TUESDAY 5th MAY
BUNNY RUN RELAYS
[Leg 3] 1.5m/200ft
DIMPLES LANE QUARRY, HAWORTH, WEST YORKS. 

For the second year in succession I teamed up with John Chaplin and Lee Passco as 'The Lancashire Hotpots' for the last bit of Woodentops madness until Withins Skyline in October. Having sadly missed all four of the other Bunny Runs it was nice to get out here and have a taste. These unique races pitch some of the country's best senior runners with junior runners as young as seven years old in some cases! It is very competitive but also a bit daft with fancy dress and all sorts of carry-ons. In the relays, rather than a baton we exchange an egg which if broken, will constitute a time penalty. Neither of us were in particilarly good shape but we managed to salvage seventh place overall which wasn't a bad return. Lee was also running in Team Passco with his two young boys. Mr Chaplin and I might well be asked to step aside for the young guns of Leon and Thomas in the not too distant future.
Time: 10:25  

SUNDAY 24th APRIL
THREE PEAKS RACE
24m/4500ft
HORTON-IN-RIBBLESDALE, NORTH YORKS.

Thinking about what was in store on the journey to Horton that morning, I realised 'the bigger picture' had in fact changed course during this year. 'The bigger picture' now was simply about getting fit for the summer season and my priorities today were to absorb the experience, stay on my feet and cross that finish line without further injury.
As race traffic built up in the village, I peered across to my right at Pen-y-Ghent, looking a lot bigger than it did when last we met in September. My Nissan Micra was the last car allocated a parking spot in the main field and the gate shut closed behind me. As I mentioned to the young marshalling lad, I hoped it wasn't an omen for being last in the race too.
I was told that the organisation at the Three Peaks Race is something else. Well, even the safety pins had been readily prepared in to clusters of four so with this detail in mind I could only assume they had indeed thought of everything.
It was a glorious spring morning and even at 9:30am the sun was giving off a fair amount of heat so I included a double splash of sun cream to my getting ready routine. At the start I ended up alongside Rossendale's Craig Stansfield who has done just about all the long and tough races on the fell racing calendar in his time and he asked me what time I was expecting. I hesitated, ''Erm, I don't know to be honest'', and I didn't. So then I thought to myself realistically what time do I expect? Sub-four hours would be a result, 3.50 good going, anything better than that an unlikely stormer. Genuinely though I had no idea because I didn't know how my body was going to react beyond the 20 mile zone. Even at the 19 mile mark I would be embarking on 2000ft more ascent than I have ever done over that distance, so the latter stages of the race were to be a journey in to the unknown.
On a sour note, one or two runners and spectators failed to respect the one minute silence in respect of recently deceased past winners of the Three Peaks, although in fairness the voice behind the tannoy failed to grasp the attention of the 750 or so at the starting line, at least that was until the countdown began for the starting horn.
The first peak of the three is Pen-y-Ghent of which the climb begins not long after leaving the village. I took it very steady and then held back on the descent so not to start jiggering my quad muscles too early on. I had completely switched myself off as to who had passed me and who I was passing and was simply concentrating on staying comfortable and keeping the fluids down me. From the foot of Pen-y-Ghent, the next checkpoint is some nine miles away at Ribblehead viaduct. It's all good running over this section, but I had been warned not to get carried away and so plodded along trying to maintain a steady consistency. Just after passing the 10k marker I tripped on some jagged cobbly ground and somehow recovered to stay on my feet much to my relief. It was a wake up call because had I gone down hard on that stuff it would have made a mess and put the following eighteen miles in some jeopardy. Reaching the section which I consider to contain a significant amount of tarmac for a fell race, last year's ladies winner Anna Lupton cruised by with efficiency and it was then I wondered if in fact I had gone off too fast afterall. Pounding down the main road to Ribblehead the imposing lump that is Whernside loomed larger and larger but I was looking forward to the lemon and lime tonic that I had waiting for me and so squirted my surplus water over my newly shaven head. Well, not so much shaven as a 'number two', but the last time it was this short I was less than six months old and the severity of my clip brought about a good few comments from around the course from those that still managed to recognise me.
At Ribblehead I got good shouts of encouragement from Chorley runner Pete Gilham and Tom Cornthwaite and after a few swigs of citrus happiness I was feeling quite spritely. Some chap from Northumberland Fell Runners complained to me about his X-talon shoes 'rubbing like f***' so I told him I would happily swap him for the chafing of the loins that I was beginning to suffer as we embarked on the 1300ft climb of Whernside. This was roughly the half way mark and I bumped into Craig again as we assessed whether Mark Ellithorn was catchable. My old friend from Chorley Harriers had been out of sight for some time after a fast start but had now reared up a bit and was only about a minute or so ahead. I was trying not to get distracted by his black and white vest but as I was feeling quite good I made the mistake of pushing on a bit up this bloody big steep hill and running off the summit I felt the first twinge of cramp in my right calf. I was not alone. Ahead of me along the ridge, there was a scene of carnage with three or four runners pulled up and cramping. Wharfedale's Sam Watson was recieving treatment from a fellow runner whilst Chorley's Mark was also in trouble but recovered well just before I caught him up. I couldn't get near him after that. He descended smoothly off the steep rocky eroded trod from Whernside, whilst I dribbled down with caution. The first real feelings of fatigue were suddenly setting in and the tender area around my ankle and achilles was starting to ask questions aswell. Another long stretch of tarmac road leads to the Hill Inn checkpoint where I gathered my final bottle of liquids and saw Chorley's Lynne Clough, an experienced long distance fell runner, only twenty yards behind. I was beginning to realise what this race was all about. Starting the climb up Ingleborough, another shout from Gilly, Tom, Mrs Nuttall and Darwen Dasher Linda Clarkson and so then down to business, but as much as I psyched myself up for this final uphill onslaught I just didn't have it in the tank to hold my place. Craig came by and pulled away, big Sam was next, followed by Lynne who showed me absolutely no acknowledgment whatsoever despite voicing my encouragement her way. No offence though, I thought. She was either completely in the zone or simply didn't recognise the haircut I suppose. 
Next up, the famous Ingleborough steps. Big slabs of man laiden stone, seemingly designed specifically to break up any sort of an attempt at a stride from the tired legs of a 6ft 1'' person. I almost ground to a halt here to refuel. I was past wondering when the perfectionist of pace setting, Graham Schofield, would eventually speed past with plenty in the tank and then he appeared just as I was having a real low point. ''Aye aye there, liking the haircut'', he said as he ripped the top off a gel pack with his teeth and worked his way through the field. Then came a flurry of runners I had passed going up Whernside. From the slabs, up the almost sheer rocky scramble to the ridge, I was really feeling energy ooze out of me with each stride. Young Jack Dugdale of Clayton, his grandfather a previous winner, checked me out through the corner of his eye as he went by. I think he has been dying to scalp me for a good while and today was his day. He has improved greatly this year though so it was only a matter of time to be honest. The ridge to the summit is runnable but I wasn't the only one walking with hands on knees. Two or three times both calf muscles were now teetering with cramp and I could see that the final five miles, albeit downhill, were going to be a serious exercise in hanging on. Initially it's steep and rocky off Ingleborough and my ankles and knees were all over the place. Then as the angle of descent levels out I got a sharp stitch-like pain which made things all the more unpleasant. As I bobbled along, each slight deviation underfoot was now becoming a test of dexterity. I was being overtaken with the regularity of a tractor and trailer on a dual carriageway by now, but I wasn't too bothered, I just concentrated on one foot in front of the other and to make sure I finish this thing.
As good as it was ever going to get in those tough last few miles was when Ambleside's Jane Reedy passed me just before a ladder stile and so duly gave me an honestly unavoidable close up view of her fine derriere. Moments later though, an equally great view opened up before my eyes. It was the sight of the marquee in the finishing field less than a couple of miles away. Now I knew I was going to make it. I checked my watch and all wasn't lost as there was still a chance of nipping inside the four hour mark if I could just press on a bit, but I just couldn't press on. The race closes with a run through a Horton resident's back yard and then another private garden before suddenly appearing onto the crowd laiden run-in to the finishing line. I decided against trying for one last minute crowd pleasing surge to do battle with whoever was panting ferociously on my shoulder and so let them have it. As it turned out it was that Northumbrian guy last sighted at Ribblehead. A finishing time of 4.01:22 gave me 127th place. I had lost 28 places off Ingleborough alone and many more since Whernside which I dare not calculate. But I didn't beat myself up about it. This was my longest run out ever and I honestly felt I gave what I could on the day. It was a great experience and gave me lots of scope for next year when hopefully I will be better prepared. 
Hobbling off back to the car I had a few words with Graham Schofield who remarkably had just run his 22nd consecutive Three Peaks race. I referred to him earlier as 'the perfectionist of pace setting' and I kid you not. Graham was behind me going up Ingleborough and went on to finish 47th. He was sat on the grass treating his feet and beside him lay a huge pile of empty energy gel packets. ''Bloody hell, that's how you do it then?'', I asked. ''Twenty of them. Twenty quids worth. You need them in a race like this, you have to eat'', he replied. Well I will bare that one in mind given that I downed just the two gels and nowt else but liquids, but I think a jam butty might do for me next year. 
To finish, sat in the sunny field with a cold bottle of beer by the name of Copper Dragon which really did taste devine. A few more cold ones followed that evening too I can tell you.   
Time: 4.01:22   Pos: 127th/703