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Thread: Seagrave Wolds Challenge

  1. #1
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    Seagrave Wolds Challenge

    This is an annual 16-mile event, billed as being for “walkers and runners”. There were two motivations for entering this. Firstly, I wanted to do something a little beyond my comfort zone in terms of distance, and a local event (where it wouldn’t matter too much if it all went belly-up) seemed ideal. Secondly, I was getting a bit fed up with repeatedly missing races that I wanted to do, for a variety of reasons; colds, railway strikes, clashes with other commitments, etc.; so I was happy to do just about anything that was available

    The entry form had an interesting feature. There were three age categories: under 16, 16-65, and over 65, with reduced fees for the first and third categories. As a 65-year-old, which category did I belong in? This could only be resolved by treating 65 as a Real Number rather than an Integer: I am approximately 65.4 years old, so definitely over 65.

    The route was only revealed three days before the event, because some of it is over private land, away from public rights of way (it changes each year, although they try to keep the distance the same). They say that they always try to keep it off the roads, but there was at least 5 miles of tarmac; it was going to be a test of my tolerance of tarmac as well as my ability to run a long distance. I was expecting the off-road stuff to include plenty of gloopy mud after the recent deluges, but in fact there was hardly any mud, even in cattle grazing fields.

    On a clear, sunny morning, a 41-minute cycle ride took me to Seagrave village hall (passing a queue of traffic at the turn-off to the car park field), where an unexpected sound greeted me: they had a bagpiper, playing a variety of tunes to welcome us. After a minute’s silence for Armistice Day, we were off at 9:00am. All went well (apart from all that tarmac in the first three miles) until the road out of Hoby, around mile 8, where I got cramp (which is quite unusual for me). A half-mile or so of walking, during which I consumed a cereal bar, alleviated this, and the cramp wasn’t a problem for the rest of the route, although I could sometimes feel it in the background. I was gradually slowing down, and I did have to walk a few more sections through sheer tiredness (and consume another cereal bar and numerous jelly babies). Around mile 13, we were going through the grounds of Ratcliffe College, a Catholic school; along one path, they had set out the Stations of the Cross, which seemed grimly appropriate to how my legs were feeling by that stage. But at the finish I was quite satisfied that I had probably walked no more than 2 miles of the route. The cramp reasserted itself while I was cycling home.

    I had been targeting a time of 3 hours, so finishing in 2:42:16 was very satisfying. The fastest finisher did 1:53:35, so I was within my benchmark of winner’s time + 50%, which I rarely achieve in fell races these days; but the Seagrave Wolds Challenge is not the sort of event that attracts the racing snakes.

    Recently I reported that at the Teggs Nose fell race I had met a runner whom I had known over 40 years ago when I was at Cambridge, where I had been a postgraduate student. Today I met someone whom I had known in the Orienteering Club at St Andrews, where I was an undergraduate. Tess Kay is no relation to me (although she has a brother called Anthony!), and had been one of the first people I met when I came to Loughborough, where she was already a lecturer in the Sport and Exercise Science Department. She has worked in other universities since then, but has come back to this part of the world on retiring.
    Last edited by anthonykay; 11-11-2023 at 06:24 PM.
    In his lifetime he suffered from unreality, as do so many Englishmen.
    Jorge Luis Borges

  2. #2
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    What starts at 9am on a Saturday morning, has been going for 20 years, and isn't a race although all participants get a time and position? No, not parkrun; it's the Seagrave Wolds Challenge. But the Seagrave Wolds Challenge is only once a year, and is more than five times as long as a parkrun, with a different 16-mile route each year. This year, to celebrate the 20th year, there was an option to do a 20-mile route, with a detour leaving the 16 mile route at about the 4.5-mile point and rejoining it just before the 7-mile marker. But for me, the 16-mile route was enough to test the limits of my endurance.
    This year's route , to the north of Seagrave, was much better than last year's; no more than 2 miles of road running, and more hills - and a ploughed field in the last mile. Although it is not that far from my home, most of the paths were new to me, apart from a few stretches of bridleway that I had cycled. The route passed through the ground of Prestwold Hall, which I believe is well known to cross-country runners. There were three refreshments points, with drinks, jelly babies, and even cakes. I reckon the entire population of the village must be involved, setting up the course (the entire route is well marked), marshalling, catering, etc.
    I followed my usual race strategy: start too fast, and then gradually move back through the field. But with entries closed at 700 (so probably more than 500 actual participants, although some of those are walkers), it's probably a good idea to be reasonably near the front at the start. I finished in 2:39:30, which is nearly three minutes faster than last year, on what should have been a slower route. I don't really understand that; my only possible explanation is that my over-eating the day before was better this year.
    The first two 20-mile runners came past me around the 10-mile mark, when they had done 14 miles. Several more fast 20-milers came past further on. On the results display at the end, I was shown as 59th finisher, as compared to 140th last year; but that comparison isn't fair, since many of the faster people would have been doing the 20 miles this year, but only a few of those would have been fast enough to make up the extra 4 miles on me.
    In his lifetime he suffered from unreality, as do so many Englishmen.
    Jorge Luis Borges

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