Two Breweries Hill Race 27/9/08
Good as new: Sarah's repaired wrist with the cast off. Proof, if it were needed, that hill running
extends your life lineThis one has been on my list-of-runs-to-do for years. I think Dick Wall is to blame for its inception. Its 18 miles-worth rambles from Traquair House to Broughton Brewery over or round about 8 hills and being an SHR championship race this year there was a fine crowd lined up at the start.
Traquair House is a grand looking building and made a fine backdrop for the “cavalry charge” up the grounds and out the front gate. However Alison (aka Mrs. Ben) reckoned the £6.50 entrance was a couple of quid overpriced. She had a look round while we hared down the tarmac for a mile before the route took a left turn and headed up a grassy slope – the first of many. I was beside Ben at this point and wondered if his recent trip to the Alps would slow him down today. (A bit, but not enough!)
Somewhere around here the leading runners (according to the SHR website) lost their way and headed into head-height bracken. The pack seemed to split 3 ways: Left, Up and Middle. I was in the latter group and we struggled through a mess of deep undergrowth – bracken and heather - while watching runners down to our left have a trouble free run on dirt paths. No idea what happened to the ones who went Up. I think someone was trying to be clever. Much later Dawn Scott reported feeling tearful with frustration at this point barely a couple of miles into a long day out. Just ahead of me Martin Laing (in stonking aggressive (allegedly) form) bounded through the heather but those of shorter stature (Lucy and Dawn) were having a hard time till we got back onto the path. Around here I was overtaken by Helensburgh's finest, Paul Thompson. He was going strong and moved ahead to just behind Ben, which was pretty much the last I saw of Ben for the rest of the race. I felt strong at this point (probably just full of energy drink) and as I went past Tom Scott he was surprised I had been behind, having not seen me bushwacking in the bracken.
Martin, me, Lucy, Jill
Ben with Helensburgh Paul in yellow/red vest.
Having a great time already.
Martin went like a man possessed.
Things improved underfoot all the way up to Birkscairn Hill where we were rewarded with a fast downhill section to a burn crossing, then a long slog up to Hundleshope. I exchanged places with Lucy, then later Jill and Lucy, every time we got a long downhill; and they would take the place back on the long uphills.
Look how much fun these two are having.
Graham likes to start slow but moves through the field as he warms up.Preparation is important for a race this length and I felt I got some right and other things less spot on. Hadn't recce'd the course which would have helped a lot. Now while some places were marked with bright orange arrows other road junctions and turn offs were a complete mystery and I had my map out loads – sometimes I was able to find a reference like a stand of trees to take a line from or towards, or just when hitting the road to know to turn right not left. Not always. Several folk complained the course didn't have a natural line to it; route choices weren't instinctive and so not knowing the area you had to use a map. I had printed out and laminated the map from the Scottish Hill Racing site and it worked well. (I didn't always.)
Kit, I felt I had got about right: it was a warm day but as we got higher the wind was in our face for nearly all of the race. This was a pain but bearable – probably slowed times a bit (I was 6 mins down on Graham's estimate for me.) I wore my Camelbak filled with over a litre of concoction which I was very glad of and strapped to it were my obligatory waterproofs (well organised kit checks at start of race.) However I have to wear more than a club vest to protect my back from the rub hence the gilet – which holds gels and map in the pockets: during the race I had 3 stinger gels. Best kit-of-the-day prize to Salomon mini gaiters which are elasticated and tightly cover laces and shoe tops stopping the ingress of heather and bruk into shoes and protect laces from the grabbing shrubbery. Laces tied supertight at start as shoes slacken off when damp. About 15 miles into the race I was thinking how I had avoided getting my feet wet or muddy so it was something of a surprise to step up onto a stile and notice absolutely filthy sodden shoes. My laces stayed well tied which was just as well as from about halfway I couldn't have crouched to re-tie without inducing terrible cramps. Ben reported his shoes became wet and slack despite me reminding him to tie them very tightly at start. The recipe in my Camelbak had been made up the night before. Nuun electrolite replacement tablets (to help against cramp) mixed with Red Bull type caffeine drink (Red Rooster is very similar but you get a litre of it for the same price as that tiny can) and some Lucozade powder for sugar/carbs topped up with water. Mary called it High Nuun. I foolishly tasted it the night before and was still tossing and turning at 2am.
Dick Wall - lucky number thirteen - blame him.Just about Hundleshope a small group has gathered to cheer us on. They said well done and as I passed, a girl added “Go Porty” which was interesting as I didn't have any PRC kit on. Then a fence and a choice of one side or the other. I asked the marshal which way and he said either. I watched a Carnethy go left but most of the field went right as did I. The choice became significant as left took you to the top of the next hill while right contoured round rougher ground missing the summit. I could see Lucy, Jill and the yellow vest of Paul Thompson a long way ahead. I bombed down the short heather, over some swampier ground then onto a thin muddy black contour round the side of the hill. I really enjoyed this section and made up ground, catching Paul. He heard my noisy approach and stepped off the trail to let me past – what a gentleman – though was right up with me again as we climbed Stob Law. I went ahead at the summit. Last I saw of him. He later described the run as the “worst three hours of my life.” I was feeling great and went down the hill to Glenrath and the first water station far too fast, overtaking Lucy and half a dozen more – just showing off. I paid the price quickly when we hit the next steep climb, all of them went right back past me. This was about 1.40, so half way through the race and I could feel awful twinges of cramp already. Stupid stupid stupid too fast coming off the hill. I got my back pack off and fished out a Stinger Protein Bar which had the size and appeal of a family bar of soap. As I sweated and stomped up the steep incline I chomped large mouthfuls of chocolaty protein blowing and puffing bits out into the undergrowth. It seemed to help with the crampy feelings in my hamstrings though I was kind of cautious about doing anything dramatic from that point onwards.
Go Lucy! A pb by 15 minutes.
Martin (2nd o/50) crosses the stile on top of Trahenna just ahead of David Scott (1st o/50) who is an extremely competent downhiller and beat Martin to the line.
Ben, who topped out before Jill Mykura but Jill had the better (and faster) line to the finish.
Great photo - Alan Young
Somewhere around here we crossed the Manor Water course though I couldn't have told you where. It was all just merging into one big slog. Out through a gate and do we go up, down or straight on? No arrows. I was very reluctant to lose height. Because if that were wrong I could lose half an hour in 5 mins descent. I got out my map but it might have just as well been wallpaper. I couldn't even find where we were so waited until the next guy came along and followed him down the hill being careful not to overcook it.
Mad Dog Henry!
Frank only a few minutes ahead of Sarah.
Sarah had been dipping her nose in the mudDown to Stobo Castle then right onto the road and I felt pretty bad legging it along the tarmac then heading up a dirt driveway which had a delightful drop off to the left and over a pretty slatted bridge. Up to a stile which I crossed with very dodgy stiff legs and then a choice. Left or right? Nobody visible ahead or behind. I got out the map and reasoned right. A couple of bends in the road and I was beginning to get alarmed, until I saw a runner ahead and followed him off road (again unmarked.) As I rose up onto the swampy plain below (the dreaded) Trahenna I could see runners converging from all angles. Obviously I wasn't the only lost soul. In fact this time my line had been more fortunate than most. Trahenna loomed large though mostly I felt relief as it marked pretty much the end of the struggle. I took a bearing on the best line (though there is no easy line) and switched off mentally as there was nothing to do but march up the steep grass, zig-zagging to lessen the angle. I put my mind elsewhere: choosing to recall my Primary School teachers in order: Mrs. McAra – so fine I called her “mum” on several occasions, Miss Farquarson (did she ever marry?), Mrs. McWilliam – the battles! and headmaster Scobie who reigned with an iron will, (a love of maths) a Victorian rule book, a speech impediment and a heavy strap of leather. Ah corporal punishment, those were the days!
A long time later as the dude behind was spoiling my reverie by catching up I rounded the top and tried to make some kind of an effort over the stile. Someone shouted and it was Alan Young taking photos from behind a long lens. I stumbled onwards and luckily there was a Fifer just ahead who took the diagonal descent line correctly off the hill which I wouldn't have seen or thought to follow. I wondered why no Alison, but she was elsewhere on the hill and saw (and photographed) some but not all. I could feel the cramps returning so turned to face into the hill and descended backwards to flex my toes upwards and relieve my calves.
Wrong way roundIan Nimmo caught this on film probably thinking I was a right twat. (He later emailed that Martin Hulme did just the same thing minutes later.) However it worked and by the time I got through the fields (taking a very inelegant lumbering lurch and thrutch, straight-legged over the metal gate in front of a smirking audience) and into Broughton (where were all these hillwakers coming from, was there a conference?) I was able to maintain a reasonable rate rising to a brisk pace for the last few hundred yards.
And rest.
Right way roundLots of different opinions on the course. Graham H says one of his favourites, others not so. I found it tough because of the wind and threat of cramp but a lot of good ground and pretty scenery. Difficult nav could have been problematic and I got off lightly. Other better runners who came over the line behind me maybe had more trouble. It would definitely colour your race. Plenty of variety but maybe a little too long to be a personal favourite. I go well for about 2 hours then prefer to do something else. Like drink beers. What a good idea to have free beer – as much as you like – at the end of a race. Should be mandatory. For us non-drivers this is about as good as it gets and even better than the free soup, bagettes and splendid fruit cake. Many thanks to Paul for the lift home. In some ways I was sorry not to stay behind for the (unshowered) muddy sweaty post race party but waking in a tent with a hangover and that kind of muscle damage might have been a bridge too far. Maybe something to train for next year.
Report pb
Photos: Many thanks for permission from to Ian & Anne Nimmo (early shots and down Trahenna),
Alan Young (top of Trahenna), Alison Wilkie
More photos: SHR Flickr site here
SHR site / results here
Many were Colquhoun'd; a tremendous performance
Ben's route nearly bypassed Alison's photograph
Still smiling after all that...Paul's report...
2000 was the year I last did this race and many features had faded into the mists of time - I cannot remember if I enjoyed it. I did carry some sandwiches with me that year as "I may be some time". Ian Duckworth commented at the club tonight that there was not one mention of the word fun in Peter's report - and the pain etched on foreheads would tend to support this. So I will break ranks and say that it was fun - I just do not take a good photograph.
The day did not start well as I missed the bus that takes runners from Broughton to Traquair. I felt a right prat - I could not believe that hill runners buses would leave on time. Many thanks to Malcolm from Shettleston for the lift. Peter and Graham ( two years ago) have written and well illustrated this race. It is glorious scenery. I had no memory of some parts - particularly Glensax - a hauntingly beautiful spot. There seemed to be more paths than I remember, but I am sure that the route, features and scenery change from year to year. This is a living route, not a sterile unchanging road. The scale of the country dwarfs the runners and you never feel unwanted - the sheep do not scatter, although a young buzzard in the trees near Stobo did protest somewhat.
Being towards the rear of the field, the route choices are obvious. I have a different technique for getting up long climbs - 60 paces run, 10 paces walk unless it is very steep when it is the other way round. I tend not to lose many places this way. Going downhill in soft heather is a delight until you fall. There was only one area of heavy going on the path to Stob Law. It was surprising how dry the land was given the lack of a summer. The Ben was the same two weeks ago - locals said the summer was very good in Fort William.
Once you get to Stobo - you think it is nearly over - only one hill to go. We do not get to run through the castle gardens - probably would put the punters in the spa off their lettuce leaves. The route goes up the side of a river - somewhat unkempt, with cottages with a vaguely Appalachian look to their untidiness - you can hear the banjoes plucking. And the route takes you to Trahenna.
Now, to the good folk of Broughton, Trahenna is probably the jewel in their crown, where the fair maidens dance in the May dew. But approached from the opposite side after three hours on the hills, it gives an altogether different prospect as it broods over the blasted heath. Inching up the hill, one has Biblical thoughts:
"And the Reebochites toiled on the slopes of Trahenna and turned their faces to the heavens and cursed the gods for abandoning them in their hour of need, for they were sorely pressed and knackered".
Macbeth's witches would feel right at home on Trahenna.
The run down into Broughton is grand - soft springy grass. By this time, I could not climb fences without getting cramp. This resulted in a number of different trial approaches to the fences and gates. Two young ladies passed me, but did not offer help. They had remembered their mothers' advice about not talking to men behaving strangely. I eventually took to opening gates - a strategy not previously employed in hill races.
The after race food and chat was good - bitterly regretted being the driver. I had a conversation with Graham about the relative merits of Fidel Castro and the Sandinistas on health care - hill runners are not only muscle. Despite the lack of smiles, it was a great day, bit of sun, glorious route, good chat, and a huge 12 minutes faster than 2000. Being 50 is not as bad as you think it will be, young Ms McLeish.
Many thanks to the organisers, marshals, and mountain rescue teams.Report Paul Eunson
