8th June: Classicly Quartered

The occasion of my 25th marathon was marked by something different, something a bit bigger, bolder, longer… I had entered the Classic Quarter ultra marathon.

This race is a point-to-point run from the most southerly point of mainland Britain (The Lizard), to the most westerly (Lands End); some 44 miles away... In other words, you run one quarter of the compass - hence the name ‘Classic Quarter’.

In my normal organised fashion, I left later than I really should have to get down to the registration, and thanks to people crawling past Stonehenge on the A303 costing me 30 minutes I made it to the registration tent at the Lizard with a mere couple of minutes to spare; a sunburnt James manning the final shift on the stand, and collecting my numbers from the next table for the first time for me there was a recognition of my name as I was handed my race pack with a smiling face: “Oh so you’re Mr. Trail-Porn”… After all the ‘trail-porn’ pics I post on the Endurancelife Facebook site taken during their Coastal Trail Series races, it seems I’m making a name for myself!

 

Lizard Point lighthouse in the failing light.

The banners in the breeze by the registration tent.

As part of the registration my pack was checked for the mandatory kit, which after the Flete CTS I ensured everything needed was packed. In fact, with all my food, spare clothes and kit as well as a filled 3L bladder of electrolyte it weighed in at a stone! The food I chose to take along as provisions was a load of mini scotch eggs, salted peanuts and cocktail sausages as well as my normal stock of cereal bars and gels, only in larger quantities.

With me all signed in I could relax… Although there was just one thing on my mind after all that driving: scran!.. Being on the coast I thought the best thing to satiate the hunger would be a good old portion of fish and chips. Driving back towards Penzance I kept my eyes peeled for somewhere… But with the clock now ticked over 10pm, nowhere could be found that was open, so I was reduced to the choice of kebab or a McDonalds on the Penzance bypass, with the burgers winning out by virtue of being slight lesser risk of causing gastric disasters on the big day.

My hunger now abated with a less than ideal fuel for the race, it was off to Lands End where I parked-up and hunkered down for the night with a 4am alarm… The earliest I have had to wake in many, many a year.

Rudely awoken in the darkness, changed and breakfasted I took my place on the event bus for the hour or so journey to the start, dawn breaking in front of us as we wound our way through the Cornish country lanes to the Lizard.

As the bus deposited its load, simultaneously the runners sought to deposit theirs, and the massed throng made a bee-line to either the toilets on the village green or the portaloos down at the race start… I decided to take my chance with the village green joining the queue and its good-natured banter as everyone tried to hide their nerves and trepidation about what lay ahead.

Feeling lighter I walked the track to the Lizard, passing the registration tent and down the steps to be confronted by a sea of runners, far far more than were on the bus, all assembled keyed-up and keen to go.

Gathering for the start.

Contemplation of what lies ahead.

I spied a familiar face in the crowd - unmissable with what he had on… Blogger and outdoors physical lunacy enthusiast Richard Lander-Stowe. Richard and friend were clad head to foot in harlequin costumes - including bells. Richard was running this for a good cause close to his heart, the Plymouth and District Leukaemia Fund, and after a good chat about hopes and aims for the race Richard left me with a very sage piece of advice about ultra running: No-one has ever said about an ultra that ‘I started too slow’… A piece of advice I’m sure to pass on myself.

The assembled masses listening to the briefing.

Soon the safety brief was under way as everyone moved towards the start-line, eager to be let loose on the trail, then after the countdown we were off.

Everyone galloping away at the start!

More than 200 of us filing along the coastal path in one long line. Those chasing the win haring-off in front, everyone else going for it at their own pace, a pace that had a line of people stretched out over a mile in length from beginning to end!

Those before me stretching to the horizon.

Those behind me trailing back to the start line!

I had been told to expect similar terrain as to what you would find in one of the Coastal Trail Series races, although not as extreme as their South Devon or Exmoor races… Well not until you get to the section beyond the Lamorna aid-station!

My tactics for today were to pace myself for around 6 hours for the marathon distance, which would take me to over the half way mark, then even with slowing down I should easily be able to get in comfortably under 12 hours, with 11 being my notional marker for an average run of it and 10 for a good running of the course. My fuelling strategy was to take-on breakfast bars as normal but when at the half way aid station I would tuck-in to proper food that I had brought. I would also stop here for a proper rest rather than just ploughing through as I tend to do on marathons. I would take the opportunity  to change socks if needed and compose myself as the important part is getting to the finish rather than conking-out along the way in the second half.

This initial section went very well for me, putting in a good string of times for the opening 6 miles, sitting comfortably in the pack well in the mix with plenty of people before and behind me and feeling pretty good about the race so far as I saw the first aid-station at Mullion appear. The path descended to the harbour sharply with switch-backs in to the cove and then another sharp climb up the other side. Enjoying the descent I became complacent, looking at the checkpoint rather than the ground a few steps in front of me, and there was a crunch as I rolled my ankle on a rock I had not seen, causing me to swear out loud and slow down to a hobble as I tried to suss-out if I had done any serious damage... Apart from the initial shock and pain it seemed ok and I made my way through the aid-station with the marshals and a handful of spectators whooping and hollering encouragement to us, taking photos as we passed by.

Mustering crowds @ Mullion Cove.

Looking back down on Mullion.

Three miles to go to the first checkpoint, and all good so far! The only tricky bit encountered that caused me discomfort being a descent into a small cove, a scramble across the boulder strewn beach and up the steps on the rocks the other side, with my calf niggle biting a bit on the way up the other side.

The cause of the calf niggle climbing out the cove.

Arriving at the first checkpoint in Church Cove I had clocked a good 9 miles at an average of a 12 minute mile pace, putting me easily on track for all my targets and I was feeling fairly fresh. The aid station and checkpoint was on the other side of the beach there, a decent flat area of sand a tussocks of coarse sea-grass,  crowded with friends and family supporting their loved ones and also the location of the first changeover point on the relay. I decided not to bother with stopping here other than for a quick drink. Passing out the other side I bumped in to James & Dan from the Flete CTS marathon, awaiting their changeover in the relay. Saying our quick hellos and hi-fiving each other as we passed was a terrific fillip to the spirit!

Approaching Church Cove.

Back on to the cliff-top grassland we passed the sight of the Marconi memorial - erected to commemorate the site of the first ever wireless station for radio communication across the seas to America.

The memorial

Close-up of the plaque.

The path along the top of the cliffs here ran us quite close to the edge, with the sheer drops down to the rocks and waves below as we followed the path around each headland.

Looking straight down from the path!

Headland after headland to be traversed.

Soon we could see the looming sight below us on the horizon of the mile long sands of the beach at Gunwalloe and its lagoon off to the right before soon finding ourselves descending on to it.

The Beach at Gunwalloe

The going underfoot here was extremely heavy-going, the ‘sand' being more a fine loose shingle than sand so that your foot sank in to it with every step… Running through this was a slow and torturous affair to the point you were moving at what seemed slower than walking pace. When I realised this I slowed to a walk and realised this was a bad move - whilst I was not really moving much slower, the change in my gait meant that the stones of the beach were now finding their way in over the top of my trainers and inside them because your foot is in contact with the ground for much longer, my feet becoming very uncomfortable very quickly. I decided the only option was to up the pace again to a run and once the route took us to a firm path up onto the cliffs passed the lagoon, I stopped to empty all the debris out from inside my trainers as I did not want to trash my socks, or more importantly my feet through the stones rattling around irritating me.

Crossing the sands.

From here the path took us in to the first built-up area that we had really encountered in the guise of Porthleven, running in to the village and around the harbour before heading out the other side and on towards the Praa sands. With all the tourists out and about in the harbour, you felt obliged to run as strongly as you could through here rather than be seen to walk!

On this next stretch the weather had now changed from the cool and overcast beginning of the race to a lovely sun shiny day… Perfect for tourists, not too good for long-distance running. Feeling myself beginning to overheat I decided to take a bit of time out with the sun now approaching its full height and strength to apply a good layer of factor 50 and don my cycling hat to shield myself from the worst of it.

I soon found myself running round a lovely rocky inlet with a group of people enjoying some coasteering on the rocks on the far side - how envious I was of them! I stopped for a few minutes by myself for something to eat and drink as I realised I had gone around the headland rather than following a shorter easier path that everyone else had taken, it was just me, the lapping of the waves on the rocks below and the birdsong. Taking it all in it made me think why I do these runs; to see some scenery that I would not normally be able to without getting off the beaten track… Refreshed I kicked-on towards the second checkpoint at Perranuthnoe.

The most welcome stop of the check-point.

Everyone taking the time to compose themselves and refuel.

As the handover for the next stage of the relay, this checkpoint was very well manned and absolutely heaving. Drop bags were here for those that had arranged for them (I had decided to forego this and just carry everything I would need on me as there was no chance of losing anything if I had it on me). Once here I took the opportunity of cooling off in a bucket of waste water from the water barrels. I put my hands fully into the water and allowed the crisp cool water to have its wonderful way with my blood as it flowed through my wrists - in around 5 minutes I was noticeably cooler and refreshed. I had planned on stopping here for around 20 minutes max, so I took my time and had something to eat; I opened the bag of mini scotch eggs to find they were smashed to pieces through all the bouncing of my pack with the running, I tried the bag of salted peanuts, only to discover they had sweated in the bag I had decanted them in to so tasted like wrong-uns and as such I found them inedible, so I knocked down a couple of the cocktail sausages instead - which I found were very peppery… I hate black pepper! So all told a bit of a mary on the food front :( I packed the bag of sausages into the waist pocket of my camelbak to give me easy access to them for later as I knew I would need some proper food at some point.

Coming out of the check point, I soon caught up with a face I recognised from having a few words with earlier in the race in the form of Phil. He had just spent a while at the station trying to get himself in better shape for the second half as he was beginning to suffer from pain of a long term injury. We jogged our way along the path towards Penzance, descending off the hills and on to the tarmac as we circuited the bay, St. Michael’s Mount in view the whole time.

The first view of St. Michael's Mount.

When we hit the promenade and the dead-flat surface we made the decision to run-walk this part, saving some energy for the long hill to come on the way out of Penzance to Mousehole and then the even worse section to Porthcurno. As we approached the Penzance aid station, Phil’s girlfriend rendezvoused with us and gave him an emergency food package of a fresh warm Greggs sausage roll which he avidly devoured!

Looking at the times we had put-in on the flat here, we were only around 3-4 minutes down per mile on the time we would have put-in running the same distance but we had managed to bank a fair bit of energy by taking it easy here ready for the delights of what was to come from here to Porthcurno.

From Penzance the road began its long slow climb through the harbour at Newlyn all the way to Mousehole.

The view on the climb out past Newlyn Harbour.

Mousehole (pronounced 'mow-zl’, not 'Mouse-hole’, the latter really winding up the locals) was the setting for one of my favourite films - the surfing comedy Blue Juice from the mid ’90’s starring Sean Pertwee, Catherine Zeta-Jones and Ewan McGregor, so it was a real treat to slowly make my way in to the village and down through its winding streets to the harbour and out the other side following the roads that I have seen in the film.

Phil: 'Where's me washboard?'

On the way in up the hill to 'Mow-zl' my right calf had begun to go from a dull ache to a continual prominent pain and did not appreciate any incline of any description to the point that from around the 32 mile mark, somewhere between here and the 3rd checkpoint at Lamorna it became impossible to sustain anything more than a walk - it was now that I realised the only way to get to the finish was going to be a slow painful walk with every step my right leg takes being a jolt of burning pain… I had the option of quitting - having a first DNF to my name, or gritting my teeth and toughing it out, knowing that I had enough time in the bag to make it around inside cut-offs even with a slow walk. Naturally (or foolishly some might say) I went for the latter… Phil was not faring much better, both of us popping pain killers to get us through to the end, both of us determined to make it!

Lamorna's around the corner!

After a rest at the Lamorna Cove aid station, and a chat with the marshals, Phil and I climbed out onto the final leg. I say climbed, because it was exactly that - you had to scramble up the rocky path, with no chance to get up any speed, even if we were able to do so with how treacherous it was under foot. The slow progress at least had respite from the heat as we frequently ducked under avenues of shrubs. Both of us were grateful for the trail shoes we had on, my Karrimors on pretty much their last outing, Phil with his beloved Salomons in a similar state, and looking forward to getting a new pair once he has finally trashed these ones!

Coming out of one avenued section we found ourselves down at sea level and were confronted with what can only be described as Satan’s marbles - the storms of the winter had rearranged the beach and removed part of the coastal path and replaced it with something I had never seen before - spherical boulders up to a couple of feet in diameter. It was fun hopping from one to the other traversing from one side of the ‘beach’ to the other. The power of the storms of the winter is best shown here by the fact there was a sea-anchor right up on the top edge of the beach - the anchor was the size of a family car and must have weighed in at several tons!

Hopping over 'Satan's Marbles'.

Mercifully the climbing and scrambling of this hardest of the sections came to an end with one final descent and ascent from one side of the golden sandy beach at Porthcurno to the other, the tongue of sand guarded by the toothy jaws of the sheer cliffs either side of it… And at the top in the car park for the Minack Theatre was the final aid station and a chance for a last handful of jelly babies and a refilling of water before the resumption of the hobbling towards the finish line.

Heading in to Porthcurno.

Heading out of Porthcurno.

The last section from the aid station at Porthcurno to Land’s End became less about scrambling over rocks to a walkable/ joggable meander for around 10k over the grassy cliff tops. The sense of the end approaching was heavy on the air, and as each headland was rounded slowly the sight of the finish revealed itself on the horizon, spurring us on to a run walk for the finish.

The end is nigh!

As we got within 1/2 a mile, Phil’s girlfriend joined us and cajoled us on to the finish, pointing out that we can’t walk over it and obligingly we managed to pick-up our pace to get across the finish in slightly more than a hobbling jog.

We made it: we both had to dig deep to beat the pain, but we came, saw & conquered :)

I’d achieved a milestone: I'd just finished my first ultra at my first time of asking! collecting my medal and my tee I made my way across the car park back to the van in the gusting winds that were buffeting the exposed peninsular. My inner voice was chunnering to myself about being disappointed with my time, but hey, I carried an injury around in my bloody minded fashion for the last third of the course that would have caused a fair few to withdraw, as I was going to be damned that this ultra would be my first DNF. I had set out a target of finish in under 12 hours and I would have easily smashed this had my calf held-up, even for only another hour.

I rigged-up my shower screen, which was a battle in the wind, and managed to clean-off and change clothes to make me feel a little more human. With now no longer moving as I had continuously for the previous half day I could now feel my body calming down and telling me to find something substantial to eat as with the adrenalin wearing off I was noticing how I was absolutely Hank-Marvin. Obeying my stomach I stopped at the first place I saw, the 'First and Last’ pub in Sennen. The pub just happens to have a large flat car-park, so I figured I could get some scran, enjoy a few beers and fall out the back of the pub and in to the van for a good night's kip after watching England annihilate Honduras.

On entering I enquired about whether they were showing the game, but it turned out they had a band booked so they weren’t. A little deflated I sat down to eat anyway; so much for my cunning plan of an easy evening’s fun laid out before me… I took my time munching my way through a protein heavy meal of a goat’s cheese salad starter and some very succulent ribs before deciding to cut my losses and head off somewhere else.

I thought I would mosey on down to Porthcurno, find a pub and have a wander on the beach before the game kicked-off. Unfortunately I did not see a pub, so I just parked in the car park near the beach and decided to wander down to it… I got about half way to the end of the car park and then the shivers hit me… I was shaking uncontrollably and even though I was wearing 3 layers I realised I was not going to be getting warm, so I had to admit defeat and slowly stagger back to the van; my body was finally telling me it had had enough for one day. At least I had had a belly full of food, so the evening’s plans had not been a complete write-off. I decided the only thing for it was to hunker down on the air bed fully clothed to try and warm up - I was feeling the coldest I had ever been since being hypothermic in sub zero conditions way back in the past, turned the radio on to hear the commentary and wait to warm up as a mediocre England failed to even score against a poor Honduras team.

To be honest I do not remember hearing much, if anything, of the 2nd half as my body just decided to shut-down for the night and sleep the sleep of the completely knackered. I awoke with the lark and commenced the drive home, scoffing a couple of MaccyD’s sausage and egg muffins (the only truly decent tasting thing on their menu) and picking up a pastie for LSS en-route to make-up in part for me deserting her for a couple of nights for more running foolishness and once more returning to her as damaged goods.

A couple of days later and the results were out - even with my injury, out of 235 starters I came 179th and have an enormous sense of longing already to return next year and take-on the course in full fitness to give a proper account of myself.