Racing Yorkshire Style

Last night, I decided to truly embrace the Yorkshire running ways, donned my Bingley vest and tackled the Beamsley Beacon 5.5mile fell race. Having been told about the "lovely walk" and "stunning views" from a work colleague last week and hearing a group of Doss running friends were planning on racing, I threw caution to the westerly breeze and heavy rain showers and rocked up in Addingham for my fell running debut (I discount the Peel Hill Race in the Isle of Man since you can wear flats and it is always sunny!). I wouldn't say I was nervous (couldn't get more low key) but I was apprehensive about the task that loomed before me - after all, I am accustomed to bouncing around a track and running races lasting less than 10mins - this was going to be a new experience.

Having memorised the verbal description of the best route to descend (any permissible route was allowed) I revealed my rather short, fashionable, track-running, hot-pant shorts and tried desperately to hide my amateurish shoes which only loosely resemble trail shoes. Which makes me wonder - why is it acceptable for fell runners to spend lots of money on the latest Inov8 or Salomon fell shoes, but if their kit doesn't contain an array of holes, each of which tell an epic near-death fell running tale, then it is simply not worthy?

A group assembled outside the pub with an average age of about 50 and an average build that could be described as knackered and scrawny, we set off at the usual alarming pace (it is only ever tactical track races that runners set off slowly!). After a mile on tarmac and a mile of gradual accent up the edge of a wood, things started to get tough - the moor opened out, the gradient steepened and the beacon emerged above. I made it until about 2mins from the summit before admitting defeat and taking a cheeky (power) walk. From the summit, I took a split second glance of the view and began my descent. 

Here is the view I would have enjoyed if not racing!

Having proudly reached the top in 12th place, and just behind Shane (who I thought would be a useful person to follow as he had provided me with the description of the complex route down), I suddenly found myself in a lot of trouble. Aside from the fact that my calves had turned into dried out rubber bands ready to snap clean, I discovered I had something that no-one else around possessed - a genuine concept of consequence! If I fall over on one of these rocks now, it will (a) hurt, (b) ruin the rest of my summer track season, and (c) be somewhat embarrassing. Plus, I had the comfort of not seeing any other women nearby (yes, I did have a good scan behind me during my momentary walk up)  - although there was always the risk of a good female descender. Despite losing sight of the many men I passed the summit with, and a whole load who had since overtaking me, I was fortunate enough to be steered into the "ginnel section" by a nice man (who no doubt reached the summit a good minute after me). He then made the error of being a gentleman and letting me enter it before him, only to be stuck behind me along its entirety - although I no doubt took the full force of the nettles and thistles that lined its narrow, steep and rocky sides - perhaps this is the reason why all fell runners are skinny?

Shortly after the ginnel, we re-entered civilisation and I was pleasingly cheered on by Sel, who had wandered out to watch. I also managed to regain a few places that I had lost on the downhill - showing my speed off in a lovely striding sprint finish back to the pub!

I won the women's race in 41 something, a few minutes ahead of the next lady (who I suspect also has a sense of consequence) and was rewarded with some booze for my efforts!

Today, I can hardly walk!