English National Cross Country Championships 2019 – They don't all have to be winners
This is a post I told myself I wasn't going to write. At my lowest point of lap two I knew this was a moment to park and move on from, to be buried down a deep hole and only looked at from a distance. But then, just over 24 hours on I realised that if I didn't post about the times when it goes wrong then I am just as bad as all the fake polished plastic accounts on social media that I abhor. Not only that, but if I don't think about it properly I won't learn anything from the experience and will find myself going through it all again. So here it is, the Saucony English National Cross Country Championships 2019, what can I learn from a bad day in the spikes?
The National Championships is without doubt the highlight of the cross country season. I look forward to certain races in the harrier league of course, places like Thornley that are a muddy test of legs and mental strength, and the beauty of Alnwick, held in the shadow of the now world famous castle (thanks the films about a certain young wizard) with some of the best sections of cross country running that I have ever had the pleasure to race on. But the nationals is special. The course is always worthy of the event, set to test the best cross country runners that England has to offer, competing shoulder to shoulder with a hoard of keen club runners from every corner of the nation. This year I was especially looking forward to it. I had to miss the 2018 event due to other commitments, and the 2017 event with health issues. That meant this was to be my first nationals since Donnington in 2016 (which was a bit of a disaster with my spikes trying the remove all the skin from my heels). To add to that, the venue had been used for the Northern Championships last year to test it out. With that race still fresh in my memory I knew we were in for a fantastic day.
The location was to be Harewood House near Leeds. When we visited for the Northerns we had watched the red kites circle overhead and some brilliant running through the grounds of the manor house. We all agreed that this was a course capable of staging a national event. Long punishing climbs, rewarding descents, glorious setting, and less exciting but equally as important, a good solid infrastructure.
The club had booked a coach to take the men's and women's teams on the relatively short journey south and we made the drive in good spirits. Well, most of us did, I was on my way to nationals, how could I be feeling this apathetic? Snatching a few minutes of sleep only seemed to make me feel worse. The forecast had predicted an unseasonably warm day but the further we travelled on the grey motorway the more the clouds seemed to reflect my mood, if I didn't know better I would swear it was going to rain.
We rolled through the grand gates of Harewood house to our first sight of the course and the massive operation that is the national championships. Through the hazy day we could see a huge mass of parked cars glinting in the weak sun, some already leaving, taking exhausted junior runners home after their races, in the distance the course tape snaking up and down the rolling grassy estate fluttered idly in the wind. We quickly found the Tyne Bridge Harriers flag next to the juniors tent and pitched ours beside it. The women's race was up first, followed by the under 20 men then the senior men's race to close the day. With over two hours before our gun some of us decided to take a walk around part of the course and cheer on the women. The ground was soft but dry under the long yellowish grass. We found a spot at the top of the field looking down over the start area near the lake, the manor house across on the other side of the valley just visible amongst the trees. From here we could see almost all of the course and I pointed out some of the finer points to some of the other lads who had not been here before.
The National Championships is without doubt the highlight of the cross country season. I look forward to certain races in the harrier league of course, places like Thornley that are a muddy test of legs and mental strength, and the beauty of Alnwick, held in the shadow of the now world famous castle (thanks the films about a certain young wizard) with some of the best sections of cross country running that I have ever had the pleasure to race on. But the nationals is special. The course is always worthy of the event, set to test the best cross country runners that England has to offer, competing shoulder to shoulder with a hoard of keen club runners from every corner of the nation. This year I was especially looking forward to it. I had to miss the 2018 event due to other commitments, and the 2017 event with health issues. That meant this was to be my first nationals since Donnington in 2016 (which was a bit of a disaster with my spikes trying the remove all the skin from my heels). To add to that, the venue had been used for the Northern Championships last year to test it out. With that race still fresh in my memory I knew we were in for a fantastic day.
The location was to be Harewood House near Leeds. When we visited for the Northerns we had watched the red kites circle overhead and some brilliant running through the grounds of the manor house. We all agreed that this was a course capable of staging a national event. Long punishing climbs, rewarding descents, glorious setting, and less exciting but equally as important, a good solid infrastructure.
The club had booked a coach to take the men's and women's teams on the relatively short journey south and we made the drive in good spirits. Well, most of us did, I was on my way to nationals, how could I be feeling this apathetic? Snatching a few minutes of sleep only seemed to make me feel worse. The forecast had predicted an unseasonably warm day but the further we travelled on the grey motorway the more the clouds seemed to reflect my mood, if I didn't know better I would swear it was going to rain.
We rolled through the grand gates of Harewood house to our first sight of the course and the massive operation that is the national championships. Through the hazy day we could see a huge mass of parked cars glinting in the weak sun, some already leaving, taking exhausted junior runners home after their races, in the distance the course tape snaking up and down the rolling grassy estate fluttered idly in the wind. We quickly found the Tyne Bridge Harriers flag next to the juniors tent and pitched ours beside it. The women's race was up first, followed by the under 20 men then the senior men's race to close the day. With over two hours before our gun some of us decided to take a walk around part of the course and cheer on the women. The ground was soft but dry under the long yellowish grass. We found a spot at the top of the field looking down over the start area near the lake, the manor house across on the other side of the valley just visible amongst the trees. From here we could see almost all of the course and I pointed out some of the finer points to some of the other lads who had not been here before.
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| Looking down over the course towards the grand house as the women stream past |
Even the perfect conditions and sight of a course I had loved racing on only 12 months earlier was not really lifting my mood. What was wrong?
We watched the women's race come through, and I recognised Jessica Judd sitting strongly at the front of the pack then cheered loudly for all of the Tyne Bridge Harriers chasing her down. We managed to see the girls once more on our way back to the tent as they started their second lap, from the faces of all of the competitors it looked like the tough but rewarding course was living up to the previous years showing. Time for a warm up, that must surely lift my mood.
With spikes on and stripped down to race vest and shorts we set off for an easy jog. I could feel the winter sun beating down, this was not a typical February day. Apart from maybe being a little too warm the conditions were perfect for attacking the course, and I feel sure that this is a route that would reward an aggressive run. I still wasn't getting the usual pre-race excitement, only lethargy and a strong desire to nap. I was telling myself, and any unfortunate soul who would listen, that I was going to be taking it easy out there. Less than a week prior I had spent a night watching my dinner in reverse thanks to a mystery stomach bug followed by two days on the sofa failing to eat or rehydrate properly. My easy 5km after work the day before the cross country had proven to be harder work than I would have liked but I think I was in denial about what that had really meant.
Never the less, here I found myself, bobbing in the starting pen with 13 of my clubmates as part of an incredible 2,006 strong field. The smooth grassy slope was climbing in front of us to a sharp left hand bend flanked by the red and white Saucony banners as the buzzing mass grew. The mood all around was pure nationals, a rainbow of club colours and smiling faces, some visibly excited, others looking nervous, everyone delighted to be there (no matter what they claimed).
With the crack of the gun we thundered onto the hill. No easing into it here, the first step was up! As expected the corner at the top proved to be a bottle neck, although I don't think anyone had bet on coming to a near standstill! Still climbing but at an easier grade we wound past the club tents. We were almost half a mile into the race when I heard a young girl exclaim “God, how are they still coming?”, I didn't know whether to laugh or be disappointed I was far enough back in the pack already to illicit that response. Given the easy pace I had promised myself I decided to laugh...
We watched the women's race come through, and I recognised Jessica Judd sitting strongly at the front of the pack then cheered loudly for all of the Tyne Bridge Harriers chasing her down. We managed to see the girls once more on our way back to the tent as they started their second lap, from the faces of all of the competitors it looked like the tough but rewarding course was living up to the previous years showing. Time for a warm up, that must surely lift my mood.
With spikes on and stripped down to race vest and shorts we set off for an easy jog. I could feel the winter sun beating down, this was not a typical February day. Apart from maybe being a little too warm the conditions were perfect for attacking the course, and I feel sure that this is a route that would reward an aggressive run. I still wasn't getting the usual pre-race excitement, only lethargy and a strong desire to nap. I was telling myself, and any unfortunate soul who would listen, that I was going to be taking it easy out there. Less than a week prior I had spent a night watching my dinner in reverse thanks to a mystery stomach bug followed by two days on the sofa failing to eat or rehydrate properly. My easy 5km after work the day before the cross country had proven to be harder work than I would have liked but I think I was in denial about what that had really meant.
Never the less, here I found myself, bobbing in the starting pen with 13 of my clubmates as part of an incredible 2,006 strong field. The smooth grassy slope was climbing in front of us to a sharp left hand bend flanked by the red and white Saucony banners as the buzzing mass grew. The mood all around was pure nationals, a rainbow of club colours and smiling faces, some visibly excited, others looking nervous, everyone delighted to be there (no matter what they claimed).
With the crack of the gun we thundered onto the hill. No easing into it here, the first step was up! As expected the corner at the top proved to be a bottle neck, although I don't think anyone had bet on coming to a near standstill! Still climbing but at an easier grade we wound past the club tents. We were almost half a mile into the race when I heard a young girl exclaim “God, how are they still coming?”, I didn't know whether to laugh or be disappointed I was far enough back in the pack already to illicit that response. Given the easy pace I had promised myself I decided to laugh...
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Must be lap 1, I still look human
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We almost doubled back on ourselves and pounded past the parked cars, I knew we had a couple of small turns then a nice long descent. The springy earth beckoning down past a few lone trees, despite myself I was actually starting to enjoy it. I kept to an effort that felt similar to a long Sunday run as we gained height again, skirting the boundary, before plunging into another drop, once again to be rewarded with a climb. This time we found what was arguably the wettest part of the course. As we passed between woodland I felt my shoe sinking a little into the ground, that was it, no squelch, no risk of a lost shoe, not even a bit of flicked, loose ground. This was by far the fastest conditions under foot at a nationals I had experienced.
With the course flattening again I was reminding myself to be gentle. If I was going to carry on enjoying this I needed to stay in one piece (you might have worked out by now that in this respect I failed) I kept up the routine of a steady long run effort on the flat and uphill sections, and just enjoyed the downs, recovering slightly but still passing people as my practice from time on the fells let me waft down. In total each lap had four climbs and descents, the last of each the sharpest and back to back. The final mile of the lap had two ankle testing, adverse camber corners and the final sting of an “improving” hill topped with a sharp U-turn back down towards the start/finish area.
Beginning lap 2 I could feel a little fatigue building but nothing out of the ordinary. When we finished the long climb back up to the parked cars things were different. My legs were willing but the fight was going from everywhere else. My heart rate and effort told me I was moving with a respectable pace, the passing mass of runners disagreed. I was flying backwards through the pack and feeling more tired with every yard checked off. Looking over my data from the race it doesn't show a classic failure of a much too hard first lap that couldn't be matched. My opening three miles were all steadier than, or very close to, the same three miles from 12 months before when I was generally running slower, and the conditions were a marked improvement. Still I felt like I was dropping my bucket in a rapidly emptying well.
With the course flattening again I was reminding myself to be gentle. If I was going to carry on enjoying this I needed to stay in one piece (you might have worked out by now that in this respect I failed) I kept up the routine of a steady long run effort on the flat and uphill sections, and just enjoyed the downs, recovering slightly but still passing people as my practice from time on the fells let me waft down. In total each lap had four climbs and descents, the last of each the sharpest and back to back. The final mile of the lap had two ankle testing, adverse camber corners and the final sting of an “improving” hill topped with a sharp U-turn back down towards the start/finish area.
Beginning lap 2 I could feel a little fatigue building but nothing out of the ordinary. When we finished the long climb back up to the parked cars things were different. My legs were willing but the fight was going from everywhere else. My heart rate and effort told me I was moving with a respectable pace, the passing mass of runners disagreed. I was flying backwards through the pack and feeling more tired with every yard checked off. Looking over my data from the race it doesn't show a classic failure of a much too hard first lap that couldn't be matched. My opening three miles were all steadier than, or very close to, the same three miles from 12 months before when I was generally running slower, and the conditions were a marked improvement. Still I felt like I was dropping my bucket in a rapidly emptying well.
Half way through the lap I felt my shoelace flapping loose; a physical embodiment of a race coming undone. I didn't want to stop and fasten it, not because I didn't want to loose precious seconds, enough of them were already drifting away that a few more wouldn't hurt, but because I didn't know if I would start moving again. I wasn't in pain, I had no throbbing injury or barely attached limb, I had no right to pull out. I have never thrown in the towel on a cross country race before and I refused to start now simply because I was tired. I talked myself into getting back up.
All the way through the second lap there was a runner in a green vest I didn't recognise who kept pulling up and walking. After a short spell he would break back into a jog. I could see no rhyme or reason to his habit, he didn't seem to be walking the ups and jogging the downs, and overall, shoelace stops aside, neither of us seemed to be gaining any ground on the other. Clearly he was having a similar day to me but had chosen a different solution. I have no idea who finished ahead of whom, each mile my attention narrowed until I was wholly within my own unpleasant sphere.
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Cresting the final hill in the shadow of Harewood House, not a happy camper.
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I eventually crossed under the finish arch without and suggestion of a sprint for the finish, I saw some great ones fly past me though! As I trudged back across the field towards the tent it wasn't time to unpick what had gone wrong, I barely felt anything, just numb and exhausted. Standing surrounded by my tired an jovial clubmates, watching the red kite circle and dart overhead the feelings began to shape into disappointment and annoyance and there was only one man to blame.
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| One of the many red kite in flight overhead |
Even now a few days later I am not sure what it was that went wrong. As I sat on the coach back watching England get narrowly beaten in the six nations by Wales I started to give it some thought. I was mostly disappointed that I had, in one way or another, pitched up to the start of one of my favourite races, at a great venue, in perfect conditions in a far from perfect state. This was an opportunity for a truly great day gone begging. My head says that I was still physically drained from the illness that started only 6 days before, my heart says that I had talked myself out of being able to have a good run before I even left the house that morning. I think the truth is somewhere between. I might have been in a dream-world to think that I could run a good race over 12km of challenging terrain so soon but equally my mental tiredness, which in hindsight I was clearly suffering from as well, framed the whole experience.
A bright light of a positive attitude can make even the darkest of runs a good experience. Unfortunately, my situation conspired to give me a total and utter sense of humour failure on the day. So what have I learnt, not only from the day, but from writing down my thoughts about it? Firstly, I need to have a word with myself, moping about a bit of hard work? One crap run isn't the end of the world, although you might be forgiven for thinking that based on the above. Secondly, I don't go to races like this to compete, sure, I would love to be part of our clubs scoring team, and one day hopefully I will, but even then, I am there first and foremost to have fun. I essentially sabotaged any hope I had of enjoying my run long, and therefore my only reason for being there, before I even put my spikes on. I could feel all morning that I wasn't in the right head space, but instead of taking a few quiet moments to gather myself together or pin point the trouble I ignored it and hoped it would sort itself out. This was never going to work.
So here I am, a few days later, finally digging a shiny nugget out of the mire that was my national cross country championships. As the old adage goes, you live and learn; this feels like a lesson I can learn, let’s hope it is as hard to forget as it was to pick up.
I would just like to add a huge thanks to everyone involved in organising the event, as always the day ran smoothly and it clearly takes a lot of work and some very early starts from an army of mostly volunteers to make this happen. Events like this are what make running such a special sport.
A bright light of a positive attitude can make even the darkest of runs a good experience. Unfortunately, my situation conspired to give me a total and utter sense of humour failure on the day. So what have I learnt, not only from the day, but from writing down my thoughts about it? Firstly, I need to have a word with myself, moping about a bit of hard work? One crap run isn't the end of the world, although you might be forgiven for thinking that based on the above. Secondly, I don't go to races like this to compete, sure, I would love to be part of our clubs scoring team, and one day hopefully I will, but even then, I am there first and foremost to have fun. I essentially sabotaged any hope I had of enjoying my run long, and therefore my only reason for being there, before I even put my spikes on. I could feel all morning that I wasn't in the right head space, but instead of taking a few quiet moments to gather myself together or pin point the trouble I ignored it and hoped it would sort itself out. This was never going to work.
So here I am, a few days later, finally digging a shiny nugget out of the mire that was my national cross country championships. As the old adage goes, you live and learn; this feels like a lesson I can learn, let’s hope it is as hard to forget as it was to pick up.
I would just like to add a huge thanks to everyone involved in organising the event, as always the day ran smoothly and it clearly takes a lot of work and some very early starts from an army of mostly volunteers to make this happen. Events like this are what make running such a special sport.
Full results can be found here.
Follow me on Instagram @runningthebreeze as I take on the Nepal Impact Marathon with @hantoddie and read about what we are doing here
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