A big run in
Lancashire had been on my to do list for some time, but my previous
attempts had been thwarted by various obstacles. But finally things
worked out for the The Red Rose 50! The route had been revamped from
the previous year, and through looking at the route description,
seemed by all accounts to be 50 splendid miles of running (but I’m
from there, so I’m biased).
It was a family
affair! My Mum and Dad were walking it, And so the night before was
great fun, spent reviewing the route description, which was going
well, until reaching the last section, which I realised I had left on
my printer back in London. Helpful. Disaster averted by my Mum, who had a
spare copy with a hand drawn map of a tricky bit, which was to be
useful later…...
The start was at
Jumbles sailing Club, which isn’t just the best name for a sailing
club ever? Although in reality the start was anything but a jumble,
and the organisation from East Lancs LDWA was ship shape. My parents
set off at 08:00, and then I scuttled back inside to relax for a
while, watching the rain beat off the window and bounce off the
reservoir, to wait for the 09:00 running start. I got chatting to a
guy called Patrick, who it turns out had run the last few miles of
the NYM 100 last year with Andrew! As more runners checked in, bread
was spread with jam, tea was brewed, and the sky got darker as the
rain beat harder. The 08:00 starters…..what a start they must be
having!
Turns out 09:00
wasn’t much better, but we are in Lancashire, and rain is the name
of the game I guess. The first section sounded quite long really -
Jumbles to San Marino. But on perusal of the map, San Marino turned
out to be a pub near Belmont, not in northern Italy. The start was an
uphill to Turton Tower, and then up to the trig point and across the
moor. Then it was off the moor, down a gully, which the rain had
turned into more of a stream, and I began to seriously regret my
choice of shoe (I am fed up of getting blisters and was experimenting
with a different pair of trainers, which is a stupid idea to try on a
50 miler). But I was distracted over the first few miles, as people
were settling into their paces, and I met some fellow runners, and
got chatting. CP1 in the San Marino pub car park was filled with
friendly marshals, and a large bowl filled with liquorice all-sorts,
which surprised me, as my Dad (aka the Liquorice King) had already passed
through here.
The next section was
a beast, mainly due to Winter Hill and Rivington Pike being between
here and the next check point. The weather really was bobbins today,
and it got worse the further up Winter Hill we went. But, I’ve been
a regular on Winter Hill since the age of about 3, and I think I’ve
been able to see a view from the top once, so this is no surprise,
and I should stop harping on about it, and put the energy into
getting to the top, wherever that was. An indistinct shadow of the
mast was vaguely visible somewhere in the cloud, but it was so bad
even the lights on the mast were shrouded. I
had a moment of total clarity up there, the rain my
face, the cold on
my skin, the
air in my lungs, the mud on, well, everywhere. The energy of the hill
and my energy seemed to meet, and I felt totally as part of the
earth. Blimey. It was probably the cold got to my head, or I’d had
too many allsorts at the last checkpoint. Either way, extra energy of
any type was useful for the next part, as the
route came off Winter Hill across the moor, which was a never ending
bog, down off the hill to a self clip (put there to avoid what
would have been a cracking short cut) and then back up to Rivington
Pike for another self clip (avoiding an even better short cut), and
then running down off the Pike I spotted my parents ahead. Greetings
and flapjack were exchanged, then it was on in an uncontrollable dash
down through Rivington Gardens (I love flying down the winding paths
and steep slopes of Rivington) and the Pinetum, and then along the flat
to CP2 at Rivington Village Hall.
I was looking
forward to the next 10 km section, from Rivington to Brinscall, as it
was 1) part of my regular running route at home, and 2) a straight
line and therefore difficult to get lost. Lots of nice long straight
sections along the reservoirs and up the Nab (and along a footpath I
had never been down, in all my years of running here), where it was safe to turn back and admire at the ominous looking Winter Hill from a distance...
....and views back along Anglezarke...
....then along
the Goit past White Coppice and to Brinscall. I caught up with
Patrick and we ran together to Brinscall, where cheesey crumpets were
on the menu.
Fuelled up, I set
off on the next section with Jim, who I ran the next few sections of
the route with. A bit of a flatter section came next, with more
downhill than up. Hurrah! Initially though fields, and then down to
the canal, under the M65, then up back on to the road for a while,
then fields and woods, headed towards Houghton Tower. I succeeded to
take the worst picture of Houghton Tower ever.
This is what it
looks like, from it’s website…..
I shall
stick to running, not photography. The CP4 at Houghton was filled
with bananas and custard, and I ran into a chap who I’d met at the
Herts Stroller (member number 21 of the LDWA), who has done an
incredible number of 100s, and has an infectious way of talking you
into saying that “yes, of course I’m going to do next years, what
a splendid idea”.… but before we get ahead of ourselves, we must
first tackle the next 29 miles… and thus Patrick, Jim and I set off
towards the next checkpoint at Mellor Brook. If I wasn’t mistaken,
it was definitely brightening up, the rain had eased off, and there
were even views. Lancashire!!! I have missed you!
CP5 at Mellor Brook
was a gem. We filled our pieholes with rice pudding and fruit salad,
which was needed, as the next section was an even bigger beast than
the earlier beast and was long, 8 and a half miles to the next CP at
Tockholes, and 1361 feet of ascent. I’ll be jiggered. The first few
miles started off quite gently, through fields and farms, then the up
started. Initially though a bog (an over-the-top-of-the-trainers type
of bog, which was mostly composed of cow poo), and past a farm with
the two smallest, loudest and most affronted looking dogs I have ever met.
Then, on past my old sixth form college; Westholme, which jogged
(ha!) memories of cross country laps of the field, and I had another
moment of realization that, erm, well, quite a lot of years later,
and I was still running laps of fields (usually in the wrong
direction). Nothing changes, eh (including my photography skills - another great photo of a gateway rather than the actual building)...
....then up into Witton
Country Park for a good downhill section through woods and paths, out
onto the playing fields (more memories of school cross country) and
then a bit of urban running, and back on to the canal for a mile and
a half stretch. Back under and along the M65, through fields and then
the last few hundred metres up a steep road, and up to Tockholes CP6. I was sad to have been separated from Patrick on the last section,
and Jim at CP6, but I was confident they would both be back in no
time.
I set off on leg 7,
another belter, just over 7 miles to Entwistle, starting off with a
long downhill from Tockholes to Earnsdale Reservoir, before a long
haul up to Darwin Tower....
I shall not dwell on
the next section, as I did not enjoy it (despite the instruction)...
....but I do not wish to
complain about the route, as it really is an excellent 50 miles and I
highly recommend it. It’s just I don’t particularly like moors,
and I don’t like this path across Darwin Moor in particular, and
this is where the route went. I slipped and twisted, landed bum first
in the bog, all the way across, cursing the moor first quietly, but
becoming less quiet as the time went on. The next instruction on the
route description “do not descend into gorge” which had seemed
blindingly obvious reading it on the sofa the previous evening,
suddenly seemed quite helpful, as I careered along the edge of it the
gorge, trying not to make any sudden descents towards it’s boggy bottom.
After what seemed like an age, I made it to the other side of the
moor, and gratefully headed down to Entwistle Reservoir for a
glorious 1 mile run along the waters edge, to CP 7, which was a fine
CP if ever there was one.
Leg 8 was 5 miles to
Hawkshaw, and the biggest question was, would I get there before
dark. Being an idiot, I decided to try to race the sunset, and as an
added incentive, left my headtorch deeply buried within my pack. Soon
after setting off on my foolish quest, the route passed the Strawbury
Duck Pub in Entwistle, which is a name so intriguing I had to try to
find out what it means. I failed, but got as far as that Entwistle comes from
the English ‘ened’ and ‘twisla’ which means a river fork
frequented by ducks. So I guess that’s where the duck comes from,
but Strawbury…no idea. Pondering on the idea, some road running
followed, then it was back up to the moors...
...but this time on tracks.
Phew. But just a temporary phew, as I hadn’t got lost yet, and this
couldn’t last, and sure enough, I soon became temporarily (-ish)
unsure of my position, and went downhill down the wrong track for a
few minutes before realising my error and getting back on track, where things were starting to look decidely dusky....
.....I
made it to about 1 mile from the next checkpoint, running through fields
looking for small signposts, when I conceded that it was now too dark
to see the signs. So I pulled off my pack in the middle of a field,
put in a new set of batteries, and switched it on. Nothing! I
switched to my spare pair of batteries, dropping the first set in the
grass, and then faffed around as I couldn’t see them, as the torch
was STILL not working! PANIC!!! I finally got it sort of working, by
keeping hold of the batteries and keeping them in a certain position.
After much scrambling around in the wet grass and flickering on and
off of the headtorch, I located the fallen batteries, and set off
through the fields towards the village of Hawkshaw where the
checkpoint was. Coming into the village, I opened the pocket in my
bag to get my tally card ready, forgetting the I’d put the spare
batteries in there, and all three of them fell out, and rolled off in
different directions underneath a car parked on the kerb. Crawling
around under the car, with a flickering light, looking for black
batteries on black tarmac was a low point, let me tell you.
Moving on, only the
final section (just over 5 km from Hawkshaw to Jumbles) left to do
now without messing anything else up. Right after leaving the
checkpoint, I found myself in a wood which, referring back to my
previous experiences of running in the dark, would have had me all in
a tizz. But tonight, I don’t know why, I didn’t care as much.
Maybe it was I really thought that by my age, I really shouldn’t be
scared of the dark. Or maybe I had too much other things to be
thinking about. Was my headtorch going to conk out? And where was I??
Deep in a wood! Too many paths! Which one?! But, section 9….the
spare set of instructions….the hand-drawn map! Hallelujah! (and I
owe you one, parents!!) I located the right path and climbed up out of
the wood, a pond glittering to the right, in the flickering head
torch. A Roman Cross appeared out of the darkness, but still I refused to
think of ghosts. I followed some powerlines downhill for ¾ of a mile,
where I had a little wobble when I thought the red glittering eyes of
the devil were staring at me out of the darkness, but then I realised
it was just a cow. Quite a lot of them actually. Yikes! But they
seemed more disturbed by the encounter than I was, and I could hear
them all mooing and tramping off in the darkness. A final wood, just
to test my nerve, but no ghostly encounters tonight, just a
detestable set of steps up and out of the trees. Steps! At 49.5 miles!!! I checked my phone for a
time check, and had a message from my Mum to say my Dad had been
unwell and they had retired and were on their way back to base. As it
turns out, we made it back to the end at the same time (them having been given a
lift back by LDWA number 21 – small world!). I could tell my Dad
wasn’t right, as he refused food, Lancashire Hot Pot at that, which
is most unusual. But he is now recovered, and he and my Mum
completed 35 miles, which is excellent, I am super proud of them, and the most important thing is, they are both OK. Phew!
Good to catch up with fellow runners at the end, and pleased as punch to see Jim, Patrick, and Imtiaz make it back soon after. Big thanks to East Lancs LDWA for an absolutely top notch event, and for planning an excellent route to show off my local area to it's best! Great to meet and run with some great people out there; thanks for a great day and good company. And as always huge thanks to all the volunteers who give up their time to let us all have a good day out on the hills, and make it even better by being so lovely all of the time (and especially thanks to the lady doing first aid at the end, who made sure my Dad was alright, and was so kind to us all - and if you ever see this.... I promise I will be keeping up with the Pilates and the yoga after hearing your inspiring story!)
