October in the UK sees the end of the outdoor triathlon season - at least for me - but brings another challenge - cross country. My local club Ranelagh (Ran-eh-la) Harriers have been doing this in the Richmond and Putney area since 1881, and the season started off in September as usual.
This year the weather that month was anything but autumnal, the first few races were more like beach events than the normal English autumn. However by late October, normal service had been resumed and conditions for the Surrey Masters Cross County Championships were more typical - blustery winds and steady rain! This made warming up a) a necessity and b) an exercise in seeing how close to the start that last layer could be kept on. Those sort of traditions duly observed, we set off to run 6km in Nonsuch Park in South London, the last remnant of a deer park made by Henry VIII around Nonsuch Palace. The Palace is no more, but the park had recovered it's green after the summer, and was even slightly muddy in places. We'd almost forgotten how to run on that and one or two in the pack veered off course around some of the tighter corners.
Masters racing is in 5 year age bands - like AG triathlon - and in this race everyone had an age band number pinned to their back. So just after the start, I could see two faster runners in my AG disappear into the distance. I was not going with that pace so let them go. This was my first XC race in two years for various reasons, and I had decided to wear short spikes. That was good news on the corners, but my legs were rather out of practice with that thin soled shoes. After 4km of the course, I was plodding along to be told that the second runner in my AG was just ahead and "...blowing hard....". So time to pile on the pace and cautiously draw closer. Normally passing another runner draws a response, so the normal tactic is to stride past confidently, keep going and NEVER look back. This time I was lucky, no sudden heavy breathing behind me, so with about 800m to go I dared look back - no sign of my pursuer. Just as well as with about 400m to go, my left calf muscles decided spikes were not a good idea and cramped up. Disaster loomed so it was a one-and-a-half legged stagger to the finish to hold off the opposition.
Once through the finish, the traditional third phase of cross country could be enacted - putting on damp gear with numb fingers in blustery wind and rain. Truly, we were back in autumn - at last! About 30mins later a pack of people resembling half drowned rats were presented with their medals - luckily no photos of that exist. Instead I have a cleaned up shot from the next day to remind me of a "proper" autumn cross country event..
CHRIS
