Carnethy 5 Hill Race

Saturday 22nd February 1997

'Ian, can you write an account of this year's Carnethy Race?' Wasn't quite sure whether it was a question or a command. Tried to wriggle out of it. 'But Brian, I was at the back of the field. Better asking Ronnie. He seems to have had a really good race.' However, the editor was quietly insistent. He clearly wanted some sort of human disaster story for the newsletter.

So, it's Saturday, late February, and the croccuses are begining to flower. It's a bright breezy day but dark clouds are lurking on the horizon. Winter and Spring coexist.

We're all assembled in a sodden field next to the main Edinburgh to Biggar road; a cast of hundreds huddled together at the start like some battle scene from Braveheart. The Westerlands clan is out in force but not all are running. As usual everybody is claiming to be unfit; minor injuries, colds, lack of training - you name it. Prizes go to Brian Brennan for his imitation appendicectomy scar purchased in some cheap back street establishment in London, and to Manny for his convincing portrayal of a 'New Man'.

A skylark chants above; unusual for February. The assembled throng surge forward and the leaders accelerate away effortlessly. The ground trembles as the rest of us squelch through the mire at a more sedate pace. In any case, half a mile and the 'hole in the wall' brings everybody to a halt. There's the equivalent of a major traffic jam. Mind you, there's no hysterical pushing and shoving to get through the narrow gap; everybody's glad of the breather.

Through the bottleneck, down a short slope, across a low drystane dyke and the slog up Scald Law begins. The incline soon takes its toll. Adopt the standard hill running position; walking bent double, hands pressing on thighs, accompanied by a lot of heavy breathing and grunting. Gradually the signs become ominous as people start passing me. The legs feel dead.

On the top of Scald Law there's a biting wind, sharp and cutting. Can only manage a feeble jog over to South Black Hill, buffeted by the wind. Then on to The Kips. A few more people pass and despondency sets in because I'm seized by intractable lethargy.

There's somebody on my shoulder.

'Many more hills to climb?' the voice inquires.

'Aye. You've just done the easy bit,' I gasp, but the psychology works because a little further on, he drops back.

The initial descent from West Kip to Loganlea resevoir provides shelter from the wind, but no respite for the legs - the PBs grip tenaciously but both knees wobble, almost out of control. The supertanker of the fleet, Dick Wall, slips by.

Actually manage to overtake someone on the last steep slope down to The Howe. Mind you, she's descending slowly, like a cragfast climber. Then Armageddon - the battle up Carnethy Hill. Looking up, a continuous winding line of toiling humanity stretching right to the top. There's more than a tinge of envy for those nearing the top. It's a daunting climb, seemingly Himalayan in scale to a reluctant body.

Half way up Mark and Jenny shout encouragement. I move up a few places maintaining a a steady plod. The suffering is real, but thankfully relatively short lived. It's onto the top, round the massive cairn and back into the blustery wind. The summit marshal looks like the Michelin Man as his waterproofs billow in the stiff breeze.

And the final torment, thick clinging heather on the precipitous descent. Mark and Jenny reappear at the bottom. Try to look controlled and coordinated despite rubbery legs although the body language is a giveaway.

Mark observes wryly, 'Like the style.'

The last half mile is flat. There's a couple of runners up ahead. Their pace gradually quickens. I keep in contact. At last the legs splutter into life as I splash past, then up the slight incline to the finish.

Feel utterly deflated. Glance apprehensively at the watch and biggest fear realised - 86 minutes, a personal worst. Must be suffering from some sort of terminal illness. In any event, they should have counsellors on hand for this sort of psychological trauma.

Graham and Pat finish.

'Need to lose some weight' comments Graham fondling his abdomen. Announces he had an early bath when he fell near the last stream. I try to estimate the likely size of his impact crater.

It's getting chilly so in a final act of self flagellation, decide to jog the few miles back along the road to Penicuik rather than take the bus. The rubber studs don't like it but I definitely need the training.

And by the way, talking of studs, 'How was it for you, Ronnie?'.

1 John Brooks Lochaber AC 48:39

2 Jon Duncan Edinburgh Uni H&H 49:15

3 Jim Davies Borrowdale 49:52

41 Ronnie Gallagher Westies 58:30

57 Helene Diamantides Westies 60:02

59 George Reid Westies 60:06

93 Stephen Bell Westies 63:34

100 Gibson Fleming Westies 63:41

101 Matt Ogston Westies 63:46

105 Brian Bonnyman Westies 64:00

147 Don Reid Westies 66:58

152 Kevin Doonan Westies 67:27

185 Murdo MacLeod Westies 69:35

206 Brian Brennan Westies 72:02

231 Jane Robertson Westies 74:38

335 Ian Struthers Westies 85:17

346 Pat McLaughlin Westies 86:06

349 Helen MacPherson Westies 86:20

358 Tracey Cooper Westies 87:54

369 Greame Benny Westies 91:33

388 Moira Hall Carnegie 101:03

Posted by Ian Struthers on Wed 30 Nov -0001 | comments are closed

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