“We didn’t burn him”

Tubbs, The League of Gentlemen

I know, I know. Another race review. It’s not my fault. I’m not sure what’s wrong with me this year. I run one Marathon and suddenly think I’m Sifan Hussan.

I may have signed up for this one drunk. Or was at least coerced. I know what you’re thinking anyway. Where the hell is Coxhoe? Followed by, don’t you hate Trail Races?

I can explain. Firstly, let’s concentrate on Coxhoe, where this race is taking place. It’s a mining village in County Durham in the North East of England, around 30 miles south from where I live.

It’s one of those places you would never go to unless you lived there. That’s not me being disrespectful – I grew up in a village exactly like this.

Having said that, I’ve been to Coxhoe many times. We have friends who live there. Whilst visiting them earlier in the year, I spotted a local out and about wearing a ‘Coxhoe Trail Run’ top. Like the sad, sad, running wanker I’ve become, my interest was piqued.

As soon as I got home, I was on the Google machine finding out more. Turns out, this has been an annual event for over a decade now, usually held in either September or October.

It’s 10k (just less than) and starts on a hill (uh-oh) just above the Village. It’s a there-and-back, through old railways lines and quarry paths in the countryside. Sounds quite nice. It mentions nothing of mud, fields, or swamps. Good. I don’t do those.

This year it’s on Sunday October 12th. We’re free, and it’s a great excuse to visit our friends again. It’s rare that I sign up for a race with family approval. It’s usually eye rolling and mouthing of ‘whatever.’

So, all signed up months in advance, nothing can go wrong. Except, you know when you have ‘one of those weeks?’

Well, leading up to this race, I had one. It all started on the Wednesday before. Cue flashback..

I’d bought a new pair of Trail Shoes specially for this. Ron Hills, a brand I’ve never worn before. They were in the sale (plus Club discount!) so cheap as chips.

My past experiences of Trail Shoes aren’t great. I bought a pair of alleged decent Asics ones, that fell apart after half a dozen runs along fairly vanilla terrain. They were shit, basically.

Anyway, I take these Ron Hill ones for a whirl down my local Wagonway on the Wednesday before the race. And they rip the skin on both my big toes to pieces.

Shit.

Diagnosis? I have wide but not long feet. I’ve probably bought these in half a size bigger than I should have, leaving a gap above my big toes, causing some major rubbing, skin loss, blood, and ultimately pain.

That’s ok. We can work around these things. I come up with a cunning plan to tape up my feet and double sock. That’ll sort it. Easy.

Next up in the week of shit, on the Friday I break my expensive work headset. A headset I’ve had for years that I love. Somehow, I snap one of the ear pads off.

Not content with that, on the Saturday I make the ultimate fuck up, and slam the car door on my iPhone. That’s right, I slam my car door on my iPhone. Result – broken screen and a phone wonkier than a drunks walk home.

Onto Sunday then, and it’s an early start. We have to drive there, plus I have to pick my number up beforehand. Unsurprisingly, the family’s motivation towards this trip has waned slightly, as I drag them out the door at 8am on Gods rest day.

The number pick up is at the local Leisure Centre, and my bad luck continues. They have no record of my registration, therefore don’t have a number for me.

Thankfully, they are lovely and sort it. I sheepishly show them my confirmation email on my cracked and wonky phone, and they quickly register me and hand me a number. Possibly due to pity.

The start is around a 15 minute walk from our friend’s house. Up hill. I get a lift. Conserving energy. Probably.

The start itself is very random. It’s on a piece of grass (uh oh!) on the site of what used to be a grand Hall, long since demolished. As usual, there are a few club vests dotted around, tribally clustered together.

I’m ’out of area’ here, so there are only some I recognise. I wasn’t expecting this to be a big race and it’s not – when I check the results later, there are 233 finishers. It has a very local feel about it.

For instance, there are no timing chips for this one. Instead, the race director explains it’ll be Parkrun etiquette on the finish – funnel through in finishing order. Very civilised.

It’s Wanker Weather Watch time. Well, it’s perfect. 10 maybe 11 degrees at a push. No wind. Blue skies. Perfect autumnal morning. I’ve put a base layer under my vest, but probably don’t need it.

We’re walked into the woods for the start. I spent my teenage years watching a lot of horror films, so this makes me twitchy. When the gun goes, I’m not sure whether to run forward or into the trees screaming.

I choose forward.

We’re off anyway, massacre free. For now.

The start is through a tree line, with a slight downhill. Like all races, even one with only 200 odd in it, it’s congested at the start and I’m dodging bodies. The organisers catch me in a photo at the start. Note I’m not wearing a cap. I forgot the bastard. I feel naked.

We keep heading down – make a note of this for later – before we come out of the tree line and out onto open trail.

This in turn then heads down a very tight and steep downhill. I haven’t really paid much attention to the course if I’m honest, but I have an awful feeling that all the downhill we’ve done so far will need to be run back up for the finish.

It’s so tight down this bit, that it’s impossible to overtake. I’ve mentioned before that I don’t really have a competitive streak, whilst I’m also not one of those runners who gets frustrated by getting stuck behind slower runners.

However, I am frustrated. It’s slow going, but we’re finally sort of on the ‘flat’, onto a Wagonway. I say flat, we’re very much climbing a little bit. It’s become obvious now that none of this fucking god forsaken course is going to be flat.

I go through mile 1 in 7:39 and I can confirm that we’re definitely climbing. It’s subtle, but we’re certainly going in an uphill direction.

On the plus side, despite this still not being the widest of paths, the field has opened up. So I do get the chance to pass a few people. Lovely.

At mile 2 we pop out of the track and out onto a road – that we need to cross. Thankfully, it’s closed and marshalled, so no need to play chicken with the traffic. This is also mile 2, which turns out to be a rather spiffing 7:26.

That’s the end of the good news however.

We’re now climbing AGAIN – and this one ain’t subtle. This is a ‘proper’ hill. Not only steep, but a tight and uneven track. If I didn’t have runners in front of me, I’d swear I was lost.

When I Google Map this later (other mapping services are available), it turns out this pile of evil has no name. My guess though, being northern and used to seeing hills like this, is that it’s an old slag heap from the local pit.

Basically, for those of you not aware of a slag heap, it’s a huge pile of all the shite they dug out the ground when mining for coal. I mean, they have to put it somewhere.

We’re going to run round the whole circumference of it. Half way round the top of this soil monster we hit mile 3 – the half way point. And we’re STILL climbing. Apart from that drop at the very start, this whole race so far has been uphill. Look at this shit man:

My mile 3 is a 7:43 and I’ll be honest – I’m not really enjoying this. I’m sick of the hills and, to make matters worse, it’s warmer than I predicted, so I’m feeling the heat of the base layer I put on.

I pass a Marshall and, as I do so, he shouts ‘43’. Now, I’m no Sherlock Holmes, but my deductions are he’s counting us through and that I’m currently sitting in 43rd position.

You know, that’s pretty good. Well, it is for me anyway.

Spurred on in the knowledge that I’m practically winning this thing, I get a second wind. Although, to be honest, a big help is the fact we’re now going back the way we came and it’s all downhill.

Suddenly, I’m back on the Wagonway and finally into my rhythm. I start picking off other runners and I post a mile 4 7:37 and then a 7:18 mile 5.

I might actually be enjoying this now.

Unfortunately, my happy place is going to be short lived and kicked out of me.

Remember that tight steep downhill at mile 1? Welcome to climbing back up the bastard for mile 6. It looks even worse from the bottom as well. Many things go through my head as I approach and look up at it – but mostly the words ‘fucking’ and ‘hell’.

I pull up alongside a fellow runner and we end up side by side attacking it together. Occasionally giving each other a ‘come on bud’ or a ‘we can do this’ or even a ‘this is fucking awful isn’t it?’

It works anyway. I’m absolutely spent at the top of it however. After catching my breath, I congratulate the guy I ran up with on a great bit of work and he reciprocates. It’s like we survived combat.

We’re on a bit of flat, but not for long. One final push uphill through the woods to the finish. My final mile, with that hill from hell and this one, is an 8:03. No surprise really.

My hill climbing buddy has recovered better than me and has moved a couple of seconds away. Me, I’m just happy to be still breathing at this point.

I leave the woods and it’s back onto the clearing where we started for the finish. Race photo time – and for once it’s not too bad.

I’m over the line in 46:38, with a mile average of 7:36. I said it wasn’t quite 10k, and it isn’t. 9.8k in the end. For someone who’s not used to trail running, I’m delighted.

I also managed to better the 43rd position I was in at the half way point – finishing in 37th. Put that on my gravestone.

The verdict? This was a well organised local run. Yes, there was an issue with my registration, but they sorted it quickly and with no fuss. Couldn’t have been nicer.

I’m not a big fan of trail runs, I might have mentioned that, but this one was canny. If I’m going to sign up for a trail run, I have to expect hills. So I can’t whinge about them when they appear.

Ultimately, this was something a bit different, and took me out of my usual comfort zone of road running.

And hey, I finished 37th. Have I mentioned that?