A target for my newly acquired M60 status was to try for a
Scottish Masters cross country vest. I was aware it was quite a long shot. Even
though I am not a member of the Scottish Vets Association, I emailed the selectors
with my details. They advised that I could join if I was selected.
I duly trooped
up to Glasgow on Saturday, arriving by train at Queens Street in good time. After a series of
earlier minor mishaps (initial train delay, spilled juice) I found myself sat in the cool and
quiet upstairs of St. Enoch Square supping a mug of tea, reading Glasgow educated William Boyd’s
novel ‘The Romantics’ and surreptitiously eating my home made cheese roll. I wandered to the bus stop and was re-directed
to another, eventually boarding the No 61 at the Gallowgate.
It took no time to
arrive at Tollcross and I was still early for the 2pm kick-off. It was another
cuppa for a quid at the Wellshot café in Shettleston (full breakfast for a fiver!) and an easy amble to the
park. It occurred to me that the trials might not be on the grass but, instead, on the
paths. I had only brought spikes and was wearing my trail shoes. Thankfully as I crested the hill I
saw the tape and gave a gasp of relief.
The temperature was well into the 70’s,
as were a good handful of competitors, all either in denial or just living life
and running 'cause they could. I lay under a tree finding the shade and listened
to the various observations and pearls of wisdom rolling out from all corners. ‘Start
steady and consolidate’; ‘There’s only 2 places for sure, so make sure youre up
there' and so on..
The familiar sound of
drums and flutes from a small band making its way along Tollcross Road reached
us and slowly ebbed away. Lots of happy hot motorists
backed up behind them, no doubt.
Steve
Cairns was warming up and I noted a few other notables. I pinned my M60 number
on the back of my Bella vest and warmed up. I noticed one or two DNF’s in the Womens
& M65+ race that preceded the 'young mans race' and wondered how hot it actually was. We lined up and after a
3,2,1 we were off. I found myself near the back of the field within 100 metres
and the penny dropped that I was in the oldest age group and, as a result,
should expect to be at the back. It was, nevertheless a surprise. Upson from Cambuslang was alongside but not
for long and he bagan to steadily pull away. Halfway through lap 1 of 4, two wrinkly
M60 grafters from Shettleston and Central AC pulled up alongside and then went ahead. They
got around 30 or 40 metres on me and then I pegged the gap into the next lap where
the Central boy pulled out. 'Happy days', I muttered.
I continued to sweat my way around the
laps and on the 3rd lap convinced myself that Shettleston’s Williams
was coming back. I tried to up the pace (this resulting in an impressive
acceleration from 7 minute mile pace to 6.50 pace!). However, he was still
around 10 seconds ahead well into the 4th lap and I ran out
of grass in the end. I finished the 8k in 34 minutes and 4th M60.
I have no
illusions of selection, but was pleased I’d made the effort and after towelling
myself and rehydrating on the way to the bus stop, I quaffed a cool pint of
lager at the Tollbooth bar where I was royally entertained watching the
characters and interaction from a corner of the bar, before moving on for a hot
roll and another pint in Max’s. A session! It was
an easy train ride home and I had the next day off, cause I’m old and that
recovery thing is important.