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.

Apprenticeship

When I was a lad apprenticeships in most things took four or five years. It's now just over four years since I ran my first ultra, the Highland Fling in 2007, so I thought I might try to set down what I think I've learned since then. It was a relatively late apprenticeship, starting as I approached my 59th birthday  -  the origin of the blog title of course  -  and I'm certainly not presenting any of this as great wisdom or recommendations; all you have here is what I think has worked for me. 

Since the spring of 2007 I have stood at the start line of 22 events, 8 "hundred" milers, 12 fifties and 2 thirties. I got the dreaded DNF three times so I know what it feels like, and clearly still have a fair bit to learn. I've also run a couple of road marathons each year because I enjoy their carnival atmosphere but have pretty well given up shorter races -  I don't enjoy the speed required for half marathons and 10k's, too much like hard work! At the end of 2007 I decided what I wanted to achieve, which is to run 6 to 8 good ultras a year, to enjoy them and to acquit myself as well as I can.  I don't want to do lots of races and just get round inside the time limits, though this is an understandable strategy and I'm amazed at how many events some runners complete, it's not for me. Neither is reducing the year to 2 or 3 target races that I want to get my absolute best times in - I enjoy the year-round activity and variety too much. No, a good day out and a solid mid-pack finish is where I'm at and the takeout from my learnings will reflect this. So here goes, read on if you're interested, I won't be offended if you've got better things to do.....

Training

1. Long slow runs. This is what ultras are,  so I find the key sessions for me are long slow runs - 15  to 25 miles, normally off-road, at least once a week. This gets me to feel that the marathon distance is "no big deal", something I'm happy to turn out for without any notice (or contemplate as do-able near the end of a long race!)

2. Hills. I enjoy days out in the hills, so this doesn't really feel like training at all. I try to get at least 5000ft of ascent in on a good day, rising to 10,000ft in the summer, distance less important, maybe 10-15 miles.

3. Speed (well, it's a relative term...). Over the last couple of years I've been convinced that a fairly frequent tempo run to get the heart rate up a bit pays off. This is the only session that I don't really look forward to but I'm sure it does me good, though 6 miles at somewhere near 7 minute pace is about my limit.

4. Recovery. I'm sure for me that just totting up miles over easy ground at a medium pace doesn't advance the cause at all, so I don't do it. I occasionally do a recovery run of three or four miles the day after a long outing and this definitely works, go out hobbling stiff and come back cruising, but maybe this is an age thing.

5. Mileage has been around 2000 for the year over the past 3 years. About 1000 before the middle of June then ease off the miles and do more hills in the summer to support the longer hillier races. 3 or 4 outings a week is enough if they're good. The rests in between do me more good than more miles. I don't plan "easy" weeks, other activities (climbing, ski-ing, other holidays, etc) ensure that I get enough time off.

Races

I've become more and more convinced that while a fair bit of training is necessary to get you through an ultra, how you manage the day itself can have a huge effect on it's eventual outcome. In particular.....

6. Run your own race. The most obvious rule, and the hardest to keep sometimes - "a plan never survives the first contact with the enemy.....". It's hard not to compare yourself with the progress of others in the event, especially if you know them. But most of us are not racing, we're here to get our best performance. So if I'm used to a two minute walk for a drink every so often and I'm running with a group that doesn't.....yes, I have to force myself to stop and walk, because I know it will pay off for me.

7. Don't stop moving for any longer than you really have to. In my first long ultra I was amazed afterwards to find that I had spent nearly 3 hours sitting around at checkpoints "resting". Nowadays I believe that unless you have to stop to (eg) patch up an injury etc, it's not worth stopping. Most of the recovery you can get from a 10 minute sit-down you can get from the same time walking slowly - and you end up half a mile closer to the finish. As Fiona says about the WHW "Just keep putting one foot in front of the other in the direction of Fort William and you'll get there"  - or as John V has put it to me more graphically on several occasions "KFG, mate, just KFG".

8. Run the runnable ground for as long as you can. The slowest most people will jog at is around 12-13 minute mile pace, but the fastest you are likely to walk at, especially when tiring, is up in the 16-17 minute mile region. The maths are clear, run as much as you can. Now if you're a Jez Bragg or a Ritchie Cunningham this is most of the way, but for people like me it's much less, so I have to run at the most productive times. This means saving energy when its use is less productive, by walking up the steeper hills, slowing down where the ground is technical, not going too fast for the first 20 miles, etc so that I can cash in on the runnable ground when it turns up.

9.Use the daylight. Because you lose all your peripheral vision, you go slower in the dark; or to put it another way, to go at the same speed needs more energy. If any navigation is involved this effect gets many times worse. So I accept that I'm going to slow down in the dark and not worry about it. Push on in the evening, take it easy later, go with the flow. This is not too important in Scotland in midsummer, much more so in the Alps in late August, when the darkness can last nine hours.

10. Don't fret about food. If you're managing to eat well, great; if it's hard going, don't make it worse by worrying about it or trying to force it down. Everyone has enough fat on board to finish the race, you just go a bit slower. This was a real eye-opener for me and I'm able to go through odd periods of not eating in a much more relaxed and productive frame of mind.

11. Get the electrolytes right. I used to finish most ultras with varying degrees of nausea, and it caused me to DNF on one occasion. The man himself Jez Bragg then told me that if this happens, 9 times out of 10 it's because your electrolyte balance has gone to pot. Everyone's way of combatting this is different, but for the last couple of years I have taken Succeed caps to a rigid schedule (exact dose depending on temperature); for me it has been the single biggest factor in turning ultras from challenges into enjoyable experiences.

12. Cut the weight down. This sounds so obvious as to be not worth mentioning, but coming from a mountaineering/self sufficiency background the temptation to carry stuff because it might come in useful or make life more comfortable has been hard to overcome. Do a little experiment, run your favourite 10 miles carrying nothing, and the next day run it carrying say 2,5kg (the lowest weight your UTMB or Hardmoors pack is likely to be). The difference is mind-blowing. I once set out on an ultra with a 2l (yes two litre!) camelback. I now buy the lightest kit I can afford and take pretty well the minimum allowed.

13. Recognise when you're making a mistake. We all know when we're going a bit too fast, when a blister has just started to form, when we're getting cold and should stop and put a jacket one, or a hundred other little things that we know deep down are contributing to a less than optimal performance. Put it right, before it gets out of hand.

14. It's going to hurt sometimes. None of us go looking for it but if you set out to cover a hundred miles on foot you're extremely lucky if something doesn't hurt a bit along the way. I'm definitely not into the "embrace the pain" thing but I am convinced by the pragmatic attitude of Joss Naylor - "If you ever want to do anything on the fells, then if you're suffering from some ailment, you've just got to shrug it off". It's not failure, it's not unfair, it's part of the deal, if you can't take a joke you shouldn't have joined.

15. Don't think about the finish. I used to climb big Alpine faces and big rock walls. You would set out on an adventure that was going to take two or three days or more to complete. Occasionally after a while, maybe conditions weren't great, you would get "summit fever", and then the climb lost all interest, you just wanted up and off as fast as you could go, and from then on there was no pleasure, just a gruelling job to be done. Ultras are like that. If you think about the overall enormity of what you have taken on you can be easily beaten by it. Enjoy (or deal with!) the next mile, the next hour, the next checkpoint, the next cup of tea, and it will be OK.

I now go through points 6-15 as a sort of  "checklist" before an event to try and make sure I actually use what I think I've learned. That's it then. Thanks to the huge number of ultra runners who have individually and collectively taught me what I know - because of course you never dream any of this up yourself, it always comes from somewhere!

First "big" race of the year (The West Highland Way) coming up in three weeks. Looking forward to it already.

The Highland Fling 2011

So what is there to say about a race you've already done four times before and just completed again in a competent but ultimately disappointing time? Well, quite a lot actually, so if you start here be prepared for a bit of a session.

After my somewhat ambivalent last post I was put back on the straight and narrow by the ever wise Murdo tM. Gentleman that he is, he would never use my words but the message was clear  - "You're not getting any younger, if you want this then stop feeling sorry for yourself and get your act together!" Within two hours of his email my "let's see what the day brings" approach had morphed into a plan and splits for a 10 hour finish. Slow at the start to leave enough in the tank for my normal strengths, the technical stuff north of Inversnaid and the long slow uphills from Bein Glas. It was quite a relief that I'd finally made a decision, so bags packed and off to Scotland.

In spite of the increase in ultra participation over the last year or two this is still a small community, and gathering for the start of any race has a sort of reunion feel about it. At just after five o'clock in Milngavie station yard it's good to meet up with so many friends. Chip collected, drop bags dropped, the now legendary one-line briefing from race director Murdo MacDonald, and we're off. At least everyone else is - looking down to check that my watch has started after the darkness of the underpass, I trip on the concrete flight of steps and go sprawling, catching my kneecap full-on on the angle of a step. Some concern, some jovial comments about this being rather early to pull out, but I think I'm OK.  Get up, hurts a bit to stand, hobble up the steps and on a few paces, can't be too bad, try jogging slowly, limp for about half a mile, then the warm feeling around the knee starts to kick in and I can start to run normally. I feel it on and off through the day but it doesn't really cause any problems. The knee was already strapped for other reasons so nothing to see, don't notice the bruise and slight swelling until I take it off at about ten thirty that night. What an idiot! But I'm not alone, falls will be a feature of many runners' races today.

For we six o'clock starters, running conditions are pretty well perfect from the start to Balmaha, cool, not a cloud in the sky, and a pleasant breeze on the right shoulder. After chatting with a few runners over the first mile or two I catch Graeme Morrison and dog Penny. We've shared many miles over the WHW trail between here and Fort William over the past couple of years; today he's going slower, a bad ski-ing crash on Christmas Day has put him out of action for too much training time but he still goes on to record a good finish. Run a bit with Bob Allison, wish I could learn his pacing secret for the WHW, negative splits every year! I pass a lady who has fallen but is being looked after by several other runners, I learn later that this is Rosie Bell. Then I run the rest of the way to Drymen with Tony Thistlethwaite, another veteran WHW performer. I mention a couple of times that I think the pace might be a bit too fast for me but it feels very comfortable, maybe the result of the more speed work I've done this year, so I happily stay with it. We hit Drymen in 1:53.

I'll pre-empt the finish now by saying that I didn't make my target. On the day I thought it was down to the progressive rise in temperatures after Balmaha, but on reflection I think I could have, and possibly should have, got under the 10 hours. I made two very basic errors and this was the first. One of the predictions in Billy's blog keeps going through my head - "90% of the field will start far too fast and run a sub-optimal race as a result" - not me I thought as I read it, but here I am fastest ever time for me to Drymen and 7 minutes under schedule. I've run the first 12 miles at a pace more than 30 seconds a mile faster than I planned, and will pay for it later.

But without these cares I carry on in great conditions through the gradually disappearing forest and begin the climb up Conic Hill. In the cool clear air and views like you don't see too often I hardly feel the hill, but slow down to walk the steeper bits. I catch up with Sharon and am surprised that she's not half an hour ahead of me by now, but she says she's taking it easy today as her training has been interrupted too since the 100k races a month ago. I tell her she'll catch me down the other side as I'm trying to go easy on my knees a bit. Sure enough, a little way down the descent she goes bounding past but a hundred yards past me she tumbles and I can hear from the shouts that it's not trivial. No blood but her knees are really hurting, I get her to just sit and recuperate a minute or two. We're joined by two or three other runners and she tries to stand up but can't. One or two stay with her while others will alert Balmaha. I'm still slow, and before I've gone five minutes more down the hill I pass George Reid coming up to the rescue. I hope it's not too bad for her.

The slick Balmaha drop bag team are in action, and it seems that no sooner have I shouted my number to Davie than Murdo is handing me my bag. Seeing all the bags arranged for this huge field is quite impressive, brilliant job guys!

After running with lots of people and never having runners out of sight up to here, the scene suddenly changes for some reason, and between Balmaha and Rowardennan I pass two runners but otherwise see no-one. Not strictly true, I seem to keep seeing Marco at almost every turn - he's decided not to risk aggravating a recovering injury and messing up his WHW so is here supporting, but he must be covering more miles than the runners. My miles seem to be going by easily enough though, my knees are protesting a bit on the downhills but nothing too bad, otherwise I feel fine. But it is warming up. We've lost the breeze and I strip down to one light teeshirt. I reach Rowardennan in 4:40, now only 5 minutes ahead of schedule, so allowing for a bit of time spent with Sharon the pace from Drymen has been just about spot on.

I normally like the section from here to Inversnaid, and today I run most of it as usual, but it's starting to feel hot and a bit harder, though I pass another two or three runners and am passed by one. I'm glad when the hotel shows up eventually. I reach Inversnaid bang on target but this means I have already lost the 7 minute cushion I built up by Drymen, and a warning bell or two start to sound. Sitting for a few seconds on one of the wooden benches on the terrace to refill my pack, no longer in the shade of the lochside trees, I realise that the day is now very hot. I have an extra swig of water before setting out for Bein Glas.

I don't mind the next three wiggly miles as everyone goes slower here, and a bit of knowing where to put your feet pays a better dividend than fitness so I can usually pick up some time. Today however, just as I go into one of the most tortuous bits, just after the run across the short meadow, I catch the tail end of a party of about 50 walkers - no hyperbolae,  there really are that many! They are all very friendly and helpful, stepping to the side when they can, even complimentary, but this maybe because I'm probably in the top 10 in the field "on the ground" at this point  - I wonder how they'll feel when the three hundredth runner has gone past......

The staggered start has had some quite interesting effects today, particularly since the faster Vet 40's delayed their start until two hours after ours. Last year, starting an hour behind, Thomas ("Crazy German") caught me well before Rowardennan, so far today I've seen no-one from the later starts. Anyway, in spite of the walkers I must be boulder-hopping quite well because I reach the wooden steps on schedule, and shortly after the first of the seven o'clock starters passes me, though I don't recognise him.

Coming out of the trees, across the little grassy patch before the short climb up to Doune Bothy is the turning point of the race for me. The sun hits me hard and I just start to wilt. All the uphills suddenly feel very hard, and I walk many sections that I usually run. I keep telling myself to knuckle down and get on with it, but as soon as I lose concentration I find I am walking again. About two miles before Bein Glas the first of the eight o'clock starters Andrew James comes past, followed twenty or so yards behind by Jez. Thirty-eight miles in, on undulating rocky ground, these guys are not just travelling very fast but clearly still racing every step of the way. I shout my encouragements but they're not in sight for long.

I get to Bein Glas but the last three miles have hit me hard. I roll in in 7:39, a full nine minutes behind my schedule. Again I'm surprised to see John K just leaving, he should be a long way up the road, but I know he doesn't like the sun much so it must be having an effect on him too. I have to have a rest so I sit for a minute or so, down a milkshake and try to get my head around the last tough stage. Realistically, the ten hours is now blown; I would have to do the last twelve miles eight minutes faster than last year, and I'm clearly not in the shape that I was at this point then. But if if I can just do the section in the same time as last year I'll get the pb, worth working a bit for, so go for it.

I know I can run these hills. I may be slow today but it's still faster than walking. Way in the distance I see two runners, I think one must be John as I didn't see anyone else leave before me. He's with another runner who turns out to be Claire Walton. They're walking the ups and running the flats. I'm running most of it but at a slower pace than their run. I reel them in oh so slowly but they are getting nearer. I'm passed by Stuart Mills and we exchange a word or two but he's going  much faster so he's not with me long. George Reid appears again travelling in the opposite direction and shouts encouragement, much appreciated, I need all the help I can get. On the final rise before Derrydarroch is Murdo tM with flag and camera, never misses this if he's not running, and I almost catch John and Claire, but then they're faster down to the farm and the gap opens up again. I finally get to them just before the road crossing, but then Marco appears again to meet them. It's great to see that Sharon is with him walking OK obviously having survived the earlier fall. They stop a minute but I carry on. Just reaching the old road and I see Silke, supporting Thomas CG,  someone else who I seem to have been seeing on and off all day. She has a cold water spray, I ask to be hit straight in the face, fantastic. I have to walk through the tunnels then up the steep bit, using the pause to drink and stuff in another gel, hoping it will get me home. When the angle eases I determine that I will run all the way to the big gate, and apart from the steepest 30 yards I do, but it hurts.

The "big gate", a significant point for many of us being exactly half the distance from Milngavie to Fort William, is important for me today as well, because I've decided this is the point at which I'll decide what I can do. From here to the finish is six miles. I have an hour left to break 10 hours, 70 minutes for a pb. The last six miles have taken me 80 minutes. It's not going to happen. The realisation takes away the last bit of motivation. From here to the finish I walk the ups and jog the rest. On one of the uphills in the forest Richie cruises past, on his way to a sub 8 hour pb. On the bit of tarmac from Auchtertyre Thomas comes past also looking very good. I jog on, and on the last bit of open ground before the final wood three mountain bikers tear past in the opposite direction. I later learn that Thomas has had a fall in avoiding them and is now lying somewhere by the side of the track. I just don't see him on my way to the finish, how could I have missed him?

Then it's along the river and through the gate to the pipers and the new finish. Katrina K pulling me back to beep the chip and it's all over.10:18:46. Eight minutes slower than last year. The last twenty miles were tough. I wander down to my car by the tourist office, climb in and immediately fall asleep for over an hour. Later, Davie Hall catches me sitting in the sun outside Paddy's Bar rehydrating with non-athletically-approved fluids. Recovered, I wander back to the finish for the prizegiving.

It was a class race. In the previous 5 Highland Flings three individuals in total cracked the eight hour barrier, today the first seven finishers were inside it. My own target of 10 hours was achieved by 54 runners. Jez never quite caught Andrew James, but beat his own existing record to come second and seemed happy enough at the finish.

I said I made two basic errors. The second one? I didn't drink enough and got dehydrated, a condition which everyone will say has a significant effect on performance. My plan and equipment allowed me a half litre of fluid between checkpoints, and I wasn't with it enough to realise that was the problem or to improvise a solution. I don't get thirsty, but I'm sure it wasn't enough. Ian Beattie told me afterwards that he drank nearly three times that. Records were set and many pb's achieved so the conditions weren't a problem, just that some runners adapted to them more sensibly than others. I'll try to learn.

So my basic problem was not going fast enough over last 20 miles of the race, probably caused by a combination of starting too fast and later performance drop-off from dehydration. For my type of strategy, I know I've run a good race when my position in the field improves steadily through the event. Taking positions at the four checkpoints (Drymen, Rowardennan, Bein Glas, Tyndrum), my positions last year (for a pb) were 176,108,70,47.   This year my positions were 143,114,77,67 so it's clear what happened. I should have run with John Malcolm, whose positions of 167,121,78,58 left him just a whisker short of 10 hours.

Still, my run was just about good enough to retain the Vet60 trophy. Nice to get my name on a second time, but still not up with the legendary Rob Reid who achieved all three of his wins while stopping for a dip in the river at Derrydarroch on the way. And there was a prize for the best presented drop bag. These things sum up the Fling, a combination of total class and wonderful idiosyncracy which must surely make it the best single day experience to be had on the UK ultra scene. Thanks to Murdo and Ellen and their army of helpers for making it, as ever, such a brilliant day out.