I wish I had known before hand that miles in
Yorkshire are MUCH longer than standard miles.
The day got off to a rocky start due to a slight overindulgence in the staying-awake-late stakes.
Up and out the hotel door early o’clock, much to the surprise of the night porter. The Pirate and I were travelling in convoy and I was elected lead driver. A twisty turny journey to Helmsley took a great deal longer that expected.
On arrival we met up with lots of WHWR friends; Tim Downie, Sharon Law, JK & Doc McIntosh. It was great to finally meet Andy Cole, who ran the whole race in a flat cap. Top man! Jon Steele, as expected had all the I’s dotted and T’s crossed. Very well organised indeed.
The runners were assembled outside for the start and a geezer from the National Park gave a speech about stunning vistas and dramatic views, none of which would be seen that day.
After the off the Pirate and I cooked up our breakfast on the veranda of the Football Pavilion, who said marshaling was hard work? The smell of sausages cooking in the open air is divine.
We cleared up and packed all the drop bags in to my wee Corsa and headed to Osmotherley Village Hall. Sue Knowles and I were chief cooks and bottle washers, with loads of help from Helen Withams daughter Clare. I didn’t think tea and coffee would be a big hit with the runners, how wrong was I? The freezing cold harsh conditions were beginning to take its toll and most people enjoyed a cuppa, even if it was only to heat up their hands.
The Drop bag facility worked very well here. Some runners were uber professional and had laminated cards with their particulars detailed precisely. Others scrawled their name and number with a biro.
The weather was reeking havoc with expected arrival times, and rather than freeze to death atop a hill The Pirate waited for the first runner to arrive before heading to his next checkpoint. The Pirate was dispatched to Carlton Bank just after 11am.
Given that the conditions were so tough most runners arrived in fine fettle and the banter was great in the hall. JK and Sharon arrived, following a wee detour, and quickly demolished the contents of their drop bags. Sharon was suffering the effects of the cold and struggled with her hands. I had to assist quite a few runners with gloves, zips water bottles and the like. It was then I realised just HOW hard the Hardmoors 55 is.
I saw Tim briefly as I was leaving for my next CP. Felt bad that I didn’t have time for a cuddle, coz I quite like them, but I was meeting Mike Mason, King of the Essex Underworld, and I didn’t want to keep him waiting. I’m quite attached to my kneecaps you know.
Mike and I were the keepers of the Kildale Hall checkpoint, about 42 miles in to the route. More tea and coffee available here and all the biscuits you could eat. Jon’s Mum and Dad were on hand for spotting runners approaching from the hill and taking pic’s. What a lovely couple.
Mike and I developed a system where he would head to the top of a hill check what the runner required and ran back to give me a heads up. This worked very well and again most people took advantage of a hot cuppa. Runners were looking very weary by this stage, and while the banter was still good the buzz was a little more subdued.
It was here that my WHWR buddies came a cropper. Doc McIntosh presented himself to me and declared himself out, along with two others. He was followed soon after by my wee mate Shazza. Sharon is a tough cookie and can handle most things thrown at her, however she arrived in tears and shaking uncontrollably. I was really concerned for her. Luckily, Julia, Helen Withams support had shed loads of spare clothes and we got her changed and into a sleeping bag and placed her next to the radiator. Tim was the next causality. He said it was the first time he thought he might actually die during a race. He made the right decision and I managed to organise some transport for them both back to the finish.
It was about now that the rain stopped and the sun came out. Talk about crap timing.
Mike’s wife Gill and daughter Sian arrived from their day trip armed with fish and chips and helped us clear up the hall. John Vernon was taking over from Mark Barnes as sweeper and I felt for him as he headed of into the dead of night to cross the moors.
I said my goodbyes to the Mason’s and headed off to meet the Pirate at the final CP a mile from the end. He had been there for hours and while I had armed him with copious amounts of food that could be easily reheated he had packed it all at the bottom of his Bergen. He told me once that he gets grumpy if he doesn’t eat…. We sat there in the pitch dark, careful not to destroy our night vision (?) it was like a stakeout. Something I have zero experience of, evidently.
It was eerie to watch the distant light from head torches bobbing along the top of the final hill down to us. As the clouds had lifted it caused the temperature to drop dramatically, but at least the final runners weren’t getting soaked anymore. John Vernon and Flip escorted their two charges to the finish line and we finally called a halt to Hardmoors 55 2010 just after midnight.
Jon Steele looked totally gubbed (sorry J) and relieved that while there were a few DNF’s everyone survived a brutal outing on the moors. A great event. I look forward to returning in the better weather to see those promised vistas.
My experience this weekend makes me thankful that my race, the Clyde Stride, is a relatively flat town and country event in the middle of summer ;-)
ps. I've just about forgiven Steve Walker for calling me a bloke :-)
