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!

Hoka Highland Fling 2014

False starts, distractions, sudden stops, fatigue, lack of mojo and it took forever.

No not the race itself, but the process of writing the post-race blog! Whilst I turned up OK and ran the race well (by my standards) I just could not get my thoughts committed to paper. So after several false starts and not entirely unconnected to having to work Bank holiday Monday, when all our customers don’t, here goes.

This race just gets bigger and better every year, and Race Director John Duncan and his team surpassed themselves again this year. From a runner’s perspective the organisation seemed both flawless and seamless from start to finish.

Ann had been arm twisted volunteered to act as crew chief for the weekend, and with an afternoon off work, we set off for Milngavie at a nice civilised time. I’d offered Jo Zakrzewski a lift up from Dumfries as she’d managed to get a late elite race entry. It was really nice to be able to pass on tips and information about the Fling as Jo was a first time Flinger and quite nervous about the race. Although I suspect none of my “Inside gen” played any part whatsoever in Jo’s fantastic run on the day, where she won the ladies race; placed 12^th overall; ran the 3^rd fastest ever fling time for a female and beat me by a mere 163 places.

Registration was in a packed Burnbrae pub, with many familiar faces manning the tables, we didn’t hang around long though and quickly headed to our accommodation at the other Premier Inn. One minor glitch with Jo’s room reservation (quickly resolved by Johnny Fling) and we headed next door for food. Here we bumped into Craig Malcomson from DRC and Ally and Andy from Dalbeattie. I didn’t want a late night, so we’d booked a table for dinner, strangely in contrast to last year when the place was heaving, this year it was pleasantly quiet.

Our young Glaswegian waitress had us in stiches, by announcing “Dinnae wave you’re hand in the air at me, cos I’ll no come, and dinnae snap your fingers either”, so after some enthusiastic smiling and head bopping to attract her attention we set to order food. I’d decided on a steak and when I mentioned that I was intrigued by the side order of macaroni cheese and bacon her immediate response of “dinnae order that it’s mingin!” absolutely cracked me up, brilliant! In fact she announced that most of the menu, was in her opinion “mingin” except the burgers, I stuck with my steak, and so to bed.

The Premier Inn is just round the corner from the station and with rain through the night and more forecast I wanted to do as little hanging around as possible before the 6am start, so I set my alarm for 5am. A quick breakfast of instant porridge and rice pudding and we we’re soon joining the throng of cars in the Tesco car park and the human tide of runners heading for the start. Ann gathered a finish bag from Andy and Caroline, drop bags dropped off, the longest pre-race toilet queue I’ve ever seen a few hellos to familiar faces, totally forgot to get a team photo, forgot my pre-race gel, listened to John’s race briefing, through the tunnel, hooter blows and we’re off.

In the week before the race my back had unhelpfully decided to seize up completely and the squirrels in my head (thanks to Heather Calderwood for that phrase) had been telling me that the timing and mix of marathons and Ultra’s I’ve signed up for this year is rubbish and that I was under trained, with the result that my race goal had gone from beating last year’s 11:02 to just finish and get drunk afterwards.

Despite over 600 starters its incredible just how quickly the field thins out and there was no congestion. I’d opted to try to repeat last year’s strategy of going out very easily in the first half so that I could keep running wherever possible in the second half. I found myself chatting to

various Fling virgins and repeating the mantra “you won’t win the race before Balmaha, but you might lose it”. It amused me to see people ploughing through the puddles in the first 2 miles, it might look hard-core, but 51 miles with wet feet, sensible it isn’t, and I remember seeing one guy just after Carbeth with a backpack big enough for an Everest expedition, why?

At some point after Carbeth and just before the fabulous fiddler I found myself running with Martin Bell from Aviemore and we pretty much ran most of the way to Rowardennan thereafter, me sharing my pearls of Ultra wisdom and in truth very welcome for the company (I hate running on my own). Over the mats at Drymen in 1:55 and straight through without stopping, many other bloggers have mentioned the crowd and noise at Drymen; I must have been in my own wee world as they didn’t register with me.

I recalled that the section from Drymen to the foot of Conic was where I was passed most often last year and I pretty much passed every one further up the course, so was happy to plod along steadily, walking any steep bits and run/walking 50/50 on slopes. The low mist obscured any views of Conic itself and I spent the climb up staring at the tartan short clad backside of Donald Sandeman resplendent in a “See you Jimmy” wig to match. Donald is a master at pacing Ultra’s so I told Martin we didn’t want to overtake him if possible.

Over the top, half arsed attempt at a Johnny Fling heel kick, cloud and mist starting to clear and our first view of Loch Lomond itself, magic. Downhill into Balmaha on

Courtesy of monument photos

the new steps, (which I think are a great improvement) and the first drop bag.

Very efficient marshals handed me my bag and as I shovelled in an Ambrosia rice pudding, I politely bullied two spectators into refilling water and isotonic bottles for me, probably less than 2 minutes and I was off.

Martin and Donald had run through and I caught Martin at the top of Craigie fort but wasn’t to see Donald again until the brutal little hill at Ross Wood, which we both agreed was tougher than Conic. Since I’m doing these events of my own choosing I try to be as relentlessly positive and cheerful as I can, unfortunately I don’t seem to have communicated this to my face as in every photo I seem to be exhibiting a variety of scowls and frowns, which could collectively be characterised as the Ainslie “not happy” face. Having caught Donald I then yo-yoed with him till about 7 miles from the end, where the Way crosses under the railway line.

Into a very busy Rowardennan in 4 hours 45 minutes milking the crowd for a cheer, handed my drop bag straightaway, rice pudding number 2 and this time it was Iain Wallace who I blagged into bottle filling duties, keeping stationary time to a minimum I was off again. On one of the flat bits after Rowardennan I passed Myvanwy who was walking, I recognised her from one of the training weekends and told her if it was flat she should be running, she duly did and proceeded to finish in 10:30:45, twenty minutes ahead of me, that should teach me to keep my gob shut next time, but a great debut run from her.

Courtesy of Edinburgh Sports Photography

On the long hills above Rob Roy’s prison I found myself running with Craig Malcomson and Kirsty Burnett, Craig’s pedigree as a hill runner, showed as he was pulling away from me on the uphill walks and Kirsty was just having a brilliant run, once we were on the downhill I tried to keep up with them but decided I was spending too much of my energy budget too early so let them speed off. Kirsty went on to finish in 10:40:21 and is looking really strong for this year’s WHW race, I must have subsequently passed Craig but have no recollection where.

Lots of people don’t like the couple of miles before Inversnaid as it’s relatively technical compared to the forest track sections that precede it. I like this section, it’s similar to the technical trails of Mabie Forest and you need to stay alert to avoid face planting, so I find it flies by. Down the steps beside the hotel, across the car park and its drop bag #3 and a typically cheery greeting from Sandra McDougall and the ever helpful marshals.

Having already scoffed 3 rice puddings I couldn't face a 4^th one, bottles topped off and I grabbed a packet of Clif shot bloks from the communal table and opted to run/walk until the proper technical bit. I failed to eat the salted almonds I was carrying but killed a jelly baby or three here.

Courtesy of Sandra McDougall

Courtesy of Sandra McDougall

I alternate between enjoying this section and loathing it, in equal measure, today I just wanted it to be over and done with. Saying goodbye to the loch side I didn’t even stop for a photo at Dario’s post, trying to keep my “fannying about” time to a minimum. Sadly I’ve no idea what my pacing or splits on this section were as my Garmin petulantly decided to delete all of its data. Into Beinglas farm in 8:10, 19 minutes quicker than last year apparently. I’ve no recollection whatsoever of whom I spoke to here, but bottles refilled and head down for the last section.

On the climb on the track along Glen Falloch, I felt stabs of pain as cramp enveloped my right leg, bugger! My recent unhappy experience of cramp at D33 all too fresh in my mind. As I came to a complete and cursing stop a fellow runner proffered a bag of rock salt. I gratefully scooped a couple of big pinches into my mouth and washed them down with water, thank you to my nameless saviour. Now I know there is no direct scientific proof that cramp is caused by lack of salt, but within 90 seconds I was running again and cramp free.

I tried to munch a couple of salted almonds but they took ages to chew and I struggled to swallow them, so eventually ended up just sucking off the salt and gobbing out the almonds, even resorting to licking out the empty bag, but it worked and I was untroubled by cramp thereafter.

My mantra for this section was, “you need to run all the bits you can run, because you’ll be walking the uphills anyway”. I was struggling to work out if I WAS actually ahead of last year with my befuddled brain failing to cope with deducting 8 hours 10 from last year’s 11:02 finish time. On balance I decided I was on target for a PB, so I probably ran more of this section than I’ve ever done before. On the approach to the railway underpass (remember to duck, remember to duck) I saw Donald’s tartan breeks ahead and edged past him, “I can’t be f***ed, today” was Donald’s response when I asked how he was doing, honest as ever.

Really Flying
 Courtesy of Stuart McFarlane

Cow poo alley was characteristically ankle deep in cow shit, but I was well past caring about keeping my feet dry now. Through the big gate and up the steep climb to the picnic bench, legs screaming, but happy with the knowledge that it’s only 6 miles to the finish. I like the path improvements on this section and ran all but the steepest uphill’s and was able to run all the downhill’s too.  I passed Gayle Tait who was not in a happy place and having exhausted both my bottles managed to blag a big swig of water from her husband who’d ran out to meet her, probably a life saver for me by that point. Over the A82 without stopping thanks to some smart traffic directing by the marshal team there and less than 3 miles to go, most of it flat(ish). 

Remember Keith you need to run all the bits you can run!

Happy now that I was looking good for sub 11 hours.

There is a section of the Way between the ruins of St Fillans priory and Auchtertyre that is a gentle slope in fact it is so gentle you probably would not notice it under normal circumstances, but believe me you do when you’ve already run 50 miles. In 2 previous Fling’s and 1 WHW race, I’ve never managed to run this section, I’ve always dropped to a walk, not this time, I’ll bloody run it if it kills me. Under the A82 and less than 2 miles to go, I’m ploughing through puddles regardless now; final right turn of the road past the stone bench that I know is exactly 1 mile to go.

Remember to lift your feet Keith, this section has plenty of protruding rocks to catch the unwary or knackered runner, past the old lead mine. Had to walk the little slope after the big gate, nothing left in the tank, nearly done, trying hard to look like a runner. Past the pipers with a thank you and a wave, lots of people cheering and clapping, round the corner, wow a red carpet, fantastic!

Noise, cheering, clapping, cow bells I’d like to think I’m happy and smiling but nope the scowl face is back, catching a brief glimpse of An

Nearly there

n and Choppy, its under the finish arch, thank God it’s over 10:50:47, and 11 minute PB, and the magic (for me) sub 11 that I so narrowly missed last year.

Lee MacLean removed my timing chip, just as well because I couldn’t have bent down. Someone hung my medal round my neck (Ellen I think) and then I staggered into the marque, a smiling Julie Clark handed me  goodie bag and this year’s race t-shirt, bottle of water down the neck, then a second for good measure. Next priority is soup, a roll and a seat, which I find next to Elaine Omand who’d got 3^rd lady in an amazing 8:49:33 and was looking fresh as a daisy. I on the other hand had taken 2 hours longer than Elaine and probably looked as buggered as I felt.

Back outside I found Ann and Ian, changed into a dry top and donned my puffa jacket, found out that Andy had ran a blistering 10:15:36 and that Jo had won the ladies race (8:30:29) and headed off for a shower. I missed seeing Caroline finish in a well-deserved 11:31:34 both Andy and Caroline are running the full West Highland Way race this year, and I can’t wait to see how they get on.

We’d booked a hiker hut at The Pine Tree’s campsite and I had virtually exclusive use of the fantastic shower block there, what luxury. With everyone finished it was time to acquire some social glow, so sitting on the step of the hut we enjoyed a bottle of Ian’s finest Ugandan Beaujolais, before heading up to the fabulous Real Food Café for tea.

Despite being famished I could barely eat for feeling nauseous, hardly denting the jumbo fish I’d ordered, then it was over to the pub for a couple of pints.

Me, Jo, Ian & Andy complete with Ugandan Beaujolais

I was determined to make it to the post-race Ceilidh for the first time and managed a token walk through the hall, but with no seats available I decided that heading to bed was an even more attractive prospect.

It’s been said on the Fling Facebook page and on many blogs already, but it’s definitely worth repeating. A HUGE thank-you to John Duncan and the many helpers who made the whole race experience so fantastic, I simply couldn’t fault it in any way, a heartfelt thanks for all your efforts.

Next step for me is the Edinburgh Marathon, which I’m running for Cancer Research UK on May 25^th  (feel free to contribute a pound or two), thereafter supporting Andy on the WHW race, then the Lakeland 50 at the end of July.

Happy running

Cheers

Went the day well? Lochaber Marathon 2014

After beating myself up for completely failing to execute my race plan at the D33, I had twin objectives for the Lochaber Marathon. Firstly stick to the plan this time and secondly make sure I didn’t have a bad race, the latter being most important in my head with only 3 weeks to go to the Highland Fling 53 mile race. Without broadcasting it too widely I was also hoping for a time round about 3:30.

I make no pretence to being a writer of suspense so I’m going to blow the gaff straight away and say “yes” for me the day went well.

I’ve been fretting about the mix of Ultras and road marathons I’ve signed up for this year, or more precisely how do I train for them, especially given the limited time between events. I’ve also been missing too many weekend back to back runs, either dropping one or both runs. Although my overall mileage has been on a par with last year there is a disturbing lack of runs over 20 miles. I felt this was the core of my WHW race training last year with a solid base built up through January, February and March and I've compromised it this year.

Anyway enough introspective navel gazing and back to the main event, the Lochaber Marathon.

Given that Fort William is around 4 hours driving from Dumfries and I've had bad experiences of long distance driving after races, I’d decided to book the luxuries of the Travelodge for the Saturday and the Sunday nights.  Ann had agreed to come along as bag carrier; cheerleader; photographer; first aider and rescue driver to both myself and the rest of the Dumfries contingent comprising yours truly; Caroline; Neil, Lesley and Ian.

A leisurely drive up gave time to collect my number and t-shirt on the Saturday afternoon and fit in a shopping spree in Cotswold Outdoors, where a bright shiny new pair of Salomon Speedcross 3 CS, mysteriously found a way into my basket.

Having slaked my shopping thirst, we met up with Caroline; Neil and Lesley in The Grog and Gruel (that’s a pub, not a euphemism for pre-race activity) for food. We were all very restrained and after nice meal and a couple of pints it was time for an early night, although I did consider that my choice of Boar’s Breath Chilli for a meal might have been slightly imprudent given a stomach that had ranged from volatile to volcanic throughout the day.

Pre-race confidence (and "the leg pose")

With a race start at 11am, there was no rush in the morning, with ample time for a lie-in, shower and  my usual pre-morning run breakfast of porridge and an Ambrosia rice pudding, a shower and a leisurely stroll along to the Nevis Centre for the obligatory team photo and race briefing. 

With a weather forecast varying from light rain to heavy rain throughout I’d opted for a long sleeve compression top, club vest and light gloves, a choice I was happy with from start to finish.

We all had slightly different objectives for the day. Lesley hot of the back of a great race at Trimpell 20 miler, was gunning for a PB, Neil building for his City to Summit Duathalon was looking on this as another training run ; Caroline was aiming to run a steady measured race as she’s running VLM next weekend and The Fling two weeks after that; Ian had more modest objective’s hoping for “anything under 4 hours” as he’s been battling a persistent foot injury for some months. We also chatted with Ian Minty who was very much using the event as a marker both on his return from injury and part of his WHW race build up.

There was a palpable lack of enthusiasm as the 350 or so runners wandered out to the start line on the shinty pitch, with a persistent drizzle and grey skies no doubt mirroring the mood of many. No preamble, no hooter, a quick count down and it was off!

The race route is an out and back mostly on the A830 road to Mallaig alongside Loch Eil, it’s billed as flat, IT IS!

There was none of the early congestion you can get in bigger races and within the first half mile I found myself running alongside Ian Grey with Lesley slightly ahead. My race plan was for steady 8 minute miles and when mile 1 beeped at 7:31 pace, I knew it was time to ease back slightly. Ian and I ended up running the first 9 miles side by side before I edged ahead as Ian indicated he was having trouble with his foot. Over these miles Lesley continued to edge ahead eventually moving completely out of sight. At this point I could bang on about the rain, but I’ll just say it pretty much rained all day, varying from drizzle to sheets of rain to spits and back to sheets again. What a magnificent job the helpers at the water stations did, they all looked frozen and drowned, but were unfailingly cheerful, a big thanks is due to them all.

It was good to have some company for this first section, I suspect our “where’s Wally” Harriers tops and steady conversation and good humour stood out well but we regularly moved aside to let speedier runners through without undue obstruction. The first three or four miles until you pass the sawmill at Kilmallie are on footpaths thereafter we were running on the road, which was open to traffic in both directions, but pretty much every driver slowed or stopped for runners so no issues there.

One mile in

I think it was somewhere around mile 11 that the lead runners started to appear running back in the opposite direction, I gave a few shout outs (but apparently this is something that Ultra runners do, and marathoners don’t) and I made a conscious effort to count the ladies as I reckoned Lesley must be running well.

I was right, Lesley was running well and perhaps a quarter mile before the turn I saw her and shouted out “4^th lady”, immediately to hear this echoed by her husband Neil who had sneakily run up behind me.  Round the turn and the plan is still holding together nicely, miles 1 – 11 were all sub 8 minutes, miles 12 and 13 a couple of seconds over.

Homeward bound now Neil and I ran together for a mile or two, until he edged ahead about 20 metres. I was taking on water and isotonic at every opportunity, prompted by vivid and painful memories of lack of hydration induced cramp at D33, still feeling very good, no signs of cramp and only slightly sore legs. Kirsty Burnett was on my shoulder too, running really strongly until she suffered a dodgy tummy at mile 19, Kirsty is building really well for this year’s WHW race. I was also getting regular roadside shout out’s from a rain swept Ada Stewart, what a difference  a bit of encouragement makes to your mood, thanks Ada.

I love the phrase “a marathon is a race of two halves, the first half is 20 miles and the second half is 6 miles”, as I went through 20 miles I was still feeling good, relaxed and uninjured and I was still running and feeling like a proper runner, as opposed to shuffling. I cannot remember exactly when I passed Neil, but it was probably just after 20 miles, but it wasn't just Neil I passed, I was slowly but steadily picking off other runners. All in all, a much nicer feeling than being passed! In fact over this last 6 miles I was starting to see and pass quite a number of runners reduced to walking, a few stretching off cramp and a few obviously injured too. I tried to give each and every one a shout out. Miles 13 to 24 were all slightly above 8 minute miles, but I was still happy as I knew I’d banked a few seconds on the first half.

At mile 25 you turn almost due south and then the blustery cross wind became a full on head wind, two of the safety pins on my number gave out, so rather than end up chasing my number across the road I finished the job and scrunched my number in my fist for the run in. Bizarrely I couldn't stop smiling on this stretch, pishing rain and an awful headwind, NOW I feel I’m well in my comfort zone, all those winter training trail miles paid off. There is one horrid little uphill slope exactly 0.6 miles from the finish then it’s into a housing estate, I couldn't see anyone ahead of me and I knew no-one was close behind, but I couldn't see any marshals, might as well go straight ahead. 

Fortuitously correct a couple of 90 degree turns and it was through the gates and onto the shinty pitch for the final 100m, as I ran past the grandstand I milked the soggy crowd for a cheer, whilst trying to sprint, smile and hold up my number for the timekeepers to see.

Sprint finish - nearly

Job done 3:31:53, 26.2 miles at an average 8:03 pace, I couldn't see Ann so grabbed a bottle of water and climbed over the fence surrounding the pitch to head for the grandstand. As I jumped down I felt something go twang around my left chest.

Oh the irony, 26,2 miles without injury and I strain my left boob climbing the fence.

The purists among you will probably say that if I felt that good after a marathon I wasn't trying hard enough, probably true, but remember the race plan back at the start of this post? I’d done exactly what I wanted to do and proved to myself that I could plan and execute a race plan without getting carried away…result.

Lesley had had a blistering race, clocking a PB and finishing in 3:25; Caroline came in running strongly also logging a PB in 3:37 with Neil completing the trio of PB’s not far behind in 3:39.

Neil and I - Captain Sweatpants and Co, post race

Sadly Ian had not had such a good day his foot injury had not improved but Ian had still toughed it out to 22 miles before making the difficult but sensible decision to pull out.

We hung around for the presentation to see Lesley pick up her 1st FV40 trophy, then with Lesley, Caroline and Neil facing the long drive back to Dumfries, it was back to the hotel for a quick shower for me and then a well deserved beer or two.

I've mentioned before that for me the best measure of any race is "Would I do it again?" 

As far as Lochaber Marathon goes the answer would be an unreserved "YES", good value for money, flat route, abundant water stations, friendly marshals, potentially stunning views and a technical T-shirt, I'd definitely do it again.

To cap the weekend off on a positive note, we went for a meal at The Crannog restaurant, where my ego got a further boost, when a chap (sorry I didn't catch your name) asked me "Are you Keith Ainslie? I read your blog" .....RESULT

Cheers

D33 Race Report - failing to put theory into practice

This would be my 8^th Ultra-marathon and with 20-20 hindsight it’s probably fair to say I've become a little bit complacent about running Ultra’s. I'm also aware that since one of my pet hates is runners who make statements like "just ran a 31 minute 10K, might as well have walked, think I'll jack it in" or statements in a similar vein, that I might be falling into this vein. So apologies in advance, but I was disappointed with my time on Saturday. 

Whilst my overall training mileage this year is pretty much on a par with last year, I’ve not religiously been sticking to long weekend back to backs and I've let my fueling and hydration disciplines slip a bit, but then I’m a bit of an old campaigner at this Ultra game, am I not? 

I’d even mentally planned a blog post about the weird fashions we Ultra runners wear, because I thought the race would be a formality, and avid readers wouldn't want to read me banging on about yet another PB, would they?

Wrong………………………..my complacency and lack of respect for this extreme hobby well and truly bit me on the arse last Saturday.

The D33 as its’ name suggests is a 33 mile out and back run on the route of the old Deeside railway line. It’s pretty simple, run 16.5 miles to Banchory turn round and run back, pretty straight and relatively flat, more of a long marathon rather than a “proper” ultra I heard myself saying more than once.

Now I admit that after last year’s complete focus on the WHW race, this year I’ve given myself a challenging mix of ultra’s and marathons, with not the best of gaps between them. I’ve got the Lochaber marathon in 3 weeks’ time, followed by The Highland Fling, then the Edinburgh Marathon (raising funds for Cancer Research UK); support running at the WHW race for Andy B; the Lakeland 50 and then the Berlin Marathon. So this would suggest I should have adopted a cautious measured approach to the D33? Wrong again.

The 9am start saw just over 300 runners toeing the start line, despite the 4 hour drive to Aberdeen the evening before and a broken night sleep, I was not in any way nervous. However I didn't feel particularly “up for it” and despite a pretty good 20 mile road training run 2 weeks previously (7:50 average on a pretty hilly route) I didn't feel particularly well trained for it either.

After a typical no nonsense briefing from Epic Shit Racings’ George Reid, we were off. Having started too far back in the field at the Devilla Trail race a couple of weeks ago I’d deliberately positioned myself closer to the front to avoid dodging slower runners for the first mile or two. My very loose race plan was to run faster than 8:30 minute miles and see how it went, so I was a little surprised when the first mile passed in 7:22, not to worry I slowed it down to 7:28 for the second mile, really eased off with a 7:47 (can you hear the sarcasm in my typing yet?), but I reckoned I was banking valuable seconds which meant I could really ease off later on, Oh really Keith!

Around 4 miles I found myself running with the lovely Noanie and we chatted and blethered for probably around 5 miles, every mile relentlessly registering 7 minutes something, was I

Still looking good about 5 miles in

worried?, no of course not, I’m a seasoned veteran at this game, I know what I’m doing!

To be fair I genuinely felt strong, felt I wasn't killing myself and was enjoying the company, so I kept up a good clip all the way to the halfway point. I was already entertaining thoughts of a massive PB (last year I was 4:41ish) especially as I reckoned I was on target to hit the turn at around 2:10, so lots of scope to slow down later.

Sadly I’m not one of these people who can run fast, drink and breathe at the same time, so logically I sacrificed the drinking, even blasting past the water stop at 8 miles without a backward glance. I duly hit the turn around, having run every mile quicker than 8 minutes, even managing to fart around for photos as I picked up my drop bag. I topped up my isotonic drink (hardly touched), shoveled in my trademark Ambrosia rice pudding (with strawberry jam), barely noticing my shaky hands, probably stationary for 2 minutes, then I was off, Noanie had hardly stopped here and went on to finish in a blistering 4:20:29 1^st female Vet, well deserved.

Now on the return leg I managed to hold my pace to mile 20, then the wheels on my wagon started to wobble, I was a- feeling thirsty a b- really struggling to maintain the pace, but I knew

Farting around at the turn

I’d banked so much time over last year, that a PB was still nailed on, wasn't it, surely?

By the time I reached the water stop with 8 miles to go I wasn't in a happy place, I was starting to crave water, I couldn't stomach my isotonic and I probably wasn't thinking straight. The water stop is laid out with pre-poured cups of water and big 5 litre bottles for refilling from, so logically Ainslie grabs the only bottle on the table with a sports cap, squeezes the contents into my own bottle and pootles off. I remember feeling quite strong and I caught up with Keziah Higgins (who also went on to a great finish (7^th lady in 4:35:53) and chatted briefly with her. 

I took a big swig from my refilled water bottle and relief, well actually no, whatever was in the bottle wasn't water, God knows what it was but it tasted truly awful, undrinkable and I eventually poured it out. I’m pretty sure it was really a bottle of pee, well I hope not!

So in summary so far, I've gone off far faster than planned, failed to drink enough, failed to refill with something I could actually drink and I’m starting to feel a bit rubbish. What more could possibly go wrong?

As I got to mile 27 I found out. I only had to maintain 10 minute miles to PB. But “Bugger, I’m starting to cramp up”. The last 6 miles were horrid, I could barely maintain a run, I was being passed by everyone (particularly depressing after last year’s strong finish), and I kept having to stop to stretch out and fend off full on cramp. Quads, calves, hamstrings and even bizarrely my left bicep all joined in the cramp party. My Garmin tells me I was stationary for a full 4 minutes at various points in the last 6 miles.

In true Ultra family fashion everyone that passed asked if I was OK, and if I needed anything, but as I cursed and swore and mired around in my dehydrated and cramp induced self-pity, I declined and just wanted to get it over with. With a mile to go I knew that I was way off beating my PB and I had neither the brass neck nor the power or ability to muster up my usual sprint finish, so I duly shuffled over the line in 4:47, 5 minutes slower than last year to receive my 3^rd D33 medal, 76^th out of an eventual 305 finishers. 

I necked 4 cups of water and then lay down on the tarmac, feeling crap and sick. I swore I’d never run the D33 again and told anyone who was in earshot that I felt worse today than after the 95 miles of the WHW race. A huge positive split 2:10 for the outward leg 2:37 for the return.

Thank the Lord it's nearly over

Now that the dust has settled and my legs don’t feel quite so sore I've had time to take stock and think about what went wrong, so here goes

• I've never had a bad Ultra, the previous 7 had all gone exactly to plan or better, so when it all went tits up, it was new territory for me
• I didn't treat the race or distance with the respect it deserves and it bit back
• I lacked specific race oriented training, but the mix of marathons and Ultras I’m trying to achieve make this pretty much impossible for me
• I just plain didn't drink enough, I could maybe have held a better pace in the second half, but not on 500ml of water for 33 miles, if I’m dehydrated my ability to run falls of a cliff
• Cramp is a show stopper for me, and almost certainly caused by not drinking enough
• Although my overall mileage is on par with last year, I’m almost certainly not as Ultra fit as I was last year

On the plus side Ann and I actually made it to the after party in Stonehaven, which was great, and 4:47 is still a pretty respectable time, and no-one died, it is after all only a hobby.

Congratulations to Epic Shit Racing’s George Reid and Karen Donaghue for organizing a superb event, thanks to all the marshals and helpers for making everything run smoothly and thanks to my fellow Ultra runners for your company, enthusiasm, concern and achievements.

To the bevvy of Ultra virgins, well done, be proud of what you have all achieved.

Despite swearing I’ll never run the bloody race again, I suspect I’ll probably be back next March to add to my medal collection.

Not the Devilla Forest 15K Trail Race

I'm not entirely sure how I ended up on the start line for this race, I suspect I fell prey to the Facebook hype of "get your entry in quick or it'll be sold out!". Never the less Sunday 23rd February found me doing just that!
The weather on Saturday night was truly foul, with torrential rain and gale force winds in Dumfries and it didn't abate for the drive up either, on the railway bridge at Nunholm, one rain squall actually blew horizontally across the road, yes horizontal rain and gales ideal trail racing weather.
My geographic fail for the day was deciding that Tulliallan Police College was miles over the Kincardine Bridge, rather than the 3 minute drive it actually is. I must have been about the 3rd car in the car park, arriving well over an hour before the 11am start.
Collecting my race number, chip timer and bottle of Scheihallian beer took all of 5 seconds, surname beginning with A, your name is pretty much always top of the list.
I had time for a leisurely coffee in the onsite Costa Cafe, pin on my number  and decide that I was going to be soft and wear my OMM Kameilka, plus hat and gloves. I bumped in to an old friend from Venture Scout days, Susan Martin, who was running along with her husband David, it was nice to catch up however brief.
My back was still playing up a bit, so I decided that I'd lie down in the corridor to ease it off, so yes I was the weird person lying flay out on the floor near the loos.
The chip timer was of the loop it through your laces variety and since my Speedcross 3 trail shoes are of the speed lace/closed loop variety I headed off 10 minutes before start to grab some cable ties, this was first time out the box for these trainers, having arrived from Amazon only 24 hours previously.
I managed to squeeze in (or out) another two pre-race pees before we were called forward for the race brief, which as usual no one could hear. I'd tried to gauge my start position in the crowd of 500 or so, as about 1/3 of the way from the front, but as soon as we were off it was clear I was too far back. The first 300 yards or so are on tarmac where I overtook as many as I could then it was straight onto  forest roads.
Now a good wide forest road, on a trail race, should be somewhere you can pass people, unless of course you're trying to pass people running as a couple chatting merrily away, or having to dodge people who are trying to avoid the mud and puddles. Its a trail race for Christ's sake, you are going to get wet and muddy, if you don't want to get wet and muddy why did you sign up for a trail race in the first place? OK rant over, that's it off my chest.
I've written before on this blog that I'm always tremendously impressed by fellow bloggers who seem to remember every twist and turn, every runner they pass and every nuance of the course, as usual I can't actually remember much detail of the course. I do however recollect about 2 miles in, taking  left turn off the road onto a very narrow "path" and coming to a complete stop on a couple of occasions due to congestion and thinking "this is a bit narrow early on in a big trial race", virtually nil overtaking opportunities, now remember this point because it'll be important later on!
Whilst the route isn't flat, its probably the closest trail race you'll ever find to flat, there were a couple of slopes, but nothing steep at all!, My poor choice of starting position was confirmed as I was pretty much passing people all the time, which proved tricky on the muddier sections and boy were there a lot of muddy sections. Any concerns I had about wearing brand new shoes, were outweighed by the fact that like a well known brand of industrial adhesive, they "stick like sh*t" to the ground and dropping down half a size seems to have cured the problem with insoles slipping too, result!
Descending a longish muddy slope across a potentially tricky plank bridge at the head of Peppermill Dam, the mud thickened and then it was back onto forest roads. The organizers had thoughtfully sprayed almost every protruding root and rock on the route with dayglo paint, Well done!
We passed a sign stating 10KM and I glanced at my Garmin, 5.3 miles?, I asked a guy I was running next beside, what distance he had "5.3 miles too". Must just be a random sign then. Still overtaking consistently I was picking up my pace, I was running very comfortably, pacing myself for the near 10 mile route, I was slightly surprised to run past a 1KM sign 4 km later, "Naw can't be right", a couple of hundred yards after that a marshal shouts only 600 yards to go. "Naw still cant be right", 200 yards further another marshal "nearly there.... only 400 yards to go!".
Bugger, those signs must be right after all. I turned on the burners and kicked, quickly hitting the tarmac, I had two younger guys wearing BMF t-shirts in my sights. As I blew past them, one guy gave up, the second responded and just pipped me over the line, not that it matters that much on a chip times race, but I have my pride.
Over the timing mat 7.83 miles 59:47, 120th out of 518 finishers  not the Devilla 15km as advertised. Every runner with a Garmin seemed to agree the distance was short but no-one could shed any light on why?
Into the finish gazebo to ditch the timing chip and a ridiculously cheerful lady carelessly wielding a large pair of scissors parted shoe and chip, giving instant visions of speed laces becoming normal ones.
I decided not to hang around but head for the advertised showers while hot water was still on the menu. Grabbing my bag from the car and depositing my magnificently mud caked shoes outside the sports block, I joined fellow runners in the communal shower. I've never seen as much mud in a shower, everyone was caked from ankle to thigh except the poor guy who'd slipped and whose entire right side was caked in mud, resembling some strange Dr Who half man, half mud alien and still smiling all over.

Comic moment of the day were the two guys discussing the fact that they'd run the race 10 minutes quicker than last year, neither with a GPS watch, sorry to burst your bubble guys but it wasn't 15 kilometres.
The only topic was of course the distance, again everyone agreed it was short but no explanation as to why?
Once showered and changed I mooched back to registration, but as 

aka The Mystery of the missing miles

a- nothing was happening and 

Not the Devilla 15 Km

The Correct Route (courtesy of John Kynaston)

b- there didn't seem to be any-one around providing an explanation so I opted to jump in the car and head off.
I appreciate that  as a race report what I've written so far could best be described as "a bit rubbish", short on detail and substance and long on verbiage. But in my defense I always feel the key question on any report is "would you do it again", and in the case of the Devilla Forest race the answer is unquestionably and absolutely yes!
Apart from the obvious lack of distance, do I have any criticism?

As with almost every race,  toilet provision at the start was limited, perhaps a sign pointing out there were additional toilets in the shower block would have helped?

I wore trail shoes, there was a Facebook post in the days leading up to the race suggesting road or trail shoes would be OK, if I'd turned up with road shoes on this basis I'd have been a seriously unhappy bunny. Its definitely and clearly  a trail shoe route.

Its a great route, with a nice mix of road, track and mud and as flat as they come for trail races.

The Mystery of the Missing Miles

After a drive home which included a detour to buy a new pair of road shoes (Mizuno Wave Inspire 10s), I was keen to find out what had happened to the missing miles. As you'll see from my GPS map, compared to John K's from last year, there was a chunk missed out the route, but then we all knew that anyway. How did all 518 finishers go the wrong way?

Had the race been shortened by the organizers due to mud?.... No

Had the lead runners accidentally gone the wrong way?......No

Had the race been sabotaged?.......Well apparently it had, between setting out the course in the morning and the start of the race, someone had stretched barrier tape over the correct route and sprayed arrows pointing off the correct path (remember the left turn after 2 miles, I told you it was important), only some quick thinking by marshals had directed the race leaders back onto the route, salvaging something from what could have quickly become a farce.

There were suggestions that a disgruntled ex Carnegie Harriers member had been responsible. I suspect it will be difficult if not impossible to prove who was responsible, but off all the small minded and stupid things to do, to spoil what is after all only a hobby, this rates pretty highly. I doubt the culprit will read this blog, but if you do, but if you do you are a Fud of the first degree.

Happy Running

Cheers