7 Reservoirs Half Marathon

I love my running, but lets face it grinding out yet another city 10k or half marathon can be a bit boring. I'm probably not going to get any faster at these distances so they're not particularly high up on my race radar. I'm trying to focus more on Ultras and events with a bit of character or some unique element about them.

When I saw a Facebook post about the inaugural 7 Reservoirs race, round the Pentland Hills on Sunday 2nd December, it ticked both the quirky and new boxes, so I signed up pronto!, in what I hoped was a good augury the 100 available places sold out in 24 hours.

Preceding a trail half marathon with two solid days of Christmas shopping in Edinburgh may not have been ideal, but you're probably starting to gather that my recent pre race prep has been at best, a bit rubbish!

Threipmuir Reservoir

Registration was at Harelaw farm near Balerno on a stunningly clear, crisp and cold morning and with a good mile to walk to the start line at Threipmuir reservoir it was a fine line between arriving just in time and freezing your rocks off by arriving too early. I chatted with fellow Doonhamers Frank Skachill, Susan Gallagher and Dawn McDonald and Sandra kindly snapped us for posterity, all wrapped up like Nanook of the North.

Four Eskimo's

For once someone had the foresight to organise a PA system for the race briefing so I could actually hear every word. The RD described the course as "completely runnable", (note to self - file "runnable" in the same category as undulating or challenging!) and although the blow by blow description of the route probably helped if you knew the area I lost interest quickly as A - it was bl**dy freezing and B - pre race nerves prompted a fellow runner in the huddle to let rip a thunderous comic book fart and my inner school boy prompted me to a fit of the giggles.

So with absolutely no idea about the route a quick countdown saw the 78 starters setting off.

A bit with NO ice!

I'd love to give you a blow by blow description of the twists and turns of the race and route, the personal challenges as pairs of runners vied for supremacy, the tactics and route choices the triumph of age, wisdom and stamina over youth, fitness and eagerness but the reality was more prosaic, I spent the next hour and 55 minutes mostly trying not to fall over.

The race route is staggeringly beautiful but if you weren't running on ice, you were running on frozen puddles, heavily frosted roads, solid frozen waterlogged boggy bits or snow. Actually  the snow was the easy bit, except where it had fallen on top of ................ you guessed it more ice!

The view from the top

In just over six years of serious running I've never fallen over, not once, ever! I've come close but I'd never actually hit the dirt. On Sunday I full on face planted 4 times, missed falling into a reservoir by a whisker, lost count of the times I nearly fell over whilst exhibiting all the balletic grace of a hyper active break dancer.

One near miss saw my entire bottom half slip to the right, whist my top half pirouetted to the left and I felt something muscular in my left boob go PING, but you know what? I loved it, it's a race I would unhesitatingly do again and I say this as someone who spent most of the race thinking this is absolute madness I'm trying to run on sheet ice!

As I ran in the last mile, I passed Susan Gallagher and Ian Beattie, my weather numbed brain couldn't work out where they'd passed me, it turned out that Susan had taken a nasty fall and Ian with his local knowledge had helped Susan take a short cut back. Susan is going to be laid up and off running for a few weeks and probably deserves a medal for making it back with such a serious injury, get well soon Susan.

My last fall of the day came just after a footbridge over the final reservoir spillway, despite the warnings of a marshall, I admit I was too busy showboating and crashed down in an undignified heap, a short climb up the reservoir bank and a final 300m run straight along the embankment to the finish and a cheer and a hug from Sandra McDougall.

 

I had no idea how I'd placed, I knew I'd been passed by at least 3 ladies but I'd raced pretty much the whole distance in the company and view of the same 4 guys. It turns out I managed 23rd out of 75 finishers in 1:55:09, almost certainly my slowest ever half marathon, bruised, cut and bashed but exhilarated, what a great event.

Post race tea and coffee and the most incredible selection of cakes was accompanied by everyone swapping "war stories" of ice, falls and near falls and how totally mad it was to run that distance in those conditions, fortunately with the exception of Susan I don't think there were any other serious hurts.

I pointed out to the RD that his characterisation of the route as entirely runnable, was optimistic, with a smile on his face he retorted "what I said was it was entirely runnable yesterday", oh well I'll chalk that one up to experience!

Huge thanks must go to Harmeny Pentland Runners for organising the event, and particular praise to the marshals who stood in sub zero temperatures to make sure we were kept on track.

As for my injuries, one bloodied knee, very sore quads, several bruises, bizarrely a huge insect bite and a left boob which protests every time I run over 2 miles, something of a disadvantage as I'm trying to complete the Marcothon.

Cheers

K

Running Backwards

I had the sudden thought that I set up this blog to record my training and progress towards an attempt at the West Highland Way race in 2012 and so far I've pretty much steered clear of the whole topic of training.

Magical Misty Mabie

I'd love to set out a detailed 4 weekly cycle, with each week containing 5 or 6 sessions, but the nature of my job means there is seldom such a thing as a typical week. So what is this job that keeps me from my running? fighter pilot; international jet setter, long distance lorry driver? No...... I sell wood for a Scottish sawmill business. I live in Dumfries, am officially based in Lockerbie, usually spend 1 or 2 days a week in central Scotland and my sales patch covers Inverness to Dover to Cornwall and I rack up between 30 -35,000 miles per year, so work constantly interferes with the more serious business of running.

As an aside when I took up running I also held a private pilots licence and was seriously into camping and outdoors stuff and spent a lot of time away from home, so much so that one of my friends became totally convinced I was a secret agent, much more exciting than selling wood but sadly untrue.



Anyway back to the training, the backbone of my regime is the Saturday long run and this week was no exception, a bright but chilly 8am saw Caroline, Andy, Ian G and yours truly setting off on the mountain bike trails of Mabie Forest near Dumfries. Like most distance runners our warm up consisted of ...... well sod all really. Basically its jump out the car and start running, its far too cold to stand still.

Ready for the off



It really is this nice

Our regular route is a 12 mile loop mostly following the Red Mountain bike route round the south of the forest and starts with a 1 mile steady climb from the Bike Shed, co-incidentally this is the first mile of the Mabie Trail Race route. I'd woken early on Saturday and had a brian wave that we should run our regular route, but backwards, not actually backwards but you know what I mean. No-one objected, and I suspect that the thought of not running the first mile uphill won out. What I'd failed to consider is that the last 2 miles of our normal loop is pretty much downhill from the highest point of the forest all the way to the Bike Shed and that reversing this meant substituting a 1 mile climb for a two mile climb! Bizarely though it felt like we were running a completely untried trail, albeit challenging on the legs.

Mile 3 - downhill for a change

Andy climbing Descender Bender

As we set off Caroline announced that she had seen snow on top of nearby Criffel Hill and much amusement was had as we totally failed to convince her that what she had realy seen was cloud shrouding the summit. Mile 9 on our normal run is a long uphill on a fire road with a horrid sharp switchback climb at the end, running backwards this transformed into a very enjoyable downhill with a couple of 1/2 mile loops as the sun started to ooze over the skyline and actually deliver some watery warmth. Sadly this pleasant downhill section was soon over and the looming grey sweeps of "Descender Bender" beckoned. The advantage of running on MTB trails is that the bikey fraternity have a great propensity for naming almost anything other than the flat bits with dramatic names like "The Scorpion", "The Slab","The Elevator", even if they do sound like B list horror films. Descender bender is great fun to run down, its a series of sweeping embanked curves running from the highest point in Mabie dropping about 400ft in 1 mile, or backwards its a b*ll breaking slog.

 

After this bit my detailed memory gets a bit hazy, being male I'm genetically incapable of multi tasking, so trying to navigate the route backwards, remembering to take photos (involving periodic sprints ahead of the group in a futile atempt to get dramatic "running towards the camera shots"), ensuring I didn't fall over on what can be tricky technical trails, remembering to hydrate and joining in our ongoing babbling, rambling running conversations (chafing and racing always feature highly), I pretty much don't remember much of miles 5 through 12.

 

 

Our average pace for the 12 mile loop is pretty consistent around the 9:45 mark, backwards it was 10:30, and the slog up the fire road second time really was a slog. With another 4 miles to run I crammed in a gel and took a good dose of isotonic, before we tackled "The Ridge", our name for this section not the bikeys. Not sure if it was physcological or if I'm getting fitter, but after the gel I felt really strong, we usually pretty much always run together, but today I decided to push on a bit and try to improve my average pace. Mile 13 9:08; mile 14 8:42; mile 15 7:31 and mile 16 6:37, not a bad last mile even if it is all downhill.

16 trail miles, 2100 of ascent & descent, average pace 9:39, total time 2 hours 34 minutes, feet wet but otherwise unscathed.

Working on the incentive and reward theory it was back to the Bike Shed for a nice hot cuppa and a slice of Malteser cake which I reckon contained about half your normal daily calorific requirements in a single slice, very yummy and well worth the effort.

Cheers

 

Glen Ogle 33 Ultra

As a relative newcomer to this blogging lark, it's surprised me how long it can take to compose my thoughts, translate this into something approaching English and then present it to the world in a legible and non-epic length and format. Never more true than my GO33 race report, which I've started to compose 3 times now and and failed to save on each occasion, so 4th time lucky.
I had two objectives for this end of season event, 1st to complete it and 2nd to enjoy it. I reckon if I'm going to have any chance at the WHW race distance I have to try to enjoy these longer events, take in more of the company and scenery rather than just relying on the challenge and satisfaction of completion.
In a valiant attempt to achieve the former I spent the Friday evening at The Inn at Strathyre meeting fellow competitors, marshalls and supporters, Oh and did I mention the Guinness? Yes I failed again and spent the night before a race consuming more of the black gold than was good for me. Well at least this time I hadn't had an epic week with work in the lead-up, wrong I'd been away from home since the previous Monday and checked into The Inn with enough luggage for a football team.

At least The Inn was only 5 minutes from the start so I could have a longish lie-in, having registered the night before and a relaxed pre-race morning, nope dropped the ball there too somehow and ended up charging along to the start, failing to hear a word of the race briefing and starting right at the back of the field of 150 plus runners, on the plus side I was very much enjoying myself and I'd only had time for one nerve induced pre-race pee rather than my usual 4 or 5.
Bang on 8am and we were off, its a steady climb for the first 2 miles, and I covered this at a nice steady 12 minute mile pace. I wasn't really bothering about racing others just trying to take in the view and ENJOY!, the next 5 miles are broadly downhill to Lochearnhead and the field spread out surprisingly quickly, there is a horrid switchback climb up to the old railway line above Lochearnhead followed by a fairly steady 2 mile slope to the head of Glen Ogle, I really enjoyed this section, felt really strong and ran 8:20 - 8:35 miles up this section, I passed 11 runners on this part and thereafter I was only passed by two runners, I hoped this burst of speed and enthusiasm wasn't going to have horrible consequences later on.
Taking time to top up my bottles at the water station at the valley head I crossed the A85, a quick hello to Donald Sandeman and then it was downhill towards Killin, amazingly still with dry feet!
Near Killin, the route doubles back through the forest and then climbs steadily for 750 feet for just over 4 miles, I walked the steep bits and ran the slopes passing 2 or 3 people and still feeling really strong. Then its back over the A85 again, bottles topped up, rice pudding consumed, gels re-stocked and off down Glen Ogle. Having really enjoyed the run up the Glen I hated the run down, in fact I was slower going down than I was going up!
Having high fived a party of Scouts just after the viaduct, I gave my self a stern talking to, forced down another gel (my 4th of the day) and took a good gulp of isotonic, this seemed to do the trick and my last mile on this section was at 8:05 pace.

 

As some of you may know I'm trying to give up swearing, the half mile or so down the switchback into Lochearnhead was a major challenge, I've managed to concoct some colourful alternatives to foul language and I expressed the full range on this quad and calf busting descent.
I ran the next 2.5 miles to checkpoint 3 without seeing another runner and despite the very clear direction arrows, I suffered the inevitable qualms of doubt about being on track, but never fear, checkpoint 3 hove into view and the very helpful ladies topped up my bottles, cleared out my gel empties and sent me on my way.
I went through marathon distance in a respectable 4hours 10 minutes on the leg towards Balquidder and I confess I was starting to feel "heavy legs", however I still passed three runners in the next 3 miles (OK one of them had run the Jedburgh Ultra the previous weekend). With under 29 miles showing on my Garmin, I met two gents who shouted "you've only got 2.8 miles to go", part of me wanted to believe them, whilst the other part resolved to return and do them some harm if they were fibbing.
This race has a sting in the tail at mile 30, with a roller coaster up and down on-road section for about a mile, I could see Derek Hill ahead of me and although we were both walking the steeper bits, every time we walked I closed the distance down, "I can take you" thinks I.... wrong on the downhills Derek pulled away every time, then we'd hit an uphill and I close the distance, but it wasn't to be, despite an 8:03 last mile. The final marshal guided me towards the shoogly bridge and I let fly the traditional Ainslie sprint finish, sadly I forgot to look at the camera, so once again another finish line photo where I'm "blowing out my hoop".

I finished 44th overall in 4:58:28, well chuffed to sneak in under 5 hours.

A quick change in the car, than it was back to The Inn for a bowl of soup and a cup of tea, I hadn't been able to book a room for the Saturday so I decided to head straight back to Dumfries, so was back home just after 4 o'clock, mission accomplished.

I thoroughly enjoyed the race, I'll definitely be back, but I enjoyed my post race bottle of Malbec even more.

Cheers

Berlin Marathon Weekend

My 4^th marathon, my 1^st international marathon and my first mass participation marathon, it’s been in the diary for 11 months and although most of my recent training has been focused towards next year’s goal of the West Highland Way Race I was really looking forward to both the weekend and the race.

I’d banked a PB at the Dumfries Half Marathon the Sunday before and although my training for the last 6 weeks had been severely curtailed by work commitments I was still optimistic about achieving a PB on what is virtually a billiard table flat route, right?...... wrong

Having ran the D33; the Highland Fling; the Edinburgh marathon and put in a lot of hard trail miles in training this year, I made the error of failing to treat the marathon distance with the respect it deserves! For those that want to cut to the chase and give my ramblings about the weekend a miss I ran a personal worst of 3:37:35, but I loved every bit of the weekend, the race, the city in fact the whole experience.



Fawlty Towers

Perhaps I should have seen the portents when I went to check in online for my Easyjet flight booked 10 months ago only to realise I’d booked the wrong day for my flight out, thankful that there were still seats available on the Friday flight but I still found myself £153 lighter. What should have been an easy week at work actually involved  900 miles of driving, 2 days on my feet at a timber exhibition (yes there really is such a thing), a black tie dinner in Cambridge on Wednesday and an epic drive home on Thursday to pack my bag and set my alarm for 4am, I collapsed into bed and the seed of doubt was planted.

The drive to Glasgow Airport was uneventful, the flight was on time and Caroline and I amused ourselves by trying to spot the fellow marathon runners on the flight, Ian and Steve having flown out the day before. Reasonably straightforward rail transfer from Schonefield airport to Potsdamer Platz, although I did have a train spotter moment and insisted we sit on the top deck of the two storey train. Our hotel was allegedly on Potsdamer Platz and on asking the local bicycle taxi for directions they assured us it was quite far away and we’d be better off letting them take us there. Now I’m not that green, having been stung by bicycle rickshaws in London before, but the bicycle boys were right, our hotel wasn’t so much on Potsdamer Platz but in the same general area of the city and a good hike away.

 The distinctive sign for the Ibis Hotel caught my eye and we were soon heading for the front door, passing the skips, builders vans, pallets of construction materials and 6 German builders who were busy building the reception area. In a true Fawlty Towers moment the girl behind reception assured us that renovations to the foyer and bar were running behind but breakfast would be served in a Bavarian style tent in the garden, which in reality turned out to be a bog standard drafty white marquee with wooden floors, patio heaters and a withered palm presumably to give it “Bavarian atmosphere” and reminiscent of many a Scout camp.



Caroline not shopping

Bags dumped we met up with Steve and Ian and headed to the marathon Expo at Templehof airfield, race number, timing chip and finisher t-shirt collected we then enjoyed an afternoon of pure running pornography. Three huge hangers filled with every conceivable item of running kit and paraphernalia that you could imagine and some that you’d never knew existed. I plumped for an Adidas Berlin marathon t-shirt, commemorative beer glass and a pair of calf guards. Caroline was tempted by the Gore running jackets, returning to the stand as if connected by bungee elastic, but I’m happy to report she resisted temptation. We fuelled up with hot dogs and German sausage and strolled through the in-line skating side of the expo, where Ian manfully resisted the allure of a bright pink lycra all in one skating outfit (sadly no photo!)

 

Back to the hotel for a quick freshen up then we headed to the Frankfurter Tor district, which had been recommended as “the place to go for relaxed outdoor dining”. Spoiled for choice we settled for the Café 100 Wasser and enjoyed a lovely meal, several beers and great banter. So day one ended after a 4am start, a full day on our feet and beer, except it didn’t! I’m still not sure at what point we decided we had to visit an Irish pub for Guinness and I’m even less sure why we decided that midnight was the best time to visit the longest remaining stretch of the Berlin Wall and Checkpoint Charlie, but we did – so it was a very weary and footsore Keith that eventually collapsed into bed at stupid o’clock. I’m sure you can already see the threads of my marathon comeuppance unravelling!

Never mind, a nice long lie and an easy day would set me right, instead we had an 8am breakfast parade and then a walk to the Reichstag (the big Domey thing) for a tour, obligatory photos of the team in front of the Brandenburg Gate, a Harry Worth moment in the Jewish memorial, which even on a warm day was chilling in every sense and another full day as a tourist.

After more running shops we settled into a restaurant off Kurfurstendamm, slightly footsore and hoping the service was slow, thankfully it was and our meal took around 2 and a half hours , which we passed whilst enjoying Caroline’s wasp inspired bouts of Tourette’s syndrome.

We headed back to Potsdamer Platz to watch the leaders in the in-line skating marathon by which time my body and brain were screaming for rest and I headed back to the hotel for a kip. Waking up 60 minutes later with my face glued to the pillow with drool and a numb left ear, I felt like I’d been mugged, the tendrils of marathon doubt had now well and truly taken root, sprouted and were heading for a bumper harvest.

Happily Steve had scoped out a pasta buffet in the restaurant next door, our hotel restaurant still being in the throes of construction! And we carb loaded, but without the beer this time. We’d booked tickets to an English screening of the latest Bourne movie in the Sony Centre, whilst this isn’t a film review I’d sum it up as long, confusing and a bit rubbish, the high point being watching Ian try to chomp his way through an American sized bucket of popcorn. For the second night in succession I collapsed into bed, fortunately this time sleeping the sleep of the dead right through.

As the sun rose on Marathon day the weather looked ideal, cloudless sky, 16C and a light breeze we joined the growing throng heading for the start area in the Tiergarten , stereotypical German efficiency saw bags dropped promptly, plastic “keep you warm” tabards donned and toilet queue joined. Fellow runners will I’m sure back me up, It seems to be an unwritten rule that no matter how big or small a race and no matter how many toilets are provided the queues are always huge. When I first started running competitively I adopted a pre-race 3 pee strategy, as I’ve matured this number has grown, but in Berlin it reached its apogee with a 7 pee and 2 gingerbread man total, on the plus side it filled the time waiting for the start.

Happily despite quite a variation in PB times all 4 of our party were in starting pen E, and promptly at 9am, the gun went off, I said a quick “good luck” to my fellow harriers dived onto the left hand side of the pen and a little over 4 minutes later I was crossing the start line.

I’ve always been impressed by running bloggers who can remember every mile, every landmark, who they spoke to at mile 17 and all their splits and paces, I very firmly am not one of them. I’d worked out I needed to run 7:40 – 7:45 miles for a shot at a PB, by mile 6 I’d only averaged 7:50s mainly due to sheer congestion, this would still give me sub 3:30, so I settled for this pace and held it comfortably till mile 16 (the congestion only evened out at mile 13).

At mile 16 the wheels started to wobble and my lack of speedy road training kicked in, I was logging over 8 minute miles and by mile 22 I’d dropped to 8:30s. I tried every trick I know, I gave myself a stern talking to, unfortunately my body gave me back chat and told me to sod off. I tried John Kynaston’s top to toe body check, “Is my head OK? – Yes; “Am I mentally strong? – Not sure; “Do my arms hurt? – No; “Am I out of breath? – No” sadly my legs were on a different checklist and refused to play ball. I tried to keep with the 3:30 pacer with his helium balloon, I managed to keep this up for all of 200m and he disappeared ahead, I tried my D33 mantra “You’re not out of breath, its only sore legs”, to no avail.

Miles 22 to 26 got even worse as the wheels came off completely, mile 25 coming in at 9:30 pace, as my Garmin beeped through 26.2 miles the finish wasn’t even in sight, nor was the Brandenburg gate, there were people dropping to a walk all around me, not helpful.  One final left turn and there it was - the finish straight. Before I started I’d visualised my customary Ainslie sprint finish both up to and through the Brandenburg gate and then through to the finish, sadly the tank was empty and even the stretch after the gate to the line, really dragged out, I did manage to pick up the pace for the last 100m in a belated effort to salve my conscience.

I stopped my watch at 3:37:35 a personal worst for a marathon, and a distance of 26.7miles logged. I collected my finisher’s medal and blue plastic sheet and wobbled my way towards the baggage area, I had to stop for a recuperative seat for a couple of minutes before picking up my case and lying down in the sunshine. Caroline arrived soon after having run a fantastic and well deserved PB of 3:43:26 and Ian rolled up sporting his trademark smile with a gutsy 3:49:01 which included both a trip up and a trip to the massage tent en route.

After some post-race hydration it was time for the second marathon of the day as we met up with Steve, who’d ran a very creditable 4:12:47 despite an injury ravaged build up to the race, and headed straight to the airport for our 5pm flight back to Glasgow.

We made it to our flight in ample time with no dramas, sporting our t-shirts, medals, bruises and aching legs all the way. Caroline had to suffer the flight home sitting next to the world’s fattest German tourist, sporting full lederhosen and terminal BO but retaliated by sportingly steering him to visit a famous distillery in Falkirk, which if I remember correctly closed over 20 years ago, revenge is definitely best served chilled.

Lessons learned

Whilst my training distances have never been higher, I only did one long road run (22 miles) in the last 3 months and while it was the fastest long run I’ve ever done, I was truly broken after it!

Lesson 1 – If you’re running a road marathon you need to include long road runs, not just trail runs

The 4 weeks before the race included around 3000 miles of driving and three rail journeys to London, multiple late nights and a couple of “skinfulls”

Lesson 2 – If you want to run a PB, you need to have a proper planned taper rather than simply not being able to run because you’re too tired

The weekend was a great experience, it a great city, I’ll definitely go back, I loved it.

Lesson 3 – Being a tourist and a runner doesn’t work for me on race weekend, early mornings, all day on my feet, late nights and booze = running out of oomph at 22 miles

In the month before Berlin I ran a 10K and a Half marathon PB and I’d hoped for a marathon PB too, my challenge for 2013 is to enter and complete the West Highland Way race

Lesson 4 – Specificity, if the WHW race is my objective, all my training and activities must be tailored towards this, everything else race wise has to be regarded as training towards the WHW rather than a means in itself.

Keep on running.

The Paralympics are Brilliant!

After weeks of shilly shallying about going to the Paralympics I finally decided I wasn’t going. I was too busy with work, I’d had a busy and tiring weekend on Coll, I’d had a busy weekend with Mum and Dad’s Golden Wedding Anniversary I’ve got two weeks of solid travelling coming up and the Berlin Marathon at the end of the month, so it was definitely the right decision…. Sorted.

Olympic Stadium from our hotel

So add one night watching the Paralympic opening ceremony and one bottle of what proved to be a damn fine red wine and I found myself excitedly the owner of two tickets (bargain at £15 each) to the Paralympic Table Tennis at the Excel Centre for last Saturday.

A quick blitz on the credit card secured two Virgin rail tickets from Carlisle to London and I cashed in some Holiday Inn loyalty points for two nights at the Staybridge Suites in Stratford. So 48 hours after having definitely not been going to the Paralympics, Keith and Ann are heading down to Carlisle for the 6 o’clock train to Euston…… Sorted!

In keeping with the last minute, low budget nature of the event, pre-train dinner consisted of fish and chips in the waiting room at Carlisle station like a pair of proper Glasgow Jakeys. With the lightest smallest backpacks we could find, extra bars of chocolate and obligatory (for me) train spotter’s magazine, kindle and iPhone in hand, Mr Branson’s train rolled in exactly on time at 17:52. Ann was strangely unexcited when I said “oh it’s an 11 car Pendolino, rather than a 9 car one” despite stoically remaining at my side I’m sure inside she wanted to say “I’m really not with him”.

For the uninitiated I’ve been regularly travelling from Carlisle to London for years, when the nice shiny new Virgin Pendolino tilting trains were introduced I was working for a company who were happy to splash out on 1st class rail tickets. The fact that each train had 4 1st class and 5 standard class coaches was a bonus for me, it wasn’t unusual for me to sit in splendid isolation with a carriage entirely to myself in 1st class being served unlimited wine and coffee, whilst the great unwashed were crammed into standard (or more appropriately steerage) class like doomed unfortunates on an 18th century slave ship.
On moving to my current company, I was hoist by my own petard as no-one travels first class and I unceremoniously joined the ranks of the great unwashed and with the rabid vehemence of a religious convert I scowled with envy at the rich b*&^ards in 1st class, whilst simultaneously fighting for
a- my reserved seat
b- a seat with a power socket or
c- just a seat at all


In-flight catering Virgin Rail style


So the addition of two carriages with an extra 150 seats is a BIG thing when you’ve spent many journeys shared with loud drunks; loud snorers; loud children and just generally loud people. Settling into a not too busy carriage with respective ½ bottles of red & white wine we enjoyed an on time and pleasant journey.


We touched down at Euston around half nine. Quick top up on the Oyster card and it was off to negotiate the joys of the Northern Line and the DLR to the hotel, with a growing child-like excitement as we could see the by now familiar shape of the Olympic Stadium looming ever larger at our destination. Stratford Station was busy, actually it was very very busy especially as we negotiated our way against the flow of the 80,000 plus people leaving the Olympic park, but the organisation and stewarding was flawless and friendly. 5 minutes later we were heading up to the reception on the 12th floor at the Staybridge Suites, the closest hotel you can get to the Olympic park, the atmosphere was absolutely buzzing all the way, I’ve never seen so many Union Jacks, Team GB kit and people smiling.

Our breakfast view

Saturday dawned, greyish and overcast and with the muted drone of some-one stewarding crowds through a megaphone, breakfast on the 12th floor overlooking the Aquatics Centre and the park security check area was very civilised, onto the balcony for the obligatory Kodak moment and to gape at the never ending stream of people heading into the park, and I really do mean a stream of people. I’ve been to Rugby Internationals at Murrayfield and Cardiff and the crowds heading into the park dwarfed (Sorry no Paralympic pun intended) these, it was a constant stream of people for over an hour, no wonder we couldn’t get tickets for the park!

Duly fed and watered we jumped on the DLR over to Excel, the first score of the day was discovering that our day pass meant we could go into any of the sessions throughout the day as long as there were free seats, so it was straight into the Sitting Volleyball where Germany beat Russia 3 – 2, the atmosphere was great and it was slightly surreal to be sitting watching a Paralympic event in the flesh rather than on TV. We sat behind part of the German contingent who blew apart the dull and dour German stereotype by cheering, bouncing and generally behaving in a very enthusiastic and un-Germanic way. Great commentary, lots of thumping music, Mexican waves and a nearly full arena made for a great start to our Paralympic experience.

We opted for the Judo Arena next, to see our first Team GB Athlete, Sam Ingram, unfortunately he got gubbed, and since what I know about Judo could comprehensively cover a postage stamp we opted to move on. Next up was Powerlifting, women’s 52Kg category where GB’s Natalie Blake was competing, this time the arena was packed and the cheers and foot stamping when Natalie emerged were incredible, unfortunately with two “no lifts” called she left the competition. We were able to watch Nigeria’s Joy Onaolepo take Gold and a new world record with a lift of 131Kg, the cheers were deafening, no partisan crowd here!

Next up was table tennis, now call me naïve but when you watch it on the telly you only see one table, in the hall itself there are 8 games taking place simultaneously! Now I’m a man and therefore am genetically incapable of multi-tasking so 8 simultaneous games was a sensory overload in extreme. I’d just get focussed on the Turkey v Sweden table, when a cheer from the other side of the hall would distract me. Taking a minute to work out which table the cheer related to and whatever fantastic point had been won another cheer from the other side would tear me away, then I’d try to get back to Turkey v Sweden and find someone had scored 5 points. There were two GB players, but the Ainslie jinx was by now firmly in place and they both got gubbed too, despite all this it was brilliant.

Our final session of the day was back to the sitting volleyball, where USA comprehensively beat Slovenia and the by now familiar razzmatazz was just as good second time round, I never get tired of singing and clapping along to Queens “we will Rock you”. The most humbling moment of the day had to be the Games maker volunteer whose job was to wheel out a glorified shopping trolley full of prosthetic limbs, and hand them back to the athletes. Now I’m an athlete of sorts but I’m going to stop moaning about having sore legs after a run, as at least I don’t get mind handed back to me from a trolley! One nice touch was the synchronised floor mopping at every interval.

DLR back to Stratford going against the crowd again and a quick burger and a bottle of wine, whilst craning to see the big screen telly in the restaurant for the highlights from the Aquatics centre. We’ve just had a unique and fantastic day watching Sitting volleyball; Powerlifting; Table Tennis and Judo, 4 sports I’d hardly heard off a month ago.

Cutty Sark

After the highs of Saturday, Sunday was a bit of a come down, with no tickets available for any events. On the assumption that Andrew and Steven hadn’t burnt the house down in our absence and would be expecting lavish gifts as a reward, we stocked up on Paralympics GB T-shirts in the deserted Westfield Centre then headed for Greenwich for a look round the refurbished Cutty Sark and then a river bus back to central London, heading up to Trafalgar Square where BT’s London Live was the target.

A quick 10 minutes in Trafalgar square and we decided that London Live was more dead than live, with no live coverage of the Games, merely a big screen promise that some band I’ve never heard of would be “coming up next”. After an afternoon worth of general mooching around and a pint in an Irish bar in Chinatown it was back to Euston for our return journey. A pretty packed train this time and we settled in next to a party of 4 girls from Glasgow, who’d been down for a girly weekend and were all looking very glamorous when they got on. Coming back home by train always seems to take longer and by the time we reached Carlisle the glamour kit had been swopped for jogging bottoms and baggy sweatshirts, they’d splayed themselves out in a contortionist variety of sleeping positions and young Laura was crying “I’ve not slept in 48 hours, I’m soooo tired, and I’ve got college tomorrow” and her blond hair had gone from carefully coiffured party girl to “morning after mop”, meanwhile I’m sure I was still looking like George Clooney (in my mind anyway).

Getting home close to midnight made for a very long weekend, but worth every second, the Paralympics are Brilliant!

Cheers

If Carlsberg did half marathons.....

It would be the Coll Half Marathon. Why else would a crack team of 11 runners and supporters from Dumfries Harriers, make the epic 400 mile drive and 3 hour ferry trip to the remote Scottish island of Coll for the second time?

From the moment we arrived in Oban on Friday evening through to our bleary eyed and foot sore return to Dumfries late on Sunday, it was a fantastic weekend, great company, magical venue, brilliant weather, epic ceilidh, hilarious non-stop banter and superb fun.

Arriving in Oban we checked into our accomodation at the Backpackers plus hostel, well laid plans for a pre-race carb loading meal quickly went out the window, tempted by the mouth watering smell from Norie's fish and chip shop, we succumbed to fish suppers whilst overlooking the harbour. Our plans for "just one drink", early to bed and a good nights restful sleep were similarly torpedoed as we rolled and giggled our Guiness fueled way into the hostel close to midnight, settled into the spartan but bizarely high bunk beds and one of our company (you know who you are) managed to lose their underwear between the downstairs bathroom and our top floor room. With the 5:45 phone alarm, pipped by the 3:00 bladder alarm we enjoyed probably about the worst pre-race preparation you could have....................and enjoyed every minute of it.

Harriers pre-race relaxation

Along with around 400 fellow travellers 7am Saturday found us on the ferry bound the magical inner hebridean island of Coll, meeting up with some familiar faces from last year and settling down to a runners breakfast of porridge full Scottish fry up. The journey flew by and we were soon disembarked and eagerly marching through the islands "capital" Arinagour to the brand new community centre where the majority of runners would be enjoying the free camping included in your entry fee. The 2pm race start allows ample time to pitch tents, register, relax and get your race-head on.

With the afternoon warming up, the wind swirling and photographic duties entrusted to Steve, Eileen and Jystina, Andrew Amos and 84 runners in the 10K race headed off to their start point, the 155 starters for the half headed down to the Calmac ferry pier for their start. After my usual 4 pre-race toilet stops and a quick briefing we were off!

Harriers at the front of the field

This race is optimistically described as undulating, add to this a headwind for the first 5 miles, it's no Sunday afternoon stroll. By mile 1, the eventual winner, Ciaran Doughertey from Bellahouston Road Runners had already established a commanding lead and the front pack was spreading out, lead harrier Steve Carroll, in his first ever half marathon was powering along and my long-suffering training buddy Andy Beattie seemed to be running a well paced start, ahead of me.

Settling into my own planned race pace (7:20 - 7:25min/miles), and passing the old Coll community centre there is a 2 mile uphill run into a persistant headwind, about halfway up this stretch I was aware that some-one was drafting behind me, so being the sporting gent I am I started to zig-zag, to allow him to pass ....... of course. When he eventually took the hint I noticed it was a tall and tanned chap who had been performing some very ostentatious stretches before the start, either a serious runner or a poseur methinks. I paid him back in kind by trying to draft him, but his 7:08 pace was too ambitious for me and rapidly he pulled clear.
By the first water station at the top of the hill, it was obvious it was going to be a very hot run, so the first cup went over my head as I've never have mastered the art of drinking from a cup whilst running, perhaps some relief from the wind? No, in fact as you crest the slope, the wind if anything, gets even stronger!
Despite a population of only 200, virtually the whole island supports the races, with water stations manned enthusiastically by locals in fancy dress sprinkled liberally along the course. Feeling pretty smug that I was mostly passing other runners, rather than being passed, I made the right turn after the airfield and a- somebody turned off the wind b - somebody   turned on the heat and c- another sodding hill, another reminder if I needed it that this is a challenging half!



Me - almost looking like a runner

 Coll is a pretty small island and shortly after this you run out of road and cover a couple of undulating (yes its that word again) miles along a sandy track behind the dunes, I'd been picking runners off one by one and about half-way through the dunes I saw my next target, Oh deep joy it was Mr Stretchy Poseur, he must have heard me closing him down, not difficult as my breathing was doing a creditable impression of the Big Bad Wolf blowing down the house made of bricks! A quick spurt of effort and I was past him and pulling out ahead. Dodging some deeply dis-interested cows on the route, you leave the sand behind and hit the tarmac again. My next target was a chap wearing a brightly coloured buff round his neck who'd passed me in the first half mile, he ran into the next "special" water station about 100 metres ahead of me and I noticed he was walking out of the far side, as I maintained my pace and passed him, I asked him if he was OK and he cheerfully waved the can of lager he was gulping down at me, another one down. My next target was friend and training mate Andy Beattie around 300 metres ahead, easily spotted with our distinctive "Where's Wally?" red and white striped harriers race top. Andy is a consistently strong runner and his training for Iron Man Wales in 5 weeks time means he's in cracking form right now, but cresting another small hill the gap was down to 200m, was I really running that well?
Well no I wasn't, the reason soon revealed itself as Andy stopped up ahead, doubled over and promptly decorated the grass verge with his lunch, although he quickly got running again, the gap closed rapidly and I passed him. I could feel him trying to close me down, but was able to hold him off and open up a gap. With this milestone, my challenges now multipied, I still had 5 miles to run, the next runner ahead was so far away that realistically I wasn't going to catch him unless he was hit by a bus (unlilely on an island almost devoid of traffic), despite now running in the opposite direction the headwind was back and the undulations had returned.
With a water station strategy that involved one cup over my head and a second lobbed in the general direction of my mouth in the vain hope that I might swallow some, I thrashed along like a big grey haired drowned chicken

Me - not looking like David Rudisha

With my brain broiling gently in the afternoon heat, my mental calculations, which are never quick at the best of times told me I was in line to beat my time of last year and get a pb!, on Coll!, in this heat!, with these undulations! steady now Keith. So running to my Garmin pace and giving myself a mental prod every time I slipped back, the steeple of Arinagour church eventually broke the skyline. I knew from last years run, that I now only had about half a mile to go and the last 300m was all down hill.
Over the hill, round the corner, finish in sight, my inner mental picture is one of Mo Farah or David Rudisha, sadly the camera doesn't lie.

Not praying - just knackered

I crossed the line in 1:37:03, 19th overall, 3 minutes quicker that last year and a PB by over a minute, to say I was chuffed would be an  understatement, to say I was tired would be a down-right lie, I was truly, completely, overwhelmingly and spectacularly knackered, and again there is no hiding from the camera lens!
Steve had put in a blistering run finishing 12th overall in 1:32:26 and was standing on the line looking disgustingly fresh.
I stumbled up the banking to join the cheerleading team of Eileen and Justyna, just in time to cheer Andy through in a gutsy 1:39:37 and to find out that Andrew Amos had won the 10K race, well done Andrew.
The harriers pair of Ian Anderson and Neil Jeffrey sandwiched Lochaber AC's and WHW runner Peter Duggan over the line with Neil Jeffrey completing the harriers male line up.
Lesley Gilchrist "chicked" Eileen's brother Donald on the home straight with Hazel Smyth completing the girls line up in 1:50:42, but the stand out run of the day was honorary harrier Zoe Newsam from Troon who knocked a full 13 minutes off her 2011 time, setting her up well for the Loch Ness Marathon in 6 weeks time.

With the racing now over, it was time for some rehydration and post match analysis, or alternativly we could lie in the sun (even the wind showed its support by disappearing) doing some proper rehydration and gorging on local hand dived scallops, any guesses which way we went?

I was originally planning to include all the gory details of the prize giving ceremony and the epic post race Celidh, but with this post assuming War & Peace proportions, I think I'll give it the space it deserves in a post all for itself.

Cheers

Supporting the Devil

When fellow Dumfries Harrier Caroline got the email to say she had made it onto the start list for the Devil of the Highlands ultra on August 4th  with only 10 days left before the race, it was always going to be a challenge to find a support crew.
I'd half promised to support, but had double booked the date with my lovely daughter Sarah's move to a new flat in Glasgow, sorry Sarah. Cashing in my steadily dwindling stock of brownie points, sons Andrew & Steven were roped in to help Mum and Sarah with the logistics, whilst I soared straight to the top of the "Crap Dad League" and headed off to Tyndrum.
Never having done support on an ultra, I had a vision of a lazy afternoon, driving through the Highlands, waiting at checkpoints reading my Kindle, fillling an occaisional water bottle, doing a bit of cheer leading, all in all a pretty easy going day.......wrong!
It all started off so promisingly, lovely drive up from Dumfries to Tyndrum, Caroline had booked a luxury Octolodge at the Pine Trees, definitley more glamping than camping, what luxury!, fellow Harrier and WHW veteran Ian Anderson and his support Ian Gray, had already met up with DRC's Craig Malcomsom and his support Seb and Ali and were enjoying a beer whilst Olympics watching, a quick stop for some superb fish and chips at the Real Food Cafe then my first fail of the weekend.
As a former Scout Leader I generally take enough kit on any outdoor trip to rival a NATO exercise, whilst I had packed everything from Loo paper to pre-cooked ration packs of Beans & Sausage, I'd had a major logistics oversight on the beer front.
With off-sales at the Tyndrum Lodge hotel limited to cider or Tennants, I plumped for the latter, note to self Tennants lager is dreadful stuff.
After some more Olympics watching it was off for an earlyish night and a 4am alarm call.
Registration at the Green Welly Stop was extremily civilised, steaming mug of hot coffee, nice clean loos, some familiar faces round about and a gnarling feeling of "I wish I was racing".
Wished Caroline, Ian and Craig good luck and charged up the hill to catch some start photos, with the sun rising and the midges not too bad, the race was underway.
The plan was to meet at Bridge of Orchy, with Ian G up at the station and me on the bridge, as the midges enjoyed making a late 5 course breakfast of me, despite my all over cover, I marvelled at how Eileen, supporting Peter Duggan, could wear a skirt and remain unbothered by the winged hordes!
Ian A (aka Choppy) loped down the hill after about an hour with Caroline only about 5 minutes behind, no re-fill or re-fuel required and they both looked pretty comfortable, so a hop into the car and it was off to Glencoe Ski Centre, we managed a quick coffee at Glencoe and then decided to run out to meet Ian and Caroline as they came off Rannoch Moor, wait a minute... this wasn't in the original lazy day plan, oh well.
We ran out a couple of miles and it wasn't long before Choppy hove into view and Ian headed back to Glencoe with him. Caroline had texted to say her Camelbak valve had fallen off and a few minutes later we met up and I decided the easiest thing would be to use my bladder as without the valve Carolines was pretty useless. We kept up a pretty good pace on the downhill towards the A82, quick swop of bladders, refilled and she was off, still running strongly.
With the mercury rising, an extra unplanned stop at the foot of the Devil's Staircase seemed like a good idea, Choppy arrived first with a huge smile cracking the mask of dead midges adorning him, Caroline seemed to have closed the gap somewhat, but given the heat we decided to speed hike up the Devil with her. It was my first time up the Devil and the views made it worth the wait and effort, and with Fiona Rennie dressed as a devil handing out jelly babies at the top as an added bonus.
So after a quick photo stop at the top, Caroline trotted off and Ian and I careered back down to the cars, wishing all the runners good luck on the way, I bet they wondered who the two pratts going the wrong way were.
Its a bit of winding drive to Kinlochleven and we'd only just arrived when Choppy appeared, refill the bottles, quick application of Ibruprofen gel to a tight hamstring and he was off. Caroline had closed the gap even further and arrived 5 minutes later demanding Coke and company on the climb out from Kinlochleven.
Not expecting to do the whole climb we left the cars wide open and off we went, 2 miles out and 2 miles back down, with many of the same bewildered runners that we passed on the staircase experiencing Deja Vue to the two loonies going the wrong way again.
Quick dash round to the finish at Fort William, parked up and we decided that we'd run out to meet them on the last leg, I've not run this section before, so was quite up for it. We ran to Braveheart car park and speed hiked up the hill, through the forest, just as the WHW rejoined the forest road we met Choppy, cue a pose for the camera and again the two Ians headed down the hill.
We'd been counting the ladies as we ran out, and when Caroline appeared I reckoned she was around 10th lady with only 4 miles to run, not bad for her first Ultra!
Gels were given short shrift and more Coke demanded, which promptly exploded as I opened it, hot weather and sticky paws, a lovely combination.
Caroline still looked strong and we maintained a steady 9 min/mile on the run back, although a tad concerned about the amount of Coke that was being downed, I reckoned it was better than not drinking at all. Back through Braveheart carpark with John Kynaston videoing the runners, then the last mile on the road, with only one runner passing us, Caroline finished in 8:25:32 43rd overall and 10th lady, only narrowly behind Choppy in 8:18:51, 39th.
Relaxing on the grass on a glorious sunny afternoon, job done!, real credit goes to the 124 souls who completed the 42 very hot miles.
As we packed up the cars for the trip back a slightly green looking Caroline uttered the imortal words "I feel a bit queesy", uh oh this could be a long 4 hours back to Dumfries, not to worry though, its amazing how quickly 1.5 litres of Coke comes back up, stomach cleared we headed South, a quick pit stop at the Real Food Cafe again to refuel on more fish and chips (I'd not had a chance to eat all day), driving through a couple of tropical rain storms en route, made it home in time for Mo's 10,000m Gold.
Weekend totals - 440 miles of driving, 18 miles of running/speed hiking, 3500ft of ascent and descent and no sunbathing or kindle reading, this supporting lark is quite hard going, my legs felt like I'd realy had a hard training weekend.
Oh and for all you ladies who'll cringe at me dropping my daughter for a days running............. in a pathetic attempt to improve my standing in the "Crap Dad League" I've promised Sarah a night at the Oak Tree Inn.