Running Late

Plans for 2012

2012-02-07T23:45:00.000Z

After a bit of thought and now that the ballots have been done and the nifty applications made and so on I've managed to sketch out a programme for the year. Last year I did 8 ultras and 2 marathons, and while that's nowhere near in Nick Ham or Jon Steele country, it was probably a shade too much for this particular runner, so this year I'm going for a bit less volume in the hope that it might improve the quality. That's the theory at least. So here's the plan.

17 March - Hardmoors 55 (54 miles)

This the only race for which I can claim to have run all of them (well, both actually) and it's a fine outing. Time to catch up with the Man of Steele himself and see how his plan to run an ultra every week of the year is going. First long run of the year, no time ambitions, just enjoy it, aim to finish not too long after nightfall.

I'm still thinking that I might do a marathon around mid April, I've done two a year for quite a few years, but haven't seen one yet where the appeal, the date, and the cost are all in line.

28 April - Highland Fling (53 miles)

Done the last 5, wouldn't miss it.

12 May - BGR

No I'm not going for a full Bob Graham, I'm not sure my knees are still up to it these days, but a few of the West Highland Way gang are targetting this weekend for an attempt and I've volunteered to pace and navigate the three middle stages. That should be quite enough of a workout, and I don't want to get too knackered as I'm off to Croatia on the 13th for a week's climbing.

23 June - West Highland Way (95 Miles)

As for the Fling, wouldn't miss it. This year I'll see if it's possible to get a bit under my PB of 23:34.

28 July - Lakeland 50 (48 miles)

The Lakeland 100 is probably the premier ultra of the UK now, but for me it's too tough to just turn up and do every year. It's a great weekend though so I've entered the much easier 50 just to stay part of it. Still quite burly for a UK 50. The aim is to finish in a respectable time in good shape.

9 September - Tor des Geants

This was my Plan B if I was unlucky in the UTMB ballot. I'd heard that it filled up in 4 days last year and as these things tend to gather momentum fast I was on to the site about ten minutes after entries opened. I looked in again later the same day to find it was already full; I subsequently found out that it filled up 27 minutes after opening. All this keenness for a little jaunt 200 miles long and with 24,000 metres of ascent. But at least there's enough time to have a few sleeps along the way so it should be my kind of trip. Sounds like an adventure, can't wait.

Probably no Autumn marathon either this year as I'm hoping to fix a climbing trip to the US in early October, no great loss this year I think.

20 October - Rotherham Round (50 miles)

Lovely event now it's fixed in mid Autumn. This will be my 4th time around.

Nothing definite for the closing stages of the year yet. I enjoyed the Brecons Ultra in November last year, but not enough to want to do it again. Maybe I'll try Glen Ogle. Then we'll be back to the shortest day and hopefully there will be another Tour de Helvellyn.

It looks good from here, I'm looking forward to the year ahead.

Training - a bit of discipline maybe......

2012-01-28T22:00:00.001Z

Well, there was a bit of disappointment in not getting a place in the UTMB ballot but I see many people I know had similar bad news so that's life I suppose. It will seem strange missing out on the Chamonix party for the first time in seven years but I've opted not to transfer to the TDS and instead take my guaranteed UTMB place in 2013. I'm thinking about a Plan B and should have something sorted out in a week or two, but the hiatus has prompted me to think a bit about training. I don't normally post about this sort of stuff but I'm interested in what others do so here's my bit for the year.

Anyone who follows my ramblings will remember that I went for a performance assessment back in November, the result of which was that I was advised that I was good at running very slowly, but if I wanted to get better results I was going to have to put a bit of effort in on some faster-paced work. Well, I tried, really I did. I went out and did the tempos and the intervals and whatever, but I just didn't enjoy it. I was perpetually knackered and started to feel I didn't want to go out at all This isn't what running's all about, I told myself, we do it for fun not as a chore. So I went back to my old ways, a few runs here and there as I felt like it, and I turned up for my last two ultras of the year in the Brecons and the Lakes and enjoyed them. I convinced myself that running quickly wasn't really required, for ultras it's time on your feet that counts, that's what everyone says, right?

Then over the Christmas period, people started reviewing their year's efforts, and some of the details were interesting. A lot of runners who don't have my sort of free time to go out for two or three longish outings a week do a lot of shorter faster stuff - and get much better results than I do. Well, they may just be better runners (what do I mean "may"?) but it made me think again. A bit of guilt, maybe. Perhaps I hadn't given it a fair chance. So on the dot of Jan 1st, I started again. This time I was determined not to overdo it, but to make a sensible controlled effort. So for the past four weeks my schedule has been like this:

1. A steady run of 7-10 miles a shade faster than marathon pace (which for me is 8 minute miles)

2. A 40 minute tempo run. I'm averaging 7:15 minute miles now, trying to get this down to 7:00. I find this the hardest session of the week.

3. An interval session, combination of 4, 5, and 6 minute intervals totaling 24/25 minutes now, working up to 30 minutes, 2 minutes recovery between intervals. At present my pace is around 6:40, I'm trying to get this down to 6:30.

4. A steady 5 mile run but doing two sprints (50m and 100m) during each mile, while keeping the overall average pace just below 8:00. I enjoy this one, but it's harder than it sounds.

5. A steady run of 10-15 miles, around or just over marathon pace. Every two weeks I'm allowed to replace this with a longer trail run!

It's needed a bit of persistence, but this time I think I'm getting there. Every fourth week I'm planning to miss out one of the faster sessions to get a bit of a rest, but I'm intending to keep it going for at least twelve weeks to see what effect it has. I got the impression I was missing out a lot of miles so I did some comparisons with last year and found that this isn't necessarily the case. I compared the first four weeks of this year with the four weeks before last year's Highland Fling (excluding the taper week) and the four weeks before the Lakeland 100 (again, not the taper week):

Miles below Miles between Miles over Total Miles

8:00 pace 8:00 and 9:00 9:00 pace

April 2011 25 56 77 158

July 2011 7 27 130 164

Jan 2012 59 41 55 155

So similar miles, just shorter and faster. It should be interesting to see how it goes from here.

A couple of weeks ago I went for 20 miles along one of my local trails. Cold, clear air. Bright low sunlight over frozen ground. Woods, hills, lakes, steps and stiles, rocks and tree roots. Brilliant trip, made you feel great to be alive, I could do this all the time. But it took three and a half hours, average pace ten and a half minute miles, average heart rate 115. And that, I suppose, is the point.

2011 and all that

2012-01-08T20:45:00.002Z

A week into the New Year so I'm a bit overdue for a look back on the one just gone. Still, it's a useful exercise for me and may be of passing interest to anyone else starting to plan their 2012, so here goes.

Statistics

I ran 181 times during the year for a total of 2178 miles. Taking straight averages this means a run roughly every 2 days with an average length of just over 12 miles, but of course it's a bit more complicated than that, so splitting the runs into length bands gives the following:

6 miles and under - 84 runs

6 to 12 miles - 47 runs

12 to 20 miles - 25 runs

20 to 50 miles - 19 runs

50 miles and over - 6 runs

Earlier in the year some of the shorter runs were at tempo pace (around 7.00 - 7.15 for me) but after May I didn't do many of these so all my runs were then at a very modest speed. I've mentioned this before so I won't dwell on it except to say that I will be concentrating a bit more on speed in the coming year. I like going out for a longish day at least once a week in the spring and summer; maybe I do too much of this but one of the basic principles of ultra training is "time on your feet" so it can't all be bad. I'm thinking of covering this in a bit more detail in a later post. Overall, the outings were enjoyable and saw me through the year with no major injury problems.

Races

I ran two marathons and eight ultras. I run the marathons because I still enjoy a bit of the mass atmosphere, but I don't generally have a plan for them, maybe I should. For a few years my focus was to get inside 3.30, but once I had done this the next goal of 3.15 seemed too far away to be taken seriously. I surprised myself with a 3.17 a few years ago but that's likely to remain my best effort and these days I'm happy to finish in good shape in somewhere near 3.30. So Rotterdam in the Spring was a bit of a disappointment at 3.36.27 as I was training quite hard then, but Chester came as a pleasant surprise at 3.34.59 in the Autumn after virtually no road running since May.

Fine Weather on the Hardmoors 55

On the ultra scene, I started with the Hardmoors 55 in March. I treated it as a training run but expected a PB because it was far better weather than on my first attempt a year before. I beat my 2010 time but only by around 30 minutes, although I wasted about 20 minutes by leaving a checkpoint without my water bottle and having to go back for it, Overall, reasonably satisfying but I think still scope for improvement. The Highland Fling was a bit of a disappointment. I normally like the sunny conditions we had, but I messed up by only taking one 500ml water bottle and getting fairly dehydrated in the later hotter sections. My 10.18 was the second fastest of my 5 runs over the course, but I could and should have done better.

I love the West Highland Way Race, but I just didn't have a plan. I had got the long-sought 24hrs the year before so all I had on my mind was to enjoy the day and not get too tired with the Lakeland 100 coming up a month later. The conditions weren't great for me, continuously wet underfoot and with plenty of precipitation on the day, but even so 26 hours wasn't good enough, must have a more focussed plan for next time. I did recover quickly though as I was out for thirty miles in the Lakes the following weekend.

Rain on the WHW

The Lakeland 100 was my most satisfying run of the year. Though not quite in the UTMB class as the organisers claim, this is still a big gnarly event where getting round is a good enough reward. It was good for me also in that for the first time here I experienced getting through a really low point and coming strongly out the other side - up until then whenever a race had started to go badly for me it continued that way to the end.

Leg 1 of the Lakeland 100

I couldn't pull off the same trick in the UTMB though. Getting mildly hypothermic I pulled out for my fourth (!!) failure at this event. But I'll get it in the end, I'm nothing if not persistent. After the annual Chamonix experience the Autumn ultras don't hold the same sense of urgency for me and I'm happy to enjoy them as days out without any pressure to do anything too arduous. I managed a PB at Rotherham though suffering a bit from the Chester Marathon 6 days earlier, but it was in far better conditions than I'd ever seen it previously. The Brecon Beacons and the Tour de Helvellyn were nice events that I hadn't done before, really enjoyed, and didn't do spectacularly well in.

So some highlights, and I enjoyed the events as ever, but I think the teacher might say "could do better" for the year as a whole.

Other stuff

Without a doubt. the outing that I enjoyed most during 2011 was my three and a half day recce of the whole of the UTMB course in glorious sunshine in mid August, almost made up for failing in the race, and one of the views from which appears right at the top of this post.

Another significant event was when I chatted to Mark Barnes in the bar after the Hardmoors 55. He was wearing some strange looking running shoes which he said were called Hokas. They were rather reminiscent of the crepe soled jobs that went with a bootlace tie and a velvet collar when I was a lad, but I was intrigued and bought a pair. Difficult to get used to, they have very little heel lift so the gait has to be rather like barefoot style and the toebox is a bit low for me which sometimes isn't always kind to toenails, but their overall comfort on a long day out and superb descending ability are both remarkable. I can only describe going downhill as being the difference between riding a mountain bike with suspension and one without. I didn't dare try them in the Fling or the WHW, but I bit the bullet for the Lakeland 100 and haven't worn any other shoes in an ultra since. They now have over 700 miles on the clock and I'm thinking of a replacement pair.


Well-used Hokas

So that was 2011. I haven't sorted out 2012 yet, the overall game plan will depend on the UTMB ballot on 20th January - looks like like this year there will only be a one in two chance of getting in, with no automatic transfer to the TDS, so I'll need a Plan B just in case. Watch this space.

Christmas Cracker

2011-12-18T23:55:00.003Z

The "Tour de Helvellyn en Hiver" is a brilliant event. Low key almost to the extreme, it is organised by a very able and enthusiastic crowd led by Joe Faulkner and based in Askham in the North East corner of the Lake District. There are no dire warnings, no pre-race briefings, just an understanding that whatever Cumbria chooses to provide in the way of weather on the shortest Saturday of the year, the race will not be called off so just make sure you're up for it. In Joe's words in the single email you receive when you've asked to be let in, "now let's be safe but have some fun".

I entered the inaugural running last year but failed to make the start line, grinding to a halt on the M6 somewhere north of Preston behind several hundred trucks stuck in the snow. This year the weather was marginally better as I left home just after 5am; I was treated to continuous icy rain for most of the journey which had reduced to a chilly "is this rain or snow?" drizzle by the time I got to Askham Village Hall just after 7am. Welcoming hot tea put a better face on things and there were a few familiar faces - Jon Steele, Nick Ham, and to my surprise that pillar of the West Highland Way and Scottish Athletics, Adrian Stott, slotting in a run during his journey home from Cornwall to Edinburgh, as you do I suppose.

The course itself describes a 38 mile "lollipop" shape, taking runners across the moor (Askham Fell) from Askham to Howtown, then up Boredale to Boredale Hause and down to Patterdale. From here, you go over Sticks Pass to the northern end of Thirlmere, along the hillside above the lake to Dunmail Raise then back over to Patterdale via Grisedale Tarn, from where you retrace your earlier steps back to Askam. There are half a dozen or so checkpoints, some of which are manned and some self-clips; the event is run as a sort of loose time trial - you can start at any time between 7 and 9am, but the checkpoint in Patterdale at 10 miles doesn't open until 10am and the maximum time allowed for the trip is 12 hours.

I had decided I was going to have a comfortable day. Warm walking trousers instead of running tights, a fleece under the jacket right from the start and plenty of food. I wasn't going to be fast but would be happy to get round, near the back of the field but quick enough not to get concerned about the cutoffs. I had intended to start at 7.30 but there was a bit of a queue to pick up numbers and tallies so it was just after 7.45 when I stumbled out of the hall with Adrian, to find it just about light enough to do without a torch and that the precipitation had for the time being stopped. We slid off down the icy streets of Askham then up onto the moor.


First few miles across Askham Fell

Spits of showers were coming and going, the ground underfoot was a mixture of ice, snow and bog, but it was good to be out in the hills and I made steady progress across to Howtown, always in sight of other runners as about 100 of us would set out during the two hour start window. Three of us arrived together at the first checkpoint at Martindale Church, spotted the clipper, and after a bit of a struggle because it was on a very short cord, clipped our tallies. We then carried on round the church to find on the other side a marshal and a completely different clip - the one we had used was an old one, could have been there since last year!

On the first real climb over Boredale Hause to Patterdale the weather seemed to be improving, though the steepish descent was quite slippery. I had brought Yaktrax and had them on and off during the day, but the regulars knew that the proper footwear for the event was fell shoes. I saw the stud marks everywhere. I felt a bit like a foreigner driving in the Alps, stopping for chains on and off all the time while the locals cruise by with their snow tyres.

In Patterdale I made a rather embarrassing mistake. I hadn't bothered to look at the map, I just knew I would turn left at the bridge and follow the stream. Two other runners did the same. After a while it was clear that we weren't seeing what we were expecting. A too late look at the map revealed that I had come up Grisedale rather than Glenridding. In an event whose only real instructions were that you had to be able to navigate competently over open fells in winter conditions, I had managed to take the wrong road out of a village up completely the wrong valley. Such is life occasionally. It may have cost twenty minutes or so, and pushed the total distance closer to a nice round 40 miles but it wasn't going to spoil my day. I retreated chastened and got back on track, going up what was now a rather gloomy looking Glenridding.

Up into Glenridding

Beyond the Youth Hostel the track rises steeply for a while, and as these Eastern valleys of the Helvellyn range hold any snow that's going, it was soon getting deep. Skiers were making their way up the track too, and going off the side into the soft stuff to get past them was quite hard work. A runner came past me at a cracking pace, really impressive in the conditions. I didn't see many of the fast guys go past, I suspect a lot of that happened while I was making my little diversion. The next checkpoint was at the footbridge over Swart Beck, and when I got there I was amazed to find a marshal - what a hero!

Marshal at Swart Beck footbridge

I asked him how much longer he expected to be there and he said there were about 15 people behind me. We chatted a minute or two and he offered to take a photo - I don't get many photos of me so I took up his offer.

I had thrown the goggles into my bag almost as an afterthought, but they were really helpful over the next stretch over Sticks Pass. The visibility deteriorated quite quickly and the wind was blowing around both the odd snow shower and already fallen snow, although with quite a few people having been through before me it wasn't too difficult to pick out the track. Higher up as the pass started to plateau out the wind was covering the tracks rather more and we were approaching near whiteout. I hadn't seen any other runners since just above the Youth Hostel, so it was quite comforting in this white wilderness to catch up with a group of three just before the top of the pass. Up here it was quite eerie to hear a dog barking quite nearby but out of sight, until we were met by a couple of walkers following the Helvellyn ridge; they wandered off to the left and were quickly out of sight again.

Near whiteout on Sticks Pass

Once we were heading down the going became very easy in the softish snow, a gentle trundle allowing us to keep up quite a good pace. We popped out of the mist a few hundred feet above the next checkpoint at Stanah Gill footbridge directly below us. No marshal here but below the main snowline and the clip easy to find, I let the others get ahead again as I stopped to find some more food out of my bag - I definitely wasn't going hungry on this trip.

Approaching Swirls checkpoint

A fairly horizontal track just above the fell wall seemed to lead in no time to the next checkpoint at Swirls car park just above the northern end of Thirlmere, this one complete with marshal in Santa outfit offering......... mince pies! Never had one of these on an ultra before, must remember that they do go down well. From here to Dunmail raise the route follows a broad forest track above the lake. On the map it looked fairly flat, but it turned out to have a number of quite testing rises. Apart from these it was all runnable so I felt I should probably get a bit of time in hand while the going was easy. Along here I caught up with Tony, a local from near Askham, and who I was really encouraged to find out was about five years older than me - there's clearly some hope for the future! He and I passed and repassed each other, then eventually I ran with him to the finish. We found the next unmanned clip at Homesdale Green Bridge, then after a short distance headed back up towards the snow, climbing alongside Raise Beck up to Grisedale Tarn. The northwest wind was still quite keen but the movement kept us warm enough.

Up Raise beck towards Grisedale Tarn

I found the short stretch contouring the hillside above Grisedale Tarn to be the most trying ground on the whole trip - fairly deep soft snow over occasionally very deep soft bog, a couple of above the knee incursions couldn't be avoided. On the plus side it was quite dramatically beautiful up there as visibility had improved and the clouds were lifting and parting. I was disappointed not to get a photo but I had been carrying my camera in a waist pocket and the battery was having a hard time in the cold.

The descent of Grisedale was tricky at first, slippery snow over a rocky track, but soon eased and I was able to run the last couple of miles down to the main road in Patterdale, and from there round to the checkpoint. By now the clouds had almost gone and it was shaping up to be a beautiful clear evening

Down Grisedale in improving weather

Another welcome surprise at the checkpoint, they were offering hot drinks so a big cup of tea just couldn't be refused. Joe himself was at the checkpoint and I told him I'd had a great day out. It's not quite over yet he remarked, ah yes, just the stumbling around in the dark to get home I agreed.

Tea at Patterdale

10 miles to go. The climb back up to Boredale Hause was steep enough but the last real uphill. Near the top I met up again with Tony and two of his friends also running, another Tony and Claire. Once off the first rocky bit we picked up a bit of speed and jogged most of the way to the final checkpoint back at Martindale church. There was probably some mild game of chicken in play, as lights didn't go on until we needed them to find the clip. The compensation for this was that we had a great view of the now completely cloudless starry night.

The steady pull up from Howtown to the top of the moor could have been tedious, but with people to chat to now and then it passed quickly enough. I had it solidly covered in my GPS as on the face of it it's pretty featureless territory, but my local companions seemed to know every path junction like it was the end of their street; I was definitely getting a free ride. Along the top of the moor both in front and behind you could see spaced sequences of headlights; it felt like we were coming into Heathrow. But we're not on the final approach yet said Tony, more like just past the outer beacon. Then the ground angle changed and we really were on the final approach, wonderfully easy running all the way down to the finish, bright lights, dry clothes and hot soup. All that remained was to spend 10 minutes de-icing the car for the drive back to Chester.

I finished in just over 11 hours. Quite near the back but that was the plan. Apart from my senior moment in Patterdale in the morning, I had negotiated the course competently enough, met some nice people along the way, and had an enjoyable and very satisfying day out. An early Christmas present.

To get better times you have to run faster.....

2011-12-10T12:40:00.002Z

Simples. But interesting how we can deny the obvious if it appears that tiny bit unpalatable.

I've been running ultras for the best part of five years now, and although I look forward to, enjoy, and have fond memories of each race, I started to wonder a bit about what comes next. Apart from my particular bete noir the UTMB, I can do the races. Doing them again is fun, but the challenge isn't quite the same. So, I decided, before I really get too old and decrepit for this game, what's to lose, I should have a go at doing some of them a bit faster. And rather than bumbling on in my own disorganised way I would get a bit of properly informed advice.

So I got myself along to one of these breathe in the bag and run until you drop test sessions, to be specific at the sports clinic run by Marc Laithwaite the Lakeland 100 RD, which is in St Helens quite near me. If you've done one of these you'll know the score, in case you haven't this is the process. You do a test on a treadmill while wearing a mask so that the volume and composition of your exaust breaths can be measured, from which a fair bit of analysis of your abilities can be made.

So I explain what my objectives are and we start with a warm up jog. Now I've got a low resting heart rate, in the 30's on waking stabilising to low 40's later in the day. I can't claim any particular achievement here, it's hereditary I think. And I've self-tested my maximum heart rate a few weeks ago at around 158, not impressive but I'm not really in the first flush of youth and it's not far off the 220 minus your age approximation. So I jog along really not warming much up at all, so the speed is increased a bit and I manage to break into a bit of a sweat, and we carry on for 5 minutes or so.

Then come a few minutes rest and the real business begins. Every minute, the treadmill speed increases until we're at 15 kph.Then the speed stays the same but every minute the angle of the treadmill increases. Only it doesn't, because after the second increase my HR is at 162 and I'm done, game over. From jogging to exhaustion in no time at all, something of a disappointment really. My tester Angela plugs the figures into the computer and we try to make something of the results. Some peripherally interesting stuff here and there but the basic conclusion is clear - I'm good at running very slowly. My aerobic efficiency is, well, deficient. The problem is, she says, that how well you can perform over 10k or even shorter distances will have a direct effect on how well you do over 100 miles. So it's not speed versus endurance, it's speed and endurance that gets you there.

I go home, have a think, then dig out the records of my training runs for the first three quarters of this year. They look like this:

Miles Jan-Mar Miles Apr-Jun Miles Jul-Sep

Pace T M T M T M

7 -8 118 6.5 51 7.2 18 4.6

8-9 112 6.2 148 9.2 132 6.9

9+ 395 16.0 404 20.2 425 26.5

Pace is in minutes per mile. I don't run faster than 7 minute miles.

T is the total mileage at that pace for the quarter. M is the mean length of run.

This stuff backs up the test result of course, and I guess deep down I know it already. I enjoy long slow runs in the country and on the hills. If I feel tired I slow down, running is for fun, right.

After this Marc and Angela work out an initial 16 week programme for me to follow. To begin with, it's a lot of short and fast. Outings lasting longer than an hour only allowed once in two weeks. Concentrate on flat courses to keep heart rate steady. But I did get started. Everything hurt. 4 minute intervals, 30 minute tempo runs, lamp-post sprints, every session left me knackered, and all for a total of around 25 miles a week.

But I've just had a break, a week's paid work in Chicago couldn't be turned down, and in some strange way I've missed it, sort of like a bit of unpleasant medicine, must be doing you good. I'm rather looking forward to that next feeling of "but it can't still be another minute until I can slow down.....".

Will it work? Who knows? At least the winter will feel a bit different this year.

Brecon Beacons Ultra

2011-11-22T11:45:00.002Z

I had never been to the Brecon Beacons so I decided the 45 mile Likeys Beacons Ultra was a good opportunity to rectify this, especially as it is run in November when not a lot else is happening. I must have got lucky when I found the website because I don't remember rushing but apparently the event was full within a few days of entries opening back in May. Popularity augurs well for quality so I was looking forward to it. By the time it came round though I had had a month of near inactivity trying to see off an Achilles niggle which had left me minus a lot of miles and plus half a stone in weight. No matter, my head is always convinced I can crank out a 50 miler whatever the circumstances so until the body lets it down I'm happy to go with that; I would just have to take it fairly gently. I had been doing some contracting work all week but sneaked off at 3pm on Friday to drive the hundred miles or so of wiggly roads from Chester to Brecon.

It's a bit strange in the hall on Saturday morning. I've got used to seeing at least a few familiar faces at the start of events but this time I don't know anyone. A guy called Paul recognises me from reading the blog, we commiserate, he had to pull out of the UTMB this year as well, then it's soon around 7.15 and time for the race briefing. Race director Martin tells us "not to fall in the canal" and if we do to "get straight out again" - British Waterways rules, apparently - then we wander out to the start and at 7.30 prompt, 144 of us trundle off down the towpath. The weather is dry and quite mild but still quite Novemberish because the hill fog above the 300 metre level has shown up as forecast. The route crosses the Beacons ridge twice and I guess for this reason it's a "full bag" event - compulsory equipment of full waterproofs, fleece top, woolly hat and gloves, survival bag, etc, etc, and all food for the trip. Even though it is a two lap race, passing within 50 yards of the start/finish at half way, you're not allowed to pick up or drop off anything from start to finish. Water is available at checkpoints about every 7 or 8 miles which means a 500ml bottle is all you need, but even so with the bag and my additional new ballast I don't feel very sprightly as we set out.

The first three miles are along the canal towpath, then the route swings off right through woods, a couple of fields, then open hillside to the first climb up Tor y Foel, 1200ft of ascent in 2 miles. Of the 5700ft in total on the course, the two ascents of this first hill are the only real full on climbs. I'm sure the boys at the front run up it but all the field that I can see, in front or behind, has settled for a steady walk. Not that I can see all that far because by now we're getting up into the fog. A brief video of the event here gives a bit of the atmosphere of the day. If you don't blink you'll see me towards the end of the clip, recognisable as easily the slowest runner featured (or by way of my usual headgear).

The descent from Tor y Foel is great, grassy and a perfect angle for just letting go, then a mile or so of easy track and we're at the first checkpoint. There was a warning of a rocky descent from here but it turns out to be just an easy angled stony track, good ground for the Hokas which I've been using since late spring this year. Then comes around 5 or 6 miles of gentle ascent, first along forestry tracks and then an ancient bridleway across open hillside to the high point of the course, the col between Cribyn and Fan y Big. This probably has a proper Welsh name as do most significant "bwlchs" but seems to be known generally just as "The Gap". In the mist, right on the crest, is a small tent with a couple of marshals outside. These guys always deserve more than a word or two of thanks, they were probably going to be there from around 9am to 7pm, what a way to spend your Saturday!

The easy angled but stony track continues down the other side, and I'm cruising down with thoughts miles away when I manage to trip on a loose stone and measure my length. A quick count to ten then start moving things and assess damage - a bloody hand, flow easily staunched by a quick wrap of the faithful WHW buff, nothing broken, adrenalin masking the rest for now, no doubt there will be some bruising and stiffness to come but off we go again. Luckily the field has thinned out enough for no-one to be aware of my moment of incompetence.

Down out of the mist and the next checkpoint soon appears, on the border between hillside and pastoral farmland. A narrow stony track, hemmed in by hedges both sides, then out into fields and country lanes. I catch up with one or two other runners around this time, and chat with a lady who I later find out was Mimi Anderson (check out her CV!), should have twigged when we were talking about shoes and she said she was sponsored by Hoka, but I'm not very good at that sort of thing. Still with company, now a guy from Manchester, we reach the canal again with two miles along it to the start of the second lap.

I was never quite sure about doing a two-lap race, I sort of like to feel my events are journeys rather than performances in an arena, but I'm feeling OK and I know now what's to come, so it doesn't seem too bad. One thing that does leave an impression though is the canal, five miles at the junction of laps 1 and 2 and more than enough for me. No view except trees, no change of angle, in fact no real change in anything - note to self, never do a canal race.

Lap two takes me nearly an hour longer than lap one. The hills are bigger, the distances in between longer, and I run nearly all of it without seeing any other runners, but the checkpoint crews are as enthusiastic and welcoming as ever. As I descend from the Gap for the second time (carefully to avoid a second ground excursion) the mist clears momentarily ahead and I can see a small piece of blue sky, the first and only one of the day.. Dusk is gathering as I reach the farmland before the canal, so I am able to play one last game - can I get to the finish without turning my torch on? The gloom steadily deepens along the tree-lined waterway but the ground is even and I can make out where the edge is. A couple of hundred yards before the finish I'm passed by a runner who has judged her race better than me, but she has a torch on so I nearly lose my vision, but in the end just make it. I finish in 9 hours 26 minutes 19 seconds for 51st place. That's OK, I would have taken that if offered at the start of the day. I would have liked to have seen the Brecon Beacons but apart from that it has been a pretty worthwhile trip.

I have a couple of cups of tea and stay awhile for the prizegiving. The winner Mark Palmer (winner also for the previous two years) got home in the amazing time of 6 hours 16 minutes. That's 45 miles with nearly 6000ft of ascent at a pace that I would be chuffed with for a flat marathon - a shade over 8 minute miles. He has just completed a 14 hour Bob Graham though...

I get changed, thank Martin for a good day out and wiggle my way back through the now misty Welsh roads to Chester, shifting position every few minutes to combat the aches and pains in the legs - driving home after an ultra is always like this but I know I'll be OK tomorrow. I call Jan, then stop to collect fish and chips and a few celebratory cans of Boddingtons. As I pull into the drive at around 8.30pm it occurs to me that it's still two hours until the race cutoff time, runners and marshals are still out there in the darkness. What a bizarre game this is.

A Whole New Experience

2011-10-30T00:35:00.000+01:00

I've never bothered too much with injuries. Don't admit there's anything wrong with you and it will probably go away. It's how we learned the game I suppose, just look after yourself and don't expect any help. Some years ago I left a pink trail in the snow down a mountain in Kyrgyzstan, a place where the possibility of rescue varies from remote to non-existent. The elation of bagging a virgin peak had been somewhat dampened by a bit of incompetence early in the descent; I was still trying to decide whether I had a broken ankle inside my climbing boot when my companion in crime noticed it first. "Hey, you're leaking". "What? Oh, right, I think I'll leave looking at that until we get down". Can't take a joke, shouldn't have joined.

Things fix themselves eventually. So when I took up trail running I had a lot of time for the Joss Naylor approach, "If there's something that ails you, you've just got to shrug it off", and it's seen me through nearly five years of fairly busy activity.

I must be getting soft, or old, or maybe both.

Recently I went along to the physio for the scheduled 3 monthly visit to check that mobility in my lower back hadn't got any worse, and mentioned that I had some soreness in the Achilles/calf area. Let's check it out she said, digging around a bit. Then........ this really isn't great, we need to work on it, forget about your back until we have this sorted out and absolutely no running until then. Three "interesting" massage sessions over the following week or so, each leaving me feeling worse than when I went in but better after a day or two, and she said I was good to go. But there were strings attached. The first day I could run 2 miles at 10 minute mile pace, stopping for a stretch in the middle. And so on. I think getting back is going to take a while.

So I'm not as unbreakable as I thought. A fair degree of hubris exposed and chastened. I'll maybe heed the signs a bit more in future.

The Short and the Long of it (Chester marathon and the Round Rotherham 50)

2011-10-16T20:00:00.002+01:00

I didn't run at all after the UTMB for a couple of weeks or so; disappointment at yet another poor performance on Mont Blanc coupled with some tiredness after a busy summer I guess. Whatever it was, I didn't have the enthusiasm. I diverted to walking, climbing, and other more instantly gratifying activities. Then I came home and entered the Chester Marathon. I still can't think why I did that, except that it sounded like a good event running right through the middle of our historic little city then taking in a fair bit of both Welsh and English countryside, and finishing back in Chester along the river to the Roodee racecourse. There was an added bonus that I could leave home less than an hour before the start.

On the other hand, there were less then three weeks to go before the race and I hadn't done any road running to speak of since April. A couple of ten milers and a slowish eighteen did nothing except leave me with rather sore Achilles tendons in both legs. Roads are hard. I stopped and had a couple of weeks rest, I'd done plenty of mountain miles, enthusiasm would get me through - well maybe.

Around four thousand others thought the event worth entering, enough for starting pens down on the racecourse; I went in with the 3:30 crowd, more in the hope of not tripping over too many Elvis's at the start than for any serious time ambitions. It was going to be a great day for a run, dry, partially cloudy and with a pleasant breeze.

After a five minute delay while crucial bits of road were finally cleared (better than the fifty minute delay just up the road at the Liverpool marathon for the same reason!) we were off. I took my usual approach of just going with how I felt and not looking at the watch until half way. It came up in 1:43, a bit quick for me and I was probably going to pay for it later. Or rather I knew I was, because although the organisers had billed it as a flat course, we locals knew of the several sharp little rises in the second half that were going to need a bit of effort. I kept on eight minute miles until around mile 21, when the lack of road training kicked in and things got hard. But you can always suffer a bit for three quarters of an hour or so and I made it to the finish in a shade (well a second to be precise) under 3:35. I had trained properly (sort of) for the Rotterdam marathon earlier in the year and taken a minute and a half longer on that, so I came away pleased with my day. The event itself and the organisation had been superb, I'm sure I'll do it again.

The only slight cloud on the horizon was that I had already entered the Rotherham Round which was due six days later, an event which has real class and which I had not been able to get to for various reasons since 2008. I did nothing in the intervening five days and hoped it would be OK.

The Rotherham 50 miler is a brilliant mix of countryside, woodland, canals, rivers, industrial estates and suburbia. You are never in any environment long enough to get bored, it really is a great tour, and the 800m of climbing comes in so many little jumps that it is barely noticeable at all. The welcome you get at the start and at every one of the seven checkpoints is wonderful. Getting lost occasionally is part of the game, almost everyone does, even if they've done the course several times before, as little bits change every year due to things being built, knocked down, paths rerouted and so on.

My memories of previous events were of cold, continuous rain and ankle deep mud. Then three years ago it was moved from December to October because "we were spending all night trying to find people who'd got lost in the dark" and as well as increasing daylight this has improved typical conditions enormously. Even so, the weather forecast for last Saturday was exceptional, wall to wall blue sky, temperatures rising to a 15 degree maximum, and with a slight breeze. I drove across the Pennines before dawn under a cloudless starry sky, to arrive just before the "walkers" start at 6am. I registered and found a few familiar faces, Jon Steele, Shirley Colquoun, and John Vernon. The "runners" start is at 7am, just about light enough at this time of year to run without a torch; I decided to go for nine hours but be happy with ten, either way a torch wouldn't be necessary, I left it in the car.

After the usual low key briefing and start that accompanies many of the best ultras, we were off on the first and longest leg, a bit of park, canal towpaths then fields and hedgerows. It was chilly at the start in teeshirt and shorts; we had expected that but the sheen of frost on the first wooden bridge deck was a bit of a surprise. I ran a few miles with Jon, then he went on when I stopped for a gel and a drink, we would pass and re-pass each other several times during the day. The day warmed, miles and checkpoints passed, it seemed to be going well.

Then at around 15 miles, along a section with hardpacked footpaths before and through Rother Valley Park, my legs started to sieze up. Quads, hamstrings, calves, first tightening then beginning to hurt quite a lot. I clearly hadn't really got over the marathon six days earlier. I was fairly convinced I would have to start walking, but concerned that if I did that this early in the event I would never get going again. I decided to push on until I really couldn't run, get as much ground covered as possible. I started doing calculations on what distance I would have to reach to be able to get home at a walk; I was seriously regretting not having brought a torch because although the finish would be welcoming runners home until 10pm or later, my own cut-off would be around 6.45 when it got dark! But at round 22 miles the tracks gave way to open fields, springy grass and crop edges. I got to the Harthill checkpoint at 25 miles feeling a bit better physically, and a whole lot better psychologically for getting to half way.

I decided that if I cut my stride (and therefore the pace) significantly, I could probably keep running. I had averaged just over 10 minute miles (plus stops) to half way, so I decided to go for around 11,30's for the second half. It seemed to work, and the whole thing got more enjoyable again. I went through good and bad patches as you do in every ultra, and for me the stops for cups of tea when available definitely get significantly longer as an event goes on, but from about 30 miles on I was sure I could keep running to the finish.

I didn't do any time calculations until the Maltby checkpoint 10 miles from the finish. If I could cover these at 11:40 pace including stops, I might squeeze 9 hours. Well, a stop for an orange squash and a couple of Jaffa cakes at the final Denaby checkpoint couldn't be avoided, and in the last three or four miles anything that wasn't horizontal or better got walked, but I just made it. 8 hours 59 minutes 8 seconds. Perfect pace judgement - well that's my story and I'm sticking to it. It was a PB for the event. Now conditions couldn't have been more perfect, but I'm at the stage where PB's are so rare I'll take them with whatever environment advantages are going, the more the better!

I'd better get back to a bit of training again now.

UTMB 2011

2011-08-30T16:45:00.002+01:00

Well if I was going to have a bad race this year I would have preferred it not to be this one, but c'est la vie. I won't tell a long tale, I'll leave that to those who had more successful outcomes, but here is the outline of my trip.

I was a hundred percent certain I would complete the course, I'd had a good year so far and felt fit and ready to go in the run up to the race. On the day itself I didn't feel so great; not unwell, just a bit uncomfortable, I put it down to a bit of nervousness or eating too much in the twelve hours before the start, but it persisted through the following night and day. The start was delayed by five hours until 11.30 on Friday night to allow the runners to chase rather than get fully involved in the passage of a cold front through the region, but the delay was communicated well in advance so was really no problem.

The weather was nevertheless interesting. We had a pretty constant downpour in the few hours up to the start and which continued for the first three or four hours of the race, getting everyone thoroughly soaked, as well as making the downhills very slippery. Then the stars came out and we hoped for a sunny dawn, which unfortunately was not to be. Daylight over the Bonhomme brought clouds, a drop in temperature and a very cold wind. My section of the field was treated to a proper snowstorm over the Col de la Seigne, but by Mont Favre the sun had finally come out and we enjoyed a warm and pleasant run down to Courmayeur.

Despite never feeling on top form, I had a good enough run to Courmayeur, keeping spot on my schedule which was to work up gradually to a couple of hours ahead of the cut-offs by that point, after which you can beat them at a very much slower pace. I was eating and drinking OK, certainly better than on my previous attempts on this course, and while I certainly wasn't going to break any records I was still confident of getting the trip. I enjoyed the final steep descent to Courmayeur and jogged into the checkpoint feeling better than at any point so far.

It was great to get into some dry clothes after being wet for about fifteen hours. Feet and shoes seemed to be coping well, so after I was sorted out I went to get a meal. Problem was, after I'd had a bit of ham and bread, I just couldn't seem to eat any more. I eventually managed half a plate of pasta and a couple of cups of coke. I decided I could sort it out as I went, and started the long climb up to the Bertone hut in the now warm sunshine. I made sure I sipped water and took salt tabs on the way up, and though it felt like a bit of a pull I didn't stop, overtook as many people as overtook me, and reached the Bertone on time. But once out of the trees, although still sunny, it was immediately cold, a freezing wind at 6.30pm. Everyone was putting all their warm clothes back on and I followed suit. I still didn't feel like eating so I drank some coke and set off for the Bonatti hut. This is where my race really fell apart, the cold and wind seemed to drain me of all energy, and apart from a few sips of water and the odd fruit pastille I wasn't doing anything to combat it. The section took me 45 minutes longer than it should have done and I arrived at the Bonatti very cold and tired. I tried sitting down for a bit but nothing improved. The hut staff said I could warm up inside, I said I would like to sleep for an hour so they found me a bunk and some blankets and said they would wake me in time to get down to Arnuva before the cutoff. I was shivering with all my clothes on under the blankets but eventually warmed up and slept a bit.

I felt a bit better when they woke me up, but as soon as I put my jacket and shoes on and hit the outside air I started shivering pretty uncontrollably. No options now though so I downed a couple of cups of hot coffee hoping they would put a bit of life back in me and set off down to Arnuva. I improved from freezing to just cold but was still feeling weak and I was very slow even on the downhills. I got to Arnuva just after the cutoff but the marshal there said they had been extended so I was OK for a half an hour. I thought about it. On a warmish night I might have pressed on and hoped to get through it, but I've been over the Col de Ferret in bleak conditions before and I knew deep down it wasn't very sensible in my current state so I called it a day.

Of course, as usual with a DNF, you wake up four or five hours later feeling absolutely fine but this time even the morning after I knew I'd made the right decision. It was a tough outing and I have great respect for those who made it round. Of the 2309 starters, 1131 finished, a lot fewer than usual. Not an excuse, I just wasn't up to the trip this time, I need a few more things in my favour. But in any case it was still a great experience in the unusual conditions, and anything learned in these hills is never wasted. I will complete this event one day but this just wasn't going to be the year.

Congratulations to the finishers who all had great runs in the various races, to Ritchie, Mark, Bob A, both John M's, Neil, Borkur and anyone who I know that I forgot. Commiserations to Jon and Shirley, George and Karen, Helen, Flip, and above all Jez for whom it must have felt very disappointing. Next year will be better, guys. But for me the inspirational performance of the weekend has got to be Graeme . After a year of injury, disappointment and inactivity, he had enough determination to dream that he would be running through Chamonix last Sunday having completed the UTMB. He was.

Touring in Style

2011-08-16T02:05:00.001+01:00

With only 4 weeks separating the Lakeland 100 from the UTMB I wondered what to do about training, how to keep ticking over without doing anything too punishing. In the end I decided that a couple of 5 milers a week and a bit of hill walking around the middle weekend would do the trick. When I discovered that on August 10th I would be seeing Julia off back to Gatwick from Geneva airport after a week's climbing it all became too clear, the best hillwalking in Europe was on the doorstep, I would just have to do a Tour. About 4 days should cover it without too much stress so I booked a flight home for the 14th. With all the usual TMB paraphenalia, plus a sheet sleeping bag, towel and washkit, enough spare clothes to deal with weather changes and to make the evenings a bit more pleasant for both me and my fellow refuge/gite occupants, sunscreen for 4 days and a couple of maps, I certainly wasn't going to travel light, in fact my sack weighed in at over 6kg, but that wasn't the point, this was to be a walk not a run. And in fact that's the way it turned out; I walked every step of the flats and uphills, and only broke into a shamble on the downs when it was easier than walking, the steeper descents in practice.

Day 1: Chamonix to the Refuge Croix de Bonhomme, 27.9 miles, 9504ft ascent, 9hrs 45min.

I left the faded but somehow still charming grandeur of the Hotel Richemond at 8am on a cloudless morning and was soon off alongside the river to Les Houches with the Col de Voza on the skyline. When I reached the col I still hadn't decided on a detailed game plan. The classic TMB walk skirts the valley side around to Les Contamines, losing no height, whereas the UTMB trail drops way down to St Gervais almost 700ft lower than Chamonix. I pondered over a Mars bar, then made a decision. I would follow the UTMB trail in its entirety - at least that meant I wouldn't have to make any more decisions. I set off up to the Chalet at La Charme, then down the 3000ft drop through the treelined ski area to St Gervais.


Les Contamines and the distant Bonhomme pass from La Charme

Chalet at La Charme

Down the piste toward St Gervais

The reward was the beautiful Sentier de Val Montjoie all the way through woods and pastures along the stream up to Les Contamines, where I sat eating a late lunch at around 2pm in the town square. But there was till a fair way to the Bonhomme col, gentle for the first part up to La Balme, then tougher up to the top

Towards La Balme


Final ascent to Bonhomme (lowest point on ridge ahead)

In the UTMB race all this territory from La Charme to the Bonhomme and beyond is covered in the dark, so it was a real joy to see it all in daylight. From the Col de Bonhomme the trail traverses the ridge to the left, slightly rising again to the Croix de Bonhomme refuge at around 2500m altitude. I reached the hut at 5.45pm, plenty of time to carry on down to Chapieux but I like being in the mountains rather than the valleys so I checked in for the night, feeling that I'd earned my dinner.


The Bonhomme refuge

Day 2: Refuge Croix de Bonhomme to Rifugio Elena, 32.6 miles, 9715ft ascent, 12hrs30min.

This was going to be my big day as I was aiming for the Elena right from the start. I was first out of the hut at 7am and down the long descent to Chapieux. This is tricky at night because it's steep and in many places there are numerous pathlets rather than one clear trail, but in the daytime when I could see both the detail and the bigger picture at the same time it was a real cruise and I was down in under an hour, just about coinciding with the general leaving time at Chapieux. It's 3000ft from here up to the Col de la Seine, but the first 1000ft are done on a traffic-free road - traffic-free that is apart from the donkeys which seem to be gaining popularity as a means of carrying your bags while walking the TMB!

Down to Chapieux

And up towards the Col de la Seine

The climb to the col itself is steady but with a very smooth track and goes quite quickly. I was greeted on top by a chilly wind - I've been up there half a dozen times and never known it different. For some reason I decided to take a photo of my sack at the summit cairn, after which my camera kindly informed me that its memory was full, so that was it - and I hadn't got to any of the spectacular views yet!

But then it was down into Italy and the warm sun was beating the chilly wind so things were looking up again.

I spent all of this day gazing upon the spectacular wild side of the Mont Blanc range, none of your tasteful trees and gently-sloping glaciers here, all rock and sun and crazy tortured ice. I remembered climbs done in the past, the soaring South Ridge of the Aiguille Noire; the remote Gugliermina pillar on the Aiguille Blanche where we had a freezing bivouac on the Col Innominata after not quite making the trip in the day; later on, the beautiful Route Major on the Brenva face of Mont Blanc, and the long tiring way down from the Grands Jorasses after climbing the Walker Spur on the north side. A bit wistful too for I know my days of Alpine Grands Courses are over now, but I still love these hills and it was a privilege just to be there and reflect on "those happy highways where I went, and cannot come again".

But I was playing a different game now and the day passed easily enough, quickly down to the Rifugio Elizabetta then up again to the Arete de Mont Favre, the lovely descending traverse ending so unpleasantly in the ski resort desecration of the Plan Checrouite. But the descent to Courmayeur was good, no dust cloud being kicked up by runners ahead today. Although I knew it would probably cost me my dinner at the Elena, I just couldn't resist stopping for lunch in Courmayeur, raw ham paninis and ice cream washed down with a litre of coke. Fortified by that the near 3000ft back up to the Bertone didn't seem bad at all, I didn't bother to get my poles out, just drifting up the well graded zig-zags to the hut.

Not far beyond the hut I had a bit of cow trouble. Picture the scene: the trail is a horizontal balcony maybe three feet wide, above and below is very steep grass, and coming round a corner I came upon a herd of cows parked on the path. They didn't want to leave the path and neither did I, we all thought it better for our health that we stayed on the horizontal. I herded them along in front of me for maybe a couple of hundred yards, looking for a better place; there wasn't one, neither were they inclined to move very quickly - their territory I suppose. Eventually we reached a spot where the uphill slope relented marginally and I scrambled up and round. Further along the path for the next mile or so I came upon narrow tracks that left the main trail on the uphill side, ran parallel for thirty yards or so then returned. Next to a superb track they could only have one purpose - I just hadn't been patient enough to keep herding until one of these "bovine bypasses" turned up.

This is one of the very best parts of the whole TMB, a good track and spectacular views. But eventually the bit of up to the Refugio Bonatti arrived and so I came to the hut. At 6.15pm I could justify staying here the night, but it was great weather and I was feeling good so I pushed on. A loping descent to Arnuva (the half-way point in time for the majority of UTMB competitors though at over 60 miles well over half the distance) then a little sting in the tail with the best part of 1000ft back up to the Elena. I arrived at 7.30 and as I walked into the Rifugio people were eating. The crucial question, was I still in time for dinner? The chef would be consulted. The word came back, it was OK, eat now, check in later. The plate of spaghetti was a good enough meal, but it was followed by veal and ratatouille with polenta, apricot tart, fresh fruit and coffee. I do love Italy.

Day 3: Rifugio Elena to Col de Forclaz, 25.5 miles, 6607ft ascent, 9hrs45min

The Col de Grand Ferret is the high point of the TMB (unless you take the Fenetre d'Arpette from Champex to to Forclaz, which the UTMB doesn't) but at the Elena you're quite a long way up already so in less than an hour from starting out at 7,30am I was up and over, arrivederci Italia and bonjour La Suisse. The trail down to La Peule is normally brilliant, except last summer when it was a slippery slide all the way, very runnable but this time I just strode out at an easy but fast walk. The sun was warming up and I stopped to take my long-sleeved top off at a spot where six years previously Jan and I had sat and watched a huge bird of prey, a lammergeyer we thought and hoped, circle effortlessly in the thermals with hardly a flicker of wing movement. Today I had to make do with the squeal of a marmot poking his head out of a hole not twenty feet from me to see what the day had to offer.

At La Peule the TMB trail goes straight down to Ferret then along a valley trail to La Fouly, and so did the race last year due to the difficult conditions; but this years race takes two significant detours, one to the left before Ferret and one to the right after it, both of which involve significant height gain but are both stunning tracks (if you're in a state to appreciate them during the race....). I followed these then the trail down the river and along the amazing Crete de Saleina down to Praz de Fort. I was hoping for a cafe there but no luck. But all was well and I got my cheese sandwich and pint of coke at Issert just a bit further on.

Issert is the beginning of the end, for although you are still a long way from Chamonix, this is where the roller coaster 30 mile home stretch starts. From here there are almost no flat bits, it's up or down all the way to the end. The first climb up to Champex winds through the forest along the Sentier des Champignons, along which are many carved tree stumps - mushrooms yes, but also all kinds of animals and insects, and at one point a pot of soup and a bottle of wine. Champex was Jan's favourite stop when we walked the Tour six years ago, and when I got there this time I saw a vintage Bugatti (her favourite car) parked outside the Hotel des Glaciers (where we had the best meal of the trip) - I just had to send the text. Then I was up and out of the town and on the track down to Champex Bas. At one point I came upon an adder crossing the track in front of me. It didn't like the hot stony ground much as its movements were quite jerky, but it seemed completely oblivious to me as I stopped to watch it.When it reached the grass its became much more silken and the beautiful creature was soon out of sight.

Next came the climb up to the Bovine Alp. I was tempted to go over the higher Fenetre d'Arpette because it was a beautiful day and I hadn't been up that way since traversing the ridge of the Ecandies at least twenty years ago, but I had made my decision to follow the UTMB course and I would stick with it. The Bovine climb preys on the minds of UTMB suitors because though it's not the biggest, it is one of the toughest on the course and it comes quite late on. After passing that way a few times now, I divide it into four sections, the jeep track, the steep track, the stream crossings, and the "bad news" (this is how the guide book we used on our first Tour described the final pull up over the boulders and tree roots through the trees to the alp), and taken one at a time they're not too bad.

Then it was the long gentle descent to the Col de Forclaz, reached at 5.15pm. Again I had time to go on, but I had no personal knowledge of places to stay in Vallorcine, Trient is a gloomy little place down in its almost completely sunless valley, and I had stayed at the Forclaz before. I was happy to get checked in, have a shower and spend the next hour and a half sinking beers on the sunny terrace. Now when Jan and I stayed here in 2005 we had chicken and chips for dinner. Daughter Julia, who had done the Tour a few years earlier with one of her friends, said "yes, we had chicken and chips there too." No prizes for guessing what the menu was going to be.then; they feed you well here, but if you came two consecutive nights I suspect you might be a tad disappointed.

Day 4: Col de Forclaz to Chamonix, 18.4 miles, 5548ft ascent, 7hrs30min

The final run in but still no pushover. I was away after the best breakfast of the trip and soon down to Trient in the cool of another cloudless morning, though the waitress had warned there was some risque d'orage apres midi. As I stopped to take off my fleece in preparation for the next climb, a large tick landed on my rucksac. Well, better there than on me I thought as I knocked it off with a pole. I been close to literally hundreds of animals on the trip, and hadn't given these bugs a thought, I would be a bit more circumspect in future.

The climb up to Catogne is long and fairly steep but well engineered and with a good surface. A great place for poles, I wouldn't be without them on this sort of terrain. On bouldery and more technical ground I find they just get in the way, but ascents like this are what they were made for. I got into that effortless rhythm that you normally only achieve on a ski ascent, where every move is identical and economical and you can let your mind wander without having to concentrate on the ascent at all. I must have wandered off a bit too much, because it was only on emerging onto the alp that I discovered the sky had covered over completely and a wind was springing up. But familiar sights started to appear to let me know that I was getting nearer home - the Emossons dam across the valley, Mont Buet behind it, and on my side of the valley the Posettes chair lift, accessing a lot of excellent but not too serious off piste ski-ing if you're ever passing that way at the right time.

Down in Vallorcine I felt a chocolate deficiency so I called into the station bar for a Mars bar and a Coke. As I left to set out on the Chemin des Diligences (the old coach road) up to the Col des Montets, there was a clap of thunder from across the valley. Slightly unnerving. I've had my fair share of electrical storms in the mountains and while the experience may well be character-building it's definitely unpleasant at the time. But looking at the sky and feeling the weather, it seemed less of a hot weather storm than a gradual change in the weather, may be a new front coming in. In these circumstances you usually get a bit of precursive unpleasant but not too serious weather for a few hours before things start to go bang in a big way. I decided it was going to be OK.

By the Col des Montets it was raining steadily so for the first time in the trip I pulled out the waterproof and set off up the claimed sixty zig-zags to the final high point, the Tete aux Vents. With the rain and the rocky track it was rather like a normal summers day in the Lake District. By the time I had traversed halfway to the Flegere however the rain had stopped and the atmosphere was much warmer again. I could finish in comfort, but good old Mont Blanc had had his say, just letting us know who was really in charge around here. I stopped for lunch at the Flegere, but there were lots of people and lots of noise, I had really finished up at the Tete des Vents, the spell was broken now so I sloped off down through the trees to the big town below.

Overall 104.4 miles, 31,374ft ascent, 39hrs30min.

Interesting that without hurrying at any point my total walking time was well inside the 46 hours allowed for the UTMB. This proves or prevues nothing of course, it's a bit like saying that if you can do individual Bob Graham sections within the time allowed then the round itself will be a cruise. But what it does reinforce I think are the wise words of my friend from Yorkshire, who always says that to get round these big events you don't have to be fast, you just have to keep going.

But the real reward for me was that the trip, which started out as a bit of a training exercise, turned into a wonderful journey through the mountains. I was very lucky with the weather. At times, particularly early and late in the day, I saw very few other souls for many miles and was able to take in fully the beautiful and dramatic environment through which this often overused and abused trail wanders. It's an experience I won't forget for a long time.

Lakeland 100

2011-08-04T11:32:00.000+01:00

I had a bit of unfinished business with the Lakeland 100, having had to pull out last year with 89 of the 105 miles completed; on the other hand with the UTMB coming up just 4 weeks later I didn't want to feel too trashed at the finish. This is a big, burly event, nearly 7000m of climbing, difficult ground underfoot for a lot of the way and tricky navigation on the wilder sections which nearly all come in the dark. I thought 36 hours would be a reasonable target on which to base a timetable.

A few familiar faces appear in Coniston, Jon Steele, Shirley Colquoun, John Vernon, Flip Owen, all enjoying the warm sunshine just before the 5.30pm start. Then Joss Naylor sounds the hooter and we're off. One of the four big climbs, up to the Walna Scar pass, is in the first leg but everyone has lots of enthusiasm at this stage and the 7 miles and 2200ft of ascent go quickly with stunning views everywhere, getting me to CP1 at Seathwaite in 1hr34, 10 minutes faster than planned and around the middle of the field. The next two legs to Eskdale then on to Wasdale Head have no big climbs (around 2000ft in total for the 12 miles) but plenty of opportunities to twist an ankle or get your feet wet - even on a dry weekend like this the knee-deep Lake District bogs can catch you out. I arrive at CP3 Wasdale Head after 4hr45 feeling pretty good but knowing that this is where the real work starts.

Soup, tea and coke, then on with the headtorch and off to tackle Black Sail pass. Wasdale to Buttermere has over 2300ft of ascent in the first five miles, up and down stony paths and almost paths. Tonight there is no mist or rain so you can see headlights ahead, I still have to think a bit to find the right stream crossing going up Black Sail, the way down the other side, the bridge over the river before Black Sail Hut, and the gap in the wall coming down from Scarth Gap but it all goes OK. I'm followed over all this territory by a French guy, who declares at that "surely no-one can find this route without some local knowledge!" - not really true but I get his point, this is not like the TMB. There is no moon tonight but no clouds at all, and descending into uninhabited Ennerdale gives us fantastic views of the stars. Eventually we reach Buttermere lake, then it's a gentle couple of miles jog around to CP4 in the village. I'm there a minute or two past 1am and with the cutoff not until 3am that's fine. I stop for a drink and some food and just as I am about to leave Shirley arrives and carries on through almost right away. We catch two other guys at the first turning point, and the four of us then do the majority of the next climb, the third of the four big ones over (another) Sail Pass, together. I remember that the final mile or so down to Braithwaite has a great angle and surface, so I say I'm going to run it all. Shirley comes with me and we arrive at Braithwaite together, 33miles in, at 9hrs44 from the start.

Again Shirley pushes on almost straight away, but I say I'm going to take some time here. I decided beforehand that around 24 hours is the most I can manage effectively in a single push, so I will break this event into four sections and have longer "recuperation stops" at Braithwaite (33m), Dalemain (59m), and Kentmere (82m). These are big checkpoints that serve meals, and also have space for you to sit (or lie) around for awhile to get your head around the next section. Braithwaite in particular is a great place to reach, marking the end of the really wild part of the course and coming before the easiest 25 miles or so. I take in plenty of pasta, rice pudding and tea, change my wet socks for dry ones, and leave after about 30 minutes rest.

There are two completely flat miles out of Braithwaite, but I'm feeling good and I don't want to spoil that with indigestion so I settle for a steady walk. Somewhere along here it gets light enough for the torch to go back in the bag. A longish but not arduous uphill then gets me to Latrigg and the Back'o'Skidda track, by which time I'm ready to run again. These sections from Braithwaite to Dalemain contain lots of runnable ground so I try to make the most of them. I run the first one to Blencathra Centre mostly on my own. From here the route drops down through a few steep fields to a disused railway line which we follow for a mile or two, and along here I catch up with Jamie who seems to be going about my speed so we carry on together. Just before the end of the railway we catch Shirley again; she says she's not doing too well, being unable to eat very much. There's a significant climb from here up to the Old Coach Road. I take it very slowly and steadily, Shirley and Jamie a bit faster so they reach the high point well before me. The Old Coach Road, another very runnable track, snakes off across the moor towards Dockray for another 3 or 4 miles. I overtake Shirley who has stopped for a breather, and just before Dockray catch Jamie again. Dockray is the nearest checkpoint to halfway in distance (49 miles) and I still feel remarkably good. Jamie and I run almost the whole of the next long (10 mile) section together. It goes downhill on tracks through woods at first then follows a beautiful rising balcony singletrack above Ullswater. By now it's around 9am and starting to get warm, it's going to be another cloudless day. Jamie and I reach Dalemain just under 17 and a half hours after leaving Coniston, good going as my plan was for 18.

Another half hour stop and a good meal here, more pasta followed by Swiss Roll and custard, with the usual (for me) pint of tea. I have a fresh pair of shoes here too but decide not to change - for the first time in a real event I have been wearing the relatively new super-cushioned Hokas and they have proved excellent; in fact after changing my socks at Braithwaite I don't look at my feet again until I get back to Coniston. I head out at a steady walk along the river towards Pooley Bridge. Jamie comes with me, he is clearly a faster runner but this is is first long ultra and he says he thinks my tactics seem to be working so he'll tag along. Dalemain, which I leave at 11.30am is also the start point for the Lakeland 50 race, which leaves here at 12.30 for a 4 mile preliminary loop then follows the same course as the L100 until the finish. We calculate that the first L50 runners will start passing us at around 2pm.

The stage from Dalemain, through Pooley Bridge and over to Howtown is one of the easiest on the course, 7 miles, less than 1000ft of climbing and easy underfoot. We walk strongly to the highpoint at roughly halfway, then run the rest to Howtown. The next leg from Howtown to Mardale Head is an altogether different proposition, beginning with the biggest climb on the whole course up to High Kop on the High Street ridge. Initially the climb is just steady, but it is by now a very hot day and there is not a breath of wind. Fusedale feels like a furnace. Just here the leaders of the L50 come past - and these guys are running! But another great feature of this event is that from here to the finish we will be passed by L50 competitors who always seem to offer a word or two of encouragement to those of us who have reached exactly the same place by a rather longer oute. The final 1000ft of the climb are steep and tough. I sense that Jamie is falling steadily further behind me but my rule is never to stop on a climb so I shout back a word or two of encouragement, he says keep going I'll get there. I don't see him again and found out later that he stopped at the next CP, a shame because he was going really well up until then. At the top, a few hundred yards of easy walk is followed by wonderful downhill grassy slopes all the way to Haweswater, so the running is easy again. I'm not going as fast as most of the L50 runners however, and down here one of them recognises my West Highland Way teeshirt as he goes past and shouts to me. It turns out to be Steve Weston who ran in the WHW this year, and is having a good run today also.

But when we reach the lake the second problem of this long (9 mile plus) stage kicks in. Four miles of tortuous singletrack along the lakeside, rocky ups and downs and hot hot hot. I'm relieved to reach the Mardale Head CP, feeling for the first time pretty battered. Tea and soup changes the outlook a fair bit, and I resolve to take the next climb up to Gatescarth Pass fairly slowly. I do, and it goes, then I run (or rather jog!) all the way from the top down Longsleddale to Sadgill. The little climb up from here takes more out of me than it should, as it did last year, and I can't run down the other side. I feel a bit queasy here, normally a sign of low electrolytes. I've been taking Succeed caps but maybe not enough for the hot conditions. I take another now, but I don't really have enough water left to dissolve it and I throw up almost immediately. I sit by the track for five or ten minutes to compose myself then walk the final mile or two to the Kentmere CP very slowly.

Entering the hall at Kentmere I feel pretty awful. I certainly can't contemplate eating or drinking anything, I just stretch out full length on a bench. Although I assure the checkpoint staff that I'm OK, just need a rest, that's far from how I feel. My race has fallen apart in a very short time, I can't imagine going on from here. Half an hour later I feel no better. I'm going to have to pull out again, I've not even got as far as last year. Maybe these long events are just too big for me. I'll have to pull out of the UTMB too, it just wouldn't be sensible to start. I've reached my limit in ultra running.

Eventually, the voice of reason gets heard. You've got lots of time left, why make a decision now? Just hang around a bit longer.

After about an hour and a quarter I start to feel just a bit human again. I have a cup of tea and a small plate of pasta. I don't relish them, but it's a start. No good reason not to go on. I'll take the next climb up Garburn pass very, very gently. Maybe I'll get by. I get up and over the pass, then walk steadily down the other side in the company of a L50 runner who insists his name is just Moose - a local from Cockermouth and a really nice guy, he helps me a lot. On the next climb up from Troutbeck I tell him to go on, I'll take it steadily, so he does. It's now dark again, and as I walk up to the high point above Jenkin Crag I remember being here last year, seeing John Vernon's light getting fainter and fainter as he pulled ahead of me into the distance. It occurs to me that I'm going better, and feeling better, this year - maybe I'm on the way back! My pace quickens on the downhill to Ambleside, more tea in the CP there and I'm good to go, though still tired.

I know the way over Loughrigg to Skelwith Bridge having walked, run, or biked it many times, and I pick up three L50 runners who seem happy to tag along, and I'm happy to have the company now well into my second night out. On the short road section down to the bridge we meet Sarah, a L100 runner who joins our band, and the 5 of us continue together for most of the way to the finish. At the next CP at Chapel Stile there is a log fire and beef stew on offer, it tastes wonderful, and for the first time since Kentmere I'm confident again that I'm going to make the finish.

The first three miles of the next leg comprise a rocky, boggy, undulating, difficult to follow track along the south side of Langdale. Sarah is an Ambleside local and knows it; the rest of us are more than happy to let her do the work. Then it's a steep climb up to the pass above Blea Tarn, down to the tarn and then probably the worst track on course skirting Blea Moss down to the Wrynose Pass road. By the time we reach the road we are all soaked to the knees again, but on the plus side it is starting to get light. Down the road, then a simple two mile "up hill and over" jeep track to the final CP at Tilberthwaite. I'm starting to feel really good again now, and vote myself a cup of coffee, the first of the event, for a bit of added go on the last steep climb. I'm wanting to get away now but unwilling to leave the other four who have definitely helped me over the last couple of legs, so we set out together on the final steep 900ft climb. By the time we get to the high point there are three of us, the others have said carry on they'll get there soon. By now my bad patch is well and truly over and I feel I could carry on for hours. We discuss running down to the finish but it's rocky ground, so we walk. A few hundred feet and then its an easy walk to the finish. The L50 guy decides to wait for his companion so Sarah and I carry on down the last mile or so together. We could run now, but we agree not to. She's tired and I always find these last few minutes of a big event too precious to waste in an effort for a few minutes off the clock. We actually lose 5 places in this last mile or so to people jogging, but for me this is nothing compared to letting the high go on for a few minutes longer before you have to face the music at the finish. We save our presentation run for the last hundred yards or so, and cross the line back in Coniston 37 hours and 39 minutes after setting out, 94th out of 226 starters.

I feel great, the Lakeland ghost laid. I get a meal, then a shower, then wander off for a few hours' sleep before the prizegiving.

A great event, certainly the biggest and most satisfying one I've completed. The course, organisation, checkpoints, and all the people who run them were superb. The winner's time of under 22 hours, breaking the previous record by nearly an hour, was an amazing performance. This race is a classic, every serious ultra runner should give it a go.

(no photos sorry - I'm currently in Chamonix for a bit of climbing and can't make the portable technology work!)

No More Training then

2011-07-16T17:44:00.000+01:00

Over the past three weeks I've re-familiarised myself with most of the Lakeland 100 course. Three sessions, around 30 miles each, two beautiful summer days and one with its fair share of rain and electrical activity. The efficient Cumbria bus service means that you can get to pretty well anywhere in the district from your start point in a couple of hours or so, avoiding the need for tedious "out-and-back" trips, so I've been travelling over ground that I don't see very often all the way. I've thoroughly enjoyed it, but that's it for now. It's two weeks until the event and the work's done, I can't believe that any miles I do from now on will have any effect on the outcome. A bit of gentle walking or maybe a 3 mile jog or two, but I've got a slightly sore Achilles so perhaps I'll just put my feet up, drink some wine and get plenty of sleep.

After the Lakeland I'll be off to the Alps for a week or so climbing, after which I plan to go round the UTMB course over 4 days (ie slowly!). By then it will be less than two weeks until the UTMB event, so back to taking it easy again.

Wonder if I'll ever do any actual running again.........

So why exactly do you want to run this race?

2011-07-10T23:30:00.005+01:00

It's a question that came up in a blog, or maybe a blog comment, after the recent West Highland Way race. I'd never really thought too deeply about it. The suggestion was that doing a particular event because "that's what I do at this time of year" was not a good enough reason. Maybe, maybe not, I'll park that for now while I look at reasons why anyone might enter a race and see how they relate to me, and maybe to you.....

1. I want to win the race. The most obvious reason of all of course - after all we are talking about a race, which implies you have a winner - but for the majority of us this so far removed from our capabilities as to be no reason at all. And yet the appeal of an age group win (however artificial the boundaries are - why should you win a prize at 50 that a much better 49-year-old isn't entitled to?) is maybe there. Races which recognise my own age group (the Hardmoors, the Highland Fling, etc) definitely give me an extra incentive to push a bit.

2. I want to hit a particular "barrier" time. This lets you set yourself a personal goal which is challenging but which you believe is achievable. This has definitely been a strong driver for me. I wanted to do a 3 and a half hour marathon, a 24 hour West Highland Way, etc, and I still believe that given a good day I can get a sub 10 hour Highland Fling. The problem (?) is that once you achieve your goal, where do you go from there - no way will I ever do a 3 hour marathon so what is my reason for entering this distance in the future? But of course there is no reason why the barrier should mean anything to anyone except ourselves, so we can set it where we like.

3. I want to run a Personal Best. Another powerful individual driver, but I think you have to recognise two limitations. Firstly you have to believe that a PB is still possible: increasing age, chronic injuries, etc may just make it an unrealistic ambition, and secondly you have to believe that the effort required, both on the day and in the months beforehand will be justified. I think there are still races where I can get a PB, but there are others in which I know deep down my lifetime best is already on the board. I ran my first marathon when I was 55 and got my PB of 3:17 when I was 60. Everything went right that day, it's not going to happen again. I've just read the report of the 1989 West Highland Way race. After setting a time that has never been bettered on the course in use at that time (nor arguably on the one run today), Dave Wallace said he wouldn't be back the following year, with the telling remark "That was my best shot".

4. This race is a big challenge for me, I just want to complete the course. I'm sure most of us have been here. Our first 50 miler, first 100, did we really know how it was going to turn out? This is how I am still approaching big events like the Lakeland 100 and the UTMB. Do I really believe after failing on each of these that I can now get round - of course I do, what better reason is there?

5. I enjoy this race so much that I'm just going to keep doing it as often as I can, I don't care about my time. I can understand this as a reason, but I can't personally sign on to it yet. I want more out of my day than that. This coming October I will run the Rotherham 50 miler again. I've done it twice before, I'm unlikely to run a PB because I will have had a few weeks off in the period before it, but having been within a whisker of 9 hours I know I won't be satisfied getting round in 12.

6. This is a training run in enjoyable surroundings with good company. I know people do this, but I find once I get into the atmosphere of an event I can't treat it wholly as "training" .

I'm sure there are other reasons but these seem the most significant to me.

Against this background I'm clear that I enter different events for different reasons. Also, if you choose to run an ultra roughly every month (which I have done in the spring/summer for the past couple of years) you're probably not going to achieve your absolute best performance in any of them. I'm accepting this because I just love being part of the events, but I've also realised that I've entered some events without being able to tick any of the boxes I've defined above. So thinking this through a bit has been good for me. I'll now make sure that I go into each race with a clear idea of why I'm there and what I want to achieve.

But I've also realised that I have another powerful reason why I do this, which must be shared by many other ultra runners out there. We do this because we can, and we'll go on doing it until we can't. Which, hopefully, will be quite a while yet.

Reflections

2011-06-28T00:33:00.000+01:00

I was up on Snowdon summit yesterday evening, the ground bone dry underfoot, wall to wall views and a cooling zephyr from the south. Of course I was prompted to wonder why we couldn't have had such serene weather for the West Highland Way race last weekend but on reflection that's not the point for we're happy to go whatever the weather. Many will remember the near hurricane that chased us along the Lairig Mor in 2008, the clear bright blue of the lochans on the perfect summer's day in 2010, and I'm sure those whose participation goes back beyond mine will recall the flash floods of 2005 and a lot more besides. Dario once remarked to me that we hadn't had a snowy experience for a while "but I'm sure we will again before too long". So the "atmospheric" conditions last weekend were nothing out of the ordinary and didn't detract from, and may even have contributed to, what was generally felt to be a high standard event.

And at the sharp end, so it was. 17 runners came home in under 20 hours and 30 in total in under 22 hours, compared with 12 and 28 respectively last year. Many of these had competed before and several ran impressive PB's.

Further down the field however, the mid-pack and slower runners were having a tougher time and taking longer, so that the finishing times started to spread out more rapidly. 40th place this year got home in 23:18, whereas to get 40th last year required a 22:40 performance. Similarly for 50th place, 24:40 this year and 23:25 last. I was 2 hours 25 minutes slower than last year but only dropped 8 places, from 52nd to 60th. There were 39 DNF's. I don't think the number of starters in past races is archived anywhere (or if it is I can't find it), but from my previous involvement I think this seems much higher both as an absolute number and as a percentage (over 25%) than we have seen in recent years. There were one or two notable exceptions to this trend, but a glance at the finishing times will show that many of the "regulars" didn't have an outstanding day at the office.

Were there any external reasons for this, or was it just that the lower 75% of the field just wasn't as good as last year? Well, I have a bit of a theory (would you expect anything else?) so here goes:

1. Wet conditions underfoot are not easy. Early on, everyone in the group that I was in was taking avoiding action around puddles on the trails and the old railway track. This disrupts your rhythm, slows you down, and uses more energy. Then on rocky ground (say Conic Hill and a lot of the lochside) you cannot rely on just bouncing on the tops of individual rocks in case you slide off so you become more conservative, with the same results (slow down, more energy used). You want to look after your feet so unless you're tough you spend time changing socks, re-applying vaseline or whatever, and this all eats up time. So if you're keeping to a schedule you might have chosen for a dry day, you're having to go faster on all the bits where you are not slowed down, with the attendant increased use of energy.

2. Running in falling rain eventually gets debilitating. It's fine, even pleasant, for maybe two or three hours, but after that I'm sure most people would rather it stopped. Regardless of your kit you are pretty well soaked through and if you slow down you start to get cold. This too zaps energy, and prompts more time-consuming changes of clothing to get the psychological benefit of starting out feeling dry for a short while occasionally.

Last year's race was completely dry. Some commented that it was hot, but there was a cooling headwind for most of the distance and I believe for most runners the dryness more than compensated for the heat, although this is of course a personal thing.

So overall, I think that many runners this year were affected by the wet conditions underfoot throughout and the rain later on. Why not the faster ones? Well, these guys are in general better prepared, better trained, more focussed on their goals, better able to deal with a bit of adversity. They also cover more ground running (so stay warmer), and in this year's race were further up the road when it started to rain, so could maybe smell the finish rather than the prospect of a long wet day ahead.

Just excuses? Well, maybe, but the learning for me is not to expect to cover the ground at the same overall speed if conditions are continuously wet.

On my own run last Saturday, I think the above contributed. I ran slower at times and stopped at checkpoints far more than I intended to, so was left playing catch-up in between times. I didn't believe this had affected me until I ran out of steam quite badly on the last few miles of Rannoch Moor. At Glencoe I was half an hour down on last year in (for me) far less favourable conditions, and feeling roughly the same. From there I didn't find any motivation to push it to the end so settled for finishing in reasonable comfort (and slowly!)

But in the stuff that I've already read since last weekend, the question that has really interested me is "What was your real plan for this race?" I said I wanted to "Finish in around 24 hours and in good shape". This sounded fine at the time but on reflection there are so many holes in it that it wasn't a plan at all. By "around 24 hours" did I mean plus or minus 15 minutes, an hour, two hours? Did I really mean under 24 hours? And how good was "good shape"? I knew I didn't want to knock myself out of contention for the Lakeland 100 five weeks later, but last year I ran the WHW just 3 weeks after a fairly arduous 100 miler and got a PB. And how much did I want to achieve the plan? Only if it came easily? If not, how much was I prepared to put in? What was my main concern, getting a time or enjoying the trip? I just hadn't made any of this clear to myself before the start. Don't get me wrong, I thoroughly enjoyed last weekend's event, but it's clear that I didn't have a plan, and for sure that affected the way I ran.

Well, that's enough philosophising for now. I'm also intrigued by the question "Why do you enter this (or any other) race?" but that can wait for another time.

Another Day on the West Highland Way

2011-06-22T21:20:00.001+01:00

I posted in January that my goal for this one was "to finish in good shape in around 24 hours". After a 23.34 PB last year and a big summer ahead I wasn't going to go for broke, but I do now feel a bit of wistful disappointment that my finish in five seconds over 26 hours could have, and probably should have, been better. On the day though I felt that the final 25 miles were quite tough enough and that pressing on harder would have hurt a fair bit.

I'll philosophise over what I think went wrong when I've had time to think a bit more about it; for now I'll just recount how my day (plus two hours!) went.

The Start

When the team (wife Jan, son John, daughter Julia) and I convene for dinner in Milngavie I confess that I haven't felt any of the nervousness normally associated with starting an event of this length, almost as if I haven't realised that today is the day, but the buzz comes back when I get down to the start with John and meet so many people I know from previous times here. We have left the ladies asleep but John sticks around while I check in and do all the other stuff you have to do, wishes me luck, and takes the obligatory start photo. I'm standing around near the back, still doing a double take on John Vernon appearing in a full beard, when the countdown starts and we're off.

The threatened rain has either come and gone or not arrived yet and for the first half of the race atmospheric conditions are near perfect - great temperature, not much wind, and NO midges. I take it very easily near the back of the field, spending some time with Graeme Morrison, Pete Duggan, Keith Hughes and others, cruising along at just under 12 minute mile pace. To give John and Julia some checkpoint timings I have decided to use the same schedule that I used in the two previous years. Basically this gets to Glencoe in 16 hours, after which my eventual finish time will be decided by how well I handle the final two sections - well, it seems to work that way for me.

My only concern, right from the start, is the state of conditions underfoot which are very wet with lots of big puddles along the old railway track. This is going to have two effects, (1) to make the technical rocky ground slower going, and (2) to mean that everyone will have wet feet pretty well from start to finish. I did a 60 mile run a couple of years ago with wet feet and ended up with blisters and shredded skin that took about three weeks to heal, so I determine I am going to be careful and look after my feet right from the start. This means a change of socks and new vaseline as often as possible. In last years race the only change I had was from a long to a short sleeve shirt at half way, I didn't touch my shoe laces from start to finish. This year I use five pairs of socks, three pairs of trainers, and five shirts - but one reliable hat does the job the whole way!

After 4 years practice they're a slick team!

I trundle into Balmaha right on schedule, change shirt and socks, drink tea, eat rice, and apologise again to John and Julia again for getting them up earlier this year (usually I don't see them until Rowardennan an hour and a half later on). They are as slick as usual and have me out just on the planned 5 minutes. I decide to use my one pair of waterproof socks over the section to Auchtertyre as it is the longest without support. I know many people are against them but they have always worked for me and even if they eventually get wet inside from a deep puddle or falling rain I find your feet stay warmer than with normal socks.

So off along the Loch. My main memory this year is that from Rowardennan to Auchtertyre I see almost no-one. Clearly the faster guys have gone and the field around me is really spreading out. A couple of miles before Inversnaid I catch up with Sandra and we run into the checkpoint together but leave at different times and I don't encounter her again until many miles later. At Inversnaid the added protein in my rice pudding is the first indication that there are still midges about, but they certainly aren't bothering the runners this year. I hit my intermediate times at Rowardennan (5.35) and Bein Glas (9.00) pretty well, and I think am still within a minute or two of my scheduled 11hrs 30min to Auchtertyre, though by then my Garmin has stopped and I will go with a normal watch until the end.

Arriving at Auchtertyre......

.......and leaving in the rain

As it is now 12.30pm I am ready for lunch, but determined not to make the mistake of previous years and eat so much I can barely move faster than a slow walk, I take on tea, soup and crisps, and save the sandwich for when I am walking up the long hill out of Tyndrum. It has now started raining, and for me this will continue to Kinlochleven.

Approaching Bridge of Orchy

After the long walk up the hill, I run all the way to the Bridge of Orchy checkpoint. It is easy enough but bleak today, rain all the way and no-one in sight until I am almost at the station. I normally stop in the station yard so I have asked John to check with the marshal whether there is any mandatory gear for Rannoch Moor. The word is rainjacket and leg covering. I haven't planned to stop for more than two minutes here but the weather is getting worse so I put on another layer and stop for a cup of tea before jogging off across the main road and up the first little hill.

Near the top is Murdo. He was at the same spot last year but in today's conditions it must be something of a trial. I stop for a minute or two's chat and he tells me the weather was worse yesterday when he was out walking Munros on the opposite side of the valley. He also says that Sandra is five minutes or so ahead and John Kynaston about a quarter of an hour. The latter surprises me as I thought he would be past Glencoe by now, but he is having a tough time today. But Fort William is still a bit of a trek, so I gratefully accept the jelly baby and go on my merry way.

Down the hill and round the road are always quite good bits for me, but they are sort of the calm before the storm. The next hill up on the moor is never very steep, and it's all runnable, but it does go on a bit. I can see two runners in the distance, the first for quite a while, so I use them as a target and very slowly over the next mile or two I catch them up. It turns out to be Sandra and her support runner, we carry on for a little way but then I stop to walk for a drink and something to eat and they carry on. After this I just can't seem to get going again and go through a longish bad patch. I don't feel bad, my legs are OK, I just seem to feel very tired. The conditions are miserable, definitely not my favourite but certainly not dire, but I feel I am fighting them a bit more than I need to. Finally at the top of the last uphill I get running again make it down to the Glencoe checkpoint.

Arriving at Glencoe

Just as I am getting there I see John K heading out. I say something like "Oh no, not again!" because although John is a far better runner than me I had caught him in exactly the same place last year. That time we had carried on together to Altnafaidh then he got a second wind and beat me to the end by nearly an hour and a half; I was assuming the same was going to happen today. But my slowness over the moor has cost me, and at Glencoe I am half an hour adrift. I also need some food and to warm up, so my scheduled 10 minute stop is doubled.

Top of the Devil's Staircase

My kids normally run with me in turn from here to the end but conditions are still far from ideal so I say I'll be happy enough carrying on by myself. They're having none of it, John is suited up and ready to go, so we're off down the road at what I describe to a pair of runners that we shortly catch as "classic ultra shuffle" speed. The daft little hill up and down then the Devil's Staircase both come and go. They seem easier than when I was pushing last year, probably because I am going slower! This is a section that I normally run with Julia but they have agreed to swap for a change. John last did this section with me on my very first WHW race four years ago; on that occasion we lost the last of the light going up the Staircase and did all the descent in the dark, with me hallucinating most of the way down. He is interested to see what it looks like in daylight. A long slow jog sees us down to Kinlochleven, but by now I am an hour behind my last year's time. Then, determined to get my first 24 hour finish, I grabbed a cup of coke and pressed on immediately. Today, with any chance of that now gone, I luxuriate in a couple of large coffees and a shirt change. Going into the community centre for the last weighing, I meet John K busy bandaging his feet. He had been forced to run in very new and largely untried shoes but he says that isn't the whole problem. I say I am also finding it tough now. Just get to the finish, plenty of time for the thinking later.

Up into a long, gloomy Lairig Mor

So off up the hill with Julia, then the long, gloomy Lairig Mor. The Mountain Rescue guys doing a brilliant job, asking everyone how they're doing, offering drinks, real heroes. Over the first rise and the path is a stream in places, no need to bother where you're putting your feet. Is it better in daylight says Julia, yes and no I say, you can see where to go but also how far it is to the next summit .....which never seems to be the last one. But Fort William is coming back to us, bit by bit, and it's not going to get away. Eventually we meet people coming the other way, supporters from Lundavra working back to meet their runners, and soon after we're there. Again, I haven't stopped here recently but tonight the fire is too tempting, it's stopped raining, so it's five or ten minutes of gentle warmth, a cup of coffee from the flask and a word or two with Uncle Duncan.

The last bit is always hard, but it's not too long. This year they've cut the trees down on the last steep little hill and as we approach it we can see torchlights way up high, I never knew it was that far up, but then we're up it and we can wander down the wide track. I could run again here if pushed, but the discomfort involved for the sake of fifteen minutes or so doesn't seem worth it so we just keep up a brisk walk, Julia, just like John normally, taking two strides to my three with her long legs. As we near the road she phones John, then we're out on the pavement, torches off, enjoying the last few steps before the end. Jan and John meet us just before the roundabout and turn round to walk in with us but Jan can't keep up so she has to break into a run.

Finish

Then it's done. Fifth West Highland Way completion. Life seems pretty good.

The family says I look in better shape than after any previous finish and it feels that way to me, so at least that part went to plan. I have no aches or pains the following day and am out running again by Tuesday.

Back next year? These days I don't even have to wait until after the prizegiving to know. In the car, driving back to the hotel after the finish, I'm mentally registered already.

A big thanks to all the organising committee, marshals, mountain rescue teams, and everyone else who puts in so much time so that we can go out and play each year on this wonderful course.

Diversion and Contemplation

2011-06-13T21:42:00.001+01:00

They say you're not supposed to do much running in the week or two before a long one, but you need something to spend the free time on so it was up to the Lakes for me last weekend. Long sunny days in teeshirts on Gimmer Crag and Sca Fell. Then on to Stranraer and over the sea to what is often claimed to be "the greatest expanse of climbable rock in the UK" at Fair Head in Northern Ireland. By then the British summer had returned and two fleeces and a jacket were the order of the day, snatching climbs between the showers, but even this couldn't dampen the enthusiasm for this big, wild, gothic cliff. I went for a run in the rain one morning, 7 or 8 miles just to keep ticking over but the work should be done by now. Back home on Saturday night with aches in different places and just a few days left to contemplate the event of next weekend, the 95 mile West Highland Way Race.

This time last year I wrote a short post a few days ahead of the race. The thoughts still echo so I make no apologies for repeating it, slightly updated, here..

French alpinists have an expression "retour au pays des vaches". After the adventure, when you step off the last bit of glacier or dangerous ground onto the easy hillside below, you've returned to the land of the cows - you're safe, you've survived the trip. And as you wander down for maybe an hour or two through the high meadows and the pinewoods, no more stress involved, no more decisions to make, tired but somehow no longer tired, it's a short but precious time to contemplate and savour what you've just achieved, before you have to face the music and return to the world of normality.

There is a mile of tarmac at the end of the West Highland Way; you come out of the Glen Nevis forest at the Braveheart carpark then follow the road along to the finish. This stretch is despised, even hated by some, I've heard it complained of and sometimes roundly abused, but for me this bit of the journey is the "pays des vaches". Job done, whatever pain you have is going to stop soon, time to enjoy the last bit before it's all over and you get to the bright lights, the congratulations, the shuffle off to a well-earned rest. So if you run the West Highland Way, when you reach and travel this last mile, whether it takes you seven minutes or half an hour, just take a moment or two to reflect on how you came to be here, Glasgow to Fort William on foot, not a bad effort, you don't do that sort of thing every day.

At the end of my first trip I came to this point when the sun was well up into Sunday, thirty-odd hours after the start. There was another runner, or walker for that's what we both were by this stage, just ahead of me. Now known as the Subversive Runner or the Pirate, he had at that time not acquired either soubriquet. A hundred yards from the finish he stopped. Go on, I said, I'm not going to pass you now. It's OK, he said, I'll just wait for my mate to catch up, he's not far behind you. So my deserved seventy-first place became an undeserved seventieth and I carried on to the Leisure Centre carpark. There I was welcomed by a shortish, balding fellow with a smile as wide as his face, in spite I suspect of not having slept in the past forty-eight hours. "Really well done," he said, "you look in pretty good shape." I didn't of course, but I'm sure I grew an inch at that moment. I heard him greet the runner behind me, "Hi Dave, well done, good to see you back," and it occurred to me that he had probably seen home every finisher before me and would no doubt wait for the few still to come. One way or another, he's been there at all my subsequent completions, whatever time I arrived, with the same smile and a word or two of encouragement.

I hope to be seeing the tarmac again soon, sometime in the darkness between next Saturday and Sunday. And as I make my way over those final few steps to the finish, I know the short guy will be there with me again.

Apprenticeship

2011-05-28T13:20:00.001+01:00

When I was a lad apprenticeships in most things took four or five years. It's now just over four years since I ran my first ultra, the Highland Fling in 2007, so I thought I might try to set down what I think I've learned since then. It was a relatively late apprenticeship, starting as I approached my 59th birthday - the origin of the blog title of course - and I'm certainly not presenting any of this as great wisdom or recommendations; all you have here is what I think has worked for me.

Since the spring of 2007 I have stood at the start line of 22 events, 8 "hundred" milers, 12 fifties and 2 thirties. I got the dreaded DNF three times so I know what it feels like, and clearly still have a fair bit to learn. I've also run a couple of road marathons each year because I enjoy their carnival atmosphere but have pretty well given up shorter races - I don't enjoy the speed required for half marathons and 10k's, too much like hard work! At the end of 2007 I decided what I wanted to achieve, which is to run 6 to 8 good ultras a year, to enjoy them and to acquit myself as well as I can. I don't want to do lots of races and just get round inside the time limits, though this is an understandable strategy and I'm amazed at how many events some runners complete, it's not for me. Neither is reducing the year to 2 or 3 target races that I want to get my absolute best times in - I enjoy the year-round activity and variety too much. No, a good day out and a solid mid-pack finish is where I'm at and the takeout from my learnings will reflect this. So here goes, read on if you're interested, I won't be offended if you've got better things to do.....

Training

1. Long slow runs. This is what ultras are, so I find the key sessions for me are long slow runs - 15 to 25 miles, normally off-road, at least once a week. This gets me to feel that the marathon distance is "no big deal", something I'm happy to turn out for without any notice (or contemplate as do-able near the end of a long race!)

2. Hills. I enjoy days out in the hills, so this doesn't really feel like training at all. I try to get at least 5000ft of ascent in on a good day, rising to 10,000ft in the summer, distance less important, maybe 10-15 miles.

3. Speed (well, it's a relative term...). Over the last couple of years I've been convinced that a fairly frequent tempo run to get the heart rate up a bit pays off. This is the only session that I don't really look forward to but I'm sure it does me good, though 6 miles at somewhere near 7 minute pace is about my limit.

4. Recovery. I'm sure for me that just totting up miles over easy ground at a medium pace doesn't advance the cause at all, so I don't do it. I occasionally do a recovery run of three or four miles the day after a long outing and this definitely works, go out hobbling stiff and come back cruising, but maybe this is an age thing.

5. Mileage has been around 2000 for the year over the past 3 years. About 1000 before the middle of June then ease off the miles and do more hills in the summer to support the longer hillier races. 3 or 4 outings a week is enough if they're good. The rests in between do me more good than more miles. I don't plan "easy" weeks, other activities (climbing, ski-ing, other holidays, etc) ensure that I get enough time off.

Races

I've become more and more convinced that while a fair bit of training is necessary to get you through an ultra, how you manage the day itself can have a huge effect on it's eventual outcome. In particular.....

6. Run your own race. The most obvious rule, and the hardest to keep sometimes - "a plan never survives the first contact with the enemy.....". It's hard not to compare yourself with the progress of others in the event, especially if you know them. But most of us are not racing, we're here to get our best performance. So if I'm used to a two minute walk for a drink every so often and I'm running with a group that doesn't.....yes, I have to force myself to stop and walk, because I know it will pay off for me.

7. Don't stop moving for any longer than you really have to. In my first long ultra I was amazed afterwards to find that I had spent nearly 3 hours sitting around at checkpoints "resting". Nowadays I believe that unless you have to stop to (eg) patch up an injury etc, it's not worth stopping. Most of the recovery you can get from a 10 minute sit-down you can get from the same time walking slowly - and you end up half a mile closer to the finish. As Fiona says about the WHW "Just keep putting one foot in front of the other in the direction of Fort William and you'll get there" - or as John V has put it to me more graphically on several occasions "KFG, mate, just KFG".

8. Run the runnable ground for as long as you can. The slowest most people will jog at is around 12-13 minute mile pace, but the fastest you are likely to walk at, especially when tiring, is up in the 16-17 minute mile region. The maths are clear, run as much as you can. Now if you're a Jez Bragg or a Ritchie Cunningham this is most of the way, but for people like me it's much less, so I have to run at the most productive times. This means saving energy when its use is less productive, by walking up the steeper hills, slowing down where the ground is technical, not going too fast for the first 20 miles, etc so that I can cash in on the runnable ground when it turns up.

9.Use the daylight. Because you lose all your peripheral vision, you go slower in the dark; or to put it another way, to go at the same speed needs more energy. If any navigation is involved this effect gets many times worse. So I accept that I'm going to slow down in the dark and not worry about it. Push on in the evening, take it easy later, go with the flow. This is not too important in Scotland in midsummer, much more so in the Alps in late August, when the darkness can last nine hours.

10. Don't fret about food. If you're managing to eat well, great; if it's hard going, don't make it worse by worrying about it or trying to force it down. Everyone has enough fat on board to finish the race, you just go a bit slower. This was a real eye-opener for me and I'm able to go through odd periods of not eating in a much more relaxed and productive frame of mind.

11. Get the electrolytes right. I used to finish most ultras with varying degrees of nausea, and it caused me to DNF on one occasion. The man himself Jez Bragg then told me that if this happens, 9 times out of 10 it's because your electrolyte balance has gone to pot. Everyone's way of combatting this is different, but for the last couple of years I have taken Succeed caps to a rigid schedule (exact dose depending on temperature); for me it has been the single biggest factor in turning ultras from challenges into enjoyable experiences.

12. Cut the weight down. This sounds so obvious as to be not worth mentioning, but coming from a mountaineering/self sufficiency background the temptation to carry stuff because it might come in useful or make life more comfortable has been hard to overcome. Do a little experiment, run your favourite 10 miles carrying nothing, and the next day run it carrying say 2,5kg (the lowest weight your UTMB or Hardmoors pack is likely to be). The difference is mind-blowing. I once set out on an ultra with a 2l (yes two litre!) camelback. I now buy the lightest kit I can afford and take pretty well the minimum allowed.

13. Recognise when you're making a mistake. We all know when we're going a bit too fast, when a blister has just started to form, when we're getting cold and should stop and put a jacket one, or a hundred other little things that we know deep down are contributing to a less than optimal performance. Put it right, before it gets out of hand.

14. It's going to hurt sometimes. None of us go looking for it but if you set out to cover a hundred miles on foot you're extremely lucky if something doesn't hurt a bit along the way. I'm definitely not into the "embrace the pain" thing but I am convinced by the pragmatic attitude of Joss Naylor - "If you ever want to do anything on the fells, then if you're suffering from some ailment, you've just got to shrug it off". It's not failure, it's not unfair, it's part of the deal, if you can't take a joke you shouldn't have joined.

15. Don't think about the finish. I used to climb big Alpine faces and big rock walls. You would set out on an adventure that was going to take two or three days or more to complete. Occasionally after a while, maybe conditions weren't great, you would get "summit fever", and then the climb lost all interest, you just wanted up and off as fast as you could go, and from then on there was no pleasure, just a gruelling job to be done. Ultras are like that. If you think about the overall enormity of what you have taken on you can be easily beaten by it. Enjoy (or deal with!) the next mile, the next hour, the next checkpoint, the next cup of tea, and it will be OK.

I now go through points 6-15 as a sort of "checklist" before an event to try and make sure I actually use what I think I've learned. That's it then. Thanks to the huge number of ultra runners who have individually and collectively taught me what I know - because of course you never dream any of this up yourself, it always comes from somewhere!

First "big" race of the year (The West Highland Way) coming up in three weeks. Looking forward to it already.

The Highland Fling 2011

2011-05-03T01:30:00.003+01:00

So what is there to say about a race you've already done four times before and just completed again in a competent but ultimately disappointing time? Well, quite a lot actually, so if you start here be prepared for a bit of a session.

After my somewhat ambivalent last post I was put back on the straight and narrow by the ever wise Murdo tM. Gentleman that he is, he would never use my words but the message was clear - "You're not getting any younger, if you want this then stop feeling sorry for yourself and get your act together!" Within two hours of his email my "let's see what the day brings" approach had morphed into a plan and splits for a 10 hour finish. Slow at the start to leave enough in the tank for my normal strengths, the technical stuff north of Inversnaid and the long slow uphills from Bein Glas. It was quite a relief that I'd finally made a decision, so bags packed and off to Scotland.

In spite of the increase in ultra participation over the last year or two this is still a small community, and gathering for the start of any race has a sort of reunion feel about it. At just after five o'clock in Milngavie station yard it's good to meet up with so many friends. Chip collected, drop bags dropped, the now legendary one-line briefing from race director Murdo MacDonald, and we're off. At least everyone else is - looking down to check that my watch has started after the darkness of the underpass, I trip on the concrete flight of steps and go sprawling, catching my kneecap full-on on the angle of a step. Some concern, some jovial comments about this being rather early to pull out, but I think I'm OK. Get up, hurts a bit to stand, hobble up the steps and on a few paces, can't be too bad, try jogging slowly, limp for about half a mile, then the warm feeling around the knee starts to kick in and I can start to run normally. I feel it on and off through the day but it doesn't really cause any problems. The knee was already strapped for other reasons so nothing to see, don't notice the bruise and slight swelling until I take it off at about ten thirty that night. What an idiot! But I'm not alone, falls will be a feature of many runners' races today.

For we six o'clock starters, running conditions are pretty well perfect from the start to Balmaha, cool, not a cloud in the sky, and a pleasant breeze on the right shoulder. After chatting with a few runners over the first mile or two I catch Graeme Morrison and dog Penny. We've shared many miles over the WHW trail between here and Fort William over the past couple of years; today he's going slower, a bad ski-ing crash on Christmas Day has put him out of action for too much training time but he still goes on to record a good finish. Run a bit with Bob Allison, wish I could learn his pacing secret for the WHW, negative splits every year! I pass a lady who has fallen but is being looked after by several other runners, I learn later that this is Rosie Bell. Then I run the rest of the way to Drymen with Tony Thistlethwaite, another veteran WHW performer. I mention a couple of times that I think the pace might be a bit too fast for me but it feels very comfortable, maybe the result of the more speed work I've done this year, so I happily stay with it. We hit Drymen in 1:53.

I'll pre-empt the finish now by saying that I didn't make my target. On the day I thought it was down to the progressive rise in temperatures after Balmaha, but on reflection I think I could have, and possibly should have, got under the 10 hours. I made two very basic errors and this was the first. One of the predictions in Billy's blog keeps going through my head - "90% of the field will start far too fast and run a sub-optimal race as a result" - not me I thought as I read it, but here I am fastest ever time for me to Drymen and 7 minutes under schedule. I've run the first 12 miles at a pace more than 30 seconds a mile faster than I planned, and will pay for it later.

But without these cares I carry on in great conditions through the gradually disappearing forest and begin the climb up Conic Hill. In the cool clear air and views like you don't see too often I hardly feel the hill, but slow down to walk the steeper bits. I catch up with Sharon and am surprised that she's not half an hour ahead of me by now, but she says she's taking it easy today as her training has been interrupted too since the 100k races a month ago. I tell her she'll catch me down the other side as I'm trying to go easy on my knees a bit. Sure enough, a little way down the descent she goes bounding past but a hundred yards past me she tumbles and I can hear from the shouts that it's not trivial. No blood but her knees are really hurting, I get her to just sit and recuperate a minute or two. We're joined by two or three other runners and she tries to stand up but can't. One or two stay with her while others will alert Balmaha. I'm still slow, and before I've gone five minutes more down the hill I pass George Reid coming up to the rescue. I hope it's not too bad for her.

The slick Balmaha drop bag team are in action, and it seems that no sooner have I shouted my number to Davie than Murdo is handing me my bag. Seeing all the bags arranged for this huge field is quite impressive, brilliant job guys!

After running with lots of people and never having runners out of sight up to here, the scene suddenly changes for some reason, and between Balmaha and Rowardennan I pass two runners but otherwise see no-one. Not strictly true, I seem to keep seeing Marco at almost every turn - he's decided not to risk aggravating a recovering injury and messing up his WHW so is here supporting, but he must be covering more miles than the runners. My miles seem to be going by easily enough though, my knees are protesting a bit on the downhills but nothing too bad, otherwise I feel fine. But it is warming up. We've lost the breeze and I strip down to one light teeshirt. I reach Rowardennan in 4:40, now only 5 minutes ahead of schedule, so allowing for a bit of time spent with Sharon the pace from Drymen has been just about spot on.

I normally like the section from here to Inversnaid, and today I run most of it as usual, but it's starting to feel hot and a bit harder, though I pass another two or three runners and am passed by one. I'm glad when the hotel shows up eventually. I reach Inversnaid bang on target but this means I have already lost the 7 minute cushion I built up by Drymen, and a warning bell or two start to sound. Sitting for a few seconds on one of the wooden benches on the terrace to refill my pack, no longer in the shade of the lochside trees, I realise that the day is now very hot. I have an extra swig of water before setting out for Bein Glas.

I don't mind the next three wiggly miles as everyone goes slower here, and a bit of knowing where to put your feet pays a better dividend than fitness so I can usually pick up some time. Today however, just as I go into one of the most tortuous bits, just after the run across the short meadow, I catch the tail end of a party of about 50 walkers - no hyperbolae, there really are that many! They are all very friendly and helpful, stepping to the side when they can, even complimentary, but this maybe because I'm probably in the top 10 in the field "on the ground" at this point - I wonder how they'll feel when the three hundredth runner has gone past......

The staggered start has had some quite interesting effects today, particularly since the faster Vet 40's delayed their start until two hours after ours. Last year, starting an hour behind, Thomas ("Crazy German") caught me well before Rowardennan, so far today I've seen no-one from the later starts. Anyway, in spite of the walkers I must be boulder-hopping quite well because I reach the wooden steps on schedule, and shortly after the first of the seven o'clock starters passes me, though I don't recognise him.

Coming out of the trees, across the little grassy patch before the short climb up to Doune Bothy is the turning point of the race for me. The sun hits me hard and I just start to wilt. All the uphills suddenly feel very hard, and I walk many sections that I usually run. I keep telling myself to knuckle down and get on with it, but as soon as I lose concentration I find I am walking again. About two miles before Bein Glas the first of the eight o'clock starters Andrew James comes past, followed twenty or so yards behind by Jez. Thirty-eight miles in, on undulating rocky ground, these guys are not just travelling very fast but clearly still racing every step of the way. I shout my encouragements but they're not in sight for long.

I get to Bein Glas but the last three miles have hit me hard. I roll in in 7:39, a full nine minutes behind my schedule. Again I'm surprised to see John K just leaving, he should be a long way up the road, but I know he doesn't like the sun much so it must be having an effect on him too. I have to have a rest so I sit for a minute or so, down a milkshake and try to get my head around the last tough stage. Realistically, the ten hours is now blown; I would have to do the last twelve miles eight minutes faster than last year, and I'm clearly not in the shape that I was at this point then. But if if I can just do the section in the same time as last year I'll get the pb, worth working a bit for, so go for it.

I know I can run these hills. I may be slow today but it's still faster than walking. Way in the distance I see two runners, I think one must be John as I didn't see anyone else leave before me. He's with another runner who turns out to be Claire Walton. They're walking the ups and running the flats. I'm running most of it but at a slower pace than their run. I reel them in oh so slowly but they are getting nearer. I'm passed by Stuart Mills and we exchange a word or two but he's going much faster so he's not with me long. George Reid appears again travelling in the opposite direction and shouts encouragement, much appreciated, I need all the help I can get. On the final rise before Derrydarroch is Murdo tM with flag and camera, never misses this if he's not running, and I almost catch John and Claire, but then they're faster down to the farm and the gap opens up again. I finally get to them just before the road crossing, but then Marco appears again to meet them. It's great to see that Sharon is with him walking OK obviously having survived the earlier fall. They stop a minute but I carry on. Just reaching the old road and I see Silke, supporting Thomas CG, someone else who I seem to have been seeing on and off all day. She has a cold water spray, I ask to be hit straight in the face, fantastic. I have to walk through the tunnels then up the steep bit, using the pause to drink and stuff in another gel, hoping it will get me home. When the angle eases I determine that I will run all the way to the big gate, and apart from the steepest 30 yards I do, but it hurts.

The "big gate", a significant point for many of us being exactly half the distance from Milngavie to Fort William, is important for me today as well, because I've decided this is the point at which I'll decide what I can do. From here to the finish is six miles. I have an hour left to break 10 hours, 70 minutes for a pb. The last six miles have taken me 80 minutes. It's not going to happen. The realisation takes away the last bit of motivation. From here to the finish I walk the ups and jog the rest. On one of the uphills in the forest Richie cruises past, on his way to a sub 8 hour pb. On the bit of tarmac from Auchtertyre Thomas comes past also looking very good. I jog on, and on the last bit of open ground before the final wood three mountain bikers tear past in the opposite direction. I later learn that Thomas has had a fall in avoiding them and is now lying somewhere by the side of the track. I just don't see him on my way to the finish, how could I have missed him?

Then it's along the river and through the gate to the pipers and the new finish. Katrina K pulling me back to beep the chip and it's all over.10:18:46. Eight minutes slower than last year. The last twenty miles were tough. I wander down to my car by the tourist office, climb in and immediately fall asleep for over an hour. Later, Davie Hall catches me sitting in the sun outside Paddy's Bar rehydrating with non-athletically-approved fluids. Recovered, I wander back to the finish for the prizegiving.

It was a class race. In the previous 5 Highland Flings three individuals in total cracked the eight hour barrier, today the first seven finishers were inside it. My own target of 10 hours was achieved by 54 runners. Jez never quite caught Andrew James, but beat his own existing record to come second and seemed happy enough at the finish.

I said I made two basic errors. The second one? I didn't drink enough and got dehydrated, a condition which everyone will say has a significant effect on performance. My plan and equipment allowed me a half litre of fluid between checkpoints, and I wasn't with it enough to realise that was the problem or to improvise a solution. I don't get thirsty, but I'm sure it wasn't enough. Ian Beattie told me afterwards that he drank nearly three times that. Records were set and many pb's achieved so the conditions weren't a problem, just that some runners adapted to them more sensibly than others. I'll try to learn.

So my basic problem was not going fast enough over last 20 miles of the race, probably caused by a combination of starting too fast and later performance drop-off from dehydration. For my type of strategy, I know I've run a good race when my position in the field improves steadily through the event. Taking positions at the four checkpoints (Drymen, Rowardennan, Bein Glas, Tyndrum), my positions last year (for a pb) were 176,108,70,47. This year my positions were 143,114,77,67 so it's clear what happened. I should have run with John Malcolm, whose positions of 167,121,78,58 left him just a whisker short of 10 hours.

Still, my run was just about good enough to retain the Vet60 trophy. Nice to get my name on a second time, but still not up with the legendary Rob Reid who achieved all three of his wins while stopping for a dip in the river at Derrydarroch on the way. And there was a prize for the best presented drop bag. These things sum up the Fling, a combination of total class and wonderful idiosyncracy which must surely make it the best single day experience to be had on the UK ultra scene. Thanks to Murdo and Ellen and their army of helpers for making it, as ever, such a brilliant day out.

The Highland Fling - beginning of the end or end of the beginning?

2011-04-27T00:58:00.000+01:00

A couple of events already done but for me the season always seems to start properly with the Highland Fling. I have a soft spot for this run. I hadn't heard of ultras when the 18 pioneers set out on the course in 2006, but achieved a sort of mid-pack respectability among the 62 finishers in 2007. I've run every one since and watched it develop into the UK's biggest ultra (there will be 453 starters this year plus relay teams) yet remain a wonderfully relaxed "turn up and go" sort of event. I remember standing at the start in 2007 (vividly - it was my first ever ultra) and hearing the briefing from race director Murdo - "There are no rules, just let us know if you drop out, see you in Tyndrum, off you go!", and although the organisation is now as superb as it has to be to deal with the huge numbers, it still has pretty much the same atmosphere.

I've improved my time year on year since 2007, from nearly 12 hours to just over 10, and while it would be really great to break that next barrier I don't have a lot of confidence in doing it this year - I'm clearly not following Stuart Mills' rules on self belief so what's going wrong?

Well, I've found the two events that I've done so far (the Hardmoors 55 and the Rotterdam Marathon) tougher than I was expecting. I started them feeling pretty comfortable but slowed down dramatically in the latter stages of both. I could maybe convince myself there were on-the-day reasons for this but I still seem to be struggling to get the distance. OK, I might have a few more aches and pains this year and I still can't seem to shake off the remains of a cold, but this sort of thing shouldn't stop you so I'm looking for a more logical underlying explanation. Two possibilities, I think:-

1. I'm sure we all reach a point in our careers when things suddenly start to get harder and we need to reassess our ambitions. I don't think that's me just yet, should be a few more years before I have to change my strategy for ultras (ie slow down!) but I can't ignore the fact that it might be.

2. I've changed my training this year and it may not have worked out. When I reviewed my running for 2010, I discovered that I had done a lot of long, slow outings in the hills (because that's what I enjoy) and almost no tempo or speed work. This year I've done a lot more shorter, faster sessions to try to improve my basic speed, and as I didn't just want to add these on to what I normally do, I cut down my hill days into shorter, faster sessions as well - running up and down hills for a couple of hours rather than five or six hours of more gentle activity. I think this has had three possible effects:

(i) These shorter sessions are hard work and not as much fun, so there have been days when I needed to kick myself out of the door rather than seeing them as treats to look forward to. I could be getting some negative thoughts about the whole running deal from this.

(ii) I haven't done many long "time on your feet" outings. 50 miles at the Hardmoors and maybe three 30 mile runs besides. I know a lot of ultra runners can get by fine on this, but I think I need the psychological advantage of having done more longer stuff so that I have it in my brain that 30 or 40 miles is "no big deal".

(iii) Shorter sessions but the same overall mileage has meant that I have gone out running more frequently this year - 5 or 6 times a week rather than 3 or 4 previously. Maybe I just need ("at my age" - hate the expression) more recovery days.

Paradoxically, I feel that I would be more up for a long ultra than the Fling, because of the more casual pace. In the longer events I can normally walk quite a lot - you only have to average 4 miles an hour to get a 24 hour West Highland Way for example - but to get a good Fling performance you have to run most of it. Because it has so much runnable ground - the winners will average not much over 8 minute miles all the way - it is less a conventional mountain ultra than a longish trail race with attitude. Debbie MC summed it up perfectly - "It's long enough that you can't wing it on marathon training but short enough that you can't rely on luck and good fuelling. Hilly enough to kneecap the road runners and flat enough to disadvantage the mountain goats." A bit of a challenge then.

So what's my strategy? Well, I decided to have an easy week or two before the race so that I can at least start not feeling tired. After the Fling, whatever the outcome, I'll go back to a regular diet of long days in the hills and cut out a lot of the shorter, faster stuff. If it really has done me any good that will be in the bank and I can build on it for the summer. As for the race itself, I'll just go and enjoy it, without any preset aims or plan, at whatever pace feels right on the day. It's far too good an event to miss out on the experience. So if you're one of the "auld men and lassies" (Murdo) or even one of the "girlies and old gits" (Fiona), I'll see you in Milngavie station yard sometime just before 6 o'clock on Saturday morning.

Long Distance Running

2011-04-14T20:03:00.001+01:00

Not that I actually run long distances you understand, more that the distances involved between the outings seems to be creeping up quietly, starting just over three weeks ago over in North Yorkshire with the excellent Hardmoors 55 race.

The following weekend I went up to the Lakes for a do organised by Marc Laithwaite, the Lakeland 100 race director, comprising some interesting talks on nutrition on the Saturday evening followed by a very sociable recce of three legs of the course on the Sunday. Good company and nice weather.

The next Saturday and up to Tyndrum for the MacPirates' party, not to be missed of course and great to meet again lots of people who I hadn't seen since last summer. On the Sunday morning a slight sensation of having drunk a beer or two the night before coupled with the unpromising looking weather put me off joining John K and team for even part of the way up to Fort William, and I scuttled off back to Cumbria to complete another couple of Lakeland 100 legs under a sky a lot bluer than the one I left in Scotland.

Then last week back over to Rotterdam for a few days where I lived for over 6 years some time ago. Jan and I enjoyed strolling the bulbfields, cruising on the river, visiting haunts that we remembered, but of course there was the matter of the marathon on Sunday morning. The fifth time I've run this one, a flat but interesting course and lots of local support. I had originally targeted around three and a half hours for the trip but I hadn't done any of the longer road runs usually required to prepare for this sort of thing and was fighting a cold which had got to the thick head plus remains of sore throat stage, so I had no real ambition other than to notch up another marathon and have a good training workout. Nevertheless the first half went well enough, but within two hours of the 11am start the temperature was in the mid twenties and patches of shade were hard to find - I wished I'd taken my hat! I first looked at my watch at 30k to find I was still a minute or so under three and a half hour pace but knew then that I couldn't keep it up. I normally drink a cup of water every 10k in a marathon, today I was drinking two cups at every 10k and an additional cup at every intermediate 5k and was still hot. First warm weather of the season I suppose, we're not used to it. It clearly didn't bother the winner, Kenyan Wilson Chebet, who came home in 2:05:27, the fastest marathon of the year to date. It took me somewhat longer and I finally jogged over the line in 3:36:27. Still, you can't win a coconut every time and it was a fine trip until the final 4 or 5 miles, which hurt more than I was expecting.

So, in all I find that over the past four weeks I've run just over two hundred miles but driven about 3000. I bought my car, an unglamorous but so far reliable Skoda, new just over five years ago; it now has 154,000 miles on the clock. The guys that tinker with it say it should be good for another hundred thousand or so but I don't think I can be too proud of my carbon footprint......

Predict your Ultra Performance?

2011-03-30T15:13:00.000+01:00

There are plenty of time comparators around for conventional race distances, which enable you to estimate for example, if I can do a 10k in 40 minutes then what should my marathon target be? I've always thought that it would be interesting to construct a similar comparator for ultra races so that you know what is a realistic time to be shooting for, but there is a bit of a problem here.

Conventional races are run under standard conditions. OK, temperature, humidity, wind and so on are variable, and road race courses are not all the same but even in a marathon a world class time won't vary by more than 5 minutes or so, say 5% of the race time. Ultras vary in so many aspects such as amount of ascent, underfoot conditions, how much you are obliged to carry, how well you know the course, etc that the basic length of the course has limited meaning on its own. To take a couple of examples a bit removed from home ground, in the US where 100 mile ultras are more common than in Europe, the course record for the Rocky Racoon 100 in Texas is 12 hours 44 minutes (yes, that's 7:38 mile pace!) whereas the course record for the Hardrock 100 in Colorado is 23 hours and 23 minutes, almost double the time.

Ultras are so different that it is impossible to use any "scientific" parameters as a basis for comparison. Even trying to factor in a multiple of physical parameters such as length, height gain, ground underfoot, etc is a pretty hopeless task too because many of these are so variable in themselves - does 500ft of height gained over 3 or 4 miles on a smooth jeep track represent the same effort as the same 500ft gained in a quarter of a mile up a boulder and root-strewn hillside?

I've come to the conclusion that the only logical basis for comparison is the actual performances of runners in real races. Now from here on you can treat this as a proposal to be shot at or improved upon, or just a bit of fun, because I'm going to start making assumptions and judgements and it's unlikely that you'll agree with all (or any) of them but anyway here goes.

I've looked at the finishing times in a number of races that I'm interested in, and in most of which I've competed (though not always finished!). I decided that just taking the winning times was too variable because at the top end of the field there are a limited number of really talented athletes, and you don't get a consistent number of these turning up at every race. Similarly I didn't want to include a lot of athletes at the back end of the field because many people here are not wanting to optimise their time, they just want to complete the course and this gives rise to different strategies and performances. I decided in the end to concentrate on the top 20% of the finishers in each race, although I admit I have weighted the results depending on my interpretation of the overall quality of the field, how many results are representational, and so on. I could go on a bit about the details but I'll leave it there for now and just go on to the results.

The races I chose to compare were

D33 - 33 miles - flat (?)

The Wuthering Hike - 32 miles - 1300m of ascent

Round Rotherham - 50 miles - 800m

The Highland Fling - 53 miles - 2600m

Hardmoors 55 - 54 miles - 2700m

West Highland Way - 95 miles - 4500m

Lakeland 100 - 104 miles - 6300m

UTMB - 102 miles - 8900m

I took results from 3 years if possible, 2 years minimum, and only from where the race was substantially the same (eg UTMB results prior to the Flegere inclusion would skew the times downwards quite a bit). I would have liked to include the Hardmoors 110 but I don't think there have been enough finishers yet to give meaningful results.

So what you see below is what I think is a reasonable and simple comparator for athletes targeting a race they haven't run, using information from one that they have. The first column gives the time ratios (which if you consider directly in hours gives a nice range of times for a typical mid-pack performer) and the second for interest gives my best times in the races I have completed.

Event Time Ratio AJC pb

D33 5

Wuthering Hike 6 5-45

Round Rotherham 9 9-04

Highland Fling 11 10-10

Hardmoors 55 12 11-21

West Highland Way 24 23-35

Lakeland 100 35

UTMB 40

So to use this (should you want to!), say you have a Highland Fling time of 12 hours and want to predict your West Highland Way time, the calculation would be 12 divided by 11 multiplied by 24, giving a target of 26.18 hours or around 26 hours 11 minutes.

The proviso of course is that you have to be trained for the distance. If you use a conventional predictor and put in say you can do 40 minutes for a 10k, you find that your marathon prediction is around 3 hours 7 minutes, of course only achievable if you have put in the right training to run a marathon. Similarly here, an 11 hour Highland Fling won't get you a 35 hour Lakeland 100 unless you have trained for it because they are very different events.

My own times seem to stack up OK, showing that I'm better at 50 milers than 100's, which I know and that the Highland Fling is probably my best because I have run it several times and now know how to tackle the course to suit my own strengths and weaknesses.

As I said, just a bit of fun.

As a postscript, I took all the height gains for the longer races from the "official" qualifying race list on the UTMB website, which shows the UTMB itself in 2008 and 2009 as being 163km and 8900m ascent. Those who were there will know that the 2010 race was reduced to about half length because of the weather conditions, but the 2011 race is listed as being 166km and 9500m of ascent - they must have found another hill to climb this year!

Sunny but still Hardmoors

2011-03-21T19:24:00.000Z

Roseberry Topping from the North

Highcliffe Nab

Those of us who ran the inaugural Hardmoors 55 last year will remember more about the conditions than the course, because for the middle twenty-five miles or so at least they were pretty bleak, very cold, continuous rain and visibility down to a few yards. It was was with some expectations and not a little relief then that I drove over to Guisborough on Friday afternoon under a cloudless sky with a promise of more of the same for the Saturday. I knew that I would be finishing through the potentially tricky Guisborough woods in the dark so I walked up to Highcliffe Nab, the last summit on the course, and back over the final three miles just to check it out again, only to find that Race Director Jon Steele had marked all the turns with orange tape so I needn't have worried.

Start briefing

And we're off - well I will be when I've put the camera away

It was the first event of the year for me and a nice feeling of anticipation to be on the go again after the winter. At 9am the start was scheduled an hour later than last year so even getting up for the bus ride to the start wasn't traumatic. Checking in I started to see many faces I hadn't met since last autumn, Jon was able to do his briefing outside in the sunshine, and at about five past nine we were under way. A field around twice the size as last year and great weather, I'm sure this will really establish this as the great event that it is for some years to come. It's actually a 54 mile trip (well 55 or so for me but more of that later) across some great lonely countryside, with about 8800 feet of ascent just to make sure you have to work a bit. I had no specific goal for the day other than to finish in good shape in somewhere around the 12 hour mark, and to enjoy the day.

The first nine miles are across rolling farmland and occasional woods to the white horse carved into the face of Sutton Bank, no fierce hills but gradually climbing for a total rise of about 1400ft. I try a little experiment here and run faster than I normally would, nearer to 9 minute pace rather than my usual 10's. I'm sure the few minutes it gained wasn't worth it, I was having to concentrate on the speed rather than just cruising along enjoying the view and chatting to people, I won't do it again. I run a couple of miles with Jon - the Race Director participating in his own race while he'd got a lot of willing volunteers doing all the hard work - that has some style - but he's going faster than me so I leave him to it.

Along the escarpment from Sutton Bank

From the white horse along to the first major checkpoint at Osmotherley is probably the easiest section of the route, following the top edge of the moors escarpment for most of the way, 13 miles with only 1300ft of gentle ups and soft grassy tracks for much of the way. On the climb from the white horse checkpoint up to the edge I catch up with Sian and Alison. I remember Sian from the Hardmoors 110 last September which I helped to marshal, she came third in 28 hours or so, a brilliant run in the really trying weather conditions of that race. We will pass and repass each other for a lot of the day running together at times until she finally shows her class over the last 15 miles and goes on to finish as second lady. This section to Osmotherley is where it started to become clear last year that we were in for a bit of attrition, but this year it's a joy to be here, all easy cruising and great views across the plain to the north, although the visibility also means you can see the track a long, long way ahead into the distance!


A long way into the distance.....

I'm not checking my watch all that diligently but I think I get to Osmotherley a bit quicker than last year, and it's good to get a quick cup of tea. Everyone around me is walking up the steepish road hill out of the checkpoint so I do the same, but after about half a mile or so I realise that I've left one of my water bottles back in the village hall. Not wishing to incur the wrath of the Big Director should the promised kit spotcheck materialise - nor wishing to cover the next 10 hilly miles on only half a litre - I go back down for it and get to do the hill all over again, costing about 15 minutes but I'm not too bothered, today's not about times.

Carlton Bank

From Osmotherley to the high point of the North York Moors about 15 miles further on, the course starts to show some teeth, climbing nearly 4000ft in a series of 500ft-ish ups and downs, the well-known "roller-coaster" section of the Cleveland Way. Rocky staircases and hard moorland tracks make it hard on the feet but the weather compensates, there's a bit of cloud and breeze now, perfect. Marshals on Scarth Wood Moor and Carlton Bank clip our tallies and wave us on our way, no huddling in tents for them today. On the descent to the Lord's Cafe carpark I can't understand why we were so glad to have a GPS last year, it all looks so straightforward. Then

Down towards the Lords Cafe road crossing

it's on over the Wainstones (how many more ups, we're asking each other by now) and finally to the last ascent to the high point of the course.

From here it's gradually down hill all the way to Kildale, the second major checkpoint, but it's a featureless seven miles across the moors, past the checkpoint at Bloworth Crossing. This year it's a self-clip on the tally to prove you've got there, and if Jon carries on with this method in future events then Murdo tM, John V and I (and there must be one other) will not be joined by any more questionable individuals who have carried their tent out to marshal at this lonely spot.

I'm starting to find it hard on the feet across here and my pace is slowing, but I'm not the only one because I catch Julien who I chatted to on the bus this morning who is walking a stretch. We pass and repass each other and arrive in Kildale more or less together.

It's good to have a cup of tea and I sit down for maybe five minutes while I eat a rice pudding and have my water bottles topped up. The day's getting on now and the temperature will be dropping fast before to long so I put on a lightweight fleece over my shirt. Inevitably this brief period of inactivity causes a certain creakiness starting out again, but after the first few yards out of the checkpoint there is a long uphill which I walk with four or five other people and that warms us all up again.

The major climbs are over now but the course still manages to pack another 1900ft of ascent into the final 12 miles. Up to Captain Cook's monument, down again, then up to the scarp edge above Roseberry Topping. You only have to lose and regain about three hundred feet to get out to this isolated summit checkpoint but I'm starting to tire now and the rocky staircases seem hard enough - and then you have to do it all again to get back to where you started from! Just before the Roseberry Topping excursion two guys who I have been more or less with since Kildale pull away quite quickly. One of them looks my sort of vintage and it means he'll probably beat me for the V60 win; I think of competing but my plan is not to get worn out today so I let them go - Tony beats me home by more than twenty minutes, good effort.

Last year the bad weather had gone by Kildale and we had a wonderful view from Roseberry Topping, but with the hour or so later start and a bit of cloud now, even though I'm going a bit quicker the light is starting to fade. On regaining the main edge I stop to dig out my headtorch and drink half a bottle of fizzy full fat Coke - wonderful stuff. So it's dark across the moor to Highcliffe Nab and on the last up hill stretch, after keeping dry feet all day, I find myself knee-deep in a foul-smelling section of bog - and me in my best shoes as well. Julien who was with me when I stopped for the torch has pressed on and there are no lights as far as I can see behind so I wander on with my own company up the final little rocky staircase then down the easy three miles through the woods. I probably lose a lot of time here, would definitely go faster with someone else there, but I'm just enjoying the final moments of a lovely first day out for the year, before I have to tumble into the bright lights and face the music.

My watch stopped for a few minutes earlier in the day so I didn't get an exact time but it was around 11 hours 22minutes - half an hour faster than last year, would have been better but for my double excursion out of Osmotherley, but I'm happy enough. Most of the systems worked well, clothes, shoes, backpack. I ate about 200 calories an hour steadily through the race, gels, bars, milkshakes, rice, etc. One thing I didn't get right was hydration; I don't get thirsty but by doing a couple of sweat tests I reckoned I needed about a litre every three hours, which is what I planned and what I drank. After finishing, I went for a shower then came back into the Rugby Club bar to wait for the prizegiving, where I drank a pint of lemonade and lime followed quite quickly by a pint of beer. I needed a pee, and it only then occurred to me that it was the first since the start of the race......a bit more calculation on the hydration rate needed I think!

A super event, thanks to Jon, Flip and the team for a great day. I'll be back next year.

Turning the Corner

2011-03-15T19:14:00.000Z

Well if I really needed any more evidence that I'm now definitely a fair weather competitor, I only had to read about the half marathon experiences up in Inverness of John, Ian and Sandra at the weekend in what looked like two or three inches of freezing slush, and realise that I actually didn't envy them at all. Nevertheless they were pretty stalwart performances by my standards (and in shorts!) regardless of the conditions, as a glance across to the right at my own half marathon PB, run one glorious autumn day in Newcastle, will show. The weather in Scotland over the last few weeks has looked truly horrible.

Here in the relatively tropical climate of the Liverpool/Manchester area, things are looking better. The coming weekend brings the equinox and with it hopefully the translation from hard training miles in the dark and wet to fun running and events through the late spring and summer. I really don't like it from January to March as I've said probably too often before, but I've paid my dues now. Just over 500 miles on the clock, nothing for the keen guys but hopefully enough to get me through. A week ago I went for a 30/20 back to back on the beautiful Offa's Dyke trail just west of here, finishing the first evening in daylight sunshine at 6.30pm.

There's enough daylight now to make day trips to the Lake District worthwhile, so I can divert my hill running to collecting a few more Wainwrights which hardly seems like training at all, and I can get away from my local woods and hills for a few months and spend more time reading the map and admiring the view.

First event of the year on Saturday, the Hardmoors 55 over in Yorkshire. It was a bit wet and windy last year with not much view so I'm hoping for a better day this time around. Good to be starting again.

Knees, Skis and Maybes

2011-03-02T00:06:00.000Z

It's been going on about a couple of years this thing but I try to ignore it except when I put the tape on and sometimes get a raised eyebrow when it's pink because they've run out of black like at last years West Highland Way Race when John was saying how do you expect to get ninety-five miles when you're limping across the carpark at the start and I say it's going to be OK and it usually is. I'm working on the Joss Naylor principle that when something ails you, you've just to put it to the back of your mind but nowadays it wants to come more to the front of my mind or at least to the side of my knee. So I go along to Karen the physio who has helped me out of a few jams in the past but she says sorry I can't help you this time you'll have to go back and see the Man so I make the appointment.

He says hello I haven't seen you for quite a while things must have been going OK and he's right because he hasn't peered into this keyhole for nearly ten years now but he still wants to know why I'm back of course so I tell him I do a bit of running these days and it's starting to hurt. He questions me and pulls and twists a bit and says these are still pretty good knees really but we'll get a scan how about later this week and then I confess that I'm going ski-ing tomorrow. He doesn't look at me sternly or anything like that because the Man is a skier too and he understands so he says have a good time and see you next week. But I take his note around to the scan people anyway and they say we can do it now if you like so I spend forty-five minutes dozing in the tunnel while it bangs and slurps and then I'm done.

Then I pick up my children who aren't children at all by now and we leave behind our various jobs and better halves and common sense and go to the mountains where we've been for more years than I care to remember now to have fun in the snow. Only this time I say you'll have to go easy with me for I am an old man and I have a knee so we spend the first hour or two making pretty turns on pretty pistes and have vins chauds on the terrace like proper skiers. But it can't last of course and we soon see tempting tracks dropping off somewhere and sidling round somewhere else so we drop off and sidle round and Julia and I discuss what we have come upon, the slope looking rather steep but the snow looking good and we can't see any rocks then John explodes past us all power and flying snow and casual elegance the way he always is and he's fifty yards down the hill before we can say maybe so it isn't maybe any more and we launch off after him. We squish and twist and bounce and arrive all together at the bottom with burning legs and gasping for breath and grins wider than wide as we remember for another year why we come to these places. So in two days of sunshine we ride lifts and ski slopes over most of Meribel and Val Thorens getting back in the evening with aches and memories and eating big dinners and drinks and coming back for more tomorrow and my knee is still there but Joss is winning and that's good enough for now.

On Saturday evening we sit in a French bar with French people and drink French beer and watch French and English rugby players doing their best stuff which is exciting but slightly unnerving at the same time if you know what I mean but no-one is disgraced and at the end there are shrugs and smiles and general agreement that we have witnessed a bon match. Then we look outside and see that it's raining and we think the third day of our three will be completely washed away but John says it will be OK we must get up early. So we breakfast at seven thirty and it's still raining exactly like last night but John says trust me it will be OK so we dribble off round to Courchevel 1300 which has trees so you can see in the fog and a long slow rattly old lift and when we arrive at the bottom of the lift there is almost no-one about and the rain is now snow then at the top of the lift there is still almost no-one about and the snow has stopped and there is no fog and a foot of fresh snow everywhere and John doesn't need to say it will be OK because he knows he was right all along and it is going to be very, very OK.

So we spend a long morning damaging as much new snow as we can find and slowly more people come because they have realised that it's OK but now it's nowhere near as OK because they're too late and we leave them what's left and start the trek back to Geneva and home. We're all tired coming off the plane but we know we'll be back next year and John's on his iPhone and saying I shouldn't tell you the Liverpool result so I know the honeymoon is over but you can't have everything.

Monday I go for a run in my forest and feel no knee but it's all fairly straight and flat and I know I have to see the man again on Tuesday. There's no major damage but another bit of cartilage is come loose but sitting in a good enough place and not causing problems and not causing the pains which may go away eventually but ups and downs and twisty bits are still likely to be uncomfortable for a while he says if it was my knee I'd leave it alone for now and it is my knee so I go with his advice thinking I'll have to rely on Joss a bit longer and he says if it really gets worse you know where I am. In the afternoon I run up my hill three times and it's not so bad and I think time to stop worrying about these things now five hundred miles of racing starts with the Hardmoors in less than three weeks just go with the flow and enjoy it. I think of John and the snow, trust me it will be OK.

"Train Hard, Race Easy"

2011-02-12T22:36:00.000Z

I never got this, I'm bit slow on the uptake no doubt, but the penny's hovering even if it hasn't dropped completely. You'll have to stay to the end for the punchline.

Ultra races have hills. Well some don't, I suppose. I ran the Thames Trot from Oxford to Henley last year, I don't think I'll do it again, it was certainly flat enough to put me off ever thinking about any of the canal towpath events. No, for me, ultras have hills. Even so, some are real runners' races, like the West Highland Way, where a three hour marathon will probably stand you in better stead for a good finish than a regular bout of Munro-bashing. The hills are there but they're not huge and there are long gentle bits in between. Then there are the races that are mostly hills, where they come at you in a steady and relentless succession. To get round these there's no alternative, you have to go out and practise hills, lots of them. These events come later in the year on my programme, the Lakeland 100, the UTMB, etc, so it's been my strategy to work on getting distance at a reasonable speed up until around April, then start hill training after that, when the days are longer and the weather generally better. It hasn't worked, so this year I started on the hills much earlier, after a longish break from running in September.

I'm lucky in that both Snowdonia and the Lakes are near enough for a day out so that's where I usually trained. Now in races I never run up hills. I might jog extremely slowly up the odd gentle slope but in general I reckon that if I can still run the downs and the flats for most of the race, that's the best use of energy. So I've never run up hills in training either - well if you're not going to do it for real, why bother practising? Just have a good day out, put in a reasonable amount of height gain and it must be doing you good.

Well during the winter, weather, time pressures, or general laziness meant that I didn't get out to the mountains every week. But I have a good enough local hill, from the car park to the summit is around 900ft of ascent, and my favourite loop gets up in just under two miles and down in two and a half. My loop used to take an hour, give or take, walk up, run down. Sometimes I would do three or four laps. But then one day I did it with a heart rate monitor, something that I usually only use on tempo runs because I'm not over technical about these things. Can't remember why, just did it. I noticed that my heart rate never approached any sort of elevated zone. Doing the hills was probably helping with muscles but I was getting no other training benefit at all. I was working harder on recovery runs around the lanes at home.

So I started to run the uphill section of the loop. At first it was painfully slow, I could probably have walked faster, but over the weeks I got into it. My lap times on the hill are nearer to 45 minutes now, and I can break 40 if I only do one lap. The big learning for me was that although I am getting pretty knackered as I get near the top of the "up", by the time I have had nearly 20 minutes of running downhill I'm ready to go again. Like I said, slow to learn what everyone else already knows. Measurable progress is encouraging in any form, so even now the weather is starting to improve, I shall still go and do a few laps of "the hill" occasionally.

My last two significant runs have been a six mile tempo at 7.07 pace (still can't get to the elusive 7!) and a 30 mile trail run at 11.15 pace. If you've followed my blog a while, no prizes for guessing which I found tougher, but the trail run, as well as being the most enjoyable, showed two interesting effects. It was my first long run of the year (this time last year I'd already done a 34 and a 50, but I'm happy starting a bit more gently this year, the summer's still a long way off) along a trail I know quite well. There is about 4000ft of ascent over the section I ran, no big climbs but sections that definitely slow you down, up 300ft down the same, that sort of thing.

I've been playing around with training without fuel, so I ran the first 20 miles on just water. I didn't feel particularly bad, but as soon as I started eating (two gels between 20 miles and the end) I felt supercharged, and definitely ran the last 10 miles fastest. Not sure what to make of this, does it mean that practising the fat-burning is doing some good or does it just demonstrate that it's a complete waste of time?

But the clear and biggest positive was the hills. After running my 900ft up on "the hill" regularly, all the little hills on the trail just felt as if they weren't there. Now I'm far from thinking that this is going to make a big difference to my performance in the events this year, but it's a real psychological leg up. And as so many wise people have said, get your head right and the rest is easy.

"....Either I'm too sensitive, or else I'm gettin' soft......" *

2011-02-02T12:02:00.001Z

I like reading the running blogs, so once or twice a week I click up the blue page on the WHW site and see what everyone's been up to. Here we are barely out of of January and I've read of folk turning out in the pre-dawn and running long into the dark evenings. Thirty mile trail runs and fearsome snowy hills. Running in crampons on the ice. Two hundred plus miles for the year already. Ten mile tempos at a pace I can just about sustain for three or four when I'm going well. I'm impressed, inspired, but also I have to admit a little envious.

For I have a confession to make; I just don't like this time of year at all. It's cold, dark, and gloomy. Now thirty or forty years ago I used to be able shoulder my iceaxe to spend several freezing hours in a Scottish gully with spindrift pouring down my neck and feel that I'd had a good day out, but these days I just can't face it. Same with running, I get out there and my hands and feet never warm up, joints creak, and the whole thing just feels so well, hard.

Sunday evening my lady wife and I were driving out in the sub zero darkness en route to The King's Speech (a very worthwhile trip, if you haven't yet) when we passed a runner in shorts. Shorts, for heaven's sake! Are these guys macho, or crazy, or are they just on another planet from me? Surely there must be other wimps out there who would rather be enjoying a pie and a pint by a roaring fire?

But then yesterday it got warm; temperatures reached a heady 10 degrees. The sunlight slanted down from a cloudless sky and well past five in the evening I could still see the trail. It won't last of course, but just a glimmer of that winter might be on the way out, maybe not the end but the beginning of the end. Hope so.

(*"If you see her, say hello", from Blood on the Tracks, Bob Dylan)

A Lot to Digest?

2011-01-23T23:53:00.000Z

I was going to ramble on about something else but John Kynaston's recent post on nutrition brought me back to this for (I hope!) the last time for a while. I think all the theories have been pretty well covered by people far more qualified than me, but I have found the anecdotal evidence from everyone interesting and helpful, so for what it's worth here is my contribution, just a collection of thoughts on what I've experienced and what I think I've learned over the past few years.

1. Why is nutrition so important?

Since I got interested in ultras four years ago I've read a lot of race reports, and a common thread is

- if you didn't perform as well as you had hoped in a 50 mile race, it is quite likely to have been a nutrition problem

- if you didn't perform as well as you had hoped in a 100 mile race, it is very likely to have been a nutrition problem

OK, some people twist ankles (unlucky or careless), some end up with sore muscles (not enough training), but lots of well prepared people have a tough time on the day because the food doesn't work out right.

2. Listening to the experts

The advice I've seen is interesting and directionally useful but I'm sceptical that anyone can just tell you what to do and it will work. Two problems at least:-

- you have to work out your own "energy balance" figures, the "rule of thumb" ones are just too approximate. I see figures quoted for the energy you burn when running, but in two different runs last week I recorded 430 cals/hour and 990 cals/hour (Garmin figures, but is there a better source?). This is already a wide range, but I'm a fairly average 11 stones in weight - if you are 7 stones or 14 the figures would be very different.

- nutritionists are rarely if ever "average" ultra runners. Some don't run at all, so will not appreciate what it's like trying to make a food choice 20 hours into a race, and at the other extreme some are the top ultra runners who (a) run a lot faster than me so will burn energy much faster, and (b) get round even the longest races in not much over 24 hours, so don't know what it feels like at the end of a second night out.

3. The amount of calories you can take in per hour.

Again I've seen quoted figures but these are for a runner with a set physiology and particular weight going at a particular speed. This must also vary widely. I haven't recorded exactly what I've eaten/drunk in many races, I'm not that organised, but here are a few examples from occasions when I did take the trouble:

- In the 2009 Highland Fling I took in 4000 cals; for a 10,5 hour run this was 380 cals/hour.

- In the 2010 Highland Fling I took in 2400 cals; for a 10,2 hour run this was 235 cals/hour.

I can't remember which run felt better, I remember them as being about the same.

-In the 2010 West Highland Way I took in 4000 cals; for a 23,5 hour run this was 174 cals/hour.

My experience has been that I can take in more cals/hour in shorter (50 mile) races because it takes 12 hours or so of action before the continuous motion of running starts to affect digestion. Conversely (or may be logically) on events with a lot of hills where the average pace is much lower (more walking), I tend to eat more.

4. When to eat

The advice is to start replacing carbs right from the start of the race. I have found I have to be very careful not to overeat in the first 30-50 miles. The paradox here is that food tastes good in the early part of a race and you are tempted to take in plenty to get it "in the bank", but this is the very period when you are going fastest so have the least spare energy for digestion. In the WHW race I have traditionally met my crew for the first time at Rowardennan (27 miles), stopped for breakfast and then waddled out so full of tea and butties that I could barely walk for the next few miles. I have firmly come to the view that "a little and often" is the way for me; this is quoted received wisdom by many, but it doesn't square with the sort of food that is usually on offer at fully provided events - lots of pasta, cakes, bread and cheese, etc.

5. What to eat

For me there is not (or maybe not yet) any magic answer; also, I find that the advice to try out your race nutrition in training simply doesn't work. For example I once tried Perpetuem, liked it, tried it out on a 55 mile training run and it worked great. I used it as the main nutrition strategy for that year's WHW and it was a disaster; I found I couldn't stand the stuff after 20 miles and ate almost nothing from there to the end.

The bit of advice that has worked best for me is to work more with liquids and gels rather than solids; I really enjoy a Mars bar or a marmalade sandwich but I know now that a gel or a milkshake will do me more good for longer.

I know a lot of people move from sweet to savoury tastes as they go through the event; I agree with this to a certain extent but I also find that some sweet things such as low-flavour gels (like Gu), fizzy Coke, crystallised ginger, etc hit the spot right through to the end. I think it's worth trying lots until you discover your own fallback fuels.

Although it didn't feel right when I first started this "athletic" activity, I'm now happy to get a lot of my calories from fizzy drinks if they're available - Coke and ginger beer are my favourites. I used to "pre-flatten" them to go in a conventional hydration system but they taste so much better with the fizz still in - although you do get sticky hands at times!

6. Eating "enough"

The biggest encouragement in recent discussions, a big eye-opener if you like, has been the general consensus on how little food you can absorb continuously - put another way how little you can get by on and still run a good race. I think this has removed a huge psychological barrier. I (and I'm sure others) used to worry that we "weren't eating enough" to survive the course; this puts an additional pressure on you, you try unsuccessfully to take in more food, and it's easy to get into a downward spiral of mental negativity. In the 2007 CCC, I was recovering from a bad cold, coughing a lot and not eating much in the days leading up to the race. I ate nothing in the race itself except Coke and chicken noodle soup but finished in the first quarter of the field, easily my best result in the Chamonix races; on reflection, the fuel was perfectly adequate and my attitude of "well there really isn't any alternative today" contributed to the relaxation required for a good run. It's taken me over three years to evaluate this properly. I'm now happy that 150-200 cals/hour will get me around, less if there's a lot of walking involved.

7. The other stuff

The other stuff of course is hydration and electrolyte balance. I'm still working on hydration; I don't often get thirsty so the advice to "drink to thirst" doesn't work, I have to experiment with different intake rates to try to maintain weight during a long outing. It's a tricky business and any advice would be welcome; at the moment I seem to be homing in on between two and four hours running from a litre of fluid, depending on temperature and activity level.

In many of my events I have suffered from nausea at some point. By a couple of years ago I had understood that this was almost certainly due to electrolyte imbalance, but what to do about it? The big problem I had that once it started I couldn't seem to work through it, it was with me until the end of the race. I had tried Nuun (couldn't take any of the flavours after 12 hours or so) and Succeed caps (got worried about taking too many in relation to fluid intake in case it made things worse). After a lot of experimenting (which you can normally only do under race conditions!) I have come to the conclusion that Succeed is best for me, one an hour in normal conditions regardless of fluid intake; I have also found that taking two or three together with a drink or a bowl of soup can actually retrieve a situation that is starting to get bad.

That's it then, more than enough from me on this subject, though I'm very interested to learn of other peoples' experiences and strategies. I had a great outing in the Lakes on Friday, round a bit of the Lakeland 100, blue skies above and frozen ground underfoot, that's what the game's really about, fuel is just a means to an end.

Enough is Enough?

2011-01-19T18:59:00.000Z

A couple of years ago I wouldn't have dared coming clean in January about plans for the year in case things went wrong. Well, things always do go wrong one way or another but the blogging spirit eventually overcomes the inhibitions so now I'm happy to nail up my colours and take the flak if the performances don't meet the ambitions.

Now I've always felt my plans were fairly modest compared with some of the keener ultra competitors - John Vernon, Jim D, Sue Donelly and Rob Apple to name just a few - but both this year and last I detected the mildest hint of a raised eyebrow at my gameplan. The ever wise Murdo tM put things in true perspective by directing me to Nick Ham's blog, with the comment "You're just a part-timer Andy!"

2011 Gameplan

2011-01-12T23:20:00.000Z

Well, after two or three weeks of inactivity it's time to creak into action for the New Year. At the moment I'm working on the ten pounds or so of extra insulation that my daughter refers to as the "Christmas cocktail coat" and wondering whether I'll see the underside of an eight minute mile ever again, but I'm sure that's the same for many of us and deep down we all know that it will probably come good in a few weeks. Just need to get out there on the "Lance Armstrong days", face a bit of weather and pain again, and sooner or later the sun comes out.

The more rewarding part is planning the year's objectives. I decided I would do fewer races this year but it's like opening the chocolate box, with such delights available which ones can you possibly not go for? I guess my compromise is to start a bit later and get two or three months solid work in first, so here's the plan:

19 March: Hardmoors 55 (54 miles) After running this one in the rain, wind and fog last year I really wanted to see the view so I'm back. Jon Steele's "Hardmoor" series of races based on the Cleveland Way are well organised yet pretty laid-back affairs and deserve the increasing support they seem to be drawing. About 50 entrants so far so it should be good. It won't be a fast race for me, first of the season, somewhere near the 12 hours I got last year will be fine.

10 April: Rotterdam Marathon. I lived in Rotterdam for over six years and still have a soft spot for the place, this will be my fifth start in the event. I enjoy city marathons and this is in my calendar so I don't neglect to do a bit of speed work in the first quarter of the year. Again it won't be a PB but I should be aiming for somewhere around the three and a half hours.

30 April: Highland Fling (53 miles). Couldn't miss it. This was my first ultra in 2007 and I've run them all since then.It's where I first started to meet all these amazing crazy people who think that turning out for fifty or a hundred miles on a Saturday is somehow a completely normal activity. Irresistible. If I can get to the start in good shape I'll have a good crack at it, 11 minutes faster than last year would get me under 10 hours, must be worth a shot (can't believe I've just owned up to that plan...)

18 June: West Highland Way (95 miles). Why do this one? If you have to ask, the family haven't talked to you yet. I'd like to finish in good shape somewhere around the 24 hour mark, but each year I've set myself a sort of "process goal" on this one rather than the specific time. For the last two years it was to get to Lundavra in daylight which I finally achieved last year. This year I'd like to get to the Lairig Mor in a fit state to run along it - rather than the hobble that I normally do!

29 July: Lakeland 100 (104 miles). If it isn't already, this will surely become the UK's premier ultra. A rugged and very demanding but beautiful course, great organisation and lots of welcoming "village hall" checkpoints. Over two hundred entries into the solo event so far this year, the race director is predicting it will be full within the next month or so, in only the fourth year of running. Goal for me - completing the course is tough enough.

26 August: Ultra Trail du Mont Blanc(104 miles). The race that sooner or later every ultra runner will want to do to complete their CV. Having missed out in last year's ballot I have an automatic entry for this year. The whole Chamonix experience, with over 2000 starters this is not wilderness racing but certainly not to be missed. Just run up and down Snowdon, then Ben Nevis, then jog an undulating 10 miles; repeat 4 times and that's all there is to it. You have 46 hours - 45:59 will do nicely, thanks.

15 October: Round Rotherham (50 miles). I've missed this the past two years because it has clashed with family events, but determined to go back this year because it's such a good course and enjoyable day out. No particular goals for the fourth quarter of the year, just enjoy it.

17 December: Tour de Helvellyn (36 miles). Haven't had confirmation that this will be run again, but after the success of last year I'm sure it will. A bit of a target to keep me in action before the Christmas rest again.

So that's it, seven ultras of various lengths and a marathon. A bit less than last year's plan but still a full year, I'm really looking forward to it.

2010 that was

2010-12-23T18:49:00.001Z

Well, all the stuff that has to be done before Christmas seems to be done, so an hour or so earned to think back over the year and maybe what I've got out of it.

I won't dwell on the individual races, I wrote about each one after the event and the results are over on the right anyway. I was pleased with some and felt I probably could have done better in others but that's par for the course I guess. I wondered at times whether I had signed up for too many but on balance it worked out OK. I won't deliberately target so many for next year but I won't artificially restrict myself either if there are events that look as though they're going to be fun.

What I have done though is to try and analyse one or two statistics, a thing that I'm not usually interested in but I'm glad I did it because I've found the results a bit surprising - chastening, one might say. The basics for the 50 weeks of the year that I've recorded are

Total miles run 2050
- so average miles per week was 41; in reality a bit higher when active, as I've had several weeks off ski-ing, climbing, etc.

Number of runs 181
- so average number of runs per week was 3,6 - a bit more if you allow for the "missed weeks" above, but it's clear that I still take plenty of days off!
- and the average length of run was 11,3 miles. I know this is skewed by the long races but I was still surprised.

As I was surprised by this mean length of run, I broke down the number of outings into bands:-
Length of Run        No of Runs
less than 5m           42
5m - 10m               80
10m - 20m             39
20m - 50m             14
more than 50m         6

There is no consistent correlation between the length of the run and the speed, because for example a 10 mile run might be a fast (?!) - paced outing around my local lanes, or a trip up Snowdon. So I looked also at the total miles run at different average paces:-
Pace (mins/mile)     Total Distance at this pace (miles)
below 7,30             37           (tempo pace for me)
7,30 - 9,00             626          (comfortable road and easy trail running)
9,00 - 12,00            558          (mixed trail and hill, just about still running)
above 12,00            829          (hills and rough country)

Now even though over 340 miles in the last band came from just 4 events (Heart of Scotland, WHW, Lakeland 100 and UTMB), I think these two tables show that:

(a) I'm a jogger who runs occasionally, rather than a runner!
(b) I like getting out in the hills and enjoying the day out rather than doing specific training
(c) The amount of time I put into higher aerobic stuff is pretty pathetic
(d) I don't get out as often as I should
(e) I'm not going to improve unless I change my training habits.

I need to think about this over a glass or three of red wine during the Christmas holiday - do I want to carry on what I'm doing, and carry on enjoying it as I do now, or should I respond to the "could do better" prompt?

Another takeout from the year in a different area is that after 4 years of running ultras I think I'm now finally convinced that age (not a subject I like to dwell on too long!) is not all that relevant. I used to feel that I had to make the very best of each year because I might not get another chance, but now I'm much more of a mind that if you keep going you can keep going.

Whatever, I've enjoyed every step of the year (well, maybe waiting for the bus in the downpour for the TDS that never started wasn't so great, but you get the picture..) and I'm looking forward to next with some excitement. I'll post my plans next time.

To all readers of my infrequent and sometimes random ramblings, have a great Christmas and New Year. See you at the races!

Ending with a Whimper

2010-12-20T23:32:00.000Z

I was really looking forward to my last event of the year, the "Tour de Helvellyn". Reccied the bits of the course I didn't already know, waymarks in the GPS just in case, bag packed and up at 5am, leaving a generous two and a half hours to cover the 140 miles to Askam, register, and start at what I guessed would be first light at around eight. The forecast was for a cold but clear day and the race organiser said on Friday night that it was looking good for the event. There was an inch or so of snow on the car as I left the house but once out of the village the roads seemed fine apart from a seemingly unnecessary 50mph limit on the M56.

At 7am I was in the vicinity of Wigan, barely 40 miles of the journey done, sitting on the northbound M6 which had become a carpark. There were stationary trucks everywhere. I found a radio station which told the story, the road had been blocked since midnight because of a fair bit more snow than expected and a jacknifed truck. Eventually we got going again but it was 20mph stuff with the road congested and constricted. I had no chance of making the final start time of 9am, let alone my chosen one of 8. I reluctantly bailed out at the next junction and drove slowly home, to spend the rest of the day hanging doors in the kitchen.

The race was a great success, 50 starters, 37 finishers, a fine day out by all accounts.

The following day I made my weekly trip over the Pennines to visit my mum in Sheffield; there was barely a scrape of snow on the road the whole way. That's life.

But the year wasn't all bad, review in a few days.

Chewing the Fat and the Need for Speed

2010-12-11T23:59:00.003Z

Clearly titles for two posts here; I've been thinking about both recently but eventually realised that they really are related so you get the double helping. The result is likely to be one of my lengthy ramblings but I'm hoping to draw some conclusions relevant to the middle-to-back-of-pack performer like me, so if you're interested pour yourself a G&T (or whatever other aid to thought you favour) and hang in for a while.

Since I started in 2007 I've covered a bit of ground and learned a lot. I've started 21 ultras and finished 18 of them. I know that I can run a fairly creditable 10 hour race and an acceptable 24, but I'm useless at the longer 30+ hour events. I don't suffer from sore feet or aching muscles, I just run out of steam. I was convinced this was a nutrition problem, don't eat enough during the event, run out of fuel. I've spent the last couple of years trying to find ways to cure this, what do you eat after you've just stuffed in your twenty-third gel of the day and nothing at all seems even vaguely palatable. I think I've tried everything, nothing works well. I've finished several races on nothing but chicken noodle soup and coke for a marathon or two, worrying all the time that this isn't enough to get by on.

I had an inkling that there might be another way after this year's Lakeland 100. Reading the winner Stuart Mills' report he seemed to cruise round on a few cups of coke and a handful of Jaffa Cakes. I asked about his nutrition strategy and he replied with a really interesting blog entitled "Race Nutrition - is More Always Better?" Now Stuart's a scientist and argues a detailed case but the main points I took out were (a) in ultras you run at a low enough intensity for fat rather than carbohydrate to be your prime fuel source, and (b) don't waste valuable liquid in digesting carbs - use it to keep hydrated for running! He also said that he did the majority of his training without eating. It raised some discussion in the comments of course, and I guess because it was so opposite to everything I thought I knew that I was pretty sceptical myself, after all Stuart's a class runner, probably anything works for him. I had also heard Joss Naylor talk about "going 50 or 60 miles without anything to eat or drink" but again this is a special character, his rules are not for the rest of us.

But then I entered the Lakeland 100 again for next year, and race director Marc Laithwaite started sending out a series of training articles. The first ones were pretty obvious, along the lines of "if you're going to take part in a race with hills, over uneven ground, carrying a rucsack, then you have to train on hills, over uneven ground, with a rucsack", etc, but then the third one a couple of weeks ago was on nutrition. Marc seemed to be saying pretty much what Stuart had advocated, but it was put together in such simple language that it had a big impact. I was impressed, and recommended it to John Kynaston who also found it interesting and put it on his blog. John's blog is widely followed so it immediately caused some debate, which I'll come back to in a moment. What Marc's article basically said was

- when you run an ultra, a percentage of your fuel is going to come from stored fat

- the longer you run for, the higher this percentage gets

- you can't substitute carbohydrate for fat beyond a certain point, because you can't absorb it fast enough

- to get more efficient at burning fat you have to practice

- when you practice this, you go slower and you don't feel great, but it's training so just get on with it, it will pay off.

For a simple player like me this makes great sense, a bit of an eye-opener. I'm certainly going to give it a go.

The arguments against are mainly of degree, ie it's not that simple, everyone's different, and of course you need a certain amount of carbs for optimum performance, etc. That's fair, but it shouldn't stop you trying to get better access to a huge store of energy you already possess. The other disadvantage put forward is that the training might be unpleasant - one comment on John's blog talked of ".......the thought of turning enjoyable long runs into dispiriting hungry plods...". Well actually I haven't found that so far. In the past two weeks I've tried two 16 mile runs and a 20 miler all on the "no breakfast, no carbs en route" regime. What happens, for me at least, is that for the first couple of hours everything seems normal, then I do tire and have to slow down, but by then I know the end is not so far away. I'm sure it's purely psychological at this stage but it seems to get easier each time and I'll start pushing the time/duration out progressively in the new year.

The other mental leap I think I've made in taking on board the fat-burning principle is that as I build confidence in it, I don't have to worry about not eating much in the later stages of a race. I'm sure in a couple of my DNF's I've actually thought myself out of contention by convincing myself that I couldn't possibly finish on the fuel I was taking in (the rational engineer overcoming the passionate ultra-runner!) Stuart again presses that it's not just 50% of ultra-running that's in your head but "a lot more than that" - if you start off with the absolute conviction that you will succeed, then you will. So maybe the confidence that come what may, the fat reserves will get you home, is a big barrier removed.

Andy Dubois, another runner whose opinions I value not particularly because he is another trainer/sports scientist but because of his sub 23 hour completion of the Hardmoors 110 miler in truly appalling conditions this September, strongly advocates sticking with carbs in both racing and training on the grounds that when you run on fat alone you simply don't go fast enough - remember the Seb Coe quote "long slow runs make long slow runners"? - and if you train slow, you'll race slow. But a key (for me) observation he makes is that "......unless I run at 10 minute miles or slower, I need carbs after around 90 minutes.....". Think about this. I never run faster than 10 minute miles in a 100 mile ultra unless it's downhill. We weekend warriors at the gentlemen's end of the field should be wary of getting too caught up in the area of debate that applies mainly to elite athletes. But I believe Andy does have something of a point relative to the masses when he talks of training at speed, and this leads me nicely into part 2, if you're still with me.

I hate speed training, if you follow my ramblings you'll know that already. All that sweaty effort, continually out of breath, not my style, we go running for fun don't we? I stopped running 10k's and don't really enjoy half marathons, no time to chat or admire the views. But when I started running a few years ago I had an ambition to do a 3.30 marathon so a certain amount of speedwork was called for. I did my tempo runs, my Yassos and so on. Apart from being unpleasant it tended to give me niggling injuries, hamstring pulls, calf pains, you know the sort of thing. Eventually the spring of 2008 saw me break the 3.30, I did it again in 2009 to prove it wasn't a fluke and I thought great, that's it, no more speed training for me. I still enjoy marathons so March this year saw me trundle round a very flat Barcelona course in 3.37, a satisfied medal collector. I enjoyed my summer of ultras and long slow training runs in the hills.

By the end of August I was feeling tired, and I hadn't felt any sharpness at all in my last two ultras. I took a month off running in September to recharge the batteries and take stock. I began to think a bit about speed.

On the UTMB site there is a series of videos called "Get Ready For" which gives training advice. In the one entitled "Improve Your Speed" I was amazed at the recommended tempo training for a race which for me had always meant walking up a lot of big hills and shambling slowly down the other side. There was a discussion on the WHW forum, I forget the actual thread but contributors were comparing effort and enjoyment and someone referred to "an enjoyable plod over the hills"; it hit me quite sharply, that's what I do, enjoyable plods over the hills. I started looking at other ultra-runners training paces where I could find them on their blogs, they were nearly all doing some significantly faster runs than I was. So when I started running again in October I gradually introduced some speed once a week; not long distances, maybe 3 or 4 miles in the middle of a six mile outing; it didn't seem too bad, but even that small amount seemed to have a dramatic effect on what I considered a comfortable speed for a cruisy 6 or 8 miles, it went from 8.30 miles to 8 minute miles in a couple of weeks. In the Snowdonia marathon at the end of the month I got round in 3 hours 40, the equivalent of way under 3.30 on a flat course. A lesson learned ,a bit of speedwork does hurt, but the reward to effort ratio is very high. Three years with a good physiotherapist and a bit of discipline in stretching and core exercise seems to have cured my propensity to niggling injuries, so speed has to stay for me. I copied one of John K's workouts recently doing alternate 6.45 and 8.15 miles, something I wouldn't have contemplated even 3 months ago; I think I might even have enjoyed it!

So where does this leave this very average ultra runner. Well, our lessons are hard won in this game, but all the more valuable for that. My plans for the future will now include

1. Learn to burn fat. It may not be the whole answer but it certainly works in my head. I won't be forcing down carbohydrates in races any more.

2. Get the heart rate up with some speedwork once a week. Then when you need that burst of energy, it's there.

My final outing of the year next weekend is the inaugural "Tour de Helvellyn en Hiver", 36 miles over what looks like being a pretty white landscape with a fair bit of up and down. Looking forward to it.

Snowdonia Marathon

2010-11-08T22:54:00.001Z

Ninety-seven, ninety-eight, ninety-nine, a hundred - come on wimp, time to start running again. The rain seems to be relenting a bit even if the hill isn't. Creak back into action, overtaking people now, everyone else around still walking, a marshal shouts encouragement, how far to the top I ask, about four hundred yards, that's OK, I'll make it now, no more walking then downhill all the way to the finish, way to go.

The Snowdonia was apparently voted Runner's World favourite marathon a couple of years back, rather strange because it's a bit of a toughie. Not as hard as Beachy Head, judging by Stuart Mills report a week or so a go, but still plenty of up and down. You're unlikely to get great weather in the hills at the end of October either, so it must be the scenery that attracts people, and although it's pretty well on my doorstep I still find it a great place to go running. I last did the race in 2006 when I was getting close to 3.30 on the flat and came in at 3.57 - that's what the hills do to you.

At 11pm on Friday the weather forecast was good, chance of precipitation light, but this is North Wales of course so by the time I turned up in Llanberis on Saturday morning to check in, it was uniformly grey and sheeting down. Competitors huddled in the Community Centre, cars, bus shelters and other sources of protection, until about 15 minutes before the start we all braved the couple of hundred yards up the road to the line. The weather was improving, the organiser assured us, so about half of us stuffed our rainjackets in our belts and off went the hooter.

A gentle mile or so along Llyn Peris is a good warmer-up, then the first bit of work has to be done. From Nant Peris to the Pen y Pass about three and a half miles further on, the road rises 800ft. I walked bits of this last time but I must be a bit further up the field because no-one around me is walking and I definitely don't want to be the first to start. I'm breathing heavily at the top of the pass but not worried because I know there is a long downhill coming. I don't look at my watch until half way in marathons these days, just go with the flow seems to work best for me, and from Pen y Pass down to Beddgelert over nine miles further on there's a lot of flow to go with - a thousand feet of descent with no appreciable uphills and great views - just enjoy it while you can! One section goes off road for a couple of miles down a steep, stony but wonderfully runnable jeep track; the road runners hesitate, the trail guys accelerate, I overtake a lot of people. Then gentle roads to Beddgelert, chat to a few people, easy running, the rain comes and goes. Beddgelert affects us two ways, it's half way, the good news, but signals the start of the next hill, the bad news. I look at my watch at half way, 1.45, faster than I was expecting but I won't keep up this pace, the hills are harder and longer in the second half.

The rise out of Beddgelert is about 500ft in three miles; not too steep, but not steep enough to excuse a real slowdown; you've lost the freshness of the start but still need to keep something for what is still to come, gruelling stuff, probably the worst part of the course mentally for me. But then it's done and we're onto the undulating country through Rhyd Ddu and along the peaceful Llyn Cwellyn, the newly-built Welsh Highland Railway tracking us to the right, no trains in evidence today. Time to take in some gels, and drinks from the friendly youngsters at the feed stations, the shouts of "isotonic!" always trigger thoughts of G&T for me, no, put that out of your mind, there's a way to go yet. And so we approach Waun Fawr.

Waun Fawr! If you've done the race before, this name has been at the back of your mind since the start. Well, one way or another I suppose, I passed a girl a few miles back who said "Can't wait for Waun Fawr, then I can have a nice long walk!" At Waun Fawr, 22 miles in, the course turns right and rises 700ft in two miles. As I turn the corner the rain turns to hail, typical. But deep down, this is what we come for, no options now just head down, grit your teeth and keep going. No need to save anything, it's downhill all the way from the top of this one. I run as far as I can, then move to 100 steps walking/ 100 steps running. This tactic is seeing me past a fair number of people. I'm sure the real athletes at the front run all of this but around me most of the field is walking, all my hilly ultras must be starting to pay off! It finally flattens out around the 24 mile mark, then a bit of level ground, then the downhill.

This must be one of the best marathon finishes anywhere. It's the steepest slope on the course, a jeep track giving way to a narrow lane, stony and a bit muddy today, but nowhere that you can't just let go in a full-on blast to the bottom. At the very bottom of the hill it's a right turn into Llanberis High Street for a crowd-lined final two or three hundred yards to the finish, brilliant! I finished in 3:40:19 which allowing for the hilly nature of the course I was pretty happy with. A great day out and a first-class well-organised event, I'm sure I'll come again.

I've just noticed that the next race I had planned, the Doyen of the Downs near Brighton has been cancelled, so I'm looking forward to what will be the last one of the year for me now, the new 36-mile "Tour de Helvellyn" on 18th December. I'll have a couple of easy weeks then get myself off up to the Lakes to find out what the course is like.

Less is More?

2010-10-30T21:40:00.000+01:00

You can tell it's darker evenings and the season's drawing slowly to an end - we all stop writing race reports and get philosophical, so here's a bit to shoot at if you like. It's not time yet for me to reflect on my year, still two or three outings left, plenty of time for the post mortem over the remains of Christmas, but I was interested in a comment on John K's blog a week or two back. He thought he had compromised his performance in the races he values by doing too many events overall; this year he ran five ultras where previously he concentrated on three. I guess those of us who also did several could all wonder the same thing.

It's difficult to find any accepted wisdom on this. I looked in the oracle, Doctor Tim Noakes' "Lore of Running" and found the following passages: "My advice is therefore not to race marathons competitively more than once every four to six months. In fact, for the elite runners, it is best to race only one marathon every year," and "To reiterate the point I made earlier............I suggest that you race an absolute maximum of two marathons per year, or one marathon and one ultramarathon.........ideally there should be at least four, but preferably six, months between these races." And finally "Although you may be able to race two marathons per year, runners who wish to race ultramarathons regularly for more than a few years should limit these to one per year, with the possibility of running one other long race three to four months before, or four to five months after, the ultramarathon."

So a few points to JK's corner; but I think we should put the Noakes advice into some sort of context, in particular
1. I think he's generally focussing on athletes at the higher end of the performance range. I guess a two and a half hour marathon takes a bit out of you whoever you are,
2. It was written at least ten years ago, and thoughts on what is possible for the average runner must have progressed since then, and
3. By "ultramarathon" he is normally referring to his local Comrades event which is around 56 miles and although it has some hills it is on non-technical ground. So overall he's talking about races which are not too long and are run, in our terms, at a pretty fast pace.

I think the last is an interesting aspect because it prompts the question of whether a long or a short race (assuming both are endurance events) takes more out of you, so let's divert to this for a minute or two. I checked the best times I have done over the standard road distances in the past two or three years and they look like this:

Marathon 3-17-51
Half Marathon 1-33-57
10 Kilometer 42-35

If I plug my marathon time into a standard comparison calculator, my predicted half marathon and 10k times come out at at 1-34-55 and 43-03 so I think my actual times represent a statistically consistent effort. But how did the races feel? Well I'm a survey of one, but for me the shorter distances feel like much harder work at the time and normally take longer to recover from. In a marathon I can chat to other runners, enjoy the sights and after a good night's sleep I'm ready to run again the next day, but in a half I'm out of breath after 5 or 6 miles, by half way all I want to do is get to the end, and it's several days before I can run again. I've stopped doing 10k's, they just hurt too much. I think what happens is that so long as you have trained for the distance the longer races are kinder on your overall system - lower heart rate, shorter stride length, lower impact forces, etc. This could translate into ultras. OK, so at the end of 100 miles you feel pretty whacked, but how much of this is due to sleep deprivation, less than brilliant nutrition, and so on? Physically, are you any worse than after (a much quicker paced) 50 miler?

There are plenty of runners out there completing a high number of ultras every year. Susan Donnelly and Rob Apple seem to knock off a hundred miler every other week in the summer, and nearer to home Jim Drummond has a similar record. This year John Vernon completed the LDWA Heart of Scotland (104 miles), the West Highland Way (95), the Lakeland 100 (104), the Grand Raid Pyrenees (100+) and the Hardmoors 110 (110), the last three in particular being very tough events. Look in the results tables of even just the UK ultras and you'll see plenty more examples. Ah, you may say, but these guys are going for a finish, not necessarily their best performance every time. Try harder and you won't do so many. It's tempting to agree with this view from personal experience. I set out this year with a similar programme to JV's; I was faster than him by 3,5 hours in the Heart of Scotland and by 5 hours in the West Highland Way, yet when it came to the Lakeland 100 I was forced to retire at 88 miles while John cruised on to a finish. Too much effort in the previous events? An easy conclusion but...............yes there has to be a "but". It could be that I just hadn't trained appropriately for the Lakeland event, or made some tactical mistakes on the day, or wasn't mentally up for it although I was physically OK, etc, etc.

Anyway, I'm now rather sceptical that you can decide to turn in a less-than-best performance in an ultra on any given day. I suggested to John K that he might consider concentrating on his "main" three races for best performance but do others for training, or for fun, or for whatever else but not flat out. His reply was interesting, along the lines of "I've tried to do that but once a race starts it's a race and I end up going much faster than I would in a training run". On reflection I think this is a fairly astute recognition of reality. My own plan this year was to run the Thames Trot 50, the Hardmoors 55 and the Heart of Scotland 100 for training, the Lakeland 100 just to finish, and other races for the best time I could get. I didn't feel any less exercised after the "training" events than after my "target" races, in fact the Lakeland 100 was for me the hardest as I didn't finish. So it does seem for me at least (and clearly for JK) that once I commit to an event I aproach it with all the tools I have in the bag at the time. It's easier to plan an easy day at say a road marathon where the effort is very even and predictable, but much less easy to plan and execute an "easy" ultra. I would be interested in other views on this.

But there are also runners at the sharp end completing multiple events successfully. I'm sure Richie Cunningham has done more ultras than me this year, and last year Jez Bragg got around the Lakeland 100 in 24 hours just two weeks after his third place in the Western States; these guys are clearly not "easing off" much!

One last point before I try to make some sense of all this. I'm pretty convinced after running 20-odd ultras in the past 4 years that you can have a tough race on the day without doing any medium term damage to your fitness. Since I understood what the game was about I have had three DNF's (two UTMB's and the Lakeland 100). In all cases I was fine after a sleep, sometimes in as little as a couple of hours. I think poor tactics (pacing, managing stops, nutritional, etc) played a part but I'm also wondering about the oft-quoted adage "50% of running ultras is in your head". I went into these events without the absolute certainty in my mind that I was going to finish, so I didn't.

So what is my conclusion?

Well , I think the starting point for running multiple ultras per year is that you have to train for the effort involved in the event - ie you have to be able to cope with the distance, height gain, ground underfoot, etc. Many people complete an ultra without getting to this stage - you may disagree with me here but I think if you're still hurting physically a week or so later then you didn't put the appropriate work in beforehand. You compensated with a lot of mental strength and I really respect that, but you're not going to repeat the effort three weeks later.

If you've ticked that box then I think that the only thing that stops you setting out again is if you genuinely feel fatigued and "not up for it". I don't believe that one or two disappointing results proves that you're doing too much; so many things can happen on the day to produce these that I think you have to move on from the last event and not let it bother you. If I get to the end of my plan this year I will have run an average of one event per month (a half marathon, two marathons, and nine ultras). I've been pleased with some and disappointed with others. I'll review the year at its end but at the moment my feeling is that I may cut one or two out next year because I want to spend a bit more time climbing, but in general it works for me OK. Would I do better if I cut the number of races dramatically? I believe not, but I'll never know because I enjoy the events and that's not what I'm going to do!

Hiatus

2010-09-30T21:30:00.000+01:00


Hang them up?

Maybe it's just me but running sometimes seems like a funny old game. One day it occupies most of your waking thoughts and the next you just don't want to know. I was happy enough on finishing the reorganised UTMB race at the end of August, but afterwards I just couldn't seem to get going again, so I've taken the whole of September off. No runs - well just one but I'll come to that later. I cancelled my entry for the Brussels marathon in early October and set about doing other things.

After the TMB Jan and I stayed on in Chamonix for a week, walking trails we have known for many years in the now perfect weather, with views that I'm sure can't be bettered anywhere in this continent.

Typically for Chamonix they even have a "garcons de cafe" race (each waiter has to carry a tray of drinks and not spill a drop or they are disqualified!) before the end of the season............

Then Jan went home and I picked up John from the airport and we spent a superb week on the slabs and walls of central Switzerland

I started to think a bit about running again, and we had times when I could have gone out but I still somehow never got around to it.

So I came home and spent an annual 3 days in the Lakes with some old school friends, people with whom I first walked the hills fifty years ago; we had some beautiful days over Crinkle Crags, Bow Fell and Fairfield, great evenings in the pub afterwards and are already looking forward to the same time next year.

And then near the end of the month I took myself over to Yorkshire to meet the man of Steele and help out a bit with the Hardmoors 110 race. Marshalling at Bloworth Crossing was my little task, so I followed in the year-old footprints, or maybe that should be tent-prints, of the peerless Murdo tM to set up my stall on the moors late Friday evening and wait for the runners to appear.

It blew all night and rained pretty often, turning what is already a very tough event into one of some attrition. Thirty competitors started out from Helmsley and twenty three made to my checkpoint thirty-seven miles in. I was surprised there were so many. They all seemed cheerful enough but several more dropped out at Kildale, six miles further down the track directly into the teeth of the northerly gale. With the sweeper through at 5am I could settle down to some sleep before packing up and walking back to my car in time for a late breakfast. I had agreed to marshal again at the finish so on the way I called in at the wonderfully situated Whitby checkpoint in the Abbey grounds, previously the fiefdom of Transylvanian Mike, where I was welcomed with tea and chat by Mrs MacPirate. We had assumed that those who made it across the moors in the rain, wind and dark would find some respite down the coast in brightening weather with the wind now behind them. By the time I got to the finish at Filey a very different picture was emerging. The wind veered and the rain returned presenting runners with a vicious crosswind and driving spray at any point that they weren't well above the sea. One of the most serious obstacles on the whole route was Scarborough sea front at around the hundred mile mark, impassable due to the height of the waves, forcing runners to find a drier alternative up in the town. Andy Dubois' winning time of 22hours38 was a class performance in the conditions. 11 competitors won through to the end, the final one being the indefatigable John Vernon completing his fifth hundred mile race in as many months. I enjoyed the experience and thought I might have a go in the future, the weather surely can't be as bad again............can it?

But I did put my trainers on again once in the month, on the 19th. Newcastle's Great North Run has been a family tradition for us for seven or eight years now, Jan, Julia, and my brother Nick were all registered to run, the hotel was booked, so I went. I wasn't sure how to run. From previous results I had been allocated a start position very near the front (sounds impressive, but I think the first batch covers anyone who can get under about 1,40!), so in the end when the gun went off I just went with the flow. I didn't look at my watch until about ten miles, and by then I couldn't do the calculation to work out what it meant so I just sidled on to the end, running as hard as I could without feeling uncomfortable (well, the band, beer and burgers at the end always make it all worthwhile). I hadn't got below about a nine minute mile in the two or three months previously so I was pleased to get home in 1.37.34, within three and a half minutes of my PB. The family all finished ok.

It was probably a bit of a daft stunt and my hamstrings were still tight a week later but I avoided injury and enjoyed the run. It made me think a bit. I do read so many tales of enthusiastic people wanting to run who can't because of injury or illness or time constraints and so on. I'm very lucky to be able to do what I do. There's the Snowdonia Marathon, mainly a road event but with I think about 2000ft of ascent to make it interesting and in stunning country, coming up in just over four weeks time.

Tomorrow is the first day of October. I'm going to start running again.

Cham Story 2010

2010-08-31T22:59:00.015+01:00

I think it's worth telling a bit of the tale of the dramatic events in and around Chamonix last weekend, in which the real winners were British Ultra Running and probably The North Face company, as a background to my very small part in them. So if you're interested, pour yourself a dram or a G&T or whatever, and settle down as you may be involved a while.

The Background

The last weekend in August in Chamonix is now firmly established as the "Ultra Trail" weekend. It started with the first running of the "Ultra Trail du Mont Blanc" in 2003, and has grown in popularity over subsequent years to reach its current status as the annual pinnacle of the ultra calendar in Europe if not the world. There are now three races each year involving over 5000 runners:

- the "Courmayeur-Champex-Chamonix" (CCC), 98k and 5600m of ascent, with 1800 runners, starting in Courmayeur at 10am on the Friday, with a maximum allowed time of 26 hours

- the "Traces des Ducs de Savoie" (TDS), 111k and 7000m of ascent, with 1200 runners, starting in Courmayeur at midnight Friday and following a somewhat wilder route back to Chamonix in a maximum time of 32 hours

- and of course the original big one, the "Ultra Trail du Mont Blanc" (UTMB), in which 2300 runners start from Chamonix at 6.30pm on Friday evening and have 46 hours to find their way back via an enourmous loop loosely following the classic "Tour du Mont Blanc" walking trail. The first half to Courmayeur is 78k and 4400m of ascent, and the tougher return leg, on a route mainly along the same route as the CCC, is 88k and 5100m of ascent making a massive 166k and 9500m in total.

To put these into some sort of UK context, the general feeling is that as undertakings, the CCC is a little bit easier than the West Highland Way, the TDS a little bit harder, and the UTMB in a different league. Before this year, in spite of some pretty adverse weather at times, all the races which were planned went on to start and be completed.

Demand for places in the UTMB is high and a ballot is held in January. This year I missed out, but was able to progress to an automatic entry into the TDS and a guaranteed UTMB entry next year, so with that objective I drove out to Chamonix a week before the race, did a couple of acclimatisation runs then generally lazed about for a few days. The weather was great, sunshine and blue skies. There was a forecast for some rain on Friday then showers on Saturday but no dire warnings involved. A number of friends from the WHW family were in town for the various races and spirits were high.

Friday 27 August

We woke up to the sound of rain and a message from the UTMB organisation on our mobile phones (a mandatory piece of kit for participants!) - "weather conditions rain wind cold Provide the necessary equipment". We had breakfast, it rained. A number of us had arranged to meet up near the "pointy man statue" for a chat and coffee before retiring to our beds again for last chance sleeps. As we turned up from various directions it rained - it was just as well there was a tent errected near the statue. We waited for an easing in the rain so we could make it to the cafe a hundred yards away; there wasn't one so we got wetter. Unbeknown to us the CCC was just starting in identical weather conditions. An hour later we left the cafe and walked home in the rain. Later it stopped. Then it started again.

At 6.30 the UTMB got under way in a slight easing of the weather. Not long after it was raining again. I was due to get a bus at 10.00pm to go to Courmayeur for the start of the TDS. I walked up to the Sports Centre in the rain, there were a lot of people still there although the buses were supposed to have been shuttling runners over from 8pm. I got a phone call from George Reid and John Malcolm, also up for the TDS and booked on the 9pm bus - "we're still here, and they're talking about calling off the race". I went and found them. It was one of those situations where information comes bit at a time, sometimes conflicting and you're never quite sure what to believe. The first thing we heard was that because of the heavy rain, strong winds on the Col du Bonhomme, and mud slides causing the route markers to be washed away on the Col de la Seine, the UTMB had been stopped; runners were being brought back from St Gervais and Les Contamines.

It was clear that the TDS buses were going nowhere so we all gathered in the Sports Centre out of the rain. We first heard that the TDS start would be delayed until at least 3am, then until at least 5am, the organisation would make a decision by 2am latest. Could we go home and get some sleep? No we must stay here because if a positive decision was made we would go to Courmayeur asap. We scattered around the floor and dozed. Though not properly asleep, I was roused by George at around 12.30 - "It's off, have a beer". Well at least there was plenty of that around. A drink and a shrug and we all went our separate ways, it was clearly all over until l'anee prochain. I wandered back through town philosophically. At least we hadn't had a soaking three or four hours on the trail like the UTMB guys.

Saturday 28th August

Back at the hotel I lay down, tired but brain still wandering over events, unable to sleep. I was just starting to doze off when we had another text from UTMB "TDS/UTMB to depart Sat 28th course Courmayeur-Champex-Chamonix buses leave Sports Centre Chamonix from 0630" This meant that all the TDS and UTMB runners were offered a race along the second half of the UTMB course. It wasn't what I'd come for but I would kick myself if the weather turned a bit better and it would still be a good ultra. The buses would take a couple of hours at least, I'd set an alarm an get a later one. Still unable to sleep, I was roused again by a second text "Due to cancellation of CCC and repatriation of runners, bus departs for Courmayeur now limited to 1000 runners". Because of flash flooding on the section between the Col de Montets and Flegere, the CCC had been stopped. 400 runners had passed this point, the rest were now being bussed back from all down the course, creating a shortage of buses.(Incidentally, those who finished the CCC and those who were still going when it was stopped had all put up a pretty heroic performance in truly appalling conditions)

Effectively, this meant that out of the TDS and UTMB fields, the first 1000 to turn up at the bus stop would get to race. It was now 5am. If I was going, I had to get my stuff organised and go. I looked outside again, the rain was like stair-rods. But these are the times when you remember that this sport isn't exactly about comfort, so out I went. One of the first people I met in the bus queue was Shirley, one of the few WHW folk I hadn't met so far this week. She's been stopped at St Gervais on the UTMB, had a few beers then made it back. "I think I'm still slightly drunk". We had to queue in an orderly line and this was out in the rain of course. I don't know how the cutoff was managed but we got on the bus.

Amazingly, as we drove out of the Mont Blanc tunnel into Italy we were greeted by blue sky. We got out at the Courmayeur Sports Centre and grabbed what was available for breakfast. Although we hadn't communicated during the night, all the usual suspects were there - George, John, Ritchie, Drew and the others, it clearly takes more than a drop of rain to halt the Tartan Army. Before we left to walk through the town to the start we put on sun screen.......

The Race

The start was scheduled for 10, but we eventually got under way at 10.15, a little circuit of the town then up the hill to the Bertone Hut. I knew what was going to happen here but I didn't have the energy starting out to prevent it affecting me. At least a thousand closely packed runners (it turned out that in the end there were 1250 starters) were going to run uphill for a couple of miles and then converge onto a single track which effectively goes on for the next 6 or 7 miles. If you were near the back (of course I was, even if I'm not tired it's my normal tactic) your pace was going to be set by the guy in front for the next couple of hours or so. The modern CCC follows a different route initially to thin the field out, but we were on the UTMB route; the same thing had happened to me on this, the "old" CCC route when I ran that race in 2007.

Still I was happy to go with the flow, up the long 900m climb to the Bertone, then along the wonderful slightly undulating balcony to the next checkpoint at the Bonatti Hut. The weather was fine, the ground underfoot seemed to be drying out well, the views were as good as ever and it was great to be doing something after all the frustrations of the night. It wasn't to last though, as we descended to the next checkpoint at Arnuva it was clouding over again and a chill wind was springing up. The mist turned to drizzle and it was rain jackets on for the climb up to the Col de Grand Ferret, at just over 2500m the highest point on the course. I was glad to get my jacket on. In spite of all my pre-race concentration on lightening my load, when it came to setting out in the prevailing conditions I had opted for a fairly heavy jacket and overtrousers - my packed seemed to weigh a ton as normal. The lack of sun affected the ground underfoot on the climb, slippery mud most of the way, without poles I would have struggled to make progress as I was as usual wearing road shoes. It's an honest climb though, nothing sneaky, and the top seemed to come fairly quickly.

The descent was the real disappointment. From the col down to La Fouly is usually 10 kilometeres of wonderfully runnable wide track at a perfect descending gradient, 8 minute mile territory even for me. Today it was run, slip, check, adjust, almost stop, start again, all the way down. I kept thinking how it would be in Rocklites......

Just before La Fouly I met up with two other Brits, Ken and Dave, and I travelled on with them for quite a way. The long gentle descent down the Swiss Val Ferret went easily, and the nicely graded 300m climb up to Champex at the end wasn't too bad. Plenty of people were eating and suiting up for the night here, but we agreed on a brief pause to top up water and press on to make best use of the remaining daylight.

Champex was half distance maybe a bit more on this course, but everyone who has been along this way will tell you that this is where the work starts. The cruel finish to the end of the UTMB, three big climbs each with their own particular brand of challenge. The first one is Bovine, the most technical ascent on the UTMB, a jumble of tree roots and boulders where no real rhythm is possible. Half way up here we had to put on our torches. The long descent from the top down to Trient is usually pretty harmless but tonight we got the first inkling of what was to come; mud at times worthy of Rotherham had us lurching and sliding in the darkness most of the way down. At the Trient checkpoint I decided to rest and have something to eat, and to change into a dry shirt - I'd brought all this stuff, I might as well use it! Ken and Dave were going strongly so I told them to press on.

Eventually I pulled out of Trient for the second of the three climbs. This one is OK going up; long and steep but a good rocky path underfoot, I just latched onto a small caravan of runners going at about the pace I wanted and shut my brain down until we got to the top, graced by a small tent, one marshal and a bonfire - a long night out for him. The weather was looking much better now though, the sky had cleared and the temperature really started to drop. On these long uphills at night you occasionally look up to see the dots of headtorches ahead of you - at one point as the ground had started to level off I saw lights way higher than I expected, a real moment of deflation until I realised there was something familiar about the pattern of the lights I was looking at - it was the tail of the Plough constellation, breathe again! But the sting in this section was on the descent - it's muddy at the best of times, tonight it was just horrendous, I'm sure I went slower on the descent than on the up. I was glad to get to Vallorcine, a bowl of soup and a cup of tea.

At Vallorcine you used to be able to think quite justifiably that the UTMB, or the CCC, whichever was your course, was in the bag. A gentle ascent up to the Col de Montets up the ancient Chemin des Diligences (coach road), then an undulating but benign 5 or 6 miles down the valley to Chamonix. Then some massochist in the organisation decided that a little more spice was required. From the Col de Montets you climb 60 steep and rocky zigzags then rock slabs and boulders to gain another 800m to the Tete aux Vents, after which you follow an undulating rocky track on which there is barely a hundred yards where you don't have to place each foot (and sometimes hand) with care, for several kilometers to the Flegere checkpoint. I had to dig quite deep on this stretch, I was slow, and by the time I reached La Flegere the daylight of Sunday had arrived. I was just about to leave the checkpoint when Neil MacRitchie came in looking fitter than I felt. We started down together but as he broke into a run I carried on walking. There was still a final 50m to climb, but strange things happen in ultras and when I was half way up it I suddenly started to feel some energy flooding back. From the top of the rise I jogged all the way down into the valley and through Chamonix to the finish, beating my "predicted arrival time" (which had been automatically texted to Jan by the organisation, based on my location and recent speed) by 15 minutes, so by the time she arrived I had collected my goodies, had a rest and was chatting to Neil, having picked up 20 or so places on the final stretch.

I was also met by Mike (M Gilet Rouge) and his wife Gill, to be first congratulated and then sternly admonished that the "UTMB Finisher" vest which everyone in this rearranged race had collected was definitely fraudulent and would not be recognised on any occasion in which I wore it in his sight. After a solid breakfast and a couple of hours sleep I was ready for the day where we caught up with what had been going on. Jez had at last shown the world that he really is the star that we all knew he was by winning the race outright, and Lizzy Hawker took the ladies' prize to complete a UK whitewash which probably won't go down too well with the locals but sent our gang home happy. Ritchie's training miles paid off again as he came home third Brit (or first Scot, which he probably considers far more important). John Malcolm had a storming run, and there were the usual impressive finishes from George, Drew, and the rest of the contingent. Shirley must have sobered up along the way because she finished well, along with Helen.

Reflections

I was happy with my race although the performance wasn't one of my best. I ran this course (the then CCC) in 2007 finishing in about 17 and a half hours. The new finish over to Flegere probably adds a couple of hours, conditions were much worse, especially the muddy night-time descents, the events of the preceding 12-15 hours weren't condusive to a relaxed starting condition, and I'm three years older, but even so my time of 21:40 was pretty unspectacular. Against this, I was in good shape at the finish and never felt at any time that I was in danger of not completing the course. Although I felt I slowed up a lot in the second half this was no more than those around me as I continued to pick up places steadily through to the end, rising from position 1061 at the Bonatti to 781 at the end. Maybe in future I should heed the wise words of Murdo tM, who I know always felt I had taken on a bit too much this year in doing 4 long ultras as well as a handful of "10-12 hour" races.

But the impressive statistics were (a) that the race took place at all - the amount of rethinking and on-the-feet reorganisation done by the race directors and their crews during the harrowing Friday night was truly amazing, and (b) how well the runners responded to this. Normally in the Chamonix races, in good conditions, drop-out rates of 30-40% and higher are commonplace each year. At 10am on Saturday morning, runners assembled for the reorganised race in Courmayeur. None of them had had more than an hour or two's sleep, all of them had already got extremely wet in the preceeding 12 hours, many of them had run 15 or 20 miles in very poor conditions the night before. They faced a course ankle-deep in mud for many miles, and no-one knew what the state of the last section (closed 6 hours earlier to the CCC) would be when they eventually got there. 1250 started from Courmayeur; 1127 finished.

Postscript

On Monday it was still a bit rainy. Jan and I drove round to the Giannada Foundation in Martigny where there is normally a good art exhibition on. Afterwards, out of interest, we drove up the Swiss Val Ferret until we could see up to the Col de Grand Ferret. It was completely white with snow.

Pack your bag and go?

2010-08-25T19:17:00.000+01:00

One of the great things about running a supported race such as the West Highland Way is that you don't have to carry much. A water bottle and a couple of Mars Bars seems to be the norm for most of the people you see, probably less than you take on a typical day out training, and this means that the running is pretty enjoyable. A glance at some of the leaders in the American events suggests that even items such as shirts and hats are superfluous if you can rely on your team turning up with anything you might need at the next aid station.

Now go along to an unsupported event and it's a different game. You first carry everything the organisers insist you take, which is usually quite a lot of stuff. If you're like me you then throw in everything that you think you might need, or that might make your journey a bit more pleasant (a small flask of your distillation of choice for example to see you through the hard times...) and you end up STUFF. Yes it feels like capital letters. Stuff that makes breaking into a jog on anything other than a significant downhill a decidedly unattractive proposition.

So I was quite surprised to see on Jez Bragg's blog that he thought the introduction of a minimum weight of rucsac rule for the UTMB races was a good thing as it would stop people "travelling light". Now the minimum weight is, wait (or should I say weight) for it, ONE KG! (or 2kg including a litre of water as you leave each aid station). I have jackets that must weigh more than a kilogramme, so I've clearly been getting something wrong here. So I decided to be a bit more scientific and see what I could get the weight of my pack down to.

First, here are the "obligatory" items

Rucsac 487g (one of the smallest Raidlight ones with all the stuff I don't use cut off)

Waterproof Jacket 224g

2 torches with batteries 130g

1 set of spare batteries 35g

Whistle 5g

Bandage 15g

Space blanket 35g

Cup 25g

Phone 91g

Bladder and tube 93g

Emergency food (say 2 gels) 66g

Passport 28g

This lot comes to nearly 1300g. Personally, I wouldn't go without a light fleece, warm hat and gloves,a few blister plasters and some vaseline, and a bit more food than this, adding on another 500g or so, so just how do these guys do it?

But at least the exercise has got me down to a pack of around 2kg (3kg with water), so I'll leave out the manhole cover and 2 extra sandbags and see if it makes a difference this time.

Snowdons

2010-08-19T00:48:00.000+01:00

I wanted a last solid day in the hills before leaving for Chamonix and the TDS; I'd done enough miles on forest tracks for the week already but I needed a bit of serious height gain, so I decided I would have some Snowdons.

Now Snowdon is a maligned, overcrowded, rather desecrated old heap of stones but I still love it. Like Mont Blanc in its own way, it has everything - one of the best climbing crags in Wales at Clogwyn Du'r Arddu ("Cloggy"), the high Trinity face which holds good snow most winters, and about ten largely independent footpaths to the summit - broad tracks for easy running, rocky scrambles, knife-edged ridges, grassy cwms, something for everyone. And just an hour's drive away, I can't complain.

The forecast was good for a change, the alarm went off at six, but I loitered in bed and lingered over breakfast, so it was past eight o'clock when I finally tumbled out of the car in Llanberis. No early starters today, a bit of activity at the railway station but no-one on the track yet. I eased into a steady pace for the first few miles to the summit. As went I thought about the food experiment I was going to make. I read Stuart Mills' blog about his winning run in the Lakeland 100 a few weeks ago, and it seemed that he ate very little so I asked him about it. His theory is that if you're running at a demanding pace (say in a marathon) then your body needs carbohydrates, but if you're going much more easily as you do in an ultra it will switch to consuming fat, of which we all have plenty. If our "intelligent" scales at home are to be believed I have about 20% body fat, about 14kg, well that should be good for 500 miles at least so using up a bit of it going up Snowdon should be easy. So I had taken just one or two gels for emergencies, otherwise just water.

It was a treat to be on this track, usually so crowded, on my own on a sunny morning, the miles drifted by

Cloggy from the Llanberis track in the morning sunshine

Looking back down the track towards Halfway House and Llanberis

and I was soon on the summit. Off down the Miners' Track, usually considered the easiest way up from the Pen y Pass side, although its initial descent is every bit as technical as the far superior Pyg Track, but it has the advantage that once down this first bit it's an easy run all the way down to Pen y Pass. Into the cafe to top up water and my no food strategy was immediately blown. The place had been poshed up a bit since my last visit, and the array of cakes on the counter was just too tempting. I'll have one of those I said, pointing at a thinnish scone-looking affair; they come in twos said the lady serving, with butter and jam. So that was that but I did feel a little slowed down starting out again.

Next objective was the classic "Snowdon Horseshoe" round, up over Crib Goch and Crib y Ddysgl and down over Lliwedd. The 2000ft from Pen y Pass to Crib Goch looked big, come on, just get stuck in, there's a 2000ft climb round every corner on the TMB, so it was done. The morning was wearing on as I threaded my way though the traffic on the Crib Goch ridge and pinnacles. The crowds were friendly, everyone prepared to wait a second or two when it was clear I was going faster. I've been coming along here for at least 45 years so I can remember pretty well every hand and foothold by now, but it's always an entertaining stretch.

Looking back over the Crib Goch pinnacles

The only mist of the day caught me on the final ascent to Snowdon summit, which by now had succumbed to the normal Sunday lunchtime human battering, so I wasted no time in heading off down the first nasty 1000ft

Typical August Sunday on Snowdon summit

of the Watkin Path and out into the sunshine again. This second half of the Horseshoe always seems less crowded than the first, I guess because quite a lot of people don't quite know what they're taking on and bail out at Snowdon. Anyway the climb up to Lliwedd and descent that follows are a real pleasure in the now warm sunshine.

Lliwedd from the Pyg Track

As a one-off I would be trying to get as close as I could to three hours for the horseshoe circuit, but as part of this longer day I'm happy to be back at Pen y Pass in three hours forty minutes after leaving. I know I'm a failed experimenter now, and the cafe gets hit for a cup of tea and a flapjack this time. I've planned my trip to avoid too many of the "haven't I seen you before today" comments you get when doing laps on the same mountain, but I do get one or two on the next stretch back up to Snowdon via the Pyg Track. I think this is one of my favourites, a long balcony with wonderful views over the lakes below, while at the same time a good enough surface to keep up a reasonable speed without having to think too hard.

Crib Goch, with (top to bottom), the Horseshoe, Pyg, and Miners Tracks

Just as I emerged from the top of the zigzags to join the Llanberis track for the final five minutes to Snowdon summit I was passed by an uphill train, the hundred year old steam locomotive giving its all on the final steep incline. A stirring sight and sound, a million miles from the diesel drone that follows most trains on Snowdon. And the smell, that smell that you only get from steam, immediately bringing back childhood memories of trips to the seaside before cars figured much in the average person's life. If you really have to have a railway up a mountain, it ought to be memorable.

Back on Snowdon there was decision to be made. No more easy options to Pen y Pass, next descent has to be 3000ft plus. Did I have time for one more ascent and two descents? Without really making a decision I headed off South-Westwards. At the junction I looked at the start of the South Ridge knife-edge, easier and less crowded than Crib Goch but somehow more elegant; no, that would lead me down to the Gwynant valley and a definite return in darkness, for which I had no torch. So I sloped off right down the long gently descending track to Rhyd Ddu. Another fine route this one, dotted with families who know they can do it and want to get away from the hordes coming up from Llanberis. A gentle jog all the way to the village. The Cwellyn Arms was almost too tempting, but I still had ground to cover and settled for a swift half of coke and a packet of crisps.

Final mile to Rhyd Ddu in lengthening shadows

Down the road a mile or two to the start of the Snowdon Ranger track. This starts with the best uphill of the day; long easy zigzags, compact smooth gravel underfoot, perfect angle, the sort of ground where you can really feel the four-wheel drive effect of the poles. TMB land in Wales. But about a third of the way up I had to take stock; if I carried on it would be dark or very nearly for the last few miles of descent, why turn a nice day out into a possible epic? So I turned off left, up over an easy grassy climb to a place that my generation will always refer to as the "Telegraph Col", though the posts from which this name came are long gone now. At 1550ft it saves me nearly 2000ft of up and 4 or 5 miles. The route down to Llanberis is a perfect balcony track down a lonely valley, even on an August Sunday; in the past it's been for us a mountain bike single track blast when the mood took us, or a walk from the hut in Llanberis over to the Cwellyn Arms for lunch on days when the weather permitted nothing else. This evening it was my get out of jail card, and I ran steadily all the way down to the town.

Back at the car, my Garmin said just over 31 miles and just under 13,000ft of ascent. Good enough. I ran out of time, not energy. And the two scones, one flapjack, and a packet of crisps kept me going, I was never hungry. I'm going to re-read Stuart's stuff, and although I still think a bit of regular carbohydrate input is good, I'm now more convinced that he's on to something. I never went particularly fast, I just kept going. Ready as I'll ever be for this year's Chamonix experience.

Birthdays and Heroes

2010-08-10T00:14:00.000+01:00

Well last week another year clicked by. On Saturday I was at a nephew's wedding, the sort of occasion when you meet distant family that you haven't seen for years. Jan and I re-acquainted with many of our own generation; nice people, sensible souls who don't spend their spare time running hills, climbing rocks and ski-ing real snow. Sometimes of a morning when the first trip downstairs hasn't been great I wonder if I should join them. Plenty of people to ask if you're really sure you want to be doing this sort of thing nowadays.

But we are who we are; the experiences we've had mould us, and so long as the good times outnumber the less good we'll keep coming back for more and be thankful that we can. We're not short of role models. Like Marco Olmo winning the UTMB outright at 59. Joe Brown and Chris Bonington climbing in their seventies better than I ever did at any age. Joss Naylor seemingly running on forever.

These are the superstars of course, but less well known and often even more inspirational stories abound. In 1977 I was prompted to start a climbing diary (which I still keep up) by reading an article in the old "Climber and Rambler" magazine about a guy called Ivan Waller, who "had kept a meticulously accurate climbing diary since 1923" and at the time was still climbing. I kept the diary but didn't come across any other reference to Ivan until many years later when I browsed then bought a little book by Ronald Turnbull called "The Book of the Bivvy", which contains the following passage:

Once there was a man called Ivan Waller. In 1931 he climbed behind Colin Kirkus on a seriously overhanging route called Mickledore Grooves in the days when falling off generally meant death, or severe injury if you were really lucky.

What happens to mountaineers as they get older? They just turn into older mountaineers. At the age of 70 Ivan turned to the Munros and climbed 140 of them in two years to become Munroist number 207. Three years later he backpacked across Scotland in the Ultimate Challenge event. Still in his seventies he completed the 45 mile walk of the Lakeland 3000ft peaks in a day, and climbed Tower Ridge in winter conditions without causing the slightest anxiety to my cousin, who was his companion. He also traversed the Cuillin Ridge twice, the second time escorting an older companion. He considered the Corbetts: "This may be beyond my span because I still have more than 160 to do at 81 years of age - but a man can try".

Way to go. I'll now put this subject away until August 2011.

Lakeland not quite 100

2010-07-27T01:18:00.000+01:00

At 2.26am yesterday morning I called it a day (or I suppose more accurately a night) on the Lakeland 100. I had been out nearly 33 hours, covered 88 miles, and more than 20,000 of the 23,000 feet of climbing involved in the event. So near, devastatingly disappointing.............well, actually no. I was neither injured nor ill, I had made a few mistakes along the way but they probably wouldn't have affected the outcome, I just reached a point where I was simply too tired to make any further progress. A couple of hours sleep could have (and subsequently did) put me right, but I didn't have enough time left on the clock for that solution, so I stopped. No hard feelings, it was a good adventure and I learned a lot. One up to the mountains but I'm nothing if not persistent, I'll be back.

Even though I had checked out around 80% of the ground before, I still didn't realise what an inspiring course this is when you put it all together, taking in almost every valley in the Lake District in a great meandering loop following many of the age-old pass routes and from which you could see every major lake except Thirlmere if it was daylight! There are 15 checkpoints in the valleys with no great distances between them (the longest stretch is barely 10 miles) but of course this means there are15+ climbs of varying difficulty. Starting at Coniston, the first 5 stages to Braithwaite follow rough mountain tracks with often tricky navigation, half of which are taken in the dark. Three gentler stages on tracks kinder to the feet, but still with over 4000ft of climbing between them, lead to the main "half way" checkpoint at Dalemain (60 miles). From there the easiest stage leads in 7 miles to the last major climb, after which the navigation problems should be over but darkness will be approaching again and a series of shorter climbs on easier but still stony tracks gets you to the finish back in Coniston. It's a tough outing, with a cut-off time at the finish of 40 hours. Of the 123 starters this year, 70 won through to the end, the highest percentage ever. Stuart Mills' win in just over 24 hours was a class performance, only 11 finishers made it in under 30 hours, 16 got home in the last two hours. So how was my trip?

Well we were set on our way by the legendary Joss Naylor at 5.30 on Friday evening in unexpected sunshine, to tackle immediately the 2000ft of ascent over the Walna Scar pass. Everyone at my end of the field walked the ups and we passed and repassed each other chatting with the enthusiasm of the start. At the top, the views over to Sca Fell and the other central fells were stunning in the evening sunshine. Down the other side was a wonderfully runnable blast and I reached the Seathwaite checkpoint (6.4 miles) at 7.15. The next stage over to Boot in Eskdale was again under 7 miles and barely 1000ft of up, but over some of the worst tracks on the course, bogs, boulders, bracken and tree-roots. Everyone got wet feet here, and if you didn't carry spare socks they stayed wet until Dalemain, 40-odd miles further on. The last mile or so were on good tracks down the Esk valley and jogging I caught up with some competitors walking. Come on guys, there's plenty of ground ahead that you can't run, make the most of it here - two came with me who turned out to be Barry and David who had come up from, wait for it, Suffolk to do the race ("We don't train on hills, we don't have any"). We jogged into the Boot checkpoint at 8.48, and the routine for me at least was now established. Quick drink (tea if possible, water otherwise), a bite to eat, top up water bottle, get any gear for next section (headlamp and jacket this time, we expected it to get dark and then cold) then out. But this was still taking rather too long - 10 minutes here.

Barry and David decided to stick with me for a bit as they neither knew the course nor had a GPS, so we set out onto the moor. The three miles and 900ft up to the high point just beyond Burnmoor Tarn were easy - it was just light enough to follow the track on mostly springy grass, and the hill was long and gentle. The two miles down to Wasdale Head were a different deal; we finally had to put on our torches to avoid holes and boulders, and the way down becomes steeper and very rocky, with recent rain turning the track into a stream. When we reached the Wasdale checkpoint at 11.05pm it already seemed like a lot of work had gone in to get a total of eighteen and a half miles on the clock. On the plus side the night was clear and dry, even warm so jackets had come off again fairly quickly. Another 10 minute stop at Wasdale saw us out to face the most continuously strenuous section of the route, the two stages over to Braithwaite. We had picked up another David ("Dave") by now so our little team of four made our way steadily up Black Sail Pass. This is beautifully engineered to combat erosion on this side so although fairly steep the climb is not too bad. The descent down the other side is just the opposite; difficult enough in daylight it becomes very trying at night. Stony zig-zags, bits of grassy trod, little rock steps, the sort of ground where you never take exactly the same line twice. Are you sure this is the right way my new East Anglian friends asked several times, especially at the little rocky scoop which was one of my remembered landmarks, but I'd been there twice before and was happy. A quick check on the direction to find the footbridge at the bottom (the embryonic River Liza is quite deep and fast even up here) and we were down and along to the famous Black Sail youth hostel, fast asleep in the middle of nowhere. The climb back up to Scarth Gap to complete the 2400ft of climb for the stage seemed easy, the bouldery descent to Butteremere lake less so and we were glad to hit the undulating lakeside track, the first easily runnable ground for miles. We jogged steadily the length of the lake, around its end, and up through the sleeping village of Buttermere into a warm hall, to be greeted by friendly faces and mushroom soup.

The next stage to Braithwaite has better ground underfoot but does all its 2500ft of climbing in one go, following narrow traversing trods for over 4 miles. Two critical turnings must not be missed and in spite of the fine night I used the GPS to make sure. The reward is that once you have reached the high point at another Sail Pass (though not Black this time), it's downhill all the way to Braithwaite and most of it runnable. We rolled into the checkpoint (33.9 miles) at 4.36am, and I was relieved to have got the toughest third of the course done in a reasonable time (I was aiming for around 5am) and still feeling good. This point had the first hot meals and we tucked into pasta and tea for breakfast, but again stayed too long, nearly 30 minutes.

It was light as we left Braithwaite. Dave had stayed on longer but David and Barry were still in the game as we followed two longish stages (16 miles total) first to Blencathra Centre then Dockray, with runnable tracks and steady gradients. The last three miles of the "Old Coach Road" to Dockray felt a bit Lairig-Mor-like, with the track winding visibly into the distance for miles ahead. David struggled at times but normally caught up if Barry and I waited a bit, then seemed to get stronger again. A final 10 miles, through woods, climbing to a wonderful balcony track through the bracken high above Ullswater, then fields and a mile or two of country lane, led us to the 60 mile point at Dalemain at 1.38pm. Here we could pick up our drop bags and luxuriate in dry socks and shirts, before taking in some more pasta, rice pudding, and of course the magic tea. The "Lakeland 50", a simultaneous event, started from here at 12.30pm, first doing a local 4 mile loop and then heading out on the same route as us for the final 44 miles to Coniston; because of the timings we would be catching the slower runners on the 50 from here on. Both David and Barry had very sore feet, but by the time I said I was ready to go they were up for it so we headed out again together. I had agreed with them that we wouldn't run again because we had time to walk to the finish, but even then I sort of wished I had run a bit more in the earlier stages.

The next stage is very easy, pleasantly through nearly flat fields alongside the River Eamon to Pooley Bridge, then a gentle climb of around 500ft or so on a good track to the Cockpit right at the Northern end of the High Street range, and an equally gentle descent over the next few miles back to the edge of Ullswater at Howtown. As we were going up the hill we were caught by John Vernon, who we had seen on and off at checkpoints since pretty well the start of the race, but who up until then was travelling with another two or three runners. He told us they had suggested he pushed on as he was going stronger than they were. Now I've been aware of John for a while, and even met him without realising it on the Hardmoors 55, when he was running the Bloworth Crossing checkpoint, holed up in his tiny tent against the elements in what was on that particular day a very bleak location. He is a very experienced ultra runner (7 West Highland Ways, 9 Fellsmans - or should that be Fellsmen, UTMB, you get the picture) and also a fellow climber, so we chatted away as you do when you have had some similar experiences but never met before. A mile or two before Howtown I noticed that David and Barry were not only not with us but nowhere in sight. I felt a bit responsible because I knew they were nervous about the navigation over to Mardale so I said I would wait a bit, and John stopped too. Before too long, David appeared to say that Barry's feet were now so bad that he couldn't carry on. As they had committed to the event together, David would pull out as well and retire with him at Howtown. We comiserated, he wished us luck and we went our separate ways. They must have gone very slowly to the checkpoint because it is on an out and back leg, and John and I were there for at least ten minutes without seeing them. I didn't see them again but I enjoyed the miles we had spent together; with no hills to train on I think they put in a pretty fine effort to get as far as they did.

John and I left Howtown to tackle one of the biggest hills on the route, 2000ft plus up to High Kop. But perversely it didn't seem too hard because it was on grass nearly all the way, a bit wet at times but not boggy so we made steady progress to the top. The weather had turned by now though. The sunshine of yesterday evening had disappeared into a dull morning, and now it was starting to rain, with the clouds getting lower in all directions. From High Kop to Low Kop it would have been good to run but I was starting to tire and didn't want to blow it so we kept up a good brisk walk over the high ground, then jogged/shambled down through the bracken to the Haweswater reservoir. The route then follows an undulating rocky track along the lake side to Mardale Head, the next checkpoint at 75 miles, which we reached at 7.20pm. It's simply a roadhead here, no buildings and no place to put a tent, the checkpoint was just a landrover but thankfully with a stove in the back, so we had our soup and tea standing in the rain which was now getting a bit more persistent. Hats, gloves, jackets went on and we set out into the gathering gloom.

Of all the climbs on the course, the one I was looking forward to least was this next one from Mardale Head up to Gatescarth Pass. It's only about 1100ft up, on a broad track with no navigation difficulties at all, but it's steep, rocky, and I had reccied it on a particularly bleak day in November last year, since when it had obviously grown some in my mind; I was pleased to reach the top, and I knew that there were no climbs as big as this still to come. It was cold and wet descending, John stopped to put on overtrousers, so we made our separate ways down to Sadgill, agreeing at the bottom that Longsleddale had been, well..... long. There is a short ascent from Sadgill at the end of Longsleddale over to Kentmere. It's on the now ubiquitous rocky track (we passed a landrover going up that looked as if he was going to fail), barely 500ft of ascent, but I had forgotten about it so wasn't expecting it and found it very hard. Even going down the far side I was lagging 20 or 30 yards behind John, and admitted that I was struggling. For the first time on the course I started to feel queasy, probably as a result of the amount of jarring rocky descent we had done, something I needed to sort out. I determined to put things right at the next checkpoint. We checked into the warm, welcoming glow of Kentmere Institute (81 miles) at 10.13pm, just as it went dark. I told John that I would be a while and that he should push on when he was ready.

I had a cup of tea with a couple of Succeed electrolyte caps (I had been taking these pretty regularly all through the race but felt a boost might be required), took my shoes off, changed my wet shirt for a dry one and lay down on a bench to doze for 15 minutes. I'm not sure if I actually went to sleep, but I came round feeling a lot better. There was pasta with tomato sauce on offer so I had a bowl of this and another two cups of tea. I wasn't 100% (well who is after 80 miles?) but I could definitely go on. Just as I was putting my shoes on I was surprised to see John standing in front of me; he too had meant to lie down for just a few minutes but then went to sleep for half an hour! We were back in business and set out for the next obstacle, the Garburn Pass. This rises about 900ft up, yes you've got it, a rocky track, along a flat bit at the top with man-sized puddles to be avoided, then a similar height drop down to Troutbeck on probably the rockiest track of this second half of the route. For the first time it got misty and although the track was obvious some of the puddles almost took us by surprise. But we were going well, we knew which forks in the track to take without bothering with map or roadbook, and Troutbeck showed up below us fairly soon. We coasted down to the road, then down again over the bridge.

It was on the climb up the road through the village that I first realised I was struggling again. From the bridge at Troutbeck to the highpoint en route to Ambleside the route rises no more than 400ft. My legs felt fine; my stomach felt OK; it was just that putting one foot in front of the other just felt so.......hard. John was now ahead and I concentrated on blanking everything else out and staying with him. But now he was 10 yards ahead. Half a mile later he was 20 yards ahead. I couldn't hold the gap. By High Skelgyll Farm, a couple of miles from Ambleside it was 30 or 40 yards. John held a gate for me; I said I wasn't sure I could get beyond Ambleside, he was strong, he should definitely push on. He had completed the course last year but in 20 minutes over the 40 hours, I knew he could get inside the time from here, so off he went. In the two miles after we parted he gained 17 minutes on me, by the time I got down to Ambleside I knew my race was run. I had covered the last two miles down hill at slower than two miles an hour. From the time I walked into the Lakes Runner shop checkpoint, I had just seven hours to cover the 16 miles to the end. There were three climbs to come, not big, not bad, but enough. With an hour or two's sleep in the warm first I might do it, without I had no chance. It was an easy decision.

Dozing in the shop, waiting for a lift back to Coniston I was conscious of some of the organisation's side of the race. Where was this runner, had so-and-so reached this checkpoint yet? A telephone call from a runner who had lost the track between Kentmere and Troutbeck and was out on a fellside somewhere, he didn't know where. This is the stuff we don't normally see, the race director and his team are the real heroes of the event. A minibus picked up two retirees from the Lakeland 50 and me, collected another from the Chapel Stile checkpoint, and dropped us back to the camping field by the school in Coniston. I didn't have the energy for a shower, but crawled into my sleeping bag in the car and passed out. A couple of hours later I was awake and feeling fine, able to sort myself out. I wandered across to the finish in time to meet John, just finished in an hour under the time limit. The man knows how to do it. I got in the car and drove home, in time for Sunday lunch with Jan and our daughter Julia visiting from Reading for the weekend. Last night I slept well.

I learned a lot; on the encouraging side I know this is a great event and will become a classic, of course I'll be back; I now seem to know how to manage my eating and drinking to avoid getting sick; I know that barring accidents my legs seem to be able to go on forever. On the things to work on, generally I need to stop less at checkpoints as I did in the West Highland Way - I haven't added my total stop time here, it's too frightening; I should worry a bit less about conserving energy and go a bit quicker in the early stages; these two would give me more of a cushion in case I need to take a real rest later on, because one major thing I have learned from both the Lakeland 100 and the Heart of Scotland is that somewhere between 30 and 35 hours is the longest I can do without sleep and remain effective.

Above all, I had another experience that I won't forget, in countryside that we are so lucky to have in our small island, in the company of the only people who understand what it's like to do what we do. DNF? No, just a training run for next time.

The Same Mistakes Again

2010-07-19T22:51:00.000+01:00

Doing exactly the same thing again and expecting a different result is madness (Einstein I think). But we do it.

In my first year of ultra running I developed Plantar Fasciitis. If you're aware of this condition you'll need no further explanation, but for those who have not experienced its joys I'll just say that it turns up as a pain under the heel which varies from making running uncomfortable to feeling as if you have upturned drawing pins inside your shoe. The detective work at the time suggested that I probably increased distance too quickly, but it was also clear that trail shoes and long distances over rocky ground didn't suit my style. I had run the 2007 Highland Fling (my first ultra) in trainers, but was then recommended Montrail Hardrocks in which I hammered round 55 miles of the northern section of the Anglesey coast path at a good clip, resulting in not being able to run at all for about four weeks.

I consulted the right people and did the right things, the stretches, the sole rolling, the night splints and so on. The condition never really goes away but so long as I'm careful I have developed a coping strategy, a key plank of which is to wear comfy shoes for running in. In the last three years I've dallied with a few types but always come back to, and now finally settled on, Asics Nimbus road shoes which seem to suit me fine. I must have had a dozen pairs by now. At the end of 50 miles or so my heels are always a bit sore but never bad enough to stop running.

So why tempt fate and change? Well, I've been doing a bit of work on the route of the Lakeland 100 which starts on Friday evening. This is a rocky trail for much of its length, far harder underfoot than say the West Highland Way or the UTMB. I was finding from my training runs that I was getting sore soles from the battering they were taking on the uneven rocky surfaces. A trail shoe would give me better protection....... I looked around and discovered that Asics do a shoe called the Trabuco; it also promised gel in the mid sole so I assumed I would get similar comfort to the Nimbus (I didn't). I bought a pair and tried them out up and down the rocky paths of Snowdon on a wet, wet day 10 days ago. They seemed to do the trick so last Tuesday I went for the last three sections of the Lakeland 100, about 20 miles or so, plenty of up and down and plenty of rocks. When I finished my soles were trouble free. The only problem was that my heels hurt - rather a lot. A couple of recovery runs confirmed it, the PF had returned. What an idiot.

I decided to have at least a week off running until the start of the Lakeland 100 - something that I haven't done this year so far. Half way through the week and I'm not sure that I've detected any improvement yet. I guess the sensible thing would be to pull out, but at my age I think I'm excused being sensible, so I'm sure Friday evening will see me on the start line, equipped with a few pain killers to get me through until something else starts to hurt.

Apart from the foot incompetence, I'm looking forward to the event. The forecast so far is for showers at worst so we may not get the soaking competitors have had in previous years. But it's still going to be the toughest event in my calendar this year, more than 100 miles and over 20,000 feet of ascent to add to the hard going underfoot. I'm targetting about 36 hours, so with a 5.30pm start that means two full nights out. I was pretty tired after 30 hours in the Heart of Scotland earlier this year (falling asleep tired rather than can't walk any further tired) so I'm contemplating whether I need a few minutes sleep after 24 hours or so - we'll see how we go.

I'll let you know next week.

WHW 2010 Reflections

2010-07-01T23:01:00.000+01:00

I don't often do this but at this point nearly 2 weeks after the race I thought I might reflect on what went right and wrong for me on the day, and whether I learned anything. John K normally does this sort of recap and they're always interesting. I'd welcome any comments on some of the points I can't quite figure out yet.

Overall

I had a good run, enjoyed it, and was pleased to get under the 24 hours (at last!) but I also came away thinking that I could have done better on the day.

Pacing

I set out a race plan to finish in 23 and a half hours and stuck to it. At only one point was I more than 5 minutes off target (when I got to Auchtertyre 15 minutes faster than I planned in spite of being on time at Beinn Glas). It was a conservative plan, one I knew that barring accidents I could keep to, and I built a lot of spare time into the sections from Kingshouse to the end - but I ended up using all the time anyway. I've always gone slowly over this last twenty miles or so, and I can well remember from the days when I was a factory production manager being told frequently by my planner "you can only plan to known performance, not hopes or aspirations", but I can't help feeling that a more aspirational plan might have pushed me along a bit more. My biggest frustration was walking all the runnable ground between Kinlochleven and the end - 9 or 10 miles. Running this at any pace would have saved me at least 30 minutes, so I need to find a way to access this. I may still be putting in too much effort on non-runnable ground early on, but I suspect I ran out of steam late on due to nutrition or hydration issues.

Aches and Pains

I get a few of these as everyone does, but compared with the issues that some runners get I seem to be really lucky here. Walking around on Sunday morning was fine (I went for a walk with Jan up the last couple of miles of the WHW on the Sunday afternoon). Took things easy for a week after (10 -15 easy miles total) but had a biggish day in the Lakes last Tuesday and now back into the swing of things.

Equipment and stuff

The dry day made choices really easy. I wore one pair of trainers (Asics Nimbus) and one pair of socks (Falke) from start to finish. I chose to start in a long-sleeved shirt and tights because in previous years the midges were a problem, but as they were almost non-existent this year shorts would have been OK. The only thing I changed was into a short-sleeved top at Auchtertyre, then back again at Glencoe. I found the "Foreign Legion" style hat (essential for UTMB attempts!) useful in the sunnier parts of the day, but the weather was never really hot. I have normally carried a rucksac the whole way, this year I ditched it at Rowardennan and I never carried more than a half litre of fluid after that. It would be great to travel light the whole way but it seems unreasonable not to let your crew have some sleep on the first night so I normally carry enough liquid to see me through to Rowardennan. If my track record of finishing earlier on the second night holds good, maybe I can negotiate on this next year!

Hydration and Nutrition

I've learnt a lot over the past few years, but I'm sure I still don't get this right. I used to get a bit paranoid about not eating/drinking enough, but there is some good reading about this around now (eg look at the UTMB site), and the wisdom these days seems to be

- drink to thirst

- although you will burn at least 100 calories a mile, so long as you put back 100 calories an hour you will survive.

The problem I have with the first of these is that I rarely get thirsty, so if I didn't work on some sort of preset pattern I probably wouldn't bother to drink at all. What I have been doing in recent races is to drink a litre every 4 hours, ie 250ml once an hour, plus a "bonus" of a cup of tea whenever I can get one. I tend to start on coke, then move through ginger beer to water in the closing stages. In this year's race I drank a total of 6,5 litres

- 3,50 litres up to Auchtertyre (50 miles, 11,5 hours) weight loss zero

- 2,75 litres Auchtertyre to Kinlochleven (31 miles, 7,5 hours) weight loss 2kg

- 0,25 litres Kinlochleven to the end (14 miles, 4,5 hours) weight loss 2kg

I lost my appetite for eating/drinking round about the Devil's Staircase. The weight loss figures suggest that I didn't drink enough in the later stages, but maybe I should have been drinking more earlier too. The figures suggest I should be going for a litre every 3 hours in this type of race - adjusting to the effort seems to be important as I drank at a litre every 4 hours throughout the Heart of Scotland and finished feeling tired but constitutionally quite strong after nearly 31 hours, but at a slower overall pace. I would be interested to know what rates other people drink at.

I took Succeed Cap every two hours. Other runners I talked to afterwards took them more frequently. I felt nauseous coming into Kinlochleven (sure sign of electrolyte imbalance) but I guess by then the damage was done, I should have taken them more often from the start, or at least after the day warmed up a bit.

I consumed a total of 4000 calories during the race (coke, ginger beer, milk shakes, rice puddings, custards, bananas, soup, sausage rolls, marmalade sandwich, and 11 Gu gels) but again it was front end weighted (2600 before Auchtertyre, 1400 after) - I guess this is fairly inevitable. I had a pretty good appetite up to Glencoe but I'm wary of eating too much at one go as this has caught me out in the past - you have to walk too long afterwards to digest it. I guess if my hydration was better over the closing stages I would have been able to eat more then as well.

So the main thing I think I really need to address here is hydration and electrolyte tablets - increase intake by somewhere between a third and a half as much again - problem is training doesn't give you any realistic feedback on this, I'll have to wait for the next long race to try it out.

In Conclusion

This analysis was a bit too much of a technical exercise for me (not what I go running for) and I probably won't do it again for a while. But I think it's been useful and I've come to the conclusion that while I'm happy with the way I plan my races (aim to run as much of the easily runnable ground as possible and don't bother about the rest), to get the best execution I probably need to pay better attention to hydration/electrolytes to be able to carry on later in the race.

Enough of this stuff, time to get out and do a few hills before the Lakeland 100......