Birthdays and Heroes

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

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

  

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

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

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

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

Lakeland not quite 100

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Same Mistakes Again

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

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

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

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

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

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

I'll let you know next week.

WHW 2010 Reflections

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

Overall

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

Pacing

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

Aches and Pains

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

Equipment and stuff

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

Hydration and Nutrition

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

- drink to thirst

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

In Conclusion

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

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

 

 

West Highland Way 2010

For just one midnight of each year, there's no doubting that Milngavie station yard is a galvanising  place. Meet lots of people who you know and many more that you've not met before, then go off and run the best part of 100 miles together. The mixture of nervousness and excited anticipation is heady stuff. So I've picked up my bracelet with the fateful instruction "Now that stays on until Fort William  -  unless you drop out", been weighed (never knew I was that much, the scales must be wrong), and dropped the drop bags. Son John accompanies me to the start, wishes me luck, then leaves me to say hello to a few folk and get my head around what's going to happen in the next day or so. I spend my time meeting up with fit looking people in the dark and trying to forget the twinges from my right knee which hasn't been great for a week or two - it's an old injury which still complains from time to time, however this time I've strapped it up with a mixture of white and pink tape, which gets me a lot of comments over the coming hours!

Then the briefing, the shuffle up to the underpass, the countdown to 1am, the hooter, and we're away,  a hundred and fifty hopeful adventurers off into the night. Quickly through the town and into the park, find an easy pace, find myself with Fiona Rennie who I last saw at the Heart of Scotland three weeks ago, chat a bit, then I see a man with a dog.

I've run a good few miles with Graeme Morrison and his dog Penny in the last two Highland Fling races. I didn't think he had contemplated the West Highland Way until I got a message a few days ago "...got a late entry into the race on Saturday, see you there". But I hadn't seen him at the start, now here he was kneeling on the ground trying to put a broken head torch back together. He's had an interesting few minutes; the hooter at the start startled Penny who took off like a rocket, her lead dragging Graham's torch with it. He's managed to borrow a spare torch, catch up with dog, and is now trying to get things back in order. I hang onto Penny, he sorts out the illumination and we get on our way now firmly at the back of the field. This doesn't bother me at all, I have a plan which involves going very slowly indeed for the first 50 miles, probably slowing down a bit after that, walking all the uphills from the start, but only stopping for the bare minimum anywhere. Just keep putting one foot in front of the other in the direction of Fort William and you'll get there, I think it was Fiona who said that.

Rowardennan  -  plan 5:30 actual 5:29

It's a lovely night, clear, perfect temperature, and NO midgies. Graeme, Penny and I make our way steadily past the landmarks we know. Drymen comes up in 2:20, it gets light enough for torches off by the end of the forest, the wind gets cooler on the open stretch before Conic Hill. Graeme's a keen hillwalker and I'm not going to follow up at his likely pace, but in the end he stays down to mine. We jog down the other side though, and into Balmaha at 3:50. Graeme's support team are here so he's stopping for a bite to eat. I carry on, he'll catch me later. I've found over the years that meeting my team just at the official checkpoints suits us all fine - I'm less tempted to hang around and they get more time for sleeping and generally organising things.This year with the extra drop at Beinn Glas it's even easier to do this, I only carry a rucksack as far as Rowardennan then it's a lightweight bumbag for the rest of the way.

Just after Balmaha I'm walking to get a drink and a Mars bar and Ian Beattie comes past at a good pace, he must have stopped for some food and just got going again. It was through Ian's blog that I first found out about the WHW race (and I don't think I'm the only one so he's got a lot to answer for), it's good to see him going well. Then I'm on my own for quite a while but it doesn't matter because the loch is more beautiful than ever on this day. A figure in a pink fleece by the loch side taking photographs turns out to be Mrs Mac, I stop for long enough for us to agree that it's a fabulous day, she sends me on my way with a hug and good wishes. I'm enjoying this section, in the Fling you start to feel that you've nearly run a marathon because you feel you should be running at least the gentle uphills, but today I'm looking forward to them because I know I'm going to walk them all. A couple of miles before Rowardennan I catch Ian again, and Bob Allison catches us too, so we carry on to the checkpoint more or less together.  I'm really looking forward to that first cup of tea, and I find John and Julia in the trees behind the checkpoint, a few midgies here but still nothing like normal so they seem happy enough.

Auchtertyre  -  plan 11:30  actual 11:12

John walks out of Rowardennan with me to take back my mug, I've only stopped for about three minutes but I've drunk too much - must remember that for Auchtertyre, it takes me three or four miles for me to get properly back into stride again, but I get to Inversnaid bang on schedule (7:15), pick up milkshake and ginger beer and off into the tortuous bit. Graeme and Penny and another couple of runners including Tony Thistlethwaite catch me here. I ask if they want to get past but they're happy to go at my pace for this section. We catch up Ian Rae, another runner who I have spent quite a few miles in company with in past races, and today will be no exception. Beinn Glas is reached in 8:55, just 5 minutes ahead of my plan. From here to the main road crossing before Auchtertyre is usually my least favourite part of both the WHW and the Fling - grinding uphills for the first part then the never-ending switchbacks in the forest, so I've allowed myself a fairly generous two and a half hours. But today there are a lot of people I know going at about the same speed, Graeme, Ian, then we catch Tim Downie, so it seems to fly past with very little effort. One concern is that I've told my team I won't be early, and now it looks like I will. I have no phone coverage at all on this section (good old 02 - I wonder if anyone else gets any reception?), so for the last couple of miles I slow right down, but still come in early. I check in and get weighed - still the same as at the start - get ticked off for not having a weight card with me - and thankfully find the family just getting parked up about two hundred yards beyond the checkpoint. The stove is out fast for tea, while I have a sausage roll and bananas and custard, another stop of barely five minutes. The day's really warming up now so Jan sprays me with sunscreen, I change into a short-sleeved top and put on my Foreign Legion hat.

Bridge of Orchy   -  plan 13:30  actual 13:23

A pretty uneventful section, the long climb up to the highpoint before the tunnel under the railway, then almost continuous running all the way to the station. The only slight negative is that the headwind seems to be getting stronger - we will have this directly in our faces for most of the way now, and there is little shelter from it. Again I spend time with Graeme and Penny, Ian Rae, and we catch up with Graeme Reid. Last year Graeme passed me going up the Devil's Staircase, he went on to a comfortable sub-24 and I missed by nearly 45 minutes - I'm hoping the same doesn't happen again today. Anyway, meet the team by the station for a bit more food and drink, and off again with the moor coming up.  I learn at the checkpoint that Richie Cunningham was in the lead through here, hope he keeps it up (he does, to become the most popular winner in recent years, we all knew he would do it one day!)

Glencoe  -  plan 16:00  actual 16:00

Up the first hill with Ian, and we see a Saltire on top. It has to be Murdo, and of course it is, with a greeting and a jelly baby for all. Over the top I pull away from Ian as I like downhills, then a steady run along the bit of road to the gate onto the moor. I've always had company across Rannoch Moor, but not today. Apart from passing one runner and being passed by another I see no-one for the whole crossing. But now the sun and the wind are starting to tell, for the first time I'm conscious of having come a long way. The little diversion off the track to the ski centre car park is only a couple of hundred yards, but its roughness and undulations seem unreasonable at the end of a long section and I'm not too pleased with it. Meeting the family at the checkpoint, I have my first sit-down rest of the day, about seven or eight minutes, in time for tea and soup, and back to my long-sleeved top and flat cap, the sun isn't going to be any problem from now as it's 5pm, but it's going to be a beautiful evening. I'm tired but feeling OK, and I know from here if I don't do anything daft I'll get my 24 hour finish at last.

Kinlochleven  -  plan 19:00  actual 19:00

I'm usually glad to have some company from my support runners from here to the finish. My daughter Julia usually does the stretch to Kinlochleven then my son John does the last section to Fort William.  Julia is geared up and ready to go, but just before leaving Glencoe I'm surprised to see John Kynaston at the checkpoint. I expected him to be the other side of Kinlochleven by now, but he's had a tough few hours. I call to him it's time to go, and he joins us, off down the road at a steady jog. We stay together up the frustrating little hill that you then have to come straight down from again, and along to the foot of the Devil's Staircase. I think this is actually 3 or 4 miles, and it seems to go quite quickly. When we regain the road John stops for a few minutes to pick up his own support runner David, and little way up the staircase they pass Julia and me. John really seems to have a second wind now because they move ahead quite quickly - in fact John covers the ground from here to the finish an hour and twenty minutes quicker than me. We plod steadily to the top then jog gently down the other side. A mile or so before Kinlochleven I stop for a pee then feel nauseous for a few minutes; disappointing because I've been fine up to here, but it destroys my appetite from now on. Nevertheless we keep moving down to the town and arrive on schedule, check in and I get weighed again  -  this time I'm down a couple of kilos from the start but that doesn't worry me or anyone else at this stage.

Lundavra  -  plan 21:30  actual 21:25

I decide I'm not going to stop so I just down a mug of coke and carry on, this time with John, as Julia's stint is now over, job done!

Poor John, he always gets me at this stage when I'm pretty tired and not too talkative, but he always sees me through to Fort William. At least today we've got beautiful weather for it. I'm very slow up the first hill up to the jeep track but then we stride out along the Lairig Mor, remembering the times we've come this way in previous years, in the wind, rain and darkness with the path so running with water that keeping dry feet was an impossibility. Today we don't even have to use the bridges across the bigger streams, there's not enough water left to worry about. The false summits come and go. Somewhere along here Graeme and Penny catch us again and then go past. "How did you get to here?" he asks. For the first time in 2 Highland Flings and most of the West Highland Way, I see Penny looking tired - though she's still trotting along gamely without complaint - I guess at 2 years old she has still plenty of miles more to do. I don't see Graeme again but he gets home just 8 or 9 minutes ahead of me. Then at last we can see the trees and I know it's just a mile to the checkpoint.

Fort William   -  plan 23:30  actual 23:34:37

We don't stop at Lundavra, just call out my number and carry on through. Now I've never left here in daylight before so it's quite daunting to see the series of steep little hills leading away to the final bit of forest. I'm getting really tired now and each one seems harder than the last, but we don't stop, and are rewarded by the views across to Ben Nevis, still set against a clear blue sky. Then into the forest and after about a quarter of a mile we finally have to put the torches on. But I know it's going to be OK now, plenty of time, no need to rush. A runner comes storming past in the darkness, it's Tim Downie, we encourage him on his way. Then at last, the hill with the zig-zags, the final up, and out onto the final broad track to the finish. Could I run now, maybe, but I settle for a steady four miles an hour walk, taking about three paces to John's two. We debate the road at the end, it's nearly two miles he says, no it's barely one say I. Another team come past "Run Andy, it's downhill now"  - it's Graeme Reid, he's recognised my pink strapping even in the dark. No, I'll get there, I tell him. And we do. As we hit the road John calls the ladies but they're already there at the finish, expecting us. Savour the road, it's over now, reach the carpark, through the door, check in, whisky, hugs all round. 23hrs 34mins 37 secs.  An hour and ten minutes better than I've done before.

It was a great day, the new organisers did a superb job, and my family support team knew what I wanted every step of the way, even though I sometimes didn't. Thanks guys, couldn't do it without you.

When I first got involved with the West Highland Way race, I read that "An average runner can expect to finish in 24 hours". Well, it's taken this average runner four finishes to get there, but it was worth waiting for. And naturally I'm already thinking how that 26 minutes can't be too difficult to work at (who am I kidding, of course it will be difficult, but I'll still have a try....)

But the numbers are really just there because they have to be, to get us out of bed in February and drive us into the summer; in the grand scheme of things in themselves they're not so important. Those of us who ran the 2010 West Highland Way will remember it for the clear midgeless night, the perfect glassy calm of the loch in the early morning, the sunny skies and the green hills, the startling blue of the lochans across the moor, and the views along the way that if we run it another ten times we may never see again. Someone must have put in a good word for us up there. Thanks, Dario.

 

 

To the Tarmac and the Short Guy

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

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

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

I hope to be seeing the tarmac again soon, sometime in the darkness between next Saturday and Sunday. And as I make my way over those final few steps to the finish, I know I'll hear him again.

In the Heart of Scotland

The rain might finally be easing a bit but it's 2am and black dark. In spite of the full waterproofs, every stitch I'm wearing is wet. Move or shiver. There is no path, no track or trace, feet stumble randomly into rough heather, knee-deep holes, bog, and a hundred icy streamlets that the past few hours have created. Through rain-distorted spectacles I can just decipher the little yellow glow of the GPS. Behind me follow five or six others with a confidence probably borne of hope or necessity that I know where I'm going. Then we see it, impossible to tell how far away but it's there, a red flashing light. As we move, it disappears behind a hillock, appears again, disappears, reappears and stays. A few minutes and we're there, the clipper dangling beneath the light on a lonely fence corner at this unmanned checkpoint miles from the nearest path and more miles from the nearest chance of getting dry. Welcome to the Heart of Scotland.

It was Richie who first told me about the event over beers in the warm Chamonix sunshine last summer, the LDWA's "Heart of Scotland 100". Not a race, as the LDWA would stress, but a "Challenge Walk"  -  the location of their annual 100 mile challenge changes every year, coming to Scotland for the first time this year. The general deal is that it's well supported with food at regular checkpoints, you can choose any of three start times on Saturday (10am, noon, or 2pm) and you have until 10am on Monday (ie 48 hours max) to finish. The Heart of Scotland would start and finish at the Drill Hall in Dunkeld and take in a lot of country that I knew about generally but had never explored in detail. The route looked interesting but not too tough (I think about 13,000ft of climbing with good tracks for most of the way) and seemed an ideal way to ease gently (remember this descriptor later) into 100 milers for 2010. It would be my first brush with the Long Distance Walkers Association, so I got on the website to stake my claim and by December the entry was confirmed.

I checked in early for the middle start then went for a final calorie-and-morale-boosting coffee and cakes with Jan in Dunkeld, returning to the start area a few minutes before noon to discover that the great majority of the 500 strong field had left at 10am; good to see some friendly faces though, George (who had already warned me that the route was tougher than it looked in places) and Karen, Phil (who I'd crossed Rannoch Moor with in last summer's DOH), and the seemingly ever-present Jim D in his usual cotton tee-shirt and tracksuit bottoms, demonstrating that modern technical gear holds no suit over the true hardman. The start briefing had its interesting points "you may well see Ospreys, don't come back and tell people where they are", then the low key countdown and we're off  -  walking. After a few yards the leaders break into a jog, allowing me to find my normal takeoff position in the last dozen or so.

The first two sections take us northward over the Clunie moors to Kirkmichael, 15 miles or so with 2000ft of climbing. The first climb is gentle but it's warm, a bit of sunshine, and I'm conscious that my rucksack weighs a ton. It's by far the heaviest bag I've ever brought on an ultra  -  compulsory kit includes full waterproofs, fleece, full-weight bivi bag, first aid kit, torch and batteries, mug, three OS maps, route description (almost a book!), compass, whistle, phone, emergency food and litre of water, to which I've added some gels and hat, gloves, GPS, and spare socks as the forecast isn't great. I keep thinking about starting the West Highland Way with a water bottle and a couple of Mars bars..............but this is here and now and I'm sure I'll get used to it in a few miles. An hour or so in we lose the sun and it starts to rain intermittently; some folk put on waterproofs but I'm happy enough so far in my windproof Montane top. In the second half of this section I catch up with George and Karen, we chat about their extremely successful Cateran Trail race (must do that one next year), our plans for the WHW, the races in Chamonix later in the year, and so on. The last few miles into Kirkmichael were highlighted as tricky in the roadbook; George and Karen reccied them earlier in the year but everything has changed for today  -  new paths cut through the heather, new marker posts, new gates in fences, they feel really cheated, they paid their dues now everyone is getting a free ride!

They stay a bit longer in the checkpoint than me so I head out alone. On the next section which follows a flattish section of the Cateran Trail to Enochdu I catch Jim D who seems to have gone quite quickly so far. He says he has a plan for 4 miles an hour to Blair Atholl to avoid a potentially tricky section in the dark just after. Now Jim always chats away about lots of things, always interesting and often far-reaching, but every so often you get a nugget that is relevant to the event in hand and this is one of them, so I check that my own schedule matches this. I originally planned a 30 hour trip for a not-too-stressful completion, but have upped it to 31 after the organisers added a few miles on (it's now actually the Heart of Scotland 104,4) and George warned me about the tough bits. I can't remember exactly where I leave Jim but I'm soon out on my own in the long lonely valley leading to Daldhu, except that it's not so lonely now because I'm starting to catch the walkers who started two hours earlier and it's a continual stream of greetings and comments on the weather (it's now started to rain fairly steadily) all the way to the checkpoint at just under 24 miles. This one's just a small tent, but still plenty of food and welcome around it.

On the next section to Shinagag 6,6 miles further on we go further into the wild but still on a good undulating track. As from the start I'm walking all the ups but running (or rather jogging) the downs and flats and feeling pretty comfortable. We climb up over a col, then the three mile descent to the checkpoint has me in wonder yet again at the Scottish landscape; apart from a two feet wide gap cut into the heather there is no sign of the impact of humans as far as you can see in any direction. I'm not too certain of the overtaking etiquette here, I make do with coming up behind and hanging in quietly until invited to pass, it seems a bit unreasonable to ask someone to disrupt their own rhythm until they're ready to. The tent at Shinagag comes and goes, then another 6 easy miles down to Blair Atholl, back to civilisation, food and drink in a warm hall.

Some different but interesting stuff now, tracks along the river then though woods up to the Bruar Falls. I meet Mick here and we travel awhile together. Jim was right, the route here is not easy and we are happy to make it through to Calvine in daylight. I leave Calvine at about 10,30 but because of the heavy clouds it is almost dark and really starting to rain in earnest, not just continuous but heavy, so it's on with the rain gear for real this time. The next section to Dalnacardoch is the most uninteresting of the trip, following an asphalt cycleway alongside the A9. I get my head down and my hood up and plough on into the gloom, starting with a jog/walk tactic but then getting bored and jogging all the way to the checkpoint. Somewhere along here the headlamp goes on. Dalnacardoch is at 49,5 miles, almost halfway in distance, of course nowhere near that in effort, but it's a tented refuge from the elements. I'm very wet when I get there at just before midnight (12 hours from the start) but the hot tea and chicken soup does the trick and I step into the outside once again.

From Dalnacardoch we go 3 miles or so up a steady hill on a narrow lane. Three people have left the checkpoint just before me, I catch them and we go on at a fast walk. The last mile or so to the next stop at the Errocht Dam leaves the lane and crosses some vague countryside cutting across roads. I know this bit so I can lead my companions pretty quickly to the checkpoint. Inside the tent there is a random kit check  -  I have to produce my bivi bag which is of course packed right down at the bottom of my rucksac, but it is all done in good humour and and I'm impressed by the diligence and organisation of the LDWA. I have some more soup and a bit of contemplation  -  one of the toughest sections of the route comes next, rough ground, hard to navigate and a significant climb, it will be nearly three hours before we get any appreciable daylight, the rain is hammering down harder than ever, and when I'm not moving I immediately start to feel cold. But I know deep down that I can do this stuff and that it will be "retrospectively enjoyable" so there really isn't any decision. I confess to Jane, one of my companions on the last section, that I have the route in my GPS, a nearby French couple hear the conversation, we become a team and head out into the night. The first three or four miles follow a jeep track along the lochside; it is now two continuous parallel puddles with a slippery strip of grass in between them, after a while none of us is too concerned about which bit we tread in. The track ends at a footbridge waymark, from here it is cross country for three miles or so until we hit a track just above Kinloch Rannoch. We make it to the unmanned check on the fence (where I started this story) having added to our team along the way. From here we follow the fence straight up the hillside for nearly a thousand feet vertical, easy to find now but hard to do, heather and mud, two steps up and one back, my road shoes just about coping. The fence bends round to traverse the hill and so do we, less strenuous but still hard going. At last we get to the gate waypoint, then turn left through the heather up to the col. The sky starts to lighten and we can just make out a line to follow down towards Kinloch Rannoch. Job done, 30 minutes or so later we're down there.

This is the drop bag "breakfast stop" at 61,7 miles from the start, so a complete change of clothes and shoes is possible and very welcome  -  dry at last, followed by a full English  -  yes I know this is an ultra but these LDWA guys can really put on a spread! During the course of the whole event I manage to get through soups, pastas, tuna sandwiches, rice puddings, bananas and custards, fruit cakes, swiss rolls, hot sausage rolls, as well as the normal crisps, Mars bars, gels, coke, and about a gallon of tea (and of course the full breakfast!)  - weight loss at the end of the trip, zero!

Jane and I decide we've still enough to talk about so we do the next section together, a 1500ft climb up a jeep track out of Kinloch Rannoch to the Tempar bothy on the slopes of Schiehallion, followed by another couple of miles of trackless heather and bog and some wide burn crossings, rising a few hundred further feet at the end to the next checkpoint at the Pheiginn bothy. The rain has now finally stopped  but the ground underfoot ensures that our newly dry shoes and socks are thoroughly soaked again. From the bothy there's a good descending track for the next three miles or so, I can't persuade Jane to run it so I say goodbye and head off down; it's good to be moving faster again after the rain and the rigours of the night. Fortingall, home of Europe's oldest tree, is the next checkpoint, then a bit of up and down through the Tay Forest, walking the ups and running the downs. A level and grassy track follows, along the bank of the Tay from the Lyon confluence all the way to Aberfeldy, I run all of it. I was over an hour down on my 31 hour schedule at the Pheiginn bothy (partly due to a 50 minute stop for breakfast!) but I've caught it all back in the space of less than 17 miles, too fast, I'll pay for this later.

Getting to Aberfeldy is psychologically good, less than 20 miles to go from here, tea and cake and off we go. But after a mile of road I get to a 1400ft climb up a relentless forest track, it's really hard. I'm almost falling asleep on my feet up here but go with the Mike Mason dictum  -  "go as slow as you like, but never, ever, stop on an uphill". Finally I reach the checkpoint by Loch Kennard and have to sit down in the tent to regroup. Coffee and banana and custard revives me after a few minutes, but I realise it's going to hurt from here to the end, another 12 miles, but thankfully with only a few hundred feet of up and a lot of down. As  I creak out of the tent I see a vaguely familiar face but recognition is dulled by tiredness and I don't say hello. A mile further on the face catches me up, of course it's Twin Fiona running as support for friend Sue  -  they'll both be there in Milngavie for the start of the WHW in less than 3 weeks time. I've woken up a bit now so jog with them for a few hundred yards, then start to feel much better so head off for a while slightly faster. The energy surge doesn't last long, by the next checkpoint I've slowed right down again but now it's only 7 miles to the finish. I manage a cheery greeting for the marshals at the final checkpoint 3 miles from the end, on what is now a beautifully sunny early evening, but I'm barely hitting 3 miles an hour and these last three miles are the hardest of the lot.  Then I'm suddenly in the outskirts of Dunkeld; not quite Chamonix but everyone on the streets knows what you've been up to and there is encouragement and congratulation from all sides. Over the bridge, into the square, and then the Drill Hall to finish, a few minutes under 31 hours  -  I don't record the exact time, it doesn't really seem all that important now, the journey was the thing, the numbers are just stamp collecting. There is a really nice touch at the end, each time a finisher comes through the door of the hall one of the marshals rings a handbell, prompting applause from everyone in the room.

I sit down for a cup of tea and reflect. It was tougher than I expected because of the rain and the trackless sections, particularly overnight, but overall a great trip. I could have pushed a bit harder near the end, you can always overcome tiredness, but I didn't want to finish in any distress. I'm in pretty reasonable shape, hobbling a bit on feet sore from being continually wet, and a stiff knee, but these will pass in a day or two. Really tired, but that will be put right by tomorrow. This first 100 of 2010 was OK. I call Jan who arrives from Perth in 20 minutes to pick me up. Our planned steak and chips doesn't happen because once back at the hotel I fall irretrievably asleep for a couple of hours and we have to make do with raiding a local petrol station for sandwiches and crisps at 11pm. It's a clear, cold night and we spare a thought for those still out on the course. Next morning, rested, breakfasted, checked out, we get in the car and head south. It's just after 9,30am, the handbell in Dunkeld Drill Hall will still be ringing  -  tough folk, these walkers.