Beinn Resipol. A 845m Corbet that sits on the Ardnamurchan peninsula. The race costs £8 to enter and only has route signage on the first half – the ascent. The mountain itself is a rather nice one! The second half route is entirely up to yourself, you can choose which grassy-heathery sections you throw yourself down.
The way up was wet, boggy, very narrow in places and truly absorbing. I loved that you had to concentrate 100% on where you were putting your feet and the narrowness of the path relaxed my mindset, knowing I could only go as fast as the person in front. After coming out of a forested section that beautifully ran parallel to a stream, the summit towered ahead as the flag began to move in. A steep and even muddier ascent to its top flanks preceded a short scramble to crest the peak and turn to head back to the Caravan park.
After an initial technical and slippy decent off the summit, we began bombing down the hill side of Beinn Resipol, limbs flying everywhere, middle aged men falling on their arses, waist deep in mud, getting up and grinning a giggle. This is what it felt like to be truly alive. To be stripped bare and to just have fun, immersed in the environment. Nothing else mattered, you didn’t (and couldn’t) switch your attention. No egos, no technology, no outside intervention or route markings, just a rapid descent of survival and childlike madness over the slippery rock and grassy tussocks that make up the side of the Resipol Mountain. A real hidden-gem low key race and a fantastic feel to it, the Beinn Resipol hill race was about as ‘Scottish’ as it gets with regards to the weather, terrain, route and friendly-low key feel of the day ensure a well spent 8 quid. Unique.
A very late reflection on my first Long classic hill races. I had signed up to these for a few reasons. Mainly as a new challenge: a totally different type of race to anything I had experienced before. Consequently this also meant a focus in training on my biggest weakness – leg strength and hill endurance as well as descent technique. At the time of signing up, I was just returning from serious illness and a non-existent month of training. A focus on hills, trails and long distance afforded a total move away from the quantified training I had been following in the run up to the road racing season.
The Glenshee 9 race also allowed me to experience a stunning new part of Scotland in an incredibly immersive way! (and offered a quick way of bagging 9 munros!!)
The race felt very low key, with a friendly registration and excitedly nervous atmosphere at the ski centre. After a warm up and kit check we were off. I was a bit disappointed that it felt like most of the field were happy to follow the leaders after making a very big attempt to get the nav and map ingrained in my head, but up we all went…
I felt great on the first climb up to Creag Leacach which followed a narrow ‘path’ and onto open moorland. It was an anticlimax in reaching the munro summit, a simple cairn tap and on we went. The next few tops involved some shorter ascents and steep downhills over the Heather laden Deeside hills. Pacing felt good and began to move up after losing places on the technical descents.
Coming off Tolmount was a fast descent to a beallach before a water refill and long slog up to Carn an Tuirc Here’s where the muscular fatigue began! A welcome relief at the top of munro 6 (little did I know that the next hour and a half would be even more of a long slog) (The top of Tolmount. Photo: Russ Valentine)
The descent down to the road was probably my worst section as I really struggled on the rocky technical steeper descent. Once off that I began to make up time and places that had been lost just after Carn an Tuirc.
At the road I made a bad mistake in not taking any water as I only had 400ml for the remaining 3 munros and I didn’t realise how sweaty/dehydrated I was…
A long 30min slog up to Carn Aosda on steep heathery hill sides. 7 done! I was chuffed but the next two were embarrassingly slow progress as I became dehydrated and bonked hard. Mentally I collapsed as I struggled to Carn a’Gheoidh (hill of the goose), only saved by a stream and finally doubling back to Cairnwell. Really annoying as this was perhaps the most runnable section.
A short steep finish back down to the ski centre ensured a delapidated Ben upon crossing the line and I began to take in the previous 4hrs, in awe of these awesome mountains and all the finishers. I had no expectations of my performance but was annoyed at both my time and position, feeling as though at least 10-15mins was lost and a good 10 positions, unnecessarily.
But, a phenomenal day out and fantastic race was all I cared about. Really enjoyable experience and highly recommended race with great food provided at the cafe post race!
It was during a recent running race that I questioned the distinction between trail and hill race. Some called it a hill race, others tagged it as a trail run. Inevitably the race went up a hill, involved a series of off-road ascents and descents and was attended by a variety of runners, ages, sexes and experience/fitness levels.
The thing with distinguishing between these two branches of ‘running’ is that it is more about what they are not than what they are. The natural environment plays a crucial role; generally people are doing it for the experiential joy, as the natural landscape that envelops routes of trail & hill races is integral to the feelings associated with trails and hills. Crucially the surface is not a road or track, they fundamentally reject this quantified aspect of the sport. At their heart they represent a rejection of road running and the commercialisation of our sport (even though both contain races that are big, commercialised and more in line with road races).
The very joy or thrill of trail running is encapsulated by the ascent, the uphills and the downhills. It is in these moments that feelings are most affected by the terrain and topography. Both trail and hill running share two critical common elements. Something they involve: undulations, hills, ascents. And something they don’t involve: manicured ‘man-made’ surfaces. We don’t always realise it but the surface has a huge impact on our emotions and feelings as the proprioceptive receivers in our bodies are signalled by the terrain that we are moving within somewhere more natural and ‘green’. It may not always be the most picturesque of places but if there is dirt, rocks, branches, roots, grass etc then we know, consciously or not, where we are and what experiences are being generated.
Its interesting that in any advertisement or review of either a hill race or a trail race, people usually mention ‘the view’ and its attractive features in making the race or run more enjoyable and enticing. But because you are running you have little time to pause and admire this ‘view’ so the aspect that is often billed as the most appealing for runners and main draw of either branch of running (the ‘view’) is actually a very small part of what gives people a more holistic, multi-sensory and enjoyable experience.
For me, both are all about the thrill, the bodily engagement with the environment and the activation off all the senses and proprioceptors within your body. That is what makes them what they are. That is what makes them of interest.
Distinguishing between the two has little practical importance but the differentiation offers interesting caveats about what they are and the draw of either of them.
For sure, trail running is more of American thing, and Hill running is more Scottish (in England its called Fell running). As with many things national differences will occur. For here in Scotland the main aspect is that hill running is supposedly more raw: often no set route, no race package and a more ‘pure’ experience for those with higher experience levels (physically, I’d argue hill running is harder…) whilst trail running is perhaps more an entry level or ‘less hardcore’ pursuit than running off the beaten paths in the Scottish hills. However, there are many trail races where the terrain can be just as challenging.
Perhaps a key difference talked about is the route; hill races often have no set route and ‘a day in the hills’ rarely follows a designated path on the map whilst trail races often have marked routes, following well marked, set paths (hence its potential to be more beginner friendly). But there is often cross overs and what is classed as a path is vague and open to interpretation.
One thing I have noticed from reading a lot on the subjects and being a part of both communities is the gendered side of the two. Engagements with hill running and their spoken narratives often come from a male voice, talking about his heroics of conquering the tough rough terrain that serves as a justification for the outing and generally, (speaking from personal observations), hill races are far more popular amongst men than women in comparison to trail races. This gendered aspect is fascinating but I believe is too large a topic to tackle here
Trail running and hill running have many similarities and some differences but both are based around the fundamental notion of having enjoyment in a natural environment, away from the quantified road running scene. Both are individually defined (and that’s ok).
There are perhaps only two things in the world that have the power to a) combat climate change b) reduce stress, anxiety and depression c) cure cancers d) look great and e) act as shelters. Trees also act as natural air conditioners through evaporation and
Trees absorb and block sound reducing noise pollution in many places. The colour green is calming and relieves eye strain.
Trees produce oxygen, intercept airborne particulates, and reduce smog, enhancing a community’s respiratory health
The following paragraphs are from my undergrad dissertation and explore how movement (in this case running) amongst trees affects your mental state…
The surrounding trees or forests that several of my research go-along interviews took place in often provided feelings of happiness, shelter and security for runners. A special connection to trees was apparent with several participants, – ‘I like how you’re open but also in the trees, you feel quite connected but also enclosed yet free’. Trees facilitated more internal reflection when running. It felt far more natural and easier to be more attuned to my own haptic feelings, bodily movements and inner thoughts compared to more opened areas where increased light and distanced views allowed for more happy feelings emanating from the visual enjoyment. In some ways, it can feel as though trees have a special affective power. Trees have always been and will remain key aspects to places and our connection to the world’s environments. Places must be understood as a series of embodied relationships with the world. Their affective meanings and the embodied feelings generated from our engagement with them are constituted through people’s movements– they are never finished but are constantly being performed. For me these feelings were embodied best along a section of trail in the woods above Crieff; weaving in and out I became connected and more aware as I performed, ‘dancing’ with the trail’s trees, lightness fading but flowing.
In Robert Macfarlane’s critically acclaimed book, The Wild Places, woods become ‘places of correspondence, of call and answer’ for many of us . They contain unique memories, and unique forms of thought and just as other natural or wild places can, they ‘kindle new ways of being or cognition in people, can urge their minds differently’ (99-100). Trees have an undeniable but secret affective nature, as they transform our regular notions of time, drastically impacting our experiences when moving amongst them.
The darker light protruded by forests can illicit new orders of connection – sonic, olfactory and tacit. Our sensorium is transformed, you become more aware of the landscape as a medley of affects, a mingling of geology, memory and movement – life. Environments exist as ‘presences, inferred, less substantial more powerful. You inhabit a new topology’ (Macfarlane 2017, 193). When you are in a forest, you could in many ways be in any forest in the world: time and space are transformed. Woodland areas had an ability to transcend the locational place of the moment. A magical, enchanting feeling was experienced with trees when running within or alongside, and they became akin to a physical signifier of positive experiences. Trees affected us through an embodied connection: as ‘the trees are really close to you; it sounds really silly but it’s like a wee security blanket. It’s just you and the trail and the trees around you pushing you up the hill’. Sense of place isn’t fixed by physical characteristics but instead by what Buttimer & Seamon (1988) term ‘environmental synergy’ – human and material parts unintentionally foster a connection with their own spatial rhythm and character. People, time and place can become joined in an organic whole, as place becomes a dynamic entity with an identity as distinct as the individual people and environmental elements that comprise it (Buttimer and Seamon: 1988).
The most important relationship between environment and people is not being in it but it being in you; landscapes can imagine and reimagine themselves through the awareness of the perceivers (Ingold: 2012). As environments open out so do we, fostering a phenomenological connection to our environments. Our bodies become entwined with the trees, the hills and the terrain of a trail. Distanced views or perspectives are not necessarily limited to vision, they can, argues Tim Ingold (2012), extend to tactile and auditory perceptions. When running, people become part of the landscape; a mind-body connection with their surrounding environment takes precedence as you move with and through the environment. Environmental engagement is exacerbated through the touch of the terrain, the movement of the body, the feel of the plants as well as the visual impact of the landscape and the presence of trees.
Buttimer, A., and Seamon, D. (1980). The Human Experience of Space and Place. London. Croom Helm.
Ingold, T. (2012). Imagining landscapes: past, present and future, Farnham. Ashgate.
Macfarlane, R. (2017). The Wild Places. London. Granta.
“Oh come on, get to the top and the view will be amazing!”
This is usually how it goes; the tough, physically draining movement of running uphill justified by the gazing view that awaits you at the summit. The enjoyment or pleasure only reached once we can crest the hill and outwardly appreciate the landscape.
However what I found through the ‘go-along interviews was a real pull of the landscape when ascending. It wasn’t the non-embodied gaze that afforded positivity or connection but the gradient that immersed the runner in(to) the landscape.
There is something magical about hills. Their affective capacities and embodied climbs engulf the runner ‘through the experiences of descending and climbing and their different muscular entailments, the contours of the landscape are not so much measured as felt – they are directly incorporated into our bodily experience’ (Ingold: 2000: 203).
Uphill sections of trail runs are perceived as the hardest, most exerting moments, however on nearly all the climbs I experienced with my interviewees, few negative comments were made; amidst the shortness of breath often hid a smile and immense feelings of satisfaction.
Pain and discomfort of uphill running is negated; the body and landscape become mutual as kinaesthetic sensations are stimulated. Because practice frees us from representation, movement becomes our primary form of consciousness, so our participation in the landscape brings with it a very different sense of place from one which is disembodied or contemplative (I.e. the outward gaze). Through the production of rhythms, the re-embodiment of the visual and the intense muscular feelings of a kinaesthetic burn, hills become part of you.
The internal-external relationship of hills shifted my awareness; internally I naturally focused on the present. My legs and senses became more attuned; the surface became an extension of my movement rather than a passive surface.
The gradient of the uphill tunnels our thoughts, as thoughts become narrowed, a sensory focus on the immediate, the touch and feel of the hill:
‘to become so absorbed by effort, there can come a point where it all becomes effortless… the gradient is ever present but proves no real impediment to passage, paradoxically even becoming an energizing force, propelling the body upwards’ (Lorrimer: 2012: 258).
Hills afford ‘a truly terrestrial kind of attachment’ (Lorrimer: 2012:255), reinvigorating the mind and the body to become an embodied dimension of the landscape. Several of the runners involved in this study, including myself, noted how the uphill sections offered positivity, I noted how there was ‘something about running hills and trails that relaxes and puts mind at ease, calms you down and allows you to be more open.
Uphill climbs engage more of the lower body muscles such as the quadriceps, glutes and calves as well as significantly altering stride patterns and posture resulting in a sensory-kinaesthetic overload of uphill running. In Wylies’ (2002) ‘Ascending Glastonbury Tor’ paper, he notes how subjectivity produced and performed via practices of ascension and elevation moves towards a new understanding of visible landscapes in terms of sensuous practices. New engagements with these embodied, multisensorial relationships offer avenues for ways of better understanding environmental connections, reinforcing conceptions of landscape relations beyond simply visual and aesthetic.
Hills affect and are affected by our movement. Through the kinaesthetic sense and the pull of the terrain, our bodies become immersed. This connection helps foster a more acute bodily awareness and heightens all of our senses.
This exploration still doesn’t make running up-hill any easier though!!
Ingold, T. (2000).The perception of the environment: essays on livelihood, dwelling and skill. London. Routledge.