The Scottish Masters Cross Country Championships have been held annually since 1971. It’s a chance for athletes over 40 to prove they’re not over the hill. At least not until they’re halfway round the course and have disappeared over it. Teviotdale Harriers celebrate their 125th Anniversary in 2014, which is why this year’s event was held in Hawick and not anywhere remotely nearby. After seeing the weather forecast, I was clearly several chips short of a fish supper for not pulling out like almost half of the registered field. If, heaven forbid, “I’m a Celebrity…” is ever set in Scotland, Saturday’s event would make the perfect Bush Tucker Trial. The weather wasn’t too bad when Robert, Peter, Shona and I met at the Ski centre shortly after 10:30. Once on the M8 though, the rain became torrential. Ever the optimist, our Club President assured us that it was always drier on the East Coast. Ever the realist, Shona reminded us that it was always colder too. Two hours later we arrived at the Leisure Centre in a very cold, and very wet Hawick, and met Greig and Danielle, and Scott and Linda Kennedy but there wasn’t any sign of Hamish. We got our numbers, put our change of clothes in a locker for after the race and looked to get to the start. It was so cold and wet we decided to drive the 1/2 mile or so. A sensible plan if I had the first clue where we were going. After our impromptu tour of every street in the town, we eventually found the course 5 minutes before Shona’s race, up a steep hill and round a narrow farm track between two houses. The course itself was well designed with a mix of hills, open terrain and muddy farmland, but that was irrevelent. It was just so cold. And wet. The women’s race was won by Angela Mudge of Carnethy Hill RC in 26:06, almost a minute and a half ahead of second place Janet Dunbar of Edinburgh AAC. Shona placed a very creditable 36th in 32:41, and considerately neglected to say how much worse the weather was on the far side of the course. I thought waiting for the 8km men’s race to start were the coldest 45 minutes of my life, as we kept running up and down the field supposedly to warm up. Only we weren’t getting any warmer. And there still wasn’t any sign of Hamish. The relief of huddling together on the start line like a bunch of penguins was far too short lived. The first kilometer was ok, steadily up hill with footing that wasn’t too bad and I could see Robert not too far ahead. After that the course was onto the open moor, with horizontal hail and sleet and a wind that cut deeper than one of Malcolm Tucker’s tirades in “The Thick of It”. Foolishly I’d left my hat, gloves and long sleeved top at home (what was I thinking?!?). […]