Cioch Mhor hill race

Contrary to popular belief, the winner of the Cioch Mhor race is not the fastest runner, but the man who has the least regard for his testicles. Today’s race crossed a succession of barbed wire fences. It’s nothing to worry about for the veterans. They have had children. I wouldn’t mind being a father one day.

No matter how befuddled a runner’s thoughts may get during a hill race, the presence of a barbed wire send alarm bells ringing. This stuff could maim, I kept thinking. Hence every time I reached the evil obstacle, my progress came to a grinding halt as I carefully lowered the offending fence, threw a leg over, and then – the crucial part – ensure maximum clearance as the second leg is swung over. That’s the key to keeping everything intact.

As for the race, conditions were typically Highland: slate skies and a frantic wind, but then at times gloriously sunny, making me fancy I was getting a tan. Alec Keith was victorious by a country mile, but I was happy to come home fifth, especially after some iffy navigation.

A fortnight ago I was two minutes off a 2009 time. Today I shaved 20 seconds off my Cioch Mhor effort last year, so something is going right. Roll on the big hill races.

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