Fancied my chances against a cyclist this morning! There's a hill just on the way out of Alderley on Macclesfield Road up towards the Wizard pub. You can avoid it, sort of, or you can take it. Put it this way, you don't run it by mistake. And neither do the roadies early on a Sunday morning. It's steep, a long haul. You catch their eye and theirs yours. You both 'know' and there's a mutual nod. Respect! And, sometimes...I can keep up. Not this morning. My legs were busted!
The English Nationals is something I've done once before, down that London! Yesterday, the seasons premier cross country finale, was at Nottingham...and just as special as my memories recall. It's not often you get to race Steve Vernon and Jonnie Brownlee. I didn't, obviously, but the start is hectic, spread out wide, held in pens, everyone is near the start with a view up that first hill. The noise is massive, men grunting, chanting, bigging each other up. And then the minute gun goes...and all falls silent.
This is surreal and as deafening as the preceding noise. And bang, the gun goes and there's a feeling of 'going over the top' as we head for the first loop and back down the hill, all 1800 of us. I can't actually see the boundaries of the course. We sweep round that first bend then down the hill, all you can see ahead is an ocean of blokes chasing each other round this course. What a funny sport, I think, amidst the chanting and cheering from the crowd. Yes...a crowd! And then the work starts.
The course was good. Firm for a change, though with areas that remind you of our past seasons XC league...crappy. I bought some new spikes on Friday. 24hrs later they're pretty trashed. As are my feet. I was an A team counter yesterday, absolutely due to those who weren't there. But on the whole, although XC remains my least favourite running around, this has been a season I became more fond of as it progressed. There's been something about it...a bit like a 'wet paint' sign. You just can't resist.
