Ben Nevis Race 3/9/05Only 10 miles and 4400 feet of climbing. No rain, warm and sunny. This was going to be a dawdle.
I had a Chinese meal in Fort William the night before - rather dodgy, and the crew from the rescue helicopter were there as well. I'm not sure if they have toilets on helicopters, perhaps just copious supplies of brown paper bags.The town on the morning of the race is crowded with sleek athletes and the last of the tourists in their matching his and hers lilac shell suits. Most years, there are reminders and sometimes checks to ensure that full-body cover is carried, but not this year. I could even see the top of the Ben so that I would know exactly how far behind the leaders I was.
The race starts with a circuit of the running track and then a mile up the road to the beginning of the path. After two minutes, I felt my calf go "ping" - should I drop out now in ignominy, not even out of sight of the starter? Not a bit of it - Porty men are made of stronger stuff. Up the steep scramble bits, the leg felt fine, but anything that vaguely resembled running was too sore to contemplate. I was at the top in 1hr 35, and then the worst bit - back down the scree. Usually my spectacles are all misted up and I cannot see the ground - but this year I could follow the trail of blood all the way down. I lost a few places on the way down but was able to put together a shambling shuffle back to the park and over the line, and then cramp in every muscle at the one time. 2 hrs 38 - about 8 minutes slower than usual. A friend from the Lochaber club stumbled in almost an hour later with a pulled thigh muscle to be immediately surrounded by the concerned female members of his club who offered him cakes, drinks, and a soothing massage. I have asked my agent to negotiate a transfer for me. And the trail of blood - it came from a doctor from the local hospital who attempted to rearrange the mountain with his nose.
The Victorians defined a sporting gentleman as someone who could do a McNab - that is, poach a salmon, stalk a deer, down a grouse, run the Ben and seduce a duchess all in the one day. Now, to do the first three, you have to be a rich chinless wonder, and there are not many duchesses you would want to shake a stick at. So all you have left is the Ben race. It is a cracking race, plenty of support all the way up, admiring remarks from the lilac tourists, and a great sense of camaraderie amongst the runners. So get your entries in soon for next year. I need someone to give me that soothing massage.
Report Paul Eunson