Deadwater 2018 Day 6 - Rush To The Castle

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.

Hayley filming me leaving the checkpoint.
https://www.facebook.com/hayley.robinson.969/videos/10211498287125699/?t=2

 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 finish.
https://www.facebook.com/BeyondMarathon/videos/2331469603536778/


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.

https://deadwater.run/

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 Crowley 12 Andy Cole 13 Alasdair Moore 14 Andy Robertson 15 Michael Cooper 16 Tom Crossland 17 Scott Lothian
18 Paul Nelson

Competitive finishers:
1         John Parkin         Male 40-49 44:23:40
2 Paul Nelson Male  50-59 48:07:13
3 Andy Robertson Male 18-39 51:45:08
4 Gregory Crowley Male 50-59 56:17:12
5 Jo Kilkenny Female 18-39 74:02:37
6 Timothy Downie Male 60-69         76:22:26
7 Kevin Otto Male 60-69 78:43:15
8 Alasdair Moore Male 18-39 78:57:21
9 Andy Cole Male 70+ 81:08:37
10         Claire Bishop Female 40-49    83:18:10

Deadwater 2018 Day 5 - Canal Hell

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.

Tim coming in - I didn't know if he'd want to be filmed finishing so I cut it short.
https://www.facebook.com/john.parkin3/videos/10155526691712595/?t=3

Jo and Kevin finishing - I just filmed them!
https://www.facebook.com/john.parkin3/videos/10155526693292595/?t=10

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!

https://www.facebook.com/BeyondMarathon/videos/2330250486992023/?t=2

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.

Run hard to the finish, then stop.

Philosophy

I was asked the other day what it was like to live in my world! I've been thinking.

 As a child I read and re-read The Hitchhikers Guide 'trilogy' and followed these with Dirk Gently. Indeed it is hard for me to imagine my view of the world without a quote or aside from Douglas Adams creeping in as a point of reference. Those aware of Douglas Adams may also be aware of the "Total Perspective Vortex" into which Zaphod Beeblebrox was put in order to show him how insignificant he was in the Grand Scheme of Things. While he waits the tortuous screams of previous 'visitors' are played out, reliving the moment when they are confronted with the total enormity of the universe and the opposite miniscularity of their importance within it.

It doesn't work for Zaphod, of course, because the universe he's in has been created for his existence, so all it does is stroke his already inflated sense of self worth.

In my world I am aware of how insignificantly small my part is in the Grand Scheme of Things, a kind of permanent Total Perspective Vortex overview to life - but at the same time I am also aware that I am the most important person in my own universe. Without me in it my actions are not actioned, my thoughts are not thought and my life is unlived. A paradox of importance and insignificance, perfect.

But not as snappy as - No Worries :)