Whaley Waltz fell race - NWFPAC 2018 Championship race 5

I hate fell running.

That was the full verbal report that I submitted immediately after being informed, on returning from the gents, that I had “volunteered” to provide the race report. I don’t actually remember volunteering, but it’s amazing what the euphoric relief that follows an hour’s drive and a longish toilet queue can do to your brain. I still feel that it accurately describes the experience, but Dave insisted on something a bit more substantial and Jill demanded something with humour, which is ironic given her complete lack thereof immediately after the race. So here it is…

It was a family affair for NWFPAC members at the Whaley Waltz. Dave Simmons brought his wife (who kindly looked after keys while we ran) and daughter, Phil Warburton brought his brother (who has just started running and had somehow been convinced that a fell race was a suitable first event – never buy anything from Phil!), Tim Shaw bizarrely brought his Mum (who he helpfully introduced to everyone as “my Mum”) and I brought Jill (we’re one big family in RBS – yes, I know that’s tenuous). David Chambers let the side down by turning up alone.

The race was scheduled to start at 1:10, immediately after the Whaley Carnival parade. All the runners duly lined the streets to watch the parade, which involved a few advertising floats, some disinterested dancers, a judo club including one slightly psychopathic-looking youth wielding nunchucks and a marching band clad in thick black uniforms who looked like they were about to pass out in the sun. The one saving grace was a local construction company who had a float with a live band playing a passable cover of “Mr Brightside,” which is one of the tunes on my pre-race playlist.

Once they’d passed, we were lined up in the road ready to go. And then we were left in the sweltering sun for about twenty minutes as the parade took rather longer than expected to clear the road in front of us. We weren’t given any explanation for this, but I suspect that nunchuck kid had accidentally or otherwise brained a clubmate. At this point I also remembered that sun cream works far better if you actually apply it rather than leaving it in the car. So I now have a delightful vest-shaped tan (or will have when the red skin peels off) [Dave: So do I!].

Finally, once we were all sufficiently desiccated to make an unpleasant experience even less bearable, we the race finally started at about 1:30. From what I recall, it can be broken into 12 distinct stages:

1. A nice flattish roady bit.

2. A gentle uphill trail in the shadow of some trees. So far so good.

3. The Road to Hell part 1 – an horrific climb in boiling sun.

4. A field crossing. Dull.

5. Some angels bearing water and a super-soaker. Genuine lifesavers.

6. The Road to Hell part 2 – an even bigger climb taking us even closer to the fiery sun. All grass underfoot is now crunchy and mud is apparently extinct.

7. Another water angel, sadly lacking a super-soaker this time but still worthy of an OBE.

8. A flattish switchback at the peak (Hades?) with some large flat rocks and people with ropes. At this stage, I half imagined that this was preparation for some kind of human sacrifice to Beelzebub. In reality I think they were just abseilers.

9. A nasty rocky downhill section which almost resulted in at least one face plant and a snapped ankle. With great concentration I managed to avoid both. Just.

10. A lovely downhill road. This bit was good. I like roads.

11. Just before the finish, a plunge into a nice cold river. As a road runner, I’d normally grumble about this, but with my core body temperature approaching boiling point and my blood turning to syrup it was most welcome.

12. A couple of hundred metres of flat road to the finish.

I started off fast as I knew my strength is on the road. Climbing the first hill, I thought that Phil was right behind me so I pushed hard to stay ahead. However as I stopped for water I realised with relief that it was another tall chap in a similar red shirt, and with no other NWFPACers in sight I took it a bit easier up the Road to Hell part 2.

At the switchback I spotted Tim about a minute behind me, confusingly wearing a blue Manchester United vest (I’m not sure whether this reflects divided loyalties, or whether United’s cunning new strategy to complement bus-parking is now to wear blue, given that this is the colour of the last five Champions of England, including my own team). Anyway I managed to balance speed with not face-planting keep him behind me on the descent and finished 22nd male to Tim’s 25th.

After the initial delight of securing 20 points I then had a minor panic watching the rest of the runners because of the lack of female finishers ahead of Jill; while it would be great for team Run on The Bank if she’d have taken the 20 points, her levels of smugness would have been so elevated and perpetual that a one way trip to Switzerland might have been my only possible means of non-criminal relief. As it happens, she came in 31st female, securing a very creditable 18 points and restoring my peace of mind.

So all’s well that ends well. I didn’t end up in an ambulance. Dave bought us a pint afterwards. Run on the Bank secured 38 points. And – following Argentina and Portugal’s exit from the World Cup yesterday – the mighty Leicester City’s own Emile Heskey can now enjoy his retirement knowing that he has scored more World Cup knock out goals than Messi and Ronaldo combined, thus finally putting to rest the ongoing debate about who really is football’s G.O.A.T

I still hate fell running though.

Update..........Delight somewhat tempered when we realised on Monday that we'd missed Lee Ashwood and that he'd romped home in 6th overall, thereby claiming the 20 points and pushing everyone down a place and a point! Well done Lee and Run on the Bank had to make do with 36 points instead of 38.