Montane Lakeland 50 Race

For my first Ultra out with the scope of the SUMS series I’d opted to have a crack at the increasingly popular Montane Lakeland 50. When I signed up last autumn I was full of great intentions of fully recceing the route multiple times, after all I had 10 months to do so. I signed up for the organised group recce runs and failed to make any of them. I eventually managed a grand total of 3 route runs, two covering the stretch from Pooley Bridge to Fusedale, the first of which in February turned out to be a near death experience. 

Eventually managing to run from Chapel Stile to Coniston only the weekend before the actual event, on the plus side at least that section would be fresh in my mind!

Notwithstanding my lack of route experience, I’ve trained well this year, with a good basic mileage, a PB at the Highland Fling 53 mile Ultra and a couple of good marathon times, I’d even bagged a 3 minute PB on the Moffat Gala Hill Race 2 weeks previously. In fact I cannot ever remember going into an Ultra event feeling quite so laid back and relaxed.

Driving down from Dumfries on the Friday I listened to the Commonwealth Games on the radio, the really upbeat vibe adding to my general mood of “I’m up for this”.

You’re race entry includes camping at the race HQ at the John Ruskin School in Coniston and by the time I arrived the playing field was already a sea of cars and tents and runners in various states of preparation and panic.

I quickly pitched my tent and headed over to register, with my fully packed and bulging race back pack. Now I’ve ran the Fling three times and the full West Highland Way race once and with no disrespect to either of these fantastic events, it was quickly obvious that the scale and degree of organisation of the L50/L100 is of a completely different magnitude altogether, with nearly 1000 runners over both events.

Registration comprised kit check; race pack collection; timing chip and weigh station with every participant having to show each and every item of compulsory kit, quite the most thorough process I’ve ever seen , including demonstrating you had a working whistle. I was just thankful that the girl checking my kit didn’t ask me to remove my spare base layers and waterproofs from their plastic bags as I’m not sure I could have a- got them back in the bags and b- got all the bags back in my back pack. By the time I was done I was positively shaking with excitement, in truth I was shaking from lack of food so I headed straight through to grab some excellent nosh from the Busy Lizzies charity that were providing catering over the weekend.

My plan was to watch the 100 mile start at 6pm grab an evening meal and generally chill out and not spend too much time on my feet. I wandered round the field saying a quick hello to Andy Johns who was tackling the L100 and to Debbie who was attending to her pre-race foot care regime and Marco, OK I didn’t actually talk to Marco as he was sleeping, but I’m sure you get the idea.

The L100 runners set off in temperature which must have been over 25C and the campus felt strangely quiet when they’d gone. I headed up to the chip shop for a suitably inappropriate pre-race fish supper a lovely warm shower and then spent the remainder of the evening lying reading and relaxing and avoiding the temptations of the pub. I love people watching and It amused me to see the curious mix of “I’m all ready and packed and I don’t need to panic” runners with the “I need to fret, panic and re-pack my bag 10 times” types, still I suppose it takes all sorts?

I got a surprisingly good night’s sleep and waking at 7am headed over to get some breakfast before heading in for RD Mark’s pre-race briefing.  The hall was wall to wall with runners, Mark gave an excellent briefing emphasising that we were not “just” running the 50, but that we were about to tackle a very big thing indeed, then it was onto the fleet of coaches to take us to the 50 start at Dalemain. I made sure of an early seat as there was one ancient coach in the fleet which looked like it had been specially taken out of the vintage museum for the day and I didn’t fancy its chances of even making it to the start.

We were deposited at the start with around 45 minutes to go before the “off”, and that's when it hit me just how flaming hot it actually was, rather stupidly I’d not put on sun cream, so 1000 thanks to the lady supporting Delamere Spartans who allowed me to steal a generous helping of her toddlers factor 50 cream…lifesaver. A quick hello to Susan Gallagher and Jo Rae and with the obligatory pre-race poo attended to I lay in the shade until the hoard moved off to the start line. 

Without preamble we were off. The first 4 miles loop around the fields of the Dalemain estate partly to make up the distance and partly to thin out the 600 or so starters so by the time we started the route proper through Pooley Bridge it wasn’t too congested. I’d chatted with Jo Rae for a mile or so on this section, Jo had a rough WHW race and was looking to banish those particular demons with a good 50, she must have got fed up with my sparkling chat as she rapidly sped off, finishing in a well-deserved 43^rd place overall in 10 hours 45 minutes, a top 10 ladies finish, outstanding.

I adopted a run walk mix on the climb up from Pooley Bridge and then ran all the way down to CP 1 at Howton mill, it was already apparent that the heat was going to be a major factor and I stopped to soak my buff to keep my head cool en route. I knew I could potentially waste a lot of time at check points so confined myself to a quick bottle refill and straight back out for the climb up Fusedale.

L50 race route

Dalemain to Howton  11.2 miles 1 hour 47 minutes

Despite it being the biggest single climb on the route, at just over 1600 feet the climb up Fusedale was uneventful, I gave a shout out to every one of the L100 runners I passed (having their names on the race numbers is a great idea), I soaked my buff at every possible opportunity and gave myself a good sloshing down with water where ever possible, boy was it hot!. Reaching the top of the climb I was in the company of Julie from Wigan and was overcome with a desire to sing “Climb every mountain” from sound of music as we headed onto the more open moorland, well people do say you have to be mad to run Ultra’s.

From here on I was in terra incognito, and would be until Chapel Stile, navigation was not an issue though as there were still plenty of runners around who all seemed to know exactly where to go, on the descent to Haweswater I passed 100 miler Andy John’s, who was having a tough time but still smiling and still moving well. Andy went on to finish in the top half of the 100 field in 35 hours 9 minutes; I’m in awe of his endurance and perseverance!

The run alongside Haweswater was airless and oppressing, but I ran with an informal pace bus of 5 or 6 people and we maintained a strong trot down to Mardale Head, only dropping out to avail myself of any available impromptu bathing opportunities. The sign at the checkpoint said WELCOME TO SPARTA, so I even managed an ah ooh; ah ooh; ah ooh (watch the movie if you don’t know).

Howton to Mardale Head 9.4 miles 4 hours 10 minutes

The Spartans checkpoint crew here were great, bottles filled, cup of soup, cup of coffee, cup of coke and on my way. I must confess that as I looked up at the comic book steepness of the track up Gatesgarth Pass I though “someone is taking the piss here”.

I didn’t enjoy the climb up, although it’s only 1090 feet it’s brutally steep, I felt a deep sense of jealously for those people with lightweight poles, they were consistently able to maintain a better rate of climb than I was. Never again will I call them cheat sticks, if it’s within the rules to use them, use them, I’m a convert.

By the time I hit the descent the field was really thinning out and I ran solo all the way down, except I didn’t run, I was finding the underfoot terrain awful, I’m not the best of descenders anyway and I was frankly terrified of either taking a tumble or turning an ankle or God forbid both.

Mardale Head to Kentmere 6.5 miles 5 hours 56 minutes

I probably had my low point at Kentmere, I was feeling mildly queasy, I’d cramped up a couple of times en route, resorting a large pinch of rock salt each time (no scientific reason that it should work, but it does). I was desperate for something really cold to drink, I grabbed a fruit smoothie and nearly hurled it back up, fruity it was, but cold it wasn’t. The Explorer Scouts manning this checkpoint were amazing; coping with every need of the broken wrecks of humanity sitting and staggering around. Another coke another coffee, nothing solid though and I was out the door, I’d pulled out my road book by now as frankly I had no idea where to go and it looked like being another solo effort.

I have virtually no recollection of the section to Ambleside other than once I get there it’s only 16 miles to the finish, but I did manage to milk the crowd in Ambleside for all the applause I could.. ….well you have to don’t you?

I felt really strong running down to the checkpoint in the parish centre although I didn’t appreciate the flight of steps up to it!

Another outstanding checkpoint crew, another coffee and they managed to find me half a cup of cold milk, pure heaven; I also managed my first pee of the day.

Kentmere to Ambleside 7.3 miles 7 hours 58 minutes

I was now running with another two 50 runners, which was good fortune for me as even with the road book I was struggling to interpret the route to Skelwith Bridge. Throughout the race so far I’d been adopting the “run when you can run” and “walk when you have to principle”, sadly there was no hiding on the flat section to Chapel Stile and although I maintained a run it wasn’t fast and it wasn’t pretty, past the huge campsite at Chapel Stile with the smell of disposable barbeque and scorched sausage alternately tempting and revolting me.

Ambleside to Langdale (Chapel Stile) 5.6 miles 9 hours 5 minutes

Despite the presence of two proper couches in the marquee, I resisted the temptation to sit down; I probably had my longest checkpoint stop here. As darkness was looming I decided to change my soaked t-shirt for a dry one and as the days broiling heat had now swapped places with a persistent drizzle, the lightweight OMM shower proof made its first appearance, but I still couldn't face solid food. I also donned my head torch, deciding I’d rather run with it on than be fumbling around in the dark for it. 

Still smiling at Chapel Stile - photo courtesy of Vicky Hart

On my recce run the weekend before I covered this section (to the finish) in 2 hour 15 minutes, taking it methodically to memorize the exact route, I knew this time it would be much slower, with the added complication of darkness. Just before the climb up to Side Pike Pass the heavens opened and I swapped the lightweight jacket for an OMM Kamelika proper waterproof, I've learned the hard way about leaving it too late to don the proper kit, once bitten twice shy. It was proper dark by the time I crested the pass and with high bracken obscuring my footfall what was runnable last week in daylight was reduced to a steady yomp in the gloom.

I’d got my line across Bleamoss wrong last weekend getting my feet soaked, so was able to get it right this time making a bee-line for the light on the unmanned timing dibber. I even managed a good strong running pace on the downhill and the farm track to the NT cottage, but thereafter the climb up and over to High Tilberthwaite Farm was mostly a steady yomp.

Chapel Stile to Tilberthwaite 6.5 miles 11 hours 4 minutes

Under any normal set of circumstances 3.5 miles in 55 minutes would be a dawdle, not today. The climb up the “stairway to heaven” and the equally torturous descent down to Coniston were always going to be a walk. I sat down at the checkpoint, more coffee, more coke and thank the Lord, rice pudding and jam, proper running food, that and a good handful of nuts set me up for the last leg. I’m so glad this section was fresh in my mind, I’d have had major misgivings about tackling it in the dark without foreknowledge and the rain had all but abated into the bargain. I neither passed anyone nor was passed on this entire section, right to through to the slate cottages where two runners with more confidence on the downhill section overtook me.

I knew that no matter how tired I was I could run from here to the finish, so I kicked off a steady 8 minute mile pace (although in my head it felt faster) I was closing down the 2 guys who’d passed me until just after Miners Bridge when a stab of cramp lanced my right quad, knowing it was too far too run through it, I pulled up and wolfed down the last of my salt, washed it down gave it a quick stretch and headed off again. I felt really strong now running down into Coniston and through a near deserted main street, past the garage, left turn only 150 metres and BANG, job done, I even managed a Johnny Fling heel kick as I went over the line.

Tilberthwaite to Coniston 3.5 mile 12 hours 10 minutes 40 seconds, 111th place

Very slick marshals guided me into the school hall, with a cry of “50 finisher” and a huge round of applause, timing chip of, medal on, t-shirt collected, sweaty hug from a delighted Jo and a stagger over to collect my post-race meal of shepherd’s pie and an ice cold diet coke, lovely.

Without a doubt the toughest race I've done, the brain boiling heat adding an entirely new degree of challenge and the sheer steepness of the climbs, never again!

I headed back to my tent with every intention of collapsing straight into an exhaustion induced coma, sadly the stench when I took my shoes off forced me to head to the showers first. Duly cleaned up I snuggled down but sleep evaded me, remember all that coffee and coke that kept me going during the day, well it kept me going till 4am too, than my tent neighbour decided that 6am was a great time to get up noisily and talk to everyone they could, 50 miles; 10,000 feet 28C and 2 hours sleep should have made for a grumpy Keith, but post-race adrenalin and euphoria won out and after a lovely breakfast sitting in the sun outside the village pub I hung around for the prize giving where Debbie and Marco made it a family double by winning their respective L100 races.

 There were some fabulous race tales and then to cap it all an Ultra “wedding” following a finish line proposal.

My bling

My mind-set at this time was still firmly in the never again camp, but with the dust having settled I've now switched into the fabulous experience I want to do it again category, I’ll be back for more.

Cheers

Dumfries Run for Health 5km...its a fun run, not a race!

Since 2012 Dumfries Devorgilla Rotary Club has organised a 5km family fun run on a looping course round the Crichton Campus in Dumfries. With a strong emphasis on participation and fundraising rather than racing, but as all us runners know, a race is a race!

Having logged 19 miles on the rugged trails of Mabie Forest the day before and with participation rather than competition the main aim, I felt I should show face at the event.

Being a serious (ha ha) runner I warmed up by running the 2 miles from home to the start, parted with my £8, all going to local good causes and pinned on my number along with all the other runners; walkers; pram pushers and an odd cyclist.

Disdaining the official warm up principally because I lack any form of rhythmic upper and lower body co-ordination, those who witnessed my attempt at a Meta-fit class at Tyndrum will back me up here, I chatted to Harrier’s Lesley, who was racing, Neil who was supporting; Mark Johnson from DRC and Steve Carroll who was handing out leaflets for our club’s upcoming inaugural Doonhamer 10K on 31^st August.

Managing to contain myself to only one pre-race pee, I was soon lining up behind the start arch with around 800 fellow participants with ages ranging from 8 to 80. Since it wasn't a race I was unconcerned that I was 20 metres from the line jammed behind several salad dodgers; a plethora of kids and a guy wearing jeans and a long sleeved check shirt.

Yeh, who was I kidding, as soon as the hooter went it was obvious that apart from the kids, who all shot off like the hounds of hell were chasing them, that the bulk of the crowd was out for a leisurely waddle round the route.

It took about 250m, some balletic side stepping and a quick jaunt onto the grass verge to eventually get some clear running space in front of me. I could see Lesley in front of me along with Mark and in-between an enthusiastic bunch of 8 to 14 year olds. As a sage and seasoned club runner, oh listen to me! I knew the kids would blow up fairly quickly and they mostly did through to the 1 mile point, all except four who were neither dying nor slowing, nor was I closing the gap.

Oh the potential indignity, I run marathons and Ultras, I’m a proper runner, I've completed the West Highland Way race and here on a sunny Sunday in Dumfries I’m being beaten by four 12 year olds. Thankfully for me at the 1.5 mile point, kid number 1 came to a complete stop and with the right hand turn uphill, kid number 2 promptly followed suit. Pushing on to save my running pride I overtook number 3 just before 2 miles and my final target detonated just after 2 miles. Lesley was around 70 metres ahead of me and Mark was even closer. Mark and I are pretty evenly matched on shorter races with race honours just about even, but I was closing him down and as I passed him at 2.5 miles we exchanged a very breathless high 5. A quick loop round the magnificent Crichton church and turn on the burners for the glory leg past the crowds on the finish straight, through the finish arch in 19:59; 6:55 minute miles, not bad for an old guy.

Okay the distance wasn't quite the full 5 km, registering 2.9 miles on the Garmin, but at least I’d only been chicked by Lesley (again) and I’d avoided the indignity of being beaten by school kids, and after all it wasn't a race….was it?

Lick the salt off my nuts - The human body is capable of impossible things and other tales of supporting at the West Highland Way Race 2014

I usually like to take time and reflect before posting, but I've had a distinct lack of blogging mojo this year, so I’m going to hit the keyboard whilst memories, emotions and motivation are still fresh and raw.

I've trained with Andy Beattie & Caroline Moles round the forest trails for over two years, with Caroline and me running the WHW race for the first time last year with Andy in support. This year Andy was going for his 1^st goblet and Caroline her 2^nd, with yours truly as part of the support effort.

Andy’s team was going to be Zoe and Ian Grey driving with me and Helen running support, unfortunately a family medical emergency meant Helen had to understandably call off on Friday evening. Caroline had a well-practiced support crew of 2 times WHW finisher Ian Anderson (2011 & “the wet year”); Steve Head; Lesley Jeffrey and WHW newbie Steve Carroll.

Ian, Zoe, Andy, me

I have to confess it all felt a bit unreal in the final build up to the race this year. Last year I was completely emotionally, mentally and physically absorbed with the WHW race for 6 months. Whilst much of this year’s training and racing chat was WHW oriented and I knew I’d be supporting Andy as soon as he put in his entry in, it just felt different this year! I had a huge dose of pre-race nerves throughout last week; I don’t think I’d quite appreciated the responsibility of being part of a support crew up till that point. In fact I was definitely nervier as support than I was as a runner, strange but true.

With everyone but Andy working on Friday, our plan was to leave Dumfries around 8pm, collecting Andy in Lockerbie en route and arrive in Milngavie with ample time to register and get set up, but without too much time hanging around. Thanks to the generosity of Amanda Hamilton I’d managed to cadge a free hotel room overnight on the Friday, to allow Ian and I to get some kip before joining Zoe somewhere around Tyndrum the following afternoon, leaving Zoe to handle Balmaha, Beinglas and Auchtertyre solo.

The drive up was unremarkable, chatting through Andy’s support plan, ensuring we we’re au fait with exactly what he wanted. Andy is superbly fit and motivated; he’d banked a cracking Fling time and the only potential dark cloud was a recurrence of shin splints about a month ago. As a support crew we’d talked through options ranging from him smashing out a 21/22 hour finish through to a painful injury (shin split) induced 28/30 hour effort, and we thought we had covered all the bases and possible permutations.

Registration was smooth and efficient and once we’d transferred all Andy’s kit into Zoe’s van we encouraged him to sit down and spend as little time as possible on his feet. We were too far back to hear much of Ian Beattie’s race brief, but I think we pretty much knew it off by heart anyway. Time for photos, lots of wishing friends good luck and at 1am the hooter sounds and 193 intrepid souls set of on their WHW race journey.

Still smiling in Tyndrum

Once we’d clapped them all down the high street, Zoe headed off to get some kip before her first meet with Andy at Balmaha and Ian and I headed for the Premier Inn for a decent night’s rest. Contrasting fortunes for the two halves of the team - Zoe got no sleep, Andy had a tough time before Balmaha, the midges were appalling, and Ian and I had a good sleep a long lie and a decent breakfast before a leisurely drive to Tyndrum. Text updates from Zoe, suggested that Andy had a low point just before Balmaha, but had picked up and that with Paul Giblin and Robbie Britton heading for a course record time, I’d be running with Andy from Bridge of Orchy.

We met Zoe in the tourist information car park at Tyndrum and switched all the kit back into my car, or not quite all the kit as it transpired, more of that later. We walked over to Brodie’s store to cheer Andy up the hill, also catching Gayle Tait, who was looking strong and Jo Rae who was having a nightmare race with tummy trouble. Zoe than headed off to try to get some sleep and Ian and I set of for Bridge of Orchy. We parked in the top car park and walked down to the check point at the bridge, ably manned by Norma Bone and Sean Stone, double checking that Andy was eligible for support (you cannot have a support runner, if you are within 4 hours of the race leader), we settled down to wait. Andy and Caroline arrived in 13:32 and 13:31 respectively and both still smiling. We sat Andy down, replaced water bottles and snack bag, changed his buff, tried to scrape the dead midges off his face and neck, let him shovel in a rice pudding and steeled him for the climb up Murdo’s Mount.

Rannoch Moor

Caroline and her support (Steve & Lesley) passed us on the climb up, and we didn’t see then again until Glencoe. Andy’s shins were holding out but his heels were giving him a lot of pain, so having held a steady yomp up the hill, the downhill was quite painful. We ran most of the way to Forest Lodge and the first slope up onto Rannoch Moor, changing to a run 50 walk 50 on the slopes and walking the steeper sections, but with increasing pain from his heels the walks were becoming longer and the runs correspondingly slower. Around 4 miles from Glencoe we were mostly walking and the phrase I’m bollocksed was uttered for the first time. We know each other well and generally know how to push each other along when one of us is lacking in oomph or motivation, but it was clear that this was more than lack of mojo and that overwhelming tiredness was playing a major part.

Some rapid text messages and Zoe opted to run out and meet us with a change of top (and change of chat for Andy), whilst I ran ahead to Glencoe to get some chips and a chair sorted. The shape of the plan was already sliding towards the longer end of our estimates, but we decided not to say anything to Andy, maintaining an aura of uninterrupted optimism.

Andy had been running in road shoes up to this point and asked for his trail shoes, this was the point we discovered we hadn’t quite transferred ALL the kit from Zoe’s van, whilst we didn’t have his preferred Speedcross 3s, we did have his Speedcross Fell raisers. As we were ministering to our runner with Grand Prix pit lane efficiency Caroline headed down the road to Kingshouse, I shouted out that she was on target for a sub 24 hour finish, but not being in a happy place right then, I didn’t catch her reply in full, but it did include the word “off”. Her crew had not allowed her to sit down at any checkpoint to avoid too much time fannying around and she spent a total of only 36 minutes stationary through the entire race, eventually finishing in a fantastic 23:39:54, around 3 hours faster than last year a brilliant and well deserved result.

The section between Glencoe and Altnafeadh is my least favourite section of the route; it’s only 4 miles but seems to go on forever (and includes what I’ve labelled The Pointless Hill) or possibly because it looks so close from Glencoe? Andy was increasingly struggling to maintain a run and when we got close to the Altnafeach I ran ahead to brief the team. With things increasingly looking like a walk to the finish we needed to plan and clothe accordingly. Zoe said she would join us for the final stretch from Kinlochleven, with Ian heading to FW to check into our hotel before meeting us at Lundavra.

The climb up The Devil was a struggle, with the pace dropping and a couple of sit down’s to take the pressure off Andy’s increasingly painful  feet, the conversation was becoming increasingly one way and Andy looked downright shattered. Throughout he’s been eating and hydrating fantastically well, with a good mix of foods, although I suspect Andy felt he’d been force fed a diet of non-stop Shot Bloks for 24 hours, overwhelming tiredness seemed to be the key factor though.

Recovery Snooze

The steep and never ending descent into Kinlochleven was just as steep and never ending as ever, with the evil carnivorous midges putting in an appearance as we hit the tree line just to add to the fun. I suppose I must have been focussed on Andy as I have no recollection of seeing anyone else from the race on this stage.

It’s strange how you lose chunks of recollection, all I can remember of the KL leisure centre is me shovelling in chips and a coffee and Zoe announcing Andy was going for a short sleep. Andy is the Usain Bolt of speed sleeping, no sooner had he lain down than he was out, and 20 minutes later he was up like a shot, which wasn’t helpful as he promptly went down again like the proverbial sack of spuds and spent 10 minutes flat on the floor with legs elevated under the watchful eye of Dr Chris. Whilst we’d been slogging over the Devil, Ian and Zoe had charged back to Tyndrum to retrieve the missing Speedcross shoes, but these went unused.

The brief sleep seemed to have re-invigorated Andy and we tackled the climb up to the Lairig Moor with a fresh(ish) step and hardly any pauses, also being fortunate enough to achieve this in daylight. But it was time for head torches before we hit the first ruin. Maintaining a decent yomping pace we eventually saw the welcome flickering lights of Jeff Smith of the Wilderness Response Team and an equally welcome cup of Irn-Bru. Leaving Jeff we could see the head torches of two runners catching us up, and just before the bridge over the stream, the familiar voice of John Munro could be heard “you can lick the salt of my nuts”. John having spent the early part of the race manning the checkpoint at Beinglas Farm was now putting in a stint supporting Amanda Hamilton. Amanda apparently struggling to digest food was

Kinlochleven - welcome to the midge-fest

licking the salt off individual peanuts and spitting them out. Having had to resort to the self-same tactic during the Fling albeit with a bag of salted almonds I had great sympathy for her. I’ve been following Amanda’s blog and it was a pleasure to see her collect her goblet.

With about 2 miles to Lundavra, Andy exploded into life and started running. Not your typical “I’ve just run 80 miles” ultra-shuffle, not a mediocre fat-boy marathon pace, but a full on blast from no-where. Honestly it was one of the scariest experiences of my running life. To morph from walking zombie into Mo Farah without warning - in the pitch dark - on THAT track was terrifying, do I run behind and try to grab him if he stumbles? Do I run alongside and fling out an arm sideways if he goes? I think I eventually plumped for run in front and act like a crash mat for him. Thankfully my sacrificial zeal remained untested.

After this Olympian burst from AB, Zoe and I quietly chatted and our tentative plan to let Andy have another nap in the car at Lundavra was shelved in favour of Zoe heading back to FW with Ian in the car and the gruesome twosome covering the 6.95 miles from Lundavra to the finish line.

With the bonfire blazing brightly and “we are the Champions” blaring out we didn’t pause long at Lundavra, a quick bottle refill and we were through, exchanging some banter with Ian and Zoe as we disappeared out of sight, unfortunately almost as soon as we were out of sight of the checkpoint Andy’s Duracell bunny batteries died and he was having to take regular sit down’s to relieve the pain on his feet. I must admit I was cursing inwardly, “what if we’d let him have a sleep at Lundavra” would that have been enough to keep him running, but we have to play with the hand we’re dealt and so it was back to cajoling and encouraging. With some of these sections to the fire road being technical and gnarly I confess I actively discouraged Andy from running, his pace when running was not much above his walk and when you added in a sit down stop and the reduction in walking pace thereafter I reckoned he’d be faster overall (and safer) just maintaining a walking pace, I think we were passed by a couple of other teams, with me chirping out “I can’t think of any place I’d rather be at 2am on a t Saturday morning, than here” to try to lighten the mood.

This is what 95 miles looks like

The steps down through the trees were particularly tough going and the final short climb up to the fire road equally so. With the first tendrils of dawn creeping over the horizon and twinkling head torches dotting the massive bulk of Ben Nevis across the glen, the more runnable terrain of the fire road was a welcome sight. To Andy’s eternal credit he managed a healthy run pretty much all the way down to Braveheart Car Park, and we were not passed by anyone. I’m sure by this stage my chat had become repetitive and dull, or even more repetitive and dull than usual. 

“Not far to the street lights”, “not far to the 30mph signs”, “not far to the roundabout now”, “only 300 yards after the roundabout”. I was aware of another runner not far behind, but Andy managed to hold him off, coming in in 26:57:16, with the other runner 10 seconds behind, job done 104^th place.

At no stage in our 13 hours together did Andy even once mention pulling out or stopping, and  it was a genuine pleasure to see him collect his goblet on Sunday.

Reflections

I’ve not spoken to Andy since the event, so I’m not sure how he feels about his time? However just completing this event is a major achievement by any standard and he should be justifiably proud.

Team Beattie

I wouldn’t recommend having only one support runner for most of the second half, while the running and the distance were no problem, keeping up the chat solo for that length of time is challenging. Having your runner(s) join you on the Saturday does, however seem eminently sensible as they are fresh rather than having endured a night without sleep.

Zoe and Ian are stars on support duties, enthusiastic, capable and knowledgeable and seeming to know just when to be cruel and when to be kind, it’s a pleasure to crew and run with them.

All credit must go to Race Director Ian Beattie and his team of enthusiastic marshals’ and helpers, who put on another splendid event, thanks and well done.

What about the future? Well I never said I wouldn’t run the WHW race again!