The Yorkshire Vet: Sporting success of the Norton clan - Julian Norton
Last weekend, some of the Norton family were involved in various National Championships. Archie was first, racing at the National Water-sports Centre in Nottingham. He was hoping to match the bronze medal that he and his brother achieved in the double sculls last year. This time it was just him, racing in the Club Single Sculls. I went to watch. After working his way comfortably through the heats, he set off strongly in the final, pushing from fourth to second. With just two hundred metres to go, it was a thigh burning sprint to the finish and in the end he came away with another bronze and a huge smile on his face.
After working his way comfortably through the heats, he set off strongly in the final, pushing from fourth to second. With just two hundred metres to go, it was a thigh burning sprint to the finish and in the end he came away with another bronze and a huge smile on his face.
The next day, Jack headed north to Dumfriesshire for the National Cross-Country Mountain Bike championship. He has loved mountain biking for many years but has only recently started racing. After some promising results during the year, this was his first test on the National stage. Amusingly and alarmingly and at the last minute, he persuaded to me enter too. “You’ll enjoy it,” he reassured me, “you’re pretty fit; I’m sure you will do ok!”
This was plainly a daft idea. Whilst I have a high level of enthusiasm, I know from experience that ability and skill are also required to avoid embarrassment on such occasions. The only thing that gave me hope was that the category in which I would be racing was called the “Fun Men”.
I have competed in this category of mountain bike racing before, way back in the 1990s. One might imagine it to be packed with cyclists in fancy dress, or simply men who were very funny. Nothing could be further from the truth. I soon learnt that the top racers in this, the lowest of the categories, were very much more “serious” than “fun”. I perused the other entries, most of whom were part of cycling clubs in hilly parts of the country and prepared for last place.
On the start line, Jack’s category of racers set off first, with five laps to complete. My race set off a few moments later. The numbers appeared to have swelled from just thirteen entrants to over twenty. The whistle blew and I quickly found myself trundling along near the back. I knew I should pace myself, even though the “funsters” only had four laps to do. However, it wasn’t long before I started to claw my way up the field, since there was a huge climb, splitting the fit from the not quite so fit. The climb was followed by a steep downhill on dusty single track, where I was held up by a slower racer in front of me. This was mildly irksome but filled me with hope that I was making up time on both the climbs and the descents. As I neared the end of my first lap, I heard the commentator announcing, “Jack Norton moves onto his second lap.” I wondered how he was progressing.
Near the start of my last lap, I found out. I glanced behind as I approached a steep bit. There he was! My eldest son, powering towards me, every inch the athlete. I stepped aside so as not to impede his speedy progress. “Well done! Keep going!” I shouted. “I’m third!” he called back, sounding hardly out of breath!
My last lap was relatively relaxed- I couldn’t see anyone in front who might be catchable, nor behind to hunt me down. Despite high-level exhaustion, I could enjoy the twists and turns and the pleasure of riding smoothly. At the end, there was Jack to clap me over the line. My two sons had both excelled themselves at the highest level, which gave me more pride than my unexpected seventh place.