Bolton Hill Marathon
We arrive at Moss Park in Bolton on Sunday morning to find the weather very cold and windy, which prompts a rapid rethink regarding clothing and led me to start the race wearing more layers than I have in any other: long sleeve base layer, long sleeve running top, TAC vest, long sleeved wind proof top, long pants, wind proof gloves and TAC non-buff!
After a very quick pre-race briefing (which no one can hear because of the wind) we're off five minutes' early and minus Paul Brown, who we see sprinting down from the toilets several hundred yards away, though by the time I get to the top of the small hill out of the park he has flown past and is up with the front runners.
The long climb up Winter Hill isn't as bad as it looks as it's a fairly steady climb, my legs are still full of get up and go, and my many layers are doing a good job of keeping the weather at bay. There has been a light dusting of snow on the top but nothing to worry about, and before I know it I'm on the descent and still feeling good. As I'm taking time to appreciate the impressive views all around, up pops our very own Peter Stobbs sat at the side of the track taking photos and shouting encouragement…in shorts! Does this guy have anti-freeze for blood? Still it's always nice to see a friendly face so thanks for making the effort Peter :-)
The route meanders along over various terrain and is well marked out, and in what seems like no time at all I'm on a descent down a Tarmac road to the feed station at the 14 mile point on a bridge where the route crosses over itself. My right knee doesn't like steep downhills on hard surfaces, though as I'm still feeling pretty good I descend too fast and by the time I get to the bottom my knee is aching badly. I could have kicked myself as I realise that the Ibuprofen I dug out of the kitchen cupboard this morning for just such an event is still sat on the kitchen table at home!
The four mile loop from the feed station is hard going with my knee and I'm passed by Tony and then Paul Hartley amongst others. I'm feeling rather miserable when all of a sudden a runner appears over a bridge looking confused and shouting "Which way! Which way!" I'm equally confused thinking I may be going the wrong way before realising he must be the lead runner on his way back and point him in the right direction.
Paul Brown and Chris Campbell with two other runners come barrelling around the corner moments later looking full of energy and enthusiasm, and go racing off after the leader like they're at the start of the race not 16 miles in. Seeing the lead bunch lifts my spirits and makes me realise that despite my aching knee I'm not doing too badly, so I dig out a couple of Jelly Babies and try to push on a bit.
The route carries on along the bottom of the valley for another 4 or 5 miles and provides deceptive shelter from the elements. From the recce I know there are two steep climbs coming up and my knee and now both my calves are aching. However, my spirits are still pretty high as I start the first climb knowing that once at the top there's only 3 or 4 miles of mainly downhill to the finish.
Once out of the shelter of the valley the full force of the wind hits me and it's bitterly cold; halfway up my fingers have gone numb along with the right side of my face and I get to the top feeling drained and cold, struggling to keep any momentum going on the rocky Roman road to the last climb. As I pass the last feed station and turn left to start the final climb the, wind is even stronger and colder and within 20 yards all the strength has left my legs, my eyes are watering so much I can't focus, my lips and nose go numb and I feel awful.
I trudge up the hill for what seems like a lifetime with my eyes closed half the time to stop them stinging so much from the wind. I've never felt so low in a race but a look over my shoulder shows me that the three runners behind me aren't going any faster and look to be having as little fun. Knowing I'm not suffering alone lifts my mood a little and I plod on.
At the top of the hill I turn right onto the road and try to run and then jog but my legs are still numb and refuse to do anything other than shuffle. The route then turns left onto a path which has had its centre section washed out by rain so it's uneven and rocky in the middle with narrow, muddy grass on either side. My legs send all sorts of unhappy signals to my brain as I slip, slide and stumble down the path.
There then follows a series of paths and lanes down the hill and my legs slowly come back to life. My right knee is still aching like mad but fortunately the pain from my fingers masks this as they start to warm up. I get back in to some sort of rhythm and manage to catch and overtake another runner. Nearing the end the route goes down 63 steps which aggravates my knee and slows me again, and I'm passed by two runners with only a few hundred yards to go - I try to up the pace but my legs refuse.
Approaching the finish Chris and Paul are there to cheer me on and I reply with something unprintable but along the lines of "Thank goodness for that!" As I cross the line Tony is there to shake my hand, he's already changed and looks as fresh as a daisy like he's just been for a stroll around the park, and this is a guy who ran 33 miles yesterday. Is he mad?!
As the days have passed and I've thought over the race and how cold I was, how painful my knee was, what I did wrong and how I could improve, at no point have I thought that I wouldn't do it all again next year. This madness must be catching ;-)
