8th December: Dorset

Wow… Normally I'm not too effusive over these runs but, simply wow. This run was as beautiful as it was tough!

The run in question is the CTS Dorset marathon of 27.3 miles along the Jurassic Coast World Heritage Site and crossing the Lulworth Ranges, a live-firing range the army uses and consequently not always open to be traversed. This is the 9th different Endurancelife Coastal Trail Series  course that I have run, and so far the best yet for beauty, as well as certainly the most challenging!

On their website they had it down as a 5/5 difficulty rating: 'Extreme' although I found this was far tougher than their other course of the same rating - Exmoor, and far more challenging than my previous favourite for scenery the 4/5 'Severe' South Devon… I had been warned by previous runners of the course about the number and scale of the hills and how it knocks the stuffing out of you with how relentless it is but hey, I'm not in to doing these for a comfy stroll and my eyes are certainly wide open when it comes to getting into this!

True to my normal form I drove down to the event base at Lulworth Cove the night before. Parking-up around midnight I chose a spot in the car-park which had a surprising number of cars already there and hunkered down on the airbed in the back of the van.

Dawn breaks.

I was awoken by my alarm as the first rays of light began to appear along with all the runners for the ultra and early arriving fellow marathoners, so I ambled over to the registration tent and signed-in for the race before returning to the van to hear on the radio about how poorly England were performing in the Ashes in Oz. Changed and breakfasted on coffee and flapjack I thought I would wander over in anticipation of the briefing now that dawn had well and truly dawned.

Ultra's away.

En route I watched the ultra's disappearing off up the first hill; a distant snaking line along the steep incline looking like ants as they round the summit. Watching this it certainly made you realise that we were up for a tough run from the very beginning.

James did his briefing, cautioning us that if anyone is hunting for a pb, then forget about it! No warnings about deaths on the course or animals of which to beware this time, but tips on plenty of good sights to look out for.

I sloped off back to the van after making a change of mind on the kit front. Being December I thought I would definitely be wearing my 'winter' running jacket, however looking at the clouds out to sea rising in height and the rays of sunshine poking through them, I took a judgement call on the prevailing conditions and ditched the jacket and picked-up my running sunnies before joining the throng at the start.

Ubiquitous start photo.

The start amused me no end. We counted down from 10 in unison and we were off. Without fail everyone ran across the start line and after around 100m I don't think a single person was not walking up the side of that hill! To the casual onlooker who does not know about these events, I suspect they must have been thoroughly bemused at how a bunch of people so enthusiastic for the event, start as you should expect a race would, only for them all to have ground to a near halt a matter of metres later as they took around 7 minutes to walk up to the top of a hill… Not much of a spectator spectacle!

What these runs are all about: The views.

Once on the top of the cliff-line the views were stunning, with the undulations leading us to one of the sights I always have wanted to see since I were a nipper: Durdle Dor.

The 'Dor.

The field was fairly compact all the way along this first stretch through the very slow ascents and the descents that matched through their inverse gradients. These descents in the most did not offer any opportunity to make time on the course through a combination of the number of people walking 'indian file' on the narrow foot-worn paths with long grasses that disguise ankle-turning holes and divots to the side of these, so blundering through at speed was not a safe option.

One of the gentle climbs from a distance.

The gentle climb up close.

Almost there!

My right calf muscle had started to smart quite noticeably on the climbs (more so than the left one) in a repeat of a niggle I was feeling in the CTS Gower Marathon a few weeks previous, and the fact that the pain in the calves was lop-sided made me realise that there's something not right here rather than a general ache of extreme usage. It seems that the pressure inside the right calf was just building and building till it felt like it wanted to explode. Every steep climb without fail it was this way only for it to disappear once the inclines level-off to a less severe gradient. This has made me think that I may have to go down the route of compression calf-guards that other runners on these events are fond of to relieve some of the burden on them under extreme loads… And I can understand why they are so popular now!

Eventually the hills petered out and we moved on to some more even terrain. At this point I was running with a couple of others, unfortunately I did not catch the name of the guy with whom I was chatting but he is a veteran of plenty of marathons and feats of endurance. He had also run the South Devon marathon earlier this year but had the misfortune of tearing his calf muscle on the run - although not realising at the time that the injury was as serious as this, so he had to take a bit of time off to recover and get back in to the running again. He managed to finish the marathon though, although he said the drive back was fun and the person he travelled with was in a state of near total exhaustion so was not much use pitching in with the driving to save his calf! The other runner was a lady who is on her 38th marathon. Her preference is for ultras and regularly runs these and multi-day events. She decided to do the marathon today as she was staying with friends locally so it allowed her more drinking time last night and after the race! So you could say today was a bit of a jog for her, especially coming off the back of a 50 miler a week or so before that included running through an hail storm!

As the three of us jogged on and spoke amongst ourselves we entered a wonderful wooded avenue, the floor almost yellow with the fallen leaves…

Woody glade.

And in no time we were at the first checkpoint where we dibbed-in our timing chips and went on our merry way. My tactic for checkpoints in races is to check-in and carry on without any delay as every second delayed counts towards your final time, so off I went rather than hanging around taking on drinks or jelly babies. If I do need to fuel then I will do so walking up a hill away from the checkpoint as this way I am not costing myself anything.This event only had two checkpoints, so the stretch between this and the next one was 18 miles!.. Although there were 2 water stops in between at around 12 and 16 miles for us to refill should we need it.

The return leg.

This second leg took us back towards Lulworth but this time on top of the ridge a little further inland than before, so it afforded us a second glance over the view out to sea (only this time running from west to east), as well as some unseen pastures to gaze over that lay between the ridge and the cliffs. The terrain up on here was more even than the previous wild undulations with it being on the ridge of and underfoot was mostly well grazed grass. Around midway through this section I passed an hobbling ultra runner. I could not help but fell really gutted for him. It must be really frustrating for you to be all psyched-up for the race having trained to be at the level to complete, only to break-down so soon after starting… When I pass someone in that state it always makes me cross my fingers and hope that it does not happen to me, as so far I've been ok, but the more you race then surely the chances of this occurring increases? At this point as well the leading runners from the half marathon had caught us marathoners up and began steaming past, so I had to remember to check my pace and not get sucked-in to upping it because of the faster runners around me.

Lulworth on the return!

In no time I noticed Lulworth was below me and had the realisation that we were on the top of the first hill we ascended and a careful big toe-nail killing descent led us back into the start/ finish, where the runners for the 10k were gathering for their impending race, who cheered and applauded us all on our merry way as we plodded through them and down to the cove itself.

Mouth of the cove.

Now at sea level, there was only one direction to go and that unfortunately meant another steep slow calf exploding climb up the steps. The path was very much single file at this point and with the main half marathon pack catching and passing us slow marathoners it was interesting going: trying to duck in to the side wherever possible to let the racers through as they chased their times.

On the top of the cliff overlooking the cove it made you realise how turquoise and inviting the water was, just begging to be swum in and you could really see the break between the calmer waters of this natural harbour and the sea beyond its rocky walls. On this section I was plodding along with first time marathoner Matthew Smith who had travelled all the way down from Sheffield. He was running the event for a Leukaemia charity and has raised over £1,000 in the process. He was finding it harder than he anticipated, so I tried to cheer him up by telling him it is only natural and how fine he will be as it was the same for me in Pembroke a year ago, which by comparison was a walk in the park to this one! A truly noble gesture by him in putting himself through the mincer running this as he was really suffering for his fund raising and a better man than I.. At least he kind of smiled for the camera despite the agonies of the slog!

Matthew Smith

Once around the cove we made our way on to the Lulworth ranges, which are a live-firing range for the army to practice with their tanks and other pieces of kit. Obviously they were not in use today so we were able to go through the gates and take advantage of the opportunity to jog along a stretch of land that is not always open. The terrain was back to its beasting hilly best, coming at us relentlessly. After one slow descent surrounded by the mid-field of the half marathon race we rounded a corner to come face to face with another sheer climb.

From about a quarter mile away, I could hear voices urging us on like a siren's call, saying how well we were doing and to keep on… The closer I got to the hill which needed the use of hands to scramble up, the voices got louder and louder until I could make out the source. Sitting half way up was a father and his 2 children, obviously waiting for their mum to pass and were really getting in to encouraging everyone onwards which raised everyone's spirits. I took the time to tell them how far away we could hear them and how great it was to be encouraged from afar and to keep up the good work!

A few yards beyond I was employing my tactic of not looking up to see how far was left to climb. As such my eyes were firmly looking at where my feet were to be placed next, then I saw this:

If ever you needed a reminder that you were on a live firing range its seeing a bullet by your feet. Naturally I picked it up and kept it as a souvenir and I may have to carve my name in to it like Baldrick!

After this session of calf killing and reached the summit, a bit of sea mist blew in and a light drizzle wafted over us for a couple of minutes, cooling us down which was a welcome respite! Down the other side of this hill and up one more we were on the top of the cliffs again for a few miles of ridge running through a graveyard of old tanks that have been left there for their rusting hulks to be used as target practice. The child still within me (not too far below the surface) made me think about having a clamber around one of them, but it would have cost me plenty of time, so I decided I would have to leave that for another day!

Relic.

Down the other side of the hill and we were at the 16 mile aid station - which had run out of water! Fortunately for me it did not have an affect because I always carry more than necessary in my Camlebak, however other runners were not so fortunate. On the water carrying front, I used to have to listen to the sloshing of it with every step, but it was pointed out to me by a fellow runner on the Gower that to cure this, turn it upside down once you've filled it and suck out the air. The result is no more sloshing: A BIG THANK YOU for this info, whoever you were!

Looking back down at the aid station.

At this point we bade farewell to the half marathon runners who veered off inland whilst us and the ultras - the stragglers of which I had begun to catch and pass, continued along the coast towards a loop at the most easterly point. Just before the loop there was plenty of 2-way traffic of ultras coming back towards us having completed it, so I figured that I must be a good hour off from returning along here, what with them having started 45 minutes before us in the morning and me being a fat slow knacker!

The most easterly point of the course, was a nodding donkey pumping oil out of the ground. Something you expect to see in Texas, not on the Devon coast, and from here the trail led north and inland before heading westward. As we ran across another ridge, I could see a faint white spike sticking-out on the horizon, which I figured was the next check-point at 23 miles. However I did not seem to be moving in its direction for a long time.

Donkey!

Once the loop was completed we headed north again to the abandoned village of Tyneham.

Tyneham was commandeered by the MoD during WWII when they created the firing ranges here. Over time the village has been destroyed so only the walls of the buildings remain - except the church, which resplendent with all its gravestones and stained-glass remains untouched by the ravages of time or the British war-machine at play.

Leaving Tyneham we headed north up the hill to the ever larger white spike which you could now see was definitely one of the Endurancelife banners and the location of a checkpoint… And one with water! Psychologically this was huge. It was the second and last of the check-points and at 23 miles in it meant that there was only a paltry 4 to go until the finish! You can't help but continually work-out the maths of distance and time as you plod along the routes, and it now meant only around 50 minutes until the end.

Lengthening shadows.

This checkpoint was nearly at the summit, so true to form on all these CTS marathons, as soon as you start from the checkpoint you're climbing again and up on to another ridge and the views over the darkening sea.

The last signs of the sun.

Being just a couple of weeks shy of the winter solstice the sun was beginning to wane and the temperature was certainly dropping now the feeble rays that had kept temperatures up had all but disappeared. So as the wind was now beginning to chill rather than cool you down as you ran the ridge it was time to roll the sleeves back down and keep on pushing till the end.

This last section was a first for me. I had an inkling that I may be further up the field than around the stragglers and back-markers that I am used to running amongst, by the fact I could see a steady stream of people in front of me, some of whom seemed to be in a far worse state than I was to the point I was able to catch and pass some runners.

Heading back.

After the final of the evil hill-climbs I could see from around a mile away a runner who I was reeling-in. His body language was one of exhaustion and defeat. It was easy to see how bad a state he was in with just a few miles left: the course had nearly broken him. As I came up alongside him I struck up a conversation to try and take his mind off of his situation. He was a youngish lad called Edward Hornby who had travelled down from Oxford for the marathon, like the other lad I had spoken to in the race, it was also his first. I told him of my experience in my first CTS and how I knew exactly how he felt: just wanting to curl-up by the side of the trail and cry… But you just keep on going. I kept engaging him in conversation, trying to get him to laugh to take his mind off things and get him out from the rut he was stuck in. I encouraged him to start a jog on the first slight downhill we came across and he picked-up his speed, and soon the two of us were jogging along at a comfortable pace, even catching and passing another runner! The rest of the route was largely downhill, and all of a sudden we could see the marquee and the finish line below and hear the claps and cheers of those gathered around the finish line, a sound that certainly lifts the spirits.

As we descended the steps to Lulworth Cove, rounded the corner and hit the tarmac with just a couple of hundred metres left to go, waiting for Edward was his dad, who proudly ran with his son to the finish line, the pace building all the time to what felt like a near sprint - although to any onlookers it was more likely still a slow jog!

Just before the finish line the rest of his family were waiting for him and roared him on till he made it. I congratulated him on his race, a terrific achievement for a first marathon, a very tough one at that, and he gave me a hug for helping him to get there. At the end of the day he made it himself, making the choice to put one foot in front of the other so he was able to come in to sight of his dad then the rest of his family genuinely running the course, taking it on and beating it, rather than allowing the course and the distance to have the upper hand on him.

Unfortunately the printer for the results was not working so I had to wait for the results the following day, but I finished a very respectable 93/148 which percentage-wise puts me in the highest I have been for any marathon. Something worth kicking-on from for sure!.. Next stop Portsmouth.

I did not have time to hang around and take an ice-bath in the cove as I had hoped - I needed to get back home for a Christmas meal: 35 of us from, or formerly from, the village where I live were out in a pub near Basingstoke for a good get-together. The village in question is Hook, with the unofficial name of the gathering being the 'Hooker's Christmas meal' - which always looks good on a bank statement when you have an outgoing written as 'Hookers'.

Me pulling the moose for the camera as per normal :)