Two for the price of one

2017 is over, and there’s a pretty big dent in January. I started my running challenge to try to motivate me back into running generally, hill running specifically, and because I like to tell people I think suffering is good for the soul. What better time of year to suffer, than Christmas? (I get on with my family pretty well, so they aren’t really a source of suffering tbh). Of course I’m talking about going for a windy, sleety run on Christmas day.

My mum lives in North Hampshire, and seeing as I was down for the festive period, I thought it would be an ideal opportunity to tick off not one, but two hills from the list; the two highest to date as well. Pilot hill (286m) in Hampshire, and Walbury Hill (297m) in Berkshire both stand on the Wayfarer’s Way that cuts across the North Hampshire downs (it also apparently starts just past Walbury Hill at Inkpen Beacon). My Mum and I drove out to the carpark at Coombe Gibbet; she went off to walk Ella, the family dog, whilst I ran. As we got closer to our destination it became apparently clear that the weather would not be on my side. The wind was howling off of the top of the ridgeway, driving the freezing sleet and rain like icy knives straight through me.

My route initially took me off the hill and down into the quaint village of Coombe. Seeing as we were parked so close to the summit of one of the hills, I didn’t want to peak (pun intended) too early. It also turns out that running straight down hill for a mile before warming up is almost as much fun as running straight up one. You live and learn!

From Coombe I was to take a cross-country route, up Sugglestone Down to a radio mast before a long slow drop down in to Faccombe (Faccombe all!). I am nothing, if not consistent, so I got lost, as I have on nearly every single one of these runs. I don’t know if it’s my shocking sense of direction or orientation (Julie will say it’s my lack of orientation no doubt), but sometimes it’s hard to find what should be marked footpaths. After a very steep slog up Sugglestone Down (I may have walked a little bit…), I set off across a field in what I thought was the right general direction; I could even see the radio mast I was aiming for. Unfortunately it seems that most of the paths cut straight across farmers fields. Fields that tend to get ploughed on an annual basis. Sometimes they plough across the paths and obliterated. See where this is going? Anyway, after running around a cornfield, scaring the bejeesus out of every pheasant and partridge in Hampshire, and one or two buzzards (so cool!), I found the road I’d been looking for. In my defence, these little detours are getting shorter each time, I think I probably only added on an extra kilometre, if that.

The road down to Faccombe (it is as rude as it sounds), was a good opportunity to settle into a steady pace. I was particularly mindful that I had agreed to meet my mother back at the car at a specific time, and I was already behind schedule (thankfully the turkey was in the oven), but we were expecting guests.

As I keep banging on, this challenge is about running up hills, so I’ve have deliberately planned several ups and downs into each route, not necessarily just the intended summits. I’d come down the off the ridgeway, and thrown one hill into the route already, so it was time to get back up onto the ridgeway proper. Whitehorse hill in Oxford was short, but steep, and the hills in Cambridgeshire and Essex were fairly unimpressive. My point is that up until this point I hadn’t actually run up many hills. The long slog out of Faccombe was a real test, and to be honest, I was found wanting. The muddy path took a short dip down to the bottom of the valley, before heading up through woods and along field boundaries before depositing me on the Wayfarer’s Way. I struggled with this hill, really struggled. About three quarters of the way up I just couldn’t keep it up. I told myself that I stopped because it looked like there was a path off to my left I might have to take. I’d looked at the map in Faccombe, so I knew that the only navigational choice was when the path ran out. In all honesty, I was absolutely bollocksed. My fitness was not up to scratch, and this hill really hit that home. I can make excuses about there not being any hills in and around Cambridge to train on, but the truth is I’d let my running and training slip in the previous months. The fact that this was the first hill run in nearly six months is testament to that fact. I have resolved to not let such long lapses happen again, but I don’t like to make promises I can’t keep! I’ll just have to be a bit more mindful about keeping the running up. That’s not an issue right now as I’m training for the Cambridge half marathon in March.

Nevertheless I made it on to the Wayfarers way, where I was greeted first by an icy cold slap of wind to the chops, and secondly by a quagmire. I had thought that from this point it would be easy sailing, it’s pretty flat all the way, and I still had about two and a half miles to get back to the car (and the awaiting turkey). I considered walking, but I don’t think it would have made a huge amount of difference. I slipped my way along the footpath, past a rather bemused family, and set off across a field in hope of finding a trig point that marked the summit of Pilot hill.

It was at this point that the bemused family’s dog started playing a game. A game that involves it getting as close to me as it dared, whilst barking, then sprinting away as fast as possible, intentionally in the opposite direction of it’s rather embarassed looking owner. Having helped entice the dog back to it’s owner I jumped back onto the muddy path (carefully), and carried on slipping, squelching and sliding my way to the next summit. Trees, metal barriers, deer, and deep filthy pits of muds were leapt over, siddled past and ineleganty clambered over (not the deer). The second summit, another trig point, was smack bang in the middle of another farmers field. I figured that on Christmas day the farmer wouldn’t begrudge some mad runner jogging to an arbitrary spot in the middle of their field. I clambered over the fence, and in my haste totally missed the ground, sending my foot flying upwards and my bum downwards rather more rapidly than I’d bargained for. In truly suave style I scrabbled to get up by clutching at the metal gate, trying to get some purchase in the mud. Probably looking somewhat like Bambi on ice, I found my feet and ran across the field towards the trig point. I was running straight into the icy rain now, and my sense of humour was on the verge of failing me. Until of course I remembered this was exactly what I’d come for. Freezing wind, icy rain, treachorous mud; perfect!

I made it to the trig point, snapped a selfie and one of the glorious “view” (judge for yourselves), before running back to the fence. I sent my mum a quick message to say I was 5 minutes out (it turns out I actually sent it to the wrong parent and got a bemused phone call from my father), and finished the last half a mile or so in the driving rain. No time to stretch out or catch my breath I jumped in the car and we set off home. I figured stopping for a pint wasn’t necessary, there was plenty of booze waiting back at home!

I’ve ended all of these posts so far with the lessons I’ve learnt, and what I’ll change for the next. I didn’t have any particular take away lessons, aside from lack of fitness. I’ve finished the year with 5 hills in the bag, which to be honest, I had thought I would have completed a few more than that. At least it gives me a fairly easy resolution for next year! I’m pretty sure I can manage 6…

Endomondo route