24 hours around a track, plus one extra hour for the change in clocks, to run 100 miles. I've chosen this as a fund raiser for Riley whose treatment for stage 4 stomach cancer is expensive and not available to him on the NHS. More about his journey here:
After returning from injury last year I've been training under the watchful eye of my coach Kim Collison after being self coached previously. This has meant a change in approach for me and I have far more balance and focus to my sessions and the mileage is easy and I've been feeling great. This isn't my main goal for the year so while training has been going well there's a small taper and nothing too specific to 24 hours around a track apart from a few steady state road intervals at pace on the flat. We have a good chat before the race and cover various scenarios, rest, sleep, walking and problem solving on the go. All is good.
I have a 3 hour drive in the morning to get to the track, which is just outside Cambridge, and when I get there I meet a fellow competitor Martin who has driven down the night before from Glasgow. We talk football and running for a bit before finding our way to the track to drop our boxes at the side.
When I said it's a simple premise that's perhaps an understatement - no hot water, limited snacks, one box per competitor, no music (no headphones), cold water to top up with and two portaloos. Plus no shelter. My box and bag of spare clothes is next to the outside lane on a strip of flags around the outside and I quickly decide to put my bag inside a bin bag for the rain forecast later on. I've brought enough food for about a week in the box with what I think to be a good selection - but what I also know is that no matter what you bring you always want something else!
We mask up, register, line up and set off. It's that simple.
403 laps to get to 100 miles. Round and round and round and round and round and round we go.
The first 4 hours are pretty good and I cover the anticipated distance of about 25 miles, I get chatting to Martin again and also Alex who are running at about my target pace of 9:30 a mile. Then I do a couple of laps with James who is leading to see what sort of pace he's doing and it's too fast for me but good fun to run a little for a couple of laps. Then I get a bit bored so start to run a little faster than planned but try singing as I go around (sorry folks) to keep a lid on the pace. I do that for a while then drop back to steady.
Then it starts to rain. A little earlier than forecast and with increasingly strong winds to go with it. In fact most of the runners are adopting a 300 metre run 100 metre walk strategy treating the 100 metres into the headwind and the driving rain as an uphill. I add a coat. Then I change in to my waterproof over trousers and also my winter coat.
Photo: Karen Webber
So 50 miles in - about 8 and a half hours. This is still on track and I'm ok but starting to lose the will to carry on a bit. In the next 8 hours I slow to a grindingly painful pace. I'm covering the bare minimum to maintain forward motion. I chat to Claire, who I know from Deadwater number 2, and we have a section that lifts my spirits but then I stop. I lose my head completely. I'm shivering, staggering, weaving, slowing down and generally feeling really sorry for myself. For most of this time I'm trying to work out how I can quit with honour. The numbers on the track are thinning visibly as more people drop out. There's a woman in pink flying round. Then she's gone. Two men running together who drop out one after the other. others who I don't notice until they're not there.
I've left it too long to check on how things were going. I've walked a few laps now crying in frustration about how I'm feeling. My hands on my head. I really don't want to carry on anymore. I don't want to run anymore. I don't want to do any more running anywhere ever again. Ever.
Tony, who I know from Deadwater number 1, has been brilliant and we keep having a little word. As has Alex who has a positive word every time she comes by, which is frequently. Paul Wilson, who I've just met, says hello as we have mutual friends and also a mutual love of the fells and I have a couple of quicker laps while we chat but I have to drop off the pace.
The next 4 hours are a painful slog in the wind, rain and darkness until I realise that I'm in danger of not finishing the 100 within the 24 hours. I compromise my goals pre-race and decide that sub 24 for 100 miles has to be my main focus rather than running for the full 25 hours - which at this pace would take me right up to the limit. In order to do that I'm going to need to take in more calories and it suddenly dawns on me that I've not been keeping up with this. The combination of wind and rain plus cold has meant that stopping and opening boxes and bags and then choosing food has been too much. So I've ignored it. So much for problem solving on the go - well you can only start from where you're at so what do I need?
Photo: Karen Webber
My head's gone and my legs feel like they did in UTMB when I couldn't walk, what rescued me there was rehydrating with electrolytes and taking on liquid calories. So I crack open a Precision 100 packet in my drink and take on a Kendal Mint Co. Gel which is like drinking liquid gold. It's a start but I need to keep on top of this. I open my bag and there's my Montane Fang 5 rucksack that I'd planned on using to hold a drink and some snacks so they were at hand. I put it on and stock up. Water, apple, banana, more gels, Torq powder and some Haribos. Now I can drip feed my stomach.
Next problem - speed, and lack thereof. I rummage around for my phone which has been stuffed well away in a pocket. I thought if I needed to use it then it might hasten my reasons for quitting. I fire up the lap Timing Monkey website and see the laps tick off as I cross the line. I've dug myself out of holes before, do I really have it in me to do it again? I remember on my Paddy Buckley Round arriving at Aberglasyn with two legs left to run and exactly the time left as I had on my schedule. I burst in to tears as soon as I sat down because I knew I had nine and a half hours of pain to get through to the end and I was going to have to count every minute to keep track. I finished with 12 minutes to spare. Do I want this enough?
There's a lot rightly said about Lance Armstrong and his career but what I remember most from reading his book 'It's Not About The Bike' is not how great the story was of his comeback but of his stark assessment of cancer survival. It didn't matter if you were a fighter or not, cancer didn't care. He didn't survive because he was a fighter or through some brave struggle; he survived because his treatment worked. When I'm running events the challenges are all arbitrary, this hill, this many mountains, this many laps. There is control. All variables are controllable or can be mitigated. Riley wants the best chance to get the best treatment he can. This is going to hurt.
I've already negotiated with myself to finishing when I reach 100 miles rather than running the whole 24 or 25 hours. Now that's settled I've a target I can aim for. I up the pace and embrace the pain. It feels like I'm flying but I'm also aware that running hard in my current state is going to hurt not just now but also later. After a few laps I dial back the pace and settle into a rhythm of a few quicker laps then a few slower ones, not dissimilar to my interval training but a lot slower. I see my position raise from 15th to 11th then realise I can catch 10th. I identify who I think the runner is who's ahead of me (I'm wrong lol) and run a flying lap to get one ahead before I hit 400. I gain a lap on everyone left so it shows as a success on the lap timer but it's only when I've finished and see 11th place also finish that I realise I've been chasing the wrong person.
I cry all the way round my final lap, taking in great big gulps of air. I'm absolutely finished. I kneel down by my box for about half an hour trying to drag some warm clothes on. Then I hobble to the van and assess my swollen legs and feet. Half an hour later I make it back to collect my box from the track and there are two runners left. I hobble back to the van again and lie down before I can even think about the return drive, which will be after a good rest. I can't move very well at all. But I'm buzzing that I finished strong. 'It's all come back together for you' one of the runners had said as I was in my finishing 4 hours. 'Too little too late' I replied but maybe that's being a bit harsh on myself. It took too long for me to identify the problem but when I did it got sorted. I hit one of my targets which was a sub 24 hour 100 mile run - my first ever. 403 laps, 100 miles, 22:28:29 and tenth place. 21 finished out of 42 starters with over 50 registered. The medal also doubles as a bottle opener.
When Mark and Karen presented me with my medal and took photos at the end I said 'Tick - never again' and I absolutely meant it. But the runners ahead of me were impressive and disciplined and it's hard not to want to be a bit more like that next time. Your first 24 hour track race is just to test the water right?
More importantly I'm nearly at my revised £1000 target for fund-raising with a few days left to go until the link closes. If you have enjoyed reading about my pain (or even if you haven't to be honest) all donations very much appreciated.
I tiptoe out of the tent where I've been sleeping, the rest of the second wave still definitely (noisily) asleep. I pop over to the tent HQ which has a makeshift array of tents and water urns, bags and bodies. There's a mixture of taping and breakfast going on. Smiles at the realisation this is the last day. 'Spare' food can be jettisoned and the packs' weight should be the lightest it's been all week.
During conversation I float the idea that Maria had about going for a record time and the general consensus is that it's a great idea, good on her. So that seals it. I leave them to it after filling my own breakfast mug and final food pack.
The camp staff have rotated on a regular basis with teams of people working hard behind the scenes to make sure this race works. They are largely invisible, except at checkpoints, and I'm conscious I've been flying through those without much chat. Equally when I get in I've been focused on sorting myself out and making sure I maximise my recovery. They have all been wonderful all week and today is no exception - working around the edges, tending to people's needs, setting up and taking down the camps and dressing up on route. It's all been a bit of a blur and likely as not today will be the same until the finish. There's no way I can say thank you enough to everyone who worked on the race and I hope they appreciate that without them there can be no race, no life changing experiences or limits stretched. They're an amazing group of people and Richard ensures they work together for the good of the race at all times.
I wave off the early starters and then start my own preparation in earnest. Food in the right places, water topped up. Contents of the bag arranged so it sits on my back nicely. Shoes - I was going to run the last two days in the same pair of road shoes however after they rubbed yesterday, despite me having clocked up hundreds of miles in them, I'm reverting back to my trail shoes. I got them for £15 off a friend mid-way through the year and as soon as I put them on my feet let out a sigh. That's what I need for today.
And what a day. I have never had a day like it. The final 31 miles.
We line up on the start line and shake hands, it feels odd to be in such a reduced field. And then we go. No jogging off the start today, no holding back - I'm off. There's a main road to cross before we hit the paths so I slow to cross it and then it's head down and run hard. I do make a couple of navigation errors because my brain can't process the way as fast as I'm going but it's a balance I'm happy with. Every now and then I'll pass an earlier start runner and they give me an encouraging word or shout 'chase that record' after me. My eyes start to leak - more food. I want to slow down. I tell myself to carry on I force myself to move my legs, turning over my feet as my eyes and head start to cry at the effort. Do not slow down. Do not slow down.
At the first checkpoint they have a Santa hat for the runners to pose for a photo and they say they'll only fill my water if I wear the hat. I start to fill my water myself and they pop the hat on my head and snap - nobody will escape us, we thought you might be a tricky one. I laugh, still tears in my eyes and move on thanking them. Just after the checkpoint I come across Jo, Tim and Andy on the canal, the last of the early runners. I've caught up the additional time in just short of 8 miles and as I run past Jo shouts, 'Push him in.' I smile and move on, tears still streaming down my face. This is already hard work.
I push and push and push like I never have before. I balance tears and feeding, running and jogging, navigating and running hard. Along the way I remember last year, running with Hayley and trying to keep her spirits up as she finished the last day in agony. She had been strapped up for a couple of days however the pain on the last day was unbearable. On returning to real life after finishing it turned out she had a stress fracture. Just let that sink in. She finished the race running with a broken leg, and in a great time as well - fourth overall and second woman. Keep moving. Keep moving.
My brain is trying it's hardest to motivate me. I remember watching a film about Bradley Wiggins winning the Tour and he said it only twigged he could do it when he realised that everyone was always only 3 minutes from blowing. You just need to hold on for 3 minutes. Then another 3 minutes. Then another.
This is agony. I want to stop. I don't want to stop. I keep running. Tears are flowing now and I can't stop them but I keep my feet turning over. Don't stop. Don't stop. Then I enter a field with high, high hedges and in the corner is a stile I have to go over. There's no way around or through anywhere else. Over the stile a cow with a rather impressive set of horns has rested it's head and is looking at me. Behind it, in the corner of the field where the stile is, lie a herd casually gathered together. I don't like cows, never mind cows with horns. I haven't run this hard and pushed myself today to have it taken from me by a field of cows so I harness my inner Crocodile Dundee and put my hand on the forehead of the cow, speaking softly but firmly and telling it that I'm just coming through and it needs to back off. Which it does as I gingerly step over and in to the field, walking purposefully but deliberately towards the exit corner. The others are still lying down but the cow starts to agitate it's feet so I shout 'Back off!' and it stops. I reach the exit stile and clamber up it and off and away. A jolt of adrenaline is probably just what I needed at this stage!
I can hear the banging of a cowbell, Hayley and her son Freddy are at the last checkpoint. I'm a mess of tears, sweat, snot and dribble and she fills my water and gives me a hug. Then she shouts after me, 'All the way to the end.' I briefly think that's a strange thing to say, I know it's to the end of this road and then there's a path, thinking it a simple direction to where I need to go. Then it dawns on me she was exhorting me to push all the way to the end, leaving nothing in the tank. My eyes start to water again and I up the pace.
I'm on empty now, running on fumes but still going. I overshoot a turn in the centre of Chester and end up circling back round to the finish. I barely register that there are people milling around and that I must be a strange sight. I know I'm close to getting under 5 hours for the stage and if I can just find the finish I'll make it.
The final stage finished in 4 hours 57. The full 235 miles finished in 44 hours 23 minutes.
That's a lot quicker than my time last year and this years was longer and with a significant extra climb in Wild Boar Fell. I'm over the moon and exhausted. There is pizza and finally a chance to rest. There are a few people at the finish waiting. Scott's parents, who I lent the coat to and who then booked a holiday to Majorca when he pulled out, come and say hello. They've made the trip down from Scotland to see him but he pulled out of course and they still had the booking. They seem lovely. Paul's family also arrive along with the race crew who are not still out on the course. The runners come in one by one and we congratulate each other with hugs and smiles. Paul needs to get off to hospital because he has had an accident jumping over a fence and impaling his hand. We both made the same error early on and instead of doubling back all of 200 metres we both decided to scale the fence. I nicked the end of my thumb, Paul impaled his hand. Andy was around to patch it up for him so he could carry on but it does need to be looked at professionally before he returns for the evening presentation meal.
Awards are given, Paul is second and Andy third overall, Jo has won first Female with Claire getting second, people chat, the meal is lovely and is spent in the company of a wonderful group. When Andy Cole, Vet 70, gets up to receive his finishers medal there is an audible gasp from everyone. He bounds to the front, no hint of any ache or pain at all. While there he acknowledges that he should perhaps at least try and pretend to be sore and makes an attempt to limp back to his table. He can't even do that without looking like someone who is so fit and healthy they could have just walked in off the street. Everyone laughs. Brilliant.
And that's that. Tomorrow a few of us will walk the short distance to the Welsh border. Marking the end of a complete journey on foot from Scotland to Wales. Breakfast in the hotel is wonderful, as is an actual bed and a bath. People drift off in ones and twos.
There are people who I know by face, some by name, others only by their actions or participation from a distance as our paths don't cross. I'm rubbish at names and faces. The Deadwater family is a special one and if you're a part of it please know how special you all are. Thank you.
Original list of starters:
1 Karl Shields 2 Fiona Ashton-Smith 3 Jo Kilkenny 4 Kevin Otto 5 John Parkin 6 Claire Bishop
7 Caroline Ness 8 Timothy Downie 9 Craig Mackay 10 Nic Vincent 11 Gregory Crowley12 Andy Cole 13 Alasdair Moore 14 Andy Robertson 15 Michael Cooper 16 Tom Crossland 17 Scott Lothian
18 Paul Nelson
The only place to start on day five is with the end of day four, which for those now finishing is the same thing. Tim, Kevin and Jo all finish within a few minutes of each other just short of 24 hours after setting off. They will be looked after, checked over and then ready to start the 30 miles to the evening campsite in Warrington. Alasdair, Andy (Cole) and Claire take just short of 25 hours and will also be ready to go when the starter sounds. Some people will set off and then immediately take some rest as part of their stage five time in order to patch up and carry on. Andy however is very chipper and says he's timed it perfectly for a quick nap before heading straight out again. Throughout the whole race he has run well within himself and has clearly matched his pace to his planning so all is well - he's smiling, happy and an absolute joy to have in camp. Then you remember that he's also in the Vet 70 category and your brain starts to hurt a bit.
When we do start I chat to Andy (Robertson) and we tuck in behind Paul who is leading through the early stages. We apply a variation of the old adage about the toughest part of a run is being able to find your way out of the car park in the first mile or so before we get to the canals and also get wet feet running through the wet grass. Oh well. As we're about to cross a main road to get to the canal proper a voice shouts 'Andy' and he turns to see a friend who has come to chat to him for a while. He slows before crossing but Paul is already across and motoring so I have a split second to decide whether it's a racing day or a friendly day. It's a racing day of course so I shout, 'See you later,' and jump after Paul across the road and we run together for a short while.
What I found last year was that I tried to be friendly and run with a group of people at their pace along the canals. I tried, I really did. But it messed with my head trying to go at someone else's pace. I feel a bit like this now and want to plug in my music and find my own rhythm. There are a few places, truth be told, even on a stage that is mostly canals, where you need to pay attention as it crosses from one side to another. I decide to move ahead and then settle in to my own rhythm. The first thing I have to do is backtrack as I've missed a turn. I feel a bit stupid as I turn around to correct the mistake and wave to Paul who is approaching in the distance but then run off again and spend the rest of the day on my own.
When you're running in the mountains or on trails being on your own is a joy. There's things to see, places in the distance to wonder about and generally places where the natural variation of the terrain gives you a physical and mental break. On the 27 miles of canals that make up this 30 mile stage you are alone with yourself and your capacity to keep moving at a certain speed. That is all. On and on and on. And on. And then on a bit more. Part way through the stage you have to cross Manchester to get to another canal and you have to run past coffee shops and bars, humans going about their business. It's a bit of a shock since for the most of the week we have been on the hills and now we're in a city centre.
It's called Canal Hell for a reason. It's relentless. If you stop and walk then you could easily double your time. I try and find things to do to keep my pace going. Music is good but only for so long, I try counting paces in my head and then repeating. Half way into the stage and I can feel a rubbing in my shoe. I monitor it and resolve to check again in half an hour if it's still there. It is. There's a fine line between ignoring something and taking time to check to ward off future problems that will save time in the long run. It's not a line I'm very good at judging clearly as when I do stop and take my sock off there is literally nothing there. Nothing at all. When I put my sock back on the rubbing feeling appears again so I ignore it until the finish. Which is when I find a blister. Of course I do.
I have a wobble about three quarters of the way through the stage and a little cry to myself. This is usually a warning sign that I'm under fuelled so I take on more. I see what my brain classes as a jogger (don't judge me) come out from a wall on the right a few yards ahead of me. Cap on, stereo in ears and jacket tied around her waist. I think this could be a good way to keep my speed up and try and jog along staying the same distance behind. How absolutely humbling to have that idea shot down in flames as she jogs off into the distance, barely even breaking sweat, as I struggle onwards to a finish line that doesn't want to appear.
For others the day is a straightforward slog to the finish. For Tim, who has been running with an infection, he has to be taken from the canal to be medically checked, diagnosed and prescribed medicine before being dropped back at the point he left. Wow.
Last year a friend ran with me for a few miles into the finish, I managed to persuade myself that there were several uphill sections on the way in to the finish. He laughed and said, 'It's Cheshire - there's no hills around here mate.' I tell myself those same words again as my brain tries to tell my legs to stop moving. Keep moving. Keep moving. Keep moving. And there's a whisper in the back of my mind, 'I bet Paul is still running.' I shed another tear and my legs keep moving. This. Is. Hard.
And then it's over. Finally over. I've destroyed my time from last year and I'm more than a little shocked that I've run the 30 plus miles in a little over 5 hours 15 minutes. I'm immediately interviewed by RD Richard at the finish - I think you can hear my confusion at the time!
And that's stage five done with only one day left and a healthy lead. Paul finishes in 5 hours 41 and that would have put him back in the lead if I'd run the same time as last year. Greg and Andy (Robertson) also both run times quicker than my last year's time and finish in 6:15 and 6:33 respectively.
Except of course it isn't done. Last year I walked in the people who had been out all day when it got dark. The last mile includes a narrow bridge before a turn into the campsite and an extra guiding voice, torchlight and moral support was helpful. Alasdair is staggering in the final mile after a day four of 24:44 and a day five of 14:05. That is some resolve and mental strength. When he's back I can rest easier in preparation for tomorrow knowing everyone is in and safe. The final day will have an earlier start for six to try and coordinate the finish times a little more and four of us who are in the first four positions will set off together.
I send a text to my daughter saying that I'm going to take it easy on day six. My foot hurts and my knee feels like it could go at any point. I get an immediate response - 'False'. I look at it wondering if I've misunderstood the message or if my tired brain is reading it wrong. I send another explaining that it will be nice to have a final day like in the Tour De France where everyone isn't really racing and I can stop my injury from getting worse and blowing up. I wait.
'False. The last day is the time when you can most risk it blowing up because there is no day seven. You need to run so that this race has the best time that the best you can do now so that when it's run again they are racing against the best you can do for the whole race.'
I'm so proud of this response from her. And as I mull it over I think she might have a point. After accidentally taking the lead and then having Paul push me on every stage I am unlikely to ever run this race as well again, that's assuming that I even run it again. I could set a time that the next race could try and beat, a course record worthy of the title. Damn it.
As I turn over to get some sleep I decide to get up and have breakfast with the early starters and see what they think of the idea, inside though I'm already on board with the plan. It's a simple one.
Breakfast is porridge in the van with my family - Sally is up with the boys and the kettle is on. Waking up in the cold and seeing cars needing ice scrapers was a bit of a shock and I had to strongly resist the temptation to abandon my planning and add in some extra layers. After I've eaten we all sort of mill around until it's time to get a lift to the start line. We are dropped by the Welcome to England/Welcome to Scotland signs which means a short walk to the start line. There are 18 of us this year toeing the line. I know Jo and Fiona from last year, Fiona was helping and Jo had to pull out through injury, and Paul is a friend of a friend who I've also chatted to at a couple of races before. My google research (we all do that right) turned up Paul as being the number one person to be race wary of but who knows and anyway I'm taking it easy.
In the build up I remember saying that I would take it easy this year. No going off fast, no chasing anyone down, steady, steady, steady until I get a feel for the race. This is absolutely my plan. Steady. Really steady. At a conversational pace for stage one and probably stage two and three as well. With my recent training hiccups and back strains plus feeling not quite 100% only last week this is no time for pushing limits, that will come later in the race.
I really hardly know myself sometimes!
The course starts with a track along the old railway line then turns a couple of corners - it then runs through the campsite where we get a cheer from those gathered and into and around a forest trail that is mostly quality path for a number of miles. There are quite a few turns here and there to start with and it's only later on when it stretches out and becomes less windy and the decisions are fewer and further between.
After about half a mile Paul and I are chatting and someone cruises past us and runs off into the distance. Don't jump after him. Don't jump after him. Don't jump...
"Don't go off too fast too soon," Paul calls after me laughing as I jump up a gear and attempt to chase the flying runner down. The road winds round a few corners here and there and then enters a tree line, in and out. I can't see him so he must have got a larger gap than I thought so I dial up the pace so I can catch him and then run with him for a bit.
Still not there. Blimy he must be motoring, I'll just dial it up a bit more. After half an hour of gradually increasing the pace I get to the stage where to go any faster really would end my race early so keep it at a constant. At the first checkpoint I ask about other runners and that's when I realise I am leading, by accident as it happens as the runner who was ahead has taken a wrong turn and I passed him without knowing.
Now I am in something of a pickle. I've invested energy to get ahead so to drop back would be a waste. But now I have to manage my lead and hold on to something without knowing how fast anyone else is going and without exerting too much energy. . So much for a steady first day. Afterwards online I see some comments from friends saying how they thought I was going to take it easy but I must know what I'm doing - if only they knew!
Soon after checkpoint one the route leaves the lake and, after a quick right then left on a road, enters the wide forest trails used for logging - these I remember well. Spectacular views and long, gradual climbs and descents are the order of the day for this mid section. It's not unpleasant but it's also a bit of a slog on some of these roads. Every now and then there will be a turn, clear on the map and clear on my trace, and then checkpoint 2 comes and goes. There's more of the same until checkpoint 3 which is just at the top of a sneaky little climb and close enough to the finish that there's only about 5 miles left. I haven't seen anyone for a while (all day) and I spend a little time chatting and thanking the checkpoint volunteers. I fill up with water and then have to make the only route choice available on this stage - straight on across (and down and up) a section of moorland or around on the road? I choose the road after thinking about it for a while - it's the easier option although I run it harder than perhaps I should because I can't escape the nagging feeling it's longer. Although I suspect I would think this of whichever option I took!
I negotiate the final road section and find the somewhat hidden path across a field that leads to the campsite and drop down with what will turn out to be a twelve minute lead over Paul and then a further minute back to Andy which is no time at all in a 235 mile race after only 31 miles. I didn't win this stage last year so that's a nice and unexpected bonus. Sally has driven round to the campsite despite not being able to do anything to help apart from speak to me and I change into my evening wear after a quick shower. This has become a staple of my post stage routine - get in, get out of the clothes I've run in quickly, wash myself and the clothes if needed, get dry and warm and then eat as soon as possible. My food is basically the same format but with different options each day. Breakfast is a dried meal with added water, as is tea, and during the actual running I eat things that I know have worked for me in races in the past with a couple of random things thrown in for good measure because I know that whatever I've chosen I'm unlikely to want. This works well for me and I've got a teabag or coffee each day and an emergency hot chocolate.
After I've eaten I will check the condition of my feet (always wise to eat first!) and my kit. I will then lay out my sleeping arrangements and put my feet up. I remember watching a program about the Tour de France which said that the cyclists adopt a particular mentality during the race. Don't stand when you can sit, don't sit when you can lie down, don't lie down when you can sleep. That may or may not be exactly what it was but that's what's stuck with me and I use it to full effect.
People drift in to the finish for the next couple of hours and settle in to sharing tents and sorting themselves out. This is our first night in camp and we chat the small talk of knackered strangers thrown together on an adventure. It's a lovely time. Jo shouts from the tent "Are they Spiderman leggings?" to me (they are) and after they've finished laughing and admiring (I think) my matching painted toenails (thanks to my daughter Maria, 19, for that) it's time to rest. I'm not the most sociably outgoing person in the world at the best of times and the close proximity of others voluntarily thrown together for an extended period is an interesting one. Truth be told on the first night most people are working out a rhythm that works for them so people drift in and out of conversations while sorting themselves out. This is true for competitors and race crew and director alike. Richard (RD) would go the extra mile for any of his runners and as soon as our day is over for him it's just the start of the next stage preparation.
I've kept my kit remarkable similar to the previous year - a roll mat, no pillow (used my rolled up fleece layer around my rucksack) but a new sleeping bag that is lighter and warmer. I snuggle down and get not un-comfy and drift off to sleep quite quickly wondering what tomorrow will bring.
The morning after we arrived I was woken by a man knocking on the van door holding our awning by one rope with it flying behind him like a kite, all my gear everywhere. I look up at the cloud line now, which has lifted a little higher up the slopes, and wonder what lies in wait this morning. This is the morning I have planned and trained for since before I had surgery on my shoulder in November to attach an artificial ligament - replacing the one that came off when I crashed out of the Three Peaks Cyclo-Cross. I have done twice weekly Sufferfest sessions on the turbo trainer, including this year's Tour of Sufferlandria in full. I have been getting up every morning and running hill repeats for an hour and a half at five in the morning, I've been working on my speed endurance at the track on a Tuesday and trained alongside some running greats. I've got a Greenhead Monsters running vest to start in to remind me of the work I have put in on the track alongside, well usually behind, a pretty special running group. If it all works out I will finish in my Bingley Harriers vest as I have on my previous rounds.
I've arranged to meet outside the Youth Hostel at about 11:15 so I set off walking on my own to get there. People start gathering and the pre-event feelings grow. The feeling is a mixture of dread, anticipation, fear, unworthiness and reluctance. What makes me think I can do this? What am I doing here?
I have managed to add pressure on to myself by wanting to complete this first time so all three have been completed at the first attempt. I can't think about that though. That's no way to prepare and there is no helpful side to that thought, I am not running all three today, just this one - and then only one Munro at a time.
Even running through my preparation and planning doesn't help. I will be fine once I have set off. We have some photos taken and I notice Ian, who I will be setting off with although we are independent of each other, has his poles with him. I must have spent several hours considering whether to take mine (borrowed) with me or not and have decided not to.
I like attention to detail on these rounds. It's the details that ultimately count. Seeing Ian with his poles immediately makes me realise I have made an error not starting with them. I have support enough that they can be carried if I don't need them but I know they will make a difference to how I feel. I jog back to the van for them, laughing at this little warm up I am doing for a 24 hour run. Smiling at how, even with my obsession with detail, I have made this change at the last minute. But it feels right.
Leg 1 - Ben Rowley and Pawel Cymbalista
We set off up Ben Nevis at a steady clip, heading in to cloud and wind just after Red Burn. It gets increasingly busy and I climb the steps to the summit and photo bomb a couple of family snaps, touch the summit and go. Once down the steps I've lost sight of Ben and call out a couple of times. There he is, and we're off.
Down the wet rock, into the wind we go. I'm on Ben's heels, I like wet rock and can maintain a quicker speed over it than a lot of people I know. Not as quick as Ben though who dances over it as we chat/shout to each other about 50 mph gusts and the accuracy of forecasts.
Carn Mor Deag is summitted and we seem to have lost Pawel. I find out later that he has stayed with Ian but Ian has sent him on as he is part of my support team. He catches us up and we stop to put our over trousers on before the climb to Aonach Mor. This is a good call from Ben and I will not take them off all day. Already I have had to adjust my gators and I decide I will adjust them only once more before ignoring them. They slide from under my shoe almost as soon as I think this so put them from my mind..
Ben points out a deer, it is camouflaged well and has furry antlers. It watches us running by and then disappears as we climb back into the cloud and wind. Conversation so far has has been somewhat limited due to the conditions. Hoods up, rain and wind are not overly conducive to meaningful chats with running partners. Despite this Ben and Pawel have been working well as a team. I am fed every half an hour, Pawel either getting what I ask for or choosing something for me to have and getting it to me on the move.
My food is in bags, each bag has enough in it for about 5 hours of running. That's ten things, one to be taken every half an hour. There is a mix of cereal bars, Torq gels, sugar in the form of Dextro tablets, Kendal Mint Cake and Nut Bombs - which are just sweet enough to be moreish but just savoury enough to be palatable all day. Little and often works for me and I am well practised now in eating every half an hour and on the move. There are sachets of energy drink in each bag as well just in case I can't eat and need liquid energy early on.
What I don't realise until a few days later is just how much filming and photography
Pawel has been doing. He will create an amazing record of this first part of the journey. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oYPab9EpzrE
Ben stops to tie his shoelace and sends me on to the summit cairn of Aonach Mor. Helen is there waiting with a bag for Ian and she shouts encouragement while sheltering from the wind. Brilliant. Seeing people makes such a difference when you are out for a long time. Having said that I don't stop and touch and go. On the way down I see Ian coming up and wish him well. He looks focused.
I realise that because I am not carrying the tracker, Ben has it in his pack, it will have missed this summit. Never mind, it is not about the tracker as I have company and I am carrying my own Garmin for a trace of the round. The tracker proves invaluable all day - providing accurate information for my support team as to where we are and where we are likely to be at what time in order to meet. It also provides the opportunity to follow from afar which may parents are doing (although I don't know this at the time) and by the end they are trying to work out if the distance I have left can be covered in the time limit and just what am I doing going the wrong way at the end? (I wasn't carrying the tracker then either!) Cover My Tracks have provided the tracker - based in Fort William and highly recommended.
In my mind I have divided leg 1 in to three parts. Ben Nevis, CMD, Aonach Mor and Aonach Beag then the Grey Corries to Stob Ban and then Stob Coire Easain, Mheadhior and down to the dam. After the first four I am about 15 minutes up on my own schedule. I have written my own schedule based on my recce times and experiences running. Some summits have extra time built in and a couple of them are quite tight. The plan is working so far and I know I have allowed time ahead for me to gain before Fersit and heading in to the night.
We drop down from Aonah Beag and then I take the lead as Ben and Pawel stop to fill up with water. I create the fiction in my head that I am running them off my heels. It's a nice fiction and helps me contour round the lump before the next summit. Ben comments on my contouring speed and I smile - I was enjoying myself immensely and the poles are helping to remove the extra weight on my ankles, adding stability.
It has definitely brightened now. The cloud is definitely lighter in colour and more wispy the further east we travel. This is a fine way to run the Grey Corries, grey now for a different reason than the rocks that cover their peaks. I love the undulating, rocky ridges and paths with not a false summit in sight. What you see is what you get - when you think you're there you are! We zig zag up Stob ban - zig is in to the wind, zag is wind assisted. It's over before it's really started and I'm feeling good.
Earlier I mentioned to Ben that on the way to Easain I will put my music on, a mixture of Adele and Kasabian, in order to get me through the long climb up and balance the effort against the dread. Coming off Stob Ban though I realise I don't need it! I shall save it for later when it might come in useful. The wind drops as we drop to the river and start the climb up and we can chat properly for the first time. Ben points out cloudberries, among other things, and Pawel and I take note. Then Pawel and I start chatting about fishing, forestry, teaching and food. He casually drops in that this will be his longest run. I am stunned - I have met him only once before (and seen him rather than met him) yet he has extended his own limits and looked after me at the same time. Ben and Pawel, who do know each other, have been the perfect team and as we descend to the dam, seemingly forever in the cloud, I realise I will be 50 minutes ahead of schedule.
50 minutes. Wow! I have not pushed too hard, I have been travelling at a conversational pace even while not being the conditions for conversation. This is at least 10 minutes ahead of my most optimistic projection.
We see someone ahead waving and then running off. It's hard to see who but at least there is advance warning we are on our way. As we turn on to the track towards the dam my mind clicks in to 10 minute stop mode and I start to take off the tops I will change and bark out instructions and questions to Sally who is waiting. Coffee, beans, Cornish pasty, new team, mittens, tops, head torch, hat, go. Brilliant.
Leg time 8 hours 6 minutes Clock time 20:06 Schedule 20:56 50 minutes up
Fersit - Sally Parkin 10 minutes
Being 50 minutes up here is great news, when I reccied this part the clag was down and I spent the whole day thinking I was going in the wrong direction. Now I have additional daylight for the first summit and the cloud has cleared for the first time from the very tops as I have been coming down to the dam. I stash my poles with my support as I will be concentrating on the navigation - neither Robert (who I have literally just met) or Joshua (who I ran from the railway bridge to the end with previously) know this bit. It never ceases to amaze me that there are so many people who enjoy giving their time and help so freely to help others. I know everyone gets something out of it but in the cold light of day this is a 6 hour leg, finishing at around 2am if all goes to plan, followed by a 3 mile walk back to a car driven by a stranger for an hour back to base. It's one of the things I enjoy most about these rounds, both supporting and doing them, the gathering of like minded people.
Leg 2 - Joshua Jardine and Robert Crawford
Across the dam, chatted introductions along the railway. Joke about watching out for trains. Then get out of the way as the joke falls flat and a diesel thunders past, horn reverberating around the valley. We laugh heading up the hill, what a start!
"Go the way you know" becomes something of a mantra for this leg. I point out different lines where I know them but keep adding "But I haven't reccied that way so we're going this way". Joshua takes the lead and despite not having done this leg before needs very little direction to hit the perfect line. I'm not quite sure how he's doing this but it's very impressive. Sgriodain is a climb I have been dreading and although steep, scrambly in places (I think I went wrong there, sorry guys!) and relentless we gain it in good time and in clear daylight. It makes sense to me now the lines I took on the recce, because I can see! On the way to Chno Dearg the cloud comes back and darkness falls.
As we look back we can see the torches of Ian and Zoe approaching the last summit together. Very impressive. As we gain the summit of Chno Dearg I give the cairn a little kiss - it's summit number 12, the halfway summit. I keep us together and let them know that now in the cloud and dark the ground is going to suddenly disappear down a vertical semi-scree slope. It does and my leg immediately cramps, I am fed a handful of peanuts which I wash down with water. It's not a long round unless you get cramp somewhere. It's a bit dicey in the cloud and dark and I am beginning to realise my head torch is not nearly as bright as my two companions. Last time I ran at night I enviously compared my own torch to others but I've not done anything about it.
I'm a little worried by the river, given how much rain we have had today and over the last week, but this worry is unfounded and we cross easily. Now it's just up and along, up and along, up and along the steep climb to the more undulating summit plateau. I glance behind at one point and see a light coming up the shoulder of the mountain. Good, Ian is on his way. On the way off the summit I decide to change my batteries and that improves matters no end! Maybe I was being a bit harsh on my head torch after all.
As we cross under the railway bridge Joshua pulls out a can of coke. This is just what I need and I neck it. This is a long, mainly uphill drag now to Loch Eilde Mor with another river to cross. "I've got skittles for later on as well". Brilliant! Joshua and I ran this bit together supporting Ben and Adnan so he drops in to the lead again and path finds. Robert and I chat and he keeps on top of offering me food and water. We slow to wait for a herd of giant cattle who are in our path at one point. "Hup, Hup" and they move on at their own pace.
Robert and Joshua have been good company and a good team from the start. A steady mix of food, support, positivity and conversation as we get to know each other. This is a real boost when running and especially now I am so far in to the run. It all lifts my spirits and there is a tangible 'can do' spirit which permeates everything we do. Head torch going? No problem. Lost the path? No problem. Raging torrent to cross? Ah.
The river has been sounding pretty intimidating as we have run alongside it in the dark and when we get to where I crossed previously it is plainly not possible. We run on a bit then Joshua jumps in to try and find a place. He settles on a stretch with just one deep section in the very middle where he falls forward and goes up to his chest at one point but gets across. I make my way to the edge of where the deep section is and put one foot out. Even in the dark Joshua clearly sees the abject terror in my face and he reaches out a hand which pulls me across. He then does the same for Robert and we celebrate with a handful of skittles and a swig of water.
Now we head to the track, and that sounds great but the track is broadly uphill and a pain. It's also a longer way than it feels like it ought to be! I keep expecting to be able to see lights from the camp by the ruin but we are upon it without any warning.
Leg time 5 hours 59 Clock time 02:15 Schedule 02:47 32 minutes up
Loch Eilde Mor 10 minutes
Mick Watson, Helen Smith and Louis Parkin
Mick, my father in law, walked up earlier in the day with Louis (my 6 year old) to set up and wild camp. Louis is asleep and wants to stay in his tent but before I go I push my head through and give him a cuddle to which he smiles and then burrows down deeper in to his sleeping bag. What a boost the simple things in life give.
Coffee is on hand and Helen has done a brilliant job of getting Andy and Dave here on time for me, following the tracker. I'm not changing anything here. Kit the same, shoes the same - it's working well so don't mess with it. I give out the food I want carrying, take in coffee, ask for my Bingley Harriers vest to be taken for later and generally bark out orders! The ten minutes feels like a long time as I am not changing and I enjoy the rest. I use it to set myself against Sgurr Eilde Mor - the first climb that will take just over an hour. I put it to Andy and Dave that this first climb is important to get us off on the right foot. There is still a lot of running left to do but with this ticked off and daylight not far away it will be a real achievement.
I give Dave the Garmin to carry, it is his after all, and although neither Dave nor Andy know the way I am confident of my own knowledge of this leg to lead as long as they keep a check that I'm making sense. Before the first climb I ask for the poles unpacking. Over an hour, straight up - there will be no hiding place on this climb and I don't want to start losing minutes now. In truth I am realising I have under allowed for the effect of darkness, not by much but by enough for me to know I need to concentrate. On several of the summits ahead I have over allowed so there should be some easy wins there in terms of time, but they lie ahead and even though I am starting the final leg it's still over 9 hours of running.
Leg 3 - Dave Stephenson and Andy Gibbons
Dave and Andy I know well, I have run with them many times and know they will set me straight as we get closer to the end and I start calculating for each summit. Right from the off they are giving me summit time, schedule time and the difference. On the way to Binnein Beag I confide in them that I feel like I am losing minutes due to the wet conditions. This is not the dry grass that Adnan and I bounded down but wet, slippy and horrible with equally wet and slippy boulders hidden and still a shroud of cloud moved on by a swirling wind. They take it in their stride and say "we'll check at the top". Turns out I'm up again, only a minute or so on this summit but it puts my mind at ease.
I am running to my schedule, based on my times and my running. I have worked hard for this to make sense per summit and have adjusted it to take account of the increasing tiredness I expected to feel at this point. It feels good, to know that I am running to the schedule, minutes are not being lost and I am able to maintain this speed. The wind and cloud are still about but diminish as daylight brings with it spectacular, if brief, views. "I ran over all of them yesterday" I point to The Grey Corries.
On the way up Sgurr Eilde Mor I thought I had seen Ian arriving at the Loch below and expect to see him at various points but don't. I suspect he has called it a day. Binnein Mor is hard work and the first part of the climb to the ridge is very steep, but Dave reminds me that this bit's supposed to hurt. "Is this a segment?" Andy says. "I hope so", shouts down Dave from way up high ahead of us. It would be tempting to think that this is nearly done but leg 3 is at least progressing well.
As we come off Na Gruagaichean and head up the path towards the summit of Stob Coire A'Chairn I realise we should have started contouring earlier. Only a little earlier but it's a reminder that I still need to remain focused, this is my round and I am the one who knows the way. The wind has dropped completely now, perfect timing as I was worried about both the out and back ridges but they are taken in our stride.
The conversation is varied and entertaining and once again the team is working well as a pair. Dave leads and Andy is sat on my shoulder, shepherding me along and in my ear about eating, making me laugh and adding up the distance run and feet climbed. Along Devil's Ridge we can see figures below. Kate was to meet me by the lochan before Stob Ban with the rocket fuel I will need to finish - Coke, Iron Bru and Tangfastics.
11 hours in 11 minutes
On the way down to them I start to well up. I allow myself to think about finishing. I'm really going to do this. I check and I have maintained my 35 to 40 minute cushion all the way through this leg, never dipping below 30 minutes and never losing significant time per summit or feeling that I would be unable to continue. The cushion has allowed me to relax, OK maybe not relax but not obsess about summit times and splits and just concentrate on running.
With Kate are Ben, back for more, and Kieran, Ian's son. Kieran confirms what I suspected, Ian called it a day at Loch Eilde Mor. "You're doing amazing" says Ben. "I'm going to do it aren't I?" It's more of a statement than a question but I have to voice it. Ben was worried we might have gone off too fast on leg one but is happy I've kept the gap through the night and I tuck in behind him, Kieran is good company and keeps darting off this way and that - he's like lightning!
I don't really stop at the lochen - Kate has walked up the climb and waited and I'm through in about 10 seconds. I feel bad but also know I can't stop now, I might not start again. My legs have two more climbs in them and I bully them to the top of Stob ban. "You know you've been out for a long run when there's two Stob Bans in it" says Ben and I laugh.
The final summit cairn is reached and I kiss it and look at my watch. I have an hour and a half to get down. On my schedule I have allowed an hour and five minutes, and that was taking it slowly. I have reckoned without my legs though! They don't want to go downhill. At all. It's rocky, then grassy, then boggy and Andy is right - take it steady on this part, there's no point twisting an ankle now, and run in along the track to the finish.
I cry for most of the descent. Every time Andy tries to talk to me I well up, unable to speak. We get to the track and I ask for my vest. Ben paces me along the track to the finish. This will be the fastest of my three rounds if I maintain this pace. Kieran waits to direct Dave and Andy through the wood to the road. We seem to have lost them in the cut through the first section of trees. When I look at the trace later I see they have stuck to the track all the way along before turning back left again.
They catch up by the cattle grid and we arrive together at the Youth Hostel to a wonderful reception from friends and family.
23 hours and 40 minutes. It is my fastest but has also been the hardest. I paid more attention to the details and I had an amazingly strong team of pacers working as perfect pairs and a ground support team second to none. I trained to be strong enough to do it come what may weather wise and this is just as well. My schedule worked for me - it allowed me to get ahead of 24 hours and stay there. I think I under allowed for the effect of darkness, but not by much, and the buffer I had early on allowed me to be in control of this all the way round. It sounds so obvious but preparation is everything.
Thank you to my team. Each person involved was positive in outlook, practical in nature and totally committed to getting me round. Without them this would not have been possible for me. I still can't really comprehend that I am number 94 on the finishers list, one of only 10 so far this year and that this year is the first year completions have run in to double figures.
It also puts me at 44 on the Big 3 finishers list. That, to me, is unbelievable. 44! Just after Adnan, who I supported, and just before Jasmin who I followed in awe from afar.
I look at the names on those (short) lists and see race winners and fell champions. Giants of mountain running. I have raised myself to be among exalted company indeed. Not only that but I am also proud of the fact I have completed each round at the first attempt, with both the Paddy and the Ramsay run in testing conditions.
I started this journey because I thought that running was such a fundamental part of our history, of our evolution, that I wanted to know if I was capable of doing more. Could I reach further than I could grasp? I have my answer - yes I can; and in answering for myself I am convinced the answer is not just yes I can but yes we can. It just depends on how much you want to.
So what next? Coming down that last descent I wasn't sure I was ever running again. Later that day Sally said to me "I was talking to Ben's mum and dad and they did mountain marathons together - we could do that couldn't we?"
Where it all begins. 12 Midday - 12 midday.
Saturday 13th August to Sunday 14th August 2016
The drive up was great, done in two longish stints. We arrived in good spirits and set up camp.
It rained.
Then it got windy and the awning blew off the van.
I was woken by a man knocking on the door at about 7 o'clock holding one rope and the awning was like a kite flying off into the distance. All my things, carefully ordered and prepared strewn accross the floor getting wetter and wetter by the minute. Who knows how long they had been like that?
It was okay in the end, I tied the awning to the van and emptied it of everything essential. The winds are forecst to die down over the coming days. Starting today I hope.
I have somewhat obsessed about the weather. Even though there is little I can do about it apart from make the best of what's on offer. It was starting to get me down a bit. Last minute nerves, doubts, reasons not to set off. A general feeling of being unsettled.
It's the same feeling I get before all of these long events but that doesn't seem to make it any easier to deal with. I know full well that tomorrow morning I will be ready to go, I have done the training, I am prepared and I do not go into the unknown.
At perhaps my lowest ebb I got a call from Ian, who I have been talking to about setting off together but assumed he was going to wait until later in the day because of the winds. He says he is now committed to going at midday with me. This lifts me no end. Even though this adds to things for me to think about suddenly I am bouyed and talking about the summits and the lines to take enthusiastically.
Even the wind has dropped to only very strong and the rain now is more of a drizzle than actual rain. That's practically a fine summer's day in Fort WIliam it seems, especially so this year. I have my tracker and can see myself as a blue arrow, I wonder about Sally watching the arrow move around the mountains and what she will see. Will it be moving on schedule? How long will I have to stop for? What unexpected events will happen that will have to be overcome? Or will it smoothly fly round, gliding effortlessly over the mountain tops - floating, if you will, on the wispy mountain clouds?
Hmmm
Well that's it for the countdown, tomorrow morning will be spent getting dressed (no really, it takes a bit of time for me to get everything just right to set off!) and final sorting of bags for people to pick up, drop off, take up mountains and leave in the van. No more countdown, no more training, no more worrying - just me, the mountains and some like minded people going for a long day out. I can't think of anyting I'd rather do.
The tracker link is https://share.delorme.com/ramsays130816
A report will follow come what may, one final post to bring it all to a close, to complete this journey we have been on together. Until then, farewell.
I'm a bit of a newcomer to lists. I discovered them in my late 30's and now I wonder what I ever did without them! At the moment I have a notebook for work and one for running. Actually that's not true, I have a selection for work and a selection for running. I write in them, making lists primarily.
It's not that I then need to return to them but it does help clear my mind of all the information that's swimming around and trying to make a nuisance of itself. I remember when I started training as a teacher we did an exercise which was basically answering some questions and then doing a short calculation. You then had to try and remember what the previous questions were. I couldn't remember a single one and was primed for the news that I was going to have to work harder.
Rather unexpectedly it turned out that the less you could remember the more efficient your brain was because it didn't hold on to information that it didn't need. I was chuffed, needless to say. The trouble is it's no good having an efficient processor if you can't remember what you are processing a few seconds later. This is where lists have been a revelation for me. I can process the information and let it sit on a list while that happens and then I can document what I've done so when someone asks me I can tell them.
It's wonderfully liberating as well being able to put something down on paper and then forget about it until it needs resolving, often the need to resolve it has disappeared by the time you come to make any decisions. So I am surrounded by lists. I'm resisting the temptation to adjust and fine tune the ideas down on them. Some are functional, some are speculative, some are a record of information that is current at the time of writing and some are nonsense.
In and amongst there might be the odd comment or doodle, or a memory that stands out. The doodle of the rocks and the raven are from my recce along the Grey Corries. It was an impressive bird, I mean it was larger and had a deeper voice than any raven I have heard before. I half expected Thorin and Bilbo to emerge from the mist and tell me about how the ancient Ravens were friends to the Dwarves and used to be able to speak to them, a skill that is all but lost today. But they didn't. It did look majestic and it was definitely talking to someone though. Maybe it was me.
Steady. Well steady for 400's anyway, if I'm going that fast on Saturday someone slow me down!
Feeling strange. Pretty much like I always do the few days before a round. 7 months of building, of using shorter races to check fitness, check kit, adjust pacing and feeding strategies. 3 months of early starts and hill reps, weekly mileage checks, feet of climb increasing gradually then dropping only to increase again, and again.
Support runs, long runs out in The Lakes, Wales and Scotland. Days out, nights out, wind, rain, hail, snow, sunshine, drizzle, mist, lost and found.
All done. Banked. Ready to be called upon.
Time to gather it all inwards. Focus it all. Be ready to access it all, to draw on what I have done before, of what I know I can do when backed in to a corner. Some bits will be needed, some saved for another day. Time to focus for short periods but still keep a relaxed focus for a long time, of perspective.
Ready for the highs and lows. The tears. The breakdown of everything and the rebuilding of it along the way.
All the advice is that you should now be feeling like you need to have one last blast in order to feel stronger, one last long run in order to put your mind at rest - and the trick is to resist this. My trick for resisting this is to visit my training hill one last time.
The Ellers - a 1.3 mile hill with 784 feet of climb. I've set it as a segment because this is the hill I run up twice a day when I'm training for these long rounds. It's about a ten minute run there, it varies up to about twenty minutes uphill, ten minutes jog down and then ten minutes home.
Last year it got to about 4 weeks before my Paddy and I decided to see what pushing the pace on the climb would lead to - at this point I was run/walking up in about 18 minutes. I managed 13 something and the record for the segment, a segment that I had created to help monitor my consistency up the hill, was 12:13. At that point I told myself that if I wanted to complete the Paddy I should try for the record the week before as a last, short, hard effort.
Running against the clock is a funny thing. Whether it's 24 hours or 12 minutes it gets inside your head. Your body responds differently. Where you might back off you push on, where you might think that's enough you decide it's just the beginning. Last year I duly claimed the record in 11:49 and was chuffed to bits. A segment I had created and now had the record on as well.
So to this year. How to gauge how the training has gone this close to the Ramsay attempt. I'll try and beat my own record, which still stands. I think that's partly because it's tucked away and partly beacause who would really want to run that hard up this hill! I look at my previous attempts and notice my average time is coming down from an initial twenty minutes to closer to seventeen. A good sign. I also note that Strava has me having run up this hill 154 times. I laugh a little at this, particularly as I didn't use Strava for a long while.
So I run there at a faster tempo than usual, a warm up if you will, and my legs are feeling good. I set off at a slightly harder pace than I think is sustainable but manage to keep going owards and upwards. At half way Ithink I've got this in the bag but then it kicks again and I remember now that last year I had started slow and then finished strongly so I will have a race on my hands to the top. I get a little faster without truly getting into the red. As the seconds tick over I stop my lap timer.
It looks like I have done it by a few seconds but I am reluctant to be sure until it is downloaded and verified. I run home to see that I have beaten my record by 6 seconds. I am curiously both pleased and disappointed.
I'm never really happy it seems.
I'm pleased I've beaten my record and lowered it to closer to 11:30 than 12:00, which I like. But I thought I was further ahead at halfway and wanted it to be a lot clearer that I was ahead of where I was this time last year.
And that's one of the markers I have been looking for. A marker as to how my training has gone. It's a small one, but on reflection last year I was really out on a limb thinking I could maybe set the record and this year I was slightly disappointed with the margin of gain, so that's a step in the right direction - I think!
My Paddy started with 4 hours of strong winds and horzontal rain, it briefly broke for leg two and three hours of glorious running but then deteriorated through the long leg until I was battered back into my full wet weather gear again. It did ease off then but I am beginning to realise just how much those early battles with the weather must have taken out of me and using this to feed my motivation and confidence going in to what is generally accepted as the harder of the Big 3 rounds. My Bob Graham was run in 23:49 and the Paddy in 23:48 but in significantly worse conditions. If I am at about the same, or slightly ahead of my, fitness as at this time last year then that bodes well. The game is truly afoot.
Another marker is getting grumpy with my family during the taper. To counteract this today I took Louis and Rupert out to fly a kite. To be honest afternoons don't get much better than this. Just as important as the physical build up now is the mental one. Positive images, thoughts and experiences will all count. For a start I've several hours of small talk to fill with people I know to varying degrees. I'm not much good at small talk at the best of times and to be honest that could be one of the hardest parts of the challenge!
Now if I can just work out an anecdote from this afternoon...
Just got back from Borrowdale, not running but supporting, and it has been a couple of days without WiFi or reception good enough for data. Lovely.
Sally has completed her challenge to walk/run the three highest mountains in the UK by summitting Sca Fell Pike. We set off together as a family and walked up to Styhead Tarn. Great fun, and after telling Sally that we were on the path, I was reading the map after all, we got to some crags to scramble across. No mean feat with a three year old and a six year old. As we rose past the waterfall it was clear that the main path was in fact on the other side of the river! Not sure I'll live that one down after showing Sally how to read a map lol.
Sally on Sca Fell Pike Summit.
Sally went on to summit on her own while we waited at the stretcher box for the runners to come through. It got windier and colder so we watched the first few, gave out some haribos and water, then headed back down via the main path. One person commented that we had see the first 3 ladies through and tried to engage Louis in a conversation on this. Louis was a bit non-plussed and so was I until I realised he must have thought that, what with Louis and Rupert having long hair, they must be girls. It's interesting the assumptions we make.
On the way up Rupert had got his shoes wet, as of course we all did, and he asked if he could take them off. He then proceeded to walk most of the 2.5 miles up to the tarn barefoot. I can't deny I was envious of the freedom and the extra experiences he was getting from the surrounding hills. "I'm going to walk on that one because it will be warm", "When you walk on these ones it tickles". These are just a couple of examples of things he was saying walking up - it chimes with the book I am reading - Footnotes - about why we run and how it makes us human. I think after my round I might well join him for a few lake district barefoot walks. It says in the Bob Graham handbook that Bob Graham himself reccied the tops barefoot, saving his pumps for the big day itself.
Rupert climbing barefoot while I look on enviously!
Nutbombs - bought in the morning before the Borrowdale race, made by a lovely couple and made of peanut butter, coconut, cherry, dark chocolate and various combinations of these and other ingredients. Great for getting up mountains, and down mountains. Just the right blend of sweetness and savoury so you can go on eating them. And when you wake up in the morning and the first question from the littlest is "Have you got any of those round things" you know they've gone down well!
Nut Bomb
Time - 24 hours is a long time to run. The last 3 days have flown by. When I left we were surely going to lose the 5 day Test Match against Pakistan, it was clear after the best part of 2 days we were well behind. A match I have just listened to the finish of with England winning - brilliant! Could not have timed that better. Sally was faster up and down Sca Fell Pike than I imagined she would be and the Borrowdale Fell Race winners took less time than I can comprehend to finish the race.
Douglas Admas wrote that "Time is an illusion, lunch time doubly so" in The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy. The character who says it is Ford Prefect and he is from another planet so has a different perspective on pretty much anything and everything he comes across on planet Earth. His companion through the book is Arthur Dent who wanders around aimlessly, in his dressing gown, looking for cups of tea and trying to make sense of it all.
There was a point here somewhere but I'm not sure if it's that I feel a bit like Arthur Dent at the moment wandering around while trying to make sense of things or that I'm wondering if time on Saturday will be an illusion and bend and stretch to suit my purposes and give me 5 days worth of a Test Match but compressed into a lunch time.
