In hill running terms, this has got to be one of the classics.

The race is organised by Westerlands Hill Running Club who describe it thus: “9 miles and a climb of 3192ft. Go! Puff, pech, puff, pech, puff, pech round the top … whee! Puff, pech, puff, pech … bloody road … wibbly wobbly legs. The pub, thank god! Stop, keel over.”

This is a reasonably accurate description. However, this year there were a few extra puffs and pechs due to a change in the course that found us running up one of the steepest parts of the hill rather than the normal tourist path (running up is possibly a slight exaggeration) .

The race started in the rain. This wasn’t too much of a problem going uphill on the tourist path. However, on the hill the puffs and pechs merged with squelches and oaths. It also meant that the downhill became far more dangerous and consequently slower than normal.

Me and Ian were there for the Tortoises. Then again, since Ian forgot his Tortoise vest, I think I should claim to be the only one there. For the first mile or so I kept in front of him but knew he was breathing down my neck (easy from his height). The top few hundred meters of the mountain was shrouded in mist and as we entered the low viz zone, Ian surged past. That was about the last I saw of him!

I reached the top in about 1hr 9mins which I thought was ok. On the way down I picked up 5 places but the one I really wanted eluded me. When I descended out of the mist I saw Paul Emsley of Arran about 400 yards ahead. By the finish I’d closed to about 30. Just not enough.

I came in on just over 1:43 Ian was about 3 mins quicker. Soup and a roll before heading back home.

So, Ian beat me yet again. Nevertheless, I’ve been able to console myself in the knowledge that my calfs didn’t cramp up AND I didn’t need special training to prepare myself for Ben Lomond. Did you know… Ian was at a reunion in Glasgow last weekend and missed his last train home. So what does he do? HE RUNS HOME!!! The extent that some people will go to.