 Before... During... (thanks to Andy Mutley-Photos)  After... It seems only in fell races that bits of the course have names. Monikers which inspire awe and fear. They’re spoken with hushed reverence as the runners wait around at the start, pretending not to be nervous. At the road races I usually attend it’s usually, "there’s a bit of an incline towards the end" maybe, but no-one calls it ‘Shaggy’s Doom’ or some such. It’s just a bit of a hill.
At Bamford (race website here), it was different. With whistles and shouts from the sheepdog trials echoing in the background, runners hid under shade discussing the forthcoming effort. The name ‘Parkin Clough’ came up time and again. Teeth were sucked, faces were pulled, fingernails chewed, feet were shuffled about. I sat and listened in wonder and no small amount of trepidation. Being a newbie to this race, and this area of the peaks, I’d read up a bit about the race beforehand. This threw up nerve-twanging descriptions of a mile-long ascent with sections so steep you’re scrambling up clinging onto tree roots. That’ll be Parkin Clough then, our route up Win Hill which sits high above Bamford with views over Lady Bower Reservoir far below. We all gathered in the start pen, our fear temporarily replaced by bemusement when one official tried (and failed) to shout audible instructions while the chap next to him used a load hailer for his bit? Weird, maybe it was his personal loud hailer and he didn't want it sullied by anyone else? Anyway, I’m no mountain goat and was very edgy about falling off a cliff face, so took the first flattish mile and a half of the race nice and steady. I wanted fresh legs when I hit that mythical climb. The mercury was pushing 30 (it was the hottest May day on record), plus I’m (hopefully) coming back from an 8-month injury, another couple of reasons to hold back. Dom had driven me and Ryan up there, about an hour from Kimberley. Ryan’s riding a peak of performance after his 3:04 at London. He’d had a nasty fall at The Trunce though, which battered most of his body and might have led a lesser runner (me, say) to give this one a miss. We all knew he’d be off strong, which proved the case as he disappeared in a cloud of dust at the start. Dom and I ran that flattish bit together, up some slight inclines before turning sharp left up onto Parkin Clough. Here we go! Dom’s our resident Trail Leader, one of the club's most experienced hill runners, and he was mega excited about the Clough. I’ll be honest: I didn’t kill myself getting up this thing. From the bottom the steep series of stone and earth steps appeared to swing off into heaven like something from SpaceX. Endless unforgiving ascent. I’d no idea how my legs would respond but I was pleased to see (a) no-one was making any attempt to run (b) it was a decent path, not much chance of falling off the hill and (c) it was shaded under trees. Dom legged it off like he was running down Church Hill, working his way through the string of competitors and out of sight. I got my hands on my knees and kept up with the Beeston runner just ahead. A few day hikers had their downhill progress stalled by us lot piling up and were stood to one side (if you're reading this, and this was one of you, many thanks!). Some had taken to heckling from the side of the trail. Good natured stuff. I shared a high five with one bare-chested, high spirited lad after accusing him of being an ‘evil b*stard’ for telling us we were nearly there, when we clearly nowhere near. Eventually, having failed to kill us, the Clough spat us out in disgust onto open moorland. We all took to running again to get away before it sucked us back in. Half surprised we could get our legs shifting again (in my case anyway). Only a wee relief it turned out as the trail turned evil again. More steep hillside towards the trig point, back to hiking. More heckling too that we ‘were supposed to be runners’. Fair point, and I suspect the leaders had indeed run up here, but back around 60th place, no-one was running up that bad boy. The trig point is a short out-and-back and a bit of a buzz. We were all given wrist bands at registration which we held against phone-like devices as we entered the start area, beeping our way in. Another device at the trig point registered we’d actually gone up there and not just hidden in the bushes and nipped back to the trail home (tempting). The terrain up here was rocky, easy to catch a toe and go down (well, easy for me), so it was a steady jog staring at the floor, ignoring the no-doubt magnificent views. Given the heat, the organisers had somehow dragged cases of water bottles up near the top. I’d drunk enough to satiate an elephant before the start so ran past. Glad I did as there was nowhere to chuck the bottle and I needed my hands on the descent. Not for clinging to tree roots now, more for flailing about trying to maintain control. I enjoyed the way back, a couple of miles, all of it down. It felt fairly safe, grass and trail, not too steep. A few gates to navigate. The occasional ‘oh sheet!’ moment when a fast section gave way to a tricky bit. It’s notoriously muddy in wet weather, but the ground was rock hard for us. Dom had borrowed a pair of trial Inov8 shoes from a stall at the start, which he found too aggressive for the hard ground. Much to my surprise he didn’t buy a pair, to add to his collection of ‘hundreds’ back home. He’s had to build an extension, where he keeps them all in glass cases, including the ones which are truly past it. I could just about make out Dom’s maroon vest in the far distance. He was teeny-weeny, maybe half a mile away when I was at the top and moving fast. It gave me a target, but I didn’t hold out much hope of catching up. Using the ungainly-but-effective windmill technique, I was making decent progress downhill, gradually reeling in a few runners. Dom appeared to be getting just that bit closer. I got tucked in behind a lady who dragged me along, making sure I didn’t get too close on the narrow path. If someone ahead falls on this stuff you’ve no choice but to try and vault them. Hurdling’s not my forte, so I held back a bit. A chap hosed us all down from his garden as we passed. Another nice touch and something we’ll all remember on a scorching day. Eventually the trail dropped us back onto the wider paths we’d run out on, the end wasn't physically in sight, but mentally it was. Dom had grown that bit bigger, perhaps half actual Dom-size. The lady I was behind took off, again pulling me along and with just two or three hundred metres before we ran back into the event field, I overtook him. He somehow had the breath to utter words of encouragement. Hat’s off to Dom. On flat courses I’m quicker than him, but he really showed his mettle in those conditions and was the devil’s-own job to catch. I could sense him working to try and get back past me as we went full pelt towards the small crowd at the entrance to the field. I was very relieved when I crossed the line a few seconds ahead. Checking afterwards my heart rate was over 180, which equates to my ‘nowt left’ zone, I was deep in the red by the time I staggered about beeping my wrist band at the end (used for position, not timing). Ryan had been hanging about for hours by the time me and Dom got in. We’d joked at the start he had a massive weight advantage as he sweats out roughly 2kg of water a mile. Over a hilly 4.5 mile course, he’d dropped roughly 20 to 30kg and was left prune-like. In all seriousness he’d run magnificently which, we all knew, meant he’d soon be issuing a stream of self-criticism. This time he was unhappy he couldn’t physically fly or something, no matter how hard he flapped his wings. He’s got high expectations our chairman! We all fist bumped and jabbered on a bit before stumbling back to Dom's car to try and achieve mission impossible of drying off under a furnace sun. Back into the event field we got refuelled. Having supported various cold drink, burger, ice cream, golf ball and cookie stalls, we plonked down in three seats and tried to establish what the shepherds were up to. Five dogs later, we were cooked (shade was in short supply) and headed over to watch the gnarly lithe-looking winners being called out. The crowd was applauding like they personally knew them, which we think they generally did. Most of the podium placed runners sported the brown vest of the Dark Peak, this is their turf after all. The main category winners were allowed to pick from a selection of delicious-looking enormous cakes. Finally, we made off to the air-conditioned heaven of Dom’s motor for the drive home. A cracking day out in a very friendly atmosphere. I was nervous of the course, of course. It turned out to be fine for me. Although I’ve had a few falls recently, deep down I know I’ve done this kind of stuff over the years and can handle it, if I'm careful. I did feel for the runners coming in a full hour behind us, they’d perhaps been caught out by just how tough that climb was in that heat (I saw two youthful looking lads dropping to one side as I climbed). Maybe not a course for absolute newbies, but I am intrigued whether I could knock a few minutes off the dreaded Clough? Anyone up for Bamford 2027? Cheers, Jay |
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