Blue Bell 10 Trail

I have always loved bluebells.  They are one of my favourite flowers.
For me they signify the end of the winter SADness and gloom and the hope of extended sunshine and happy.

David had tried to get me to enter the Blue Bell Trail last year, but there was no way on earth I could have run 10 meters last spring, let alone 10km and certainly not 10 miles.
10.3 miles actually.


This year, it was mentioned again and happened to fall the weekend before Leeds half marathon. I had been training, I knew I could do the distance.
I figured, if I could bimble my way round the woods and fields and up the ghastly hills I had heard about, it would make Leeds seem quite nice in comparison. It wouldn't be as pretty, but it would be a different kind of brutal.  An excellent training run if nothing else.

I didn't have a time in mind as I didn't know what to expect.
As this was my first race, so long as I finished I was guaranteed a PB too.
Huzzah!



Normally, when I go for a run, I dawdle before I set off.
I dawdle A LOT.

I will delay as much as humanly possible. I don't like running. It hurts in a way I can't describe very well. Sometimes my glutes scream, other times my calves chunter and complain. Occasionally my knees and hips are grumbling.
Sometimes its whole body hurting.
Its not always a physical pain though - sometimes I just want to stop. I want the unpleasantness I am experiencing to stop. It isn't pain as such. Its just running.
Lets face it - its not normal and its not nice.

So.... getting up and having to be ready to run at a certain time proved interesting. I couldn't dawdle and delay.
I found myself somehow shovelling breakfast and coffee down my neck.

Gels. Check
Pre race poo. Check
Post code for venue. Check
Warm clothing for after. Check

Ok lets do this.

I thought I would be nervous when I lined up with a few hundred other runners. I had seen a few faces I recognised, said a few hellos, but surprisingly, I felt nothing.
No nerves, no giddy, no apprehension, no pressure.
No nothing. I liked this. This was a good thing.

I guess I had no expectations.
The plan was to stick to a pace I knew I could manage on the flat bits, push the uphills where I could n keep going as much as possible.

And finish.
Finishing was part of the plan.
I secretly didn't want to be last either.
Or poo myself (but figured the woods were a safe location should nature call)

It was an achievable set of goals.

The first 3 miles were without incident, few small chats with some other lovely runners, usual questions which were a bit like a Peter Kay sketch... do you run much? have you done this before? what other events are you doing?
I imagine its like Running Tourettes. You know you shouldn't but cant quite help yourself.
By this point, I didn't realise I would have a little episode of proper Tourettes going up Trooper Lane.
Maybe thats how it got its name.... cos you swear like one while climbing it?

We ran a bit through the woods, a bit along the canal, up a small quick hill, on the road a bit.... this is ok. My pace is ok,
I'm liking this.

I knew that Trooper Lane was at about 3.5 miles ish.
How bad could it be? Really?
Ok it could be steep, but it wouldn't be that long. Would it?

Oh.
Maybe it could be that steep and that long.

My face must've said it all.  I was already a red sweaty stinky mess.
I think my face screamed dejection as a woman cheering at the bottom of the hill, thrust a bottle of water into my hand assuring me that there was a water station at the top.

I turned and started climbing and realised the road swept left round a corner, I figured it would keep going a bit but..... really?
I was already walking by this point.... as was everyone else. We had all hit the brakes at the bottom of the hill. We had been warned.

Some had obviously 'run' it before..... The race... not the hill.
Definitely not run the hill.
I'd like to meet someone who *HAS* run it.

Anyway..... we climbed and went round a corner..... and climbed and went round another corner..... by the time I looked up and saw the little dots above me, I realised it went on forEVER.

When I reached where the dots had been, I looked down

By this point I was more than a little bit sweary. And we were only about half way.
I was VERY sweary.

IT JUST KEPT GOING.

We turned again and carried on climbing and climbing and turned and climbed some more.... then we saw the top. Huzzah!!!!

Halifax sprawled in all its Yorkhire-ness and glory beneath us.

My legs didn't work very well by this point and my ass was more than a little bit screamy about how unhappy it was. Mutters of cracking nuts were made and we carried on.
Why did I change my shift to do this? I could be having a nice time elsewhere thank you very much.  I had gone to great lengths to 'run' this race.

But of course, what goes up.... must go down.....

The downhill was glorious.
Muddy, gentle, lined with fields and woods... but most importantly, it was DOWNHILL.

I need to take a moment to say a big fat thank you to all the marshals (especially the little people who were distributing Jelly Babies and generally being gorgeous)  They all did an amazing job - they all clapped and cheered and smiled and encouraged.*BUT* MOST OF THEM LIED!!!
It wasn't all 'down hill from here'. Not by any stretch of anybodies imagination.

Somehow, we ended up going BACK uphill. How was that even possible? How would we end up back at the start of we went up any more?

Walking and chatting had kicked in by this point. We were a crowd of 4 talking about the benefits of training in a club, what each local club offered and whether 'tarting' on different nights of the week was acceptable practice.
We were sore and had about 3 miles left to go.

But of course... we had to go back down again (wahoo!) and started the long descent into the woods.

  

Before I knew it, we were deep in the woods and immersed in Bluebells.
They were everywhere and the smell was overwhelming.
They were properly everywhere.
A few people had said that there were no Bluebells last year due to the winter and the weather.
I would've been devastated.  They were all I went for.

They were worth Trooper Lane.
Twice..... Maybe.

At this point euphoria kicked in.
Proper euphoria.
The best to describe it was as though my soul had spontaneously combusted and burst into flames.
I was full of unadulterated joy and grinning like a Cheshire Cat.

I had air in my lungs, the smell of perfection flooded my nostrils, my eyes were over loaded with natural beauty, I could hear an array of woodland wildlife going about its business, a group of runners had been taking pics all the way round, were running and giggling in a group and radiated the same joy as I was feeling.

There was nowhere in the world I would have rather been in that instant. It no longer hurt to run. In fact it was easy.

We passed the lion in the woods which made me giggle too much. Obviously I had to stop and have a picture taken with him.

The last mile seemed easy, my pace was even and was the same as I'd started the run.
I would even go so far as to say that I think I was a little bit sad when I saw the 10 mile marker.
It meant that soon I would be turning from the canal path, 'running' through the river, somehow clambering out the other side and then I would be finished.

My first race would be over.
I had done it.
I had LOVED every second of it.  There were 2 hours and 13 minutes worth of seconds....7980 of them to be exact.
Each one of them was perfect.

Thanks to everyone at Stainland Lions.
Special thanks to David.
I never thought I would be so pleased to see him standing in the middle of a river, but if he hadn't nudged (bullied) me, I wouldn't have done it.

So..... ta x

.....n I'll see you next year.