Back to Oxford
Hill 3: A bit of a gap...
Well it’s been quite a while since my last official county hill run, 3 months by my reckoning. In all honesty that was maybe leaving it a bit too long, but I have to also be honest with myself; this is a long-term challenge. In those 3 months I have been keeping myself pretty busy, and my time was largely dominated by training and preparation for a week in the Alps. It was well worth it, and I had an absolutely fantastic time out in Chamonix. It was my first real proper taste of being in an alpine environment, without being on a skiing trip.
The bonus was that training for a week of climbing in mountaineering turned out be pretty good prep for running up hills in the UK!
I planned this run waaaay back in Easter, on a short break in the Pyrenees with some friends, and old housemates, from Oxford (that was another great trip). The only time Sarah and I could make was all the way into July, but I am committed to this challenge so I put it in the diary. I thought I might have managed a few more hills between now and then, so much for grand plans!
July 8th came along, and after a few too many beers at the work summer party the evening before, I set off to Oxford. The hill we were aiming for was White Horse hill, a towering green mound, nestled in the shadow of which lies the sleepy village of Uffington. We left the car in Fox & Hounds carpark, and set off for a little warm up. There aren’t any other hills around, though White Horse hill itself does lie on the Ridgeway; a spine of hills that stretches some 80+ miles from Ivinghoe Beacon in Hertfordshire, through Oxfordshire, and into Wiltshire where it ends at West Kennett. I’ve long talked about riding the Ridgeway as the vast majority of it is formed of bridleway, but sadly it hasn’t yet come to pass. A couple of years ago a friend (Jody) and I did cycle out from Oxford to the hill, up and along the ridgeway for a few miles, before making our way back to Oxford. This meant that I had the advantage of knowing what lay in store for me (and Sarah) with this particular hill.
I’d planned a little circuitous route so we could warm our legs up a little before hitting the steep section. A couple of uneventful miles on roads and tracks, and a chance to have a catch up with Sarah was welcome especially on such a scorchingly hot day. Thankfully we had a bit of breeze to cool things down (though I would have been more thankful if it was 10˚C colder). As we set off up the hill the chatter died down and we plodded slowly and steadily up the winding path, avoiding the steepest section of hill; you can’t actually climb up it reasonably, especially with signs all over the place telling you to stick to the path (for shame…). The last section was on broken chalk track, then grass. My lungs were burning with the effort, the first time I’d really done that sort of cardio for quite some time. We reached the summit, a proper trig marker rather than just a vague area on a map. My hands on my knees, gulping in lung fulls of air, trying to remember to enjoy myself! I recovered my breath, snapped a summit selfie with Sarah, and a couple more of the glorious view across the flat Oxfordshire plane, then we were off again to enjoy the rest of the run, the strenuous bit over.
Running slightly downhill along the Ridgeway path felt like freedom after the short, sharp, run to the summit. We checked the map a couple more times to make sure we had the right path and set off downwards by the edges of fields of golden wheat. This is where the “fun” (read that as type 2 fun) really began. I was regalling Sarah with a fascinating (ha!) tale of running through a solid patch of stinging nettles on a recent run up the Cam to Waterbeach to see Julie. No sooner did we jump over a stile, but lo behold! A solid wall of nettles, only a vague impression of the path we were supposed to be following. In these kind of situations I tend to just try and barge my way through and deal with the consequences at the end (that is not a metaphor). Sarah, who was out in front, was very much of the gently, gently approach. This worked to some extent, in that it probably reduced how much we got stung, but in my impatience I kept urging her to just keep running straight through and (wo)man up about it. In all fairness, there’s a time to step gently, and there’s a time for action. So I ran past, and straight in to an even thicker bush of nettles (Sarah’s approach was in all fairness probably the best). We finally reached a gate and a proper break in the little green stinging bastards. Our legs and arms were covered in blebs, which with the salty sweat, just meant everything felt like we’d rubbed ourselves in hot, spicy chilis.
We carried on, yet more fun awaited us. With only a couple of miles to go it seemed that we were on the home straight. Across a sheep field, then a right hand turn over a couple more field boundaries and plonk, right back in the car park. Of course, no trail run in the country with Mike would be complete without at least one navigational screw up! What was supposed to be a very straightforward line across a field to the other side, turned into a jumbled mess of criss-crossing our previous steps as we repeatedly tried, and failed, to find the way out of the sheep field we found ourselves in.
(the astute will notice that Sarah’s Strava time up White Horse hill is the fastest women’s time)
Aside from scarring the crap out of a load of sheep, all we succeeded in doing was finding out all of the points in two neighbouring fields where you couldn’t get out. Nearly at wit’s end we took one more punt (again consulting the GPS): we were in luck! After some 30+ minutes of searching we found the path out of the field.
With the same reckless joy as Theresa May, we flew through the fields of wheat (though less U-turns on our part). Finally on the last stretch back to the car, and the much awaited pint of shandy and nuts:
Overall we were out for about an hour and three quarters (8.3 miles in 1:25 of actual running), so it definitely wasn’t the fastest so far, but it was eventful. Whilst running up the hill itself was hard, we could see the top, so it felt feasible, and with some more training would be a lot easier. Saying that, I think my time in the alps the week previous probably didn’t hurt my hill fitnesss. The lesson I learnt, consult the GPS (phone) before spending too much time trying to navigate, or stop faffing and at least try to triangulate my position properly.
I think I’m starting to get the hang of things, and this run has certainly got me motivated to try a few more hills. I’m still a long, long way from running up the big hills (think Scafell Pike, The Cheviot, anything in Scotland), but running 8.3 miles, albeit slowly, without any trouble is a confidence boost. I really feel like getting back to half marathon fitness is not going to be a particularly arduous task; watch this space for my first trail half maration race in November.
Ciao for now.
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