The Sgurr of Eigg, a 390 m high prow of volcanic pitchstone, dominates the western side of the Isle of Eigg, towering above the small harbour at Glamisdale. We’d looked across the Sound of Eigg from the Ardnamurchan Penninsula at this geological marvel but today, as we powered across the sea in the “Sea.fari” fast catamaran, it was obscured by clag and drizzle. Together with nearly 50 other runners we were sailing from Mallaig to Eigg to take part in the Easter Eigg Races, a one off adventure devised by Lawrie Anderson of Lomond Hillrunners. Today’s 9km race would take us from the harbour, across the bogs and moor under the eastern precipices of the Sgurr, before scrambling steeply up and running the rocky ridge to the trig point. Then a headlong dash back down the way we’d come. That was the plan anyway.

“I’ve put a few flags out”, explained Lawrie, “ the route’s obvious, just follow the red dots along the main tourist path”. However, the main tourist path was supplemented by numerous other trods and more than one runner took wayward routes in the thick mist. Even Lawrie himself, flying down the moors towards the last mile on the track, found himself off route. Despite the navigational incidents the race route was a big hit with the runners. A race with everything but a view… track, moor, bog, rock…and beer. The cafe at the harbour serves butties, cakes, teas and coffees…and Guinness. Marvellous.

Mandy and myself, and another running couple, were picked up by Stuart “Scruff” Miller in his old land rover and taken the four miles across the island on the single track road (the only road on the island) to his croft and newly opened B&B. Howlin Croft House sits in a stunning spot under the Quirang like cliffs of Beinn Bhuidhe and overlooks the pristine white beaches of Laig Bay and Camas Sgiotaig – the Singing Sands. The stunning backdrop is the Cuillin Hills of the Isle of Rum. Probably one of the best views in Scotland, but today it was invisible. Scruff, raconteur extaordinaire, regaled us with tales of the island. As a farmer, builder, coastguard and ex lobster fisherman he seems to have his fingers in many pies on the island. Those fingers he has left that is. In his most gruesome tale he explained how he got three of his fingers trapped in the creel winch on his boat and had to cut them off with his bait knife to get free!

If you want to stay somewhere unique, friendly and informal you must visit Howlin Croft House.  http://www.spanglefish.com/howlinhouse/  Before we’d even sat down a large dram was thrust in our hands. We were given a guided tour of the chickens, ducks, goats, pig and polytunnel. Scruff’s wife Kathleen cooked up a wonderful home-made and locally sourced meal and we were entertained by endless stories. The Easter Ceilidh was to be held in the community centre near the harbour. Scruff volunteered to give us a lift. He was soon cursing when we were held up by the local bus, an old white minibus, crawling along at 10mph. “The bloody driver’s always pissed” Scruff explained, “but nay bother, I know a short cut”. He steered the land rover off the road and accelerated across a bumpy field before cutting back onto the road in front of the van. “Did you like that?” he asked. Before we had time to reply, “I know an even better one”. We plunged over an edge and plummeted down a steep grassy bank cutting out a hairpin on the road. “My brother’s still got a neck brace from last time I did that” he shouted gleefully. Nerves were calmed by one or three guinesses at the ceilidh. Scruff had promised to pick us up at 1am warning us not to walk home as the road was full of drunken drivers. We wondered whether we’d be better taking our chances with the drunks!

The Ceilidh apparently starts at 9pm, and finishes at 9am! One obvious reason for this was that each dance seems to last forever due to the large number of dancers – all having to execute the particular highlight of the dance at least once. We started stripping the willow just after midnight…by quarter past one we’d stripped it three times and the band was still going strong. We retired, dripping with sweat. I’m sure it was the dancing that caused my calf strain rather than the fell running.

Sunday saw us lined up on Laig Beach ready for Race 2. Lawrie, having lost one young lady in yesterday’s race (she was eventually found wandering the misty moors in tears several hours after everyone else had finished), had revised today’s route as he didn’t want to lose anyone over the precipitous drops of the Beinn Bhuidhe ridge in today’s thick clag. Along the beach, along a track, up an outrageously steep climb to Beinn Bhuidhe trig, back down vertical heather before flying down a wonderful grassy ridge to finish on the Singing Sands. Another top 8km route. No prizes for our racing prowess but we did win a spot prize each. As we were strolling back towards Glamisdale in the rain a rusty old pick-up with no rear lights and the widows held in place with gaffa tape pulled up. Scruff leaned out, “You wanna lift?”. We nodded. “You’ll have to jump on the back then”. We perched on a pallet as the pick-up negotiated the narrow winding road waving at the other runners as we passed them. An Isle of Eigg white knuckle ride. “Great pick-up this” Scruff told us, “I once had 18 passengers on the way back from a ceilidh, four of ‘em were on the bonnet!”

So, if its ever on again (Lawrie’s still deciding whether to repeat it), put the Easter Eigg races in your diary. Or, just visit the island anyway. It’s a magical, friendly and wild island with great walks and runs, fascinating geology and archaeology, and extraordinary Scottish island hospitality. We’re already looking forward to going back.                                                           Slainte                           Mandy & Phil

Well, a series of firsts: this is my first contribution to the blog and my first race over 30 miles!

The choice of race was quite apt, as I started my travels over the fells as a walker and all those who have read the latest Fell runner will know the Hobble is a race with walker/runner history. Ironically I transferred my allegiance from walking to running as, whilst working full time and being a mum taxi, running took less time than walking and I could cross more miles in less time. How this has led to spending all day running I’m not quite sure!!

Anyway having got through the early morning start, dragging myself out of bed to get to Haworth for 7 to register, soon it was 8am and the race was beginning. The forecast has been good so having travelled through the mist and low cloud the big question was what clothes to take. Would I need a spare layer, as if I slowed down I was worried I would get cold! I decided to take a thin fleece as my husband would meet me half way and I could get rid of it then if the weather had improved.

Well, we were off! The line of bodies stretched along Cemetery road out of Haworth whilst a car bravely tried to get through!! The route left the road and was soon at Bronte Bridge. From there it climbs to Top Withens which given the similar misty weather when I recced this section I’d felt the isolation which inspired so many classics. However with the long line of people stretching in front and behind, this was not a day for isolation!!

The route then dropped to Walshaw Dean Reservoir and by now the mist was so dense I couldn’t even see the other end of it! As I left the reservoir and headed out to the road I chatted to a lady who although until recently lived in Sabden had travelled from Germany for the race!!

As I climbed away from Widdop reservoir the rain began and the mist continued to obscure the view. In a way the mist was a blessing, as it did mean I couldn’t see how far way Stoodley Pike was or the fact that we weren’t even heading towards it yet!! However given we now could see no runners in front or behind, I was glad to be running with a chap from Clayton Le Moors that was very familiar with the Mary Townley Loop and so was confident of how far it was to the next turning. When I recced this section I was able to see the reservoir I was aiming to, but now it was out of sight even when we took the left turn towards it!

Leaving the reservoirs and aiming towards the huge windmills which were still out of sight I was glad of a growing familiarity with the route. This continued on Long Causeway over to Pudsey Lane whilst grabbing a Hot Cross bun running on to Whirlow rocks. Meeting Wendy Dodds on her way back to the checkpoint having over stepped it, was a chilling reminder of the importance of concentrating on the route as with 32 miles to do, I didn’t fancy any extra distance!!

Having headed down to Cross Stones and Castle hill it was great to see a familiar face as my husband waited at the canal with a fresh drink and banana. Having restocked supplies I headed up to Mankinholes. At least the cows were now gone from the field to be crossed to get to the road, but the sloppy mud left clear evidence of their previous occupation and most of this now seemed to be sticking to my shoes!! I washed them as well as I could in puddles on the way to the next check point where I declined the Jura whisky!!

A quick rinse of my shoes in the water troughs, before turning onto London road and climbing up to the pike. Although the mist had now lifted, the wind was still blowing and seemed to be concentrated on the pike. The descent down the Pennine Way was tempered with the knowledge that Hebden would be the start of the climb to Heptonstall. Having prepared myself for a traumatic climb I started chatting to an experienced Hobbler on his eighth race and as he tried to convinced me that the Calderdale Hike is actually easier than the Hobble, we suddenly realised we had reached the Cross Inn and were on the way down to Hardcastle Crags.

As we climbed out of the Craggs I looked ahead and could see clear evidence of how the Hobble gets its name!! Everyone seemed almost doubled over, willing their legs up the incline which seemed to go on and on! I battled on, trying to run as much as possible as the transition between walking and running was getting harder! Finally the last check point was reached with the last climb ahead, or so a helpful runner told me!

The final descent to Leeshaw reservoir was daunting with the rugged rocks creating a treacherous route under wobbly legs. The actual final climb to Tom Stell’s Seat was fuelled with the knowledge that the route was runable from here onwards.

Emerging from the church yard and expecting to run down to the Fleece, I was amazed to be directed by both a fellow runner and Haworth residents down a small alleyway to the Health Centre. Having saved enough energy for a push up the hill the sprint across the road was a relief and I was pleased to reach the finish in 6 hours 19 minutes.

Well I’m pleased to have finished my first 30 miler and in a crazy way and am now looking forward to the Calderdale Hike. Many thanks to everyone who has encouraged me to keep trying new distances – although I’m still trying to work out how much my ability to finish is due to increased fitness and how much is due to lunacy and an ability to ignore the aches and pains!! Possibly a question I don’t really want the answer to!

Bev Holmes

HOBBLE HICCUP

How about this for a list of ailments leading up to a 33 mile race? Let’s see – a grade 2 sprained ankle, a severe kidney infection with high fever, a nasty cold, corns dug out of feet, a diagnosis of arthritic feet, a persistent bad back.

It had all been going so well. I’d planned 5 long consecutive runs (20+ miles), one a fortnight, from December to February. Run number 4, The Hebden 22, had gone well and things were looking good for my return to Ultra Running at the Haworth Hobble 32 miler. Then 6 weeks beforehand I rolled my ankle over on a rock while reccying the Pennine Bridleway (which was subsequently cancelled anyway) and that was the end of the good preparation. 2 weeks with no running at all, then a gradual build up through walking and road running.  Then 9 days before the race, and I’m off work feeling very sorry for myself with a full on dose of lady-flu, zero running and just hoping it doesn’t turn into a chest infection. I’m lucky, it doesn’t. Tuesday before the race I’ve turned the corner and am believing I’ll be on the start line.

All this time, my bomb-proof running partner Elise has been texting me seeing how I am. She lets on that she ‘doesn’t feel very well’, and it turns out she’s in bed in a darkened room, running a temperature, and too weak to move. This is less than 72 hours before the starting gun.Now Elise is hard as nails, her secret middle name should beBoudicca, she is ultra-reliable, and I’m having to face the fact that after all that me-me-me-ness, SHE may not be able to make it. I know Elise though; if she can stand up, she’ll be there.

Hobble Eve, and our pal JT (John Taylor) has come to stay. We’re very sensible and drink coffee and eat popcorn and go to bed early. Rather different to the race prep that JT is famous for, and I’m grateful I haven’t been persuaded into drinking any half pints of Baileys! We arrive in good time, and it’s great to see so many familiar and friendly faces, and especially good to see Elise’s. Our pal Raj is there, and he elects to run with us, despite the warnings that he could be in for a very long day.

8.00am and we’re off up the cobbles, along the road and out onto the moor. The weather could have been better! We’re running into a stiff head-wind, in persistent drizzle and low cloud and it’s very slippy and muddy. Elise and Raj seem to be full of beans, and I’m having to slow them down for fear of blowing up too early. But the miles are ticking by nicely, Elise has had an inopportune lie down in the mud and is hilariously filthy, and the banter and giggles keep us going nicely. By the time we pass Withins we think the field has spread out, though it’s rather difficult to tell being as visibility is down to about 30 feet. The scenery was extraordinarily boring, all we could see was a grassy bank of tufts.  I’m really slowing us up across the rough moorland, not feeling confident about my ankle at all, taking it very steady as I slip and slide in the thick mud. I’m glad to finally emerge onto some tarmac and feel like I can run again! I get out a packet of jelly babies and offer them around. I’ve followed some advice I saw Kath write about sprinkling some salt in your sweetie bag. From the surprised looks on Elise’s and Raj’s faces I’ve clearly overdone it. I own up, and Elise looks relieved, she thought she’d got really sweaty hands!

We’re 10 miles in before we know it, and we’re out at the (invisible) windmills on the Long Causeway. We have the pleasure of JPs company for a short while and joke about who’s going to be the slowest Toddie, but we’re walking a lot of the uphill, and it’s already obvious that this is just about forward motion. We are clearly going to win that accolade outright!

The miles continue to pass by in a blur of mist, mud, hot dogs, doughnuts and salty jelly babies and we’re spat out unceremoniously onto the Burnley Road at 20 miles gone. This is where the challenge really starts, with all the roller-coastering packed into the last 12 miles. The hard, hard climb up to Mankinholes is out the way quickly and we run into the famous ‘whisky’ checkpoint. There’s a bottle of 10 year old Jura on the table. And it’s empty. That’ll teach us to dillydally so much. We didn’t want any anyway, thank you very much. Elise takes the opportunity to empty her shoes of stones, and I take my opportunity to sit in the marshall’s deckchair. Ah bliss. My back and ribs are really hurting and it feels so good to take the pressure off for a few seconds.

London Road and Stoodley Pike, and Elise is beginning to suffer. Her illness is taking its toll on her energy levels, and her ITB is playing up and making her unable to run downhill. I can’t run uphill, Elise can’t run downhill, what a bloody pair. Raj finally loses patience and gets out a packet of Ibubrofen and cajoles us to take some. Then an apparition through the trees of Callis Wood appears. It’s Darren with jelly babies and lucozade. He runs with us down Horsehold, and I have memories of the last time, when Elise and I overtook people coming down here. This year there’s no-one around to overtake.

I kiss Darren goodbye and then it’s the worse climb of the day, up the road to Heptonstall. Except we’ve taken a detour up the rocks. Elise needs to get her sticks to help with the knee problem. They’re making good progress away from me, and stop to wait. I tell them to get on with it being as we’re going to Elise’s house and I’ll meet them there. Not that I was secretly hoping for a cup of tea, but I’ve been to Elise’s house so many times I know exactly where it is. Or I thought I did. After running up several cul-de-sacs and dead ends, I finally see them emerging from a familiar looking house and we’re on our way, giggling at Elise’s story of walking round the house with her feet in carrier bags, holding them by the handles.

The click-click-click of Elise’s sticks act as a metronome and we get a good march on, but we are only running on the easiest of ground now, and we walk all of the long descent down to the checkpoint at Grain Water Bridge. Raj is strong and we think that he must have carried on now, but he’s been chatting for ages to the marshall about the Fellsman and is quite happy. Top o’Stairs comes and goes and I’m beginning to get excited about finishing. I list our milestones , “reservoir”,  “T-junction”, “Haworth 1 mile signpost”, “big boulder”, “car park”, “church”, “snicket”, “FINISH LINE”.

These milestones pass by easily, and we call them out as we pass them. We must have looked bonkers. Darren, his lad and Alan are waiting for us by the carpark and give us a big yell. We take the snicket which we didn’t know about last year, and it’s a much better finish, not having to run UP a hill. And there it is, “FINISH LINE”! 8 hours 21 minutes. Nearly 90 minutes slower than our 2010 time, and almost 2 hours slower than Elise’s 2011 solo run.

There is always a sense of achievement to be had from surviving an event of this distance, and I certainly feel pleased that we finished against the odds. However, there’s no denying the disappointment about our time. Recovery, both mentally and physically, is fast, and within days Elise and I are texting each other excitedly about entering another ‘short’ with a view to having a better run and scoring better points. After all, at least we’ve now done a long training run. And plans have put in place to improve our weak-points. Nothing we can do about kidney infections and sprained ankles; but Elise has ordered a foam roller to tackle that tight ITB, and I’ve printed out and began a programme of core-strengthening exercises to prevent me sitting in marshall’s deckchairs next time!

Joolz (Julie Wyant)

(Photos thanks to Karen at RunFurther and IWCharters)

With a title like that it’s a little tricky keeping up the suspense.. but I’ll give it a go! As my legs were fine after the last trip, training had been excellent, and I could take the time out for another parkrun trip. In fact, training had gone so well that, the morning after Running Up Every Hill, I had a great run up and down Cader, and promptly phoned a friend in Corris to arrange another outing within 45 minutes!
By this week, however, my rankings attempts were well and truly busted ~ the first serious 5K of the year had taken place a week earlier, while I was busy making my presence noticed in Welsh FRA circles with my course record at the Pipe Dream Fell Race. My life always being filled with irony, the 5K had been in, you guessed it, Cardiff! #1 in the rankings was now an excellent 15:51 from World Champion triathlete Helen Jenkins, also the record holder for the parkrun course with a 16:20 just over a year ago.
Race preparation went a lot better this time, with 2 days off beforehand, and only a slight attempt to sabotage myself with some bodyweight strength & conditioning work on Friday. I hope it wins me some races later in the year, as all it meant for today was some tight ITBs! Nearing Cardiff, the A470 illuminated signboards welcomed me, as every time, announcing Cardiff Pride! When you drive closer, you see it actually reads P+Ride. My morning rituals had left me about as awake and ready as I can manage at 9 in the morning, and well set for the race.
The shoes of the day were my Lucerne Marathon-winning, and Great North Run, pair, the Adidas Adios in ultra-bright infra-red colour (but without the fluorescent yellow flashes added this year for the Olympics). They worked pretty well, it has to be said ~ a bit more mid-foot support than the Saucony A4, and more of a positive feel than the Nike Zoom’s that I used last time. My calves survived the race without too much trauma, and could have handled more of a sprint finish, if only I’d been doing plenty of flat speed work this winter. But my limited road races aren’t allowed to interfere with hill training this year, so I haven’t!
I decided to go with a slightly fast start, for which one of the regulars told me off afterwards. But I feel it’s the way I get my best 5K time. Spurred on by her coach telling her to give it everything, another woman had briefly stayed near me, and I wondered if I might have a race on this time. But her speciality is not the 5K, and by the end she was some way behind. I looked her name (Emily Brown) up at home, to find she is an excellent steeple-chaser, for which she is in the all-time UK rankings, and the coach had already introduced himself as Welsh endurance lead coach Darrell Maynard.
As my critic also acknowledged, I didn’t fade so much in the middle this time, and with much breathing-like-a-donkey, came round in decent shape to the finish, albeit not quite sprinting to the line the way the short-distance junkies can manage. This week there was a different timekeeper, which didn’t feel right somehow! However, he was also helpful and revealed my time: 17:05. Oh for 6 seconds! Nevertheless, a 10 second improvement on Littleborough last July.

Those few seconds faster certainly have an impact: a return to the spaced-out dizziness that I expect after racing well. Walking round the city centre, I came close to throwing up a few times, triggered equally by traffic fumes or smokers at a hundred paces. What passers-by thought when I momentarily rested my head on a lamp-post, I know not.
The usual Starbucks looking a bit busy on a match day, I found a different branch this week, and the Barrista heaped on the largest mound of cream I have ever seen, sculpted into a Pagoda-esque architectural feature. Sadly, his construction work subsided while I busied myself with a couple of text messages, and before I thought to take a picture.

Despite the crowds of shoppers, supporters, and ticket-touts, I explored the capital, looking for a new pair of running shorts ready for this year’s English Championships look. Sadly, the Ford principle was in effect, meaning you can have any colour you want, so long as it’s black!
That aside, Run & Become opposite Cardiff Central train station is certainly a running shop that has all the right products.
It being a lovely sunny day, a repeat of my Brecon Beacons showing-off was inevitable. Numbers were boosted even more this week by large parties of children and teenagers. And this time, another fellrunner, eliciting what looked like a surprise flash of recognition. Having got the 5K right, I fully expected to run 3 minutes slower than the previous trip, so imagine my surprise, having left the sun behind and entered the summit clag, to find I was 3 minutes faster! I double checked the arithmetic to be on the safe side. 12:39 at the top. Setting off at 12:15. 39 minus 15 is 24. The arithmetic checked out. That could be taken as evidence I really was ill on the previous trip, or that I am definitely more a fell-runner than a road-runner. But far more likely, it goes to show what happens if I down half a drinks bottle of High5 (slightly-more-than) Isotonic before setting off, sugar being something I rarely use in training.

I briefly chatted with some amateur radio enthusiasts on the summit, who tell me the battery was more of a bother to carry than the mast, and soon set off back to the car park, raising some more fell-running awareness in front of the large groups still on their way up. One party met me on the rocky steps of Corn-Du, eliciting some gasps, and lower down I switched with ease between the grassy slopes and the rhythym-breaking clay path with its numerous drainage crossings, came briefly to a halt rather than mowing down a 6 year old, and continued with a smile to the car park.

And that was that, the day finished with another sedate drive home, stopping at the scene of my third run from a fortnight earlier, but this time just stretching my legs with a walk, and photographing the well thought out road-sign.

So ends this series of Cardiff Parkrun Tales. I was thinking this would be my 5K PB forever, given that I never expect to do as much road training as last year. But it will be galling to leave my PB at 17:05! So, who knows, maybe I can fit in an evening race sometime, and maybe next winter’s training will see another series of Parkrun Tales!

Lauren Jeska 11 March 2012
All photos on my camera-phone
Title photo taken on previous trip