Heaton Harriers

It's March and I'm sitting in my car in a field in the Lakes in the rain. There are a couple of hundred other people sitting in their steamed up cars too, and another couple of hundred are already getting drenched up on the hill having started in the first wave 45 minutes ago. Why am I here again exactly? It had seemed like a good idea back in December when I was idly browsing around on the internet, looking for races that might be interesting for 2011. Lakeland Trails, "inspiring races in beautiful places", never done trail running before, sounds perfect. On a whim I bought a season ticket for all 8 events (including the marathon, but there's no way I'm doing that, obviously) and here I am in Cartmel for the first one, the 18k Sticky Toffee Pudding race, so called because a) you get one to take home at the finish and b) there's a seriously muddy section of the course which has, apparently, the same consistency.

Five minutes before 2pm the rain suddenly stops and we’re on the start line. I’m surrounded by t-shirts displaying allegiance to “Cumbria Fell Runners”, “Trail Marathon Club” and the like. Oh dear. I’m clearly out of my depth but the gun goes off and it’s too late to worry about that now as we head out of the village and up towards the trails. Surprise, surprise, all these races have pretty severe uphills early on and first time out it’s a bit daunting – just how high are we going? But we make it to the top eventually, the mud and the puddles are great fun and the sheer adrenaline buzz that comes from flying downhill on uneven, rocky paths at breakneck (possibly literally) speed is fantastic. I’m hooked.

Hawkshead in April hosts a woody 17k over to the Western shore of Windermere and in May it’s another 17k up and down the Kentmere valley, bathed in sunshine. We’ve made a weekend of this one and spend the afternoon sitting in the sun at the finish listening to resident singer/songwriter Pete Lashley who entertains at all the races and often competes as well. I’m starting to realise that these events are a bit different in ways that are not actually anything to do with running itself. There’s a real social feel to it all, what with the entertainment and the stalls and the spot prizes and the lively facebook page and the friendly organisers and the same groups of runners who I’m starting to recognise and chat with. One interesting feature is that the field is always split into two – as well as the main Trail Race there’s a Challenge event over the same course for ‘less competitive’ runners and that sets off earlier so the first Trail Racers are usually coming through the finish along with the later Challengers. There are typically about 300 in each group. Being stupidly competitive (which is not the same as being fast) I go for the Trail Races and am quite pleased to find I’m finishing each event in the top half of the field. Better than expected. I have made an enemy though. Poor lady doesn’t know it but by overtaking me in the last half mile of every race so far she’s really got on my nerves. Never mind, I’ll get her next time.

Fast forward to July, it’s 23 degrees and the Lake District is at its most beautiful. But I'm lining up for the marathon that there was no way I was going to do. How on earth did that happen? I've only ever done London before and each time I swore I would never do it again. And that's completely flat. The Coniston Marathon Trail Race has 3,700 feet of climbing through all sorts of terrain. And thanks to the local council who’ve dug up a bridge without telling anyone we’re told we even have to wade waist deep through a river somewhere around half way (actually most agreed that that was one of the best bits). Emotions go from :| at the start line through :( at the first big hill and :’( from 20 miles onward. It’s a fabulous kind of hell. Crossing the finish line, however, I'm euphoric even though it's taken me well over an hour longer than London last year. I wait for my wife Deborah and friends to finish - they're doing the Challenge - and we spend the next couple of hours collapsed in the sun, listening to the music and applauding the stragglers home.

After the summer break the series returns, moving now from South Lakes to North. First it's 15k at Keswick in proper Lake District weather, raining hard with clouds so low we're actually running through them for much of the race. Strangely most people, me included, seem to enjoy this as much as or even more than the ones in the sunshine. Then in October it’s back to Coniston for another 15k in the foothills of the Old Man. I’m not feeling good for this one and it’s a disappointing performance. Lastly, on an unexpectedly sunny weekend in November, it's finale time and The Dirty Double - Helvellyn 14k on the Saturday and Ullswater 13k on Sunday. The organisers even throw a party on board an Ullswater steamer on Saturday night – another nice touch - but with legs already heavy from Helvellyn and another race to come tomorrow it’s never going to be a wild night and after a couple of beers and a bit of a chat we’re off to get some much-needed sleep.

The final Ullswater race is certainly an unusual one. It's a point to point, not a loop, and we're split into 3 groups this time, setting off at hourly intervals. Deborah is in the first group and I'm in the second. Each group boards a steamer at Glenridding and sails for half an hour up the lake. Resident guitarist Pete entertains us as we go and we're dropped off at Howtown to run alongside the lake all the way back. For a lakeside route it's much hillier than expected but the scenery is superb and although it's cold there isn't a cloud in the sky. As we run up a particularly steep section we see (and hear) the steamer taking the final batch of runners up the lake towards the start. They’ve seen us and they’re screaming and shouting and waving and cheering and we all wave back, grinning from ear to ear. It’s a great moment, a real boost, and we push on. At the finish I’m thrilled to see my nemesis, the poor woman who up until now I’ve still failed to beat, come in a couple of minutes behind me, oblivious to the significance. Mission accomplished. Sad or what?

Another moment in that glorious final race summed up the atmosphere of the series. After about 6 miles we came over the top of a serious climb, the Southern end of the lake opened up before us, sparkling in the sunshine, and a lovely long downhill section stretched ahead. I'm running with a Scottish guy at this point and I remark that it doesn't get much better than this. "Aye," he says, "we were trying to decide in the pub last night whether these races were better than sex. But I couldna be honest because ma wife was there." Now I wouldn't go that far but I would say that I enjoyed these races more than any others I've ever done in 25 years of running (with the possible exception of the Coastal Run). Definitely worth looking out for if you fancy something a bit different for 2012. Just don’t blame me if it rains.