In a week that had already been packed full of running I found myself standing at the start line to the James Herriot Country Trail Run chatting to Geoff Davis and Penny Browell, Susan Davis having dropped back a bit further from the start line. In an instant chatting turned into a frenetic mayhem as the announcer suddenly started the race and a few hundred bodies set off in the same direction at very different paces. The first section must have been 500m or so but took the runners through Castle Bolton and up to the start of the fields and the first climb. The next kilometre was a climb up through fields and small tracks during which I chased a small group of 6-7 men with a Quaker Runner at the tail hoping that they could shield me from the wind buffeting all of us and threatening to blow my number back down to Castle Bolton. It wasn’t long into this climb that my lungs were hurting but almost everyone nearby was puffing like a steam locomotive and those that weren’t were walking. For me it was a matter of digging in, steeling myself mentally and keeping the knees high and legs pumping.
After what seemed like an age with too many false horizons we reached one of North Yorkshire’s typical flat topped fells and the race continued along the spine of the fell, the terrain now undulating with a slight incline. Now it was a matter of holding my place against the attacks from runners behind and staying as near to the Quaker Runner ahead as possible but while I kept most runners behind, besides the odd man storming by at a rate of knots, I lost ground to the runners ahead when I went over slightly on my right ankle again, a problem that has plagued me at almost every recent race. Soon the next stage could be seen, a steep descent followed by what looked like a painfully sharp ascent. The descent came soon after a water station where I failed in attempt to get a cup, when I made a grasp for the one cup the woman offered the other and withdrew the one I was aiming for. It felt like I was flying down the descent with my feet barely touching the ground and arms no longer pumping but aiding balance, there is nothing more satisfying then free distance but soon after the steep climb started it steepened even to the point where at the top I walked a few yards.
After what was the last major climb of the race the rest was mostly downhill on good trail, with gravity doing most of the work until the last 3 or so miles where the course flattened and headed on back to Castle Bolton. At this point I was on my own (or so I thought) I could see the man from the Quaker Running Club 150m ahead and I had left another runner, who had been attacking on the top of the fell, during the descent. So coming up to the last water station I was very surprised when the 1st lady shot into my peripheral vision to get a drink. I then decided to make the most of her water stop and shoot off as fast as my tired legs would take me towards the finish and it worked for a time until with a little less than a mile left she overtook me going at what must have been a min/mile quicker, I had no chance of rebuffing such an attack and she even ended up taking the Quaker Runner ahead by the end as well. For me the race was just a procession to the finish line with a token sprint put in for good measure. What had started in a whirlwind of frenetic energy now ended up in a calm manner for the most part, with runners who were usual quite strung out came across the line. The only excitement was seeing Penny and Geoff coming towards the line, Geoff behind at this point but with a cheeky smile which spoke volumes. I could see that he fancied his chances of an overtake and our mudman didn’t disappoint using all his experience, cunning and competitiveness to pull off a perfect overtake and win the battle of the Striders. A bit late the mudwoman finished to take 2nd in her age category rounding off a thoroughly testing but enjoyable day out in Yorkshire.