Touring in Style

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

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

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

Les Contamines and the distant Bonhomme pass from La Charme

Chalet at La Charme

Down the piste toward St Gervais

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

Towards La Balme

Final ascent to Bonhomme (lowest point on ridge ahead)

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

The Bonhomme refuge

  

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

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

Down to Chapieux

And up towards the Col de la Seine

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lakeland 100

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No More Training then

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

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

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

So why exactly do you want to run this race?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Reflections

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Another Day on the West Highland Way

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

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

The Start

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

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

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

After 4 years practice they're a slick team!

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

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

Arriving at Auchtertyre......

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

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

Approaching Bridge of Orchy

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

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

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

Arriving at Glencoe

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

Top of the Devil's Staircase

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

Up into a long, gloomy Lairig Mor

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

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

Finish

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

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

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

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

Diversion and Contemplation

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

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

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

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

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

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