A Plan Comes To Fruition

Let me tell you about the Heb3 Challenge. Which is to complete at least three of the five Western Isles Half Marathons - Stornoway, Benbecula, Skye, Barra or Harris in any one year. Apparently this is the longest running series of half marathons in Scotland and probably the most ridiculous for someone from the centre of England to attempt. So, here we go.



The first challenge was to get an entry into the hugely popular Barra race, which we managed, despite it selling out in 40 minutes. The second challenge is the 530 miles from Nottingham to Uig on the Isle of Skye, from where we will catch a ferry. Which will have to do twice. We couldn’t make Stornoway which was last week, so will return at the end of June to take in Barra and Harris. We could have done Skye of course but that would have been far too easy.

For all this we will get a t-shirt, complete with the Heb3 logo. We like little things like that. If we could have done all five, and this would have been a near impossibility in travel, cost and holiday allowances they would have overprinted our t-shirts with 'rinn mise na coig' on the back. Which I thought was Gaelic for ‘smart arse’ but apparently just means ‘I did the five’.

As we’re heading up the M6 on route to Scotland we stop off in Stoke to catch the Olympic Torch relay which kicks off from Hanley at 7am this morning in the hands of Tony Pulis, the Stoke City manager.

We drive in along the Cobridge Road to catch it on Waterloo Road and get stopped by the police, who have turned all the traffic lights to red to let the entourage through. Hey presto front row seats.



Sadly it’s only the sponsor’s vehicles and once they’ve come through we have to run back to our abandoned car as the lights go green again. Hurriedly we park up somewhere in time to see, rather appropriately, running legend ‘Blind’ Dave Heeley and his dog Seamus handover the flame to another runner, whose name we don't know.



Dave Heeley was the first blind man to run seven marathons in seven days on seven continents and last year he ran 10 marathons in 10 days for Macmillan Cancer Support.



So far, at least our first plan has come to fruition.

Then it’s back to what turns out to be 12 hour drive, if you include the few stops we had, doing one hour stints each. The early part of which is in on-off rain, until we got into Scotland where it quickly started to fine up.

Arriving in Uig we are understandably both starving and gagging for a drink. Up on the hill the Ferry Inn looks the most promising. Looks can be deceptive. We’ve come all this way to find that the local pub does not serve the Isle of Skye ales that are brewed 200 yards away and the only real ale, from Greene King of all places, has come further than we have.

If this wasn’t bad enough, the miserable landlord mutters something about new Scottish licensing laws not permitting food to be served outside on insurance grounds, which sounds like b******** to me, and we can’t take the dogs inside despite the fact that his totally customer free bar is a rather spartan wooden floored affair and therefore very appropriate for dogs. He clearly has no wish for us to buy four rounds of drinks and two two-course meals off him? Estimated cost... upwards of £60... Fair enough.

We depart, as we don’t wish to selfishly put the dogs back in the car that they’ve just spent around 12 hours in just so that we can eat. The Bakur Bar on the pier comes to the rescue.



They don’t allow dogs in either but they are more than happy to serve us food, ale from the Isle of Skye brewery and even whiskey, outside.

(Thursday 31st May)

Tearful Goodbyes

D-Day arrives but first the Notts 5. I can see the anguish on L’s face as she wrestles with the fact that her injury has flared up again and she’s going to have to give this one a miss.

In a rare show of family unity and on her last day in Nottingham for a while, Daughter comes along to support. Which is really nice, I’m not actually sure she’s been to support me before.

The Notts 5 is usually run on a midweek evening in July but this year it was cancelled because the usual course could not be used due to the flood defence works on the Embankment. Yet to keep the race alive they belatedly and hurriedly arranged this Sunday morning version on a new course which starts just shy of the Embankment at The Ferry Inn in Wilford.

The route heads over Wilford Toll Bridge then turns right along the Embankment before crossing the suspension bridge and heading back along the other side of the river path past The Emmanuel School back to the start. Well that’s the route you should do, if you’re the chap ahead of me you carry straight on under the suspension bridge heading for Trent Bridge. Somebody clearly hasn’t listened to the briefing. Although to the fair (well fairer) there should have been a marshal there. All the marshals seemed to be in the wrong places.

I shout him back. I didn’t have to do that but I’m a nice person generally. It still enables me to overtake him, which is more a curse than a blessing as I now have him wheezing along just behind me which is immensely irritating. Eventually he wheezes past me and wheezes a breathless ‘thank you’ in my ear. You’re welcome.

So that’s lap one. Then we do it all again, only this time we do head up onto Trent Bridge rather than crossing over at suspension bridge. I’ve no idea whether Mr Wheezer gets it right this time or not because I’m back ahead of him by now and pulling away from his wheezing but I assume he simply followed me.

This all means that lap two is slightly longer than the first but course wise that is basically that. Hardly an exciting route, mainly flat and straight bar a couple of sharp turns on and off the bridges but not too horrible either. Unless you have a blister on the bottom of your foot of course, which I have. Something I acquired yesterday but it’s amazing how easily you forget about these things once the red mist of competition comes down or you have someone wheezing loudly behind you.

Talking of which, as we approach the finish he is catching me again but I hold on.

I had my mind set on a sub-33 which meant 6:30 miles but my legs were set on a different agenda. Perhaps one influenced by a couple of drinks last night and a Chinese. So although the first two miles are on target, the last three aren’t, but 33:53 isn’t bad.

Only 59 runners is a fairly poor turnout for the race, although it was short notice and there are a lot of races on this weekend. The t-shirt was disappointing too, the same as when I last did this race four years ago.

Then it’s time to load up the car with all of Daughter's worldly possessions (although leaving far too much junk behind for my liking) and Daughter, to head north, as she flees the nest. It’s nice sunshine in Nottingham as we leave but it starts raining as we cross the Yorkshire border. It’s grim up north as they say.

When we find her accommodation, Daughter doesn’t seem overly impressed. I think she was expecting something nicer. A bit like the Ritz and in a posh area. We think it’s actually very nice, very studenty, in a very studenty area. Very appropriate.

I setup her computer, well our computer, as hers expired last week or rather I would if I had the power cable and didn’t have a PS2 mouse and no PS2 sockets. Hmmm. Problem. We off head into Sheffield city centre and find a Tandy to buy replacements. An annoying extra expense but still cheaper and quicker than fetching the bits from Nottingham.

Then just as I’m trying to sort the internet out we get evicted, thrown out, Daughter is off down the off licence with her new flatmates. The very same flatmates she swore she’d have nothing in common with. Alcohol, as ever, is a great common ground. So little chance for a tearful goodbye then or to cartwheel down the street.

(Sunday 18th September)