Highland Fling Training Weekend

Although I was very much looking forward to this weekend, as has become depressingly regular, I ended up with my work taking me to more or less exactly the wrong place for convenient travel to Tyndrum.
With apocalyptic storms forecast for Wednesday I found myself on a Virgin Train from Carlisle to London, as it turned out, this was the last train to get through before the entire West Coast mainline was shutdown. What should have been a 3 hour journey, took 7 hours including 90 minutes stationary in the pitch dark, inevitable I suppose when they turn off the power and your on an electric train. The train crew were brilliant, but what should have been an easy journey, meant I rolled into my hotel after 9pm and what had been a slight back niggle was now full on back ache and to add insult to injured pride, no executive upgrade at the Holiday Inn.
I was in London to chair my last luncheon meeting of the wonderfully named London Softwood Club, and I suspect the 5 hours I subsequently spent standing knocking back pints of London Pride didn't help my at back all.
A mere 4 hour 30 minute journey back to Carlisle and then driving to Larbert, helped neither my back or my tiredness. A couple of hours in the office and then a mere 2 hour drive to The By The Way hostel, through driving snow, meant I was pretty washed out on arrival, not even the magnificent fish and chips at the Real Food Cafe, could revive me, and I'm sure my chat in the pub, nursing my single pint of Guinness (thanks Johnny Fling), reflected this.
I sneaked off early hoping that a good nights sleep would revive me; sort out my back and boost my enthusiasm for the planned 30 mile run.

It didn't, its depressing sitting on your bed in so much pain you cant get your socks and pants on, but I eventually got dressed, fed and was on parade at 9am. The main group were planning to drive South to Beinglass Farm and then run out and back to Rowardenan. Having run a big chunk of that route two weekends ago at the Balmaha training weekend, i wasn't keen to cover the same ground.
In truth, I was also concerned that my sore back would curtail my run and I'd either be hanging around waiting for a lift or letting others down by having to drive away and leave them. So I opted to join a group of around 10 who were running North, out and back on the WHW.
We did seem to hang around for ages outside before actually heading off and I was getting pretty chilled. We ran as a group to Brodie's Store but still not having generated any heat I opted to put my head down and run to the top of the glen to get warm, I wasn't being anti-social and since all my Mabie runs involve at least a 1 mile uphill it was similar to my normal trail training runs.
The underfoot conditions for this first 2 miles uphill were truly horrible, 2 to 4 inches of slushy wet snow mixed with puddles meant that by the time I crossed the railway line, my feet were both soaked and cold, not ideal with another 3 - 4 hours in prospect. The snowy descent under the railway line was a particular delight. The slight drop in altitude did however mean that the track was clear of snow and I decided to push on in the hope that my feet would warm up slightly, which they did albeit at the cost of getting so far ahead of the rest of the group, that I now knew this was going to be a solo effort.
This was the first time I'd run this section since the WHW race last June, when the insoles in my Salomon Speedcross 3s has decided to disintegrate just before Bridge of Orchy, so not a section resplendent with happy memories.
Although I'm a fan of the Speedcross 3, I've been having persistent problems with them recently when running downhill when its wet, the insoles slip forward and bunch up giving real blister potential. Combined with the fact that I've worn all the grip of the soles, I'd opted to bring my Inov8 roclites out of retirement, a position they will be rapidly re-assuming. I'd also had to stop to put on my waterproof trousers as the combination of cold wet feet and an icy headwind, were not putting me in a happy place. I was however happy with my pace overall. I headed up Murdo's Mount scaring a herd of deer off the path in front of me. Once above the tree line, the snow made a reappearance, making any kind of running all but impossible and with some sections calf deep over the summit I'd made my mind up that I was going to run back on the road as walking through snow is of zero training benefit to me.

It was here that my Boy Scout training kicked in, if I run back by a different route, the group following won't see me, they might assume I'm lost or injured or dying in a ditch somewhere and send out Mountain Rescue; Police; helicopters the A-Team etc. I didn't have anyones mobile number with me, so I opted to write a message in the snow in 2 foot high letters telling them I was running back on the road, I forgot to ask subsequently if anyone even noticed it, probably not.
Just past the Inveroran Hotel I startled a sodding great Stag, grazing in a garden, probably a brown trouser moment for both of us. I'd settled on 11 miles out and back and I'll admit to being thankful when my Garmin beeped just before the snow line on the road over Rannoch Moor.
As I ran back past the Inveroran Hotel, the main group appeared with Kirsty, John, Amanda closely followed by Bill and Mike and Carol, a quick hello and we were off on our respective ways, with Kirsty telling me to look out for her friend Bridget who was running back to Dalmally by the road.
I stopped briefly and sat on the bridge parapet to take off my waterproof trousers as the sun had made a fleeting appearance and to throw down a rice pudding and switch to thinner gloves and then headed off down the road, the lack of cushioning on the inov8s making its presence felt!.
I caught up with Bridget just before BoO, unfortunately before I had a chance to shout hello and warn her, I must have loomed into her peripheral vision and gave her a bit of a scare, sorry Bridget.
With the added benefit of a tailwind, I covered the section between BoO and the railway bridge satisfactorily, and managed to run most of the uphills. Crossing under the railway, the climb up on the path through the snow was difficult. To use Amanda Hamilton's phrase 'it was here that I suffered a proper sense of humour failure". Whilst there is an obvious benefit in winter training, slipping and sliding through slushy melting snow, unable to see whether your foot is landing on path; puddle; stream or pot hole and risking injury isn't sensible, still nobody made me do the run!

If anything the underfoot conditions were even worse now, a mile and a half through snow, puddles and slush chilling the feet again, the only upside being bumping into the infamous Colin Knox to give me some company for the run in.
Back to the hostel with 22 miles clocked at 10:30 average pace and no issues with my back, not as far as I'd ideally have wanted to run, but more than I thought I'd make at the outset and the added advantage of no queue for the showers and Lorna McMillan with a cup of John D's home made soup to warm me up.
By the time the light faded all the runners had made it back, and social glow was the order of the day. Marcus Scotney gave a very interesting talk on structured training and the risks and symptoms of over training, all followed by a fantastic meal.
There was a real buzz about the room after the meal, with a great mix of old hands; Fling virgins and elite athletes all chatting happily away, sharing experiences.
My sensible head, sent me to bed around 11pm, sadly not early enough to stop my love of red wine demonstrating itself.
I had a great nights sleep, but really didn't feel up to a recovery run on the Sunday, so opted to pack up and head home sharpish.
Having had 48 hours to reflect on Marcus's words of wisdom, I think I have probably fallen into the over training trap.
I ran the Marcothon in December and then put in 216 miles in January, with back to backs runs most weekends and running Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday nights too. That's even more than I put in last year when training for the full WHW race. I was taken back a bit by Marcus's figures that 50% of your runs should be at recovery pace. I'm really guilty of making every run a hard session, so I think I do need to ease back somewhat, especially as I've got quite a full fixture list of marathons and ultras this year.
On the plus side the sore back didn't manifest itself too much on the run, but as I type this on yet another train journey to London it's making its presence known.

I'm also playing my train game again (see blog post from 4th December 2013). The couple opposite me got on in the Lake District, she with a pile of Country Life magazines and a Penelope Keith accent, and he with a checked shirt and brown brogues, a beard you could hide a ferret in and a tablet that he has no idea how to use. She has spent the last hour musing about crossing a springer spaniel and a labrador, which gives you a Springador apparently if you're interested and he's farted around with a white bread Virgin Trains ham sandwich, probably the first white bread sandwich he's ever seen. She wolfed hers down, except the crusts, whilst making little mewing noises with every bite, definitely not lottery winners, you can spot old money and class a mile away can't you?

Cheers

Four go Mad in the Lakes

“I do so love going back to school after the Christmas hols”, said head boy Ian, “Yes I’ve missed doing my nightly prep homework” chirped Caroline, captain of the gals hockey team.

“I think it’s time we had an adventure” said Ian, “Oh that sounds like a jolly jape” chorused the Adonis twins, Andy and Keith.

“Listen chaps I’ve got a wizard idea”, said Ian who was always coming up with super ideas for adventures for The Infamous Four. “Instead of our usual bimble round Mabie Forest on Saturday, why don’t we fire up the old jalopy and head down to the Lake District?, I’ve heard its jolly nice down in England-shire and we can pack some jam sandwiches for a picnic, with lashings of ginger beer to wash it all down”.
After a gang meeting at the secret HQ (although some people insist on calling it the David Keswick Sports Centre), everyone agreed it would be a capital wheeze to run up and down some hills in the Lake District. There was always a chance we might stumble across some treasure, pirates or a ruthless criminal gang, whose fiendish and dastardly plan we could foil.

Since matron always insists we’re back in the dorms for midday Saturday we’d have to sneak out jolly early to make sure we were back in time for detention (weekly food shopping).

We agreed to meet behind the bike sheds early on Saturday so we could get down to Pooley Bridge on Ullswater for early o’clock and Ian demonstrated his commendable driving skills by not killing us en route.

The weather forecast from those clever chaps at the Met Office, proved sadly correct as once again an unrelenting drizzle saw us setting off from The Square in Pooley Bridge. Our battle plan was to follow the High Street, which our Latin master had told us was an old Roman road. Very ingenious bods, the Romans apparently they built proper straight roads all over England-shire whilst the locals were still running around painted blue, living in mud huts and chanting “Engerlund…Engerlund”. Anyway High Street must have been built by the Roman equivalent of the Cowboy builders because all evidence of straight, level and well prepared had disappeared under muddy, bendy and hilly.

With commendable enthusiasm and commensurate lack of geographical ability Keith and Andy sped up the hill into the mist and promptly proceeded to trot right past the turn off onto High Street, only after hitting a proper road and the “track” disappearing did Ian point out the error of our ways. Fortunately Keith had brought one of those new-fangled GPS magic box of tricks thingys and after back tracking and cross countrying for a mile or two we were back on what purported to be High Street.

While the weather had been grim to start, it got even worse as we gained height, cloud reduced visibility to around 50 yards, the wind picked up and the rain was verging on snow. The ground conditions were wetter than a wet thing on a wet day, sheep trails which would have been challenging enough when dry, became trenches filled with near freezing water and boggy sections meant regular immersions above ankle level. All in all very character building weather.

Caroline is a jolly pluck gal, in fact she’s spent so much time running with us that she’s nearly an honorary boy now. She is what we regrettably; have to call visually challenged and the combination of wind and driving rain and spectacles meant she was running even more blind than usual. Ian still recovering from a long term foot injury was finding it tough going and the Adonis twins usual sparkling running conversation was reduced to occasional grunts, mutters and colourful Anglo-Saxon outbursts.
It’s fair to say that despite considerable reserves of fitness, guts and spunk, none of us were enjoying ourselves there was not a pirate or ruthless criminal in sight and not a whiff of Ginger Beer either. With the magic box (GPS) telling us we were close to the summit of Loadpot Hill it didn’t take much to persuade us it was time to turn round, the seven and a half miles had felt like a marathon, we were all bordering on hypothermia, with no feeling in fingers and toes, definitely not a picnic in the Lake District!
Our return journey was much swifter than the outbound one, with a grim determination to get off the hill, get out of our wet togs and get some hot scoff down us. Andy managed to run most of the 5 miles with his hands firmly clamped under his armpits to regain feeling, how he didn’t face plant is a mystery worthy of Conan Doyle.
Back to Pooley Bridge, with minimal conversation, legs hurting in new places, no relief from the rain, but blessedly descending below the cloud line and a marginal improvement in temperature.

 

We managed to bag a quick team photo before heading into the public lav for a quick change. When I say a quick change, what I mean is three frozen, borderline hypothermic blokes with no feeling in their fingers or toes trying to get naked then dry and dressed in an unlit and unheated Spartan lavvie. With typical but Scout preparedness Keith was quickly buff and passed the only towel onto Ian then Andy. Much hilarity ensued when in the process of removing his sodden under-top Andy “flicked” Ian on the buttocks, what a jolly jape!, Oh how we laughed.

With dry clothes on, the process of getting warm began in earnest; a quick trip to the Outdoor Outfitters secured Andy a fetching new hat, then along to Granny Dowbekins tearoom for sustenance. They say every picture serves a story, well at least two of them do…..that was a hard days running.

Full English breakfasts all round, even Andy temporarily sidestepping his no carb diet by hoovering 4 slices of toast.

Not put off by her recent experience Caroline was busy using her new -fangled mobile phone to enter yet another race.
Posting the route later on Face-page-book-thing on the interweb one of my running acquaintances summed it all up quite nicely

“You’ve not run in the Lake District until you’ve had a near death experience”

Cheers
K

First lady or how to feel like a first class Pratt!

December can be a funny month running wise for me. I usually have a lot of travelling to do with work, admittedly mostly to end of year Christmas parties, the weather is invariably not conducive to running and after a hard year’s training and racing the spectre of fatigue raises its ugly and unwelcome head.
Last December I signed up for the Marcothon, a challenge where you have to run every day in December for at least 3 miles or 25 minutes, “anywhere your feet can touch the ground” as the website says. It’s probably the only time of my (running) life where I can honestly say I hated my running, a measly 3 miles felt like the longest of long runs, Oh and the weather was cold to boot. We’d booked a family skiing holiday over Christmas and when I scoped out the hotel gym on arrival, I admit I was relieved to find the treadmill was kaput, so after 21 consecutive days running I was out. My rationale for signing up had been to offset the calories and overindulgence of aforementioned Christmas parties, but my heart probably just wasn't in it.
The only enjoyable element was the unofficial “battle of the poets” that I indulged in with fellow Dumfries Harrier Ian Gray, where we posted increasingly corny and contrived poems recording our daily efforts on Facebook.
I then spent most of this year telling anyone who would care to listen, all the good reasons why I’d rather walk over hot coals than sign up for the Marcothon again. As December drew closer and all my fellow Harriers concurred that running for 31 days in December was just bonkers, played no part in any training schedule and liable to stuff my already fatigued legs, my resolve hardened.

Marcothon wasn’t going to happen!

By mid-November, my packed social schedule of Christmas parties was steadily mounting… Two Lunches in London, running club party in Dumfries, Christmas lunch in Liverpool, office party in Glasgow and works night out in Dumfries, I could feel the calories mounting and the pounds piling on, but I hadn’t enjoyed Marcothon so there was no way I was signing up for it.

The 2013 Marcothon Facebook page went live, and amid much social media buzz, I didn’t accept the invite, my resolve was strong!

I mentioned to a running buddy that I was giving Marcothon a miss this year, because for a seasoned runner like me (cough cough) it’s of no benefit (are you starting to hear the sound of petards being hoisted yet?). Her response was “you have to do it, we all loved your poems”, but no I’m a firm, determined individual, I resisted her womanly charms.

I actually made it all the way to November 30^th before my feeble willpower crumbled, six Christmas parties, hundreds of miles of travelling, I can see what’ll happen. Without the discipline of a challenge or the pressure of an imminent big race, I’ll end up not running much, drinking far too much and developing a figure like Humpty Dumpty, so I signed up, I’m a 2013 Marcothoner!

Bizarrely having hated just about every moment of it last year, I actually quite enjoyed it this year. The biggest challenge was been planning how to actually going to fit runs into my schedule. I started off with a head torch run round Mabie Forest; I’ve resorted to hotel treadmills a couple of times. I set of for a 3 miler from my London Hotel and ended up doing 9 miles taking photos of the central 

Albert Hall, all lit up

London landmarks at night. I’ve had a couple of my regular Weekend long trail runs. I delivered our local Xmas cards on one run; I’ve had a few hangover/post party “runs”. I’ve worked out a couple of circular roads runs from my offices in Larbert and Lockerbie and squeezed in 4 miles at lunchtime, although neither me or my works colleagues are a fan of my post run toilet sink wash-downs. I’ve run in the dark, in a gale wearing full Gore-Tex waterproof tops and bottoms and I’ve run up and down a 300m stretch of pavement in a deluge just to get in 4 miles.

So when Andy suggested a change in our weekend routine, I jumped at it. Let’s try the Carlisle ParkRun on the Saturday before Christmas, after all its only 3 miles and then we can do our usual long trail run on the Sunday, ideal.

The other attraction was that the course record for the venue’s 5km run is 18 minutes and change; surely with our athletic pedigree we’d be pushing for highly placed finishes?

Having registered post Thursday’s Glasgow Xmas party, pay attention now! This will be relevant later; I printed off my barcode and arranged to meet Andy at Chances Park Carlisle, giving ourselves ample time for a proper warm-up.

Sadly the weather gods contrived to mess up our well intentioned warm-up plan and Saturday dawned chilly and very windy, we managed a half-hearted jog of around 500m then joined the 80 or so souls who’d turned out. Our minimal recce has also suggested that the course was “undulating”, runner-speak for hilly!

A quick welcome brief and we were off, a really nice mix of runners; joggers; kids and adults; people with dogs and prams (one or the other I hasten to add), serious Lycra clad and seasonal fancy dress.

Andy shot off like the proverbial racing snake, I think we were both taken by surprise by the informality of the start (no count down, just GO!), I dodged dogs, runners and small humans until I found a comfortable pace, 200 metres in and it was obvious that the wind was not going to play nicely today.

The route is three times round a rough figure of 8, probably 60% on tarmac paths and 40% on grass and is not, I suspect one of the faster ParkRun courses. The grass was saturated, heavy and lumpy so my choice of road shoes was less than optimal, as I skidded round the first corner, narrowly avoiding an ignominious face plant. Even the transitions from grass to tarmac were tricky with the tarmac rapidly acquiring a nice lubricating coat of mud. Around half way round, you turn onto a longish straight uphill tarmac path, unfortunately with the wind dead against us, for the first time in a race I actually thought was going to come to a stop!
With each lap I was closing the gap on Andy, and by 2.5 miles I thought I was in with a whisker of being able to catch him, I knew I was slowing (7:14; 7:19 & 7:28 my eventual splits), but I guessed we both were. One last turn and about 50m to the finish, I unleashed the world famous Ainslie sprint finish.

For those unfamiliar with this athletic phenomenon, it’s not so much Eric Liddell, Chariots of Fire and lithe gazelle, more charging Zulu horde; puffing Billy steam train, face contorted like Ivana Trump, charging elephant style. If you cannot hear me coming you must be deaf or dead!

I nudged past Andy just before the line, clocking 22:31 and 14^th and 15^th position respectively, not fast but not bad considering the weather and underfoot conditions. After a recuperative cup of tea and a bacon buttie I headed home, driving through a deluge of rain of biblical proportions and thankful that but for the decision to ParkRun we’d have been long running through it, or trying anyway. Finishing of my Christmas shopping and eagerly awaiting my email from ParkRun HQ confirming my time, this duly pinged into my inbox just before teatime….

“Congratulations on completing your 1st ParkRun and your 1st at Carlisle today. You finished in 14th place and were the 1st lady out of a field of 88 parkrunners and you came 1st in your age category VW50-54…”

Yup you’ve guessed it, in my post party hangover haze I’d registered myself as a lady, I felt like a complete Pratt, mostly for denying the actual and rightful first lady due credit.

As far as Marcothon, well yes I did complete it this year, logging 203 miles for the month, penning some half decent poems and some pretty execrable ones too.

Did I enjoy it? yes I suppose I did. Would I do it again? Not sure. Is there any training benefit? On the face of it I’d have said “no”, but on my shorter runs, I was consistently running faster paces than last year (Okay, not on the post party runs) and I finished on the 31^st with my fastest ever time round the 18 miles of the purple trail route at Mabie Forest.

I did toy briefly with the idea of doing a review of 2013, until I saw George Reid’s review of his 2013. George organises the fabulous D33Ultra in Aberdeen (which I’ll be doing for the 3^rd year, this year) and I’m unashamedly going to copy George’s review.

2013 I did some epic shit!

All the best for 2014

Cheers

K

The big city

I'm enjoying an ever so rare opportunity to travel 1st class rail down to London for one of my regular business meetings. With 4 seats and a huge table and "at seat" service all to myself it's a pleasant contrast to the noisy, cramped misery of my standard class return on Friday.
As a self admitted travel snob, I love people watching on these trips to the smoke and sometimes amuse myself by trying to guess the life stories of my fellow passengers.
With my planned train having been cancelled due to an "incident", I'd jumped onto the first available coach preceded by an elderly gent with a thatch of grey hair, he seemed to know the train crew pretty well as he chatted amiably over his half moon specs and with an accent that would have rivalled Penelope Keith I reckoned he was on his way to the House of Lords, but the clincher had to be his red corduroy  trousers, only ever sported by people so rich they just don't care what they look like!
Sitting across the aisle from me is Miss Trying to be Businesswoman, dark blue suit - check, laptop - check, "just a mineral water for me" - check, but OK magazine - FAIL and tights with more ladders than a chimney sweep -fail.
Mr See how Impressive I look is sitting behind me. Laptop out, iPad out, papers spread over the table......only minor issue is that he's spent the last hour playing Candy Crush or some equally mind crushing drivel on his phone.
I think it must be a condition of the rail franchise that every first class carriage contains at least one bewildered granny, bundled on no doubt, by well meaning offspring but struggling to keep up with the storm of requests "tickets please", "now I know I had them a minute ago", "hot or cold drinks madam?", " I'm 87 years old you know", bless em.
Mr I'm in for everything I can get is knocking back the free booze like an Alky in an off licence and shovelling in free bananas like a demented chimp.
Mr Out of his Depth, got on at Oxenholme - The Lake District (for the uninitiated this is the rail equivalent of Glasgow Prestwick I.e. it's no where near the Lake District) . He's sporting his full fell walking gear and has the look of a man just waiting to be told to get back to standard class where he belongs.
Mr and Mrs Lottery winner are on today too, just a bit too loud and a bit too much jewellery and fake tan, but firmly loyal to the dead giveaway Daily Record, I ask you Daily Record in 1st class.
Mr I'm so glad I'm away from the kids, got on at Carlisle, closed his eyes and has merrily snored the journey away.
And me......well Peter Perfect of course.

Had a bad Day?

I had a truly rubbish day at work last week. The week had started so well, coming off the adrenalin high from the GO33 and the luxury of 5 days with no travelling or hotel stays in prospect I settled down to sell all the remaining oddball sizes in our stock yard at work before the winter really kicks in. I’d been making great progress with some great orders and was on a real high and then something got dumped on me from above, not just a little dump. But huge great steaming excremental dump, a dump of Brobdingnagian proportions, the kind of dump that makes you seriously consider drafting your resignation letter because frankly you think “what’s the sodding point?”.

I don’t own a cat or a dog so kicking them is out of the question and the logistics and mess of kicking the family goldfish outweigh any satisfaction and release achieved. I even tried to hit the bottle, cracking open a nice bottle of red wine, but after half a glass my heart just wasn’t in it and you just don’t get the same release from a can of caffeine free diet coke and a bag of fruit gums.

A spot of serious man moping didn’t lighten my black mood and I couldn’t find a punch bag. With my legs still hurt from GO33 I couldn’t even go for a run to clear my head, so I did the only thing a frustrated and fuming runner can do….I entered some races!

As some of you may know I spend quite a bit of time in London on business. As people there know I “do a bit of running” every trip usually prompts a regular chorus of “What big race are you doing?” and “are you running for charity?” Generally they have no concept of the distances. Conversations usually run along the lines of

Q             “So this race you’re doing, how long is it?”

Me         “It’s a marathon its 26.2 miles”

Q             “But what about the big race you did last time for charity?”

Me         “The Edinburgh marathon, it was 26.2 miles too”

Q             “So why don’t you do the London marathon?”

Me         “because I didn’t get a place in the ballot”

Q             “How far is the London marathon?”

Me         “It’s a marathon its 26.2 miles”

Q             “So how far is a half marathon?”

Me         “Aaaaaargh”

You get the general picture. I suppose for most “normal” non-running people the concept of running any distance they’d normally drive in their cars to cover is beyond comprehension.

Anyway back to the “had a bad day” theme. I’ve been toying with a spring marathon to have a crack at improving my marathon PB (loch Ness, 2011 3:25:51), so while any sane and sensible person would kill two birds with one stone, with one marathon, 26.2 miles in case you’ve not been listening. I’ve signed up for two, namely Lochaber and Edinburgh. Lochaber will be my racing marathon and Edinburgh my fundraising one.

My running year is shaping up quite nicely now

March                   D33

April                       Lochaber Marathon; Highland Fling

May                       Edinburgh Marathon

June                      WHW (supporting this time rather than running)

July                        Lakeland 50

August                  Coll Half Marathon

October               Berlin marathon

Disappointingly I can’t say I feel a lot better as I still have to suppress the desire to run out and punch some-one but at least I’ve got lots of races to look forward to now. Mind you January and February look a bit empty…..reaches for credit card and entrycentral.co.uk……..

Cheers

Glen Ogle 33 mile Ultra Marathon

It wouldn’t be an Ainslie attempt at an Ultra if I didn’t mess up my work travel plans in the week before! At one stage it was looking like I’d need to be in Edinburgh on Wednesday; Lockerbie Thursday morning ; Larbert Thursday afternoon; Lockerbie Friday morning then drive back to Dumfries to pick up Ann to head back up to Strathyre on the Friday.

Thankfully Ann agreed to meet me in Hamilton after work on Friday and the Thursday trip was cancelled. I did however balance out this more sedate week with a 12 hour drinking marathon at the Balmoral Hotel on the Wednesday all in the name of business, its a tough job but someone's got to do it.

I’d been lucky enough to secure a room in The Inn at Strathyre for both the Friday and Saturday and the weather forecast throughout the week didn’t look too bad, so all in all a good weekend in prospect.

We arrived and checked in about 7:30 registered with Bill and Mike and enjoyed a pleasant evening meal washed down with a very restrained two pints of Guinness, my restraint being mostly driven by not having an en suite room and not relishing the prospect of sneaking across the corridor in the bare buff at 2 in the morning to relieve myself.

I was in bed by 10pm with all my kit and drop bag laid out and ready to go. Unsurprisingly a stupid o'clock am toilet trip was required, slightly enlivened by the key jamming noisily in the lock of the bog door, sorry if I woke you up.

With the alarm going off at 6:45 this left me plenty of time to get washed, dressed, panic , fart around have a cup of coffee and squeeze in a 3 further trips to the toilet before heading over to the 7:45 race briefing.

With a forecast of 8C and rain after midday, I’d opted for Shorts a long sleeved compression top, Harriers T-shirt and lightweight gloves, with my OMM Kamelika waterproof in my backpack.

Bill’s race briefing was pretty much of the “don’t get killed; look out for each other and let us know if you drop out” variety, having asked for a show of hands for any Ultra virgins, I reckon there must have been around 40 first timers, some looking fired up, some frankly terrified. We all trooped across the road to the start, making a pretty impressive sight in the early morning haze.

No hanging about, shortly after 8am we were off.

The first couple of miles are a pretty steady climb, gaining around 450 feet, since most of my Mabie Forest training runs start with an uphill mile; I was quite relaxed about this. I didn’t really talk to anyone on the climb but focussed on not going too quick and working too hard too early. On reaching the 3 mile mark I found myself running with Kirsty Burnet, Kirsty was probably running faster than I’d planned, but as I hate running alone, I increased my pace and we pretty much chatted right through till mile 10, near the top of Glen Ogle.

I’d recently listened to a podcast featuring Stuart Mills winner of last year’s Lakeland 100, an advocate of running hard and fast at the start of ultra’s and then just trying to hold on. I normally run a very conservative race, I reckon I have a finite energy budget and I generally try to spread my exertions over the whole race, but I was feeling very good and the pace wasn’t uncomfortable so I stuck with it. It was great to hear of Kirsty’s plans for next year’s WHW race, fingers crossed she secures a place.

On the switchback climb above Lochearnhead I met Pete Hunter for the first time and we got chatting to former WHW race winner Kate Jenkins too. The truth is that Kate ran up the switchback while the rest of us walked. Kirsty peeled off before the checkpoint for a comfort stop and I barrelled in to shovel in my first rice pudding of the race, I was conscious that quite a few runners didn’t stop here, but I felt I needed both a food and liquid top up before the forest loop.

As I passed the burger van I caught up with the distinctive tartan shorts of the running royalty that is Donald Sandeman, running his 10^th, yes 10^th Ultra of the year and looking fresh after the Jedburgh 3 peaks Ultra 6 days previously. We chatted pretty much the whole 3 miles downhill to Killin, clocking all 3 below 8 minute miles, definitely a first for me in an Ultra! After the pleasure of 3 downhill miles you face a solid 4 miles uphill back to the checkpoint, last year I walked pretty much all of this conserving energy. Fired up by how good I was still feeling I ran or run/walked most of the forest hill making up a couple of places en route. I’ve adopted a strategy of running 50 paces then walking 50, it’s surprising how much quicker you cover the ground than a straight walk. It’s mentally easier to run 50 paces than run up a whole hill, even if I trick myself by running 50, and then running 50 more and so on.

Back into the checkpoint for rice pudding number 2 and to pick up a couple of gels (at £2 each I’m far too tight to leave them around) and it was back down Glen Ogle. I say down because it has to be downhill, firstly because it was a definite uphill on the outward leg and secondly because the god that is my Garmin tells me so. But by heck it doesn’t feel like a downhill, I wonder of any other runners thought this too?

About half way “down” I could feel the first spits of the forecast rain, I decided it was worth sacrificing a few seconds to stop and put on my waterproof. As I got running again Noanie caught me up and although we ran the next couple of miles pretty much side by side we didn’t talk much, as Noanie, frank as ever said she was feeling sh**e and right on the edge of being able to keep running and talking. She did however promise to catch up on any of my dazzling conversation later in the bar. Noanie gradually pulled away from me and I only overtook her when she had to stop briefly when she dropped her asthma inhaler on the switchback to Lochearnhead, she went on to finish 5th lady in 4:44:18

The stop to put on my waterproof proved providential as from that point the rain just got heavier and heavier right to the finish. With 22 miles down Noanie said she was close to achieving a marathon PB (she needed to beat 3:50) sadly the combination of cold, rain and undulating cycle path meant we both missed it, only by a minute or so just before Balquhidder.

Passing through marathon distance in 3:51 and having chugged two Clif energy gels I knew that barring disaster I would beat last years’ time, I also knew that the race measures short and I only had 6 miles to go, that was all good news. On the bad news front, the rain was getting heavier, by now washing across the road in torrents, this section through Balquhidder and the head of Loch Voil is devoid of cover and I was soaked to the skin and my calf’s were hurting, just a typical Ultra then.

Whilst there is always the temptation to walk when it gets tough, the thought of a PB and getting out of the rain quicker drove me to keep running, I passed another three runners between here and the finish, two of whom looked pretty much done in. I’d given up trying to avoid the puddles by now and I was pleased that I’d managed to maintain sub 9 minute miles for miles 27, 28 & 29.

I knew from last year that the race has a sting in the tale with some short sharp climbs in the last mile and a half; I tried to run them all, dropping to a walk 50 run 50 when it was too steep. With about 1 mile to go I was passed by Craig Mackay, who’d got his second wind and was on a personal mission to beat Donald by 6 minutes (Donald beat him at Jedburgh by 6 minutes). Once Craig had pulled ahead I couldn’t close that gap, we joked in the bar later that he’d sussed my 50-50 strategy and he was running 52-52 to get ahead of me.

The 30mph signs at Strathyre were a welcome sight and I picked up the pace slightly as the infamous shoogly bridge hove into view, my sprint across the bridge only marginally impeded by a lady walking her dog, some people have no sense of occasion!

 

After a succession of finish line photos where I look like I’m dying, I was looking out for the photographer and as usual managed to miss her, round the corner and through the finish arch, 4:41:01 36^th place, over 17 minutes better than last year. To say I was pleased would be a massive understatement, I was absolutely flipping, bl**dy over the moon.

The finish area was slowly submerging under the constant rain and I felt heartfelt sorry for the volunteers huddled under the gazebos, a huge thank you is in order for all the volunteers who made the race possible.

Ann was waiting for me under a big umbrella, so I gratefully grabbed my goody bag and a cup of scalding but very welcome coffee and immediately headed back to The Inn. The puddles in the car park were ankle deep, but I couldn’t get any wetter and I couldn’t have cared less anyway.

Ten minutes after finishing I was peeling off sopping clothes and climbing into the sadly inadequate shower and by 2pm I was downstairs enjoying my complimentary bowl of soup and my by now customary recovery pint of milk, heading through to the bar I bagged the seat right next to the fire and enjoyed my first pint of the day.

I’ve had bad experiences after finishing longer races, so I know now not so piss around, get changed, get warmed up and get fed and watered and then enjoy the sense of achievement. The bar slowly filled with a mixture of happy and unhappy finishers, there were a few borderline hypothermic cases, a couple of DNF’s and overall a huge sense of achievement.

I really enjoyed being able to hang around for the after party, it was a privilege to be able to share peoples pleasure and sense of achievement at having completed the race in pretty challenging weather conditions, many having popped their Ultra cherry. There was the usual mixture of “never again”; “I hated it”; “I loved it”; ”I can’t believe I did it” and every emotion and sentiment in between and I enjoyed every second of it. A whole afternoon and evening catching up with old friends and making new ones, why wouldn’t you love running Ultra’s

Cheers

 

Not the Dumfries Half Marathon Race Report

Confession time!, I've started to write a report on the Dumfries Half marathon about half a dozen times, but every time I settled down either the creative muse failed me, work or running intervened.
I finally worked out why I was struggling as the truth is really, not a lot happened! It was all over pretty quickly (for an ultra runner) without major drama or incident.
The race is very well organised by Dumfries Running Club, starting at Dumfries College and run mostly on very quiet country roads. Experienced interpreters or race description-speak will have seen through the enticing words describing "spectacular scenery.....and a great view of Criffel Hill" as "great views, but you've got to run 1 mile uphill to see them" and "PB potential" as "its not exactly flat".

I'll be back!

Its the only race that I've run every since I took up running 5 years ago and I've improved my time every year, so no pressure there then.
Not only was the race was Dumfries Harriers club championship but Portobello RC and Clyde Runners were using it for theirs too, slightly disappointing that only 7 or 8 Harriers toed the start line for this major local race.
Given recent injury and post WHW lack of form and pace I'd have been happy with anything sub 1:40 so my eventual 1:35:48 made me a very happy bunny indeed. Decent goody bag and a technical t-shirt and a chance to catch up with a lot of running mates.
Quote of the day was Roy from Portobello demonstrating a proper city boy outlook with "does everywhere in Dumfries smell of cow poo?".

Would I recommend the race? of course I would, I'll be back next year for more.

Cheers