Ship Inn Shell Bay Sandy Slither. Friday the Thirteenth!
artist's impression of the race*Three reasons I went to this race. First, it is a Fife AC race and they're always (almost always) top notch. Second, the allure of alliteration. Third, it was really pleasant earlier in the day about the time I committed to the journey to the East Neuk in Scott's car with Scott and Richard. But alas that was the last of the sunshine for the month.
Team huddle outside the ladies in the rain.Despite navigation by instinct rather than the traditional map, we made it across the water to Lower Largo and a red cinder carpark and toilet that, in the rain, had so little charm that only the most ardent dogger would have found the wherewithal to switch off Corrie and head out to exercise their prerogative. Largo, Richard reminded us, was a musical term for in a slow manner, however the rain was now battering down and no matter how much you ran along and back the coastal path trying to shrug it off you couldn't mistake this for a good time on a Friday night.
A bit of a speech from a curly haired bloke. Anything more than Ready Steady Go was on the long side and then we were underway. About 100 yards of tarmac then you hit the sand and its like Chariots of Fire. Not because you're running on a pretty beach but because you're now in slow motion and wondering why your 6 minute miling has turned into 9 minute miling. The fastest ground was generally down nearer the sea but it took courage to stray from the straight line and wander to the wetter, firmer sand. Then there were some grey rocks that were slippery as bars of soap but with less compression, so speedier, than the sand.
Wetness - lots of it. In the air and on the beach where the tide was a long way out but had left puddles and channels to splosh through. Ivor - always Ivor - was alongside for a bit and some other bloke and we sort of swapped about a bit looking to see who would prove useful at blocking the wind which was cold and in our faces. I thought about scooping up a purple jelly fish and slapping it onto the chest of a guy who I felt had overstayed his welcome in my slipstream without returning the favour. Then I thought about slapping a couple to my own chest in a defibrillating sort of a way that might galvanise my efforts. Lots of time passed while we slowly made our way off the long beach over a water jump - quite a deep stream - and into a caravan park. Tarmac lovely tarmac - even submerged below 2” of water it was a joy to get a solid footing again. I had worn Inov-8s and felt they were a very good shoe for the course - great grip and good water shedding. I was surprised that Julia, Scott and Ivor all seemed to bring along old smooth-bottomed trainers, and later less surprised to see Julia with a bloodied knee and hear that both Ivor and Scott had also been down on all fours.
There is something deeply depressing about a static caravan park in steady rain. Outside there's a bunch of nutters dressed in vests and pants running hell for leather in ankle deep water. Its enough to drive you to Midsomer Murders, put the kettle on.
And out the back of the site there's a marshal pointing us across a wooden bridge. As we approach I line up well, noticing the vantage point on the opposite side from which the photo of Scott H was taken last year. I also notice that there is chicken wire wrapped round the slippery wet wood and determine to take a less sharp turn onto the bridge wondering if anyone has slipped off and into the water below. Not that they would get any wetter tonight.
From here we are onto grassy single track which is reminiscent of Arthurs Seat and it slowly climbs before reaching some steps. All the way round this part I am thinking is this the hill yet, is this the hill yet? Until it probably is and we get more steps. At a sharp turn I look down to see Ivor and Scott within a very short distance. The wind is probably worse at the top of the hill and we pass some sort of aerial/mast before beginning an alarming descent. Initially grass lined single track dirt paths undulating in quite a fast manner give way to slick sloping steps that you could almost skateboard top to bottom without the board. I moderate my speed a little bit but try to gain some ground on the guy I overtook towards the top of the hill by going as fast as I dare using the less sketchy ground to the right and left of the greasy stones. This is where Scott and Ivor both fell I think. Belting down the last slope in uncontrollable fashion I only just manage to side-step the wooden barrier, thoughtfully blocking the path at the bottom, trying to keep the speed going into the snaking paths through the shin-swishing grasses reminiscent this time of the paths at Longniddry Bents. Another brave marshal points us inland and as we then turn right 90' I look back to see .... nobody. Around a couple of corners and the only poorly marshalled stretch. I caught a glimpse of a runner ahead and followed left before the right back onto the beach but you could have gone the wrong way. Poetically, there was a dead cormorant, its beak pointing toward the finish, to guide us on our way. Over a bunch of that spongy stuff you find at the high tide mark on beaches - like a hybrid of seaweed and vomit. A long, long, long slog into a cold wind, which thankfully we couldn't really see for the rain in our eyes. After a millennium of soft sand (I even tried running in others' pre-compressed footprints which was limited in its success) the line was crossed.
Baldrick I mean RichardIn summary, like the Black Rock Five, but with a bigger variety of terrain, less tarmac and we had to hire a cab at the end to get back to the start. (The poor cab driver didn't even complain about the 3 sodden seats we left in his car - but pity his next passengers.) On a calm day with a low orange sun lighting up the Forth Estuary this would be so good you would want to run the 6.1 miles back to your car. However no beach looks good in the rain under a leaden sky with the wind going in the opposite direction you are. A very good race (I suspect), in very bad weather. Better than a night by the telly though. I was much surprised to see later in the results I came top ten. Scott kept the pressure on Ivor all the way to the line and Richard admirably fulfilled the request made at the start not to take too long as we would be standing about waiting in wet clothes. A good outcome despite the weather.
"Kirk to Enterprise - beam me up."Report Peter Buchanan
*Artists impression: this, you will have spotted, is a doctored photo that originally accompanied Scott H's report from the Slither last year. The weather was so bad I didn't even take the camera out. However Andrew Henderson has provided these great action shots. (Julia had a good run coming second lady, first V35.)results here
Julia's version
The photos say it all really - very wet and very grim though it felt good when it was over and I was enjoying a 3 courser in the Ship Inn. Next year I would recommend that to the Porti team rather than an uncomfortable taxi ride. I have to say that trying to get wet kit off and jeans etc on in the back of my Dad's car was challenging so just as well the windows were well steamed up. This was one of my Mum's relatively rare outings to see her 'wee daughter' run and as per usual it was an unfortunate demonstration of mad runners braving the elements and risking life and limb (through my Mothers' eyes!) prompting her to suggest alternative hobbies and children (?) etc. Her last outing was Skye Half 2006 with temperatures soaring into the 80's. My left knee has developed into a nice big bruise and attractive scabbing in time for my return to the office tomorrow and the smart business woman look!
Peter you were right about the shoes: bad choice on my part and Walshes would definitely be the shoe of choice for this race. Nobody told me it was a bit of a hill race or else you wouldn't have seen me for dust running in the opposite direction! Debbie MacDonald admitted afterwards that she didn't like to say when we were chatting at the start outside the loos (nice picture of the Friday night Porti boys outside the ladies, by the way). Memories of the Carnethy 5 2006 will haunt me always, as will the embarrassment of my extremely foul expletives delivered to anyone who would listen as I ran towards the finish. Anyway this was no where near as bad and I might even return, though I can't promise to take the slippery steps at anything more than a very gingerly pace.
Photos Andrew Henderson
