WEDNESDAY 30th JUNE
A week off work opened up the opportunity to get a bit of decent running in up in the Lake Distict. I have got both the Kentmere and Fairfield horseshoe's under my belt in glorious weather and it's only Wednesday. This is a taste of the lottery lifestyle for me. I would be shooting up that M6 as much as possible - then again if I had won the lottery I would have the cash to live in Sedburgh and leave my car in the garage. It must be September since I was last running in proper Lakeland territory. I can't blame injuries entirely, often it's about committing that extra time to travel rather than going for the easy option of training on the local fells. Kentmere is just an hour away from home and there is a shop in nearby Staveley that sells excellent sandwiches so I need to make this journey more often. Locally, whilst I would never complain for a single split second about living on the verges of the West Pennines, there are no vertical challenges that equate to a good hour of solid uphill work and only by training on the Lakeland terrain will I get the best out of it on race day. 
Early on during the Kentmere run when dropping off the rocky crag by the name of Yoke, a chap out walking gave way and as I thanked him I clocked his side-profile and instantly recognised him to be actor Timothy Spall. I double checked with a quick face-on glimpse beneath his sun hat and was sure it was him. For some reason about ten yards on, I couldn't resist briefly rearing up to a halt and asking him politely if he was indeed Tim Spall, only for the man to look down at me with an Auf Weidershen Pet's Barry Taylor-esque confused look on his face and reply in a slightly Midlands, although not overly blatant Brummy accent, ''No?''. Now I was convinced! I apologised however, and said he must be sick of hearing that one and so continued onwards. Poor bloke, he probably thought he could get away from it all up there on a Monday morning. 
Today there was no celeb spotting, but very nearly a fall that would have done some nasty damage on the way up Fairfield.  Immediately from my car parked outside the church at Rydal, it's uphill more or less all the way to the summit and the climbing muscles get a good old battering for three quarters of an hour until reaching the penultimate summit of Great Rigg. From here there is briefly the first experience of decent as the ridge dips before rising again to Fairfield. Coming off Great Rigg I was moving along at speed and didn't realise the numbness in the quad departments until I clipped a rock and was staring a pretty frightening landing in the face. It seemed to defy gravity that I managed to regain balance and with just the jerking of a muscle on the inside of my right arm and a pending black toe nail to show for this incident, I was feeling the life of a charmed man. This was another poignant moment this year. The film Sliding Doors sprung to mind and the mess I might otherwise have been in. Luckily I got to enjoy the rest of this great route, if only with a little more precaution.