27th March: Getting triggy with it.

 

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.

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.

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!

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…

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!

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!

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.

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.

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!

The planned route

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.

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.

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.

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.

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!

Packed & ready.

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.

Hitting the water meadow.

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 nuclear fallout shelter/ observation post 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!

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 WWII tank testing ground at Hazeley Heath, 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.

The church at Hartley Wespall

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 Blackbushe airfield, or RAF Hartford Bridge as it was originally known.

Dipley Mill

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 Boston 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!

Surviving the alpaca-lypse on the way to Blackbushe.

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!

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!

2/7 alongside the A30 at Blackbushe.

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.

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.

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!

Skirting the edge of the airfield in the woods we crossed an oft-used film location, last seen in the previous Jurassic World movie and climbed the mound to trig point #3.

3/7 in Hawley Woods.

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 ‘Sahara’), crossed Minley Road in the shadow of Minley Manor (yet another film location from Stardust) that was formerly used as the officers’ quarters for Gibraltar Barracks until about 10 years ago.

Minley Manor (from on another run).

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.

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 Farnborough’s runway, the long and storied home of British aviation and the locale of the first powered flight in Britain.

4/7 overlooking Farnborough airfield.

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.

Over the heathland of the driving course with the gorse in its vibrant yellow full flower, skirting Tweseldown 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!

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.

5/7 on Beacon Hill

Spuddy snacks!

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.

One of the many pillboxes (taken on another run)

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.

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.

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.

First of the flowering rape.

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.

6/7 with the best views of the day.

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!

Anti Aircraft gun emplacement.

Earthworks that look like it was for an anti aircraft gun.

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 RAF Odiham. 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.

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.

The Chinook guarding the main gate of the airbase.

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.

7/7 in the thicket.

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!

One tired spanner!

Pure post run filth!

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.

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.

 

Eat pies.
Drink beer.
Run far.

Lakeland Fails #2

I’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.

This year I WILL finally nail the Lakeland 100, I’d better fucking do as this failure malarkey is getting a bit boring now… 3rd time lucky and all that!



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.

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.

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.

Climbing the first climb with the rest of the pack.

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.

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.

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!

Looking out to the Irish Sea shimmering on the horizon.

So yeah, as Alanis Morissette sang: ‘you learn’… 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.

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!

Light starting to wane.

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.

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.

Chasing the sunset.

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.

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!

Midnight refreshments.

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.

Head torches approaching me from below.

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.

Not quite a stepping stone :(

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!

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!

Approaching Blencathra

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.

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.

Morning mist still whispy.

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.

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.

Eat pies.
Drink beer.
Run far.

28th 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.

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.

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.

I’d entered Second Wind Running's Winter Cross 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?

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!

The course

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.

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.

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.

Smiles before the suffering! Hookers from LtoR in front: Pini, Moose, Trevor & Richard

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.

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.

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.

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!

After the flat blast of the 10k on the railway bed, the Eastern leg was the one that promised views, including a climb up ‘Old Winchester Hill’ 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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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’.

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!

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!

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!

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!

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!

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.

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!

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.

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.

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!

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.

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!

Fading light!

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.

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!

Back print on the Tee.

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’!

Medal on the hanger!

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!

Eat pies
Drink beer
Run far.