Beacon Park XC Race

‘Welcome to Skem’, a marshal called out with a smile, as she braved standing in the pouring rain, close enough to being spattered by large globules of mud churned up by mad people.

Indeed.

This part of Skelmersdale would actually have looked rather nice on a warm dry day with the sun on your back. Instead, many hundreds of us thundered through the brown slop that once was the green of Beacon Park and golf course.

Why?

A very good question. And at the beginning when I tentatively pulled on my spikes under the Pensby Gazebo, while its roof bowed lower with the heavy rain, I did ask that very question to myself. Why did I rouse myself early on a Sunday morning to get soaking wet and unimaginably muddy?

Because of the cake?

Well it certainly does help to know that fellow runners have brought sweet delights and hot tea to share after the run. I can think of no other time when cake tastes as good as when it’s eaten after a race. Despite the fact that I was close to the back of the cross country pack, there were still a few pieces of Wendy’s cake left which I devoured with the same gastronomic joy of eating the poshest of meals.

Because of the camaraderie?

These local races bring people from a variety of clubs, with a variety of abilities together. The energy sapping ground meant that I was not going for any kind of personal bests today, but it meant that I could chat to a few runners along the way. One lady said that this was her very first cross country race ever, as she’d only started running in the spring. I asked her if she’d come to another one after this mudfest. She smiled, as we found another expectedly deep trough, where our legs sunk to half way up our calves, and said yes, absolutely.

Another women who passed me at a few points and went behind me at others, was Christine, a 72-year-old lady who’d also taken up running cross country fairly recently. I was blown away by her energy and lack of fear. She ploughed through the terrain as well as any seasoned runner, and in the last stretch held me off as we got to the finish line. It was phenomenal to witness and rather inspirational.

Club races like these really help forge deeper friendships. I have really got to know some of people in my running club from doing the club races. For one thing, the race, unlike our Tuesday night runs, bring together the fast and the slow. I came in to the finish somewhere near the rear, but two of my club mates were in the top five, and are amazing, yet still lovely guys. And that’s a great thing to know.

Because of the exhilaration?

I have to say that this race was by far and away the wettest and muddiest cross country affair I’ve experienced. Even the old timers were putting it up there in their estimations. It was hard to take off my coat and jacket, and step out into the rain in my t-shirt and shorts. And I did have a feeling of wtf when the horn went off and ground became increasingly shifting. But after a mile, I was as wet and as muddy as I was going to get (assuming I remained upright of course – which, thankfully I did), and in that knowledge, there was a freedom. The kind of freedom that I saw a child have, who took the biggest jump and splash into the mini stream which had been formed between the two banks by the starting line. The child had an enormous grin on their face and so did I by the time I got to the end. Or was that because I was about to get cake?