1st 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.

Briefing.

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!

Fiona & Dora.

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.

Haring round Rothay Park.

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.

Midnight mooch through Ambleside.

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.

Running a rocky torchlit trail.

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.

Dawn over Haweswater.

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.

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.

 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.

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.

Bacon butties!

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.

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.

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!

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.

The Red Deer.

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.

Cloud still to burn away in full.

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.

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.

Paul and his green top.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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!

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!

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…

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.

Back down Glenridding.

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.

Looking up towards Helvellyn

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.

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.

Sapphire water.

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.

Careful now!

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.

Descending from the tarn.

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.

Stepping stone in the last of the sun.

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.

Bog trotting in the murk

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.

Approaching Stake Pass in the clag.

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.

That photo!

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.

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.

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.

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!

Pini perusing paperwork for positions.

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.

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.

Will I be back?.. Too effing right!

Eat pies.
Drink beer.
Run far.

July 2nd: The Ultimate Trails 55k - Ultimately Enjoyable.

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.

The route for the following days travels.

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.

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.

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.

The start of the 110k race.

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.

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.

Milling around just waiting and waiting for the start!

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.

Roadblock!

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.

Feeling like we're leaving civilisation behind.

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.

Hitting the wilderness.

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!

Heading through the pass.

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.

Starting the descent.

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.

Picking a path.

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.

Fording one of the many swollen mountain streams.

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.

A bit grim, grey and soggy on the valley floor.

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.

The start of the next climb out of the aid station.

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.

The wind and rain setting-in, the hail started soon after!

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.

Ruthwaite Lodge and its surrounding sea of green.

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.

Looking down Grizedale.

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.

Crossing the Tarn.

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.

The descent commences

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!

The lake at Grasmere.

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.

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.

Closing-in on the last aid station of the day.

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…

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.

Loved that I only noticed the stack of stones long after taking the photo.

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.

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.

Ullswater from the climb over Grisedale.

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.

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.

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!

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.

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.

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.

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!

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.

Listening to the entertainment as we awaited the presentation.

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.

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.

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.

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!

Doing the 'moose' for the camera.

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!

Eat pies.
Drink beer.
Run far.