Not Running at the Lakeland 100

Looking back last summer I realised that I had been involved in running one or other of the Lakeland 100 or 50 races every year since 2010.  I knew I had other things on this year that would have to interrupt this sequence but it's always such a good weekend that I decided that I would stay involved by joining the marshalling team.

After volunteering, we were asked if anyone would like to help out with the ''official'' recces of the course as well, so I signed up for those too. During the year running up to the race there were four of these, the normal format being some relevant talks on the Saturday evening followed by a recce of part of the course on the Sunday, including a bus from the finish to the start and regular checkpoints providing water and snacks. We covered Coniston to Buttermere, Buttermere to Dalemain, and Dalemain (or rather Pooley Bridge just down the road) to Ambleside in this way. The fourth recce to complete the Lakeland 100 loop was a bit different in that the talks were on the Saturday afternoon followed by a run from Ambleside to Coniston in the evening, giving runners a chance to practice their night running and navigating skills! I ran as ''sweeper'' on all four recces, running at the back to make sure everyone was accounted for as we passed through each checkpoint and off the course at the finish. I really enjoyed these days out. Not too taxing from a pace point of view but always a good outing on a section of this beautiful course, time on the feet to add to the training, and I met lots of interesting people through the year.

I also got to meet some of the key people in the Lakeland team, Marc, Terry, Chris and Jo, who were always there at the recces, Marc contributing to the talks in his inimitable way (if you've been to a briefing or presentation at the events in July, you'll know his style!) and the others more involved in organising the run itself. Whether this helped or not I don't know, but when the rota came out for marshalling duties during this year's events, I seemed to have got some pretty nice jobs, all based in Coniston.

Turning up just before 9am on the Friday morning, we were issued with our badges and nice yellow teeshirts then were quickly engaged in competitor registration. Everyone had a nominal job, mine was checking photo ID's and phone numbers, but we tended do go where the pressure was and I spent most of my time on the kit check station.

Now this is generally good fun all round for both checkers and competitors. The style varies from race to race of course, I once turned up to one of the early Tour de Helvellyn runs when there was clearly going to be knee-deep snow over a lot of the course; my kit was checked just before the start by the RD Joe Faulkner who looked me up and down, then at my bag, then said  ''That looks big enough, you'll be OK'' and I was on my way. A man with experience. But we amateurs at the Lakeland had specific instructions on exactly what would pass and what wouldn't. Most competitors had read the kit list well enough so there weren't too many debates, although the guy across the room did a fairly good trade selling waterproof trousers and first aid kits (the things we never use, or I suppose more accurately the things we probably need only once..........but then we do need them!)

What was interesting from my side was how different competitors presented their kit. The old hands came with everything unpacked in a carrier bag or a plastic box, everything was accessible and the whole deal took seconds before they were away. Next were the people who had all their stuff neatly packed in their running sack and they knew where individual items were so they could be produced fairly quickly then put away again.  And then there were the guys who knew they had everything in there somewhere but couldn't quite remember where it all was........ Quite often, the easiest way was just to say ''Well let's just get everything out then we can work through it as you put it back!''  Tables were strewed, I hope everyone went out with what they came in with! But everyone was pretty relaxed and we only built up an incoming queue at the very busiest times. Kit check went on until about 4pm, though there were enough of us to get a long break each. During my time off I was able to catch up briefly friends who were running the L100 like John Kynaston, Dave Troman, Jonny Rowan, Marco Consani, Jon Steele and others. I also met Mike Churchyard who I had been communicating with on Facebook. Mike's aim was to finish, he wasn't too bothered about the time; he had read my blog from last year ''A Tourist's Guide to the Lakeland 100'' and said he was going to follow my splits.

At 4pm, we quickly cleared the hall of barriers, tables, and clothing racks (when you're a competitor you don't really stop to think that all this is going on in the background) ready for the L100 briefing, after which I was outside to help to try to separate competitors from supporters ready for the start. The start was a good as ever with the now-traditional Nessun Dorma (''None Shall Sleep'' !) sung live, the countdown, then 300 brave competitors cheered off at the start of their adventure. It would be nearly two days before some of them made it back to Coniston. Registration then continued for L50 competitors (over 600 of them altogether this year) until later in the evening, then we had finished for the day and I wandered up to the Black Bull for a welcome pint of Coniston Bluebird. It was quite relaxing camping on the school field without the feeling that there was a race to be run the next day.

A couple of hours final registration time on Saturday morning, then the L50 competitors were off on their fleet of buses to Dalemain. All we had to do after that was clear the hall and get it ready to receive finishers, then I had time off for several hours. It was a beautiful day so I took a bit of time out for a run. I did the ''Coniston Horseshoe''; starting up the track which all the competitors would finish down over the next 24 hours or so led me up to the little col after the ascent from Tilberthwaite, from where a good track leads up the ridge to the summit of Wetherlam. 500ft or so of height is then lost along the continuation ridge, followed by a rough, rocky ascent up a track called the Prison Band to the summit of Swirl How. Gentler running then leads southward over Brim Fell to the final summit of Coniston Old Man.  I decided my knees would not be best served by the direct descent to Coniston so I came down via Goats Hause, then passing under Dow Crag where I've spent many days rock climbing over the last half century, finally joining the Walna Scar Road (which the L100 competitors had gone up the evening before) back down to the town. About 10 miles and 3500ft of ascent  -  a real walk in the park compared with what the L100 and 50 guys were going through, but a nice enough break from the proceedings at Coniston.

My next spell of duty was at the finish line, greeting finishers. I wasn't due to start until 5pm but once I'd had a shower and a bit of a rest I wandered over there anyway, just in time to see Paul Tierny winning the L100 race. He stopped at the finish line, crouching and dripping sweat for a few moments, but then looked in remarkably good shape for a man who had just run 105 miles of hills in under 21 hours. About an hour later last year's winner Marco came home in second place; he too looked good  but said he'd found it hard this year.

At 5pm, 23 hours after the L100 competitors had set out, I took over on my first shift at the finish. This is a great job. It needs three to five of you, depending on the volume of finishers coming through, and you have to make sure that every finisher makes their final ''dib'' into the finish counter, then escort them individually from the finish gate the thirty yards or so to the hall, checking that they are basically OK and if there's anything they need immediately, and finally to announce them into the hall as a finisher where they get a good round of applause from the ever-growing crowd inside. A few people finish in a bit of a distressed state, but the most common emotion is the sense of achievement they have at having done the job. Yes they're hurting, sore feet, aching muscles, short of sleep and generally knackered, but elated nonetheless. The finish of these events is a good place to be.

 

I'd hardly got started when Dave Troman arrived, cracking his 24 hour target with plenty of time to spare for a 6th place finish. He looked good but said he'd had a tough time overnight; that's an experience I've had here too, the race is long enough for you to go through extended hard periods and then get through them. A great result for Dave. Jon Steele appeared after getting a lift back from Dalemain; this wasn't a good year for him in the 100 but he was concerned that carrying on when things weren't right would affect his Sparthalon chances later in the year. He was just in time though to see his friend Jayson Cavill come home in first place in the 50, another great performance. Debbie M-C came in an hour later to claim 2nd lady place, and before long there was a steady stream of both 50 and 100 finishers. As darkness approached we got busier and busier. Around the 9 or 10pm mark we started to see one or two competitors who were very near the point of collapse when they crossed the finish line and needed looking after carefully through to the hall. We speculated afterwards that these were mostly good runners who had the mental strength to push themselves right to to their limits, because later, as time went on and runners were finishing at a slower overall pace we saw hardly any of this effect.

 

I was due to finish at 11pm but I'd been watching John Kynaston's splits and I knew he would be in before his midnight target. John and I have known each other since we both started running ultras around eight years ago, and although we rarely meet more than three or four times a year we follow each other's progress with interest. When John last ran the L100 he had a really tough time with foot pain over the last 30 miles or so and finished in around 33 hours (a time I personally would be over the moon with!). I was in the 50 that year, having one of my best days ever to finish in just under 10 hours, and I passed John just over the top of Gatesgarth Pass. But this year he had trained really well and had a good race plan, and was determined to finish in under 30 hours. It was now clear that he was going to make it, and he came home with around half an hour to spare, looking tired but otherwise in good shape and justifiably well-pleased with his trip. It was good to be there to congratulate him at the finish.

 

I went off for a bit of sleep at around midnight and was back at 5am. I didn't have to wait long to see Nick Ham, resplendent in pink tutu, finish his 5th Lakeland 100. Shortly after him, Jonny Rowan arrived to complete his first. A steady stream of finishers came in all through the morning. Just before 9 o'clock I started to look out for Mike Chuchyard; I had followed his splits all through the race (apart from when I had been asleep) and it looked like his plan was working out fine. He soon showed up, with an overall time of 39 and a quarter hours, looking absolutely fine and very pleased, a text-book "I'm here to finish" performance, well done Mike!

 

The 40 hour maximum time allowance was due to be up at 11am, and the 24 hours for the 50 at 11.30. Our little finishing line team speculated on what we should do about runners that we knew were still on the course who came in after these times. I said I was sure that finishes had been credited to competitors slightly over these times in the past, but as 11am got nearer I checked with Terry just to be sure. If anyone gets out of Ambleside inside the cutoff and makes it to Coniston then they're a finisher, was his answer. Quite right too! (although I'm not sure if any of us realised at that point the ramifications of this stance on this particular day....)

 

As the 24 hours approached, a big crowd gathered outside the school to watch the final few L50 finishers come in, including 72 years old Donald Kitching in 23:38 and especially 80 years old Harry Thompson in 23.43, both getting a huge round of applause. John Vernon, who is not far off my age and who I had been chatting to on and off throughout the morning, remarked somewhat dryly "less than fifteen years, young man, that's you and me!" as Harry came in.

 

The penultimate  L100 finisher Steve Blythe had already come in safely almost half an hour earlier, in an overall time of 40:03, but we knew there was one more, John Miles, still out on the course. We knew John had left Tiberthwaite half an hour or so after Steve so we thought his arrival must be imminent now. We waited at the finish as the presentation ceremony started in the hall. After a wonderful weekend for weather it was now raining steadily. There were 3 or 4 of us at the finish, now including the Sport Ident guy (whose name I forgot, sorry!) waiting to collect the final "dibber" and the finish station boxes so he could pack up their operation. One of our gang, Helen, said "I'm ready for a bit of exercise, I'll walk up and meet him". An hour later we had not seen John, nor heard from Helen. We started to gather clothes and a bit of gear to go up and look. Then we heard from Helen who had found him off route but was now getting him back on course, still on the far side of the final col. The others were ready to go anyway, so two or three of them went off up the hill to see if they could lend a hand, while I stayed at the finish to let Terry kn ow what was going on when (as soon happened) the pesentations finished and everyone was streaming out of the hall.

 

What had apparently happened was that John had not taken the slight left turn up onto the fell after the climb out of Tilberthwaite, carried straight on and ended up on the wrong side of the valley. An easy mistake, as the party just ahead of me on the night recce would acknowledge after I let them take this direction for fifty yards or so before gently prompting "Are we totally happy about this then, team?"

 

The finish arch had been dismantled and most of the hall returned to its school appearance, but everyone stopped what they were doing to give a warm welcome to the final Lakeland 100 finisher  of 2015, who made his final "dib" 43 hours and 36 minutes after leaving Coniston on Friday evening, and was then presented with his finishers medal by Terry himself.

 

Time to go home. I made a quick round of goodbyes, after a weekend over which I had witnessed some stunning performances, seen some very brave people, met a lot of new friends and thoroughly enjoyed myself. "All right for the recces next year then?" was Terry's parting shot. Is this a lifetime job? But unless something unforseen prevents me, of course I'll be there. After a year or two this event gets under your skin a bit, wouldn't miss it. A few days later we got an email from Chris, thanking all the marshalls for their contributions and asking if we would like to have a place in one of the races next year, and if so which one? Well, the 50 is a really nice race and I do have other stuff planned a month either side............ but the 100 will always be a real adventure. No contest really then.

Pennine 39

The Pennine 39 is the latest event to be added to Joe Faulkner and his Nav4 team's portfolio of challenging but ultimately laid-back days out. If you've done the Tour de Helvellyn or one of the others you'll know the form; turn up, register with a minimum of fuss, get out in the hills for a day and finish at a nice indoor venue with some good food and chat to round things off.

The idea of this particular event is to run one of the most spectacular sections of the Pennine Way from Middleton-in-Teesdale to Alston. This takes in the upper Tees valley with Low Force, High Force and Cauldron Snout waterfalls, then goes west over the watershed to High Cup, down to Dufton, then back over Knock, Great Dun and Cross Fells, down to Garrigill and finally along the South Tyne back to Alston. I had at least two reasons for going along; firstly, every time we drive up to Keswick I look over to Cross Fell with the thought ''must get up there one of these days'', and secondly, having signed up for next year's Spine race, the opportunity to cover even a little bit of the ground with no logistical problems was too good to miss.

The inaugural running was last Saturday and with the event base at Alston YHA, less than an hour's drive from Keswick, not much of an early start was required to get over there for a 7.30 check-in and 8.00 bus down to the start. Joe had arranged for the start to be a couple of miles upstream from Middleton, just below Low Force, so it was actually more like the Pennine 37, but as that doesn't really have the same ring to it we'll forgive him that. There were I think 27 of us there for the day; the majority were taking the route described above, but a few had opted for an easier day out on the ''Pennine 26'' option which was to take a route northwards from Cauldron Snout direct to Garrigill, missing out High Cup, Dufton, and the Cross Fell sections  -  this was the ''escape route'' taken by the later Spine competitors this year in the face of some fairly extreme weather on the day. For us however the forecast was for a dry day, dull at first but improving later, but still with the strong westerly winds that had been with us for a day or two  (driving out of Keswick early Saturday morning there were bits of trees over most of the roads, though nothing major had come down).

We were away at 9.00 and although runners were visible ahead and behind for the first three or four miles, with such a small field we rapidly spread out and I'm sure that unless people stayed together by design, most of us will have spent the day out of sight of anyone else in the event. My plan was to run conservatively but to run as much ground as I could, even if this meant running quite slowly at times. I had decided that I had spent too much time over the past year or so walking all the uphills, and in these shorter events there's really no reason for it.

It was an easy track along the Tees, gradually uphill but with no severe gradients, all run/joggable and plenty to look at so it seemed to go quite quickly. High Force was heard rather than seen because of the trees along the riverbank, but not so Cauldron Snout which requires a steep  but easy scramble up a rocky hillside not far above the water. At the top, by the bridge which would see us say goodbye to the Tees and about 8 miles or so from the start, was the first checkpoint manned by Joe himself.  Behind him was the substantial dam wall of Cow Green reservoir, but that's all you can see from here as the water is way above you. We'd only really started so I didn't need any supplies, I just thanked him for a couple of sweets and carried on.

From Cauldron Snout to Dufton the route goes due west for 8 or 9 miles, and as there is virtually no shelter as you cross the ''spine'' of England we had a headwind all the way, probably around 25/30 miles an hour with gusts up to 40 or so. It was hard work but I managed to keep running (''you call that running?!'') for most of the way. The route initially follows a farm road to Birkdale Farm, about which my Pennine Way guidebook (purchased shortly after the Spine entry!) says ''.....you can't help but be struck by the homestead's strikingly remote location. Said to be the highest occupied farmhouse in England it makes Emily Bronte's Withins Heights (further south on the Pennine Way) look like a shed at the back of the garden''.  Shortly after here I caught up with another runner who was walking the uphills. We chatted a bit then as I was trying to keep running I pressed on. The route followed a gravelled shooting road climbing gradually for quite a long way, then cut off left onto a grassy track across the moor. The key to the next bit is apparently to find the footbridge across Maize Beck which is a reasonable barrier at this point; easily done in clear daylight, I wondered how how it would feel in the dark with maybe a foot of snow on the ground.

After the bridge the grassy track kept climbing gently and easily but the wind was still a bit debilitating, then the spectacular valley of High Cup suddenly appeared on the left. Around the rim then it was downhill all the way to Dufton and Checkpoint 2. Warm sunshine greeted me in the village, almost no wind, a different world from twenty minutes earlier. A welcome cup of tea, some nice flapjacks, thanks to the marshalls then off we go again. The checkpoint was a street or two off the Pennine Way so first job was to get back on it. At the bottom end of the village I caught another runner with the same problem. After a minute or two we found the access track but it was a bit of food for thought  -  the Pennine Way is relatively easy to follow over the open ground on the hills, but in the agricultural areas with a wealth of sturdy drystone walls and in and around the villages it is much less obvious.

 

From Dufton over to Garrigill is fifteen miles or so and the only buildings en route are the radar tracking station on Great Dun Fell and Gregs Hut just beyond the summit of Cross Fell  -  a fairly lonely stretch. It starts with a steady four miles of uphill to the summit of Knock Fell. Not steep but continuous. As we left Dufton the runner I'd met leaving the village was going a bit faster than me so got ahead, but I just kept jogging steadily and after a while he came back into sight, now walking. I was trying to run as long as possible but eventually the ground was just a bit too steep for me. I was walking a bit faster than the other guy though, so I passed him, telling him he'd catch me up again when the ground got more runnable. In fact though I never saw him or any other runners again until the finish back in Alston.

 

As we gained height the strong wind started making itself felt again, but this time from behind so much less unpleasant. But as soon as the route turned northwards at the top of Knock Fell it hit you from the side and I soon got pretty cold. I hid behind a big cairn to put on jacket, hat and gloves. This three mile northerly stretch over the summits and up to Cross Fell were fairly bleak even in daylight in July. The gusting wind needed balancing against, at one point the track went suddenly behind the leeward side of a rocky outcrop and in the unexpected shelter I immediately fell over. But the ground underfoot was mostly very good, with occasional sections of huge gritstone slabs across the potentially boggy bits. Cross Fell soon turned up, the highest point in the Pennines, with its trig point and rather magnificent cruciform shelter.

 

Joe had warned us not to head directly down  to Gregs Hut (maybe a half mile beyond the summit) as there are "some pretty scary holes up there" so I took the northward line marked on the map with occasional cairns down to a track known as the Corpse Road then followed this east for a few hundred yards to the hut. Gregs Hut is a mountain bothy like you get in Scotland but very well appointed and no doubt a real haven for anyone coming off Cross Fell in bad weather feeling a bit pressed.

 

From the hut, the Corpse Road goes all the way down to Garrigill, a distance of maybe seven miles. I'd seen various reports of its mind-taxing tediousness, but it's mostly down hill with no navigation required, so if you're used to tracks like the Lairig Mor and the Old Coach Road it's really no problem, and I was able to run continuously all the way down to Garrigill and the last checkpoint where two heroic marshalls were looking a bit chilly at their lonely post.

 

From here the route on the map looks like a pleasant finale along the banks of the South Tyne down to Alston. It started off that way, a nice track along a tree-lined riverbank, but after a couple of miles it crossed the river and wandered off up the hillside opposite through fields, often overgrown and with lots of stiles to cross, all of the type where you have to go up a couple of steps on one side of the wall, squeeze through a gap on the top and then down the steps on the other side, all a bit tiring at this stage of the game.

 

But it wasn't many miles back to the finish at Alston YHA, for tea, cake, lasagne and red wine  -  always well supplied these Nav4 events!

 

My watch made it just over eight and a half hours for thirty seven miles and around seven thousand feet of ascent (though I suspect quite an over-estimate in the height gain as the Suunto algorithm doesn't deal with long flat sections very well and there were a number of these on the route). If I can cover the same ground in double that time in January I'll be more than happy. All round, a grand day out.

Half a Dragon

A couple of years ago I read an article in Trail Running magazine entitled "The best DNF you'll ever get". It was about the Tor des Geants, and the author had got about half way before having to pull up, but felt that he'd had a great experience anyway. My Dragon's Back Race went something like that.

The Course

The Dragon's Back is a 5-day stage event run through the mountains of Wales from North to South. Each day has a start, a finish and number of checkpoints that have to be visited in the correct order. In a few places a mandatory line has to be taken, but for the vast majority of the way you are left to figure out your own best route, the rule being that above the fell wall you can go anywhere you wish but below it you have to stick to public rights of way - this year all competitors carried trackers so that transgressors could be spotted (and disqualified if warranted). Up to and including this year, the course has changed slightly each time the race has been run and your map is only issued a few minutes before you start each day, so although you can guess where most of the route might go, detailed route planning can only be done ''on the run''. There is a half way point each day to where you can send a drop bag, and there are cut-off times at this point and at the day's finish. Overnight stops are at a tented base which is usually in a fairly remote location, and moved along each day by the organisation.

What we officially knew about this year's course before the start was as follows:-

Day      Area                                            Miles        Ft of Ascent   Climb rate

  1        Carneddau, Glyderau, Snowdon     30,8            12,539             407

  2        Moelwyns and Rhinogs                   33,7            11,624             345

  3        Cadair Idris, Tarrens, Plynlimon     42,7            12,175             285

  4        Elan Valley                                    40,0             7,455             186

  5        Black Mountains                             35,3             7,586             214

The distances and height gains shown are assuming you find the optimum course and most people will do more. I've put the climb rates in (in average feet of climb per mile) to give an idea of the steepness  -  for comparison, the Bob Graham Round has a climb rate of 409 and the Lakeland 100 a rate of 214.  What you can't quantify is the nature of the ground underfoot, which varies over the whole range from easy jeep tracks to territory where hands are needed frequently and progression at one mile per hour is an achievement.

Preparation and Strategy

I had done a lot of miles and a lot of feet of ascent in the six months before the race. Most were walked or jogged because I was still fearful that running at any speed would bring back the calf injury that had plagued me for 18 months (any attempts to run uphill soon brought on some discomfort); but my strategy was to jog the downhills and walk almost everything else so I hoped this preparation would be good enough. I had reccied what I guessed would be the course for the first three days, reasoning that if I got that far, my navigation and decision making would be good enough to get me  through the ''easier'' final two. I was determined to go slowly enough to eat plenty as I went along and finish each day feeeling good  -  well, good enough to have a good meal and an effective rest, so that I could begin the next day with confidence. ''Plan to finish, nothing more''. I assumed that I would be out on the course for around 15 hours a day.

The Race - Day 1

The race began on Monday morning the 22nd June at Conwy Castle, amid a welcome from the Mayor of Conwy and a male voice choir. We were given our Day 1 maps ten minutes before the start; true to his promise, Race Director Shane Ohly had made it easier than on the last running when all the Welsh 3000'ers were included, this time we would omit the outliers of Yr Elen, Y Garn and Elidir Fawr. But a little ''aperitif'' had been added in that the first checkpoint was now at the top of Conwy Mountain rather than straight up the track to the Sychnant Pass, and there was also a bit of a sting in the tail. At 7am around 130 hopeful competitors jogged along the top of the castle walls and out of the town.

The weather forecast for the day was rain at first giving way to fine weather later. As we made our way through the tracks and paths leading up to the top of Conwy Mountain it was typical Snowdonia - grey, windy, and spitting with rain but Checkpoint 1 soon arrived. All the checkpoints were the normal SI ''dibber boxes'', manned only at the halfway and end points each day, all the others were identified by a standard red and white orienteering kite, easy to spot from 50 or a hundred yards away - if you were looking in the right place. I jogged down to Sychnant then began the first steady pull up to Tal-y-Fan. By now, the field was starting to string out and take different lines across the hillside. The top of Tal-y-Fan was in mist, and by the time I reached the dibber there there was no evidence at all of anyone else on the hills. I passed a couple of competitors on the col before Drum which was just out of the mist, climbed up to the checkpoint on Drum, then dipped down for the climb to the first 3000ft hill, Foel Fras. From Drum to the final descent into the Ogwen Valley, visibility over the Carneddau was pretty poor, but I know the area so made good progress over the ground which even for me was runnable in the main. Checkpoints came and went  -  Foel Fras, the ''pile of stones'' top whose name I can never remember, Foel Grach. Other competitors appeared from the gloom from time to time, then disappeared back into it. I have every respect for runners seeing this featureless ground for the first time and navigating it in these conditions. I was quite pleased myself when the dibber on the top of Carnedd Llewellyn turned up as there are quite a few summit-like cairns in this vicinity.

There are more features from here to Carnedd Dafydd so navigation is easier if you're familiar with the terrritory, and a good choice of line can save you some time. A group of 3 or 4 runners spotted me walking on the grass a little to the side of a rocky ridge at one point and asked if I was confident of the way. Hope so, was my reply so they judged that good enough to tag along as far as Ogwen. I would run into Steve, Phil and Jonathan quite a bit over the next couple of days. We found Carnedd Dafydd easily enough then were quickly along to Pen yr Oleu Wen, the last top before Ogwen. I had taken the direct descent off here a few weeks previously so decided to take the extra half mile and save my knees by going down the gentler way to the South of the lake. When we reached the few hundred yards of road leading to the halfway checkpoint at the foot of Tryfan, the others ran off but I decided to stick with my ''no walking unless it's downhill'' strategy and let them go, with the result that by the time I reached the checkpoint they were just setting off again. I got to Ogwen about six and a half hours after leaving Conwy; 18 miles done but all the tough ground still to come.

The mist was at last clearing, leaving a fine day but with a persistent fairly strong cold breeze. The steep climb up Tryfan (2000ft in less than a mile) gave notice of the pleasures to come, and I stopped for a two minute breather and a Mars Bar at the summit checkpoint. It was further hard going to Glyder Fach, first down Tryfan's bouldery ''need your hands every few yards'' South Ridge then up the threadbare scree slope to the left of Bristly Ridge, with the final test of finding the best way up the massive piled boulders that form Glyder Fach's summit. Once off here it was easier though still bouldery terrain along the next mile to Glyder Fawr. There were traces of path at times from here down to Pen-y-Pass over 2000ft lower down, but many line choices possible and you were never quite sure you had the best one. Still two mountain groups down and one to go for the day, at least that was some progress.

From Pen-y-Pass the next item on the agenda was the complete Snowdon Horseshoe, a trip thought by many to be one of the best walks in Wales. Crib Goch looked big as it was now late afternoon, but the 2000ft climb went well enough in under the hour, and again I stopped for a quick breather and something to eat on the summit. I had my only moment of incompetence of the day here. I set off along the ridge and after a couple of hundred yards I suddenly realised I hadn't dibbed the checkpoint at the summit. Annoyed at my lack of concentration I retraced my steps back to the summit only to find there was no dibber box there. A couple of runners appearing from below referred me to the map - the checkpoint was not at the point that is normally thought to be the summit, at the end of the ridge, but at the true high point (a meter or so higher) about two hundred yards further on. I had already been within about twenty yards of it and had not spotted it because I didn't expect it there. Moral - read the map!

The maps we were issued with each day were superb Harvey 1:40,000 ones with all the checkpoints and other key onformation marked on. The only problem was that they were waterproofed with a fairly stiff plastic lamination which made the origami necessary to manage them a bit tricky, so for long periods when I thought I knew where I was going next I would stuff mine in my rucksack  -  not a good plan overall.

On the pinnacles I caught up with a couple more runners, one of whom was Mark who I had met a few weeks earlier out running in Borrowdale. He said he hadn't really been looking forward to the ridge. I told him that now the exposed knife edge was done, once over the pinnacles it would get much less unnerving. I pressed on up the long technical ridge to Carnedd Ugain, then the easy track to Snowdon Summit. There were actually two marshals on the summit in what was by now a very cold wind  -  it was 7pm and they thought they might still have a couple of hours still to go.

Down the steep start of the Watkin path and up the scrambly slopes to Lliwedd was tiring, but as I reached the top I was happy that it was the last major climb of the day. After Lliwedd, the next checkpoint was at Galt y Wennalt at the end of a long undulating ridge. I had never been there before but even near the end of a long day it was a fine place to be and the going was at last starting to get a bit more grassy. Another long leg back across the hillside to the penultimate checkpoint back on the Watkin path about a half a mile up from the valley, then it was just an easy jog down to Nant Gwynant and the overnight stop at the farm campsite. I dibbed the final checkpoint of the day 14 hours and 20 minutes after leaving Conwy. I was tired but in good shape, it had been a good day.

Accommodation was in tents holding 8 people each, with plenty of space for sorting gear and so on, the food was plentiful and excellent and medical attention was available if required. The overnight stops were superbly well organised.

The Race  -  Day 2

You are given a recommended start time for each day based on your previous day's time; the leader always starts last at around 9am, and as I had taken over 12 hours I was in the 6.00 - 6.30am slot.  Actually, how quickly you get away depends on a number of factors such as how big a queue there is for breakfast then how big is the queue to start, because just before the start you are given your map for the day followed by a short briefing on any points to beware of on the course, a process that happens in groups of three or four people at a time. I was away at just about 6.30am.

The day started with (of course) a climb, this time up to Cnicht. A mile of road, followed by a short stretch of traceable path led into an open cwm where everyone that I could see seemed to be taking a different line. I had caught up with Mark as we walked slowly along the road at the start studying our maps, and we were to remain together for most of the day; I chose a slightly higher line than most around us and it seemed to take us with relatively dry feet through the cwm then up right to the South Ridge, where we joined a steep rocky path going directly to the summit. Poles were a big help up the grassy cwm, but were stowed in favour of the occasional handhold on the last bit. It was a cloudless morning and already hot, and it was going to get hotter.

One feature of Day 2 is that there is a lot of scope for taking different routes, some of them miles apart, with no single one the obvious best way. Mark had done the race in 2012 but had not completed every day, I was a newcomer but knew the area better, so we tended to go with whoever seemed to have the better scheme at the time. From Cnicht we could either go along the "walkers" path northwards to pick up the track to Moelwyn Mawr near Llyn yr Adar, or save a mile by dropping directly down some steep grass to the little dam at the head of the Croesor valley and taking on a bit of extra height gain to cut the corner. We chose the latter; it was quicker as faster moving runners who had passed us on the ascent of Cnicht re-passed us on the final slopes to Moelwyn Mawr, but whether it required extra effort I'm not sure. We pulled up the final steep grassy path onto Moelwyn Mawr and into a welcome bit of breeze. Moelwyn Bach came and went but had to be treated as an out-and-back because the checkpoint following the summit was back at the big dam just below the main Moelwyn col. From there it was straight down to the path alongside the Ffestiniog railway at Tanygrisiau.

After an easy mile or so along here the major decision of the day had to be made, whether to pick up the tortuous ground of the Rhinog ridge near its Northern end or to make a detour to the East of the Trawsfynydd lake and go down the road. The latter was maybe 3 miles longer, but because the ground on the northern Moelwyns is so bad and there are no continuous tracks, we still went for it. We weren't alone, a number of other runners came our way including Jez Bragg who loped past while we were on the road section. We had to go up a wet valley and over a col to rejoin the direct route just before the day's halfway support point at the head of Lake Cwm Bychan; we reached it at about 2.45pm, just over an hour before the cutoff time.

The next couple of hours or so over the Rhinogs is possibly the roughest section of the whole Dragon's Back course, so we ate well and set off. The first part up the Roman Steps went easily, then we turned off steeply upwards alongside a wall. The track was narrow and just about traceable but we lost it for a time at half height, then regained it, and worked up to the summit of Rhinog Fawr. On reflection, I made a bad judgement at this point. I had reccied a descent from here, down a scrambly gulley ending up to the West of the col between the two Rhinogs, then taken a spiral route back up Rhinog Fach; I had reasoned that this would give me the option of passing Rhinog Fach to the West if it was not on the route - it had been omitted on the last running of the race. But this year Rhinog Fach was back on the menu. I knew there was a more direct route down to the col and straight up the front of Rhinog Fach; I had never been that way but we chose it anyway. It started well enough but on the second level down from Rhinog Fawr we lost the track and ended up in a hard and frustrating battle with deep heather and boulders down to the col. The track directly back up the other side was easier, but very steep and slow going, so in the end the mile and a half from Rhinog Fawr to Rhinog Fach had taken us nearly two hours. I would for sure have been quicker and used less energy going the way I had reccied. On the plus side, we had now covered the last really technical ground on the whole trip, so it was a bit of a relief to set off down a more "normal" rocky ridge to the next col, and the steep but grassy climb to Y Llethr. Mark and I were with two or three other runners at this point, and I said I was going to take it easier for a while to recover some ''go'' after the Rhinogs and Y Llethr now we were on easier ground, so he pulled ahead with the others.

I met them again at the out and back to Diffwys, the last checkpoint on the ridge, and wished them well. From Diffwys,  the route goes down into a forest and follows tracks through it all the way to the Mawddach estuary near Dolgellau. I had been here before and knew that there was a track leading to the right entry point into the forest that needed to be found, because it was the only one around and took you through some otherwise nasty territory, thigh-deep, heather covered boulders. The only problem was that the path didn't start from the ridge, you had to pick it up lower down. I went slowly and carefully at first, located the track and started to follow it down. A few hundred feet down I caught up with Mark and the others who were just reaching the path having missed the top of it. They were now keen to push on down quickly but I was happy to cruise, reasoning that the climbing for the day was now done and I still had more than enough time to get to the overnight stop just North of Dolgellau in daylight, and I might as well conserve energy for tomorrow.

Down through the forest I jogged the downhills and walked the rest. The track turned into a forest road, then to a narrow tarmac lane, and so on down to the valley floor.

And that should have been that. On my reccie, I had gone straight down to the main road, turned left, and jogged easily along to where the campsite would be in about twenty minutes. But from just above where we would have met the main road, a section of "mandatory course" led off to the left. I had glanced at it earlier and assumed that it would be a section of path parallel to the road, to avoid tired competitors running along the road late in the day. It looked a bit further, maybe 50% more than the road direct, but no problem.

The mandatory section was marked with flags. It went along and up, along and up, along and up, always in trees so you couldn't really see where you were in relation to the valley. It was reminiscent of marked events in the Alps where from time to time you ask yourself "well, where on earth are we going now". After several hundred feet of height gain we eventually started to wend downwards, out onto a road, through a bit of village, then onto a last section of lane that I recognised, over a river bridge and on into the campsite. The detour had taken nearly an hour. I had just about got away without having to pull out the torch, but two hundred yards before the finish a headlight caught me up. It was Steve, who had been fighting the cutoffs all day and was glad to be finishing. We jogged into the finishing tunnel together, welcomed by the cheers from  runners and marshals which was always a feature of the day's end.

Sixteen and a quarter hours for me since the day's start at Nant Gwynant; quite a tough day at the office.

The Race  -  Day 3 

Day 3 was always going to be the crux for me. It had the longest distance (42,7 miles) and at 12,175ft optimum, only around 350ft less height gain than the biggest of those too.  At least three quarters of the height gain was concentrated into the first "half" of the day (actually around 27 miles) which put the rate of climb in this section up to nearly 350ft per mile, and to meet the half way cutoff this section would need to be covered at almost three miles an hour. On the plus side, the ground underfoot was getting much easier, mainly grassy paths and easy jeep tracks with just the occasional stoney section. We would just have to see.

To give myself the best chance I set out as early as I could, about ten past six. It was a sunny morning and looked like it might turn into another fine day. The route led first through some tracks then into and through Dolgellau. After the town a steep and narrow tarmac road enabled height to be gained rapidly before we turned onto the open hillside towards the first checkpoint on Gau Craig, about 2,200ft above the campsite. I thought I was walking steadily but it still took an hour and 50 minutes to reach the top, not really good enough. But from here we followed the Cadair Idris ridge Westward for about seven miles, a great section of the course. There were some climbs of course, including that up to Cadair summit at over 2,900ft, but at easy angles and on good ground. The only downside was that shortly after Gau Craig we went up into cloud and didn't escape it until on the final descent at the end of the ridge. I stayed on the ridge line after Cadair but noticed that the majority of runners took a path down to the south followed by a re-ascent to the col before the final peak Craig y Llyn. I met another runner here, Simon, to whom I said I must have made a bad route choice. He cheered me up by saying that he had reccied both and there wasn't much in it.

At the checkpoint on Craig y Llyn we caught up with a small group of runners sitting in the mist including Steve, Jonathan and Ivan; we had a quick discussion on the best descent then took off down. The largely trackless descent went pretty well, then we ended up in a mile or two of flat farmland, followed by a short climb to a checkpoint, then a descent in a mandatory direction to a main road crossing by the Tal-y-Llyn railway line.  This mandatory line was a bit of a disappointment for me as I had scoped and reccied a much shorter line that also lost quite a bit less height before the next climb, but the rules are the rules as they say. As we followed the short section of road before turning up the next hill, Jez jogged past again.

 

It was clear from here that the support point cutoff was going to be tight. We had around three and a half  hours to despatch the Tarrens; a three mile 2000ft climb with a very steep last 600ft, up to Tarrenhendre, three miles or so of undulating ridge then another hands-on-knees 600ft or so up to Tarren y Gesail, a long descent through a forest known for precipitating navigational glitches and a final road section into, through and out the other side of Machynlleth. We set off strongly up the jeep track. The track was fine, but on the last steep bit I had to travel out of my comfort zone for the first time during the event, it felt hard. I came back again and led our little team quite a lot of the way along the next ridge, but by the steep finale to Tarren y Gesail I was struggling again.

 

We had tacitly agreed by here that things were getting close, and that everyone would try their best to make the cutoff without waiting. The others left me going up the hill, but as it was an out-and-back they didn't seem to be too far ahead at the summit. I dibbed the checkpoint, relieved that there was no more uphill for quite a while and set off down. I concentrated on making the speed that I could rather than remaining comfortable. After a while in the forest I caught up Simon, Jonathan and Ivan, probably by better (or maybe luckier) navigation; Steve had apparently powered on ahead. We continued down together, running until tiredness forced us to walk a few steps. There were a few frustrating uphill sections but eventually we were out onto the road and over the river bridge towards Machynlleth. We had all talked of stopping in town to buy more food, but there wasn't time now we had to press on. Jonathan, Ivan and I eventually made it to the checkpoint seven or eight minutes before it closed. Simon turned up a couple of minutes later, having taken the risk of going into the Co-op on the way, then just before the cutoff a breathless Steve arrived, having taken a different route through the forest.

 

We had to be out of the checkpoint before closure, so it was a quick restock of food from the drop bag, top up with some clean water (most of your water on this event has to be taken from streams along the way), and off. The final stint of the day would be no problem if you were fresh. A climb up onto a ridge, then a long easy track for nearly ten miles along the Gwyndwr's Way and its continuation, undulating but gently to the foot of Plynlimon, a steep but not too lengthy climb then down the other side to the campsite. The trouble was, I needed to get going better again after the effort of making the last cutoff. I set off up the hill with the others but had no go left. I said I would take it easy for a few minutes then speed up so they left me to it. A half hour's steady plodding seemed to make no difference so I sat down for a rest and to eat and drink something, then carried on, not much faster. After a while I looked at my watch; an hour and a half from the last stop I had covered less than two miles. I had barely five left to cover another fourteen, including the climb near the end. It just wasn't going to happen, my race was run. I turned around, wandered slowly back to Machynlleth and got a cab to the finish.

 

The team I had been with made the cutoff at the end of the day with only 15 minutes to spare. I would have been nowhere near that so was happy with my decision as they say "not to trouble the scorer".

 

Reflections

 

I haven't had many DNF's, and have usually been a bit annoyed with myself afterwards  -  things I should have done differently, mistakes made and so on. Not this time. I had a plan that fitted my fitness and carried it out pretty well. It's just that it wasn't enough to see me through to the end. This is not like a non-stop ultra where you can grit your teeth and push on, at least not until the last day. You need to be in a good enough state to get up the next day and do it all over again. I think there must always be some cumulative tiredness effect, but the quicker you can complete each day, the longer you have to recover. If you're out a long time each day, you have to take it easily, and if that speed isn't fast enough to get you round the course then the outcome is inevitable.

 

Having experienced the event now, I would say that for a comfortable trip you need to be capable of getting each day done in around 12-14 hours, which would leave a bit in hand for things not quite going to plan. Each of the first 3 days needs an effort equivalent to about half a Bob Graham Round, survive those and it gets easier  -  but not a lot!

 

A pleasing result is that up to the point I called it a day, my joints and muscles had held up remarkably well, I had had almost no discomfort from them since the start. Having stopped I wanted to keep it that way so I didn't take up the option of starting again on Day 4 as a "non-competitive" participant, which a number of eliminated runners had been doing ever since Day 1.

 

Would I go again?  Well, I always said no, I would be too old next time around, but a couple of things have changed.

 

Firstly, the race is going to be held every two years from now on so the next one is not quite so far away. Could I get the required level of fitness? I don't know, but judging by my performance this year in runs that I have done regularly, such as the Hardmoors 55 and the Highland Fling, I know that I am about an hour off the pace over a twelve hour day compared with the years before I was injured, and that extra fitness might just have made the difference. As I said, I'm not going to dwell on what-ifs but it helps to put the thing into perspective for me.

 

Secondly, Shane said that he is now happy with the course and it won't be changed again unless modifications in the valleys are dictated by landowner changes or pressure. Next time the course will be known in advance, and this makes it an easier project to plan for.

 

So while I still think it extremely unlikely that I will be in better shape in two years time than I am now, I'll keep an open mind and not close the door completely. It's a fantastic, superbly well-organised event, following a compelling journey through beautiful territory. That's what we do this for, isn't it?

 

 

Ninety percent of this game is mental.........and the rest is just in your head.

....... and that's normally only referring to the experience of the event.

I would be surprised if there aren't a few more runners out there like me, for whom the head games going on in the run-up to an event often take almost as much managing as those during the race itself.

It works like this. You enter an event, full of enthusiasm, maybe 6 months or sometimes even a year or more before it is due to take place. The training goes along, maybe specifically for this event, maybe just general stuff because you have a few races on the agenda, but everything seems fine, you're going to be ready. Then, as the event gets closer, a doubt starts to creep into your mind that something is going to prevent you getting to the start line in good enough shape to complete the race. What's interesting is that the level of doubt, and the length of time before the race that it starts, are directly proportional to the investment that you have made in the event  -   in terms of actual cost, preparation time, and emotional need to complete it.

So if it's something like the Belvoir Challenge or the Sandstone Trail Race, say no more than 30 miles or so of gentle ground, no specific training required, twenty quid or thereabouts to enter, just get up in the morning and drive to the start, then no problem. I might feel a bit creaky, or suddenly discover a sore throat the night before, but it's not going to stop me at least going to the start so fairly easy to ignore.

But up the ante a bit, say a 50 miler with some hills, especially if it's one I've done before so have something of a track record to maintain, and things get harder. I can't remember a night before a Highland Fling or Hardmoors 55 when I haven't been treating the bug that I'm sure I caught about a week previously, and taping up all the little niggles that have appeared in the run-up to the race.

Then come the big races, which I've committed myself (and often other people) to spending a lot of time to see through. I've started (separate) West Highland Way Races with plantar fasciitis, shin splints, and knee cartlilege problems that have seen me limping across the car park to check in for the race. I can remember scouring Geneva Airport for flu remedies just before the Tor des Geants, and then going into the race convinced that the inguinal hernia that the surgeon had assured me was almost 100% certain to be OK would suddenly become strangulated on some remote Alpine pass.

 

Of course, once into the race, everything that I was worried about wasn't a problem, ever.

 

As if to rub salt into the wound as it were, I started several events over last summer with a confirmed though recovering injury; and in the run up to these races, when I knew for definite that something actually was wrong, I was completely at ease and confident that I would somehow complete the course. I started the West Highland Way substantially undertrained about 10 weeks after some knee surgery, and the Lakes 10 Peaks (probably the toughest single day event I've ever completed) a week later, and thoroughly enjoyed both.

 

So it's in the head. Problem is, how do you get it out?

 

Things were going well this year. I had the normal colds before the Hardmoors and Fling (actually the latter one was a cold, but I don't think it affected the performance too much), and then I had what was probably my best run of the year so far at the Keswick Festival Ultra. But I came away from that one with a few aches and pains, convinced that I had overdone things a bit. They settled down but left me with a sore right calf, the one that caused me all the problems last year.

 

Now I know I haven't pulled anything, I know what that feels like. I just get aches and twinges, but not particularly related to specific exercises.  I've had longish days like the 28 mile Lakeland 100 recce and steepish days like 7000 odd feet of Munros and felt fine; but sometimes it aches when I walk to the shops. We're now less than a week away from the start of the Dragon's Back, my biggest commitment for the year. Expensive race, very demanding for me, unlikely to get a second chance at this one. Sunday evening after our son and his family had gone home after a lovely weekend in Keswick, I had a last brief outing before putting my feet up for the week; up to Skiddaw summit and back, nice round trip of 11 miles, just short of 3000ft of ascent. Did it hurt when I got back? Well, not a lot....but just enough.

 

So I know, really, that it's in the head....................probably.

 

 

 

 



Guessing Games

Trying to predict the detail of this year's Dragon's Back Race route is an ultimately unproductive pastime, but fun nevertheless.

Last Sunday I did what I had anticipated would be my last substantial run before the race, completing my duties as sweeper on the final "official" Lakeland 100 recce from Pooley Bridge to Ambleside. But the last few people undertaking the trip that day had no plans to travel particularly quickly, so I ended up walking pretty well every step of the 28 miles. I really enjoyed the day, but finished feeling that I hadn't really put in a full shift as it were. I felt a last trip to Wales was called for, so I decided to cover the only bit of Northern DB territory that I haven't already poked into in the past twelve months, the Snowdon massif. But where to go?

Day 1 of the 2012 DB covered all of the Welsh 3000's from East to West. This is an outing that my climbing club used to tackle en masse more or less annually through the 70's and 80's, and more sporadically since. We never felt training to be necessary, it was a sort of "see how fit you are before we go to the Alps" day; most of us made it back to our hut in Llanberis, the athletes taking 10 hours or so and the night shift nearer to 20. So I know the ground a bit. But Day 1 of the 2012 DB was rather harder than this. Starting from Conwy rather than Aber adds on quite a few miles, and the effort needed to cross the additional peaks of Tal y Fan and Drum is rather more than a glance at the map would suggest; the descent of Snowdon's South Ridge at the end of the day presents a tougher challenge for tired legs than a a simple jog down the Llanberis track; and in a final sadistic twist, Race Director Shane Ohly decreed that two tops (Carnedd Llewellyn and Yr Elen) be visited in the wrong order for the easiest traverse in this direction. 

The result of all this was that of around 80 starters, less than 30 completed the 2012 Day 1 as designed, and some of those only with an effort that clearly compromised their performances later in the event. Shane has promised that Day 1 this year will be easier, but how?

Now if I was going to knock a few miles and meters of ascent off the 2012 route, but retain its essence as an elegant journey through the most iconic hills of Snowdonia, I would simply omit the outliers, ie Yr Elen, Y Garn and Elidir Fawr. A descent from Glyder Fawr via the old "red stones" path to Pen y Pass and an ascent of the classic East Ridge of Crib Goch would save the descent to Nant Peris.  Coming off Snowdon via the Watkin would save some energy but as this is nowhere near as fine a path as the South Ridge, I suspect the checkpoint on the Yr Aran col will remain.

The predicted distance and height gain seem to match well enough with this route, so I was quite happy with my detective work until Shane recently mentioned on the website that this year's Day 1 would be "even more technical" than 2012. I'm not sure how this is going to happen, but I could speculate on three areas;

1. Maybe we'll follow the 1992 route off Carnedd Llewellyn, down the scrambly ridge above Craig yr Ysfa. This misses out the two fine peaks of Dafydd and Pen yr Oleu Wen, and the scrambling is no harder than that on Crib Goch, so I suspect not.

2. Maybe the easy paths up Tryfan and/or Glyder Fach will be "out of bounds", forcing us either to long detours or to use of the North Ridge and Bristly Ridge. These are slightly harder than Crib Goch (particularly Bristly) but less exposed. Possible but seems a bit contrived.

3. There is a prominent photo on the website of the North Ridge of Crib Goch, which is a bit pointier than the summit ridge. But this is the obvious and quickest way from Nant Peris to Crib Goch, and as such was the best route to take in 2012 (though reading the reports, it seems quite a few people went a more circuitous way) so would not be a change. 

So I'm none the wiser. It will be interesting to see on the day.

In the end, for my day out today I decided to take the East Ridge to Crib Goch, then along to Garnedd Ugain and Snowdon, and down via the South Ridge. To avoid any logistical faffing with buses I decided start and finish in the same place, so I drove down after breakfast to park by the path end in Nant Gwynant. Up the Watkin to Snowdon summit then down the Miners' Track to Pen y Pass, I was hoping for a lunchtime stop in the cafe there but it was closed.  I hopped across the road to the newly refurbished YHA, now more like a pub as you walk in (I can remember the time when this building actually was a pub),  to a warm welcome, tea and coffee cake.

Easy to sit around longer, but time passes so it was now up the Pyg Track to Bwlch Moch. I hadn't been around this bit of the hill for a while, and the first surprise was a fine pitched path from the Bwlch almost all the way up to the rock barrier. Through the rocks, following the polished rock and crampon scratches as they wend their way improbably upward, then out onto the superb airy rocky staircase to the summit. I always take a time check from Crib Goch summit to the trig point on Garnedd Ugain; the reason is that every time I go along here I'm amazed by the thought that on his record run in 1988, Colin Donnelly covered this ground in the opposite (ie the harder, downward) direction in nine and a half minutes. Today, at a brisk walk, it took me just about 30.

Then back through the crowds for my second visit to Snowdon's top, no point hanging around even though it had turned into a beautiful afternoon by then, down the long South Ridge to the Yr Aran col and finally back to Nant Gwynant. A six hour round trip, but then I'm not practising how to get around this course fast  -  just how to get around beating the cut-offs with minimum energy use! 

That will do I think. A couple of weeks or so to take things easy, shake off my version of the "100 day cold" that seems to have got everyone this year and to rest a still niggly calf, then I hope I'll be good to go.

It's a Date of Birth thing......

This bit of rambling is directed towards, how shall I put it sensitively, the more mature pedestrians out there. So if you're under 60, 50, 40 or whatever your personal definition might be, you may want to stop reading at this point. It's a subject that I try not to think about too much and have avoided posting about so far, but three factors are causing a (I hope temporary) change of heart:

1. I set out this year with a bit of discipline to complete three posts a month and May is in danger of sliding by and spoiling my average unless I can think of something to cover which anyone might find marginally interesting.

2. I'm sitting on an apartment balcony overlooking Loch Rannoch. This morning Jan and I drove over to Kenmore, took a short walk for mutual self-justification purposes then had a great lunch. It's now late afternoon, the sun shining over a view I haven't tired of after 8 years of coming to this place, and I have absolutely no desire to get out and run or walk anywhere.(I started this post yesterday, and of course today as I come back to it, it's raining......but then that's Scotland   -   I'll keep coming back)

3. After the events of the past week or so I probably need to give myself a bit of a talking to, and the message always sticks a lot better if I write it down.

To begin at the beginning. I didn't mean to become a runner, I just took it up at a time when I had some free evenings and no access to the pastimes I had pursued up until then. I ran my first marathon when I was 55 and my first ultra at 58. I didn't expect to do many, it was more of a thing to see if it was possible, tick the box and move on if you like. But as you can see from my comment up on the top right of this page, I found it somewhat addictive. The places you go, the people you meet, and yes, in some ways the sense of achievement you get when you feel you've acquitted yourself fairly well by what for 99% of the population must seem a pretty random yardstick. "You ran a hundred miles? Yes. And finished 67th? Yes. No prizes then? No. A well-known event though, like the London Marathon? Not exactly. But you still feel you had a great run? Yes. Not sure I understand this......"  But those of us who play this game do understand, so since those beginnings I've completed 17 marathons and over 50 ultras. It's part of my life now.

When you start in this sport, no matter how old you are you improve. It's about getting the right sort of fitness for the undertaking and learning how to do things efficiently, not making silly mistakes and so on. I ran my fastest marathon (just under 3 hrs 18 min) when I was 60 and my fastest West Highland Way (as an example of a "running" ultra ,in  22 hrs 23 min) when I was 64. I'm now a couple of months off 67 so I'm sure these were peaks; they're times that I'm not going to see again, natural deterioration accelerates as you get older. But in many ways I was lucky starting late. Runners who started out in their 20's may have to face that they are beyond their peak as they hit their 40's or 50's, maybe even younger.

Understanding that you can no longer do what you once could is in no way traumatic; if you haven't got there yet and fear the day, don't worry. If you enjoy what you do (and no-one can effectively explain why, as I said earlier), then you will continue to enjoy it; and it will  keep you out of the pub (or maybe justify more time in the pub, whichever you prefer), no problem. At present I'm not setting time targets for any of the races I'm participating in, just turning up and enjoying the day. But there are still events that I want to have my go at, some of which will need all of my capabilities and probably a bit of luck if I am to finish them. The Dragon's Back in less than a month's time, and the Spine next January will be as tough as they come for me. And although I said I was done with the UTMB a while ago, after a couple of years away from Chamonix I somehow don't think I'll turn down my guaranteed entry for next August. I'd also like to run at least a couple more West Highland Way races and a Hardmoors 110 which I've somehow never got around to. The just publicised Coast to Coast looks a great trip. Yes, there still are plenty of adventures out there to keep a not-quite-as-fast-as-you-once-were participant pretty enthusiastic about the future.

I've learned over the last year or so how to finish events without being in the sort of shape I would have once thought necessary, so if I'm sensible I have a chance of completing all the ones I've mentioned. But that's the rub of course, the being sensible bit.

Ten days ago I ran a race in the Lake District. Short for an ultra, just 32 miles, but a bit hilly and with the mix of ground you expect for the area.  I ran a couple of long uphills, something I hadn't done for nearly two years  - "walk the uphills" had been my mantra. I hammered down a couple of steep rocky descents, overtaking people all the way, because I still know where to put my feet. It all felt good at the time. But a week later aching knees and sore calves were still making any activity a bit problematic. All so unnecessary. I needed a talking-to about this sort of imprudence.

One of the key things I've learned about getting a bit older is that recovery takes longer. You can't feel totally wrecked of an evening and expect to be up and running as good as new the next morning. In fact you can't expect to feel the least bit well-exercised and be good to go the next day. And just because you can still do something, it doesn't necessarily mean that it's in your longer-term best interests to prove it too regularly. So I've written myself a brief set of rules which I hope will, in the words of the old dog food advert, prolong active life........

Training

1. Don't run on two consecutive days. Walking on the other days is OK.

2. Eight minute miles is fast enough. Anything faster leads to pulling things.

3. Stretch every day.

4. Walking in the hills is really good for you; just don't feel you have to travel fast every step of the way.

5. Finish each day knowing you could do the same tomorrow, even if you're not going to.

Racing (well, participating)

6. Plan a time to finish in good shape. Finishing faster and wrecked is failure.

7. Walk all the uphills; the cut-off times allow for this and running uphill is the quickest way possible to run the tank empty.

8. Take technical downhills gently. There are no new knees.

9. Go at a pace where eating is a treat to be anticipated rather than a fuel intake to be managed.

10. Fix any discomfort immediately. You have the time.

So not a long list, and certainly not a list that a runner a few years younger would ascribe to  -  nothing about pushing your limits and getting your best possible performance here! But hopefully, getting these rules in my head will help me play this game for quite a few years yet. That's the plan.