or peewits were all doing mental things. We went to bed not sure if this was a large floating prison or subtropical paradise.
The sun went down for a couple of hours but had the tent well hot and steamy by 8am and I was up before my alarm went off. Today's stress point was how rubbish would the run go? I realised that instead of looking forwards to running I was dreading doing badly and hoping it would all be over quickly. Bad attitude, must do better. Must run faster. Oh dear.
The early HBT
Mary at the start
(HBT) Peter and the wolf (Buchanan)We ate breakfast, packed up the tent had that £7 visit and after registering, warmed up on an immaculate 400m track out the back. Behind the great swimming pool. Remote it may be but the facilities were spot on. Mary had heard them knocking in the start line sign at 5am. The 11am start drifted a bit, but well, its the laid back western isles and who cares? Well the minibus driver for one, who said if you want to miss the bus turn up after 2.45 and he'd be gone. Point taken.
So off we go and conditions are pretty good: sunny but not toasting, windy but not gale force. I was pleased it wasn't horizontal rain which is often the signature dish of this part of the world but as we ran it seemed to heat up. Richard said we (the front runners) didn't shoot off but instead ran moderately for the first few miles. Now Richard had just spent the week covering 90 miles from last Saturday's Stornoway Half down to Benbecula, averaging 20-odd miles a day. The weather-beaten unshaven look suited him – more Miami Vice than Steptoe and Son – and the running holiday also seems to have improved his fitness. Hopefully he will tell all in a report. However I think the long straight roads combined with his enhanced fitness were confusing him. Myself, Colin Feechan and Will Townsend passed the third mile marker in exactly 18 minutes. The pace, my pace, dropped incrementally from that point onwards, falling off the back of Colin and Will about 5 ½ miles and running in no-man's-land till about 9 miles when that depressing sound of footsteps catching up happened and Jonny Storno ran alongside. I was thinking about ducking in behind out of the wind but he ran parallel on the other side of the single track road. If I had had the breath I would have explained how we could make time by drafting each other and being in different age groups both benefit. Later he said complimentary things about myself matching him every time he tried to make a move but really I was just struggling along wondering about how to put my mind furthest from the pain that was threatening to overwhelm.
The wind blew hard in our faces from about mile 6 and I was also wondering how many corners we could turn and still have this breeze in our teeth. Wind is my achilles heel and I never run well into it. However Jonny hadn't gone past so I assumed he wasn't doing any better. I felt the wind would be most favourable on the last mile or two up the long drag home so was building up to a 2 mile sprint when Johnny jumped the gun and left me 20 yards behind (16 secs by the line). Oh well that sorts that. And at least I had a reasonable lead on Andy who had gone past last week. Colin Feechan had fallen off Will's pace but held onto a 2 minute lead over myself and finished more strongly than last week, in second place. A great performance and he was well pleased.
The fabulous Bruce Walker.After a lot of holding on and denial (of pain) I crossed the line in 4th and saw that the only one letting the team down (yet again) was the watch. Twice in 2 weekends I have run a decent race only to be confounded by the watch. 1.24½ is 30 secs slower than the first half of Loch Ness Marathon last October. And 40 secs slower than the Forfar Multi Terrain Half (Feb) where we ran through over-knee deep water for considerable distances, up hills and through muddy fields. And most of it off road. Forty seconds faster. And I enjoyed it. I can't say I enjoyed much of the second half of this one and maybe that is the thing. Its not like Forfar was pain free. It was tough but a good vibrant life affirming tough. This was just a long trudge round a windy island with some nice things but a lack of variety either in mental or physical landscape. Nothing to fire me up.
Mary and Jim accidentaly got into a sprint finish
Jim completes his 50th consecutive Heb3 race.
And Allan completes his 150th Half marathon.So there we go. Richard came in closer than usual (1.27½) and only seconds off a pb and just ahead of first lady. A great end to a 103 mile week. We went for a swim in the delightful pool and then a very impressive spread of soup, pizza and more sandwiches (and tablet) than we dared eat. All included, and very good value. The organisers handed out a results sheet to everyone. Just as a longish thank you speech was begun it was 2.40pm and our thoughts were very much on the minibus and Mr. Grumpy's 2.45 threat. Mary and I had moved our luggage to the exit and were ready for the second sprint of the day but sadly felt we couldn't wait for the results beyond my age group and never found out if Mary got anything. (I got a first 45~49 small marble tombstone.) The minibus left at 2.53 while (I imagine) the organiser was still going through the results. Now the chief organiser was new to the post and knowing what goes on to make a race happen I am reluctant to start listing problems. Most of it went very well and the course was well marked, watered and marshalled. So that's about nine out of ten right there. I suppose the travelling has left me a little bit tired and jaded and I was disappointed about a couple of small things, one being the transmogrification of the unique horse brasses of previous years into a perfectly ordinary medal of this year. Also the winners wine seems to have evaporated or remained unpresented under the table. We had to stop in Spean Bridge to buy some – strictly for medicinal purposes, but it wasn't opened until well after midnight.
The minibus connected with the ferry (the whole trip consumed by running chat with Robin Livingstone, over Calmacaroni and chips) which connected us to our car and another 6 hrs of non narrative video; though a couple of brushes with the horror genre as firstly a sheep trotted blindly on a collision course across the A9 as we approached at the speed limit. Then a car overtaking in the swirling foggy drizzle and the wet corpse of bambi which Mary steered clearly over and the overtaking car pulling in to see what damage done. Our poor tired eyes trying to make sense of the long rainy dark night before home to a small meal and a glass of red then off to sleep where I dream I am on the starting line of the Carnethy 5 but as the gun goes my two foot long laces are untied and I spend so long tying them everyone has run off down Portobello High Street and I am running to flag a taxi to take me up to the front of the pack but I'm wearing my dressing gown and overheating.
I may have to give Skye Half a miss next Saturday as this week is going to be tough. Is it ever anything but?
Report and photos pb
Website here SRAC here
Mary's blog
Helensburgh (Andrew's) report from Stornoway last week
Skye
More Skye
Returning to the car after a pee-break I stopped to read this sign. Oops.
