Nick Ham - long distance runner

Kinder Trial: >>11 miles of orienteering across the rough. 28/01/2012.

2012-01-30T21:04:00.000Z

Levitation and teleportation; that’s the only way I can conceive of moving over that stuff in under three hours. It took me 4:25. Tom Brunt won it in under 1:45. How can that be possible?

You may recall from a previous wittering of mine that orienteering combined with running are not my bag. I can’t really do either properly, but put the two together and I am on the brink of total meltdown. That’s why I rarely do it, far too stressful. However, as part of my new strategy for 2012 of doing more short, sharp, local races, I’m doing as much of the Hayfield race series as I can. I can just about squeeze in four of them, which entitles me to enter the championship, which I shall be doing (I fancy the idea of a winner’s trinket on my mantelpiece anyway). Lamb’s Longer Leg was the first one and this was the second. Watch out podium, prepare to feel the soles of my feet....;-)

Race organiser Andy Howie described as “shocking” the conditions on Friday when he was up on the western flanks of Kinder Scout hiding the 13 controls. However, come Saturday morning at Hayfield scout headquarters, the sun shone out of a calm blue sky and the hills were plastered with the previous day’s issue from above. Let the fun begin.

The staggered starts lasted from 10:00 to 11:00. I was issued with my map at 10:26. I leaned nonchalantly on the door frame to appear in control of the situation while I decided whether to go clockwise or anticlockwise to pick off the 13 controls. It was an easy decision for me. Anticlockwise it was. Within 30 seconds I was off, micro navigating my way along the footpaths and lanes out of Hayfield and up the track to K7. Several runners had already overtaken me and one of them found the control hidden around the back of a tree off-path up the hill. I was surprised how small, inconspicuous and hidden it was. I had a lot to learn.

The expansive snow-covered fells basking in bright winter sunshine were grabbing my attention as I climbed towards Mount Famine, checking my compass that I was on the right heading. Navigation was still going perfectly as I went straight to K10 as described: “Below crag south of summit”. This wasn’t so bad, I thought. I set a compass bearing towards the next one (K12) and made a beeline for it steeply down and across really rough terrain, stumbling more than running. On hindsight I would have been better contouring more around to the right. I found a trod through the snow and fell into the trap of following it. It led me astray, bypassing K12 down into the River Sett valley. Even the trees above which K12 was situated were out of sight above me. A long backtrack uphill was required to find it.

The climb towards K11 was across thousands of snow-covered baby’s head tussocks. Trips and stumbles were frequent as I plodded upwards. The ~~levitators~~ runners who were overtaking me seemed to be having less trouble.

K11 would have been easy to find even without the trodden trail in the snow because it was off the path in a wall nook – a very easy feature to find. A Pennine runner who I’d seen closing in the far distance was suddenly there and clipping his tally. How on earth did he cover that ground so quickly? I suspected teleportation this time, the cheating scoundrels ;-)

The run down in a northerly direction towards K9 seemed quite pleasant to begin with. I decided to try a bit of proper fell running down the easy snowy trod left by others as I followed in pursuit of the Pennine runner, who was already pulling away rapidly. Within 10 seconds my face was pressed firmly into the snow (I straightened my ~~testicles~~ spectacles later after I got home). That’ll teach me to get ideas above my station and think I’m a fell runner. With a snap back to reality I bounced back onto my feet to resume the clumsy shuffle-cum-walk down towards the sloppy slip-slidey valley and up the other side towards K9. At this point the first clockwise runners started to overtake in the opposite direction, to add to the anticlockwise runners already overtaking me. It was starting to get busy.

First clockwise runner descends from K9.

K13 was in a NNE direction, but there was a trod and there were people to follow, so no problem. I hit a track and turned right. (My depleted brain had only taken in the headings from each control to the next, but little else, so I only found out two days later that this was the track down from Edale Cross.) I turned left through the next gate and proceeded to run down the track, but something didn’t feel right. I should not be descending like this and it’s turning too far round to the right. I turned around and ran back up to the gate, to be confronted by lines of runners coming and going in all directions. Were they clockwise or anticlockwise runners? Where did I just come from? I was totally confused. (I now realise I must have been running down towards Jacob’s Ladder, but I didn’t recognise it in the snow and had no inkling I’d been along there so many times on the Bullock Smithy Hike.) I looked at the fingerpost and saw one finger pointing more to the left, more in the direction I should have maintained. Streams of other runners were coming back from that direction. A quick check with one of them confirmed that K13 was indeed down there. Off I plodded again.

K13 was even busier, like Piccadilly Circus. I made way for the proper runners to clip their tallies first while I took a few pictures. We couldn’t have these proper athletes being held up by an incapable rank amateur of such monumental incompetence.

Ian Winterburn leaves K13 going clockwise.

From K13 I set my compass on a NW heading and made a beeline uphill and across the top over terrain that could only be tripped over, on the way getting overtaken by the final anticlockwise runner. I was now bringing up the rear. My compass bearing took me straight to the steep valley that hid K8. Here I had my last human contact as the last of the clockwise runners climbed up in the opposite direction (see top picture). (At this stage I was pleased to have chosen anticlockwise; I didn't envy the clockwise runners who had difficulty finding this checkpoint.)

A very difficult crossing of a snow-covered boulder field in a northerly direction, where legs disappeared down holes and running was quite impossible, brought me eventually (thankfully without any broken bones) to K6. I looked behind to where I’d come from. The expansive fells were devoid of any other human life.

K5 was still on the same heading. I looked at the horizon to pick out a feature to aim for as I picked my way precariously across the boulder field with its copious man traps. There were so many opportunities to break a leg or an ankle that great attention had to be paid to each footfall. Running was impossible. Did I mention that? I hit the fence and descended the sloppy muddy hill to cross a small river (later found out to be the River Kinder with Kinder Downfall at its head). I climbed the equally sloppy opposite side of the valley and continued upwards. I was halfway up the next 'mountain' when I checked my map, wondering when K5 was going to appear. It should have been well before the river crossing. The air turned blue.

I turned around and slid back down the hill, across the river and back up the other side. I eventually came upon K5, nestling discreetly at the base of the rock where Andy had secreted it. Not only can I not run and navigate, I can’t walk and spot anonymous, almost hidden micro orienteering flags either. I've been far too used all these years to checkpoint locations shouting at me on the events I do. Did I say I have a lot to learn?

I turned back downhill to repeat my journey across and up to the next control at the foot of the crag. The geographical location was obvious and brightly sunlit, so K1 was easy to find despite its diminutive proportions.

K1 and the way ahead.

K2 would be easy to find. It was just a contour along the hillside in a westerly direction to a stream source. I followed the trod in the snow, enjoying the warm sunshine along the way. I came upon the stream source. There were footprints all around. I added to them copiously. I stood on high and scanned downwards. Nothing. I went lower down and scanned upwards. Still nothing. I must have missed the control at an earlier stream source as I concentrated on placing my footfalls safely. The air became blue again. I turned around and plodded back almost to K1 while scanning every little valley and depression for that elusive flag. NOTHING. The blue turned to indigo as I convinced myself that the previous runner must have thought he was the last one and was doing a tidying-up job for Andy.

I turned around again and plodded slowly back to the stream source while rehearsing my excuse speech for Andy as to why I could not get all the controls. I scanned around one final time. Still nothing. I carried on. Ten yards further on was another stream source. There was K2 basking in the sunlight and laughing at me in all its dinky glory.

K2 mocked me, oh yes it did.

K3 in a south-westerly direction was easy to find (at least the boulder under which it retired shyly was easy to find). A sheep viewed me suspiciously as I went about my important business of bringing up the rear.

From K3 a traverse westwards and a steep descent to cross the inlet to the Kinder Reservoir brought me to the footbridge and climb up the other side. The footpath ascent to the shooting cabin brought the final control, K4, camouflaged nicely in shadow around the back. From there it was an easy run down the Snake Path back to Hayfield, except that I walked most of it. I was too drained by the previous four hours plus of hard slog across that terrain. There was no point in finishing myself off completely. The débâcle would not be turned into any less of a débâcle by any attempt at personal competitiveness at this irretrievable stage of the game. Anyway I might twist an ankle on a pebble on my way back to Hayfield and that would just add insult to injury, so I continued to do what I do best: PLOD and enjoy the views. I did save myself for a half-arsed trot up the steps to the scout hut though, just to convince myself and anyone else who happened to be watching that I'd given it my best shot, which you might say had already landed in my foot.

Strangely enough, most of my lost time was caused by failing to find controls even though I was on the correct route. With the two detours and all the to-ing and fro-ing I probably covered 13 miles. Perhaps if I ever do one of these again, my eyes might be better tuned to spot the small controls and to look sooner. I’m not used to events where checkpoints are so close together and so inconspicuous. It can only get better next time. I am even more in awe of those who can do these events so quickly.

Many thanks go to Andy and crew for allowing me another new experience. The home made broccoli soup back in the scout hut was excellent too.

I finished the ordeal unscathed, then back home I smashed my middle left toe on the edge of the bath as I climbed in. The various shades of red, purple and black provide an extended reminder of a rather special day in my life ;-)

We were blessed with an amazing day with amazing views to behold. Here's the best of the pictures I took.

The Hebden 22mi. 21/01/2012.

2012-01-28T19:02:00.003Z

The rain was kind enough to leave a window of dryness for most of us, but the wind, oh the wind (no baked beans or sprouts involved). It was enough to knock us off our feet. The mud we expect in Calderdale in winter, but even that was as bad as it could possibly be. Put the two together and you get slip-sliding and no traction, which requires much pusseyfooting. The inevitable result is slower times.

I had decided to go all out for a fastest possible time, such that I sampled not one morsel or drop from any of the checkpoints (I know, this strategy is criminal on The Hebden). I kept myself lean and mean with energy gels and my own electrolyte and water, and devoted every second to getting myself around the route back to Mytholmroyd. The result was a decidedly average (for me) 4:30. As always, it was the best I could manage. I have always run at my limit on this one.

Then followed nearly 3 hours of chatting with folk and refuelling on the wonderful comestibles (which always include mulled wine as an aperitif, would you believe). The post-race 'do' is half the reason why I come back year after year. I know of no event with such attention to detail that goes to such lengths to delight us. I'm not surprised it now sells out, even without promotion or issue of entry forms now.

Homemade crumble with proper custard. They spoil us.

Heartfelt thanks and big accolades once again to Alan Greenwood, Carole Engel and their ARMY of cheerful helpers. If you don't do this one you're missing out!

Predictably, my pictures are mostly before and after.

That's 2012 sorted

2012-01-22T18:45:00.000Z

There was a sea of pink refusals last Friday in the UTMB lottery draw. I don't see how they can sustain automatic entry in the following year for all refusals. By 2014, possibly 2015, I would not be surprised to sea an increased chance of entry rather than automatic entry after a refusal. My entry of last year only came after a refusal the previous year, but the sea of pink this year was staggering in comparison.

Commiserations to all those Ultra junkies out there who didn't have a backup plan. Fortunately I did, and this is how 2012 is looking so far:

08/01/2012 Belle Vue Racers - HIT THE TRAIL 5mi. Reddish Vale 0:38:59

14/01/2012 Woodbank Parkrun 5k 3.125mi. Woodbank Park 0:23:10
15/01/2012 Lamb's Longer Leg fell race 3.125mi. Hayfield 0:39:50

21/01/2012 The Hebden 22mi. Mytholmroyd 4:30

28/01/2012 Kinder Trial fell race >11mi. Hayfield

04/02/2012 Rombald Stride 23mi. Guiseley

11/02/2012 Anglezarke Amble 24mi. Rivington

04/03/2012 The Peelers' Hike 22mi. Bury

10/03/2012 Wuthering Hike 32mi. Haworth

14/04/2012 34th Calderdale Hike 37mi. Sowerby Bridge

21/04/2012 Woodbank Parkrun 5k 3.125mi. Woodbank Park
22/04/2012 Kinder Downfall fell race 9.6mi. Hayfield

28/04/2012 50th Fellsman 61mi. Ingleton

12/05/2012 Might Contain Nuts Brecon 40 40mi. Talybont on Usk

27/05/2012 Shires and Spires Northants Ultra 35mi. Lamport Hall, Northants

02/06/2012 LDWA Games 100 100mi. Windsor

23/06/2012 Classic Quarter 44mi. Lizard Point - Land's End

07/07/2012 Osmotherley Phoenix 33mi. Osmotherley

14/07/2012 White Peak Walk 26mi. Monyash

28/07/2012 Lakeland 50 50mi. Coniston

01/08/2012 Cracken Edge fell race 7mi. Hayfield (Wed evening)

05/08/2012 Dovedale Dipper 26mi. Hartington

11/08/2012 Long Tour of Bradwell 33mi. Bradwell

01/09/2012 Bullock Smithy Hike 56mi. Hazel Grove

15/09/2012 High Peak 40 40mi. Buxton

29/09/2012 Hardmoors 60 60mi. Saltburn - Filey

20/10/2012 Rowbotham's Round Rotherham 50mi. Wath upon Dearne

27/10/2012 Snowdonia Marathon 26.2mi. Llanberis

You've probably guessed the significance of 12 highlighted events. Runfurther comes to the rescue to rekindle old experiences and offer up some new while providing the challenge of Grand Slam #3. Who needs the UTMB anyway? ;-)

The weekend gaps will be filled in with LDWA events, fell races and Parkruns as circumstances allow and the fancy takes me, while local mid-week fell races will again be added to spice things up a bit (more).

2012, bring it on!

Lamb's Longer Leg. Sun 15/01/2012.

2012-01-18T21:11:00.001Z

A short double-header saw a Woodbank Parkrun on Saturday and the Lamb's Longer Leg fell race from just above Hayfield on Sunday. This was the first race in the Hayfield Championship. At 5k and with 290m of ascent, it qualifies as an 'AS' in the FRA calendar (categorised 'short' with the highest ascent per mile).

I parked my bicycle at the Lamb Inn for registration and went across to the kindly official sitting at the outdoor table to give my name (the race was pre-entry only). Before I could utter a word she gave me my number. Magic, I thought. I've hardly done any fell races and they know me already?

Andy Butler and Barny Crawshaw were two runners I recognised among 82 who were also ready to take on the frozen ground and icy wind. This was Barny's first race last year and he finished close to the back. Better things were expected this time after a year's racing.

A half-mile jog down the main road brought us to the uphill track and start of the race. Although the jellification of my legs had subsided after the hour-long uphill cycle ride there culminating in the slog up from Hayfield, I was probably still a little depleted. We were sent on our way uphill, to begin the steeply up-and-down theme for the duration. Barny soon overtook me as I began to burn up with the effort; perhaps I should have removed one of my cycling tops before starting. The icy wind on the tops provided welcome relief as it chilled the sweat.

We ran, climbed, hauled our way up and down the fells, often sliding on the frozen ground while following the little marker flags or other runners in front. Marshals gave advice, directions and enthusiastic encouragement at every turn, while photographers and videoers captured the proceedings. I was getting overtaken most of the time, but on the final tussocky climb I caught and overtook Barny. My 'lead' didn't last for long. Shortly after we'd begun the final long descent to the pub, he overtook me again. I was red-lining and had nothing left with which to respond as I watched him (along with others) slowly pull away into the distance to smash last year's time with a 39:22 finish. Superb effort Barny. I hauled in a little later in 39:50 to earn me almost a bottom quarter finish. Smashing. Compare that with the 23:10 from the previous day's 5k and you get an idea for the influence of ascent on speed.

Now if I drive there next time I might knock a few seconds off that time, but I don't think it will be anywhere near as satisfying. The slog up there via New Mills and Hayfield, the fell race, the roast beef dinner in the Lamb Inn afterwards (superb) and the downhill blast back home via Buxworth made for a worthwhile outing, with still enough time left in the day to catch up with all the weeekend chores.

Some pictures were taken by Mark Fermer, while Helen Spiegl went seriously professional and plentiful with her offerings.

Richard Seipp put together a very good video. Unfortunately I was not sufficiently elite to warrant an appearance; he probably got cold and went home ;-)

2011 becomes 2012.

2012-01-15T20:50:00.001Z

2011

2011 ended on a positive note with two more Woodbank Parkruns squeezed in over the holiday. I managed only my second sub-23 time on New Year’s Eve – just 3 seconds outside the recent PB. The holiday's excesses can't have been too excessive. This final run was also the first and probably the last time when both of my brothers joined me on the same event. What a brill conclusion to the year.

2011 was a magical year with races and faces old and new and amazing weather for the most part. It was magical from the people perspective, with friends to meet on most weekends. The camaraderie and friendship between runners regardless of ability cannot be overstated. There are no barriers; we just do the same thing at whatever speed our genes (plus a bit of training) allow. We still have the same experiences, insights and emotions. There is an unspoken understanding through our common activity that links us. Throw into that mix the post-Ultra surge of endorphins as we reminisce over tea, pie and cake and it is easy to see how we may have a healthy addiction going on.

As each year passes, races fill quicker, winning times get faster and competition increases as more runners who don’t want to miss out “‘ave some of that”. I completed my second Runfurther Grand Slam more comfortably than the first despite it being more intense. This was thanks to keeping healthy throughout with not even a sniffle to worry about. The luck stayed with me with the rapid recovery from the shin injury that forced me to abandon my UTMB (even after a second DNF, the UTMB still holds magical memories and extends a strong draw to me to return to finally get it done).

Some 2011 events that stand out in my mind are the Rainow 5 fell race, Housman 100, Lakeland 100 and Round Rotherham 50. Looking back at the number of pictures taken by others reminds me of how much I did throughout the year. The one taken as I’m a few yards from last month’s 5k PB is priceless. Parkrun Pam captured perfectly the look of serene relaxation that hid the turmoil within as I just about held it together until the line. Armada Photography excelled themselves once again with their Round Rotherham pictures. Runfurther Karen snapped away at Howtown on the Lakeland 100 as I lamented the impending tortuous drag up to High Kop (with a smile on my face), while Harsharn Gill captured the moment of triumph at the final dib of a very long journey.

Here are some statistics to conclude 2011:

Number of runs/events: 51
Total distance: 1,573 miles (including a few 2-mile commutes and a handful of local runs)
Number of PBs: 5 (first-time events not considered)
Number of Ultras: 16
Total number of Ultras since my first Bullock Smithy Hike in 1996: 142
Number of marathons?: I never began counting.

2012 begins with Belle Vue Racers HIT THE TRAIL 5

The arrival of 2012 saw me get my first cold in well over a year, ruining my plans to run the Ovenden Fell Race on Sunday 8th. However, after a slightly more comfortable night on Saturday I did decide to run a more local race in Reddish Vale Country Park – something a little less intense to burn the infection out of me without doing too much damage (hopefully). The 3 mile jog there to EOD left me feeling a little drained but I firmly believed from previous experiences that the exercise would do me good and accelerate my return to fitness. The EODs were unprecedented and the organisers ran out of numbers. Luckily it wasn’t raining because the surplus entry forms with handwritten numbers would not have lasted very long.

As I stood waiting to start and chatted with Percy (from last month’s Gravy Pud fell race), my heart was ticking over at 111bpm after the effort of getting to the race and jogging around a bit. Once off and plodding along, it was hitting the end stops (high 180s) at far too slow a pace. It was obvious that my body was fighting a foe from within, but it still felt better to be outside running than being stuck indoors.

This 5-miler is a very friendly, well marshalled race and it was great to see a part of Stockport I’ve never seen before. Tom Snaith from Stockport Harriers was doing his familiar sterling marshalling job alongside the many other marshals. The route started at the bottom of Tiviot Way near the Portwood roundabout and Tesco Extra and wound in and out up the Reddish Vale valley to the viaduct. Under one arch we went, round and back onto the return leg that began with a short sharp climb up steps (I confess I had to walk). With loops in and out, up and down added in to make the distance up to 5 miles, we eventually crossed over to the right hand side of the river and continued virtually to the start point before turning right on the path for an uphill finish close to Reddish Road. My finishing time of 38:59 was better than I could have hoped for in the circumstances. ‘Plod Queen’ from the forums made my acquaintance afterwards (lovely to meet you PQ). There was talk of Bullock Smithy Hiking and other exciting things Ultra related. I’m sure our paths will cross again soon.

The 3 mile journey back home in the drizzle left me wanting. There was nothing left to run (I did try several times), so I walked. I felt as though I’d run a Hundred. I had to go to bed in the afternoon to recover a little from the effort. My heart rate remained raised into the next day, but a couple of days later I hardly knew I'd been ill. The accelerated banishment had succeeded.

What the rest of 2012 holds for me remains to be seen. I put my name in the Western States 100 hat but such dreams were dashed when my 7% chance of getting through the lottery went as expected last November. I applied for the UTMB too. The lottery is on the 20th January. If only nature had blessed me with the speed gene I might have found myself in the privileged position of already having a place allocated to me in both races, but since I don't, I join everyone else grovelling for those increasingly rare places.

January 20th is the major decision crossroads of 2012. If I do get through the lottery, the UTMB will become my number 1 priority. I would not attempt a Runfurther Grand Slam as well like I did last year. I couldn't anyway because the Bullock Smithy Hike is back in the series and it's the weekend after UTMB. On the other hand, even though the chances are so much better at “less than 1 in 2”, if when the expected happens and I don't get in, the Runfurther series is my oyster. “Grand Slam number 3, here I come.” It will be the only thing I can aspire to.

Regardless of what transpires on the 20th I shall be doing plenty of my favourite Runfurther races, LDWA events, the LDWA Games 100 and Snowdonia Marathon. I intend to replace some of the longer events with more short sharp races like local fell races and the Parkrun. I've already entered this month's local Hayfield fell race events (Lamb's Longer Leg just run). Not only that, I need to get back to some weekday running and, dare I say it, circuit training, which I abandoned several years ago. All of that would require a change in my lifestyle of recent years. Things will have to give to make room for this. The one thing that needs to give the most is computer time and that includes blogging. Don't be surprised if I go quiet. If I do, I'm probably getting faster.

Tour de Helvellyn 38mi. 17/12/2011.

2012-01-04T21:36:00.000Z

At the beginning of the week the forecast was looking ominous and I wasn't even sure if I'd complete the car journey to Askham. Come Friday 16th, the low pressure was tracking a few hundred miles further south and the predicted hurricane force winds and rain had given way to snow on a light breeze. Fortunately the roads remained mainly clear. Even though it had snowed virtually all day in Stockport, by the time I arrived in Askham with daylight to spare there had been no snow or rain and the fields were green. It felt positively balmy compared to a year earlier.

After an excellent dinner and good night's sleep in the Queen's Head, I popped next door to the village hall to get registered. I had the essential survival rations and kit for a winter's day in the Lake District hills, ready for the kit check. I reckoned on a 07:30 departure to get me to the 10am opening of the checkpoint at Patterdale, 10 miles in. That plan disappeared out the window. It was a grand reunion of familiar ultra running faces plus a few new ones to get acquainted with, so there was plenty of chatting to be done. Time slipped by before I got to ask the kit checker what he wanted to see. “You're alright”, came the reply. “I saw you pack your rucksack earlier.” I suppose it was looking well fed. (Previous form may also have given some 'benefit of the doubt’.) This is one aspect of the low-key nature of this event, which is why I like it so much. We are treated like responsible adults who know how to take care of ourselves in bleak winter wilderness. We know the score when we read the entry requirements before we put pen to cheque.

At 07:49, I and a few others skidded our way outside onto the lane out of Askham towards Askham Moor. It was just cold enough to freeze and the icy roads were lethal, requiring us to seek out any bit of grass, frozen mud or verge in order to remain upright. As we crunched through the frozen puddles onto Askham Moor, the horses, which appeared only as black silhouettes in the dark blue frigid early dawn, seemed to get excited and joined us running in the same direction. I noticed how they also trod carefully around the big icy skins that gave way noisily under their hooves.

The low level running below the snow line past Ullswater to CP1 at Martindale church (6mi.) was easy compared to last year. Last year's sheet ice hidden by fresh snow was replaced by flowing water and mud. The climb over Boredale Hause to CP2 at Patterdale (10mi.) introduced us to the first snow, but nothing to cause any problems. I was amazed to arrive at CP2 on the dot of the 10am opening time. I couldn't have timed it better if I'd tried.

Matt Neale arrives at CP2 @ Patterdale.

Leaving Glenridding and climbing past the youth hostel brought us to the snow line and the first deep, un-melted snow. I'd been dying to try on my Kahtoola microspikes since buying them after last year's T de H, so time to transfer some weight from my rucksack to my Walsh Spirit Peaks. The vastly improved grip gave me instant confidence. I was able to sprint up the icy hill for a brief instant until the exertion caught up with me (I had just rested to put them on so I had 5 seconds-worth of half decent effort at my disposal). As I was passed by the later-starting speedsters, I in turn passed others who were climbing to indulge in their own winter sporting activities. Skis, ski poles and a snow board were in evidence. The sun tried to shine but as we climbed, the weather seemed to be closing in and the wind was rising. The route up ahead disappeared into whiteout conditions as we approached CP3 at Swart Beck (13.3mi.).

CP3 @ Swart Beck.

Route choices varied as we climbed from CP3. The correct path was invisible so you took your choice, reading the terrain and following contours that took you in the general direction you needed to go. It was advisable to avoid low-lying, concave expanses of pristine snow. These signified potential deep snow drifts that hid invisible traps of indeterminate depth. Higher, convex ground, possibly with bits of exposed rock blown clear by the wind, offered firmer footing with little chance of getting lost without trace. (OK, I exaggerate a little, but not much. Afterwards I heard of one who took a low level luxuriantly soft route, which happened to be hiding a waterlogged bog. He went in up to his waist with his feet in water.)

Sometimes we had to traverse deep snowfields. It was fun to tread as lightly as possible while trying to run. Usually my feet would sink a couple of inches and hold. Sometimes the 'hold' suddenly let go and I descended on a one-legged elevator to compaction, which fortunately had a dry extremity every time. Sometimes we had to descend into a clough and climb a snow cliff on the other side. At times like that I was thankful that I wasn't a front runner and I was able to use the foot holds that had already been kicked into the snow wall. I don't know how the leaders managed to break trail and remain in the lead without going off course or burning themselves out with the increased effort.

As we ascended into thick cloud and micro ice pellets driven on gale force wind, I realised that I was recognising nothing from last year. My photograph-taking stopped in the interests of concentration and survival. We had chosen a lower level route closer to the valley on our left that required a later steep climb to the right back onto higher ground. Once there I still didn't recognise anything, probably because I couldn't see much. Wiping the ice pellets off my glasses helped marginally, but it was still a struggle to follow the trodden path visually. The best indication of straying from the path was finding myself trudging through deep stuff. A brief pause and survey of the ground brought me back to the trodden path that I trusted would lead me to safety. Topping out at the pass between Raise and Stybarrow Dodd (I could hardly see 10 yards ahead, let alone those peaks) I was being overtaken by other runners but I could not keep up with them as they vanished into the white featureless murk. Some skiers walking up in the opposite direction reassured me that I was on the right path. Asking one if she had passed other runners and getting the reply: “Yes, loads”, provided the ultimate reassurance. The descent finally brought me out of the cloud and wind and back in sight of others, with whom I was catching up again. Descending from the snow line, my micro spikes gripped the wet grass and mud better than their shoes were doing. They involuntarily sat down repeatedly while I let gravity take me to CP4 at Stanah (16mi.). The ice pellets melted from my cap and clothing and the water dripped off me as if I had just run through a rain storm.

Just like last year, the effort to get me this far had left me feeling wasted. Just like last year I trudged the 'easy' flat section around the back of Helvellyn towards Dunmail Raise as my battery (a clapped-out relic with a couple of dead cells from the chuffing 2CV that almost powers me) slowly recharged. I passed though CP5 at The Swirls carpark (17.5 miles). I enjoyed the scenic permissive footpath that took us off the boring forestry track. Photograph-taking was getting out of control as I grabbed any excuse to rest for just a few more seconds. This year I found CP6 at the bridge at Homesdale Green (20.5mi.) before Dunmail Raise. Just like last year, other runners continued to overtake me, but the torrent had now become a trickle.

Runner and Thirlmere.

By the time I turned left up the right-hand side of Raise Beck with Steel Fell looming behind me, I felt more energised for the climb to Grisedale Tarn. Passing the snow line brought out the Kahtoolas for the second time. I felt a lot warmer than I did last year, probably because it was 10 deg C warmer, more than that if last year's wind chill is taken into account. Topping out at the pass between Dollywaggon Pike and Seat Sandal finally brought Grisedale Tarn into view. It looked a lot bigger this year because it was all liquid and not snow covered. I gawped in wonderment at the view and worked out where to go next. My trod through the snow had petered out and the path shown on the map beside the tarn was a long way below. Deep snow drifts separated me from it. I let myself go with gravity-assisted reckless abandon. It was like running down firm sand dunes, where every step would be cushioned. I kept stopping and looking around to take in (and photograph) unique views I hardly ever get to see. I felt warm and contented compared to last year's run-for-survival at this point, so warm were these sub-zero temperatures in comparison.

Grisedale Tarn was much warmer this year.

As I approached the top of Grisedale, a patch of colour opened up in front of me in an otherwise monochromatic world (see top photo). The cloud ahead was breaking to reveal a patch of blue sky, green hills and golden sunlight upon them. As I stopped repeatedly to stuff more megabytes onto a memory card already creaking under the strain, my next pursuer, seen since the pass, drew ever closer. He finally overtook me on the run in towards Patterdale.

By CP 7 at Patterdale (27mi.) the sky had cleared and it seemed just like last year. The one difference was that the water containers were not freezing. I refilled my water bottles, downed a cup of sweet tea and pulled out a cremated Chicken Kiev left over from a few days earlier to power me on the last major climb. With head torch fitted in readiness for the impending darkness I set off at just before 4pm. I stopped, stared and photographed as I climbed to Boredale Hause to survey the cold, dimly blue lit winter scene before me. I made use of every last photon from the long-since set sun behind me. Once over the top and with daylight all but gone, I put the camera away and got on with the job of running. There was just enough light remaining for me to run incognito down Boredale without turning on my head torch, to catch and overtake the group I'd seen ahead. It's an ultra runner thing, not to get one over on others but to eke the best out of ourselves with our own little competition ‘mind games’.

Boredale Hause in the last remnants of dusk light. The sun had long set behind me.

They began to catch me again as I fumbled with the paperwork through thickly gloved hands at CP8 at Martindale Church (31mi.). I'd caught up with another couple of runners here but they set off on the higher, less undulating, longer-way-round route while I set off down the lane. As I jogged along in the bottom of the valley with head torch switched off, I glanced across to my right and saw their lights behind me up the hill. I'd definitely gained on them. I entered the field to climb the path past the outdoor centre to regain the path that my latest pursuers were already on. I was well fuelled and kept the run going, even uphill, would you believe. I eventually plucked up the courage to look behind me (after first turning off my head torch). There were no lights. This spurred me on to try even harder to make sure it stayed that way. A small pocket of orange sodium vapour civilisation twinkled across Ullswater to my left and shimmered in the water as I jogged on with continued vigour towards Askham Moor in pursuit of more runners to catch, without getting caught myself.

I had another pair of lights in sight ahead when there was a slight hiccup at the track junction beside “The Cockpit” and “Pile of stones” shown on the OS map. I had dithered then decided that I needed to continue ahead, when the two lights ran back in the opposite direction to meet me. During further dithering, my pursuers drew closer again. We had to get moving. I set off to lead the way along the path that the other two had just run back. It went on approximately the right heading, as long as it veered left before too long. It did, and I recalled the watery underfoot conditions I had traversed in the opposite direction nearly ten hours earlier.

Nigel, Steve and I ran as a threesome up the moor to stay ahead of the chasing lights. We missed the minor footpath that cut the corner to the right (no footprints in the snow to follow this year like there were last year). The horses were now on the top of the moor, eyes glowing in our torch light and nostrils blowing water vapour. They trotted back and forth as excitedly as ever as we passed. Finally we hit the right turn after our slightly longer way round for the long gentle descent back to Askham. I glanced behind to check that our pursuers were not getting any closer.

There was no breeze and the temperature was barely freezing point. I knew from previous experience that the, , downhill ‘sprint’ to the finish would have me burning up and forced to a walk in no time. To pre-empt this undesirable state of affairs I proceeded to juggle with my accoutrements:

Remove Sealskinz waterproof mittens and hold in right hand.
Unzip waterproof jacket as far as rucksack waist strap allows.
Remove Buff from around neck, which required both hands to ease them past my glasses.
Drape Buff around right wrist (the clobber I was now carrying prevented it falling off).
Remove head torch.
Remove second Buff from head (tied pirate stylie) and add it to the collection gathering in right hand.
Replace head torch (a two-handed job, or at the least one hand plus a spare finger or two).

All of this was done on the hoof in the dark while carrying my printed Tracklogs maps and I didn’t drop a thing. Years of running ultras have given me plenty of juggling practice.

I was expecting the roads in Askham to be icy once again, but thankfully the water had dissipated during the day and we enjoyed an accident-free final run in to the village hall and an urgent appointment with the timekeeper at 18:47. Congratulatory handshakes were exchanged with Nigel and Steve before we took our choice of substantial home-made soup, bread, tea and cake. What an amazing day. Below is the essence of the note of thanks I sent to Joe, because the appreciation for what he gives us deserves wider publicity:

“Many thanks once again to Joe and the NAV4 team for providing this opportunity to play in the Lake District hills in winter and enjoy the camaraderie of like-minded people. It was even better than last year. In particular I noticed the enthusiastic support of the marshals at all of the checkpoints. The enthusiasm communicated the empathy between marshal and runner. The empathy may have been tinged with a bit of jealousy because they'd been there, done that and were probably wishing they were doing it again, with us.

The conditions above Grizedale Tarn were much less life-threatening in the temperature department but the conditions over Sticks Pass were definitely more onerous. Because I was in survival mode in the whiteout conditions, my picture-taking stopped until I had descended to sanctuary. I enjoyed trying out the Kahtoolas I bought after last year's event for the first time, though. What confidence that additional grip suddenly gave me after the youth hostel before the climb to CP3 and Sticks Pass.

The post-event soup was superb. I enjoyed the leek and potato. It was like a meal in its own right. I did not need another dinner. You may have noticed afterwards in the Queen's Head that I only needed a bag of dry roasted to soak up the wine ;-)”

I’d knocked all of seven minutes off last year’s time. I had expected more, but I am getting older and I did take 174 photos, all told. The most presentable ones are here.

To put some finishing times into context, mine was 10:58. I might possibly have got that down to 10:30-odd if I'd pushed myself to the brink all the way and taken no photographs. The winning time was 6:05, by Kim Collison, who also won the Roaches Rell Race in November (seen here on his return from Shutlingloe). First woman and 4th overall was Shona Robertson in an equally impressive 6:57.

Puma Stockport 10. 11/12/2011.

2011-12-19T21:32:00.001Z

This is a favourite 10-mile road race for many that usually enjoys crisp, sunny weather, but not this year. The wet theme was recommencing once again as we gathered on the Stockport Harriers athletics track and watched the starting arch inflate, then deflate. I wandered across to stick my ~~oar~~ finger in to see if I could help. Reset buttons were pressed, plugs, generator and fan were inspected, but nothing we did could make the generator deliver electrical power to the fan. With the start time fast approaching, the decision had to be made to drag the flaccid dirigible onto the infield and make do with a length of knotted red and white tape instead to mark the start line. News then came in that local scum-bags had stolen the drinks station that had been set up that morning, tables and all. Could it get any worse? No way! The rain, the premature deflation and the theft could not destroy the life and spirit of the Stockport 10 with its friendly and supportive marshals and its legendary goody bag.

Just before it went down.

It was nearly 10am and a capacity field was called to the start line. I stepped across onto the track and found myself at the front. Oops, how did that happen? Imposter alert! Tony Audenshaw (fellow Stockport Harrier and Emmerdale actor)’s animated commentary over the PA gave way to a countdown and hooter blast to send a capacity crowd of nearly 1000 runners on two laps of the track to spread the field before we exited into Woodbank Park. Bashir Hussain had taken over the commentary and remarked: “What an amazing sight”. I looked across to the other side of the field. He was right. A mass of colour was swarming around the track. We would lap the back-markers before exiting into the park, so marshals on the track and instructions over the PA system ensured that there were no crashes and everything went like clockwork.

Now into the park we could ‘get into the zone’ and ‘do our own thing’ to get ourselves back to the finish. At least we didn’t have to worry about the cold rain now that we were generating our own warmth. Our route zigzagged through back roads with spectators watching from their front rooms before bringing us out onto the Marple Road. A short coned-off stretch without pavement took us to the bottom and up the other side past Offerton Sand and Gravel and the petrol station. Then came the left turn and first proper downhill blast down Bong’s Road to the valley bottom, followed by a flat jog to the drinks station just before halfway. Amazingly, the marshals had managed to rustle up some more cups from somewhere, while the local cattery allowed the use of their tap water. A stone wall served as the table.

The halfway mark was passed as we began our first climb up the other side of the valley beside the road (again no pavement and the car drivers were inconvenienced; I heard one clash of door mirrors). Before the top our route mercifully turns left onto minor roads, but it still climbs. Then we enjoy another zigzagging but more undulating route along side roads on the other side of the valley, with marshals at every street corner to guide and encourage us along.

We begin our second descent and the characteristic pear-shaped dome of Pear Mill comes into view in the valley below, but we still have a way to go yet before we pass it and begin our second climb of the day, up New Zealand Road. It’s not that it’s steep but it does go on a bit, and it continues after the left turn onto Turncroft Lane. More ascending finally brings us to the entrance to Woodbank Park where we return via our outward route to the athletics field. Now, allow me if you will to indulge myself with a little personal perspective.

Two consecutive PBs on the Woodbank Parkrun in the preceding two weeks (giving me my first sub-23 on that course) made me sense that a PB was on the cards. Not only that, I’d eaten and slept well in the lead-up and I’d eased off the ‘sauce’ in a serious way (including no bottle of wine the night before like in most previous years). That sealed it. A 'PB' had to be certainty.

I set off at what felt like a comfortable pace around the track and into the park, just like I always do. I wasn’t getting overtaken by herds of runners, meaning I’d set off too fast (like I always do). By the time I’d exited the park and turned left onto Turncroft Lane, I was burning up. I’d overdressed (you guessed it, like I always do). Why do I never learn?

I adjusted my clothing and continued at a pace that felt at the limit of just sustainable for 10 miles. A steady stream of runners was overtaking me. It was all so familiar but I knew that as long as I continued to put in this effort, the PB would come. Running down Bong’s Road the fell-running legs kicked in and I passed other runners as if they were standing still. The descent was too short. Once onto the flat valley bottom, they trickled past me again as I jogged along at my limit.

At the halfway point I was taken aback by a time split of 0:37:49. Last year’s PB was 1:17:27. I didn’t think this would leave enough cushion for the inevitably slower second half, which contained both of the major climbs. I would not let up for one second, though. It's not over until it's over. I did not even allow myself the wasted effort of wiping the rain drops off my watch face to read the time until I’d ascended New Zealand road and turned left onto Turncroft Lane and was halfway up the hill to the park. “1:12:??.” My heart skipped a beat. That was better than I could have hoped for. “It's in the bag. Bring on the PB!”

I pushed even harder to make sure I didn’t let it slip through my fingers. The gradient levelled out as I entered the park. I began to overtake one or two who had overtaken me on the final climb. I glanced at my watch. “1:14:??.” Other runners jogged in the opposite direction clutching their goody bags (show-offs). I began to hear Tony’s excitable commentary drifting across the park. The stadium still seemed a long way away and time was ticking. I turned the corner and wiped the rain off my watch face one final time. “1:16:??.” That’s too close but I should just make it with seconds to spare. I beasted myself on the final push along the straight into the stadium and my heart sank. I’d forgotten that we had to turn right and do a half lap of the track to finish. Tony shouted out over the PA: “And here comes Nick Ham, ultra runner extraordinaire …..”. I missed the remainder of what he said because I was barely surviving the unplanned-for half lap of flat plod. I think he went on to pass a joke about the skeleton cycling top I was wearing. A male runner sprinted past as if he were starting a 5k. “If you can do that now you've not been trying hard enough for the past 9.9 miles”, I thought to myself with my last vestige of lucid thought. The female runner who had overtaken me on the final climb and who I'd re-overtaken in the park, overtook me for the final time just before the line. I just about held off another runner who was rapidly closing on me to cross the line and stop my stopwatch.

As I recovered in the finishing funnel queue I checked the time – 1:18:16. Well, you could have knocked me over with a feather. 50 seconds outside last year's PB. So much for abstinence and healthy living, eh? What's it to be next year, a bottle of white or red? One of each? I might just complete the set with a rosé as well and win the race.

We were presented with a medal in the form of a soap on a rope called STOCKPORT STENCH REMOVER. The always original and very quirky goody bag contained a variety of bits and pieces including lollies and 'tattoos' for the kids. Useful items included pens, a paper pad and, most importantly, a long-sleeved technical shirt in fluorescent yellow-green and black – ideal for glowing and standing out on those runs into the cool evening as daylight fades to black.

Once again the Stockport 10 did us proud. I shall be back next year for a 7th go. After a little recovery I was back on the bike to cycle home into the teeth of the cold wind and rain.

I only took a few pictures before the race this time.

Gravy Pud fell race 5+mi. 04/12/2011.

2011-12-04T19:02:00.001Z

As I drove towards Tintwistle with my headlight beams cutting through the dim light and pouring rain (it was mid morning, incidentally) and the hills disappearing into cloud, an inner voice said: "What on earth are you doing? Turn around and go back home, you fool." Before I'd had a chance to act on this 'advice', another 'voice of reason' replied: "Don't be nesh, suck it up and just get on with it. You can't back out now you've blabbed on your blog." I continued to Tintwistle as planned. By the time I arrived, the rain was now only 'spitting'.

I had nearly an hour to register, chat and keep warm in the Bull's Head pub. It was good to meet Ian Winterburn and Will Meredith once again. By the time we ventured outside for the 11am start, it actually wasn't raining! I was chatting with Percy, who had only found out about this race yesterday. This was his first race. I was impressed by his keenness for turning out on such a day. I couldn't give him any advice because I was also new to this race.

The turn-out of 168 was particularly impressive, given the weather conditions. It had rained all night (for most of the weekend in fact) and the forecast for today was bad. It was turning to sleet, hail and snow as the weekend progressed. People who had travelled over the Woodhead Pass had to negotiate wet snow on the road.

The 5 mile (approx) route was well marked and marshalled and ideal for first-timers. As most of it was on tracks and paths (most of them swilling with liquid mud today) with only a short off-path section for the hands-and-feet climb to the top of Lees Hill, it was more runnable than usual. The addition of the obligatory ups and downs made it a right lung buster (but aren't they all?).

I never cease to be impressed by the speed and fitness of the faster runners in these fell races. The leaders sprinted off up the track from the start, while I settled into my usual survival jog with a steady stream of other runners gradually overtaking. I was breathing hard and could not have gone any faster. It wasn't long before Percy caught up with me on an early climb and pulled ahead a little, but as soon as the gradient eased downwards again, I let gravity do its thing while my legs maximised the effect by braking a little here and pushing a lot there. I made up some places.

On the climb of Lees Hill I was detecting a rapid reduction in light levels. At the highest point of the course, the hail started to fall. This didn't bother me because hail bounces off without wetting you. It soon turned to rain though, and continued in that vein until the finish.

The second half of the route is not all downhill by any means. There are plenty of ups as well as sharp turns, always with a marshal to point the way. It was alright for us because we were running to keep warm. They were standing to get cold. Thank you marshals for your sacrifice on our behalf.

I was mostly holding my own in the second half, with one or two catching me and me re-overtaking or catching one or two others. Percy was still somewhere behind but I had no idea whereabouts. I could only hear anonymous pursuers near and not so near by their heavy footsteps splattering in the muddy puddles or their laboured breathing hissing through their teeth.

By the final run back down Arnfield Lane to the finish I was giving it all I had but I seemed to be moving so slowly considering the runnable downhill cobbles that were now passing beneath my feet. I'd given my all out on the course and now I had little left to give on what should have been an easy downhill sprint to the line. It felt like those dreams I used to have where I am trying to run but making no progress, as if running through treacle. The effort had left my legs feeling weak and clumsy. I felt as though I was bumbling haphazardly to the finish barely in control. For some time I had been hearing footsteps and heavy breathing from several pursuers. Now they were getting closer. I pushed a bit harder to hold them off and hoped it would be enough. I just about made it to the line before turning around and seeing Percy right there behind me. Give it 10 more yards and he would have had me. Well run Percy. You'll surely beat me next time.

The Bull's Head was crammed and buzzing afterwards as tea and cake or beer and chips were consumed. This is the small room:

There was a bring-a-cake competition for post-race sustenance. I gawped in wonderment at the creations by runners and their other halfs. Mmmmm, cake:

During the prize presentation the pub dog raced backwards and forwards barking loudly every time a round of applause went up. Many thanks to nblg for putting on such a well organised run and getting the results out so quickly. What a slick operation you run.

I was happy to finish more comfortably inside the top half than ever before in a short sharp fell race.

PBs are like buses....

2011-12-03T15:27:00.001Z

.....none for ages then two come along at once.

Last weekend I ran my local Woodbank Parkrun and surprised myself with my third (only my third) PB of the year. 23:04 was 11 seconds faster than my previous fastest for that course, which I did in June 2010. My older brother joined me for his first running of this Parkrun with its two big hills, and beat me by 1 minute and 8 seconds. I knew he would probably be faster than I but the fact that the difference was so big came as a bit of a shock. It just proves the benefit of daily shorter runs - which my brother is far more committed to keep doing - over my usual one long run (sometimes very long run) per week for producing speed. Well done Julian!

Wind forward to today and I found myself running Woodbank again, having been telling myself all week that last weekend's result wasn't a fluke just because I saw my brother slowly disappearing into the distance, causing me to push that little bit harder. No, I always push hard, brother or no brother.

I know myself well because I was right. I got my 4th PB of 2011 with a 22:49 finish - 15 seconds faster this time. This increase in speed is becoming meteoric. Where could it take me, to hell and back or over the moon? I think the latter.

Tomorrow will be another short blast, this time on the Gravy Pud fell race. Although I don't sound like one, I am a northern boy and I do love gravy. I shall be partaking in the Bull's Head afterwards, probably in the form of a lake contained within a giant Yorkshire pudding.

Roll on to next weekend and it's the Stockport 10 on Sunday. I'll be helping out on Saturday with packing the famous goody bags. I shall get a sneak preview but my lips will remain sealed.

Moving forward to the following weekend brings the Tour de Helvellyn - a 38-mile serious undertaking in the Lake District - to begin the end-of-year wind-down with just the odd fell race over the holidays to keep me on my toes. Here's what I wrote about last year's inaugural TdH in exceptional conditions.

Watch this space.

Wensleydale Wedge 23mi. 20/11/2011.

2011-11-24T21:40:00.001Z

People were saying that 2011 provided the best weather in the history of this event, which I can quite believe. Every time I’ve run it there has been one constant – cold that gnaws into you. Add to that any number of variables – frost, snow, sleet, rain, swilling mud and wind. This year it was calm, warm and sunny with cloudless blue sky. The only cloud was at ground level in the form of fog, which clung to the valleys and sometimes wafted over the ridges. The day was pure magic and Nidderdale LDWA did us proud once again with their friendly organisation and support. It was a sell-out with no entries on the day – a good accolade for an event based in Askrigg, which could be regarded as being a bit out of the way. For most it takes considerable effort to get there, do the event and get back home in one day.

Although we ran through some wet and muddy patches it was nowhere near as liquid as in previous years. The low river levels in the valleys and the dried-up stream bed reminded me once again of the lack of substantial rain this year. We don’t often get to see such low river levels in summer, let alone in late November.

Martin Dietrich arrives at checkpoint 3.

People who have done this event in recent years will have noticed the evolution of the rocky ATV track on the descent into Thoralby, which merges and unmerges with ‘our’ footpath. It finally led me astray this year. I had just been caught up by another runner at CP4. Shortly afterwards, the grassy bridleway forked left on a gentle ascent across the moor. We didn’t recognise this so we backtracked to the rocky track to continue our descent down that. He soon disappeared into the fog as we descended and I found myself alone, running down a track I did not recognise. I passed a couple of horses, one doing the usual Jake the Peg impersonation, like they do.

I came to a fork and took the left across the stream. I felt unsure so I dithered and backtracked. I finally got my map out but I could not make my plotted route fit what I was seeing. I checked my compass and confirmed that I was descending in the correct direction (NE), so I carried on. No-one had caught me up like should have happened with all my dithering, which added to my concern. The track became a tarmac lane, whereas the track I should have been on turns sharp right and left with steep rocky descent to the tarmac, where I would turn left.

I jogged on, hoping that all would become clear. Two workmen on my right were smiling as I passed. The smiles might have been leers and a sarcastic comment might have been on the tips of their tongues. I offered a friendly “Hello” to test them and got the same in return, from both of them! The warm November sun must be doing some good, I thought. I passed some discarded fluorescent fittings on my left (4' singles, tubes included, since you ask). They looked perfectly serviceable and I thought they might come in handy one day, but I was already carrying two drink bottles and might have struggled to carry them. I passed them by with a heavy heart. ;-)

Shortly I saw some other runners ahead descending from the left to the lane I was on. I realised what had happened. I had somehow found myself on the alternative right-hand parallel descent down Side Road, which I had always been aware of on the map but never taken. Now I’d taken it by accident. It was good to try out the alternative for the first time, even though it was inadvertent. I might just take it every time from now on as there is little to choose between it and the intended Haw Lane descent, and there is no proscribed route description to oblige us to take a particular route.

I arrived at CP5 in Thoralby Village Hall, a fraction under halfway, in 2:05 or so, having wasted what must have been 10 minutes with my navigational dithering. Since I always slow down as events progress, I knew already that my PB of 4:04 was way outside my grasp. Still, so what? The day was beautiful and I would get to spend longer out in it, innit?

As I crossed the main road at Aysgarth to the church drive, the bells began to peel to call everyone to the Sunday service. I have not heard this for a good few years. I must have been late enough this year to hear them once again. The lopped trees that lined the drive still had plenty of green leaves, which contrasted well with the golden colours of autumn on others – not bad for late November. The absence of frost so far has delayed the fall.

The church near Aysgarth.

There was no point in pushing for a time since it had already slipped through my fingers, so instead of turning right up the road to take the most direct line to CP7 like I and most others do, I decided to carry straight on and check out the footpath up through the woods towards the canal, to descend back down to the checkpoint from the other side. Someone in the car park at the top said: “Oh, you’re doing that Wensleydale Wedge, aren’t you? How’s it going?” “It’s a lovely day for a bimble”, or words to that effect, came my reply. I took Adrian Dixon by surprise as I sneaked up on his checkpoint from behind, having gone the long way ‘round.

As I emerged from our latest fog blanket, Bolton Castle, the position of the next manned checkpoint, glowed on the other side of the valley as it basked in permanent sunshine. My legs were leaden as usual and I walked at 3.5mph or shuffled at 4.5mph for as long as I could switch my mind off the discomfort. I was enjoying taking photographs to provide some sort of excuse for my turn of slowness. I glanced at my watch and suspected that even a sub 4:30 finish was out of the question. Other runners had been overtaking me since the start but I had been alone for a while now. I walked up past the castle to CP9 at Castle Bolton, getting caught and catching up at the same time. I had company once again.

Bolton Castle basks in the late November sunshine.

Checkpoint 9 at Castle Bolton.

I wasted little time in setting off on the final 7 miles westwards to the finish in zero wind and warm sunshine. The fog bank was never far away across the valley to our left, but the escarpment to our right glowed brightly in the low winter sunshine. A group of four runners (two men and two women) overtook and slowly pulled away as I shuffled pathetically on heavy legs along the long, undulating green path. A rocky stream bed that descended from the escarpment on the right was dry. The old lead mine workings were the driest I’ve ever seen them.

Ivy Scar and disused lead mine workings.

Shortly before the final checkpoint, CP10 at Heugh, Ken and Jenny caught up with me. Jenny asked how I was doing and I had a bit of a whinge to vent my frustration about legs that had refused to cooperate for most of the day (sorry Jenny). I used Ken and Jenny as incentive to pull me into the checkpoint, pausing only long enough to get my tally clipped and take a couple of pictures. I glanced at my watch and realised that sub 4:30 might be on the cards after all, but I’d have to push hard and would not know for certain until I’d hit the road and crested the final rise before the village hall.

Leaving checkpoint 10; 1.2 miles to the finish.

I set off on the final 1.2 miles of (mostly) downhill to the finish. At last, some lovely grassy downhills and technical path through the woods to let gravity take me. I suddenly found myself bounding past the others who had overtaken me on the slog from Castle Bolton. For the first time the running was flowing relatively freely as we ran across the fields and squeezed through the wall stiles, holding the hand gates open for each other. As I worked my way through the other runners and built up a bit of a lead, holding hand gates open was no longer necessary and I could really let myself fly. It was just past midday, the sun was at full strength (such as it can be in winter) and there was no breeze. It felt like a warm spring or autumn day. The effort was making me overheat. My Buff, which had been around my head as a bandanna initially to soak up the water droplets from the fog, now had to come off to aid head cooling.

I hit the road and ran downhill to the final little rise, which slowed me down alarmingly, before descending to the final left turn. Then I did something I wouldn’t normally do. I overtook another runner just 10 yards from the village hall. I couldn’t help it. I was on a roll and wasn’t going to slow down now in the interests of good manners and gentlemanly behaviour. “You first.” “No, please, after you.” I hoped he wouldn’t mind. I checked in and turned around to shake his hand and offer my congratulations as he arrived. He was cool. :-)

My time was 4:27, which was better than I had feared. However, the conditions were the best ever, yet I have run it faster on 4 occasions and slower on only 2 occasions. It’s a case of ‘must do better’. Am I finally over the hill? Judging by this year’s virtual absence of PBs, I have to assume so.

After refuelling and chatting for an hour or two, I set off on the long walk back to the car parking area in the factory yard. On the way I passed a view that I have always admired in Askrigg but have never before seen in such a good light. I got my camera out for the final time to photograph the ancient stone-flagged footpath that winds its way up the fields towards the church with the escarpment providing the backdrop.

Askrigg in November.

Here is the crop of the pictures.

Roaches Fell Race 15mi. + Runfurther prizegiving. 13/11/2011.

2011-11-18T19:07:00.001Z

The back-to-back event weekend had to be done since the Runfurther prizegiving had reverted to its roots by following 'Roaches'. I enjoyed the opportunity to run it again, which I have done every other year since 2007.

The route is an out-and back from Meerbrook Village Hall across some private farmland to access the Roaches ridge along to the end before descending through the woods towards Gradbach. We ford the river (nice and low this year) to access more private farmland that takes us onto footpaths to Wilboarclough at the foot of Shutlingsloe. We then enjoy the climb all the way to the top, around the trig point and back the way we came. Although there is plenty of up and down along the way, it averages uphill out and downhill back, which usually results in negative splits even after tiring.

Return river crossing.

Although the weekend was mild and dry, the wind had risen and the hilltops were enshrouded in cloud. The Roaches and Shutlingsloe were not nice places to be hanging around, but the marshals had to do just that. Hats off to them. Despite the low river levels, the surface mud and some bogs were lively. Some runners went in deep, as evidenced by one who was sporting completely plastered legs at the finish. The farm close to the start and finish with its slurry tracks and hoof-hole mud-pit fields was as breathtaking as ever. Since it occurs after the second river crossing, we finish well and truly soiled. We make do with the streamlet close to the village hall for communal bathing facilities.

Post-race wash.

The out-and-back format allows me to see the real runners on their return leg. Winner Kim Collison hove into view first as I was crossing the fields just before Wildboarclough.

Kim Collison.

After the previous day's efforts my legs were feeling heavy, so I was surprised to get to the halfway point at the trig point in 1:39. It was the same as in 2009 when I hadn't run Six Dales Circuit the day before. This pleasant surprise was tempered by the fact that I did not recall my legs feeling this heavy in 2009. I tried my hardest on the return leg but I was not able even to maintain a run at all times when I should have done. Half a litre of Coke and a Nutrigrain bar limited the damage to a 1:40 return leg (my first ever slower second half). I may have finished in the bottom 22% but it wasn't all bad. I was still 2 minutes faster than in 2007 when I last ran it the day after Six Dales Circuit. We must be thankful for small mercies.

I hung around, chatted and drank tea afterwards to wait for the Runfurther presentation and cake scoffing. Karen McDonald and team have done another great job this year and the Runfurther sponsors have done us proud. There were some impressive athletic achievements from the biggest ever field of runners. Although several winners were present, it's a shame that more of them could not be there to receive their prizes.

I always know I can never win any running prizes with my lack of speed, which is why I felt especially lucky and privileged to have remained fit and healthy to complete the Grand Slam without any issues. This year went a lot more smoothly than my first grand slam in 2009, when the wheels were falling off at Pumlumon and they lost some spokes as well at the High Peak 40. It so nearly didn't happen then. Now I have two under my belt. Woo-hoo!

Comparing 2009 and 2011 I'd have to say that this Grand Slam has been the more challenging of the two, with tougher events and more of them falling on consecutive weekends. The first challenge, which I have to say daunted me, was in April to June, with Highland Fling 53 on 30/04, Marlborough Downs Challenge 33 on 14/05, Brecon 40 on 21/05, Housman 100 (my choice) on 28/05 and Northants Ultra 35 on 05/06. I find it difficult to believe now but I sailed through them unscathed, getting stronger as I progressed. Then I went away on international business travel and did nothing for a month. Come Osmotherley Phoenix, my fitness had escaped me and I bagged myself a PW.

[Incidentally, my PB for this event occurred after running Western States 100 on the previous weekend, and I PB'd on that too! There's no substitute for keeping it up (missus).]

The next challenge was running Long Tour of Bradwell 33 on the weekend after Lakeland 100. There were no issues there either. As far as my body is concerned the events are just my weekend job. It's all part of the routine that I've grown accustomed to. If I don't do them my ability to do them soon reduces within a week or two. The more I do the more I can do.

For my 2011 full set of Runfurther 'weekends at the office' I got a box of Clif Bars (always appreciated for ultra-running fuel), padded Injinji toe socks (always appreciated for comfy tootsies) and a personalised print listing this year's 12 races completed. The piece de resistance will earn me some respec wiv da yoof in the town centre and draw the attention of the CCTV cameras. The personalised Runfurther hoodie has all the races listed on the back. It will also keep me nice and warm after the winter events. It will surely come in

useful after Wensleydale Wedge this Sunday. Thank you Runfurther!

Here are the pictures.

Six Dales Circuit 25mi. 12/11/2011.

2011-11-16T20:15:00.001Z

Approaching the High Peak Trail.

This is one event I have never plotted on Tracklogs so I don’t know the true distance. However, upon finishing, the universal consensus among those with their newfangled Star Trek satellite communicators was that it was 26 miles, give or take a few steps. Not being one to exaggerate (much), I make that a marathon distance technical trail & cross-country run through six of Derbyshire’s beautiful dales. It’s fast yet testing. I keep coming back for the challenge. This was my 10th completion since 1999. It was marvellous once again to return to friends of old for a low-key LDWA walk (or run).

I had just parked in the farmer’s field ‘car park’ when Dawn ‘adventure girl’ Westrum pulled up alongside. What a pleasant surprise. We were both beginning a weekend double whammy; she would be doing a long mountain bike ride on Sunday and I would be forcing my tired legs around the Roaches Fell Race. As we left the parking field the walkers had just been sent on their way, chased along the lane by a bus. Some were normally runners but were taking it slow and easy as they nursed themselves back from injury.

Biggin Village Hall was nice and warm as we registered and waited for our send-off at 9am, by which time the fog-cum-low cloud had lifted a little. The informal “Go” was uttered and we jogged our way up the lane. I felt most disconcerted because I found myself in the lead, and no-one was overtaking. This abnormal state of affairs continued into the first dale (Biggin Dale) until one, perhaps two, trotted past on that first technical descent to put this pretender back in his rightful place. I enjoyed hopping over the slimy wet limestone at a pace that was slow and controlled enough to allow me to place each foot safely without slipping. By the right turn and easy run up through Wolfscote Dale, I was already feeling the exertion. I had to ease back a touch, at which point Geoff ‘speed goat’ Holburt sprinted past, never to be seen again until the finish.

The sun was warming and the air was calm. I couldn’t believe how warm it was for mid November. Scott Sadler had tagged along with me for route-finding and conversation as we turned right into the third dale (Beresford Dale). Roger Taylor did the same on and off, between stopping back for chats before catching us up again. We would get to finish the event as a threesome. I appreciated the rare opportunity to run a whole event with someone. Don’t get me wrong though. I hadn’t miraculously speeded up to their level. They had slowed down to mine. They were having a relaxed, non-competitive ‘recovery jog’ day with no race pressure. I on the other hand …. well, I’m sure you can guess.

I have “P” permanently etched on my left eyeball and “B” etched on the right. PBs have suddenly become like hen’s teeth this year. From 18 in 2009 and 6 in 2010 (my first ‘proper’ injury year), I only have 2 of the blighters so far this year, and one of those was for a cycle ride, which hardly counts since it involved sitting down. ;-) It has been a barren year like no other on the PB front. For the first time I have more PWs than PBs. More than ever before this had to be the usual eyeballs-out race, but only with myself. To race with anyone else would be quite futile and would only end in tears of disappointment, unbridled gene envy and spitting of dummy out of pram (would I ever!). [Dawn, just in case you were wondering, for “dummy” read “pacifier”, and “pram” is an abbreviation of “perambulator”. It is an altogether more substantial affair than your typical pushchair, sorry, ‘stroller’. ;-)]

CP1 at Hartington.

The scissor-wielding marshal was waiting for us at Checkpoint 1, Hartington, to clip our tallies. Since I was well supplied with my own food and drink I made an immediate getaway to get a few seconds’ head start on Scott and Roger. A minor hiccup in Hartington village (my brain was dulled from the extreme physical effort) soon had us climbing the lane towards the stile on the left that would launch us across more fields. We climbed to the wall corner before descending fell-run style to the valley bottom and right turn to Parsley Hay. Through the farm with ever-present barking dog and up onto the High Peak Trail we did climb. A left turn delivered us onto the barely perceptible downhill ‘easy’ run, during which I caught up with Vaughan and Anne. They would normally be running but Vaughan was recovering from injury and highly frustrated to be seeing us run past. You'll be back before you know it, Vaughan. The disused railway bed eventually brought us to the right turn and the relief of the next climb up more fields to the Bull I’ Th’ Thorn Hotel on the main road. Scott was hoping to meet his parents here but we were too early for them. Had I been too fast? Probably, because my legs were getting heavy already. As I shuffled on down the track opposite, Scott texted his parents. He soon caught me up again. By the time we arrived at Checkpoint 2, Monyash Village Hall, they were there to cheer him on. Excellent.

Once again no food or drink for me. My own supplies were doing me just fine. I set off down the road on the long stage to checkpoint 3 to let Scott catch up again, turning right down dale number 4, Lathkill Dale, which eventually brought us into No. 5 Bradford Dale (that almost flat running is so draining). Although the ground had been wet and muddy from recent rains, the rivers in the dales were either low or hidden in the limestone below ground, in stark contrast to last year when they were flooded. However I was amazed to see that the stream in Bradford Dale had also dried up. I have never seen this before, even in the height of summer in July when I do the White Peak Walk.

Dried up Bradford Dale in November!

As in most previous years I was forced to ‘regroup’ on the gentle ascent of Bradford Dale. By “regroup” I mean it was the first time when I was forced to a walk when I should have been running. I forced yet more fuel down my gullet in the regular weekend quest to coax some life back into the legs. The track curved right and climbed steeply towards Middleton. Marvellous – a real excuse this time to walk and recover. It’s what I crave and need on the events and it’s why I find flat ones so tough. A change is as good as a rest. You need hilly runs to get rests. At this point, Roger caught up again after his longest gassing absence so far. We took some catching that time, he said. Now if I hadn’t slowed down, how long would it have taken him then?

Some speedier runners were descending from Middleton as we climbed the out-and-back to Checkpoint 3 in the village hall. My only checkpoint food was taken here in the form of a handful of Satsuma segments. The climb had rejuvenated me a little and I was ready for the run back down the hill and right turn to continue our journey to the finish. According to Scott’s and Roger’s GPS, we had done 20 miles, so we had just 5 left and a little under an hour in which to do them to equal my PB of 4:23. The race was on as we three powered our way up and down the fields and lanes via dale number 6, Long Dale. “Powered” might not be entirely accurate. OK, it’s a lie. The reality is this: I struggled and failed to make two dead, heavy, leaden stumps do a half decent impersonation of a pair of runner’s legs, while Roger and Scott dutifully slowed and waited every so often for me to catch up. The time marched on ominously and I began to realise that, even at my pace, the distance must be more than 5 miles. PB time came and went as we were passing the Friden works. From then on it became a case of damage limitation to avoid being slower than in too many other years. Though Scott and Roger may find it difficult to believe, I never stopped pushing right to the end.

The final section was more like 6 miles and total GPS distance was 26 miles. Our time was 4:40. I have run four faster years – in 2004, 2005, 2006 and 2007 (PB year). Never mind. A PB is merely the cherry on the icing on the cake. I never much liked glacé cherries anyway. Most important are the personal challenge, camaraderie (thank you Scott and Roger for your company) and the wonderful countryside at our disposal in which to run. For legal access and scenery, there is nothing to compare in any other country. I’ve said it before and I shall say it again – we are truly blessed in this beautiful country.

Across the Tissington Trail to the finish.

Geoff romped home second in 4:03 or thereabouts (I think). The winning time was 4 hours (not that there is a winner in these events).

The post-event meal had three courses – soup and bread (best if you were salt deficient; even the butter seemed laden with the stuff), stew and veggies, and cold rice pudding and a selection of tinned fruit for dessert. Lashings of tea aided the rehydration. Staffordshire LDWA always does us proud, all for £7.

Roger, Dawn, Helen Skelton and I found ourselves sharing a table for post-event laughs, jokes and refuelling. Helen is this year’s female winner of the Runfurther series. She was another runner who had walked as she recovered from injury. As we dined, Helen brought up the subject of what speed would be deemed acceptable to fire off a snot rocket. Racing cyclists and runners do it with nary an eyelid batted. Being dressed for speed helps with the acceptance. Even shufflers and plodders may get away with it if they 'look the part' (take it from me). However, on this day, Helen was a walker. I never did gather whether she actually caused shocked revulsion or nearly did, but my guffaws must have caused a disturbance in that village hall. In the words of Dick Emery, “You are awful, but I like you”. :-)

The pictures I took are here.

Snowdonia Marathon. 29/10/2011.

2011-11-01T22:13:00.001Z

Once again I'd long planned to make a weekend of it in Llanberis, with a bit of a run in the middle of the proceedings to justify the gut-bashing and vocal exercise. I checked in to the Padarn Lake Hotel on Friday afternoon and immediately saw notice of our post-race entertainment. (By “our” I mean the Runner's World forumites from the 'SNOD' thread.) Stuart had joined me for the obligatory meal in Pete's Eats with any other runners we might have happened upon, after which we went to the sports centre to get registered.

I had arrived in mild, calm, sunny conditions with clear views of the summits (very rare at this time of year, in my experience). By nightfall the wind was rising and the cloud was rolling in. By Saturday morning, true to Snowdonia Marathon tradition the gale was blowing and the drizzle had long since been launched upon it. Forget the summits, even the foothills were obscured.

After pre-race photographs I walked with Blofeld (not the baddy off James Bond with fluffy white cat whose heavy-handed stroking amounts to a mauling, but Stuart) uphill to the start area. I had adopted my normal brisk walk to keep warm and was overtaking everyone else (shame I can't run faster than everyone else as well). I heard a restrained yet emphatic “Nick” from behind. Jez! The Braggster was sauntering in chilled fashion to the starting area, wrapped up against the elements with hooded waterproof and gloves. This will be the ONLY time I get to overtake Jez. We exchanged a hand-to-glove greeting and chatted for a few minutes to fill each other in on progress after our UTMB DNFs, during which Ian 'Dark Peak' Winterburn caught up and extended his greetings. He was on the look-out for Iain Ridgeway to say ‘ow do. All these people are way outside my league. As we walked and chatted I found myself in a place I had no right to be: five yards from the start line. “Oh well, what the heck”, I thought. “They’ll never know.”

Chatting with Stuart we came to the conclusion that it was too warm for wind-proof jackets because we were already comfortable while standing still. With less than two minutes to go I took mine off and stuffed it into my bum-bag. It proved to be the right decision because my long-sleeved technical top with club vest over the top, shorts, white Inov-8 cap to keep the worst of the rain off my glasses and Buff around my neck to keep wind chill at bay would serve me well and keep me comfortable throughout the race. (No, I wasn’t the barefoot runner. I did have shoes and socks on as well.)

While I enjoyed my minutes of fantasy ‘at the sharp end’ we waited for the announcements and the S4/C television crew to allow our send-off. Unlike in recent years, the air horn was sounded almost early. I started running at a pace that felt comfortable to me and found myself keeping pace with Stuart for a minute or two. I knew it could not possibly last. They always start this way. I had to ignore those around me and get on with my own race. And so began a steady overtaking for the next 22 miles.

Our route ahead up the first pass disappeared into a black pall of windblown cloud and rain. As I ran upwards I was feeling confident of a good performance and likely PB. I had got a virtual PB on the Round Rotherham and had 2 weeks to recover, with daily running to work to maintain the edge. My heart rate was at its optimum of 165bpm for maintaining decent pace and it proved that I wasn’t overdoing my early pace. I would just keep up this effort and the PB would come automatically (wouldn’t it?).

My starting so near to the front turned out to be a good move. All those I know, most of whom are faster than I am, were able to exchange a few words as they glided past me during the course of the race. Never before have I experienced such a friendly and familiar SNOD. It was brill. I even exchanged a few words with Karl Hinett when he overtook me on the first climb (see my Dovedale Dipper report). (He finished in 3:52 and would be running the Dublin Marathon on Monday 31st to keep his year's worth of weekly marathons on the go.)

I took the first descent carefully, not wanting to push the pace too much and trash myself. As in previous years a stitch started on my right hand side, but it only slowed me slightly for a minute or two before it was gone. The sharp right turn brought us into a strong head wind, which only lasted for a few yards. The off-road section that followed was welcome. I was in my element as I picked my way down the rough, technical track, letting gravity take me. Other runners were suddenly blocking my progress as it became my turn to glide past. Near to the bottom, the track became a narrow lane before climbing steeply back up to the road, after which point normality resumed and I began to get overtaken again.

The undulating road through Bryn Gwynant to Beddgelert saw me slowing a little but still making decent progress, or so I thought. I passed the halfway point in around 1:55. I was shocked that it had taken me so long after seemingly running well in the first half. I knew immediately that a sub 4 was probably out of the question because the second half of this race is slower for most, certainly for me. My legs had begun to feel heavy and stiff from the hips, just as in previous years. Although I was fit as far as heart rate went, the legs must still have had a bit of the Round Rotherham in them.

The support we received from spectators was amazing considering the rain and wind. At least we runners were keeping warm by running. They didn’t have that luxury. The sound of applause, usually the muffled wet slap of glove on glove, was never far away.

As the miles ticked by I monitored the time and began to suspect that a PW was unavoidable. 4:15 must surely be exceeded. From expecting a PB to predicting a PW was coming as a bit of a shock but I wasn’t really bothered by it. I would just do the same as I always do – always keep plugging away as best as my body allows. What will be, will be.

I had to enjoy brief walking breaks as I consumed my four gels along the way to keep myself fuelled. The last one was on the final climb at Waunfawr, which I was unable to run as much as I did last year (a PW year). Alternating between walking and shuffling I caught up with Barny C again, who had passed me some miles earlier (I can’t remember where). That came as a bit of a surprise. I thought he was gone for good.

Climbing that final hill brought us into the teeth of the ever-present gale from the right, which is worse now that most of the forest has been cleared and we can no longer enjoy its shelter. Wind chill was approaching its maximum so I started to run to keep warm as soon as the track began to level out and undulate before the slate quarry. My final gel had kicked in and I was overtaking again. Woo-hoo! By the summit a lean to the right and compensatory staggering were required to remain upright. I didn’t stop running though.

Through the gateway at the top, the path continues to undulate once or twice more before the final descent, which I'd been looking forward to all race. That final gel and the change of muscle use on the climb had left me feeling fully revived. I involuntarily reverted to fell-running mode. All the mid-race dragging my ar*se along those 'flat' bits was forgotten as I blasted downhill, weaving between the mincers and wincers, gliders and sliders, stumblers and grumblers. My new Brooks Defyance shoes were giving me amazing confidence on the wet, muddy, stony, grassy path. I didn't slip once. I was astounded to be feeling so strong, as if on a short fell race, at the 25th mile of a marathon I had run so slowly up to now. I was spotting, chasing down and picking off other runners I'd seen disappearing into the distance miles earlier as if they were now standing still, yet it was all seeming so effortless. I was just letting gravity do its job.

I hit the Tarmac and it became even steeper, such that even I had to apply the brakes a little to avoid runaway, but my well-seasoned leggies stood me in good stead to continue the overtaking all the way down to the High Street and right turn to the line, on this best of finishes of the best of marathons.

My time of 4:11 got me 638th position, which was pretty mediocre and not what I was hoping for, but at least it wasn't a PW after all, and my legs (quads, calves and knees) exhibited not one iota of soreness, DOMS or any sensation of having been used in the days that followed. 15 years of Ultras have had one benefit at least.

And how did the others do? Rather well it has to be said. Several marathon PBs were achieved among friends and forumites, on THAT course in THOSE conditions. Stuart finished 114th in 3:26 for a marathon PB. Ian finished 108th also in 3:26 on his first marathon. Iain finished 12th in 2:51. Jez finished 7th in 2:45. WHIPPETS!

The winning time was 2:36 by Rob Samuel. Second was Murray Strain in 2:38. Last year's winner Richard Gardiner finished third in 2:41.

First female was Kelly Morgan in 3:11. Hot on her heels in second was fellow Runner's World forumite Ruth Johnstone in 3:12. Hot on HER heels in third place was Ellie Sutcliffe in 3:13.

Did I mention whippets?

Pete's Eats was well patronised once again for post-race refuelling. After that came the bit I'd been waiting for all year – the Karaoke party in the Padarn Lake Hotel lounge bar. On the assumption that we would have run another wet one (we weren't disappointed) I had been dreaming all year of singing “It's Raining Again” by Supertramp. I recall looking through the MC's book of songs last year and failing to spot it. A check this year confirmed it, so I asked him. He replied that he had virtually every song we could wish for in his database, and that the list was only a small snapshot. He checked and there it was. . I hadn't sung a note since that very party a year earlier, the vocals on this one go rather high and I wasn't sure how the voice would perform, but it was so appropriate it just had to be done. I returned to our SNOD gathering to top up the Dutch courage in the form of more red wine and wait for my name to be called.

I suspect it was the first time that track had ever been accessed. It's not exactly a top Karaoke hit after all. Things were going swimmingly until the music started to falter, miss the odd fraction of a second here and there and the lyrics on the screen began to disintegrate into alien characters. Aargh. The moment I had dreamed of all year was about to fail in tatters. Luckily it didn't give up completely and we muddled through to the end. I suspect his bits must have become corrupted – seized up through lack of use by cobwebs and fluff. I'm an expert. I know these things. ;-)

Our Runner's World forumites' post-SNOD party, planned all year, rocked like never before until 12:30 (11:30 after the clocks had gone back). There were several rather excellent performances by other singers. I managed to squeeze in a few more – Elton John and Kiki Dee "Don't Go Breaking My Heart" (duet with Andrea), Neil Diamond "Beautiful Noise" (I think that was when the first of the 'laydees' got up onto the dance floor and demanded male attention; I didn't know where to put myself; she would have eaten me alive if there hadn't been witnesses), The Monkees "I'm a Believer", Queen "We Are The Champions" (a massed mauling by all the runners). X-Factor eat your heart out. It was a blast. I can't wait for SNOD 2012.

The rain had stopped, the stars were shining, the wind had dropped and it was very mild by the time we emerged. Much to our amazement the burger fan outside in the carpark was still open and serving. Being very close to the finish line it had served the crowds well during the day. Now it was aiding the runners' refuelling process, post revelry and post (ahem) imbibing. 'Dirty burgers' were consumed with relish to aid a good night's sleep and farting (there's nothing like ale and cooked onions for that, is there?).

What a weekend. I don't think it can be topped. Can it?

Rowbotham's Round Rotherham 50mi. 15/10/2011.

2011-10-19T21:57:00.000+01:00

Race 12 of 12 in the 2011 Runfurther series.

I had spent the best part of two weeks fantasising about a warm, dry, sunny Round Rotherham where the running flowed, the navigation by colourful cartoon map went flawlessly and I collapsed exhausted at the timekeeper's desk for a PB finish. Much to my amazement IT ALMOST ALL CAME TRUE!

After a comfortable night's sleep and hassle-free early exit from the Sandygate Hotel (this hotel has improved markedly since last year and is good for a sound night's sleep now that discos and parties are off the menu), I arrived at Dearne Valley College sports centre in plenty of time to see the early 6am starters off. Once they were on their way into the cold clear pre-dawn, we later starters could get registered and have a natter. I was spoilt for choice with so many well-known faces but not enough time to catch up with gossip. There was action girl extraordinaire Dawn Westrum, Runfurther Karen, two-time Grand Slammer (to all intents and purposes) Dick Scroop who does flippin' well for his age; speedy Jim Mann, Geoff Holburt, Karen Nash, Martin Beale (too preoccupied to natter), David Jelley (too busy nattering to others to natter), Roger Taylor, Fraser Hirst (just back from long haul air travel but would it slow him down?), Will Harris, Julian Brown, Greg Crowley (the other 2011 Slammer and speedy with it, but I missed him AGAIN) and Rick Ansell (not usually elusive but he was this time); Garry Scott (speeding up nicely), Jon Steele (a good turn of speed as long as it's not hot), Mike D-H (who's moving up the ranks rather well). I could go on but you're probably bored to tears already.

Ian Bishop had a black and white copy of the strip map in his hands and asked me about the changes for 2011. I fetched my colour copies and hopefully put his mind at rest.

Shortly before 7am a whistle was blown with great force in close proximity to me to advise us that we needed to be moving outside. With ears ringing I joined the exodus. The first light of dawn was just beginning to show in the cloudless sky. The temperature had plummeted to the lowest level so far in this mild autumn – not that far above freezing.

A cool dawn.

After the instructions and wait for 7am to arrive, we were off to get into the groove of a day's running. We trod carefully over the frosted footbridge. The mist hung low over the lake ahead. I should have taken pictures but I was running. Geoff seemed to be on fire today; within a mile or two he was pulling away out of sight. Garry with his white Inov-8 cap on back-to-front was keeping in sight for a little longer, but not much. Wow, he's speeded up since the Lakeland 100. I glanced at my heart rate monitor readout to see if I was overcooking the pace. 165bpm – perfect – optimum for going long without blowing up. The last two weeks of running to work must have done me good. Without that daily raising of heart rate it probably would have been 175bpm and I'd be crashing and burning within 2 hours. I sensed already that it was going to be a successful day.

The sun made its first tentative appearance above the horizon as we passed the wood yard before Wentworth. It wasn't much higher as we descended from Wentworth, when I was finally driven to capture some images. Dave Cremmins and Josh Whiteley were in the frame as they overtook me. (It would turn out that we would play cat and mouse for the day, as shown by my photographs, and finish within a minute of each other.) Keppel's Column beckoned on the horizon.

Dave Cremmins and Josh Whiteley.

On the climb towards Keppel's Column in the calm air with the sun well above the horizon, there may have been ground frost but I was plenty warm enough by now, so off came the wind-proof top to set the attire for the rest of the day – vest and shorts, initially with Buff around my neck to stave off the remaining early morning chill. Armada Photography were in their usual positions taking pictures.

Checkpoint 1 at Grange Park (10 miles) soon arrived. I loitered to take care of business. Dick said “Take your time Nick, take plenty of pictures”, etc. before making himself scarce. Jon arrived, and then it was my turn to be off. Descending through the woods to the valley before Droppingwell Road I was surprised to see Karen Nash running back from the right along the track we had to cross. She’d been on a bit of a detour. She soon pulled on ahead up the other side. As I watched her pull away, a pedestrian came down the path, passing Karen shortly before passing me. I said hello and got a “Hello love” back. I gave him the benefit of the doubt and elected not to give him a good slapping. Either it’s a quirky local term of greeting between males or his mind was still all of a whirr from having encountered Karen 15 seconds earlier ;-)

Once again I had been amused and visually entertained by the little bulbous people beside the path before and after Droppingwell Road. I should have taken more pictures but I was running!

I turned right up to Hilltop and down, bypassing the disputed footpath that we used to take but haven't been able to take for several years now, down to the road, left then right down the secret hidden footpath between factory fences known only to Round Rotherham participants and others in the know. Here I caught up with Dick, who had strayed up the hill to the right, apparently led astray by another race marker flag. I called him back. According to the strip map, at this point the Meadowhall shopping complex is to our right. So far I have never seen it, so this time I decided I would look right, probably while crossing the railway line. The footbridge was made of metal and the walls were very high. It was damp and very slippery. We needed all our attention to avoid coming a cropper. I forgot to look right. I still haven't seen the Meadowhall shopping complex from the Round Rotherham route. Is it actually there?

Next came the run beside river and canal and left turn up through Tinsley. 15 miles are not passed yet but I have always slowed down by this point. I needed food. I sucked on a gel and used it as an excuse to have my first guilty walking break when I could have been running, before recommencing the shuffle up around the industrial estate. I was surprised by how the field had spread out and how I was already alone.

The bus lane before Sheffield Airport now has a padlocked gate across it. Cutbacks! The wasteland that follows has been transformed over the past few years, now with hotels and landscaping and a decent footpath to follow instead of ankle-twisting waste land. A new boundary and stile preceded the underpass beneath Sheffield Parkway. I caught up with Will Harris, who was unsure of the way. “Left to Catcliffe”. Catcliffe came and went and we climbed up to the expansive fields (landscaped ex coal mining area) beside the river, to the big substantial footbridge left over the river, over the railway and on to Checkpoint 2 at the cricket club in Treeton. Dick had caught up with me again. He urged me once more to loiter awhile to eat, drink, sort myself out and take plenty more pictures. I began to suspect ulterior motives behind his friendly advice. ;-) ;-)

Looking like summertime at CP2 @ Treeton.

I left CP2 up the footpath, looking for the big rocks on the right that signalled the right turn. They seemed to be a long time coming. I began to have doubts and slowed down. The runners who were catching up from behind confirmed that I was still on the right path. We continued and soon, there they were. A right and left downhill brought us to the concrete bridge that crossed the bog area to Treeton Dyke.

Approaching the leftmost viaduct arch along the Trans Pennine Trail (how this path has improved from unkempt mud bath to proper cycle path since I first did the Round Rotherham) I couldn't help noticing the mass of solar panels on the south-facing house roofs up the hill to the left. The first of the relay runners had overtaken me. Will Harris overtook me for the final time to ultimately finish 37 minutes ahead. A couple of minutes later I caught up with Karen Nash again. “Something's not right”, I thought to myself. “I shouldn't be seeing Karen at this stage in a race”. She was suffering with painful right hip and was fighting back tears of anger and frustration that her body was preventing her from doing what she knew she could do. BEEN THERE, DONE THAT. I trawled through my experiences to offer the best encouraging words I could find. I asked if she needed an Ibuprofen but she was already well dosed in that department. We plodded and consoled into the Rother Valley Country Park before she forced herself, with a groan of frustrated anger, into a shuffle that soon took her ahead and out of sight. Bear in mind she was 'crook' and I was fighting fit and on for a (near) PB. She finished 44 minutes ahead of me. Some have got it and some haven't.

I carried on with my shuffle and soon caught up with Julian Brown, who was WALKING. “Hello”, I thought. “Either he's injured, he's been overdoing it recently and can't manage it, or he's only interested in a pleasant stroll on a warm sunny day (in mid October)” We walked, jogged, chatted and played cat and mouse for the next 16 miles until the big open fields after Firbeck, where I was 'running' well at PB pace but he caught up with me for the final time and ‘sauntered’ ahead in relaxed fashion to finish 17 minutes ahead.

Several field crossings (they are so much better than in December) brought us to Checkpoint 3 and the halfway point at Harthill, where Runfurther Karen was snapping away with her camera. The sun was blazing and everything felt good. I spent minimal time here before resuming my journey.

After Harthill came many fields, freshly ploughed with young crops of grass or some other plant life across which our path took us. Occasionally the field path was not visible and we had to guess our route across, trampling more of the crop than should have been necessary. It’s the farmer’s fault, I thought, for not re-establishing the route across. Sometimes there was a tractor track across the field to guide the way, but when it was absent, we guessed and trampled and built up heavyweight mud platforms on our shoes.

The calm sunny day with good visibility meant that the airfield was active, with light aircraft doing circuits and landing as I passed the end of the airstrip.

Someone had thoughtfully built a scaffolding footbridge across a boggy area before the railway crossing.

Jon Steele crosses bridge over bog.

Railway crossing.

The permissive underpass at the golf course under the A57 still looks shiny new and pristine, making me wonder if the golf club rather than the local council is taking care of it.

I caught up with a Vibram FiveFingers wearer on the approach to Checkpoint 4 at Woodsetts. He’d done well to pad along for nearly 30 miles but his toe joints were getting sore, so he would be changing to ordinary shoes from his drop bag at the checkpoint. I’d hardly eaten any of my food so I did not need much restocking from my drop bag – just another 500ml of Coke, four more gels and a Nutrigrain bar and I was good to go.

Dave Hardy enjoys a bite at CP4 - Woodsetts. Josh and Dave C contemplate the fayre.

Even though there are still 20 miles to go I always feel as though I’m on the homeward stretch once I leave Woodsetts. It’s just a case of keeping up the fuelling and hydration, holding it together, enjoying the beautiful scenery, ticking off the landmarks and counting down the miles back to the college.

There were more sunny open fields to cross, the causeway between the fishing ponds and left turn across more fields. The sun was warm and I was fair working up a sweat. The Buff had migrated from my neck to my wrist hours earlier.

Julian caught up with me once again just in time to advise me that I needed to fork left in the woods to get to Langold Lake. I was having leanings to the right at that instant and could have wasted a few seconds. At the lake we came across an RSPCA woman who was lugging a cygnet in a cloth carrier. It had been reported by a member of the public that it couldn’t open its beak properly, so it was being taken to ‘hospital’ for investigation and ‘repair’. Julian and I spent a good few minutes chatting with her and I took more pictures (with her permission).

Cygnet 'goes for repair'.

At 35 miles and Checkpoint 5 we came upon the first change for 2011 – the new, posh, Firbeck Village Hall on the left, just opposite the old one, now boarded up. I just needed a quick water bottle top-up and I was off before Julian once again to begin the long, zigzag crossing of the wide open fields. I found myself with Dave and Josh again, but not for long. They, followed by Julian, disappeared into the distance. Nevertheless my crossing of that section, which on a bad day can seem never-ending, went quite quickly and comfortably.

Before I knew it I’d turned sharp right down the lane and left onto the grassy path towards my favourite part of the whole route – Roche Abbey. I gawp in wonderment every time I pass such structures and lament the mindless destruction of our heritage that was perpetrated during the tyrannical reign of King Henry VIII and the dissolution of the monasteries in the 1500s. Think of what all these monasteries would look like now if they hadn’t been looted and smashed up nearly 500 years ago! Armada Photography lurked within the shadows as usual to capture those special images as I ran through the grounds.

Remains of Roche Abbey.

I was still alone and I was enjoying the solitary concentration of running as fast as my body allowed along that undulating wooded path, eventually diagonally left to descend across the fields and into the wood again to the church graveyard on the right, where the strong dappled sunlight created stark contrasts between light and shade. Here was the second change for 2011. Checkpoint 6, Maltby, had been brought back half a mile or so to just after the 40-mile point. It was now under cover in the church hall. My legs were somewhat leaden after all this running and I had to adopt my kneeling therapy to squeeze the blood out of the muscles and restore better function to them. It always works to a greater or lesser degree. After 30 seconds of that and a quick water bottle refill from the tap, I was off, leaving Jon Steele taking refreshment (I expected him to catch me soon).

The penultimate section to Old Denaby always seemed a long hard slog, but it’s even longer now. Nevertheless I always relish these final 10 miles because I usually pass other runners all the way to the finish. This year was no exception. I got my head down, got on with the job and slowly picked them off one-by-one. The full sugar Coke was on virtual drip feed to keep the legs fuelled. When that was no longer enough, a Kellogg’s Elevenses bar, eaten half at a time, kept me on the boil. I was getting competitive now and first thoughts of a PB started to flit through my mind. Could I beat 9:13? All photograph-taking was off limits from now-on.

The third and final change for 2011 was passed without incident (new massive field after the old railway cutting with tractor track diagonally across to show the footpath route).

The usually visible path diagonally left up the field after Firsby Hall Farm was not there. Instead a wiggly ‘trod’, which degenerated into a fanned-out trampling of the farmer’s field towards the top, delivered me more directly than ever before to the dip and footpath descent through the woods towards Hooton Roberts (I love that name). A brief walking break up the lane to the crossing of the main road was followed by a nice downhill run on the other side. A couple shouted encouragement from their car as they passed in the opposite direction. I glanced at my watch. I forget what I saw – something like an hour maximum in which to get a PB. I thought to myself: “No chance; I’ll never cover the remaining miles in that time. I’ll aim for sub 9:30 and be satisfied with that.” I didn’t let up, though. I couldn’t live with myself if I didn’t try my best to the end.

I’d lost count of the number of people I’d overtaken and I now had another two in my sights. I caught them at the right turn onto that final track over the top. I recognised them as two I’d run with on and off during the day. A few pleasantries were exchanged before I set my sights on a lone runner further up the track (another one I’d run on and off with). We ran together down into Checkpoint 7 at Old Denaby. I didn’t need any provisions now because it was a short hop to the finish. I left within seconds, alone how I like it to follow the route like I know the back of my hand.

I ran like a hunted animal, like my life depended on it, twisting and turning along the intricate route across railway (thank goodness there were no trains coming and I didn’t have to waste time climbing over the bridge), across the river and alongside the canal, through the station, beside the big river and biscuit factory (no biscuit smells this year) and over the big road bridge to the delightful Swinton.

True to form, the sound of car abuse drifted to my ears as engine screamed and rubber was torn off on the side roads for which I was headed. I prepared myself for evasion tactics. Luckily by the time I got there it had stopped. Instead I was greeted by the sight a table with drinks at someone’s front garden, with the residents offering us refreshments. I’d seen it earlier on in the day but this was a first for Swinton. I declined with thanks. My two drinks bottles would last me for the final mile+.

A right and left past the derelict pub brought me to the canal spur. I was still overtaking but this time I was amazed to be catching up with Dave and Josh, whom I hadn’t seen in nearly 15 miles, and they were WALKING. We rounded the end of the dead-end canal. I glanced at my watch. There were 2 minutes to go to PB time, making a new PB a rather forlorn hope now. I was just flabbergasted to have got here this quickly. I didn’t look at my watch again. I forced myself to run with Dave and Josh up the path to the road, across and into the scrub land opposite. We zigzagged around the bushes up to the track that led us down to the college. I was giving it all I had but I couldn’t hold onto them. I veered left across the grass past cheering and photographing spectators, down the ramp past more Armada Photography, past Geoff who shouted PB encouragement to me – “Too late, it’s already gone” I gasped, up the car park and round the back of the hall to the physical support of the timekeeper’s desk. “What time did you make it?” “9:14:20”.

Aaargh, I'd missed it by less than one minute (it was 9:13:24 in 2009). Never mind. I never honestly believed I’d get anywhere near a PB so it turned out rather good in the end. I was 56th (38th in 2009). Now, if only I hadn’t spoken with the RSPCA girl for so long…..

Dave and Josh finished in 9:13:43. No ‘if only’s this time. I’ve already said I couldn’t hold onto them.

It was sweet to finish with a flourish with a best personal performance of the year and to get my highest Runfurther points on the final race of the series. It was the 'cherry on the cake' of a great year's running. The amazing weather (sun tan in mid October indeed) and amazing event organisation and support made for a perfect ultra-running day.

The other Grand Slammer Greg Crowley, who I always seemed to miss (or fail to recognise) at the events, finished 38th in 8:40:01. His Slam has been impressively speedy, earning him big points. Very well done Greg.

The race winner was Ian Symington with a time of 6:47:14. Words fail me as always when presented with evidence of such speed.
Ian Bishop finished second in 6:50:04. Well done Ian B. Now, what would you have done if I hadn’t given you all that route advice at the beginning? ;-) ;-)
Third was Kevin Doyle in 6:53:05.

Geoff Holburt finished 18th overall in 8:05:15. I don’t know how you do it Geoff, you speed freak ;-)
Fraser Hirst’s air travel obviously didn’t slow him down, since he finished 35th in 8:37:39.
Will Harris was hot on his heels, finishing 36th in 8:37:45.
Garry Scott was 44th in 8:54:34. The new speedy Garry. Well done you.
Julian Brown had an easy day but still bimbled home in 48th with an impressive 8:57:27.
Jon Steele finished close behind me in 9:20:00 for 59th place.
Mike D-H, he with good blog, came in 112th in 10:28:56.
Dick was not far behind, finishing 116th in 10:37:12. Well done both.

First woman was Helen Skelton in 8:00:10.
Second woman was Victoria Mousley in 8:25:30.
Karen Nash was third in 8:30:51. That’s an impressive result Karen after our little ‘hike’ together through Rother Valley Country Park.

Dawn smashed her PB with a 90th place finish in 10:01:46. She's another one who writes a mean blog. She made a striking comparison between her 2010 and 2011 times. Last year, when she had terrible navigational woes in the early miles, she started and finished in the dark. This year, fitter and faster and without any such route-finding issues, she started and finished in daylight. Well done Dawn.

My picture-taking tailed off seriously towards the end, as already explained. Here’s the cream of the crop: RRR pictures

The Round Rotherham is so far the only UK race that is a qualifier for the Western States 100. How bizarre is that? It will change of course as more races get submitted. I shall be chucking my name into the WS100 hat for 2012. The same goes for the UTMB hat. It’s already in the LDWA Games 100 hat. Bring on 2012!

Miscellany

2011-10-09T17:25:00.000+01:00

Guided running holidays with a physiotherapist

I recently saw this (see above link) on the Guardian website, which looks rather good for anyone who would like to up their running performance, learn better technique (I know I do) or just enjoy a healthy and productive running holiday where everything's taken care of and you're looked after rather well. David Jelley is a physiotherapist, so he could even be useful if you're coming back from injury. He's also fast, but only in the heat of competition. He wouldn't dare run his clients ragged; he's much too nice a bloke to do that. I know because I've met him a few times, most memorably at the Shires and Spires Northants Ultra 35 in June this year, where he finished second to Stuart Mills. It may sound like a contradition but from the tone of the article, his running holidays actually sound relaxing, what with the accommodation and all that healthy living to go with the running. I could do with some of that myself.

Blogger woes?

Blogger started to rebell again recently, preventing us from posting comments. If any of you are still having issues I'm afraid you'll have to do what your Mother told you never to do and accept Hobnobs from strangers. In trendy parlance it has something to do with accepting third party cookies. I use Internet Explorer and it involved reducing my cookie blocking by one level, from Medium to Low. 'Low' is the lowest level without accepting digestives, rich tea, garibaldi, nice - in fact the whole shebang, willy-nilly. At this level just the more decadent offerings, like those chocolate-laden Foxes luxury assortments, get rejected. I can see my waistline expanding already.

Another requirement to allow editing without being repeatedly logged out is to untick the 'Keep me signed in' box at the login page. Having to enter all your login details every time you access Blogger is a small price to pay for having it work as intended.

Alpro downgrade - BOOOO!

I bought fresh supplies of Alpro soya chocolate drink for next weekend's Round Rotherham and noticed to my disgust that the manufacturers have reduced its effectiveness as fuel. Sugar is now reduced by 15% to make it more healthy, but only if you're sedentary and don't need it in the first place. As ultra fuel it's probably been ruined. :-(

Mind over matter.

The following paragraph came to me when filling in the TV company's questionnaire for this year's Snowdonia Marathon on 29th October.

My advice to any runner, new or seasoned: “Never give up unless a physical predicament or injury makes it impossible to continue. The mind can be strong but it can also be very weak. Mental fortitude can help you to achieve what you never dreamed possible. Pain is only temporary but the satisfaction of a finish can last a lifetime“.

Woodbank Parkrun.

I ran my local 5k yesterday (23:22), and what a contrast to last week. Temperature was down and it drizzled. I ran to keep warm.

Grin ‘n’ Bear It 23mi. 01/10/2011.

2011-10-03T22:51:00.002+01:00

Sunrise from Hepshaw.

'Phew wot a scortcha'. A week of Indian summer and temperatures into the high twenties culminated in a hot yet mercifully breezy Saturday for our tussle with the bog monster on the watershed between Manchester and Sheffield. I arrived nice and early to be greeted by the happy and ever smiling face of Ian Winterburn at the smart new base of the Woodhead Mountain Rescue Team. I commented on the three wind turbines close by. Ian told me they’d only gone up that week. That would explain why they weren’t turning.

I watched the sun rise over another wind farm in the distance as the entrants began to trickle in. There would be a 23-mile walk or run with an 08:00 start time for all (this has never been entirely clear and confusion still occurs not only for people who wish to run it but with some of the volunteers as well). There would also be a ~16-mile walk with an 08:00 start and a ~16-mile run (with longer loop around to the Daisy Lea Moor checkpoint) with a 10:00 start.

Mike D-H asked me to join him for a photo shoot for our distant friend Jan Danilo now in New Zealand. This was his stomping ground before he emigrated and I’m told he won the race last year. I had been tasked to take plenty of pictures. I hope they don’t make you too homesick, Jan.

As 8am approached there was no sign of a starter so the walkers began to wander informally down the track. At 8am just as the starter came out, the rest of us were already in pursuit to begin our 23-mile journey. All distances that follow are from Tracklogs and assume correct route choice. They don't apply to me. 'nuff said.

As an indication of the laid-back nature of the event I was able to run with the lead group as far as CP1 (Crookland Wood, 5.7mi.), by which time we were no longer in the lead. We had taken a long way around to the checkpoint. Phil G was the only one who was going the right way but was persuaded by the rest of us to take the wrong path. The pangs of guilt shall fester awhile.

Back on track and climbing Mickleden Edge I caught up again with Mike and Ken & Jenny W. The order was beginning to sort itself out now with the more capable runners breezing effortlessly ahead and out of sight, Phil being one of them (he never complained once about being led astray, incidentally). The sun warmed us and the breeze prevented overheating as we approached CP2 (Howden Edge, 9.1mi.) and the right turn onto the wide flat watershed and domain of the man-eating bogs. I caught up with someone with a brightly coloured flag draped on his back. I like bright colours and had to ask. It was a Lincolnshire flag to celebrate Lincolnshire Day, always on 1st October.

Lincolnshire flag for Lincolnshire Day.

Back to the task in hand, the terrain was beginning to look decidedly dodgy. I put my past experiences of The Fellsman to good use and stepped on NOTHING that didn't have blades of grass growing out of it. Having visible footprints on it gave further reassurance. An MRT cameraman loitered ominously, waiting for the last stricken gasps of a hapless victim. As I sneaked around the back to plan my route carefully, Mike caught up and performed a leap of faith, which the cameraman captured rather well in multiple exposures and is shown in Mike's report. Mike remarked at my infeasibly clean legs. My mincing and circumnavigating had obviously worked. I left him behind again as I ran ahead to CP3 (Loftshaw Clough Head, 12.5mi.) and another right turn, this time over Round Hill and across to the remains of Lady Cross, where Mike caught me up for the final time. A right turn along the track brought us quickly to CP4 (Lasche, 13.7mi.) and our only food stop. Half a banana did me.

Here you will die (probably).

Mike arrives at Lady Cross (remains of).

We crossed the busy A628 very carefully and headed towards Winscar Reservoir. I was beginning to feel the urge to walk while Mike was still running strongly. By the time we arrived at the brightly sunlit Winscar with flotillas of yachts, Mike was making up serious ground. He was soon out of sight. As I took more pictures, Ken and Jenny were the next ones to catch up for the final time. It was time to start doing my own thing and just get to the finish as best I could.

Winscar Reservoir.

CP5 (Harden, 16.6mi.) at the top end of Winscar came and I was onto the track left towards the old excavations. The first 16-mile runner in a Dark Peak vest overtook me (please excuse my ignorance; I was told who he was and that he's good, but I'm not well up on the fell-running fraternity). More runners overtook as I hit the Holme Valley Circular Walk and descended towards Hades (yes, really, check the map for yourself). I passed yet another depleted reservoir before climbing to Hade Edge and turning right up to CP6 (Daisy Lee Moor, 19.0mi.).

At this final checkpoint a runner I actually did know caught me up – Steve Lang. He was soon gone. The path took us through an overgrown field. I forgot that nettles can still do their worst to bare legs even in October. I hit the final track up and over the top, following my nose and another runner to eventually hit the lane at Upper Nab. I had deviated too far right and added yet more distance. A left turn down the road for a while and a right turn up the final track to Hepshaw brought me back to the finish in 4:35. With my slowdown and further navigational deviation I lost 18 minutes on Mike in the final 6 miles. Well done Mike with your strong finish.

There followed nearly three hours of chatting, tea drinking and relaxing outside in the sunshine. There was plenty of substantial food on offer, including big fat burgers in buns, baked potatoes, salad and more. I was happy with mushroom soup and a crust (well, I have been eating well recently). This is one excellent, friendly and enjoyable event that comes highly recommended.

Post-race chill in the heat of October.

Mike wrote an excellent account, linked again here. The best of the pictures I took are here. There's quite a crop this time. Fill your socks Jan!

In Pendle’s Shadow 20mi. 24/09/2011.

2011-09-27T20:59:00.000+01:00

This event from Barley Village Hall, at the foot of Pendle Hill, provided a welcome reminder of the simple, low-key, no-pressure grass roots LDWA events on which I built myself up and challenged myself for ten years before Mark Hartell instigated the Runfurther series, tempting me to move up to a whole new level of competition and speed. (Speed? Ha, that’s a joke. LDWA events are the only ones where I can enjoy a top half finish.) It was staffed by warm, welcoming OAPs and stocked with gorgeous home-made cakes. It was my first such event in a very long time and it was good to get reacquainted with walking friends of old.

The final grotty day had been forecast before the arrival of an Indian summer as a weakening weather front moved across ever so slowly. It drizzled intermittently though not enough to warrant waterproofs. A thin technical long-sleeved top was all I needed to keep myself warm. (Shorts, shoes and socks are assumed, before you ask, and I did have the necessary wherewithal in my bum bag in case of an ‘eventuality’.)

I said the event was no pressure. The only pressure was what I imposed upon myself to run as fast as I dared without blowing up. It was only 20 miles so I deemed it safe to ‘let it rip’ more than usual. I imagined I was in a fell race as I ran up Pendle Hill into the cloud and down the other side near the front of the pack (how I love these LDWA events). The mud and water underfoot were luxuriant like I hadn’t known since last year. It was just like the old times of mucky winter LDWA events that leave you with the most magnificent leg encrustations with which to impress the neighbours upon your return home when you emerge from your car. I do enjoy a mucky weekend.

Did I say no pressure? There’s more. The route description contains a few inaccuracies and ambiguities to keep us guessing, so navigating successfully is a challenge. Our route took us up past Lower and Upper Ogden Reservoirs before turning right up the left-hand side of the clough to the summit of Pendle Hill. (There was mention of “dough” a few times in the description. I wondered if it might have been a strange local colloquialism for a small valley, but no, nothing so esoteric. More likely is spell checker never having heard of a clough. For a while a sheep 'fell in' behind, running along the path before finally thinking better of running 20 miles and veering off to the left.

A sheep has joined in.

On the descent to the Pendle Road my left shoe got sucked off my foot in a bog. It was tied on pretty tightly so it bruised the first metatarsal as my foot rolled clean out of a shoe that had suddenly become bowed rigidly into the ground. I had a job releasing the suction to retrieve it. When I put it back on, my foot suddenly felt much bigger and seemed no longer to fit into the shoe as the upper pressed down on the damage. Removing my orthotics created enough extra room to restore a modicum of comfort. I have decided that there is not enough room in Salomon Crossmax shoes for orthotics because my feet sit too high. The quick release laces are also no good when caked in mud because they jam up and will not release.

From checkpoint 1 I crossed Pendle Road, climbed over the stile and descended a few yards. A couple of runners who had overtaken me while I faffed with my footwear were standing ahead trying to work out where to go. Their predicament rang the first of many bells with me from 5 or 6 years ago so I did not continue descending to join them. The route description says: “Go down bank and turn R at FP sign for Hecklin”. There was no footpath sign visible along the path we were on. I looked up to my right to see a multi-way fingerpost at the top of the bank. I climbed up to it. Sure enough, there was the “FP sign for Hecklin”. I called the others over and set off running across the fields and climbing the wall stiles between them towards checkpoint 2 on Twiston Road. The “ruin” on the way is now a posh refurbishment and fully occupied.

As I ran along the route I was amazed how much of it came back to me from when I last ran it in 2005 and 2006. I made many mistakes then. You always remember the mistakes. Nevertheless there was still a significant incident that lost a few of us 5 minutes or more. It was only my instinct that made me run back in the correct direction along the lane to where checkpoint 5 proved to be; the route description had been making no sense.

Runners were few and well spread out. However I found myself running with Ken and Jenny and two others for some of the time, sharing the navigation as we went. In the final fields and descent towards the finish, more bog waited to ensnare. It tried once again to steal my left shoe but I was going sufficiently slowly by this stage to stop with only my heel out before my forefoot followed it. Pain ensued once again. “If that metatarsal is cracked I shall be most vexed”, I thought to myself. I was only able to release the suction with a satisfying sound by repeatedly trying to flex my forefoot upwards, after which I could lift out the heel of my shoe, not just my heel. I’ve not had mud experiences like these in years. I couldn't help smiling.

Even though these LDWA events are not supposed to be competitive, runners can’t help half racing each other to the finish. I know I did. I gave it all I had to lead the group along the track past Whitehough Outdoor Centre to the car park then road to the village hall. I was working the hardest I'd done all day and had to roll up my sleeves to aid cooling. That would have been when my heart rate hit 185bpm. (Well, the track was flat and I didn't have gravity to help me now). Five of us (I think) finished within a minute of each other in 3:57 with a great sense of achievement and a job well done. Then it was soup & bread and tea & cakes as we reminisced.

For anyone planning on doing this next year, here are a few more nuggets:
The “metal gate” you turn right through between CP2 and CP3 is actually wooden. It always has been since I’ve done this event.
A couple of “main roads” are no such thing. They are country lanes. That wrong description led me horribly astray in 2005 as I continued across fields and over stiles waiting for the main road to appear. I finally found it when I arrived at the A6068, way off the map.
After CP5 when you have climbed the stile into the field, you take a diagonal RIGHT, not left.
Before CP7 the sentence should read: “In the last field bear R downhill towards white buildings in far distance...….”
After CP7 the sentence should read: “Cross field and take L (upper) fork in wood.”
The last sentence should read: “After you cross the bridge turn L along unmade road back to Barley.”

Why do the gate springs have to be so strong?

Pictures this time are a bit thin on the ground, but here’s what I took.

High Peak 40 Mile Challenge. 17/09/2011.

2011-09-25T21:15:00.004+01:00

Race 11 of 12 in the 2011 Runfurther series.

I was on for my 12th start and hopefully my 12th finish of the High Peak 40 since 1998. This event holds a special place in my heart because it is one of my locals and it was only my 7th event and 5th ultra run, or walk as I did in those days. This year it marked my 140th ultra but I have no idea how many events. It must be well into triple figures by now.

The HP40 for me has been an event of many ups and downs and wildly fluctuating times, yet it is one where I am proud to say I have never failed to complete what I started despite a couple of near-misses – in 2003 when I was as sick as a dog from radiotherapy and my time of 10:34 was only 11 minutes faster than when I first walked it in 1998, and in 2009 when my body was drained of energy by some bug that had already affected preceding events and it was only the thought of my first Runfurther Grand Slam that kept me going to a faster than expected 9:20 finish. I have only broken the 8-hour barrier three times – in 2005 (7:46), 2006 (7:38) and 2007 (7:45). In 2011 I was under no illusion that I would be beating 8 hours (though the hope is always there because I never fail to try my best and see what transpires). This year I would be delighted simply to finish; I can still hardly believe my good fortune that I was able to stand on the start line, only just feeling injury-free after hardly being able to walk three weeks earlier.

In 2011, for the first time in my memory the event filled and entries closed before the day. The power of the running forums is a strong one. There were many first-timers there so many trashings, hitting of walls and cases of DOMS would undoubtedly follow. I was a veteran and knew what to expect, but nevertheless a personal trashing and a minor case of DOMS is only a missed Jaffa Cake away, so be careful Nick! In some ways I have always found the HP40 to be tough and assumed it was just me. However, having read forum comments this year I realise others feel the same. It must be because it's so runnable, but still with plenty of ups and downs. It's so easy to overdo it and have nothing left by the time you reach the 'Yellow Brick Road' from High Low over the horizon towards Chelmorton (crossing the Bullock Smithy Hike route at the road summit, I might add).

The clockwise route from Buxton took us via checkpoints at Bonsal Incline, Taxal layby, Digleach Farm, Beet Farm, Rushup Edge, Castleton, Bushy Heath Farm, Tideswell Dale, Upper Dale (Monsal Trail), High Low and King Sterndale. The Monsal Trail is a busy place now that the tunnels have been opened and lit. It is great to see so many people walking and cycling, getting healthy exercise outdoors along this now uninterrupted ribbon of flat trail through such hilly terrain. The reopening of the tunnels is a master stroke by the 'powers that be'.

The weather was mediocre but it could have been worse. The longest of the showers hit me on the descent to Tideswell Dale, so at least I had the shelter of the dales and trees for the next few miles while it lasted. Most important was that it remained dry for the long exposed road section to King Sterndale, though the looming clouds ahead did threaten somewhat.

As always, our way was well marked by the familiar pink arrows, though the final one near the finish that should have indicated the left turn off the bypass had been removed by some delinquent by the time I arrived. I knew where to go and saved the first-timer closing from behind from a wild goose chase. We ran together to the finish to finish in 8:20. Although 16 minutes slower than last year, this time earned me 706 Runfurther points, which was 44 more than I got last year. I don't wish to 'dis' the winner but the competition wasn't as hot this year. I'm not complaining.

As usual I had a right good chat afterwards. Runfurther Karen was just back from a trekking holiday in the beautiful mountains of Slovenia. She would take charge of the Runfurther sponsors' flags, which I had erected before the race in the rain (and we'd kept them so dry through the rest of the year as well, with the exception of the Brecon Beacons 40). Speedy Roger was there, who apparently runs these events on his body's reserves, only allowing a donated sweet to pass his lips when he's on the verge of collapse with low blood sugar levels. Well perhaps that's a slight exaggeration but it's not far off. Roger, how do you run as fast as you do on so little sustenance? You must be gnawing on the door post in the week following an ultra.

In the days after the race I luxuriated in the post-race feeling of old – i.e. feeling used up but not injured. It is that healthy discomfort that you know will pass within two or three days and leave you stronger for the next weekend's event – and so-on. Back to normality. Grand slam number two lives again. Praise be.

According to Roger I'm made of rubber. Why? Because I "bounce back" (boom boom). Now that I'm miraculously recovered I also earned a new moniker from Steve (you know who you are). BritNick has become FitNick, apparently. Long may it last.

As I was 'giving my all' I didn't loiter much to take pictures. They are mostly at checkpoints when I had to slow down anyway. What I did take is here.

11 down, 1 to go.

A bit of a rest then.....

2011-09-15T00:35:00.000+01:00

The weekend after UTMB I cycled up to the start of the Bullock Smithy Hike to say 'ow-do to friends and take pictures up to the midday start from Devonshire Park. I never planned to run it unless I was feeling superhuman, in which case I would have entered on the day. In the event, any reckless 'superhuman' fantasies were ruled out, but if I hadn't been injured, having only completed two thirds of the UTMB I was otherwise ready to rumble. I felt deprived being there like I had been every year since 1996, yet not taking part. I contented myself by imagining past years as the strike of the anvil sent the participants scattering in three directions to exit the park on their chosen routes. (This event is rare in not having a compulsory route to follow. I like it for that.)

Congratulations to Stockport Harriers for bagging some rare wins this year. James Scott-Buccleuch won in record time for the new route (since 2000) and Stockport won the team prize. Philomena Smith (not from Stockport Harriers) was the women's winner. Congratulations to all. Results are now up on Steve Temple's rather excellent results service here.

Roll forward to the next weekend. I had a relaxing four-day steam train excursion to Scotland booked with my dad, which would have provided welcome UTMB (and possibly BSH) recovery time. I had not run a step since the UTMB injury but I had walked and cycled. The shin pain had subsided remarkably - more than I could have imagined, to be honest. Things were looking up. Our train journey took us as far as Fort William, including an out-and-back to Oban. The junction for the Oban leg was Crianlarich. I got to see Lower Tyndrum station, the finishing point for the Highland Fling. Memories came flooding back. Back to Crianlarich and out again on the upper line to Fort William via Upper Tyndrum station took me further than I'd ever been before. Both previous times I had been here the weather was dry, warm and sunny. This time it was abysmal, with pouring rain and steamed-up windows. Hurricane Katia was moving in.

I'd had a plan brewing. Our train schedule had long been curtailed and we would have a free Monday morning in Fort William. I had printed out the final 7.5 miles of the West Highland Way back to the track near Blar a Chaorainn (ruin). I had packed running and wet weather gear in my luggage. I'm sure you can guess the rest.

At 08:30 on Monday (later than planned) I set off on the well waymarked West Highland Way to see how far I could get in 1.5 hours before turning back. I was dressed in the same waterproofs I wore for the UTMB when it was wet and/or cold. It felt strangely familiar. The wind and rain could do whatever they wanted and I wouldn't care!

The Way was well maintained and mostly empty apart from one or two hardy hikers, who looked less happy than I felt. I saw no other runners. As I ran over the ridge and into the wilderness, into the wind and rain and alone on the well-maintained trail, I felt utterly contented, my only responsibility being to concentrate on placing the next footfall safely. My shin showing no signs of soreness added to my contentment. I had to push against the wind, while the rain fell in fits and bursts, but considering the forecast (extinct) hurricane I was expecting worse. It would come later.

I did not think I would reach 7.5 miles and the end of my Tracklogs route within 1.5 hours but I did, on the dot. I hit the track, turned around, checked out the information board and began the climb back up, down, up to the ridge and down on the long descent on the wide vehicle track towards Fort William. The well-maintained trail did remind me of ones I've run in California. As I ran I thought of Jez Bragg's multiple triumphs into Fort William. I also thought of the post-Highland Fling escapades of "T Rex" in 2009 and 2011, when he continued self-supported from Tyndrum after completing the first 53 miles of the West Highland Way (semi)supported. ("T Rex" is a running forumite and good running friend with an interesting story or three to tell.) I arrived back at the hotel opposite the station in 2hrs 47mins. My shin began to complain on the long descent into Fort William but it's only temporary, I know it. I will be there next weekend for the High Peak 40. THE GRAND SLAM IS ALIVE AGAIN.

By the afternoon and our journey over the wild, exposed Rannoch Moor back to the relative shelter of Crianlarich and beyond, the wind blew and the rain fell viciously. The flat moors were awash with water. I was reminded of the peat bogs of The Fellsman and the bog monster of Grin And Bear It as I tucked into my dinner and drank my fruity red in my antiquated mobile coccoon with its dim 15 Watt 28 Volt lighting (that's 0.5 Amperes apiece!). Away from the watershed, raging, foaming white torrents tumbled off the hillsides and through culverts underneath the railway. At the next water stop (yes, steam engines need hydration too) I spoke to a footplate man, who confirmed how wickedly cold it was over the moors. He needed all his oilskins for survival. Remember a steam locomotive is open to the elements.

For any old train enthusiasts among you, the best of the pictures are here.

I'll see you in Buxton this Saturday.

Ultra Trail du Mont Blanc – en Hiver? 26-28/08/2011.

2011-09-07T01:14:00.002+01:00

Pre race

I flew out on Tuesday and joined my brother and dad for a week’s family get-together and relaxation in the Chamonix valley. There was just the small matter of a foot race towards the end of our stay to ensure that I didn’t overdo it on the relaxation, meaning wine consumption at respectable levels of an evening, and no mid-week fell races.

The heatwave was still in full swing, with daytime temperatures cooling from low 30s to high 20s Centigrade. On Wednesday we soaked up the atmosphere of Chamonix and I got registered and tagged with my timing chip and kit check tag. On Thursday we spent most of the day up the top of Aiguille du Midi, which looms over the Chamonix Valley. The two cable car rides up there via Plan de l’Aiguille were breathtaking, especially the single cable span journey from the halfway house at the Plan to the top. The final winch up to the top station was near vertical. It’s mind-boggling how those cables withstand the weight of 66 human sardines plus the car plus their own weight.

The views from the top were even more breathtaking. Looking back down towards Chamonix in the valley was akin to looking down from an aircraft, except here we had a full field of view, not a porthole window to peer through. Looking in the opposite direction towards Italy with Courmayeur well out of sight over the other side, we saw only mountains, snowfields, ice and glaciers. A swirling lump of cloud permanently enshrouded Mont Blanc, which loomed 1,000 metres above us. Yes, we were already at 3,842 metres (12,607’). Looking upwards we saw a Flash Gordon rocket structure. Goodness knows what it housed but it was well protected from lightning strikes by lightning rods and earthing straps.

Our dizziness was not caused by vertigo but by the altitude. We had to take stairs rather slowly. As I got accustomed to the conditions I derived warped pleasure out of relaxing until I felt normal, then sprinting up a flight of stairs and holding on to the nearest solid object as the strange urge to pass out descended upon me before receding slowly. It felt similar to suddenly standing up from lying down and my brain becoming starved of blood.

It was much colder up here, but thanks to the heatwave only a long-sleeved top was needed for warmth. There was an exit from the station to the ice ridge, which saw a steady stream of crampon-wearing trekkers slowly plodding their way to and from the station. It provides a launch point for assaults of Mont Blanc. As I watched a single line of trekkers making their way slowly across the ice field way below in the direction of Mont Blanc, I heard a muffled disturbance and saw a rock fall spread itself across the ice. Thankfully it stopped well before it reached the trekkers.

The mountain struck me as being in a perilous state – disintegrating, unstable, falling apart, bolted and tied together. I wonder how they ever built the station at the top, which itself appears to be a cobbled-together hotchpotch of reinforced concrete mouldings from long ago. It would make a perfect location for a James Bond shoot-out scene. The main viewing platform was lined with steel plate bolted together, a construction worthy of Blofeld’s base for world domination. I wondered if I might see a fluffy white cat up there. Anyway I'll stop waffling about the wonders of the mountains and let the pictures speak for themselves (see numbers 010 to 054).

Race day

On Friday I chilled and relaxed at the apartment with Aiguille du Midi looming above, and tried to get some sleep in readiness for the 18:30 start. I had been following the forecast and it was not good. A weather front was due to move in on Friday evening that would bring thunderstorms, rain, a big drop in temperature and snow over the passes! While I dozed a text message came in from the UTMB organisation. The start would be delayed by 5 hours, until 23:30. Great, I could squeeze in more sleep and be really well set up for two days and nights out in the mountains. I now willed the rain to start as soon as possible to get it out of the way, but nothing seemed to be happening. The day was still as warm and sunny as ever.

The rain finally started around 18:30, just when we were originally due to set off. The delayed start would mean we would have 5 hours less rain to endure. What a master stroke by the organisers. It reminded me how dynamic and flexible they are and it reminded me why mobile phone communication is mandatory to take part in this race. While I dozed, more text messages came in to say that the final leg from Vallorcine would now return along the Chamonix valley, and the 5-hour later starting time would become a 2.5-hour later cut-off at the finish. We would have 2.5 hours less to complete a slightly shortened course.

I took the last train for the 15-minute ride into Chamonix centre. When I deposited my Courmayeur drop bag an announcement was being made that there was 5cm of snow on the passes and we should consider packing an additional layer in our rucksacks. I then ventured outside to wander around in the rain to await the start. Fortunately I met Jonathan and Shirley, who very kindly offered me the warm and dry sanctuary of their hotel just around the corner until closer to start time. Jon had unfortunately had to withdraw from the TDS due to the heat on the previous day and was hospitalised with dehydration. He was well on the road to recovery now, no doubt helped by the much colder temperatures too.

The time finally came to join the throng in the square and listen to the highly amplified foreign utterances that were mostly meaningless to me. I stood there in the rain like a spare whatsit at a wedding, surrounded and warmed by people yet isolated by language barrier. I occupied myself by assessing the waterproofness of the attire of those around me.
“Hmm, yes, water beading nicely and rolling off as if from a duck's back. You'll stay comfortable, warm and dry.”
“Flimsy jacket without hood, shiny wet, every raindrop absorbed nicely. You've got no chance matey. You'll be out with hypothermia after the first pass.”

Finally the time came for our unaccustomed night-time start and we were sent on our way at 23:30 on the stop-start, log-jammed exit of Chamonix centre through throngs of cheering, screaming, whistling, rattling supporters. I struggled to see my feet and not trip up on darkened obstacles like ramps, kerbs and other feet. There is no other country in the world like France for enthusiastic support of athletic endeavour by night and day, no matter the weather. The support on a wet night was truly uplifting but I was glad to leave the noisy traffic jam behind and finally start running, with just the sound of massed shuffling trail shoes to caress the ears (the somewhat more strident, less soothing click of walking poles would come later). The rain was falling but it wasn't torrential, and thankfully there was little wind. Also thankfully, the thunderstorms never materialised where we were.

I had decided to set off more conservatively than I did in 2009. I was running well within myself and I felt strong and confident of a finish this year. We were soon running into Les Houches and beginning our first climb up and over Délevret before descending into Saint Gervais. The rain had already stopped and the stars were peeping out by the time I arrived at Saint Gervais (21km), and we had only been going for 3hrs 17mins. I thanked the race organiser one more time in my mind for delaying the start. It may have been a cold wet night for standing around but the crowds were as big and enthusiastic as ever. The sound system blared music and running commentary as the MC mingled among the runners and supporters with his radio mic. We took our fill from the well stocked aid station before moving onwards, away from the noise and lights.

The reflective markers this year were very visible in our torchlight, so much better than in 2009 when they were less effective and we kept losing the trail over the foggy mountain tops. However, so far route finding would not have been a problem due to the volume of runners. There were always queues to follow (or hold us up on the single tracks) all the way to Courmayeur. As we progressed towards Les Contamines, even though the sky was clear and starlit I could see frequent flashes over the horizon from distant lightning. Someone was getting it. Thank goodness it wasn't us.

Dawn was finally beginning to show as I climbed to La Balme (39km, 6hrs 43mins). We would begin to see day-lit views that we would not normally get to see, thanks to our delayed start. A log fire was burning vigorously on several sheets of corrugated iron spread out on the ground. The fire was surrounded by UTMB-ers on bench seats trying to warm up and dry out. I joined them. The chap next to me was standing up in bare feet, shivering and trying to change his top. He must have been one of the ones with an absorbent 'waterproof'. Every so often he repositioned his shoes and socks at the edge of the corrugated iron sheets. They were beginning to steam quite vigorously. The breeze kept blowing the smoke directly towards where we were sitting, causing me to close my eyes tightly and hold my breath. Then someone chucked some more logs onto the fire, launching showers of glowing embers onto us. Expensive man-made fibres and fire probably don't mix so I made a quick exit up the next mountain. The view back down to the checkpoint compelled me to take my first race picture now that the rain had stopped.

I continued upwards towards Croix du Bonhomme (45km, 8hrs 25mins) and the first wet snowfields left over from the overnight precipitation. My climbing was slow and I had been doing a lot of walking. I would have been disheartened were it not for the fact that everyone around me seemed to be in the same boat. The promising dawn had given way to ominously heavy clouds. It wasn’t long before mini hail pellets started to fall. This wasn’t forecast. It was supposed to be clear and sunny after the overnight rain had cleared. As we neared the top, the TV camera helicopter rose above the mountains and hovered and circled around us noisily, making use of the first daylight. It was a treat to be seeing these new areas for the first time. Two years ago the helicopter treatment didn’t come until Arête du Mont-Favre, 24km further on.

The run down to Les Chapieux (50km, 9hrs 15mins) was often technical and sometimes steep, but I was in my element. Of course I didn’t blast it as if it were a fell race. That would be reckless. I eased back a long way from that, but I still overtook a few on the way down. I detected a slight soreness in my lower left shin but it didn’t worry me. I’m used to the odd niggle, which can disappear as quickly as they arrive during an event.

We left the light precipitation behind as we made the easy road ascent from Les Chapieux. I was fuelling well and made good progress as I walk-jogged my way upwards. A small dam and turquoise reservoir nestled at the bottom of the valley to the right, while to the left the heather on the hillside reminded me of home. I marvelled at the views and paused a few times to take more pictures.

Looking ahead towards our next target the mountain seemed to melt into haze, which I assumed to be cloud. We descended right a little to cross the valley high up where it was wide before embarking on the long climb to Col de la Seigne (60km, 11hrs 47mins). I soon realised the haziness was snowfall. We climbed into a winter scene that was being replenished as we plodded. I was awestruck. (See picture at top.)

At the summit we crossed into Italy and began our descent towards Lac Combal through amazing glaciated scenery. On the first long flat hanging valley with its terminal moraine we passed through a herd of cows with their jangling bells. They were being herded by farmer and dog. They are amazingly docile. They even waited for a group of us to pass along the track before they crossed. Once through the moraine we descended again to the group of tents in the wide flat glaciated valley below, on the way getting warmed by the first sunshine of the day. It was nearly midday. (This was also the place where I felt the first sunshine two years ago. However, back then it was dawn.) The storm we’d left on the mountain top was still trying its hardest to blow snow and hail down the valley onto us as we arrived at Lac Combal (65km, 12hrs 26mins). The checkpoint was filled with runners relaxing, refuelling and soaking up the life-giving warmth of the sunshine in the shelter of the tents. I joined in the luxuriating.

I did not go as fast out of this checkpoint like I did two years ago. I mostly walked even though it was quite runnable. I wasn’t worried. I went too fast in 2009 and blew up. This year I was taking it easier and I was going to finish. It soon became too warm now that the sun was out, so off came the full waterproof and on went the lightweight wind-proof to keep wind chill at bay.

The climb up to Arête du Mont-Favre (69km, 13hrs 48mins) was longer than I recalled. I must have been going really well here last time. It became less windy and warmer on the descent, through more herds of docile cows to Col Chécrouit (73km, 14hrs 29mins). Even though it was only 5km before Courmayeur the food was pretty impressive. An Italian chef was just bringing out some of his new creations. I pounced, along with others. It was fantastic. Runners were spread out in the warm sunshine having a picnic.

Now with my waterproof trousers and wind-proof top stuffed into my rucksack I felt more like a runner. I set off on the final descent to Courmayeur. It simply begs to be run properly but it gets steep at times. As I descended it became warmer and the steeply zigzagging single path became dustier. I was so in my element I'm afraid I let it rip just a tad, overtaking countless others on the descent to the town just like I did two years ago. It probably took too much out of me again but I couldn’t help myself. I promised myself a good recharge at Courmayeur. As I approached the sports hall the efficient UTMB machine had sent word ahead of my arrival. A young lad ran out clutching drop bag 2062 as I passed the doorway. I didn’t even have to slow down. “Merci!”

Courmayeur: 78km in 15hrs 25mins. Checking my times from 2009 I have discovered that I was 54 minutes slower. It had to be a good thing though. I was running more within myself so was more certain of a finish.

The first job was to remove my shoes and socks to let my feet dry out. They were beginning to feel a bit sore. Fifteen and a half hours of wetness had created the beginnings of trench foot. Both socks had rucked up, which was the main cause of the soreness. I prevented too much damage just in time. Apart from that minor irritation my feet were in perfect condition. A fresh pair of padded socks restored luxury. On went the Crosslites, which fit like a glove. I was ready to go, but not before a good refuel of pasta and sauce and some tea (always without milk on the UTMB).

Thirty-eight minutes after arriving, after what seemed to me a decadent rest (perhaps it was – it was only 28 minutes in 2009) I was on my way upwards in the hot afternoon sunshine towards Refuge Bertone.

For the first time I was not in a queue. The field had thinned dramatically. I was freshly fuelled but, just like in 2009, the fuel wasn't reaching my legs. I needed a pudding of chocolate cake and custard to give me a kick up the arse, like we got at Dalemain on the Lakeland 100, but it wasn't there. Pasta and sauce alone just doesn't do it for me. It slows me down instead of speeding me up. (I had the same issue at L100 2010, so I know what I'm talking about.) I grind to a halt as my body tries to digest it, with no instant energy to power the legs RIGHT NOW. I resorted to my own rations of gels to undo the short-term damage the pasta was doing. It sort of worked. By the time I arrived at Refuge Bertone (82km, 17hrs 35mins) I had gained 110 places, though most of those were probably due to retirements, loitering and vacillating in self pity at Courmayeur.

Despite my copious fuelling I still seemed to be plodding on empty. I was amazed how much food I was having to consume to keep myself going at peak efficiency and avoid the dreaded plod of self pity. I lost a few places on the flattish, high level traverse to Refuge Bonatti (90km, 19hrs 14mins) in the warm evening sunshine. Perhaps I was loving the views too much down to the valley on the left.

I had to loiter unashamedly at Bonatti (two pictures above). I needed yet more fuel. I soaked up the warmth of the evening sun just before it sank behind the mountains across the valley. I drank life-giving Coke. I ate sugary foods. I donned warmer clothing for the imminent disappearance of the sun, then I was off contouring along the hillside towards Arnuva. Other runners passed me. I passed other runners. I didn't care. I could only do my own thing and I seemed to be going OK once again. I remember trashing myself on my over exuberant run down to Arnuva in 2009. This time I took it easy with a careful jog down to the checkpoint. 'Remember the ultimate goal of finishing!' My left shin was making itself felt more forcefully on the final descent, but I'm used to temporary soreness and minor niggles. It was instantly forgotten upon my arrival at Arnuva (95km, 20hrs 32mins).

More cake and Coke saw me on my way up the valley with my head torch, in readiness for the advancing night. This would be interesting. I did this in full daylight two years ago. I forked right through the farm, more herded (docile) cattle and up the zigzag mountain path. The torch went on halfway up. I needed more food and needed to don gloves. My mobile phone beeped a text message. I sat down on a convenient rock to take care of business – (yet more) food, gloves and text message. Bovine (after Champex Lac) was now out and an alternative mountain was chosen. New route length was 170km (up from 166km but had been reduced from that). Ascent was now increased after having been reduced. Cut-off was back up to 45.5 hours (originally 46 hours for a shorter course with slightly less ascent). “Bring it on”, I thought. I'm well inside the cut-offs. I'll just plod on until I've finished like I've always done.

There were few others around me now. As I climbed towards Grand Col Ferret I entered cloud. The strong wind at lower levels subsided as I climbed. I saw a diffuse red glow in the sky. It signified the checkpoint. The mountain path took me to the right away from the glow, causing it to fade to obscurity. The path tantalised and tormented me before eventually turning left to restore the glow, which was now orange. The path eventually levelled out to Grand Col Ferret (99km, 22hrs 14mins) and a high pressure sodium vapour floodlit mountain-top oasis. Apart from the light, the petrol fumes from the generator were also a bit of a give-away. The marshal scanned my number and ushered me down the other side into Switzerland. I was happy to oblige. I was feeling good.

I set off running gently downhill with two or three other runners in close proximity. I felt fit and well and wide awake despite being into the second night. I was raring to go (while the latest fuelling lasted). Within minutes, warning bells began to sound. I couldn't run freely. My left lower shin was paining me. I persevered. It got worse, rapidly. I slowed to a walk and watched the other runners' headlights gradually disappear downwards into the mist. I tried to run but was thwarted to a walk every time. I tried everything – shuffling sideways to my right, shuffling with bent knees, lifting my left leg high and letting my left foot hang limp. Nothing worked in the end. The pain just got worse. I could hardly walk let alone run. I screamed internally with anger and frustration. I was on course for my first UTMB finish and a limb was scuppering my chances of a race finish for the first time in my running career. I cursed through clenched teeth and wept tears of sheer frustration as it dawned on me that my UTMB was over for a second time.

A few runners began to overtake me. A trickle became a flood as lines of head torches loomed from above/behind. A sit-down would have been nice each time but the path was so narrow the best I could manage was a lean or fall to the left while the human train barged past, sometimes with a “Ça va?”, occasionally with an impatient barge of the walking poles at being inconvenienced by an invalid. Oh, the ignominy.

During an all-too-rare sit-down opportunity a head-torch sat down beside me with a: “Mr. Ham, how's it going?” It was Mark Dalton. His arrival was accompanied by a voluminous gaseous release of putrid origin. (Don't worry Mark. We were all doing it quite audibly. As ultra runners we know farting to be a cause of celebration. It means our digestion is working and we are fuelled for action.) As the stench of sewage wafted across my olfactory organ I explained why I was sitting down and why my race was over. He offered welcome sympathetic words, and after a respectable number of seconds he was up and off down the trail to continue his own race. He finished. Well done Mark!

The 11km of mostly downhill to La Fouly took me 3hrs 44mins. The revised (compared to 2009) up-and-down route to the checkpoint was a source of immense irritation to one who was in dire need of retirement hours ago. I felt totally unworthy as I hobbled my way between the lines of spectators with their inappropriate (under the circumstances) cheering and cries of “Bon courage” and “Bravo”. I tried to ignore them and wished they'd shut up. Couldn't they see my predicament and moderate their enthusiasm appropriately? I was feeling sorry for myself, I was injured and I wasn't used to it.

After getting scanned (La Fouly, 110km, 25hrs 58mins) I made a beeline for the medic. She confirmed what I already knew – I would not be continuing to Chamonix under my own steam. I suddenly became grateful for the French penchant for medical treatment and accoutrement as impressive bandaging was wrapped around my injured forelock to authorise and visibly justify my retirement. I was sent on my way with two enormous painkilling torpedoes to be taken immediately. 'How decadent', I thought. 'I'll take one now and one later if I remember.' I returned to the heated tent to have my timing chips unceremoniously and unsympathetically hacked from my person, then comfort gorge on bread and cheese before lolling on a table in front of the 9kW fan heater to wait for the sag wagon to come round. Oh the ignominy.

I achieved my highest placing - 825th - at the top of Grand Col Ferret. By La Fouly that had become 1022nd. On the bus back to Chamonix I sent a text message to my dad and brother to not bother going to Vallorcine to meet me. I kept falling asleep mid text. I needed several attempts to get past three letters in a four-letter word.

After an all-too-familiar retiree's sleep on a camp bed in the sports hall in Chamonix I knew straight away that I had to return. I still want it. I haven't made it back to France yet under my own steam (is there a message there somewhere?). It has to be third time lucky. Perhaps next time I won't combine it with a Runfurther Grand Slam attempt.

Nine days later.

Here are my pictures.

Eccles Pike fell race. >3mi + 817'. Wed 17/08/2011.

2011-09-01T22:01:00.000+01:00

I was wondering how to celebrate my 48th birthday. Instead of the usual imbibing and regretting it the following day, I decided to run the Eccles Pike fell race. Not only that, I would turn it into a personal duathlon by cycling there and back at maximum effort. The journey uphill from Stockport to the Navigation Inn in Buxworth took me 40 minutes (I have no idea of the distance). I had plenty of time to register, chat with Kevin Day, Will Meredith and a few others, soak up the evening sunshine and check out the start location. The start and finish was on a sports field in a cold hollow beside the river and out of the sunlight. Kevin of organising club Goyt Valley Striders arrived late (by car, would you believe) to say his piece and blow his horn. The reason for the lateness was to allow for late arrivals, who had been held up in the roadworks on the A6. I was glad I had cycled.

The route would follow an 'up-'n'-down, out-'n'-back format. We set off up the football field to a sharp left up to the road. I elected not to short cut through the deep 'station weed', which some others did. Once up on the road we descended to complete a left-hand circuit back around the Navigation Inn beside the canal basin, which brought us back into the warmth of the setting sun. Back past the Navigation, we turned right to climb to the bridge over the Whaley Bridge bypass, then onwards up past more sports fields before turning right onto a lane, where the sun blinded us. A left turn took us steeply uphill on single footpath and the ascent towards the foot of Eccles Pike via fields, a bog, a steep climb and a rocky technical path. Fortunately the sun was behind us at that point. The techical path saw the front runners begin to pass me in the opposite direction before I reached the foot of the Pike.

The right turn up the Pike allowed me my first walking break. There was no way I was going to run any of that. The same went for those around me. We puffed our way up to the top. As soon as the gradient began to ease I forced a shuffle, then jog, then run out of my legs on the left-hand turn back to the downhill and return leg. However I felt a little weakened and did not feel confident to 'let 'er rip' to my satisfaction. I felt as though I was stumbling clumsily down the hill, but I wasn't getting overtaken so it can't have been too bad. Back down onto the rocky path I turned left into the blinding sun to run almost blind. I ran on the right to avoid crashing into the tail-enders who still had the final climb to look forward to. I was running as hard as my body allowed but it seemed so slow (as always). I got overtaken by one on the descent across the fields to the boggy dip but I soon caught up on the other side. I pushed with all I had down the path to the lane and right turn. My ears told me there were runners behind but I would do all I could to hold them off. I ran, now with the almost set sun behind me, to the left turn down the edge of the sports field to the bridge over the bypass, down, left, past the Navigation and right. Cruelly we were now faced with the uphill along the road. I was dragging myself but I was still not getting caught. Yes, I was passing others walking in the opposite direction back to the Navigation who had already finished, but they're 'special' and blessed with speed and I'm not, so I could ignore them without too much feeling of inadequacy.

From what I could hear, the runner behind me seemed to be closing. I pushed myself up to the right turn down the track back to the football field. Even though it was downhill I had nothing left to blast it. I just hoped my best would be good enough not to get overtaken. I turned right and ran up the football field to the finish in 0:32:46, which was 76th out of 128 finishers. The man closing on me was David Smith, the only other Stockport Harrier in the race. He was just 2 seconds behind. Another 10 yards and he would have had me.

Runners were milling around in the cold hollow in the calm evening air, drinking water from plastic cups. Steam rose off them as if they were thoroughbreds at the end of a race. They probably were. I was just an old nag out to pasture (but I was still steaming).

I returned to my bike to begin the mostly downhill ride back to Stockport, which was exhilarating. I enjoyed burning off the cars who, after racing starts from traffic lights, elected not to overtake me until we ventured into 40mph zones. (The wind and rolling resistance of hybrid bikes is not conducive to high speed.) I did prove one thing though; cyclists don't set off speed cameras.

That was my penultimate training for the Ultra Trail du Mont Blanc. The final training was my local Woodbank Parkrun on Saturday, which I completed in 23:19. I later discovered that it was only 3 seconds outside my PB for this hilly 5k. That was a pleasant surprise. I felt fit and ready for the UTMB.

Dovedale Dipper 26.6mi. 07/08/2011.

2011-08-18T22:05:00.001+01:00

Dovedale Dipper 2011.

Don’t worry; I haven’t taken leave of my senses. In the end I didn’t run this delightful yet challenging cross-country / trail marathon from Hartington. My body was still feeling a little ‘used’ and it was time for a bit of relaxation instead. Julian (my brother) was registered, so I would see him off and welcome him back, just like he did for me on the previous day. As this is (yet another) favourite of mine I was able to show him the ropes to hopefully ease his nervous excitement. I also took pictures and chatted with familiar faces. Another Lakeland 100 finisher (Ian Hodge this time) was there. You just can’t keep ultra runners down.

It seemed strange to be in a normal weekend setting for me (mingling with runners before a race), yet knowing I would not be running with them. Mixed emotions flooded through my mind, the principal one being that I was an imposter or pretender and did not belong there, or I was fraudulently claiming injury or illness and couldn’t take part when really I was feeling perfectly well (which I was). I sometimes get dreams like that, though goodness knows why. Does anyone else or is it just me? The multi-coloured sight of the throng as it set off down the hill to the sound of the air horn was an unusual one and strangely emotional. I wanted to be there with them but I had to be sensible and realistic; this was one event I did not need to run, by any stretch of the imagination.

Julian waits discreetly behind Ian.

I returned to the village hall to see if the organisers needed any help, which they did not. Matlock Rotary Club has got this down to a fine art with everything running like clockwork. Instead I chatted with a lady supporter who faithfully accompanies her partner to all his events. I joined the organisers for a pleasant brunch in the local café, which houses a very small post office – so small that the postmaster or mistress would have to be very slim (I’m not joking). I caught up with writing my Lakeland 100 running diary report. Then before I knew it the first 15-mile walkers were returning (they had started at 09:30, the 26-mile walkers had started at 09:00 and the 26-mile runners had set off at 10:00). Not long after that the first 26-mile runner returned. Time had flown by. We had prior warning of the imminent arrival so a small welcoming committee was outside to look out for his appearance on the hill opposite and cheer him back. It was interesting to observe running speeds compared to my survival shuffle at the end of such events.

Gareth Briggs just finishing.

Winner Gareth Briggs finished in 3:46. First woman was Adela Salt in 4:02, who finished equal second with Sean Ketteridge, Ian Corless and Peter Stockdale. My camera could not react quickly enough as the group of 4 raced into the village hall. The trickle turned into a flood as the walkers and runners continued to return, all of them cheered home by our little welcoming committee. Once again despite the forecast, the weather had treated us surprisingly well, with sunshine and only a brief shower.

In 13th place with a time of 4:41 was Karl Hinett. I glimpsed some writing on his shirt about running a marathon a week for a year. My interest was instantly piqued and I got chatting. As an 18-year-old soldier in Iraq in 2005 he had got badly burned in a mob petrol bomb attack. He was the human fireball seen on news reports around the world clambering out of his tank. The burns unit at Selly Oak Hospital has treated his burns and brought about amazing restoration. As a thank you for his care and treatment he has taken on the challenge of running a marathon every week for a year to raise money for the unit. (In fact, looking at his race schedule it works out at more than a marathon a week.) He told me that he’d just recently got a Personal Best after many months of weekly marathons. I was mightily impressed and took his details to make a donation.

Karl, if you see this, keep doing what you’re doing. You’re well over halfway and still going strong. I’ll see you at the Snowdonia Marathon, which I see is on your schedule. Unfortunately the JustGiving website lost my comment and rendered my donation anonymous, so I hope you see this.

If anyone reading this wants to make a donation, Karl's JustGiving page is here.

After 4:53, Ian Hodge ran up to the hall in 25th place. As he passed I heard him saying something like: “He’s just behind me.” I couldn’t work out what he was on about. Who could he possibly mean? I was chatting to another runner who had run from the last checkpoint in bare feet because his shoes had fallen apart. Suddenly before I realised it, Julian was running past me and into the hall to finish in 4:55. Frankly I was flabbergasted. He was never this fast, but he has been running most days and racing occasionally and selectively, in stark contrast to me, who never trains as such but who races most weekends and sometimes during the week on the odd fell race. His fitness has improved dramatically over the past year and he has now equalled my PB for this route, which I got in 2005. Now I’m really glad I didn’t ‘run’ this one because I would certainly have held him back something chronic.

Julian just finished.

Julian had been cramping (fortunately something I never suffer from) and needed electrolytes, rehydration and refuelling. Without the cramp that forced him to back off the effort on the final stage, he would possibly have been even faster. Well done Julian. Perhaps I should start taking this running lark more seriously now that I have some sibling rivalry.

Here are my pictures.

Long Tour of Bradwell 33mi. 06/08/2011.

2011-08-11T21:33:00.005+01:00

Race 10 of 12 in the 2011 Runfurther series.

33.3 miles with 6,747' of ascent, according to Tracklogs.

I was spending another weekend away, this time in Wetton with my brother Julian, to run this race on Saturday and reserve judgement on whether to totter round Dovedale Dipper on Sunday. My brother would be running Dovedale Dipper.

My big toenails had settled down just in time for me to ‘toe the line’ (not the rocks) at 9am in Bradwell. They have been killed once again and are held in place by plasters and tape. I wonder how many more times they can grow back under such abuse; it takes over a year. Thankfully they are no longer painful as long as the plasters do their job.

I was not the only Lakeland 100 runner present. The other Runfurther Grand Slammer Greg Crowley was there of course, but so were Kevin Perry (who finished the L100 5th in 24:58), Stuart Walker (who finished 8th in 25:24!) and Mick Cooper, who always overtakes me and finishes strongly in every event we both do. Danny Aldus was also there, though he retired at Dalemain after 58 miles last week, so his legs would be relatively fresh. ;-) ;-) It was also good to chat to fellow bloggers / forumites Simon 'Fellmonkey' Green and Andrew Harris; and Jim Mann for the first time since Hardmoors 55; and Runfurther creator Mark Hartell, who was on flag duty as well as running the race. It goes without saying that the long chat with Runfurther Karen was as spiffing as ever :-)

For the second weekend in a row we would be using SportIdent dibbers to record our progress around the course for instant split times gratification at the finish.

The sky was overcast, heavy showers were forecast and we could smell rain in the air when we climbed out of Bradwell through the cement works and up Pindale. However the ground was dry and I ‘made hay while the sun shone’. That is, I covered as much ground as possible while it remained dry and non-slippery. Even most of Cavedale was dry apart from the lower reaches with the drainage trickle, at which point I minced my way down to avoid personal catastrophe, since my La Sportiva Crosslites grip like ice on wet limestone. (Yes, I was finally wearing the new Crosslites and guess what, they were dead comfortable. If only I'd followed my original instincts for the Lakeland 100 I could still have two viable big toenails now.)

Descending Cavedale gingerly.

CP1 at the bottom of Pindale, CP2 above the top of Cavedale, CP3 at the bottom of Cavedale and CP4 on the road out of Edale passed in dry conditions, but a slight drizzle mist on the wind made itself felt as we climbed the flanks of Ringing Roger to CP5 at the Druid’s Stone. It never came to anything. I later learned that just a few miles north was already getting a thorough soaking.

Drizzle approaches on the climb towards Ringing Roger.

From the Druid's Stone an off-piste steep descent across heather and down a rock face or two was required to pick up the wall down to Woodhouse Farm, where we had special permission to use the drive down to the road (this is not a right of way and is out of bounds at any other time). After that big descent to the valley we were soon hit by the climb back up to Back Tor, just along the ridge from Hollins Cross where we had recently crossed on our outward leg between Castleton and Edale. A left turn took us via CP6 to the summit of Lose Hill / Ward’s Piece. The forecast rain still hadn’t arrived.

A steep, initially technical descent off Lose Hill eventually took us across fields and past the farm to CP7 at Killhill Bridge. The race organiser was marshalling in the field to guide us across the footbridge and ensure we did not accidentally stray from the trodden path and enrage the farmer.

I found myself alone as I departed CP7. I had only done 14 miles but I had already slowed. I needed fuel so I guzzled an Alpro soya milk drink as I walked past the cemetery and camp site and along the cut-through to Aston. When I emerged onto the lane I saw a dead badger on the verge on the other side. It must have been a recent kill because it didn’t smell yet, and I can tell you there had been some pungent stenches of death from out-of-sight rotting carcasses as I progressed around the route.

I took the footpath left towards Win Hill and it started to rain properly, though still not enough to warrant waterproofs. All I needed was my cap to keep the rain off my glasses. I ran along the narrow path that contoured its way towards Ladybower Reservoir. The wet bracken with its characteristic ‘sweaty’ smell slapped against my legs. The well-marked CP8 that had been long coming signified the sharp right turn through the gate and down to the track beside the reservoir. Water levels were a little low and this shower would do nothing to replenish supplies. The rain was already easing off. The old quarry railway bed that was used to transport stone to build the dam provided the ‘easy’ run in to CP9 (17.6mi.). However by this stage on this event the run never comes easily. Today was a little more laboured than usual, for obvious reasons. I had been caught by other runners and I focussed on them to pull me along as I tried to ignore the heavy legs that were complaining bitterly.

Ladybower.

CP10, situated in the middle of the multi-staged crossing of the River Derwent at Bamford, came very quickly. It was followed by the steep drag up ‘The Escalator’, officially known as Bamford Clough, which brought us up to the lane towards Stanage Edge. The sun was out, the ground had dried already and I could not believe how lucky we were with the conditions. I got into the groove and ran while the going was good. I looked at the expansive views to my right and felt utterly content.

On the way to Stanage Edge.

CP11, easily missed in a first running of this event, is set back to the left off our path and I was looking out for it. Once that had been dibbed I could switch off and walk/shuffle my way up to Stanage Edge and along the rocks among the walkers and rock climbers to CP12 at Upper Burbage Bridge (23mi.). I wasn’t the only one who was feeling depleted by this point. We sat down in the warm sunshine to refill water bottles and electrolytes before setting off on the final 10 miles. The left-hand route (track) might not be the shortest but it is the best graded and the most runnable. We soon arrived at the road and crossed to descend steeply to CP13, hanging precipitously in its usual place above a vertical drop down to Burbage Brook.

My legs were complaining but I really enjoy the next section with its interesting navigation, so I ‘ran’ as best I could in the familiar warm sunshine that has always blessed us on this event. I had eaten again so energy levels had returned for the time being. Running from memory I picked up the almost invisible path up to the right through the bracken and above the woods. I pulled away from the following group but before CP14 I was struggling to run and had to kneel down to squeeze the blood out of my leg muscles and get some relief. I looked back and saw the chasing group bearing down upon me. I’d only had 15 seconds of relief but it would have to do. I sprang to my feet and ran to CP14 above the old quarry workings at Bole Hill (26mi.), where I got caught.

Descending from CP14 to Bole Hill quarry.

Trees and grass have colonised the quarry now but man’s shaping of the landscape is still very obvious, with a terrace to run along and a steep ramp to descend (another escalator). We descended to and followed the River Derwent upstream (so that’s why I couldn’t run it all) to CP15 at Leadmill Bridge (27.9mi.). I killed two birds with one stone here by kneeling in front of the water container to refill my bottles while recovering the leg muscles. Who says men can’t multi-task?

CP15 - Leadmill Bridge.

The sun was beating down as I set off on the final 5.5 miles. I had another brief new lease of life and was able to run most of the way to CP16 at Stoke Ford (29.8mi.). The only time I wasn’t running was on a brief uphill section when I was passed by walkers going in the opposite direction. One of them said: “Come on, you should be running. The others in front are running.” She failed to recognise the fact that she was passing me on an uphill but she had passed the others on a downhill. I would be running within 30 seconds when I reached the downhill. She didn't understand. I am an ultra runner and ultra runners don’t always run, especially when they are clapped-out and it's uphill.

With 3.5 miles to go I climbed the long path to Abney. The trees provided welcome cool shade. I had to walk too much and thought I must get caught again soon. Where was Mick Cooper? He’s usually overtaken me long before this stage on an event. A left and right turn brought me onto the track up to the final high point. In the fields to my right I observed the creation of hay bales in one field from the cut and dried grass, while in the adjacent field I saw how they were wrapped tightly in black plastic sheeting (you know, that stuff that farmers abandon to blow around the countryside and get caught in fences).

I reached the top and turned left on the freshly graded track towards where the hang gliders fly. I tried to run but couldn’t. It was pained agony. I settled on an alternate jog/walk to the stile on the left. Over and across the fields to the top of the final descent with Bradwell and the cement works laid out before me. The sun was still shining, just like it always does, but this year there were no gliders. That’s a first. I missed their presence above me.

Final descent to Bradwell.

I began my descent rather painfully, still wondering where Mick was. I heard someone approaching from behind but I was too knackered to bother to turn round and look, then I heard: “By ‘eck, you took some catching.” I turned around and lo and behold, there was Mick.
I replied: “I wondered when you’d catch me. I knew you would overtake me before the finish. I’m suffering.”
“So am I”, he replied. “I won’t be doing any overtaking.”

We ran together as best our bodies allowed down to the main road for the final downhill drag to the finish. It never ceases to amaze me how uncomfortable running an easy downhill can be when you are not exactly brimming with energy. It was as much as I could do to keep running. I noticed Mick was humming to himself. Perhaps it was to take his mind off his personal torment. I should try it one day. (The UTMB at the end of this month might be a good place to start.) If he hadn’t been running beside me I would surely have had a few sneaky walking breaks.

As we entered the sports field my brother was there to welcome me in and take pictures. I dibbed my final dib and sank to the grass to sit cross-legged to commence my recovery, which comes pretty quickly as soon as I’ve stopped. I know Mick could have made up a minute or two down that finishing straight but he chose to stick with me instead. How uncompetitive is that. What a great bloke. Thanks Mick.

Recovery (courtesy Julian Ham).

My time of 7:46 was 17 minutes slower than last year. I'll take what I can get and be satisfied. No harm has been done after this toughest of doubles in the Runfurther series. Only two races remain now: High Peak 40 in September and Round Rotherham in October.

Of the other L100 runners, Kevin Perry finished 5th (again) in 5:47, Stuart Walker finished 6th only 23 seconds later and Greg Crowley finished 44th in 7:30 (virtually my time of last year as it happens). Danny Aldus finished 45th in 7:32. They are all faster machines than I. I was 57th, which out of 98 starters put me in my usual place firmly in the bottom half of the field.

Here are my pictures.

Montane Lakeland 100. 29-31/07/2011.

2011-08-02T21:29:00.014+01:00

The Montane Lakeland 100 2011 experience, personal and oberved in others, in a nutshell:

Joss.
Dibbers.
Scales: "64.2", black on yellow.
Kit checks.
Sobering, nervous, serious, pensive;
10-yard stares abound.
Hot sun.
Views to die for.
Camaraderie that can't be beaten.
Exhilaration.
Stick the dibber in.
Steaming tarns in the cool dusk air.
Bogs and wet feet.
Two very dark, moonless nights.
Big climbs that can't be run.
Trip hazards to give 'elf and safety' a heart attack.
Stick the dibber in.
Big descents that can't be run.
Trip hazards to give 'elf and safety' a heart attack.
Stick the dibber in; are they following on-line?
Rocks, boulders and scree.
Trip hazards to give 'elf and safety' a heart attack.
Toenails rammed into their beds.
Feet now hurt too much, so can't run anyway.
Sheep rescued and returned to the flock.
Physical and mental challenge.
Humbling.
A great leveller and destroyer of preconceived targets.
Just finish now.
Distant, mournful groans as stomach contents get emptied.

Pasta, Rola Cola, chocolate cake and custard;
Dalemain ultra-fuelling.
Best ever aid stations and support.
Medics observe for warning signs.
He's as white as a sheet and stopped sweating.
Confusion, nausea, vomit.
Out with the mop and bucket.
Physios tend to tortured muscles, medics to shredded feet.
Cheered by merry ones in Ambleside.
Swig of beer blagged off one.
Beef stew under the fairy lights by the chimenea.
Cheered by supporters night and day.

At 03:44 on Sunday another cheer rises in Coniston.
Stick the dibber in one last time.
34:14, 4 hours and one minute faster than last year; that'll do me.
Enter sanctuary and the stench of pure evil: wet socks and shoes-a-festering.
I proudly add to the fugg and get a cup of tea.
Scales: 62.0kg, 2.2 down, all's fine and dandy.
Drink, chat, chill, sleep, eat, drink, chat.
Prizegiving laughs, Marc should be on stage, so he is.
Sleep, PUB, drink, eat, chat, chill, SLE-E-E-E-E-P.

Starting pen.

Walna Scar Road.

Descending towards Boot.

Burnmoor Tarn.

Ullswater.

Haweswater.

Troutbeck.

R&R.

The Lakeland 100/50 is truly an epic. It is now a world class event, take it from me.

Pictures-a-plenty.

9 down, 3 to go. Next one will be Long Tour of Bradwell on Saturday. My big toenails are so tender and will be lost once again. I hope they settle down in time. I only have myself to blame. I didn't wear the Crosslites in the end. What an idiot.

Crosslite mods for Lakeland 100

2011-07-26T21:59:00.001+01:00

The Lakeland 50 and 100 are nearly upon us. Loads of people I know are doing it. It filled up months ago. It's built a formidable reputation and become one of the must-do world class tough Ultras in only its 4th year in existence. It'll be my third time and I sense big changes towards greatness. I depart on Thursday pm for the final wind-down and sleep in Coniston, ready for the L100 start at 17:30 on Friday. Fell-running legend Joss Naylor will be setting us off on our (up to) 40-hour journey. Race progress can be followed live via Sportident timing at http://www.lakeland100.com/. Please follow us, will us to finish and will the rain to keep away.

Before all that, I have decided to strengthen my new pair of LaSportiva Crosslites before the uppers get a chance to start ripping. Shoe Goo is my strengthener of choice. My first pair has done many hundreds of miles and served me well, but for half of that time my balls (of my feet!) have been peeking out. I'm hoping that this treatment will delay the, ahem, 'exposure'. I'll let you know how it goes.

Old and new with preventive treatment at the ready.

Masked and ready for gunging.

Shoe Goo'd and curing for Friday.

Shining Tor fell race 6mi. 20/07/2011.

2011-07-21T22:52:00.002+01:00

I'm back; hope you didn't miss me ;-)

Last Saturday was filled with my first 5k Woodbank Parkrun since last November (finish photo by 'Adythomas'), followed by a pleasant 11-miler from Walker Barn (to be more precise, the top of Bull Hill Lane on the outskirts of Rainow) to show a friend the last couple of sections of the Bullock Smithy Hike. That was completed in 2 hours with a few walking breaks and a couple of visits to the shops near home. Not bad considering we didn't push the pace.

That brings us nicely to yesterday evening, when I did my first Shining Tor Fell Race. It starts from the Errwood Reservoir in the Goyt Valley, on the other side from registration in the sailing clubhouse. There was an impressive turnout. As we waited for the start we fidgeted madly due to the midges, which made our skin itch and burn and left big red blotches after they had taken their fill. Still, it wasn't all bad. We had swarms of bigger flies in our hair to take our minds off the skin irritation.

After a short delay due to late arrivals we were off along the road. We heard distant applause to our left. I looked down to see a couple of people in a small boat on the water.

I thought the start was a little slow but I soon realised why when we turned right and began the climb. Then followed the typical fell race scenario - trying not to walk while not being so enthusiastic that you HAVE to walk. It worked for me this time. The jog was maintained, while marginal respites were enjoyed as we ran in line along single paths with no opportunities to overtake.

We climbed to the top of Shining Tor and I saw views (in the opposite direction) I hadn't seen since the Bullock Smithy Hike changed its route in 2000. The air was calm, mild and damp to just provide enough cooling. Giving my all was feeling good as we went into our first descent across the bouncy, cushioned moor.

The marshals did a sterling job directing us at all the turns, while the occasional red and white tape wafting gently in the breeze confirmed that we were on route. I just followed the people in front. After the initial climb our route undulated up and down until the final descent. The downhills were a joy but on the first gentle descent when it became rocky I found myself to be a tad lacking when heavy breathing closing from behind culminated in one or two others overtaking me. However, later on when the descents became steeper and more technical and my legs were still feeling strong, it became my turn to do the overtaking.

Before the final descent, the cloud was rolling in like smoke wafting up the valleys to our ridge and it started to drizzle. It was good. It cleared the atmosphere of our tormentors and it helped to cool runners' bodies as they were pushed to their limits.

The final descent to the foot of Errwood Reservoir dam brought the sting in the tail - the right turn and climb up the road to the finish. I had held my own and not got overtaken on the descent despite the foot slaps that had gradually closed from behind as I chased and eventually overtook my own target. The smooth uphill was runnable so I ran, but it wasn't enough. I became the target and finally got overtaken by the foot slapper but just held off one more before the line. (I nearly got caught when I paused to capture a sharp image of the finish. The result was, unbelievably, pants.)

After crossing the line I turned around to photograph my chasers and tormenters, but before I managed to do that I tripped over a boulder and sat down rather forcefully on a bed of thistles. I relaxed and took the picture. Running shorts afforded little protection. I was picking thistle barbs out of my a*se for the rest of the evening.

The official time was 1:00:23, which got me 91st out of 182 finishers; pretty chuffed with that. Without the conga lines I might have even been able to knock 24 seconds off ;-) The heart rate was only hitting the red this time instead of the scarlet. I felt strong to the end. Fitness seems to be returning just in time for the Lakeland 100.

You will have gathered I took pictures. You are lucky because this was an eyeballs-out fell race, so you will excuse blurredness, skew-whiffness and any other photographic defect. Note the tormented restlessness before the start.

The Wizard 5. 14/07/2011.

2011-07-14T23:42:00.002+01:00

My recovery from the weekend has been rapid. The short cycle commutes since my return to work on Tuesday have been speedy and energetic and my legs have felt very strong. The knee was already fully recovered.

A work colleague told me yesterday about the Wizard 5 race. I jumped at the chance for a short sharp shock, which I haven't had for a good while. It was going to be the second 5k Sale Sizzler but I did not mind passing that one up, since I'd missed the first one and cannot do the full series. Anyway this sounded much more fun. We drove to the National Trust carpark on Macclesfield Road, Alderley Edge to register and check out the route map - a small loop and a big loop with an out-and-back between them. There would be rocky rooty trails, fields, tracks, narrow enclosed paths, stiles, gates and some country lanes. There would also be some ups and downs but nothing extreme, not like a serious fell race. My Stockport Harriers vest was getting its first airing for a few months. I counted four others.

There was a big turn-out of nearly 200. I chatted with Julian Brown from Macclesfield Harriers on the start line before easing my way a little further back to a more appropriate and discreet starting position. The obligatory inaudible utterances were said and we were set off by the pea-modulated screech of the Acme Thunderer. The first mini anticlockwise loop undulated through the wooded old copper mine spoil heaps and workings. The trail was hard and dry. I wasn't used to the speed but I knew it would be doing me some good. We soon returned to the start point and rejoined the rocky initial outward path before turning right onto the much longer anticlockwise loop.
Once out into the warm evening sunshine and exposed tracks, the dust was getting kicked up.
There were plenty of stiles that provided a welcome few seconds to catch our breath.
Single person width paths between wire fences ensured no overtaking for a brief spell (a bit more recovery).
I found myself automatically in polite LDWA mode and held the hand gates open for the next runner. It would have been rude to do otherwise.
Some short sections of country lane allowed as much 'easy' speed as our wracked cardiovascular systems allowed.
The evening sunshine and lack of wind made it rather warm when a heart rate in the mid 180s suggested that a high intensity workout was underway.
I unclenched my fists and let the sweat evaporate from my relaxed hands to aid cooling.
My breathing rasped through my open mouth and my spittle had thickened. I swallowed. The moisture would do more good staying inside me than in the dust.
A runner close behind had been breathing down my neck rather noisily for some time but he hadn't overtaken. I was trying my hardest to not let it happen. Perhaps he was weakening as well.
Well into the return leg a marshal offered comforting words that we'd soon be back into the woods where it would be cooler. No it wasn't. There was no breeze in the open so certainly none in there. There was no cooling moisture or evaporation to reduce enthalpy. It was just the same.
This was a short race so I could afford not to walk up the final climb with the foot steps trodden into the hillside. My tongue was hanging out and my lungs burning as I gasped for air, but the run had to be sustained. The breathing down my neck had receded but I could not ease off. Sprints to the line are common but they are never from me. I could still get caught.
The final climb delivered us to the homeward stretch with its left turn and gentle downhill to the finish. Be careful, don't trip over the rocks in your weakened state.
Around the right hand bend and there's the timekeeper. Across the line. No-one close behind. I'd pulled away!
0:38:36, 7.77mph, 7:43/mi pace, 80th place. By my standards, not bad. Well chuffed.
Average heart rate 179bpm, max heart rate 187bpm - for a 47yo? Yes, it was a good workout alright. I should do it more often.

Manchester-to-Blackpool 100km bike ride. 10/07/2011.

2011-07-13T21:00:00.001+01:00

Thousands of cyclists gathered and departed from the world-famous Manchester United football club on a rolling start for several hours from 06:30 onwards. The 100km ride would take us on a winding route in a north-westerly direction on average, but in practice varying between northerly and southerly via Leigh, Atherton, Standish, Chorley, Leyland, Preston, Kirkham, Warton and Lytham St Anne’s.

There was a big assortment of charities being represented by the cyclists, a principal one being Manchester’s Christie cancer hospital. This event is an excellent vehicle for raising funds for many good causes and I was proud to be a part of it.

I work for NXP Semiconductors and our company was once again enabling a large “NXP4C” team (NXP 4 Christie) to raise some valuable funds for that charity upon which so many depend. 87 of us, dressed in our easily recognised, specially printed fluorescent green technical T-shirts, set off at 07:30 to ‘do our own thing’. Speeds and steeds varied greatly but we all had one aim – to complete the journey and do our sponsors proud, which I know we achieved. Whenever the going got tough, our bottoms tenderised or undercarriage chafed, hill too steep, head wind too strong or energy levels low, we could think about the big carrot that was pulling us to the finish. That carrot was the barbecue and drinks on the finishing straight that the company had laid on for us. We were treated like royalty.

In the early stages of our ride we were threatened by a couple of showers, but fortunately they did not last very long. The sun soon came out and the day turned out pleasantly warm for a bike ride. I had done zero cycling practice for many years, the last proper ride being this very event two years previously. However, things seemed to be going relatively effortlessly and before I knew it I was passing Horwich. I had glanced to my right and spotted the communication masts on Winter Hill in the distance, while much closer between the houses I spotted the characteristic shape of the Reebok stadium. Wow, that’s normally an appreciable journey in the car.

From the outset I was surprised by the number of emergency puncture repairs that had to be carried out at the side of the road. I felt sorry for the victims and felt thankful for the tough tyres on my trusty Kona hybrid bike, which although not light or streamlined like a racing bike, feels very comfortable and is a pleasure to ride.

Altogether I had three brief stops, the final one being within a few miles of the finish. Each one was because I could feel my energy levels dropping, causing a slowdown. Having a bite to eat each time soon brought energy back to the legs. It’s just like in ultra running. I had a 2-litre bladder of water in my rucksack so I was able to drink on the go. The rucksack's bulging proportions were helped by extra clothing in case it got cold while we waiting for our return transport. It was never needed.

I spoke to a fellow rider afterwards who complained about how he slowed down and could no longer keep up with me. He told me he didn’t eat anything for the whole journey. He got a lecture from me on the importance of regular fuelling to avoid slowing to a crawl and feeling sorry for oneself. Like many I’ve learned this the hard way in the ultras.

For the most part I had been overtaking earlier-starting cyclists. Some of their machines looked or sounded in no fit state to be doing any distance, let alone 100km. Tyres were partially flat, rusty chains were squealing, gears were grinding and brakes were binding. After we had finished we saw some BMX riders finish. How they managed 100km on their super-low-geared single speeds with ground-level seats and their knees around their ears if they weren’t standing on the pedals, I shall never know. Quad burn probably featured quite highly on their day.

We experienced some long uphill grinds but they rewarded us with some long speedy downhills, which were the only times I used my top gear. I must have exceeded 30mph. I really wanted to activate the 30mph speed limit warning sign on one downhill but it didn’t work. Next time I’ll have to wear a metal jacket and try again.

As I neared the end, increasing numbers of racers, usually in packs, ‘buzzed’ their way past at effortless speed. (Why do expensive road bikes make more noise in their transmission? Surely, more noise equals more wasted energy.) I began to realise that brightness of clothing and machines was proportional to speed; the flashier the faster (usually).

The final 10 miles of this event are the worst. It’s a slog on the flat into a head wind. This is when my knees are getting sore and I slow down and get overtaken the most. However, unlike in 2009 when two sore knees prevented me from cycling for a week, only my left knee was a little sore this time. I crossed the line in 4:02 for an average speed of over 15mph including stops. My time in 2009 was 4:51. How strange that my first PB of 2011 turns out to be a cycling event.

I had 6 hours to kill before we and our bikes got transported back to work. This was spent eating, drinking, chatting and cheering our fellow riders, and others too, to sunny Blackpool promenade. The whole place was buzzing with activity. Among the attractions near the finish line was the Stockport Pantonic steel band – very accomplished, entertaining and amazingly loud (no amplification needed). I watched them for a good while before our 17:30 return coach brought to a close an epic sunny weekend. A big thank-you to all who have sponsored NXP4C this year.

Unlike in 2009 when I had no knee strength and had to wheel my bike home, this time I was able to cycle home relatively energetically on 1.5 leg power. 2 leg power returned within a day. There are no after-effects. Today I spoke to a regular cyclist who mentioned how tough he finds it on the legs to get back to walking or running after not doing it for a while. In contrast, my ultra runner's legs did not suffer at all from a long bike ride on zero practice. Does this mean that trail/hill/fell/mountain running affords better all-round leg fitness and is better for cycling than cycling is for running? Any thoughts from seasoned cyclists out there would be gratefully received.

White Peak Walk 26mi. 09/07/2011.

2011-07-09T21:40:00.012+01:00

The White Peak Walk is low-key and never advertised, but it fills to capacity months in advance.

A sub-5hr and two minutes off a PB. Now there's a pleasant surprise. I'll take that. :-) Heart rate this time averaged at 173bpm and peaked at 185bpm. I'm not there yet but fitness seems to be returning already, otherwise I could not have pulled off this time, even at 173bpm.

It was another beautiful warm sunny day with a cooling breeze at times, and it didn't rain. It goes without saying that the views were gorgeous. How could they not be gorgeous? This is Britain. We are so lucky.

I took pictures but you'll have to be patient. I have no time to upload them now as I have a 04:30 alarm call tomorrow. The 100km Manchester-to-Blackpool bike ride awaits, in aid of The Christie cancer hospital (our sponsor page).
I spoke to yet another person today who is having to make use of The Christie's treatment services.
If it were not for The Christie you would not be enjoying my ramblings and race pictures. :-)

Pictures now uploaded. We had the novelty this year of going through the Headstone Tunnel under Monsal Head now that it's been opened. It allows uninterrupted travel along that part of the Monsal Trail. They'd even laid a road for us.

This picture shows a quintissential English scene, in this case Youlgrave. Spot the increasingly rare red telephone box hiding in the shadows:

Thought for today.

I think I must use Stuart Mills' theory of positive mental attitude while pushing the body to its limits, but there is an important proviso. As long as we accept that everyone is not born equal and that one man's (or woman's) ancestral inheritance may confer vastly different inate PBs, dissatisfaction, frustration, envy, jealousy, bitterness or giving up trying should not arise. We will continue to do our own thing and enjoy the (personal) challenge every time. If you have a competitive streak but you are not blessed with ultimate speed, you can only compete with yourself (and perhaps one or two others whose race times might suggest that they are similarly 'blessed' to you).
For the privileged few with good ancestry (good training is assumed), running an ultra at 70% of their maximum effort will get them a podium finish. For the slightly less blessed it may get them a top 10 placing. For many of us, just to finish within the cutoff time is a major achievement. Make the best of what you've got.

The Western States 100 was run at the end of June. The winning time was 15:34:24 by Kilian Jornet of Spain. He was the first non-US runner ever to win that race. Our very own Jez Bragg finished 4th in 15:55:08. My PB in that event (also a Hundred PB as it happens, and I've run a few) is 27:18. No amount of training could ever have forced a sub-16 out of me.

Nick.

Osmotherley Phoenix 33mi. 02/07/2011.

2011-07-06T20:14:00.008+01:00

Race 8 of 12 in the 2011 Runfurther series.

Immediately after Shires and Spires I departed on a business trip to visit customers in South Korea, Singapore, Malaysia, Hong Kong and China. Fortunately the Chilean volcano dust cloud saved me from a further excursion to New Zealand, which might have proved to be the straw that broke the camel’s back. I returned home just in time for another customer visit in SE England and only made it back to work on Thursday 30th June. I needed to undo the damage of 4 weeks of sitting on aeroplanes, in taxis, stations, trains, offices and at customers. I had planned to run the first 5k Sale Sizzler on Thursday but I still had far too much to do and could not spare the time. I had the entry form filled in and everything. So, come Saturday 2nd July I found myself at the start line of my 4th Osmotherley Phoenix, super rested and racing-snake fit for the best PB of my life. (Who sniggered? No? Must have been me.)

I drove up on Friday for two nights' accommodation in the Queen Catherine Hotel. I like relaxed race weekends so I can chill and not be rushed. I like to think it will eke out the best athletic performance but I remain to be convinced. Living on the edge and last minute rushes seem to get the adrenalin pumping more to give better results, from what I can recall.

The weather was superb yet again and I looked forward to yet another warm, sunny event with dry conditions underfoot. My first priority was to hand over the Runfurther sponsors’ flags to Simon, for which I had to wait to be let out of the pub at 07:30. (The poor landlord only got to bed at 02:30.) The flags had been in my possession since the Brecon Beacons 40 because I was in charge of them at Shires and Spires. Then it was time to get registered and bend some ears. It’s one of my favourite pastimes, bending ears. You may have noticed. I was spoilt for choice with such a big reunion – Runfurther Si, Garry from Hardmoors 55, Ian from Calderdale 2009, Henry from Calderdale 2011, Richard from years of LDWA events, Chris, Geoff (a right speed merchant though he’ll always deny it), Mark (who achieved even scarier speed on that day), Rick from most events I’ve done this year, Dave from Shires and Spires, Dave with ‘Charlie’ the Border Collie with the race-ready haircut, the list goes on. I joked with Charlie (the human) over his turn of speed in last year’s YouTube video as he clawed his way across the finish line to gain one over his mate. Pat gave me a slap on the bum on the stage in the village hall by way of greeting. ‘ow do to you too, Mr Mullen ;-)

An announcement went out that we did not need to take waterproof trousers, so I offloaded mine into my bag on the stage and went outside to wait for the start. The instructions had been said (audible only to 10% of the throng; the organisers really do need to get some amplification) and the church clock was about to strike 9 to send us on our way when I suddenly realised I no longer had my route description and printed maps in my hand. I ran back to the village hall to scan tables, floor, my bag and the stage, during which the clock struck. A lady in the hall helpfully informed me that they had started.

I sometimes get disturbing dreams of still faffing around to get ready for a race after it's started. This was one dream I never wanted to live but here it was, happening for real. I still feel mentally scarred ;-)

I could not find my route notes so I ran back outside to ask for another route description sheet from the organisers. I reckoned I would need it for the fiddly navigation across the fields and through the woods and derelict farms between checkpoints 6 and 7. As I set off up the road out of the village to chase the rear of the pack I looked at the sheet of A4 and thought: “That'll never last long”. It didn't. Within an hour it was turning to mush and had acquired several ragged rips in my sweaty hand, aided a little by the odd drip from my hand-held bottle. To avoid any further damage I stuffed it into a waist pouch of my backpack until I really needed it, to let it dry out and recover a bit of strength in its fibres.

In pre-race conversations I had been telling people that I'd probably blow up by 15 miles due to lack of training. Oh how naively optimistic that proved to be. On the initial climb out of the village as I weaved my way slowly through the pack, I sensed a bit of a personal struggle developing. A glance at my heart rate monitor showed 180bpm plus. I don’t know about "blow up at 15 miles", I was already combusted before I'd started! That set the tone for the rest of the day. A jog for more than 5 minutes or a walk up a steep hill had me red-lining. The end result of my best efforts was a Personal Worst by over half an hour. 2011 is turning out to be a good year for PWs. I have yet to gain a PB.

The effect of prolonged rest (call it enforced slothfulness) is not a big surprise for me. I've been here before. This was yet more proof that rest is counterproductive (even two weeks has a negative effect) and results in a rapid decline in fitness. Conversely, serious weekly ultra-marathons reap dividends in improved speed and cardiovascular fitness (look at my performances up to the beginning of June at the end of some serious consecutive Ultras). To illustrate further, compare my 2007 and 2011 Osmotherleys and lead-ups:

2007
26-27 May. LDWA Cant Canolbarth Cymru. 100 miles. 31:23. (FIT)
16 June. White Bear Way. 21 miles. 3:39. PB. (FIT)
23-24 June. Western States. 100 miles. 27:18. PB. (FIT)
28 June. Sale Sizzler No 1. 5k. 22:48. No noticeable effect of Western States in the legs. (FIT)
07 July. Osmotherley Phoenix.33 miles. 6:45. PB. Ave heart rate 165bpm, max heart rate 178bpm. (FIT).
This will probably be my all-time best at Osmotherley. A heart rate of 165 is my optimum for speed with endurance.

2011
28-29 May. LDWA Housman 100. 100 miles. 28:52. (FIT)
05 June. Shires and Spires Northants Ultra. 35 miles. 6:23. (FIT)

--A NICE REST TO RECHARGE THE BATTERIES--

02 July. Osmotherley Phoenix.33 miles. 7:24. PW. Ave heart rate 170bpm, max heart rate 185bpm. (UNFIT).
According to this heart rate, as far as my body was concerned I put in far more effort than I did in 2007.

The fuel's going in but nothing's happening.

I know I can only run (or walk) as I feel able, so I did just that. I was struggling but the day was gorgeous, so the worst that would happen would be a bit more sun tan. As I pushed my personal limits, too far gone to bother about the swarms of flies buzzing around my head, I found my pace to be well matched with Gavin Stewart's. He was a great companion and the conversation flowed freely until the last manned checkpoint, when I shuffled ahead onto the final moor, on the way catching up with Mike Dobson-Hornett. He was suffering from nausea and had a right personal battle going on, but he was persevering to the finish, and finish he did, not far behind me as it happens. I had no idea he was suffering so much until I read his blog report last night. Well done Mike for finishing what you started no matter how bad it felt. You display the true qualities of an ultra runner with that never-give-up attitude.

The sunshine and temperature were showing no signs of abating. At the first self clip and final water station I was roasting (roast ham) so I removed my top to complete the final 5 miles across Black Hambleton and down into Osmotherley 'nekid', save for the bare essentials of shorts, footwear, backpack and Buff as a sweat band to keep the salt out of my eyes. The ventilation felt good. There was a down side to this freedom, though. I felt obliged to run whenever I passed walkers on the trail to avoid appearing a fraud. I even had to resort to creeping up on them before breaking out into a jog to pass. This deceitful practice was necessary because I could not sustain even a downhill jog for many minutes before internal warning sirens started to wail. Just 4 weeks and it’s come to this....

Gavin gives me the thumbs up at the last manned checkpoint.

I was happy to finally cross the finish line and put another one to bed to keep the Grand Slam alive with no harm done. I had enjoyed another brilliant day out in beautiful country with like-minded people. The Osmotherley Phoenix is organised to perfection. Big thanks to Gerry, Julie and all the helpers. It’s also a fast race. I always finish in the bottom half but this was the first time I’d finished in the bottom 20% of finishers. The Ultraplodder has been relegated to Ultrawannabe. In the next 4 weeks I hope to regain all the fitness I’ve lost so dramatically in the previous 4 in time for the next biggie, the Lakeland 100. Eek!

Post-race ear-bending continued where I’d left off with those who were still hanging around. The evening was completed with merriment on the village green until nightfall, where the locals consumed many yards of ale. I'd already had my fill so I just watched and laughed.

Nearly 10pm and Matthew drinks a whole Yard.

Pictures are here.

8 down, 4 to go.......

Addendum

I'm in no fit state to pull it off, but after the 26-mile White Peak Walk this coming Saturday (where no doubt another PW awaits), on Sunday I will do the 100km Manchester-to-Blackpool bike ride in aid of The Christie hospital. I will be part of a team from work called NXP4C. Because I do no cycling these days I fear a big suffer-fest. In light of my undoubted personal sacrifice and because I have The Christie to thank for being here now (they treated me for testicular cancer in 2003), I and my team mates would truly appreciate any sponsorship you feel able to give. Our JustGiving page is here. Thank you, and many thanks to you generous souls who have already donated.

Nick.

Shires and Spires Northants Ultra 35. 05/06/2011.

2011-06-06T22:29:00.001+01:00

Race 7 of 12 in the Runfurther series.

This was my first 'Go Beyond' event and my first visit to Northamptonshire. It's always nice to discover new parts of the country. New running events make it possible and Go Beyond added a different slant to what I'm used to. The experience was rather good.

The 35-mile route was flat to undulating with plenty of road, track, trail and fields and the occasional stile. It goes without saying that the countryside was gorgeous - not difficult to achieve in this country. We are truly blessed. It was more runnable and much faster than I'm used to, and tough to achieve the expected speed after last week's Hundred. Once again the ground was dry and rock hard. The shrinkage cracks in the fields of rapeseed and wheat we crossed looked as though an earthquake had struck. We had to run carefully across the 'knobbly crevassed concrete' to avoid twisting an ankle.

For 35 miles in my usual events I would expect to finish in 7 hours plus. This time I managed 6:23, such was the runnability - not bad a week after a surprise Hundred performance. Without the Hundred in my legs (which I must say I did not feel) I might have been 10 minutes faster, but I'm not complaining. In fact I'm pretty chuffed to be feeling so fit and well at the end of quite an intense month of weekly Ultras. The Grand slam is well on track. I hope it doesn't get undone by the three weeks of business globetrotting I'm about to embark on. We are talking South Korea, Singapore, Malaysia, New Zealand, Hong Kong, Shenzhen and Shanghai, starting tomorrow.

The winner was Stuart Mills with a time of 4:20. I was amazed to see him still there when I dragged in (he even cheered me in). Stuart's a right chatterbox, a bit like me really. When he'd finished wearing others' ears out we chatted for ages about anything and everything related to ultrarunnimg. What a great bloke.

The finish welcome.

I'll be back in time for Race number 8 - Osmotherley Phoenix. Until then there will be a news blackout.

Pictures are here.

Housman 100. 28-29/05/2011.

2011-06-03T23:18:00.002+01:00

The annual LDWA 100 is the Long Distance Walkers Association’s flagship event of the year, with organisation and support to blow your socks off with its comprehensiveness. You will never feel better cared for. It takes place in a different part of the country every year. This year the Housman 100 was based at Moor Park School, in the countryside three miles from Ludlow. We would be enjoying the delights of the Shropshire countryside – Stiperstones, The Long Mynd – poet A. E. Housman’s country. We would spend our time mostly on the Mortimer Trail, Offa’s Dyke Path and Shropshire Way Path.

My preparation for this was less than ideal. I only returned from business travel in France on Friday evening (fortunately the volcanic ash cloud allowed me back). After 4 hours sleep and a 4am alarm call I was on the 06:39 train speeding towards Ludlow, feeling a little delicate and thinking to myself: “This is no way to build up to a Hundred”. Geoff Holburt was very kind in picking me up at the station to ease the load on the provided free minibus.

With 523 starters (is this a record?) the hall was heaving and the registration queues merged into one another. Since this constitutes the annual gathering of walking friends from all over the country, many friendly faces of old were met, but there was not enough time for a chat. Time was of the essence and the pressure was on. I hope I didn’t come across as too rude.

With registration paraphernalia in hand it was now time to sort out the bags – breakfast bag, red label; finish bag, black label. Then the most important job – get my bed set up so the thought of it waiting for me in that quiet, dark corner of the sleeping hall could draw me to the finish in the latter stages if things got a bit tough. Anyway it’s always a good idea to get the mattress blown up while I’m still able. The ~~barn~~ sports hall was spacious but rudimentary. Still, at least it would be dry (or perhaps not!). The school fees must be cheap.

There had been no breakfast on the train. I was feeling hungry and had to eat something before we started. The smell of the bacon butties from the café bus drew me. There were only two or three people waiting inside so I joined the queue and waited, and waited, and fumed, and nearly expired, and waited for the most inefficient butty preparation known to man. When I eventually got it there were barely 15 minutes left to get my bags handed in and take the long slow walk to the starting area in Mortimer Forest. I have never seen such a crowd on a Hundred. Walkers were still arriving at 10:00 when Julian and Jo, Welsh and English flags aloft, led us on a rolling start up the single footpath. Easygoing and no pressure, relaxed conversation flowing freely with whoever was close by; I soon forgot my hassled preparation.

We soon came upon a look-out tower. This must be the Welsh border then, but so soon? Where’s the armed guard? Where’s the searchlight? They’re letting us in unchecked??

It started to rain but it was only a drizzle shower and it was not long before the sun started to make an appearance. The ground was bone dry for the most part. The going could best be described as ‘firm to concrete’. The dampness from above made no impact, and in any case the strong wind was doing a good job of drying out any moisture that might have been present.

I caught up with a lady I knew I recognised and found her pace to be just right – she walking, me jogging. Boy could she walk fast. It turned out to be Harley Davidson biker girl Tara Williams, top ‘Strider’ columnist (‘Strider’ is the thrice-yearly LDWA magazine). Her read is very entertaining and her conversation equally so. ‘Full of life’ best describes Tara. She was walking with Wendy Thurrell. We made a happy threesome for a while as the miles floated under our feet and the ever-beautiful views of the countryside flooded our senses. My camera was always at the ready to capture that special scene.

Tara and Wendy at Self Clip 1.

We joined the Offa’s Dyke Path, then on the final approach to Evenjobb we crossed into Wales (we really did this time, and there was no lookout tower to be seen). The view across the rapeseed field at this point was spectacular against the blue sky (see top picture). Evenjobb had Marmite and lettuce sandwiches. What luxury. The checkpoints kept us so well cared for. As I left a Marmite fan approached. I broke the good news to him.

This good fuelling was doing me good and I was feeling strong. I had bid farewell to Tara and Julie. On the way I had caught up with others – Colin, Jacqueline, Lindsey, John, Lesley, Alwyn, Vaughan, Anne, Marla, Jeff, Mark, Simon; great, more opportunities for a chin-wag. Once I had overtaken them I was alone, with only the wind, sheep, cows, bulls and horses to keep me company and the route description as my lifeline to lead me towards the finish. As the evening wore on, the strong wind on the high, exposed sections of Offa’s Dyke was very cooling but I was moving well enough to keep myself warm. The horses looked windswept with their manes blown sideways. They were wary of the noise my plastic tally was making as it oscillated wildly in the wind.

The section from Newcastle-on-Clun (CP5) to Mainstone (CP6) was mercifully short, at 4.7miles, because it was probably one of the toughest sections, crossing as it did the grain of the land on successive steep ups and downs as it followed the Offa’s Dyke Path. The glowsticks were already out in readiness for night time. With 2km to go to CP6, after crossing the driveway to Middle Knuck Hostel, the next simple instruction in the route description glossed over quite complicated route finding with plenty of opportunity to go wrong. On the next steep climb I became convinced I’d gone off route. There were fewer than ten people in front of me so the path was not yet well trodden or easy to make out. I backtracked towards the hostel driveway with the intention of having another go, when I was caught up by others who knew where they were going. I wasn’t off track after all. Their timing was perfect to save me from undue anguish and wasted time.

CP6 had a sudden rush on just after I arrived, which was quite a contrast to the earlier checkpoints. The first later starter caught me up there – none other than 2pm starter Andy Davies. He was amazingly relaxed and unrushed, and chatted for a bit while eating to keep the engine fuelled. He was running on his home turf and would go on to win by over 3 hours in 22:09. (Bear in mind that any talk of 'winning' and finishing positions is most unsavoury and to be frowned upon in LDWA events.) Just after Andy, 12pm starting group Gary Attewell, Colin Travis, Geoff Holburt, Ian Hodge and Chris Pritchett arrived. More perfect timing. I would tag along with them into the night and out into the following dawn. Gary had a GPS and knew how to use it. I made quick efficient progress on their coat tails until Bridges (CP9), by which time the pace was just beginning to get to me. I had to let them go, reluctantly. They would finish equal second in 25:18.

I sat for a while at Bridges in the holey army tent with three-light chandelier, feeling mildly depleted. (Keep it up on the chandelier front, Beds and Bucks, but three Compact Fluorescent Lamps is a bit downmarket I thought. Bring back the 10-lamp crystal jobbies you had at Cant Canolbarth Cymru. We need to feel the luxury ;-)

I knew I had to slow down to survive. I carried on at my own pace, alone again. The weather was closing in and my camera was now safe and dry inside my rucksack. The wind had risen again after a relatively calm early night period, the cloud base had dropped and rain was beginning to blow on the wind. Fortunately it did not come to anything. By the time I was on the ridge in the cloud and heading towards Pole Bank, there was just the head-on gale to contend with. Progress was somewhat slow and not very enjoyable along that long exposed section past Pole Cottage (memories of Long Mynd Hike), but once onto Starboard Way around the gliding club, things began to look up. Chris, who had just been able to hold on through the night and had stopped for longer at Bridges to recover and refuel, came sailing past me as if he were a new man. He was soon out of sight on the descent into the sunshine after Black Knoll. He would finish 9th in 26:02.

I should have mentioned by this point that Mick Cooper was a familiar sight along the way, either waiting or walking in the opposite direction. He was supporting his wife Jacqueline, who was doing amazingly well in the aftermath of a chest infection. She could hardly speak. The sight of Mick provided reassurance on an otherwise lonely journey (checkpoints excepted) that I was on the right path.

I continued at my own pace, taking it one stage at a time (the only way to do these Ultras) and keeping the food / water / Coke / electrolyte trickling in as needed. I was convinced that some of those I had left behind through to daybreak would start to overtake me again now that I was ‘doing my own thing’, but it wasn’t happening so far. If anything the opposite was happening; I was catching one or two others. I felt compelled to push on like hunted prey. I enjoyed the feeling while the going was good.

A group I had seen leave Bridges (CP9) was at Edgton (CP10) when I arrived. It seems I was chasing them down but could not quite catch them because they left shortly after I arrived, leaving the checkpoint looking familiarly empty. I had sensed by their demeanour at Bridges that some suffering was occurring. This did not change at Edgton. I began to feel like the hunter but continued to do my own thing, feeling utterly thankful for how well I was feeling compared to in most previous Hundreds. My feet were in perfect condition, with no issues whatsoever, not even a hint of a hot spot. It makes such a difference.

The next stage to Whittytree Farm (CP11) had me revelling in the Sunday sunshine and admiring the views (despite the wind). The out and back in the valley prior to CP11 might have looked contrived on the map but I’m sure it was necessary and it certainly brought some gorgeous views of green English countryside. The path was narrow and not yet well bashed. The overhanging stinging nettles had a field day on my legs.

At the tented CP11 with just ten miles to go, I indulged in a whisky liqueur chocolate (among other comestibles). I was well fuelled for the penultimate section, which was the shortest, flattest and easiest. It was the rest before the final ‘sting in the tail’.

Bromfield (CP12) heralded the final, tougher, 5.6-mile section. I could not ease off on the fuelling. I’ve made that mistake before and finished feeling wretched, but not this time. I may have overtaken a couple more here. I don't think it was the group I was pursuing, which must have had second wind and pulled away.

Fully refuelled once again I set off on the climb to the final high point in the forest, using the arrow waymarks as confirmation that I was on route. The climb might have been tough but it was worth it because it brought into view the Mary Knoll Valley set out below, and the lovely descent into it down the rocky path. I was in my element again. I let gravity pull me down, pausing on the way to take some essential pictures. At the bottom came the right turn onto the wide forestry track to the road, but hang on, there’s another junction. This isn’t in the route description. Surely I must keep right and descending. Turning left would mean going uphill again. I made the sensible choice.

I met Mick once again walking up in the opposite direction. “You’ll ‘ave them before the finish”, he said. What? I looked ahead and just around the bend was the group I’d been chasing down since Bridges. They were walking and still seemed to be suffering. I passed them on the road at the bottom of the school drive, pausing just long enough to exchange mutual respect and congratulations on a job (almost) well done. I could not believe that, at this late stage I actually had the energy still to run all the way from the top and continue in the same vein up the school drive and across the field to the finish. The hand bell was rung and the applause rose as I entered the door in 28:52. The same reception was awarded to all finishers from the first to the last. That’s the LDWA for you and the LDWA 100 in particular: fantastic, encouraging, warm camaraderie.

Seconds from finishing and a round of applause.

Earlier on Sunday a supporter at a road crossing had asked me what time I was hoping for. “Oh, sub-30 would be nice” I replied. As soon as I’d said it I thought: “Why did I say that? That’s wishful thinking, a pipe dream. There’s no chance.” So, sub 29 comes as a very pleasant surprise over what was considered to be a challenging route. The conditions were good, though. If it wasn’t for the sheep poo I would have finished with clean shoes.

I owe my success to many things, but chief among them will be the weekly Ultra marathons leading up to this to build up strength and endurance, a slow and easy start, optimum fuelling and hydration little and often throughout (critical and most difficult to achieve), going just slowly enough to allow the fuelling and hydration to work effectively, and zero foot issues, not even a first hint of a hot spot. My La Sportiva Crosslite shoes may be falling apart. My feet may have been falling out of them before I started and the studs may have been well worn, but they are the only shoes to fit my feet snugly without movement, rubbing or pinching. The rents are even bigger now but I can’t bring myself to throw them away, not just yet.

I chatted and cheered other finishers back while supping on some Shropshire Lad ale, two barrels of which had been provided free by Wood's, the generous local brewery. Ale really does go down well and help with refuelling and rehydration after serious physical activity. I think our bodies have earned it. After a clean-up, some bread and cheese (no dinner just yet; I had been eating well all the way round) I retired for a few hours’ kip, which is always difficult soon after finishing. Nevertheless it is an essential start to the recovery process.

Later on in the evening when it was nearly dark I rose to the sound of rain. The sports hall roof was leaking all over. I was truly thankful I wasn’t still out there on the event. I returned to the main hall to cheer more finishers back, chat some more and get some dinner and pudding. Those steak pies were simply awesome. Apparently they were made by a local butcher. That set me up for a proper night’s sleep back in the cold shed.

On Monday morning the volunteers were still beavering away on our behalf and looking a little frayed around the edges after so long on duty, while the walkers were still trickling in after going through a second night. That takes some guts and determination. The last finisher in 47:59 had an involuntary sit-down with the relief of finally being finished. What an amazing effort. In total, 375 out of the 523 starters finished. Well done to all finishers, commiserations to those who were unable to do so and heartfelt thanks to the organisers, volunteers and marshals. It was a massive undertaking that turned out very well. Bring on next year’s The Games 100 in London. That will be my tenth. I’ve been working up to it for a few years.

I took well over 200 pictures this time. The best of the crop is here.

'Might Contain Nuts' Brecon Beacons 40. 21/05/2011.

2011-05-24T20:27:00.004+01:00

Race 6 of 12 in the 2011 Runfurther series.

My first ‘Might Contain Nuts’ event was a testing little number in the Brecon Beacons based in Talybont-on-Usk, east of Brecon itself. The Talybont Outdoor Recreation Centre in the old station building proved to be an ideal base, offering as it did modern bunkhouse accommodation for the Friday and Saturday nights as well (though the owners do need to get the drainage sorted out in those showers so the room doesn’t flood every time someone takes a shower). As I was there on Friday evening I was able to chat to the organisers and early registrants, as well as help to set up the start banner for the following morning; the cut-down saplings we found proved ideal as hoisting stakes. It was a glorious calm, clear evening.

By the 8am start on Saturday the cloud had already rolled in and the wind was blowing a little. A weather front was forecast to hit some time during the day but I was hoping I might just get lucky and finish before we got hit by the worst of it. It would be a tough 40 miles and I was hoping for a sub-10-hour finish, which would mean I’d be out there until 6pm max. I might just get caught in the final hour. What better incentive is there than an impending soaking in the mountains to get a move on?

This event would be unusual for me in two respects:
1. Save for water refills, we would have to be self sufficient;
2. It was not supposed to be a navigational exercise so the course would be marked.
Number 1 is no problem as long as we know and we can plan how to look after ourselves. Number 2 is a luxury that was really appreciated by the runners, but what a responsibility for the organisers! To mark such a long and rugged route must have taken many committed ‘person-hours’. The unusualness (for me) of the event combined with the location (I had never been to the Brecon Beacons before) would add some considerable spice to my ‘weekend at the office’.

With the provided waterproof A3 map in hand, we started with a bit of track running to reach the canal towpath, which we had to follow further than originally intended for a longer way round to the first ascent, thanks to the blocking of our intended path off the canal. At the beginning of the first climb to the summit of Tor y Foel we got sworn at by the local bad-tempered, quad-bike-riding farmer for leaving the footpath gate open. “Yu dorn’t live the bleddy gate ope-e-n du-euw?” As a sop to calm the unjustified outburst, the next runners who were just about to come through (we had better manners than to close it in their faces) opened his field gate for him to let him into the adjacent field before venturing through into the footpath field and dutifully closing the gate behind them. Perhaps it was the same farmer who fenced off the route from the canal towpath.

The sun had come out and was warming us nicely as we climbed. The first top was no molehill, yet it would be just a small taster of what was to come later. The runnable grassy descent brought us to the first checkpoint to the east of Talybont Reservoir. Following on from that was a delightful out-and back, in-and-out, sometimes precipitous old mining trail through the woods that eventually brought us to the gently ascending quarry road to the massive limestone quarries. This would have been all runnable were it not for the strong headwind blowing through the man-made pass. The quarry landscape was very different, so entertaining to my visual senses. Someone said it’s used to film Doctor Who scenes. It does not surprise me. It does look alien.

A sharp left turn took us over the moors (Bryniau Gleision) and down to the woods (Cwm Callan) for the final rocky descent to checkpoint 2 between the Pentwyn and Pontsticill Reservoirs. Garry Scott, with whom I had run the final stages of the Hardmoors 55 in March, had been playing cat and mouse with me again, alternating from behind to ahead as we each experienced our highs and lows. This time you couldn’t see him for dust as he left the checkpoint while I refilled my water and tucked into my first Marmite and cucumber sandwich.

The sun was still keeping us warm and the wind on the tops was preventing the overheating that might otherwise have occurred. Nevertheless, in anticipation of worse cooling on the next high, rugged and exposed sections I put my wind-proof Pertex on. That was a mistake because I was immediately too warm as I climbed through the woods. Mark Hartell (originator of the Runfurther series, for which I am extremely grateful) was descending the trail. His camera shutter clicked wildly as he passed a comment about it being too dark in there.

With the sleeves of this new encumbrance rolled up and body hitched up as high as possible to increase cooling, I emerged into the sunshine and the LONG, north-westerly climb across open moor between the shake holes. I was alone. The pathless route was marked out by occasional flags of the appropriate nationality. Garry was a long way ahead already and surely uncatchable. The route march took me across boggy areas that were covered with white fluffy marsh grass before eventually reaching the precipitous edge and ‘other people’. Yes, our route so far had been remote and unused by others, but now we were approaching the honey pots of Corn Du and Pen y Fan. It was getting like Piccadilly Circus. I said “Hello” to all I passed and chatted to a group. I took pictures. I was slowing down. I needed food. Kellogg’s Elevenses bar to the rescue. I looked behind and the first two female competitors had just caught up! The food started to kick in and I got on with the job of running again. Mick Cooper caught up with me, true to form. We would run together for a while but the inevitable would surely happen sooner or later with him slowly disappearing into the distance on the next climb.

Checkpoint 3 (a tent and a very enthusiastic marshal) was at the col at Bwlch Duwynt. From here we did a left turn for the loop down to checkpoint 4 at the main road, round and back up via a different route. Near the beginning of the descent the path we would later climb back up came in from the right. A much speedier competitor was on the way back. I wasn’t quick enough with the camera. Down at CP4 we got our much-needed water refills. The sun was still very warming and the encumbrance had to go back into my rucksack.

I had been noticing a lot of other walkers and some runners wearing numbers who weren’t ‘one of us’. I noticed more of them on the climb back up. Some of them were carrying dummy weapons. I asked one of them what the event was. It was a ‘civilian event’ (Fan Dance?), with some wearing large rucksacks and come carrying guns as an added burden. The guns must have been heavier than they looked. This area is well used by the military services as a training area. In fact some military types were taking part in the Brecon 40.

I eventually got back up to CP3, which to me at my stage in the event was now checkpoint 5. From there was the easy jaunt to the mini peak of Corn Du before the peak proper of Pen y Fan. I thought it was Piccadilly Circus up there but marshal Colm McCoy said there were hundreds up there an hour earlier. He directed me to the descent route, where a nasty accident could easily occur if you weren't very careful. It was a climb down a cliff face of very large rock steps, blocks and muddy ledges to the ‘safety’ of a gravelly surface that sloped away steeply (see picture at the top). From there was the most amazing grassy ridge descent down the spine of Cefn Cwm Llwch. Photographs cannot do the views justice. On the way down I stopped to look back and photograph Pen y Fan and the mountain range behind me. I commented on the amazing views to a couple of passing walkers. They complimented me for taking the time to stop and take in the views when I was supposed to be running a race. I didn’t tell them it’s any excuse for a rest.

The path took me around the left-hand side of Allt Ddu at the foot of the spine and onto grassy fields. I was sheltered from the wind and I was in an oasis of sunshine. It was very warm. I caught up with Garry and Pat Mullen. (I saw Pat at Inversnaid on the Highland Fling after dehydration had forced him to retire.) In following the race route marker in the middle of the field the three of us had gone too far to the right. We could see the checkpoint across the next field. The marshals gesticulated us back across to where we should have been. I still don’t know how we lost the path to the stile.

As we were sitting down at checkpoint 6 to refill and recharge, the marshals commented: “Here come the first ladies.” Ever competitive, I was off, leaving Garry still recharging. Shortly I pulled Pat back onto route. He had lost his way in the next field. The heat was getting to him and he was beginning to cramp. The next stile nearly did him. After checking that he had enough sustenance and wishing him good luck, I carried on. I was feeling quite strong, having got my hydration and fuelling just right. The Accel Gel I had consumed a few hours earlier (bought at registration on Friday) had been very effective along with my other food.

As I climbed back up Bryn Teg towards Cribyn on the other side of the valley from where we had descended, the weather was looking ominous. The sun was a permanent feature behind me in the valley but ahead was a pall of blackness and I was climbing into it. It was not yet 3pm and it had already come. I felt mildly put-out by its premature arrival. The wind blew strongly and transiently as it turbulated from the other side. Occasional sheets of spray blew over the top and down the valley. If I couldn’t keep moving I would soon cool down too much. The sleeveless shirt and shorts that had served me so well up to now would no longer be up to it. I could not risk a slowdown so I consumed my second gel, this time with caffeine. I could feel it kick in within minutes and I climbed strongly, feeling mentally alert. Near the foot of that pyramid corner of Cribyn that I was about to ascend I stopped by the race route marker to put my Pertex back on. I struggled with it as it ballooned wildly in the wind, even trying to blow back off me again when I had got it on. The leading women had closed considerably.

The top of Cribyn was still visible as I began the final assault but by the time I reached it I was in cloud. A couple of marshals (at least I assumed they were marshals because who else would be standing up there at that time?) nodded in the direction that the race arrow was already pointing. I dared not stop for an instant. The wind was whipping the rain violently across the top, but fortunately it was no more than heavy drizzle. Big rain drops would have been much worse. All picture-taking would be off limits from now-on. I ran as best as the terrain and visibility allowed along the ridge, eventually descending to the last checkpoint, CP7, in the col near Fan y Big (fnarr!). Visibility was worsened and my pace was slowed more by the water droplets that coated both sides of my glasses (depending on wind direction). I was running blind. Unless the path was very obvious I could not pick it out in the haze. I was struggling to see route markers until I was almost upon them.

I did not loiter at CP7. I still had plenty of drink in my two bottles to last me for the final 8 miles, so taking the marshal’s direction I set off up the minor path, climbing yet again but still feeling strong, to keep myself just warm enough with my clumsy blind running. A long contour round to the left with precipitous death drop to the left (Craig Cwareli) brought the wind onto my back, which is always less cooling, especially when wearing a rucksack. I overtook a walker with full waterproof gear for herself and her rucksack. I must have looked naked in comparison. I knew in the back of my mind that I was pushing my luck not having used the proper waterproof that remained in my rucksack. My senses were honed for the trigger point to slip into something a little more comfortable.

I turned the right corner (Bwlch y Ddwyalit) and followed the path to a race marker arrow, where I was faced with a dilemma. The arrow could be interpreted as directing me into a peaty drainage ditch with rocks sticking out of it (how like The Fellsman) or it could be directing me along the feint path I had been following, which forked slightly to the left in more of a NE direction, but how was I to know it wouldn’t veer back to the east, where we needed to be headed? I ventured up the ‘path’, such as it was, for a short way. It did not veer right like it needed to do, it faded and I could see no markers. I turned and struggled to see my way back to the last marker I had seen. I looked back to the drainage area and could see no path or markers, but surely I had to go over there.

At that point two women came to my rescue. No, I wasn’t hypothermic and I wasn’t having my final euphoric dream. The leading two, Lucy Clayton and Sam Scott, finally caught up with me in my minute(s) of need. What perfect timing! Without glasses they could see a lot better than I could, but they were still puzzled. They knew we had to be going east to reach the reservoir, which was into the black morass, so after confirming with the compass they led the way down and up over the peat hag. Soon they could see a marker and pointed it out to me. I could not see it; then another one. I could not see that either. I removed my glasses and could suddenly see the scudding mist in the full clarity of the unobstructed blurred vision with which nature has blessed me.

At times I just about kept Lucy and Sam in sight as they ran strongly across the moor top, often on no path, or so it appeared to me. We passed the big beehive cairn, straight across the more obvious path that led others astray, in the easterly direction where my competent navigators and saviours knew we had to go. We descended steeply to finally reach Talybont Reservoir. We crossed the dam and turned left on the track back towards Talybont-on-Usk. It was too warm again in the shelter of the trees. The Pertex got hitched and the sleeves got rolled again to aid cooling. We turned left along the canal past the White Hart pub (which was heavily frequented that weekend for food and drink by a lot of ‘Nutters’). I hate flat running, especially at the end of races. I struggle to make forward progress. I do not (I CANNOT) do sprints to the finish line. I struggled to keep up but I just about held on. We left the towpath to continue our reverse of the outward route right along the track, up the scramble and across the lawn to the finish in 9:24:30.

What an epic. The climbs and descents are serious, the views are breathtaking, and if it rains, it becomes even more challenging. I would not have enjoyed such a successful final 6 miles were it not for Lucy and Sam. If you read this both, Thank You! Emma Key was 3rd in 9:39:15. Those are pretty close times for F1-2-3!

The winning time was 5:54:02 by Mark Palmer. Second was Andrew James in 6:15:40. Third was Daniel Doherty in 6:30:10. I don’t know how they do it. All the jammy speedsters beat the rain that troubled us mere mortals. Many people had navigational problems in the cloud on the final 8 miles. Some were forced to drop out as a result. Despite my fuelling that kept me motoring pretty well, and my (aided) strong finish that I would never have done on my own, I still finished joint 33rd out of 61 finishers – i.e. bottom half. I find that quite sobering. There were 12 retirements.

The big meal at the finish (I chose chilli beef on pasta) for a measly £3.50 really hit the spot after such a tough day. I cracked open the bottle of Rescue Ale I bought off Ian Winterburn after the Herod Farm fell race earlier this year, straight from the fridge and nicely chilled. That really hit the spot too (better than last week’s Wensleydale Wedge offering, it has to be said). I must get a case when I next see him.

Once showered, rehydrated and a little recovered, we wandered up to the best pub in the village for convivial drinks, packets of crisps, peanuts and chat until 12:30am. Mick sampled every hand-pulled real ale on the bar two or three times (there were plenty of them to go at). He'd already completed a round when I arrived. That's two things Mick excels at. One must enable the other, both ways. I am no match but I did polish off another 650ml of wine and never felt the effects then or the next day. Isn’t it amazing how the body metabolises alcohol without the usual undesirable after-effects when it is hungry for fuel, any fuel?

Many thanks must go to the Might Contain Nuts team. They put on a spectacular event for us and tried hard to make it a success. It was. It provided excellent training for Lakeland 100 and UTMB.

The pictures I took until the rain set in are here. Unfortunately the lens had got greased but be assured it's clean again for this weekend's Housman 100.

6 down, 6 to go.......

Marlborough Downs Challenge 33mi. 14/05/2011.

2011-05-16T22:46:00.001+01:00

Race 5 of 12 in the 2011 Runfurther series.

“Cross bridge over stream.”
“Leave track to BEAR RIGHT up path.”
“At T-junction with concrete track, TURN RIGHT.”
“Leave track and continue STRAIGHT ON along left-hand side of field to barn. Checkpoint 6, 21.1mi.”

I didn’t continue straight on; I turned right again towards Cherhill Monument, taking me away from the checkpoint I was so nearly upon.

I had not looked at the route description or map I was carrying since setting off. I had taken the calculated risk of relying on memory from my previous two completions, backed up by the green MDC arrows (when available) and sight of other runners, as confirmation of my route choice. It had gone very well up to this point, but on the descent to Checkpoint 6 I was suddenly worried. I was not recognising the route and I was losing sight of the white-shirted runner in front as the terrain closed in and became more intricate. I had to start following my nose. It worked for longer than I deserved but it couldn’t last. I had forgotten about CP6 before the climb up to the monument. I knew I had to climb to the monument eventually. It had been in sight for long enough and still we had not turned directly towards it. Finally, now must be the time, so I turned right on the track instead of continuing ahead to CP6.

And so my race became a Marlborough Downs 35 with considerably more ascent than intended, and a Personal Best performance rewarded me with a Personal Worst finishing time. My ankles are black and blue from self-kicking.

As we set off from Marlborough College at 9am the weather was perfect – dry, warm and sunny with a cooling wind on the tops. (We were so lucky compared to the Fellsman Hikers and the many runners on their personal Bob Graham Rounds that weekend, who had to endure cold squally showers.) My running was flowing effortlessly and smoothly like it hadn’t done in months, certainly not so far this year. Despite my respectable pace (by my standards) my heart rate of 165bpm was right where it should be for long-term sustainability. 10bpm higher has been more familiar this year, and that’s not sustainable for much over 2 hours.

The miles were ticking by and I felt happy, contented and in the zone as I luxuriated in the sights of the beautiful rolling chalky Wiltshire countryside. I got chatting to Javed Bhatti along the way, who confirmed what I already suspected, that I could be on for a PB. I was running so within myself, if I kept up optimal fuelling and hydration and didn’t slow down dramatically, the PB could be emphatic. Emphatic or not, it would be a first for 2011 and lay to rest my feelings that I’m finally over the hill, with last September’s Bullock Smithy Hike being my PB swansong.

Checkpoint 3 - split point for long and short routes.

Not long after here I would go horribly wrong.

Now back to reality. On the unfamiliar track I finally looked at my printed Tracklogs route and confirmed that I needed to approach the monument in an easterly direction. I climbed via track then over stiles (I never climbed over a fence), keeping as far left as fences allowed while keeping the monument over to my right. After a hard climb in the hot sunshine I glimpsed some runners along the ridge line up ahead. I climbed towards them, realising I had overshot the checkpoint but I didn’t know by how much. I veered left onto the track I should have already ascended by now and ran back down for far too long in search of the checkpoint. Other runners I had previously left in my wake gave me quizzical looks or asked if I was OK. My nonchalant response: “Oh, just trying to find the checkpoint. Is it far?”

I still felt strong as I ran back up to Cherhill Monument but realised that any hopes of a PB were probably out of the window. Nevertheless I pushed as hard as I could towards that finish line, but finally began to fade and slow on the final leg from the last checkpoint. My Coke had run out and I knew my slowing was due to lack of fuel. The extra distance and climb had just pushed me over the edge into fuel deficit just that bit too soon before the finish. I chewed a bit more Soreen loaf but it was too late to remedy the situation now. I lost 4 minutes on that final leg compared to my post-Fellsman PB finish of 2009.

Bright chalk track throws the clouds into stark contrast.

I crossed the finishing line in 5:56:34, which was 8 minutes slower than my previous PW of 2008. Without the navigational error, which cost me at least 15 minutes, and the subsequent slowing that probably cost me another 5 minutes or more, my time would have been 5:35 at worst. 78th place would have been 52nd. 671 Runfurther points would have been 713. A PB by 11 minutes would have been the first for 2011. SO WHAT? It’s all “would haves”. What’s done is done. I have no-one to blame but myself. Get over it. What does matter is that it was a PB performance and I finished feeling fit and well without any after-effects and without injury. The Grand Slam is still alive.

I chatted with loads of other runners before, during and after the race, including several from the Runner’s World forum. It was a perfectly organised and friendly event on yet another perfect day. I could not wish for anything more.

Andrew James, winner of the Highland Fling two weeks previously, won the race in 3:59:05. That man is a machine, just like Jez Bragg (who incidentally won the Fellsman in record time on the same day).

In the sports hall afterwards, as part of my post-race fuelling and rehydration I cracked open the bottle of commemorative beer we received at last November’s Wensleydale Wedge. It did hit the spot. I also ate two dinners (very nice pasta and salad), but by 8pm I was hungry again and fancied a quality Italian. I ventured forth from The Lamb Inn where I was staying and asked a couple of ladies out for a stroll if they could recommend a good Italian restaurant. They pointed out Pino’s just behind me, which was so understated I had wandered past it without noticing. They said it was THE BEST Italian in Marlborough. I was immediately sold and they were right. The tomato, mozzarella, basil and mango salad was larger than usual and to die for, but the calzone was a bloated monster fit for two. I scoffed the lot and washed it down with a large glass of beautiful wine. I declined a dessert for fear of an explosion and retired to the B&B to sleep it off. It had gone down by morning.

Because I was pushing the pace I took fewer pictures than I would have liked, but what I did take can be found here.

5 down, 7 to go.......

Rainow 5 fell race. 5mi + 750’. Wed 11/05/2011.

2011-05-16T19:42:00.004+01:00

I ran this local evening race as part of my final training for the Marlborough Downs Challenge on Saturday. The route took us up past White Nancy and beyond before turning for home back to the Rainow Institute. I’d been feeling strong and continued to feel so during this race, such that I finished in the top half for, I think, only the second time in a short fell race. (I won’t mention the fact that the popular and iconic Burbage Skyline race took place the previous evening and may have removed some of the stiffest competition from this race.) I finished 64th out of 134 finishers with a time of 0:43:45. Things are looking good for Saturday.

Running past White Nancy

Winning time was 0:32:09 by MJ Jack Ross of Mow Cop Runners.

The race was slickly organised and the awards ceremony afterwards in Rainow Institute flowed smoothly and quickly without a hitch. Why was that? The results were processed the old-fashioned way with stickers on boards, not a computer in sight.

Despite this being a short, fast, furious race I managed to take quite a few pictures. They give a good flavour of the friendly local evening fell race scene. The conditions were perfect as you will see. We finished with clean shoes.

6th Montane Highland Fling 53mi. 30/04/2011.

2011-05-05T21:36:00.024+01:00

Race 4 of 12 in the 2011 Runfurther series.

Before 6am on Saturday I was trying on a pair of La Sportiva Raptor size 45s in the car park of Milngavie railway station, courtesy of Mark Barnes from Climbers Shop in Ambleside. “Perfect! They fit like a glove, just like the Crosslites. I’ll wear them for the race.” These shoes are like gold dust in this country.

The 2011 run of dry weather was set to continue in spectacular style as Western Scotland was forecast to enjoy the warmest temperatures with wall-to-wall sunshine without a cloud in the sky. (Get this remarkable statistic; in my events, which have been at least weekly, it hasn’t rained since last October’s Snowdonia Marathon. Well, it did snow on me in December’s Tour de Helvellyn but that doesn’t count, since minus ten was far too cold for anything to be wet, including the contents of my drink bottles!)

The Montane Highland Fling covers the first 53 miles of the well waymarked West Highland Way from Milngavie (pronounced “Mulguy”) on the outskirts of Glasgow to Tyndrum. It has four starts:
6am for all Females and Male Vet 50s and above;
7am for Male Vet 40s;
8am for Males and elite MV40s;
9am for the relay runners (4 runners per team);
- giving maximum finishing times of 15, 14, 13 and 12 hours respectively. This is as good a way as any to split up the field, which this year at 450 registered was the biggest so far. Despite the field size, the trail never seemed to be crowded after the first mile or so. The encounters with hikers seemed to be as frequent as encounters with other ‘Flingers’. The West Highland Way is certainly a popular trail.

We cheered the early starters off through the underpass before awaiting our turn. Some of us found the station’s waiting room to offer good shelter from the cold easterly wind. Murdo gave us our briefing then it was our turn to stand in the gloaming ready for the ‘Go’. I positioned myself at the sub-11-hour marker. I managed 10:34 in 2009 and, allowing for a minor decline in performance with my advancing years, was still hoping for a sub-11 finish, to be sure so I was, oh yes, really……

Early on in the woods we followed the crowd straight on instead of forking left to follow the thistle waymarker. Fortunately I had only gone a few yards the wrong way when the call came from behind. I soon settled in with everyone else into what seemed like an easy, sustainable jog that I feel I can maintain all day. Well, it always feels that way but for some reason rarely works out in practice. As is often the case I found myself quite comfortably overtaking Ian Hodge, who I know always finishes ahead of me in ultras, but when my overtaking flows so freely I have to go for it. To do any less feels like a wasted opportunity and valuable time lost. A few miles further on, William Harris caught up with me with a comment about these fast starts. But he was behind me, and he always finishes way ahead of me, and he thought the start was fast? I think my perception of speed is way up the creek, even after all these years.

Although the easterly wind was cold, the unbroken sunshine on our backs and the effort of running made it seem very warm. I soon had to roll up my sleeves, and knew that once over Conic Hill and into the shelter of the hills to our east, my thin long-sleeved top would be relegated to my backpack.

I made good time to the first water stop at Drymen (12.1 miles). 1:51 was 2 minutes faster than in 2009. I drank a mug of electrolyte (half a nuun tablet). I had decided on this strategy at every water stop to complement the water and Coke I was drinking on the run from my hand-held bottles, to keep my hydration in perfect order. While I faffed with my hydration, Ian overtook me. William had passed through three minutes earlier. Normal status was taking shape.

As I climbed Conic Hill at a walk I began to glance behind me for the first 8am starters. The time was approaching 3 hours elapsed for me and 2 hours for them, and I reckoned on the first overtaking occurring soon. Close to the high point on the right-hand shoulder of the hill with Loch Lomond set out before me, the familiar image of Jez Bragg in his white The North Face sleeveless shirt appeared down the trail. As he loped effortlessly up the trail past me I offered words of encouragement. He was in the zone, devoting all his attention to the job in hand. I know what it feels like (in my own back-of-the-pack world, you’ll understand). Following close on Jez’ heels was Andrew James, a new name to me. He had a similarly effortless lope. Not far behind Andrew was Stuart Mills, whose grimace of determination gave the only true picture of what these elite runners must have been going through. More encouragement elicited the same ‘in-the-zone-not-to-be-disturbed’ response. Don’t worry lads, I understand. On the descent of Conic Hill, several more of the ‘racing snakes’ including Allen Smalls overtook me but I was paying too much attention to the technical descent to be taking any more pictures.

Conic Hill with Loch Lomond below.

At Balmaha (19.0 miles) my prediction was correct. I had already been baking on the leeward descent of Conic Hill, so off came the long-sleeved top. Balmaha was the first of four drop-bag stations but I did not have one here. My two bags would be at the 2nd and 4th stations. More hydration faffing ensued and many more runners overtook me before I was off along the eastern side of Loch Lomond for the next few hours of up-down twisting, turning and stumbling. I sensed that my pace had slowed compared to what it was in 2009. How much slower would it be if I wasn’t looking after my hydration so diligently? I wouldn’t want to know.

As we ran along the trail and through the water stations, the friendliness and enthusiastic support we received from marshals and spectators was as good as I remembered in 2009. However, what was different was the comparative absence of supporters’ vehicles this year. Supporters are actively discouraged by the organisers as unnecessary because we already have five water stations and four drop bag stations. Their absence ‘levels the playing field’ for those like me who cannot arrange such support.

I continued to slow and fall further behind my 2009 schedule as the sun baked me from behind and a steady stream of the later faster ‘Flingers’ overtook me. There is a lot of exposed trail on the West Highland Way. My mind began to wander as I thought of things to take my mind off the discomfort. At times the dry, narrow trail, deep blue sky peeking through the trees above and the smell of the sun-warmed pine forest reminded me of the early, high altitude miles of the Western States 100. The strength of the scent might have been a fraction of that in Northern California but I was still transported there in my thoughts quite a few times with the right stimuli.

My first drop bag was at Rowardennan at 26.5 miles. The Coke refill was warm and the mini pork pie was sweating nicely. I timed in here at 5:09, which was 25 minutes behind my 2009 schedule. I did not rush the taking care of food and hydration. I might have been slower but I wanted at least to finish, without trashing myself. It would take as long as necessary.

After Rowardennan the trail began to get technical and impossible to run unless you were fresh, which naturally I was not. This continued through Inversnaid (33.8 miles) and beyond. It provided multiple excuses to walk, which I really appreciated. I had no drop bag at Inversnaid. I was pleased about this because they were cooking in the blazing sun. I had a chat with Pat, who had retired with vomiting and dehydration. Quite a few were similarly affected by the heat.

Technical trail.

Inversnaid.

I also caught up with early starter Dave here. He had an epic plan to continue self supported to the end of the West Highland Way at Fort William. However he seemed to be struggling with an old injury and I was genuinely concerned whether he would be able to make it in time for his transport arrangements, or at all, for that matter. As I continued onwards along the remaining 19 miles his situation played on my mind. I was working out how I could help out if he did have to call it a day at Tyndrum. Would there be space at my B & B for him to doss down, and what about a change of clothes? His bag was already waiting for him at Fort William. So many questions.

8am starter Chris Webb caught up with me just before Beinglas (40.4 miles), and what a friendly and warm checkpoint this was (warm in two senses – there was a lot of basking going on). My second and final drop bag was here. The Coke was hot and lively, the Snickers bar was melted and the pork pie had escaped and was rampaging somewhere in the undergrowth. Chris Webb told me that his Coke had already exploded, so he was denied his sugar-caffeine fix. All this sun and heat, we are talking Scotland in April here; unbelievable! My time here was 8:54, which was 1:02 behind 2009’s schedule. So what; it was hot and this was as fast as I could go while just about enjoying the experience. If I don’t enjoy it, why do it?

Beinglas.

I watched Chris gradually pull away into the distance as I began the final 12 miles to the finish. At the speed I had been going on the previous two sections I reckoned that I would struggle to a sub 13 hour finish. What a comedown from the sub 11 I had been assuming. The thought of the cold bottle of Coors beer at the finish had been driving me on for several hours and the draw was getting stronger. The end of an ultra is one of the few times when I really fancy a cold beer because it seems to revive and rehydrate pretty well.

Once into the wide open again, the cooling wind began to restore a vestige of relative speed to my shuffle. Other runners remarked afterwards that they were able to pick the speed up again as the evening cooled. This was certainly the case for me. I was still struggling at the two ‘duck or grouse’ points (where the colourful lady I had caught up with earlier overtook me again for the final time) and past the mucky farm track, but by the left turn into the forest near Crianlarich I could feel sufficient energy return to the legs such that I was able to run properly again, even energetically on the downhills. The legs were hurting less. I found myself overtaking other runners on the up-and-down woodland trail. I kept glancing at my watch and realised that I was heading for closer to 12 hours if I could keep the running up. Another runner was close behind and I used him as an incentive to keep running as best I could so as not to get overtaken. I crossed the old lead-mining bare patch to the gate and on to the newly made footpath towards Tyndrum Lower Station. A bagpiper stood beside the final gate playing a slow tune, which ramped up to a faster, upbeat number as I came into view to signify the imminent arrival of (yet) another runner.

What a finish. I turned left to a rousing welcome of clapping, cheering and photo-taking to run under the big inflatable arch in 12 hours and 12 minutes. A youngster put the rather handsome Montane finisher’s medal around my neck and I was issued with my goody bag containing vouchers, leaflets, bottle of bubbly and technical T-shirt. I sank to the ground to recover from the final effort. Now where’s that Coors. Just run out? Only 300 ordered for 450 runners?? Oh.

**A polite note to the Highland Fling organisers: Either order enough beer to go round or don’t bother at all. Put the entry price up if necessary; just don’t knowingly deny those who are out there the longest. Do the back-of-the-packers really deserve guaranteed disappointment?

My final time was 1:38 slower than in 2009, so another 36 minutes were lost on the final leg despite my late recovery and “resurgence of power” (OK, I can fantasise, can’t I?). William Harris kept going to finish 2:27 ahead. Ian Hodge also didn't slow and finished 1:43 ahead, while Chris Webb gained 35 minutes on me over the final 12 miles to match my speed in 2009, and over the whole event, to finish in 10:33. I keep wondering how I ever managed 10:34 in 2009. What went wrong between then and now?

View from the other side.

Despite the warmer than usual conditions that slowed most others, Jez Bragg still broke his record, but he finished second. Andrew James was first in 7:12, Jez second in 7:15 and Allen Smalls third (and first MV40) in 7:43. Only one relay team beat Andrew and Jez. That is one impressive statistic.

First female was Kate Jenkins in 9:04, followed by Debbie Martin-Consani in second with 9:39 and Heather Caulderwood in third with 9:43.

The prize presentation had ended, it was getting cold and I needed to search out my B & B, yet I was still worrying about Dave. I didn’t even know if he had finished yet. I was just discussing leaving my phone number with the timekeeper for him to call me, when he ran across the line. Much to my relief he seemed surprisingly chipper and confident that he had plenty of time and capability to carry on all the way to the end. I explained the big container of water with a few solitary bits of ice floating on the surface. He was equally miffed.

Dave went to the Real Food Café to get refuelled and dressed to venture out into the cold clear night. I registered at the B & B then joined him in the café ready to see him off on his second leg. He had a beer already waiting for me as well as one for himself ‘for the road’. What a top bloke. It was a proper Scottish brew and much better than the Coors I would otherwise have had. Every cloud has a silver lining.

Dave took his time to make sure everything was right before setting off at gone 10pm towards the deep blue dusk that still glowed above the hills. I walked with him up the hill until the village hall, where the Ceilidh was in full swing. I was well over an hour late and the tickets had sold out months ago. I expected it to be packed and was looking forward to chatting with fellow runners. It was anything but packed. I was surprised at the poor turnout. None of the runners I’d been looking forward to chatting with were there. Lightweights ;-)

Seriously though, the no-shows no doubt indicated the toughness of the day, and the fact that they pushed themselves closer to the edge than I did. All was not lost though. I enjoyed two bowls of superb chicken curry washed down by 1.5 litres of water, a good chat with a Scottish group after imposing myself upon them to perch my curry on their table, and a dance. I left early at midnight for bed, on the way staring for many minutes at the clear, inky-black sky that was filled with more stars than I have ever seen. A crystal clear atmosphere of low humidity combined with little light pollution brought the night sky alive. I was once again reminded of Northern California.

How about the Raptors? 'Dead comfortable' is the answer. La Sportiva make the only foot-shaped shoes out there. The only gripe (there always has to be one) is that the soles offer no cushioning. They are rock hard; it's almost like running on blocks of wood (ultra clogs, anyone?). If anything the Crosslites with their studs offer better cushioning. I'll have to investigate thick Sorbothane insoles.

I took quite a few pictures again. The clarity of the atmosphere is clear to see (pun intended).

That's 4 down, 8 to go.......

Herod Farm fell race. 3mi + 1,100'. Wed 20/04/2011.

2011-04-26T21:10:00.005+01:00

I had nothing planned for the Easter weekend and I was hankering after an excuse to exert myself properly. A quick scan of the FRA fixtures calendar revealed a convenient local race that was just right for a warm mid-week summer's evening (in April?!). I eventually found my way to the correct road on the outskirts of Glossop and the new registration point at the Reliance Garage. (The pub where the race used to be based is now a private residence.) The new location proved to be ideal because of all the parking space it provided.

After registration we had quite a lengthy walk/jog up to the start for 7:30pm. We were soon set off on the upward track, raising the dust as we went (in April?!). I won't go into too much detail because the optimistic runner has already written a good account. The route took us up Whiteley Nab, twice. The first descent felt like the run to the finish so the temptation to give it all you had was immense. I was glad I'd read the FRA forum and seen mention of a second climb. Nonetheless when it came it was still a shock to the system. We were forced to a walk. I overtook someone trying to run as I recovered with my uphill power walk. Running was futile. We passed another runner with two extensively bloodied legs, who had retired from the race and was retracing the direct route back down to the finish. He must have been one of the front runners who went off route and lost time ploughing through brambles to get back on route. My uphill overtaking had emptied my legs of energy, rendering them somewhat jellyfied for the second steep downhill to the finish. What should have been a gravity-assisted sprint became a bit of a plod. I wasn't alone because I only got overtaken by a couple of other runners.

We mingled and chatted at the finishing line and applauded the following finishers before walking back down to the garage for more chat and the prize presentations at dusk in the balmy evening air (in April?!).

I did not take my camera in view of the intense nature of the event, but 'Desperate Stan' made the best of a compact camera out on the course in the fading evening light. He took this picture on the final descent.

Thanks go to Glossopdale Harriers for hosting such a good race so well.

Grasmere Fells, Tarns & Gingerbread 20+mi. 16/04/2011.

2011-04-18T21:45:00.003+01:00

Grasmere.

A low-key event for me this time from Grasmere, organised by Morecambe Bay & Bowland LDWA (this group really does organise some excellent events in the LDWA calendar). This one provided a very testing 20+ mile route with 6,780' of ascent. It's not a race and not timed, but I timed myself at 5:47. A speed of well under 4mph indicates how tough it is.

The route took us to the summits of Fairfield, Helm Crag, Silver Howe and Loughrigg. The ground was surprisingly wet after rain during the week, while further south in Manchester had remained as dry as ever. Having left home in a cloudless dawn, the Lakeland fells were disappearing into low-hanging clouds. They added to the mystique. On the descent from Fairfield I was very lucky in having the clouds part to reveal spectacular views of Grisedale Tarn. The path appeared to drop vertiginously off the edge of the mountain to the water below. For other participants the clouds did not part, but they created a different spectacle of a Brocken spectre as the sun cast their shadow onto the clouds at their feet.

Grisedale Tarn from Fairfield.

Grisedale Tarn is finally revealed.

Upon finishing, with our certificate we were given a complementary slice of gingerbread from the world-famous Sarah Nelson's Grasmere Gingerbread shop from just around the corner. What a treat.

All the pictures are here.

33rd Calderdale Hike 36mi. 09/04/2011.

2011-04-14T23:26:00.005+01:00

Race 3 of 12 in the 2011 Runfurther series.

A lot of threes cropped up for this one – third Runfurther race, third (and final) Calderdale Hike on this route (BOOOO, it was the best one) and the third consecutive year of warm dry sunny weather. In fact it must have been the warmest of all three. The pictures provide ample evidence with all that blue sky, dry terrain and the later moorland fire over the hill. It was a sheer delight to be out there.

Many of the usual suspects milled about in the club house at registration and kit check, including Martin Beale, who has never quite been able to come away with the win on this one. He'd be trying his best once again. Perhaps this would be his year.

We runners were sent on our way at 9am. The rumour had spread about the quick exit from the back of Sowerby cricket field, meaning quite a few of us this time departed from the back of the pack in the opposite direction, though the vast majority still set off down the main drive on the long way round, including Martin, surprisingly. Still, what's 30 seconds in over 5 hours?

The second of countless route choices was made within the first mile, where many turned right over the canal to follow it to checkpoint 1. However, many more this year had cottoned on to the slightly more direct route (again only seconds in it) straight on beside the railway line, which is the one I always took. Far fewer runners were along the canal down to our right this year.

The walk-run strategy soon commenced with the first climb from CP1 to CP2 and Midgley Moor. A direct line up past High Rough saved me yet more seconds, serving to satisfy my mind games more than anything else. After Midgley Moor the first ventilation shaft was preceded by as much bog as ever. From this point several runners had set off to the right to pick up the high route and what must have been a long way round to CP3. I had never seen this route choice before. I and most others continued left instead on my usual route towards the second shaft, bearing right before it to head towards the old spoils/workings. After this I was lucky this time in picking up the trod through the rough tussocks to join the track at Spinks Hill Farm that took us to CP3. This saved more than a few seconds over the high route. This was only 6.5 miles in but the sun was strong and I needed my first mug of electrolyte drink.

I left CP3 clutching mug of fizzing contents, willing them to stop so I could down them and get running again. The walking break did me good; I was off running down towards Crimsworth Dean as fast as those slippery stones allowed. (OK, I walked gingerly with the walkers down those bits.) The steep climb up Sunny Bank on the other side provided the obligatory walking break and photo opportunities. It was obvious why it's called Sunny Bank; what a sun trap it is.

On the run in to CP4 at Walshaw I got chatting with Henry Morris, who unfortunately was forced to retire under scary circumstances from the Hardmoors 55 a few weeks back. Henry writes a good story. His blog is here. CP4 brought us our first pre-packed sandwiches. Naturally I went for the ham.

I never feel as though I set off too fast on these events (I'd surely be walking if I went any slower), yet I must do because other runners always start to overtake me after 2 hours or so. Mark and Danny had finally caught up with me by CP5 at Widdop Reservoir (11 miles). I'd been hearing Mark's voice drawing closer from behind. He enjoys a conversation does Mark. It wasn't long after Widdop when they had disappeared into the distance.

I spied a few remaining pieces of flapjack at CP5 and wasted little time in diving in, before setting off across the dam and up the gently ascending track beside Widdop Reservoir, dodging the cyclists on the way. The water always looks deep blue in bright sunshine with the orange hills in stark contrast. I love that part of the country when it's sunny.

Before Cant Clough Reservoir I picked up the direct trod to the left of Hare Stones that delivered me to the stile at the col, from which the trod descended and climbed to the more popular path that everyone else took. It was not long before I departed from everyone else's route again to pick up the trod from the quarry workings to the south side of Cant Clough Reservoir. I would have gained even more time had I not already tired and begun the survival plod. I took some more pictures.

I walk-shuffled much of the familiar route common to Wuthering Hike up to CP6 at Long Causeway with its industrial bulk quantities of (sweaty) jelly babies. From there the invisible then broken-wall path over very rough ground brought us to the cut-through down to the A646, where a right turn brought us to CP7 at 17.1 miles, almost half way. That section may have been the most direct but I'm not sure it was the quickest. I saw Mark and Danny leaving the hall as I approached, but there would be no catching them now.

A quick refuel in Holme Chapel village hall saw me fit and ready for the haul up Thieveley Pike. On the initial climb I could hear the sounds of distress ahead – coughing, heaving and retching. I eventually came upon a chap leaning over the fence. He blamed the hot coffee at the checkpoint for his stomach distress. I suspected the sun. I checked if he was OK. Thankfully he seemed to be recovering as he set off to continue the climb in the blazing sun.

A welcome cooling breeze returned at CP8 at Thieveley Pike summit, from where we could look back down to the wind farm we had passed 2.6 miles earlier at Long Causeway. From here came the gently descending and undulating run to CP9 at Slate Pit Hill (20.3 miles). The only down side was the always mucky Stepto's farmyard we have to encounter on the way. It's a litter-strewn, junk-filled disgrace.

I spied Karen's flower power camper van parked at CP9, so I knew it wouldn't be long before she would appear taking her pictures for Runfurther; and so it happened on the track towards the quarry workings as she walked back. I was intrigued, not to mention impressed, by the big new fencing, soil back-filling and landscaping to the left. A section of ugly old mining spoil had been restored to proper hillside. A new barn was under construction down below. It's good to see a neglected piece of countryside being put to good use again.

The run from the ridge down to CP10 at Foul Clough Road was as pleasurable as ever – always sunny, but it was even hotter this year. A large plume of moor fire smoke rose ahead from over the horizon. I recall last year having a conversation with the checkpoint marshals about the vitamin D-giving benefits of sunlight, and the rise of rickets again due to fear of sunshine and the overuse of 'factor infinity'. I continued the conversation started a year ago. I was certainly getting my maximum dose (of vitamin D), since I was getting basted in my own sweat with nary a factor to hinder.

The direct route down through Ramsden Wood and over the railway line brought us to CP11 and Deanroyd Bridges, at exactly 25 miles. The northerly route from there took us steeply up onto the Pennine Bridleway, that ancient, foot-worn, sandstone-flagged path around the hill towards Lumbutts. It was like an oven up there until we had crested the climb into the breeze and turned the corner to bring Stoodley Pike into view.

The wedding had long finished by the time we arrived at CP12, 27.6 miles, Lumbutts Methodist Church. Even so the checkpoint was still located across the road at the track entrance instead of at the church, but it was no hassle. The weather was perfect for al fresco checkpointing. We had young and enthusiastic marshals at many of the checkpoints but this picture just has to be highlighted.

A big route choice occurred from CP12. Two completely different routes could take us up to CP13 at Stoodley Pike. The suggested route took the circuitous route round to the right up to the ridge then along to the Pike. I have never taken this option because it always looked – well – too long. I always go for the Wuthering Hike route, which is the more direct runnable flat track to the base of the Pike, followed by the steep slog up the escarpment. It is faster. I loitered on the oven-like climb to exchange a few words with the Sportsunday photographer, who was on her way down from duty at the top, but I still gained on those who took the high route. I met some of them approaching the Pike as I was heading away on the next leg.

From CP13 came the descent to Withens Clough Reservoir. I remember last year struggling on the descent with a painful left foot with its broken metatarsal in the early stages of repair, and a painful right knee with its inflamed tendon. I fair romped down this year, pain free and in peaceful solitude. On the descent I passed new, strong-looking fence constructions around previously unused hillside. I was intrigued. Down beside the reservoir, the diversion up the hill, along and back down to CP14 below the dam was a bit of a bummer. Still, it did provide another excuse for a walk, and I did enjoy the blast down the steep man-made scree slope to the road. I just about managed to skid to a halt at the tape barrier at the bottom. The diversion was caused by major work on the dam – drainage channels, access road, etc. – very similar to what has already been done at Widdop. It's good to see some of our United Utilities bills being put to good use.

On the run down the road from CP14 I came upon one of the fence-builders. I had to ask what the fences were for. “Cattle” came the reply. “Great news!” I replied. Previously unused areas will be put to good use for the UK farming industry and UK economy. This is a reverse of the general abandonment of farmland I have observed for several years. 2011 has revealed big changes on this route, hopefully for the better.

At the final low point in Cragg Vale I caught up with long-term walking friends Alan, Carole, John and friend (sorry I don't know friend's name). They had started two hours earlier on the 7am long route walkers' start. Conversation and pictures served as a breather before the climb to the final high point at Water Stalls Road. As I approached the summit I saw a new feature since last year – a big white mound that looked like a frozen relic from last December. What was it?

I descended to Shaw's Lane and CP15, the final checkpoint. From here remained only 2.3 miles of (mostly) downhill tarmac. My personal race was nearly in the bag, but it didn't prevent me being overtaken just a little bit by a couple of runners with whom I'd been playing 'cat and mouse' for the day. I overtook a few more early start walkers (which I'd been doing all day) on the final descent to Sowerby. As I ran the final few hundred yards with Mick Cooper, who had just caught up with me again, Martin Beale shouted encouragement from the carpark to our right. I wanted to ask him: “Well, did you get the win?” but I couldn't. I was concentrating all I had to finish exactly 1 hour faster than I did last year.

According to my timepiece I finished in 7:46, which is 1 hour faster than in 2010, but that's nothing special because I was clapped-out in 2010. More relevant is the fact that I was three quarters of an hour slower than I was in 2009. Now I truly understand the value of regular daily running, which I was doing in 2009 but had only done a week's worth in 2011. Give it a few more weeks and I'll be right, just in time for the Highland Fling, hopefully.

I found out that Martin did finally get the win, in 5:28. Well done Martin, running stud that you are. Nicky Spinks won the women's race – a veritable running studess if ever there was one. Well done Nicky.

By my calculations I have broken through the 700 Runfurther points barrier for this race. Each result has been successively higher. My fitness must be improving, helped by regular running as opposed to regular imbibing.

I took tons of pictures. Pruning and merging still left 78 for your delectation. The sun must have got to me.

Sportsunday took an excellent crop of pictures in the environs of Stoodley Pike.

3 down, 9 to go in the Grand Slam quest.

Whimsical Witterings

2011-04-06T23:06:00.003+01:00

‘Tis a MAN’s salad!

Healthy fare to keep me lean and mean yet well satisfied until morning. In the pile upon the serving platter can be found smoked salmon, prawn cocktail, lettuce, cucumber, watercress, red onion, orange pepper, black olives, boiled beetroot, tomato, cheddar cheese and a raw carrot. It’s one of my favourites when I’m not eating like a horse following an ultra run. (That would mean pizza, and lots of it.)

Runfurther series

The first two races’ results have been uploaded to the Runfurther website. I am 19th in the series (out of 21 who have completed both events so far). I will never be that high again as more runners’ race points appear. The only way is down. Nevertheless I’m quite pleased to get 688 points for the Hardmoors 55 considering I finished so far down in the bottom half. Those points exceed any I got in last year’s ‘long’ races by quite a margin. 688 was the maximum I got for any race last year, which coincidentally happened to be for the ‘medium’ Osmotherley Phoenix (same area and partly the same route).

There are some impressive scores coming to light already, and separate winners for both events – Duncan Harris at Wuthering Hike and Dan Shrimpton at Hardmoors 55. I'm also impressed that so many people ran those first two races on consecutive weekends. I detect a bit of Grand Slam competition brewing.

New kit update

When I was in Ambleside a couple of weekends ago I treated myself in Lakes Runner.

1. Second pair of La Sportiva Crosslite shoes as my first pair's nearly worn out. The shape of the last makes it the most comfortable shoe I have known in 15 years of ultra running, so much so that if I cannot find a more cushioned trail shoe as comfortable I shall be wearing them for the Lakeland 100 and the Tour du Mont Blanc. They fit like a glove. It's a shame they are let down by a flimsy mesh upper that is not up to the job and tears prematurely. Both of mine have gone adjacent to the balls of my feet, though I have managed to get decent wear out of the soles as well. I shall keep them hanging on to the last gasp. My only other hope in the Raptor, which if it uses the same last will put me in foot heaven. I'm waiting for the next delivery to The Climber's Shop in Ambleside to try a pair. No-one else seems to stock them. I can hardly wait.

2. OMM Cypher Jacket. It's very lightweight and waterproof with taped seams, yet it's as breathable as they get (there's no polyurethane layer). It rolls up very small into its own hood. It will pass muster at the Lakeland 100 and UTMB kit inspections.

3. OMM Adventure Light 20 rucksack, which arrived today. It weighs a fraction of the 25 litre Lowe Alpine rucksack that has served me well for as long as I can remember. I look forward to trying it out at this weekend's Calderdale Hike.

So, we're talking serious kit and silly money (especially for the jacket), but it was about time I upgraded from the heavyweight stuff I'd been using for years.

The Three Shires. 02/04/2011.

2011-04-06T18:01:00.003+01:00

The Three Shires replaces Kipling Kaper and offers an improved route via Gun Hill, The Roaches, Gradbach, Three Shires Head, Wildboarclough and Danebridge. It has plenty of ups and downs to keep boredom out of the legs. Organised by Staffordshire Long Distance Walkers Association, it starts from The Swythamley and Heaton Centre just a few miles away from the old KK start at Meerbrook Village Hall. It offers four distances of 20, 22, 27 or 29 miles. The 2-mile difference results from an optional loop up Shutlingsloe and the 7-mile difference results from an optional loop to Pot Lords. Both loops are based at Wildboarclough Village Hall, where a sit-down meal of warm melted-cheese oatcakes and other savoury snacks, cakes, biscuits, tea and coffee is on offer.

I enjoyed a jog round with Dave and ‘Charlie’ on a warming and increasingly sunny spring day with daffodils blooming everywhere, even on top of The Roaches. Charlie wasn’t the only dog there either. There was a good canine turnout, this being a dog-friendly event. We set off on the 9am runners’ start to do the 20 together, but as we neared the 11 mile point at Wildboarclough I was hankering after the 2-mile additional challenge, so Dave and I went our separate ways, he to the food and I to the summit of Shutlingsloe. (I was secretly hoping to catch up with him again in the final 7 miles but I wasn’t going to kill myself doing it. After all, this was supposed to be a recovery weekend before next weekend’s important race.)

By the time I arrived for my scoff, Dave and Charlie had already left, as expected. I sat down for my oatcake. A moment of pure bliss ensued as that northern savoury delicacy slipped down. Then I was off for a mostly lonely final 7 miles to the finish, save for the odd walker I overtook along the way. The relaxing, peaceful, low-key, no-pressure nature of the day, in warm sunshine with beautiful views, was a delight. The last time I enjoyed anything like this without the pressure to race was the social walk I did on 4th December 2010. Since then every weekend bar one in January and one in February has been a race weekend. The relaxation did me a power of good. An average heart rate down at 146bpm instead of the usual 160 – 170 provides good evidence of the ‘relaxation’.

I walk-jogged back to the Village Hall in an ‘easy’ 5:06 (that’s 13:55 minute miling for any racing statisticians out there). I never did catch Dave, who had arrived a few minutes before I did. We were then wowed and wooed by more food of such variety, quality, healthiness and taste that I stared open-mouthed, then I babbled incoherent gratitudes to our willing servants, then I exposed my pixels with unashamed abandon to capture the evidence for posterity. I was teasing myself before finally sampling the delights of the bean salad, salad with rice, salad with couscous, salad with pasta, salad with apple, tomato and basil salad, potato salad, carved ham (real, not plastic), tuna, olive selection, grated cheese, quiches, pork pie, bread and butter, …. There were also biscuits, and for dessert a large selection of fruit pies with custard or cream. All of that was washed down by tea or coffee. As we gorged, the first two 29-mile runners arrived to dampen our gourmet dining experience with their sweaty presence. Most impressive time though.

I helped out at this event’s precursor (Kipling Kaper) last year while injured. I recalled the catering production line that set in motion as soon as the runners had left. There has been no letup for The Three Shires. This has to be one of the best LDWA events of the year. It deserves to reach its capacity of 160. Many thanks once again to Julie Brownhill & helpers and Staffs LDWA for another brilliant day, and thanks to Dave for your company and conversation.

I took pictures, though none from Shutlingsloe because I had slipped into race mode for that loop.

A surprise weekend playing in the Lake District

2011-03-28T22:05:00.007+01:00

I was too late applying for the Lakeland 100 lecture and reconnoitre weekend; it was fully booked. However, Marc Laithwaite emailed me on Friday to say a few places had become available and did I still want to go? Well, yes, but I didn't have any accommodation for Saturday night. Google searches returned the expected responses - either no vacancies or a minimum of two nights. Then I found Late Rooms. The Glen Rothay Hotel in Rydal, two miles up the road towards Grasmere, had a vacancy, and they were happy to offer Saturday night only. I applied and waited for the email confirmation on Friday evening. It came, so I went. To make the weekend really worthwhile I had searched the FRA races calendar for something to keep me out of mischief before the 4pm lecture on nutrition for ultra runners at the Mountain Rescue Team base in Ambleside.

Sat 26/03/2011. Causey Pike fell race. 4.2 miles + 1,793 feet of ascent (according to Tracklogs)

I set off early for some retail therapy at Lakes Runner in Ambleside before continuing on to Keswick then round the other side of Derwent Water to Stair in the Newlands Valley. Causey Pike, whose summit knob we would soon be clawing our way up, loomed and intimidated.

Check-in at village hall, £3 entry fee paid, check the required kit (cagoule and whistle) and I was ready. I exchanged 'How dos' with Wendy Dodds, fellow Hardmoors 55 finisher from last weekend. (Wendy must be another one who needs her weekly fix.) A few comments were received about me being a rare sight on these short, sharp, steep outings. Perhaps so, but I do indulge myself sometimes when the opportunity presents itself and I always have a blast.

As I waited for the 2pm start I wandered up the lane a short way for a gander. I elected as usual not to wear myself out unnecessarily by running like others more keen and fit than I were doing. My energy is too precious; I have to save it for the real thing and not squander it frivolously.

I lurked towards the back of the pack in the field for the start. I did not hear the start command when the throng started to move forward. (The starter gun must have had a silencer on it.) I managed to overtake a few on the uphill lane but as soon as we hit the fell it was single file with everybody walking, since it was far too steep to do anything else. Our first target was Rowling End. It soon became a hands-and-feet job, so steep was the terrain. It was more efficient to climb on all fours. For a change I did not need to carry water bottles, so my hands were free for quadruped perambulation. I was held back to about 90% of max effort, so I had a few seconds of energy burst in reserve for an overtake or two whenever the terrain eased and an overtaking place appeared.

A minor descent via a col (Sleet Hause) took us to the final climb and scramble up the rocky knob of Causey Pike. I had managed to overtake quite a few on the climb to the summit. I very nearly stopped at the summit to admire the view and take pictures, but the urgency of this 'little 4.5-miler' convinced me otherwise and I launched myself forwards down the rocky ridge before veering right down the STEEP, flagged, grassy descent. Now I was left wanting. Someone I had chased and caught at the summit was suddenly disappearing down the hillside as I 'minced' my way down, not wanting to lose control and accelerate to oblivion. A couple more descenders overtook me. Then we hit the rocky track that would take us most of the way back down to Stair. I was red-lining and could not let myself go as I wanted. My jellifying legs were at risk of losing control over the rocks and my strong sense of self preservation held me back. A few more runners overetook me, one of them tripping and sliding to a halt on his belly in a cloud of dust. He jumped back up and carried on.

We veered right off the track, steeply down the fell to a stream crossing. I ran down, on the verge of losing control, crossed, climbed the other bank, getting overtaken a bit more on the final descent to the road and left turn back to the finishing field in 50:48, a panting wreck for the next 30 seconds. That effort earned me 95th out of 148. I probably lost more places on the descent than I gained on the climb. What a blast, though. I should do more of these. We enjoyed perfect conditions - dry, mild and sunny.

Before and after pictures are here. Stuart Stoddart ('Stu Stod') also happened to be there, having just finished his own extended outing on the fells as he builds back up from injury. He took an excellent crop of pictures, seen here. The ones that show the front-of-pack runners on the return leg with Causey Pike in the background really capture the ascent we experienced.

I drove back to Rydal to check in to the Glen Rothay. The decor may be decidedly 'Rigsby' (call it quaint, charming and charged with historic intrigue) but the welcome and hospitality cannot be faulted. I was late for the 4pm lecture in Ambleside, so I wasted no time in setting off on the 2-mile walk along the coffin route to Ambleside. The lecture was interesting (confirming what I have found out for myself), well attended and finished late. A plate of chips and gravy in the local chippy saw me right for the torchlit walk back to the hotel, where I enjoyed a half of locally produced Mothbag. It went down a treat.

Sun 27/03/2011. Ambleside to Coniston L100 reconnoitre. 15 miles.

I drove to Coniston to catch the organised bus back to 'Checkpoint 12' at Lakes Runner. Compared to the last L100 reconnoitres I did 2 years ago, the care and attention to detail of the organisers was impressive. There was a roll call and everyone would be monitored to the end. Furthermore there would be checkpoints offering refreshments (CP13 at Chapel Stile and CP14 at Tilberthwaite). This is in contrast to the 'fend-for-yourself led walks' of two years ago. Informal chats with the organisers put me in high hopes for the best Lakeland 50 and 100 ever in 2011, with best ever support. I'm almost looking forward to it now ;-)

We set off if warm March sunshine. I found myself running with Tom (another fellow Hardmoors 55 finisher from last week) in the no-pressure walk/jog of the final 15 miles of the Lakeland 100. I wanted to get this final stage (which took me 7 hours to complete in the event last year) fixed in my mind to give me every possible mental advantage in my final hours of torture in July 2011. Our easy pace took us 3.5 hours. That says a lot for the suffer fest of the real event. I took a few pictures along the way.

I returned home via Ambleside for another bout of retail therapy at Lakes Runner and refuelling in Bilbo's Cafe. I may have spent a mint of money over the weekend but I needed some decent lightweight kit for serious events like L100 and UTMB to replace the heavyweight clobber I've been using for years. "All the gear but no idea"? I hope not.

What a weekend that was. I compare the Lake District to California in that it's an outdoor playground filled with sports enthusiasts and shops and cafes that cater to them. The big difference is that the Lake District is more serious, needing more care and responsibility for survival. The weekend's exertions have left my leg muscles feeling satisfyingly traumatised. It's that 'good' pain that you know is making you stronger.