tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-56457678747383675262024-03-06T09:18:29.842+00:00Running For The Pies... 12 Marathons in 12 Months.Having succeeded in my initial challenge of running 12 marathons in 12 months on trails... Like a Duracell bunny, I'm keeping on going on an odyssey to find where it takes me and what happens en-route!Shoeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06168576054186785526noreply@blogger.comBlogger196125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5645767874738367526.post-73077882935084498722021-04-03T02:00:00.001+01:002021-04-03T02:00:59.493+01:0027th March: Getting triggy with it.<p><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbbyRtc80AU98bxj340Jbvj79t-bMO2fYmxMu3I2qSdfWnWeIuE9ZcEyJ8sVN_vaS4nOu7kuEqCmTveLSYidXlxr1A96e5qCjJ1LKpUzM7hgH9Okl0v1FQPlcyKqe_0sHtKuHlcxX8ugM6/s2048/8CB6C3CC-11E8-46BE-96C5-BCDC2668DC51_1_201_a.heic" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbbyRtc80AU98bxj340Jbvj79t-bMO2fYmxMu3I2qSdfWnWeIuE9ZcEyJ8sVN_vaS4nOu7kuEqCmTveLSYidXlxr1A96e5qCjJ1LKpUzM7hgH9Okl0v1FQPlcyKqe_0sHtKuHlcxX8ugM6/s320/8CB6C3CC-11E8-46BE-96C5-BCDC2668DC51_1_201_a.heic" width="320" /></a></span></div><p></p><p><span style="font-size: small;">The end of lockdown is nigh and its dusk is now beginning to settle with hopefully a full diary of races looming just over the horizon ready to be lit by the rays of a new dawn. As rose tinted as this view may be, its sadly still just in the realms of wishful thinking rather than reality. The last year bar a couple of merciful exceptions for me in October and early December saw races replaced by virtual facsimiles of the real thing and the ingenuity of personal challenges.<br /><br />Rather than letting my stamina slip I’ve been meandering around cracking-out the miles locally, however mundanity has been taking over and I’ve found myself just going round and round the same places time after time almost going through the motions over the various routes you can run back and forth.<br /><br />On these many galavants around my local area, several times I’d passed 4 different trig points and it got me thinking… Hitting the maps I did a bit of a search to find out if there were any more nearby to be ‘bagged’ on a run. It turned out there were 7 accessible trig points to my village and even better it was essentially possible to run a circuit between them all!<br /><br />Ok at the risk of losing most of you already, I realise those who are uninitiated to the delights of ‘trig points’, or the practice of trig bagging’, are wondering what in the yellow rubbery arse I am waffling on about… Well…<br /><br />In Britain we had 6,500 triangulation (trig) points made of an identical concrete obelisk design built from 1935 to 1962 by the Ordnance Survey, of which it is believed around 5,500 still remain standing. Their designed purpose was to provide the Ordnance Survey with a method of making an accurate measurement of height for the topography of the whole of Britain. The process of calculation was done via triangulation (hence their name), meaning from every trig point when they were built, you should be able to view at least two others. This measurement process though was laborious as it could only be carried out via line of site using a theodolite between the points and therefore could only be undertaken in clear weather from the grand total of 30,000 selected locations required!<br /><br />Nowadays, with the steady march of technology and the advent of lasers, the Ordnance Survey can perform the same function provided by these 6,500 pillars from a mere 110 points dotted over the country. As a result, accuracy from the survey ending in 1962 has improved from a margin of error of 20m from one end of Britain to the other, to a mere 3mm error today!<br /><br />What we now have with these trig points is an obsolete relic of a time gone by. Redundant and functionally useless they remain lonely and largely unloved abandoned to the elements. When you say ‘trig point’, the image most people have of them is a concrete obelisk standing a lonesome sentinel on the crest of a hill visible as a spec on the horizon from miles away, their grey concrete slab sides yellowing and greening as they become encrusted in lichen, algae and moss and baring the scars of the lashings of the wind and rain of nearly a century for the oldest ones. Thing is, this view is not quite what they all are. For every trig point that is up high, you will need another down low to be able to achieve triangulation, so there’s plenty all over the country to be found in random spots at lower level.<br /><br />Consulting the map and the trig bagging websites, I realised as well as these 4 I knew of, there were others out there that are accessible, as well as one that was not (it sits in fenced-off land in the middle of a private estate), so in a circle from my village a notional ring of 7 is formed.<br /><br />Plotting a route between them over trails came out at 37 miles, which was certainly a ‘doable’ distance for me, so my challenge was set: run them all as a oner!</span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;"></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHsomSMuYOqvvJU6a_jEjuszWZrMV-RjOg9K6rgGtC9Ee8m7YAWCk1tyHXFKruaCS9S24X5UWSaOxHS0PeZZoiONWS1ZChOw3FfTVjKJSkaSW-P7_lhSw5RL5NHUI186sjTJ_TpxHNUyw5/s811/Screenshot+2021-04-02+at+22.16.53.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="515" data-original-width="811" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHsomSMuYOqvvJU6a_jEjuszWZrMV-RjOg9K6rgGtC9Ee8m7YAWCk1tyHXFKruaCS9S24X5UWSaOxHS0PeZZoiONWS1ZChOw3FfTVjKJSkaSW-P7_lhSw5RL5NHUI186sjTJ_TpxHNUyw5/s320/Screenshot+2021-04-02+at+22.16.53.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">The planned route</span><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-size: small;"></span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: small;">Rather than just diving straight in, for my longer weekend runs and being able to squeeze some different routes out of the process, I went forth and recce’d the 3 points I had never visited before to ensure they were in fact accessible and how they could best be approached. Also having never run between these individual points I did so where I was unsure of the routes, so when the day came I could essentially be on auto-pilot rather than continually faffing around by looking at a map on my phone.<br /><br />Once I was sure of the various turn points, access points and the route in general, it was time to choose a date. I went for the last Saturday in March. I could have chosen the Sunday, but with the clocks changing for British Summer Time at 2am on the Sunday I’d be losing an hour’s sleep and couldn’t be arsed with doing a very long run on top of that.<br /><br />I had been prepared for poor weather and to go run it in the rain, however by a stroke of good fortune the meteorological gods were smiling on me and come the day it was forecast for a sunny start before clouding over and mercifully no rain.<br /><br />Having controlled as many of he unknowns as possible, the most important choice for the day was my daps. I had a bit of a dilemma as my comfy pair of trainers have 900 miles on them and are approaching imminent death with virtually zero grip left on the sole and the uppers barely hanging together. My pair with decent grip on them are uncomfortable for running on hard surfaces for an extended period through having minimal cushioning, plus the uppers are through in a couple of places, so safe to say I had doubts either pair would survive a 37 miler in one go, regardless of both their pros & cons. This left me with only one alternative and that’s the pair I use for summer trails. Fortunately they are comfy but the tread on them is not brilliant so I knew they’d be sketchy as hell on the muddy parts, however they would be comfy on the harder packed trails which I knew would be the majority of the route as well as any stretches of tarmac. With the weather being largely dry through March fortunately the trails have started to dry-out and harden so I knew I’d just have to suck it up buttercup on the muddy stretches.<br /><br />This adventure was to be entirely self sufficient, so to help me along the way I had my light running pack with a 2L bladder in it, food in the pouches and a first aid kit, camera & phone and most importantly: Spud snacks to fuel my companion on the adventure. I decided against taking a waterproof as the forecast was free from rain with wind not too bad and temperature good for the time of year. Instead I opted for a long sleeve merino base layer to keep me warmer and hoped the forecast would be accurate, or if not it would provide an incentive to run faster!</span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJAk212OVvvWdq3uJwRKoaVaLEejfqrVV9ZZuCPnlA1JwZ-2fOcN_uDb3vPYKVxM9S1zoriKP67BVt-hr9iaS2oSscvnA-8QM0_fV13QeaoVXsynBK_XPWUVD_wg2_gUW_PxHLFGhxshaw/s2048/D98E10B2-0D44-45AE-A3B5-50ACF05DED12_1_201_a.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJAk212OVvvWdq3uJwRKoaVaLEejfqrVV9ZZuCPnlA1JwZ-2fOcN_uDb3vPYKVxM9S1zoriKP67BVt-hr9iaS2oSscvnA-8QM0_fV13QeaoVXsynBK_XPWUVD_wg2_gUW_PxHLFGhxshaw/s320/D98E10B2-0D44-45AE-A3B5-50ACF05DED12_1_201_a.jpeg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Packed & ready.</span><br /></td></tr></tbody></table></span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;">8am arrived and I was out the door in the glorious morning sunshine shackled to a very excited Spud the trail hound. Escaping the village northwards at around 2 miles in I happened to bump into a different running buddy in the form of Steffen who had accompanied me on my final recce the previous week and I had nearly broken in the process by pushing him a bit harder than he would have liked for pace! He was on his way back from a morning 10k at his own pace having reached the turn, and he wished us luck with our endeavour.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJcmFZCIpQGAoMt69L07932Kpvj7ct9UuiVgZ09pZjzUCSyFYEBnfB6qd1mpHlHqDNSPtQqqJbK98DaAxzphAS8qmjRzbF5lLLIzCuZOMFeAOCHK7ZaNk29yOwgVl6i-h9F0c-ACmUcwxX/s2048/505AC448-31F3-4E03-881A-7D0E873CADF4_1_201_a.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJcmFZCIpQGAoMt69L07932Kpvj7ct9UuiVgZ09pZjzUCSyFYEBnfB6qd1mpHlHqDNSPtQqqJbK98DaAxzphAS8qmjRzbF5lLLIzCuZOMFeAOCHK7ZaNk29yOwgVl6i-h9F0c-ACmUcwxX/s320/505AC448-31F3-4E03-881A-7D0E873CADF4_1_201_a.jpeg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Hitting the water meadow.</span><br /></td></tr></tbody></table></span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;">Crossing the water meadows and a chalk stream we were soon at the first trig point of the day in the hamlet of Hartley Wespall. This one sits in the middle of a field with a Cold War <a href="https://www.stratfieldturgis.org.uk/about-the-village/history/royal-observer-corps-bunker" target="_blank">nuclear fallout shelter/ observation post</a> about 20 metres further into the field from it. When I got closer I could see someone had left a painted stone with a wonderful sentiment on top of it for someone to find!</span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5QCHO8m0v4rhIJEifZITlTbmGfUIyivkQQ5m8O6qG78IiHKURBqGhj-TVN2o67l7RiPzSqGaMeetcXtSXP2rLpRQRGTkGElGUZlIoHmomiXgAHw4CvC8pR_VpYB_W0x_YoCHR6cHgFar_/s2048/7379BB77-FA39-461F-B220-5D8EDFCC1498_1_201_a.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5QCHO8m0v4rhIJEifZITlTbmGfUIyivkQQ5m8O6qG78IiHKURBqGhj-TVN2o67l7RiPzSqGaMeetcXtSXP2rLpRQRGTkGElGUZlIoHmomiXgAHw4CvC8pR_VpYB_W0x_YoCHR6cHgFar_/s320/7379BB77-FA39-461F-B220-5D8EDFCC1498_1_201_a.jpeg" width="320" /></a></span></div><p></p><p><span style="font-size: small;">The second leg was going to be the one with the most running between two points. I had to travel from Hartley Wespall to the flats at Blackbushe. Traversing a <a href="http://www.pillbox-study-group.org.uk/gazeteer/home-front-defence-sites/england/hampshire/hazeley-heath-tank-testing-ramp/" target="_blank">WWII tank testing ground at Hazeley Heath</a>, a location where captured Axis tanks were evaluated and tested to destruction, then over the mix of single-track pine woodland and gravel quarry roads at Warren Heath until I eventually found myself at Blackbushe and the only mile or so of the whole run I was not looking forward to.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvY_VoRu-I78zEYhyphenhyphen1h0mo0E1Vr2KQSJZXsB7JPxUlfdLNC9lwWWtoX-qFv6r3hDfCU8Vj7H2K21Rxe9DDKojfJSSTygqAX9KzNX0hhMc7GDjbrHoFthn4-FJAJB84RtqgIdVSMwOhXLSi/s2048/1CFF0067-E84C-44FE-B10B-8E56836926F5_1_201_a.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1152" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvY_VoRu-I78zEYhyphenhyphen1h0mo0E1Vr2KQSJZXsB7JPxUlfdLNC9lwWWtoX-qFv6r3hDfCU8Vj7H2K21Rxe9DDKojfJSSTygqAX9KzNX0hhMc7GDjbrHoFthn4-FJAJB84RtqgIdVSMwOhXLSi/s320/1CFF0067-E84C-44FE-B10B-8E56836926F5_1_201_a.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">The church at Hartley Wespall</span><br /></td></tr></tbody></table></span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;">The second trig point was hidden in the verge on the south side of the A30. You cannot see it from the road and unfortunately there’s no footpath along the side it is on and the other side is just as bad being a narrow verge and chain link fence separating the road from <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/RAF_Blackbushe" target="_blank">Blackbushe airfield</a>, or RAF Hartford Bridge as it was originally known.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhj6TjZkK9JyJ3zMUiWPnwanJxPSKpmJsdzr6SYWN0y0Qo7qTMP__oBRylZUWJcLB1yJ7JLKp6X5JWoCF1npncEYjFUgRGa_wY5VNQKixr24-_Wh3BywSSkkZVWJsu0_unD6WMO22px-H_h/s2048/27D9987C-92A3-4B1F-A36C-AB4AF3567ADD_1_201_a.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhj6TjZkK9JyJ3zMUiWPnwanJxPSKpmJsdzr6SYWN0y0Qo7qTMP__oBRylZUWJcLB1yJ7JLKp6X5JWoCF1npncEYjFUgRGa_wY5VNQKixr24-_Wh3BywSSkkZVWJsu0_unD6WMO22px-H_h/s320/27D9987C-92A3-4B1F-A36C-AB4AF3567ADD_1_201_a.jpeg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Dipley Mill</span><br /></td></tr></tbody></table></span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;">RAF Hartford Bridge was pretty unique in that it was built straddling a main national transport artery at the time, the A30 being the main route from London to the South West of England. The runway was on the north side of the road and to the south was to be found the hangars for the base. When planes needed to taxi to the runway then the A30 had to be physically closed at both ends to allow them to cross the road - you can imagine the sight of a couple of squadrons of American made <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Douglas_A-20_Havoc" target="_blank">Boston</a> medium bombers snaking their way Indian-file across the road to take off on raids over mainland Europe, much to the annoyance of any drivers out and about using their petrol rations!</span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCVNPofPIid0-YFPn67MnBEfet0e4wdFRBOyRRliri-tqI-nbQlCkfu4yNFSohCtxvf_Y9ILkSMkUdBjwUFsG12PcVa3ibIPzdL2pM4HI0xOCLPKtT3Wqm-tkjMCzbJU6vr1cVYKRaPIc_/s2048/C334AD1B-37EA-4904-BE9F-7EABD18DAC0D_1_201_a.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCVNPofPIid0-YFPn67MnBEfet0e4wdFRBOyRRliri-tqI-nbQlCkfu4yNFSohCtxvf_Y9ILkSMkUdBjwUFsG12PcVa3ibIPzdL2pM4HI0xOCLPKtT3Wqm-tkjMCzbJU6vr1cVYKRaPIc_/s320/C334AD1B-37EA-4904-BE9F-7EABD18DAC0D_1_201_a.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Surviving the alpaca-lypse on the way to Blackbushe.</span><br /></td></tr></tbody></table></span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;">Nothing remains of the old hangars and other associated buildings south of the A30 as the site is now given-over to sand and gravel extraction. The only thing of note there these days is the trig point we were visiting!<br /><br />Running along an uneven grass verge with traffic approaching at 70mph isn’t fun at the best of times by yourself, let alone being roped to an idiot spanner. Spud as much as he is a fantastic running buddy has zero road-sense, so has to be kept on an extremely tight lead in such situations in case he decides to try and make friends with a passing car… As such I had to make my way along the narrow grass verge which had drainage ditches cut into it from the road every 20m or so. One hand was holding Spud’s long line almost at his harness and pulling him tightly to heel, the other hand had my phone in it as I tracked my progress in real time towards the blue triangle with a dot on it on the OS map so as not to overshoot it, as the last thing I wanted to do was to double-back on myself along this verge!</span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtvvH27yZS0s5Z4OUXXZqZJymJSB2mASlxeiJJ4Z3nS1L4xXjWzPpldf1E8URU_GTt9H5cVjGZeK2zGHeU-MVyI2oSdUWTD6k63RVaJFY6HRlZMgeNYI4Bem3T6Qcv67BEKYZDCz6uKa3q/s2048/12A52549-3E9E-451B-96E0-9EDC6A799C0B_1_201_a.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtvvH27yZS0s5Z4OUXXZqZJymJSB2mASlxeiJJ4Z3nS1L4xXjWzPpldf1E8URU_GTt9H5cVjGZeK2zGHeU-MVyI2oSdUWTD6k63RVaJFY6HRlZMgeNYI4Bem3T6Qcv67BEKYZDCz6uKa3q/s320/12A52549-3E9E-451B-96E0-9EDC6A799C0B_1_201_a.jpeg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">2/7 alongside the A30 at Blackbushe.</span><br /></td></tr></tbody></table></span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;">Mercifully I found it with zero bother, so taking a pic of the trig it was a case of carrying along the A30 for another mile till we could leave it and join the north westerly edge of Hawley Woods. Skirting the edge of Gibraltar Barracks, the basic training barracks for recruits into the Royal Engineers.<br /><br />Hawley Woods has been continually used by the army since shorty before WWII. Now Gibraltar Barracks sits on its Westerly edge, whereas before this the now long demolished Gillemont Barracks stood on its southerly tip hosting the Canadian Infantry regiment of ‘Les Fusiliers Mont-Royal’ during the Second World War and afterwards the Paras and the Royal Engineers until it was demolished as obsolete in favour of the new Gibraltar Barracks. The woods also contains its own rough landing strip that was used by the Special Operations Executive in the war to transport agents in and out of France.<br /><br />As we followed the trail parallel to the barracks’ fence, just along from the quarters I noticed out of the corner of my eye on the other side of the fence a small shape moving towards us, before it ran past and stood just below the warning sign on the fence. During the previous week we had heard the announcement on the new that there was to be wholesale military cut backs and down-sizing, but I had never thought they'd be this drastic or immediate in effect as just along from the ’Guard Dogs on Patrol’ sign was this diminutive Boston Terrier woofing at Spud!</span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga4rwjLpPg-7QMs3A5Q_I8kDhEJVGwhT-GAOsDZqWnA7ZBJy2R21-neY_ZOON1cd8EmoPp2qpW7Zi00UIxbnKfYOSDLySJ77ESRETD6_pW6u9mPu7jR9AhmpSn1tpYAskN5SmLVuaBS4qz/s2048/7ED767A3-C003-4B00-A594-33F019A4991D_1_201_a.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1152" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga4rwjLpPg-7QMs3A5Q_I8kDhEJVGwhT-GAOsDZqWnA7ZBJy2R21-neY_ZOON1cd8EmoPp2qpW7Zi00UIxbnKfYOSDLySJ77ESRETD6_pW6u9mPu7jR9AhmpSn1tpYAskN5SmLVuaBS4qz/s320/7ED767A3-C003-4B00-A594-33F019A4991D_1_201_a.jpeg" width="320" /></a></span></div><p></p><p><span style="font-size: small;">Skirting the edge of the airfield in the woods we crossed an oft-used film location, last seen in the previous <a href="https://www.imdb.com/title/tt4881806/?ref_=nv_sr_srsg_6" target="_blank">Jurassic World</a> movie and climbed the mound to trig point #3.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPV0voqID914o8w5rSVb6J5qWdlUqfyYFiEY404DaTv8fJEsSNulyJLBVdtIiy90mXwzrhxyBhDhvnY7gPaal6tzSx359rXaWjymDegW-ByJxQkGUR3_l2P3b3oQlJnPTnocPkdi8KrjLy/s2048/6258E750-A75B-4ADE-B676-897AB6B9F23E_1_201_a.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPV0voqID914o8w5rSVb6J5qWdlUqfyYFiEY404DaTv8fJEsSNulyJLBVdtIiy90mXwzrhxyBhDhvnY7gPaal6tzSx359rXaWjymDegW-ByJxQkGUR3_l2P3b3oQlJnPTnocPkdi8KrjLy/s320/6258E750-A75B-4ADE-B676-897AB6B9F23E_1_201_a.jpeg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">3/7 in Hawley Woods.</span><br /></td></tr></tbody></table></span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;">From here it was a mile of downhill before 10k of flat running as we left Hawley Woods behind via the lake within (another film location from ‘<a href="https://www.imdb.com/title/tt0318649/?ref_=fn_al_tt_1" target="_blank">Sahara</a>’), crossed Minley Road in the shadow of Minley Manor (yet another film location from <a href="https://www.imdb.com/title/tt0486655/?ref_=fn_al_tt_1" target="_blank">Stardust</a>) that was formerly used as the officers’ quarters for Gibraltar Barracks until about 10 years ago.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;"></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5rc20VBL7IHzQxftWBuf2HESJ4pA3PfGlZaLTSgv3P4XVULJB3n5huXDnjJNcJd-CAEsWRwn8Taz_YwWnLFjZAZ_CON6dLnzmw43V1fkA8e0-e4ceZJxM1-OhdcoE4MC_dssy7-UDXTm9/s2048/90E99B08-DBEF-4A8D-B218-41F3C8166E35_1_201_a.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5rc20VBL7IHzQxftWBuf2HESJ4pA3PfGlZaLTSgv3P4XVULJB3n5huXDnjJNcJd-CAEsWRwn8Taz_YwWnLFjZAZ_CON6dLnzmw43V1fkA8e0-e4ceZJxM1-OhdcoE4MC_dssy7-UDXTm9/s320/90E99B08-DBEF-4A8D-B218-41F3C8166E35_1_201_a.jpeg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Minley Manor (from on another run).</span><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-size: small;"></span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: small;">From Minley we crossed over the M3 motorway and skirted Fleet Pond, before a 100m or so stretch along the Basingstoke Canal tow-path had us scrambling up and embankment and onto more army land.<br /><br />The 4th trig point is located on a hillock on the edge of the army’s high-speed off-road driving range. During the week this area is out of bounds to non military personnel because of the vehicles hooning around it at speed through the mud and puddles, however at the weekend its open to us civvies and fair game for a visit (although its always advisable to check in advance if it is)… The problem though with the area being semi-secure to stop unwanted weekday interlopers, access is only really from a few select points, none of which were anywhere near my direction of approach and my ideal route across the site. A stroke of luck for me on this foray was found on my recce with an emergency access gate located with not too far a diversion from a straight line route. This gate is always locked and designed to not be easily climbable but there’s enough of a gap to squeeze around the side of it if you’re svelte enough, or if you’re a fat bastard like me, then you can get on your back and slide under it! Back on my feet and I was soon at the trig point and overlooking the end of <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Farnborough_Airport" target="_blank">Farnborough’s runway</a>, the long and storied home of British aviation and the locale of the first powered flight in Britain.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV8SAUMlshCS1Y9P54-pPELCYHIXuPSjOhaWjJ3iXoNKgvN6mWonigDC6ECFh_12zjFMAXOEbAZ_ZPfB8mNttQsViS3ubNyigeJowSCWvAiwcCPYMt88XMUk6_abs81QLzwi5sHiyAie-q/s2048/02D8642A-0F51-4A89-B323-E229173058CF_1_201_a.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV8SAUMlshCS1Y9P54-pPELCYHIXuPSjOhaWjJ3iXoNKgvN6mWonigDC6ECFh_12zjFMAXOEbAZ_ZPfB8mNttQsViS3ubNyigeJowSCWvAiwcCPYMt88XMUk6_abs81QLzwi5sHiyAie-q/s320/02D8642A-0F51-4A89-B323-E229173058CF_1_201_a.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">4/7 overlooking Farnborough airfield.</span><br /></td></tr></tbody></table></span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;">Stopping for pics I realised my energy levels had properly crashed again through poor time & fuelling management, so the journey across the driving range to the ascent of Beacon Hill was spent as a walk/ run with me scoffing an energy bar.<br /><br />Over the heathland of the driving course with the gorse in its vibrant yellow full flower, skirting <a href="https://www.tweseldown.co.uk/" target="_blank">Tweseldown</a> race course on our right we crossed to Beacon Hill. Immediately below the climb to trig point #5 was a small lake, so it seemed the right thing to do to let Spud off his lead and go for a swim as he loves to take a dip as often as he can when out and about - it also helped to get any mud accumulated by him so far off his coat!</span><br /><br /></p><p><span style="font-size: small;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxo4jqmojiZr6RZ0RCVQwxk2_G1NJP1Mh9r7PBoZHPCUGz8odBBXluZHy72-h4mUDmFaBbUskAkFSwavp81KxDUfXKkGHOx_1xVXe06tBn-nQ-oc2_0u1Ban1FoikaRAk4JQi3mTxQDriG/s2048/9BDCDD57-4C4C-4320-BBC0-EE9B0827634D_1_201_a.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxo4jqmojiZr6RZ0RCVQwxk2_G1NJP1Mh9r7PBoZHPCUGz8odBBXluZHy72-h4mUDmFaBbUskAkFSwavp81KxDUfXKkGHOx_1xVXe06tBn-nQ-oc2_0u1Ban1FoikaRAk4JQi3mTxQDriG/s320/9BDCDD57-4C4C-4320-BBC0-EE9B0827634D_1_201_a.jpeg" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: small;"><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS3KKxazw4dcDg3tGRqE8czn6wGa7ABPbg5iyIj-Ah52FaZYuiO4GMR0TAFYLO0jrfb5_u8-UqassGk_jnH1S3509snSP4p-rOpx1r0LR33RRco-5uXmQryngEHUbOkr59wKT70TQUALAa/s2048/1161A863-F168-409B-AC9F-DD140B16DBEE_1_201_a.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjS3KKxazw4dcDg3tGRqE8czn6wGa7ABPbg5iyIj-Ah52FaZYuiO4GMR0TAFYLO0jrfb5_u8-UqassGk_jnH1S3509snSP4p-rOpx1r0LR33RRco-5uXmQryngEHUbOkr59wKT70TQUALAa/s320/1161A863-F168-409B-AC9F-DD140B16DBEE_1_201_a.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div></span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: small;">Hitting the trig point was near as dammit bang-on marathon distance. I’d made this in a time I was happy with and by the pillar I sat down on a handy tree stump for something more to eat, a bit of a rest and for Spud to have some sausage and cheese to keep his energy levels up - something he thoroughly enjoyed.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;"></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglQPkFU0EhfqG0nZ30woOLXzSUl5dtpUIBaRNV9a9NmMSHwrBAahsb25CfB1Atyac69rSoAMItNjhKO5qymtkf4mNv01Kzwci2sEIJqIPrlvpR02U13KPcAUZ2iOIbKSZWhIfdLvxQVJvh/s2048/F43BC304-2320-4489-A439-F57774549012_1_201_a.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglQPkFU0EhfqG0nZ30woOLXzSUl5dtpUIBaRNV9a9NmMSHwrBAahsb25CfB1Atyac69rSoAMItNjhKO5qymtkf4mNv01Kzwci2sEIJqIPrlvpR02U13KPcAUZ2iOIbKSZWhIfdLvxQVJvh/s320/F43BC304-2320-4489-A439-F57774549012_1_201_a.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">5/7 on Beacon Hill</span><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p><span style="font-size: small;"></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTDWmxFUAGCyq9VCY1KguFj-5MbEd9RlHdHUQ0Kv1pahrerD3PFFI1VlNgD8-riv5kJf8Bt-8Qry2750e8i2ADevqKksRXPQxJ0-YoS_-VgGcKxba8-mWDn8XdDCxqmjWfAyaZZghMD1BB/s2048/014DDD7D-776C-49ED-BFD5-FD95B7A14A83_1_201_a.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTDWmxFUAGCyq9VCY1KguFj-5MbEd9RlHdHUQ0Kv1pahrerD3PFFI1VlNgD8-riv5kJf8Bt-8Qry2750e8i2ADevqKksRXPQxJ0-YoS_-VgGcKxba8-mWDn8XdDCxqmjWfAyaZZghMD1BB/s320/014DDD7D-776C-49ED-BFD5-FD95B7A14A83_1_201_a.jpeg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Spuddy snacks!</span><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-size: small;"></span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: small;">Beacon Hill and its surrounding area is pillbox central - pillboxes being small defensive fortifications from the the second world war built as a line intended to steer any advancing army away from them and if they chose to confront them, to hopefully occupy and hold-up the advance for a short while.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;"></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOCd9C0ufU3dPAOvBjX5heVPdaf9wHp7Pf95vOKGh9u8f517hLQHeyEgeUrxhz-NURAuylDmMyNtvaz5KjZUfn_G8e6bpdXsFExz5-1JNoWkP-wl9KabxjqhCPPRV5OCeYuJEtST8_cXY9/s2048/839B6A4E-9FAF-4AF3-B175-6E8575F84A24_1_201_a.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOCd9C0ufU3dPAOvBjX5heVPdaf9wHp7Pf95vOKGh9u8f517hLQHeyEgeUrxhz-NURAuylDmMyNtvaz5KjZUfn_G8e6bpdXsFExz5-1JNoWkP-wl9KabxjqhCPPRV5OCeYuJEtST8_cXY9/s320/839B6A4E-9FAF-4AF3-B175-6E8575F84A24_1_201_a.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">One of the many pillboxes (taken on another run)</span><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-size: small;"></span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: small;">Passing plenty of them we made our way through the woodland before our descent towards the village of Crondall commenced with Spud perfecting his stile hurdling as we bog trotted from squidgy field to squidgy field. Crossing one we passed some curious miniature donkeys before we hit the outskirts of Crondall and a golf course.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5bSQU4tpJeVjSK3IZkCoXBl93rp1Y2ydOkrStB0xMoDrZrm8qI_N0gnLb5s5diZXlwksHEqfDteZWFGdM3PP6Lax3Crba3gj5A8gCyv-13sHBzcjxK27XkJp1MJQD1EcjvG2fAwhh0lCT/s2048/4F2E9330-0828-45C3-B84F-5FE5881ACEE1_1_201_a.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5bSQU4tpJeVjSK3IZkCoXBl93rp1Y2ydOkrStB0xMoDrZrm8qI_N0gnLb5s5diZXlwksHEqfDteZWFGdM3PP6Lax3Crba3gj5A8gCyv-13sHBzcjxK27XkJp1MJQD1EcjvG2fAwhh0lCT/s320/4F2E9330-0828-45C3-B84F-5FE5881ACEE1_1_201_a.jpeg" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: small;"><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYHU1L__P9Q2ab_91uBLJWWEzXSqV8LsYLAPTHMqDfTovjwz2R3NjY0kxCU2seh0lykvo8ppwBfzVLKGXesExh40xmBUODM6MIJH8rWDLFd9mAQeCH5h3_HaedbacWdFdY0iKofCsWpVIQ/s2048/189FC6ED-6F66-4E72-AF71-61F885986E0B_1_201_a.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYHU1L__P9Q2ab_91uBLJWWEzXSqV8LsYLAPTHMqDfTovjwz2R3NjY0kxCU2seh0lykvo8ppwBfzVLKGXesExh40xmBUODM6MIJH8rWDLFd9mAQeCH5h3_HaedbacWdFdY0iKofCsWpVIQ/s320/189FC6ED-6F66-4E72-AF71-61F885986E0B_1_201_a.jpeg" /></a></div></span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: small;">Traversing the edge of the golf course in the rough we came across the sight of a recently deceased young badger, probably one of last year’s brood. Trying to hold a very curious Spud back I was able to get a close enough look at it to see there were no visible signs of damage to it from a vehicle impact. It jut looked like it was lying there asleep. My arse this was natural causes though, the poor fecker’s demise was most likely down to being poisoned by the golf wankers, what with it right on the edge of the course and badgers being notorious diggers for food and carving-up fairways and greens as a consequence.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0-UKerganePpOeDUnVabAUbr9V0dh3OmAiQqN9jLDDdE57YEbZdD9hUkX3dXd6r_-_rDDvR6LZ-6o8ZGZPhyqTyCUbEiAhAcrMCmBGmOPMtiaRrBx-BrqvcN3qOnFc8eEu-J26tzesdFt/s2048/20DC021A-0D47-401C-B744-361F9C14047A_1_201_a.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0-UKerganePpOeDUnVabAUbr9V0dh3OmAiQqN9jLDDdE57YEbZdD9hUkX3dXd6r_-_rDDvR6LZ-6o8ZGZPhyqTyCUbEiAhAcrMCmBGmOPMtiaRrBx-BrqvcN3qOnFc8eEu-J26tzesdFt/s320/20DC021A-0D47-401C-B744-361F9C14047A_1_201_a.jpeg" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: small;"></span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: small;">Through Crondall we hit open farmland as we approached the penultimate trig point. I could see it as a tiny spec on the top of the hill from a few miles away as we left the village. The weather had clouded over now the afternoon was upon us and the wind was picking-up, but not enough to drown the sound of skylarks on the wing and occasional squawks of ‘posh chickens’ (pheasants). Some of the fields had been planted with crops of rape seed and the first of the plants were beginning to bloom… Only a couple of weeks and they will be a sea of vibrant yellow flowers glowing at you from afar and they bring hayfever sufferers to tears.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;"></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDH7gYAOw5CCK-q4mVJ9kMy4wM_rXqQJYzH5lYsv6EN86N-EuBwH9FcwoB2ipFeS4n_j4PZ2iRKWyhu7Zc6uYxI1JdooQZq1JLp5i2nzEWEmADb4w6lBfvaqQLr2iTQr2LE9hcluI41-R0/s2048/024864E5-6B5D-44F5-ABBF-474B115690FA_1_201_a.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDH7gYAOw5CCK-q4mVJ9kMy4wM_rXqQJYzH5lYsv6EN86N-EuBwH9FcwoB2ipFeS4n_j4PZ2iRKWyhu7Zc6uYxI1JdooQZq1JLp5i2nzEWEmADb4w6lBfvaqQLr2iTQr2LE9hcluI41-R0/s320/024864E5-6B5D-44F5-ABBF-474B115690FA_1_201_a.jpeg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">First of the flowering rape.</span><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-size: small;"></span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: small;">On the summit by trig point #6 it was a bit blustery. From here you have the best view of the day, a proper 360 degree panorama (its only really possible to see a proper vista from points #4 & #6) and with moody clouded skies it made the long slog to see it worthwhile. The view you have in part is over the runway at RAF Odiham, an airbase that has been in use since the mid 30s. Bizarrely during the war, even though it was a front-line airfield it was never bombed by the Luftwaffe, all the more surprising when the village that it takes its name from was attacked as well as other surrounding villages. It turned-out there was a reason and that was Hermann Goering had ordered the base was to remain untouched as his plan was for it to become the headquarters for Luftwaffe operations post invasion. By all accounts this form of ‘non molestation order’ remained in place throughout the war.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQaLjRmW1z2ys0ijPkR_Blw9xcw7EaunAKyLisyTnztSzk7uOYaAQ82bya7UiZNmsv76vA_58S2cLwtgRqudME9sYBmr97uac1sUrZDsyOtTY3xMn284Qy7t7EwEMQRC2cwcS3BQBki5UD/s2048/07B29EBE-2D5F-46F0-9071-B06F122CD927_1_201_a.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQaLjRmW1z2ys0ijPkR_Blw9xcw7EaunAKyLisyTnztSzk7uOYaAQ82bya7UiZNmsv76vA_58S2cLwtgRqudME9sYBmr97uac1sUrZDsyOtTY3xMn284Qy7t7EwEMQRC2cwcS3BQBki5UD/s320/07B29EBE-2D5F-46F0-9071-B06F122CD927_1_201_a.jpeg" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: small;"><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNqslWRf87RtrXUn9xSuT8LTi9YWyyUZMkOMGmU7lMswKfyfWM6Us4vwlHKOKn7mfzbeZYX8Wuu2yQL1hQkBg73wVbLVNxMG89AX5U5k4fyc6F3Rba2TmXGbe3Wg0ib4mdb_vf5QglNZrN/s2048/7F38ADD4-9903-48CA-A6F2-D9AF42FEFC3E_1_201_a.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNqslWRf87RtrXUn9xSuT8LTi9YWyyUZMkOMGmU7lMswKfyfWM6Us4vwlHKOKn7mfzbeZYX8Wuu2yQL1hQkBg73wVbLVNxMG89AX5U5k4fyc6F3Rba2TmXGbe3Wg0ib4mdb_vf5QglNZrN/s320/7F38ADD4-9903-48CA-A6F2-D9AF42FEFC3E_1_201_a.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLiK2dLP2PlGmAo_hSw-snUVOEnMM6ja8g3TzOrTUS2AVBJdLNS4lMMXqgEDe2Y5yf1VBsaclKnOfQA94VBVwLRYraMMbqukDNiKwXfxcNOtRWMxHsztXwgbwkYG76Do3uPi8jC2HNZqYh/s2048/F038A227-D171-4E6C-BCD8-5BB86EC8C1C2_1_201_a.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLiK2dLP2PlGmAo_hSw-snUVOEnMM6ja8g3TzOrTUS2AVBJdLNS4lMMXqgEDe2Y5yf1VBsaclKnOfQA94VBVwLRYraMMbqukDNiKwXfxcNOtRWMxHsztXwgbwkYG76Do3uPi8jC2HNZqYh/s320/F038A227-D171-4E6C-BCD8-5BB86EC8C1C2_1_201_a.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">6/7 with the best views of the day.</span><br /></td></tr></tbody></table></span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: small;">Just off from the crest of the hill and the trig point in the direction of the runway there are some small ring shaped earthworks. It would seem a bizarre place to have these on such a small-scale - essentially what remains of a couple of ring ditches, however I remembered from Blackbushe when I was growing up something similar over there, with mounds of flint stones still present in ring shapes and a metal pivot point still in the centre: these were the locations of the anti aircraft batteries. So here on the side of a hill just shy of the top overlooking the runway at RAF Odiham, I suspect it was a site of one of their defensive anti aircraft guns!</span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;"></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiesoH5fUCj5MbYdazl7vqmT4eW5M9417QN4oZmiLFuZZ72Qm5WSMWO6BDUObjMV468pzwN5wIlrEGUwmlwtMSBUDkfjc2yszfkK1IeYaK95J8aYhjJVCSqkHxwHNp2SmKfe2XxmqKA1NVd/s2048/2007.048.239_1.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1584" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiesoH5fUCj5MbYdazl7vqmT4eW5M9417QN4oZmiLFuZZ72Qm5WSMWO6BDUObjMV468pzwN5wIlrEGUwmlwtMSBUDkfjc2yszfkK1IeYaK95J8aYhjJVCSqkHxwHNp2SmKfe2XxmqKA1NVd/s320/2007.048.239_1.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Anti Aircraft gun emplacement.</span><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-size: small;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqskZl0Mw4qMBzstHewO1S1sn00N55i-dc06uS-sg8HF4f_b9GjZa25jkHKeP9MJwOnnaw7B2vD6csZtnu26wExU1ZVSb5q0krCRHg8I7CMk-ds0F6dvSDubdkJi65JNyS_wCcr3jcgBIM/s2048/4D174F78-C7F1-4E5E-B5E5-DA45BE997F38_1_201_a.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqskZl0Mw4qMBzstHewO1S1sn00N55i-dc06uS-sg8HF4f_b9GjZa25jkHKeP9MJwOnnaw7B2vD6csZtnu26wExU1ZVSb5q0krCRHg8I7CMk-ds0F6dvSDubdkJi65JNyS_wCcr3jcgBIM/s320/4D174F78-C7F1-4E5E-B5E5-DA45BE997F38_1_201_a.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Earthworks that look like it was for an anti aircraft gun.</span><br /></td></tr></tbody></table></span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: small;">Feeding Spud the last of his snacks we made our way down and northwards towards the final trig point of the day on the other flank of <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/RAF_Odiham#Fighter_role" target="_blank">RAF Odiham</a>. Originally a fighter base in WWII these days it is the base for the Chinook heavy lift helicopters and they are a daily sight and very distinctive sound in the area.<br /><br />To get to #7 we had to go through the periphery of the base’s complex, picking our way through its married quarters and passing the main gate’s guardian: a restored wokka wokka airframe.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;"></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggmMqOV8E_3NElK0OVzSEPQVyvVsJsFj0ngM45HHSF4uaUf2bNrWdxrP89OkF5AKz-O5Bg2Jryj2j8OCBiDfxnvKLyfTQu_fs8ubVznr65dyOAOxt4TQh2b4sTAYdBqIji7BhRbbHndyDh/s2048/6F4882F0-9DE5-4518-8EB5-6993AC8AC727_1_201_a.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggmMqOV8E_3NElK0OVzSEPQVyvVsJsFj0ngM45HHSF4uaUf2bNrWdxrP89OkF5AKz-O5Bg2Jryj2j8OCBiDfxnvKLyfTQu_fs8ubVznr65dyOAOxt4TQh2b4sTAYdBqIji7BhRbbHndyDh/s320/6F4882F0-9DE5-4518-8EB5-6993AC8AC727_1_201_a.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">The Chinook guarding the main gate of the airbase.</span><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"></span></div><span style="font-size: small;"></span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: small;">Across the road from the entrance to the base and we were at our final destination, the world’s worst trig point! They may have been constructed with a clear line of sight but this one now sits hidden in the middle of a thicket with zero visibility of anything, a reminder of the advance of time and how quickly nature rightfully reclaims from man what we put on the planet.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;"></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcmLUF8lS2TxsfcCTrgbtgHWG-Jq7d79FGz50w2dEBGTHkyBYUZ_iqUnhnPoCQHvmyLNvTRDzl13OF4rsTZNS3csbeHWkaW_El3hlIz9T0Fp1s-TG3rCvvdq6w2KQrIjWDcbhb70tM7mpp/s2048/86C2FCCC-0D69-47BF-8E71-A64EAC21A5FC_1_201_a.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1536" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcmLUF8lS2TxsfcCTrgbtgHWG-Jq7d79FGz50w2dEBGTHkyBYUZ_iqUnhnPoCQHvmyLNvTRDzl13OF4rsTZNS3csbeHWkaW_El3hlIz9T0Fp1s-TG3rCvvdq6w2KQrIjWDcbhb70tM7mpp/s320/86C2FCCC-0D69-47BF-8E71-A64EAC21A5FC_1_201_a.jpeg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">7/7 in the thicket.</span><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-size: small;"></span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: small;">From here it was just a couple of miles home and a well-earned chance to put our feet up... I’d promised to make home-made burgers for dinner so I had this properly on my mind, especially as I’d forgotten to eat properly all day! Over the 38 miles I’d only eaten 2 energy bars, a pack of jelly and slurped 4 gels, mostly through forgetting to have something to eat rather than on purpose so it is hardly surprising my energy levels crashed a few times!.. When you look at it, with Spud managing to eat his way through half a Matteson sausage and half a block of cheese, I think he had more than I did. The reality is it was just my stupidity that caused this by not keeping a proper eye on the time to ensure I had something at regular intervals as I was carrying far more food than I consumed!</span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxOlgpDlag8WbCkC5bYzCnXidrXrrEWw9D8vUCPzG7ZSQUpWEd44q-Uaf-sQ4Y_JybBPtuXtoA6GPeQ8J2B7OnBxUP2i76tGNaT_q8nhnkiXlrd-UMuTTBSWhkDvLurpWfKqLhvca67v2i/s2048/37E395E0-04C9-4698-A44D-C1D3E7A52F25_1_201_a.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxOlgpDlag8WbCkC5bYzCnXidrXrrEWw9D8vUCPzG7ZSQUpWEd44q-Uaf-sQ4Y_JybBPtuXtoA6GPeQ8J2B7OnBxUP2i76tGNaT_q8nhnkiXlrd-UMuTTBSWhkDvLurpWfKqLhvca67v2i/s320/37E395E0-04C9-4698-A44D-C1D3E7A52F25_1_201_a.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">One tired spanner!</span><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;"></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcCcKLDaq2kz0LkOmaCX8kv_KQSqRJDBKn0NTs_Xro-RZ7-XURovbJMsJSrHwbZGC4Hi533qHrxlUkc6S0s78YkxWs1X-jHRyyAqSP6LKd_XcbIyOTb_BA0o8qxrby_Kvb5iObDq7UlOSw/s2048/A83D2A5D-A2BC-4580-B385-FBD559FF0256_1_201_a.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcCcKLDaq2kz0LkOmaCX8kv_KQSqRJDBKn0NTs_Xro-RZ7-XURovbJMsJSrHwbZGC4Hi533qHrxlUkc6S0s78YkxWs1X-jHRyyAqSP6LKd_XcbIyOTb_BA0o8qxrby_Kvb5iObDq7UlOSw/s320/A83D2A5D-A2BC-4580-B385-FBD559FF0256_1_201_a.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Pure post run filth!</span><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-size: small;"></span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: small;">Despite my performance dropping off a cliff after the marathon distance, I made it around the circuit in the time I anticipated with no apparent ill effects beyond the fatigue related, which was a bonus and Spud was not harrumphing either despite his extended ‘walkies’! Did I enjoy it? As a different day out on my feet then yes, even if just for taking-in the sights and sounds of the local area and noticing the changes in wildlife habitats as we went. Noticing the change every few miles makes you realise how lucky we are in Britain to be spoilt by such variety. Will I repeat it though? Probably not! I’d be more likely to do so if I were to skip the ‘bagging’ of the Blackbushe trig and instead just skirt around the northern side of the airfield on the trails there. Running along an ‘A’ road facing oncoming traffic at 70mph is not anywhere near approaching fun at any time even if the verge hadn’t been a continual trip hazard. Having gone to that trig point the once and it offering no view at all, I certainly don’t ever feel the need to go again.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;">After an almost unpunctuated year of virtual races and localised running challenges that have seen me 'confined to barracks' so-as-to-speak, there's a race for me coming-up a couple of weeks after Easter: the Endurancelife Sussex marathon. The date has been bumped back by a month from its normal place in the calendar to fall inside the Covid reopening of society, so hopefully this guarantees it will be a bit warmer and will look a little bit different in the fresh blooms of spring that will have well and truly sprung by then. To say I'm looking forward to it is an understatement and hopefully doing this little local adventure will help have me in decent nick to toe the start line.<br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><br /></p><p><span style="font-size: small;">Eat pies.<br />Drink beer.<br />Run far.<br /><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;"><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></span></p>Shoeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06168576054186785526noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5645767874738367526.post-61144999670829900532020-09-13T13:19:00.000+01:002020-09-13T13:19:17.155+01:0013th September: Endurancelife Exmoor, the return of some prodigious fun!<p><span style="font-size: small;"> To riff off Eminem:<br /><br />Guess what's back, back again<br />Racing's back, tell a friend<br />Guess what's back, guess what's back?<br />Guess what's back, guess what's back?<br />Guess what's back, guess what's back?<br />Guess what's back?<br /><br />RACES ARE BACK!.. Although in a very limited different way to what we knew before the plague descended upon us.<br /><br />Last week Endurancelife held their rescheduled Classic Quarter ultra down in Cornwall, their first ‘Covid secure’ event and yesterday saw their rearranged coastal trail races over on the coastal trails of Exmoor.<br /><br />Loads of members of the running community have rightly doubted the wisdom of holding any form or organised event involving mass participation - I can see where they are coming from and I was intrigued as to how the organisers would cope with the social distancing regulations which are now the norm in every aspect of our daily lives within a race environment.<br /><br />In a way Endurancelife were able to play to their strengths from the get-go. The biggest one being their race locations: always on trail and for the most part remote, so you are well away from town centres and for the most part people in general!.. Plus there is their experience of well over a decade of successfully putting on multi-distance race-days<br /><br />The event base today was in the middle of nowhere in a cliff-top field, which runners were not supposed to really access beyond bag dropping. The toilet block had been moved from its normal location of the base into the parking field the other side of the road and to use them you were required to hand sanitise beforehand.<br /><br />The event briefing had been done online, race numbers had been sent in the post with Endurancelife moving to an RFID timing chip set-up from their traditional system of ‘dibbers’ so as to remove more potential points of human contact. You are allocated a start time before the race based on your submitted estimate of a finish time so everyone is streamed from fastest to slowest which reduces the chance of overtaking. Whilst awaiting your start time the instructions are to remain in your vehicle (or away from the starting zone if you don’t have one), until 5 minutes before your slot.<br /><br />As you approach the start you queue on a line of crosses spaced 2m apart until you reach the front and are unleashed onto the course having been told some reminders of the new course rules by the marshals: use the hand sanitiser that is now part of your compulsory kit before you open any gate, no headphones to be worn at ANY time and no ‘drafting’ of fellow runners - if you must overtake then you do so as soon as you are able and distance yourself from your fellow runner once passed, with no contact supposed to happen between competitors unless they are in their own ‘bubble’ together already… We’ll come across the aid stations later!</span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;">Driving down the night before the race, a few miles from where I was going to park for the night I had a massive shock when a Red Deer stag, crowned with a mahoosive set of antlers decided to jump out of the roadside hedge right in front of me as I approached doing about 50, nearly making me resemble a fucked-up wild west-country version of Boss Hogg in his motor! Fortunately he saw me coming, thought better of making contact with the van and becoming my hood ornament and jumped straight back into the hedge! Heart still pounding a few minutes later I parked as close to the event base as I could and hunkered down for the night.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;"></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrVGMPVmbDcReLDIZoD4kJyvMvlGuRVmAjIIvvPf1lAT7UUSkCg9oK3BvSshdKBztwP5doaLrMFaV66nZiE3DOOhrB1O9tFvFFHBn3GkNFl2BKWsSoFBPRqVm0L8hWx6-51afQcXfw3Gt0/s2048/7313FA90-86BF-4FA2-833E-FA9D609390DE.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrVGMPVmbDcReLDIZoD4kJyvMvlGuRVmAjIIvvPf1lAT7UUSkCg9oK3BvSshdKBztwP5doaLrMFaV66nZiE3DOOhrB1O9tFvFFHBn3GkNFl2BKWsSoFBPRqVm0L8hWx6-51afQcXfw3Gt0/s320/7313FA90-86BF-4FA2-833E-FA9D609390DE.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">The view from the van!</span><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"></span></div><span style="font-size: small;"></span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: small;">Waking to a view over the Bristol Channel to Swansea and breakfasting on black coffee and LSS’s excellent patented granola I busied myself readying for the start. I ‘hailed the prophet’ one final time and walked the short distance to the start queue to be unleashed upon the course. Being fat and slow, I had been given a start time at the back of the marathon field, which was half an hour earlier than the normal start time, so at least I’d be home half an hour earlier than I would have been if it was a ‘normal’ race day regardless of how I perform.<br /></span><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYtGaoaQjQ7-Jtq5G2pw2cUGtQ8kSFuAm9rLX43xMDPjddlDR6E7rOxfQMqDnqwwshg6LPEfwuxdI-G85-43kqQoK1TjpwDuPDM3hOzDUonTVNzLSnTVy08wl8FbNfcv8nrpHm1iXT_WAn/s2048/RIMG3922.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1152" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYtGaoaQjQ7-Jtq5G2pw2cUGtQ8kSFuAm9rLX43xMDPjddlDR6E7rOxfQMqDnqwwshg6LPEfwuxdI-G85-43kqQoK1TjpwDuPDM3hOzDUonTVNzLSnTVy08wl8FbNfcv8nrpHm1iXT_WAn/s320/RIMG3922.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><p><span style="font-size: small;">The marathon course was a figure of eight with the easterly loop about 2/3 the distance to 1/3 on the westerly and much to the Pet Shop Boys’ & the Village People’s chagrin, we go east from the off. This first loop takes you along the coastal path past a christian retreat, with its eery sight of a trio of giant cliff-top crucifixes, to the village of Lynton and a trip inland to the beautiful National Trust property at Watersmeet and the cascading river flowing through it.<br /></span><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhwMIv9WSwj1WlbJRWNrIGruXfH-kdx_puCWUSbc0KNGihRKS1f__vj48jZPX51CVnd90dj3Mp9cJUlhpxrNn2Ae2g2bHv18sEbC_lnUWhO2y_rGDuqWGT1p4S3JeHwgwys78jG_11FT0y/s2048/RIMG3923.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1152" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhwMIv9WSwj1WlbJRWNrIGruXfH-kdx_puCWUSbc0KNGihRKS1f__vj48jZPX51CVnd90dj3Mp9cJUlhpxrNn2Ae2g2bHv18sEbC_lnUWhO2y_rGDuqWGT1p4S3JeHwgwys78jG_11FT0y/s320/RIMG3923.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><p><span style="font-size: small;">Running back up on to the coastal path I was on autopilot following the familiar route from years past… However where the aid station normally is, there was nothing to be found, so I plodded on as I normally do. Soon though it was obvious I had missed a sign for the turn to the first aid station as I now found people heading towards me! Like a salmon heading upstream I moseyed my way in the direction they were coming from and saw the aid station around the corner through a churchyard, having neither gained nor lost distance.<br /></span><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQtiAm2VsfzAgZfJVJ5pc6ebgyeTl5SgS4Ymu2wCJYl5QSj-YlPKo0ohS7aPzAi0MKChuqjxxSEFb-BSQ_X7pZDPmPyVVRFK31_OBMDqo0Oh10TErF2SLSt7X5-BIPdMVIhgEr8OfVXM7X/s2048/RIMG3927.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1152" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQtiAm2VsfzAgZfJVJ5pc6ebgyeTl5SgS4Ymu2wCJYl5QSj-YlPKo0ohS7aPzAi0MKChuqjxxSEFb-BSQ_X7pZDPmPyVVRFK31_OBMDqo0Oh10TErF2SLSt7X5-BIPdMVIhgEr8OfVXM7X/s320/RIMG3927.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><p><span style="font-size: small;">As I ran through the graveyard in sight of the station, passing through its ornate wrought iron gate, one of the adjusting straps on my race pack snagged on a spiked part of the decorative iron work and all of a sudden I found myself swinging horizontally through the air before crashing into the ground in an undignified mess, my strap still on the spike but the webbing on my pack now torn off at the bottom of the shoulder strap… Picking myself up from the floor and detaching myself from the gate I made my way the final few metres to the aid station where I had to effect an emergency pack repair with a couple of safety pins to be able to wear it and carry on!</span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgemUwNCfxqcMLF8tXNYmA_HqjN64MS7p8CPzAQxUkMD4bfuKBmfRDeB3tUrMopFpUzery6_WeXgOqGLvTd_zX_uovJ-pI4X7IJidg51xaOO3hgl68TTFIa2rRYUhnsFkBvP0eyHShRWDNZ/s2048/RIMG3952.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1152" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgemUwNCfxqcMLF8tXNYmA_HqjN64MS7p8CPzAQxUkMD4bfuKBmfRDeB3tUrMopFpUzery6_WeXgOqGLvTd_zX_uovJ-pI4X7IJidg51xaOO3hgl68TTFIa2rRYUhnsFkBvP0eyHShRWDNZ/s320/RIMG3952.JPG" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: small;">The aid stations at Endurancelife events have always been minimalist as they have consistently made a major point about people running with the highest degree of self sufficiency. They still had their normal fare of biscuits, jellies and crisps, however rather than just being able to dip into a tub as before, now they were in individually sealed in packs as provided from their manufacturer, with bananas sitting whole rather than halved.</span><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqD4ImYQ901V-JgiRcY04zbg9pku-ppG_7aWYntXXTy5HSDQ1YMgO5e5guY9-RaGFA4aYM3Ak9g_Rqol9o9jnUp3fH5CX45r9fn3oYPGp2KOm2klRh2WWPO1uh6Fqy3nAYOjesBgIxIXgA/s2048/RIMG3941.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1152" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqD4ImYQ901V-JgiRcY04zbg9pku-ppG_7aWYntXXTy5HSDQ1YMgO5e5guY9-RaGFA4aYM3Ak9g_Rqol9o9jnUp3fH5CX45r9fn3oYPGp2KOm2klRh2WWPO1uh6Fqy3nAYOjesBgIxIXgA/s320/RIMG3941.JPG" width="320" /></a><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;">Gone were the manually operated water bowsers of the past, with the water going into your own cup, bottle or bladder (Endurancelife has been ‘cup free’ for years). What was in its place was an ingenious foot-pump system for you to dispense water for yourself in a hands-free manner.</span><br /></div><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzP6afKZ5Yy03hfCpPBxx6hHp4ntS59EffJJjjAUckJMg1FE9C3e8XR84Rz4QHSxHM44rAJqcjky6HPUiU2Xi2kRKpXU3RmN0N6bsmAaN9iF2ggYSEa0eNHtYeMvwae3ilDMnYLqgIoj_N/s2048/RIMG3940.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1152" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzP6afKZ5Yy03hfCpPBxx6hHp4ntS59EffJJjjAUckJMg1FE9C3e8XR84Rz4QHSxHM44rAJqcjky6HPUiU2Xi2kRKpXU3RmN0N6bsmAaN9iF2ggYSEa0eNHtYeMvwae3ilDMnYLqgIoj_N/s320/RIMG3940.JPG" /></a></div><p><span style="font-size: small;">Those manning the aid stations were maintaining distance at all time and ready to step-in should emergencies arise fully PPE’d up of course!<br /></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDfcbO6pZk9Vg_b4eSqPuVh5JNxSSmqnQsxD6Zq6n-PMsDYxe2RkMJFtn_9HoFUD5jjcn08_Q_kPgby9T22fSeH-FjiSGchIP0wZp1OTgHr43R2fko6JoOetKk2c1mdlfW5KH9DFFEvfJB/s2048/RIMG3931.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1152" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDfcbO6pZk9Vg_b4eSqPuVh5JNxSSmqnQsxD6Zq6n-PMsDYxe2RkMJFtn_9HoFUD5jjcn08_Q_kPgby9T22fSeH-FjiSGchIP0wZp1OTgHr43R2fko6JoOetKk2c1mdlfW5KH9DFFEvfJB/s320/RIMG3931.JPG" /></a></div><p><span style="font-size: small;">As the morning progressed, the temperature rose with broken sunshine for most of the day, fortunately large swathes of the course are in shade under trees or on the cliffs which naturally shield you from the direct rays of the sun, that said the temperature and humidity was creeping up the whole time, though fortunately a gentle breeze took most of the heat away once up high or in the open. Normally when this is run in early April, if you have the misfortune of it being on the first proper ‘hot’ day of the year when the sun is out and the mercury nudges the early twenties, it is sheer unadulterated hell for all as nobody has been able to acclimate to such weather - at least now at the end of summer we are now used to being out and about in a bit of heat.</span><br /><br /><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1ZN9Tjv3ofsK3ZlJ8lJNcFwvsv1PnlqXrGO4bwPNkSJGaDCA6kIoSu6WSXxkIkksc0bBorTDVX5eqReEe8px8hlQy_xAmmixTxSduzzAmoGfh8vsxlgqVZoGH31k4521TbgcGtLIt6-1r/s2048/RIMG3928.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1152" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1ZN9Tjv3ofsK3ZlJ8lJNcFwvsv1PnlqXrGO4bwPNkSJGaDCA6kIoSu6WSXxkIkksc0bBorTDVX5eqReEe8px8hlQy_xAmmixTxSduzzAmoGfh8vsxlgqVZoGH31k4521TbgcGtLIt6-1r/s320/RIMG3928.JPG" width="320" /></a><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;">Back out on to the course and there was the stunning couple of miles of steady descent in to Lynmouth, before the evil of the switch-backed climb to the top of the cliffs once more as Joe and Joanne Public queue for a trip up the climb on the funicular railway rather than doing what us idiots do!</span></div><p><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqRZ3biYGCXpeK_7qBcf8bTh6BF-pKNYg9mEKqOk0m-DRdp8y-8luuXCqhJ1SNKgj2Nx87jR9Q2vaeI-BDlp5_syiukz5XSU_lKDQquzpR9yG-wBL4SOC9lEXtyVVIKWsikvKqSFzmp-Ap/s2048/RIMG3930.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1152" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqRZ3biYGCXpeK_7qBcf8bTh6BF-pKNYg9mEKqOk0m-DRdp8y-8luuXCqhJ1SNKgj2Nx87jR9Q2vaeI-BDlp5_syiukz5XSU_lKDQquzpR9yG-wBL4SOC9lEXtyVVIKWsikvKqSFzmp-Ap/s320/RIMG3930.JPG" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span><span style="font-size: small;">Once atop it was a jaunt though the 'Valley of the Rocks’ and a close encounter of the goat kind - they roam wild in those parts but are so well camouflaged you tend to smell them rather than see them, however I did catch sight of one of the horny beasts!</span><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnlDGMOftTOg6ui0_2BhUZLpDiuDrG6sw5goTjlZD8LxShS4u-TMn38UAve4WR6BgDqxwEalAxjZrkwoHlGfCqLsTI8LHhocCG6huobE-d6iIvGZBN_vlMYPMNM6VC5LKtFdcuDFGUOID1/s2048/RIMG3933.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1152" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnlDGMOftTOg6ui0_2BhUZLpDiuDrG6sw5goTjlZD8LxShS4u-TMn38UAve4WR6BgDqxwEalAxjZrkwoHlGfCqLsTI8LHhocCG6huobE-d6iIvGZBN_vlMYPMNM6VC5LKtFdcuDFGUOID1/s320/RIMG3933.JPG" width="320" /></a><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;">The goat was not the only diversion as the monotonous hum of engines could be heard and I noticed approaching down below in the sea was a jetski race chasing along the coast with about 20 riders flat out bouncing across the chop of the waves. It must have been an endurance based race as they disappeared eastwards then a couple of hours later reappeared from the north before heading west.</span></div><p><span style="font-size: small;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJaJJvAaqM7ZrcyWahgL3Vpezle3oK7TD5-aWC20VbJSb9_QGZi-CMg4ZhQfPtyrZgb6_Nm2Q0NbHXEwJegR3LJOTzjGxb7uRPj0HXsL9lB4wsHhiizBaO4Ev1FK9ygiOqaaBUbYOgzprf/s2048/RIMG3934.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1152" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJaJJvAaqM7ZrcyWahgL3Vpezle3oK7TD5-aWC20VbJSb9_QGZi-CMg4ZhQfPtyrZgb6_Nm2Q0NbHXEwJegR3LJOTzjGxb7uRPj0HXsL9lB4wsHhiizBaO4Ev1FK9ygiOqaaBUbYOgzprf/s320/RIMG3934.JPG" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: small;">Soon the first loop was coming to an end. Rounding the headland just as the descent was about to start I found myself up close and at eye level with a Peregrine Falcon out hunting, scanning the cliff and the vegetation far below for some scran. Descending through a waterfall along the way and cooling off in its stream, the valley floor was found and another slog from sea level to cliff summit commenced as the westerly loop began in earnest.</span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: small;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixOqApwJ4P8_I3-hS88J4l6SLZ5GaeweZkc6nOUhZcf0-KuwrNTG4wYVbuPOrOF5BRIHmN5DzMcb3sU8xVA_34aktQvq3YdJcLty2N6zznlzNlrFvXOesr1Pe6Xfx26vtJtl2n1kHxU1Ux/s2048/RIMG3937.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1152" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixOqApwJ4P8_I3-hS88J4l6SLZ5GaeweZkc6nOUhZcf0-KuwrNTG4wYVbuPOrOF5BRIHmN5DzMcb3sU8xVA_34aktQvq3YdJcLty2N6zznlzNlrFvXOesr1Pe6Xfx26vtJtl2n1kHxU1Ux/s320/RIMG3937.JPG" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: small;">One of the major differences of running this course as summer wanes and autumn rises, rather than from winter into springtime when it is normally held, is you get to appreciate how lush and green some parts are now rather than the dull or barren sight you are used to, offering you a whole new perspective on an otherwise familiar sight. The most marked change was seen when crossing the moor on the westerly loop: I revelled in the contrast between the dull sables of the winter’s moor being replaced by an effervescent riot of purple heather and yellow gorse all round… And I saw plenty of it as there was an enforced last-minute route change that led us across the moor’s breadth rather than cutting over the summit with a trip to the summit cairn.</span><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB2qiGiVEURCIMWmbJ7jljuj-j2nVtdGGmlaFxQS3Hx875DsiLjmy5BNzMamqqoXpIUsV7Lvx4Qw4rKZ8rL_6Fa4yfsVCHTmPZgaaFuYSoBnno-ClhAcqWPS24qaar2BY5sv40TKLFETBg/s2048/RIMG3949.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1152" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB2qiGiVEURCIMWmbJ7jljuj-j2nVtdGGmlaFxQS3Hx875DsiLjmy5BNzMamqqoXpIUsV7Lvx4Qw4rKZ8rL_6Fa4yfsVCHTmPZgaaFuYSoBnno-ClhAcqWPS24qaar2BY5sv40TKLFETBg/s320/RIMG3949.JPG" width="320" /></a><span style="font-size: small;"> </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: small;">When I had hit 19 miles, shortly before the penultimate aid station, the wheels properly came off and I was flagging - breathing out of my arse and utterly cream crackered. The marathon course has the small matter of around 1.75 miles of vertical ascent over its length, which after doing the majority bar the final 2 climbs had me realising how out of condition I was for tackling ascents, especially in this concentration! The last serious amount of ‘vert’ I did in a race, or really in general, was back in February at Endurancelife's South Devon marathon and over in Brecon the week after… Just before everything went in to lockdown and all racing shuddered to an instant halt.</span></div><p><span style="font-size: small;"></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5KJ6GDZ4fbZgCITa27G7vUT4mqwDKupVslNvPw_iVYkaFr1AWQlQhmam2VEyOFZXpMXNVa8Fm9WWLYsi6vkluKiODtGfsF19-EiQSG2VJJLYtV4GxVFEjP2fc6jjmOctxw8rqQ04PZnBF/s2048/RIMG3946.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1152" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5KJ6GDZ4fbZgCITa27G7vUT4mqwDKupVslNvPw_iVYkaFr1AWQlQhmam2VEyOFZXpMXNVa8Fm9WWLYsi6vkluKiODtGfsF19-EiQSG2VJJLYtV4GxVFEjP2fc6jjmOctxw8rqQ04PZnBF/s320/RIMG3946.JPG" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Not mushroom on the coastal path.</span><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-size: small;">Since lock-down kicked-in I’ve been running yes, but running around where I live which is pancake by comparison! I’ve been out and done plenty of miles in the interim, but with regards to prep for hardcore trail races, these miles have been ‘junk’ miles: miles for the sake of just being out there ticking over, rather than specifically targeted miles for training towards the required terrain… Boy did I feel this now, mind you plenty would be in the same boat today and I doubt anyone was complaining as we were all just happy to be out here doing what we love.</span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: small;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYtnMRiWhzdSZl5R6X2b9RSoIHtIa0bJVihiQxuPb4OGD4xf7wcnbId_FJKxzIB2DpDPaq6ianK9uo1LAGTgO9Sc0eRmzn_WdXRbZag49HmEfzgN9Z7hyphenhyphenis_CL08s2Agm981r1Mmj6VTsT/s2048/RIMG3947.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1152" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYtnMRiWhzdSZl5R6X2b9RSoIHtIa0bJVihiQxuPb4OGD4xf7wcnbId_FJKxzIB2DpDPaq6ianK9uo1LAGTgO9Sc0eRmzn_WdXRbZag49HmEfzgN9Z7hyphenhyphenis_CL08s2Agm981r1Mmj6VTsT/s320/RIMG3947.JPG" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: small;">Reaching the aid station I took some time to regain my equilibrium by sitting on the grassy slope equally warmed by the sun and cooled by the breeze whilst munching a banana and taking in the view over the undulating cliffs and the calm sea below. You certainly don’t get aid stations with views like this in any town centre race… Well you don’t get any there full stop at the present time!</span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;"></span></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjnYbU9jJEAVJYIJPkVoPmoMSZgsD0zylSU9X3OIBhYgLQeBWJBe_P50S19eTyPDSq06AOCgcCm1IxwQG-yl5ccO1pqolt3lHhj2ZGPKZvWVf50co7tCDwvdsp333LVH4YypMnxuVpcIQG/s2048/RIMG3948.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1152" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjnYbU9jJEAVJYIJPkVoPmoMSZgsD0zylSU9X3OIBhYgLQeBWJBe_P50S19eTyPDSq06AOCgcCm1IxwQG-yl5ccO1pqolt3lHhj2ZGPKZvWVf50co7tCDwvdsp333LVH4YypMnxuVpcIQG/s320/RIMG3948.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Chilling at the aid station.</span><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-size: small;">Semi refreshed I plodded onwards knowing that it was only a matter of grinding everything out to a finish: head down and slog it out. Soon I was at the final aid station - placed with just 2.5 miles to go because you have an evil 2 miles of climbing over that distance and gritted my teeth, girded my loins, pulled up my big-boy pants and just ground it out to the finish, both exhausted and relieved.</span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: small;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGmBWCYbtuLGskc-9jdole0HvtHEcglBLDKqRhqRl_140gJOoXoetNyz-6OyyK34ic4OJqbkT6iIc9DbDXyCKblOxijPGfjPGUZcv-TBspQxaq6WM9Bwq9MbeLC3uEbwfWVZta4ubCeCKl/s2048/RIMG3950.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1152" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGmBWCYbtuLGskc-9jdole0HvtHEcglBLDKqRhqRl_140gJOoXoetNyz-6OyyK34ic4OJqbkT6iIc9DbDXyCKblOxijPGfjPGUZcv-TBspQxaq6WM9Bwq9MbeLC3uEbwfWVZta4ubCeCKl/s320/RIMG3950.JPG" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: small;">All things considered I felt this first race experience in a time of Covid worked well. A great deal of thought has gone into this by Endurancelife to minimise the impact of the virus on the race-day experience. They have adapted to overcome in a successful manner that really did not diminish the event for me, what with being a back of the pack plodder and used to being out there on my todd with no company for hours at a time, although the lack of the mass start is a bit of a shame, but needs must and all that.</span></p><p><span style="font-size: small;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1vCyPk042WJlsSIchBdRdUgyK7VUcFAtmJdxKrxswxlhqFjt0HJl1DdluURQWjG5yL-avgCnqlDHpVJlo7Tuv_TqTr7Niug3Re1tR4ERj9ZGLY_B0ZO4xPp3GJuE8zLWDoeLUmrneaLAq/s2048/RIMG3951.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1152" data-original-width="2048" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1vCyPk042WJlsSIchBdRdUgyK7VUcFAtmJdxKrxswxlhqFjt0HJl1DdluURQWjG5yL-avgCnqlDHpVJlo7Tuv_TqTr7Niug3Re1tR4ERj9ZGLY_B0ZO4xPp3GJuE8zLWDoeLUmrneaLAq/s320/RIMG3951.JPG" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><p></p><p><span style="font-size: small;">The above point though does form part of the one major notable change, which I know is also a big concern for the organisers. Taking away the race briefing and the mass start as part of the necessary changes it has to an extent sucked the buzz, the hubbub, the atmosphere you get from the interaction of a crowd of excitable people out of the event as a by-product of everyone having to be forcibly kept apart! The thing is this will be the same EVERYWHERE you go for races from now on and is a trade-off we will all have to get used to if we wish to carry on racing. Races will become less of a shared communal experience and more of a solo show. Endurancelife have proved they have found a workable formula to hold events as Covid secure as can be that a lot of other event organisers will no-doubt be paying attention to and probably incorporating the same into their own ones, as most people will come to the same conclusions when facing an identical problem. One thing they are finding problematic though on the logistics side, is the issue of permissions from landowners and councils for access. With how things are changing daily and sometimes hourly, even whilst in constant contact with the relevant people and organisations there are and will be last minute route changes, sometimes at the eleventh hour, as permissions are withdrawn. This just adds to the headache of organising an event but at least with plenty of plan b’s, c’s and probably d’s in place the inconvenience will be overcome in a seamless manner for those out running.<br /><br />Bring on the next (Covid secure) race!<br /><br />Eat pies.<br />Drink beer.<br />Run far.</span><br /></p><p><span style="font-size: small;"> </span><br /></p>Shoeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06168576054186785526noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5645767874738367526.post-34723249028097919532020-06-16T00:53:00.000+01:002020-06-16T00:54:09.503+01:00Bone conductor headphones<font size="3">I have to admit it, I like them as a concept but I have had a mixed bag of results with them so far.<br /><br />With the England Athletics ban on headphones in races that are not of this type, bone conductor headphones are becoming a necessity if you wish to listen to any tunage in races they sanction, so here’s my experiences with them so far.<br /><br /></font><div><font size="3">The first pair I had were Aftershokz Sportz M3’s which were one of the early models and corded... I initially bought them thinking they would be just ‘plug and play’ like normal headphones, however after purchasing these still need to be charged to drive the speakers inside them with a charge lasting an advertised 8 hours… Which would make them able to last a marathon for me, however not really suitable for an all-day ultra (or anything beyond more than 35 miles) or on a long bike ride.</font></div><div><font size="3"><br /></font></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWCC1xYaMgvZLe_h4I-TLKqQd4DbjzDt-1wo_ZkHvGyF9yL4s_mS0b-Q97pRmJkl4q2PCmYolWfqTRF05mxwLVETIDuxJHky0fNQUuAE2JR9qMPNfv7YDzMmjLUr-vCZjOo9gUV2K-J44C/s736/92497202-b1418216939.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="736" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWCC1xYaMgvZLe_h4I-TLKqQd4DbjzDt-1wo_ZkHvGyF9yL4s_mS0b-Q97pRmJkl4q2PCmYolWfqTRF05mxwLVETIDuxJHky0fNQUuAE2JR9qMPNfv7YDzMmjLUr-vCZjOo9gUV2K-J44C/s320/92497202-b1418216939.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><font size="2">Aftershokz Sportz M3</font><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><font size="3">Soundwise the reproduction was great for running and when out cycling in still weather. Once I got over the slightly weird sensation of being able to hear what I was listening to as well as the ambient noise all sound me, I enjoyed wearing them. They also always remained in place without slipping no matter how hot and sweaty I was getting.</font><br /></div><font size="3"><br />I did notice though that the sound level was limited to a point where whatever you are listening to is drowned-out when cycling by wind over about 10mph or when in a slip-stream at speed downhill, unless you use ear plugs, which kind of defeats the whole purpose of using them in the first place!<br /><br />Learning to work within their limitations, for a while all was good, however after about 6 months they developed a fault that lead to one ear intermediately crackling, which progressed from just the intermediate until eventually dying a couple of weeks later.<br /><br /></font><div><font size="3">I looked-up the warranty and Aftershokz sent me a replacement pair, their at the time equivalent model in production: the Titanium Sportz.</font></div><div><font size="3"><br /></font></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf9mQWlGU48Ud2zabMgVxxl1aw1bhPiYXNd-IMJsfOWsKra1s2X4f4YrrO6XwJFLskQlgWSOgesEWX0bHNOkZUQ0zjiacIqtYBZlGk0jkndGSEGTeIH4z87nXxUY9FJ5JIE14P-giUbiXv/s969/aftershokz-sportz-titanium-headphones-exdemo-exdisplay-blue-black-EV322896-5085-1.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="638" data-original-width="969" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf9mQWlGU48Ud2zabMgVxxl1aw1bhPiYXNd-IMJsfOWsKra1s2X4f4YrrO6XwJFLskQlgWSOgesEWX0bHNOkZUQ0zjiacIqtYBZlGk0jkndGSEGTeIH4z87nXxUY9FJ5JIE14P-giUbiXv/s320/aftershokz-sportz-titanium-headphones-exdemo-exdisplay-blue-black-EV322896-5085-1.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><font size="2">Aftershokz Titanium Sportz</font><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><font size="3">Sonically they performed almost the same as the M3’s, however they had changed the design relocating the battery pack and button control to near the headphone jack from its previous position that could clip to the neck of a top or a lapel.</font><br /></div><font size="3"><br />When I say near to the jack, we are talking around 10cm, so the larger battery pack had to sit next to your phone and would continually bang against it with natural movement, or if worn on your arm in a pouch, would continually slap against you due to its size, a design issue which made it unwieldy and cumbersome... A size that would lead to the destruction of my pair. The long and the short of it was the box had flapped its way out of my pocket and was swinging freely, then got caught on the arm of an office chair and snapped the 10cm cable from the box to the jack clean off: ruined in an instant.<br /><br />I contacted Aftershokz again for a warranty replacement, but they refused to give me a new pair as the date of my request was 3 days beyond a year from my purchase of the original pair, with the replacement pair not having any separate warranty on them.<br /><br />2 pairs of headphones, both trashed within 6 months of very light use: only when running, cycling or a walk to the pub one evening a week! Not good when you are paying £30-£50 for a pair of headphones; you suspect them to be far more robust than that, so I made the conscious decision to abandon the brand and the paid premium associated with it.<br /><br />Around a year after I decided to take the plunge again when I noticed knock-offs of the M3’s were retailing for around £25 as it must have been the old design and the tech within had been licensed to 3rd parties for manufacture. Again though as with the original M3's, the headphones lasted a similar amount of time before the crackling returned and one ear died!<br /><br />Something that also had not really bothered me before when wearing them but did the second time around was the cable… I was wearing the cable underneath my shirt to avoid it flapping around and potentially getting snagged and damaged whilst active, however it kept slipping down my back and pulling the headphones down a little, which necessitated pulling the cable back out of the shirt every 5 minutes. Also the clip for the battery box did not grip that tight so it would work its way off the net of the shirt and bounce around under your shirt as it worked its way down, which was doing my head in after a while!<br /><br />Safe to say I was fed-up with the wired ones and their inherent issues after three pairs biting the dust in short time with light use. As a consequence I decided to abandon them although I am still sold on the concept of the headphones, more for running than cycling due to the sound levels in the wind, so I had a look at the marketplace for a pair of bluetooth ones having heard good things from people in my club about their performance.<br /><br /></font><div><font size="3">I soon found a pair of R9’s on eBay retailing new for the same price I had paid for the knock-off M3’s, so at that price it was sensible to give them a go.</font></div><div><font size="3"><br /></font></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhidz0Bk_sWkUobUTpH7HFU_031naDmkwX5Pmfdb19qxZdpX0Qs0Dl2pJGwHqPcurxS3UCGtEL3qKNrtg1ndP3buClLruNP6BNqeyvbM_-KIjQt51q1fk0U1w6SgHTXhUx2D_zcnWc55GvV/s640/s-l640.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="640" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhidz0Bk_sWkUobUTpH7HFU_031naDmkwX5Pmfdb19qxZdpX0Qs0Dl2pJGwHqPcurxS3UCGtEL3qKNrtg1ndP3buClLruNP6BNqeyvbM_-KIjQt51q1fk0U1w6SgHTXhUx2D_zcnWc55GvV/s320/s-l640.jpg" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><font size="2">R9's</font><br /></td></tr></tbody></table><font size="3">Battery life is promising 6 hours - which was not too much short of the 8 Aftershokz promised, so again suiting me for use in a run up to a marathon in length on a charge, although in longer activities I will still be using ordinary old-fashioned cabled headphones on my iPod Classic (no bluetooth there anyway!) to preserve the battery life on my phone.</font><br /></div><font size="3"><br />Weight-wise they feel no heavier than the previous models, however without the pull of the cable they feel much better, forgetting they are on you - again they do not shift from where they rest where you place them in front of your ears, so all round so far so much better than the cabled varieties - also something I have noticed is the drain on the phone battery using bluetooth is actually less than listening through cabled headphones believe it or not!<br /><br />So there you have it, if you’re looking at bone conductor headphones for your running, take a look at the bluetooth, forget about the cabled ones!<br /><br />Eat pies.<br />Drink beer.<br /></font><div><font size="3">Run far.<br /></font></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div>Shoeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06168576054186785526noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5645767874738367526.post-47287167105271158252020-06-10T22:30:00.000+01:002020-06-10T22:30:10.408+01:00Inov8 Trailroc v More Mile Cheviot Pace<div><font size="2">This is a review of 2 halves - my new(ish) daps from the extremes of the market: Inov8 at the top, and More Mile Cheviot Pace at the bottom. Both trainers are supposed to serve the same function of hard packed trails, the tread on the lugs for both is intermediate.</font></div><div><b><font size="2"><br /></font></b></div><div><b><font size="2">Inov8 Trailroc 285</font></b></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMAE9ucj8vNqtmY-q__OMQFl3Os8Hp112aYVdw9tdpLUrWO83Srvtm3Sy8PaU8DYAYA_L2sGDrSlcHvmuNHs5jFsUmEJuFjTYvFUl8N8jZM-tk0ysFrB1MHG5XEhOhkJ0PQjcg-LSD0ls9/s1000/INO1237_1000_4.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="1000" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMAE9ucj8vNqtmY-q__OMQFl3Os8Hp112aYVdw9tdpLUrWO83Srvtm3Sy8PaU8DYAYA_L2sGDrSlcHvmuNHs5jFsUmEJuFjTYvFUl8N8jZM-tk0ysFrB1MHG5XEhOhkJ0PQjcg-LSD0ls9/s320/INO1237_1000_4.jpg" /></a></div><font size="2"></font></div><div><font size="2">A good friend of mine has had to give-up running on the advice of his quack after having his knee rebuilt - unfortunately for him he had recently bought a pair of Inov8 Trailrocs and they now sat there with only about 50 miles on them mugging him off in his hallway, so he wanted shot of them and asked what size I was… Fortunately for me, the same as him!</font><br /></div><font size="2"><br />Being a tight-arse I never tend to go above £30 for a pair of trainers, with the most I’ve ever spaffed on a pair being £45, so Inov8 have never really been an option for me with their retail mark being £50 if you’re very lucky in the sales up to around £120, with this pair sitting at £70-£130 in the market place depending on where you shop.<br /><br />I’ve been out and about in them for a few months now over various distances from 5 miles to 50k and have found them to be very comfortable and absolutely ideal for hard-packed trails. With the reinforced toe-box they seem to be the perfect shoe for those hard-packed mountainous lake-district trails… Just a shame to think I won’t be able to get up there to try them out.<br /><br />They compare quite well to my Scarpa Neutron 2’s which are designed for the same purpose, however I find the Scarpas to be a bit more comfortable and the grip to be better all round.<br /><br />While effusing over their ability on hard packed trails, the first time I took them out for a spin it was for the last of the Southern Cross Country League races where we had a mix of trails - on the hard packed and mettled sections they were great, but when the slightest bit of mud came into play, dear god they were shite! I was all over the place like Bambi on ice. The shallow lugs offered 4/5 of fuck all in traction at the merest hint of mud, to the point running was impossible and even walking in anything slightly muddy was sketchy in the extreme!<br /><br />I’m up to 225 miles in them now and to be truthful they are showing wear and tear on the upper of the right foot - though strangely not on the left! Also on the soles, the lugs are now rapidly scrubbing down to nothing on the outstep of the heels, a product of the way I run and the trails being like concrete at present with us having had fuck-all rain since I’ve had them! Looking at how the upper will eventually fail, hopefully it will not be a structural issue and allow for more wear and hopefully get me up to around the 350 miles marker - as a comparison I’m over 400 miles into the Scarpas and the only wear and damage on those are from falls.<br /><br /></font><div><b><font size="2">More Mile Cheviot Pace</font></b></div><div><b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm1qCjmMfLYfmO3a1hn89VTsf3rTNLX8boiT8w5DPfkfmeXQCREmqaqBRWzxcjQAj0hV_iCKqYhmzcQb9tGaKqVhyphenhyphenUZjvAKxdH00Qi_eugWrF-f6ZV4I75uGddDEbFR2boOAxnNzvGLS9g/s290/more-mile-cheviot-pace-mm2870.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="290" data-original-width="290" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm1qCjmMfLYfmO3a1hn89VTsf3rTNLX8boiT8w5DPfkfmeXQCREmqaqBRWzxcjQAj0hV_iCKqYhmzcQb9tGaKqVhyphenhyphenUZjvAKxdH00Qi_eugWrF-f6ZV4I75uGddDEbFR2boOAxnNzvGLS9g/" /></a></div></b><font size="2">Around the same time I had my stroke of luck with the Trailrocs, I had decided to take a punt on a pair of More Mile ‘Cheviot Pace’. The original Cheviot trainers have been my go-to for winter running where grip has been needed and at £30 a pair the fact they only go for 200 to 300 miles on average has not really been an issue as they have seen me through each winter season and the £/mile ratio has been superior to what other people get out of premium brands in the same conditions.</font></div><font size="2"><br />When I saw that More Mile had brought out an intermediate tread trail trainer which was essentially the same as their Cheviot but with far less of a lug to them I had been intrigued. Normally I run in Karrimor trainers for intermediate trails, which have till now been priced around the £30 mark, however they seem to have upped their starting price to £40 and coupled with the fact they are made by Sports Direct, the ethically problematic retailer with how it treats its staff, the time to give the Cheviot Pace a try had arrived.<br /><br />Most of my recent running has been in the Trailrocs, however I have managed to rack-up to 80 miles in them so enough to give them a review - and as you’d expect they are not showing damage at present.<br /><br />Grip-wise these are like chalk & cheese to the Trailrocs, behaving as you would hope in the mud, providing enough traction but nowhere near as much as their bigger brothers’ do - which is completely understandable. Fit wise they are roomy for me, even with my flippers for feet, however they do fall-down in one regard: comfort.<br /><br />As with the other Cheviots, they are a bit spartan in the cushioning department. That has never been too much of an issue when out on the soft winter trails as the terrain itself offers some cushioning, however with the very dry spell we’ve had for the last few months, I’ve found the Cheviot Pace’s to give the soles of my feet a bit of a battering with the lack of cushioning, to the point I’m considering putting insoles in them for going out on the harder trails, or just forget about them until the trails are a bit softer and rely on my Asics in the meantime.<br /><br />I suppose the question is would I buy another pair of either of them? Once I’ve trashed this pair of Trailrocs… You know what, probably not - I would be more likely to give a go to the Scarpa Spin RS8’s which are the replacement for the Neutrons (once I’ve gone through those as well), which come in at slightly cheaper than the Inov8’s however at £68 they would be the most expensive pair of trainers I’ve bought, although at in excess of 400 miles before the Neutron’s failed I think that is decent enough value for money.<br /><br /></font><div><font size="2">On the Cheviot Pace front - I’ve already bought a second pair in anticipation of the demise of the first - mostly because the price point of them is what I would hope to pay for a pair of trainers, and so long as I can manage the discomfort factor of concrete hard trails, which is not really what they are for running on, I’ll be fine!</font></div><div><font size="2"><br /></font></div><div><font size="2">Eat pies.</font></div><div><font size="2">Drink beer.</font></div><div><font size="2">Run far.<br /></font></div>Shoeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06168576054186785526noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5645767874738367526.post-15310839928073928162020-05-30T10:11:00.004+01:002020-06-03T23:49:05.791+01:00Running in a time of Covid (with apologies to Gabriel García Márquez).<span style="font-size: small;">This tumult, this wave, this tsunami that has swept the world certainly hit us blindside. The what’s the how’s, the why’s and the wherefores of what we are currently experiencing will be argued and debated for decades along with the responses of those who are appointed by us to protect us all, but I’m not here to juggle that hot potato; I just want to sketch-out what its been like as a keen runner and what I’ve seen around me… And to mitigate against the tedium of the voluminous text there’s plenty of trail-porn punctuation from round my way to make this easier on the eye!</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBDvgClQO2lKURTpI8m0L-rDXGL1hZ5VlNTTKYxrn6_7bPKWs3Nm3f8mXmqeRbZH9GzBlhCBGoFnpe6XX42NrHoAssgCAjZTVrLT4wOfaAfnC6DjEvpoMTi6t1_z4CXcGuN6VREEkCqChI/s1600/fullsizeoutput_1b8d.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBDvgClQO2lKURTpI8m0L-rDXGL1hZ5VlNTTKYxrn6_7bPKWs3Nm3f8mXmqeRbZH9GzBlhCBGoFnpe6XX42NrHoAssgCAjZTVrLT4wOfaAfnC6DjEvpoMTi6t1_z4CXcGuN6VREEkCqChI/s320/fullsizeoutput_1b8d.jpeg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Nature abhorring a vacuum.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Like many I blundered blindly into the light of 2020 with clear vision of what was to come: a calendar that was largely planned, races scattered liberally throughout the year where everything kicked-on as normal for the first two and a bit months, before things went somewhat awry!</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihTF8z695ZPEB19rVCdp6VJGVCLgqwUm3RQ3ZJSC5QF_YEoV7Sc8NMs2IHG2pvnkwW5OPpk_EdjxVacFJ2X5bc7ah6f4y_g8K0P3POujCFk7ieYUCTQ_EEAOc_ezrbCeVFaf7HS6z7ZCmw/s1600/fullsizeoutput_1b91.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihTF8z695ZPEB19rVCdp6VJGVCLgqwUm3RQ3ZJSC5QF_YEoV7Sc8NMs2IHG2pvnkwW5OPpk_EdjxVacFJ2X5bc7ah6f4y_g8K0P3POujCFk7ieYUCTQ_EEAOc_ezrbCeVFaf7HS6z7ZCmw/s320/fullsizeoutput_1b91.jpeg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Waning sun through King John's Castle.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">The racing calendar has been wiped-out wholesale. As the weeks progressed from late February races long and short fell by the wayside. Spring events now rescheduled to the autumn. With all the races scrambling for available dates, the smaller events waited for the behemoths like London & Paris to commit to one before they did and potentially lose runners to a date clash. Summer events just deferred till 2021. The autumn races for the most part are still tentatively on, but now in a very crowded schedule that has found their dates squatted on by the rearranged spring events which will likely impact the pool of potential runners who now find themselves committed to running elsewhere. Even these races though are all very much subject to change.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlTkujN3-eLobu8oAJnfYQiBlVDkWTPE-noF67nn8BhBEQzFh4I53iSglyLyp61fYSrqU_HonNmnOiL9MMcfT6Agk4lSJTXSTi_CoWEQKu9CkxTMcYYtSy2AUN18IgxEs_fWB-Ihgx20E3/s1600/fullsizeoutput_1b98.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlTkujN3-eLobu8oAJnfYQiBlVDkWTPE-noF67nn8BhBEQzFh4I53iSglyLyp61fYSrqU_HonNmnOiL9MMcfT6Agk4lSJTXSTi_CoWEQKu9CkxTMcYYtSy2AUN18IgxEs_fWB-Ihgx20E3/s320/fullsizeoutput_1b98.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Hand grenade flower art in a pillbox @ Dipley Mill</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">My main aim this year was building to a 3rd time lucky attempt at the Lakeland 100 and I had planned my calendar accordingly: building distance in races as the months progressed with frequent road trips in between them, specifically for hill work, to the Jurassic Coast and the Brecon Beacons. All of this though fell immediately to the wayside when the plague came knocking on our doors and we were locked-down to our immediate area… Something that could have been far, far worse as those living in France, Spain and other countries who have been literally ‘confined to barracks’ can testify to as they gazed enviously at us as whilst we ventured out for a notional hour of exercise a day.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkB4q_LcKTZOULgFJI0TYfXQk39A4DQ9srz1eABhdC_UyrzAnW7rhHoCMivAsHrNzBpuYe3h2Cmk8L7Q8fcdXS87HZz2ia7RfXezBqiDymIAyVFf3foT0MzGyYSDrBFUHKMB87TFH0_mJk/s1600/fullsizeoutput_1ba6.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkB4q_LcKTZOULgFJI0TYfXQk39A4DQ9srz1eABhdC_UyrzAnW7rhHoCMivAsHrNzBpuYe3h2Cmk8L7Q8fcdXS87HZz2ia7RfXezBqiDymIAyVFf3foT0MzGyYSDrBFUHKMB87TFH0_mJk/s320/fullsizeoutput_1ba6.jpeg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">A soggy Spud on the dry spud field.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Across the country the racing rug has been pulled out from under all of us runners and we have all had to adapt accordingly. Whilst I’ve seen how others have coped across Britain through the ubiquitous power of social media, the easiest way to look at this is to start in my immediate surroundings and the running club I’m a member of, Hook Runners.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixAreTZ6cQByZ0PGTAX0NHN6GkvMXbi0tqCv0ieqM7g0WUVOZGyazH21jqOVkkrgI1pCAHeyRRuFz1GGf04ygGoRX2gdS39cz9YPUPD6ih04H7jB7cUG5L06GZDjKh43l21eLR3nASwPf8/s1600/fullsizeoutput_1ba9.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixAreTZ6cQByZ0PGTAX0NHN6GkvMXbi0tqCv0ieqM7g0WUVOZGyazH21jqOVkkrgI1pCAHeyRRuFz1GGf04ygGoRX2gdS39cz9YPUPD6ih04H7jB7cUG5L06GZDjKh43l21eLR3nASwPf8/s320/fullsizeoutput_1ba9.jpeg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Bimble through the bluebells.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">The club, in line with England Athletics’ decree, cancelled all activities at the beginning of the outbreak. Organised coached sessions are normally on offer Monday through to Thursday with group runs on a Sunday morning, but all these vamoosed in an instant. This sudden gaping hole in their running week left members scratching their heads and getting antsy with withdrawal symptoms as they no longer had their regular training fix.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8psZzBD_Lph7XMcETjc-pq4khjkQ99jxxkdMQSPyXti-WOPmfH9waU27mio4AwS8Cve9GnstvHe5QSMKSi1hWo4jeZF48SFgtV81fZxiuCK7ONf1Z6JhjMDnxN0_UhzvQtrJUq97AP2wk/s1600/fullsizeoutput_1bb8.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8psZzBD_Lph7XMcETjc-pq4khjkQ99jxxkdMQSPyXti-WOPmfH9waU27mio4AwS8Cve9GnstvHe5QSMKSi1hWo4jeZF48SFgtV81fZxiuCK7ONf1Z6JhjMDnxN0_UhzvQtrJUq97AP2wk/s320/fullsizeoutput_1bb8.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Dusky ford.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">In a positively reactive way to this change, the coaching team compiled a training plan for members to be able to follow at their leisure, something that was especially welcome for many who after the lockdown now found themselves with the notional hour of daily exercise to play with and a training session that could be completed in this time providing a perfect pairing.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGFYeeD3ZwUvoBf93vgXyAEKOAwkP9wFRM1vYtastlb9nE3G-EuvTGnHoPODerKOdG6zREa6S7JBBIOzrlQ9nbNnVGi5g3GfEodmicK0a41nsuKALFV_iHp6Q_2IT0_yhCCbG9pfKfYUeN/s1600/fullsizeoutput_1bc3.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGFYeeD3ZwUvoBf93vgXyAEKOAwkP9wFRM1vYtastlb9nE3G-EuvTGnHoPODerKOdG6zREa6S7JBBIOzrlQ9nbNnVGi5g3GfEodmicK0a41nsuKALFV_iHp6Q_2IT0_yhCCbG9pfKfYUeN/s320/fullsizeoutput_1bc3.jpeg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">One of the Commonwealth War Graves @ Eversley Church.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">People who would normally be out running together still went out running at their habitual times and began to post pictures of their runs on the club’s Facebook page, in effect running virtually together, the pictures creating a wave of positivity to try and keep everyone’s spirits up.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy2mi63Sv3rbEYJmZQcMQaNLejyOCMZ94RTts9mg_NMpxDovDoJXO-buR1QUvVpbkeFnb429Bi30jsvEUk0hP9j_nMsKxLb0i4GwmdS6FiPYdQ-shzNHhipt7sYOFHabskXDHltXerxpaE/s1600/fullsizeoutput_1bc9.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjy2mi63Sv3rbEYJmZQcMQaNLejyOCMZ94RTts9mg_NMpxDovDoJXO-buR1QUvVpbkeFnb429Bi30jsvEUk0hP9j_nMsKxLb0i4GwmdS6FiPYdQ-shzNHhipt7sYOFHabskXDHltXerxpaE/s320/fullsizeoutput_1bc9.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Former reservoir on Bramshill.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">One member devised a whole bingo card challenge where people could go and tick-off 21 different activities (not all running) over the initial three week period the lockdown was scheduled for. Pictures of random gates in the countryside were posted with people being asked to locate and post their own photo when they located them… Then the coaches devised their own challenge:</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTDzwn1pRy0_GsShLqAulTHv71e10KVucalvT_evet6DJZuUveEJcI4dogw6jOKpgDdvjWQK24HDgvS6iUOnNxCzt0LHRv24NYJE3EyaPo7XeP1JmSYueGC8eOr10m5rjAP0dI1rmpX6yF/s1600/fullsizeoutput_1bd2.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTDzwn1pRy0_GsShLqAulTHv71e10KVucalvT_evet6DJZuUveEJcI4dogw6jOKpgDdvjWQK24HDgvS6iUOnNxCzt0LHRv24NYJE3EyaPo7XeP1JmSYueGC8eOr10m5rjAP0dI1rmpX6yF/s320/fullsizeoutput_1bd2.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Lockdown rush-hour: 7pm at night on the M3!</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Based on the assorted bag of marathons and half marathons that most people were working towards, the coaches challenged people to run their chosen distance as fast as they could in a time they predicted… The difference in this challenge was the cumulative race distance was made-up of 5 set chunks of varying lengths to total the target distance. With it all to be run for fun, the only real caveat was you were supposed to start close to your home and not to be traveling to a point where you could purposely run a negative descent route to fudge a better time!</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirJ9JHt6VhFSCTo6FFISGb5eW4ELnrLuI17mKpdgEq4QS0bjESyic_dZ92RFl_GF7Q97GDgCN5CaXEQpkPF3u5uiAq6oqubljMK1uu8DM6TXAKKRQfC7UNVrimUa-wg6kRh0dm283qR4hu/s1600/fullsizeoutput_1bd3.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirJ9JHt6VhFSCTo6FFISGb5eW4ELnrLuI17mKpdgEq4QS0bjESyic_dZ92RFl_GF7Q97GDgCN5CaXEQpkPF3u5uiAq6oqubljMK1uu8DM6TXAKKRQfC7UNVrimUa-wg6kRh0dm283qR4hu/s320/fullsizeoutput_1bd3.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">The mill @ Poland Lane.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Anyway, with all of this going on the club’s Facebook feed soon filled with a plethora of positive pictures of sights, livestock and wildlife spotted by runners along the way and plenty of sweaty selfies. It was almost as thought things were continuing as normal, except everyone was always solo rather than in groups.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbU5iZr2bbLn9CWWkdPZZPlRY5_NJPaIfu2vCJ0XH1mcB0ni1IvwlrPGT1QdovCsi6l23H76wgKepQIMHNYOzUHXg9_nG-wKmEDHRChwTyR43nz3AERZm_yILBFe2fqBy1TvlkylPV-EMq/s1600/fullsizeoutput_1beb.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbU5iZr2bbLn9CWWkdPZZPlRY5_NJPaIfu2vCJ0XH1mcB0ni1IvwlrPGT1QdovCsi6l23H76wgKepQIMHNYOzUHXg9_nG-wKmEDHRChwTyR43nz3AERZm_yILBFe2fqBy1TvlkylPV-EMq/s320/fullsizeoutput_1beb.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Nesting swan on the Lyde river.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">The club’s marathon and half marathon challenge segues well into a race that is local to us. Each summer brings the Hampshire Hoppit, a trail marathon and half marathon that is extremely popular with our club members - we had 25 members racing it last year and before lockdown I was already working with a trio of padawans helping them get ready to complete the marathon distance for their first time, the three of them only having completed couch to 5k courses a couple of years back!</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIriH1M5wOu8d-vo4k3D3vHvx2QXZN4vJiRaWQhHS_awHZzUpR3nmYLChLE_sA4W1Utswe7Ki2RY16KGOBRxamRYJWwzJ31DChUORsAQQEWggnh6yZc9I0uOZhnjcICbUpp8UV5woboPSI/s1600/fullsizeoutput_1c1c.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIriH1M5wOu8d-vo4k3D3vHvx2QXZN4vJiRaWQhHS_awHZzUpR3nmYLChLE_sA4W1Utswe7Ki2RY16KGOBRxamRYJWwzJ31DChUORsAQQEWggnh6yZc9I0uOZhnjcICbUpp8UV5woboPSI/s320/fullsizeoutput_1c1c.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Bluebell carpet.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">With the postponement of the race proper for a year, the race organisers have decided to keep everyone focused in what would have been for many an intensive training time for their event by also holding it virtually.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfFNciGx9hiXqPFnzWuoDfzhTpCWwv-wwWxIF_RGp2S6GldsPNxVhHz3LUs0muk-oulhWp9SWBHcUqBYHNqrT6WUwejBM3or0uiYLIFfjhLKtrjGjj3gbxkz7hkIn8X4pbSYQJCg1Fdpot/s1600/fullsizeoutput_1c4f.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfFNciGx9hiXqPFnzWuoDfzhTpCWwv-wwWxIF_RGp2S6GldsPNxVhHz3LUs0muk-oulhWp9SWBHcUqBYHNqrT6WUwejBM3or0uiYLIFfjhLKtrjGjj3gbxkz7hkIn8X4pbSYQJCg1Fdpot/s320/fullsizeoutput_1c4f.jpeg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Be afraid, be VERY afraid!</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">We have seen event organisers who hold race series keep their devoted running customers engaged by holding running challenges, for example Endurancelife organised a 7x challenge where you were to run for an hour a day for seven days at whatever pace you manage with all successful completers entered into a prize draw, with other organisers such as Trail Outlaws & Centurion Running organising their own challenges based around distances over certain days etc.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS9C2RChbgX5QXBzkZ1UX-pc8hsOQg_S9szgLref_z81CYNK-imwJA0O8kIWXfWtnimCAd_fiHc8voYXl3BteHsjx7fsf5z4MW5UNNgOlo1axwB-QX0gYEw1Q9eilI_d3gauFuPB4_kYg4/s1600/fullsizeoutput_1c52.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS9C2RChbgX5QXBzkZ1UX-pc8hsOQg_S9szgLref_z81CYNK-imwJA0O8kIWXfWtnimCAd_fiHc8voYXl3BteHsjx7fsf5z4MW5UNNgOlo1axwB-QX0gYEw1Q9eilI_d3gauFuPB4_kYg4/s320/fullsizeoutput_1c52.jpeg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">The entrance to the fairy grotto that appeared on Bartley Heath.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">All of these clubs and race organisers have found themselves acting as a gel holding runners together as a community through their respective FB groups, helping runners realise that whilst they may be training for events that are no longer on, their experience is a shared one throughout and a focus can be given to their efforts, even if just keeping their fitness ticking over for the time being.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY3ZfEb_GIszKgGRBuZKDixPR-WQtmWK1v3itbyDJhDCGe2YojfVLmQHXfSyDJ_NnAhlUPmJV8u5OALVXpdV5SaGroFu4GPTsEIhyRvPMpzQhzjFd4-tfEsPxdSREvD5s-PlVn3gW9AmI6/s1600/IMG_4986.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY3ZfEb_GIszKgGRBuZKDixPR-WQtmWK1v3itbyDJhDCGe2YojfVLmQHXfSyDJ_NnAhlUPmJV8u5OALVXpdV5SaGroFu4GPTsEIhyRvPMpzQhzjFd4-tfEsPxdSREvD5s-PlVn3gW9AmI6/s320/IMG_4986.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Spud's not sure about the railway tunnel!</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;"> </span><span style="font-size: small;">Running can be both a fiercely independent or a wonderfully social experience. We are all now getting plenty of experience of the former and those lone wolves among us are positively thriving, as they always will, especially with the potential extra lockdown time for their running, however the latter is in seriously scant supply for those who crave and flourish in this way of running. This enforced solitude for sociable types can have an huge negative effect on their mental wellbeing, potentially causing a massive downward spiral into a very dark place for some as they are cut-off from the thing that gives them succour under the current ‘new normal’. This is where for all its well documented faults we have seen how the power of social media has been unleashed as a phenomenally positive force in keeping everyone’s chins up whilst running in this time of Covid.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGK8JUTSimbHndYabGtgPLGIeVj5gdRoZFQPqWr2t2LCthD7qEH4SaofYIsIkPOFcSxVUJKWzsqJJeOt4XAAcOQhXboTTDrd4UfPRM6l6_epZnQDXs5WY_WSKCepb711o86dNFmS_LFTmj/s1600/fullsizeoutput_1b92.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGK8JUTSimbHndYabGtgPLGIeVj5gdRoZFQPqWr2t2LCthD7qEH4SaofYIsIkPOFcSxVUJKWzsqJJeOt4XAAcOQhXboTTDrd4UfPRM6l6_epZnQDXs5WY_WSKCepb711o86dNFmS_LFTmj/s320/fullsizeoutput_1b92.jpeg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Swanning about on the Whitewater.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">What we’ve seen is these groups crammed full of people supporting each other, mostly through showing images of where they are running - with or without their sweaty mug gurning into their phone camera. One group, the #Run1000Miles group on Facebook (of which I’m a member), is no exception. Every day there’s a veritable smorgasbord of the sights seen by people out running. The vast majority are not in noted beauty spots, just ordinary people hitting the streets and trails around their homes all over Britain and elsewhere and sharing what they are seeing, thinking and feeling with the like of mind.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6XRfK4fWCFxP9JOEms1fl0nqMnCSWQSfJnxE0vDXsEin06jOL9uKnUXZCIRdbxDsRRRnDxRKU4CIsr48HGca-IgEc34WGgOhUEUFbdFm-QwyDoLUu0mOgr5CLXMRHqMhhDGLCGZoxzItU/s1600/IMG_4842.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6XRfK4fWCFxP9JOEms1fl0nqMnCSWQSfJnxE0vDXsEin06jOL9uKnUXZCIRdbxDsRRRnDxRKU4CIsr48HGca-IgEc34WGgOhUEUFbdFm-QwyDoLUu0mOgr5CLXMRHqMhhDGLCGZoxzItU/s320/IMG_4842.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Deer.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Over this period of lockdown, the trails (as well as the country lanes) have been heaving with people out and about exploring. I’ve come across people on the more obscure local nettle strewn trails wandering around with small packs on their back with printed maps in hand to guide them. This has been a positive in people are now realising what they have on their doorstep, however it has come at a cost. Nearby is a canal and the tow path has become so busy to be almost processional and impossible to obey social distancing through it being hoaching with cyclists, walkers and runners. It got so bad at one point that there was a punch-up over a perceived lacking of adherence to social distancing with the police becoming involved, so the body that runs the canal has politely requested that all runners and cyclists stay away!</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZ28-ANomQIC-UwAhD5Gz_y9XbKMYifrJHulvKxc0cRs8aYwVIq6etFMR0Kd_Hvdhyphenhyphen_lxzJ-kee6V4Uh7CG7Amiow1IpRhvDL5NZhu8_6TnwJ8s2tsf-JqkZfKVfZs131jYSFIskwfON-n/s1600/fullsizeoutput_1573.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZ28-ANomQIC-UwAhD5Gz_y9XbKMYifrJHulvKxc0cRs8aYwVIq6etFMR0Kd_Hvdhyphenhyphen_lxzJ-kee6V4Uh7CG7Amiow1IpRhvDL5NZhu8_6TnwJ8s2tsf-JqkZfKVfZs131jYSFIskwfON-n/s320/fullsizeoutput_1573.jpeg" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Cowslips.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Another negative thing we have seen over this strange time, something general rather than specific such as the incident above, has been the rise of the phenomenon of the ‘Strava wanker’. This has touched all forms of running, from the Chelsea and England footballer Ross Berkley being called-out for it, to just someone who appears to be your average plodder being busted by some very questionable run stats.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifHXo_NxTqS3C7cQSaYIwtrIYHt48hKJy5jrO-_fTegTt0V_3O2xQxk64FpN95DG8AkED0f57iZS662ilX9dbsKbQk5OSdQHKrFWx9HkrXB-wfGi2zscW1a0HIh94VLpayQvw9Qha4fUUH/s1600/fullsizeoutput_1c38.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifHXo_NxTqS3C7cQSaYIwtrIYHt48hKJy5jrO-_fTegTt0V_3O2xQxk64FpN95DG8AkED0f57iZS662ilX9dbsKbQk5OSdQHKrFWx9HkrXB-wfGi2zscW1a0HIh94VLpayQvw9Qha4fUUH/s320/fullsizeoutput_1c38.jpeg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Spud staring at Tylney Hall from on top of its air raid shelter.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Being a ‘Strava wanker’ involves posting a falsely impressive time for a run. This usually involves the recorded distance being run over several bursts, or intervals, at maximum speed with breaks in between. This is possible on Strava as for every activity it gives you 2 different times: the time to travel the distance and the total elapsed time. For example, Ross Berkley ran a 5k in the immensely impressive time of 16:11, however the time between starting the run and hitting the 5k mark was a very unimpressive 1:05:23! Naturally he crowed about his 16:11 5k but was rapidly and rightly called-out as having actually run a laughably slow 1:05:23 5k… This has shed light on a lot of people out there who are not professional sports stars, are doing exactly the same: run flat-out until you can no longer sustain the pace, pause your Garmin, have a breather, then go for the next leg: rinse and repeat till you finish. All those busted for this behaviour are referred to as ‘Strava wankers’. Another favoured tactic of the them is to run the total distance or even worse, intervals, all downhill! Under lockdown it seems to be becoming a pervasive thing and not in an ironic way. It has even found its way into my running club’s marathon & half marathon challenge times when you examine some of those posted by members!</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmFoVSASAdhQPOEy502H4YFn8g8dA2gNZaZw8fsUqdeUjmLXdLnvEpOR4M_XBo1Pkh6HV6ohNDJo3yzPR2NzeBTpshq7IONoiuT2LgepGLfYbN1-rl4v_KUoXZC0j4eMlQO1e9UzqsecA5/s1600/fullsizeoutput_1be7.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmFoVSASAdhQPOEy502H4YFn8g8dA2gNZaZw8fsUqdeUjmLXdLnvEpOR4M_XBo1Pkh6HV6ohNDJo3yzPR2NzeBTpshq7IONoiuT2LgepGLfYbN1-rl4v_KUoXZC0j4eMlQO1e9UzqsecA5/s320/fullsizeoutput_1be7.jpeg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">LS of LSS.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Ok, so that's my take on what's been happening with folks out there running </span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">this Covid spring</span>, here’s what I’ve been up to since the storm blew in:<br /><br />From watching the news I could see what was about to go down based on what had happened elsewhere in Europe, however I could not be sure of how far things would go with a lockdown, so on the Sunday before BoJo's big pronouncement, I made sure I won on eBay a step machine that was up for grabs a mere 20 miles from home (and it was won for less than the limit I had set so double bonus). We already have a dreadmill in the garage and an exercise bike in the bedroom (clothes hanger?) so if we were all to be confined to barracks indefinitely, then we were all set as we would have a variety of activities to keep up with training activities.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhosHrNGWq73X0zxtu3OCceNGLBLteE4GiW53H-Viyp5QE29ynN31e4CILHZxXL5f6e5mLkKmWX7frEykb36tlan6yBdUdgab7arwyu1nHQKSOwLir9ATud477uhJ_fwCiav0LlIIpeY-G6/s1600/fullsizeoutput_1b9d.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhosHrNGWq73X0zxtu3OCceNGLBLteE4GiW53H-Viyp5QE29ynN31e4CILHZxXL5f6e5mLkKmWX7frEykb36tlan6yBdUdgab7arwyu1nHQKSOwLir9ATud477uhJ_fwCiav0LlIIpeY-G6/s320/fullsizeoutput_1b9d.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Spud was less than impressed with the plastic sheep!</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Still being a pie and a pint short of a fat bastard coming into all this, I resolved to be more active over the duration of the lockdown in the hope of forming a good habit to continue once out of the other side. I took a long hard look at myself and how I could possibly get my fitness to the level required for the Lakeland 100 (which at that point was still on) within the restriction imposed upon me of my immediate location. I resolved to attempt doing a physical activity for at least an hour a day for the duration, even though I was not being given the bonus home time to help in this that those on furlough or those working from home have. Rather than throwing myself into running 7 days a week, to break it up I notionally decided to cycle on Monday, Wednesday and Friday with runs on Tuesday, Thursday and the weekends. I say notionally as the schedule was not intended to be rigid so it would allow me to switch-out activities for other days if the weather was inclement and throw in time on the stepper as a substitute should I be out working too late.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicdT8vrGUZdw5roXpRZJAlFsqZrxkMiGyeOUVPcI0pBRYbS2GWbZrrm4c0o7t_AB3gck6vVimKnyd7F9QuxV0tFjNmxwKCxI-c7Er_I1Az03SVwtI2OaYd2LOE7pbepUSkY37F4RWqv0qy/s1600/fullsizeoutput_1bd7.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicdT8vrGUZdw5roXpRZJAlFsqZrxkMiGyeOUVPcI0pBRYbS2GWbZrrm4c0o7t_AB3gck6vVimKnyd7F9QuxV0tFjNmxwKCxI-c7Er_I1Az03SVwtI2OaYd2LOE7pbepUSkY37F4RWqv0qy/s320/fullsizeoutput_1bd7.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">The black sheep of the families.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Hitting the trail and the country lanes I also resolved to keep doing something different each time and not be a slave to the same routes and have the malaise of repetition set in and dull the fun, keeping my mind stimulated and interested and not switching into autopilot mode!</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih9Pdn79Uq_L4k7RoEFgQbjzjdSe5ghJFFV51_TtJBO_twIwZcWpPQephRkLrIrJHmQIwW9f-uugjGlsAOU83eM4Yhq37v04UQr_O4Izz5eGHRneEHNhpUdonVf60JVq6HSS7DQZz9VeUl/s1600/fullsizeoutput_1c40.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEih9Pdn79Uq_L4k7RoEFgQbjzjdSe5ghJFFV51_TtJBO_twIwZcWpPQephRkLrIrJHmQIwW9f-uugjGlsAOU83eM4Yhq37v04UQr_O4Izz5eGHRneEHNhpUdonVf60JVq6HSS7DQZz9VeUl/s320/fullsizeoutput_1c40.jpeg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Not all glamour: 54 steps up from the motorway underpass.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">I also set a distance challenge to ensure I wasn’t losing-out on long runs with all those cancelled races. The first full month of the lockdown, April, saw me run a marathon on local trails, May had me out running a 50k (which only shared about 100m of the same trail as my marathon), both accompanied by my running buddy Spud - as are most of my runs! June sees me combining the Hampshire Hoppit virtual full and half marathons for a 40 mile run and to round things off in July I’m looking to do either a 50 mile or double marathon… What happens after then I don’t know, however at least I should be in a decent shape when racing resumes once more in the autumn or winter.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi67Ak15lPcey2rdWKK-Qny54lqOhK5mgIWECj26oTnSOju-SXD0r1rqCSd2NZjzJBa4X9g1b5ZbOQltDzOBsPCqOxOMWL-j-QCQZBd47iz1T_bESc2E2pyyod9KYlgMf6xOFqDDqRCBPDV/s1600/fullsizeoutput_1c42.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi67Ak15lPcey2rdWKK-Qny54lqOhK5mgIWECj26oTnSOju-SXD0r1rqCSd2NZjzJBa4X9g1b5ZbOQltDzOBsPCqOxOMWL-j-QCQZBd47iz1T_bESc2E2pyyod9KYlgMf6xOFqDDqRCBPDV/s320/fullsizeoutput_1c42.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">King John's Castle @ North Warnborough.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">At present I’m suffering from a bit of a hamstring twang, the first muscular injury I’ve had for a few years, so I’m unable to run for the rest of this week at the very least. Aside from this leg knack I have seen an immediate benefit of my increase in activity level. So far I’ve dropped half a stone in weight since everything went Pete Tong and my cycling miles are finally catching up with where they should be. At the start of the year I set a goal of cycling as far as I would be running - a target of 2020k and was hoping to hit it rather than spectacularly miss as I have the last few years. However by March I had only managed a paltry 40 miles on the bike, mostly to get Friday night takeaways! A few weeks on since the start and I’m now over the 400 mile mark so looking good to be back on track within a couple of weeks… Cycling wise I’ve also decided to cycle a 50 mile and an audax over the summer months as its been a few years since I did any serious distance on two wheels!</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Dappled sunshine.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Like most, I’m pining for different surroundings in which to run and the ability to take a deep breath of sea air on a coastal trail and a bracing lungful from on a mountain top. However these sights have been there for millions of years and they will still be waiting for me when the lockdown ends, hopefully seeming all that bit sweeter when I can finally experience them once more. In the meantime I’m just making the most of acquainting and re-acquainting myself with the local trails and sights and enjoying what I’m lucky enough to have on my doorstep - whereas others are not so fortunate: stuck in flats in city centres unable to escape to the countryside and where every green space is choc full of other people... And at present with the curse of Covid, hell is literally other people.<br /><br />I hope all of you who’ve taken the time to read these musings cope admirably with your unique personal experience of these strange times in which we currently live.<br /><br /> </span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">Eat pies.<br />Drink beer.<br />Run far (whilst socially distanced).</span>Shoeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06168576054186785526noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5645767874738367526.post-12220386264092079262020-03-11T12:42:00.000+00:002020-03-11T12:42:02.958+00:0029th Feb: Winter Fan y Bagging<span style="font-size: small;">Let’s face it, the weather of late has been foul, properly foul to the point that a LOT of us have been struggling in a rut of motivation and ennui to get out AGAIN in the relentless rain and hippopotami mud. How can you get out of the rut? Well we came up with an answer of sort: ROAD TRIP!</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Let's go to work!</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">A handful of us ‘Hookers’ bundled in to a couple of cars and headed off for the 2 hours it takes for some alternate sights, a different challenge and determined that we would embrace the weather, whatever it was, rather than hide under the duvet once more.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">Back in January Andy had suggested a winter version of the Brecon run he and Graham have previously organised where we would drive to the foot of Pen y Fan and run the ‘horseshoe’ or thereabouts. Looking at the diary he found a date not clashing with anything and invited all who wanted to come.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Looking back down to the car park.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Since settling on the date and now, every week seems to have brought a new named winter storm of varying degrees of severity in wind and rain and this week was no exception to this rule. We were well aware of the forecast of an incoming storm, Jorge this time, so for the last few days leading-up to the expedition we had paid particular attention to the local forecast with safety paramount and the whole trip was in the balance until lunchtime the day before when it became apparent we would have a big enough weather window in the morning till early afternoon to get around. Even then the forecast was for very strong winds with gale-force gusts and snow beyond 400m elevation: the starting height of the run!</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">Gathered in the cold rain of the pre-dawn morning air at 6am outside the village community centre, we drove through the beginning of the storm with its torrential rain to park in the deserted car park at the foot of Pen y Fan. As prep we wrapped-up well with the air temperature here at 2º and unlikely to warm-up, that being with us out of the wind!</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">Setting out onto the walkers path from the car park the climb began in earnest from these first steps. Within 10 minutes the temperature had plunged as we cleared the tree line then crossed the limit where water becomes ice. My right calf was already giving me grief from the strain I picked-up a few weeks back and I was beginning to drift off the group of the others.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">The calf wasn’t the only thing concerning me. Already I couldn’t feel the last 2 fingers on both hands with the extreme cold in the wind, so as I trudged I rummaged in my pack for my second pair of gloves and put them on. Slowly the sensation of feeling began to return to them over the next 10 minutes.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">As we ascended, the more the weather closed-in on us, reaching the first peak of the day at Corn Du we were being properly buffeted by gusts of wind approaching gale force. Balance was at a premium with how icy everything was underfoot. Having good grippy trail shoes for running over mud and snow are absolutely useless for traction over icy rock, so scrambling up this small section of rocky outcrop to the plateau as large flakes of snow whipped past you was tricky.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">When we hit the cairn at the top we were having the snow driven towards us horizontally in near blizzard conditions and a decision on a route was made, changing an initial idea I had had of running down the ridge over Bryn Ten before turning for the path back up to Fan y Big as with the wind direction it would have meant a long 2 mile slog upwards directly into the teeth of it, which would be no fun for anyone!</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br />Once across to the summit of Pen y Fan you have the runnable short sharp drops and climbs as you can move from peak to peak and by the time we had worked our way round to Fan y Big the weather broke and we had vindication in our decision to come here for the run as the views opened-up and we could see for miles around under clear blue skies.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">The route we had decided to run was based on the infamous ’horseshoe ridge’ walk, but doing it as a loop starting at the base of the horseshoe, so we needed to link the bottom of the east and west sides of it by running down from the summits to the valley bottom, across the reservoir in the middle and back up to the top on the western arm.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">From Fan y Big we began our descent to the valley, wending our way over Torpantau and the field of babies heads till we skirted Taf Fechan Forest. This run was energy sapping as you tried to bounce from one to the other in total guess-work as to what your foot was landing on. The gaps between them were essentially bog, freezing bog running with water. Every time you missed a head, or slipped off one you splashed your foot down in to them. Every step was a fresh full foot immersion into the freezing bath and maximum discomfort as you could not get your feet warm from the continual soakings.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br />Eventually we cleared the field of babies heads and descended into the bottom of the valley hitting the reservoir where we had a bit of an unwelcome surprise: building works. Unfortunately all the paths across the reservoir that you would normally take were closed with metal fencing around them whilst they seem to be either removing or re-building one of the smaller holding dam sections where in the past we have managed to cross.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br />Descending from the sub-zero chill on the top it made you appreciate the difference in temperature when you were no longer exposed to the elements, as once on the valley floor it felt positively balmy and our hats and gloves were temporarily removed. Under the clear skies you could think it was summer except for the frosted tips of the snowy ridge. Seeing this though made us realise we were about to climb back up on to the top and confront the wind head-on as the storm-front moved in.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9450-uJ3n3imwnGzDoklVigAANQmpJANMUxJTOE8nfpw3gIKY5LBDVD84hzUEkidedUnFggNm6Z_vB4Bl-ZLctgmcH0sDNLJb3lKS-vtBaSzclowx9lBEIv3jSSw2QYk-uqbtoAKm7bP1/s1600/RIMG3796.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9450-uJ3n3imwnGzDoklVigAANQmpJANMUxJTOE8nfpw3gIKY5LBDVD84hzUEkidedUnFggNm6Z_vB4Bl-ZLctgmcH0sDNLJb3lKS-vtBaSzclowx9lBEIv3jSSw2QYk-uqbtoAKm7bP1/s320/RIMG3796.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><br />Not wanting to detour for a couple of miles we decided to venture towards the main dam and see if we could access it to walk across to the other side. Unfortunately this was not possible as they have it well secured with anti climb fencing, so we had to think again.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">Our option was to drop down to the overspill at the bottom of the dam. Here the flow of the water was a bit too feisty to attempt a crossing without a large risk of being swept off our feet, so after a quick sandwich we followed the river down stream to where we could find a manageable crossing point and a thigh-deep wade across.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fording.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Crossing the river meant we were now on the way up to the other side of the horseshoe and very soon we were beyond the trees and exposed to the blast of the wind and the snow once more as we ascended to the ridge. Running this western ridge we had the problem of the stiffening gusts of wind trying to push us off the edge which focused our attention as we had a grand-stand view of the dark grey of Jorge on the horizon looming larger.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">This last couple of miles on the top were a steady ascent but runable although it required a great deal of concentration with the wind catching you off-balance and the loose rocky path interspersed with icy mud and puddles. At times when you could it made sense to be as far across to the left hand side as you could to mitigate against the force of the incoming winds until we had finished our ‘loop’.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">On our run we had had the luxury of the route all to ourselves except when we joined back on to the main path to and from the summit for the descent to the car park. We now had the pleasure of running downhill like salmon against the tide of people walking to the top of Pen y Fan, staring into their pained faces as they struggled upwards whilst we bounded down, the snow beginning to be whipped-in as the sky bruised noticeably.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">Back in the car park having chalked-off 13 miles including a vertical mile of cumulative climb and the same in descent, what could we do to mark our exploits? Spaniel had the answer and rummaged in his bag in the boot of the car and pulled-out some cheese, crackers and a mini bottle of wine for us all to toast our efforts in style: a grand day out and not a pair of the wrong trousers in sight - ok well maybe one as Graham was the only one to opt for leggings on the run!.. That said with my hamstrings like blocks of ice on the initial limb as I was blasted by the wind and whipped by the snow I could appreciate his logic in choosing a full leg covering.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">I can now say I’ve been up and down the horse-shoe in both summer and winter seasons. Both were absolutely stunning, although there was more running to be done in the summer with the lack of ice underfoot speeding things up. I’ll definitely be back, either as a group or by myself as there’s still plenty of routes up and down and around the horseshoe for me to explore!</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2rmqG2SKg2HBjA7cnYnvJPIJxhaLZHjeCgkqCNi5h6XEIVaK_JE7vLFkcExQvrgdqMhyw5r_tFyYPy3AXnvHsFSYUYa04ZVLshLXPOMZeIl4L_4sE7SDANaIc0YhIagdNlebvh81kxyjx/s1600/RIMG3808.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2rmqG2SKg2HBjA7cnYnvJPIJxhaLZHjeCgkqCNi5h6XEIVaK_JE7vLFkcExQvrgdqMhyw5r_tFyYPy3AXnvHsFSYUYa04ZVLshLXPOMZeIl4L_4sE7SDANaIc0YhIagdNlebvh81kxyjx/s320/RIMG3808.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Oh and I properly killed-off my trainers on the run. I knew they were near the end of their life, but the battering of the babies heads well and truly finished them off!</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Totally totaled!</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Eat pies.<br />Drink beer.<br />Run far.</span>Shoeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06168576054186785526noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5645767874738367526.post-46454488851442479092020-02-03T13:30:00.002+00:002020-02-03T23:45:30.658+00:001st Feb: Endurancelife South Devon Marathon.<br />
<span style="font-size: small;">I was woken at 5 on Friday morning to the unmistakeable sound of LSS praying to the porcelain god as she tried puking-up her toenails whilst alternating with extruding liquid napalm out her other end. Out of the blue the previous night, but thinking nothing of it at the time, I’d developed the ability to shit through the eye of a needle, so I was pretty concerned that our front door should be marked with a big red cross for being a house of pestilence with a plague of a norovirus upon it… Just what you want the day before one of the harder trail marathons out there, the Endurancelife South Devon race on the coastal path down at Beesands.<br /><br />Rather than sitting at home feeling sorry for myself, an inescapably busy day at work followed for me whilst trying to manage my day around urgent pit-stops when they arose: I had 3 jobs to get through: running a new circuit for a hob for one customer, rectifying a DIY job in another house that could better be classified as ‘Destroy It Yourself’ and fitting a storage heater in the final job of the day.<br /><br />Returning home I had enough time to scarf a fish supper with accompanying jumbo battered sausage, clear the van and head down to Beesands. Before leaving I said my goodbyes to LSS from the bedroom door. Understandably after spending a day doing doggies between bedroom and bathroom whilst not knowing what end to point at the toilet, she was still feeling pretty sorry for herself. I didn’t dare go in for 2 reasons, first to try and maximise any chance I had of avoiding going-down with her lurgy, especially with being trapped driving for the next 3 hours and second because you could cut that air with a knife. It properly honked in there! With the window shut, the heating on and 3 dogs having spent the day in bed with LSS, the room was a bit ripe to say the least: we’re pretty-much talking on the level of a teenage boy’s bedroom but minus the crispy socks wedged between the bed and the wall.<br /><br />The drive down was mercifully uneventful and so far so good with my stomach not joining LSS’s in sympathy. At least I had plenty of bog-roll in the van and I was parked close to a public toilet should disaster strike during the night.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUyPXARNwMvnKRXT58qazyuo4zX6Z6CEoxiKGQNEbXShtBGAmjiTGi1faFB2WNa0x-rGKaN9u9X_5J5Jc2C8gxyBQ3Aezub2RrHrxDhtJOV3mKAWKQfID81Mf7OmsJ4kFzx0EUUIVkIjfi/s1600/10207709-D3EE-40F2-A7DB-5B9065570826.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUyPXARNwMvnKRXT58qazyuo4zX6Z6CEoxiKGQNEbXShtBGAmjiTGi1faFB2WNa0x-rGKaN9u9X_5J5Jc2C8gxyBQ3Aezub2RrHrxDhtJOV3mKAWKQfID81Mf7OmsJ4kFzx0EUUIVkIjfi/s320/10207709-D3EE-40F2-A7DB-5B9065570826.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">The starting coral</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Breakfasted and registered it was almost balmy in the early morning air. The sun was out, there was no real chill to be felt. This was going to be an unseasonably clement day for the 1st of February with temperatures forecast between 10-15° C! This felt very weird as I’m more used to being down here freezing my tatters off. I’ve run this race before in the arse-end of a hurricane, torrential rain, the freezing cold. One time I was shot-blasted by hail in a gale-force wind and once the course had to be shortened for our own safety as the conditions were just that little bit too gnarly! This simply wasn’t normal.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhquhmRWA2m9AzLsEwQILKSYrwNSowOG-kt15Jm5TSBEP8xGwE71yUuimmqhtQXilFtS3NK2m5nMM5yyEYux8uIslR7fyNF0DgYPPqurC1mKrHu7uPTwWfzaQhnV2Qx3PfuY6Ex_x4ILAh5/s1600/9175AD3F-8EB1-468E-BAAD-165B8B4C2B67.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhquhmRWA2m9AzLsEwQILKSYrwNSowOG-kt15Jm5TSBEP8xGwE71yUuimmqhtQXilFtS3NK2m5nMM5yyEYux8uIslR7fyNF0DgYPPqurC1mKrHu7uPTwWfzaQhnV2Qx3PfuY6Ex_x4ILAh5/s320/9175AD3F-8EB1-468E-BAAD-165B8B4C2B67.jpeg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Already looking the worse for wear!</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Before travelling I had decided I was going to play ‘trainer roulette’ on this run. I’m currently using 2 pairs that are pretty-much on their last legs. The one in worst shape, my More Mile Cheviot’s, have the uppers failing from side to side, however the integrity of the upper to the sole is perfectly fine which is far more important. They also have the best grip of the 2 pairs, so I had decided to wear them and see what happened. The roulette aspect is there was the fair sized risk they would not last the race. What I did to mitigate this risk and call the bluff of sod’s law, was to shove the other pair in my pack just in case of failure, however by having a spare pair with me I knew it meant there was a racing certainty I would not need them. As a penalty for this insurance policy I would have to lug the weight of the spares around for the whole day, unlike if I just threw caution to the wind and didn’t carry spares, where you know sod’s law is absolutely guaranteed to kick-in to effect and you would definitely need them and potentially DNF!</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">The weather report might have been rosy, but I wasn’t. I was still feeling the effects of whatever lurgy had been lurking at home and effortlessly emptied myself a couple of times before the start whilst dosing myself with imodium and hoping things would stay put for my day on the trails - Yes it was a risky strategy, but I didn’t have much more than hope!</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">Waiting for the hooter I was chatting to one of the Endurancelife crew who said there had been a call to them during the week from a major trainer manufacturer asking to use the event to shoot footage on the marathon course of one of their paid-for athletes using a new pair of trainers that are about to be launched… A new pair of road trainers! Endurancelife pointed-out to them that the race is not a road one and far from it, so wasn’t at all suitable for that kind of trainer as per their entrant’s guidelines for kit. The manufacturer said they were fine with that, so the view taken was ‘on their heads be it’ if the trainer company didn’t manage to achieve what they hoped for with their shoot, so at least they had been warned and expectations could be managed… I just hope that the trainers in question aren’t white as by the time they could shoot their footage on the only road section, they certainly wouldn’t be that colour!</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">Soon we were off into the bright low sun of the cloudless sky and from the very start I was struggling. Every muscle, every fibre of my body ached, but I was not going to admit defeat, especially not now before I was even out of sight of the marquee… I’ve run whilst ill in the past and it is not pleasant in the slightest. This however was an entirely different sensation, not of illness, but one of being sore all over, lethargic, completely drained of energy before the real work has even begun and with over a vertical mile of ascent to be covered along the 28 miles of the route, this is a punisher of a course.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">I realised whilst I was starting slow, I was already getting even slower, but I wasn’t ready to throw in the towel, so it was going to be a case of ‘suck it up buttercup’ and keep on going. I knew it was going to be a tough day at the office to get round, however just after the first mile I could hear myself being caught by a couple in the middle of a full-blown domestic. He was trying to cajole her forwards and faster and she was certainly having none of it - there was still 26 miles to go and it didn’t matter how fast they were going, if that was how they started for them it would be a very loooong day and I couldn’t help but crack a wry smile.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">I put my head down and just went for it as best as I could, taking plenty of pics of trail porn as I went. This first half of the race along the cliffs from Beesands round to the Kingsbridge Estuary is one of my favourite runs to be had and it was great to experience it in sun and good lighting for the first time ever! Rounding the headland for the lighthouse at Start Point we faced right in to the teeth of a wind we weren’t aware was there. The blast properly grabbed you, blowing your cheeks out so you looked like a dog with its head out a car window. Trying to run into the wind it felt you were moving backwards at times as you were buffeted by the stiffest of the gusts.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">Running this section when exposed to the blast was particularly feisty, to the point it was pretty tricky to make much headway or speed, plus with the exposed rock on the path you had to cover it was pretty slippery at times under foot - I nearly went over on my arse a couple of times and rolled my ankle once, at least focusing on this pain gave me something ‘proper’ to take my mind of being painfully slow.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">On this leg we went round Gammon Head. With what had happened the day before during my drive down, it seemed particularly appropriate and I couldn’t resist taking a pic. As a Big Benless 11pm rang-out the previous night, Britain had left the EU and the radio phone-ins seemed to be full of drunken ‘gammon heads’ shouting down telephone lines with a discourse playing out thus: ‘we’ve won, we’re free’, only to be consistently asked ‘What have you won? give one quantifiable example’. Silence then reigned time after time before aggressive shouts of ‘WE’VE GOT OUR SOVEREIGNTY BACK’ were beerily bellowed… The responses of ’but that’s not a win as you never lost it in the first place’ seemed to all fall on deaf shouty ears!</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">Whilst my trainers may have had the bonus of added ventilation with the holes in the uppers, they had been allowing stones to ingress as I had traversed beaches and through puddles. I’d tried to ignore them as much as I could, but it had got to the point that I had to stop to empty them. Setting myself down on a boulder I emptied the trainers, put them back on and tried to stand-up and found myself struggling to do so. In the end I had to do it in stages, which certainly didn’t make me feel any better in myself.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">Leaving the coastal path we climbed inland for the northerly section of the course. Compared to the stunning views of the coastline this is not quite as inspiring, but offers plenty of challenge with the continual changes in elevation and we were sheltered from the wind, the sun shining down on us getting a proper sweat on as a consequence that made you wonder if we would be slightly lobstered from catching the rays.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">To take my mind off the slog I hit the podcasts to help while away the solo miles. I was also in bit of a dilemma - I knew I should be eating to keep my energy levels up, but at the same time with how my guts were I daren’t eat anything for risk of it reappearing sharpish from one end or the other as I was fully expecting the puking to start. Perhaps it was the anticipation of this that made me feel sick, yet at the same time the rational part of me realised the sick sensation was probably related to hunger and the strenuous activity rather than a lurgy, but I couldn’t trust it… My guts were cramping-up as well and I was properly deep into ‘never trust a fart’ territory, as no matter how confident you are that is is just a fart and how you much you crave to release the pressure, you don’t know what if anything is about to be involuntarily unleashed so you just don’t dare! All I had trusted myself to have in the two previous aid stations had been a handful of fruit jellies plus I’d also eaten a pack of jelly from my pack.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">Eventually I made it to the final checkpoint of the day with around 10k to go and a familiar marshal who is always there, so I stopped for a chat as I certainly wasn’t in a hurry! As we spoke she told me that that Endurancelife had received a call this week with some bad news. It turned-out that after their previous race in Anglesey, one of their regulars, Brian, a gent who is in his 60’s had returned home having run the half marathon and died of a massive heart attack the following day. He’d certainly been a recognisable face to me ever since I ran my first of their events in 2012. Brian was pretty-much an ever-present at and had been since almost the beginning of Endurancelife. He ran mostly the half marathon and some 10k’s and just loved being out doing them on the coastal path. You couldn’t really miss Brian as he was very distinctive looking - think Noddy Holder’s doppelgänger, complete with the hair. You also got the impression he was still exactly the same as he was back in the 70’s just greyer and a little more rotund (hey it happens to us all)! The marshal had some very fond warm words to say about him, how he was always smiling and pleasant, one of their regular characters who was always chatting with people, smiling and joking with them. You could tell from the sadness in her eyes how she missed him on a personal level, as did the rest of the crew she said. They are thinking of doing something in his honour, or naming something after him to mark what they feel is ‘the end of an era’ with his passing.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">Leaving this last aid station the majority of the rest of the course was on the flat through the mud and slippery duck boards of a nature reserve and along Slapton Sands, however my legs had long since already given up on me, I just couldn’t muster much more than a shuffle. The cyclist Jens Voigt used to yell through the pain ’shut up legs’ to his to persuade himself onwards and upwards, but me trying the same today it was more a case of ‘computer says no’ than a positive outcome.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">Eventually I finished in the waning sunlight, pretty much the last of the marathon runners over the line (but hey a finish is a finish) Chatting with a crew member after - he had been working the event for 4 years and he couldn’t believe how good the weather is, forget about the sun he said, this was the first time he'd seen blue sky at the event!</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">My trainer roulette plan had held-out and my trainers survived the day. From what I could see under the caking of mud they didn't look too bad, however I had to wait to find out if they were in fact held together by the mud and I was pleasantly surprised at the outcome!</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY_Sv4guAngXtcyC3tQx9CxAtFmSq5SFz0anbyVnkvDO1p9gpbSk005R-hFxGRrBT7XtTuDhBXX7N_-6B-aleZeqdyZDocNbT5wJrN-f5ucLfWbizW9r4pWNfeDrMETlaQC8p5qqNdjMZ-/s1600/E1681D6C-3EAA-418C-AFF6-7C723B116BD5.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY_Sv4guAngXtcyC3tQx9CxAtFmSq5SFz0anbyVnkvDO1p9gpbSk005R-hFxGRrBT7XtTuDhBXX7N_-6B-aleZeqdyZDocNbT5wJrN-f5ucLfWbizW9r4pWNfeDrMETlaQC8p5qqNdjMZ-/s320/E1681D6C-3EAA-418C-AFF6-7C723B116BD5.jpeg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Not too bad after all!</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">I met up with running buddy Luke for a post race beer in the Cricket Inn where I told him about Brian. Both of us had initially noticed him on our first race down in Pembrokeshire a good few years back - Luke was saying on the morning of one of the races he had seen him polish-off a fried breakfast before later running the half marathon and when Luke finished the marathon he was there at the finish line with a pint and a fag! We both raised a glass to Brian and his memory… You never know when you will have run your last.<br /><br />This put my day’s run into perspective. I felt like shit, I wasn’t particularly ‘up for it’ physically and consequently mentally, but it doesn’t matter how poor my run was, I was fortunate enough to be able to get out and do it; a chastening reminder of NEVER taking it for granted, count your blessings that you can. Here’s to running tomorrow.<br /><br />Eat pies.<br />Drink beer.<br />Run far.</span>Shoeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06168576054186785526noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5645767874738367526.post-90940822128330429042020-01-21T00:31:00.001+00:002020-01-21T00:50:37.123+00:00Lakeland Fails #2I’ve got a massive monkey on my back now, not a monkey like one of them lovely cuddly marmoset mofos, I’m talking its the size of an effing gorilla; a big fuck-off hairy silver back doing a can-can on my shoulders.<br />
<br />
This year I WILL finally nail the <a href="https://lakeland100.com/">Lakeland 100</a>, I’d better fucking do as this failure malarkey is getting a bit boring now… 3rd time lucky and all that!<br />
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<img alt="Image result for lakeland 100 course map" class="irc_mi" height="587" src="https://johnkynastonblog.files.wordpress.com/2015/06/lakeland100map.jpg" width="511" /><br />
<br />
When you fail at something, you look at it and try to figure-out where you made your mistakes and change-up on your approach as the definition of futility, of sheer foolishness, is to repeat the same process whilst expecting a different result.<br />
<br />
Yeah, I lost my Garmin between registration and the start of the race the first time, which meant I did not know my pace and timed-out by a mere minute after 30 miles, but that is not a ‘mistake’, that was unfortunate… The fact remains that I was still too slow leading to me timing-out.<br />
<br />
I took a hard look at the condition I was in at the start and simply put, I’d probably put too many miles in my legs… I’d attempted to beast myself into shape for the race over the previous couple of weeks, a beasting that took place in the sapping heat that I had continually struggled in.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglk9W3FiBSDwGgTY8iV9cRFIi-kyPf0Gf4g67D0VY0G1y2d9et62cl1Xbxq57cCAFEcRNkI39dKDhfv4rUyfFWH4owj3dR_sbYYnE1rCJI7Qv46Da8_mRN407VZazALJk1NTAoqER2LaqV/s1600/67496465_10220160534181377_39569641072230400_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglk9W3FiBSDwGgTY8iV9cRFIi-kyPf0Gf4g67D0VY0G1y2d9et62cl1Xbxq57cCAFEcRNkI39dKDhfv4rUyfFWH4owj3dR_sbYYnE1rCJI7Qv46Da8_mRN407VZazALJk1NTAoqER2LaqV/s320/67496465_10220160534181377_39569641072230400_o.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Climbing the first climb with the rest of the pack.</span></td></tr>
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In the June I’d run 30 miles overnight on one weekend, followed by 2 marathons in 2 days the next weekend, a 50 miler 2 weeks after that and a week later for good measure in the first week of July I’d run a 35 miler in the lakes! All told I’d racked up 170 miles of running in the 6 weeks prior to the Lakeland and had only 2 weeks rest before the event… So yeah, I suspect I overdid-it leading in to the big day: when most people had been tapering or doing sweet f-a I’d been racing and racing hard like a complete eejit.<br />
<br />
Arriving tired, slow and cream-crackered meant I was hardly in great shakes: I started slow and got slower. I kept having to stop on the large climbs as I was hanging out my own arse, chasing my own tail just to make the cut-offs whilst demoralised through my own stupidity in losing my Garmin.<br />
<br />
I also took wrong turns - again something as an excuse I could put down to tiredness and not being mentally with-it. I could use the excuse of still lacking fitness through suffering from plantar fasciitis for nearly 18 months, something that robbed me of my mojo till March, but ultimately when you remove these excuses by my own actions I had effectively sabotaged my own chances of success in the race!<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWfZg8zeWjOhkNeqdFMOK7mDGGek-b7an8dywfGWJIVkyF8fZ-EPf5tj0SK5yx8nsffis9Fe1GvO9yvN8paRdxyOWXhF76tU0iqkQSKMUKo0A5eKOZ0K4F901N6TroKYWEMzDSxHrx3VK2/s1600/67461171_10220160538621488_3358769879804018688_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWfZg8zeWjOhkNeqdFMOK7mDGGek-b7an8dywfGWJIVkyF8fZ-EPf5tj0SK5yx8nsffis9Fe1GvO9yvN8paRdxyOWXhF76tU0iqkQSKMUKo0A5eKOZ0K4F901N6TroKYWEMzDSxHrx3VK2/s320/67461171_10220160538621488_3358769879804018688_o.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Looking out to the Irish Sea shimmering on the horizon.</span></td></tr>
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So yeah, as Alanis Morissette sang: ‘<a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GFW-WfuX2Dk">you learn</a>’… You also evolve and you change your approach. As a consequence in prep for the 100 this year, in the June I ran a 44 mile ultra - with significantly less climbing than the races the previous year, did a 20 mile night run the week after - this time at a tempo pace rather than a plod and finally a month before the Lakeland I did a 100k race in the lakes… I was feeling good, really good that I was in a proper shape to complete the 100 miles. In fact I was feeling good all the way until in the Lake District, just after the last aid station in the Ultimate Trails 100k with a mere 4 miles to go in the race, when I was up on time and pace from my previous outing there and looking forward to tucking in to the post race chilli meal, when walking along a road there was an almighty audible crack from my lower leg/ ankle. Every step was now agony, a proper involuntary shout of ‘ow’, ‘ow’, ‘ow’ each time my right foot went to the floor… I just speed hobbled my way to the finish whilst cursing my misfortune.<br />
<br />
Next morning everything seemed fine, I was able to walk around with no pain at all, but it turned-out it wasn’t hunky-dory in the slightest. The following weekend I had to bail on a Sunday morning group run when the pain kicked-in after a mile and the intensity increased as I went to the level of agony. I realised I’d one of 2 problems: Either a stress fracture or a fucked ligament: both injuries I know require 6-8 weeks of rest before easing back in to running. However I had just shy of 4 weeks to the start of the Lakeland!<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif7GdLj8Iky-VkGdLVgbY_Du_lYoyc7r8TsnyFfYF2uONGWt6PZck-KjipVRj27pfoZoClHQnZ6E4VzRIZXPRlIFUUO3Zrtk0IOpHZf4cEgk6SQvQeNzv0Uv_ZbccN6WOrhGNUJsMLP1Fz/s1600/67502062_10220160536261429_8725089198396145664_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEif7GdLj8Iky-VkGdLVgbY_Du_lYoyc7r8TsnyFfYF2uONGWt6PZck-KjipVRj27pfoZoClHQnZ6E4VzRIZXPRlIFUUO3Zrtk0IOpHZf4cEgk6SQvQeNzv0Uv_ZbccN6WOrhGNUJsMLP1Fz/s320/67502062_10220160536261429_8725089198396145664_o.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Light starting to wane.</span></td></tr>
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Outside of my work, total rest was taken and a large dose of hope was consumed ready for the start of the Lakeland. In the back of my mind I knew I wouldn’t last the distance, that I would definitely break down. The question was when and where it would happen, so the plan was just to just push as hard as I could for as long as I could before the wheels fell off. I also purposely didn’t see a doctor as I knew I would get a proper diagnosis, and be told in no uncertain terms NOT to race - so I deliberately put my hands over my ears before burying my head in the sand to emerge on the start line in Coniston.<br />
<br />
I started, it wasn’t as hot as the previous year so I did not suffer quite as badly from the get-go and I went well, really well!.. Ok I tripped and fell in exactly the same spot as the previous year on the backside of the Old Man of Coniston, but aside from that everything went swimmingly… I worked hard to hit the checkpoints, which I managed without much fuss and got through the aid station where I had timed-out with plenty of time in hand whilst in the company of other runners who had finished the race before and were confident on their pacing being bang-on for a finish.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-5eOCh3TcF7ptPsIy6XsCE83RtOA-06icppIFOFroMBqgTtG3rF8P68iZkpJ0pZl8Uh-JRQmqvOq46aZXONqDwluJguJJDqKz35eys0v_qe87mL5Ej_pfYW8JgpDa4PrksXFPEHzswfap/s1600/67689233_10220160536821443_1284727333592236032_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-5eOCh3TcF7ptPsIy6XsCE83RtOA-06icppIFOFroMBqgTtG3rF8P68iZkpJ0pZl8Uh-JRQmqvOq46aZXONqDwluJguJJDqKz35eys0v_qe87mL5Ej_pfYW8JgpDa4PrksXFPEHzswfap/s320/67689233_10220160536821443_1284727333592236032_o.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Chasing the sunset.</span></td></tr>
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Before the start of the race I had dosed myself on cocodamol - now I don’t normally do painkillers in real life, but I felt the best chance I had would be to mask anything before I started so as not to start demoralised if I began to feel pain straight away - it seemed to work, however after about 10 hours I could feel the pain in my leg… I necked another couple of cocodamol but they had no effect whatsoever, didn’t even round the edges off the continual aching pain. Leaving the site of my previous failure determined my race would not end here again, I at least knew I could get the next leg done at a hobble before bailing from the race, so at least I had the chance to in effect recce the leg.<br />
<br />
In amongst a strung-out group of runners I shuffled my way along as best as I could, trying to persuade myself to ‘suck it up buttercup’ but I knew my day was over. I knew I was doing fine for time which was an almighty frustration, although not as frustrating as after bailing waiting for transfer back to the start after your race was over!<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_poNFzC_qTeToggSXOfz9a34C4oaZbz996_vGkD8tV9qXa5RG5ALfgH8Gu0MHMwfGWOOczeAPli7AqNaLcgCfE0N1Mrp2yuKSsiHgYxAQ8WEWZtqDNx8KEe3C29vXEwrmmUsGestNlcmM/s1600/67287298_10220160534861394_944317451301027840_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_poNFzC_qTeToggSXOfz9a34C4oaZbz996_vGkD8tV9qXa5RG5ALfgH8Gu0MHMwfGWOOczeAPli7AqNaLcgCfE0N1Mrp2yuKSsiHgYxAQ8WEWZtqDNx8KEe3C29vXEwrmmUsGestNlcmM/s320/67287298_10220160534861394_944317451301027840_o.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Midnight refreshments.</span></td></tr>
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Out on the trail I had found the running an awful lot easier than on my previous failure as the weather was an awful lot cooler and with a fraction of the humidity. Knowing the route now and the terrain was also a boon as well as I knew where I was, so did not get lost… I even found the climbs not quite as bad! Up on time I made a conscious effort to push myself harder on the climbs, including the evil that is Black Sail Pass. I had made myself a promise that I would only stop the once at the waterfall around halfway. I looked at my watch as I arrived there and it said midnight, so sweating like Michael Jackson on Sesame Street I sat in the waterfall cooling off, drinking the fresh water out of it as I watched the stream of pin-pricks of light from head torches of those behind me coming up the pass towards my resting body.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPIZjK_MG35EvrEMLlg2lchtBPgvKQsf1nI-u3cCmM2pfHdY0J0ZL7DaRg2xH8hZfGwuw5YoaAykg749DOaOsySNaeB0HpYHMyQfkXN0jaWM2G8BXbKJNoPvgCRTNtZlJ4wKB2LdrVGryq/s1600/67461380_10220160533541361_5370005457094049792_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPIZjK_MG35EvrEMLlg2lchtBPgvKQsf1nI-u3cCmM2pfHdY0J0ZL7DaRg2xH8hZfGwuw5YoaAykg749DOaOsySNaeB0HpYHMyQfkXN0jaWM2G8BXbKJNoPvgCRTNtZlJ4wKB2LdrVGryq/s320/67461380_10220160533541361_5370005457094049792_o.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Head torches approaching me from below.</span></td></tr>
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The big test for me was always going to be at what point dawn would break. It was a relief when I became conscious that I was moving along a stretch in darkness where before it had been light. At that point I was proper gasping for a drink of cool fresh water and knowing there were plenty of streams coming up I resolved to get in and have a drink at the next one… Soon I could hear the beckoning siren-like sound of gently tumbling water. I took my cup off my pack ready for action, I rounded the corner looking for the best way to cross the stream and get to the water and at first glance saw what I thought was a stepping stone in the middle of it… All ready to jump on to it with all my considerable weight I took another look with the head torch and realised it wasn’t a stone at all, but a sheep carcass! That put the mockers on my cunning plan, so I had to get to the next stream before carefully surveying for deceased livestock and taking a cool crisp drink of the waters.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCii4SYAm3bzH_rB2MMpikTACEZpwVfx9HeOGXT2MuFgM5A00GUW5LBp9waijHfMrizSSkgTI_3ijtniDoOTTQo61yquRbUMy5p1ArkCZIkRn93HJCEUhyHVJesHyn7IVhyMxiIGzWEVEU/s1600/67205594_10220160539061499_3583601114123075584_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCii4SYAm3bzH_rB2MMpikTACEZpwVfx9HeOGXT2MuFgM5A00GUW5LBp9waijHfMrizSSkgTI_3ijtniDoOTTQo61yquRbUMy5p1ArkCZIkRn93HJCEUhyHVJesHyn7IVhyMxiIGzWEVEU/s320/67205594_10220160539061499_3583601114123075584_o.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Not quite a stepping stone :(</span></td></tr>
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I ran through the dawn and on into the still morning light before realising there was zero chance of getting beyond Blencathra. Yes it smarted mentally as well as paining me physically, but I knew I could not carry-on without the risk of serious damage. My body was telling me it was broken and I had no choice this time but to listen, even if the next leg of the race was teasingly flat!<br />
<br />
Having bailed I had to wait with everyone else in the same boat for our transfers back to Coniston… This was the worst aspect, the waiting around not knowing what was going to happen or when and the distinct feeling that everything was a bit of a busked afterthought. The priority of the organisers will always be those people on the course, however when you’re no longer in the race you feel that you have been forgotten about to an extent, that you are an inconvenience to everyone and are swept to the side and largely ignored. After waiting a couple of hours we had a transfer by minibus to the halfway aid station at Dalemain where the 50 mile race starts. During this time the weather had changed to rain with its accompanying chill. It seemed the aid station was not prepared for a group of us to arrive and occupy valuable floorspace in the marquee. Eventually we were allocated a small area to congregate out of the way of the other racers where we could stretch-out and snooze whilst trying to stay warm. It was almost as if we were quarantined, that our running ‘leprosy’ would somehow contaminate those people still in the race!<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbf5xZkgbl3sdTTCkRvCdnfHzydV3AAOBhrYXIk7z-ZJDf1UHY1tCbIpPEpOSkq1h42HV_F7OIbELs7UwNVncCXITMyz9e4shWVvBsXiMsOVzKgbmvHAbEo355bC_QIqsQ7oP_oAgO3NoM/s1600/67322156_10220160534661389_117443574311682048_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbf5xZkgbl3sdTTCkRvCdnfHzydV3AAOBhrYXIk7z-ZJDf1UHY1tCbIpPEpOSkq1h42HV_F7OIbELs7UwNVncCXITMyz9e4shWVvBsXiMsOVzKgbmvHAbEo355bC_QIqsQ7oP_oAgO3NoM/s320/67322156_10220160534661389_117443574311682048_o.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Approaching Blencathra</span></td></tr>
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Eventually after a few hours we were back on the same minibus to Coniston - however there was not enough space on it for all of us, our group having picked-up some more bodies to journey with us.<br />
<br />
I was the last one to get on and realised I had nowhere to sit, however I was determined I was not going to be stranded here at the furthest point away from where I needed to be until god knows when, so I went to the very back of the minibus and sat on the step in the aisle in front of the back bench of seats and hoped the driver would not realise… Fortunately he didn’t and I managed to survive a supremely uncomfortable bum-numbing journey back to the event base wedged between both rows of seats for my safety rather than any form of comfort. At least when I got back there were no queue for a shower, and I was able to grab something to eat and crawl in to bed in the back of my van for a well-earned kip.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXrTymiBEVmdlV0rz3sxSAWnUuU6vGhA8BFJps7-dI8DzpYv1U75H5VZ2oc1l8zZlw3x0HusTjkNC1D0fXO6EpLZFsa7tJpy7Ar7YEGSGfV0tMOm3ULbTNLL1FFIuM-OnHBU8LXeRYHtKj/s1600/67615260_10220160537301455_1086936350080368640_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXrTymiBEVmdlV0rz3sxSAWnUuU6vGhA8BFJps7-dI8DzpYv1U75H5VZ2oc1l8zZlw3x0HusTjkNC1D0fXO6EpLZFsa7tJpy7Ar7YEGSGfV0tMOm3ULbTNLL1FFIuM-OnHBU8LXeRYHtKj/s320/67615260_10220160537301455_1086936350080368640_o.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Morning mist still whispy.</span></td></tr>
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On the Monday whilst back at LSS’s parents I went to get myself checked-out at Chorley A&E (the triage nurse and the doctor who saw me had friends who had been up there racing in the 50) and I was given a kind of diagnosis based on good news from the x-rays that there were no clear indications of a fracture, however without more specific investigation they could not rule-out a stress fracture of the talus bone, either that or ligament damage both triggered through ‘overuse’. I was pointed-out that the two have an identical recovery time and are non-invasive: 4 weeks rest from running! That was it, better listen to the quacks and do as I’m told for the next few weeks. At least they said I could do a bit of cycling from 2 weeks but nothing too strenuous.<br />
<br />
So my second stab at the 100 miles of the Lakeland race ended in failure again. Whilst it was inevitable before I had even started, it was still really frustrating as I felt confident that I had a finish in me barring the injury. I know that my change in approach leading-in to the race worked and worked well to give me a decent chance at that finish. What I need to do now over the next few months is to Alanis Morissette the hell out of two years worth of failures to make it third time lucky this year.<br />
<br />
Eat pies.<br />
Drink beer.<br />
Run far.Shoeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06168576054186785526noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5645767874738367526.post-48565649566275902622020-01-03T16:58:00.001+00:002020-01-03T16:58:53.361+00:0028th December: Winter Crossed.Ah, what to do when you’re sitting around turning your liver into foi-gras over the week between Christmas and new year? I hear everyone ask.<br />
<br />
Go for a 45 mile run comes the reply from precisely no-one, and to be perfectly honest I could probably have done without the last 13 miles of that myself... Yeah but that’s still 33 miles you utter masochist! Regrets? No, but yeah, but no.<br />
<br />
Over most previous Christmas weekends I’ve entered races, including a double-header of trail races dressed as an ostrich, and last year a league XC race for my club the day after a 20k mud run, so doing something kind of like this isn’t entirely out of the ordinary.<br />
<br />
I’d entered <a href="https://secondwindrunning.co.uk/p/winter-cross-ultra">Second Wind Running's Winter Cross</a> ultra for a few reasons: it’s local, I don’t have a race booked for January and it’s near as dammit in January, plus a healthy dose of FOMO as running buddy Luke had said he was entering the ‘fun run’ - they do a 50k race at the same time - along with Richard and Trevor in my running club Hook Runners... I had a blank week, what more could a boy possibly do?<br />
<br />
Entering and talking about it persuaded neighbour Pini and Moose to come along for some shits and giggles as well, Moose for the fun run and Pini joining me in the full monty... I say shits and giggles but these two are properly focused runners very much at the top end of the field who would have a steely-eyed focus on placing at the sharp end of the races!<br />
<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">The course</span></td></tr>
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Arising in darkness I drove the 45 minutes to get to the race base in the Meon Valley in the heart of Hampshire. Unsurprisingly from the race’s name, the course is in the shape of a cross, where you run the north leg first: 10k out and back on an old railway bed, before heading east for a 20k out and back on the South Downs, then West for another 20k leg on the Downs. At this point the 50k ‘fun runners’ get to call it a day, with those of us attempting to monster the full Monty heading south for another 20k leg on the former railway track.<br />
<br />
Both races start at the same time: 7:30 and you are supposed to finish the 45 mile distance by 4:30, the basis of the timing is to race the daylight: you have from sun-up to sun-down to complete the course.<br />
<br />
The event base of the village hall in Corhampton was the same place where I’d been for the Meon Valley Plod a few years back so I knew what I was in for on the course. The briefing was short and sweet and away we went into the unseasonably warm dawn air for a proper day out on your feet.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Smiles before the suffering! Hookers from LtoR in front: Pini, Moose, Trevor & Richard</span></td></tr>
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This first northerly leg saw a mahoosive puddle after about half a mile, so following the principal of ‘you only get wet feet once’ I steamed straight through whilst others faffed and bottlenecked trying to pick a non-existent dry line. To this point I had been running with Luke merrily chatting away, but it seemed he left his big boy pants at home and tried to keep his feet dry... I was feeling good in my pace so I just kept on at the same rate once through the puddle, sure that Luke would catch me sooner rather than later, but unfortunately that time spent queuing put paid to any more running together.<br />
<br />
I had walked to the start with Moose and had seen him make his way to the very front of the race, so knew he would be among the leaders from the off and sure enough, just after I’d gone through 2 miles the leaders came back towards us with him sitting in about 10th place... There was no sign of Pini though when I’d normally expect him to be coming the other way, then shortly before the turn a diminutive streak of silver fox shifted past at speed on the right: tactics. I figured that rather than getting caught in the race at the front among the 50k runners, Pini had decided to deliberately start at the back rather than go off too hot getting sucked in to racing someone else’s race rather than his own and suffer later on as a consequence.<br />
<br />
At the turn I passed Luke, Trevor & Richard all pretty close together and not far behind me so I figured I’d be caught and passed by them some time just in to the second leg.<br />
<br />
On the 10k return leg I spied a ‘Run 1,000 Miles’ buff - a Facebook group of which I’m a member so I had a chat with the lady wearing it who had clocked-up 1600 miles this year even with losing 8 weeks to injury and was rounding off the year in style today. Truly an awesome effort!<br />
<br />
After the flat blast of the 10k on the railway bed, the Eastern leg was the one that promised views, including a climb up ‘<a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Old_Winchester_Hill">Old Winchester Hill</a>’ with its Iron Age fort and settlement on the top. Unfortunately for the chance of any panoramic vistas, the low cloud that was accompanying the balmy temperatures for the time of year obscured most of them in murk.<br />
<br />
Down the other side of Old Winchester Hill and we were on to the second climb ready for the turning point. On here Pini came hurtling down the slick chalky mud path towards me and warned of plenty of mud on top... He was not wrong: progress was slow as grip was at a premium in the ankle deep-slop: skid marks from those who had fallen were all over the place so it was a case of ‘carefully does it’ till we topped-out and a jog to the aid station.<br />
<br />
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<br />
I’d been needing to ‘hail the prophet’ for some time so at the turn I took the chance to commune with ‘Mustapha Leak’ around the corner behind the aid station - unfortunately as I blundered around the undergrowth my right foot snagged on a root nearly felling me, but with other more pressing things on my mind I carried on about my business, grabbed a handful of Jaffa Cakes and was off once more.<br />
<br />
On the way back I passed Luke, Trevor & Richard once more - all a similar distance behind as before and carried on trying to maintain a decent steady pace. Reaching the aid station it was difficult not to think I was halfway through the race having completed 2 legs, with the first being that much shorter than the others, although I knew that marker would come soon enough, but my focus was solely on this final out and back on the Downs.<br />
<br />
To qualify for the last leg and complete the 45 mile race, you had to have finished this third leg by 2pm which is an average of around 12 minute miles, or 6h30m total time for the 50k (31 mile) course. This was my challenge, but I was confident of reaching it having worked-out that my average so far was between 10-11 minute miles.<br />
<br />
Grabbing a half banana, more Jaffa cakes and the traditional seasonal fare of a Creme Egg, like the Pet Shop Boys and the Village People before them I went to ‘go west’.<br />
<br />
Through the centre of the village with its chalk bedded trout river swollen to bursting point by the recent rains, the climbing began. We were warned the climb on the out leg would seem to go on forever and it seemed pretty accurate. Also there was far more tarmac on this leg than before!<br />
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<br />
Early on into the climb the leaders of the 50k came hurtling towards me and Moose was sat in a comfortable 3rd place. Congratulating him he yelled back as he passed that he’d trashed his legs though and they were killing him!<br />
<br />
20 miles in and a familiar red-clad sight began to appear in the corner of my eye as I was finally caught by Trevor. We ran together for a few miles chatting merrily away and wary of the pace discrepancy with Trevor now having caught up, I put it on front street to him not to compromise his race by hanging around with me if I was dragging him back! He replied that he’d been slowly reeling me in for the last 6 or 7 miles - in effect using me as his ‘rabbit’ and he was now just content to make it to the finish as he’d knackered himself-out bridging the gap!<br />
<br />
Both Trevor and Richard had entered the race last year and both had had to pull-out with injury shortly before. In their training they had recced the route last year in prep before their deferrals and this year they had trained much the same... As a consequence it seemed Trevor knew half the field from people he had gone on group recces of the different legs organised from on the race’s Facebook page!<br />
<br />
Something else Trevor has done that has made a positive impact has been to have some personal coaching. The power of a good coach and also being a willing coachee has been evident to those of us around him as Trevor has increased his speed all round in distances over the latter half of the year and went and ran his first marathon in prep for today, not to mention that following a training plan has made him lighter and stronger physically. I asked him what the main difference has been in doing this and he said it was the focus and accountability that the coaching had given him: you had to go out and do things in a structured plan, when otherwise you would not bother and if you are paying for something you are less like to waste it!<br />
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<br />
This out leg seemed to drag on interminably but eventually after a steady descent we were at the turn in a farm yard, where some, crisps, a creme egg and more Jaffa cakes was consumed before the last 10k of the 50.<br />
<br />
In a bizarre twist, the return leg seemed to pass far quicker than the out. We picked-up another runner, Darren from Lansing along the way and the 3 of us chatted like fish-wives all the way to the finish (for them) and the last leg for me! <br />
<br />
Making through the aid station marking the end of the leg for me (and the race for Trevor and Darren), I grabbed another creme egg, Jaffa cakes and half a banana and off I went again on to the old railway bed for the 20k of out and back along it.<br />
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<br />
I had eaten whilst in the aid station and had a chat with the Marshalls for about 5 minutes, rather than on the move, which meant my body had had a chance to cool-down whilst doing so before getting started again. Whilst feeling relatively fresh on a physical performance perspective, I just could not get going as I was aware that my right ankle was giving me a lot of gip to the point of preventing me to run properly or with any rhythm.<br />
<br />
When I snagged my right foot on the root earlier in the race I suspect I had jarred my ankle and strained the ligaments as the pain was not a skeletal ache or anything internal, it was tied-up with the flexing of the ankle itself. This reduced me to essentially a speed hobble for the next 20k!<br />
<br />
Come the turn I could not wait to get to the finish. This leg was absolute tedium, absolutely soul destroying as there was literally nothing to see besides dodging other trail users as you were in a railway cutting the entire time. All there seemed to be were the two banks either side, the trees growing on them and the occasional bridge to travel under… It was a chore trying to remain awake and not doze-off from the boredom!.. Thank heavens for podcasts is all I can say; something to distract the mind on this soul destroying section and give a focus on this last leg.<br />
<br />
After what seemed like forever and a day I crossed the finish line - not being aware of the exact time as my Garmin had died on the final leg (stupidly I’d forgotten to charge it the night before), so I went over the mat in the frustrating time of 9:00:34… Needless to say if I had been aware I would no-doubt have been able to find 35 seconds over the previous 10k back section to cross the line squeaking UNDER the 9 hour marker!<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Fading light!</span></td></tr>
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When the results were published it was interesting to see how things shook-out… Whilst Moose finished an awesome 3rd in the 50k and Pini finished in an amazing 9th in the 45 miler, I finished in 55th place… But this is where the stats get interesting.<br />
<br />
I placed 55th out of 59 in the race, however this doesn’t quite paint a full picture: 98 people started the 45 mile race. Of those 98 however, only 59 of us made the cut-off for the final leg, with all of those 39 other runners being credited instead as finishers in the 50k race! This meant in reality I finished 55 out of 98: such a lofty position is unheard of for me!<br />
<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Back print on the Tee.</span></td></tr>
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Having crossed the line with Darren at the end of the 50k race, it meant that I was fast enough to place at 61/164 in the 50k race, which again for me is immense: top 38% in a race! It also means that I managed a bizarre feat that when you just look at numbers without a context, I managed to place very well in one race and incredibly badly in another! Although at least I can say that there was the caveat of those in the 45 mile race had to be able to hit a tight cut-off to finish it… Incidentally the last person to finish the 45 miler would have placed 91st in the 50k, so not far below the 50th percentile, so I can at least kid myself that what I did was a little ‘elitest’ when compared to those on the ‘fun run’!<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Medal on the hanger!</span></td></tr>
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If anyone was to consider doing this race I would say it is a great run-out at this time of year. The event is well organised, marshalled, the course offers a challenge without being stupidly fiendish and the aid stations are well stocked. However this really applies to the 50k course rather than the 45 mile course: the extra leg for that is just mind numbingly tedious. Both Pini and I were questioning ourselves as we ran that last leg exactly why we had done so and what was the point, as all it equated to were ‘junk miles’: miles for miles’ sake, lacking in quality, substance or challenge. Moose had run the same organiser’s Meon Valley Marathon which included that southerly section and he had the same opinion of that leg in that race, which put him off from doing the 45 miler in favour of the 50k… So if I do ever return it will be for the ‘fun run’ rather than the ‘full monty. Very nice medal and shirt though!<br />
<br />
Eat pies<br />
Drink beer<br />
Run far.Shoeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06168576054186785526noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5645767874738367526.post-91464996127779780682019-06-25T10:41:00.004+01:002021-02-14T22:00:55.730+00:001st July '17: Ultimate Trails 110k, a right beasting.Off to the Lakes it was for my attempt at running my longest distance so far in the Ultimate Trails 110k. Travelling with me was neighbour Pini who was running the 55k. We arrived in Ambleside to the sounds of Blur on the iPod in time for lunch, pitched-up Pini’s tent and went off for a spot of pasta before registering for the races. Along the way we said hello to running buddy Dora who was also doing the 110 and met her running club-mate Fiona, who I was advised by Dora was a ‘shit hot’ runner and the previous year had won the 55k ladies race so was stepping-up to the 110… After lunch I put my head down for a few hours kip to get myself in the best possible shape for the best part of a day on my feet that I knew was about to come.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Briefing.</td></tr>
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Waking as the sun slid down behind the hills I dined on a pre-race meal of champions: fish and chips washed-down with a bottle of beer for some extra carb-loading. As I readied myself for the race, from her tent I heard an expletive laden tirade from Fiona just like the one in the opening of Four Weddings and a Funeral. She had overslept and realised she only had a minutes to ready herself for the race briefing!<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Fiona & Dora.</td></tr>
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Haring-off at midnight was a totally new experience for me. The park was lined with the awesome spectacle, despite the hour, of a plethora of supporters cheering us all on our merry way. From the hooter we ran through the street light lit badlands of downtown Ambleside, before climbing up out the other side in the direction of Kentmere, leaving the lights of the town and civilisation as we knew it behind and below, only the small matter of a 110k looped route before we returned.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Haring round Rothay Park.</td></tr>
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After just a couple of miles it was like we had entered a whole new world, another alternate dimension of reality... Once on the fells in the total darkness devoid of any sign of human life, all we could hear was us being continually mugged-off by invisible sheep. We could hear the chorus of incessant disembodied bleats but could not see anything in the pitch black; a darkness only punctuated by the pin-pricks of light from head torches of those in front.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Midnight mooch through Ambleside.</td></tr>
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Following Newton’s laws after all the climbing we soon came to a descent - a cracking steep one on a wide boulder strewn track whose gradient was perfect for running... But how fast dare you go? With the darkness obscuring everything outside of the narrow beam of your head torch it was exhilarating to just let go and dare yourself to run as fast as you could without tripping, falling and doing some serious damage to yourself.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Running a rocky torchlit trail.</td></tr>
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Once through the first CP it was a chase to the next big climb of the day, over Gatescarth to Mardale Head and the reservoir at Haweswater… Approaching from a couple of miles you could see the faint trace of lights on the hill in front, but with no light there was no way to judge distance so it seemed forever till we arrived at the foot, the switch-back path seeming to be lit by fireflies from the light of the torches of us nose to tail racers.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dawn over Haweswater.</td></tr>
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The climb was sapping, the muggy night making you sweat buckets. I had no choice but to stop and rest a couple of times for breathers as the relentless ascent was draining me. Eventually we neared the top, where marshals had built a yurt and rang us all across the summit with cow bells.<br />
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Coming down the other side it was a scramble over a boulder field as we headed east, seeing the first rays of dawn appear and begin to lighten our way. Once at the foot of the hill at Mardale Head on the shore of the Haweswater Reservoir, the silent dawn was breaking, which had a very unwanted side-effect: midges… millions of the feckers. As you got to the aid station and stopped you were instantly covered in a seething black layer of them on any bare skin and were eaten alive by them. I pitied the folks manning the aid station as they did not have any head nets or protection from them or were wearing any gloves to protect their hands.<br />
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I was dying to see a man about a dog at this point but was more than a little concerned about what would happen to the old fella if I flopped him out for a spot of bladder relief: with any bare skin being instantly covered if I was to stop here how could I explain to LSS when I got back why my twig and berries looked like it had a pox from being attacked by the bitey feckers? Nothing would possibly cut-it as an explanation and saying I was attacked by midges when having a slash hardly sounds like a plausible reason for having a polka-dot penis even if it was true! Holding back I managed to keep it in till above the worst of them and syphon the python once clear of danger.<br />
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Continuing along the banks of Haweswater it was noticeably lighter as the sun now began to poke above the horizon. Making steady progress Dora & me bumped into fellow runner Paul who was making his merry way along. As we jogged along chatting I could feel my hammy beginning to cramp. I tried to ignore it but it wasn’t working, so I had to stop and attempt to stretch it out and lard it with Deep Heat - it seemed to work a bit, well, enough to carry on relatively unhindered for the time being. I knew it was only a few k’s till we were off Haweswter and at the next aid station with its bacon sarnies for breakfast, a thought that had spurred me on for many a mile, mind over matter I don’t mind and the bacon sarnie was the only thing that mattered.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bacon butties!</td></tr>
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After the longed-for breakfast it was a long slow climb up on to the hills again to skirt around the cracking views looking over Ullswater moving clockwise round from the east towards Howtown. It may only have been pushing 7 in the morning, but the humidity and the heat was properly rising to the early twenties in the sun when it burned some of the clouds away.<br />
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Having wended our way through the Bobbin Mill at Howtown we then had a problem: stolen signage… All course markings and signs had been removed, which left us to attempt to navigate roughly on the schematic map we had been given. Fortunately at one crossroads that really was not obvious we were caught by someone who knew where they were and where to go, giving us all in the assembled group a get-out-of-jail card.<br />
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Last time out on the 55 I’d been obsessing over cheese and onion Sangers at the aid stations… But this time round they didn’t really seem to have anything that floated my boat… That was until getting into the hall I saw noodles - not the minging ‘slag of all snacks’ Pot Noodle that you have once every 2 years because you get a craving for one and then remember why you do not eat them when you taste it again, but a great tasting noodle pot by the name of Ko-Lee ‘Go Noodles’ which were truly awesome… I scoffed the warm tasty feast and had a cup of tea, scarfed some peanuts and crisps for salt replenishment and felt restored, properly able to face the next leg. And I had a new foodstuff over which to obsess for the rest of the day!<br />
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Back out on the course, amongst the verdant green of the valleys around the bottom of Ullswater the sun was properly burning the clouds away and I was catching the green shirt of Paul again, overtaking him as we were watched from the bracken covered valley side above us by a herd of red deer.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Red Deer.</td></tr>
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The heat was now beginning to build and the climb up to the head of the valley was really biting me on the arse - I kept having to stop to catch breath and composure before pushing-on. I could feel my hammies tightening noticeably, continually I was having to stop and stretch them out. Deep Heat was applied but it just wasn’t cutting through… Then as the descent started, the cracking long descent that normally I would skip down like a gazelle, whilst climbing over a rock my leg locked with cramp.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cloud still to burn away in full.</td></tr>
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I had no choice. I went over like a sniper had shot me and just couldn’t stretch it out straight away… Crippled like an upturned tortoise I had no choice but to try and slowly stretch it out, and then I found myself alone through necessity.<br />
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In an act of immense oversight, whilst running through the night Dora had realised that whilst she had packed her drop bag, she had forgotten to put it in the trailer with everyone else’s stuff, and after some hasty phone calls when day had dawned, she was having to rely on her husband to support her to get kit and supplies to certain points on the course with only certain windows of time to make it for either her not to need to wait around, or her family to not get bored hanging around for her. With me now a prone liability, she had to take the entirely understandable decision to leave me to sort myself out whilst she pushed-on.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Paul and his green top.</td></tr>
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I watched feeling incredibly stupid as Dora bounded-off down the hill, I drank some electrolyte and had a rummage in my pack and found a couple of salt sachets, which I necked. Washing them down it was a case of stretching out and trying to get moving as the time passed and the salt’s rejuvenative powers kicked-in.<br />
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Soon I was able to hobble, then saunter, then eventually jog along… My mistake was not realising how much I had sweated during the night’s efforts. I knew I had been dripping with sweat, but without visually seeing it or feeling the heat of the sun it lulled me into a false sense of security about precisely how I had been sweating like Michael Jackson on Sesame Street the whole time and I had not taken any steps to mitigate salt loss.<br />
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Whilst trying to build-up speed again I was caught by Paul and we merrily jogged to the aid station at Patterdale ahead of the 55k runners who would also be passing through here on their run.<br />
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The climb up Glenridding was as brutal as ever, but at least this year it was not chucking it down… Instead the sun was hammering down upon us. When I reached the tarn at the top I couldn’t help but marvel at the deep sapphire blue of the water in the light. At this point the 55 & 110 courses split and those of us going longer headed round to the west to descend over an ancient river bed that was still a stream. You had to properly scramble over the boulders on your way down here, proper 3 points of contact action as you slowly picked your way down to the bottom and the main road. We followed a section of tarmac for a couple of miles, which I found jarring after the extended time on the rocky and grassy trails, till I eventually wound-up in a lay-by and the next aid station.<br />
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The heat was intense, so finding the aid station was under the cover of trees was a boon. I noticed the number of people hanging round there was far more than I expected then realised why: they had run out of water. People were not continuing their run without replenishing their supply, which was understandable and were waiting for the aid station to be resupplied. Having plenty of my own I carried-on grateful not to be forced to wait through necessity.<br />
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Climbing up from the road I found the heat and humidity stifling. It was hitting the high twenties and it was sapping the life out of me. Fortunately the pathway was part stream, so I took the opportunity to sit in it at one point just to cool myself off!<br />
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Eventually the path topped-out on a boggy plateau. Emerging from the trees on to it, the temperature was noticeably lower and a cool breeze wafted over us. Unfortunately progress wasn’t as quick as I had hoped as you had to bounce from ‘babies head’ to ‘babies head’, small mounds of grass that were relatively solid. At this point I overtook a fella who was racing using cheat sticks and didn’t have a Scooby Doo how to use them. What he did was to stand still on top of a babies head, prod the ground with a pole to see if it was solid and take a step forward before repeating. Truly bizarre!<br />
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The sun was running away to hide as cloud lowered and the wind was definitely picking-up as we bog-trotted along the plateau. At least we were approaching the next aid station and our drop bags once we dropped off the top…<br />
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Coming into the aid station I bumped into Dora on her way out and she gave me a conciliatory hug as she seemed very chirpy to be on her way… I found out why when I got inside the aid station: PIZZA! I had a couple of slices and a warm cup of tea and biscuits as I changed my trainers - I was not sure they were going to last the rest of the race, so took the opportunity to switch them over.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn5hyphenhyphen8lZqet_76HGWGadZ5zywIOjhMTKwgV5PLvdUiM8wKI_h51bt6Ovx0odhy9sBXxsdkTeW020BIYdY0E164RZ0iqIfAXdA2n-N3Sa6zXUfgGg7srZoETVKOTjZyZEXKNVIhh9XvU8F-/s1600/RIMG1466.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn5hyphenhyphen8lZqet_76HGWGadZ5zywIOjhMTKwgV5PLvdUiM8wKI_h51bt6Ovx0odhy9sBXxsdkTeW020BIYdY0E164RZ0iqIfAXdA2n-N3Sa6zXUfgGg7srZoETVKOTjZyZEXKNVIhh9XvU8F-/s320/RIMG1466.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Back down Glenridding.</td></tr>
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Traipsing out of the aid station and around the corner we took the path towards the final large climb of the day: Stake Pass. We could see it looming from miles off at the head of the valley we were walking up, its summit shrouded in the grey of clag, the wind steadily picking-up as we neared.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Looking up towards Helvellyn</td></tr>
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Climbing the switch-backs to the summit the weather deteriorated with the strengthening wind feeling like a gale and the rain now properly coming-in blown on it. I tried to tough-out the conditions figuring-out I’d be fine once over the top and on the descent, but the temperature was now down in to single figure from the mid twenties of an hour or so ago, the wind sucking all the heat out of your body like a Dementor. I sheltered behind a rock and put my waterproof on to try and beat the elements, my hands going numb as I did so. I stomped to the summit as best I could, hitting the top in the very reduced visibility of clag as the rain drove down hard.<br />
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On the top the terrain was wet slippery rock, which is anathema for trail shoes and grip. Passing a marshal he shouted it was only 3 miles to the aid station and I tried to make progress off the summit and hopefully to get below the clag as quickly as possible. Trying to pick a path over the solid rocky surface I saw a gully worn as a path and made for that, skipping towards it before nearly stomping fully into the midriff of a freshly dead sheep carcass!.. Narrowly avoiding a messy accident I tried to descend as fast as I could but was slowed to a walk by the slippery rock, all the while being buffeted by the wind and my hands now freezing - I was faced with the choice of stopping in this highly exposed area to find gloves in my pack to put them on, or to try to tough it out and just put my hands up my sleeves and get down under the clag into warmer air asap.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnrUtGr8w0DGQFLygQKg9rZXNDgIeJkAkFzzC6O8OtU8hUfUjO0TnM4jmd6HmZrLNis-JucVggTPBtZ2Tw2PFvJAlYJmLBPMcwfBQ4yin0-Kv0dvyXOSAH_gg4R-U6hhyL8IJ9He1ZX1Cw/s1600/RIMG1471.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnrUtGr8w0DGQFLygQKg9rZXNDgIeJkAkFzzC6O8OtU8hUfUjO0TnM4jmd6HmZrLNis-JucVggTPBtZ2Tw2PFvJAlYJmLBPMcwfBQ4yin0-Kv0dvyXOSAH_gg4R-U6hhyL8IJ9He1ZX1Cw/s320/RIMG1471.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sapphire water.</td></tr>
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All I could do was grumble to myself, mentally force myself onwards… The marshal was way off on his assessment - the aid station was another 7 miles away from the summit, 7 sodden miles of driving wind and rain. My fingers were like blocks of ice and white through poor circulation from the exertions of what I was doing. No matter what I did I could not get warm. I ate. I drank. I clenched my hands into fists inside the sleeves of my waterproof… At least having the waterproof on I was not losing heat to the wind, but I just did not seem able to shake the chill. Running over the slippery rocks was not an option and finally when it bottomed out I forced myself to jog along the ankle deep stream of a path to try and get some heat generated. Anything. Just anything to get through this. It just didn’t work.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Careful now!</td></tr>
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Eventually I found myself on the valley floor near Chapel Stile, familiar territory at least, but knowing I still had a good 3 miles till the aid station. 3 miles of wallowing in self pity and misery, 3 miles at the lowest ebb I have ever been where I could happily have thrown it in… Just to compound my misery the course had now combined with the 55k again and I had the ‘delight’ of chirpy happy runners on that laughing and giggling their way past me as I just wanted to shout at them to FUCK OFF… Then there was the photographer: great that’s all I needed a fucking photographer to capture my moment of abject misery for posterity… I focused. I internalised. There’s no point in proving to the world that I’m a complete bell-end, so I tried my best to hide it away. I pulled my hood right over me and the cords as tight as I could so all that could be seen in the darkness within were my eyes, eyes staring at the ground avoiding contact with everyone.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Descending from the tarn.</td></tr>
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The closer I got to the aid station the more the weather improved, the rain even lifted and the wind abated in the shelter of the valley floor. There was a problem though, I was shaking uncontrollably with the cold I was feeling right to my core, even though I could feel on my face there was now some muggy warmth after the downpour. I noticed I was visibly trembling to anyone who could see me, properly shivering and shaking, teeth rattling. I realised I was borderline hypothermic and probably in danger of being hooked from the race if there are proper medics visually assessing us as we arrived. I had to hold myself together as best I could, put all my steel and determination into getting this under control and not revealing how bad a shape I was in to anyone… The other side of the aid station was only a 10k blast up and over Loughrigg Fell to the finish. I couldn’t get hooked from the race within the time limit so close to the end: at worst case it was only a two hour slow plod. To now be so close, failure was not an option.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCU6R6VLNZNZ1MwNjQhQDUpsgnTJ5iiRw0MTqseKNEWVPpGweelAEGbcn1nrou_KuXKnGdvsw3cz9DLk68FzHm3c_5TrYVR3gxu4R1gkr2Ht5Dew1EgLmR-qiyttckAdlLWdCJ9YhNYvpi/s1600/RIMG1477.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCU6R6VLNZNZ1MwNjQhQDUpsgnTJ5iiRw0MTqseKNEWVPpGweelAEGbcn1nrou_KuXKnGdvsw3cz9DLk68FzHm3c_5TrYVR3gxu4R1gkr2Ht5Dew1EgLmR-qiyttckAdlLWdCJ9YhNYvpi/s320/RIMG1477.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Stepping stone in the last of the sun.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Entering the aid station I did the most British of things and grabbed a steaming hot cup of tea holding it tight in my hands… And another tub of the noodles, a pot of lifesaving warm tasty noodles. The warming combination inside my belly worked wonders. A salve to the soul. Slowly I could feel the chill subside and was able to stop having to fight the shaking and shivering, slowly I could relax. I reckon I rested there in the warmth of the school at Langdale sitting on a chair made for a 7 year old for about 15 minutes before heading back out… The sun was shining now, the weather and my mood were no longer black.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPma74nJG9oZ5PEKg9gICNMRpSU_KjoT_vWOYGxrRZTS__1jVhmE9wQ3W07QsUOlCaNmywwkwHWVxSUYAXPcW_7IXWO19ctk2qSfPe_zi5H5s4COmp31hRmhQG-xGpzBALiG89t1sR4AaX/s1600/RIMG1480.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPma74nJG9oZ5PEKg9gICNMRpSU_KjoT_vWOYGxrRZTS__1jVhmE9wQ3W07QsUOlCaNmywwkwHWVxSUYAXPcW_7IXWO19ctk2qSfPe_zi5H5s4COmp31hRmhQG-xGpzBALiG89t1sR4AaX/s320/RIMG1480.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bog trotting in the murk</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I still wasn’t totally out of the woods mentally or physically. I may have been on the way out of the dark place but I couldn’t afford to slip back. Distraction was the order of the day, so I put on my headphones and disappeared into podcasts: an episode of Ear Hustle about life inside San Quentin State Penitentiary was followed by Richard Herring’s Leicester Square Theatre Podcast as he interviewed Jessica Napit. Taking my mind off introspection with the grim reality of life behind bars and onto a good giggle thanks to Richard Herring.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgN25qTnmTvAPbJpNob7H0759nFp6UcyiXiAxPOet-WZLK_DUTYrywSH3Tw9eBFN1IwBbepNmGAqRtM8RC9O3KkaPIxbhQJ44_Y3f-u-wC1Hw24zyg8Knyn9WZWkS0549nV0XCGeYt0heD/s1600/RIMG1484.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgN25qTnmTvAPbJpNob7H0759nFp6UcyiXiAxPOet-WZLK_DUTYrywSH3Tw9eBFN1IwBbepNmGAqRtM8RC9O3KkaPIxbhQJ44_Y3f-u-wC1Hw24zyg8Knyn9WZWkS0549nV0XCGeYt0heD/s320/RIMG1484.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Approaching Stake Pass in the clag.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
By the time this ended I was on top of Loughrigg as the sun began to set… I was going to make it back probably a bit earlier in the day than I had the 55k last year. Soon I was on the descent off the fell towards Rothay Park, the gradient forcing me into a proper jog to the finish and the warm claps and cheers of those still ranged around the line cheering us latecomers home.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipJO1u1FdMj9E8wLxZEvdhNK2G3RPIkKNS37Mhqbc5x-VrmM3T1ocZ3Tc6az5_BGsW_1yQv91DA-oMSLBl22dPG7FDyjIIT_M0yn2GNVAnshUQPxkgc3exdp6HyjX4U_5BUctwQ3BvCV9U/s1600/NotImpressed.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1067" data-original-width="1600" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipJO1u1FdMj9E8wLxZEvdhNK2G3RPIkKNS37Mhqbc5x-VrmM3T1ocZ3Tc6az5_BGsW_1yQv91DA-oMSLBl22dPG7FDyjIIT_M0yn2GNVAnshUQPxkgc3exdp6HyjX4U_5BUctwQ3BvCV9U/s320/NotImpressed.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">That photo!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
I’d made it. I’d finished. I’d managed to run the furthest distance I’ve ever managed: 110k, 66 miles or thereabouts. Wow. The enormity of this immediately sank in as I had had to battle the hardest I ever had before to finish and in my fragile emotional state I was nearly reduced to tears, overwhelmed with what I had achieved, more so than when I’ve ever pushed through a barrier before.<br />
<br />
Trying not to collapse into a jellied emotional wreck, I went and grabbed some food from the finishers food cart and bumped into Dora who was sitting on a camping chair looking very pained… She had trashed her feet on the way to where we had last crossed paths and had been slowed to a shuffle but ground out a finish just one place above and 10 minutes in front of me. I reckon I must have made nearly half an hour on her over the last 15 miles even in my sorry state so she must really have been suffering and in severe pain, which put my travails into perspective.<br />
<br />
I was supposed to go for a beer with Pini after the race, but I was facing a rush to make last orders and I really couldn’t face it. All I could muster was to shower, put on all my warm clothes and climb into the van for a kip.<br />
<br />
The next morning dawned and soon enough I was up and cooking mahoosive brekkie baguettes of sausage, bacon egg & black pudding for Pini & me… It turns out he had finished in 14th place in the 55k, the first time he had ever entered a race like this and the first time for him running in the lakes. Oh and Fiona had finished 3rd lady in the 110. A pair of awesome running performances!<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXhc34YRgNk_UvVZnxgaCfCDO7lsC3393tkIdC-ttjdPy5HoJ8EsLuqtl4AzYdfOrJ93NGlMUWLLLnY7cM6UokCN40XpJRm2A2ERlWhhGK2GOS4wlVudZ5V24izOiLBwQkT4gvq8J8IItV/s1600/RIMG1485.JPG" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXhc34YRgNk_UvVZnxgaCfCDO7lsC3393tkIdC-ttjdPy5HoJ8EsLuqtl4AzYdfOrJ93NGlMUWLLLnY7cM6UokCN40XpJRm2A2ERlWhhGK2GOS4wlVudZ5V24izOiLBwQkT4gvq8J8IItV/s320/RIMG1485.JPG" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pini perusing paperwork for positions.</td></tr>
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It had been an amazing day out in the lakes, 66 long miles through darkness and light (mentally as well as in reality) and in all weather conditions, placing 167/203 finishers whilst squeaking home in under 22 hours by 2 minutes! Yes I know it wasn’t fast, to put it in perspective I took just under double the amount of time of the winner, but I made it and that was the goal. My nearest comparison for a course was the Lakeland 50, which to be honest I found easier than this as the climbs were fewer even if they were largely bigger. I learned a helluva lot today about looking after myself and also how far I can dig down without quitting which will hopefully put me in good stead for the future. With the changeable weather and the effect it had on me it also really brought-home why you have the compulsory kit you carry: it really is there to make a difference in case of emergencies. Emotionally the day certainly proved to be as undulating as the course. They say you experience highs and lows whilst out on tough long runs. Today I experienced this to the nth degree and now know and truly appreciate what they mean when they say it.<br />
<br />
Anyway, chapeau to Pini & Fiona on their immense performances in the 55 & 110 and not forgetting Dora who managed to really show how tough she was in getting to the finish on feet that could not walk another step.<br />
<br />
Will I be back?.. Too effing right!<br />
<br />
Eat pies.<br />
Drink beer.<br />
Run far.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />Shoeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06168576054186785526noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5645767874738367526.post-6456960841139571062018-08-29T01:24:00.001+01:002020-04-26T14:40:45.181+01:0016th September: Ben Nevis Ultra - I came, I saw, I was conquered.<span style="font-size: small;">I knew it would come to an end some time, and the longer you go the more likely it is to happen, and so today it came to pass that my heretofore unblemished record of finishing every race I have started was ended when I was hooked from the course of the Ben Nevis Ultra after 33 miles @ CP3 ... Was I surprised? No not really. Was I disappointed? A little.<br /><br />I had set myself a target of getting to the halfway point before the inevitable but fell a stop short, although I was far from being the first to drop and by the time I got there I was ready to stuff the race up the organiser’s arse using a mallet and no lube. Only 16% of starters officially finished the race (although 28% managed to eventually finish the course when you include those who managed to get down off the mountains outside of the allotted time) which showed how badly wrong the race was planned for timing in relation to its difficulty... So here’s my take on the race itself and my tuppence-worth on everything following after.<br /><br />When the race was announced I was absolutely buzzing to have a go - initially I had planned to run this with ‘Dora the Explorer’ with whom I had run the UT110 & UT55. Entries opened at the VERY steep price of £150 promising a 100k race with a time limit of 20 hours with only some video snippets of the course revealed at first... It was only after the event had fully booked and a couple of months before the race that they then decided to extend the course by 20k but keep the time limits as they were. At this point Dora (wisely) bailed and sold-on her entry as she felt it was too high a chance of a DNF to justify spending that money on the trip! But I fancied a galavant up in the Highlands anyway as It had been a while so stuck with it... Stuck with it even after it took me 22 hours to finish the UT110 which meant to finish this race I would have to go 10k further than I ever had in 2 hours less time!</span><br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPcF7R6xG3R8PLLzsJJbaPmOUY1EwnSPKucPjC1deymXvOcxzP4AkVsPhuEWavIxvQdjyV6p4rQYwPE3MmSU20NfU7L1D_xK-YxsPfN8SPc8r9j3f000JvbqRdlWsB6zVgQqtPs12wVugS/s1600/RIMG1874.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPcF7R6xG3R8PLLzsJJbaPmOUY1EwnSPKucPjC1deymXvOcxzP4AkVsPhuEWavIxvQdjyV6p4rQYwPE3MmSU20NfU7L1D_xK-YxsPfN8SPc8r9j3f000JvbqRdlWsB6zVgQqtPs12wVugS/s320/RIMG1874.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Looking up at the Mamores.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-size: small;">At least I knew I was heading for a DNF from the start and weighing things up I set myself a target once the course was revealed, of finishing all the parts of the route I have never covered before ‘C’, halfway as a ‘B’ and anything beyond an ‘A’ of which I would be more surprised than a very surprised thing!<br /><br />In the weeks leading-up to the race I received a message from running friend Theresa who had just finished her PhD and was entering this as a last hoorah before heading back to the States. This year she had already achieved something nearly as massive as her qualification in representing Scotland (qualified through residence) in the home nations plate 50k Ultra and I was looking forward to catching up with her one last time before she flew away.</span><br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiK_bK608H4PYGXwwGAbHDrRGZYGFmSRj3Sl4v75AwhAmTHxwIz151PjSNfTyL1R0qDdX7sMZT8RfFiRBh6iaTogoX3r1CL8i1QSH76eekI0P0hfemn7IL1L3LVuQ3kHfS7wSDCjJeQuk6I/s1600/RIMG1873.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiK_bK608H4PYGXwwGAbHDrRGZYGFmSRj3Sl4v75AwhAmTHxwIz151PjSNfTyL1R0qDdX7sMZT8RfFiRBh6iaTogoX3r1CL8i1QSH76eekI0P0hfemn7IL1L3LVuQ3kHfS7wSDCjJeQuk6I/s320/RIMG1873.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">View from the car park of the event base.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">The Ben Nevis Ultra was part of the race card for the Skyline Scotland event where some of the world’s finest mountain runners were to compete on a 22 mile course the following day. The full event started on the Friday evening with the vertical kilometre race (the VK) the Ultra and the ‘Ring of Steall’ on the Saturday with the Skyline on the Sunday, where my friend Kirsty-Jane who was sitting top of the UK Ladies Skyrunning standings was looking to pit herself against some of the international big-guns. The event base is in the lovely village of Kinlochleven which is on the West Highland Way halfway between Glencoe and Fort William at the foot of the Mamores.<br /><br />After I worked my way through the very smooth registration, kit check and tracker tagging (where I was greeted by the familiar friendly face of Richard Lander-Stowe who was marshaling for the weekend), I met-up with Theresa where she informed me they were now doing an early start of 5am for those that wanted it instead of the 6am main start - shame this was not communicated earlier by the organisers as I would have chewed their arm of for that as it increased my chances of getting further into the race, but the only coach available for this had booked-up already so I could not get on it.<br /><br />I gave Theresa a lift back to Fort William and took myself to the Grog & Gruel for a pre race burger & beer with the place heaving with those up for the Skyline and the normal Friday night custom. All fed I kipped in the van till it was time to drive back to Kinlochleven stupidly early and to get the bus to the start.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5vYlwzLMHZQWn62TXuzIYdgkR7YXneBTawoqut8up1LFBSP8JmganTvcV35owBHWWofhk3GkEqeTeUgMGuOR7BldwLDRyjgZGoMxE5ZzoHpbeBW0z5mFjWZk3HtX_oZcrsLCXAOwKk58R/s1600/RIMG1784.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5vYlwzLMHZQWn62TXuzIYdgkR7YXneBTawoqut8up1LFBSP8JmganTvcV35owBHWWofhk3GkEqeTeUgMGuOR7BldwLDRyjgZGoMxE5ZzoHpbeBW0z5mFjWZk3HtX_oZcrsLCXAOwKk58R/s320/RIMG1784.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Awaiting.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-size: small;">We all stood there shivering in the pitch black on the southern shore of Loch Ness at Fort Augustus waiting for the briefing. A little after the allotted start time we had it, where we were told to follow the flags, “not that you can see them in the dark but you will when it gets light” before we were then told that our trackers had the emergency buttons disabled, so pressing them will not achieve anything!.. This was the only briefing we had, a complete joke. We were also starting 15 minutes late on a day where time was the most precious of commodities which riled an already hostile crowd even further.</span><br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA-tCfakXL0P2DRmmibwifg-wnXWsI5MWSSSiMElsxei2ZrV37MjTpI_8ReiCSCp_dK5r109ysfbszfhq0vh7D_VQ9_K6dbdXWo1dnozBwz6HFk48PsFT4J6rYAcHkUY7nUBTo_rEnesWF/s1600/RIMG1787.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA-tCfakXL0P2DRmmibwifg-wnXWsI5MWSSSiMElsxei2ZrV37MjTpI_8ReiCSCp_dK5r109ysfbszfhq0vh7D_VQ9_K6dbdXWo1dnozBwz6HFk48PsFT4J6rYAcHkUY7nUBTo_rEnesWF/s320/RIMG1787.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">A saltaire-d up Theresa ready for the off.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-size: small;">The mood of all the runners was somber to say the least, except amongst the paid elite athletes who were looking at another day at the office, albeit with different scenery. As we all headed off under headtorch light, they all shot away and the rest of us silently trudged onwards. Everyone already had a face on like someone had farted in a packed lift, so I thought I’d break the tension of the moment by saying loudly.</span><br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlAH6ubHUQKyFBxNiyUWkfcmt7RftERbW9Mp2UK23jQpEse-rDNDKPFLeDgH1QoOVuNMxm14TZ7tAbmXB7_casX0BGXrBUzWYEH0dCuEa-57PwM7gtjvfDOD-kQ37044Ke3ej9FT7N8mtZ/s1600/RIMG1797.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlAH6ubHUQKyFBxNiyUWkfcmt7RftERbW9Mp2UK23jQpEse-rDNDKPFLeDgH1QoOVuNMxm14TZ7tAbmXB7_casX0BGXrBUzWYEH0dCuEa-57PwM7gtjvfDOD-kQ37044Ke3ej9FT7N8mtZ/s320/RIMG1797.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">The pink of dawn.</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-size: small;">“Jesus this must be the most fucking morose start to a race ever... Anyone else shitting themselves about not finishing?”.. The unanimous reply was yes - it seemed outside of the pros, the whole field was resigned to failure and the chat turned to where everyone was planning to get to before they were hooked from the course having timed-out. The chat the previous night with competitors in the other races were such that they were offering condolences to us running the ultra, as everyone realised we had been stitched-up a treat by the organisers with the race impossible to finish for those outside of elite standard, which was not how it was advertised! We all enter races with the element of jeopardy that you will not finish - it’s part of the challenge, but being set-up for failure before you have had a chance to start after they take your cash is plain wrong.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZAUw8ARW_lUu4zZJdX6CQ323RqjzKsYDroZtqDBOgZhYujGnwIsLlb219vdPCabd5r7qRuXaC5Ur6J1EhTdcMgdIh8hYZh-7aw7UdwG8xm65MrFyNOLGN090k-Mw0gIjt7a1WwXba8b2o/s1600/RIMG1798.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZAUw8ARW_lUu4zZJdX6CQ323RqjzKsYDroZtqDBOgZhYujGnwIsLlb219vdPCabd5r7qRuXaC5Ur6J1EhTdcMgdIh8hYZh-7aw7UdwG8xm65MrFyNOLGN090k-Mw0gIjt7a1WwXba8b2o/s320/RIMG1798.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Loch Ness behind us.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">My plan was to go until I was hooked from the course - I was confident on my pace over distance of reaching the halfway point at the foot of Ben Nevis where I could take the ‘fast forward’ option rather than climb the mountain if I was at the aid station by a certain time. This would mean I had traversed all the parts I had not been over before and the fairly flat benign military road I had already run before, so I would feel I was not be missing-out on anything new so-as-to-speak. Hitting around 37 miles in the stunning surroundings of the highlands is still a good day out!</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2Uzx-Z7cOHA9F-oZWQlY6_CjNgojlC9gYdl5Sag-G5yjP6bGLBk2VF5E7ylOHzL2z2BYo5hU7BKt5qwb8vfX84pc0wO4Ov8OZx1xgWL5L_A8fftIrd0cHnCmH61apCVH3vSyl8RtHCFHR/s1600/RIMG1800.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2Uzx-Z7cOHA9F-oZWQlY6_CjNgojlC9gYdl5Sag-G5yjP6bGLBk2VF5E7ylOHzL2z2BYo5hU7BKt5qwb8vfX84pc0wO4Ov8OZx1xgWL5L_A8fftIrd0cHnCmH61apCVH3vSyl8RtHCFHR/s320/RIMG1800.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Remote.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">The sun rose behind us over Loch Ness as we wound our way up into the mountains, the gorgeous pink tinged light that you only ever experience in the Highlands and never truly translates into photographs bathed everything. Soon I was nearly at the back of the field, which I could see from looking back on the switch-backs, but comfortably on my target pace. As I ran along looking down across the valley I watched a herd of red deer gallop though the heather, something magical to behold.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX1wINgvha5PK7nCndshJMNDpLObOW2unFegIUgBsSnMBl752CFaSSKDiA3Wchq6dOt5x-7uLl7WZk2mQmuEivHx6hjs6SCqVsJ2AhNReFog7yF1lHqAkZVoCOlF9lkFzbxR73VT6c9MMt/s1600/RIMG1801.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX1wINgvha5PK7nCndshJMNDpLObOW2unFegIUgBsSnMBl752CFaSSKDiA3Wchq6dOt5x-7uLl7WZk2mQmuEivHx6hjs6SCqVsJ2AhNReFog7yF1lHqAkZVoCOlF9lkFzbxR73VT6c9MMt/s320/RIMG1801.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Into the cloud.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">As we climbed we soon made it into the cloud line with the temperature dropping noticeably, although you still remained warm enough not to bother putting a layer on.<br /><br />The surface underfoot was mostly wide access track so pretty solid underfoot crossed with streams and the occasional large puddle with a line of electricity pylons to guide us. The only sounds were just your feet on the gravelly track, the sound of your breathing and the rumbling of water in the nearby river - a total absence of any man-made sounds, a true solitude you rarely ever experience unless you are able to escape to the wilderness.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKG2zxeh4v0HdQygUHQZGYJnSZ3kAIV3LYdPmLBqOtveKocYWVg2oZqHwPrsddTuJIA6j5fsjxZLkUz1k-4UUI-SnMbkKZe8hWSPQk70brCiluxBRzuBeBCSP5kqwYiv_2AW08bk7SXLYS/s1600/RIMG1802.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKG2zxeh4v0HdQygUHQZGYJnSZ3kAIV3LYdPmLBqOtveKocYWVg2oZqHwPrsddTuJIA6j5fsjxZLkUz1k-4UUI-SnMbkKZe8hWSPQk70brCiluxBRzuBeBCSP5kqwYiv_2AW08bk7SXLYS/s320/RIMG1802.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Not last!</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Eventually the path led us down from the Corrieyairack Pass to the first building we had seen since leaving Fort Augustus; arriving at Melgarve and the first checkpoint of the day around 14 miles in.<br /><br />Turning off the track we picked up the path following the River Spey towards its source and the lush green surrounds of the valley floor was all around us - unfortunately this brought a problem: bog.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzqNf7DY4w6DX3q2fsuumibhsyke98vS_AR-DMN2P4FhKck8TWsTFwTxRM0fOqOuckOxGq8NpRsmUiH95nw3x4WtEhTY_rv6JUP61qmIXi_-SirWv2WH97qlXaXdkytV3NH133LLUdCnDQ/s1600/RIMG1816.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzqNf7DY4w6DX3q2fsuumibhsyke98vS_AR-DMN2P4FhKck8TWsTFwTxRM0fOqOuckOxGq8NpRsmUiH95nw3x4WtEhTY_rv6JUP61qmIXi_-SirWv2WH97qlXaXdkytV3NH133LLUdCnDQ/s320/RIMG1816.JPG" width="180" /> </a></td><td style="text-align: center;"></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;"> Bog.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4tGnHgeW72ryJoQq-BANG4Iqxd0kP7DP1u-lQFNP24CqsxD_NFDVfh0J2_O9IonhQ5lxLz4bI5dctIrzkQmyh1cDEvRT1oxgvh2lRSEOSz0t7y3EGLevdtpHNs-7HgZu9A2KLDl2HoS4L/s1600/RIMG1820.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4tGnHgeW72ryJoQq-BANG4Iqxd0kP7DP1u-lQFNP24CqsxD_NFDVfh0J2_O9IonhQ5lxLz4bI5dctIrzkQmyh1cDEvRT1oxgvh2lRSEOSz0t7y3EGLevdtpHNs-7HgZu9A2KLDl2HoS4L/s320/RIMG1820.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Squidgy bog!</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">We were running along a flood plain, a sodden flood plain so we were dipping in and out of bogs varying in depth from ankle to waist deep as we blithely followed the flags that marked our path. From the steady ease of progress of the first leg we were slowed by 50% where what would have been a 10 minute mile before on the flat now became 15 wet minutes of wade...</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuYQ5Z5j5L51ohojZ5Qi87bNe9EgFWvDPzHqJywb9PLyc39ElPVb3nSYyKAPW_2WjipJiJXyz2Q7YRcH2BqZGfoAHnS4AOwQaB7o7SzmhqDBORI0Wz5uWjVhx-oRy9-b38FbQypaDRfqwT/s1600/RIMG1817.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuYQ5Z5j5L51ohojZ5Qi87bNe9EgFWvDPzHqJywb9PLyc39ElPVb3nSYyKAPW_2WjipJiJXyz2Q7YRcH2BqZGfoAHnS4AOwQaB7o7SzmhqDBORI0Wz5uWjVhx-oRy9-b38FbQypaDRfqwT/s320/RIMG1817.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Follow the flags.</span></td></tr>
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These soaking miles were punctuated by getting even wetter with a couple of river crossings - proper thigh deep refreshing wades through the waters swollen from the rains of the previous day... Still, our feet were soaked through, so you did not mind this; the real difficulty was the strength of the water pulling you off balance or a loss of grip on the slippery stones that formed the river beds. At least the freezing cold of the water anaesthetised against any foot pains!</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">One crossing took us right to the door of the picturesque bothy of Luib-Chonnal - it was pretty tempting to nip inside for a moment to slack-off, but time was the order of the day so I moseyed-on past.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbXNZdfzBsQ7fIGAkj6WPzYw4FPraAfYuO9Q5WdShmPziX3zG8Jhja714jYzxnSg-FllxBXq_H8eQmRscaH3ewuQaiazFw-NoPcCFEbNxA0Qp6f1zBpPME68xBtsrovILwq2IPNu72GKJw/s1600/RIMG1821.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbXNZdfzBsQ7fIGAkj6WPzYw4FPraAfYuO9Q5WdShmPziX3zG8Jhja714jYzxnSg-FllxBXq_H8eQmRscaH3ewuQaiazFw-NoPcCFEbNxA0Qp6f1zBpPME68xBtsrovILwq2IPNu72GKJw/s320/RIMG1821.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Bothy ahoy.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">This leg provided us racers with a big shock - as we followed the path at one point I took a step forward and the ground disappeared... I found myself for that fraction of a second sinking down with a gasp with no idea if I would hit the bottom of the bog and would I do so before I went fully under? Fortunately being 6ft of idiot it had only came up to my chest when my feet found the bottom, but I had to stumble/ swim over the uneven invisible depth to get the few metres across to the other side of the bog where it began to shallow and I could walk and clamber out the other side properly drenched.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhT3ZNEJYZlwlGeOEEomnzwWHmncmVXISIlSMMaXPFv6mvqmws_Ud6VsYms7dohWioYJxVljHmw2PVADmVWCVlErduEbhfXpkfqKMh1odB-HSFnEuepAJQfD39uzhtOiTHX3VLy-OS78prI/s1600/RIMG1819.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhT3ZNEJYZlwlGeOEEomnzwWHmncmVXISIlSMMaXPFv6mvqmws_Ud6VsYms7dohWioYJxVljHmw2PVADmVWCVlErduEbhfXpkfqKMh1odB-HSFnEuepAJQfD39uzhtOiTHX3VLy-OS78prI/s320/RIMG1819.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Mid river view.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Eventually the path began to firm-up as it rose slightly above the flood plain so it was back to just wet feet rather than total immersion and an attempt to move as quick as possible to keep body-heat up and to dry off through warming-up with increased effort.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /><br />After 22 miles I reached the first aid station and the sights of the first people for ages with those running the station. When I arrived I heard a familiar voice: Teresa was there amongst others who had decided to bail from the race distinctly unimpressed with the fact you could not run through 10 miles of bog, as we had all just discovered, combined with a warning from those manning the aid station that we had plenty more to come on the next stage, as well as her experiencing difficulties in keeping warm when soaked to the skin!.. There were also a couple of casualties there with competitors suffering from turned ankles caused by stumbles in the bog.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">Bidding Teresa goodbye I began the climb away from the aid station, heading up in to the hills and away from the bog of the flood plains onto paths that were streams with all the water on the ground and a different kind of bog: peat marsh.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">Soon I was in the wilderness once more, picking my way over the path where there was a path, passing some stunning small waterfalls, jinking and scrambling around and over some rocks to make it to a bridge over a small gorge. I made as much progress in as rapid a time as I could... Until the peat marsh arrived. We were faced with a climb over a hillside that was pure peat. There was what was left of a wire fence marking our way up. The single top wire was long gone from the iron stake posts, now lying on the ground or part buried in the peat where it had fallen, it occasionally acting as a tripwire if you approached the line of stakes to closely.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6R70XKW9nYYFeRoFr1_NdBwahEUjUAeLoxAPQKpmGOznsSwoPk8DCJvdMLAadxWdxGuORC6gc9U0CBOgqSyYGk4fnWA5rC934Cv55iUqM1SAJa1gKDyMeE26dJUmdHaz9_LgOShvGl1bz/s1600/RIMG1856.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6R70XKW9nYYFeRoFr1_NdBwahEUjUAeLoxAPQKpmGOznsSwoPk8DCJvdMLAadxWdxGuORC6gc9U0CBOgqSyYGk4fnWA5rC934Cv55iUqM1SAJa1gKDyMeE26dJUmdHaz9_LgOShvGl1bz/s320/RIMG1856.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Follow the 'fence'.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">This was a proper wade through the mud, a mix between ankle and knee deep. I tried to move from tussock of grass to tussock but it wasn’t working... coupled with the gradient this was a soul destroying slog. Looking at my watch I knew I was timing-out but trying to make any pace on this leg was not possible. Eventually I summitted and started on the slippery descent where a path had sort of become visible. Eventually it led us to a field where following the flags it led us closer to a river. Soon I found myself beside it and waist deep in water once more as the field had become a paddy. There was no way across and I was not willing to try swimming. I took stock and realised I must be off-track but I could not see any flags marking a correct path.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">I retreated back a little and made my way to a fence that bordered the field and eventually climbed across it finding a footpath and a route onwards, realising as the final hour for this section of the race ticked by that as soon as I hit the checkpoint my day was over... The path soon led to a fire road, past a caravan sitting in the middle of nowhere. From here I could hear the sound of cars so figured I must be close to the A86 and the checkpoint. Sure enough, down a steep sloping quagmire of a field I found myself at CP3 and timed-out of the race by an hour.<br /><br />Where I was, was about 3 miles from where I had holidayed a few years ago just outside Roy Bridge and about a mile to the east of where I had crossed the A86 when running back to there from the top of Ben Nevis.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">I had successfully negotiated the part of the course I had never explored before, but cold now I was no longer moving, wet and hungry from my effort over the 30 something miles, my day was over. I was ushered into the support vehicle to warm-up and recover as I waited for those behind me to arrive and the course could be closed and us drop-outs could be driven back to the race base.<br /><br />To be honest I was a bit gutted to have ‘failed’, but I was more fuming about the organisers and the time-limits than my lack of pace... I know I am not quick by any stretch of the imagination, but I am good enough to finish one of the toughest 50 mile races in Britain twice in a row within qualification times for its 100 mile counterpart, so I am by no means out of my depth. I felt I had been cheated, although I had managed a good 33 mile run/ wade across some stunning landscape that for me was heretofore unexplored... Its a case of balancing things out in my mind... and enjoying a lovely hot cup of tea in the marshal’s warm vehicle covered in a blanket to warm-up.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">So that's my 'review' of the race experience, below is my view on the event:</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">I was very disappointed with the Ben Nevis Ultra, especially when you consider the good reputation of the Skyline Scotland and the Ring of Steall have managed to build in a short space of time. From speaking to others in the race I know I am not the only one to have the same concerns, either all or in part.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">There are huge areas of attention that are needed to be addressed for any future iteration of this event to prevent people feel that they are not being ripped-off by being set-up for failure in something that appears to have been cobbled together in a half-arsed manner.<br /><br />Don’t get me wrong, the marshals on the course and at the aid stations were all very noble and able, being drawn from experienced runners/ climbers etc. and the support they had on the day from the race HQ cannot be faulted - the registration process was smooth and efficient and the race base well managed and run. The problems lie with the forethought and planning that went in before the event by the organisers.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">The main areas of concern I would say are:<br /><br />Disabling the SOS on the trackers when you are having people going through miles of bogs that in places are up to your chest on a 6ft man when you are at the most remote point over 7 miles through such terrain (either backward or forward) from the nearest help/ human contact.<br /><br />The wisdom of not allowing at least one drop bag in a 75 mile race which meant those that made it to Ben Nevis without being timed-out had to climb into freezing conditions in soaking wet shoes/ socks/ clothes.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">If you are wanting us all to be self-sufficient in our food/ drink so you do not need to provide food in quantity or variety at aid stations, then you should allow drop-bags so the full weight is not needed to be carried over the full distance.<br /><br />A proper safety briefing for the event rather than “The course is marked but you can’t see it at present cos its dark, but follow the markers when you see them in daylight, until then follow the lights in front.” given 5 minutes after the race should have started.<br /><br />Stating the race to be X distance when people enter then changing it to X+ distance after everyone has entered and not adjust your timing accordingly is also not the most helpful of moves either.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Fall.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">If you are putting on an event deliberately so difficult that you have a 16% finish rate within your stipulated ‘course closes’ time, then you should be vetting entrants so only ‘elites’ can enter, especially as you set your time-limit to exclude anyone but these from finishing… We all paid £150 to enter a fair race with jeopardy that we would not finish, we did not pay £150 to enter a race that the vast majority had no hope of finishing before we had even started. The organisers need to decide whether it is an ‘open’ ability event or to be treated in the same way as Skyline. There was a very bitter taste in the mouth of us competitors as we felt we were rinsed to pay for the likes of Killian Journet’s appearance fees. I understand the costs involved in putting-on an event like this, but to not have any hot food at aid stations, food that was just crisps, biscuits and jam butties and not allowing drop-bags just smacked of this whole race being a bit ‘Heath Robinson’ and put together as an afterthought. As good an idea as it was on paper, it was poorly translated into reality from a competitor’s perspective.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Funky rock stripes.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">The idea of an ultra in the surroundings as part of Skyline Scotland is a sound one, but this was a disaster that will have put a lot of people off considering returning - a sizeable proportion of the field was from overseas and is now returning home feeling let down and disappointed by their experience having spent a lot of money for a DNF!.. If a realistic time-limit had been put on the event (24 hours would have been more appropriate) then there would have been a vastly improved number of finishers which would have amounted to around 75% as far fewer would have been timed-out… The final third of the course was very close to the event base with the finish there, so this part was manned or very easy to man/ marshall over the whole weekend and therefore would have been able to cope with the course being open for longer.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">I did address all these concerns directly with the organisers who replied to me (and others) with a lengthy press release piece that was full of obfuscation and twisting of stats to suit their own ends. For balance this can be read <a href="http://www.skylinescotland.com/news/2017/09/28/Race_Directors_Report__Salomon_Skyline_Scotland_2017/">here</a> - I have also rebutted this point-by-point to other people on the trail-running scene who asked if it was accurate from a competitor’s perspective.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">Having spoken to the marshals on the day and the person who set-out the course I know they were instructed to make the path as ‘difficult as possible’ and with local knowledge they said there was always a recognised path/ trail within 50-100m that could be used as an alternative - but we were instructed to follow the path as set and not doing so risks a DQ!<br /><br />I also saw the paperwork issued to the marshals and saw the anticipated drop-out rates and finish times of the organisers - the finish time of the winner was SEVERAL hours slower than they anticipated and the drop-outs, which they anticipated to be around a half was a far more extreme 84%!</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">Speaking with the man responsible for the trackers, he confirmed that the SOS buttons were disabled due to reliability issues at their end, mostly due to the tech requiring a signal that they knew would not be able to be guaranteed over the full length of the course and I fully get why they did this as there would be nothing worse than people putting blind faith in something they knew was highly likely not to work especially in an emergency - he did say there was a team continually monitoring the progress of all the trackers and anyone stopping for periods of time was causing them a lot of worry as they were aware of how remote the course was and they had med teams on a standby to react as quickly as they possibly could… Unfortunately this did mean NO-ONE was guaranteed to find you should something happen. Case in point was the lady who timed-out behind me; she fell into the bog where I did and went down to her neck. She said her instinct was to scream but she stifled herself as it was pointless as there was no-one around who could hear you!</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Caravan in the middle of nowhere.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Since I wrote this, the 2018 edition of the ‘Ben Nevis Ultra’ has been announced and is ENTIRELY different in length, location and terrain, so it seems the organisers have realised how badly the inaugural event went from a competitor’s perspective and hopefully a repeat experience will be avoided!<br /><br />Would I return? Not for a good few years and only if the event has consistently run without issues for the majority of competitors outside of weather related problems on the day.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: small;">Eat pies.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">Drink beer.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">Run far.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span>Shoeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06168576054186785526noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5645767874738367526.post-13072582611389129172018-08-28T00:03:00.002+01:002018-08-29T01:25:49.179+01:004th August: UTLD 100 - Lakeland Fails<span style="font-size: small;">A minute, 60 little seconds is such a short period of time, something normally so insignificant yet at the same time can be an immense insurmountable mountain as I discovered attempting the <a href="http://www.lakeland100.com/">Lakeland 100</a>… In writing about my failure rather than basking in a glow of relative success, believe me its not a plea for a cup of tea and some sympathy (U ok hun?), it just gets filed under ‘shit happens’ and to kind of paraphrase Alanis Morrisette: you live, you learn, you regroup, you return.<br /><br />Where did it all go wrong?.. If you trace anything back far enough you can pin it to a circumstance at a point in time and lay the blame all-in on that rather than taking ownership and responsibility on it yourself. True I could say for me there were plenty of less than ideal circumstances that could be said to contribute, but that’s not the point. The point is I allowed myself through arrogance or just a general throwing of myself on the mercy of the fates to not adhere to the principal of the 7P’s: perfect planning and preparation prevents piss poor performance… And paid the price.<br /><br />With the race starting at 6pm on Friday, on the Thursday I managed to finish work earlyish but still ended up packing in a hurry and leaving an hour later than planned. Within an hour the drive to my overnight stop at LSS’s parent’s in Lancashire hit the first snag: our junction for the M5 had closed, so we followed a poorly sign-posted diversion for an hour through the centre of Cheltenham, then later encountered another closure on the M6 which sent us on a diversion where the traffic was stationary for lengths of time… Eventually we arrived at LSS’s parents at 2am, some 6 hours after leaving on a journey that would normally take just over 3.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Shit gettin' real at the event base!</span></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">After just 4 hours kip, I travelled up to Coniston, hoping to catch-up on some lost shut-eye once there, parking at the event base of the John Ruskin School’s field. As soon as I was able to I registered, passed-trough the kit check (you need to carry appropriate waterproof top & bottoms, leggings, long sleeved base layer, hat, gloves, medical kit, whistle, compass, phone, emergency food, emergency drink, hard sided cup, head-torch & spare batteries) and back in the van packed my race pack with all of these along with the food & drink I would need to see me to the halfway point, plus things like suncream, sunnies, insect repellant, power bar & headphones for distraction tuneage along the way should it be needed... It was now I realised I’d forgotten 2 essential (but not compulsory) pieces of kit: my Garmin & salt tabs, both I’d remembered looking out and could have sworn I had packed, but I must have left at home. Bugger. It looked like I would now be recording the run on my phone, which I needed to be turned off for power saving and in a waterproof arm band for accessibility when resorting to ViewRanger to double-check on nav. For the duration I would have no idea of current mileage in relation to time and would have to wing-it. My timing would be based on a proper watch and guessing how long each leg would take when consulting the road book at the aid stations, judge required effort for each leg from profile maps and hope I can maintain my running within time-limits.<br /><br />Disappointed with my basic house-keeping errors I met up with running buddy Lucinda who was in for the 100 as well - normally she is a bit faster than me but in suffering from chronic back issues was just hoping to make a go of it and keep on the course till she was either hooked for time or bails through pain... Her plan was start slow & get progressively slower, so probably quite similar to how I would be!<br /><br />I lunched on pasta washed down with a pint of the specially-commissioned-for-the-event ale then retired to the van to attempt a couple of hours elusive sleep seeing as I could be on my feet for 40 hours once shit got real and we started! The weather however had other plans as the heat was stifling with soaring humidity; on the field it was nudging 30 degrees and in the marquees it was noticeably hotter. I had to leave the shaded side door of the van open to try and keep some cool air flowing and just lay there with my eyes closed, fruitlessly searching for some shut eye.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Brief!</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">When my alarm sounded, having just lain there with my eyes closed, I changed ready for action and made my way to the sweltering school hall for the briefing, where we sat with sweat pouring off us all. To be fair to organisers Marc & ‘Uncle Terry’ they keep it as brief and light-hearted as possible, although for the first time in its 11th year of running they had to issue a lightning warning!.. The heatwave the country had been in thrall to was due to break spectacularly over-night. We would be starting in 30 degree heat but overnight the rain and storms would come, along with feisty winds (fortunately not quite up to gale force) and hail! The organiser’s main concern was for us being out in exposed areas should lightning storms break and we were urged to use our collective loaves with regards to balancing our personal safety and chasing time! For those who are interested, the course stats on a GPS track look like <a href="https://www.mapmyrun.com/sc/victoria-english-river/lakeland-100-ultra-trail-of-the-lake-dis-route-14589692">this</a>.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br />Briefing over and there was just enough time to grab our kit, drop bags and visit the toilet one final time to drain the nerves. All gathered in the start corral and the event anthem of ‘Nessum Dorma’ was sung & we were off, in my case waved-off by a face in the massed cheering crowd of marathon buddy Luke who was running the 50 the following day… The start is absolutely awesome and as good as the start of the UTMB: from the school all the way through the village of Coniston the roads are lined several people deep all of them shouting, clapping and cheering us on, with my ‘Eat Pies’ shirt getting some love, especially passing the pubs!</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsxcsDdpStpHK0MvveF8lHgbRAUYRP8VGjwuLmwUQLhJPPZBpwAnAR5ndLcuoGJcuCwydRZ-mtrnjGp5Bpv-P6mf54KfAcRYm4qPAX1UJ-pkVzDRJbWRrUk4f17uk5B1gLZuGDa-SyZkAI/s1600/RIMG2883.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsxcsDdpStpHK0MvveF8lHgbRAUYRP8VGjwuLmwUQLhJPPZBpwAnAR5ndLcuoGJcuCwydRZ-mtrnjGp5Bpv-P6mf54KfAcRYm4qPAX1UJ-pkVzDRJbWRrUk4f17uk5B1gLZuGDa-SyZkAI/s320/RIMG2883.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Coralled.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Once off the high street the course proper commenced with an immediate long hard climb - the first of 3 ‘category 1’ climbs on the route and one of the longest overall - can’t beat a baptism of fire can you! We ascended the side of the ‘Old Man of Coniston’ through the oppressive stifling heat, only relieved by an occasional gentle gust of wind taking the edge off. Eventually there was a respite to the climb with some downhill, so I opened my legs and let fly… Mistake! As I bounded gaily along I caught a rock with my toe, stumbled and realised I was not going to recover my balance… Looking in front I could see a grassy patch without rock so I managed my stumble, dropped my shoulder and rolled out the fall onto it, getting straight back on my feet to carry on running, albeit slower, so I could dust myself down and check my person for damage: Just a gashed knee so all good! I got a few admiring comments from people as they overtook about how I managed to style-out the fall. Years of practice from tripping over rocks I suppose! The method originally came from my footballing days when speaking to people I know who did martial arts: don’t fight against the momentum of the fall as this is what causes damage, use it if you can to an advantage; tuck, roll, push off and you’re back on your feet immediately rather than stuck to the floor!<br /><br />Running over one of the flatter sections of this first leg we found ourselves amidst a cloud of flying ants, which were landing and crawling over us as we passed through it - an ominous sign as they only fly when rain is coming so as to soften the ground-up for them once they’ve landed. Looking forwards at the sky you could see why they were flying with a gun-metal grey canopy of rain clouds gathering over the mountains obscuring them in a dark haze: this was where the rain was... exactly where we were heading. Dropping down into the valley for our first checkpoint and it was now teasing us, the sky darkening, the humidity rising and all of us wanting to be cooled-off.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">On the first climb.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Into the first CP at Seathwaite and there was the day’s first casualty, someone suffering from a pulled muscle. Plenty of people start the race chancing it whilst injured or not fully recovered to see how they get on as once you are entered, beyond a certain date there are no transfers or refunds - although if you inform the organisers you are bailing they donate your entry to their charity partners.<br /><br />A quick downing of drinks, crisps and an orange and it was back out on to the course chasing the waning sun. The hope was to get to the next CP at Boot in some form of light to avoid a stop to rummage in my pack for my head torch and lose a bit of time as a consequence… As we climbed up in to the hills once more we were teased by the rain. We could see it raining in nearby valleys with the tops of hills surrounded by clag and the sky over us would periodically ominously darken, but this was merely a tease… The hoped-for cooling downpour was not coming, well not yet at least, save for a few spots and 5 minutes of light drizzle before we made it in to Boot as darkness properly enveloped us.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Lake Coniston in the distance.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">As I entered the CP I was confronted by the visions of people emerging from the darkness to hurl into the bushes... At a half marathon distance there were people already dropping through physically being unable to continue, most of whom I suspect had fallen foul of running too hard in the strong sun and humidity on the first climb and had over-cooked themselves at the very start, that and taking-on too many gels rather than having some proper food which had caused their stomachs to ‘flip’ and ruin their race almost as soon as it had started. <br /><br />As I enjoyed the restorative powers of a cup of tea and a couple of hob-nobs, a few minutes later a pained Lucinda made it into the CP fairly flustered and looking beaten.<br /><br />The worst thing they say you can do is quit at a CP, so I persuaded Lucinda to give it a go as the next leg was not too intense on the climb front once we hit the moors… I knew she had already mentally quit, but its one of those things that if you can get moving sometimes it works by distraction with the whole mind over matter effect when you concentrate on the moment. In a few minutes you’ll know if it is going to work or not, but halfway up the hill and Lucinda decided her back and her stomach really weren’t up to it and she turned back into the darkness and I was left to push on alone into the night.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">Halfway up the trudge and the heavens properly opened, giving me a proper dousing; the rain passing through the beam of the head torch like strobes which made seeing things a little more challenging, but with how hot I was and the relative shelter of the terrain I decided not to stop to find my waterproof and ‘boil in a bag’ but just to carry on and allow myself to cool down as the air temp was still very warm and I was still sweating like Michael Jackson on Sesame Street… Soon I noticed something on the floor shining back at me not too far off and saw it was one of the soft cups us competitors are given that must have fallen off or out of someone’s pack, so I picked it up and now had a quest that if I failed meant I had a free cup… Every time I came across another competitor I asked them if they had dropped a cup and eventually I found its owner as I plateaued at the start of the bogs by Burnmoor Tarn.<br /><br />I realised with no clear path over the bogs I was weaving like a drunk at closing-time attempting to pick the path across it which was invisible in the darkness. Fortunately with the dry spell it was not too wet underfoot for a stretch that is notorious in most years for soaking your trainers and leading to the on-set of ‘tripe feet’ (trench foot to the uninitiated) for many runners as once wet most people’s feet will not be drying-off till after the race is over.<br /><br />As I ran along this mercifully flat and fairly dry stretch (for a bog) I was chatting with a guy from Bolton. With the lead item on the national news being the fires on Winter Hill the other week, where some local numpties set fire to the whole hillside, I was interested to find out how it had affected the area with my loving of running up and down it when staying at the in-laws. He was saying how great it is just to keep going up and down without repeating yourself on the numerous different routes you can find just following the paths, but now all the paths have been obliterated by the fire so it is very difficult to see where they were or to remember exactly where they lay as there are now no longer any recognisable features, so at present all the fun has been ruined as you can’t just run there but have to seriously think about where you are and figure-out a path.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">Having entertained him with my accidental dogging tale from the carpark at the bottom of Winter Hill, he was also saying about the various other places to go running and came-out with an absolute gem: “Burnley, now those that live there say that its the Rome of the North West, what with being built on seven hills as they claim… The thing is that Rochdale also claims to be the Rome of the North West as they’ve built seven tower blocks!”<br /><br />Soon we left the plateau and I headed down the hill, attempting to home-in on the lights in front of me, running through some forrestry trail until I hit the valley floor and the next checkpoint.<br /><br />Having been greeted in the darkness by a very cheerful yellow Power Ranger, I crossed a stone bridge to the barn that was the Wasdale aid station which was manned (and womaned) by super-heroes with Elastigirl from the Incredibles pouring hot drinks, Spiderman prancing around making sangers, Wolverine busying himself ensuring people were ok and a few other Marvel & DC characters besides doing other checkpointy things. You might have thought this was the most bizarre sight of all and the beginnings of sleep deprivation, but no; I was totally lucid and not suffering from a cheese-dream… The genuinely eery sight was reserved for the rogues gallery that befell me.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Looking back again to Lake Coniston.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">There was not a seat to be found as they were all full of the broken and defeated: some just sitting shivering from what they had endured through the night so far, others wrapped in foil survival blankets from their exposure to wind and rain over the hills, but all of them, all of them bore the haunting expression of the thousand yard stare you’ve seen in pictures of shell-shocked soldiers from WWI & beyond; the look that says they have been pushed to the edge and are teetering on the brink rocking back and forth before toppling one way or the other, faces of those who have stared into the maw of a Nietszchean abyss and have seen it stare back at them. The silence of the aid station was only punctuated by the patter of rain and the enquiries from those running the aid station of the needs of new arrivals. There was nowhere to sit through the mass of casualties and the floor was wet from the rain so those of us carrying on were in a bind of finding somewhere dry to park our bums. Fortunately I found a patch of table to prop myself against and I gulped down a few cups of coke & squash, scoffed some crisps for salt to replace everything I had sweated out and slurped a wonderfully warm cup of tea as I studied the road-book and cut-off for the next leg: a leg of some serious climbs, including the second of the 3 ‘category 1’ climbs of the course, starting almost from the get-go. I was an hour and 15 inside the cut-offs, so was feeling chipper about getting up over and down to the next stop keeping an hour in the bag.<br /><br />Leaving behind something that could have been in Apocalypse Now when Captain Willard is heading up river in search of Kurtz, the climbing began and did not seem to stop.<br /><br />Killer climbs are so much better in the dark as you cannot see the mammoth slab of rock that lies in front of you with the snaking switch-back of a path that goes on forever topped by false summit after false summit… You can see the lie of the path by looking up, highlighted by the beams of head-torches in front… But don’t look up as it just disheartens as you realise how much higher you have still to go. Black Sail Pass was a killer. Unrelenting. I had to stop several times to gather my equilibrium, drenched in sweat and thirsting for a drink… Shortly before halfway we crossed a waterfall on the path, so I stopped to soak my buffs in the water to cool me, wash the sweat from my face and pour the coolness over my head to refresh… I then drank the fresh pure water straight from the fall in front of me, the chill water pouring over my face, the sense of touch heightened in the pitch black of night with my sense of sight diminished. Looking at my watch it was 1am and I thought that’s a pretty unique thing to be doing at that time.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">After an eternity I reached the top of the pass, but at this point I could not see the way down… I could see the head torches of those in the valley a couple of hundred feet below, but none on the descent to give away the path. I faffed around a bit trying to figure the route, making a couple of wrong turns and being careful not to fall of the edge of a cliff, before slowly making my way down what looked the most likely side including a slide and scramble over wet rocks until I reached the valley floor, found the youth hostel building and started for the next climb out of the valley.<br /><br />Again the path was indistinct on top and I lost time to wrong turns and consulting nav to figure out where I was before eventually finding the correct route and ploughed on. Eventually I could see through a gap between the hills and I could make-out the distinct shape of the silhouette of Fleetwith Pike in front of me, a hill I had taken LSS and her lads up a few years back on holiday, so I knew I was nearing Buttermere. The descent soon had me on the largely flat and even lakeside path, so I was able to make good time with those fellow stragglers around me - 4 of us were getting a wiggle-on to make the cut-off and we entered the aid station with 8 minutes to spare… That meant 8 minutes to be out of site of the aid station. </span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Sky darkening as the sun disappears.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Leaving the aid station with my hands full with a bag of crisps, a couple of twix fingers and a sausage roll as there was no time to properly eat anything in sight of the marshals I rounded the corner to hit the path... Before I could make it to the iron gate I needed to go through, I could make-out someone lumbering out of the darkness coming back off the course towards it. He crashed through it, nearly falling over as he relied heavily on his poles for balance, steadying himself as much as he could as he hobbled and stumbled past me... I asked if he was ok and he emphatically said no.<br /><br />I found out why he said no afterwards. He had taken a bad fall a couple of miles in and had broken his leg... His only choice was to try and get back to the aid station for urgent medical help. He posted the pictures of his leg on the race page on Facey and believe me it was not pretty: bits sticking out where they shouldn’t; a special kind of nasty that makes the squeamish reach for a basin… And he had managed to gather his wits together and make it back off the course. Immense strength and fortitude.<br /><br />Chastened by the sight just befallen me I stumbled onwards, taking wrong turns in the darkness that nearly led me into a gorge. At this point I thought I’d sit and eat what I was holding so as to free my hands-up & consult the road book at the same time... 3 hours to get the next 9 ‘lumpy’ miles under my belt. With how everything had gone so far I realised it would be as tight as a duck’s arse, but that’s what it was, so onwards forever onwards as there is no turning back!</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiJ1dpi7SAyZJCdxl63Jkt_Uj0yvwysi5f2Nwqx7NGW2__ACsDgsoWD125TOefBDIQ4oqQ0_nEtR3-31arZG7utNesXQuQWuQJdH4Ech4Z_w-1CIDzb7e-Kn7kPFnq34nIJmVwemV8B-FV/s1600/RIMG2901.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiJ1dpi7SAyZJCdxl63Jkt_Uj0yvwysi5f2Nwqx7NGW2__ACsDgsoWD125TOefBDIQ4oqQ0_nEtR3-31arZG7utNesXQuQWuQJdH4Ech4Z_w-1CIDzb7e-Kn7kPFnq34nIJmVwemV8B-FV/s320/RIMG2901.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Descending commences in the fading light.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">I knew that this was the last of the ‘hard’ legs until I got to about 65 miles, so the terrain would flatten a bit and allow me to claw back time if only I could get to Braithwaite. I forged on through the dark watching as the sky lightened and dawn began to break revealing the trail in front of me, although it did not stop me from slipping off it at one point and gashing my other knee and taking more wrong turns. The worst one gave me a choice in my exhausted state: either about half a mile extra to retrace back to a fork on the trail I had missed, or a scramble through knee deep heather of about 50 metres to gain about 20 in height where the path was.<br /><br />Once back on track I sat to catch my breath and took some pics in the early morning light. Able to read the roadbook without torchlight I could kind of figure out that it was pretty-much all downhill for the next 3 miles to get to the CP. Time to get a wiggle-on as I was right on it to hit there in time.<br /><br />This long descent to Braithwaite saw me overtake 3 on the descent, being told by 2 there was no rush, there’s still half an hour to make the cut... But I was sure it was NOW, so carried-on pushing to squeak in… Off the fells and into the tiny village I found the CP and entering the hall I was told as I dibbed-in “Sorry, you just missed the cut... by a minute.”</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Chasing the storms.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Immediately my mind raced thinking of what I could do… I could choose to accept my fate and do as I was told, or I could just do a runner, but realistically would I make the time back on the course especially as I would not be stopping to eat or drink anything?… I knew the course was due to flatten-out by comparison to what we had done up till now, potentially helping me to gain that valuable time… But there was no guarantee! My crap hill climbing skills and nav errors from Black Sail onwards had cost me way too much time having to correct back on track and had added 2.5 very hilly miles in the darkness. Back on planet reality and it was time to be stoic and face the honking klaxon of reality: game over.<br /><br />About 5 minutes after me, as I tucked-in to a bowl of pasta and rice pudding (separate bowls before you say ‘ewww’), one of the guys I overtook coming down the hill came in, was told he had timed-out and to hand his chip and tracker over on dibbing-in as he was being hooked from the race, only for him to get a bit aggy with the marshals over this insisting the cut-off time was 6:30, not 6 and he was carrying on. He was flatly told it was 6 and he was out, at which point he did a runner!.. Only for his details to be taken and was instantly DQ’d for ignoring the marshal’s instructions. I think I made the right choice as I did not come across as a complete tit by doing the same.<br /><br />I tried to be cheerful as I waited with the other dozen runners left in the aid station for the coach back to Coniston, which was about an hour off… Watching from in the dry warmth of the village hall as the heavens properly opened again with an absolute deluge made me glad in a way not to be out there receiving another soaking!<br /><br />As we returned to the start at Coniston, the coaches taking the 50 runners to Dalemain were embarking, and part of me wanted to jump on with them and get a lift to the start and get out and do the second half of the course, but reality hit and I went for a shower and some shut-eye.<br /><br /><b>The aftermath</b></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><b> </b><br />Any failure is a chastening experience, but learning from the what, where, when, how and why it went wrong allows you to change your approach to ensure a greater chance of success next time, rather than just repeating the same thing ad Infinitum with the identical outcome. There is a caveat though to my failure… This year only 51% of starters finished - the average is 55% over its 11 years, with most of those retirements coming before or at the halfway mark.<br /><br />What did I learn from this?.. Plenty: first up is trying to do something that requires you to be physically at your best is not something you can ‘wing’, something you can just rock-up to, lick your finger, check the breeze and say ‘yeah I fancy it today’… I know I could have made it to the end, mentally I was there, but to be blunt physically I proved I was not. The last 9 months of battling plantar fasciitis has robbed me of the form I had built-up over the previous year until the bastard floored me... When it happened last November it pretty-much wiped-out my running outside of pre-entered races and Sunday mornings until the snows of March. What speed I had before has long gone and I am carrying nearly a stone more weight than I was last year at the same time through the lack of exercise, as training on tarmac has just been too painful with the day after I find myself struggling to walk… Not great when your job entails being on your feet all day.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpHoI_fxYLLJnNIfrCL6NeT4dsbC1GP2sAuH29HFBEBhM7_eOrHhHPJcCDCBfAsxeX6JvhNQGJSz6XCqy6Q0q7AT9USEMT0_T1SSRvlPvrfBqvXi15UnYPYkvR1ytidABfLWUPa002Xpgs/s1600/RIMG2903.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpHoI_fxYLLJnNIfrCL6NeT4dsbC1GP2sAuH29HFBEBhM7_eOrHhHPJcCDCBfAsxeX6JvhNQGJSz6XCqy6Q0q7AT9USEMT0_T1SSRvlPvrfBqvXi15UnYPYkvR1ytidABfLWUPa002Xpgs/s320/RIMG2903.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Dawn breaks.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Having less than ideal prep immediately before a race so you are rushing around, leave things behind after you have looked them out and a journey schedule that through circumstance affords you a mere 4 hours sleep in advance of a race that will require you being awake for the thick-end of 40 hours is not helpful… But that’s the rub, things seldom do go as you hope and plan, the trick is to react to this and keep going regardless.<br /><br />Some things did go right... When I timed-out I was absolutely fine to continue, I had got over 2 of the 3 biggest climbs of the course and was still feeling ‘fresh’... Nutrition was good; my ‘homemade’ energy drink was keeping me going to the point food was not an issue, so making sure I grabbed something in the aid stations to eat meant that from my own stash I only ate one energy bar, a pack of jelly and 2 gels over the 35 miles... Definitely something to continue with.<br /><br />What do I need to do for the next time?.. Spend time on the sections of the course that I don’t know to avoid nav errors concentrating on the darkness legs, in other words the section from Boot onwards to Braithwaite. Work on my speed and hills, which will in turn help to drop my weight leading to an improvement in my climbing ability… From now on every run I go on by myself MUST be hill intensive - well what passes for hills around this way where I live. Every race I undertake between now and the next Lakeland must be targeted to hit a PB or as near as dammit on them as a means to monitor my progress… And hopefully to get a sub 4 hour marathon in before the year end.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Looking west at dawn.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Running without a Garmin… Now this was very liberating, I was able to run how I felt in the moment, as if I would when out bimbling on local trails at home without continually looking at my wrist to see how I was faring. It was more a case of running to my heart rate and monitoring myself so that I did not red-line on effort and when I felt I was doing so I sat down to rest and calm before heading on again. Whilst it was great running this way, not having a reminder on my wrist of my pace and current distance was a real handicap when trying to hit the CP’s in time and left too much to guesswork. The Garmin (or lack thereof) was the largest factor in my timing-out, although in reality with one on and factoring in my fitness would I have just timed-out instead after 60 or 70 miles?<br /><br />35 miles over challenging trails is a good run-out in anyone’s book, throwing-in 1.5 miles of vertical ascent to boot certainly shows it wasn’t a stroll! I know this was the hardest third of the course and I completed it - its just frustrating that I could not get out onto the relatively easier next third!<br /><br />Something I noticed along the way was the sheer number of people toting wizard staffs, or cheat sticks, or Nordic poles to call them by their proper name; I reckon about 4/5 of the field had them. They are allowed and obviously people find them advantageous. Lucinda was using some being a recent convert to them as she nurses a back issue, and I must admit they do seem very tempting, however I want to prove to myself I don’t need ‘mechanical assistance’ to help me finish a race of this nature. I still believe that anyone who finishes a race using them should have an asterisk after their name.<br /><br />I didn’t really feel like hanging around the event base for longer than I had to afterwards so I was back in Chorley at LSS’s parent’s place that evening. The day after when the MiL very kindly put my honking gopping running gear into the machine to wash them, as they reached the spin cycle, the stench of them must have got too much as the machine with an almighty grinding sound decided to commit hara-kiri!<br /><br />So on the Monday before heading-off for a week’s rest in a field in Devon I had to help the FiL to pick up a new washing machine and get it back to their house!<br /><br />Entries for the 2019 Lakeland 100 open at 9am on the 1st September. I’ll be hovering over my computer keyboard as there’s unfinished business to attend to!<br /><br />Eat pies.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">Drink beer.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">Run far.</span>Shoeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06168576054186785526noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5645767874738367526.post-35086158793658385132018-04-21T09:49:00.000+01:002018-04-21T10:01:11.059+01:0015th April: Snow<span style="font-size: small;">Finding my marathon mojo I think was largely due in part to the unusual dump of snow we experienced here in Hook in the middle of an area of Hampshire that seldom sees more than a light dusting maybe twice a winter if we were lucky… This year we had two once in a decade snowfalls that brought-out the big kid in us all.<br /><br />I’ve been battling against plantar fasciitis since setting a pb over marathon distance back in November, where it flared-up over the second half and cost me a chance of a sub 4 hour time… I went to see our local physio - the excellent Simon of <a href="https://www.sb-physio.co.uk/">SB Physiotherapy</a>, who massaged and manipulated, stretched and taped me so I could at least make the start lines of the races I had booked, but to be blunt even in lovely scenery or surroundings they were no fun and an act of endurance rather than enjoyment, an exercise in finishing and nothing else.<br /><br />Steadily the symptoms have lessened and when the snow arrived I knew I had to grin and bare it and get out into the white stuff.<br /><br /><b>Snow 1:</b><br /><br />My first run was an early 6am meet with fellow Hooker Russell where as day dawned we cracked-out a 4 mile out and back across the fields to the next village in near blizzard conditions - the wind tearing into us as it was below -10 degrees and wearing just shorts on my legs, running headlong in to it on the way back it began to freeze my hamstrings feeling like they were going to pull and reduced my stride length noticeably to cope.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">My partner in crime this morning.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Sideways snow.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Courtesy of Russell: Snowy panorama with me in the middle!</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">It was an eerie blue light as dawn broke around whilst we ran through the large flakes of horizontal snow that stung your face on impact they were blown so hard, certainly a memorable run for nature at its most raw.<br /><br /><b>Snow 2:</b><br /><br />The next morning with taking a snow day I volunteered to lead a run over a different route, this time around 10k which saw us celebrating the 50th birthday of one of our fellow club members, although he declined the offer of the bumps into a snow drift! Along the way we passed sheep in the fields which made me realise they really are cream in colour when they are against something as pure white as snow. The snowing itself had stopped whilst we were out but with the dry nature of it the wind was whipping across the fields creating ‘snow devils’ which was something to be seen!</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">I am ashamed to admit it but for the first time on this run I joined the dark side and ventured-out wearing running leggings having frozen my hammys the day before - it felt a bit dirty doing so, but seeing as I have to carry them as essential kit on runs even if they are never worm, it seemed sensible to give them a try.<br /><br /><b>Snow 3:</b><br /><br />Saturday saw a different direction for a 10 mile run that was an absolute giggle from start to finish. There were plenty of stops to mess around, including testing out the theory of if you can run fast enough over the top of a snow drift you won’t sink in… Needless to say it remains a theory! We even found on our travels an igloo that someone had built in a field between diving headfirst into snowdrifts and other general tomfoolery.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">All this meant that come the Sunday and my scheduled Steyning Stinger Marathon I was knackered before I had even started, which led to a day of grumbling and moaning to myself as I trudged slowly around the muddy course for a very slow finish!<br /><br /><b>Snow 4:</b><br /><br />Part 2 of the snow arrived as I was running the CTS Sussex Marathon, so the day after I accompanied my fellow ‘Hookers’ (those of us who are members of Hook Runners) for our Sunday trail run… Venturing out into yet a different direction to where I had been in the snow before we were all acting like big kids, all 26 of us who were out at the same time.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">As we reached the more exposed part of the route the wind was really howling and unpleasantly biting as it cut across us drifting the snow. On the sartorial front, nearly all the men out were wearing shorts, eschewing leggings as if you weren’t in the wind it really wasn’t that cold. One man out walking his dog even berated one of the few men-folk wearing leggings as the rest of us went past with glowing pink legs on display: “Now those are real men out in shorts today”.<br /><br /><b>Snow 5:</b><br /><br />A final lunchtime bimble on the same route as the first of my snow runs whilst the snow rapidly receded - We found a snowman and his dog on a bench along the way and by the time we returned after less than an hour out there was about half the amount of snow there had been when we set-off.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">It was great to be out running in the snow - I was Spud-less throughout as whilst he enjoys playing in the snow, he was not keen to go out running in it. Having a pair of More Mile Cheviots with the large amount of grip on their soles was excellent as I was able to run with confidence through everything - that said I did realise the perils of running in the snow on one occasion when my foot went down a hidden rabbit hole covered with snow causing me to tumble - a lucky escape as I could so easily have damaged my ankle. We probably won’t have snow like this now for anything up to a decade so to be able to act like a large child in it was very welcome… Until the next time my white powdery friend!</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">Eat pies.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">Drink beer.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">Run far.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span>Shoeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06168576054186785526noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5645767874738367526.post-37643654153938474552018-04-18T13:29:00.002+01:002018-04-18T13:50:04.949+01:009th April: Trainer Failure (CTS Exmoor 2017)<span style="font-size: small;">In the last entry I alluded to my trainers falling apart mid-race in the Exmoor CTS marathon last year... Well this is what happened.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4a-NOtd_CKv-RpR0_isZGuOKPHw-AglTM107s2cbrAkSWOgPpOyRxj6oJVk4DvzwI7LhMqHn7h9fdD-IrlNOzGTbnE9spYZLy-FkKmVNgbNdmBac1d5pnnNQiH-cyPcGi1TXlJ4e85jCP/s1600/RIMG1022.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4a-NOtd_CKv-RpR0_isZGuOKPHw-AglTM107s2cbrAkSWOgPpOyRxj6oJVk4DvzwI7LhMqHn7h9fdD-IrlNOzGTbnE9spYZLy-FkKmVNgbNdmBac1d5pnnNQiH-cyPcGi1TXlJ4e85jCP/s320/RIMG1022.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: small;">I was pretty chuffed with the trainers LSS had bought me for Christmas: 2 pairs of Karrimor XTS. In appearance they looked like wannabe minimalist Inov8’s being low drop and consequently very flexible and also very comfortable... I was really enjoying wearing them and eager to get running I toed the line at the start of 2017's Endurancelife CTS Exmoor marathon under the blazing sun in temperatures already in the late teens at 9am.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">It was about a mile in and on the climb up on to the cliffs of the shorter 7 mile loop that I felt a pinging sensation at the front of one of the trainers. I looked down and saw the sole had detached from the toe of one trainer... I thought nothing more of it, blundering on regardless.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">Shortly afterwards I felt the other trainer ‘ping’ and sure enough that one had the sole separating from the upper. Bugger.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">The start of the failure.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">I carried on running but could feel my right trainer sole getting further and further separated from the upper and in real danger of total failure... 2 miles in and I’m looking at a DNF through footwear failure if I’m unlucky!</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">Crossing the moor </span><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">I felt the sole catch on a rock and fold back under my foot. Looking down it had separated from the upper all the way back past the ball of my foot. I realised the other foot had peeled-back about 5cm</span> and the was worsening. To get by I had to drastically alter my running style, pronouncedly heel-striking so as to try and preserve the trainers until I was back at the start. I looked like I was running whilst wearing flippers, with the soles making a slapping, clapping sound at me with every step, much to the amusement of those who were overtaking me.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Getting worse!</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">At 4 miles I reached the aid station and asked for gaffer tape to try and bind the soles to the uppers but they had none... It was going to be a long slow sole slapping 3 miles back to the start to try and get some tape from there.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">I arrived at the start just as the half marathoners were being unleashed on the course and had to wait for 300 of them to run past before I could get in to the marquee. Inside I asked a Marshall for some gaffer tape and they refused to let me have some!.. I explained clearly why I needed some and reluctantly they found a roll and supervised me using it in case I used too much! Great, don’t you love being treated like a 3 year old!</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOirs5dm5yvGVchuwHzudzCP0o50tVlaGRXrkQjI2NuALHr1qrrpPmU7Q162m2XYiukn1nGgvLaAqBM1HP4hf4NaBi8ZS9zCONSKlDjzXvR3VYgBAU_s5ufrVNTsXrrfW1ZztmYpMAunz4/s1600/RIMG1034.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOirs5dm5yvGVchuwHzudzCP0o50tVlaGRXrkQjI2NuALHr1qrrpPmU7Q162m2XYiukn1nGgvLaAqBM1HP4hf4NaBi8ZS9zCONSKlDjzXvR3VYgBAU_s5ufrVNTsXrrfW1ZztmYpMAunz4/s320/RIMG1034.JPG" width="320" /></a></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">It was all to no avail though as with the moisture of the ground soaked in to the trainer fabric, the glue would not adhere and the tape slipped off the front of the trainers, so I was faced with a choice: DNF or a walk to the van to change into my only other footwear: walking trainers... Half a mile up a 16% gradient hill and I was at the van contemplating chucking it all in, but after a can of red bull and a strong word with myself I put the walking trainers on and eventually rejoined the race having lost over 30 minutes with this on top of about another 20 from the enforced slow pace of the last 4 miles.</span></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">The trainers at the van.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">A good race time was gone, but the sun was shining and with no pressure I would not suffer too much in the warmth from overheating via my exertion, so a leisurely bimble it was for the rest of the day surrounded by some cracking scenery!</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">The trainers were binned after a poor showing of just 150 miles and you know what, the other pair went at the same mileage which kind of explains why they were on sale in Sports Direct in the first place - I did not really trust the second pair for racing in after I had accumulated about 70 miles, can’t think why!.. Still combined both pairs of trainers were £30 for 300 miles, so not too bad on the money per mile stakes but frustrating as I was certainly not expecting a trainer failure mid race! Karrimor trainers seem to be a bit of a lottery - they either go for 700 miles a pair or 150, still at least they're cheap as trainers go when they do give-up early.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">At least by means of compensation on a compromised race there was plenty of time for pictures of trail porn along the way without pressure for a decent finish and I maintained my 100% record of finishing my races rather than DNF'ing over footwear rather than something worthwhile like injury!</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">Certainly a real contrast on conditions from one year to the next when you look at the pics in the previous blog entry compared to this one... It was actually easier to run in the conditions this year as it was not too hot and maintaining a level body temperature was easy, unlike when these pics were took where the temperature had jumped over 10 degrees in one day making it difficult for everyone as consequently no-one was acclimated to running in 20 plus degrees temperature and strong sunshine! </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">Eat pies.<br />Drink beer.<br />Run far.</span>Shoeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06168576054186785526noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5645767874738367526.post-46202630852571573682018-04-18T12:51:00.003+01:002018-04-18T12:51:59.350+01:008th April: Claggy Exmoor.<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">Having re-found my marathon mojo at the start of the
month whilst running down a hill in a flurry of snow I was actually
looking forward to today’s run rather than just enduring it.</span></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Hanging around in the rain.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;"> </span>The fun bus is still suffering from a severe case of engine-knack so I had to borrow LSS’s somewhat smaller motor to get down to Exmoor for the Endurancelife Coastal Trail Series marathon. Driving in the darkness I arrived at the Hunters Lodge event base in Heddon Valley on the stroke of midnight having seen a first for me... A <a href="http://www.vwt.org.uk/species/polecat/">Polecat</a>! Just a half mile from my destination and one ran along the side of the country lane towards me and stopped for me to get a good look as I drove past, which was awesome!</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">The initial climb to the cliff tops.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Sleeping on the back-seat of a hatch-back folded like a Swiss Army knife is not the most comfortable way to spend a night pre-race and when the rain starts battering down on the roof at 4am waking you then it just adds to the ‘fun’. Having only fitfully slept from when the rain started I went to register pretty-much as soon as I could, queuing in the rain and standing in mud that was getting deeper the more people walked over it.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Running through the clag.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">At the briefing I managed a brief chat with Luke and also Gareth from my running club who had made the journey down to beast himself over the terrain. Shortly after we were all gathered around in the rain and were unleashed on to the course; a figure of 8 with a westerly loop of 7 miles run first before the easterly one of 20.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">A brief clearance of the clag.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">The weather report had been for heavy rain all day so we were all ready for a proper soaking, with everyone to a person in a waterproof girding themselves for a damp run to say the least... Which completely threw us all when we climbed up on to the cliff-tops to find we were above the rain and just the occasional bit of low cloud and sea fog in front of us rolling up from the sea.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">The stream-like path over the moors.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">The air temperature was a comfortable 7 degrees or thereabouts so pretty soon everyone was overheating in their waterproofs, so like most of the field from halfway back I stopped in a sheltered spot and took mine off... But lost about 10 minutes trying to ease it into my already tightly packed camelbak so I could carry on, whilst everyone else scampered past me.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Expecting the hound of the Baskervilles to come galloping towards you.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Pretty much at the rear of the race I was now able to indulge in a rare spot of overtaking as I undulated my way along the coastal path to the furthest westerly point and the trek up on to the moors... The paths here were streams with all the rain and now being on the high exposed parts the fog was properly shrouding everything reducing visibility to around 20m... And that was about as good as it got for visibility for the next 20 miles!</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Blair-Witchy woods.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">The Exmoor route is a beautiful course of rugged wilderness and scenery, but today nowt of this was to be seen... I’ll say this for lack of visibility; it certainly heightens your sense of sound as you listen-out to try and figure what is around you; the sound of rodents in the undergrowth, the bleat of new born lambs somewhere distant, the gargle of a pheasant and the crash of a wave reminding you that nearby lies a cliff.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">More limited visibility!</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">I meandered through the murk chatting with those whose paths I crossed: a couple of lads over from Jersey whose friend was really struggling in the mud through his trainers not being man-enough to cope, a Belgian expat who lives a mere 20 miles down the road from me, and eventually a lady from Devon who was getting back to trail marathons having had some bones in her foot fused!</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">As I hit the aid station at 17 miles having just worked my way through a bit of a ‘Blair Witch-y’ woods I saw Gareth already there trying to force himself to eat and suffering from the heavy going of the trail... We shared the next mile or so before we hit the long drag up on to the coastal path again where he disappeared off in front lost to the mist and I ploughed onwards alone.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">Up on the coastal path on the descent to Lynmouth, I was able to see a sight you don't often see thanks to the conditions: the white line in the sea where the fresh water from the river estuary meets the salt water of the sea known as the 'salt wedge'.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The diagonal line of the 'salt wedge'.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Through Lynmouth we had to scale the path up to the cliff tops - part of it was blocked by a fallen tree you had to scramble under - I put my hand right onto a holly leaf doing this which was a shot of pain to the system. Once on the top it was a blast along the tarmaced path heading through the ‘Valley of the Rocks’ where I was able to have a relatively close encounter with some of the wild goats thanks to a brief gap in the fog, before it enveloped us once more and I battled on to the finish passing a lovely waterfall, crossing the line about 30 seconds after Gareth who it seemed I had been steadily reeling-in since he steamed up that hill.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Goats!</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">A good hard workout today but not much in the way of trail-porn to picture and a whole world of difference from last year with its 20 degree heat and strong sunshine and thankfully today my trainers remained intact, unlike last year!</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">Something I have really started to notice of late is that I seem to eat a fraction of what I used to on these races. Today I made it around on 2.5 energy bars and a couple of gels. I put this down to changing my drink to an electrolyte+carb one rather than the previously used electrolyte only. I suspect I’m getting a blast of energy now with every sip of fluid which is helping me a lot although I am not taking-on any more fluids as a consequence. Definitely a change for the better.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Gareth in both ruin & ecstasy in a matter of seconds.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Eat pies.<br />Drink beer.<br />Run far.<br /></span>Shoeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06168576054186785526noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5645767874738367526.post-35256919053120297332018-04-18T11:39:00.001+01:002018-04-18T12:01:00.618+01:0018th March: CTS Sussex - Marathon Mojo Relocated.<span style="font-size: small;">It has been a while, I thought you had hidden under a rock somewhere on the trails, skulking, lurking, proving nigh-on impossible to find for a fair few months as I slowly recover from plantar fasciitis and an accompanying loss of fitness… So good to once again feel the warm embrace of my marathon mojo!</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyimbnTdw6R_sIdh7DCLY-IdSJE4HApHUgSRlbdUqMFPR4DfQ18gPydlDT4J0y2_wJsVZM2b6RFyCmXC_YXqWRy-woLnzsfbZ2uSdI5175DdJ5TwBkZY2hgM6KBBBPRwuOFprBvJVL8NNJ/s1600/RIMG2337.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyimbnTdw6R_sIdh7DCLY-IdSJE4HApHUgSRlbdUqMFPR4DfQ18gPydlDT4J0y2_wJsVZM2b6RFyCmXC_YXqWRy-woLnzsfbZ2uSdI5175DdJ5TwBkZY2hgM6KBBBPRwuOFprBvJVL8NNJ/s320/RIMG2337.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">The marathon field steaming off in front of me!</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Fair to say I have not been feeling the love whilst marathoning of late, where a mere 2 weeks ago in the Steyning Stinger I struggled once more and lost heart in the claggy mud on the course. Although I was able to reconcile this with having run 4 miles, 10k and a half marathon over the previous 3 days - well I did not want to miss-out on having fun in the snow as its a once every 5 years occurrence down this way!</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaz5kwfsUe9hWWgWqiebBK2q3CZ4ujB19Fhi0meUG33kaUXBW4Xc0q6w8wkOg2j32Rx335XMSxnf0lCcetRvpcLm5gwS1AG3A8NNj52UsPxw78dF2VstH9TQUfuCE5jXMJx-RSJO7MEDKo/s1600/RIMG2339.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaz5kwfsUe9hWWgWqiebBK2q3CZ4ujB19Fhi0meUG33kaUXBW4Xc0q6w8wkOg2j32Rx335XMSxnf0lCcetRvpcLm5gwS1AG3A8NNj52UsPxw78dF2VstH9TQUfuCE5jXMJx-RSJO7MEDKo/s320/RIMG2339.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Chasing the horizon.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">This morning I was fresh, feeling fruity having not really run for the last week and looking forward to the Endurancelife Sussex CTS marathon, even the fun-bus being in the garage with an engine knack so I could not do my normal trick of drive there the night before could not dampen my spirits.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Attempting to give some scale to the gradients we climbed.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Borrowing LSS’s car I awoke at sparrow’s fart and drove through the dawn to get to the event base at Birling Gap in the freezing cold conditions.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3m5IPaFRIGmF9V1hKB9N88AdPvxrdA4Tyhrdf5FpKAlTyVYyvjXdYgGQrKiav0Yq5QLTy9gXfPxdbcl-s__1cVbOm0izqWDVVCG7vZANR8eKXtp_IhNgwANVH5r8bXADvJghivHZ3Hrps/s1600/RIMG2344.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3m5IPaFRIGmF9V1hKB9N88AdPvxrdA4Tyhrdf5FpKAlTyVYyvjXdYgGQrKiav0Yq5QLTy9gXfPxdbcl-s__1cVbOm0izqWDVVCG7vZANR8eKXtp_IhNgwANVH5r8bXADvJghivHZ3Hrps/s320/RIMG2344.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">At least it wasn't muddy!</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Walking to the marquee to register it was in to a bitingly cold wind, the kind that just rips any heat out of you. Whilst the car’s thermometer was reading -2C air temperature, the wind though was strong and Baltic which dropped the temperature to around -10C and by the time I’d walked the half mile into the sheltered gully where the marquee stood my fingers had frozen through my gloves. Returning to the car to shelter, mercifully with the wind at my back, I breakfasted, changed and awaited the briefing.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Approaching the last of the Seven Sisters.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">The briefing had everyone huddled together like penguins for warmth in the marquee before heading to the start at the last possible moment and we were unleashed on the course.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0cTd8_vTvzAebzn5nLRM7-3vbl4MY5pRy2Wbe-yV4gYXIgGuuZpjDZvZfkZ6shq4hHtVkMVj4sMwjtbN5MOzhwKtFv3IXCgRF_uNADuSXdOBN3iqM9VNjtZ2AnGNJ4sH9yy3crKJvlrfD/s1600/RIMG2349.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0cTd8_vTvzAebzn5nLRM7-3vbl4MY5pRy2Wbe-yV4gYXIgGuuZpjDZvZfkZ6shq4hHtVkMVj4sMwjtbN5MOzhwKtFv3IXCgRF_uNADuSXdOBN3iqM9VNjtZ2AnGNJ4sH9yy3crKJvlrfD/s320/RIMG2349.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">The nature reserve below us.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">With the wind at our backs we made our way up on to the ‘Seven Sisters’ and ran the rollercoaster of the hills to the nature reserve and headed inland, 4 miles ticked-off fairly quickly before a couple of minor climbs through the fields and woodlands that afforded shelter from the wind to the point hats and gloves were being removed to allow cooling as for the first time our bodies were able to properly warm-up. Through the first checkpoint and across a causeway and overlooking the chalk horse on a hillside you could feel the first small flakes of the forecast snow; there’s nothing quite like the sensation of a snowflake landing on your tongue and melting on it!</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Horse chalk carving - apparently the result of a bet! </span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Traversing the causeway we hit the major climb of the day, 2.5 miles of almost continual ascent up onto the ridge that is the South Downs Way. We skirted around the feet of the Long Man of Wilmington - proof that our ancestors predicted people would run past here using ‘cheat-sticks’ or ‘wizard-staffs’ when they carved it into the chalk.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMFH9IyZtCLYNpS6jumNeDezlpzyHNx2QzKKymr3oNemqXfaw7Ja_N7_f2DiGIesFalVLEhdp3cgjb67ifx7nsYCrh4aE-5bwZMKQe9DaJcvg56lu2B5p5FXnK9J3ttot6KFlJ3Qhn5gk5/s1600/RIMG2354.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMFH9IyZtCLYNpS6jumNeDezlpzyHNx2QzKKymr3oNemqXfaw7Ja_N7_f2DiGIesFalVLEhdp3cgjb67ifx7nsYCrh4aE-5bwZMKQe9DaJcvg56lu2B5p5FXnK9J3ttot6KFlJ3Qhn5gk5/s320/RIMG2354.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">The Longman resplendent with his ultrarunning 'cheat-sticks'. </span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Once up on top the wind ripped into us and the snow, now bigger dry flakes, flew past us horizontally; gloves and hat were donned once more to protect from the elements… It was here as I topped-out and began to change from power-hike to run that I felt alive and full of enjoyment of what I was doing and really ‘in the moment’ as those into mindfulness would no-doubt say - I realised here that I had not looked at my watch for a good 4 miles as it really didn’t matter, I was drinking-in the atmosphere, the wilds of nature around me, savouring every step, hell even the climb up the hill had not seemed too bad compared to previous outings! As the plateau turned to descent over the next 3 miles I could feel I was running stronger than I had the last few months on a race-day… I also realised that at 2.5 hours of racing time had passed and I had not eaten anything beyond a handful of jelly babies at CP1, so on one of the climbs I chomped through an energy bar before arriving at CP2, grabbed another handful of jelly babies and started the mooch back to the coast.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWu9TD2g-HDOkFYTAJXSNCxxcBgocIocJqbqhYT_FfMiEWjuAkvLAm8g4iF1H1eICtDoA51UUCMVVNb3ay_pyU57sgNQZ1zoJa5YrJ8R1nGkcBhpv9TIBC5fI22qdvJgOpUXpYUT9xyL-u/s1600/RIMG2355.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWu9TD2g-HDOkFYTAJXSNCxxcBgocIocJqbqhYT_FfMiEWjuAkvLAm8g4iF1H1eICtDoA51UUCMVVNb3ay_pyU57sgNQZ1zoJa5YrJ8R1nGkcBhpv9TIBC5fI22qdvJgOpUXpYUT9xyL-u/s320/RIMG2355.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">The looming Beachy Head in the murk.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Today I did not seem to match the pace of anyone, so I was left to my own devices and to keep me company I donned my headphones to listen to the wittertainment of the Kermode and Mayo film review podcast (Hello to Jason Isaacs), in part something to drown the roar of the wind I knew I would soon be hearing for a good while!</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKcjzbdvtpcziysYLnByfI1LGD0QHh3st-NI9LvQSTK108I0MfyP5DICXyVGvAaME6X4rCrySJ7m4LvaB4az9alhqiR0q2fFpFBqzcc76vWezDeWEs1iOhg5i8qG-DDRpHErcrBDYjUBUo/s1600/RIMG2356.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKcjzbdvtpcziysYLnByfI1LGD0QHh3st-NI9LvQSTK108I0MfyP5DICXyVGvAaME6X4rCrySJ7m4LvaB4az9alhqiR0q2fFpFBqzcc76vWezDeWEs1iOhg5i8qG-DDRpHErcrBDYjUBUo/s320/RIMG2356.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Climbing into the snow flurry born on the wind.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">The CTS Sussex marathon course is one of 2 loops centred on Birling Gap, so returning to the start point you know there’s a foray to Eastbourne over the cliffs of Beachy Head then back along the ridge of the South Downs; a slightly shorter loop than this first one just completed… As we homed-in on the coast and left the shelter of the woods behind at 16 miles, we were hit by the blast of the wind once more and the realisation that there was 10k of this to contend with; a good hour plus of exposure to it and battling the teeth of a near gale that bit ferociously with its icy fangs… The wind was hitting my left cheek hard and relentlessly and in a couple of minutes it was frozen, stinging in pain through the cold onslaught till it became numb before I could soon no longer feel it. Fortunately I had a buff around my neck as well as the one acting as a hat so I pulled it up over my cheeks, which was a first for me; having to run with my whole face covered through cold! I had my safety specs on so as not to be blinded by the flying snowflakes hitting my eyes and allowing me to keep my head up and see where I was running without the water on my eyes freezing, which was far better than people who I was passing with their hoods up and heads down staring at their feet so as not to have their eyes battered.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">A rare selfie!</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Dropping down to Birling Gap straight away we had the climb up the side of Beachy Head, watching the steady stream of 10k and half marathon racers coming towards us all looking exhausted, pained and battered by the cold wind; thousands yard stares on their faces as they concentrated solely on a finish and getting warm again. This mooch over the wide grassy slopes was great fun, leaning in to the wind on the way up the hills, then feeling the wind drop as you hit the bottom of the troughs.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ-IITAVSQLypjNUx3xtjnFTClsP_wKWJU5NMiAJv4ZWNOi5p5wR3HVyCJCdyYljuSxMvnE8SaslZYYdptr37o25Z_ts05mQ3pNNkQqkTrybqHsV7FSxN44S7hReLYrQmRof240E-iREoj/s1600/RIMG2357.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ-IITAVSQLypjNUx3xtjnFTClsP_wKWJU5NMiAJv4ZWNOi5p5wR3HVyCJCdyYljuSxMvnE8SaslZYYdptr37o25Z_ts05mQ3pNNkQqkTrybqHsV7FSxN44S7hReLYrQmRof240E-iREoj/s320/RIMG2357.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Beachy Head and the lighthouse.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Once we reached the edge of Eastbourne and the final checkpoint we had the turn for home, the final 10k up on the ridge overlooking the coast with the wind mercifully at our backs. This assistance and the hard ground under foot made short work of the next few miles and the teasing approach to the finish where within sight of it you are led away for a final 2 mile loop… I had the music on shuffle at this point and was singing to myself - mercifully there was no-one around me to hear that I can’t carry a tune in a bucket as I belted out some Del Amitri amongst others, the final half mile accompanied by the Prodigy’s ‘Charly’ which made me cross the finish line with a bit of a boogie: big fish, little fish, cardboard box style!</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFDsLd5eyM79qplw_b1sT5tcMhpBYOzx0WCYyAE0LbXs9GPl0cHjIqug9Ab-aEHCHltaynL8578GVDO4ixkDaterOK0LDgz7vRE2OTF5C_FXqFeOc4DesZG4DzGxluPaSm3kol68ceWoBX/s1600/RIMG2364.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFDsLd5eyM79qplw_b1sT5tcMhpBYOzx0WCYyAE0LbXs9GPl0cHjIqug9Ab-aEHCHltaynL8578GVDO4ixkDaterOK0LDgz7vRE2OTF5C_FXqFeOc4DesZG4DzGxluPaSm3kol68ceWoBX/s320/RIMG2364.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">A little more sheltered from the elements as Eastbourne approaches.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Not wanting to hang a round I made my way back to the car ASAP and got driving home as I had arranged to watch the last of the 6 Nations games in the pub with friends accompanied by as much filth I could eat off the pub-grub menu.<br /><br />Today the course was an iron fist in a velvet glove; plenty of genuinely runnable sections and stunning views but combined with the bitter cold and wind it packed a mighty punch! I loved it - My neighbourino Pini insists that the harder the conditions are the more I take a perverse enjoyment out of the races and the better I do - he certainly has a point as its good to wear a finish with tough conditions as a badge of honour. More than anything though I’m just relieved to have found my marathon mojo again - yes the foot is still uncomfortable and not fully recovered, but now I seem to be able to get some pace going and I have hopes of getting myself ready for ultra season and the biggest challenge so far of the Lakeland 100.<br /><br />Eat pies.<br />Drink beer.<br />Run far.</span>Shoeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06168576054186785526noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5645767874738367526.post-2525509669720025262017-12-29T22:26:00.002+00:002017-12-29T22:26:41.134+00:0018th September: Village running.Hook, the village in Hampshire where I live, has always had an open to all-comers annual village ‘<a href="https://hookfunrun.com/">Hook Fun Run</a>’ of 10 miles, 10k and 1.5 miles… Every evening those who live here can bare witness to people out by themselves jogging circuits of the central block (a 1.5 mile loop). There is a thriving kids football club, the men’s football club is one of the strongest in the local area and the village has recently set-up its own rugby and cycling clubs and can even claim to have raised an international class runner in <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Charlotte_Purdue">Charlotte Purdue</a>, so there are plenty of active people here interested in their fitness, but until now no running club!<br /><br />Those in the village who organise the Fun Run wondered why this was the case, so having chatted amongst themselves they approached some people they thought would be like-minded on this matter to ascertain if there was an interest in having one.<br /><br />Soon some posters appeared around the village mentioning a public meeting in one of the village halls and those who had previously run the Fun Run and lived in the village received an email informing them of the meeting… Neighbourino Pini had seen these, as had Moose, so the three of us all decided to trundle along to offer our support.<br /><br />The car park at the Elizabeth Hall was approaching full. Looking in to the main hall there was a group of people sitting in a circle, none of which looked to be typical running types judging by their size (says 15 stone of idiot in an unironic manner), then I noticed the signage and realised it was the local branch of ‘fat-fighters’ meeting (“Dust. It's actually very low in fat. You can have as much dust as you like.”)<br />
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I thought of the irony of those living in the village looking to lose weight had all driven a mile or less to get to their meeting and clogged-up the car park, as I moved down the corridor to the smallest of the small meeting rooms right at the very end, which was already heaving… All the seats were taken and people were standing around the sides of the room with all the bodies raising the temperature inside to a stifle. Soon the kitchen next to the room was opened and the serving-hatch lifted to fit more people and allow them to see what was happening. Moose, Pini and myself took station in the doorway to the corridor as it had a little bit of a draught and allowed those who wanted to be closer to the action to do so.<br /><br />As we stood there waiting for the start, Moose took the piss out of Pini and my sartorial choices: Pini had arrived wearing his tee from the Costa Rica marathon and I was wearing my Lakeland 50 shirt - leading to Moose accusing us of ‘bollock waving’ over our choices as he just wore a polo shirt rather than anything marking one of his Iron Man/ ultra marathons or assorted triathlons!<br /><br />Soon we were joined in the doorway by a guy called Steve wearing a finishers shirt for a triathlon who had also seen the notification of the meeting and was interested to find out how many others in the village were like-minded.<br /><br />Lou, who had convened the meeting called it to order, and you could tell she was a little overwhelmed by the response from the village. Lou admitted she had expected and hoped a handful of people would attend to get things moving and had never dreamed that she’d be sharing a packed room and more with the 70 plus folks who had crammed-in!<br /><br />Straight away it was plain to see for Lou that there was definitely an interest in the village to set-up a running club and those of us present all filled-out a sheet of contact details and what we are looking for in one and any assistance we were able/ willing to offer in its formation or running (no pun intended).<br /><br />After a sweaty hour and a bit in the room, the meeting closed with the idea of a follow-up in the near future to get things moving on a formal basis… In the meantime those of us on Facebook were pointed in the direction of a page that had been set-up for the club and away we went off into the warm dusk… Moose, Pini, Steve and myself opting to walk to the nearest pub for a few beers and a chat outside as the evening was still young.<br /><br />Fair play to Lou for going out on a voyage in to the unknown by calling the meeting and getting everyone there… It just goes to show how there really was an untapped demand in the village for a running club and who knows what the interest expressed tonight will lead to, even if only half the people there follow-up on their initial attendance.<br /><br />Watch this space to see what happens.<br /><br />Eat pies.<br />Drink beer.<br />Run far.Shoeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06168576054186785526noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5645767874738367526.post-16417704804545901892017-11-11T23:41:00.001+00:002017-11-11T23:48:29.925+00:0028th August: South Downs & Out<span style="font-size: small;">Following on from previous exploits of the circumnavigation of the Isle of Wight and the crossing of Devon from coast to coast, this year Dean, Rob, Stu and myself had chosen for our cycling exploits a traverse of the South Downs Way.<br /><br />Rather than doing the full 100 miles in one day we decided to do it over 2 with an overnight stop booked at a pub in Steyning - roughly halfway, to break-up the journey and not put too much pressure on ourselves.<br /><br />Convening stupidly early on the platform of Basingstoke station, we headed to Winchester for the start… As we left Basingstoke, the clouds began to darken and by the time we hit Winchester the rain had started… Freewheeling down the hill we stopped in a McDonalds, introducing Dean to the delights of the only thing worth eating on their menu: a sausage & egg McMuffin, which he had somehow avoided tasting in his 40 years on the planet.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHKu_u0-oCfxg4jePZ9cKdOT4rnDwSwk5z9O_YmNxOVjxC9spC9wQo_LaiGo1YCeBa9El_PO8tsbHXOrzUMrEZcCauhqWofwDqPGtfJCQ96UVSEdHInsgfN3h1xQ529hBeUxPiY651q-Kl/s1600/sdw01.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHKu_u0-oCfxg4jePZ9cKdOT4rnDwSwk5z9O_YmNxOVjxC9spC9wQo_LaiGo1YCeBa9El_PO8tsbHXOrzUMrEZcCauhqWofwDqPGtfJCQ96UVSEdHInsgfN3h1xQ529hBeUxPiY651q-Kl/s320/sdw01.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Show us the way Alfred!</span></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Once breakfasted on stodge we made our way to the statue of King Alfred and posed for our before pic in the absolute deluge then rode the first couple of miles of tarmac to the trail head and the start of the journey - all soaked to the skin before we had even left the sprawl of Winchester and hit proper trail.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWqSWA8pCY1uhTBTqxM0-52SeVBmImD93DSmwpWn34lLYJz3Z3NbgOK2qIuPUBv7nvPgBmVzRsObMCTuvqGvT62A-z9NagbNBKiYABsPewQJpKF9TX4fOnfKb4p82S4HZCyore7uxQkSKU/s1600/sdw02.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWqSWA8pCY1uhTBTqxM0-52SeVBmImD93DSmwpWn34lLYJz3Z3NbgOK2qIuPUBv7nvPgBmVzRsObMCTuvqGvT62A-z9NagbNBKiYABsPewQJpKF9TX4fOnfKb4p82S4HZCyore7uxQkSKU/s320/sdw02.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Grim grey drizzle.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">On the trail we found in the peeing rain that even here, the very edge of the downs, the ground was churning-up into a very sticky clay-based mud that was gumming-up running gear on the bikes and even with them being loaded and shod with nobbly off-road tyres we were struggling for any traction climbing!</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCTJVjmda2T6Ka1R2J9ApBzQWSMzmJ1snC0mlP7ULBclBFMZge6T6GIfNYbec_EeO0Ld-wK66aZoPwY9d0-QmtwVxtniLxN4iVxhn40nvN8KrNIzpellSfvzxcXs6umyEa-8unUn9uT4Rg/s1600/sdw03.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCTJVjmda2T6Ka1R2J9ApBzQWSMzmJ1snC0mlP7ULBclBFMZge6T6GIfNYbec_EeO0Ld-wK66aZoPwY9d0-QmtwVxtniLxN4iVxhn40nvN8KrNIzpellSfvzxcXs6umyEa-8unUn9uT4Rg/s320/sdw03.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The view would be improved without the clouds!</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Finding the first plateau we were overtaken by a group doing the same as us and another couple of riders who were just having fun on the stage to Queen Elizabeth Country Park - they all wished us well before disappearing off down the misty drizzly hill before us… The hill taking us past the site of the recent ‘Boomtown’ festival that a week later was still being cleared-up.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqimbbD-cQ_EVYO2wAKtlH4jk9CsxLR9WbZ6mHQvnMBwnditdoS7yMclzLumsxsAftRQa03GP0_QXShETavLDnznDkdg0SfGhCu87pHvV5DBQEeQzsyuyL2wnjsCF_N-845t0od50Oh_Yz/s1600/sdw04.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqimbbD-cQ_EVYO2wAKtlH4jk9CsxLR9WbZ6mHQvnMBwnditdoS7yMclzLumsxsAftRQa03GP0_QXShETavLDnznDkdg0SfGhCu87pHvV5DBQEeQzsyuyL2wnjsCF_N-845t0od50Oh_Yz/s320/sdw04.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lightening skies.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">It was pretty miserable going in the rain, all of us soaked to the skin already - it was nearly impossible to cycle at speed as glasses were being hammered with the rain and steaming-up and if you did not use them you could only squint to stop flying mud, gravel and the driving rain hitting your eyes.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1ltc3EY0yCMVVcSHT_JcbFmf0XFhMAWw9iNcyrKu6yGxDVyFqO3wf7eqM4cPXopLT0-sx6XVqAc1Krw4ehENQo3pmp_YrUsuo2zXjRPfJqVpkry2i1hTNhN6CnLwTObHbDq5Qn4x-3-TI/s1600/sdw05.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1ltc3EY0yCMVVcSHT_JcbFmf0XFhMAWw9iNcyrKu6yGxDVyFqO3wf7eqM4cPXopLT0-sx6XVqAc1Krw4ehENQo3pmp_YrUsuo2zXjRPfJqVpkry2i1hTNhN6CnLwTObHbDq5Qn4x-3-TI/s320/sdw05.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">After seeming like an eternity, although most likely only a couple of hours, the rain eased-off as the cloud began to lift and the humidity rose as lunchtime beckoned and we approached Queen Elizabeth Country Park.<br /><br />Bouncing down the side of Butser Hill, at its foot we weaved through ranks of parked cars for a cycling event (how ironic) we stopped for a bite to eat on the other side of the A3 in the park’s visitor centre cafe.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7slRhIn7CJfvYl6-VxMjNvyIJl6BNRGGmMofPLzRKxtnM8xDb4XTUa8u6fDf-yLCenBCSsfExEOvLkj-e-dAgnkXSuBynJakKBl-aNhTX3Y3D9aN42yEW-WnkLLVeQp2P18RewV-j4KNx/s1600/sdw06.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7slRhIn7CJfvYl6-VxMjNvyIJl6BNRGGmMofPLzRKxtnM8xDb4XTUa8u6fDf-yLCenBCSsfExEOvLkj-e-dAgnkXSuBynJakKBl-aNhTX3Y3D9aN42yEW-WnkLLVeQp2P18RewV-j4KNx/s320/sdw06.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Lunch in the sun and drying off.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Any hunger pangs sated we remounted our trusty steeds for the trek through the path, reversing the route of the South Downs Way Marathon I’ve been along a couple of times… I even stopped to photograph a sunbathing Red Admiral butterfly on the path.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6OzYMvpJpyXcGp7nxMxoUZ00073pq9gqZ7XuM2tgXSxwXXvGADl6YWt3u6dY8mxAAjQy9jwbNXB18wENqaKerVTT0_mj018HO12B2oxhReqCErtbwECfKCJv0K_L3jT2TLhYI0ZwBkRKD/s1600/sdw07.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6OzYMvpJpyXcGp7nxMxoUZ00073pq9gqZ7XuM2tgXSxwXXvGADl6YWt3u6dY8mxAAjQy9jwbNXB18wENqaKerVTT0_mj018HO12B2oxhReqCErtbwECfKCJv0K_L3jT2TLhYI0ZwBkRKD/s320/sdw07.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Wildlife!</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Soon we were climbing again up on to the plateau of Harting Down, with its views for miles to the north. We stopped for a photo before carrying on - me taking a shot on the move of Rob in front as we reached the edge of the plateau and the descent off the down. I put the camera back in the pouch on my camelbak and let the bike take itself, overtaking the others as the speed increased to what must have been nudging 30 something mph. The further and faster down the hill I went, the grassy path began to become rutted with loose stones filling the ruts making going a bit unsteady with unsure grip, things still a bit greasy after the heavy rain of earlier - at least I could see the bottom was not far away as I bounced more pronouncedly over the stones in the ruts.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpygHcfQAAwV0cFmv3fp7B7XAZvHJNVNbEFlmpnQm6QlU_BjR6hzisGXhGMQXdKcM10ffVg4kqbsgAUsZg7Hq44ij_NSHZGbhER67TEXoznGCYNO6TJyoQ1hBpt7ZiXsqYbqNTwrYlhk8g/s1600/sdw08.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpygHcfQAAwV0cFmv3fp7B7XAZvHJNVNbEFlmpnQm6QlU_BjR6hzisGXhGMQXdKcM10ffVg4kqbsgAUsZg7Hq44ij_NSHZGbhER67TEXoznGCYNO6TJyoQ1hBpt7ZiXsqYbqNTwrYlhk8g/s320/sdw08.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Following up the hill on to the down.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">I found myself sitting there, with Dean talking to me, telling me to stay still as I felt him wrapping something tightly around my head, which I rapidly realised was a bandage, then the dawning realisation kicked in of ‘what the fuck has just happened?’… I realised I had no memory of the what how’s and why’s. I tried wracking my brain, thinking where am I, who am I, who are these people I’m with? I seemed to be looking through a grey filter. I could hear Stu calmly speaking on the phone… Then I saw the blood, plenty of blood everywhere, but I wasn’t in pain.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJUSLjWlIewyopoI2W5sW1lDasfTU7pLNdtaweqU3AmBlr9qlNICSjRhzXOixihZfV1r6e8Xa1t9HbP2Z1AMCEyQ0ZLtCOI7LlTz21g2Z1G5OQU_fqACkfdAIH6DV5P6_D98O7cYQpgMc7/s1600/sdw09.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJUSLjWlIewyopoI2W5sW1lDasfTU7pLNdtaweqU3AmBlr9qlNICSjRhzXOixihZfV1r6e8Xa1t9HbP2Z1AMCEyQ0ZLtCOI7LlTz21g2Z1G5OQU_fqACkfdAIH6DV5P6_D98O7cYQpgMc7/s320/sdw09.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Posing on the top of the down.</span></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Trying as hard as I could I just was not able to piece together what had happened. The last thing I remembered was stopping on top of the down for photos, then carrying on cycling. I knew the names of the people I was with, I knew who I was… I went to look at my watch but looked at my Garmin by mistake - I noticed it was still going so stopped-it. I checked the time and realised I did not know what the time was before I got here so it was pointless. There seemed to be some mud on the face of the Garmin, so I tried to rub it off but it would not budge before the realisation hit that it was two large gouges in the glass face of it.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdG2qPXMjYL_kb_n5ir9HGKjzs5WASR8rOzk09VCOSULT46I0ALRuLsIHTnnYzg0A8BwgVaLUBDJXK11Sx5YQXxLb2oUJAhO8b2csjD3CUPEpUxFYdt6gdJx2gn4IANHhaxmJLC0l_-GlU/s1600/sdw10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdG2qPXMjYL_kb_n5ir9HGKjzs5WASR8rOzk09VCOSULT46I0ALRuLsIHTnnYzg0A8BwgVaLUBDJXK11Sx5YQXxLb2oUJAhO8b2csjD3CUPEpUxFYdt6gdJx2gn4IANHhaxmJLC0l_-GlU/s320/sdw10.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Following Rob... A minute or 2 after this and it happened!</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Dean was asking me questions, I was attempting to answer. The questions seemed irrelevant and confusing and irritated me as it was distracting me from figuring out and piecing together in my own mind WHAT THE FUCK HAS HAPPENED? I could hear what Stu was saying. He was talking calmly with the emergency services and began saying what he thought had happened, then Dean started to fill in gaps - “You’ve wiped-out quite badly, your ride’s over… We came down the hill and you were just lying there unconscious, fitting, with blood everywhere. The fits stopped fairly quickly, about 30 seconds but you were out for at least 3 minutes - we were all very worried”.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwa8nLSicc6xWcnjpCs1JzCeuS6M05hMa4HMRm8uwY2Bxj4vxZ7bG8ieto2bPheH18qyJj0apvq430D26y6CURH288uwsITI9hfIiaNP7cD-wcJikufSl6RSquFshSIxW8j_geeezryg9X/s1600/sdw11.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwa8nLSicc6xWcnjpCs1JzCeuS6M05hMa4HMRm8uwY2Bxj4vxZ7bG8ieto2bPheH18qyJj0apvq430D26y6CURH288uwsITI9hfIiaNP7cD-wcJikufSl6RSquFshSIxW8j_geeezryg9X/s320/sdw11.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Blood, blood, plenty of blood.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">I said to Dean that I was fine!.. There wasn’t any pain after all. I could tell from the blood that I must be in a mess, but I felt like I was in-tact with regards to ‘proper’ damage like broken bones. I’ve cut myself badly in crashes before and at work so I felt confident I would be fine, just a trip to A&E to get patched-up.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU_cMUCgmc63i_4SDkcwjEZMETIsGzlIRY6OBj1lc2iMWvq4lsaPHiPCAa9hUbG5MhbgbZ8NAJkO1Sa7LGmB-0Ktye-frswBln2WIyor8WfM1MsIWIO3MVxkR3qk-cgLqykc8cGWCsBPPp/s1600/sdw13.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiU_cMUCgmc63i_4SDkcwjEZMETIsGzlIRY6OBj1lc2iMWvq4lsaPHiPCAa9hUbG5MhbgbZ8NAJkO1Sa7LGmB-0Ktye-frswBln2WIyor8WfM1MsIWIO3MVxkR3qk-cgLqykc8cGWCsBPPp/s320/sdw13.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Plenty of claret spilt!</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Think, think, think. I felt like Winnie the fucking Poo as I still tried as hard as I could to muster my grey matter and piece as much together as possible. Rob came over and took some pictures of me as I sat there as Dean finished binding my head. I stood-up and surveyed everything.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidPcQNCe4u7G3FFgbAYn5wFPrRztG5ik5lCQB7vAA5Yn3AgVQQVNVV9YSDPiUT32wyAiZg8J4LQQUsr0fU3BswNhFvWmyQwo0p7d1dkb3WHgYt6WrAd35PzDtahUSvGaDY6De0m0tmq6AT/s1600/sdw12.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidPcQNCe4u7G3FFgbAYn5wFPrRztG5ik5lCQB7vAA5Yn3AgVQQVNVV9YSDPiUT32wyAiZg8J4LQQUsr0fU3BswNhFvWmyQwo0p7d1dkb3WHgYt6WrAd35PzDtahUSvGaDY6De0m0tmq6AT/s320/sdw12.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The cap was originally yellow!</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">My bike was a few metres back up the hill so I went to it to get my phone. The bike was absolutely fine. I took the phone out of the beam bag and said I’d better phone LSS & tell her what had happened. I told the others I’d make the call as its better she hears it from me rather than them, as the worst thing to hear is ‘there’s been an accident’ from someone else as it sets alarm bells ringing of ‘why aren’t they speaking to me?’… So I called and explained what had happened, that I’m fine except needing stitches, so don’t panic, but I will need to be collected from hospital. At this point I handed the phone to Rob or Dean, I can’t remember who and they carried on speaking to LSS, then my mind just crashed… All of a sudden I had an almighty brain fart and thought I’d better call LSS, but then realised I had just done so yet couldn’t remember anything I’d said… Man that must have been some impact as its properly shaken my brain about and reality hit - I’d had a very lucky escape. I went back to the bike and put my waterproof on to hold my body-heat in as I realised the adrenaline would be wearing-off and I may be going in to shock soon.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgguqOGyJ824h-xbqCDq6IUl4stJBD4zlxkd5jhLPZFoidsNTt2WsJKIhmcecy90FV8-50KoPyUzpkoR1lIXOYqVPvQDJ93cFv-vGCe2nxmDMXRe0Co7AVT1CIjO_lZv9O-90m51sP4wFjD/s1600/sdw14.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgguqOGyJ824h-xbqCDq6IUl4stJBD4zlxkd5jhLPZFoidsNTt2WsJKIhmcecy90FV8-50KoPyUzpkoR1lIXOYqVPvQDJ93cFv-vGCe2nxmDMXRe0Co7AVT1CIjO_lZv9O-90m51sP4wFjD/s320/sdw14.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The score marks of my tyres scratching for grip as they went sideways.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Trying to figure out what happened I looked back where the bike was and I could see scratch marks in the soft ground on the left side of the rut where the wheels had been at 45 degrees or more, scratching the ground for grip as it fell to the right… I could see a skid mark on the ground where I must have had my initial impact, then a second impact and the mahoosive pool of blood from where I had properly landed hard after these initial bounces… I looked at myself and the ground and could see what had happened and became aware that my right shoulder hurt. I ran my hand along it, but it ached - no sharp pain of a break in the bones, but I could see my collar bone was sticking-up at the end proud from my shoulder!</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRBDU5isu-Rdztir2YcaWPafYcdMVz3DV07ugBTzNGC5Z-4ukafDmLFFuuwz0J0QceLni4eyMqkbrTzSwOTijA8DHr0yNBzAFPWwXs-np9jMdgoXMbNCHesVatw6DuB6oZ_K9aEGTjb-dY/s1600/sdw15.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRBDU5isu-Rdztir2YcaWPafYcdMVz3DV07ugBTzNGC5Z-4ukafDmLFFuuwz0J0QceLni4eyMqkbrTzSwOTijA8DHr0yNBzAFPWwXs-np9jMdgoXMbNCHesVatw6DuB6oZ_K9aEGTjb-dY/s320/sdw15.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">About 30 seconds after I regained consciousness.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">As I flew off the bike Superman stylee I must have landed first on my right shoulder, then face, then left wrist, which was now throbbing with my thumb in proper pain as if I’d dislocated it then relocated it in rapid succession, before my head properly smacked-down on to the chalk knocking me sparko ready to be discovered by the others.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF6rhilVJcRzgsi2l0RjNO8N0kBdowM5jhiEsKDYj9O4BnPR9_BMvkHFO6m07hzaxdAVk8AfyqxgD0KjZDh8u4Z08YcPlv6rFVDqlojus_DtoHgy9fAg8Tk0EjPUODUL4WBLT2XSDACBul/s1600/sdw16.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjF6rhilVJcRzgsi2l0RjNO8N0kBdowM5jhiEsKDYj9O4BnPR9_BMvkHFO6m07hzaxdAVk8AfyqxgD0KjZDh8u4Z08YcPlv6rFVDqlojus_DtoHgy9fAg8Tk0EjPUODUL4WBLT2XSDACBul/s320/sdw16.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Air Ambulance cometh.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Rob came over and said they were going to send an air ambulance to get me. Stu was still on the phone. I told him to tell the call handler that I’m ok to get to the road to meet an ambulance, there’s no point in wasting a valuable resource on me as I’m fine to get to a road on my own steam. I did the next most logical thing at the time as we waited instruction and took my camera and photographed what resembled a crime-scene after a stabbing.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLULz3e98prYauKBd-ViI_nvAZjy5nEINRJv8cABzSSg9XbYx13RN9fhbPZoHoiMZ8NMz6WEGeDhe8efKAZzblgOSH9im4Y_sR8KVB4RkKDbaW4ipX7girqBAKeGEBOIw1mLjJ9FZ5MP4L/s1600/sdw17.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLULz3e98prYauKBd-ViI_nvAZjy5nEINRJv8cABzSSg9XbYx13RN9fhbPZoHoiMZ8NMz6WEGeDhe8efKAZzblgOSH9im4Y_sR8KVB4RkKDbaW4ipX7girqBAKeGEBOIw1mLjJ9FZ5MP4L/s320/sdw17.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">No sense no feeling.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Soon you could hear the approaching slapping sound of the rotors of a low-flying helicopter and the dawning realisation that they were serious about sending the air ambulance. Soon it appeared low overhead and I waved at them to try and signal that I was fine as they would certainly realise I was the injured party what with being covered in blood and a large bandage on my head.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEBrwbn2_cIyHiqwatcoyYjDe3JXwy_gseFg3aGYiwqX4S6vxwKK7EYDLaxPwHAcwe3i1xK31agMgqLx6yrMJBz_mLJnYUr6QgN-9yxfzPCH3E1sP9kYgaxflreSU_NqCV15Au8c7wX7xb/s1600/sdw18.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEBrwbn2_cIyHiqwatcoyYjDe3JXwy_gseFg3aGYiwqX4S6vxwKK7EYDLaxPwHAcwe3i1xK31agMgqLx6yrMJBz_mLJnYUr6QgN-9yxfzPCH3E1sP9kYgaxflreSU_NqCV15Au8c7wX7xb/s320/sdw18.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">About to be chauffeured away.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">They circled around a couple of times but there was no suitable landing spot nearby as the ground was too uneven or trees too close to any flat area. It was soon apparent that they would not be able to land, so the call-handler relayed to Stu asking could we get to a road - which we said we easily could, so with a bit of map reading it was agreed that we would make our way off the down to a certain point to rendezvous with an ordinary ambulance.<br /><br />We gathered our stuff and began the descent off the down… The pain was starting to build now, from the battering of my shoulder and wrist and the throbbing sensation of the wounds on my head. I necked a couple of ibuprofen and paracetamol to reduce inflammation and dull the pain. Making our way we could hear the helicopter still flying, then the sound of the engine slowing as it must have found a place to land a little way away, before the engines were killed and the tranquility of the area was restored.<br /><br />Coming off the down there was a couple of ambulances waiting at the end of a farm track for us, so I clambered aboard the nearest one to be assessed by the paramedics. Pretty soon another ambulance car pulled-up with the crew from the air ambulance.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br />I could see outside that Dean, Rob & Stu were chatting with all the paramedics carefully out of ear-shot from me as they obviously did not want me listening in to any of the gory details.<br /><br />The doctor from the air ambulance came over and gave me an examination and agreed with me that I was essentially fine, just a bit banged-up… Because I had been recovered conscious and coherent it was decided not to send me to the QE in Portsmouth or to Southampton with its head trauma specialist unit, the nearest hospital in Chichester was going to be the one of choice.<br /><br />With that I said goodbye to the guys who were in two minds about continuing, telling them just to carry on as there’s no point in ruining the rest of their ride because of my misfortune! And then the doors were shut and off we drove.<br /><br />I was cleaned-up as we went by the paramedic, where it was realised with all the excitement I had also put a really good hole in my right forearm right between the bones where I must have landed on a rock that pierced the skin about an inch in length and about half an inch deep!</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Courtesy of the nurse!</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">At the hospital I was taken straight in to ‘resusc’ where I was immediately met by the consultant in charge… He was expecting to be delivered an unconscious or delirious mess rather than someone who was smiling and joking whilst feeling foolish and a bit sorry for himself… It was under the bright lights I could now see out the corner of my eye that my nose really was not quite right!<br /><br />The consultant mentioned that when they get the call for an MTB accident on the South Downs Way they fear the worse - most times aside from tearing of the flesh its missing teeth, broken limbs, jaw, rib injuries and a lack of consciousness. He said the unit had been put on stand-by as all they had heard was an MTB crash, loss of consciousness, head injury and the air ambulance was needed, so this set-off a lot of red flags and he was being pressured from his boss to ensure a ‘satisfactory outcome’, so he was pleased to see that I wasn’t as bad as it could have been… I could see on the whiteboard in big red writing detailing all the patients which one was me…</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bruising starting after only a couple of hours.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">After an initial triage, it was fairly obvious what was wrong with me - although they were very concerned about my head, so I was wheeled-off for an MRI scan on it, which came-back all clear… I was not allowed to get myself off the gurney and on to a trolley, it was insisted that I be lifted, but once there was shown to be no swelling on the brain or bleeds they allowed me to move myself around.<br /><br />With the extent of my facial injuries they decided they would not risk stitching them up in the A&E as they wanted my ‘good looks’ to be restored as much as possible and the A&E doctors skill levels were good for stitching a sack of spuds together, not something as fine or intricate as a face, so they wanted to wait for a maxillofacial surgeon to become available to do the work.<br /><br />Now the wait began… The nurse on duty loved a bit of gore and came up to me asking if I had a camera and was I on Facebook as my face was ‘proper messed-up’ so she could memorialise it for me before she cleaned it up.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">As she tried to remove all the dried blood that was caking it, she was having to pull-out bits of grass and grit that had congealed in to the wounds. Unfortunately some of it was a bit stubborn so she had to get the scissors and cut away some grass and flaps of skin that were hanging-off that had been identified as unable to be saved by stitching back in place - I sat there and took it all, all the pokes and prods without flinching. She kept asking if it hurt and I kept saying ‘no’ before she told me to stop being macho and say if it hurts, so I told her about my old footy injury on my forehead that had split down to the skull and had wrecked my nerve endings so I don’t really feel pain around there through not having functioning nerves, not through any perverse form of bravado!</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Up close & personal!</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Soon LSS arrived and saw me - and insisted on sitting on my right side and slightly behind so she did not have to look at my gore-fest of a face!.. After a couple of hours more of waiting I was wheeled-off to be sewn back together - a grand total of 44 stitches, of which 20 were internal to hold everything back together. The hole in my arm was butterflied and packed with a massive gauze bandage - I was told to leave it for a week before changing the dressing to allow the hole to properly scab over.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cleaned-up well after all!</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Eventually we were all done and in darkness and shivering through shock, hunger and tiredness I was able to be driven home!<br /><br />There’s a post script to all this as well:<br /><br />Just after leaving me the guys continued on to Steyning for the evening along the road for the most path… Just as they approached the first road they heard the sound of an almighty bang and found when they reached the road a car had just crashed at speed into trees, the elderly driver slumped bloodied and moaning in the driver’s seat. The car behind had stopped to see what they could do but did not know where they were, so the guys had to phone for ANOTHER ambulance as they had a GPS location! The 3 cyclists of the apocalypse!<br /><br />On the train back to London after finishing his ride on the Sunday, Stu got chatting to a couple of guys travelling with their MTB’s - it turned-out they were half an hour behind us on the Saturday and the lead rider of their pack fell at the same spot I did. When he picked himself off the floor he saw the blood everywhere around him, panicked as he checked himself all over for injuries but could find none - asking his compadres then they arrived o see where he was cut and they confirmed he was fine, much to their bemusement over how so much fresh blood was on the floor! So maybe it wasn't crap bike handling skills if others found issue on the same part of the trail.<br /><br />Simply put with this accident. If I was not wearing a helmet I would have been dead and if I had not been wearing a £10 pair of sunnies that took the impact of my face then I would have had to have had my face re-built with having fractured eye sockets and cheek bones - yes the impact of the glasses nearly severed my nose, splitting the skin all the way down to the bone (although not breaking the bone) but I’ll take this for a spectacular wipe-out over what could have been any day - I’m pretty lucky it seems with crashes at speed having walked away from this and having flown & barrel rolling a car off a motorway at 70 with just cuts and bruises… Combine this with having been in earshot of 3 terrorist bombs in my life I’ll probably go in a very mundane manner such as being hit by a bus!</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Impact damage on the glasses!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiicJrd8BLuEkPxIz-DLbBy10EY8zjhKLHIbdo71gKnrGfkaYhtdB5GtpQRBlgvsHPisy_uIQGbBl7bKN3hgPKLttQThoxFZwMdeJ1spMld_QMRLgGj4RUTYBlJjGrKeys8m263uB9aIOaq/s1600/sdw25.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiicJrd8BLuEkPxIz-DLbBy10EY8zjhKLHIbdo71gKnrGfkaYhtdB5GtpQRBlgvsHPisy_uIQGbBl7bKN3hgPKLttQThoxFZwMdeJ1spMld_QMRLgGj4RUTYBlJjGrKeys8m263uB9aIOaq/s320/sdw25.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A bit of scuffing.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">A big thanks goes to the NHS for putting 15 stone of idiot back together in no time with minimal fuss and also to Dean, Rob & Stu for safely getting me off the trail and to the ambulance, for the first-aid given and the use of photos of me.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">Eat pies.<br />Drink beer.<br />Ride far.</span>Shoeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06168576054186785526noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5645767874738367526.post-44977169877133081982017-08-19T23:43:00.000+01:002017-11-15T00:36:27.931+00:0014th August: Lakeland Tales<span style="font-size: small;">There were a couple of tales to be told from the Lakeland 100 - one from the briefing and one from the race itself that I did not hear about till after the event:<br /><br />The anthem of the Lakeland 100 event is the operatic standard ‘Nessum Dorma’ - most famous here in Britain for being sung during the 1990 world cup by Luciano Pavarotti, but in this case sung by Paul Potts.<br /><br />When people race stupidly long distances of 100 miles or longer that involve running through the night eschewing sleep and rest for longer than 24 hours they become prone to having hallucinations, which was thought to have been the case of one runner on the Lakeland 100 when he was descending Blencathra in the fog of dawn having run through the night.<br /><br />Enveloped in the all shrouding murk with sight diminished his hearing was all the more sensitive and over the silence dampened by the fog he could swear he heard some singing, a singing that was slowly getting louder… Soon the singing could be recognised as the song Nessum Dorma, then all of a sudden out of the gloom appeared Paul Potts jogging down off the mountain singing at full volume, running past then disappearing back in to the gloom, the singing slowly fading away.<br /><br />After finishing he went to the organiser and told them what he saw, only to be roundly dismissed as suffering an hallucination, which let’s face it appears very real at the time… But the runner was incredibly insistent that it really happened, so much that a couple of days after the race the organiser opened twitter and messaged Paul Potts. Asking him if he had been out in the lakes at dawn on the morning in question he thought nothing of it until a couple of weeks later, when Paul Potts sent him a reply saying that yes he had been out in the lakes and he enjoys getting out in remote places early in the morning for a good jog and practice his singing as he goes without troubling anyone!<br /><br />With Paul Potts last year, Mel Giedroyc this year, it makes you wonder what ‘C’ list or lower celebrity will be out on the course next time!<br /><br />The route for the Lakeland 100 is 95% on trail, be it over moor or field. The one thing in common is the open nature of it where at any one point you seem to never be more than a few metres from a sheep or some other livestock, which includes cows, and in this case big hairy cows with mahoosive horns!<br /><br />On the way from the self-clip checkpoint to the final aid-station at Tilberthwaite in the pitch darkness at 1am I was in a steeply sloping field from left up to the right with the stony farmers track we were traversing the only level surface. We were also amongst a herd of Highland cows who were either lying sleeping or standing and chewing away bemusedly, their eyes reflecting back in the torchlight of us runners, their coats glistening with the gathering dew on them.<br /><br />I thought nothing more of this other than mentally noting the sight, the same could not be said of a lady who was about 15 minutes behind me.<br /><br />As she entered the field, she saw in front of her a lovely little Highland calf wander up off the slop onto the track in front of her and stop… She then sensed something behind her and saw the mother walking on to the track behind her. The mother then realised there was a human between her and her calf, so she lowered her well horned head and charged the lady, connecting with her and tossing her about 20 feet forward and up on to the bank on the right!<br /><br />Even in the darkness at this time of night, the field of runners is still fairly tight and just behind witnessing the event was a group of other runners who themselves hurried at the cow who now safely reunited with her calf trotted away from the on-rushers back off to the side. Tending to the lady who was on the bank on the right of the trail, apart from a bit of shock and winded from the unexpected flight and landing, fortunately she felt fine.<br /><br />These runners accompanied her the last mile or so in to the aid station at Tilberthwaite and relayed the tale to the marshals who made the decision on the spot to hook the lady from the race and get her to hospital even though she felt fine.<br /><br />The reason was based on safety as the last 4 miles are up a steep climb on to a remote moor with an equally steep descent through a quarry, so once you leave the aid station you are in a very remote spot that will require mountain rescue to get you down from in an emergency, so if there was any risk of internal injury that might not be apparent now, such as a ruptured spleen, it could manifest whilst up there which would have put the life of the runner at risk plus those of the mountain rescue sent up there. A sensible decision as much as it was frustrating for the lady in question; having got to within 4 miles of the finish well within time for the organisers to pull her from the race and she was taken to the nearest A&E to be checked-out.<br /><br />Mercifully she was absolutely fine but no longer in the race. After the event, taking pity upon her and her predicament, the organisers gave her a finishers tee and in doing so made her the only person to have ever been awarded one without having crossed the line as it was the organisers who hooked her so close to the finish!</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">I wonder what tales will be told from future races?</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">Eat pies.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">Drink beer.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">Run far.</span>Shoeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06168576054186785526noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5645767874738367526.post-86543100955026060892017-07-31T23:10:00.000+01:002017-07-31T23:10:21.502+01:007th August: Haigh Woodlands Parkrun<span style="font-size: small;">Over the last week I’ve been recovering at LSS’s parent’s place just outside Chorley. Conveniently there’s a Co-Op just round the corner so I’ve been taking trips there to buy convenience food so I didn’t end-up eating the in-laws out of house & home.<br /><br />The day after the LL50 I was struggling to walk - the soles of my feet had taken a right battering and were killing me. Walking to the Bluebird Cafe the morning after for a sausage sandwich with LSS & Spud was a feat of endurance - I say walk, it was more a slow painful shuffle!<br /><br />With yesterday being Parkrun day, I had persuaded LSS that we should check-out the local one at Haigh Hall, the <a href="http://www.parkrun.org.uk/haighwoodland/">Haigh Woodland</a>. With the in-laws in tow with their faithful hound we all traipsed down there to check it out and for Spud & me to run it.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Haigh Hall</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Haigh_Hall">Haigh Hall</a> is a stately home perched on a hill overlooking Wigan to the west. The run route takes you on a route through the grounds. Today was apparently the alternative route due to ongoing works on the normal trail through the woodlands, so what we were to face was a 1.5mile blast downhill to the turn and then making it back the way we came to the finish.<br /><br />The drop and climb of 335 ft each way was certainly a test… As soon as the hooter went Spud led me on a sprint as we flew down the hill notching a 6:40 first mile, then the dawning realisation of how fast and enjoyable this descent was we were going to be suffering on the way back. Sure enough, the 2nd & 3rd miles were nowhere near this initial pace!<br /><br />Basingstoke Parkrun has nothing to offer in the way of hills by comparison - although the runners there will bleat and moan about the ‘tennis court hill’ with its height gain of about 20ft, so this was a bit of a baptism of fire as the first leg of any Parkrun tourism that I do.<br /><br />Here's a link to my <a href="https://www.strava.com/activities/666222734">effort</a> on the day.<br /><br />If this was your local Parkrun then it would be a terrific test of your mettle and good training for any trail runs you might do with the climbing and descending which makes you realise that when you leave the ‘soft’ south behind things tend to be a bit harder ‘ooop north’.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw8e9Ck_x_srLqDEdVfxECGkz4JSmgMoCvgh3MfT1SrHtq3G5Io-rnYr6WBzVzm-iNzO-AV-O7Y7iN9b62QOOfyHKDqjS76VYdhIpAkpqymKrZ4_lGXNeJlVMaYHPYfMm4mRfTWuEGvcjg/s1600/RIMG0471.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw8e9Ck_x_srLqDEdVfxECGkz4JSmgMoCvgh3MfT1SrHtq3G5Io-rnYr6WBzVzm-iNzO-AV-O7Y7iN9b62QOOfyHKDqjS76VYdhIpAkpqymKrZ4_lGXNeJlVMaYHPYfMm4mRfTWuEGvcjg/s320/RIMG0471.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">The view down the hill over Wigan & the DW Stadium, home of Wigan Athletic & Wigan Warriors.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">The walk to and from the start line past the Hall itself was very pleasant and it looks like it will be our Parkrun to undertake when we are up visiting LSS’s parents.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">Eat Pies.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">Drink Beer.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">Run Far.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"> </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span>Shoeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06168576054186785526noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5645767874738367526.post-87577969717719754622017-07-25T23:56:00.000+01:002017-07-25T23:56:55.304+01:0030th July: My Lakeland 50 cents<span style="font-size: small;">Ah the Lakeland 50, how I have been looking forward to thee with a mix of hope, fear and trepidation… The race in itself is in 2 parts: getting in to it, then getting to the start line some 9 months later. When entry for this year’s event opened back in October ’15 the 650 places in the ’50 sold out in a little over 5 minutes, the 250 for ’100 in 20!.. For the unlucky but determined there were a further 250 charity places released a week later making a combined race field of 1300. The 100 doesn’t just let anyone in though; it has vetted entry on ability - so you have to meet the criteria of finishing over the last 2 years: the ’50 in under 16 hours, another mountainous 50 in under the same time, or successfully finished a 60-100 mile mountain ultra… So for this race to sell-out in that time shows the huge demand out there to take-on this notorious of challenges.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixg5UL7ghbjk8kZHzpcsjL7ZLFL_RcNbnyq3XTGYne1XOz2BNr52qFkA4oGTksZiz1tCCEAEiIg2HUx7P3MC-V6zCsoR9SXAbqYNpOcdvrx8JWbHuDvwG8aDCoSepwz8d_bHPS89XHXgmy/s1600/LakelandRoute.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="314" data-original-width="332" height="302" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixg5UL7ghbjk8kZHzpcsjL7ZLFL_RcNbnyq3XTGYne1XOz2BNr52qFkA4oGTksZiz1tCCEAEiIg2HUx7P3MC-V6zCsoR9SXAbqYNpOcdvrx8JWbHuDvwG8aDCoSepwz8d_bHPS89XHXgmy/s320/LakelandRoute.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">What lies before us!</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Some might say the Lakeland 50 & 100 are THE races of their respective distances in the UK held each year - to the point they are considered a British equivalent of the UTMB & CCC. As such the organisers of the Lakeland refuse to pay the UTMB to have the race carry their qualifier points as the Lakeland’s ethos is akin to the the ‘Field of Dreams’: Build it and they will come, where people will want to race for the challenge the course offers, not as a stepping-stone to something else. At the start line of both races the cream of the UK’s distance trail runners can be found (their schedules permitting of course) along with faces from around the world drawn like moths to the flame of the challenge that running in the Lake District presents.<br /><br />The event is a weekend long festival of running in Coniston. Based in the grounds of the village’s school with pretty-much everyone competing camping on the playing-fields, it turns them in to a sea of tents and camper-vans full of excitable outdoorsy types, their families and supporters as only a lucky handful manage to snap-up the few b&b/ hotel rooms in Coniston village itself!</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWP14GwCuCAgBVVdjvZq5EZvdaM4dSptsy5FRan2CsPle19tp5bTZjhS2QYB5P27B9zk94utby699vJdQ0PyblWPtbaZISydByQECKeXVVUY9hKKJ_5TmaTVOswd-gTQYwcJNUUG9nsj47/s1600/RIMG0407.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWP14GwCuCAgBVVdjvZq5EZvdaM4dSptsy5FRan2CsPle19tp5bTZjhS2QYB5P27B9zk94utby699vJdQ0PyblWPtbaZISydByQECKeXVVUY9hKKJ_5TmaTVOswd-gTQYwcJNUUG9nsj47/s320/RIMG0407.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Being briefed, where we were told we are not 'only' doing the 50, we're doing a tough 50 mile race!</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">I knew a few other people running alongside me in the ’50, so I was sure of at least bumping in to a friendly face in the starter’s enclosure and all 3 of the ‘Leek-y Ladies’ were going to be there for the weekend, one running and 2 supporting their other competing friends thanks to a sizeable contingent of the hardcore trail runners from the Peak District racing over both distances. With this knowledge and through her love of Coniston, LSS decided to accompany me (along with Spud for some company during the day), as she knew there would be friendly faces with whom to socialise when us loons hoon around in the wilderness for a few hours.<br /><br />The compulsory kit list for the race is quite a comprehensive one and this year there had been an addition with all runners required to carry a cup on top of everything else (First aid kit, waterproof top and bottoms, spare base layer top and bottom, head torch, phone, whistle, hat, gloves, foil blanket, map, road book, compass & emergency food - 2 mars bars or 400kcal equivalent to remain uneaten at race end). This addition of the cup had proved to be a bit of a debating point on the race’s Facebook page (not all of it serious I may add) which made a change from people banging-on about whether ‘cheating sticks’ should be allowed (walking poles to the uninitiated) and if they are any good and whether Hoka’s really are just expensive ‘clown shoes’.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLrLBb5bJfW2GTzgddGFA347aORdurc3fJWayhVClJNMy1h0KEHQ8HTA8hqIjgH4DghYiJx7-uHR3OEYBJQuAodPiJ9tz9RtRoj3aGaFBQ3CGs5czIQ-qnjjpo962BzYwwODK_3DBheEQU/s1600/RIMG0409.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLrLBb5bJfW2GTzgddGFA347aORdurc3fJWayhVClJNMy1h0KEHQ8HTA8hqIjgH4DghYiJx7-uHR3OEYBJQuAodPiJ9tz9RtRoj3aGaFBQ3CGs5czIQ-qnjjpo962BzYwwODK_3DBheEQU/s320/RIMG0409.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Ubiquitous Starting pen shot!</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">For the second journey in a row this month, the drive up to the lakes was crap with heavy traffic and jams from the A417 north of Swindon to beyond Manchester. Rather than arriving in plenty of time as planned and able to cheer-off the 100 racers on their 6pm start, we arrived at dusk with barely enough time to get the tent pitched in the remaining light and for me to get in to register for the race. LSS had not travelled well and having to rush around was not agreeing with her… Having managed to squeak in to registration by 5 minutes I was very efficiently processed by virtue of being pretty-much the only one doing so at that time. Part of the registration process was a weigh-in. You are encouraged to register with your race pack and wearing what you will race in for them to get the most accurate reading. I asked if it was to see if people lost too much weight on the run to be told that they expect us to lose weight, it is more for establishing if people have put-on or maintained weight, as then there is a high risk of them suffering from potentially fatal hyponatremia through water retention.<br /><br />Now all registered I was on a quest for something to eat. I rushed up the hill from the school to the main road through Coniston to get to the chippy around the corner, which caused LSS to have a melt-down at me walking too quickly for her, only to get in the door just as they went to lock it and secure the only thing they had: a final half portion of solid crunchy dark coloured chips off the bottom of the fryer that were about to be binned as they cleaned-up for the night. Emerging with this paltry prize from the now closed chippy (which the bastards had the gall to charge me full price for) LSS appeared around the corner, so we did the only thing we could do which was head to a pub for some liquid dinner.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigmPibNdIHhcxxXW1qZnp4csUbRu6EfdbRngzTK2hvHFgqGGcIUpTOcyPrMJb_b2TZiKEvAQDQKcVbn4S3r36xEZvMKoixylscwGZOqUcz8skWdmFxCotzLedLegJaO6SDDjc0d4aG-OFq/s1600/RIMG0411.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigmPibNdIHhcxxXW1qZnp4csUbRu6EfdbRngzTK2hvHFgqGGcIUpTOcyPrMJb_b2TZiKEvAQDQKcVbn4S3r36xEZvMKoixylscwGZOqUcz8skWdmFxCotzLedLegJaO6SDDjc0d4aG-OFq/s320/RIMG0411.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Suzanne & the Carthorse</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Passing the village petrol station, LSS noticed they had not locked the door even though it was 5 past their 10pm closing time and she dived in and grabbed a couple of sausage rolls, so that was our dinner: half a bag of crap chips and a cold sausage roll each!.. We retired to the Bull, grabbed a drink and sat outside to eat a pretty miserable looking supper, now able to laugh at our rubbish day stuck in traffic with us having a place set to sleep in and something to line our bellies without an added worry of early emergency registration the next morning.<br /><br />Having slept well after drifting-off to the symphony of tent dwelling snorers, I awoke to a lot of buzzing people all very eager to get going. After breakfasting I made my way in to the school for the briefing. The event is tracked so on a projector screen in the hall there was a chart showing where the 100 runners had reached - with amazing distances already covered by the front-runners and predictions of it being a record-breaking year… I had suggested to organisers that when people drop-out of the race they should show their pictures on the screen and have the sound of a canon firing just like in the ‘Hunger Games’, but it seemed they had not adopted this idea.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1IahPRTSOtzgluLMI6A2TS_YIFpPH5qmVG9j0js1GgiawtFFfkh0BvMNWQsFq34KBjj9GeBxzwLXYXWrsKGizz8KgZl1hyphenhyphensLDWmA9QvEQ8vhyENVSPQaGA_GxKBOAzkQ80J_m9buVbm62/s1600/RIMG0412.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1IahPRTSOtzgluLMI6A2TS_YIFpPH5qmVG9j0js1GgiawtFFfkh0BvMNWQsFq34KBjj9GeBxzwLXYXWrsKGizz8KgZl1hyphenhyphensLDWmA9QvEQ8vhyENVSPQaGA_GxKBOAzkQ80J_m9buVbm62/s320/RIMG0412.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">The first tentative steps on the course.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">All briefed and it was time to get on the buses for the trip to the start. As I said goodbye to LSS & Spud I saw the Leek-y lady who was running today and went to say hello.<br /><br />The drive to the start of the 50 at Dalemain was a slow and boring affair. We were dropped-off in the middle of the Dalemain estate that serves as the notional ‘halfway’ aid-station for the 100 with all the racer’s drop-bags there for them to access. In reality for the 100 milers there are only 46 miles left at this point. For us runners of the 50 we have to complete a 4 mile circuit of part of the estate before we are let-loose on the course for real.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMyN_QRCxJjOpAzCpsgVzWiAA1O1SKaxsaBtZe_80Hs8MMhA_ugNKp8Y4Th_ne8Os5uzIxJJXGiC0dlhufTz_f4kHpSnV7INJyB6XXD7_7JqmcfgYJu_U5duZzzTaIeH8WQjlJv_iqdT4r/s1600/RIMG0413.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMyN_QRCxJjOpAzCpsgVzWiAA1O1SKaxsaBtZe_80Hs8MMhA_ugNKp8Y4Th_ne8Os5uzIxJJXGiC0dlhufTz_f4kHpSnV7INJyB6XXD7_7JqmcfgYJu_U5duZzzTaIeH8WQjlJv_iqdT4r/s320/RIMG0413.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">On the lap of the fields of the Dalemain Estate.</span></td></tr>
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</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">Awaiting in the pen for the start I bumped into fellow Farnborough fan ‘Carthorse’ and his better half Suzanne. About a year ago, Carthorse left his old life in Farnborough behind to start afresh with Suzanne up here in the lakes and it really seems to have lifted his spirits no end; certainly proving a very good decision for him. It also means he has all these wonderful hills and fells to scamper over in his free time to practice, unlike back down in our part of Hampshire.<br /><br />11:30 came and we were off, lumbering en-masse across the unremarkable fields of the estate like a migratory herd of wildebeest before being unleashed onto the course proper and the first leg down to Pooley Bridge, or just ‘Pooley’ as it was after the winter’s storms when the bridge was swept away in the floods. Fortunately there’s a new bridge now, although completely lacking in the character of its lovely stone predecessor.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0cRVJ3drdvQsgbovf8H704cZtf74OtNFL1p06NIxfgY2cUaVOJfojAF2ojO3L0xR5fVZgyXxzV4Do3SdUmIMcx5dGw-abu5XZ8Bph1dx-IhxP0AANjq8MsBhp9xp8OitVX5Zze6li3rJN/s1600/RIMG0415.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0cRVJ3drdvQsgbovf8H704cZtf74OtNFL1p06NIxfgY2cUaVOJfojAF2ojO3L0xR5fVZgyXxzV4Do3SdUmIMcx5dGw-abu5XZ8Bph1dx-IhxP0AANjq8MsBhp9xp8OitVX5Zze6li3rJN/s320/RIMG0415.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">The stretching 'field' amongst the fields</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">From Pooley we properly headed-out into the wilderness for the first time. At this stage I was running with a chap living about 5 miles down the road from me which was one of those ‘small world’ moments. As we we jogging and chatting at one point we went through an open gate and my headphone cable snagged on the latch snapping it clean off from the jack… So around a tenth of the way in to the race in I was now faced with the inevitability of just the company of my own wandering mind in the harder parts of the race without the ability to listen to any podcasts or music to help with some escapism. Once we had climbed on to the trail, It seemed to be downhill all the way to the first of the day’s aid stations and 7 miles of the 50 completed at Howtown.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLzyRz1AeM9_q7Jao5eVmxeLNx_xt_TssoUnJI_FL4CDU24Y8ozMP6VJvq4ghlqiIUccAOETDHRFEocA9Qln54Wn34psx-AI8L5pWeUIzmMAL5wK31Wb1SCzaDxfLJfE3noXnChQ1UeBYM/s1600/RIMG0416.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLzyRz1AeM9_q7Jao5eVmxeLNx_xt_TssoUnJI_FL4CDU24Y8ozMP6VJvq4ghlqiIUccAOETDHRFEocA9Qln54Wn34psx-AI8L5pWeUIzmMAL5wK31Wb1SCzaDxfLJfE3noXnChQ1UeBYM/s320/RIMG0416.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Everyone just wants the lap over and to head out on to the route!</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">All the aid stations on the Lakeland are themed and this one, manned by ‘Chia Charge’ with plenty of their tasty product to be scoffed, had the theme of Cowboys & Indians! With it not being too far in to the race and my energy levels still being high, I decided to crack-on almost immediately to hit the trail after grabbing a couple of their excellent sea salt flap jacks to nosh along the way.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHzQF9Vfaw7BYF89LCuLIy5arYTGeHR1j34Th_6Pnvt5dPZeQgnyAHij8Fq6MYDaVidwnv749GckyQA04gj-i7iVnYBy56lURMe34wNxki_UU3h66BxjJUpdEBJMUxvT4bpF7VebdD6geJ/s1600/RIMG0417.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHzQF9Vfaw7BYF89LCuLIy5arYTGeHR1j34Th_6Pnvt5dPZeQgnyAHij8Fq6MYDaVidwnv749GckyQA04gj-i7iVnYBy56lURMe34wNxki_UU3h66BxjJUpdEBJMUxvT4bpF7VebdD6geJ/s320/RIMG0417.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">The 14th Century <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dacre_Castle">Dacre Castle</a>.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Back on to the course and we now hit the hardest part (or the first half of the hardest part) of the day: Fusedale… or to give it its proper name: ‘Effing Fusedale’. This stretch is renowned for being the graveyard of Lakeland runners. It is a 2 mile 1500ft climb pretty-much from the waters edge of the lake to the top of the moor, but its geography is brutal… This year we were lucky as the sky was overcast, but other years were not so when the sun has been out. You are essentially walking through a bowl so the ground slopes up either side and in front of you and consequently the humidity is choking as it is just held there like a soup through which to cut a way through… When the sun is out in a Lakeland its normal on Fusedale to find runners bent over puking their guts on the trail’s edge, others lying down by the path side trying to recover some breath with the sapping heat and humidity sucking all their energy out of them. At this point I was with Carthorse and Suzanne, who I was struggling to keep-up with, although Carthorse was suffering on this climb as much as I was: we kept yo-yoing past each other as we could only make about 20m at a time before having to rest and recover for about a minute, gasping for breath in the atmosphere.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxijuVB9RSMYNRnQobC5j_Z9ARu84SMHlPoGgNWdaDcOExE81568Hrovghc0B6VYd6jyMv0OUhEgmYFIqxmpRCcmI3jYaRuXMyX51czXFWVpnshYv5gbMU33HQqJRyPFT010OFXQORQpgJ/s1600/RIMG0418.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxijuVB9RSMYNRnQobC5j_Z9ARu84SMHlPoGgNWdaDcOExE81568Hrovghc0B6VYd6jyMv0OUhEgmYFIqxmpRCcmI3jYaRuXMyX51czXFWVpnshYv5gbMU33HQqJRyPFT010OFXQORQpgJ/s320/RIMG0418.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Nearly done!</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Around halfway-up there was a small squad of supporters cheering us onwards who had put motivational slogans onto balloons staked to the ground - with one slogan particularly catching my eye: ‘Don’t be shit’!.. One can but hope I thought. This was a lovely gesture from some people who obviously had experienced the suffer-fest of this climb themselves and were there to help us through what I found for me to be the most taxing part of the whole course.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBri5XIEu2LnAGuSPpvZOlqfE8rsiMk5GWURlEV-UyzDynZIAVaKX5dmfom_K7AFLWfDbMcvC3nPkBrrQQJq3rvijh1k6bjQxhU34paYnqaMxm6n7V0xtFRDPwhFqS8HJpjw8uIjbsGHbe/s1600/RIMG0420.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBri5XIEu2LnAGuSPpvZOlqfE8rsiMk5GWURlEV-UyzDynZIAVaKX5dmfom_K7AFLWfDbMcvC3nPkBrrQQJq3rvijh1k6bjQxhU34paYnqaMxm6n7V0xtFRDPwhFqS8HJpjw8uIjbsGHbe/s320/RIMG0420.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">The new Pooley Bridge</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">At the start of the climb I had passed a group of walkers coming down Fusedale - one of the group had a bag of Werthers Originals that she was offering to all us runners with a cheery smile. Her face looked familiar but I couldn’t quite place it, I politely declined the offer of the sweets having not long been out of the aid station, put the encounter to the back of my mind and carried-on going.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCurdvDJUNVep8sHuEyC8YLA7SRue4cVjd9_cpn4TDTiKKyNdoIFJ2eBEDWnGxLlVOg8moeFEjxLJXvgKM6F7KhKFC1WHxCEetJcTS8-wLNocywYtT-0OEgPlr5ddZ9yTd_uiiItb48GaY/s1600/RIMG0421.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCurdvDJUNVep8sHuEyC8YLA7SRue4cVjd9_cpn4TDTiKKyNdoIFJ2eBEDWnGxLlVOg8moeFEjxLJXvgKM6F7KhKFC1WHxCEetJcTS8-wLNocywYtT-0OEgPlr5ddZ9yTd_uiiItb48GaY/s320/RIMG0421.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Ullswater</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">The further I ascended Fusedale the more the sun seemed to emerge from behind clouds, and by the time I had overcome the plethora of false summits to arrive at the top, it was out in full, so at least I had missed the worst of the humidity during the climb. Up on the plateau of the fell there was a welcome cooling breeze, but soon we were descending off the other side towards Haweswater and back in to the humidity. The path here was overgrown with ferns so you could not see where you were putting your feet and with it rocky underfoot it was not long before I tripped on one, fortunately regaining my balance, but my instinct to make good time on the descent was put paid to, and when the section was finished we hit the stony path around the lake as the sun began to bake us, reflecting off the light coloured stones under foot. Combined with the rising humidity it became stifling and uncomfortable. Fortunately there were a few streams crossing the path so I was able to wash my face and fill my cap with water to cool-down.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnMz3yC2VrfQSixqtZTQFKsw6Mc85IR3_IfziUFLfAO8O4QGg14b13A-DetQNUXLyxXzQ2UHlx9acWn16r61ehh8gOh-xNbHmyCqNWo_17JC-oZs2FNylilh7T4sQIBczVHiYF_zVefUCu/s1600/RIMG0424.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnMz3yC2VrfQSixqtZTQFKsw6Mc85IR3_IfziUFLfAO8O4QGg14b13A-DetQNUXLyxXzQ2UHlx9acWn16r61ehh8gOh-xNbHmyCqNWo_17JC-oZs2FNylilh7T4sQIBczVHiYF_zVefUCu/s320/RIMG0424.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Finally into the wilds.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Round the headland of the lake and we reached the next aid station at Mardale - where I was told-off for trying to get some water for my cap, then when I asked for a cup of water they refused to give me one as they said I would just pour it over my head and suggested I just leave and find a stream… Seeing there was nothing of note I wanted to eat from the fare on offer, now in a proper ‘fuck you’ mood I stomped-off out the aid station before I said anything abusive that I might regret and come-across as a complete ‘see you next Tuesday’.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSdKApi1rjYKW9pHoVv-vjUPM4Wp-9XTSP_QFhyphenhyphendgexltoPDg9RM7YmkBzC922mfq9OxqaOq07hCFzwFh_GqyLQ088ushtP0Fzwiu5oxgVNqhJ3GtuT3M-dGR9TxVMmWRiUj_h3SzPqhL4/s1600/RIMG0426.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSdKApi1rjYKW9pHoVv-vjUPM4Wp-9XTSP_QFhyphenhyphendgexltoPDg9RM7YmkBzC922mfq9OxqaOq07hCFzwFh_GqyLQ088ushtP0Fzwiu5oxgVNqhJ3GtuT3M-dGR9TxVMmWRiUj_h3SzPqhL4/s320/RIMG0426.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">On our way to CP1 at the 'Bobbin Mill'.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Back on the path I climbed half way up the immediate ascent of Gatescarth and sat down to have something to eat, looking back down on the aid station to see if Carthorse and Suzanne were approaching… Eventually I saw them rounding the corner for their descent to the aid station before I turned and carried-on the trudge the rest of the way up to the top.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcomQ76g7Cb-28nZi5m-Vxt0-oqNta6XLlNpW_B4t0GoKLZtriPj03rZeZhhyphenhypheni4pvSQsEe_5cnFZLu0PY0xs3Aumv9MriE9T5rMY1FWZDkN8mxZkyEkn75XbZZyU0pVnjY8V7AeC3vsfK_/s1600/RIMG0427.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcomQ76g7Cb-28nZi5m-Vxt0-oqNta6XLlNpW_B4t0GoKLZtriPj03rZeZhhyphenhypheni4pvSQsEe_5cnFZLu0PY0xs3Aumv9MriE9T5rMY1FWZDkN8mxZkyEkn75XbZZyU0pVnjY8V7AeC3vsfK_/s320/RIMG0427.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Ullswater once more.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Once summitted, the descent towards Kentmere was something that kept you awake and paying attention: the path was loose stone, so to get any speed required total concentration in picking your path over the rocks so as not to stumble and fall, making your knees and quads ache like crazy the whole time. Fortunately what awaited at the bottom was a Harry Potter themed village hall of Kentmere, where some jelly beans in a bag were given to everyone who entered as well as a bowl of hot spicy pasta, which I eagerly ate seeing as we were now in the realms of dinner time, with the heat beginning ease a little and the shadows lengthening. One of the people manning the aid-station was none other than <a href="https://www.montane.co.uk/marcus-scotney-i18">Marcus Scotney</a>, the ultra runner of some renown who would be chasing the win if he was running but was instead just giving something back today by helping-out.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoU3T0F78F0w-FW7_x-jfu6JjMBDxiUw_ZbpKmE2IqcCA9t1CgQz48cLhEFq2j881Ojc2t6PsSu6vsqODP1F7pqsvg2ldHw8Ha0bw-LFPHDGRlfwRwZY5D5gMqWN519t5KWNWEzzRGItYn/s1600/RIMG0428.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoU3T0F78F0w-FW7_x-jfu6JjMBDxiUw_ZbpKmE2IqcCA9t1CgQz48cLhEFq2j881Ojc2t6PsSu6vsqODP1F7pqsvg2ldHw8Ha0bw-LFPHDGRlfwRwZY5D5gMqWN519t5KWNWEzzRGItYn/s320/RIMG0428.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Still plenty of runners around.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Mentally I knew what time I wanted to be in Ambleside: any time before darkness! so I was confident in getting there in time, although the climb up towards Troutbeck was challenging me, forcing me to sit on a wall for a few minutes break at one point… Eventually I was able to get up and enjoy the sight of Windermere down below in front of me as the light began to noticeably fade. Seeing the lake meant I was not far off Ambleside which nestles at its northerly tip and I knew that a fair chunk of the route to the next checkpoint in the town was downhill, so I attempted to make as good a time as I could to the town and the awaiting aid station.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwkwgDdU1IymT1FeUWUrfIaEJvXOpy_5DubdhaxluqNWPhLsBBOEEKJhc5rAKs2Wsk2qegJ3QYkEsRtIPDnJo6ZRofQZK1AS8U7yVfBz1MrfDxXQS7vcx6lyKK3hkEzT5nSI1MYz13eT1H/s1600/RIMG0429.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwkwgDdU1IymT1FeUWUrfIaEJvXOpy_5DubdhaxluqNWPhLsBBOEEKJhc5rAKs2Wsk2qegJ3QYkEsRtIPDnJo6ZRofQZK1AS8U7yVfBz1MrfDxXQS7vcx6lyKK3hkEzT5nSI1MYz13eT1H/s320/RIMG0429.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">The start of 'effing Fusedale'.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">There are very strict rules enforced at the Lakeland - you are not allowed any outside assistance, nor are you allowed to stop along the route to take food and drink from anywhere other than the official aid stations or you risk disqualification… This is not really an issue, except in Ambleside as you run through the town passing all the restaurants and take-away joints and the first sight you see entering the centre is a pub… A pub with everyone sitting outside drinking beer and cheering you on that looks unbelievably inviting to stop in for a cold-one, the cheering acting as a siren’s call, but the race rules make a good mast to mentally lash yourself to and push-on through savouring the cheering as you continue to the next aid station at the parish hall.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4oPVZ5AT1xfBVqj9Jj3Xa4TuUz70mn_qUnlJBGIauNxOu9e3kZdmTMBUds-WMgI2KS8a6InfZrulf6Mkv8YL17RRL6po4H5RRoTWI3JFPzk9pTaJEmqQ-kObIXVmhnfPCO3IAbne1Ko53/s1600/RIMG0431.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4oPVZ5AT1xfBVqj9Jj3Xa4TuUz70mn_qUnlJBGIauNxOu9e3kZdmTMBUds-WMgI2KS8a6InfZrulf6Mkv8YL17RRL6po4H5RRoTWI3JFPzk9pTaJEmqQ-kObIXVmhnfPCO3IAbne1Ko53/s320/RIMG0431.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Nearing one of the false summits on Fusedale.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Arriving safely as the light began to drop I took a seat at the circus themed stop outside the hall and had a brief snack and a rest whilst attempting to fight-off the swarming midges that were gathering to chew on our sweaty flesh… From here onwards I was on territory that was familiar having recce’d it a couple of months before with LSS & Spud. From hereon even in the darkness I would be familiar with the terrain I would be covering, including going up the bit I fell down on the UT55 a few weeks back splitting my knee apart!</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn1FpuAtJ2X5_HTAzGSHLaKw8ZR1QanCgFGRGrRIUPSv8VzC2jWFmupgVNlglmcWqq5qDC1oNe7wqF-5KpeZF0B1LIVUSYIWxX3I1ZuZHupbefQ1GFbXyLz9x2xZwNVXaF_xIPF2Q5XJGI/s1600/RIMG0432.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhn1FpuAtJ2X5_HTAzGSHLaKw8ZR1QanCgFGRGrRIUPSv8VzC2jWFmupgVNlglmcWqq5qDC1oNe7wqF-5KpeZF0B1LIVUSYIWxX3I1ZuZHupbefQ1GFbXyLz9x2xZwNVXaF_xIPF2Q5XJGI/s320/RIMG0432.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Cracking view from up high.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">My challenge now leaving the aid station was to try and get as far as I could before it properly got dark and I would be forced to put my head torch on… The steep climb out of the town on the valley bottom on to Loughrigg Fell put me back in to light once more, which I made as good a use of as I could - descending towards Skelwith Bridge where I finally succumbed to the inevitable and put my head torch on to light the way from this point.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRyOEBSa6ZZ2I61UBRLYY2UDi3IcWBKbzIrvAgoJPq1hcLnm9OVFsbB-4PHDu-b8s9nncSXQRB6QZBDI1uY_AHPu4rlgIkGg6E6I6gAFy0Zd5GZ6GFpcQmvcU7nv2TGwVTrDPDZ_TYhRir/s1600/RIMG0434.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRyOEBSa6ZZ2I61UBRLYY2UDi3IcWBKbzIrvAgoJPq1hcLnm9OVFsbB-4PHDu-b8s9nncSXQRB6QZBDI1uY_AHPu4rlgIkGg6E6I6gAFy0Zd5GZ6GFpcQmvcU7nv2TGwVTrDPDZ_TYhRir/s320/RIMG0434.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Finally topping-out on the moor.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">I had been uber prepared for a change and took 3 head torches with me to the race, choosing one of them as the most suitable on the morning and putting it in my pack with 2 spare batteries - it had been a while since I had run with it on so I was looking forward to having an extended session with it. Putting it on it sat comfortably, so I switched it on and thought nothing more until about 5 minutes later it turned itself off, so I turned it back on, which lasted a few minutes more. Cursing my luck I changed the battery (already a fully charged one or so I thought) for one of the 2 spares I had packed, and turned the torch on again - which worked for all of about half a dozen paces before it turned off once more! Soon I was having to run continually trying to turn it on as it was refusing to work for anything more than a few seconds… I was properly fucked!</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2LvR9Kgu2dP59MA0FV4T7wR_awP6m4AaSa-jx7WLvojo9mQeR7qZ0o7bBcFYHAMcH8ZTv2BpxL3B1Bi5kcIjKJhyphenhyphenYyUXo6hv4LouWHNudeeVFVg_-zLkoDGzu7_Obe-9FJfB-I7o2iUIj/s1600/RIMG0435.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2LvR9Kgu2dP59MA0FV4T7wR_awP6m4AaSa-jx7WLvojo9mQeR7qZ0o7bBcFYHAMcH8ZTv2BpxL3B1Bi5kcIjKJhyphenhyphenYyUXo6hv4LouWHNudeeVFVg_-zLkoDGzu7_Obe-9FJfB-I7o2iUIj/s320/RIMG0435.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Haweswater.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Fortunately the trail to the next aid station from Skelwith Bridge through Elterwater to the next aid station at Chapel Stile was pancake flat and mostly on the wide mettled surface of the Cumbrian Way, so I was able to carry-on in the last of the light as it reflected off the river and the tarn at not too slower a pace as I would otherwise have run, staying close to other runners whenever I could to use their lights as they jogged on when we disappeared under the tree canopy.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-lX2P-C89FwEq8Mdih2aRhakQKdi0qOTxbuABJ0_YZ0n2HgW06EukGLKHqDS6JOpKGOK5itWtq5qLaNdFtp4CgFRj6xL2x3dq91f4GUmRaPPdFIsi_24u1xCpZPdS3I4tTShQLAdmWsQp/s1600/RIMG0436.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-lX2P-C89FwEq8Mdih2aRhakQKdi0qOTxbuABJ0_YZ0n2HgW06EukGLKHqDS6JOpKGOK5itWtq5qLaNdFtp4CgFRj6xL2x3dq91f4GUmRaPPdFIsi_24u1xCpZPdS3I4tTShQLAdmWsQp/s320/RIMG0436.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Sun's out!</span></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Reaching Chapel Stile it was now proper darkness as I stopped for a welcome break after my attempt at metronomic running from Skelwith Bridge till I reached here. Once here I took the opportunity to use the cup from my compulsory kit for a cup of tea and some soup (not at the same time), as what’s the point in carrying it if you don’t use it, and realised that whilst the collapsible silicon thing I was carrying complied with the rules of the race it was completely effing useless for holding anything hot as it burnt your fingers, was unstable so could not be put on the floor and held such a small amount it was an exercise in pointlessness more than anything. The upshot was managing a thimbleful of tea and mercifully I was able to blag something bigger for the soup.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ_IW6KuO8bcqzvgJ23rSNGmDD80ZZ-ZxZYKCn0JlnfhA_fiIhoT641ViRK5dTqbJVfmvN9qXCbl0UKc7a7gKNg-zEIaqnMRTiNhUGQKYZdbgwvNQmKQnwzNJx543WFpXqW7O-5VTuWtnw/s1600/RIMG0437.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJ_IW6KuO8bcqzvgJ23rSNGmDD80ZZ-ZxZYKCn0JlnfhA_fiIhoT641ViRK5dTqbJVfmvN9qXCbl0UKc7a7gKNg-zEIaqnMRTiNhUGQKYZdbgwvNQmKQnwzNJx543WFpXqW7O-5VTuWtnw/s320/RIMG0437.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">The next vicious climb away from Mardale Head. </span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">The aid station here was themed as the wild west with a camp fire to sit around and warm-up by and an old sofa on which to lounge around!.. It was very inviting to settle there for a while, but I forced myself to carry-on. Leaving the aid station I began to shiver uncontrollably with my renewed movement in the colder night, so I was forced to stop as soon as I had started and put my waterproof on, which soon increased my core temperature back to comfortable levels and allowed me to continue as unhindered as I could, whilst reduced to a shuffle with the darkness struggling not to trip over anything.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkJyUd2G-K8L0PUwtW-aGQwZ3LRTssDaf6urwWKIDmEGyKnbqdxr8d1_LwDCws28-KmMGf0i-xQSwkqiAkgPMr7fz27k5vTaS3HwXKW3D6rjx_0RNMh9Knq7lVEcTqO6iGoNAss5liFk_x/s1600/RIMG0438.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkJyUd2G-K8L0PUwtW-aGQwZ3LRTssDaf6urwWKIDmEGyKnbqdxr8d1_LwDCws28-KmMGf0i-xQSwkqiAkgPMr7fz27k5vTaS3HwXKW3D6rjx_0RNMh9Knq7lVEcTqO6iGoNAss5liFk_x/s320/RIMG0438.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">A last look at Haweswater.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">I was relieved to have recce’d this section before so at least I knew what was underfoot: loose rock and boulders, followed by some stiles and crossing boggy fields covered in sheep-shit, so at least I knew what I was going to be tripping, stumbling on and falling over for the next few miles. All I could do was to follow as close to people as I could to use the light from their head-torches, concentrating hard on everything they were lighting so I could hopefully pick my way through the minefield of obstacles - although this was not always successful with a couple of trips and falls mercifully landing on soft grass… This was pretty soul destroying. I was essentially reduced to walking slowly trying to pick my way along the path when there was no light to ‘borrow’. It seemed to be taking forever to get through this section and I knew full well that I had another 9 miles left on the route, 9 slow ponderous miles that could be reduced to a 2 mile per hour shuffle.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFbIIbGoLbypCbK6K2RFvBRItlV1vsugQIYGymv8sMxmK8mNlIyqD-2KaFjV5xjv-0pLjZz3i18USXDSM4Uk2GoPBwENQvrQzKLHO9q_5hyqr_4mT6kWtKXUQsWQ7h62vEdJh4B8r9lYpa/s1600/RIMG0439.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFbIIbGoLbypCbK6K2RFvBRItlV1vsugQIYGymv8sMxmK8mNlIyqD-2KaFjV5xjv-0pLjZz3i18USXDSM4Uk2GoPBwENQvrQzKLHO9q_5hyqr_4mT6kWtKXUQsWQ7h62vEdJh4B8r9lYpa/s320/RIMG0439.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Ascending to the wilderness once more.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">On the hill up towards the self-clip checkpoint on the way to Tilberthwaite, the hill I busted my knee on coming down it a few weeks back at the UT55, I decided just to sit down and have a rest, to take-in the night sky and try to forget the shitty situation I was in with no torch. In the middle of nowhere there is no light pollution so looking up you could just see the limitless stars in the cloudless sky. There was no moon at all today with the lunar cycle so there was no light shed from that to help with the visibility. It was just inky blackness and nothing else, but hey you could properly see the Milky Way so not all bad.<br /><br />Having recovered some of my scattered faculties I continued the ascent to the top. It was along here I bumped in to Joanne & Chris from across the other side of the Penines on the Yorkshire coast - both ultra running vets with extensive palmares, who took pity on me and allowed me to tag along, picking our way through the bracken covered rocky path, where after one stumble too many Joanne took pity upon me and lent me her spare hand-torch, so I was able to see once more!</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNv1zGnT3O5OfDK_Ctavy1G7_fHi5Sr0dVzxwLbo9tecJEqYSOnELQ7hCAVU0-94e9rasz1TIg5aw_a4YZFYkxyRK8tNGQW7Hvsyboy0eRjVoNRVMVDVXQWG27jLMOhCgfRgn6yqD_RFwT/s1600/RIMG0441.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNv1zGnT3O5OfDK_Ctavy1G7_fHi5Sr0dVzxwLbo9tecJEqYSOnELQ7hCAVU0-94e9rasz1TIg5aw_a4YZFYkxyRK8tNGQW7Hvsyboy0eRjVoNRVMVDVXQWG27jLMOhCgfRgn6yqD_RFwT/s320/RIMG0441.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Rolling hills.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Just after the self-clip the path veers off the road once more and a group of spectators had parked-up around this turning, all of their cars with their headlights-on illuminating the turn, cheering us onwards as we arrived. It was like they were a bunch of crap doggers, all meeting-up somewhere remote, turning the lights on and watching the action unfold before them!<br /><br />Through a hillside field of highland cattle, with their bemused faces above us and below us on the slope lit-up by torches as we ventured onwards in the darkness, down through a farmyard trying to keep our voices low past the houses and we made the last aid-station.<br /><br />Joanne & Chris pushed-on through the stop much quicker than me - I just felt like having a final rest before climbing the ‘stairway to heaven’ up in to the quarry being careful all the way not to stray off the wide grassy path with its plummet into a gorge on one side and the quarry on the other and a small scramble over some of the rocks on the path to boot.<br /><br />This final leg was a mere 4 miles - albeit commencing with a sharp climb, crossing the moor and descending down through the treacherous terrain of a slate quarry to Coniston and from there to the finish.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8GpF7c87jGSRjrVyJv5GZ3P8VC_5_82SsFWk-A2RW9OcEyoakJ5NDKMxWgFKqFdPmyOkmHHYms44j_kzOfO5PdKtYeNKnEOp3pQ3vO_m07VaGnidHwF1cb0CFMk-fvCyFItrJqy8FsrCN/s1600/RIMG0442.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8GpF7c87jGSRjrVyJv5GZ3P8VC_5_82SsFWk-A2RW9OcEyoakJ5NDKMxWgFKqFdPmyOkmHHYms44j_kzOfO5PdKtYeNKnEOp3pQ3vO_m07VaGnidHwF1cb0CFMk-fvCyFItrJqy8FsrCN/s320/RIMG0442.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">One of the many inviting waterfalls for dipping the cap to cool-off.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Fair to say at this point I was pretty wiped-out so after climbing the steps I decided to sit on the grass and enjoy the stars above me once more, trying to make out the shapes of the hills over which we have traversed or passed-by seeing the few lights of houses here and there… Realising this was not really achieving much and not with not being too far off topping-out on to Coniston Moor I climbed to my feet one final time and mooched onwards. As the climb levelled-out, I was aware of how still and quiet everything was. The only sound to be heard was that of the breeze in your ears, the cascading water of the stream and its waterfalls alongside the trail and the laboured breaths I was taking. Soon I caught back up with Joanne & Chris and carried-on to the finish with the pair of them, which also meant there would be no grief tomorrow of trying to find Joanne to give her torch back to her.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZnjApASFbWZdVBYvR15Bfijl5AsEJkYXIKpAQR0UQDakI8GDwWsi9tGV1uLbXmAvCIZxgaHUiI-o4_UJeI72fsgJY1O44bkI6809bDWg6a21GV04sluZH59K1-p0sak72pVIu10amriKN/s1600/RIMG0444.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZnjApASFbWZdVBYvR15Bfijl5AsEJkYXIKpAQR0UQDakI8GDwWsi9tGV1uLbXmAvCIZxgaHUiI-o4_UJeI72fsgJY1O44bkI6809bDWg6a21GV04sluZH59K1-p0sak72pVIu10amriKN/s320/RIMG0444.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Still had some people behind me!</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Slowly the knee jarring descent over the loose slate of the path down through the quarry was negotiated and we had something even and flattish under foot, so the three of us picked-up our pace and shuffled down the slope into the ghost-town of early AM Coniston, past the closed pubs and down to the school.<br /><br />The three of us crossed the line together (me placing 430/672), and personally delighted to have had made it in a qualifier time for the 100, albeit by just a half hour, but a qualifier time nonetheless - especially after my head-torch failure had cost me I think around 2 hours… Walking around the corner I found LSS & Spud, a very tired duo who had waited-up for me to finish, which for me was as unexpected as it was lovely as any sensible person would have been in bed hours before, so I had a big hug from LSS and a welcome kick in the nards from Spud!..</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRimgq0yTsKo4i5Yztm4LZ9bIilmGdgcsSp4H2w0l4xF8dqGWug5k4-U2NVhmU-uxqi39OaxyWF09Cv03rd8hhYskl-Kj5wGG4sXp-xTsMb0eyWX6WdEY2G10rEisEdzf0zBxw3lr4oQa2/s1600/RIMG0445.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRimgq0yTsKo4i5Yztm4LZ9bIilmGdgcsSp4H2w0l4xF8dqGWug5k4-U2NVhmU-uxqi39OaxyWF09Cv03rd8hhYskl-Kj5wGG4sXp-xTsMb0eyWX6WdEY2G10rEisEdzf0zBxw3lr4oQa2/s320/RIMG0445.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">The long uneven descent to Kentmere.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">During the race I mentally made all of these plans of cracking-open a bottle of something fizzy in celebration as soon as I had finished, but having done so at 2:30 in the morning I really did not feel like it - it was now a time where it was so late it was early, so the sensible thing really would be to bed-down and worry about tomorrow when I awoke… I made my way to the showers - still mercifully warm - and washed-off the day’s grime before putting on loads of clothes to ward-off the shivers as my body went in to shock now it was no longer moving after 2/3 of a day doing so, and I slept well under canvas for the few remaining hours of darkness before sunrise.<br /><br />The next morning I was not walking well to say the least!.. As well as the onset of DOMS I found the soles of my feet were agony with every step!.. Taking advantage of the warm sunny conditions, LSS & Spud slowly shuffled with me to the cafe by the lakeside where we settled for some lunch before the 90 minute drive back to Chorley & LSS’s parent’s house.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVPRicjJoq1prVC9kq8AQ8h8EKJTxRtHT8RbJO7Drq7ECkH8hCebMArzAxybcZHxCgYyDMlq79IDJK8L4dl98my2rc6YSQ8iWELZexPKp6MeNV38yUsAG5HfYyCZkvjmpj8er6-HGlUdK3/s1600/RIMG0446.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVPRicjJoq1prVC9kq8AQ8h8EKJTxRtHT8RbJO7Drq7ECkH8hCebMArzAxybcZHxCgYyDMlq79IDJK8L4dl98my2rc6YSQ8iWELZexPKp6MeNV38yUsAG5HfYyCZkvjmpj8er6-HGlUdK3/s320/RIMG0446.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">The valley opening-up before us.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">They say on races you should never wear anything new, something that one of my Leek-y lady friends could probably have heeded. Over the previous week she had been going-on about this lovely new top she had bought specifically for the race and how she was looking forward to wearing it… Let’s just say the material was probably not as thick as she expected it to be as a couple of things caught your eye when you saw her and the morning was certainly not that cold, nor was it later in the race when I passed her leaving an aid station as I entered it and she was still smuggling peanuts!.. After the race I told her about it to which the reply of ‘trust you to notice’ came back, but sure enough when all the photos from the event came-out she was mortified!</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd6iO2zMHW9WKZ6tQ8W-WLyPeq5GLaU2KlK5ep0DEK-uXB7haohqtqvSeF0seob4V5WK3AMpi9xf8SirKKp5fPOQhdsUkI_b1VyGKH92vEenknIeih1Y2dp3BQ0fvXfwoyO0AcgZxviGO-/s1600/RIMG0448.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgd6iO2zMHW9WKZ6tQ8W-WLyPeq5GLaU2KlK5ep0DEK-uXB7haohqtqvSeF0seob4V5WK3AMpi9xf8SirKKp5fPOQhdsUkI_b1VyGKH92vEenknIeih1Y2dp3BQ0fvXfwoyO0AcgZxviGO-/s320/RIMG0448.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Sunlight now waning.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Will I be back? yes I will in a heartbeat. I’m pleased to have finished the race in a qualifier time for the 100 which was my goal, but at the same time I’m a bit frustrated about the whole head-torch issue which really hampered me so meant I was not able to record as good a time as I could have… I now know the course and have a healthy respect for ‘effin Fusedale’ - it will always be a case of managing my heart rate on the ascent and knowing that once on top its a good run down the other side and not to get too despondent going round Haweswater. Once I get over Gatescarth I know that all the real hard work is behind me so can concentrate on getting to the finish… The qualifier time for the 100 is good for 2 years, but I’d be very wary of throwing myself in to a run of that distance just yet, so what my plan will be is to run the 50 again in a qualifier time, then I will have 2 bites at the 100 cherry in subsequent years to have a crack at it with the drop-out rate on it pretty high!</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinNQb531VAm6gIJVb2_rtFBqk3XjWd5RWhgJ3hXN1DD5HHXF0BDx82b9Ua3dUO4IAfDNFkbo7MCtaYHyElyhbs_njtOcxnp21X45jIBAv9uDKAE7SDSOS9Cm6K-An-NdsXoRiBd2h9vV98/s1600/RIMG0450.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinNQb531VAm6gIJVb2_rtFBqk3XjWd5RWhgJ3hXN1DD5HHXF0BDx82b9Ua3dUO4IAfDNFkbo7MCtaYHyElyhbs_njtOcxnp21X45jIBAv9uDKAE7SDSOS9Cm6K-An-NdsXoRiBd2h9vV98/s320/RIMG0450.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Lake Windermere in front in the lengthening shadows. </span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">From talking to people it turned out the familiar face of the walker on Fusedale was none other than Mel Giedroyc who was out hiking with friends!<br /><br />I don’t do races for the swag or the bling - its not important to me and I have a collection of more tech tees from races than you can shake a big stick at these days, but I love the tee they gave us for this race - its never going to be run in, only worn with immense pride.<br /><br />Speaking of tees, the ‘Eat Pies’ got plenty of love from marshals and passing walkers alike. I love the way the shirt makes a lot of people smile and helps to brighten their day.<br /><br />Eat pies.<br />Drink beer.<br />Run far.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span>Shoeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06168576054186785526noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5645767874738367526.post-31515827513499241942017-05-03T11:43:00.003+01:002017-05-03T11:46:11.267+01:00July 2nd: The Ultimate Trails 55k - Ultimately Enjoyable.<span style="font-size: small;">The drive up to the lakes was crap. I had planned on arriving in Ambleside for the Ultimate Trails 55k with plenty of time to park, register, get a good meal in me and watch the Welsh play Belgium in the Euros. Plans are great, plans rock, but when a third party gets involved they tend to go somewhat awry… In this case with major delays around Birmingham and through the Manchester area I had 3 hours added to my journey, so getting to the event base to register by the 8pm deadline was becoming even a remote possibility. Without having eaten lunch I was forced to dive-in to some services on the M6 in Lancashire to grab a burger to eat as I drove the rest of the way to the lakes as I was unsure of getting to my destination before the pub kitchens of Ambleside closed.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB7rU1bFAXGDpus-sLzs_11LtpRsgY7_GdyNqxKOmqq6iERCWw9qC7liJ28raZ8haEPwEXFIOBNtnJhOdtaQWQKojiBGHDq9XWbtoE0t6HE9X_PxzrXt6hWVR96SgC-3FO_4BLU3VCEsEJ/s1600/UT-2015-Map-55km.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgB7rU1bFAXGDpus-sLzs_11LtpRsgY7_GdyNqxKOmqq6iERCWw9qC7liJ28raZ8haEPwEXFIOBNtnJhOdtaQWQKojiBGHDq9XWbtoE0t6HE9X_PxzrXt6hWVR96SgC-3FO_4BLU3VCEsEJ/s320/UT-2015-Map-55km.jpeg" width="223" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">The route for the following days travels.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Fortunately I arrived as darkness was falling and pulled into the parking area for the event - a field next to the local football club - which was nearly full already.<br /><br />I dashed across to the church hall to register just before it closed - a very professional effort with a full kit check and photo ID session to ensure you are who you claim to be, before you were issued with your timing chip. At least with this done the pressure was off for tomorrow morning and one less thing to worry about… Plus being there at the last possible moment it meant no queuing either.<br /><br />Retiring to the pub I settled for a couple of beers and to catch what little was left of the game (Wales continuing their remarkable performance in the tournament by beating the Belgians) to kill some time before heading to the start line for the 110k race, listen in to some of the briefing before clapping-off the runners on their midnight start… Before hunkering down in the back of the van for the night.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7FCzi6hq_kQxGAQ_ByTZdJ3aTN_UCyVHPoRH4StEsa7pbwGglsDU7ZSyMhWC7fuGx9Cf8us0RkejWtg34Sbo8vxBfFxneoBt1IWeizSa4Mg6_92lfb2F6Ycn2bJql3oFe5_E7xn38VE8f/s1600/RIMG0298.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7FCzi6hq_kQxGAQ_ByTZdJ3aTN_UCyVHPoRH4StEsa7pbwGglsDU7ZSyMhWC7fuGx9Cf8us0RkejWtg34Sbo8vxBfFxneoBt1IWeizSa4Mg6_92lfb2F6Ycn2bJql3oFe5_E7xn38VE8f/s320/RIMG0298.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">The start of the 110k race.</span></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">All refreshed after a decent kip I woke at a relatively civilised time to get ready for the 11am start - much later than I’m used to kicking off a race!.. It really was a case of killing time in the morning, all keyed-up and excited to go, fired with a desire to give a good account of myself this time after my disappointing display at the Jurassic Quarter a few weeks back.<br /><br />I attended briefing with everyone else, which unsurprisingly was not a million miles different from what I heard of the one for the 110, so it was just a case of hanging around in the ‘pen’ with the multitude of the other runners - around 500 of us to be precise, all of us eager to get going.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcnSdJktKrDGRKpg13Iyogo8GZWCm5KHQJqF-l5FbeMaRlxXrPzFVaTiqQ4WtPlMLugcwrZnSzt1INefUY-kxfQnWJmmHoWGVsC8zviWQheUAl9iGuh5nZRRkm_FsGkzECnWzF_lHa7Z_F/s1600/RIMG0318.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcnSdJktKrDGRKpg13Iyogo8GZWCm5KHQJqF-l5FbeMaRlxXrPzFVaTiqQ4WtPlMLugcwrZnSzt1INefUY-kxfQnWJmmHoWGVsC8zviWQheUAl9iGuh5nZRRkm_FsGkzECnWzF_lHa7Z_F/s320/RIMG0318.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Milling around just waiting and waiting for the start!</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Ambleside had been severely hit by the flooding in the area over the winter just gone and during the height of the floods the park in which the event was based was a good 10ft under water - something that was impossible to fathom from just standing there on the lush grass - ok there are 2 small rivers either side of it, but nothing that could make you think of how such a volume of water could arrive and swamp the area… A truly sobering thought, but also amazing in how the area has recovered so rapidly to the point there was no visible sign of the disaster that befell the place mere months before.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijU7cPA3shQmBFFAAlt2OauEMcqzTpe8Pe9reHUJnTw8-1ENwBuAzZdaNMTJMDNEdR83u2YMF5joPWQaEcImHEcS6-A3FvaXrhJt7FSvOmTZemwfeMy8ddXFbs-nNFuIiUGUHVHCq-17IS/s1600/RIMG0328.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijU7cPA3shQmBFFAAlt2OauEMcqzTpe8Pe9reHUJnTw8-1ENwBuAzZdaNMTJMDNEdR83u2YMF5joPWQaEcImHEcS6-A3FvaXrhJt7FSvOmTZemwfeMy8ddXFbs-nNFuIiUGUHVHCq-17IS/s320/RIMG0328.JPG" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Roadblock!</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Eventually we were off - all of us dashing out of the park and on to the mean streets of Ambleside, crossing the one-way system ready to ascend out of the village, where within about a minute of starting everything ground to a total standstill! Heading up the narrow street leading out the east of the village, a delivery driver had parked blocking the road. The van had just enough space either side for one person at a time to squeeze through so we were all held here slowly passing through the gap Indian file before we were able to start moving again, climbing the long and winding road towards the beckoning green hills.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGxb5e12aSeeVifFG6tBGA0LckYCa0lTbLoO1cm2zj1n14_t5jMUsHHzD4HJFQBiIdsYzIGwelhKkEL8J8yi7MtqKhp9t14gY3PckHce1JADLviAc_fhMFkoDyLtmcsARmpijXn0FhIxaQ/s1600/RIMG0331.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGxb5e12aSeeVifFG6tBGA0LckYCa0lTbLoO1cm2zj1n14_t5jMUsHHzD4HJFQBiIdsYzIGwelhKkEL8J8yi7MtqKhp9t14gY3PckHce1JADLviAc_fhMFkoDyLtmcsARmpijXn0FhIxaQ/s320/RIMG0331.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Feeling like we're leaving civilisation behind.</span></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Soon the tarmac of country lane gave-way to trail and the impression of being out in the wilderness was upon us as the unrelenting ascent continued over the first 4 miles of the route until we hit Kirkstone Pass. Once here the trail levelled-off it was a huge relief for our aching calves to have some respite before the pay-off for this hard work in scaling 1,500ft. As we passed through the parking area for tourists driving past to admire the view, we had our first feed station of the day; its gazebo trying to offer some shelter from the darkening skies threatening rain and from the rising wind.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWjnejgNfFHpvxgq1iYb06vcTxoJoaJH13ZydUCG9EfALWcKvr5SNLzO7GtnY2dOXXDjh5hDEAeK0RWMz2AVjjs03cu-Se4ibLRfmHgdMnL9J_IMSHSLzVR_FiBVj7nkrgLqu1uQV72Juq/s1600/RIMG0335.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWjnejgNfFHpvxgq1iYb06vcTxoJoaJH13ZydUCG9EfALWcKvr5SNLzO7GtnY2dOXXDjh5hDEAeK0RWMz2AVjjs03cu-Se4ibLRfmHgdMnL9J_IMSHSLzVR_FiBVj7nkrgLqu1uQV72Juq/s320/RIMG0335.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Hitting the wilderness.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Crossing the car park there was the slightly confusing and bizarre occurrence of a fell race starting at the other end, with lots of bemused club runners arriving as the masses passed-through, all looking very worried about this continual stream of eager well kitted-out racers mingling with them in the car park as they tried to register and keep warm for their race, some of them panicking thinking their race had started and having to be talked-out of joining-in with all of us with another 30-odd miles to go on our jaunt!</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_5GeT8hqbQd0mZrt8LKfd-1u0MFh1NuZrxwefLghKNb-BiiRIKgOc6Xc9HH0qZcDiE3YaiE_VT3-jFdWbjfsz9SomEydpOprZ6vP93D_97ZB1JpnYHhsYMhQa7aR2l2UODd5MXLRw4jmJ/s1600/RIMG0336.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_5GeT8hqbQd0mZrt8LKfd-1u0MFh1NuZrxwefLghKNb-BiiRIKgOc6Xc9HH0qZcDiE3YaiE_VT3-jFdWbjfsz9SomEydpOprZ6vP93D_97ZB1JpnYHhsYMhQa7aR2l2UODd5MXLRw4jmJ/s320/RIMG0336.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjomw07ucMruCVKOc_4Pfj8JBUVM56xOOcjqM56HTLH90uFwU8WVzSky6PDlQPKX8quLoFcaMhiGtaQSKZ88auvmhTsWeRX6ti_EviD5a6zdzKtrqi2-Xt4Wc_dw0gMO5SLqZ6KtebYkID_/s1600/RIMG0339.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjomw07ucMruCVKOc_4Pfj8JBUVM56xOOcjqM56HTLH90uFwU8WVzSky6PDlQPKX8quLoFcaMhiGtaQSKZ88auvmhTsWeRX6ti_EviD5a6zdzKtrqi2-Xt4Wc_dw0gMO5SLqZ6KtebYkID_/s320/RIMG0339.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Heading through the pass.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Out the other side of the car park and we were presented with a fantastic descent through the pass for a very runnable and enjoyable 10k to the Glenridding aid station.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmsxUVhWTmkWnAdvAjgrj6SKIWcVw0omTZvm63z0Nq_tW4CRAf-wKSvNqN2I6VyNgQmtfsLKsFiZco9qKkbRZkpXwg3_L3rlWAJJzxB2r_r7b8vd4bTjwufGblYeDoVj8ydvtVl8k_MHmU/s1600/RIMG0342.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmsxUVhWTmkWnAdvAjgrj6SKIWcVw0omTZvm63z0Nq_tW4CRAf-wKSvNqN2I6VyNgQmtfsLKsFiZco9qKkbRZkpXwg3_L3rlWAJJzxB2r_r7b8vd4bTjwufGblYeDoVj8ydvtVl8k_MHmU/s320/RIMG0342.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Starting the descent.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">It was on this descent I saw a runner in front drop one of her poles, so I stooped to pick it up and give it back to her and recognised the face of someone who I had met back at Fort William where she and her friend had been as underwhelmed by the pre-race pasta party as I had!.. Today was a training run for her in anticipation of her crossing of the Atacama - a 7 day race across the dessert! Her running buddy from Fort William was also here today but already out on the course on the 110k race.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSILehEpAYdQRLKj_V6fYl_vLaYpK5vR8HTCS-fb1HivKLFGIqEQRxdsTDwo2G0EDL0Maa94ZkE-DlpC9Ab2_JcixhUOlULCDl7gIdt2HkjfaTU3u-WbzrTtQhY98S443o0zDO3kt_cqeu/s1600/RIMG0346.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSILehEpAYdQRLKj_V6fYl_vLaYpK5vR8HTCS-fb1HivKLFGIqEQRxdsTDwo2G0EDL0Maa94ZkE-DlpC9Ab2_JcixhUOlULCDl7gIdt2HkjfaTU3u-WbzrTtQhY98S443o0zDO3kt_cqeu/s320/RIMG0346.JPG" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Picking a path.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Continuing the descent everyone seemed to be following the same path which was causing bottlenecks, so I decided to take a slightly different route off to the side which made me soon realise why no-one else was doing the same as I ended-up knee deep in a bog just a metre or so off to the side of the main path - at least I faired better than one lady on the main path who tried to cross a boggy bit only to face-plant into the watery mess, properly submerging her head and all the way to her chest, fortunately with no damage other than a bruising to the ego.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjp3ybS98kDO2c3BlOUEY5x0P7a43oaMeJaFQWuHlDVLhO3u9xP8AsSxQxH1p58ZE3b3fC9krn7ris8WNHACB7uauflCDJoRAhcMzkbRdSx0t8D3NVEtC54mh3QOqiModHZd05D70JfGDDh/s1600/RIMG0347.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjp3ybS98kDO2c3BlOUEY5x0P7a43oaMeJaFQWuHlDVLhO3u9xP8AsSxQxH1p58ZE3b3fC9krn7ris8WNHACB7uauflCDJoRAhcMzkbRdSx0t8D3NVEtC54mh3QOqiModHZd05D70JfGDDh/s320/RIMG0347.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Fording one of the many swollen mountain streams.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Marveling at the contrast of the lush green of the grass, the slate grey of the exposed rock and matching sky I drank in the scenery as I descended to Patterdale, passing plenty with my downhill speed who had passed me before as I toiled on the ascent dragging my belly up the hillside. Even the on-set of the first downpour of the day did not phase me and it came down heavy, but at least it was warm rain so not too dispiriting… Although once on to the flat tarmac of the valley floor I began to feel the exertions of these hard 2 hours of effort to get to the first proper point for a break as I had to make the metronome tick-over at a constant to get me to shelter.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1AywgKTsyOTvHM_9sC0AC4YgBU9Wi5Ublm0YXFvf9JftC2nW1lFOqLnm6-3GFAoqn0gnp6JpxlYNsErlB_yIuBkB1233uMs1vRKAD2_xTmGiFcQbNxuLqORGIuZoXzEmX5_Q1ZroILSZJ/s1600/RIMG0352.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1AywgKTsyOTvHM_9sC0AC4YgBU9Wi5Ublm0YXFvf9JftC2nW1lFOqLnm6-3GFAoqn0gnp6JpxlYNsErlB_yIuBkB1233uMs1vRKAD2_xTmGiFcQbNxuLqORGIuZoXzEmX5_Q1ZroILSZJ/s320/RIMG0352.JPG" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">A bit grim, grey and soggy on the valley floor.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Reaching the aid station they had been incredibly cunning: the timing mat for the race was inside the hall rather than outside, so all runners had to enter and be funnelled past the food and drink that was lain out for us, all the while being visually assessed by the medics - This was a really clever touch as it forced people to make a conscious effort not to take on board any food or a warm drink. Those at the head of the race would have been able to pass through without too much of a time loss before the masses arrived to choke-up the area - so it works for the elites as well as it does those of us just out for the challenge.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXDQgvbF8mKZii8Gd0634URs4_m261dop0e4c4r5WEIITNgdbMue66UgbtF2jtpsarAdMbZP4ZBf6C458DIk3YA7UEPaeEAPHzw46NzVNqmQTxKV2RXdb9AJVZOJCtAWAKZuWwp_POF16a/s1600/RIMG0356.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXDQgvbF8mKZii8Gd0634URs4_m261dop0e4c4r5WEIITNgdbMue66UgbtF2jtpsarAdMbZP4ZBf6C458DIk3YA7UEPaeEAPHzw46NzVNqmQTxKV2RXdb9AJVZOJCtAWAKZuWwp_POF16a/s320/RIMG0356.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">The start of the next climb out of the aid station.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">I had ignored the first aid station with it only being at 4 miles so I thought I’d have something to eat and a cup of tea whilst here, but none of the scran initially took my fancy; I was not over enamoured of the thought of peanut butter, jam or ham (I was not enamoured Sam I am) but then I saw a cheese and onion sanger - and I mean the cheapest sangers you get in the supermarket kind of cheese and onion and all of a sudden I knew I just had to have one (or three!) and it was the best tasting goddam thing I have ever eaten - it really went down a treat and boosted me immensely - I knew then for the rest of the race I would be hoovering cheese and onion sangers at every opportunity!.. It became an obsession. I just wanted to run as hard as I could to the next aid station to get my hands on the next helping.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYLLsoueEv0wmDItk11DLBmLuGR4P6bdxSgH-v_R8EdEhtjBab26n0Mlo5SECT32TYmhWEpR6aDb5eivI3fWPNemwJaPWRInDJeR3la-xKqkWa9_HQL2CkDhAfgtGq14SncmWKKpILPnn9/s1600/RIMG0362.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYLLsoueEv0wmDItk11DLBmLuGR4P6bdxSgH-v_R8EdEhtjBab26n0Mlo5SECT32TYmhWEpR6aDb5eivI3fWPNemwJaPWRInDJeR3la-xKqkWa9_HQL2CkDhAfgtGq14SncmWKKpILPnn9/s320/RIMG0362.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">The wind and rain setting-in, the hail started soon after!</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Out of the aid station and the climbing commenced: away from Patterdale leaving Ullswater behind in the distance whilst following the path westwards just to the south of the mighty Hellvellyn that towers above… It was as I attempted to run up a section of the incline for a change that I felt something shift at my back and turning I saw my backpack had opened and my waterproof had spilled-out from it. I stopped to pick it up, thankful I had noticed in time and debated packing it or putting it on for the sky was looking like it was about to burst once more - so I made my choice; stowing it tightly and ensuring the zip was firmly closed and carried on my merry way… Sod’s law: five minutes later and I had to stop again to get it out and put it on as the heavens carried out their threat and opened for another biblical deluge, with the wind rising to a near gale the higher we climbed driving the rain in to our faces… 8 miles this leg was between aid stations with no cover for us. You were exposed the entire time to what the elements were throwing at you as you traversed 1,500ft of climbing over the first 5 miles and 1,800ft of descent in the final 3 and a chance for a breather.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCa2jnVQ_MRW0eqcR90rX3oUb3FZJjzTQdIhl2BSr8iGovz9ZMWhRGsYnEG0j7Kdc8KMEY8irURpW6idFX9ipucOAS8kmCVKf15WQGhyuVbmDnUU3e-X1at55o2jqtFfXllofBaVTaMyg7/s1600/RIMG0369.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCa2jnVQ_MRW0eqcR90rX3oUb3FZJjzTQdIhl2BSr8iGovz9ZMWhRGsYnEG0j7Kdc8KMEY8irURpW6idFX9ipucOAS8kmCVKf15WQGhyuVbmDnUU3e-X1at55o2jqtFfXllofBaVTaMyg7/s320/RIMG0369.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Ruthwaite Lodge and its surrounding sea of green.</span></td></tr>
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</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">This climb over Grizedale was long and slow with the wind howling, unable to look up a lot of the time through the rain and even hail blasting you in the face if you were to raise your head… I’m sure this stretch looks absolutely stunning without the low cloud and being able to look up around you, but today you were not really able to see or savour a great deal… Until you turned around as you reached a small plateau by the grandly named shuttered shepherd hut of ‘Ruthwaite Lodge’ and saw what you had climbed. Its a pretty awesome sight.</span></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyQk2pPqwXqUbKgXILLZDWwyt3G4-DPHpu4D28yug2cRmkFIxI7xJrEnMMBCIVQ0UKpNZOvKtbIFclit-WOsZu6VdVoGsw8HeCuA12frpwmYuGDlgIPQ-SkprXYQ8eq9J1uuNpYyYOfJzI/s1600/RIMG0370.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyQk2pPqwXqUbKgXILLZDWwyt3G4-DPHpu4D28yug2cRmkFIxI7xJrEnMMBCIVQ0UKpNZOvKtbIFclit-WOsZu6VdVoGsw8HeCuA12frpwmYuGDlgIPQ-SkprXYQ8eq9J1uuNpYyYOfJzI/s320/RIMG0370.JPG" width="180" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Looking down Grizedale.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Catching my breath here I struck-up a conversation with a fellow racer Sinéad as she grimaced her way towards me up to the hut… As we pushed onwards passing the tarn and up to the highest point of the whole course, I couldn’t help but chuckle about the back-pack she was wearing - now both my girls when they were younger used to love Dora the Explorer - with her brightly coloured back-pack that stores all wonderful things inside it to help with her escapades… I couldn’t but help myself and pointed out to Sinéad that she was in fact Dora the Explorer, which in the midst of the exertion and minds addled by fatigue, hunger and pain whilst being battered by the elements seemed to amuse… And having a couple of kids of her own (or ‘wildlings’ as she says), she certainly got the point of reference.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Crossing the Tarn.</span></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Typically, once over the top of Grizedale, the weather began to change with the wind dropping to a mere breeze, the rain suddenly stopped and the temperature rose along with the humidity, just in time for the steep descent to the valley floor and the aid station at the school in Grasmere.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">The descent commences</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">With the clearing of the weather you’d have thought that progress would speed-up significantly, especially with the descent - but unfortunately with all the rain the going underfoot was a bit tricky so careful was the watch-word with the risk of a tumble down the side of the hill - it doesn’t matter how much money you spend on your trainers, all of them are pants on wet rock!</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNZCuqKl_6pXA3F4flQuZDkghtK59wCVVo2yczCwBcqyiX9Yw7FZGFHz83L3exhuOTq3gL0sXO4jGekoSgmidNC8Ot2JeWPGrt63gN0jC1jR2U1YhyphenhyphentZdu05i99ebJCzGT0uL0YEKOqG_C/s1600/RIMG0377.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgNZCuqKl_6pXA3F4flQuZDkghtK59wCVVo2yczCwBcqyiX9Yw7FZGFHz83L3exhuOTq3gL0sXO4jGekoSgmidNC8Ot2JeWPGrt63gN0jC1jR2U1YhyphenhyphentZdu05i99ebJCzGT0uL0YEKOqG_C/s320/RIMG0377.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">The lake at Grasmere.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">As I descended alongside ‘Dora’ we got chatting with another racer who turned-out works with the dad of one of the guys I played footy with. Once we hit the valley floor and the road it was a couple of miles along the black tar way till we hit the aid station with just over half the race completed… Cheese & onion sandwich time!.. I was dead chuffed to find some more there and washed it down with one of the cans of Red Bull I had stashed in my pack for this aid station and the last one of the day.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">Out of the aid station and we were off onto the last of the ‘big’ climbs, up and over Silver How before hitting the relatively benign loop from Chapel Style, through Elterwater & Little Langdale as we covered some of the common ground shared by the Lakeland 50 course but in a different direction for the most part… On this section we caught-up with a couple of Dora’s running buddies from her Radcliffe Athletic Club so there was more conversation to divert.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Closing-in on the last aid station of the day.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">On the final third of the loop, descending through Wrynose Pass, nattering away with Dora, I was not paying full attention and my right foot slipped off the path. The trail here has a ditch on the right side, so my right leg ended in the ditch, with my left knee crashing fully down with all my weight behind it onto the gritty hard-packed surface… I couldn’t help but yelp with the pain - I knew it was not good on impact as the electric bolts of the shock and pain shot through my whole body… I decided immediately to adopt my normal coping strategy with a bad cut of not to look, ignore it and get moving again whilst the adrenaline is still strong and prevent things seizing-up with swelling. The good thing was we were descending so I was able to run/ hobble/ walk the rest of the way to the aid station along the reverse of a majority downhill route I had walked in May, arriving at the school in Chapel Stile, where I was safe in the knowledge of having got there with no ill effects and necking some paracetamol I would be ok to carry-on to the finish…</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">I sat down in the hall for more cheese & onion sangers, a cup of tea and some Red Bull and stretched out my leg in front so I could see what I had done - fortunately it was just a bloody mess that had oozed in to my calf sleeve all the way down to my sock and aside from seeing a fair bit of broken skin I couldn’t really tell what there was and how many stones I had gathered in it was well, although it must have been quite tasty as a lot of people were commiserating me at having to bail from the race at this late stage with an injury like that - so I just put on my best ‘Black Knight’ from Monty Python and the Holy Grail, and insisted it was just a mere scratch and off for the final 10k stretch I forged alongside Dora.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsXa3BlhV85yly3zhIOVWQcn5kCfJC8Qe5Jf9qVV7MQLoAzKMv2YFcUjQ6zNc_TEqskGp3bthtBIvIMOsUnvdryywZ5482ouUI1qrHO-GHsw4ETNZ76DssJPvTn3N6vOT_clpkID9GxGgp/s1600/RIMG0363.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsXa3BlhV85yly3zhIOVWQcn5kCfJC8Qe5Jf9qVV7MQLoAzKMv2YFcUjQ6zNc_TEqskGp3bthtBIvIMOsUnvdryywZ5482ouUI1qrHO-GHsw4ETNZ76DssJPvTn3N6vOT_clpkID9GxGgp/s320/RIMG0363.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Loved that I only noticed the stack of stones long after taking the photo.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">The last leg started off with an easy tab along the flat through Elterwater before the final climbs of the day up on to Loughrigg Fell then over it to our final destination… Fair to say we knew we had it made with only at worst a 2 hour walk to the finish, so the thoughts were now on our timing and getting to the finish before darkness fell.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">As we made our way in the fading light across the final couple of miles before the drop in to Ambleside and the finish, I joked to Dora about us making good time and how we stood a decent chance to get in under the 10 hours mark, so if we passed her husband coming out to meet her just before the finish she would end up just waving ‘hi and bye’ to him as she charged-onwards focusing on the finish… And sure enough about a mile from the finish, just before we descended to the park in Ambleside, Dora saw her devoted hubby wandering towards us in the gloom - she briefly slowed to chat with him as he jogged with us before she kicked-on for the tape and the bowl of soup and a roll that awaited.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Ullswater from the climb over Grisedale.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Crossing the line safely under the 10 hours and very happy with the day’s running we were presented with our medal and finishers shirt before going to the food truck to collect that promised welcoming bowl of hot soup and roll to consume in the ‘finishers enclosure’ marquee.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">Enjoying the welcome hot meal with Dora and her Radcliffe Athletic Club friends I was eventually peer-pressured in to getting my knee properly checked-out as it was not ‘just a scratch’ as I was trying to pass it off as. I thought discretion was the better form of valour on this as I was outnumbered by 5-1 so I walked over to the medical tent and for the first time ever used the medical facilities as provided at an event.<br /><br />Chatting with the guy as he set to work cleaning out my knee, he informed me the week before he had been crewing on the medical team for some promo filming that Strava have done in the lakes about ‘kudos’ and doing things together, so I’ll have to look out for that!</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">His official professional verdict on the knee was ‘it’s a mess’ and needed to be properly stitched, probably in double figures. As he scrubbed away at the open wound he couldn’t believe I was not reacting or even flinching, let alone moaning in discomfort as most people would. I explained it is not me trying to be macho, but purely because of a lack of nerve endings in that knee from a previous footy injury and I genuinely was not feeling it… As my body was cooling down having stopped moving after 10 hours on my feet, combined with the temperature dropping as darkness fell, I was beginning to noticeably shiver, so the doc advised me to go away, have a shower, get changed in to something warm and return for him to do another clean-up.<br /><br />Taking his advice I enjoyed a good shower in the Ambleside FC changing rooms and sauntered back for round 2. When the doc had finished he reckoned there was about a dozen stitches worth of injury as it was a diagonal laceration across the entire knee-cap. He reiterated I needed to get it seen-to properly at A&E and made me promise to do so before leaving his charge - he asked what my plans for travel were so I told him I was intending on driving back tonight. Reluctantly he said ok to that but to get it stitched as soon as I got back to Basingstoke, if I was to reconsider going tonight he told me where the nearest A&E was to Ambleside.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">Having been patched-up I took myself off to the pub for a beer and to watch the end of the footy - not the best of games ending in penalties - before retiring to the van and a kip fully dressed in the sleeping bag as I was struggling to warm-up, with the plan of leaving around 2am to get back home.<br /><br />Waking in the dead of night I got in to the driver’s seat and started the engine to go home - I managed about half the distance across the field before the van became bogged-down in the churned-up mud from others leaving before me following the deluge Ambleside had experienced for the best part of the day… And at this time in the morning there was no chance of getting out of the mud and away - I tried wedging bits of old wooden fence under the wheels for traction but that did not help get a grip, so I was stuck… I was certainly not getting to A&E either back home or anywhere in the Lakes!<br /><br />A good night’s sleep and I was awake and eager to get off home at the earliest opportunity, but I had to hang around till lunchtime following all the presentations before the organisers could spare some bodies to help push me out of the mud and I could get on my merry way… By the time I got home after an uneventful drive the window of opportunity to get my knee stitched was not looking good - from experience I’ve been turned away from A&E as once a wound begins to scab they are loathe to interfere with it, so it looks like it’ll be slowly healing from the inside out… Fingers crossed it will be fine for the year’s ‘A’ race, the Lakeland 50 at the end of the month.</span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Listening to the entertainment as we awaited the presentation.</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">I really enjoyed this run, which has already become my favourite having knocked the Glencoe marathon in to second place for the overall experience and atmosphere, although Glencoe still edges it on the scenery front. It was great bumping in to ‘Dora’ to while-away the miles on the trail, and it says a lot about her tolerance of motor-mouthed idiots that I did not bore/wind her up to the point that a justifiable homicide seemed a good idea!.. The course was well marked with no wrong turns taken even where the 55 & 100 courses joined and split, which is always a bonus, and I thought the organisers had made a very clever conscious decision over the aid stations and the timing mats.<br /><br />Speaking to the organiser about the problems with the parking, they were pretty miffed by it themselves - there was a large hard-stand parking area that they had used in previous years under lease but this year they had been denied the use of it by the owners who instead insisted they had just the field to use whilst they provided no back-up or assistance to get the vehicles in or out - so hopefully this is something that will not be repeated. Besides this, what I will do in future is to park on the hard-stand to the side with all the camper vans to prevent a repetition, especially as I now have knowledge of the event and will hopefully arrive in plenty of time.<br /><br />A big thanks to the medic as well - this was the first time I have had to use one at an event - I know they are there to be used, its just I felt a bit of a plum for being such a muppet for needing to use one.<br /><br />For the record, my time over the 36 miles was 9:47:20, placing me 270/449 finishers, so I was really happy with that especially when I was so near the bottom of the Jurassic Quarter field a few weeks back!</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTx5EYDg9nJPsUHIDA1bOX6NX7xnbHcHJbY8lIkXec3krmXvrsOiB9qyIZ4jdNqJ3wWNxu4tv77pEbPDbxnX48wErpMdYjyDlxRfMZUSg8ApEdRGzZMPYdmLNoHJJpL8D5cKAwnhNIxq5P/s1600/UT55Moose.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTx5EYDg9nJPsUHIDA1bOX6NX7xnbHcHJbY8lIkXec3krmXvrsOiB9qyIZ4jdNqJ3wWNxu4tv77pEbPDbxnX48wErpMdYjyDlxRfMZUSg8ApEdRGzZMPYdmLNoHJJpL8D5cKAwnhNIxq5P/s320/UT55Moose.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Doing the 'moose' for the camera.</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Oh and in enjoying this day out in the lakes so much despite the crappy weather, at the presentation Dora and myself were chatting about a return for the 110 next year… Its definitely an option. And to finish-off here’s what the knee looked-like after 2 weeks - yep it was a lovely oozing mess for a while from the plasma as it healed from the inside out - it fair put people off their pints down the pub the Thursday after!</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">Eat pies.<br />Drink beer.<br />Run far.</span>Shoeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06168576054186785526noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5645767874738367526.post-54932855776988794202017-01-23T10:37:00.002+00:002017-01-23T10:37:47.452+00:00June 25th: Comparative Waffling.<span style="font-size: small;">Anyone who has read this blog or who has spoken to me in real life will well know I do enjoy a good waffle, as well as liking a munch on the food-stuff of the same name.<br /><br />There’s plenty of people out there who swear by the ‘Honey Stinger’ brand of waffles when it comes to endurance sports and keeping themselves fueled.<br /><br />Having seen and sampled them on my travels I have noticed they seem to be identical to the ‘Northwood Caramel Waffles’ available off the shelf in the Lidl supermarket chain, so I thought I’d look in to the two of them by means of comparison as I have energy gels/ jelly.<br /><br />So here be my Honey Stinger Waffles vs. Lidl’s Northwood Caramel Waffles comparison.</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_TLBkjPRfNGN_2q0NYoXBkUR-9b6DrelQeeC4c24ZI3Q8hBH1VkiLmt-5TBMwiI98xYc10ZwRsAx6srSk6Qm-2zQvNR-CVKnda0SCM1m-rMCAnA839o1g_6AimH3T72hVM65Nk230c2O5/s1600/31EO-fe%252BQAL.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_TLBkjPRfNGN_2q0NYoXBkUR-9b6DrelQeeC4c24ZI3Q8hBH1VkiLmt-5TBMwiI98xYc10ZwRsAx6srSk6Qm-2zQvNR-CVKnda0SCM1m-rMCAnA839o1g_6AimH3T72hVM65Nk230c2O5/s1600/31EO-fe%252BQAL.jpeg" /></a></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Lidl's waffle offering.</span></span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><img border="0" height="310" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-Dhudbs9j1DV1FlgSqoVuMZIjVEvbW6JHbn_47CwG2rC3LCCkqDMdwQnxrCBwy5euPcVYxnXhwBUiAnD5pwLGAOzncSDAhdKqSVkhr3KPGJYPGRh0N5tNQaw-p89-WVs70ee0Nb8mJaYi/s320/813290.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="320" /></span></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">A Honey Stinger.</span></span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: small;">From the above pictures you can see that they are both very similar in appearance to the point you might think they had been made in the same factory! </span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">Cost</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">You cannot buy the Lidl waffles individually as you can the Honey Stinger, but at the same time it is not cost effective buying Honey Stingers individually so I have based this on a box of the former as sourced on eBay to a pack of the latter off the shelf from the supermarket:</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">Honey Stinger: £22.99 for a box of 16</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">Lidl: £1.20 for 8<br /><br />Nutritional breakdown per waffle:<br /><br /> HS Lidl<br />Size 30g 40g<br />Calories 160Kcal 195Kcal<br />Fat 7g 7.6g<br />Saturates 3g 4.8g<br />Sugar 14g 14g<br /> </span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">Extrapolating the figures above, for the cost of £0.15 of an individual Lidl’s caramel waffle, compared to £1.44 for an individual Honey Stinger, you get a 30% heavier waffle, giving you 22% more energy, with a slightly higher fat content.<br /><br />Basically, for 1/10th of the price of a Honey Stinger you are getting something that is superior in all the vital numbers if you are looking for in an energy blast… Ok the sugars that are in the two are different, one being caramel syrup, the other honey, but unless you are racing at an elite level or have specific dietary requirements, then the Lidl’s ones must surely be the way to go based on the punch it packs!</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">One thing that Honey Stinger have over Lidl is they offer a variety of flavours they offer, whereas Lidl's are only available as caramel - but if you're like me and enjoy caramel then there's no issue on the flavour front!</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">If you were to buy 16 Lidl waffles (2 packs) then you are spending almost 1/10th of the price of 16 Honey Stingers and getting a bigger blast per item when it comes to fueling, plus you can just venture down the supermarket and get hold of them rather than waiting a few days for a mail-order delivery... For me this is a no-brainer.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">Eat waffles.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">Drink beer.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">Run far.</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span>Shoeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06168576054186785526noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5645767874738367526.post-17145752068245495272017-01-22T20:01:00.000+00:002017-01-22T20:01:02.982+00:00June 18th: Hoppit!To be brutally honest I was not in the best of shape getting to the start-line of the inaugural <a href="http://hampshiretrailmarathon.co.uk/">Hampshire Hoppit</a> trail marathon… Since the Jurassic Quarter a month ago I have been out for the sum-total of one jog. Partly it was work-load issues, but mostly it was through the state my knees were in after the race. I was troubled for a good week with aching and pain inside of them and a tender right hamstring that I have been nursing since March.<br />
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As such I had taken a near total break to allow my body some recovery time… The flip-side of this was I knew I would not be in any condition to push for a decent time and I was prepared to be hurting in the days afterwards!<br />
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I was alerted to the inaugural Hampshire Hoppit a few months back by CTS running buddy Luke when chatting about something to do in June that was different to the South Downs Marathon. An ad for it had popped-up on his Facebook so he messaged me and in no time I’d committed to this event as my June marathon… As an added incentive, it promised if you finish instead of a medal you would receive a commemorative pint pot filled with a bespoke brewed beer from the local <a href="https://loddonbrewery.com/">Loddon Brewery</a> to drink in celebration of your accomplishment.<br />
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The Hoppit, has a choice of either half or full marathon organised by the local <a href="http://bmhac.co.uk/">Basingstoke & Mid Hants Athletics Club</a> over the hills, fields and country lanes north of Basingstoke in a circular route from Kingsclere over the famous Watership Down, round to Hannington where they TV mast dominates the skyline for miles around, then back to the start.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Looking up the hill to the Hannington transmitter.</span></td></tr>
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I drove with LSS & Heidi the short distance to Kingsclere where we were efficiently marshaled to a parking space a little way from the event base on the gallops of the Park House racing stables owned by the parents of TV sports presenter Clare Balding.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Crossing the gallops.</span></td></tr>
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In the car park I bumped into Barry Miller, who’d just finished 2nd in the Grand Union Canal race a couple of weeks before - the race is the 145 mile length of the canal from Birmingham to London! I teased him about chasing the win today with the distance being merely a Sunday training run for him - which he laughed-off saying there’s ‘far too many young whippets for that’!<br />
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A trek of about a mile across the gallops from the parking and we were at the marquee to register, generally mill around under the strengthening summer sun and prepare for the off in a bubbly atmosphere that was bordering on a party.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfDLJ2dyvRxm4rMtcgMgOVG3kZVDS-biVabR_md3raj4Ecl_o4-lesHt9_l0OkMFOl1qsfXq8A95xYyocog7LVNSee_aLshBjq3UEseBT-TrN8VFgOX4ojnX_P8InsGwJNRNF_KmqwHDOG/s1600/RIMG0242.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgfDLJ2dyvRxm4rMtcgMgOVG3kZVDS-biVabR_md3raj4Ecl_o4-lesHt9_l0OkMFOl1qsfXq8A95xYyocog7LVNSee_aLshBjq3UEseBT-TrN8VFgOX4ojnX_P8InsGwJNRNF_KmqwHDOG/s320/RIMG0242.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Milling around ready for the start.</span></td></tr>
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Both the marathon and half marathon were corralled together and unleashed on to the course at the same time. Initially it was a half mile dash down the gallops to the foot of the steep ridged hill the Hannington TV mast sits atop, a TV mast that in 2001 famously ‘died’ during <a href="http://www.getreading.co.uk/news/local-news/match-blackout-has-fans-fuming-4277619">England’s 5-1 defeat of Germany in a World Cup qualifier in Germany</a> when the game was 1-1!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR2yDF59vVT8HCL_F8ifdTZva-ralXPxsXRIhySfLG-Zyt_S4czR2aKxDJUADeFL6o0WzvB2V8wfTXXWQLVSppvQh-9USO7lFN711jnF-MQdVmZjDqQwibbI3lMwiFNmwT3SE4NiaF8wsY/s1600/RIMG0245.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhR2yDF59vVT8HCL_F8ifdTZva-ralXPxsXRIhySfLG-Zyt_S4czR2aKxDJUADeFL6o0WzvB2V8wfTXXWQLVSppvQh-9USO7lFN711jnF-MQdVmZjDqQwibbI3lMwiFNmwT3SE4NiaF8wsY/s320/RIMG0245.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Galloping down the gallops.</span></td></tr>
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As soon as we all left the gallop the field ground to a halt entering the woods. Unfortunately there seemed to be a lot of pavement-pounders amongst the runners who were frightened of a couple of stinging nettles that were hanging over the single-track path and had stopped in panic trying to figure a way around them rather than ploughing-on through! Eventually we were moving again under the cool shade of the leafy canopy until we turned a corner to leave the estate and we were faced with the climb straight up the hill on to the ridge.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">The ascent.</span></td></tr>
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Unfortunately there was a stile close to the summit so everyone had to stand and wait in line to cross that, so the entire field for both races was stretched-out along the side of the hill single file waiting to get over it under the beating sun - I suppose at least we did not have to make any attempt at legging it up the impossibly steep side on which we stood.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1bFxQaCQZPIkPvZWleOYXUQJNs0okE8voSW_w5NPeL94BXIvfSs73gZTXvoy0C7n1wSuv4YhiUsmhVYnHIx_0mVobJBjW59KxNCfru4iEZ-n8TY4yVlAEeXtpHXWuxDxHQFjOuwV91rYY/s1600/RIMG0249.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1bFxQaCQZPIkPvZWleOYXUQJNs0okE8voSW_w5NPeL94BXIvfSs73gZTXvoy0C7n1wSuv4YhiUsmhVYnHIx_0mVobJBjW59KxNCfru4iEZ-n8TY4yVlAEeXtpHXWuxDxHQFjOuwV91rYY/s320/RIMG0249.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">In the queue at the top of the hill.</span></td></tr>
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Once atop the ridge and in the welcome slight breeze you gained from being up high we were off and running over the flat pasture, with the field able to spread-out with all the runners up to speed - although it was not possible to tell what race people were in, so the person in front you were running hard to keep up with could have been running the half marathon and after a couple of miles when the course forked right and left for the respective races, it was soon apparent that the majority of those runners in front were veering left for the half course!<br />
<br />
As we kept to the ridge-top we could see off to our right side the area that gave the name of the book <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Watership_Down">Watership Down</a>, although at this time of day there were sadly no rabbits to be spotted.<br />
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After a couple of miles of the wide grassy plateau we descended to the well hidden A34 and the subterranean crossing of it, passing along the <a href="http://www.geograph.org.uk/photo/361674">memorial stone to aviation pioneer Geoffrey de Havilland</a> set where he flew his first home-made aeroplane - his family having been local to the area with his father the vicar for the parish.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO8laGApqZPQjO6LJFf3wrLqugzxz3YfIESfOVOd4AIIhDfwwgRk64IqO7K_sy0ARvzZZUEpBo_XF7Z2G26s6A9w-IPgV-U2rsUAZlReJ11v1MjIjd3ur92CLxn4HtNXDy9v4chEHW123e/s1600/RIMG0262.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjO8laGApqZPQjO6LJFf3wrLqugzxz3YfIESfOVOd4AIIhDfwwgRk64IqO7K_sy0ARvzZZUEpBo_XF7Z2G26s6A9w-IPgV-U2rsUAZlReJ11v1MjIjd3ur92CLxn4HtNXDy9v4chEHW123e/s320/RIMG0262.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Swaying in the gentle breeze.</span></td></tr>
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This stretch of the run seemed to be continually downhill and changed from the grassy hill-tops to the farm trails, green lanes and ‘B’ roads that led us around the southerly section of the course… It was along here I encountered a freshly deceased rabbit - not being far from Watership Down and its tale of migrating rabbits looking for a new mythical home, I commented to my fellow runners that ‘Fiver had not quite made it to Efrafa’.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjymA0F4x8lztZFnLCU2WrUdx46cK65Ukihf1zA9_rlVzzDJxQ9YU3dK0OHQVmVrHhU5CMfqDeA_bfiZZjBLrLXDaMmSkYVwpsy3xvQdWUww5YrsBnLx1idt9o9i9lSiLxl_FDPHr3jm8Lr/s1600/RIMG0260.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjymA0F4x8lztZFnLCU2WrUdx46cK65Ukihf1zA9_rlVzzDJxQ9YU3dK0OHQVmVrHhU5CMfqDeA_bfiZZjBLrLXDaMmSkYVwpsy3xvQdWUww5YrsBnLx1idt9o9i9lSiLxl_FDPHr3jm8Lr/s320/RIMG0260.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The unfortunate Fiver.</td></tr>
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With us now in the midst of summer the first of the poppies were showing their heads amongst the fields of barley and wheat, the sharp red a notable counterpoint to the soft greens that shimmered with the crops moving in the gentle breeze.<br />
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The entire southern half of the day's route seemed to just blend in to one continual unremarkable meander through the agricultural countryside we are lucky to have in this part of Hampshire. Running was easy with even the climbs being steady, slow and not very taxing. It serves as an ideal introduction to a trail marathon for the worshippers of black tar running as a good half of the distance was on their favoured surface and with the baked-hard trail underfoot, even the off-road sections were more than passable with a pair of road running shoes.<br />
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With around 10k left to go we encountered the first major climb since leaving the grounds of the gallops as we turned northwards towards Hannington and the ascent back up the hill with the transmitter with the finish at the bottom of the hill on the other side.<br />
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Passing through the village we hit a plateau, the village clearing to reveal just flat fields with Buzzards and Red Kites circling above us ominously as if waiting to feed on the carcasses of any fallen runners. Venturing in to the fields we could hear an absolute chorus of bleats. The field on our left was filled with some very vocal ovines who seemed to be cheering us on. I couldn't help but stop to record the sound of them all giving it what-for!<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Bemused.</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Playing 'king of the castle'.</span></td></tr>
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Turning the corner at the end of the field there was a sharp descent which I found a bit hard on my knees with all the pavement-pounding of the last 10 miles or so, however in no time we seemed to be climbing again and veering left as we circled on to the northern edge of the hill overlooking Kingsclere and the finish a mere couple of miles away.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Closing-in on the finish in yonder field.</span></td></tr>
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Spirits lifted for everyone it was a simple jog in and descent off the hill and a final mile up the gallops to the finish line and the waiting LSS & Heidi who was going bananas at all the runners woofing like a thing possessed with all the excitement.<br />
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The finisher’s swag bag had within it a medal, 2 packs of crisps, a ‘Bounce Energy Ball’, samples of lube plus, some ‘Rock Tape’ kinesiology tape, a mini pack of Haribo. The best gift of all was what I had been looking forward to since I entered and was yours straight after the finish; the etched pint glass which was filled with the ale that gives the race its name… Those who finished the marathon received a pint glass and those who ran the half received a half-pint which I thought was a rather apt way to do things.<br />
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So much for his prediction of there being ‘too many whippets’ in the race: Barry finished 3rd… A successful couple of weeks endurance running by any standard!<br />
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As much as this run was me just ‘going through the motions’ and spending the time on my feet with the Lakeland 50 looming, by not putting much effort or pace in to the race, I enjoyed it as a gentle local jaunt in the local countryside. As it was organised by the local athletics club it was well managed and marshaled by people who care about what you are out there doing. The atmosphere was very friendly and from looking at all those around me the field was composed of mostly club runners from the local surrounding areas of Hampshire, Berkshire and Wiltshire, although there were plenty of other vests from farther afield to be spotted... Must have been the lure of free beer!<br />
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Will I be doing this one again? Certainly. On a purely logistical level it works better for me than the South Downs (although not as taxing a run) and I get the impression it will grow with every year it runs. The course is one where you can put a very good time down for a trail marathon as it is undemanding terrain underfoot and has few significant climbs to really slow you down... so long as the 2 pinch-points near the start are taken care of that force everyone to stop and queue as soon as you have started running.<br />
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As a first-time event there was an added bonus for all of us who ran it. Due to miscalculation on quantities of beer required,
there were seconds to be had of the amber nectar - and thirds if you
could manage, although I doubt this will be repeated for future iterations! <br />
<br />
Eat pies.<br />
Drink beer.<br />
Run far.<br />
<br />
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<br />Shoeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06168576054186785526noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5645767874738367526.post-83318305897154464432017-01-22T19:00:00.003+00:002017-01-22T19:01:10.542+00:00May 29th: New camera!<span style="font-size: small;">Sod’s law this arrived on Monday after the Jurassic Quarter, but I have a new camera for capturing my exploits.<br /><br />The engine on the previous Pentax waterproof ‘point and click’ camera was beginning to slow-down and the focussing was becoming somewhat erratic and quite time-consuming to work on automatic, which when you are running and want a quick shot proves problematic!<br /><br />Searching on the ‘warehouse deals’ section on Amazon I found the Ricoh WG-30 waterproof, shockproof camera for a fraction of the RRP - the box had been dented so they were unable to send it as ‘new’.</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLo3QBKVTo7Hi5R8SDUu0cgQkX3jhgdXDzj4qVadJoaU49FSJYfcSv1GNSsSNcZ6941KotJ08v-2Z_AmoDZnVUsn1VVYBAJiWGwYqv59VG5I8zkQmHaSpyrX8amlfys6a1RMwG_E5hp_b9/s1600/wg30_orange_front.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="186" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLo3QBKVTo7Hi5R8SDUu0cgQkX3jhgdXDzj4qVadJoaU49FSJYfcSv1GNSsSNcZ6941KotJ08v-2Z_AmoDZnVUsn1VVYBAJiWGwYqv59VG5I8zkQmHaSpyrX8amlfys6a1RMwG_E5hp_b9/s320/wg30_orange_front.png" width="320" /></a></div>
<span style="font-size: small;">Since the Pentax was purchased a decade ago the ‘brand’ has since been abandoned in favour of ‘Ricoh’, so in effect this camera is merely the updated version of what I am used to using… You never know, from now on the standard of the photography may improve as well ;)</span><br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">Happily it sits in the pouch on the strap at the front of both my Camelbaks so no extra faffing required to carry and use it. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: small;">Eat pies.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">Drink beer.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">Run far.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span>Shoeyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06168576054186785526noreply@blogger.com0