Harris Half Marathon and Heb3 8/7/06
This report should largely be about Ben - for reasons that will become obvious. But who wants to write about him when you can write about me? For all of us, Harris was an emotional roller coaster. The first challenge was simply finding the race. All I'd got was the name of the island, the date, and a hint from Peter that it started at 1 o'clock. Registration certainly wasn't at the sports centre with "half marathon" posters in the windows! And finding the changing was impossible - because there wasn't any (the council had apparently decided to paint the local gym at short notice).
We knew that we stood a chance of winning the Heb 3 team prize, and Ben knew he had to beat Terry Coyle by 10 seconds to win the whole thing - so the pressure was on. Team prizes in the Hebridean Races have been Ben and Peter running miles ahead, and Mary and I coming in not too far behind the final member of the opposing team. The third member of the Stornoway team - 2 minutes behind us at the start - was Dougie Flett, who this year had been running about 1:35. Assuming he'd run a little quicker, I'd decided in my mind that 1:40 was the time I needed if we were to have a chance.
Harris is a point to point race, where a bus drives you 13.1 miles away from the finish and you run back (after the comical mass loo break 5 minutes from the end of the journey). I'd been told it was basically running up and over a mountain - but as ever, I'd driven the course first and was feeling more confident that it was, for once, less hilly than Peter, Mary and Ben claimed. The first five miles are alongside Luskintyre Beach, which is very lovely, and as at Stornoway, I followed Mary through a rapid 6:45 first mile. At about that point, the bay curved ahead for what seemed miles, and we could see a lone figure in a PRC vest a good 50 yards clear, what looked like over a mile ahead of us already, with another one in the chasing pack - a slight optical illusion, in that the HBT vests camouflaged their wearers against the hillside, but still the last we'd see of our teammates until the finish. A more constant challenge were the block of 8 Stornoway vests 100 yards ahead. In spite of knowing we were going too fast, I was feeling strong, and moved past Mary towards the end of the second mile. The sun was shining, the wind was at our backs - someone even claimed to have seen a golden eagle.
After the first five miles, the road turns inland and uphill. The hill is continuous for just over three miles - not always very steep, but without a break except to hop over cattle grids. Confident in my reconnaisance, I'd got to the bottom of the hill two minutes ahead of a 1:40 schedule, and ploughed on up making progress through the field - though the first two I passed just tucked in behind and followed me up. This was unfair - but every time I slowed to get one of them to take on the work, they slowed too. Still, two miles of hill down, the first Stornoway runner walking in our dust, back to being bang on for 1:40 - all was well. All the end of the third mile, the road turns to the left and the hill steepens for a 100 metres to the highest point. Once this was in sight, my confidence soared, and round the bend I raced.
But then disaster struck. There was yet another left turn and steeper gradient half a mile away! It was as if a dam had broken, and all my confidence and the strength in my legs drained away. I was walking at the top, and I think the next mile took me nearly 12 minutes. Mary flew past, muttering encouragingly about it being downhill all the way - and then a long stream of runners followed. Even knowing the team's chances were slipping away couldn't get me going any faster, and for the last couple of miles (so steep downhill Peter clocked 5:23 for the last one), I only got back to 9 minute mile pace.
I finished in a lot of pain in 1:45, feeling I'd doomed the team effort - and in spite of all the cheery PRC faces who said nice things about what a tough course it was, went off to sit on my own to wait for my brother in law (running his third race) to come in, which took a good half an hour. He was devastated he'd failed to beat 2 hours after having done so at Benbecula for the first time, so we were miserable together. He didn't even stay to collect his free t-shirt (and the one I picked up for him didn't fit - hee, hee). I then found out my target Dougie Flett had run 1:26, and felt a bit better - since 1:33 is not possible for me (this year, Bert might add).
As with all the Hebridean races, the food is plentiful, free and excellent, and I went along to the prize giving to cheer for Ben - who had kept his flying pace going and run a staggering 1:16, a PB by some way, and left Terry in his wake to finish second to the invisible HBTer (obviously being invisible is an unfair advantage, and I also thought all the HBT runners should have been disqualified for their flour graffiti en route). Honorary PRCer Julia was also there, having won the women's race. Mary having finished ahead of me, I wouldn't even have qualified for the race team prize - though the "Mainland Mules" took that.
Then it was on to the Heb 3 Prize Giving. Ben won the whole thing, in a total of 3:53:59 (which would do me for one marathon, let alone one and a half). Peter came third, but chose instead to be First Vet (4:10:26). Mary won Third Lady(5:15:22), finishing 26th overall. And I was 25th overall (5:09:58). The announcer went on to the team prize, and gave this big build up, about how there had been two teams in it, and how close it had been. And that one team was Portobello, with Kemp, Buchanan and Dennis, who had all run really well, but the other team had been Stornoway, who had run even better. But no, though we all thought that was what he was going to say, in fact he said Stornoway had run really well too, but the winners were Portobello! I'm not often lost for words or unable to get out of my seat, but it was a bolt from the blue.
We had in fact won by almost 14 minutes (so Mary - yes we would have won if I'd not been there) - because I'd not noticed that the leading Stornoway runner had not appeared for Harris, so Dougie was their second runner, not the third - and given that Ben had an amazing 24 minute lead over their first runner, and Peter a 24 minute lead over their second, the fact that I was 33 minutes behind their last man was good enough. We got a giant cup, £200 quid between us, and an emotional high that - for me at least - is still going. And then we had a pleasant afternoon in the Isle of Harris Hotel, eating scones or drinking tennants shandies (all they serve in the Western Isles apart from whisky), depending on whether we were waiting for a ferry (everyone else) or driving back to the airport (me).
Would I do the Heb 3 again - even though lots of the PRC better runners will no doubt join the team next year? Definitely - they are well run races (when you can find them) with friendly people, excellent food, in some glorious venues. But I might do Benbecula rather than Harris next time!
Report Richard Dennis
How Peter "enjoyed" the race...
There were two big events on the sporting calendar this weekend; one was two teams competing for world dominance at the end of a long, hard fought championship, and the other, a young challenger stepping up to take on the older previous champion.
The setting was the Harris Half, finale of the Heb3, 5 Hebridean Half Marathons, with 3 to score. The teams were Portobello and Stornoway both with everything to play for after 4 races and the two individuals - both within seconds of each other prior to Harris - were Ben Kemp and Terry Coyle.
While Ben had come in about 2 minutes ahead of Terry in Stornoway, Terry had clocked an impressive finish at Benbecula in Ben's absence. This, with a win of a few seconds over Ben at last week's Barra Half had put the two neck and neck and it was anyone's guess who would cross the line first at the Harris showdown. Ben has run pbs last 2 years at Harris but had been feeling below par. Also the cumulative strain of the series can tell, and folk that seem to be doing really well one week will fail to appear the next.
scenery en route to Harris.....
Glengarry
approaching Kintail
past Dalmally
UigSo there was an air of anticipation as we made our way back up Scotland across a now familiar route to the ferry terminal at Uig, Skye. We met Julia and Andrew, and Ben and Alison and after a campsite dinner went to the pub to get out of the wind. Next morning the wind was still blowing but it seemed to be blowing in the right direction - Harris is a point to point not an out and back, or circular route like Barra. Off the ferry and up to registration where a large number of HBTers appeared. We were driven to the start line on 2 coaches which cover the route and allow you to anticipate the course. I took note of the last couple of bends before the route dips down to Tarbert and the finish. The bus keeps climbing and I felt positively unwell about this scenic but mountainous road. I was very glad I didn't have Ben's task and thought I could probably relax more and just cruise it. The reason I had floundered last year was surely proximity to the Edinburgh marathon and this year I'd romp up the four mile hill? Surely.
After a pee stop a discreet distance from habitation we got to the start line. Warm up, then in quite bright sunshine we set off. I had shaken Ben's hand before the off and he had given me a big smile - seemingly undaunted by the size of the day. At the gun he took off with gusto, putting his cards on the table and taking the lead. Terry swiftly followed knowing if he stayed a couple of seconds behind Ben he would still win overall. I hoped I would stay in touch long enough to get a feel for how the race would pan out. Meanwhile I heard Ross Munro of Stornoway call an HBTer by his name, Don. Ah, I thought I recognised Mr. Naylor. He ran alongside myself and Ross, can I just repeat ALONGSIDE MYSELF, for a while before easing forward and going to join Ben and Terry at the sharp end. Ben said later he half thought about trying to stay with Don before thinking better of it.
Even at this early stage of the race there are a few good sized undulations as the coastal route snakes round past beautiful golden white beaches with green seas and the wind blowing some white tops off the sea. The sun and effort was making my head shiny and I wondered if 4 water stations would be enough. On the Stornoway Half they had put boards over the cattle grids. Not so here and on the first one I tried to go full speed, my toe-off slipping between rungs and I nearly went my length. After that I slowed slightly at each one and ran with that flat footed style they induce. It would have been good to have a marshal at each, holding open the gate at the side which would have allowed easier passage but everyone had the same obstacle course. About four miles - just before the real mountain starts - there is a water stop followed by a cattle grid. So you have to do an its-a-knock-out flat-footed dance while not spilling your drink. Ben ran through without a drink while Terry slowed for one. It was at this point that Ben got a small lead over Terry. The hill then starts in earnest and although initially there seems to be a mix and match of plateau, small dip down, up, plateau, up, etc. it cannot be mistaken for anything other than up hill and frankly hellish. Last year misty clouds hid the full horror, this year you could see how bad it would be for quite some way ahead. My own race was deteriorating here. 1st vet whom I'd beaten last week at Barra had run with me for the beginning but now pulled away with a determination that led me to think of him as 1st vet. As he powered up the interminable hill I had something to measure the extent of my failure. Good good. The roads were now so twisty there was no chance of seeing the lead 3 and I hoped Ben was having a good race. In my defence it was quite some time and a lot of rocky heathery scenery, before I heard footsteps and some more vets and heavy breathing. Oh crap. Every dip down I would hold my ground but on the ups, the steps would get closer until towards the summit, first one, then another went past. The second was HBT Geoff and I managed to gasp 'done Geoff. He pulled away and I felt a certain amount of resignation - mixed with a greater amount of hideous hill pain. Have it, its yours: I can't do this course. It wasn't the marathon last year its this ____ing hill and its just as big this year, maybe bigger.
There's Andrew Henderson taking photos. Bet I look good. He cheers me on saying don't lose touch with the guys in front. I curse. I'm hating this. Last year it did for me so comprehensively that I couldn't even roll down the other side. All my powers of downhill robbed by the up hill combined with a cold wind and a stitchy belly. I can feel my stomach going again. Note to self; do some crunches you lazy sod and get core strength. What a layabout.
After about 16 years the ground levels off and we are at the top of the hill. Its not so cold this year and my although stomach still hurts, I can imagine a distant time when it might not and I plough along and down. The 2nd vet is now binocular distance away and Geoff is bounding away 100 yards ahead. Seems like a nice guy - deserves it. Only I have more left in my legs than last year (when HBT Ivor zoomed past in the last 2 miles to underline the defeat.) I am a long way from recovery but a reassuringly short way from Geoff. In fact when I go past and he says my name I don't even have the wherewithal to acknowledge his hello. I am third vet again. Interesting. I am also melting. Every time the course goes round a corner it reveals the next torture. We hit an up hill and Geoff goes past. Since we finish at sea level he is going to have to get a big lead or know that the down hills will feature me. The rest is a blur of pain, hills, Normand corner (blessed by an absence of Ivor this year) and possibly four people pushing a land rover up a sand dune in WW2 khakis. Geoff is behind I think but there's no sense of 'getting there.' I see a river and contemplate running in to it, taking my shoes off, sitting down and crying. Oops looks like I've overdone it. Every corner and I look for a lochan on the right as it marks the beginning of the end. In a break with tradition the mile markers are small, low and red and start at 13 going down to 1. I only spot about three of them and scarcely have the mental agility to fit them in the sentence, “You have ___ miles to go.” Where's that loch? It eventually appears and although it takes much longer than when we were flying along on the coach I know soon there will be a left hand bend into a steep downhill then Tarbert then the end, end, end and all this pain will stop and there will be a swimming pool and beer. A last grumble up hill and I can hear the brown HBT feet a-falling but that doesn't bother me as much as the thought that I may die before getting to the swimming pool. Perhaps I'd have the strength to breath my last words; “throw my corpse in the pool.”
And there's the turn, the steep downhill, the run through town, the crowd at the finish and I can stop hallelujah. It takes a moment to recover enough to ask Ben how it all went and he tells me he did a pb of 1.16 and came second. Terry did 1.18. Ben has won the Heb3. Ben only turned round to look once; in the last dash to the line to see an absence of Terry. It's a great result. My own time was 1.21; unaccountably much faster than the other 3 Heb3ers I've done. It does seem to be a fast course, confirmed as Julia does 1.26.58 and thinks her watch is playing up as its so fast. First Lady. Julia has only completed 2 of the Heb3 so is drawn to thinking she may try for 3 next year. This follows a tradition. Terry (who used to hold the Barra course record,) did 2 way back, returning the following year to win overall. Ben did 2 last year.
As lots of Stornoway runners pile over the line (including a very hot-on-my-heels Ross Munro) the thought of the Heb3 overall team prize returns and we go to the line to wait on Richard. We see a Porty vest in the distance and cheer but it is Mary, who charges for the line with such determination and vigour that I have to blink away a tear. Man, I have been overdoing it. Later I will work out that in the eleven weeks since the London marathon I have run ten races, seven of them half marathons or longer. Probably not best practice. Somewhere in the last 2 miles I swore off racing for good.
ministry of silly walks
Eventually Richard appears having had a tough time of it. He finishes strongly but looks like it took a lot out of him. We retire to the strangely unisex changing and showering rooms of the pool and I am the only taker for a swim, floating like the corpse eventually tossed into the pool as a last request. There's great soup and sandwiches then into prizegiving where our row gets most of the booty. Ethel McNally not only runs it but also runs it if you see what I mean, and passes out cups to Ben for 2nd, Julia for 1st, Mary for 1st F35, me for 3rd m40, then Jim Bruce does the Heb3 results. Everyone who does 3 races gets a unique print technical running shirt, on top of which Ben won first overall (shield and place mats) Terry came second and I came third, opting for nominal 1st m40. I received some coasters with local photos - similar to Ben's mats - with, amongst them, a scene from Barra almost exactly the same as a picture that hangs in Ben's house, painted by myself. We enjoyed the bizarre coincidence. Mary came third female. Eventually the team prize - the biggest cup of the day plus £200 cash - was awarded to Portobello who had just pipped Stornoway by a few minutes. We were blown away.
Apologies to Ivor, Andrew and Alison. Note whisky filled trophy...There was a deal of celebrating, catching ferries, drinking, returning to camp, more drinking etc. done. The trick is to match the dehydration of the run to the excess of the drinking thereby cancelling out the obligatory stumble from the tent half way through the night. The HBTers had been handing round Don's winning cup filled with whisky which seemed to do for Iain Cullen (1st vet and 4th Heb3) who nodded; sloping at first till his head came to balance on my shoulder. Davey (SRAC) had been going round trying to get any takers for the half Ben next day before later admitting it was unlikely he'd make it himself. I was glad not to be spending the night in the largely HBT hostel dorm as Ivor had said it was fairly snoretastic the night before the race. We sat around the camp reflecting on what a brilliant time we'd had and drinking wine before retiring.
The Heb3 benefited this year from better weather. It was great - really great - to see a lot of the same faces from last year. The smaller scale of the events makes for a warmth and camaraderie that offsets the slightly more arduous travel arrangements. The post race food and facilities outshine most of the mainland races and the welcome and friendliness of the organisers, as well as the generous prizes is outstanding. With the warmer weather this year the islands had even more charm and visual splendour than on previous visits and I heartily recommend these 5 halfs. (Though weather-wise I chose the right one (Skye) to dodge.) Many thanks to all the organisers. We'll be back.
painting by Peter BuchananReport pb
Harris Half results here
Full Heb3 results here
Photos Mary Hunter, Peter Buchanan
next day and Ben stretches his legs - or does he?Links to other four 2006 Heb3 races;
Stornoway
Benbecula
Skye
Barra
3 photos taken by Gavin Earons, sent on by Jim Bruce - many thanks
Andrew and Julia back from holiday sent on these photos...again many thanks
Ben overtakes a car - Terry keeping him in sight
oh dear
some scenery - strangely I have no recollection of these hills or of the house below
which I'm told was about the 10 mile mark on the left.
TEAM PRC
