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.

Deadwater 2018 Day 4 - The Long Day

On the morning of The Long Day Karl has to pull out, he says his goodbyes to us all explaining that he'd plugged into his 'real' life (or is it the other way around?) and something has come up at work that he needs to deal with. He looks genuinely gutted as we mill around in the morning and I had been looking forward to getting to know him a bit better over the next few days having only just started to talk to him. We are reducing in numbers on a daily basis and slowly but surely by the end of the week there will be only ten competitive finishers. If you do have to retire Richard will let you carry on for the week, fitness and medical checks permitting, in order to finish but not as part of the race times.

This day, more than any other in my opinion, will help decide the final standings. Last year I was three hours ahead of the next finisher which meant I could take it easier for days five and six and get to know some of the other runners a bit more. I expect no such luxury this year and given Paul's obvious quality over long distances I have a hearty breakfast of vegetable hotpot to see me right for the first couple of hours. It was this day last year that I started with chilli for breakfast after I'd swapped a dried meal with Ivan at the drop bag evening feast the night before. I just couldn't handle another day of porridge, despite having porridge every morning usually. I'd planned for this to happen this year and reduced my breakfast meals accordingly so I had more variety to choose from. Effectively having two evening meals a day - one for breakfast and one for tea.

At the start I am concentrating a bit more than usual. I've checked my bag a couple of times and moved my food for the day to accessible pockets. I've got water and sachets of sports drink on hand for later when food may be too much. I know the terrain but know that Paul does too - we are still on The Pennine Way for most of the day so there's not much advantage there. I decide my race strategy for the day is to go out hard and hold on. Those who know me know that's not really much of a plan and that I normally set off too fast in races and then hang on to the finish. I've never mastered the art of negative splits or even pacing and like (maybe that's too strong a word) running with a bit of fear to keep me moving. (Those of you reading this and running in 2020 please note I will have mastered all racing tactics including these and many, many more by then!)

I bolt off the start line at the sounding of the starter and grab a gap on the first climb up the side of Penygent. It's risky but it's also controlled. I do glance behind frequently and see my gap growing. I hold it at a comfortably uncomfortable pace and crack on. This stage is really a wonderful variety of terrain and a real showcase for where I live. Arriving at Malham Tarn I adjust my clothing and bag a cracking photograph shot on my way past before checking in and out of the checkpoint. Really I do have an advantage here because I can break up the stage in to chunks that work for me. Push on to Malham, take it easy down the limestone staircase and then plod along the river to Gargrave.

https://www.facebook.com/BeyondMarathon/videos/2328528167164255/?t=1

Approaching Gargrave I see someone running towards me and it's Tom come out to say hello. He knows me and also Paul, both of them having a Spine Race pedigree. He runs with me for a bit and knows he can't offer any help or assistance so stands by admirably silent while I nearly get lost a few times. There's an especially tricky bit around the canal where the trace seems to be on the other side, there doesn't seem to be a path and I'm trying to manage my rising mini-panic when I remember to look at the map and then where to go and calm down. After a bit of a chat he turns around and runs back to spend a little time running with Paul as well. This is a lovely, and unexpected, boost and before I know it I'm approaching my home ground. I can hear my family cheering and ringing cowbells as I approach the gate and they zoom round to wave at me from the road as I cross in several places up and down through Lothersdale and Cowling before I head off on my own. Again this is a lovely boost and in a turn of tables Kate is Facebook live videoing me instead of the other way around which makes me smile.

https://www.facebook.com/sally.golightly1978/videos/10155607281767256/?t=7


I'm up and over Ickornshaw moor, which is a slog at the best of times, and coming down to the next checkpoint at a reservoir when another friend, Gary, comes into view around a corner. 'Blimy,' he says, 'you're moving fast and I know it's not for the camera because you didn't know I was here.' He's hurt his leg and jogs to keep up as we descend having a chat before getting to the checkpoint where I sit for about 3 seconds, fill up my water and then get off.

Andy from last years race is on this checkpoint and he's encouraging and I know he understands that I just need to crack on so I get rid of my race food rubbish, say my goodbyes and head up towards Top Withins.

This next section is another lovely stretch which is undulating and with a real variety of terrain; sometimes open moor with what seems a wide choice of direction options and sometimes narrow, walled paths rollercoasting over the land, slowly grinding uphill and then shooting over the top and down the other side with views worthy of being more than just background to a race narrative. There's often a checkpoint on The Long Day that offers officially sanctioned additional race snacks as a boost. It's not guaranteed, of course, and it could be anywhere. This year it's just before Stoodly Pike. Last year I refused to take any because I wanted to finish the race on what I'd planned to carry. Well I may be daft but I'm not stupid so this year I grab something and head off.

Walking up the path to Stoodly Pike with a steak slice in one hand and a can of coke in another I feel like a king. I'm not much for fine dining but I can't remember any meal tasting or feeling so good. The section from Stoodly Pike itself to the next checkpoint, at The Whitehouse Pub, is another that always feels to me to be longer than it should. There's often a headwind, which is a pain, and it's flat enough that there's no real excuse for not running it. Which is also a pain, and potentially painful on sore feet. For what seems like forever there has been a diversion around one of the reservoirs and sure enough there it is on my trace so I jump over to start it. Then I glance over and realise the thing that's nagging my brain is the absence of fences and workmen and machinery on the main route. I stop and get out my map, which means adjusting my pack but I think it's worth it. Sure enough the line on the map doesn't use the diversion and keeps to the path. That was a good decision to take a little time over and I jump back over to the main path and find my cruise gear to take me along the path.

https://www.facebook.com/BeyondMarathon/videos/2329325383751200/?t=16

The end is fiddly, there's no two ways about it. It's well signposted this year but I did go back and forwards a few times last year wondering if I was right or not as there are plenty of times when you think the end is near and then the path seems to throw you a curve ball. But eventually I drop down to the road that's along from the campsite and run through the finish line. Nailed it. Last year I finished in 13 hours 46  and I was made up with that. This year it's 12 hours 56 minutes and I let out a shout. Happy with that, really happy. I collapse into the checkpoint and am looked after immediately by a wonderful volunteer who asks all the right questions. Hot water? Not yet. Sit down? Lovely. Shall I show you where the showers are? I'm ok, are they the same as last year? Yes. Right then let's get this routine done and look after myself before I think about anything else. One aspect of multi-day, self sufficient racing that I've found (with a grand total of 12 days experience so far) is it's the little things that make the most difference. I've got some dehydrated single use flannels and some soap leaves that take up no room at all but provide enough to wash and clean me every day after each stage in the mostly warm showers and an Alpkit travel towel that really is small but dries wonderfully well and then dries out quickly afterwards. I get clean and dry and head back for the hot water on offer to make a drink and my meal just in time to see Paul arrive, somewhat less than amused about the fiddly end to the stage. A while later Andy and then Greg arrive but it will be longer still before anyone else comes in to camp.

Paul finishes in 14:13, Andy a bit further back in 15:03 and then Greg in 16:48 before others come in into the morning. So another chunk of time added to my lead however unless you've met Paul I don't think you have a good understanding of what the word competitive means. If I slow for a moment he will make up time hand over fist and with a long flat day, 31 miles of canals, to come tomorrow it's less a case of fitness and more a case of mental strength to keep moving at speed when there's no reason to slow down except those you find for yourself.  As I ponder how to tackle the challenge of the next day I'm mindful of the fact that there are still some people out on the course who won't get in until breakfast time and then go straight out on to the next day's stage. That's a cumulative total of 91 miles non-stop, with a full pack and no sleep. Suddenly the thought of getting a nights sleep and then waking up and running a shorter stage doesn't seem quite the task it was before. As there is a later start in the morning there's no sense going to bed too early as I'll only wake up early and when I finally do decide to go to sleep I decide to let tomorrow just happen and roll with it, it could be an interesting day on the flat.

Tour De Helvellyn 2012

What a day.

What a long, long day.

Mapped out in front of me on arrival is the 38 mile route I took through snow last year, this year promised to be run in rain and high winds which would be a different challenge entirely.

A good drive up this year from home sees me arrive at half past six as planned, sign in, visit the toilets while there is no queue and the air is still breathable, just, and try not to set off too early.

I reckon 7:15 should be about right to hit the first checkpoint at 9:30 when it opens. I would dearly like to beat last years time and finish earlier in the day this year but there is a long day ahead.

A schoolboy error sees me take the wrong line once on to Askham moor while chatting to another runner. Trust your compass. A lesson I have learnt before and now had confirmed again. I'm frustrated at the mistake but in truth I have lost only about 5 minutes time, it feels like more but then when you lose your bearings it can seem like a long time before you re orient yourself and take stock of your surroundings. The picture above is of Ullswater in the dark with the light just lifting slightly to provide a few more clues but the early start has been wasted by taking the wrong line.

Last year I went over the hill to Martindale, this year I favour the road. The runner I have joined took the other route last year and is keen for a change so we part at the gate and I put in a quick spurt to catch another runner ahead. It turns out we have both completed Bob Graham Rounds this year and swap stories about our trials and tribulations. It's about this point that I get the first signs that I'm not as fit as I was! As we are running together it is clear he is at a comfortable pace and I am struggling to keep up, the pace isn't particularly fast and as soon as the path kicks up he is away and others also pass. I drop a glove on the way up Boardale and have to go back for it, not far but enough for me to know it's early to be losing concentration. This is looking back down Boardale from the top of the climb.

On the way down to Patterdale I get passed by 3 runners wearing matching blue and yellow tops and decide to use them to follow. They are going at quite a pace and I am pleased when I catch them and then stay with them until the checkpoint, although I am concentrating too much to speak to any of them as the decent is slippery and the rocks treacherous in places. One of them slips in front and ends up face down but just picks himself up and carries on, the others shout "wrists and ankles ok?" without breaking stride and I guess he must be because although he drops to the back of their group he hasn't slowed at all. That's them in the photo just ahead.

 

At the checkpoint I grab some peanuts, adjust my food to replace the sandwich I've eaten already, refill my water and set off. The marscapone and ginger sandwich fillings are working well, supplemented by dried apricots and mango and washed down with water and Hi5 sports drink. I arrive in Glenridding and decide for a civilised toilet break at the public conveniences before starting to climb up towards Sticks Pass. It looks grim ahead and my wet hands are starting to feel the cold already, in my head it should be warmer than last year but I've a feeling it's going to be just as hard going over the tops.

There's not much to say about over the top of Sticks pass. It was pretty awful with a strong wind chilling me, it was hard to get any rhythm going whether up or down hill and I wanted to be warmer. The ground was a mixture of puddles, snow, ice and grass and it was often hard to tell which it was going to be until you put your foot on it so I was quite tentative which meant I struggled to raise my temperature to a comfortable level. I resolved that once down I would put on my extra layer, I am usually over dressed so it was a bit of a surprise to me that I felt so cold so quickly. Especially because I was getting passed by people who seemed to be wearing what I would consider too little for a summers day!

 



On the way down towards the checkpoint I stopped to talk to a guy who had cramped up coming over the top, he put it down to reaching the 16 or so mile mark but I think it could have been the cold adding to it as well. I shared a nuun tablet with him and passed on news of his condition to his mate stood by the next checkpoint who also agreed it had been cold over the tops. I chugged along to the car park checkpoint where I refilled with water and started out towards Dunmail Raise. Once in the woods I stopped to put on an extra layer and immediately felt a little better. I was cheered by the people passing me, each one stopped or slowed to say hello and while I was changing there were checks to see if I needed any further help. Much as I do for others and it is nice to be part of such a mutually concerned and respectful community for a day out in the hills.
At this point I was cheering myself up with the fact that I wasn't in tears! Last year through the woods I had to have a serious word with myself about what I was doing and how I was going to finish but this year I seemed to be okay, slower than last year but in better shape.

The climb up to Grisedale tarn was like climbing a stream and the long descent to Patterdale was like running down streams. Slippery rocks made it hard going and again I struggled to find a rhythm, I could see a group ahead and one of them had a bright yellow hat on which I used as a marker and a carrot to stay in touch with them as long as possible. This is the start of the long descent and I also kept myself busy wondering what the event would be like if the loop was reversed and this was the way up.

I took a photo just before arriving at Patterdale at what was possibly my lowest ebb. It's the photo below and I was quite surprised at how happy I look in it when I got back home. Worryingly it seems that a hard day out in the hills is something I really do enjoy!

 

I grabbed a coffee at Patterdale checkpoint and then started the slog up to Boardale again. Last year this had flown by but this time it was definitely more of a slog. On the way down I overtook and then got caught up by Jill and her family who very kindly let me tag along with them for the last leg. It was good to have company and to listen to them talking about various events and walks they had been on and without that lift it would have been a very long way home indeed. There's a saying that eludes me but the gist of it is for long distances it's good to have company and coming up to Martindale church with the light fading I couldn't agree more. Last year I had taken a bearing from the cockpit and headed for home on my own, this year there was an actual path going the right way and the nicest surface I'd been on all day. I had long since resigned myself to walking at a fast but comfortable pace and it was good to know that this really was the home stretch.

 

On arrival back I had taken 11 hours and 2 minutes, over half an hour slower than last year. I felt in better shape having finished though and the conditions this year were less suitable for me going faster it seems. Too slippery for me to be confident going up or down and I think an extra layer on from the first checkpoint may have made a difference. I also think I'm going to investigate the spare inner glove and outer waterproof mitt combinations for future winter runs as my hands did get cold and I spent a lot of time flexing my fingers to keep them warm while running which is only a small thing to do but another thing to concentrate on.

 

All in all a great day out, in the company of some lovely like minded people and run in a friendly and respectful manner. It's a race for some but for me it's my winter meditation and this Saturday is firmly reserved every year for the event. Next year I plan to break 10 hours - a big ask but it will be fun training for it and come what may at the end of the day I will have learnt something new about myself, my capacity to endure and the majesty of the Lake District.

 

Thank you Joe Faulkner and Nav4.

The Bob Graham

Journey’s Start. The rise and fall of pain. Climb up the mountain, relax down the other side. Contractions come and go. The birth transcends all that I have felt before. And I am only looking on. If Sally’s body through will and love and instinct alone can birth a baby, what can my body do? What are my limits that I have not stretched or even contemplated? What can I do?

Triathlons Helvellyn, Wensleydale, Coniston Old Man, Alpe D’huez, The Fred Whitton, The Big Woody Ironman completed. Significant but not limit stretching.

The Bob Graham.

Let me tell you about my Bob Graham…

Mo kicks for home. I hunch inside the car for a final lap of nerve and steel. Roars ring out from cars around the centre and tears and smiles fall and rise together. The games are nearly over. I hope to provide a fitting end tomorrow to a fortnight like no other.  As good a start to an adventure as I could wish but all is not quite as it seems. My good lucks and goodbyes hold within them the promise of a dream achieved but not the steel and drive I ought to hold. I feel undone.

Start: Saturday 11^th August 2012 20:00, clockwise.

Clear and calm up Skiddaw, no recce splits except from base to summit to rely on. 10 minutes up and steady pace by Jason feels good. But still I am not right.

Great Calva comes and goes through mud and bog, a minute neither here nor there.

Clag and dark descend across the river and we ascend too high, too left. We find the ridge and descend Halls Fell.

Threlkeld sees us neither up nor down except in body, mind and spirit. My foot tells the tale of hours run and blisters under heel. My dad is there to cheer me on and rummage for requests in bags unlabelled. I feel flat and prolong my stop too long before the next leg starts afresh.

Clough Head’s an age. Where are you summit? What tricks are these? Steve leads on a steady pace but still I cannot follow. To stop would be relief, frustration ended but begun again redoubled.

Great Dodd more minutes lost. My head now focussing on negatives that everywhere I look I see.

Haemorrhaging time on every climb seems to be the order. A minute here and there on little hills and five to ten on larger climbs.

This is going to be a long night.

Head down. Losing time and will. They pass me by, I come and go. Poor Steve who sees the worst of me, pity his ears to hear me moan.

Blink. Blink. Dark. Blink. Blink. Dark. Blink. Blink. Dark. Dark. Dark. Dark.

A borrowed head torch now on lowered head. My own away and impotent, my newly borrowed light illuminates my face but not much else. At least Steve can now still see my tortured face.

No more. No more. No more.

Fairfield summit gained in clag and now my mind’s a pace. Choose from wide open spaces or somewhere cairns and surely now a choice awaits.

I have long given up on finishing in 24. How do I tell these brave new folk the game is up? Do I tell them now or wait until we’re under way to let them know I’m finishing but out of time?

Trudge. Gloom. Trudge. Gloom. Clear skies. Mild. Amazing views.

 I’m told.

Mutter. Mumble. How could I have ever thought this was within my grasp? Mutter. Mumble.

Nicoll calmly listens then dismisses all that’s gone as past.

Gibbons feeds me ginger mascarpone rolls.

Inspired.

 A ray of light. A double check. The game is on again.

 I think.

Windswept friends appear bearing gifts atop Rossett Pike. Wild camping in the shelter of the cairn Kerry and Rick have sustenance to share. I know I’ve time to make but linger a while to contemplate the sacrifices of others towards my cause.

Bowfell keeps on giving. Esk Pike less so. Great End I see for the first time, but not the views. Ill Crag is bagged and on and on. My calculating mind cannot work out the numbers but by Mickledore my mind is set against Yewbarrow still to come.

A chance encounter with a stranger, strange. Contemplating life with shorts no more and musing on his next move to follow through.

Lords Rake and West Wall gain yet more time and scree slides bring a smile and lift my spirits once again.

Anne and Pete and Mick provide the healing feeding hands and words to go. Prepare for battle on the slopes. Set yourself to this beat of pacers numbered one to four. No time to slip or lose.

One final chance to get this done.

Nicoll and Gibbons carry on and we’re joined by Iain and Graeme. Head down, brim wide, 50 minutes of a 4 step march. No time lost, but none gained. How can that be? March on to Red Pike. Again still losing precious minutes despite my ever quickening efforts.

14 minutes down. I will not lose this by 14 minutes. Rather the slow death of hours.

Catastrophe. Graeme twists his ankle setting me a pace to follow. “Go on, Go on”, he implores and that I do. The pace taken up by Gibbons and renewed. Attop Pillar the deficit is three. I will not let this beat me. I will not lose my grip now I am in control, I have it in my charge and I will lead it where I want to go.

There is no other time but now. There is no other place than here. There is no other one but me.

 I will make this happen on my terms.

Kirk Fell.

Great Gable.

I have truly found what I am looking for. I have found my heart and mind. I can make myself go on when all seems lost. I can dull the sound of screaming limbs and force my will upon them to raise the pace again, again, again.

Honister no rest but on and up and on and up.

Steve and Gange apply the pressure, feed and water me but I am in a whole new place now. The last three tops and foolishly I roar my defiance too soon. I drop down to the tarmac with my trusty shoes and they speak to me of home. Expertly met by Kerry and Rick with words and thoughts to raise my spirits, to let me know my family are around the corner, cheering.

The home straight is 4 miles.

4 miles, with time a plenty any other day.

30 minutes and still 2 miles to go. What new madness lies within the torture of these seconds? Pleas of help amid my tears of hope and desperation. After all that’s gone before I have no time to give my mind or legs a break from this relentless pace. I cannot lose my focus now. I cannot lose my focus now.

I know this bridge, this path, these cobbles.

Belief. Finally belief that I have reached further than my grasp and found a way to make the difference count.

To celebrate, a sprint.

To finish on a sprint and know myself to be on equal terms, today at least.

Finish: Sunday 12^th August 2012 19:49

23:49:36

The games are over.

I will be back. I did not make this journey on my own but I took my strength from it and added it to others. Running across the fells, above my limits with changing groups of friends past and future I know myself to be a better person for it.

From birth to journeys end. When babies are birthed in all their natural wonder how can any challenge hold a candle? Push on and on, what more might I aspire to now?

I think I’ll run a while to clear my head…

Cast in order of appearance: John Parkin Jason Feaney John Parkin (Snr) Steve Fry Andy Nicoll Andy Gibbons Kerry + Rick Gilchrist Mick Watson Anne + Pete Jebb Iain Taylor Graeme McTavish Andrew Gange Kerry Watson Iris Ward Sally + Maria + Louis Parkin