"Saturday 29th January was the annual running of the South of England Cross Country Championships. This is an event I had been looking forward to taking part in for over two years. That's when I had my first cross country season with the Harriers and heard about the notorious hills on Hampstead Heath, a race that Graham Bufton had entered (how many times) and never finished. Two years ago the championships weren't held on the course, instead they were held in Exmouth. Since the SEAA (South of England Athletic Association) is responsible for 19 counties from Cornwall to Norfolk, it is only fair that on some years, the more southern counties have a local race. Last year we didn't receive information in time to enter a team, so I had to wait until this year to pit my wits against this difficult course.

The Championships consist of a series of 10 races with over 2000 competitors. The standard is incredibly high, with the senior men running 5:15 mile pace over 9 hilly miles. It is apparently the only remaining cross country race over 15km in the country. The races start with the juniors at 11am with the Under 13s who run a single lap of the 5km course. 8 more junior races follow until the Senior Women who run two laps. My race with the Senior men didn't start until ten to three and it was 3 laps. By that time the ground is well and truly churned. The races are really team events, the winning team being the lowest total for the positions of the first three finishers for the team. Given that I was the only Harrier running, we were never going to score. No, I may be stupid enough to enter the race, but not so stupid to attempt to run 9 laps.

Parliament Hill is part of Hampstead Heath, so nowhere near Westminster. Its named, according to my google search, because there is an apocryphal story, that Guy Fawkes and his fellow conspirators met there to plan their attack. I have no idea as to the accuracy of the story, but what I do know is that whoever planned it as a cross country course should be sent to the Tower. It is evil.

Since I was a novice at this course, I'd decided to prepare myself by consulting some senior runners for advice on how to approach the course. Tony Parello on hearing that I was entering shook me firmly by the hand. It was a bit disconcerting because it felt like goodbye. He said that I needed to be fleet of foot. Not for the run, you understand, but in the showers afterwards. They have been icy cold in the past and it is best not to have your bare feet in contact with the ground for too long. Hmmm. Graham King warned me that a big concern is not to get lapped. You're still on your second lap, when the fast boys come tearing round to finish. Can be quite demoralising. I asked Brian McCallen about tactics. Should I use the standard marathon tactics where you're supposed to start slow and slow down. He said either that or don't start at all. Hmmm. All food for thought. And you have plenty of time to think as you take the Thameslink train down to West Hampstead and change for Gospel Oak. You need to get down there in good time so there is plenty of stewing time. I met Gary Fuller when I arrived, who was supporting his daughter, Rachael, who had run for Bedford & County juniors. I was relieved to see that Rachael did not appear to be totally caked in mud, nor suffering from exhaustion. Of course I had to do more laps, and she had that thing that I didn't have, what was it now... oh yes, she was young ! I can't even remember young.

There's no baggage, but the place is so crowded that its fair game to dump your stuff amongst the hundreds of others that litter the site, and trust to that statistically any thieves are more likely to nick someone else's stuff. There's a nice athletic track by the start which means you can warm up without getting caked in mud from the off. Useful too for the 7 or 8 trips to the loo that regularly punctuate my race build-ups.

And so to 2:50 and we line up in our team at the base of what looks like a fairly innocuous first hill. It’s a warm-up hill to you leave you oxygen depleted before you've barely start. At the top I get my first surprise that my senior colleagues haven't warned me of. The path narrows and I'm surrounded at close quarters by several hundred men of a certain age. The combination of the lack of oxygen and overpowering aroma of muscle rub leaves me dizzy. Fortunately we're at the top and most of my fellow runners sprint away down the far side leaving me with sufficient fresh air for me to continue. I think it’s the second hill that's the worst hill. Believe me there are several, 4 or 5 on a par with what we do at Brickhill. There is very little that's level, and going down hill is not easy either. You're worried about your keeping your footing and you're invariably heading straight into the muddier (read boggier) sections. We're talking calf deep in places, although despite the consistent rain of late, some of my fellow competitors said that it wasn't as bad as it had been in previous years.

Another surprise is the switchbacks. You find that as you reach certain points a single taped off rail separates you from the runners ahead of you that are already turning for home. I wondered when I reached that point whether I would see anybody, other than perhaps someone in the far distance starting their next lap. To my surprise there were indeed some slower than me. This in itself is a spur, and you remind yourself that we are all in our own personal races here. I am taken over by a guy in Green from Ely Runners on a downhill as I pick my way warily through the mud only to catch him again on the next uphill. And so we spar, until his endurance outpaces mine and I lose him in the end.

So it was on my second lap that I was indeed lapped, by the first 4 runners, I believe. In the lead was Hugh Lobb of Bedford & County who won the race (and B&C took the team prize). As he passed me he farted. I wondered whether it was in recognition of a runner from the same town, and perhaps a comment on our rivalry over the past 20 years. Probably not.

There's a further surprise on the third lap. You leave the finish behind with the announcements on the tannoy and it suddenly gets very quiet. You realise that there has been quite a lot of intrepid supporters wading in wellies through the mud to cheer us all on. Well to cheer on those that are worth cheering. And they've all finished by now. So you and your fellow strugglers must puff on unaided through the final 3 miles. I was tired now, and this was my slowest lap, but perhaps ironically, I felt better than during the rest of the race. At the start I had no clue as to what the course held, or indeed whether I would be able to finish. Now I was confident. All I had to do was put one foot in front of the other for another 20+ minutes and I'd be done.

And so I did. I achieved my goal. I finished a completely unimpressive 721^st out of 830 in a time of 1:13:37. Mr Lobb had nearly done it in half the time (47:16). But that really doesn't matter does it. I was satisfied at the achievement and that's why we do it isn't it ? I'm looking forward to doing it again and hope that a few of you will join me so that maybe we'll even be able to enter a team next time".    

Graham Short