Pic by Simon Lamb www.sixsecondshigh.com

Thousands of runners, supporters, officials and vendors have gathered at the bottom of Parliament Hill. Flags of many colours have been stabbed into the muddy ground marking out a few meters of turf as being the gathering point for various running clubs for the National Cross Country Championships on London’s Hampstead Heath.

This is my home turf. Not just my city, but my heath. It’s a 10 minute walk from my front door to the bottom of Parliament Hill. I’ve run here for the past couple of years, getting lost on its trails, and I’ve led my beginners running groups round its flatter edges. But today the heath has transformed into something I haven’t experienced before.

The Serpentine women’s team pin numbers to vests. Some head off for a warm-up. We discuss spike length – the longer the better today is the advice from the more experienced veterans who’ve been out for a recce of the course. I struggle with removing the rusted 9mm spears from the underside of my shoes and replacing them with 15mm spikes.

800 women gather at the bottom of Parliament Hill Fields, grouped together in huddles of the same coloured vests, and look up at the hill. Some of the northern club runners won’t think much of our hill. But it’s not an easy ascent.

The gun fires and a 100m wide field jostles for position as the course goes straight up the hill and narrows to just 20 metres wide. On either side crowds of spectators roar their encouragement. Every so often a voice calls out ‘Laura’. It was the most popular name the year I was born, so there’s bound to be a fair few of us among the field. I can’t look up to check – moving my eyes from the few metres directly ahead of me will lead to a turned ankle or spikes to the shin – so I take them all as being for me and carry on.

We circle the heath going up and down the hill, shin-deep in mud. As we come back over the hill from the other direction, a quick glance up will show competitors why this hill is special. There’s a view across the city. You can pick out Canary Wharf, the Olympic Park and St Paul’s Cathedral. The view is so good that Guy Fawkes chose it for his group to meet to watch Parliament burn – that’s how it got its name.

We carry on through the mud for 8km, struggling to get traction. Cross country racing isn’t about time on the clock, but position in the field. There’s fierce competition among runners and clubs, but also great camaraderie too.  A woman slides sideways down the muddy bank next to me, coming to rest on my left shoulder. We laugh and carry on running.

A while later another Serpentine runner stumbles in the mud ahead of me ending up on her hands and knees. I reach down, grab her arm and we’re away running again without breaking a stride.

It’s an honour to be part of a national championship race. Previous winners have included runners who’ve gone on to become household names among running and non-running fans alike – Paula Radcliffe and Mo Farah among them. But it’s an event that’s open to anyone – you just need to be a member of a club and not mind getting muddy.

I cross the finish line 15 minutes after the winners and marvel at how they managed to make it through the boggy ground so quickly.

The men’s race is already underway – 2000 of them are hurtling round a course that the women have done their best to churn up. I grab some cake and a jumper and head for a hot bath.