Digested read: My first time XC, an adventure. Bit intimidating initially, but you know what, it was more fun than not. Definitely would recommend. There is always prosecco and cake if you choose your running club carefully. Both harder and not harder than expected, but you wont lose any internal organs if my experience is anything to go by. Stay safe people. Also, happy halloween.
I’m pretty sure that in life the accepted wisdom is that you should try everything once except Morris dancing and incest. I’ve tried Morris dancing, and it wasn’t too bad to be fair, quite a laugh even, so on the whole I do try to say ‘yes’ to new opportunities. I then spend the intervening time between agreement and surrendering to whatever experience it is wrestling with inner angst and trepidation. Mostly, even if things are type two rather than type one fun i.e. fun retrospectively rather than at the time, worst case scenario is usually ‘I’m not sure I enjoyed myself but I’d have been dead pissed off to have missed it.’ Give these universal truths, it was pretty much inevitable that once I was talent-spotted and the call came to join the throng at TNT to give XC a whirl I was always going to
be so flattered and taken aback I’d be bound to accidentally accept.
I say talent spotted, but in truth, ballast spotted might be more accurate. The thing is, and it’s taken a while for me to grasp how these things work, cross-country depends on team turn out as much as talent. Yes, yes, quality is desirable at the upper echelons of the running game, but there is also a desire for simple quantity. If you can drag enough of your team out on the day, there will be points to be had, and what do points mean? Erm, honestly, I’m not exactly sure what points mean, never having previously acquired any for anything, but they are a good thing apparently.
To take part in cross-country or XC as we athletes refer to it, you need to be part of an affiliated running club. Whilst of course Smiley Paces is my original and first call running club – we have shared experiences now that leave us intertwined for all eternity, Smilies are not an affiliated club. To dip my toe in the waters – or more accurately muddied fields – of XC, I’d need to join a club that is affiliated. This feels like quite a grown up thing to do, running wise. Even so, when Dr Smiley mentioned getting up a team with her triathlete buddies I was in a naively misguided ‘what’s the worst that could happen‘ sort of place, and so pretty much immediately said, ‘yep’. I’d be in. It sounded a laugh, which is my main criteria for doing new things. You get to scamper about across muddy fields in a slightly anarchic way. The more the merrier, a bit like British Bulldog really, if I’d grasped it OK, and that was always a laugh until it got banned from the school playground for being too dangerous and we had to rebrand it as ‘sheep, sheep come home’ instead. (True story). I might not be able to contribute much in terms of quality, but I could certainly assist with quantity. What could be more affirming than getting a point for your team pretty much just for turning up. Yay! This is my kind of sporting endeavour.
I had a slight wobble when it dawned on me that the TNT group are actually known more correctly as Racing TNT Triathlon Team. Slightly daunting, but hey ho, I’d signed up by then. As long as the requirements to ‘race’ and take part in actual triathlons remained optional, it would probably be doable. … I put such fears to the back of my mind. I paid my membership, I got my England Athletics card in the post, which I think automatically endows the holder with athletic prowess if I’ve understood correctly, and wrote down the dates in my diary. Of even more critical importance, I negotiated for the loan of a large-sized running vest. No squelching into a children’s small size black and tan one on the day for me. I practically felt like a sponsored athlete. No-one has ever approached me to join a sporting team before, I was more often than not the one chosen last for the school netball team – an experience which has left me scarred, yet here I was, being scouted out and approached, invited to join others in a collective expression of sporting excellence. I was born to do this. My time had finally come! I would be invincible. It will be fine. Competitive triathlons has probably been my spiritual home all along, doing XC will be just the beginning…
It will be fine… well that was what I was thinking ages and ages again when I wasn’t going to have to do any actual running until some vague distant point in the future. However, as the day of my debut XC run drew ever closer I was a bit worried. The unlikely issue was I hadn’t been doing very much running at all in the interim, most recently I’ve not run for a whole week, since I picked up a sporting injury at last weekend’s Sheffield Way Relay recce. I fully appreciate this sounds unlikely, and it might even be funny if it weren’t so debilitating. It’s a chafing one. Chuffing chafing injuries. Specifically, a bra related chafing injury. As if this wasn’t humiliating enough, the initial squirm inducing chafing was exacerbated to an unbelievable degree by my subsequent liberal application of sudocrem to the affected areas. I’ve used this product for years with no problem at all, but inexplicably I got a really severe and extensive allergic reaction to the darned stuff this time round. Acres of skin on my not insignificantly sized midriff erupted in blister like protestations that made me look like I’d been a burn victim. I’m not even exaggerating. I briefly wondered if I’d got or would get sepsis. Astonishing really, and not compatible with clothes wearing in general and sports bra wearing in particular, which made me limit forays out and about as far as possible. I did dress for these excursions by the way, just to be clear, but basically lived in the dark all week, moving in the shadows of my flat, and very definitely not doing any running at all. I did make a brief foray to the chemist’s (twice) for supplies and advice, but basically spent the week sitting it out. By the time the morning of the event dawned I seemed to be much better, though I am increasingly thinking a purchase for anti-chafing balms may be on the horizon despite all my previous protestations that they can’t possibly be worth the money. I never want to undergo that degree of pain again.
So, the morning dawned, my sports bra was again donned with only minor wincing, and I would be there. XCs was to be my new adventure for the weekend. I had to miss volunteering at Graves Junior parkrun in order to attend so there was some pressure for it to be fun. But nothing ventured as the saying goes…
Sporting injuries aside, I was all set.. until I crashed shin-first into a random heavy wooden box I’d left in the hallway of my flat, on the very morning of the big race. It blooming hurt, ripping the skin and creating a not-insignificant blood flow and what’s worse, it was all my fault as I’d left it there deliberately. I’d been trying to flatten out a rug I’d misguidedly tried to wash in the washing machine and which came out all bumpy, misshapen and semi-shrunk. ‘That’s an ill-advised trip hazard that needs flattening out’ I thought to myself, eyeing it critically as it lay wrinkled and dangerous in situ in my hall. I therefore took some care to responsibly load it up with heavy objects in order to try to squash said wrinkles out of it. What could possibly go wrong? ‘I’ll just leap across the top of this major obstacle to my passing that obstructs the entire hallway, it will be good practise for the cross-country course tomorrow.’ I thought, as I headed to bed on Saturday night. Best laid plans eh,.. I am aware of the irony of tripping over my defence strategy that was intended to prevent future trips. The humiliation is significant, so too is the pain, but worst of all, my newly washed rug now has blood on it. I think I’ll leave it. It will bring character to my soft furnishings, always a boon. I was going to upload a photo of the injury, but the picture doesn’t do it justice. Maybe I will in a couple of days time when the bruising has come out, meantime you’ll just have to imagine it as best you can for yourself.
So XC. My weather test of sticking my arm out of my attic window suggested a decidedly nippy day was in prospect. Good oh, I could wear my long-sleeved top and hoik the TNT vest over the top. I headed out for my rendezvous and was swept up by a Smiley elder, who was also doing her XC debut with TNT last Sunday (though in fairness, that is where our similarities end, as I think when she was scouted it was for quality not quantity to tell the truth, oh well, kindred spirits all the same). We then scooped up Dr Smiley who was the brains and recruitment sergeant of operations, as well as being in possession of the official TNT pop up tent (with instructions), so pretty important to have along on the day. We headed off to Kimberworth (near Tinsley apparently, but who was listening to anyone protesting that navigational hint).
Strictly speaking, this was the second fixture of the South Yorkshire County Athletics XC season, and XC League Fixture 2, Winter hill, Kimberworth. I couldn’t do the first on account of it being the Smiley Lakes Dirty Double trip, so my debut. Hurrah! En route, as we discussed the format of the day, I started to realise a bit belatedly I possibly should have given this XC malarkey a bit more planning. I’d taken on board the mud potential, and not wanting to splash out on new shoes for spikes was going with my new favourite off-road shoes which are the Irock, and that was that.
En route I learned that there would be multiple laps, that there would be loads of clubs, there were even different races. It was sounding increasingly like the living hell I remember without affection as a school sports day. ‘Didn’t you ever do cross-country at school?’ Erm, ‘nope.’ No fields surrounded my schools where I was growing up, also I put quite a lot of effort into skipping games – more because of communal showers than anything else! I looked at my two traveling companions with new objectivity. Hang on a minute, I’m in a car with two of the most elite Smiley runners I know, sponsored athletes, GB representatives, FGRs indeed. How did this happen? What if the ballast requirement whilst true in and of itself, wasn’t sufficiently well used by other teams. Would I find myself hobbling in some hours after everyone else had packed up and gone home, having only set off their most gazelle like runners as the gun went off. Eek.
With only minor directional squabbling, we made it to the venue, and as we were early, managed to get a space in the school car park – though not before doing some impressive kerb crawling up a back lane and a nifty bit-more-than-a-three-point-turn to get out of it again. Incidentally, and pleasingly, as you turn into the entrance to the fields and school, you pass a pub called The Colin. This is officially the best named pub ever, not only because I say so, but also because this is a self-evident truth. No fake news here.
Parked up, stuff was removed from the car, including considerable provisions and the collapsible tent (note to self, bring communal provisions next time) and headed to the playing fields. I lagged behind, my inner apprehension manifesting itself in physical form. For the record, I did offer to help carry, but was declined. Instead I documented the labour of others, a worthy activity in and of itself I’m sure you’ll agree.
We turned the corner and the XC race HQ came into view.
Oh. My. Gawd.
This I had not expected! The field was set up with an array of colourful tents and flags as each XC team had laid claim to some bit of territory. It was like a scene from a film portraying a tournament camp for gladiators, jousting or Quidditch or something. I would have said Glastonbury, but it was a bit less muddy and more clean-cut than that. Also, there were proper loos you could use in the sports hall, in case you are worrying about me and my need for my precautionary pee. Some clubs were taking their emblematic presence more seriously than others. I wasn’t sure the shield wall was entirely in keeping with the spirit of the occasion, but it doesn’t appear to be explicitly disallowed in the rules as far as I could tell. Well, I presume not, as I gather XC is quite traditional in relation to rule book observance, so it wouldn’t otherwise have gone unchallenged.
Energetic young people were sprinting about doing elaborate warm ups. No doubt within some of the more lavish tents, favoured athletes were being oiled and massaged by minions to ensure they’d arrive at the starting lines primed and ready to go like well oiled springs. I stood blinking into the sun, aware of my stomach spontaneously somersaulting within….
Our tent was erected with an expert flick of the wrist by Dr Smiley, and adorned with the TNT flag.
Size isn’t everything just so you know.
Then it was down to business. Running vests were provided – I’m just loaning one for now, mercifully I got first dabs and appropriated the only large one. There were two others, but they were sample sizes for display only on doll-size models as far as I could tell. Altruism is all very commendable and everything, but I’d defy anyone to wrestle the large running vest off me. Suitably attired, it was then time for pre run drinks! A rich red port all round to get us in the mood. Well, Dr Smiley said it was beetroot juice, but I’m not sure.
It was a very, very beetrooty red wine to be fair, but I’m normally more of a white wine drinker myself, so not too sure what ‘normal’ port would taste like. Anyways, now I had some dutch courage sloshing within, I went for an explore to calm my nerves. I didn’t yet have my race number (you get allocated one to keep for the whole season), so went naked amongst the throng.
I nervously sashayed by the various other athletic teams affecting confident nonchalance. Given my lack of a number, I was half expecting some at least of them to try to poach me for their own clubs, but astonishingly none did. They probably just knew instinctively I would be out of their league and didn’t want the embarrassment of refusal. It’s true one club member did say to me ‘what are you doing here?’ but I’m sure they just momentarily misspoke and weren’t incredulous at my presence at all. Once I got over the initial terror of being surrounded by ‘proper’ athletes, in what was quite clearly a competitive set up and therefore way out of my usual comfort zone, it was quite fun seeing various runners pop up with unexpected affiliations. There’s so and so from Dark Peak – wearing a Sheffield Tri top. Ooh, look at that frontrunner in a Totley top, get that parkrunner flaunting a Hallamshire Harrier vest and so on. It was like all these runners have a parallel existence. I suppose to be fair I did too. It was my first outing in a non-smiley vest. It felt somewhat alien. I said hello to a few people and all seemed friendly enough. Phew.
I sauntered over to the start to look at the course, which was bothering me a bit as it was apparently multiple laps, and I couldn’t fathom any obvious signage other than a big flag at the start. There was a map it’s true, but it didn’t massively instil confidence:
I went to watch the junior women’s race. This was for me the low point of the day. They all looked super focused, really competitive, lining up, bright-eyed, lean and hungry for the race. It would be a race. The marshal gave some sort of briefing I couldn’t really hear, then there was an actual starting gun, and they took off, elbows out and jostling for position. This was a serious business. No fancy dress here. They looked amazing in their club vests, but they also looked like the kind of young women who would have massively intimidated me at school. It was impressive. The race started down hill so they hurtled off, not a slow runner in sight. This did not strike me as an altogether ballast friendly undertaking, whatever the recruitment rhetoric might have implied at the time…
I made my way back to the safety of my TNT team mates. Pleasingly, our numbers had swelled a little in my absence, although my number had yet to appear, some familiar faces had. My new best friend from the Dig Deep 12.12 and my TNT buddy I’d met at the TenTenTen, who’d let me peer down her top for sizing purposes, phew. There were allies here.
One of the peculiarities (for me) of cross-country, is that there are multiple races taking place on the day. Different categories run at different times, that’s possibly what gives a bit of a school sports day feel to proceedings. On reflection, I think the junior races probably attract a more self-selecting group of already sporty youngsters. For the adult events, whilst it is true there were some formidable runners, there was also a scattering of what I would regard as the have a go participants, in which I include myself.
Somewhat bizarrely, there were different length courses not just by age, but for men and women. The details were all on the cross country section of the South Yorkshire County Athletics Association website. Hang on though, I’ll see if I can get a pic of some of the details just so you can share my confusion:
There you go. So the men had to run three laps and just over 9000 metres, the women only just 6200 metres or thereabouts, and two laps. I think this must be for our own protection in case our wombs fall out that was part of the problem for the legend that is Kathrine Switzer when she was wanting to run a marathon. I wonder if the XC rule makers think women’s uteruses will fly out if they travel by train as well? This fixture was safe as there was no railway station at the venue, but I suppose it is worth considering if future events are located at train terminuses, you’d have to do a proper risk assessment then. Personally I worry more about sexual harassment on public transport than losing my womb when traveling at speed, but then I’m past child-bearing age so could manage without so can perhaps afford to be blasé about such risks.
Having scooped up other runners, we went again to look at the map, this time equipped with someone who knew how to make sense of the route. I was still quite confused, there seemed to be lots of looping about, like the old Spirograph sets I so coveted in my youth, only more complex and less symmetrical. I wasn’t much the wiser, but I was reassured by my more experienced runners protestations that the course was well-marked and well marshalled. That’s OK then.
BAck at base camp, other TNTers had assembled, and pleasingly (I think) my number had materialised too. Here it is, and here I am wearing it!
We even organised ourselves sufficiently for a team women’s photo, hurrah!
After this faffing, I discovered our race was at noon, not 12.30 as I’d thought, so I went off to the start line. I was too hot, for the record, I should have just worn a T-shirt under my vest, but I hadn’t expected the glorious sunshine. I lurked nervously at the back of the line up. The starter shouted out some vague instructions. My favourite of which was the earnest direct to keep that side for this part and that side for the other. As none but the front row of runners could hear him, this seemed something of a triumph of hope over experience. I was just hoping I’d stay in sight of the faster runners so could just literally as well as metaphorically follow their lead.
Then ‘suddenly’ there was an actual gun shot (not actual live bullets as far as I could tell, but a starting pistol) which made me jump and then we were off! The women started with the veteran 65+ men. I was right at the back of the field as we stampeded off downhill. Immediately, apart from the shock of being expected to run, which always astonishes me at running events – I felt reassured. Unlike the junior women earlier on, this was a bit more sedate. There was quite a longish crocodile of runners, and a slightly narrow start and sharp left turn meant it was a bit congested. It felt manageable. Watching the colourful snake of runners ahead it honestly reminded me a bit of a parkrun, albeit one on a trail. Without a doubt at the front of the field people were really pushing themselves, but at the back it was more collaborative than competitive with friendly smiles and words of encouragement.
We headed off across a field basically. In previous years Dr Smiley has run this whole course with just one shoe. Not because she didn’t allow enough time to get dressed at the start, but because she lost one in the mud on lap one and didn’t want to lose time or places by stopping to retrieve it. I had explained if this happened to me I wouldn’t be continuing without first restoring my shoe to my foot. I’m more of an ugly sister than a Cinderella at heart. I like to have my shoes correctly adorning my person when out and about on the whole. This year, the course was completely dry. As we took off it turned out the route was very clear. The marshals were spread out, but the course was obvious. There were some men warming up and running back and forth along the route, some cheery officials and even some supporters at strategic points.
The route took us up and down over hills and if you remembered to look up there were some pretty good views, it was very much more scenic than I’d anticipated, a partly urban landscape, with a housing estate at one side, but impressive all the same. There was a heave ho up quite a steep hill, then a sort of strange loop within a loop, emerging for a bit of a downward stretch where I saw a friendly face in the form of SCS photographer who gave cheery encouragement as well as taking a couple of fine photos, having been trained up specially to delete any deeply unflattering ones I presume. I mean, I might not be svelte exactly, but I am both airborne and smiling, for which I am most grateful! Must stop crossing those arms over when I run, inefficient use of energy and also obscures my team shirt logo! Disaster! Thanks Sheena Woodhead for the pic, sorry you weren’t running yourself, but good to see you all the same. Seeing people I know definitely motivates me to run more, I feel I owe it to them to make an effort, seeing as they are making the effort to cheer us round!
After a bit of a down hill, and a slightly humiliating (for me) romp through race HQ where all the really good runners could watch you wobble by before they joined the start line for their own run, you went over a road and then hoiked up another steep hill. The faster runners were already looping back at this point, and it was fun to cheer some by. I tried my best going up the hill but it was hard. I might have walked a bit to be fair. At this point three of us TNT runners were in a little row like flying ducks, only with less actual flight. One of the marshals encouragingly remarked on this ‘oh look, you are three in a row!’ he said, before apparently whispering to the one in the lead ‘but you are in the front of them’. The marshals were great all the way round, cheering us on as well as providing necessary directional pointing.
After the hill, another sharp left and then there was a properly undulating bit, narrow mud track and ditches on either side, it was fun to try to get enough momentum on the down to clamber up the hills ahead. Like a DIY roller coaster. Red paint like stuff was on the ground to aid navigation. It was pretty clear, apart from at one point where I did got the right way, but one of our lead runners overshot I think. A bit frustrating, but one of those things I suppose. Not quite as bad as the Venice marathon where the race had an unexpected previously unknown winner, Eyob Faniel after a motorcycle escort led the lead group off route, but unfortunate all the same. Round the corner, down the hill, past the same marshal who’d earlier been urging us up hill, across the road and then back on to the edge of the HQ field, down and over a little wooden bridge.
Then just towards end of the first lap was a sculpture very similar to those we’d passed doing the SWR leg 1 recce last week, clearly part of the same sculpture trail. I rather like them. Enough that I bothered to walk down and look at them properly after I’d finished running, and attempted to take some artistic shots of them and the runners juxtaposed.
That was the first lap done. It felt manageable, and there was enough variety for it not to be boring, which was my big fear. The hills were more challenging than I expected, but I just focused on the TNT runner ahead of me. I’ve followed her before at Carsington Water Dark and White trail event where we finished in very similar times, so I really let her do the pacing for me which is either parasitic of me or good race craft. As we were the same team on this occasion, I am going to go with the latter!
The second lap went quickly. The field had spread out. I was vaguely aware that the men would be heading off at 12.30, and was a bit worried about being lapped, or more specifically, where I’d be when that moment inevitably came. I was just reaching the top of the hill within the second part of the figure of eight, when the marshal warned they were in sight. Curses. They caught me at exactly the worst part of the course where the undulations and the DIY roller coaster were in situ. I decided it would be too antisocial to press on as there wasn’t really anywhere for the faster runners to overtake so I’d either be trampled, or really piss some runner off which didn’t seem fair. I opted instead to stand to one side to let the first swarm pass and then periodically nipped in and out to navigate the route as best I could without getting in the way, clapping where I could. Hang on, let me find the route map on strava, you’ll see what I mean:
Not the most obvious of routes, but it did work, and you don’t need to navigate. Once the majority of the men had shot by, I got sort of swept up with those that remained. I did get quite breathless trying to hold my own. Many shouted words of encouragement as they passed, including some from TNT, it was competitive certainly but friendly still. Even so, I was quite relieved when I made it back into the HQ field, round over the little bridge and soon the finish flags were in sight. A quick burst up the hill and there were the already finished TNT women to cheer our little strung out trio of finishers in. It was great actually. Not too bad at all. My womb didn’t fall out, but (shh, don’t tell) I was secretly quite pleased not to have to do a third lap.
Because the men had started at 12.30 and were doing three laps, I got a drink and then joined the others at the finish line to cheer the rest of our TNT team and other known runners home. It was quite fun. As TNTers finished, they joined the support throng. It was like playing sardines only with less hiding in cupboards and more furious running round. It was fun at the finish. Quite novel for me to get to cheer fellow team members home in. Usually, I’m the last Smiley home, this format meant the men finished after me. Something of a boon to my self-belief in future!
Some of the men looked quite tired after all that running round in circles. I wonder if any of them lost internal organs during the final lap? There was a first aid tent at the finish just in case, but patient confidentiality meant those paramedics were giving nothing away. There was also an impromptu wrestling match going on. Fair enough. I must have missed the sign up for that.
So Doctor Smiley counted all the TNT runners out, and then she counted them all back. Once secure in the knowledge that all were accounted for, it was back to base for compulsory prosecco. Prosecco and cake! Well, vegan rockie road which is basically cake. No really. Every time apparently, and as this comes from a reliable source I have no reason to disbelieve it. My ending up part of the TNT team offering at this event may have been through serendipity, but it seems a fitting home for me. We were having fun. The prosecco was even dressed for the occasion. Marvellous.
The prosecco was good for team morale, but maybe less helpful in terms of enhancing spatial awareness and problem solving skills as evidenced by those trying to pack up the tent. You will note that once again I just stayed out of proceedings, leaving it to those with greater initiative than me to wrestle with the situation. Which they did. It was touch and go, but the tent lost out in the end. It got desperate enough that at one point the directions were dragged out and referred to. I mean that has got to be quite a low point I’m sure you’ll agree, but desperate times do indeed call for desperate measures.
All around us tents were being dismantled and bags being packed, and pretty soon we were all trekking back to the carparks like festival goers departing after a weekend rave. Tired and filthy but happy. There was one anxious moment when our driver got caught up in the gate by her turtle shell, but she’s just not used to being so overtly ninja in public. She’ll get there. You just need to own those labels sometimes. You will from henceforth be known as Ninja Smiley to me 🙂 , which is a compliment by the way, in case that is in any way ambiguous.
Back to the car, and homeward bound. For our return voyage, I tried to get my head around the discipline of triathlon. Granted, it probably takes more than a half hour car journey to truly grapple with it, but I’ve got the basics. Three disciplines, so three lots of training, and they sort of mimic running i.e. speed, strength, endurance. That made sense until I realised I can’t imagine how you do hills in swim sessions, please not by trying to negotiate huge waves. Also, I still haven’t quite recovered from the shock of realising that ‘proper’ triathletes don’t swallow huge amounts of water when they swim. I’d idly mentioned to Dr Smiley previously that I couldn’t see how she could possibly swim in the sea and then cycle or run anywhere after drinking all that salty water. It was a complete revelation to me when she looked slightly bemused and said simply ‘but, I don’t swallow water when I swim.’ That had really and truly never crossed my mind as a possibility. I’d always suspected triathletes to be super human, but that particular skill totally blows my mind! Imagine that, swimming without swallowing any water let alone nearly drowning! Amazing. I’m more buoyant than anything though, I don’t think I’d ever sink or drown, but forward motion might be an issue, so it would never be my thing. Cycling stage is tough too. Have you seen how lean some of those cyclists get?
So that was it. My XC debut done and dusted.
It was definitely more fun than not. I would – indeed will – do it all again. The arrival at base camp was intimidating, this is probably the only running event I’ve ever done where the focus is so very clearly on competition. It was friendly, but I did feel a bit in the way when lapped. Having said that, how refreshing that just turning up to be counted means you have some intrinsic value for your team. Plus, there is clearly a huge social, eating, drinking, cross fertilisation between running clubs thing going on that I hadn’t appreciated. It’s not a just turn up and run and then depart kind of thing, it eats into the day. That doesn’t bother me, but wouldn’t be massively compatible with a family Sunday unless everyone was running. Good though. I’d say try it. I was pleasantly surprised. It was certainly doable today without spikes, and I think quite a few people do just run it in trail or fell shoes quite happily, though I suppose in serious mud you’d need to take care.
So thanks TNT for welcoming me on board and Dr Smiley in particular for guiding me and Ninja Smiley through our debut outings. Thank you for arranging a birthday so there was cake and prosecco, and weather so there was sunshine, and running buddies so it was fun. It was a fine romp out, and you can’t say fairer than that.
Come on people, give it a go, and do yourself a favour, next time bring rations for your club buddies, or at the very least leaden lard cakes to feed to the opposition, that should slow them down nicely.
Just think, this time next year, you could be running in the shadow of Keppel’s Column. Your life will be the richer for it. Plus, could arm you with the answer to an obscure, regionally based pub quiz question in future. Just be there. Take responsibility for your future, and join the race.
Oh the results? If you care, the prelim results for the SYCAA XC league race two are here. Other XC leagues are available, apparently, no idea how you find out where and when, go discover for yourself, it’s all part of the adventure.
Happy running ’til next time. Also, happy halloween.
BOO! Don’t look back