Against all odds, yesterday’s “Ochil 2000s” race reminded me of how much I love a hill race. There’s something wonderfully bonding in a group of diverse ages, nationalities, fitness levels etc about a long hilly slog, especially when there’s plenty of room for misadventure.
Matt and I almost didn’t make it to the start line, as we’d cut it a bit fine to get to registration, only to find that even though we’d arranged grandparental babysitting back in January, we hadn’t actually registered for the race. Obviously I was happy to take this as a sign that we should just go for a gentle potter around Dumyat, but “luckily” we were given race numbers, dibbers and ushered to the buses. That looooong journey round to Glendevon is enough to give anyone the heebiejeebies.
The first 15 or so miles of the race were pleasant enough. Not too hot, with a gentle tail breeze, and no nav disasters. We encountered a few folk who had missed Ben Buck, and were having to backtrack, and felt relieved not to be them! The boggy bit over to Blairdennon was shorter than I remembered, and I felt quietly confident that we’d smash last year’s time. This confidence was definitely bolstered by me (wrongly!) thinking that the race was just over 19 miles and 1200m of ascent.
Coming off Blairdennon I did have creeping misgivings about this. According to my watch we should only have about 4 miles and 200m to go. Dumyat definitely looked further away and much bigger than that. :-/
We took some “experimental” and “intrepid” “shortcuts” off Colsnaur Hill which was a bit demoralising (apologies to the Dark Peak runner who we drew along with us). The weather started to get a bit oppressive as we dropped off the hill, and by Menstrie we were feeling very tired (and Matt was really dehydrated – he’d actually stopped sweating and by the end of the race his t-shirt was bone dry!). Another runner was bailing out, and if Matt hadn’t been there, doggedly refusing to quit, I’d have happily waited for a possible lift back to the finish.
The drag up Dumyat was horrible. According to my watch we were over 19 miles and over 1200m total ascent, and my body had decided to take a hardline on me going over-budget. This wasn’t helped by the huge clouds of flying ants, and frequent wafts of sun-warmed dog poo. We met another racer running back down to Menstrie. He must have been pretty close to the top when he made that decision, and once again I was sorely tempted. I renounce thee, Satan! About 2/3 of the way up we found an ant- and poo-free area for a bit of a sit down, and to contemplate our poor life choices.
Eventually we were up and over, thankfully not missing the turning to the woods (as we had last year). And then there was that very special “last little bit” along the back of the university, which must actually be the best part of a mile, and feels like the worst part of eternity. Friendly faces and watermelon at the finish helped the horror recede rapidly, and as we hobbled back to the car my sun-addled, electrolyte-deficient brain was convinced we’d had a great day out.
Mary Lye