Wuthering Hike Horror Show

Wuthering Hike, 31-mile/4400ft trail/hill race.

Haworth, Yorkshire, 12th March 2005.

Had a more or less completely unenjoyable experience at the Wuthering Hike yesterday.

Got up at 4.30am, drove 2 hours from Penrith to Haworth, arrived completely knackered and hungry and thirsty, and promptly set off at 8am into a biting northerly wind.

Ran off with the two front guys from Clayton (as per last year) for the first 10 miles, before needing an impromptu toilet stop. After that I couldn't catch them, and in trying to do so I totally knackered myself.

By the time I reached Mankinholes I had cramp in both legs, and could barely lift my feet off the ground. Unfortunately you are only about half way at this point.

I was getting very cold, and heading up Stoodley Pike was grinding to a halt and got passed by 6 or 7 runners. Coming off Stoodley Pike I discovered I couldn't even run downhill. I was now wondering how I was going to hitch a lift back to the start. There didn't seem much point at carrying on at this pace.

After Hebden Bridge, I had totally given up with the race and decided just to walk the whole way back, regardless of how long it would take. A steady stream of runners trickled past. Eventually, the final hill was crested and I was thinking I really should make an effort to start running.

Suddenly, out of the depths of my despair, I could hear jolly laughing chatting voices. I looked round to see Claire Gordon and two Keighley and Craven guys storming towards me. They shocked and cajoled me into action. My body was jarred into motion as I fought to hang onto them. Bit by bit my legs came back to life and I found myself matching them pace for pace.

A shout from spectating Duncan Baker cocooned against the cold, and we were into the final few hundred metres. Nice smooth tarmac after the painful stony track, and then that killer final hill. I decided to relax and drop the three of them in a bid to finish with proper running, but my hamstrings were flashing with cramp, so I eased back and pottered into the Westfield Lodge in a disgracefully slow 4 hours 45 minutes, but mighty glad to collapse into a comfy plastic chair.

Maybe I should have done the Balloch to Clydebank...

Posted by Chris Upson on Sun 13 Mar 2005 | 1 comment

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