Review of 2010 Charnwood Hills

by Mark Coyle

Another Sunday, another early start. This marathon training malarkey is flippin’ ‘ard work me thinks as I haul myself from a nice warm bed and stagger down stairs to a breakfast of quick drying cement (porridge) in preparation for my first attempt at the Charnwood Hills 14 Race.

I suspiciously eye the weather as I reluctantly spoon lumps roughly the shape, size and consistency of breeze blocks into my mouth consoling myself that the has dawned still, cool and dry with a slight mist. Perfect. Ten minutes later – with the jalopy refuelled with diesel at the Ricoh – I’m barrelling down the M69 muttering at the radio as the media continually regurgitate the John Terry saga….ad infinitum. The race HQ is found with ease and barely 25 minutes after leaving my house I’m parked and queuing at the registration table for my race number. Bryan, Ian and Myles wander past as does former Sphinx lady Danielle Stevenson; “Splitter!” Yells I in true Monty Python “Life of Brian” style.  Number secured I  amble through the gathering crowds and find the lads have been joined by Darren, Pete and Andy and we chew the fat before I wander of to find the changing rooms.

Changing rooms located, I‘m getting kitted up when this East Midlands type – completely uninvited - plonks himself down beside me and starts up a conversation.

“Done this one before then me duck?” He enquires with a Leicestershire accent so think you could smack it with a shovel.

Me duck? Thinks I. Me duck!?!

“Erm...nope” says I “first time actually.”

“Ah it’s not too bad me duck” He continues pulling on a Desford Striders vest.

“If you’ve done The Huncote Hash, me duck, you’ll find it’s not too different to that youth.”

Ducks? Youth? What’s he talking about

“Oh, good” says I comforted but still puzzled as to why this bloke feels he needs to continually refer to me as some sort of teenage farmyard animal.

“It’s obviously a bit longer me duck” my new found friend continued

“Obviously” said I

“..and muddier” He continues “with more streams… and more hills...bigger hills.”

I’m slowly digesting this when he adds the coupe de gras

“Of course it is classed as a category C fell race”

A quick trip to the loo and then its down to the start to join the other 450 or so nutters.

One and a half times around a large field and then we slither down a narrow path - ankle deep in mud - before emerging into a large field which borders a large lake. We edge round slipping and sliding as we struggle for purchase, it’s only early but I’ve already seen a few fallers and one or two racers trudging back to the start, there race already over. At this point all the Sphinx lads are reasonably close together as we cross a small bridge and climb into a third field before coming to the first of several styles. The mud then gives way to a trail through a small wood before emerging out into the large marshy open expanse of a country park. The ground is soft and uneven which means you can’t really afford to raise your eyes for more than a few seconds to survey the lovely scenery. Several ditches of varying depth and width are negotiated as we climb up another tough hill past an ancient monument (no, not Graham Patton).

The course then drops and levels out (thankfully) as we cross a couple of narrow roads and then plough right through the neatly manicured fairways of a golf course. Another style negotiated and two more fields were crossed before we emerge into a small village onto solid asphalt. I could have knelt down and kissed it frankly, but we weren’t on it long enough and my heart sank as I saw what was waiting for us, another hill! A real beauty too. I could see people bent double, hands on knees trudging breathlessly to the summit. The bad news was I don’t think we were even half way at this point.  No wonder I thought Leicestershire have so many good running clubs if this is the terrain they train on. It was amazing to see how many youngsters were out making light work of it too as they chatted happily on there long Sunday runs. I gathered up my lungs and put them back in my chest as I queued to climb the style at the hill top. In the distance I could see the front runners snaking away around the side of another hill. And on it went a blur of forest trails, hills and styles before we eventually looped round and headed back to the start. Darren and I played “tig” for the final few miles as Pete Fahy came roaring through racing through the gears chasing after Bryan and Ian. It was a mighty relief to finally emerge into the field and cross the line before heading for the showers and a welcome brew and a nice bit of cake in the school hall.

Be under no illusions this race is a challenge. If nice, clean, traffic free road run with a medal, T-shirt and goody bag is your thing then, this isn’t for you. It you like it wet, muddy and hilly with obstacles and no reward other than the satisfaction of finishing, then it’s well worth doing. Even just once so that you can collapse over the finish line and with you dying breathe wheeze “never again.” It’s easy to get to, well organised superbly marshalled and great prep for a marathon. You can see why runners come back, you can see why it’s been going for so long you can see your life flash before your eyes.

Results

133  Bryan Pears      1:56:55
139  Pete Fahy        1:57:04
165  Ian Davies       1:59:59
190  Mark Coyle       2:02:55
194  Darren Handley   2:03:08
214  Andy Norton      2:05:26
228  Myles Davies     2:07:25