Bowhill Duathlon race report: The ultimate Scottish winter race

I can see there’s a right turn ahead and an arrow, but I feel that any advisory words would present a much more significant challenge. The big wide forest track is changing into something much narrower and windier. The snow makes progress difficult, and I’ve just jumped back on my saddle after succumbing to the somewhat inevitable sliding.

As I bang my cycling shoes on the side of the bike to free up the cleats from any compacted snow, I look up and read the sign. “Gnarly trails ahead”. I now remember that I’ve seen this sign before, on a picture of the course on Facebook. I’d rather hoped this section would be on the run leg.

With no idea what’s in store, I ride on and down, elbows out and very thankful that at least no-one’s pressing me from behind. Up until now I feel I’ve been doing ok, the long climb from the start spreading out the field nicely, and I’m more or less in control. But a change feels imminent.

I only just manage to stay upright as I ride, slide, bump and twist down the snowy singletrack. I quickly become aware that I do very little of this type of riding. A visit or two to a trail centre would have been helpful in the build-up. I feel compelled to apologise as I see photographer Andy. He’s a well-known figure in Scottish mountain biking and has worked with people like Danny McAskill.

The contrast with what he’s just witnessed could not have been starker. He does well not to shake his head in disgust as I ride past him. Ever the optimist, he shouts some words of encouragement. I’m relieved to be spat out onto the wider track, as another rider flies past. I have my standard forlorn thought – I’ll get him on the run.

Racing off-road

I’m on the bike leg of the Bowhill Duathlon in the Scottish Borders. This is the first race of Durty Event’s winter off-road duathlon series. I’ve enjoyed racing over the winter during the past couple of years, but those races were in the Middle East, the Sahara, and Cyprus.

As we drove to the race in sub-zero temperatures and with snow all around, I was concerned that my recent found love of winter races was about to come to a very abrupt halt. Like many of us, the festive period for me had involved little movement other than that of cutlery and pint glasses.

Time to start the engine; I just need to find it first. The week of the race was properly cold. Nighttime temperatures fell well below zero and pre-race thoughts were all about keeping warm. The race is an 8.5km bike and a 6km run. All off-road, the key question was how “off-road”?

Durty Events’ head man Paul McGreal has a solid reputation for making things rough. I was confident that we’d be tackling a mountain rather than gravel bike course, but running shoe choice was going to be tricky. Like a true professional, I grabbed the first three pairs I could find in my garage and went with the ones that were the quickest to put on.

I decided on two pairs of thin running socks with small plastic bags between them. Arm warmers, under-helmet cap, and two pairs of gloves completed my starting outfit. The bike is a mass start and I’m fearful of unwanted jostling to get in position. I needn’t have worried as people seem far more focused on staying warm, blowing on their glove-covered hands, their collective breaths forming steam in an impressive dry ice-like show.

I meet Isla Short. She’s been Scotland’s top cross country mountain biker for many years. Her ponytail will be a good target, or so I hope. I place myself about ten riders back thinking that might be where I’d finish. Off we go with no crazy out of the saddle stuff.

Warming up nicely, I settle into a rhythm and feel ok. Isla’s ponytail is just up ahead. The first singletrack descent is a big wakeup call though, and I’m struggling to stop spinning on the wider snow-covered tracks. Others seem to cope much better and pass me with ease.

I hold my place until we come to a wide descent. Bits of it look frozen to me and I proceed with caution. Others don’t and blast past, all staying upright. Losing places badly, I need to get to transition, but not before another single-track descent under the trees and over the fallen leaves. What if there’s something underneath them?

Nobody else seems concerned as they charge past. Isla will be flying down this stuff I think to myself, but I most definitely am not. Hesitation has now become ponderous progress. I comfort myself that I’ll have plenty people to chase on the run. Frankly, far too many.

I sit down in transition. Not the done thing I know, but there’s a bit to do here. I take off one pair of sock and bags. I remove both sets of gloves, but then grab the smaller pair just in case and stuff them in my back pocket. The arm warmers can go too.

Just like I do these days when leaving the house, I go through a mental checklist to make sure I have everything, even mentioning each item out loud. I grab an energy gel and put my shoes on.

OK, good to go. No, my bike helmet is still on! I blame it on the cold and eventually run out, head uncovered.

Finding a rhythm

Moving that head from side to side, I try peering through the trees in the hope that I’ll see some competitors ahead. I know very well that even a fleeting glimpse of some legs through the gaps in the timber will lift my spirits.

I’m well back now and have some catching up to do. I see some others, but they might be marshals. Trying to find my running rhythm, we’re suddenly directed up a 45-degree slope. Needing to use my arms as well as legs to make progress, I curse Paul and can feel him chuckling back.

• How to master uphill running

On the steeper bits, I know it can be demoralising for others ahead if they look back and see you running these types of sections. Yet my desire to look intimidating is outshone by my wish to not blow a gasket, so I’m resigned to a walk. I try to look like I’m comfortable, but I’m most certainly not.

Descending now, there’s ice around and my feet are slipping. I’m catching the guy in front, but need him to check the ground ahead, so don’t pass him and instead avoid the areas he’s slipping on. Desperate measures.

Although I’m wearing off-road running shoes, I’m slipping far too much. More forefoot striking and weight forward behaviour is needed, but for now I’d just like to get through this section in one piece.

Like the bike course but even more so, the course bends tightly and weaves its way through the forest. There’s a wide variety of terrain which is great brain food and the kilometres tick along. I’ve no idea where I am and in which direction I’m heading, but the signage is spot on, so I push forward.

We’re lower down now, and the snow and ice has subsided. With others in the distance and just about catchable, I can’t deny this is fun and even manage a smile. The positive energy makes me run better – I should adopt that mental process more.

I hear footsteps closing in behind and hope to see an out and out runner pass me which would mean a team, but the tri-suits says otherwise.

I take one final squeeze and gulp of my gel as we approach the finish area. I’m not entirely sure where the end is and all too soon, I’m in the estate courtyard and under the inflated finishing banner. I finished in 1 hour and six minutes for 12th place.

I didn’t feel particularly tired at the end which inevitably left me questioning my pacing, but I couldn’t have gone much harder. Looking back, I did make two poor kit choices. I knew my back tyre was somewhat worn and that had made a difference.

I spent far too much time slipping, sliding and just generally feeling out of control. Still, tyres aren’t cheap and I’m not planning on doing a great deal more biking on snow.

Also, my running shoes were all over the place. I spoke to the winner Ewan Brown at the end, and he was in proper fell running shoes, which I should probably have worn. Nevertheless, although it’s all too tempting to make them, comparisons in these situations are of limited value.

Ewan is a top-class athlete whom I last saw winning Celtman by almost half an hour. I am not. Kit is important, but the user is more so. With age, I’m very aware that I’m becoming poorer and poorer at descending when running, and there’s only so much the right shoes will help with that. Still, I’d like to have known how much difference that would’ve made here.

I’d been reluctant to race – I’d worked out that I hadn’t done a multisport event in a Scottish winter for almost two decades – but I loved the race and whole experience.

I did have a feeling of unfinished business, especially as I’d made such a mess of the technical parts of the course, so I might just give the next race in the series a go. The conditions would of course have to be somewhat less challenging, but then again, I can’t seem to find that option on the entry form!

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