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.
Lossiemouth 10 Mile Turkey Trot
by Russell Turner - 10:41 on 17 December 2025
Chilled Running, organisers of the Turkey Trot in Lossiemouth, had advised runners to collect their bibs between 1pm and 3pm the day before, at the sports centre where the event would start and finish. The alternative time was before the race which, they warned, would be very busy. The car park would be full too.
I’d have loved to oblige but an appearance by City Limits, for 45 minutes, as part of an open air Christmas market in Invergordon (we were sheltered from wind and rain by an awning on the back of a trailer) meant that Matchgirl and I didn’t leave The Rural Retreat until 3.30. Yes, the ex-racer had chosen to accompany me, curious to see the sights of Lossiemouth. Cats would fend for themselves overnight, left behind with piled dishes and the lights on.
There were few sights to be seen as we drove through the dark, and rain, arriving at the Golf View Hotel after a 90min journey. The good news was that we’d just enough time to check in and dine (my first and probably last Christmas turkey dinner of the year) before retiring to our room for Strictly. An early night followed, with lights out at 10pm.
Definitely three, maybe four hours later I was still awake, hopes of rising refreshed ahead of an easy 10 miles fading away. The room was fine, mattress and pillows comfortable, but the duvet appeared to be filled with lead, such was its weight. Some sleep was eventually found.
Morning, and a breakfast of banana, energy bars and Zero drink. Heeding the car park warning, we left Big Blue (aka Great-grandson of Seat) outside the hotel and walked the mile to the sports centre, where many parking spaces were still to be found. At least the walk helped wake me up. The queue for race bibs was also not as hectic as predicted. Maybe most people had collected them the day before.
Photos were free!
While there, we bumped into three other Black Isle Runners who’d got together and driven over at 7am. That’s dedication; I think the £65 for our hotel room (I presume at winter rates) was money well spent, even with the heavyweight duvet.
At 9am, runners who predicted they’d take more than two hours set off. I boldly hung back to start with the racing snakes at 9.30, although I did place myself near the less competitive rear of the pack while an inaudible Microphone Man gave the race briefing. Apparently it boiled down to: no headphones, keep left unless told otherwise, and you’re in for a surprise if you thought you’d signed up for a 10k.
Then we were off, waved on our way by Matchgirl and a smattering of spectators, on to the main road and heading past East Beach towards the shore road beside traditional stone buildings that make up a typical fishing village in Moray and the Highlands. The inland villages look much the same, but with less water. There were a few spectators along the way, many of whom clearly didn’t know what was going on. The rest of Lossie must have been in bed or in the kirk.
After the previous day’s wind and rain, race day was dry with little wind. A good start. I set off at what I hoped would continue to be a comfortable pace and found myself following a female quartet, three-quarters of it wearing the same club vests, so I lurked behind and used them as pacers. So far, so good.
At 2k (my Garmin’s still set for kilometres) we were halfway along Shore Street, the Moray Firth on our right; at 3k we were back on the main road, on the other side of the village, passing West Beach, the Golf View Hotel and Big Blue. By 4k we were out of the village and into the country roads that encircle RAF Lossiemouth. The scenery was unspectacular – mainly flat, treeless and slightly undulating – but the road was quiet, which was fortunate because this wasn’t a closed road race. Most cars chose not to overtake runners on bends. A refreshing change.
My pacers catching up with me
Around 6k I lost my pacers, one of them presumably needing a pee stop, so I pressed on alone, just a handful of runners around me. Lack of sleep (or ability) caught up with me at 7k when I walked for a couple of minutes up a minor incline before a sharp left turn took us down (woo hoo!) a long straight road, still bounding the RAF base. I passed 10k in 1:05, shortly after which my pacers caught me up. I stayed with them for a while until another brief walk saw them pull ahead. The results showed they finished 4mins ahead of me.
Crossing the finish line
After 14k we joined a cycle path back to the village; the last kilometre was through residential roads, still notably spectator-free, to the sports centre where I staggered past Matchgirl and over the finish line in 1:46 – pretty much what I’d predicted but having taken more effort than expected (although only 6mins was walked). I blame the duvet. One of the Chilled Running people has a bakery so there was lots of free cake to be had after picking up my 18th medal of the year and changing into a sweat-free top from my drop bag. I’d turned down the race T-shirt (“I got gobbled at the Turkey Trot”) as I now have too many. Cake consumed, we walked the mile back to the car and set off for home.
It’s a small race (291 finishers; I was 259th and sixth-oldest competitor) but worth the trip – one for getting a good finish time if you’ve slept well the night before. I might be back next year, gigs permitting. In the meantime, Manchester training resumed yesterday. Attendance is still in the balance.
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