Off to Scotland again

I've just been reading the reports and looking at the photos of the Cateran Trail race. It looks a great day out so maybe I'll be there next year. But we seem to be wearing a groove up the M6 these days and I'm just booking my car in for its 130,000 mile service so perhaps the maybe will stay a maybe. Anyway we're off on Friday for a week in our timeshare place in Kinloch Rannoch - sounds grand but really just a bedsit with a conservatory and a great view out over the loch. And as fortune would have it Kinloch Rannoch is the main halfway checkpoint on the Long Distance Walkers Association's "Heart of Scotland" 100 mile event this year, starting a week on Saturday, so of course I'm staying on a few days to give it a go.  Then a short 3 weeks later we're back for the West Highland Way Race. Carry on like this and I'll have to emigrate.

May's been a funny month so far, a bit up and down. After an enjoyable run in the Highland Fling race I had a sensible week of about 35 miles, with nothing longer than 15 and all pretty slow. Then I picked up some sort of cold-type virus and didn't run for a week. The following week I felt a bit better, and we were going to a friends' house in the Lakes for 4 days, so I spent some time walking fairly sedately up hills and jogging down, resulting in just over 60 rewarding miles, but returning home for a "proper" 5 mile run seemed to put me back to square one again. Another few days frustrating inactivity and I went to the doctor, resulting in a confirmation of no chest problems so I can go out and play again and a weeks worth of antibiotics in case it's an infection. I'm hoping to get running again tomorrow or the next day.  But these things happen, you just have to be philosophical and let them take their course. I've done the miles, missing a week or two won't hurt, particularly at my end of the field. I'm just happy that I can still get out and do this stuff.

So I'm looking forward to a week without "jobs to be done" then a hundred miles around a bit of Scotland of which I only know one small corner. What more could you want?

Races and Paces

I think it's clear to anyone who has run a few ultras that however good your training the decisions you make once the race has started can have a big impact on the outcome of your day. Several accomplished runners have had a go at this topic recently and reached interesting although sometimes inconclusive or even conflicting conclusions. The most common is simply that "everyone is different". So what can I add from a position of relative inexperience and much further down the field, I hear you ask? Well I've never been too inhibited about expressing an opinion or two before, and I genuinely believe that there are a few factors which might be of interest  - also that you might draw a wrong conclusion if you compare yourself with another runner, so here goes......

The debate seems to be about whether you start at a fast pace "go as fast as you can for as long as you can, because you're going to slow down later anyway", or a slower one "start conservatively and you'll go better in the later stages". I would like to look at this in a different way. Here are my position splits from a couple of recent (Spring 2010) ultras:

                                    Hardmoors            Highland Fling

                                          54m                        53m

No of Finishers                   41                           271

Position at 1/4 distance       38                           176

             at  1/2 distance      31                           108

             at  3/4 distance      27                            70

             at  Finish                23                            47

You could draw the conclusion that my strategy is to start slowly (at least compared with other runners in the same race), but actually what you see is a consequence of my strategy rather than its objective.

 Since I started running ultras 3 years ago, I've enjoyed (nearly!) all the races I've entered but I felt frustrated on many occasions that in the later stages of the race I was frequently walking what was eminently runnable ground  -  easy underfoot, gently uphill, level, or even downhill. I had run much more difficult ground in the early stages of the race but simply "ran out of steam", when the going was easier. There seemed to be a general feeling among runners that this is what happens, but I did some simple sums. I run comfortably at around 9,30 minute miles on the "flat and easy" sections of an ultra near the start. To cut a minute or so from each mile at this speed would be quite an effort, as my marathon pace (on a flat road) is no better than 8 minutes a mile these days; but later in the race, for every mile I could keep jogging (say 12 minute miles) rather than walking (at 15 minute miles at best) I would gain 3 minutes. At these figures it's a no-brainer, I'm always going to get a better result by just making sure that I keep running as long as possible. So that became my aim, conserve energy on all the other types of ground to be able to run the easily-runnable stuff right through the race. I set about it by a number of tactics, such as

- don't worry about the steeper hills, everyone goes slowly here, more effort has no payback

- run the gentle uphills very slowly indeed, even if I know I could go faster, just jog rather than walk

- run the technical stuff at a speed to minimise effort. I used to go fast over bouldery ground because I can, but it takes energy that I can use better elsewhere. The exception is downhills, which I've practiced quite a lot because you can genuinely get speed for no effort here if you just go with the flow of the hill rather than wasting energy trying to hold back

- one area that I'm working on now is how to walk more quickly and efficiently in the places that are just a bit too steep to run (reading Marco's report of this year's Fling suggests that he's really got this cracked  -  I need to get much better)

- and finally, knock the speed down a bit to 10/10.30 minute miles on the first 20 miles or so because this makes it seem really easy for an almost insignificant time loss

 I've found that an added psychological advantage of this approach is that I can look forward to the tougher sections because I know I'm going to take them easily.

 This seems to be working for me this year, and if I'm ever going to get a 24 hour West Highland Way I think this will be the strategy that will get me there.

BUT.........and here's where it starts to get interesting......I'm trying to complete my races at relatively slow overall paces. My average pace in this year's Hardmoors was 13 minute miles, and in the Fling (easier course and better weather) 11,30 minute miles. For a 24 hour WHW race "all" you need to do is a 15 minute mile average (but of course everyone's average pace over a 95 mile race will be slower than over a 50). These times give plenty of scope for walking where it's most efficient to walk and running where it's most productive to run. Now look at the guys at the sharp end of the race. Runners like Jez, Richie and co, completing the WHW race at an average pace in the region of 10 minute miles, simply don't have the luxury of choosing where to run; unless the ground is clearly not runnable, running is pretty well mandatory  -  check out the maths and see what a couple of long 3mph ascents do to their averages. These guys are actually participating in a significantly different level of sport from me  -  running ultras as opposed to completing ultras  -  at a completely different level of fitness. So my strategy is completely inapplicable to them, and it helps me to understand that I can't really comment on the arguments made by Stuart M and Thomas (CG), because that's the sort of speed that these guys are going, and it's a different game.

 BUT AGAIN.......what if you're not an "average" runner aiming for a 24 hour WHW, or an elite performer aiming for 16. What if you're "just" a very good ultra runner aiming somewhere in the 19-20 hours range? If that's you, I'll leave you to think about it  -  the only thing I would suggest is that what works for me isn't necessarily going to work for you!

One last thought on average pace. Again the maths are clear but I think sometimes we try to ignore them. If you stop for just 5 minutes, you need to cover the next 5 miles at one minute a mile faster just to break even  -  was the rest worth it?  There have been times when I've felt I just had to have a rest to regroup mentally before I could carry on (and I'm sure there will be again!), and there are times when you have to stop to change clothes, refill water bottles and so on, but this year I've removed from my game plan any "unnecessary" stops, just pick up the food and drink and keep walking. Doesn't seem to have hurt me so far.

At the moment all this seems a bit academic  - after a steady week after the Fling I picked up a cold and my total miles for this week are.........zero.  But at least that means the kitchen extension's coming along a bit better.

The Highland Fling

Some days everything seems to go right. You never know why, or how, or if you can make it happen again, all you can do is accept with some grace the gift that's offered, and treasure the memory.

I worked hard for my Highland Fling result of 10 hours and 23 minutes in 2009. I was fit and had three weeks earlier run a marathon PB of 3:17, a time that I don't expect to see again. I was confident and I planned a good schedule for the race, which I beat by 13 minutes. So when I arrived in Milngavie station yard yesterday for my fourth start in this great race, a year later, a year older and with less training in the tank for the year to date,  I had no great expectations but just a plan, such as it was, to enjoy the event. The forecast had wandered from bad to better to good, there was the usual muted excitement about the place, after just three years in this strange sport I now know enough people to make each start line seem like a friendly reunion party and it was nearly ten months since I had had the pleasure of running on this end of the West Highland Way, so overall the day held a lot of promise.

Just before the off  I'm chatting with Graeme Morrison - Graeme and I crossed the finish line together last year, with his dog Penny - by the end of the day Penny will have completed two Highland Fling Races at the age of two, so beat that you superstar athletes! Then it's the usual low-key briefing from Murdo and we're off through the tunnel and up the steps, I'm always like a kid at Christmas here, can't wait to see how today's adventure will unfold. Graeme and I run together for most of this first section, he gets ahead when I stop for a drink, I gradually catch up, and so on.

A bit of confession time here, you're not going to get any technical details today. Although I was an engineer and actually do own a Garmin,  I'm probably at the opposite end of the natural information gathering spectrum from John K.  I find his reports totally absorbing and wish I could do the same, but I'm just not organised enough. I glance at my watch and realise that the big field I usually use for judging current pace (that's the one that I can actually read without my specs on) I changed to read altitude during a recent ski-touring trip and haven't bothered to change back -  there's just no way I'm going to reset it on the run without the instruction book so pace judgement is going to be mostly down to how I feel.  I can't remember any of my last year's splits except Rowardennan (a lot of discussion about the significance of this point in the blogosphere recently!), and the time details I remember about today are pretty sketchy - maybe I'll have a look at things when the results come out with the official splits but that's for later. Back to the business of the day, actually covering the ground.

I've set myself just two rules, no quicker than 2 hours to Drymen and no running up significant gradients until after Rowardennan. So Graeme and I coast easily along, sometimes with other people, sometimes not. I know the rough distances, 6 miles to the railway line, 10 miles to Gartness and so on, so I can keep the pace down nicely. Somewhere along this stretch I catch up with Bob Allison who I know from the WHW website but have never talked to before. Bob's a much better runner than me but today he's suffering from a cold so taking it easy. Drymen turns up in just about two hours, Graeme says that's five minutes slower than last year, but I'm happy.  I get a little ahead of Graeme on the first section of the forest but he'll catch me later.  A bit further on Bob comes steaming past, I don't expect to see him again. I enjoy the bit as the track comes out into the open, looking forward to Conic hill, first excuse to have a walk for a bit. Sure enough before I'm half way up I see a small dog just beside me with Graeme close behind. We go up and over the hill together. We pass Carrie who I last saw on the Thames Trot Ultra back in February. Where's the guy with the Saltire today asks Graeme, I tell him it's usually Murdo but he's running the race today. Graeme's a great descender so I just follow his heels and we're down into Balmaha in no time, but the surprise is that I'm handed my drop bag by none other than Murdo, who's had to pull out last week with an injury. Graeme's meeting his family for some food here but I'm carrying on, I'm sure I'll see him later.

Another strategy I'm trying today is not to stop at all at any of the checkpoints. I'm just picking up my plastic bag, taking the stuff out and dumping the rubbish, and carrying straight on, walking for five or ten minutes to eat and drink as I go. I have this phrase in my head, surely from someone else's blog but I can't remember quite whose, just keep putting one foot in front of the other in the direction of Fort William all day and you'll get there.

I don't see any one for quite a while out of Balmaha, even in a field this size it's amazing how quickly it thins out. Then after a few miles I stop to retie a lace and I'm caught by Tony Thistlethwaite.  We do the "daft bits" together where you stumble over rocks and tree roots within a couple of paces of the road. We're getting near to where I was first passed by the leaders of the second start last year. Last year the ladies and over-fifties started an hour ahead of everyone else, this year we're an hour a head of the over-forties with the young guys an hour later still. Nevertheless I'm expecting to see Richie Cunningham soon.  As Tony and I crest the longest of the little rises between Balmaha and Rowardennan we're caught not by Richie but by Thomas (the Crazy German) who is having a storming run. He has covered the 24,5 miles to here in not much over 3 hours, and goes on to win the Vets Race and come second overall!  I know my time to Rowardennan last year was 4,45 - I don't look closely today, a few minutes longer I think, but I'm still feeling really good and that's the main thing.

I've decided that Rowardennan to Inversnaid is runnable, the ground underfoot is easy and the hills are long but quite gentle, so I run it, slow at times but I don't cut to a walk except on one or two sharper rises in the second half. I've been thinking quite a lot about pacing recently and I've come to the conclusion that the key thing for improving your time, so long as you don't exhaust yourself, is to run rather than walk. I know this sounds obvious but think about it carefully. I think you can work really hard early in a race to run at say 9 minute miles rather than 10's  for very little time gain. But unless you're a superstar you will end up walking significant sections of an ultra; most people can't walk faster than 15 minute miles but you're very unlikely to run slower than 12's, so for every mile you can keep running the payback is huge. The danger is that early in the race you are likely to run up hills that are really too steep just because you can. I think you have to let a bit of natural fatigue set in first.

I'm still wondering about Richie and eventually he appears after 31 miles. He says he's struggling (but still going faster than me of course!) and disappears off ahead. But he's clearly not right because I catch him again in a mile or so. I ask if he's OK, yes, just not his day today so I carry on and let the folks at Inversnaid know that he's on his way.

Something's happened north of Inversnaid, on the really tortuous bit. Has someone worked on the path a bit, or is it just that today for once in a blue moon it is actually, wonderfully, DRY.  Instead of slithering and clutching it's sure footed boulder hopping and I get carried away with the fun of it, probably using up too much energy that I will have to pay for later. One figure I do remember is that last year it took me 50 minutes to cover the 3 miles from the hotel to the wooden steps, today they're gone in barely 40. This is a great boost and I carry on up the hill at the top of the loch, with a quick pause to turn round for the view that you don't know is there unless someone tells you. Almost millpond-calm and under a sunny sky, Loch Lomond has today offered only pure pleasure in return for all the hard times I have had here in the past. But now it's still uphill, it's getting hot, and for the first time the aches and pains are starting to make themselves felt. As the ground levels out I catch Bob Allison again after having last seen him over twenty miles back, and we carry on to Bein Glas more or less together.

Somewhere around here I do my only calculation of the day. If I can cover the last 12 miles in two and three quarter hours, I can get inside ten and a half hours, much better than I thought possible. This section is always tough for me though, mostly long uphills which you can see way, way ahead, the never-ending switchbacks in the forest, and with the added hazards due to livestock and their products. In the West Highland Way race it's a time to go gently, to save something for the better times ahead, but in the Fling it's decision time, coast to the finish or put up with a bit of pain and see what happens? I decide the day's been good to me so far, so time to pay some dues. Dig in for the climb up to Derrydarroch, mostly runnable so run it, just a few yards of walking here and there. The next flattish mile to regroup then under the tunnels and up the steep slope to the farm track, walking here is almost a luxury. Run along the long flattish straight past the cows to the big fence at the entrance to the forest, then the steep stuff starts. It hurts but I'm still passing a lot of people now, not a lot of conversation left. How many ups are there, I can never remember? The downs are great though, feet not too sore this year, floating down for no effort. I see a runner in a red teeshirt ahead, gradually get closer, I catch him just at the sign that I think I remember as the start of the last uphill and am amazed to find that it's John K, he should be wearing his medal at the finish by now. He's OK, just having a tough day today. Life's not always fair, first Richie now John, these guys put in the miles, they deserve better results, they'll come. I push on.

Elation at the top of the last uphill carries me down and across the main road, no cars to wait for, along the soft little track through the wood, across the field, no sloshing through bog today, and over the bridge. Then I realise two things almost simultaneously. It's not flat, it's uphill. Not very uphill, but my brain has excluded uphills from the programme now, it thinks we're finished. But a look at the watch says that if I can keep it together over the last 3 miles I won't just get inside ten and a half, I'll beat last year's time. So I knuckle down and keep running the not-very-uphills as well as I can. I pass one or two other runners, we're all having difficulty with the not-very-uphills now, then at last it's through the wood, round the bit of road, down to the stream and I can see the end. I'm just about to muse about it saving a last bit of uphill for the finishing straight when I hear the pipers up on the bank to the left, give them a wave, then it's easy. "Done and dusted" as it says on the bottle. 10 hours 10 minutes 43 seconds.  First home in the "over 60's" class. Well, as I said last year, I don't think I'll get near that again....

A superb event, thanks to Murdo, Ellen, and all the others who put so much time, effort and skill into making it what it is.

I wandered up to the hall to collect my bag and get a massage, Richie was there already, confessed that his difficulties on the day might just have something to do with running two hundred miles less than two weeks ago.  A little dog called Penny trotted in, her own finisher's medal round her neck, followed by Graeme, he made it home not long after me. Back next year Graeme, probably, well almost certainly, see you then.

Hours later, just tipping into Sunday but with the band still going strong, Jan and I needing to drive back to Milngavie before we fell asleep, made our excuses and said our goodbyes to the hospitable crowd of runners,walkers, marshals and pirates. "You realise", said Richie, "that this will have to go down for you as a DNF in the Ceilidh." Classic.

(maybe some times and photos and stuff later)

Injuries

"Ships are safest when they are in harbour, but that's not what ships are for."

After 50 years or so of abuse or enjoyment depending on your viewpoint, my lower spine is pretty compressed. It makes me an inch shorter than I once was and while it hurts ones pride a bit this aspect doesn't actually prevent me doing anything. The real problem is that no matter how much stretching or other mobility exercises I do it still seizes up progressively and I'm supposed to go to the physio every three months for two or three sessions of general pulling about to get it going again. But I'm lazy or disorganised or don't learn from my mistakes very well and I tend to wait until it starts hurting which it did last week so off I went to face the music about three months late. While I was there, suitably chastened, I had to admit to Karen that I'd also been having pain in my right achilles/calf area. I think it started about four or five weeks ago I guessed, I can tell that she said digging into ageing scar tissue, and if you looked after your back better you probably wouldn't have it. Then there was the usual discussion about how much running might be possible while it settled down, you know how it goes. As I was peering vacantly through that little hole in the couch that lets you breathe while you're being worked on, I took stock of the bits that don't work too well:

- chronic plantar fasciitis in left foot, result of too many miles in unsuitable shoes in my first year of ultras

- ruptured (now missing) ACL in right knee, trying unsuccessfully to ski breakable crust

- recurrent left groin strain, initial cause unknown

- onset of arthritis in knees and most fingers, partly genetic but exascerbated by a lifetime of mountaineering

- and where we started, a bad back

I don't claim any bragging rights regarding this list, it seems a pretty average collection as far as distance runners go. I've been really lucky in avoiding the sort of problems that keep you out for weeks or months and I seem to recover quickly from races (maybe I don't try hard enough...). I just feel it would be nice occasionally to go out for thirty miles or so without something starting to hurt. If I articulate this thought some-one always reminds me that we do this for fun and I could have an easy life and stop, but surely that's just the road to gardening, Coronation Street and eventual oblivion.

So I keep taking the pills, re-read the section in Tim Noakes' book about outwitting the central governor of the brain, remind myself that the Drama Queen ran 90 miles of the West Highland Way with a broken ankle, and tell myself to stop being a wimp. But real spur of course, the clincher,  is that I can never resist the intoxicating mix of anticipation, trepidation, and excitement that comes from turning up on the start line of the next race. So, fellow Highland Flingers, if you're privileged enough to be starting with the Lassies and the Auld Men, I'll see you for the early start in Milngavie in a couple of weeks. If you're younger, fitter and faster, I'll see you at the finish, or more probably somewhere along the trail!

"You are old, Father William," the young man said,

"And your hair has become very white;

And yet you incessantly stand on your head -

Do you think, at your age, it is right?"

 "In my youth," Father William said to his son,

"I feared it might injure the brain;

But now that I'm perfectly sure I have none,

Why, I do it again and again."                               (Lewis Carroll)

Back to Basics

I got back home at about 2.30am this morning after nearly a week cut off from cyberspace, so it was good to spend a leisurely hour later in the day catching up with the Ultra world. The official results from the Hardmoors 55 were out on the website, I was pleased to find that I had indeed squeezed under the 12 hours by 8 minutes. The results told an interesting little story, of the 42 finishers well over half finished in the same time as one or more other runners - when times get tough we stick together. Thanks for the kind comments on my last post, I enjoyed reading everyone else's take on the day too, I don't think we will forget it in a hurry. My final reflection is what a superb job Jon Steele and his team did in not only organising and crewing such a great experience for us in what must have been very trying conditions for them, but also making sure late into the night that everyone got back safely. Can't thank them enough, and it seems an especially cruel reward for Jon that he crashed his car avoiding a deer in the early hours of Sunday morning. I'm sure we'll all be back next year to help establish this run as the classic it deserves to be.

It seemed a bit unreal a couple of days after the fog and rain of Yorkshire to be skinning up from the Col du Lauteret towards an outlying peak of the Meije under a perfect blue sky, trying to get back into the zen-like rhythm that ski-tourers and maybe UTMB runners will understand, the steady upward movement with a minimum of effort and disengaged mind, letting the surroundings drift by for some hours until the top is reached and you can click back into the world ready for the adrenaline rush to come. The whole week wasn't perfect of course, we had our share of descending cautiously into unknown valleys in fog and trepidation, but also our share of swooping our tracks into virgin powder slopes, playing in the snow like teenagers. But that's done for this year now, skis and all the other ironmongery back in the loft for the summer and the clocks have gone forward.

This afternoon I went for a run, my first since the Hardmoors, just about four miles around the block. I staggered out like a little old man it all felt so unfamiliar, but by the time I was back I was running again, well as close to running as I ever get, and it felt good. I'm looking forward to the summer, a race every month now starting with the Highland Fling in April, no need for any more long lonely training outings, just keep ticking over between the events, some time in the hills to prepare for the sterner tests from May onwards. Life seems pretty simple, we should appreciate it when we have the chance to pursue this very basic but enthralling pastime of ours.

Lest you think I'm getting over lyrical I'll just close with a word on a highly technical piece of running equipment that I've discovered. In the cold of the winter, getting frustrated with not finding suitable headgear for the conditions, I started running in my flat cap. Now this may make you look like a used car salesman on his day off but the peak keeps the rain out of your eyes, it has a much lower tendency to be lifted off by the wind than a baseball cap, and the warmth can be appreciated by those of us no longer quite as hirsute as we once were. I'm on the lookout for a lighter weight model for the summer. I even got one or two flattering comments when I brought this development out of the training closet to tackle the rain and wind of the Yorkshire moors last weekend. The weary passport official was less impressed when I returned late in the evening from a trip earlier this month. "Very French" he observed, "now take it off so that I can see your face."

Hard across the Moors

On Friday the 19th or Sunday the 21st it would have been a cruise, but Jon being the man of Steele that he is had elected to organise his Hardmoors 55 on Saturday the 20th, to coincide with the band of low cloud, persistent rain and chill winds that settled over the North York Moors for the day. I arrived at the Premier Inn in Guisborough on Friday evening to find John K, Sharon, Tim and Brian Mc already in residence; the real runners soon went off for an early night leaving Tim and me with our beers contemplating a gloomy forecast.

The course covers the first half of the Cleveland Way, the second oldest long distance footpath in Britain, from Helmsley in the West to Guisborough at (almost) the coast, following the northern escarpment of the moors plateau for most of its length.  The word is that there are stunning views throughout but after yesterday I can only claim personal acquaintance with a very small sample of them. The civilised start time of 8am was a bit dampened (yes I think that is the right word) by the need to get the bus from Guisborough to the start at 5.15am, but we couldn't hear any hammering on the roof and even by the time Jon was giving his final briefing at the start line the rain might have been described as "soft" rather than torrential, so I hoped we might somehow have got away with it.

So off we go and I can't get enough steam up to get involved in the 8 minute miling that seems to characterise the mass start of most ultras, so by the time we reach the first gate I'm in the last two or three, just ahead of the sweeper. I settle into a comfortable 10 minute mile pace over this early mostly flat stage and gradually start to overtake a few people. I have no fixed plan for timing but think that I should be able to do around 12 hours; I won't be distressed if it takes longer but I don't want to do too much in the dark after a day in the rain. The temperature is fine and the continuous but gentle drizzle seems almost pleasant.  Three or four miles before the first checkpoint at Sutton Bank I catch up with Shirley who I've known since my first West Highland Way venture in 2007, and we go on together to the checkpoint. This is home ground for her so I don't have to think about navigation at all, follow the local expert, she points out the top of the white horse cut into the slope, hardly recognisable from above.  The course doubles back from the checkpoint and we pass Ritchie coming in the opposite direction, looking cool as ever and full of running; as we pass he's just covered 10 miles in the time Shirley and I have taken to run 8 -  he storms on to another podium finish. I tackle the climb back up to the escarpment alone and then catch up with Adrian, another veteran runner who beat me to the "over-60's" prize in last year's Highland Fling. He will go on to beat me again today by ten minutes or so, but I'm getting closer! We run and chat together for five miles or so, then I stop to walk for some food and he doesn't.

The first major stop is at Osmotherley 22 miles in, and in the final five miles the whole tenor of the race changes for me. I'm running alone across wet open moorland, the visibility is down to a hundred yards or so, the rain, still continuous, is now much heavier and the wind is noticeably fiercer. I'm getting cold, I stop to check the map a couple of times which gets it and me wetter and colder. Down off the moor the visibility improves but I'm now on sloping muddy fields where my trainers can't grip at all and I slide for a mile down to the road into Osmotherley not really generating any warmth. The inside checkpoint is the focus of my attention. I had planned to be here in under four hours, it's going to be five or ten minutes over but I'm not concerned about that just now, I just want to get warm.

Going into the warm hall is wonderful, and the hot tea provided by Mrs Mac even better. I sit down and prepare for how I now realise the day is going to work out. Wet vest off to be replaced with a dry one, lightweight fleece and waterproof on top, waterproof socks on feet - if you're going to get wet, you might as well be warm and wet.  The readjustment has taken a while but I'm much happier as I hit the trail again. I've sort of resolved to run with someone from here on unless conditions improve, and going out of Osmotherley I pick up with Andy from Cirencester; we travel together to the second major stop at Kildale twenty miles further on. The first few ups and downs out of Osmotherley are innocuous enough, muddy tracks through forests and fields, but then we hit the rollercoaster of moorland ups and downs generally felt to be the toughest part of the Cleveland Way. Beautifully laid stone tracks for the most part, occasionally disappearing into misty boggy wasteland, we walk the steep ups and jog the rest. Getting a map out is almost too hard to contemplate so we rely mainly on the trail "acorn" signs when we can find them, and Andy has a GPS which is invaluable on one or two occasions. I get a phone message from Mike M marshalling at Kildale telling me how nice and warm it is in his checkpoint; he always manages to find me at low points, I'm flogging up a steep hill and he knows it's going to be some hours before I get to him - I switch the phone off! A wrapped up walker appears in the opposite direction and I'm shocked out of some sort of reverie when he says "Hi Andy" - it's Pirate Dave devoting his day to marshalling duties. We pass another lone walker - "How far to Wainstones?" we ask - "Up, down, up" is his unexpected but completely accurate and helpful reply. A marshal in a tent is right on the top to get our numbers - the marshals, always dedicated in ultra races, are really excelling themselves today in putting up with the conditions.

After Wainstones the undulations finally relent a bit, but we now have the highest and bleakest bit of the moor to cross to Kildale. In a strange sort of way I'm enjoying this now, can't get any wetter, religiously putting some more fuel in every 45 minutes, not going too fast for it to hurt. We come across another marshal in maybe the loneliest spot of all at Bloworth Crossing; he pokes his head out of his tent to take numbers but also offers us flapjack, what a hero. I mention him to Jon later in the evening, don't worry says Jon he's ex SAS, he likes those sort of places. Nice to know you're being looked after! We manage to run quite steadily from here to Kildale, the only sad part is what looks to be a lump of dirty white snow in the middle of the road turns out to be a dead lamb. I'm feeling much better going into Kildale than I was at Osmotherley so I tell Andy I'm getting in and out as quick as I can, he's going to stay a bit longer. We've pushed on to make the checkpoint in 9 hours, again we're a bit over but I think if I can hold it together until the end then 12 hours is still on. So after a quick cup of tea and a bit of banter with Mike I'm ready for off, and so is Steve W who came in a bit earlier, better still he did the whole Hardmoors 110 last year so he knows the way.

12 miles to go and two and three quarter hours to get under 12. A couple of steep climbs then the woods in the dark, but it should still be on.  As we climb the hill out of Kildale we notice a strange change in our environment - it's stopped raining, and as we break out of the forest to Captain Cook's monument we can see that the sky is clearing. John K will be taking photos here I say to Steve, don't know how he does it, takes me all my efforts to get round the course without these extra-curricular activities. Then we're soon looking at the last bit of hard work for the day, the excursion out to Roseberry Topping. Steve sets a fine pace up the staircase and I concentrate on his heels and hang in. We thank the two young marshals on top for their efforts today, and take in for a few seconds what is now a wonderful view out across the plain in the fading light. Then it's down again and my turn to lead the staircase back up from the col. A bit more moor then we're up the boggy track leading to Guisborough woods, finally accepting that trying to avoid mud and water of any depth is by now a pointless exercise. We can't see where we're putting our feet any longer, so the lights go on. We see another light ahead, maybe it's a runner, but it turns out to be the marshal just before the woods - "number 3 and 24" - it only needs one of us to check in by now. Steve knows most of the turns, and Jon has marked the tricky ones so we're making good progress, then it's down the last hill, check in with the Pirate as we hit the disused railway line, just over a mile to go guys he says. 

I've switched off now, think I'm home, so this last mile hurts more than it should, but we're both keen to press on, probably hitting 9 minute miles for the first time in the race, not bothering to look at watches in the dark, what will be will be. There's the road underneath, where's the path, where is it? Then the orange tape, down the steps, across the field and there's the cricket pavilion at the finish. Whats the time? Both our watches have run out of battery, the lady marshal noting the time says its just 8pm - relief, we started two or three minutes late so we'll be just under the twelve, magic.

Upstairs into the warm to watch the prizegiving and find out some of the stories of the day. Stuart Mills has won in just under 9 hours, an hour longer than I would have guessed for a winning time, must have been tough for everyone. John K's made it home, 10 or 15 minutes ahead of me, Adrian was with him at the finish. Some of the others had a hard time, Sharon, Brian, and Tim all deciding to stop and stay alive when being overtaken by exposure and hypothermia in the gruelling middle section. About 45 minutes after I finished I wandered downstairs to get changed and Shirley came in, tired but happy, a hug as she walked through the door. When I got to my car just down the road, I had to scrape ice from the windscreen, it had just been that sort of a day. Back at the Hotel the beer and chips went down just fine, topped off with John's birthday cake - what a way to spend a birthday.

The organisation of the event by Jon and his team was superb throughout, even more so in the prevailing conditions. I'll have to go back next year now to see where I was running, the weather can't be any worse.........can it?

I'm off for a week's ski-touring tomorrow morning - hope the Ecrins has better weather than Yorkshire.

Snow, Spain and Spring

Now don't get me wrong, I like snow and cold weather. I've still got two ski trips planned for this year and I've spent more than my fair share of time wielding ice axe and crampons, but every time I've been out for a run since mid December it's meant wrapping up warm and pulling on the woolly hat and gloves, and the novelty is wearing off. I want to run in the warm again. So after we left home in sub-zero temperatures last Thursday morning to find ourselves four or five hours later eating lunch al fresco under a blue sky watching the boats bob gently up and down in Barcelona harbour, things were definitely looking up.

We spent Friday and Saturday doing the tourist bit with the Picassos, Miros and Gaudis, and put on a pound or two enjoying the wide variety of food and drink that this lovely city has to offer. Late one afternoon we drifted into the Marathon Expo where Jan picked up leaflets selling Brussels in the autumn and Vienna next spring. That's the way it goes you see, I don't get a lot of choice these days, it's a tough life. But there was still a race to be run, or sort of run.............I'm content that my marathon PB stays in the past and I don't run much on the roads these days but I find these big city adventures still have an irresistible charm as a great morning's running, so getting round in good shape without too much stress is the game for me now.

The organisation was efficient but pretty laid back, I turned up at the start area about a half an hour before go to find no-one in the start pens as yet. I went for a wander around then queued for the loo, to find that by the time I got out the gun had gone leaving me very near the back of the 10,000+ field. But who cares, I was here for fun, it was a great morning for running, dry and just the right temperature and everyone around was friendly. The route takes in all the major sights of the city, first going out to the Nou Camp stadium, a poignant one this, I've been a Liverpool supporter since first turning up in the city to start work on a PhD forty years ago, but it looks like it's going to be quite a while before the team gets to places like the Nou Camp again. After that, back to the Placa Espana near the start, along to the Sagrada Familia, out to the east of the city and back along the sea front, finally finishing down the Ramblas to the Columbus Statue and back to the finish in the start area. Lovely streets, easy under foot, hardly any hills, good crowd support, what more could one want.

I threaded gradually through the field at an easy pace, keeping to my now regular marathon tactic of not looking at the watch until half way, which I sidled through in a few minutes under two hours. Come on now, I know this is for fun but it ought at least to be a good training run, so I got my finger out a bit over the second half to finish in an unremarkable but satisfying 3 hours 37 minutes.

After four days of good weather, later on Sunday afternoon it started to rain. Of course it didn't deter us from the post race celebratory night out, but it was still raining the following morning. No problem as most women will tell you, when the going gets tough, the tough go shopping, Jan knew where to go. Breaking through into daylight at lunchtime we were aware that the rain had turned to sleet, and then snow. By early afternoon the streets of this normally sunny city were covered in a couple of inches of damp slush. The urban transport system must leak a bit because the normal fifty minute ride out to the airport took over two hours. It seemed fitting that when we landed back at Liverpool the temperature was about minus two, pretty well exactly what it had been when we left nearly five days earlier.

On Tuesday I made my weekly trip over to Sheffield to see my mum. On descending the Snake Pass I was aware that although the upper reaches of the Ladybower reservoir were still covered in thickish grey ice, the sky was blue, the sun dazzling, and the outside temperature in double figures. Maybe Spring is after all just around the corner.