D33 Race Report....It was cold!

My usual pre-race preparation usually involves completely cocking up my taper, driving stupid distances in the week before the race, drinking alcohol,  failing to sleep and generally ticking every box on the "things not to do before a race" checklist.

In an uncharacteristic departure from my previous litany of racing cock ups, I actually managed to pretty much get it right before last Saturday's D33 ultra race.

My only run of the week was an easy 6 miler on Monday
I managed to arrange my work week to work near Aberdeen on Friday
I only had a 29 mile drive to my hotel on Friday
I only had 1 pint of Guinness on Friday night
I was heading to bed just after 10pm
I got a decent nights sleep

As I sat like Billy no mates in The Inn on the Park, adjacent to Duthie Park, Ian Beattie and Sandra MacDougall invited me to join them for dinner. As Ian is RD for the WHW race and Ian and Sandra are both experienced ultra runners, it was a great opportunity for me to get loads of tips and hints about the whole WHW racing and training experience, with the added benefit that it took my mind completely off Saturday's race.

The two main "gems" for me were don't over train and don't race The Fling.

The weather forecast for Saturday had got progressively less optimistic, getting seemingly colder and wetter the closer it got to start time but I still managed to get a good 8 hours sleep in before my alarm chimed into life at 7am. I knew from last years race that hanging around in a cold Duthie Park with no loos was to be avoided, so didn't leave the hotel till well after 8. Whilst the rain held off it was pretty damn cold waiting for the off. I think there were around 250 starters and George gave his usual no nonsense race briefing. I had left the hotel wearing a long sleeve compression top and wind proof gilet, but as a few spits of rain fell during the briefing I quickly decided to put on my gore waterproof too, a prudent and timely decision that turned out to be.

My plan was to run at a consistent 8:30 mile pace, 5 seconds per mile faster than last year. Although this would be my 4th ultra, the D 33 is more of a long marathon that a trail ultra and all my long runs have been slower and on trails so if I could manage a similar time to last year (4:41:53) when most of my training was pre-marathon road miles I'd be pretty chuffed.

The route is on the old Deeside railway line and arrow straight for the first 6 miles and just like last year my internal spirit level was telling me that the first 5 miles was a gentle uphill and something to look forward to on the return leg. Assuming my usual role of Worlds worst pacer my first 6 miles were all in the 8:04 to 8:20 range, but I was feeling comfortable and even managed to be sensible and drop back from Terry Addison and another runner I was chatting to when my watch registered 7:50 pace. Sadly about 2 miles in, the weather forecasts proved prophetically correct and a horrid sleety rain started and although the sleet never developed into proper snow the rain pretty much never let up for the duration.

Crossing our first road at 6 miles and by now splashing through small puddles my bladder started calling for relief, as there was a bit of gap before the next two runners I stopped for a quick pee. Unfortunately my bladder had other ideas and my quick pee rapidly fell into the "couldn't be stopped with a jubilee clip" Category. At least I had the gentlemanly good grace to apologise to the lady runner who rapidly closed the gap and passed me as I fire hosed the birch trees.

Mile 7 took 9 minutes to cover, actually I reckon it took 8:10 plus 50 seconds of bladder relief, but lets not split hairs.

Having made the deliberate decision not to bring earphones, I pretty much had my own company for the entire race. I'm not being a purist, i was lucky enough to win a free pair of Bose sports earphones (£130 worth!) at the Berlin marathon expo and I'm just to cheap too risk ruining them. I'd used a trick on the Balmaha training weekend of reciting Tam O'Shanter in my head to keep my mind off both pain and weather and I resorted to this again.

Note to self : learn another bl**dy poem

As we crossed the Slug Road, I remembered that this was where the race leader had passed me going in the opposite direction last year, this year it was a good mile further on at the railway museum before the eventual winner (Craig Cunningham) flew past.

The route is mainly Tarmac, with a couple of mildly muddy bits until you get to about mile 15 past the railway museum, where the puddles and mud became unavoidable and wet feet and shoes ensued. Heather MacDonald had kindly taken my drop bag to the car park at the trains and I stopped here very briefly for a gel, which with my soaked and cold hands I was unable to open even with some frenzied teeth gnashing, Heather obliged and I was quickly on my way again.

I'd decided not to stop at the turn point, this Is a race after all, a quick shout out of my race number, round the cone at 16.5 miles and it was off on the homeward leg. I hadn't been counting the faster runners properly but I reckoned I was in the top 25% and probably not far off the 4th lady.

The 2 miles or so back to the trains passed quickly with lots of shout outs to the runners still on the outbound leg. I passed Fellow Dumfries Harrier Caroline  who was about 9 minutes behind me, running strongly, looking cheery (OK wet, cold and cheery) and on plan with her 9 minute mile strategy.

Other than my hands I wasn't feeling cold although with a body now unaccustomed to holding this pace for anything over 12 miles I could feel I was running out of oomph, time for a second gel from Heather and a good swig of isotonic, passing through mile 19 my bladder felt the need to join in again and I registered my first mile over 9 minutes, whilst I felt I was still "on plan", I was now becoming acutely aware that 5. Seconds per mile faster that last year didn't leave much margin for error especially if I'd already had two long pee stops. There is a distinct hill through miles 23 & 24 and I resisted the temptation to walk any part, but my margin was now getting wafer thin having clocked a 9:00 dead and an 8:44.

Going through marathon distance in 3:41, not too shabby thinks I, unfortunately that burst of hubris must have been the point the effect of the gel wore off and I was running on empty again, I took a walk break forced down a gel, just about threw up following this with a bar of fudge and drained my isotonic and mile 28 logged my slowest mile 9:44. The rain was getting more persistent and the uphill I distinctly remembered from the first five miles, didn't seem to exist, but I was starting to pass other runners, in fact I reckoned I passed around 10 people in the last 5 miles.

Mentally I felt I was over the hump at 30 miles, but I suspect it was the fudge induced sugar boost kicking in. I wasn't out of breath at all, although my calfs and right ITB were starting to protest but with only 3 miles to go I decided to push on a bit. Mile 31 8:36, mile 32 8:01 and I'm passing the skinny types who actually look like proper runners. On the way out I'd registered a footbridge at 0.6 miles and decided that was the point I was going to give it the beans, at bl**dy last the elusive downhill slope was apparent and I felt really good on the last stretch, before turning into Duthie park, through the gates, only 400 metres (ish) to the finish, I know I'm very close to last years time so I go for what passes for a sprint finish in a 33 mile race.

 

I have a succession of finish line photos where I look variously

as if I'm dead

I'm dying

I'm a broken man

Or I'm breathing out of my arse

I know it's vanity but I was determined to actually look like a runner crossing the line.

FAIL

I look like a complete cock crossing the line, no idea what my right arm is doing I'm wearing the worlds stupidest running hat and I appear to have a rictus grin on my face. BUT I did manage an 8:00 minute last mile to cross the line in................4:41:14........39 seconds faster than last year, but a PB is a PB.

Under the finish gantry and George hangs the unique D33 medal rounds my neck, shakes my hand and tells me to grab a beer. I stumble into the gazebo, the last thing in the world I want is a beer, with a major dose of the DTs I sink 3 full cups of water, I simply cannot face any of the array of solid food on offer and I very quickly realise how cold I am and how little i've drunk, only 500ml of isotonic and a mouthful of water, not good. Grabbing my kit bag I start the painful hobble back to my hotel, although I've checked out I reckon they won't mind if I change in the loos and it's bound to be warmer and more legal than getting naked in the middle of Duthie Park. With kit bag in one hand and goody bag in the other I shamble off.

There was a short flight of 6 steps up to the hotel and whilst I was tired I was unprepared for the brutal attack of cramp that seared through both my calfs half way up, if I thought my massage was sore, this was on a different level altogether, I hit the steps like the proverbial sack of spuds, both feet locked straight like a Ballet dancer on point. I screamed and swore quite a lot, but with not a soul in view, I had no option but to disentangle myself from my bags and with even more swearing managed to regain some margin of control over my lower legs.

I've only had proper cramp on a couple of occasions, it's extremely painful, I'd honestly liken it to being stabbed in the calf. Eventually making it up the stairs backwards, I ensconced my self in the loo and started the painful and soggy process of peeling off my soaking kit, whilst shaking uncontrollably with cold and fighting to avoid further cramps, certainly one of the most unpleasant 15 minutes of my life so far.

 

Wrapping myself up in every available dry layer I headed back to Duthie Park, but my hands had joined the party and my now customary white fingers were making the prospect of standing in the cold at the finish distinctly unappealing.
With a near 5 hour drive in prospect, I decided to duck out and start to head home, it was fully an hour before I was able to stop and felt warm enough to peel of my outer layer. Stopping at a garage for a pint of milk, I'm sure the attendant thought i was drunk as I staggered around the shop almost incoherent.

I stopped at the Bervie chipper and enjoyed the fish and chips on offer, along with another pint of milk and a pot of tea.

I do a lot of driving and it normally doesn't bother me at all, but that drive home was one of the longest of my life.

Good points

My 4th ultra marathon

Took gels/food as soon as I felt my energy dropping
A PB
Bang on my training schedule for WHW
Simply the best race medal ever

Bad points

Failed to drink anything like enough
Cramp
It was very, very cold
Cramp
The drive home
Did I mention the cramp?
If six steps do this to me after 33 miles, the devils staircase could be interesting

 As I write this two days later my calfs are still very tight and tender, everything else is fine and I'll probably try a run tomorrow night, I honestly think the pain is lingering from the cramp rather than from the actual running.

I haven't mentioned many of the fellow ultra nutters I met and said hello to , apologies but this post is starting to assume War and Peace proportions without the shout outs.
Congratulations to everyone who took part in the race, well done to George for another successful event, a huge thanks to the marshals who endured the lousy weather all day and encouraged us all along.

Cheers

Pre D33 Wobbles

I'm having a wobble!

My training this year has been great. With the exception of one week laid out with the dreaded lurgie I've hardly missed a run! I've pretty much run back to backs every weekend and enjoyed (nearly) all of them. My mid week runs are typically half marathon distance and I'm running these in times I'd have killed for 3 years ago.


Me, not racing the Glenkiln's race

I've been injury free, I've had superb company from fellow harriers in virtually every run I've done. I've tapered almost as planned for this Saturday's D33 Ultra. Okay my plan to jog round our club's recent Glenkiln's 12 mile race, went pear shaped when I got to mile 3 and thought sod it I'm racing this!
Even if I was 3 minutes slower than last year and I was overtaken by a man with a dog at mile 11, I'd done a 22 mile trail run the day before and I still felt good.

My training mileage is exactly where I feel it needs to be for the WHW race in June, I'm well ahead of last year's mileage and I've done a couple of 30 mile runs bang on plan too.
I've lost weight partly as planned but mostly down to the spectacular dose of the "two bob bits" I had two weeks ago.
I went to the superb WHW "inspiration evening" in Edinburgh this week, and was duly and genuinely inspired and enthused.
I ran our usual Mabie Forest 13 mile route last Saturday and felt really strong and positive afterwards. I ran my last planned run on Monday, an easy 6 miler and didn't even break sweat.
So in theory I'm now a coiled spring ready to explode off the start line in Duthie Park on Saturday, except I'm not, I'm having a wobble.

I woke up on Tuesday morning and both my ankles were sore, not sore in specific bits like my Achilles or anything obvious for a runner, just generally sore and weak all over, I could hardly walk from my desk to the kitchen at work and when I did I kept having to lean on the furniture.
I had to fetch some timber samples from one of the warehouses at Lockerbie, they probably only weighed 5 kilos, but by the time I waddled back to my office on my weak and girly ankles I was puffing and wheezing like an old goat.
My back decided to join in too, pain free for months and then Voila, Wednesday sore back and hobbling around like Albert Steptoe on a bad day.
I even managed to cut myself shaving this morning, you would think that at age 49 I would know by now how to navigate a razor round my grizzled chops.
I left home today with more bags, food, clothing and running kit than a NATO excercise!

The forecast for Aberdeen is snow and Artic weather, gulp.
 Yup, I'm definately having a wobble.

But wait a minute Ainslie

I've managed to arrange my work week so I'm working at our sawmill in Aboyne tomorrow, so I've substituted a 5 hour drive in the dark from Dumfries arriving stupidly late for a 1 hour daylight drive to my hotel right next to Duthie Park and a civilised meal and an early night.

This will be my 4th Ultra, so I know I can do the distance.

The chat on the D33 has been great fun.

The route is pretty much as flat as a pancake, compared with the trails I've been running, it's mostly on a cycle way, so ankle rupturing opportunities will be minimal, douche grade.

I've been practicing my hydration and nutrition and whilst I'm far from perfect I am getting better, my pee is seldon the colour of Irn Bru when I finish a run.

I'm not running for a time, it's part of my WHW build up.

I had a great nights sleep last night, my girly ankles are back to normal, my back is fine, I'm not nervous about Saturday at all in fact I'm pretty relaxed about it.

It's the dreaded taper.

Time to zip up my mansuit, grow a pair and get out and enjoy the run.

Cheers

This might hurt a bit!

I went for a massage on Friday, not a Thai massage, not one where everyone wears big thick white towelling gowns, not a Swedish one, where my athletic limbs are sensuously caressed by some statuesque Nordic beauty.

I went for a deep tissue sports massage!

"It'll hurt a bit" said Ian G, "it's quite painful" said Ian A, "You'll feel the benefit" said Steve C, even Lyndsey the physio said "you know this is might be quite sore?"

I'm not the most proficient exponent of the English language, I admit it, I eventually managed a rather woeful Higher English pass but I truthfully cannot find adequate words to describe how painful my massage was.

In my rose tinted massage vision I'd naively imagined scented candles, soothing music, warm baby oil and warm gentle hands soothing away my semi-permanent muscle aches.

Back in the real, candle and music free world the industrial sized vat of lard like lube and the diminutive and indefatigably chatty and cheery physio-terrorist, who must have trained at the Saddam Hussein School of relaxation inflicted pain on a previously unexperienced scale.

I can normally chat away on pretty much any topic, but I couldn't string together a cohesive sentence as fresh waves of manually induced pain assaulted my lower limbs.

I welcomed the opportunity to lie face down for the second half of the session as A - no-one could see me cry and B - I could stifle the urge to scream with a bit of surreptitious pillow biting.

"You’re not running this weekend are you? Because you may feel a bit bruised" she chirped quirkily.

 Whilst my brain said I was planning 22 trail miles tomorrow and a 12 mile road race on Sunday, but now my legs feel like they've lost a kicking contest with a bucking bronco, I might just crawl under a stone instead, my mouth betrayed me by saying "I might take it easy", if only!

I'd love to say the 40 minute session flew past but the pain seemed to stretch out like an endless tunnel. I did think of making a run for it, but the prospect of newspaper headlines of "Police are trying to trace man seen running through Dumfries bare-foot in his underpants" dissuaded me.

I really did think that post-massage I'd be feeling like Mo Farah on the start line; the reality of a 5'2" physio offering to help me down the stairs to the exit rapidly burst that particular bubble.

Writing this 3 days and 34 running miles later and sitting on a train to London for 3 hours I've just realised I don't feel any of my normal achy bits WOW!

Maybe it does help,  maybe I should "man up" and stop whining

Maybe I'll go back in 4 weeks’ time, but at least now I know what to expect.

However for the benefit of my fellow runners and in the interests of humanity I thought I'd provide some translations from physio-speak

"You've got some real knots in your muscles" - When I press this bit, you'll cry like a girl

"You're right legged, aren't you?" - You thought the left leg was sore, you ain't seen nothing yet

"Your left Achilles is tight" - you won't make it down the stairs to the front door

"Put your legs under the cold shower for at least 2 minutes after a run" - you'll get hypothermia

"Do you stretch off after a long run?" - Its self-inflicted, don't complain to me

Cheers