The Games 100. 02-03/06/2012.



What a spectacular weekend with memories to last a lifetime. The Long Distance Walkers Association certainly know how to put on the best organised and supported events. Their annual Hundred is the flagship event that surpasses all the others, but 2012 climbed to another level altogether. This is why:

1. The route began in London, starting in Hackney and finishing in Windsor. This created the novelty of a Hundred closer to civilisation and through more urban terrain than is usual;
2. It started adjacent to the Olympic Park and passed many of the Olympic Games venues barely a month before the 2012 Olympic Games start in earnest;
3. It was the weekend of celebration of The Queen's Diamond Jubilee, so everywhere was in party mood with music, fireworks, flags and bunting-a-plenty;
4. The route passed the places where the LDWA was born;
5. This year is the 40th anniversary of the LDWA.

I'll add two personal milestones to that list:
6. This would be my tenth LDWA 100 started (hopefully also completed);
7. It would be my 150th ultra marathon.

The route took us from Hackney to Windsor via checkpoints at Millwall, Greenwich, Mottingham/Eltham, Farnborough/Orpington, Biggin Hill, Woldingham, Merstham/Redhill, Box Hill, Tanner's Hatch Youth Hostel, Holmbury St Mary, a wood near Peaslake, Chilworth, Clandon Park, Old Woking, Staple Hill/Albury Bottom, Sunningdale and Windsor Great Park.

Early on I teamed up with Brandon to share the intricate route-finding from the 42 pages of abbreviated yet necessarily detailed route description. We had been going at the same speed since the start so it made sense to team up. We enjoyed a dry Saturday that became warm and sunny but rain was forecast for later. We kept our fingers crossed that the inevitable would be delayed for as long as possible.

As it was The Queen's Diamond Jubilee, there were flags and decorations in all the villages. This seemed strange when usually we would only see such decoration on our checkpoints. It was great to see the party atmosphere but it did keep us on our toes.

This is not a checkpoint.

Trails down the hillside left by the first few participants.

As the day drew into the evening we heard many parties in the distance with bass booming. The rain finally began to make its first tentative appearances after 8pm as we arrived at checkpoint 7 (Merstham). The early darkness made way for a spectacular firework display to our left in the pouring rain as we climbed past the quarry and lime works before checkpoint 8 at Box Hill Village Hall.

I arrived at CP8 soaked and decided it was time to put some clothes on. While I did that the first 12 noon starters arrived. Geoff, Colin and Ian had made up 2 hours on us in a repeat of last year's Housman 100. We kept seeing them as far as the breakfast stop at CP10, after which they were too fast for us. Brandon and I continued to stick together though, which I appreciated because he had reconnoitred the night section.

The rain had been starting and stopping since 8pm. It wasn't raining when we arrived at CP9 (Tanner's Hatch YH, 57.1 miles) but as we sat and refuelled under the gazebo, heavy drops began to fall on the roof and intensify. We emerged into the deluge as the paths in the woods rapidly turned into streams and everything was awash. I feared it would be set in for the night but thankfully it had all but stopped by the time we reached CP10 (breakfast stop, 63.4 miles), by which time it had washed debris onto the roads and created floods. A fresh dry pair of socks and a sit-down meal of bacon, hash browns, tomatoes, baked beans and two slices of toast set me up perfectly to re-emerge into the darkness to begin the final 37 miles. It always felt cold upon emerging from a checkpoint but we soon warmed up (sometimes too much) once we got going.

Sunday dawned late and slow under heavy overcast conditions right down to ground level. Yes, the cloud seemed to extend to the ground as we were in constant fog. The air remained drizzly and the trees dropped their accumulating water onto us in bigger drops. Photograph-taking remained impossible with my camera safely inside my rucksack. I had expected much worse rain after seeing the forecast. An absence of wind as well made me think that we'd had a lucky escape.

We were both surprised at how lonely the event seemed to be, even with our jog-walk strategy, pauses to get the navigation right and longer pauses at the checkpoints to refuel properly. We were among the first ten to arrive at the checkpoints on Sunday. We had the undivided attention of the amazing marshals, who were still fresh and not yet frayed around the edges. Many of them remarked how long they had to wait for the first runners through after they had opened. We had been expecting to get overtaken as Sunday progressed but it didn't happen. The opposite seemed to be occurring; we were catching and overtaking others who had set off faster and faded more.

At one point on the first day as our route took us past the rusty sheds, I was studying my route description while walking when I suddenly trod on something and tripped over it as I tried to jump over the obstruction. When I turned around I saw what I thought was a dog, but someone later told me that is was a young fox, which figures. It was dead of course and baking nicely in the sun, which was still out at that point.

After the rain on the second day our shoes, which had begun to dry out a little, became soaked again as we dragged our feet through the soaking vegetation that overhung the many overgrown footpaths that were only 6 inches wide anyway. While we were running down one of these paths I suddenly noticed a movement just in front and stopped instantly to avoid stepping on whatever it was. A toad was walking ponderously up the path and stopped inches from my feet before realising that it may be in danger, when it jumped lazily to the left.

We picked up a third member to our team in the later miles as Megan joined us. We were all mostly in walk mode with the occasional pained jog, encouraging each other to put one foot in front of the other as best we could. All three of us had harboured the secret desire to beat 30-hour personal targets. Now that it was looking very likely we shared our secrets to make them secret no more. As we shuffled on together we began to realise that a sub-29 finish could even be on the cards. That enthused us no end. Our legs may have been complaining but we were not going to pass up such an opportunity easily. We hoped to stick together to the end.

The walk (mostly) through Windsor Great Park was a nice touch as our route wound in and out between the lakes, rhododendrons, trees and shrubs. It was a shame the air was so drizzly but at least it wasn't raining properly. As we approached the final checkpoint in the park, Megan advised us that there was a group of 4 closing on us from behind. NO! We can't get overtaken now. Not at this late stage. We abopted the jog-come-shuffle once again but she insisted that we carry on alone as there was no jog left in her legs. With a slightly heavy heart because I'd wanted all three of us to finish together, and with Megan's further insistence, Brandon and I jogged on to the final checkpoint. We checked our watches and realised that we had less than 1 hour to run the last 4 miles for a sub-28 finish. WHAT? Never in my wildest dreams. I wanted to give it my best shot.

I set off running up the incline towards the Copper Horse with Brandon close behind, when he told me to go for it alone because he did not think he could make that time. Oh no, not again. We'd done pretty well the whole event together and I wanted to finish together, but he insisted that I do my best to go for that sub-28. I paused, torn between loyalties but time was ticking. He insisted once again and I went, running up that hill to the top. Windsor Castle lurked far away in the murk at the other end of the Long Walk as I stood beside the Copper Horse. I wished my camera were accessible to take pictures of this place I'd never visited before.

I set off running down the hill and onto the never-ending drive to the white gates. Through the pedestrian gate I turned left and wasted minutes wondering why what I was seeing did not match the description, before realising that I'd missed a line in the description and needed to continue up to the main road before turning left. At the top I was met by a marshal who was getting increasingly damp in the thickening drizzle. He very kindly ran with me to show me the safe road crossing and point out the waymarking signs that led back to the school. I guessed I may have been getting privileged treatment with being among the first few participants he'd seen

I was running faster than I had done for the entire event on legs that felt curiously unfatigued. The running was flowing so effortlessly, dare I say fast, that it felt obscene for a plodder such as I to be flaunting such unfettered athleticism at the end of a 100 mile event. With one eye on my watch I searched in vain for the sign that would indicate the final right turn into the Trevelyan Middle School and figured that the turn would be obvious when I got there. It was and I turned. Once in the grounds I scanned for the finish sign but only saw an LDWA sign, so I ran to the next sign I could see. It pointed me to the showers. A bit premature under the circumstances, so I returned to the LDWA sign and opened the door tentatively. A round of applause picked up. I'd finished!

Brandon finished 11 minutes later and Megan 5 minutes after Brandon. Mutual congratulations flowed freely.

Even with the minor hiccups I got my sub-28, but it was a close shave. 27:58 was an LDWA 100 Personal Best and the icing on the cake for a weekend of milestone piled upon milestone. What memories, never to be repeated. I was sorry that we did not stick together to the end but Brandon reassured me that he was happier that I'd gone for it instead for the personal record. That got me quite emotional. Thanks Brandon.

I'd barely got myself comfortable before I was presented with my certificate and 10 Hundreds award. The chap sitting next to me was awarded with his 20 Hundreds award. I was impressed. It got me looking forward to the next ten years, which commence with the Camel-Teign Ivor's Dream 100 from the west to the east coast in May 2013.

I commenced my refuelling with tea, a can of beer (part of my Glossop Running Festival winnings, don't you know ;-), a chicken casserole dinner, a beef casserole dinner, three hot dogs, and more tea.

As Sunday afternoon moved into evening, the rain increased once again. A Jubilee party next door, which had been blaring us out with music all day provided us with an amazing firework display. Some of the evening finishers got to run the gauntlet of the falling hot debris to mark their momentous entrances through the doorway.

In the night as I slumbered in the hall and heard more outbreaks of rain hammering down onto the roof, I felt sorry for all the walkers still out there slogging their way through a second wet night, and a much colder one at that. The slower ones who have to go through two nights have it much tougher.

Footnote: an entrant flew across from Singapore especially to do this event as a qualifier for the Ultra Trail du Mont Blanc. I hope he went away impressed by the LDWA organisation, facilities, friendship, camaraderie - you name it, it's got it.

Here are the pictures I took, before and after rain.

Northants Ultra 35. 27/05/2012.

Race 5 of 12 in the 2012 Runfurther series.

They don't often come as hot as this, not even in midsummer. There was no let-up on Sunday from the intense sunshine and high temperatures we'd been enjoying all week. Runners would be wilting in the heat, dehydrated, nauseated, vomiting, cramping and reverting to the survival plod, when only four weeks earlier an icy gale and multiple cases of hypothermia and wind blindness caused the abandonment of The Fellsman (reported earlier in this blog). Isn't our climate exciting. At least it's not boring. I love it for all its challenges and surprises.

The Northants Ultra 35 (miles) is based at Lamport Hall and is run in beautiful, runnable, undulating countryside. After saying 'how do' to race organiser Guy Travers of Go Beyond and getting myself registered, I helped Tony to erect the Runfurther sponsors' flags. Then it was time to mingle and chat as we began to cook in the early morning sunshine - Sam Robson, Helen Skelton, Mick Plummer (a fellow Grand Slammer, no less), Fraser Hirst, Dick Scroop - more familiar names than I recall last year.

Vicky Mousley and Helen Skelton.

When Steven Adams (Principal of Go Beyond) put the call out over the PA to gather for the start, everyone seemed reticent to go anywhere near the inflated arch. Is it a superstition thing? I'd already walked underneath it (in the wrong direction) to gain my starting position, having remembered the routine from last year. For a while I stood alone in the starting chute, as usual far closer to the front than my ability warranted. Soon a few of the more confident runners joined me, one of them being Duncan Harris. We exchanged pleasantries (our paths don't often cross), while the majority of the runners lurked hesitantly off the back end of the chute.

Duncan Harris looks disturbingly relaxed considering what he's about to do.

As 08:30 approached and final instructions led to the countdown, Steve's radio mic went all Norman Collier on him. We could just about make out "three-two-one-go" from the intermittent sound bursts and we were off running across the grass towards the hall before turning left out onto the lane and left again down to the main road. A right down the A-road and left at the next footpath that descended across the fields of sheep launched us into the event proper. Phew it was hot already. I wondered how on earth we were going to survive such heat, but Guy did tell us that a breeze had been forecast for later.

The remainder of the day melted into a survival blur - trying to keep hydrated with water and electrolyte, hydrate and fuel with 600ml of full sugar Coke until it ran out, and fuel with the homemade fruit cake from the checkpoints, my Nutrigrain bars, an AccelGel, a Clif bar (uncharacteristically soft and edible in the heat), two cheese and onion rolls and Clif Shot Blocks. It seemed to work and I felt as though I was going quite well. I actually seemed to acclimatise to the heat and direct sunlight even though I was being basted in my own juices, though it did seem strange to be seeking the shaded side of the trail to cool down when usually I would be running on the sunny side to warm up. It felt like running in a foreign country, and it's still only May in old Blighty.

A prominent feature of the day were the fields of rape, their vivid yellow expanse drawing the eye and demanding attention. A lot of the route was on minor country lanes and tracks, when navigation was easy. However when the path crossed fields or the golf course, navigation became more challenging. The supplied flip maps were essential but they could not help with the micro navigation when the line of the footpath was not visible on the ground. I remembered most of the route from last year, with only one field section on the final leg catching me and plenty of others out and bringing us out onto the road too far to the left.

Yours truly amidst the ubiquitous yellow.

I ran with WDAC runner Julian Blackwell on and off for a while. Pleasant conversation was exchanged before he gradually pulled away in the later stages keeping stronger than I, to finish 19 minutes ahead.

An impressive turnaround was observed in Dave Bowen, who reminded me that we chatted last year (he tried his hand at my beloved Bullock Smithy Hike last year!). As I was catching him up after checkpoint 3 I saw him lean forwards and irrigate the ground with a stomach-full of water. He was in survival plod mode with rebelling digestive tract. I said that he needed some proper food inside him to kickstart the digestive system and offered one of my cheese and onion rolls. He declined with thanks because he was expecting to meet his support with pasta at Long Buckby. As we passed through I left him there refuelling as I plodded on. Shortly afterwards he came steaming past like a new man to finish 38 minutes ahead. What a comeback on functioning digestion.

An exhausted Dave shortly before his rejuvenation by pasta.

I was extremely impressed by Dick Scroop's performance. His training is certainly paying off. Where once he used me as his target in races, now I use him as my target. I was chasing him several times but could not hold on. He finished 11 minutes ahead as the first MV65 finisher, seemingly unfazed by the heat. Dick, you are a machine and I'll have some of what you're on, thankyou please!

Tony (fellow flag erector) had a storming run as far as the last checkpoint, where apparently he was in 8th place, but a cramping body and legs that would no longer support him forced a retirement. How frustrating was that? Thankfully he seemed to have recovered by the time I finished.

The forecast breeze did pick up slightly as the day progressed, which took the edge off the heat, but after the last checkpoint with only six miles to go, it had dropped. I was running in an oven (OK, it was upper 20s C but it's an oven to us) and my wheels were falling off. I felt nauseous even though I had been hydrating and fuelling. Any effort made it worse and, save for the odd burst of shuffle, I walked the majority of that final leg, getting overtaken all the way, to finish in 7:07. That was 44 minutes slower than last year. With last year's level of fitness I would have been around 20 minutes faster than that.

Phew, finished at last! Steve is poised with the medallion.

I felt wrecked by the time I passed underneath the finishing arch. The finisher's medal was hung around my neck and I made a beeline for the tea tent to begin my rehydration. It was unbelievably hot in the intense sunshine without breeze. The cool grass offered scant relief. A leg massage later (with donations to Teach Africa) confirmed that the legs were in perfect condition. It's just the engine that holds me back.

The winning time was 4:16. Such an unimaginable feat was perpetrated by Duncan Harris and Craig Holgate. According to the results they passed through every checkpoint at the same time. Perhaps one didn't know the route while the other did. If true, imagine what the winning time would have been if they were both familiar with the route. There again, perhaps not. I feel a headache coming on.

Nearly three hours after finishing (that's three hours more baking time in the sauna), the last runner having finished and the sponsors' flags having been packed away, I drove out of the grounds of Lamport Hall in conditions that might never happen again for this event. What an amazing day!

I took a few pictures to help me rest and recover along the way.

I hope I recover in time for next weekend's Games 100.

Old County Tops. 19/05/2012.

Langstrath.



A 37-mile Lake District fell race over Helvellyn, Scafell Pike and Coniston Old Man for teams of two, with tough cut-offs. Proper runners only need apply.

I was on short notice to accompany Daz Burns on this one. I've wanted to do this race for a few years but this year would not have been my first choice, given that it was sandwiched between the Brecon Beacons 40 and Northants Ultra 35 in a long run of Ultras. Never being one to look a gift horse in the mouth, when the call came through just before the Brecon 40 that my services would definitely be required in a week's time, I grabbed the opportunity, assuming that I'd be able to wing it as usual. Our entry was despatched post-haste.

After a stressful week with insufficient rest, I joined Daz early on Saturday morning for the drive up to the New Dungeon Ghyll hotel in Great Langdale. We arrived in cool, damp, breezy conditions, but the forecast predicted an improvement.

After pre-race instructions the biggest ever field was sent off along the valley bottom track a few minutes late due to the registration overload. I soon became too hot and had to stop at the end of the track to remove my windproof top. A spectator / supporter was ringing a cow bell by way of encouragement. I was already near the back of the field and the ringing soon stopped. I requested a continuation of the jangling to encourage me as my running vest and spectacles came off in a tangled, inside-out mess with the windproof. My request fell on deaf ears since all the runners had passed, so I was left to grapple with my attire in shamed, observed silence. Once I'd got myself sorted out and ready to jog on, Daz was way ahead and waiting and I was off the back of the field. That set the tone nicely for the day.

We caught a few backmarkers up on the first climb over the shoulder of the hill but lost those places again on our alternative route into Grasmere that avoided the main road. Our second climb took us up into the strong cold wind, which required the donning of the windproof top once again. Our first proper peak would be Helvellyn via Grisedale Tarn. This was the third time I'd been up here and the first time I'd seen it unfrozen and without a thick coating of snow. Nevertheless the wind was strong and cold on Helvellyn and the ground was dusted with wind-blown snow if you looked downwind into the clag to see where it had lain.

Hardy marshals on Helvellyn summit.



Our descent SSW from the trig point went well initially, if slow (thanks to me), but a premature veer right took us down Middle Tongue instead of to the left of it like I'd intended. That slowed me down even more as lack of confidence in my footwear added to absence of athletic ability. We were reminded at the checkpoint at the bottom that we were near to the back of the field.

I was still waiting for the energy to kick in as we made our way along the permissive path to Wythburn. I continued to wait in vain as we began the climb in the direction of High Raise, next target Angle Tarn. The wind had suddenly dropped and it was getting quite warm, but I wasn't going to waste more time taking off the windproof again. Angle Tarn cut-off would be at 5:30 elapsed for those 18 miles, and it was looking tight. I had come to the realisation much earlier that I was struggling far more than I should have been. I was finding it difficult to run the bits I should have been able to run, but I could cope with hiking. However, hiking is incompatible with this event. My shoes didn't help my confidence (Walsh Spirit Peak in case you were wondering). Their clown-like pointed length was a constant  trip hazard over the rocks, boulders and tussocks, while their (slightly worn) studs offered no grip on wet rock, mud or wet grass. I lost count of the number of times I slipped over. I minced and plodded my way onwards as fast as my gutless powerplant allowed. I was forever left wanting and had become the big fly in the ointment, the monkeywrench in Daz' OCT works as he repeatedly had to wait for me to catch up on the climbs and the descents. All I could do was apologise and remark how shocked I was, not so much with the terrain but my inability to traverse it at anything other than hiking speed. It made me realise more than ever that a Bob Graham Round is way beyond my capability.

The outcome was inevitable; I got us timed out at Angle Tarn, where we arrived 5:38 after starting for an average speed of 3.2mph. This would have been my 149th Ultra Marathon. Instead it turned out to be my first ever time-out or DNF without injury. Daz, I am sorry for wrecking it for you. I'll return to where I started 16 years ago - shuffling my way around the LDWA events. I have no business with these proper fell races for proper runners. I'll get me coat.

Timed out at Angle Tarn.



After a bit of a sit-down picnic we began the 4-mile walk of shame down Mickleden to Great Langdale and the finish. I even walked most of that with only the occasional jog. Quite simply, I was good for nothing that day.

The good things about the day were the amazing sights in places I'd never been before, and the chance to hang around in the warm sunshine at the finish at a time I would never normally be there, when the sharp end runners were finishing. Now if only I were blessed with their speed ........

....... I'd probably get more injured?

The sad thing about the day was that I never got to pay my first visits to Scafell Pike and Coniston Old Man.

Thanks to Achille Ratti for a superbly organised challenge, which I'd like to be able to complete someday.

Judith Jepson and Digby Harris just finished in 7:54:50.



I took pictures.

'Might Contain Nuts' Brecon Beacons 40. 12/05/2012.

Race 4 of 12 in the 2012 Runfurther series.

Cribyn panorama.

I left fading showers behind on Friday afternoon to drive down to Talybont-on-Usk for my accommodation at the outdoor centre/bunkhouse. Registration on Friday evening removed the stress and hassle of having to do it on Saturday morning.

Saturday dawned cool, calm and cloudless. The record turn-out of runners was impressive compared to last year. The boom in ultra running continues unabated. This was race 4 of 4 in the Welsh one-day ultra running series put on by 'Might Contain Nuts'. It is the only MCN race in the Runfurther / UK Ultra Running Championships, which is why I was there. I like this event because it offers the rare luxury of a fully marked route, while the convenient accommodation at the event centre for before and afterwards makes for a perfect ultra running party weekend.

After a roll-call of residents to make sure that no-one was still in bed, and instructions of which markers to follow and not to follow (there was a walking event also taking place), we were sent on our way a few minutes late. Despite the cool ambient temperature the lack of wind, the sunshine and physical exertion meant that we were soon toasty on the first climb to Tor y Foel.

The stream / linear pond that was supposed to be a path after checkpoint 1 demonstrated how much wetter it is this year compared to last year. Water and mud would become a much bigger feature. Did someone mention drought? Lucy Clayton passed me shortly after the flooded path. I commented that either she's much faster this year or I'm much slower. I suspect a bit of both. (She was equal first female last year with Sam Scott. I finished with them after they caught me up in the cloud on the peat moor before the final descent.)

Exchanging a quick word with Lucy.

After checkpoint 2 the long climb to Pen y Fan involved plenty of trudging through tussocks, water and bog. It was impossible to run even though I tried a few times. Paul Higgs had a lucky escape from the bog monster that lurked in front of the tied-up gate we had to cross. By the time I reached the tourist path I could do little more than walk. (I'm sure I ran most of it last year.) I was even overtaken by a slightly overweight recreational hiker. Did he not realise I was supposed to be one of them there ultra runners? What is the world coming to? Where's the respect? It's an outrage, I tell you. Shortly afterwards I was able to regain the lead when I activated the pathetic shuffle down to checkpoint 3/5.

Bog monster got Paul.



The run down to checkpoint 4 was a welcome relief from the trudge but the path was busy. At the footbridge at the bottom I became trapped in a crowd of walkers. I waited my turn to file through the kissing gate before turning right along the parking lane in search of the checkpoint (it was at the end last year). I got to the end and still no checkpoint. I asked a fellow runner where the checkpoint was. “Back there” came the response. It can't be. I've kept my eyes peeled and I've seen nothing resembling our checkpoint (no 'Craft' flag, no vehicle, no water, nothing). Confused and frustrated at the time I was now haemorrhaging, I started to walk back along the lane, observing and asking. Last chance saloon was the point where our descending path joined the lane. There was a vehicle with paraphernalia that did not look likely and which I had dismissed on the way down, but it was the last chance, so I asked. As expected it was not our checkpoint but they seemed to know where it was. I was directed back up the path I had descended earlier. Disbelievingly I walked back up to the kissing gate and looked over. The crowd of walkers had dissipated. On the grassy bank on the left was a pile of water bottles and a small group of people standing beside them. There was nothing to identify them, no 'Craft' sponsor's flag which my eyes had become attuned to, nothing. I approached and asked if they were the checkpoint I was looking for. They were, and I was the first person they had missed (despite me displaying my race number prominently on my front). I had evidently missed them as well and lost ten minutes in the process. That shows how busy it was when I passed through. I made sure they were aware of my lost time as I refilled my water bottle, before retracing my steps. I checked my watch and calculated that the speed I'd been going and the time just squandered were making a finish time of over 10 hours most likely. Compared to last year's 9:24, that was a bit rubbish, but I could only do my best. I'd keep plugging away as always.

The climb back up to checkpoint 3/5 via a different route was no less of a struggle compared to last year. The uphill gradients were well and truly trudged. This year we did not have to ascend Corn Du. Instead we contoured to the right of it on our way to the summit of Pen y Fan. From there was the ever-exciting initial climb down and ridge descent to checkpoint 6 on the lowlands, where the sun always shines and it's always warm (in my experience). On the way down, the vivid patches of yellow in the far distance signified fields of rapeseed crop – always so eye-catching in full bloom at this time of year.

Descent from Pen y Fan.



A quick refuel at CP6 and an interesting conversation with the marshal about heavily discounted supermarket produce on its sell-by date (prompted by my consumption of a long-expired mini pork pie that had been unrefrigerated for 24 hours and been cooked for the day in my rucksack) saw me power my way back across the fields, lanes, tracks and climb towards Cribyn. After a slow initial two thirds of the event I seemed to be getting stronger and for the first time began to overtake people instead of vice versa. It was good not to be climbing into the tempest this year as I overtook others on the ascent of Cribyn's exposed corner. A group of marshals watched from the top as we toiled our way up the steep staircase. From the top there were views I had never seen before as I set about running down along the ridge on freshly jellified legs towards the final checkpoint (CP7). This section seemed shorter this year now that I could see where I was going. I was feeling surprisingly energetic after the steep descent and after a final water bottle refill I set off up the final climb to the long run along the left-hand edge of the ridge.

Checkpoint 7 down below.



David Minchin caught me up and started to discuss finishing times. He sowed the seed in my head that not only were we likely to smash 10 hours, a PB of sub 9:24 might be on the cards. I continued with renewed vigour. The right turn across the peat moors proved to be no problem this time with perfect visibility. I observed where I had strayed from the path last year before being rescued by the leading ladies, and with continuing energy ran across the Fellsman-like peat hags and bogs towards the poshest cairn in history with luminous arrow on the top just for us. This marked the beginning of the ever-so-long, often steep, sometimes up(!) descent with a few more bogs along the way to swallow the feet, squelch, squirt and splatter my person. The eventual arrival at the Talybont Reservoir dam crossing was a relief because it signified the end (almost). The reservoir was overflowing, which figured given the wetness of the course. Drought? Don't believe the hype.

Talybont Reservoir.

I glanced at my watch and, amazingly, a PB might be on the cards – unbelievable given my earlier prediction. I had really picked up the pace, though, after a long slow start. The body was finally adjusting to what I was asking of it. The rocky track, which sadistically sometimes ascended, seemed interminable and the canal a long time coming. More occasional glances at my watch confirmed the minutes slipping through my fingers. Eventually the White Hart Inn came into view, which signified the left turn along the canal for a short way. John Taylor, who I had overtaken on the final descent, had re-overtaken me and was a few yards in front. I tried to hold on and used him as a visual target to drag me along, up the brief incline to the track and along to the lane to the finish. However, he gradually pulled away and I had nothing with which to respond (a familiar story). The time ticked down to 9:24 and I still wasn't there. I finally crossed the line in 9:26 but I knew it was really 9:16. Now if that repositioned checkpoint had been visible, my PB (like hen's teeth these days) would have been official. Miffed isn't the word.

Lucy Clayton knocked 38 minutes off her time of last year. I knew she was running faster this year. This got her 6th female place, which compared to last year's 1st place is indicative of the increased competition. Well done Lucy.

Thanks to the big crowd there was more chat and camaraderie over the weekend. The excellent food provided throughout by the one-man catering staff provided a good reason to linger and refuel. It was much better than last year. He must have done a roaring trade.

After two dinners plus snacks I went for a luxuriously warm shower before wandering up to the White Hart with others for drinks and endorphin-fuelled animated conversation until late. Afterwards as we wandered back to the Outdoor Centre we stared in wonder at the night sky, all the stars made visible by the clear atmosphere and lack of light pollution.

Finally to bed, I laid my head on the pillow and stared up through the roof window above my head for one final look at the stars, and saw a shooting star streak across the sky. With that I fell into the fitful sleep that always follows a tough day of running, only restless, well-used muscles preventing deeper slumber. They'd be recovered by morning, though probably not sufficiently to do it all again.

The photographs I took are here.

Glossop 3-day running festival. 05-07/05/2012.

I discovered this on Friday and decided to have a go to get some much needed enforced speed work under the 31" belt before next weekend's Brecon 40 (shame athletic performance doesn't match outward appearance). This is turning out to be a bijou, perfectly formed series of friendly races.



Saturday was the Chunal 3-mile fell race with 1,001' of ascent from the O Sole Mio restaurant. It was an out and back with an anticlockwise loop at the end that tortured us as it toyed with the hill. At the start, race organiser Des Gibbons who also ran the race, closed gates and collected the flags on the way round, jokingly congratulated Jack Ross in advance for winning the race, and why don't we just go straight to the prize presentation. Des you wag. ;-) The climbs and descents were steep and tough. The loop at the end was long enough that, even at my slow pace I did not meet Jack on the return leg. An eyeballs-out performance with palpitating heart and peak of 202bpm got me 21st out of 26 finishers. Naughty heart. I hope the barbecue and imbibing planned for afterwards will improve matters for tomorrow's race. My time was 38:34, winning time 26:56. Results.

Chunal: waiting for the start.

Sunday was the Moorfield 5k road race from The Beehive pub. The weather was even better. The air temperature might continue to be unseasonably cold (global warming my rear region) but there was no wind and the sun was luxuriously warm. Des ran again after handing over the starting orders to the publican (I think). He mumbled "Go" under his breath to send us off running the undulating lanes in an anticlockwise loop out to the A57 and back to the lane to the finish. The lane to the finish contained a big uphill section. I was forced to power walk while my gasping tongue licked the road clean along the way. I didn't lose time on those in front trying to run it. My time of 25:08 (without palpitations) got me 15th out of 25. Winning time was 20:09. Des finished 4th in a speedy 21:36. It is a hilly route. Results.

Finishers at Moorfield 5k.



Monday's race was the James's Thorn 5-mile fell race with 1,611' of ascent from the Royal Oak on the A57 out of Glossop. The cold breeze was stiffening and the forecast rain was threatening as we waited for Des to return from marking the course. He whizzed down in his car a couple of minutes late and turned around with his hazards flashing. A peep of his horn signified the start as he drove up the road just in front of the front runners to lead us to the turn-off up the track thence onto the fells. A wide panorama of looming hills opened up in front of us which I'd never seen before. The view excited me. I could see our track descend down and swing to the right to begin the serious climb on the fell all the way to the top. We set about running upwards into the strong head wind as spots of rain began to blow in. The course was amazingly mud-free and it was brutally runnable for the most part, until after a false summit or two and the final climb around the back of the hill to the top, which became very rocky.

There was a small loop at the top to avoid too much clashing of the return runners, of whom I saw only one. Dave Taylor came flying back down like a thing possessed with a look of concerned concentration etched on his face. He was there before I had a chance to think about getting the camera out.

From the top it was virtually downhill all the way to the finish (save for the uphill return on the track). I got overtaken by only two on the return (I think), but I had been doing some overtaking of my own on the climb, so it balanced out. The rain never came to anything and the sun was trying to show itself again. With the wind now behind us and with the increase in speed, cooling was becoming a problem, so off came the skull cap, windproof got hitched behind the head and sleeves got rolled up to make it just bearable. Out onto the A57 it was a downhill all the way back to the pub as I chased the runner in front. I hammered as fast as I could go but, as always, it didn't feel fast enough. It was enough though because no-one else was near as I crossed the finish in 47:11. That got me 36th out of 55. Winning time was 34:48. What a machine is Dave.

Afterwards in the pub, prize presentations were made after Des and helpers had sorted out the results. Not only were there prizes for that day's race, there were also prizes for the whole series. Tom Jackson won the series. Not that many had done all three and some of them had gone home. You know what that meant? I won my first ever bling in a fell race, by default as Des read down the list in increasing desperation. I shall treasure my gift until my dying day because it will surely never be repeated.

The results as best as I can manage so far are here.

Plenty more climbing still to do on James's Thorn.

Link to photo album.

The Fellsman 61mi. / >11,700'. 28-29/04/2012.

Race 3 of 12 in the 2012 Runfurther series.



The Gragareth marshal is always so cheerful. Like!

This tough and rugged 61-mile fell race with over 11,700 feet of ascent that climbs most of the peaks in a large horseshoe route between Ingleton and Threshfield is sponsored by The North Face, this being the second year of sponsorship. This newfound prestige status added to its being part of the Runfurther Ultra Running Championships ensured that some elite talent was there to compete. The entry limit of 500 was filled, with a waiting list on top of that. (The fact that it was the event's 50th anniversary may have had something to do with its popularity this year as well.) It was the biggest ever field in its history. That's pretty amazing when, in 2003 when I first ran it, entries were so low that the event's viability was being called into question. This would be my 6th running of the event formerly known as the Fellsman Hike because, in the old days everyone hiked it with big heavy boots. These days, lean, mean, technically attired runners are to the fore, so it's now known simply as "The Fellsman".

The 50th Fellsman will go down in history. I'll cut to the chase. For the time ever, with many retirements through hypothermia, vomiting, sprains and one airlifted to hospital, the decision was taken to abandon the event at 01:41 on Sunday for the safety of participants and the staff due to extreme cold and wind chill. Having got through the final roadside checkpoint (Park Rash) with Kevin, Mike and Paul (the three other members of my night group) before the abandonment and been able to get a finish time, I can attest to the extreme conditions throughout. The decision by event organiser Suzanne Carter was absolutely the right one, and it also meant that everyone was off the hills safe and warm before the rain came. That was the bonus.

If it wasn't for the low temperature and gale it would have been a beautiful day and night, with sunshine by day, clear views and no cloud to plague the tops; but THAT WIND. It was already strong at lower altitudes by Saturday morning. It was gale force on the tops. It built up from there through the day and into the night.

Then there was the temperature. It was a beautiful warm spring day in the valleys if you could find complete shelter from the wind, but low ambient temperature combined with extreme wind chill made it challenging anywhere else. It could only get colder as dusk approached. Night-time was something else again.

Climbing to Ingleborough.

We ran (or attempted to run) into the North Easterly gale for the majority of the day and night. If it wasn't head on it was side on. There was no escaping it; it was incessant. At high or low altitude, we staggered around like drunkards, constantly correcting to regain control and get back on the course the next footstep was supposed to take. Well into the night on the final peak (Great Whernside) it was imposible to stand up. To avoid getting blown over it became necessary to 'run' across the bouldery terrain while crouching, crabbing sideways and leaning into the gale. When a gust still blew us violently off course we had to stop instantly to regain control, readopt the intended direction of travel and start again very carefully. The checkpoint officials' tent was tucked down in a hollow between boulders beside the trig point, but even so it was getting blown violently. It remained firmly zipped closed with no sign of visible entry until they heard us call out to get our tallies punched. The temperature was below freezing and the mud and water were turning hard and crunchy under our feet. My water bottle nozzle froze. My eyeballs burned in the icy blast, and that was with the protection of spectacles. People without glasses or with contact lenses fared far worse. Times like these reinforce the strict kit and grouping rules on this event. They are necessary for the safety of all. Even with those kit rules, the fact that so many were forced to retire attests to the severity of the conditions.

Naturally, everyone's times were slower than usual. Even Jez was around an hour slower than his record time of last year, which is proof of the tough conditions. He still won though. Well done Jez. Nicky Spinks was the female winner, to add yet another tough win to her long list. Ultra-running studs, the both of them.

My night-time grouping with Kevin, Mike and Paul could not have been better, with great camaraderie as always. They stayed strong, keeping up a strong walk / shuffle and occasional jog to the end (and they let me do the navigating, which was nigh on perfect even though I say so myself). Dawn was just beginning to break and the first blackbirds were beginning to sing as we descended into Grassington and finally out of THAT WIND. We collapsed onto the chairs at the finish and were immediately offered cups of tea by waitress service to begin the recovery process. What an event, what support, what organisation. The care and attention to detail shine through and we appreciate it so much. Thank you Suzanne and your army of willing, cheerful unpaid volunteers.

Our time of a little over 19:30 was very pleasing, when earlier as I'd been haemorrhaging time checkpoint by checkpoint, a sub-20 finish was beginning to look unachievable.

Because I finished the event later than usual and the abandonment meant that the orgainsers were ready to 'shut up shop' earlier than usual, I only managed 40 fitful winks before having to depart (too much talking to be done, which takes top priority of course). Luckily I made the car journey home safely without incident (to find the wheelie bins blown around the garden), after which I enjoyed 6 hours' sound sleep.

The killer turkey on the descent to Stonehouse.

Artengill Viaduct built in 1875.

From the top of Great Knoutberry.

First peak Ingleborough is still visible from Snaizeholme Fell.

As an interesting aside, all decency and decorum fall by the wayside on a challenging Ultra as all efforts are directed towards surviving the here and now and ensuring that you get to the finish in one piece:

- Burping, farting, grunting, groaning, sniffing and coughing (there seemed to be a lot of coughing) as you try to ingest that next gel to keep the engine fuelled while trying to run, hoping the slight nausea is because you want to burp and nothing more sinister.

- Cold wind that makes your eyes constantly water, rendering vision useless for that next technical descent off Ingleborough. Your eyes' drainage channels ensure that your nose streams constantly. A top lip that is constantly wet and having to be wiped for a day and a night can become quite sore. I became accustomed to the sight of the spray in my headtorch beam as I blew the drainage product from my top lip.

- Snot rocketing (more accurately, salt spraying) when constant sniffing and leaving shiny deposits on your gloves is no longer enough.

- Strong icy winds are perfect snot harvesters; they manufacture it for you then suck it out of you by the Bernoulli effect.

- I won't mention having a pee against a wall. Trying to find it with thickly gloved hands through multiple layers of life-maintaining technical attire was one thing, taking care to aim downwind was another, but having turbulence from the gale atomise it into thousands of droplets, some of which find their way back onto your face is a third thing I did not need. I think the saying is E-e-e-w-w.

Because so many were unable to get a finish time I don't see how Runfurther points can be awarded for this one. Only to award them to those who were quick enough to get a finish time before the abandonment will deny those who were not, while on the other hand it would be unfair to deny those hard-earned points, especially to winners Jez and Nicky. I'm sure the Runfurther team will sort something out that's fair.

Photographs are now uploaded! I'm afraid snapping stopped at dusk in the interests of survival.

Grough wrote a good report that really brings it home.

SportSunday were out taking their usual excellent crop of photographs.