‘If it bleeds, we can kill it.’

Dutch, Predator

Let’s start this review off by saying that if you’ve never been to Kielder, you should go. Sadly, I’m not being paid by either the Forestry Commission or Visit Northumberland to say that. However, if they want to send some reward my way for promoting the place, I’m happy to accept Sterling or Euro. I’m not fussy.

For those who don’t know, Kielder is a man/woman made Reservoir and Forest just south of the Scottish Border. Created to provide an increase in demand for water by the Chemical Industry, it’s become much more than that. It’s as scenic as you can imagine a 27 mile circumference lake and 250 square miles of woodland would look. It therefore attracts a lot of visitors and provides loads of activities. Boating, Windsurfing, off-road cycling – it’s even got its own Camp Site and Bird of Prey Centre.

I’ve been coming here for years to do one of the other main activities here – Fish. If my piss taking of the Vegan Runners in past posts hasn’t chased them off, they’ve definitely flounced now. Kielder is full of Rainbow Trout (and some Brown) and I’ve spent many a sunny/windy/rainy weekend sitting by the banks enjoying the peace and scenery. Not for a while though. Tissue grabbing moment, but it was something I used to do with my late Father in Law. After he died I went once, but it wasn’t the same and my heart just wasn’t in it. One day I’ll go back I’m sure.

It just so happens that on a misty October Sunday morning I am back. Not to fish the place, but to run round it for 13 miles. It seemed like a good idea at the time. It’s the Kielder Marathon Weekend. 5k and 10k on the Saturday, Marathon and Half on the Sunday. I’m doing the Half obviously. I’m not nuts.

This is another Allison Curbishley/Steve Cram brainchild, so you know that a running event organised by a company managed by two ex-Olympians should be a well-oiled machine. We’ll find out later that it sort of was. They market the run as ‘Britain’s Most Beautiful.’ I’m sure the Loch Ness organisers are making wanker signs in their direction, but it’s a better tag line that ‘Britain’s Most Muddy’ or ‘Britain’s Most Brutal.’ I don’t think it’s a bad shout anyway.

I live about an hour and half’s drive from Kielder. Feeling that I may not be in the best shape to drive back (a spidy sense that proved correct) I somehow manage to sweet talk my Mother-in-law to give me a lift, with the pretence her and my daughter could hang out. Being a Sunday morning, my wife ‘declined’ the invite. She may be the only sane one in the family.

The other reason I wanted a lift is proved correct as we approach Kielder. There are a lot of cars, and not a lot of places to put them. The Car Park near the start is, as I predicted as I’m a clever shite who’s glass is always half empty, full. So I decide to selfishly jump out and leave the Mother-in-Law to battle for a Parking Space somewhere else. What a guy.

The start itself is by the Dam and it’s about a 10 minute walk on a trail path that we’ll be running on as part of the course. Two things I notice here. I’m walking in the opposite direction and I’m going downhill all the way. The laws of Science therefore dictate it will be uphill on the run. I don’t like that. Secondly, it’s muddy. That I don’t mind too much. Like the running club wanker I have become, I bought myself a pair of trail shoes in preparation for this. Today is the day they pop their cherry. Mud, I am in you.

I reach the Start by the Dam and as expected, there are a fair few hanging about. When I check the results later, there are 754 finishers. That doesn’t sound a lot, but it’s enough to make the queue for the Porta-pissers quite long. The Half starts from here, whilst those nutters who are doing the Marathon are starting further along where we finish.

I’m wearing my club vest and soon spot more of my fellow Poly tribe. We indulge in the usual Running Club patter – the weather and running. Talking of the weather, it’s just right. Cold without being bitter, no wind (a minor miracle for this place I can tell you) and a thick mist. The thick mist makes me chuckle. ‘Britain’s Most Beautiful Marathon’ is taking place on a morning where you can’t see more than 30 yards. Still, I prefer it to that ball of fire in the sky blasting down on me.

I said this would be well organised and, well, we don’t get off to the best of starts. Literally. It’s due to go off at 10:15am, but we get a message over the Tannoy that we’re looking at a slight delay. No reason is given for this, but I’m guessing it’s because lots of people are still trying to get parked. Like my poor Mother in Law.

As it turns out, the delay isn’t too bad. We get started at 10:25am. We’re straight onto the Dam and heading north. It’s that usual congestion you get at a mass participation event, so I’m weaving in and out and my pace is up and down like Katie Price’s knickers.

Once over the Dam, we’re into the first bits of Forest Trails. This is why I wanted to run this Half. It really can make a claim on its ‘Beautiful’ tag line. When you have those romanticised images in your head of running, it’s places like this that you’re dreaming of. Forest, trail and lakeside running in the middle of nowhere. Zen like, if it wasn’t for the other 753 runners around me.

One thing I am noticing, which I expected, is we’re doing a lot of ups and downs. Other club members who’d completed this before told me to expect a ‘slow’ time. Both the ups and downs are quite steep and therefore will naturally reduce your speed and knacker you out. When I check Strava later, my elevation gain is 819 ft. I asked the Google Nest in the kitchen how many Story’s of a building that would be. After she misunderstood me for the fourth time and started playing Madonna’s Immaculate Collection Album, I googled it on my phone instead. It’s 60, if you’re interested.

My pace is certainly slower than usual, but not by too much. Maybe 20 seconds a mile down. To be honest though, I’m really not arsed. I was warned by fellow runners it would be. I also knew coming in this was a ‘tough’ Half, much tougher than a normal Road Half. My goal was simple. Run the whole thing, survive, enjoy. Two of those things definitely happened.

We’ve turned back towards the Dam and I start to come back over it at the 5km mark. So far, so good. The field is very much opening up now and there’s loads of room. Once over the Dam and past where we started, we’re now just following the Trail path on the South side all the way to the Finish, which is still about 9 miles away at this point.

This is where the elevation, ups and downs, and just having to work harder than a road Half start coming into play. I am beginning to feel it. However, it’s also where I’m seeing the benefits of the club sessions. Before joining the club, I didn’t do hills. I would avoid them whenever possible, and any climbs were gradual and over quickly. Then I joined the club, and they made me sprint up them. Multiple times. I can quite confidently say that I only got round this run because of those sessions.

At 7 miles we hit a part of the course I was given the heads up on by several people who had run this before. We’ve just had a mile of some stunning scenery, clear of the trees and overlooking an inlet of water, before dropping down to a small wooden bridge. Once we cross that, I see exactly what everyone was on about.

It’s another climb. But this one is the mother. It’s steep and it’s windy, the warnings and ‘oooo..wait till you see that hill at mile 7’ are not exaggerated. I decide the best form of defence is attack, so just do that. Lord have mercy on my soul. I’m doing ok until it bends harshly to the left, whereby I’m just running through treacle and blowing out of arse.

I’m through it, but I’ve exerted a lot of energy, and the last 6 miles are tough. Every slight up, the kind I was comfortably conquering in the first half of the course, now feel like Tour De France mountains stages. I’m jiggered, as my Nana used to say.

The field has really opened up now and my pace has dropped a bit. Again though, I’m really past giving a shit. It’s all about survival now. We’re continuing to run through some pretty trails, but I’m far too tired to care. I’ve now tagged onto a couple of guys from the Blyth Running Club who’ve done this before and we’re helping motivate each other to the finish. Another runner asks one of them if there are any more climbs left, to which he replies ‘Yeah, a couple more.’ He gets a good natured/passive aggressive ‘FUCK OFF MAN’ in return. It’s how I’m feeling inside at this point to be fair.

I’m almost at 13 miles, but still seem to be in the middle of nowhere. Then suddenly, the end is in sight. I pop out at Leaplish and there are hundreds of people kicking about. This is the first time I’ve seen or heard any crowd support since the Dam, way back at mile 4. We funnel in and I see the Finish Line. Or think I do. Turns out, this is the Start Line for the Marathon.

There must have been quite a few before me just as confused by this, as they have a Marshal who shouts at me ‘Keep going, the finish is round the corner!’ Thankfully, she wasn’t lying.

As I hit the finish I notice the clock is on 1:59:40. I’d completely forgotten or had cared about my time or pace by this point, but dipping under 2 hours seems like a good result for this course. So I put my foot down and turn on the Turbos. I get across in a Chip Time of 1:59:02. That’s a result.

The local Army Cadets are handing out the Goody Bags and Medals and the kid who hands me mine gives me the most unconvincing ‘well done’ I’ve ever had in my life. Cheers fella.

The good news is that Mother In Law did eventually get parked, and they saw me running into the finish so are waiting for me. I am knackered. She asks me if I’ve enjoyed it and I basterdize a quote from Steve Redgrave at her.

‘If you ever see me near this race again, shoot me.’