Happily Ever After
Life in The Rural Retreat with a beautiful wife, three cats, garden wildlife, a camera, a computer – and increasing amounts about running
Earlier posts can be found on Adventures of a Lone Bass Player, where this blog began life. Recent entries can be found here.
Yorkshire 10 Mile 2025
by Russell Turner - 11:42 on 24 October 2025
My third trip this year to God’s Own Country got off to an unpromising start when, having loaded up Grandson of Seat, I turned the ignition key and was greeted with no more than some asthmatic coughing. This was unexpected; there’d been no indication of problems to come. “Drive to charge battery,” the dashboard informed me, unhelpfully. After assistance from Matchgirl’s Mini via jump leads I left The Rural Retreat only an hour later than planned.
I’d intended to break the journey to Glasgow at Ralia; instead, to add more charge to the battery, I stopped at Crieff – adding time (though not distance) to the route but bypassing huge swathes of the A9 on quieter, more scenic roads. There was no rush. Soup and a bun later, I held my breath and engaged the ignition, which turned with only a slight hesitation.
Next, and final, stop of the day was at Concert Square car park, handy for the Buchanan Galleries Premier Inn, Glasgow Royal Concert Hall, and Masala Twist Indian restaurant where my gig wife Carol and I enjoyed what’s become the traditional repast before paying our respects to 70s music heroes, on this occasion Rick Wakeman, his band, Six Wives and King Arthur. Even better than we’d hoped.
Morning. I bid farewell to train-bound Carol, walked to the car park and crossed my fingers. To no avail. Flat battery.
At 10am I contacted Green Flag, via its snazzy app, and was promised help by 11.30am. The firm must under-promise so it can over-deliver because its cheerful operative arrived around 25mins later, plugged an assortment of cables under the bonnet and a short while after that declared that one of the battery’s cells was dead, confirmed when a check of the alternator found no problem there. I could drive off in search of a Kwikfit (the battery now being as fully charged as possible) or I could have one fitted on the spot and no doubt pay extra for the convenience. I paid extra and left at 11.30, now confident I could reach Yorkshire.
This I did via a plethora of scenic back roads, pulling into the drive of my York Airbnb at 6.30pm. A brisk walk helped stretch the legs and source the local Co-op for tea.
There was more driving, though less of it, next day when I visited relatives, but by the time I was back in York I’d dropped plans to join Jack Dee at the Barbican. All I wanted was a quiet night before the race.
After days of gloomy weather forecasts, race day dawned dry, mild and (of course) breezy. This was when I discovered that I’d mistakenly brought my second-best running shoes rather than the newest, with only 120 miles on the clock and go-faster Enertor insoles to be used in a race for the first time. Oh dear. Fortunately, the older Adrenalines still had lots of life in them.
I warmed up with a 30min walk to the university, dropped my baggage and made my way to the start. The marathon runners had set off 30mins earlier; 10 milers were now positioning themselves as close to their chosen pacers as they could, if they were using them. I went for the 1:40 team. The forward shuffle began at 10.15 and a couple of minutes later I crossed the start line of my third Yorkshire 10 Mile. I’d completed the first, in my 2020-21 heyday, in 1:39, and the second last year, in 1:47 amid wind and monsoon.
It’s a good route: downhill on to Hull Road, left to the city through Walmgate Bar, past the Minster at 3k, out through Monkgate to Heworth. All the way are good crowds and flat roads. I kept the pacers in sight and all was well. The crowds thin after Heworth when we enter countryside, then just before 8k there’s a brief push up to cross the bridge over the A64, followed by a sharp right where the wind always seems to be in your face. At least it was dry this year.
Another turn, then another, back into the wind; 10k successfully completed in 1:01 and all still well, so why I felt the need for a brief walk at 11k is a mystery. It was the first of several.
Through Murton, then Osbaldwick where the leading marathon runners passed us at impressive speed. Crowds had returned. Another turn after 14k, then we were back on Hull Road, not looking forward to the climb back up to the university and the finish line. The guy in the Wakefield Triathlon Club vest was not enjoying his run, but we helped keep each other going for a while until I let him get away, up That Bloody Hill.
At last, over the brow and down to the finish in 1:43: slower than I’d hoped but faster than I’d feared. A decent run, a good medal, an average goody bag and not a long wait in the baggage queue. You can’t ask for more than that.
None of the food concessions appealed so I set off back to the Airbnb against the flow of oncoming finishers (me on the pavement, them on the road). Back on top of The Hill was the sobering sight of paramedics in action behind screens placed to shield a prostrate runner who’d obviously not coped well with the final push. Tubes and cables, glimpsed through a break in the screen, suggested something more serious than a sprained ankle.
At the bottom of The Hill my eye was caught by something more cheery – a Chinese takeaway. Just what I needed. From its window I watched the four-hour marathon pacer and his followers stream past, then dozens of other weary runners, some walking but all looking determined.
After special satay and fried rice and a shower (in that order) I ventured out again (wearing my medal, of course – where else will I have the chance?) to pay my respects to the tail end of the marathon, returning to the finish line to applaud the six-hour-plus finishers whose efforts were now hampered by rain. Most were walking but many summoned up a trot and a smile to cross the line. When the trickle of runners had almost dried up I returned again up Hull Road, to the Airbnb, passing a handful more stragglers until, just as I was about to turn off the road to reach my accommodation, I saw the very last runner, walking beside a pacer wearing a Back Marker flag. They looked set for a seven-hour finish. Never give up.
Sleep didn’t come easily that night – the discomfort in my legs felt as if I’d done the marathon rather than just 10 miles. Not fair.
A traffic jam near Kielder
The road north of Hawick
The journey home was another B-road odyssey (where possible) that again featured Weardale, a run through Kielder Forest and the Borders for an overnight stop at the Falkirk North Premier Inn. From there I crossed the Clackmannanshire Bridge to Rumbling Bridge and Gleneagles before joining my regular back route home: 975 miles and definitely worth the effort.
Greyer weather through the Sma’ Glen
Chances are I’ll return yet again next year for marathon weekend. Whether it’s for the marathon or 10 Mile remains to be seen. Before then there’s my final race this year when I’m back on the road tomorrow ahead of the Jedburgh 10k on Sunday. Good job I like the back roads.
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