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

 

 

 

West Highland Way Weekend

My West Highland Way race training plan includes at least one long run on the way itself every month, to get to know the route. So when the opportunity to stay at the By The Way hostel in Tyndrum for a weekends WHW/Highland Fling training arose we grabbed it with both hands.
More correctly Ian Gray grabbed a 6 bed bunk room on behalf of the Dumfries contingent and then sadly due to his torn calf was unable to join us for the festivities.
After an uneventful drive up from Dumfries where Andy and I spent most of the journey baiting Caroline, who'd never stayed in a hostel before, "will there be an en-suite toilet?", bringing particular mirth.
We met up with Dawn and Frank at the very busy Real Food Cafe in Tyndrum and enjoyed the usual excellent fare before getting settled in at the By The Way and meeting our fellow ultra runners.
Conversations centred on "What are you running tomorrow?" and "are you doing the Fling or The Way race?" and with 30 miles on the plan for the Saturday, we settled on an early night.


Before the off!

The weather on Saturday was ideal for running, cool but not too cold and with a few flakes of snow falling as we set off. We'd settled on an out and back run heading south beyond Beinglas Farm, everyone else was heading North, with a few going as far as Kingshouse and back.


No banana

Caroline, me and Frank with banana

We had no particular pacing plan and no targets for the day other than covering 30 miles! The first 3 miles flew past and we were soon crossing the A82 to tackle the roller coaster forest to Crianlarich. Bizarrely we passed two columns of people loosely dressed as soldiers, being shouted at by tough looking guys in full military kit, unless the British Army has seriously compromised its fitness standards, these couldn't be real army?
With a long day ahead we walked most uphills and reached the picnic table above the big gate in 55 minutes. Since we were in no particular hurry we stopped for a food and photo break, as I headed into the trees for a quick piddle, I was appalled to find the area littered with what at first I thought was small piles of snow, but turned out to be little mounds of poo and toilet paper. Now I know sometimes when you gotta go, you gotta go, but at least have the decency to go more than a short "stones throw" from the path and picnic bench, yuk!
Cow Poo alley was even more unpleasant than usual as you were running over frozen mud and mounds of frozen dung, and it was impossible to get into any sort of running rhythm.

Andy and I stretched ahead on the section to Beinglas Farm leaving Caroline to run with Frank, we thought it would be nice to give her a break from our usual running talk of bowel movements, blisters and chafing.

Reaching Beinglas in 2 hours 10 minutes, we stopped for a re-fuel and as Frank and Caroline hove into view, we couldn't resist the opportunity for a wind up as two hill walkers were heading up the path to climb Ben Glas and told Caroline that was the WHW route. Caroline demonstrated her knowledge of colourful agricultural metaphors as we eventually headed south on the correct route.
The view as we passed Dario's post was stunning, our first glimpse of Loch Lomond proper, unfortunatley the photo does not do it justice.

We reckoned Doune bothy would be our turning point and we turned back North just 5 minutes short of 3 hours running.
Having messed up my hydration on January's 30 mile WHW run, I was topping up my water bottles from fast flowing streams as we went by, but with hind sight my 2 gels a cliff bar and a rice pudding were insufficient for a 30 mile effort, food wise.

On the return leg we decided to spare Caroline from our sparkling running chat once again and quickly split up, again walking most of the uphills. Personally I find this section of the Fling route the toughest bit overall and running it twice was proving challenging, we were both suffering from sore legs and it was a lot tougher than January's Balmaha to Inversnaid (and back) 30 miler. Cow Poo alley was just as unpleasant the second time round and the roller coaster even tougher with tired legs. Although it felt like we were running OK from the A82 back to Tyndrum, the Garmin splits tell a different story 27 minutes outbound, 33 minutes return.
Total distance 30.01 miles average pace 11:57, although I think this is flattering as I'm sure I stopped my watch at a couple of our food breaks.

Our plan to run to Brodie's stores was substituted for a gentle walk, en route we bumped into one of Andy's MDS tent mates, who was running to Beinglas, "Oh you probably saw my brother earlier, he runs a British military fitness company". So we can sleep safe in our beds knowing the groups we passed earlier were just playing at soldiers.
A Magnum Ice cream and a pint of milk eased the thirst and hunger and we headed back to the By The Way for a hot shower.
Frank and Caroline had got back safely by the time we got back to the hostel and after a leisurely shower we headed up to the pub. In theory both Andy and I are off alcohol until after our big races, but knowing our limitations we'd awarded ourselves a weekend off, after 3 pints of Guinness it was back to the hostel for a superb evening meal of chilli con carne and the usual comradeship of fellow nutters. We met some old friends and we made lots of new friends
Unfortunately during the meal Ian Minty had a bit of a funny turn and an ambulance had to be called, I'm sure the paramedics thought it slightly bizarre that whilst one of our number was prostrate on the floor, the rest of the  company continued to eat and drink merrily and noisily. Ian we were all genuinely concerned for you health, and were all very happy to hear you're back on your feet again.
I'd posted the photo (above) of Caroline, Frank and me on Facebook and when Frank phoned home, he was greeted with the cry "Oh you're on Facebook with a banana", Heather Calderwood joined us at our table and we enjoyed a night of laughs although she must have been a bit fazed to discover she'd been cyberstalked on returning from the loo and being quized about her 10K and Fling PB's.

Once again it struck me as strange that a bunch of ultra endurance atheletes can consume so much booze and still run the crazy distances we do.

The plan for Sunday was for some form of run and we opted for 3 miles out and back towards Bridge of Orchy and although we walked the steeper uphills (and downhills due to the ice), we adopted a run 50 paces walk 50 paces strategy on the uphills and this worked well to keep us moving.
It wasn't a pretty run, it wasn't a pacey run, it wasn't a particulalry memorable run, lets just say it was a run! As usual Caroline chicked us by running a bit further than we did, however she didn't get her expected break from our lavatory related chat as her companion for the morning described how she coped with IBS and ultra running. That was probably her revenge for Caroline having taken a wrong turning on last year's Fling and her comapnion following her and logging a 57 mile Fling...Ouch
Showered and packed we headed back home, 36 miles of tough running over two days, legs shattered and bodies exhausted.

Inevitably you start to harbour thoughts of "christ if I'm like this after 30 miles, how will I run 53 or 95 miles?", happily normal service was resumed at our club run on Tuesday evening. We now regulalry squeeze in a 3 mile loop before the club meets at 6pm and then do our 9 or 10 mile club run, we cracked the 3 miles off at 7:37 pace and then followed this with nine more speedy miles having been suckered into running (OK chasing actually) young Andy Amos, our youngest club member and a regular running whippet.
Average for the 12 miles was 7:39, with mile 8 coming in at 6:39 pace, this inevitably being the point that young Andy announced "Oh, I'm only doing 6 tonight" as he cut off, leaving us and our tortured lungs gasping for oxygen.

I can't recomend these running weekends highly enough, every time we go, we re-afirm old friendships and make new ones, bring on the next away day.

Cheers

The GOOD The BAD and The UGLY

As a relative newcomer to the blogosphere,trying to come up with a catchy title for a post and content that is worth more than a second glance can be challenging. This week was the exception, the title just seemed to fit so well.

The GOOD

After last weeks solo Saturday 22 miler, normality was restored as the troika of Caroline, Andy and Keith hit the trails of Mabie Forest once again. Once again my "bright idea" gene kicked in and my suggestion of running the Purple route with a detour up Lotus Hill, whilst not enthusiastically received was accepted as the day's plan.
It's pretty much a steady uphill 2 mile start to this route gaining around 250 feet (although it always feels more) on good metalled forest roads. A low clagging, clammy mist refused to lift and our usual stunning views were denied us, but I was happy as once again I had company (see previous post) on my long Saturday run.


Enjoying the view

The mist persistently refused to lift and as we left the confines of Mabie at mile 8 and headed towards Lotus Hill, my colleagues couldn't see what they'd let themselves in for! Lotus Hill tops out at a modest 1050 feet, with about 750 feet of climb from the road. In fact its pretty similar in height gain to Conic Hill on the WHW race route, with a similarly slippy down hill leg too, hence the reason for including it in the route, proper realistic WHW race training!

Andy & Caroline, not enjoying the view

The first mile uphill is pretty gentle and run able, followed by a fairly brutal straight up section before the summit plateau and the trig pillar on top. Foot for foot the views are usually pretty stunning across the Solway estuary, the Lake District hills and on a clear day the Isle of Man.

Saturday was not a clear day, with much cursing and colourful agricultural language from Caroline we reached the trig point, even the reward of a jelly baby didn't raise a smile.
The colourful language increased in volume and intensity as we hit the treeline on the descent and the path turned to glutinous unavoidable muddy gloop, again its all good practise for the West Highland Way race.
With a 4 mile detour round the Lotus, just over half way point and we're heading back into Mabie. I'm practising my nutrition too so it was time for a strawberry Ambrosia rice and a chocolate chip CLIF bar, both went down really well. Since I made a complete Rollicks of my hydration on last weeks 22 miler, once my bottles were empty I started re-filling them from the numerous streams which cross under the forest roads, I reckon I took on board about 2 litres over the run, twice last week's intake. The second half of the run went well, a good steady pace, running the slopes and walking the steeper climbs albeit avoiding our usual downhill, red route finish.
Total time 4 hours 15 minutes with just over 3000 feet of ascent and descent, company on my run with all the usual running banter and a new cook at The Bike shed, who can actually fry an egg and leave it with a runny yoke. I felt great at the end, I could easily have run on, everything seemed to have clicked for this run! Oh and I didn't get Cholera from drinking stream water as my family predicted.
Definitely The GOOD.

The BAD

As we were heading out for a family meal to celebrate Andrew's 21st birthday, I'd decided to grab an hours kip in the afternoon in a vain attempt to push back my normal bedtime beyond 9pm. Just as I was slipping off to the land of nod, Ian G phoned with the news that the cramp he'd suffered on our Thursday evening run had in fact turned out to be a ripped calf muscle, he was now on crutches and was likely to be off running for the foreseeable future. We've pretty much run every Saturday since we decided to train for our first marathon in autumn 2010 and this is the first major injury any of our little group has suffered. Its particularly bad luck as Ian had not long signed up to attempt his first Iron Man in the summer, so definitely The BAD.

The UGLY

Since I was lucky enough to get through the ballot for the WHW race, I've struggled a bit to get my head round a training plan for a 95 mile race. I was always planning to run the D33, so was delighted to discover George's D33 plan and immediately adopted it. Similarly the Highland Fling was always on the radar, so the gap between D33 and Fling was easy to bridge, but what to do after that was a big grey area.
A lunchtime trawl through various Ultra running websites found an abundance of purported specialists willing to share, write or otherwise devise a custom plan for me, for a modest $300.... not happening.
Then I chanced across a free detailed plan for a hilly 100 miler and when I sat that alongside my outline plan up to the Fling, lo and behold its a good match. OK its American, its for a woman and the midweek distances are a bit rubbish (3 mile, 5 miles etc) but at least its a plan.
The downside....................... May has back to back runs totalling 50 miles on weekend 1; 50 miles on weekend 2 and 70 miles on weekend 3, its going to be UGLY, very, very UGLY


Cheers

All by myself

When Eric Carmen crooned  his memorable ballad All by myself, I pretty sure he wasn't thinking of a middle aged; grey haired runner in South West Scotland contemplating the prospect of his long Saturday morning training run.
As I texted my regular Saturday running amigo's last Friday night, "Who's up for 8am Long run at Mabie?", this was exactly the prospect I faced.

All by myself

First to fall was prospective Iron Man Ian, who'd gone over on his ankle on Thursday's club run and was sensibly substituting a long cycle for our regular trail run. Second fence saw Andy (Iron Man and prospective MDS runner) call off, having run 76 miles back to back the previous weekend, he'd fallen victim to some mild form of plague. Third and final faller was Caroline with a double whammy of plague and a family christening.
Frankly I was taken aback, I couldn't remember the last time I'd been faced with the prospect of a proper long run, absolutely on my own from start to finish. Okay so I've run marathons and Ultras where there are other human beings around and the conversations have been short or no more than passing greetings, but Mabie Forest at 8am on a February weekend, realistically I probably wouldn't see a soul for 4 hours!
I'm getting to know the trails pretty well so I'd mentally mapped out a route that would incorporate the Purple Mountain bike route and added on Lotus Hill, which dominates the skyline to the south of the magnificently named Beeswing village. I reckoned this would give me the planned 22 miles without any back tracks or looping.
I stuck to my normal Saturday routine, 7am alarm, shave, Vaseline on the feet, porridge, yogurt, weather forecast and pre-load with isotonic, but I found myself FAFFING and killing time, so I was actually late for my 8am start for the first time ever.
It was a really strange feeling heading off from the bike shed all by myself, I'd brought the earphones and had John Kynaston's latest WHW pod cast teed up just in case, but was determined only to fall back on this as a last resort.

Not ideal running fuel

You don't really want a blow by blow mile by mile account of my run, but the highlights included

• A stunning sunrise and amazing blue sky, if a little chilly at 1C
• Ambrosia creamed rice pots really need protection to stop them exploding in your backpack
• Yorkie chocolate bars are not ideal running fuel, especially when partially frozen
• The frozen mud on Lotus Hill wasn't really frozen, just a nice thin crust over 8 inches of proper mucky goo
• Running downhill on frozen grass is not exhilarating its scary
• A deer wandering onto the trail and not noticing me until I was only 10m away
• A growing aversion to Green Jelly babies (refer to previous blog post)
• My new Gore running jacket is brilliant, but the zip off sleeves have a tendency to zip off, of their own free will
• There is a finite limit to how many times I can recite Tam O'Shanter to take my mind off running
• I need to drink more than 1 litre in 22 miles
• 22 miles is quite a long way!

So job done in just under 3 hours 30 minutes, and off for an exciting afternoons shopping compensated by the prospect of some company on tomorrows back to back 12 miler.

Fast forward to Saturday night and its deja vue, Ian's ankle is still crocked, Andy is still plague ridden and Caroline's still got a christening to go to!

Everyone join in now "All by Myself..............................."


Cheers

Jumping to Hyperspace

Friday on the M74

This post is actually about the West Highland Way Race training weekend at Balmaha, but as the apocalyptic forecast and actual bad weather contrived to poke a stick in the spokes of the Ainslie wheel, I couldn't let it pass without comment.

Snow induced gridlock in Dumfries saw what should have been a 25 minute nip home turn into a near 2 hour frustration inducing crawl. A fortuitous call to Ian Gray and a diversion via Lockerbie allowed us to dodge a stranded lorry on the Moffat road and eventually reach the M74. Relief was however short lived as the same blizzard that caused the closure of the M6 threatened to engulf us too, crawling along the single open lane was a slightly "hairy" experience. But the weather Gods demonstrated their fickle nature and just south of Glasgow, no snow and clear roads.

Oak Tree Inn

We made it to The Oak Tree at Balmaha just after 8pm and in the words of Burns settled "fast by an ingle bleezing finely, wi reemin swats that drank divinely" or more prosaically we enjoyed a fabulous meal and a couple of pints next to the log fire. Our party consisted of Frank and Dawn from Dumfries Running Club, Choppy, Ian, Caroline, Sean and myself from Dumfries Harriers and Ann as a non running replacement for Andy. Andy had inexplicably opted for a 76 mile run through the Great Glen plus a night in a tent, rather than our more sedate 30 miler plus 2 nights in a lovely warm hotel, proper hard core!

 

Photo courtesy of John Kynaston

The weather Gods took pity on us, after the tough drive up and last years appalling weather, 10am Saturday was bright, dry and not too cold. Around 40 runners gathered for Ian Beattie's briefing and just a shade after 10, we were off. For probably the first and last time, Ian and I were leading a pack of ultra runners on the West Highland Way, well we were leading until the steps up past Craigie Fort, then the more Gazelle like types shot ahead.

 

The out and back run to Inversnaid is 30 miles, but in keeping with the laid back nature of the day, people were running anything from 10 miles to the full 30. Within the first couple of miles it was obvious this wasn't a day we'd be keeping our feet dry, snow, mud and puddles combined with a poor jump over the stream at Milarrochy, meant this could be a long day at the office. I was running variously with Choppy, Ian Minty, Iain Wallace and Peter McDonald

and we managed to avoid both last year's unintended route deviation round the point at Ross Wood (Anderson's Folly) and stayed upright at Beattie's Bridge, where Andy hit the dirt last year.

Rowardennan, courtesy of John Kynaston

The run to Rowardennan was pretty uneventful, with most runners taking a stop here, I opted to keep going and after a brief solo spell found myself running with, or more accurately behind Iain Wallace and Peter McDonald, both WHW race veterans. I'd never net Iain before, but recognised him as having overtaken Caroline on the home straight of The Devil race last August. Peter and Heather had stayed in the same hotel as Ann and I before last years D33, so it was good to catch up.

Last years training weekend was the first time I'd run on the WHW and I remembered the last 2 miles into Inversnaid as difficult and technical, having now got a lot of trail miles under my belt, I really enjoyed this section. I'd dropped behind the guys, but found I was running strongly and easily. I'd recited Tam O' Shanter at a Burn's Supper recently and found that by reciting this in my head on this section, it flew past.

I quaffed down a tub of rice pudding (yummy) and my first ever Clif bar (unattractive but strangely tasty), my Garmin tells me I stopped for around 7 minutes before heading back south. Our group spread out pretty quickly with the "gazelles" soon disappearing, so it was good to see the runners still on the outward leg, I said hello to Caroline, Ian, John K, Frank Skachil and lastly Norma Bone, a fellow WHW race first timer.

I wasn't savouring the prospect of a 15 mile solo return to Balmaha so I was very pleased to catch up with Iain and Peter again, with about 10 miles to run Peter dropped back with an niggling problem exacerbated by properly soaked and cold feet, and I ran all the way back with Iain, who most impressively had run up from Balmaha on Friday and was planning to run back on Sunday too.

Unlike last year's training weekend when 30 miles was the longest I'd run, and I was properly broken afterwards, the run back felt good. Although my overall time was only slightly faster than last year my pacing was much more even and I felt good when I got back to the Oak Tree.

Choppy and Sean were waiting in the bar to greet the returning runners, Choppy sensibly opting to turn at Rowardennan on what would be his longest run since the Berlin Marathon, Sean logged a 22 miler, pretty impressive for some-one who's longest previous run was 13 miles. Choppy was less than impressed with my demand for a pint of milk, rather than the proffered Guinness.

 

With everyone back safely, showered, changed and rested it was time for more of the excellent Oak Tree Inn cuisine (and no I'm not on commission when I say that) and the opportunity to break my self imposed alcohol "holiday". The only bad news of the day was that Ian Beattie had been taken into hospital by ambulance, so Sandra was understandably upset, get well soon Ian.

Pretty much the whole bar was filled with fellow runners, emphasising the "family" feel the WHW race has developed. I had a really enjoyable evening with friends old and new. Choppy had tears rolling down my face, with his tale of trying to swallow a green Jelly Baby whilst running, and promptly regurgitating same via his left nostril, hence the photo above.

 

Our plan for a Sunday morning walk up Conic hall was kicked into touch by the weather and a trouble free run south, saw us back home just after 12 noon, where I promptly demonstrated my improved fitness by falling asleep on the couch.

 

Cheers