West Highland Way 2014 - Stealing a Goblet

When I first got interested in the West Highland Way Race some years ago, the old hands told me that there were always two journeys involved  - the one across the Highlands on the longest Saturday of the year and the one that starts in the depths of the previous winter, the long haul of getting yourself into a state suitable to meet the challenge and toe the start line. This year I didn't get the luxury of the latter one; six months of no running leading to some knee surgery in March saw me back in the running game with a half mile in six minutes on 19th April  -  a date that I hoped would be the dawn of gradually getting back to normal.  The WHW entry had of course been in since last November, and I decided to go for it. Two months would just have to be enough.

The payback for such hubris might well be a good kicking up in Scotland, no more than I deserved you might say, but I reasoned that I still had three things in my favour. First, I was by now an "auld acquaintance" rather than a brash new suitor  -   after seven previous completions I knew exactly what I was getting into. Next, while I had not run through the winter I had continued to walk the hills so had plenty of time on the feet in the bank. Finally, the overall time allowance for the WHW Race is a fairly generous 35 hours - you have the time to walk an awful lot of it if you need to. I was also under no illusions about performance  -  if the thing was going to be done it would likely take a very long time.

Any doubts I might have had about whether this was a sensible enterprise or not were quickly dispelled in the comfort of the now very familiar on Friday evening  - checking into the Premier Inn in Milngavie with Jan, the rest of my support team turning up from their busy lives, John in Manchester and Julia in Reading, the family reunion over dinner, how's it going to go, probably OK but I have a plan, that's OK then.

Down to the registration, lots of friendly familiar faces, the braceletting, chipping and weighing, "Am I really 3 kilos heavier than last year?", superb top in the goody bag, same as the one from a while ago that's been worn all over the world since, then off for a final quiet hour or so before coming back for the start. I could almost recite the briefing word for word by now, but wait, there's a difference this time, the Lord of the Bridge happily informs us that there will be no weather this year!  Then the last bit of waiting, meetings, Aussie Keith "let's get a selfie", hug for Fiona, both of them setting out on their tenth trip up the course, Borkur from Iceland who always said he would come to Scotland and now he's made it.  I won't be seeing much of the usual suspects during the race this year, the plan has to be different.

Then the countdown and we're off.

I've said numerous times that if your main aim is to finish then don't start on a twenty four hour schedule and then have to tough it out when it falls apart, that won't be pretty. I've done it and I know. If a finish is what you want then plan for it  -  so now it's time for me to follow my own advice. I give the team a schedule so we can meet at the early checkpoints without them losing too much sleep, but underneath this the strategy is simple; I want to get to Auchtertyre (50 miles) in about 13 hours or so with the absolute minimum of effort. If that gets done I will  have enough time left to walk to the end if necessary. My tactics are to walk anything that even smells of uphill , to run no longer than two miles continuously without a walking break, and to "run" at no faster than 12 minute miles.

The field takes off ahead of me and I'm soon on my own. I see one or two runners in the open field before the railway, and one support team at the Beech Tree. Otherwise it's very, very quiet. Along the railway line continuous running is easy but the calf starts to get a bit sore now and then and I slow to a walk for a few minutes every mile or so. At the end of the railway I'm used to looking back as I hit the road and seeing a long line of headlights behind, but tonight all is darkness. Two and three quarter hours from the start I chug through the road crossing at Drymen and there is no-one, and I mean not a single person, there. It is as if the race has completely disappeared. Of the 193 starters, I calculate later that I am now in 190th place. It's lonely down here at the back!

The headlamp comes off as I turn into the forest, and I start very gradually to catch and pass one or two other runners. I catch Fiona just as we crest Conic Hill, then cruise down to the Balmaha checkpoint to be welcomed by Davie at the dibber  -  he looks as though he's done his shift and is ready for breakfast. It's easy to find the crew as the car park is almost empty. At 4:19:43 I'm now in 184th place. John and Julia have everything ready and in a couple of minutes I'm away up the loch, saying I'll see them in Bein Glas with 10:30 on the clock  -  three nice steady sections, 2 hours to Rowardennan, 2 to Inversnaid, 2 to Bein Glas.

The midgies are annoying but not biting, the weather is wonderful, dry and cool. At the pace I'm going I really enjoy all three sections, with short stops for the drop bags at Rowardennan and Inversnaid.  But although I'm going slowly, at least I'm starting to see more runners now and feel more part of the event again. I decide to walk all the way from Inversnaid to the top of the hill before Doune Bothy which is surprisingly relaxing  -  no decisions to make about which bits to run! I spend a mile or two with Flip Owen coming out of Inversnaid, then on the crest of the hill before the bothy I catch Adrian Stott; this will be his fourteenth completion of the race, which makes even the ten-time finishers look like beginners. We pause for a minute or two at Dario's Post to wish him well and admire his view. Adrian stops to chat a bit with Karen and George, who we meet sweeping in the opposite direction, and as soon as I'm on my own again my mind wanders off somewhere and I trip and fall over. The only real damage is to the strap on my watch, so I tuck it in a pocket and soon afterwards Bein Glas turns up where I arrive in 10:25:52

In seven previous WHW races with the same crew, we've never missed a checkpoint, but I suppose there's always a first time; I can't find them here. No phone signal for me, so I don't know what's happened. They could have hit bad traffic or had a puncture (that's happened a couple of times in the past) but I don't know. I wait around until after the 10:30 time point which was my planned arrival, and wonder if they are likely to be along in the next minute or two or whether the problem will delay them longer. I've no idea, so a word with the marshals and they're kind enough to allow me to push on, after giving me a litre of water. There are  offers of food from people at the checkpoint, but I have plenty enough to get to Auchtertyre so I thank everyone for their kindness and carry on northwards. A bit frustratingly, less than a mile further up the glen I get a reasonable phone signal and find out that I only missed the team by a minute or two, they had really bad traffic coming up the loch after breakfast in Milngavie. No problem, I'm happy that they're all OK and will see them at Auchtertyre.

I pass one or two more runners on the way up to Auchtertyre, including Carin Goldblatt who's come all the way from Israel to compete. She says she's finding the climbs and the ground underfoot hard, but she's previously done the Lakeland so she'll be OK. I tell her that things get a lot easier after Auchtertyre. The miles pass slowly but easily, except I'm getting a bit more discomfort in my weak right calf, so decide to re-do the taping at the checkpoint. I arrive at Auchteryre in 13:08:14 (about two and a half hours slower than last year!), now in 143rd place. The team are ready and waiting so I stop for a bite to eat, a change of shirt and to wipe off as many dead midgies as possible. I leave my watch with John in the hope that he can fix it before the next checkpoint (he does  -  just another duty of an accomplished back-up crew).

Again, after eating quite a bit I decide to walk all the way to the top of the hill after Tyndrum. Going up the track after the village hall I catch up with John Vernon. I've spent quite a few hours of ultra time over the years with John, and although he's completed 10 WHW races, this year he's in the alternative "WHW Challenge" which started an hour earlier. We stay together until the creep back under the railway line, then I take off to run a bit and he continues at his steady walk. I run all the way to the stream crossing at the low point, probably my longest continuous run of the day so far, and most of the flat bits from there to the station. I always meet the crew in the station car park before the checkpoint as it's usually quieter for parking. Normally one of them goes down to the marshal to check if there are any kit requirements for Rannoch Moor, but on such a lovely day it's clear there won't be so they haven't bothered. I feel the need for a Coke hit rather than food, so just down a half litre in more or less one go then I'm on the way again. Down through the checkpoint, up the hill for a word or two with Murdo who really should have been running this year, and round to the start of the Moor.

This is without doubt my favourite stretch of the course. The wonderful emptiness of the scenery and the easy going make the miles flow by. I spend a mile or so with Norman Duncan but for the rest I am completely alone and quite happy with that. I relax my rule and jog some of the slight inclines as well as the flats. Compared with the rest of my race, I'm not surprised to find afterwards that this is the section I do by far the fastest relative to the field; I'm 78th fastest across here, compared with well over a hundred on most of the others, and I arrive in Glen Coe in 18:58:34 in 134th place.

Last year I didn't ask for one of the team to run with me until Kinlochleven, but as I arrive at the car Julia is all dressed and ready to go, decision made. A cup of tea, a few ginger biscuits (has anyone else discovered what a great ultra food these are?) and we're jogging down the road towards Kingshouse, just passing Adrian as he arrives at the check point. We walk up the false hill then jog down and round to the bottom of the Devil's Staircase. Then, maybe a just hundred yards or so up the slope, I suddenly feel tired, and I know that things are going to change. It had all been going so easily for so far, then it's like the message has come up on the screen "Sorry, you don't have sufficient funds to complete this transaction."

But that's OK, I almost welcome the feeling. Goblets are not meant to come easily.  The outcome is not in doubt, we have 15 hours to cover 20 miles -  I'm just going to have to work a bit harder for those miles now. We continue slowly but steadily to the top of the climb, being re-passed by two teams we passed in the first part of the stage, then just as steadily down the long descent. It gets gloomy enough to put on a torch just as we cross the footbridge into the final woods before the road. We find John and wander in to the checkpoint. 

I've already decided on the descent that I need a rest, and with no time pressures that's OK. I stretch out in the car with instructions that they will wake me in 45 minutes. After that, a bit of preparation and the stop at Kinlochleven has taken just over an hour  -  not exactly "continuous forward motion" but I feel much better for it. Julia has now done her shift and takes off in the car for a well-earned sleep in Fort William, while John and I set off on the last lap. John takes the lead up the first hill to the jeep track; I say I can go faster than this but he says no, this is the right speed, the deal is to finish at minimum cost. So that's what we do. All along the Lairig Mor we make steady but slow progress. I've been along here wishing the miles away a hundred yards at a time, but tonight it seems strangely OK, I don't mind how long it takes. The only problem is that I keep falling asleep. I'm gone, then the next pace jolts me awake. I try Coke but it doesn't make any difference. No hallucinations, just tired. Eventually I say to John that I have to take five or I'll just fall over. I lie down on the bridge just before the second old house for five minutes or so and it makes all the difference, we're good for Lundavra. The trees appear then we can see the bonfire.

We get a wonderful welcome from the Kynastons, I tell them that it's hard now but we're getting there. I take another five minutes by the bonfire then we enter the home straight. It doesn't seem too bad and there's enough energy left for a "Yes!!" when we hit the fire road at the top of the very last uphill. We start off walking down the road, and our pace is still good enough to take us past another team, but then Sally Nicoll, who I last saw just before Bein Glas, comes by at a sprightly jog and disappears into the distance. It's broad daylight now and as I'm  no longer liable to fall asleep I say to John that he can stop trying to preserve me, so we break into a jog too, which we hold on all the downhill bits as far as Braveheart Car Park.

The final mile goes quickly and then it's done. 29:37:33 for 131st place.  Over 7 hours slower than last year but that doesn't matter. If you'd have offered me this result two months ago I'd have bitten your hand off.

Two weeks before setting out for Scotland I'd come in one evening and proudly announced to Jan that I'd managed to run for four continuous miles at 9 minute mile pace along our local canal. I mention this only because at the finish I learned that this was precisely the pace that Paul Giblin had maintained over the rocks and boulders, gates and stiles, 95 miles and over 14,000 feet of ascent of the West Highland Way. Awesome doesn't begin to cover his performance.

The prizegiving and the session in the pub later that evening were as good as ever. One or two friends said this was their last trip, but I don't believe them. This is just too good to miss. A huge thankyou to Ian Beattie and his organising team for keeping us WHW junkies supplied with our annual fix, and of course to my long-suffering crew of Jan, John and Julia for enduring another sleep-deprived, midge-infested (but this year not wet!) weekend in Scotland.

For those interested, the technicalities were simple. I wore one pair of shoes and socks (Skechers GoRun Ultras and Drymax Ultras) from start to finish, ate about 200 calories an hour, and finished with no blisters and no midge bites. And a feeling that I had somehow got away with something that I shouldn't have  -  I'd stolen a Goblet.

Going to the Local

The Cheshire Sandstone Trail is not what you might call a spectacular walk, but it's what we have and certainly pleasant enough. Loosely based on the low sandstone ridge running north to south through the county, by utilising a couple of rural farmland sections to link the hillier bits it manages to wind its way from Frodsham on the Mersey estuary to Whitchurch just over the border in Shropshire. Thirty three and a half miles long, undulating between sea level and a high point around 750 feet elevation, it's a nice day out, gentle hills, woods, green lanes and fields, with some pretty views in places. I've covered it on many occasions over the years in times ranging from just under twelve hours (first attempt, thirty three miles was a long way in those days) to just under six and a half when I was fitter than I am now. It's a logistically easy exercise from Chester   -    train out to Frodsham, down the trail, bus back from Whitchurch; water is a bit of a problem though as there are only two cafes on the trail and they're not open reliably. So when I found out that there is an annual race down (or rather up, ie south to north) along the trail it seemed a good opportunity to get a supported trip.

The event is efficiently organised by he Helsby Running Club and its reputation is good enough that the 250 available places are filled some weeks before the day, so last Saturday saw a small fleet of buses setting out from Frodsham community centre at 7am bound for Whitchurch. The promised heavy rain showed up a few minutes before our arrival, leading to the spectacle of 250 runners and walkers fully kitted out for the weather but huddling under the shelter of the Whitchurch Tesco canopy, unwilling to make the 5 minute walk down to the start line. We had to break cover eventually though, and were greeted by race organizer Andy Robinson ready to set us off and the Mayor of Whitchurch, complete with suit, chain and suitably large umbrella, who said he hoped we would have a nice day and could we please bring better weather next year.

I was feeling a bit envious of those who had rain jackets with hoods, but then rationalising that I couldn't remember actually wearing a hood in any event previously, I put this down to just a momentary nesh thought and assumed it wouldn't seem so wet once we got going. It didn't of course and the first two or three miles along the canal towpath out of Whitchurch went pleasantly enough. Then we turned off onto the first "agricultural" section. Although the rain had now stopped, the hour-long downpour had had a significant impact on the course underfoot which now alternated between long wet grass and wet mud, often up to ankle deep. Those who have run the Rotherham Round in the days when it used to be held in December will get the picture, no niceties, just plough through the deep bits and hope you still have two shoes when you reach the other side.

I had decided to take the day very easily, so I walked anything that smacked even remotely of uphill and settled into a steady jog on the rest. There were checkpoints with friendly marshals and nice cakes every five or six miles and we had soon covered the ten miles to the southern end of the Peckforton Hills, where the route gets much more interesting. However coming down the final slope to checkpoint three we were greeted by the second extended downpour of the day, just to keep things interesting. The five or six miles of farmland from Beeston Castle to Willington seemed particularly sloppy, and we were all glad to hit the southern edge of the final hilly section for a change of scene and hopefully some slightly better ground underfoot.

I had played a sensible game for the best part of twenty five miles, but on reaching the firmer tracks of Delamere Forest I got a bit bored with this tactic, decided to push on a bit and ran steadily from there to the finish. I'm paying for that now, because although my calf seems to have held up well after what was my longest continuous period of running this year, the PF in the corresponding foot (all these things seem to be linked) has been rather fierce in the couple of days since the race. But it felt good to make some semblance of being a runner at least for an hour or two, and it got me back to the finish in Frodsham in 7 hours 28 minutes for 51st place.

At last, the first event of the year. Hopefully, things can only get better.

7 up in the Lakes

Back in the early autumn of last year, before my injury troubles started, I came across the website of the Lakes 10 Peaks event. Its challenge is to visit the 10 highest tops in the Lake District, and with 17,500ft of total ascent it definitely has a bit of up, but just 45 (ish) miles and a time allowance of 24 hours seemed to suggest it should be doable without too much stress, so in spite of it coming up just a week after the West Highland Way race I put in an entry for this year. My reward for such hubris would probably have been a bit of a nasty shock on the day anyway, because I later found a comment from a runner I know and respect (and who had a top ten finish in this event one year) to the effect that "this is possibly the toughest one-day race in the country". After my progress this year it's very unlikely that I'll get to the start line, but as the nature of the course is the sort of thing I can actually do at the moment  -  lots of hills and no real need for a lot of running - I thought it would be an interesting and worthwhile exercise to recce the route.

I said "ish" when quoting the distance because it's a mountain event, not a trail race. You have to visit the tops plus a number of other checkpoints in a set order, but in between there is no set route, you can pick your own way. In outline, you start from Swirls car park, go up Helvellyn then down to a CP at the south end of Thirlmere.  You then make your way over Bow Fell, Great End, Ill Crag, Broad Crag, Scafell Pike, Sca Fell, Pillar, Great Gable, then down to Honister Pass. All that's left after this is to make your way to Skiddaw then up and down it back to the finish in Keswick.

I'd been up both Skiddaw and Helvellyn a couple of times earlier in the year, then a week or two back I squelched up the Wytheburn valley and over the wastes of High Raise and Stake Pass to take in Bow Fell, so I knew all of the route except the "middle bit". And this centre section, between the checkpoints at Esk Hause and Honister, is the real meat of the course. Glancing through some splits from previous years, I could see that the fastest guys cover these 16 miles and their 7 peaks in something just over 4 hours while people of my sort of ability might expect to take 8  -  yes that's just 2 miles an hour, that's the sort of territory it is. So allowing time for reaching Esk Hause and returning from Honister, I was in for quite a lengthy day out.

An early start from Chester saw me parking at Seathwaite at around 8.30am, and on an overcast but dry day I walked steadily up past Stockley Bridge and on to Esk Hause and the "start line". From here, the first part was known to me from a number of Bob Graham reccies and pacing days, but I decided against taking the direct line to Great End summit over all the boulders and kept on the path to the grass then cut up rightwards to the ridge; not much further, a lot easier, and for me I'm sure quicker. Ill Crag and Broad crag came and went quickly, grand little tops, I've never figured why Alfred Wainwright left them off his list; they're worthy of more status than just that of subsidiary tops of Scafell Pike. So on to Scafell Pike, early enough in the morning to be alone up here for once, and the first real decision of the day.

As a climber I would normally prefer the Broad Stand route to Sca Fell., I've scampered up and down it enough times over the years when climbing on the crags hereabouts, but its main disadvantage is that if you do get it wrong it's a nasty place to fall and you may not live to tell the tale. This is enough to worry race organisers a bit, so it's out of bounds for the 10 Peaks event, leaving the choice between Lord's Rake and Foxes Tarn. I've always been very wary of Lord's Rake since the rockfall a few years ago which left a huge boulder balanced across the top of the first steep bit. It will make its way down the rest of the rake one day, certainly terminating anyone unlucky enough to be beneath it at the time. This might be in two or three hundred years time or might be tomorrow. This is a different kind of danger from Broad Stand, one that cannot be overcome by the skill of the individual. I've spent more than enough time in the past beneath threatening lumps of rock and ice and I've been lucky for nigh on 50 years of activity, so I've decided to give up that sort of thing and hopefully enjoy my old age. It's the Foxes Tarn route for me, marginally slower than Lord's Rake but safe throughout, a quick descent to the left of Mickledore, an easy-angled rocky gully to the "tarn" (really no more than a puddle in a hollow) then a final slope to the summit plateau of Sca Fell.  This final slope has an example of the pitched rock paths now seen in many places in the Lakes and which generally do a good job in combatting erosion, but this must have been an early one and not too well thought out. It was laid straight up the centre of a scree slope with the result that it's now completely covered in scree and virtually unusable. A new path is gradually appearing by default in the grass slope on the right of the scree, which is where it should have been laid in the first place.

On Sca Fell in just under two hours from Esk Hause, 5 summits done and another decision to make. The event rules allow you to take the next two tops, Pillar and Gable, in either order. This means you have the choice of going back down to  Mickledore, along the Corridor path to Sty Head, over Gable to a checkpoint at Beck Head then a long out-and-back to Pillar and back to Honister, or to go straight to Pillar via Wasdale head, then back over Gable to Honister. The former involves a lot of tricky ground and is a mile or so further, whereas the latter loses probably an extra 1500ft of height which then has to be regained. I don't really like out-and-backs so I opted for the "Pillar first" route, and dropped quickly down the Bob Graham route to Brackenclose and Wasdale Head. This loses about 3000ft in a mile and a half or so, mostly on grass, so is pretty fast but my quads were still stiff three days later, out of condition I guess.

Wasdale head provided top-ups for drink and Mars bars then I set off again for Pillar along the Black Sail path, familiar from several trips around the Lakeland 100 course. It was good to see it in daylight. After a mile and a half or so the route up Pillar leaves the Black Sail track and heads straight for Wind Gap. Described by Wainwright as less popular than the Black Sail route, and by the 10 Peaks race director as "a beast of a climb", it's pretty steep for a mile, first on grass then on scree and with no path to speak of. It took me the best part of an hour to do the steep bit, then it eased off to the top of Pillar. But now the hard work was done, and it was an easy jog down Pillar to Black Sail Pass, then round the north side of Kirk Fell to Beck Head. The final bit of up for the day was Gable, which on this side isn't too daunting. The only downside was that after a day with good visibility all round, the mist closed in over the top three or four hundred feet of the mountain so there was no view on top. What I did find on top was a rather curious sight. Three or four lines of cairns converge on Gable summit, and during the minute or two that I paused there for a drink and something to eat, several parties emerged out of the gloom from different directions  -  and none of them anywhere near the cairns.......

Time to leave. I scooted off down to Windy Gap (the col between Great and Green Gables), then down the stoneshoot on the north side to pick up the Moses Trod track, which I'd not used before but on the map appeared to be a direct way to Honister. In fact it involved regaining some height and it wiggles around a bit in the middle, so if I come this way again I'll probably avoid the stoneshoot and carry on over Green Gable and Brandreth, then cut down left to meet Moses Trod on its last downhill section, shorter and easier I think. I finally made Honister Pass just inside the eight hours I had allowed myself from Esk Hause.

All that remained was to sidle off down to Seatoller then back up to my car at Seathwaite. The Garmin showed a total trip of just over 20 miles and a height gain of around 8300ft. A step on the road to recovery perhaps, but as always a great day out in the Lakes.

On the wire

Daughter Julia on the phone to me last week.

"How's it going, dad?  ......I mean, should I book my flight to Glasgow?"

"Yes, go for it. I've just run three miles, how much harder can another ninety-two be?"

It's a long story.  I won't dwell on the details but here are the headlines. I pulled a calf muscle back in October last year. By the end of February I was getting a bit frustrated with the number of false starts and re-occurrences of the problem. Two steps forward then two steps back sort of thing. I tried to piece together the reasons with the help of the physio. Well, she said, one clear problem is that you don't have anywhere near the muscle mass on the injured side as on the good one, and that's certainly not helping. I knew the problem. I have a bad knee, had it since a bad ski crash nearly twenty years ago now. Surgery about fifteen years ago helped but it's got worse again over the years as occasional over-rotations have displaced more bits of cartilage. I knew it needed doing but kept putting it off, it's just a bit of pain, you can live with that. But I must have been unconsciously protecting it, and that wasn't doing any of that leg any good. So I bowed to the inevitable and had the job done. The surgeon removed the offending cartilage (a "bucket handle tear" for the technically interested). He also said that I had lost some bone mass causing a cavity on the end of my thigh bone so he drilled some small holes back up into the bone to encourage it to fill up again. It's never going to be a great knee,  I still have a ruptured ACL and some arthritis at the back of the kneecap, but it's a lot better than it was.

I limped out of the hospital on 19th March, with an instruction that the knee would bear weight as soon as I liked, but no running for at least a month. Ten days later I stepped out of the Olympic lift onto the summit of the Belvarde at Val d'Isere, clicked into my skis and hoped for the best.  After a week of brilliant weather during which I kept to the  pistes (more or less) and avoided the bumpy bits (more or less), I felt I was on the mend. On the 19th April, I ran half a mile in six minutes.

But I still had a pretty unsatisfactory right leg. A less than perfectly flexible ankle from a skateboard incident when I was younger (I'm good at falling off things, my skill levels have sometimes not quite matched the game plan over the years) doesn't help.  My first attempts at jogging still caused a bit of aching in the calf and hamstring and I was developing PF in my right foot. Any attempt to push things too fast and I would be back where I started. So how to move forward from here?

I set some rules.

1. I'm going to beat this, even if it takes a while. From mid October to mid April I had lost six months and not made any progress. If it takes another six months or more to recover slowly and properly, that's OK.

2. I will stop using artificial aids. Taping and painkillers have been a constant accompaniment to my running for many years, and with the possible future exception of a bit of preventive taping for long races, I've binned them. Should save a fortune.

3. 12 minute mile pace and 6 miles of continuous running (is 12 minute miles running ?  - discuss) are the maxima allowed until I can come home from a run feeling that both legs are the same. Walking has never hurt throughout this whole affair, so I can walk as far as I like.  No running uphill, no matter how gentle the gradient.

4. Stretches for all relevant muscles, plus eccentric strengthening for right calf every day, and work on the PF.

Now this is all very well, and it's great to be making (slow) progress again, but I do like to have an event to look forward to. Since the problem started back in October I've pulled out of the Tour de Helvellyn, the Anglesey Coast, the South Devon Coast, the Grizedale Trail Marathon, the Hardmoors 55, the Highland Fling and the Great Lakeland 3-Day. The latter two were simply too close after surgery to contemplate, but on reflection for all the others I probably put too much pressure on myself to get running consistently at a good ultra pace too soon. That was because in "short" ultras (say up to 50-55 miles), you normally have to run quite a bit to complete them in the allowable time. But now we are getting into the season for the longer races, and paradoxically I feel that I have a better chance of giving one of these a go because the overall pace required is very much lower, allowing you to walk a very high proportion and still complete within the time allowance.

I have a choice of several for which I already had entries in, but I've decided to go for what has always been my "Desert Island" event, the West Highland Way. I'm not pretending that this is anything other than a chancy exercise but there are positives as well as negatives. The four big downsides as I see it are

1. I won't have done an Ultra (or any other event) since the Lakeland 100k back in September.

2. The race is just about two months after I started running (jogging!) again after the knee surgery.

3. I haven't run at anything above 12 minute mile pace for over six months, and I won't do before the race.

4. I haven't really done any effective running training at all.

On the other hand, I can tell my self that

1. This will be my eighth time in the race, and I have finished all the other seven. I know what the race requires, and I know the course.

2. I have averaged 2000 miles a year for the last seven years. That's a lot of miles in the bank.

3. By now (early May) I have normally covered around 750-800 miles. This year I have only managed 570 miles, but as most of that has been at a walking or slow jog pace, it still represents a lot of "time on your feet" which is what long ultras are really all about.

4. Although I have not got out of breath running this year, I have been able to get some aerobic training by doing lots of walking uphill at a reasonable pace.

5. And finally, the average pace required to complete the West Highland Way is barely 3 miles an hour. I might have to work a bit for the early cut-offs, but after that it can be just a long walk if necessary.

So from here, it seems to be on.  Last year I ran a personal best in just under twenty-two and a half hours, six weeks before my sixty-fifth birthday. Deep down, I felt I would be unable to improve on that in the future and was wondering how to construct a goal for this year's race. Now I have one; if I can get to the finish in Fort William a minute or two before the final cut-off at noon on Sunday 22nd June, that will be a result I'll be as happy with as any of my previous finishes.

I feel that I'm walking a tightrope between now and June 22nd. Any number of things could knock me off between now and then, and if that happens, then it happens. But as of now, I'm on the wire, and it feels OK.

Toughest Race in Scotland?

Mike Raffan's Facebook post was a little challenge not to be ducked.

"I was out for a long run today and was thinking to myself my legs are still tired after Tuesday's race. It was only 3,5 miles but hilly thus tough. That got me thinking: what is the toughest race in Scotland? I know what my answer is but I'll wait to see what some others think first, please justify your answer, don't just say "Tough Mudder 'cos it says so in the name and I found it hard". I don't mean the toughest one to win as that is any race with a strong field. What is the toughest race to finish? Hopefully after a few days and everyone has had time to answer, Andy Cole will write a blog post giving his analysis. Excluding the Spine as it is only in Scotland for a few miles."

I don't know Mike well but we've chatted a few times (the last time when he was acting as a kit-check marshal in last summer's Lakeland 100).  He's definitely no slouch as a runner, having a 18hr 18min West Highland Way under his belt among other good performances. Well sorry Mike, it took a bit longer than a few days, other things got in the way, but here goes.

Mike was referring to a post I did a while back called "The Toughest Race in the World?", in which I tried to compare races on the basis of how hard they are to finish. It still gets a regular stream of hits so it must be good for a bit of pub talk if nothing else. My contention was that if you know you can finish an event then how tough you choose to make it by going faster or slower is just a subjective game you play, but if there are some events that you can finish and some that you can't, then there must be a way of ranking just how hard a task finishing is for you. I thought of revisiting that with particular reference to the Scottish races, but time passes, the idle thoughts go on, and  I ought to be able to do better than that by now.

So I've tried to build a little model which could be applied to any race. Now I'm not claiming any stunning scientific underpinning here, just a bit of knowledge that I've gained from doing quite a wide variety of races and which I've tried to apply in a logical way. For sure it could be fine tuned, and there may be better places to start even, it's just a first hat in the ring if you like.

In the other post I went into some detail on what factors can make a race hard, but if you get bogged down in every possibility then you never really get started so I've just considered the most significant. A bit like, say, a rock climbing guide  -  grades are for good conditions and if you choose to do your climb in the rain then it's going to feel a bit harder.

The Model

It seems to me that there are three main physical quantities that set the overall work to be done when completing an event, and these are

1. The length  -  goes without saying, 100 miles is tougher than 50, all other things being equal.

2. The ascent -  or rather the ascent per mile, because for example  4000 ft of up in a 20 mile race is going to have rather more impact than 5000ft over 100 miles. I have called this the Climb Factor.

3. The ground underfoot  -  well compacted trail or springy grass is much more helpful to progress than trackless rocky hillside or knee-deep bog. I have called this the Ground Factor

So, if you take the Length of the course, and multiply it by the Climb Factor and the Ground Factor, you have a measure of the overall undertaking that the event presents. I've called this the Overall Effort (for me this is just a number, no units, it's just for comparison with other events).  Now the Overall Effort alone does not necessarily make a race tough. The UTMB course has a a pretty high Overall Effort rating by my scoring, but it's completed by lots of people every summer, many of whom have done little or no training for the trip - they just take 10 or 12 days to complete it. What makes the UTMB race tough is that instead of 10 days, you have only 46 hours to get round. The time factor is the key  - and this was the main conclusion from my earlier post.

So although the Overall Effort is an interesting enough value in itself, to rate how hard an event is to finish, you have to bring in the time pressure. I have done this by using two further factors, which are

4. The cutoff time  - again goes without saying. Now you could argue there is a difference between races which just have one final "must complete by" time and those which have intermediate cutoffs which normally force competitors to go faster earlier in the race. The theory behind the latter is that if you don't make the early cutoffs you have statistically no chance of overall completion. I actually don't agree with this at all, it just reflects what most runners do, rather than what they should do, rather like the positive/negative splits argument for marathons. We could debate this for a week, but to no point as it's too complicated for my model anyway. I'm only considering the final cutoff time.

5. Fatigue  -  it doesn't matter what the climb, ground, and so on are like, covering it when you've had no sleep for the past 30 or 40 hours is not the same as when you just started out. The longer a race goes on, the more impact fatigue has on your performance. I've called this the Fatigue Factor.

So if I take my Overall Effort, divide it by the the cutoff time (if you're finding a race near your limit, you'll be quite close to this time when you finish), then multiply by the Fatigue Factor, you (finally!) have a measure of how "Tough" the race is. Again this is just a number so one race can be compared with another.

Now, I could go on here about how I've devised each of these factors, but if your Myers-Briggs personality indicator is anything like mine you'll have had enough of this chat by now, and want to get on to the results! So I will explain the basis, but I'll do it at the end of this post for anyone that wants to carry on that far. So here we go.....

Results for some Scottish (and non-Scottish) races

Now another health warning here is that it's quite difficult to get accurate and consistent basic input for some events. If you look at the UTMB "qualifying events" list you see for example that the height gain given for the West Highland Way is 4500m, whereas the the sum of height gains for the Highland Fling and the Devil o'the Highlands is 5500m! I've taken info from original websites as the best available, and used a bit of judgement where it didn't seem consistent.

So, looking at the Scottish races, which was Mike's original question:

The Fling and the Cateran come out similar, with the Devil slightly tougher because of its higher climb factor and tighter cutoff relative to its length, but it's marginal and you could argue that these three are very similar. Finish one and you should be able to finish the others. The Double Cateran is significantly tougher than the WHW and this makes sense. They have similar climbing, but imagine you are just about to complete the WHW in 35 hours; to complete the double Cateran you would still have 15 miles to go, and you should have finished seven hours ago! This probably makes it Scotland's toughest ultra race  (not enough details to judge the new Cape Wrath event, but multi stage events are anyway generally easier to finish because of the recovery time allowed), but the biggest recognised "outing" in Scotland is the Ramsay Round, and I think this makes sense.

Comparing the Scottish races to those south of the border, the Hardmoors 55 and Lakeland 50 are not far off the Fling and Cateran as undertakings. The Lakeland 100 is up there with the Double Cateran, in spite of the 40 hour cutoff, because of its tough ground and fierce climbs. The Hardmoors 110 appears to be in the same league but I'm a bit sceptical that the total ascent figure is right on this one, nearly 20,000 ft seems a lot, but I'm sure Jon Steel could confirm whether this is actually true or not. Again, the mountain rounds are the big challenges. Another confirmation that this is about right is the completion rate.  Even the ultras generally recognised as gnarly normally manage about a 50% completion rate, whereas I think something like 75% of Bob Graham attempts end in failure, and maybe even more for the harder Rounds.

Abroad, it may be surprising that the Tor des Geants comes out easier than any of the Chamonix races but I think this is fair. It is a massive Overall Effort, but 150 hours is long enough for anyone that wants to complete it to take their time and do just that. It doesn't have the "must keep moving" urgency of the Mont Blanc events. 

I just put the Barkley Marathons in to confirm that however you try to rate it, it will always come out a class above anything else in the world. The only completers of this event so far have also had top ten finishes in UTMB, Hardrock, or have a similar pedigree.

A race that doesn't fit the model is the Spine, where conditions are everything. Completing the Pennine way in 7 days in summer would present the average mid-pack ultra runner with no real problems, a bit like the Tor des Geants. So how hard it is to complete with ice, snow, sub zero temperatures and constant wind I just don't know  -  maybe I'll have to try it one year(!).

I deliberately didn't read through all the replies to Mike's original post. I'll do that later, to see if anyone agrees with me!

So that's it. Just a bit of fun really. I'm there to be shot at. If you want any other races put into the same model, let me know.

Constructing the model (for those that are interested)

There is always a danger that when you apply some science to a very imprecise subject, you end up kidding yourself that you have a much better handle on what is happening than you actually have. So I have tried not to be too clever but just to apply some basic "finger in the air" rules on how to deal with the various inputs. It works as follows:

Climb Factor

This is 1 + (total climb in feet)/(length of the race in miles)/ 500.

Now (total climb in feet)/(length of race in miles) gives the climbing per mile. In fact it is only half the climbing per mile, because in most races the ascent is balanced by an equivalent descent so you only climb over half the race distance. This is where my figure of 500 comes from. I started from the assumption that if a runner can cover a mile on the flat in X minutes, he is likely to take 2X minutes if that mile includes 500ft of ascent and 500ft of descent. Play around with some figures and you'll see what happens. As a further refinement, I multiplied the resulting factor by 1.1 (ie adding 10%) if the nature of the race means that it has very steep and/or very long "in your face" climbs  -  1000ft gained on a well graded and easy to follow path (eg Devil's Staircase) is not the same proposition as 2 or 3000ft in one go over boulders, tree roots, scree, etc (Bovine Alp, Black Sail Pass, etc)

Ground

I gave each race a rating for difficulty of ground, on a 0-10 scale, where 0 would be a smooth (but maybe not metalled) road or path, and 10 would be Barkley type terrain (no path on 40degree slopes with knee-deep scrub, briars and fallen trees).  So forest tracks and occasional ploughed fields (Round Rotherham) would be 1, good trails (West Highland Way) 2, trails but with boulders and bog (Lakeland 100) 3,  grassy/stoney fells (BGR) 4,  and so on. My top rating for the UK was 6 for the difficult rocky and heathery ground encountered on the Ramsay. I then converted this into the Ground Factor by using 

Ground Factor = 1+ (ground rating)/20.

Fatigue Factor

It's difficult to put this into a linear equation, because fatigue hits you at particular points. You have a day out; you have a long day out; you miss a night's sleep; you miss two night's sleep; and so on. I think each of these events causes a step change in your ability to deal with what's going on around you. But then eventually, on the very long races, you get back into balance where you're just about getting enough rest to go on (within reason) indefinitely. So I brought the fatigue factor in via bands  - up to 17 hours Fatigue Factor = 1;     18-23 hours =1.25;    24-30 hours =1.5;   31-40 hours = 1,75;    41-60 hours = 2;   above 60 hours 2.25.

Time I got back to doing a bit of running again.

Ladders, Snakes and Facing Reality

This could be my last ramble across these pages for a while unless I can find the inspiration to say something interesting about life, the universe, or the social implications of plastic beermats, because it won't be about running. For a while, running is off. And as reading about the not running part of running must be even more dissatisfying than writing about it, this will be my last post on the subject of injuries!

It seemed to be going well. Since getting back into action in the middle of December and taking things easy, I thought I was making progress. I was running 3 or 4 times a week, albeit quite slowly. I had run a marathon around the local roads, just to see if I could get the distance. Ten days ago I had managed 8 miles at just on 9 minute mile pace, far from spectacular but if you were generous an outing you might actually call running. I had walked up a few mountains. I had planned an exciting looking year of events. I was looking forward to the South Devon Coast Ultra due to be run today (if it happened in the prevailing weather conditions).  But last Sunday I set out on a 15 mile run along my local Cheshire Sandstone Trail which I had done plenty of times before; I had already done a similar run back in the middle of January. I was, I thought, taking it fairly easily but then after around 10 miles the calf strain which first troubled me back in October started hurting noticeably again. While I wasn't stopped completely, I ended up walking the last few miles. Things felt like they had before Christmas. When I got home there was a neat little bruise indicating the latest area of torn muscle fibres.

Wednesday saw me back at the physio to restart the sorting out process. As she worked on the scar tissue we discussed how to approach recuperation this time. You're going to have to stop impact loading it for longer she said, walk, bike, don't run. But then another observation, you know you have noticeably less muscle mass in your right calf and hamstring compared with the left, not really surprising that they're the ones that give you problems. I didn't know, I don't spend a lot of time looking at the backs of my legs in the mirror.

I know I've had a bad knee for over 10 years. It always hurts, sometimes more, sometimes less, but I've always got by with it. I've always taken the view, in consultation with the knee surgeon, that if I don't get any clicking, swelling, or restriction of movement that I would leave it alone and live with it. But looking back I've been kidding myself for the last year or so. Over this period it's always been bad on uneven ground, especially on descents. In a situation like this, however much you try to "shrug it off" as my hero Joss would say, I'm afraid you always favour the other leg. First to land when you come downhill, stronger to push off with on the climbs, consciously or subconsciously that's what you do, you arrange your action to minimise the pain. So I guess that's how one side gets stronger; or the other gets weaker which comes to the same thing.

Can't go on like this, it's not going to work, it can only get worse.  So I'm back to the knee guy on Tuesday, to see how much he can fix. When he's done what he can, I'll maybe try running again. I'm not going to rush.  I'll post again when I've got something worthwhile to say!

Plans for 2014

Well, as regular readers will know I'm currently making my way back extremely slowly from a couple of injuries (still not sure that I'll get away without more surgery on one knee) so I hadn't really thought seriously about events for the year to come, even though I had entered quite a few back in last year before my troubles started. January is usually the time for getting some speed in, intervals and suchlike to try to improve (or at least arrest the decline of) the VO2max. But I suspect mine's gone through the floor now as two consecutive miles at 9 minute pace counts as a tempo run at the present time. Sensibly, I should just keep nudging forward one week at a time and forget about events for another couple of months at least. But that would mean missing out on a lot of fun in some nice places. And on the positive side, looking at the diary I see that I've managed to hobble my way around nearly 160 miles in the first four weeks of the year, and I've also made my way wetly up Coniston Old Man and snowily up Helvellyn.

So I've decided that while still taking things much easier than in recent years  -  no real speedwork and running no more than three times a week  -  that I won't be deterred from going to the races. The goal each time will be to enjoy the trip and finish in as good a shape as I can. I will be very slow, just staying ahead of the cutoffs will suit me fine, and at some stage hopefully I'll get strong enough to start back on becoming a runner again. So here's the plan:

8 Feb: South Devon Coast Ultra. I ran the North Devon Coast race in this series last year and thought it was brilliant, well organised and with stunning views, so I wanted to get a bit more of Devon. I've entered the Ultra which is 35 miles, but I can duck out to the "marathon" at around 29 miles if I feel I'm not up for the distance by then.

23 Feb: Grizedale Trail Marathon. Grizedale is one of the best poor weather options in the Lake District, varied forest often opening out to great views. This one should be ok.

22 Mar: Hardmoors 55. I've run this race every year since its inauguration in 2010 and have enjoyed it in a range of conditions from the warm sunshine in 2011 to the near arctic of last year. My best time is a few minutes over 11 hours but I'll be happy to finish inside the 15 hour limit.

26 Apr: Highland Fling. Another not to miss, it was my first attempt at an ultra back in 2007 and I've been every year since.For the past four years I've managed to win the Vet 60 category but no chance this year; although it's a less demanding run than the Hardmoors, usually in much better weather, so I'm hoping that I'll be up for a finish in around 12 hours by then.

3 May: Great Lakeland 3-Day. Although I've done the Welsh 3000's many times and really enjoyed my Wainwright ticking in 2012, I've never tried a "mountain marathon" event, so this year's the time for a new experience. 3 days in the hills and camping overnight, with a choice of route difficulties.

7 Jun: Cheshire Sandstone Trail. Again, I've covered this 33 mile trail many times as it's pretty well on my doorstep, but always alone and always in the winter. Time to take part in the official event, and in hopefully better conditions than I usually experience!

21 Jun: West Highland Way. Unmissable. This will be my eighth in a row, but I won't get near my 2013 PB of 22 hours 23 minutes I'm afraid. I'll have a target nearer the time but I expect it to be around the 26-28 hour mark.

28 Jun: Lakeland 10 Peaks. Only a week after the WHW but after reading about it I couldn't resist this one. The 10 highest tops in the District, based on Keswick. As an undertaking it looks similar to the Welsh 3000's and there is enough time allowed to take it at a walk (which I'll probably do!)

25 Jul: Lakeland 100. The big one for this year. After success in 2011 it was a DNF for me last year, so a score to settle.

29 Aug: Anglesey Ring of Fire. Anglesey is only an hour away for me, so I'd run bits of the coast path over the years, then around 5 or 6 years ago I did the whole thing over two separate days and found it a good trip. I was interested when the race was first started three years ago (it's run over three consecutive days with overnight stops), but it always clashes with the UTMB weekend so I've never entered. This year I'm giving Chamonix a miss and staying in the UK.

4 Oct: Lake District 3 x 3000. Scafell Pike, Helvellyn and Skiddaw with an interesting course linking them. More miles but fewer tops than the 10 peaks. Should be a nice one to round off the year, but of course there still the immaculate Tour de Helvellyn on the last Saturday before Christmas......

Well, that's the plan. If the injuries or their treatment put paid to some of it, then that's life. But it looks pretty good from here. Let's hope for some nice weather.