Thornthwaite Round Fell Race
Following a week of unsettled weather it was hardly surprising to be awoken by a downpour of biblical proportions on the morning of the race. The saturating elements coincided with a saturated race fixtures calendar. With an array of events to choose from the inaugural Thornthwaite Round whetted my appetite for the simple reason it was a race I hadn’t previously done.
All the funds generated from the race would help towards the restoration of St Mary’s Church in Thornthwaite. I passed on this information to my wife whilst she was making us pancakes for breakfast. Alison nodded with approval at the charitable gesture then enthusiastically said, “put a napkin in your vest and get ready to digest”. I applauded my wife’s light-hearted poetry and in turn congratulated her on the delicious pancakes. I told her in the name of God, I’d marry her again in a heartbeat...for batter or verse. We made eye contact across a breakfast bar littered with a partially chopped banana, a punnet of blueberries and a squeezable bottle of Maple Syrup. I smiled when noticing that my comment had brought a blush to my wife’s cheeks. I then tidied up the mess.
Feeling replenished I loading up the car with my running gear whilst chatting to Mambo. He’s an elderly gentleman from a neighbouring street; I don’t know his proper name but I do know he resides at number 5. He greeted me with a customary, “how ya diddlin’ fella?”. I replied “fair to middling” and told him about the new race that was raising funds for a church. Mambo smiled and reminisced about the times he’d regularly mow the grass at his local parish back in the day. Apparently the church lawn mower from his old parish was ‘second to none’ and he’d often borrow it for his own use. I quizzically asked, “ecclesiastical perk?”. He looked flummoxed and replied, “no, I think it was a Qualcast Commodore”. Unfortunately he’s no longer fit enough for such arduous labour due to his arthritic knees - he then attempted to crouch down proving his point. I observed and sympathised with his plight. The painful motion had caused him to grimace and etched his face with deep-seated lines like corduroy. Then just as he was about to leave he mournfully said, “I’m going home to an empty house as my wife has left me, she says I’m too old fashioned”. I was momentarily speechless, but he hadn’t yet finished and continued to say, “I’ll wager a shilling she’s courting a chap who’s a right scoundrel”. At first I was hesitant then I burst out laughing as I realised he was pulling my leg. Come to think of it, I bet he also knows what ecclesiastical means. Qualcast Commodore my arse!
Given the forecast for heavy showers, my wife decided against accompanying me to the Lake District. Instead she planned a relaxing morning soaking in the bath, followed by an afternoon entertaining her parents. I mentioned an article I’d recently read about the city of Bath which I thought she’d find interesting. Seemingly a quarter of a million gallons of piping-hot water springs from the earth’s crust every day in Somerset’s largest city. I said, “imagine if we lived there, you could lie in the bath to your heart’s desire and I needn’t ever worry about inflated energy costs when you’re topping up the tub to an unnecessary high level”. My wife pretended to ignore me but I persisted and mentioned that the late Her Majesty The Queen would have her bath painstakingly prepared with only seven inches of water at a temperature of 72 degrees Fahrenheit - tested by a thermometer. “Bullshit” was Alison’s response. She then sighed and vigorously turned on the hot tap in an act of non-compliance, which in turn drowned out the majority of her mutterings regarding the cost of doing a two hundred miles round trip for a fell race. I thought it best not to ask for clarity and reluctantly curbed my lamenting.
How ironic that the heavens opened just as I arrived at St Mary’s Church. The weather probably discouraged some runners from venturing outdoors and consequently numbers were low. Given that the race was a fundraiser for the church, there’s no denying the Lord works in mysterious ways. Although he must’ve been looking down upon the hardy 28 participants toeing the start line, because truth be told the running conditions were pretty decent during the race. My main reservation beforehand was how difficult navigating the route would be throughout the forest. I needn’t have worried as the course markings exceeded my expectations. And for any Wainwright baggers: Lord’s Seat, Broom Fell and Whinlatter were all encountered. It’s certainly a race I’ll be returning to...God willing!
Congratulations to race winners Sam Hooper and Helen Sharman.
Many thanks to Lyn and all helpers. A special mention to the ladies who fed and watered us with copious amounts of cake and plentiful brews inside the church following the race. Much appreciated!
Whilst driving home I worked out that it was practically five years to the day since I did my Bob Graham. I can’t believe where the time has gone. However the drive home felt like it was dragging so I phoned my wife to break the monotony and said, “I’ve got something to tell you, but it’s really hard to say”. Nervously she replied, “go on”. I said, “Ken Dodd’s dad’s dog’s dead”. There then followed an uncomfortably long silence before Alison eventually said, “my greatest accomplishment today is not saying what I’m currently thinking out loud”. She then let her guard down and called me “pretty”. Well actually the full sentence was “you’re pretty annoying at times”. I guess I just like to focus on the positive.
Amen to that!
