Rollicking on the riverbank

Trying to work out if there's a quicker way to the finish line

Given the lengths I usually take to avoid any contact with mud, I still can't believe I spent nearly two hours yesterday wading and splashing through reams of the stuff. 

My second ever cross-country race was ever-so-slightly more ambitious than the three-miler I completed around Cefn Wood a few weeks ago - three times more ambitious actually (yesterday's race was a nine-miler). There was also considerably more mud to contend with in Bristol thanks to a fatal combination of wet weather and lots of bridle paths. A more cynical person might harbour suspicions that Thornbury Running Club organisers had taken great pleasure in devising the muddiest, most slithery route possible.  

The Riverbank Rollick takes place mainly on trails and across fields (90% is off-road). The route starts at the Pithay near St Mary's Church, in Thornbury, goes out to St Arilda's Church at Oldbury and then back through the village of Littleton and over Thornbury Golf Course. There is 120 metres of climbing and the titular riverbank is the Severn. 

So how did this grandmother of two, a confirmed short-distance road runner who doesn't own a decent pair of trail shoes, end up competing in a mud-bath of a race alongside two hundred super-fit mudo-philes?

Ruth is feeling energetic before her first XC race

Well, the blame lies firmly at the feet of fellow Lliswerry Runners, Claire and Zara, who, fresh from their success in the considerably tougher 20k Bog and Bryn around Henllys last November, persuaded me that cross-country racing is actually really good fun. 



Harri, an experienced cross-country runner, had been disappointed to miss the Bog and Bryn, so he agreed to join me in the Riverside Rollick (on the proviso that we ran separately!).

The race was originally planned for January 19, however persistent snowy conditions in the weeks before resulted in some uncertainty over whether it would go ahead.

The day before, Newport parkrun was cancelled for the first time in its two-year history (we run along a wooded riverside path and many branches were snapping under the weight of the snow); things weren't looking good. Then the news came through - the Riverbank Rollick was postponed until April.

There were huge sighs of relief in Rhiwderin. I'd been increasingly half-hearted about the prospect of running through mud and water, up grassy slopes and along the Severn Estuary in cold, wintry conditions. Thanks to the icy, arctic weather, I'd done hardly any distance running since Christmas. A spring date bode well with regard to weather conditions; with a bit of luck, there might not be any mud underfoot at all!

Last weekend, the outlook was looking good. When Harri and I completed our final two walks on Gower, the coastal paths had almost completely dried out. From the evidence on the ground, it was hard to believe that the winter just gone had been exceptionally wet. Things were looking promising for a good weekend rollick.

But if you can rely on one thing, it's the unpredictability of the British weather. By mid week, it was raining again with forecasts of heavy showers at the weekend. 

By Saturday evening, we'd accepted that the Riverside Rollick was going to be a wet affair. Feel the fear and do it anyway, I told myself.

Lliswerry ladies were out in force

So I did it, I ran the nine-mile Riverbank Rollick and I can't believe how much I enjoyed the whole, mucky experience. Thankfully, the rain held off while we were running and though yanking one's shoes out of squelchy, clay-like mud was never going to be easy, I somehow managed to stay upright.

What really made the event special though was the wonderful camaraderie between runners.
I've always laughed at the tags 'attached' and 'unattached', wondering how someone who runs at my speed could ever be attached to Lliswerry legends like Keith, who recently completed a 100-miler, Speedy Gonzales (and appropriately named) Miles, or the amazing and very modest Emma, still in her teens and with a lifetime of running successes ahead of her. 

Still smiling at around 7.5 miles

Yet race with your running club and suddenly you are very much attached, even if you're never going to be one of the first four across the line (the only times that count for team prizes).  I wore my Lliswerry vest (still sporting its Welsh dragon on the back) with pride and loved the noisy encouragement from faster team members as I splashed through the final stream (the sting in the tail) and raced (uphill again) towards the finishing line.

The fact I finished at all, however, is due to the support of three friendly Hogsweed Trotters, who offered me encouragement throughout the race, and, most importantly, towards the end when I started doubting my ability to keep going. 

Cross-country running is tough - even tougher than road running. You need your wits about you when you're plodding along a squelching bridle path with a stream on one side. 

There are fields to slip and slide across, stiles to climb and rough terrain to trip you over. It's almost impossible to switch off, to get into 'the zone', before the next challenge confronts you.

The hill that brought many of us to our knees 

A long, steep field climb faced us as we neared the eight-mile mark, followed by another muddy track, a fence to clamber over and finally, in the woods, a rope with which to haul ourselves up the almost vertical footpath. 

For me, the toughest section was undoubtedly the mile-long riverside stretch along the Severn (between Oldbury-on-Severn and Littleton-on-Severn). Though flat and grassy, it was completely open to the elements, specifically a strong, gusting wind. Despite my best efforts, I knew I was slowing down and I couldn't help feeling a bit demoralized as runners I'd passed in the first three miles came flying past me.

My finishing time was 1:47:41. Harri was waiting, already changed into his warm clothes. He'd completed in an amazing 1:11:02 despite very little training (he cycles more often than he runs!).

Fellow Lliswerry Runner, Ruth and me. Happy to have finished.

I'm starting to love all the statistics that go with running. Within an hour or so of getting home, we were able to see that Harri had averaged 7.58 minute miles, while I'd taken three minutes more to pass each mile marker (11.57). This statistical breakdown certainly explains how crossed the finishing line a full 36 minutes ahead of me.  

So were Claire and Zara right about cross-country racing being great fun? You bet they were! 

They've made a runner out of me

Morwenna and Imogen (and Colin Tebby) arriving for parkrun 

'Congratulations! Our records show that you have completed 50 parkruns. You are now eligible to receive a free parkrun 50 club tee shirt, sponsored by adidas, in recognition of your achievement.’

What parkrunner wouldn't be excited when the above email lands in their mailbox?

50 parkruns! 

That’s 250 kilometres of Saturday morning running with a wonderful crowd of people, many of whom I now class as good friends.

It’s 155 miles circumnavigating the (often muddy) grounds of Tredegar House, mentally ticking off those 1km markers.

It’s 50 separate texts, each one sent to my mobile just after 11am to let me know how my legs have performed that day.

And it's 50 emails noting my overall and  gender positions for that day's run, plus lots of other scintillating statistical information about my own performance and that of my fellow runners (and believe me checking the stats becomes very addictive!).

parkrun is what Saturdays were made for – and what makes it even more of a must-do event is that every week I’m joined by my equally enthusiastic family and friends.

And they're off...

parkrun is now such a massive part of my life that it's impossible to believe that just over a year ago, I’d never even heard of it.

From its humble beginnings at Bushy Park, Teddington, in 2004 (there were just 13 runners for the first run), parkrun is now an international sporting event, providing free, timed weekly 5k runs across the globe.

Founder Paul Sinton-Hewitt wanted to keep parkrun simple. Once a runner is registered, they just turn up unannounced at any event and compete against themselves.

The letters PB resonate with every parkrunner, for they are a constant reminder of the day they exceeded their own expectations and ran the fastest 5k race of their life – their ‘personal best’.

Everyone remembers the turning points in their lives, those moments when everything changes and life will simply never be the same again.

My ‘parkrun moment’ came in late September 2011 when our family was gathered in Caerleon for a meal to celebrate Morwenna’s graduation. My (former) sister-in-law, Catherine, was sitting next to me and, aware I’d taken up running a few years earlier, she asked me if I fancied going along to Tredegar House the following weekend to run a 5k around the lake. It was an organised event, she told me, but a free one. All I had to do was register online in advance and then I’d get timed for my efforts. I’d run the Swansea 10k a year before so the distance wasn't of particular concern. In effect, I was simply going along to hold her hand.

Imogen's efforts are rewarded

A week later, I met Catherine in the car park and the rest, as they say, is history. I was pretty much addicted from day one – though at that point, I had no idea that I’d soon be on first name terms (and Facebook friends) with many of the other runners.

Within weeks Morwenna had joined me, then her father, David, and his other sister, Allyson. The children didn’t want to miss out on the fun so it wasn't long before Amber, 7, Imogen, 6, Megan, 11, Connor, 10, and Abi, 5, were all dashing up the avenue and around the lake. Harri's occasional runs resulted in some impressive results, while his father, Garrod, put his running shoes on for the first time in over 20 years. Morwenna’s school friend Rachel turned up with her fiance (now husband) Wayne and Rachel’s mum, Sue, was soon a regular. 

Julia congratulates Amber on her first parkrun

parkrun was no longer an occasional Saturday morning event but was fast becoming a religion. 

In the Brew House, our after-run family gathering had long outgrown one table and we were regularly ordering tea for eight.

Chatting to fellow volunteers, I learned that one couple – Gareth and Sian – lived a few doors away from me, and I renewed contact with several old school friends and former work colleagues.

As the running bug took hold, Morwenna and I decided to join a club.

Newport parkrun is organised by volunteers from Lliswerry Runners and Caerleon Running Club and we were ‘courted’ by both clubs. After much deliberation, we chose Lliswerry on the basis that the runs were more likely to be flat (Caerleon is far too hilly for my liking).

With encouragement from club members, I achieved the unimaginable in 2012 and completed two half marathons – Llanelli in March and Cardiff in October (with Morwenna).

Nothing can beat the sense of achievement and the exhilaration of running long distances - the changing landscape, the breeze on your face, the adrenalin rush. When it's going well,  I feel like Maria Von Trapp running down those Austrian hillsides.

Tail-running the day before the Cardiff half marathon

When I started running four years ago, I could barely run to the end of Springvale estate without collapsing in a heap.

If anyone had told me then that one day I’d be the proud owner of an exclusive tee-shirt emblazoned with the number 50 to signify that I’d run 50 x 5km races, I’d probably have told them they were bonkers.

But I have. I’ve done it. With a little help from my (running) friends, some weird-looking gel toe tubes from Wilkinsons and lots of orange squash, I’ve become a member of parkrun’s 50 club. I have a big red 50 next to my name on the much-lauded weekly race results page. I have booked a place on my first international half marathon.

At the age of 51, I am proud to call myself a runner.