Merrick Hill Race 15/09/07
Another SHR championship race. Tony, recovered from injury, picked me up at 8am and we drove the 3hrs to the middle of nowhere, Dumf and Gal, from where the Merrick starts. I was under the impression I had run this course some time ago with pals who were recce-ing the route but it turned out to be somewhere I'd never been before.
A group of people in helly hansen tops let us know we were in the right spot and we changed and made our way to the start line. A brutal start up a fairly steep hill gave an idea of the joys ahead. About ten minutes later it levelled off a bit (Fell of Eschoncan) and there were some ups and downs through soggy countryside. I remember looking at my watch after 16 minutes as I picked myself up off the ground, having slid on wet rock and landed without injury on very soft ground. It was the first of about 6 or 8 falls over a course that I found very heavy and difficult going. I wondered how much it had to do with the long run I'd done the previous evening - but heard many folk telling tales of going their length and realised it wasn't just me.
Then we began the big up-hill. Because of the mist it was difficult to tell what we were aiming for and how much more there was. After 40 odd minutes I was beginning to wonder how much more there could be. Last night Amanda had said it was a Corbett which meant it was under 3,000 ft. About 45 minutes we summited Bennan then ran downhill for 2 minutes before the last haul up to Merrick. We left the small track we had been stumbling up and crossed the wall to follow a trail you could have taken a 4x4 up. As the cloud thickened the hill began to round off and you got the sense you were approaching the high point. Runners began to come towards us and I'm sure I saw Elke Schmidt (who went on to set a new record) just behind Stewart Whitlie, a tremendous performance. I had a gel and a quick drink from the bottle I was carrying. I passed it to the guy behind Murdo MacLeod from Westerlands. As we turned around the cairn (59 minutes) and a very cold looking marshal (the wind was a strong cold gust here) I realised I had let my guard down and lost sight of the guys just ahead who hurtled off into the mists below. For the first time ever in a race I got out the map and checked to get an idea of when we turned left, sorry south-east. Until now I had always relied on that traditional method of navigation in a hill race - following the guys in front.
the three amigosHowever, in the time it took to get my map out and back in my bumbag, another runner had gone past and I was able to confirm my bearing by following him. Despite being in the next age category up, Westie Murdo, I noticed, stuck quite close by. Very soon we began the turn south east and coming down out of the mist we were presented with a gorgeous view of lochs and hills spreading out before us. I had a long look at it for about a 1/4 second before returning my eyes to the ground which was passing underfoot about 60 mph. I spent quite a while trying to make up on the guys who had been just metres away at the summit. They seemed to be floating over the horizon while I struggled with the lumpy rocky ground that was punctuated with swamps and bogs and steeply dropping ridges. You couldn't get a steady rhythm going and my eyes darted from the figures ahead to the stuff directly underfoot, then to the bamboo sticks with orange tape tops that marked the route. It was a very well marked route - with the exception of coming off the top. Or maybe I was in the wrong place and the poor visibility stopped me seeing the next marker.
Anyway, I would see the next marker 60 yrds away and head for that. Once there you raise your eyes to the next, keeping a random check on where the field ahead were, in case there were any better lines to that point. A couple of hairy drops and skites down some steep stuff - half controlled, half oh-my-god - and suddenly I was within earshot of the next couple ahead. They were chatting. (I could maybe have gasped out a word or two but not chatted.) We got to a swamp and then crossed a burn and followed a path very briefly before taking a less well travelled route off and up some constantly changing ridge. I spent the next 25 minutes chasing another grey haired wonder and every time I got to within a few yards, we'd turn a corner and he'd be miles off again. It was only after a great deal of clambering and sploshing that I drew alongside Doug Milligan (Solway). During this time I caught my foot and fell forward landing on all fours and sinking deeply into some squelch. Most of me went under up to thighs and shoulders. I ran wiping off the muck in handfuls. On the first attempt to go past I took too ambitious a stride and let out a strange noise as my foot slipped and I wrenched my back. I took it easy for a bit, following Mr. Milligan in the steep descent before another fast downhill came and then, at last, went past. This began the final descent off Buchan Hill and having not studied the map properly I had no idea how long we still had to go. I felt we had been going for at least 12 miles so should be towards the end of the 8 mile race. Deeply cattle-hoofed mud towards the bottom made life unpleasant and to make things worse a young turk came bounding past and vaulted the gate while I clambered over like a pensioner. I had spent the second half of the race sandwiched between Murdo and Doug; the former, one age group up, the latter (to his credit rather than my shame) two age groups up.
Its a messy businessHowever the bounder jumped the fence and landing on the tarmac almost immediately doubled over. This cheered me up and I leapt the fence also and enquired if the injured man was okay. “Cramp” he said rubbing his legs vigorously. “Too bad” I thought as I dashed a very slow dash up what was a hideously steep section of tarmac - the first (apart from a road crossing early on) and last on the course. Seeing a finisher I asked was there much more and he said a couple of bends. I would have preferred the answer in yards and preferably single figures. Had there been a mile between bends I was done for and might as well start walking, however it was all over shortly and I went to find a river to sit in to scrape off the mud.
An army of Tony photoshopped up the final hill
After a quick bathe al fresco I changed and took the camera to stand between the last 2 bends to let Tony know there were only 50 yards left. He finished strongly (no walking up that very steep last 100 yrds) and recovered swiftly to have a good amount of banter with all of the friends and rivals on the circuit.
Good course though needs drainage and a bit of levelling. Great organisation and medals of courage for the marshals, as ever. Worth the long journey - which passed in no time given the excellent company.
Report and photos pb
Peter Buchanan 1.44.59
Tony Stapley 2.20.10
