The Highland Fling

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(maybe some times and photos and stuff later)

Injuries

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

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

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

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

- recurrent left groin strain, initial cause unknown

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

- and where we started, a bad back

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

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

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

"And your hair has become very white;

And yet you incessantly stand on your head -

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

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

"I feared it might injure the brain;

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

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

Back to Basics

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

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

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

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

Hard across the Moors

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Snow, Spain and Spring

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

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

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

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

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

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

Adventures or Epics?

This is going to be one of my periodic bouts of philosophy and I think it might go on for a while, so if you're not up for it then this is the moment to change channel. I'm going to tackle a couple of subjects that more experienced people in the ultra-running world will know far more about than me,  so I'll stress at the start that these are just my personal observations as an unspectacular middle-to-back-of-pack runner who nevertheless loves this rather crazy game we play.

A discussion developed on the WHW Race forum about the ups and downs of supported and unsupported races, and the volume and diversity of the contributions set me thinking about the whole thing. To start with and just to be clear, a "supported" event is where each runner has a back-up crew to meet him from time to time, provide food and drink, clean clothes and encouragement as and when required, run with him in the later stages if necessary, and go out and find him if he fails to show up at a checkpoint. An "unsupported" event is where no back-up crew is used, the runner carries everything he thinks he will need from the start, but food and drink may be available at aid stations provided by the organisers at regular points along the route and/or the runner sends his own pre-prepared "drop bags" to these points. The drop bags are sometimes retrieved (ie the runner gets the bag returned to him at the end of the race, allowing him to discard used clothing and equipment in it), or they may be just one-way bags containing food and drink and once the runner has used them they are thrown away by the organisers. Some folk have proposed that "crew-supported" and "organisation-supported" are more precise terms for the two types of event, but I'm happy with the original terms.

 Now it seems to me the debate surrounding these different genres can be distilled into two main themes, namely what impact does the choice of style have on the runner from (a) the overall quality of experience, and (b) the safety viewpoint. 

 The overall quality of experience is completely subjective; what will appeal to one runner may be a total turn-off for another. I have enjoyed enormously the supported events that I have run; there is a feeling of being part of a team, you have to carry far less stuff with you, and I have no doubt that the individual encouragement and support pushes you to better times than you would achieve unsupported. Back-up crews get to know each other as the race unfolds and this adds to the overall feeling among everyone of having been part of something special. But there are two main downsides. First, the runner has to find a back-up crew to give up some of their precious free time to indulge his passion. I've been very fortunate in three (hopefully soon to be four) trips along the West Highland Way in persuading my grown-up children that another sleep-deprived, midge-infested and probably wet weekend in the Scottish Highlands will be fun, but my luck won't last forever. The main reason that I have only entered the excellent Devil o'the Highlands run once is that I don't think I can justify asking a crew to cover two events in the same year. I know many people rely on long-standing friendships but for others it's tough to get a crew the first time, especially when they don't know what they're letting themselves in for. The second downside is that back-up crews need motorised transport, ultras tend to cover ground serviced by few roads and fewer parking spaces, so having a crew means fewer competitors can be allowed into the event than if it were unsupported.

 On the unsupported side, I know many runners feel the challenge is greater without a crew to cater for their every whim, fairer for everyone, not the F1 type experience where a good pit team can seriously advance the competitor's chances. I've enjoyed these races too; I don't find them better or worse experiences, just different, and when you send off your entry you know what you're getting into either way. I would personally be wary of trying to persuade any race organiser to change his style unless he already wants to. As this post was prompted by the West Highland Way (a supported race) discussion, I would just add the particular observations that moving it to an unsupported or partially supported event to increase numbers would not necessarily (a) improve its popularity and status as an event (many events are a bit of a lottery to get into - the UTMB and more dramatically the Western States for example, but the potential suitors know the score and accept it), nor (b) secure an increase in the number of finishers  -  the WHWR has an impressively high finisher percentage compared with other "100 mile" events, probably because it is supported.

Anyway, that's all about the quality of experience and as I said at the start it's totally subjective  -  if you don't like the conditions the organisers set, then don't enter the race! The safety aspect is more interesting and potentially more serious; I have seen some discussion on whether an unsupported race gives rise to more or fewer safety issues than a supported one. I think it's not just a question of comparing these two styles, it's much more complex than that  -  stick with me for a bit longer and I'll try to justify that statement.

First let's look at some of the underlying facts:

1. Ultra races often cover wild and mountainous terrain, which by its nature attracts frequently bad and rapidly changing weather.

2. In the longer races some runners will face a lot of this territory in the dark.

3. When runners have been in continuous action for 24 hours or so their physical and mental reserves can start to get pretty low (for example, night-time hallucinations are commonplace - I thought this was just a story until I experienced them)

4. Compared with other users of this type of terrain, runners are wearing/carrying very little.

5. There has been a huge increase in the popularity of ultra-running in the last 3 or 4 years, so the ratio of newcomers to seasoned campaigners is fairly high.

 Before going into more detail on the actual risks and how they are managed (not avoided), let's just consider two other questions:

 1. Is ultra-running considered a high-risk sport by its participants? For many years I have indulged in two pastimes, mountaineering and off-piste skiing, where there is an acceptance that serious errors in judgement or technique can cost you your life  -  there are many others of course, motor racing, cave diving, many aerial sports, etc, etc, the list is long  - but the common point is that participants are aware that what they are doing is potentially dangerous and it is up to them to gain sufficient experience to practice their passion with an acceptable level of safety (though by its nature this is something of a Catch 22 process which has to be mitigated by a degree of prudence if you want to survive). Does the average ultra-runner set out with this at the back of his mind?

2. Is the general public (inadequate term I know but I can't think of a better one), probably influenced by the media, ready to accept that serious accidents in ultra running might happen? Think back a bit, a climber dies in the Alps, a motor cyclist in the Isle of Man, a short item halfway down the news, sad but these things happen. The Mountain Marathon experiences rain and flooding in the Lake District and there is a fairly prolonged outcry.

 I was once out running in the hills a year or two ago, people knew roughly but not exactly where I was, on a cold, damp, misty day, when I started out fine but then began to feel a bit cold, then gradually a bit colder. Stop for a Mars bar, carry on, the cold gets colder. Nasty wind, keep going, don't want a drink, I only have cold water. I know I've a dry layer and a waterproof in my backpack, but can't be bothered to stop now, too cold to stop, can't really feel my hands and feet now, just carry on, very cold. I made it back to the car and sat shivering inside with the heater full on for nearly half an hour before I could drive off. I'd only been out 4 or 5 hours, classic case, first onset of hypothermia affecting decision making. On a full-on climbing trip I'd have recognised the symptoms, but I was only out for a half day's run. It won't happen again but you only need to be unlucky once.

My conclusions from all of this are as follows:

1.Ultra running can occasionally create life threatening situations. If you cannot maintain your body heat by movement with all the clothes you have with you (you twist an ankle, you get too tired to move fast enough, a headtorch fails, or it simply gets colder than you were prepared for), then you're in real trouble without help. Although it may buy you a little time, your bivvy bag won't save your life indefinitely. Your chances are greatly increased if someone is either with you when it happens or comes across you very shortly afterwards.

2. Public opinion will probably not accept potential fatalities in the course of organised ultra events, no matter how infrequently.

3. Although most event entry conditions call for the signing of some form of disclaimer on the part of the competitor ("If I get into trouble it's entirely my own responsibility" or some such), this has virtually no impact at all on the likelihood of an accident occurring, and once it has occurred the organisation will inevitably come under scrutiny.

4. Event organisers have only three main mechanisms at their disposal to ensure the event is as safe as possible:

(i)  To ensure that the competitors are competent and capable of the event

(ii) To encourage and constrain them to make sensible decisions on the day.

(iii) To have at hand a plan for awareness and evacuation if an accident or incident occurs.

and if they back off on one of these, they have to increase efforts on the others.

In thinking this through so far, I'm happy that in all the events that I have participated in to date, the organisers have done a pretty good job. There may be some dodgy events out there but I haven't come across one yet, although I do think it is in every comnpetitor's own interest to think about these things before they turn up at any particular start line. I am also clear that whether it is supported or unsupported, every race is different and needs its own specific hazard analysis and risk management plan. I think it is simplistic and possibly dangerous to say "this works for race X, so why not use it for race Y?"  -  that's the whole point, race Y is never exactly the same as race X. It's the details that make the system work, not the system itself. I'll finish off by giving some examples of what I mean.

The UTMB is an unsupported race. Although there is a qualification process, and you have to have done at least one long ultra to get in, it's clear that many entrants are not up to the course (I certainly wasn't, on more than one occasion!). The organisers accept this as a 40-45% drop out rate seems normal year on year. However the course is very easy to follow (a clear trail and fluorescent markers every 100 yards or so) and the sheer number of participants (2300) means that you are almost never out of sight of another runner. The road-accessible checkpoints are never far apart and supplemented by mountain huts in between. The whole show is manned by organisers whose day jobs are working in the mountains, supported by 1000+ volunteers. That sort of organisation gives you some cushion against most eventualities.

The Lakeland 100 is an unsupported race. Although the entry form insists on previous ultra experience, competence control is reinforced by strong warnings on entry and at regular intervals  -  the latest newsletter to competitors includes the following      ".....................If you are not an experienced and competent navigator you are likely to fail...............If you have not completed several ultra events already you are likely to fail...............If any of the above apply to you, you could put your life in danger............."  . The road-accessible checkpoints are never far apart, and are mostly based in permanent buildings. The toughest sections of the course, which also have the trickiest night-time navigation, are in the first 30 miles when runners will be fresher and closer together. The final 50 miles are accompanied simultaneously by the Lakeland 50 event which significantly increases the number of runners on the trail.

  

The West Highland Way is a supported event. Entry is individually controlled, each competitor's track record is checked, he may be interviewed and asked to complete a specific qualifying race before entry is confirmed. This helps to achieve a drop out rate of no more than 10% in most years. The checkpoints are a long way apart (7 checkpoints on the WHW, compared with 15 on the Lakeland 100 and 27 on the UTMB over (roughly) the same distance), but get closer together over the final 25 miles. The first night section is immediately after the start when runners are fresh and close together. If runners need to run through the second night, they are not allowed to leave a checkpoint unaccompanied if it is dark, or likely to get dark before the next checkpoint is reached. Back-up crews are charged with making sure their runner is in a fit state to carry on at any point, and to accompany him when necessary.

Clearly these observations do not cover the whole safety plan for each of these races, but they do illustrate how different courses are managed in different ways, and they certainly give me confidence that these guys have thought their races through pretty well.

I have concentrated only on the longer ultras in this safety part of the post. This is not accidental, anyone who has done both knows that a 100 mile race is not twice as hard as a 50 mile race, it's much, much harder than that, with some competitors effectively "running on empty" later in the event which increases the risk of misjudgements. I don't think you can use 50 mile races, with competitors fresher, closer together, and mostly in daylight, as a model for how to manange safety in the longer ones; it's a different game.

In the 2008 West Highland Way I left Kinlochleven with 14 miles to go to the finish at Fort William through the high and deserted Lairig Mor. I had already been on the go for about 21 hours, I was tired and having difficulty eating anything worthwhile. It was just getting dark. There was a strong wind, and it rained steadily and continuously to the finish. I was accompanied by my son, a strong and fit 28 year old, but we had our hoods tight closed against the weather and barely exchanged a word until nearly at Fort William. Use of a phone, even assuming a signal, would have been problematic. Apart from checking in with the marshal at Lundavra, huddled in his car, for the whole 14 miles of paddling through streams and puddles we saw only one other light in the far distance, maybe a couple of miles ahead, otherwise we were completely alone. I was about halfway down the field, at this point strung out over 12 hours or so. On that night, under those conditions, would I have set out alone with just a drop bag at Lundavra? Call me a wimp, but no thanks.

Well there it is. Too long I'm afraid, if you've made it to the end with me, and just my views as I said at the start. I think I'll stay alive during my ultra career, and I sincerely hope everyone else does. Back to running next time, I promise.

WHW Finish 2008, around 3.30am

 

Trotting down the Thames

I'd had the cold for a few days, the sore throat was almost gone, by Saturday morning I was just left with a thick head and a runny nose, and on the principle that symptoms above the neck can't harm you I decided to go. So at 5am Jan and I scrape the ice from the car, throw the bags in the back and drive down the foggy motorways to Oxford, finding the Prince of Wales pub at Iffley, the start of the "Thames Trot" race at just after eight o'clock. Inside the pub it's a melee of  lycra clad runners, cosily dressed supporters, coffee, bacon butties, and general friendly noise. The scheduled eight thirty start will be a bit delayed we're told, a few runners still to be ferried in from the station, but only by ten minutes. A few minutes to relax, get some coffee, leave Jan to have breakfast, she's driving on down to daughter Julia's in Reading and they'll meet me at the finish we hope, then we get the word and it's out into the cold of the car park for the briefing. "Not much to say guys, it's a bit muddy, you'll probably get wet up to the ankles but there's no flooding, have a good run", then the hooter sounds and a hundred and forty of us shuffle off down the lane to Iffley Lock and the river.

The Thames Path is a waymarked long distance trail, following (mostly) the banks of the river for 180 miles from Kemble in Gloucestershire to the Thames Barrier at Woolwich, and the race covers the 50 mile section from Oxford to Henley. This is its second year, last year the course was snow covered but today we have standard BBC "grey cloud" as the mist at the river edge blends seamlessly into the sky with temperatures just about positive. I don't want to aggravate my cold so I decide to take it very gently at first and settle down in the second half of the field with a group doing about 10 minute miles. I've never run a flat ultra before, so I've decided to walk for 5 minutes in every 45 to use some different muscles; as it turns out the course isn't completely flat, and the ground underfoot and natural obstacles mean that progress is nowhere near as uniform as on a solid surface so the tactic is probably not necessary, however I find that I enjoy the breaks so I might do it again. The first twenty miles are muddy paths through fields by the river. I somehow didn't expect so much mud. I would be better in trail shoes but that isn't what I've brought so no use worrying about it now. This isn't quite Rotherham calibre mud but it does stick, and the build up makes everyone's shoes progressively heavier. At Rotherham I always carry a blunt dinner knife to deal with it, but today I have to look for occasional "de-clodding" aids in the shape of gates, fences or tree roots - and being well down the field most of the good ones have been used already!

But I'm making steady progress, two checkpoints pass, we go through occasional villages with opportunities to get lost, I chat with various people as I catch up with them as you do in these events. I meet a guy who's entered the Lakeland 100, I say I'll see him there.  Time passes and  I see fewer runners as the field starts to spread out. After twenty miles or so the trail seems to leave the river but I can see a runner ahead in the distance and I follow. A mile or so later I catch up, it's a young lady now slowing up to check where she is; we look at the map and decide the turning back to river must be just a few  dozen yards further on and so it is. She recognises my West Highland Way buff and it turns out she's Carrie who has entered the WHW for the first time this year, come down from Scotland to do this race. I don't know what she makes of this geriatric with the streaming eyes and snotty nose, but we carry on together for a while. Then I have one of those patches when everything seems to go right, we've just passed half way, we hit some firm grassy fields with no mud, and I feel great; I can go faster so I say to Carrie I'll see her when she catches me up later and press on ahead. I feel so good that I pay insufficient attention to the route, an apparent fence barrier forces me rightwards, I follow a long track and end up on a road with no Thames Path signs, I follow my nose left along the road but still no signs so I stop to admit I must be wrong - and as three other runners including Carrie have followed me they soon catch up. We get out the map and find we can rejoin the route just about at the 27 mile checkpoint - my little detour will have added about a half a mile on to our day's activity. 

When we run into the checkpoint I have two surprises; first, Jan and Julia have turned up there to give me some encouragement, and second they don't seem at all concerned by the direction we have come in from - we've seen runners come into here from at least three directions, they say - the marshal is unperturbed, he seems to think it's pretty normal. I pick some sausage rolls and fruitcake - the food on this event is rather good, and tell the ladies I'll see them at the finish, assuming that you can find it, adds the marshal as I jog off. 

This is at Goring, and from here the trail starts to get much more interesting. First there are hills that crowd the river, forcing the trail to gain height and go over some undulations, maybe a hundred feet or so but a welcome change from the flatlands, then a final up and a lovely long downhill into Pangbourne, over the bridge and back to the river bank, now through meadows with Saturday afternoon walkers as the sun finally starts to shine. Long views ahead now, and my slow start is paying off, I start to pass people, but each one takes a while, I see them ahead way in the distance, they get oh so slowly closer until I can catch and eventually pass them. Another checkpoint comes up, 36 miles, the distance being reeled in. Apart from a raw throat from having breathed in so much cold air I still feel good, I'm prepared to get tired now so I push on a bit harder. I'm still walking every 45 minutes but getting back to near 10 minute miles in between. All through the Reading area it's a good surfaced track; I thought this would be hard on the feet at this stage but it's welcome after all the mud early on though it's a weird place to be running an ultra, mud spattered runners passing the smartly dressed dog walkers in an urban park. Then the city disappears and the final checkpoint comes up at Sonning, just 6 miles to go.

I remember the banana milkshake I've been carrying for over 40 miles and it goes down a treat, a quick phone call to the ladies to say I'm on the last lap, and on we go. I catch another runner, the only one I can see, we chat a bit, decide we'll probably both make it to the end faster together than either of us will alone, and for the first time start to think about the time. Nine hours looks comfortable now I say, eight and a half might just be on says my companion, and in the way it happens when you run together and with a purpose, gradually the speed inches up. A few more muddy bits lest we forget what went before, a couple of country lanes, some fields, it's hurting now but it doesn't matter this late in the day, two long boardwalk bridges and we're on to the final hard towpath with the buildings of Henley in view. We wonder where the finish is, can see the church a few hundred yards away, can't be any further than that, then suddenly there it is, the white flags barely a hundred yards away across the park on our left. I glance at my watch, 8 hours 27, it's going to be OK, could crawl home in 3 minutes from here. 8-28-17 is the final judgement, 38th place, done.

The girl at the finish is asking me my tee-shirt size but I'm concentrating so hard on the coffee and fruitcake on the same table that she has to ask three times before it registers. The food on this trip really has been good. In fact all round it's been a really well-organised event. Jan and Julia are waiting, and I get the ecstasy of inactivity curled up in the back of the car on the way to Reading, before a long shower and a long-anticipated visit to the Italian restaurant. First ultra of 2010, great day out, I'm looking forward to the rest of the year!

I found out later that Carrie finished as second-placed lady  -  well done!!