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



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 Cremins 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 Cremins 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

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.

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.



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.

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.....

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.