8th June: Coniston

The Coniston marathon was a first for me; the chance to go for one of these runs in the Lake District, an area of Britain that I love and is close to my heart having dragged LSS up Skiddaw mountain in a torrential rainstorm whilst it also blew a hoolie, to get down on one knee and propose to her! Coniston Water is not a place I had been before and I was looking forward to seeing the site of Malcolm Campbell's setting of the water speed record and his son Donald’s ill-fated attempt to push it even faster.

The weather was an awful lot kinder to us for this visit than when I proposed to LSS, which was fortunate as we had decided to camp overnight for the event and let's face it, camping in the rain isn't really much fun! Lakeland Trails, the organisers of the event have based their event at Coniston Hall, with its adjacent camp site, so with LSS’s parents living only an hour and change south of the Lake District we went up to stay with them on the Friday before heading off to Coniston on the Saturday to pitch our tent about as close to the start/finish line of a marathon as you will get.

After setting up the tent I wandered down to the start to register before we headed off to Keswick to spend the rest of the day.

After returning we took a wander off to the Ship Inn pub for the evening, taking-in the Netherlands Costa Rica game on the tele, the Dutch triumphing on penalties 4-3 to advance to the semi finals of the World Cup.

Walking the shoreline as the sun waned.

Staggering back across the fields in the darkness we hunkered-down for the night.

The becalmed lake of the morning.

Up bright and early, changed and breakfasted I headed-off to the start with LSS - the first time she had been able to see me start one of these little runs, and after the obligatory wait we were away and running.

Waiting for the start.

The first mile or so was on the flat paths around the western side of the lake and in to the village before crossing the road and beginning our jaunt in to the countryside over a gently undulating woodland path under the gaze of the Old Man of Coniston heading steadily northwards and in to the wooded hills.

Along the edge of the woodland trail.

Running past a quarry on a wide stony sheltered path, my legs were feeling a bit leaden and I was struggling to get my running mojo on… My pace wasn’t bad, I was just feeling generally sluggish as I ran along, although a sudden and unexpected intervention saw to that… All of a sudden I could feel something on the back of my head, then a sharp painful stabbing sensation as a wasp had landed on me and decided to get feisty with me. Yelping in surprise, I grasped at the wasp and yanked it off, squeezing it and throwing it away once it was out, the little fecker deserved to die!

All of a sudden I found myself shooting-off at a far faster pace; life was back in my legs as I began to chew the trail-up beneath me. I don’t know what’s in wasp venom, or whether it was a reaction to the shock of being stung, but it seemed to have a positive affect on my pace! Fortunately I always run these things with a medical kit - as its demanded of other races, so in a rare example of a good habit for me I always have it in the running pack no matter what the race. Unfortunately one thing that is not in it is an antihistamine cream, mostly because I am yet to find something I am allergic to and would need it for, however with my body being pushed in an extreme way I was a little wary that this may be the time I react! As soon as I got to the next aid station, I asked them to have a look to see if there was any sign of a flare-up and fortunately there was none!

The view rounding the north side of the course.

The next stage took us on a turn to the south and the very tranquil location of Tarn Hows where we circuited for a lap and a half of it before heading south in to the forest to the east of Coniston Water and a steady climb.

Leaving the Tarn after the circuits.

Running along the wide forest ranger’s metalled paths the sun was glaring down on us. Along this stretch I was joined by a runner of the previous year’s race. Last year it had been his first ever attempt at a marathon and he had just gone for it hell-for-leather, way too fast. He realised this after about 6 miles in when he was in the top 10 and the dawning realisation hit him that he could not sustain that kind of pace - although he tried his best, literally running till he dropped not much further along from where we were. He said that one minute he was upright, and the next he was on the floor ‘communing with the dragonflies’ that his fevered mind was telling him were flying around in front of his face! He picked himself up and attempted to nurse himself around to the end!

Coniston village re-appearing in the distance.

After a section through the pine trees we suddenly went out through a clearing and there we were running along a ridge looking down upon Coniston Water to our right. I had to stop to savour the view, watching the tiny specs of people canoeing on the becalmed surface from up here on high… As I stopped to photograph the sight I was joined by a couple of runners in Orange - one sporting the jersey of the Oranje - the Dutch national football team. Chatting with them as they caught their breath to admire the view I asked if they go looking for hills to run up because there’s not too many where they live… and the answer came that is exactly what they do; they go running hilly marathons all over Europe, in the Alps, Pyrenees, wherever there’s good hills and good views, although they were feeling this run more than others having spent the previous evening celebrating the football victory!

Looking north.

Looking South

Looking at the trail in front, safe to say this was a favourite running experience of mine!

The descent... All good things must come to an end.

Soon the ridge run ran its course as the south of the lake was reached and the descent back down off the cool heights with their gentle breeze to the still air of the waterside began, overtaking some of the early start runners who were dressed as Red Indian squaws!

Running along some country lanes we soon found ourselves off the flat of the bottom of the valley and heading back uphill and onto Blawith Fell. Climbing up the grassy hillside, or rather fellside, we were met with the welcome sight of Beacon Tarn. After the long slow climb up here in the roasting still conditions I couldn’t help but walk right in to it and cool off - sinking my wrists into the clear cold water and filling my cap before putting it back on my head.

The view of the tarn from in the tarn.

From the tarn we crossed the fell and the winding descent back to the waterside. The path, for large swathes of the way down whilst visible in being able to tell there was one, because t was surrounded by waist-high bracken, did a great job of making it impossible to see where you were putting your feet. This element of jeapordy added to the fun, with me only stumbling once and at least keeping my balance, although I can't be sure of the same for other people! It was comical watching what looked like disembodied upper torsos following a narrow path through a river of bracken leaves.

Beginning the descent.

More cracking views :)

The final stretch of the route was back along the lake's western shore; in and out of the shade of the trees lining the lakeside, the path undulating continuously until it all cleared the woodland as Coniston Hall was sighted. Back skirting along the edge of the campsite, running past my tent and the van on the other side of the hedge, before we entered the field where it all began and doing half a lap of it past the assembled masses of those who had already finished before crossing the line… With LSS waiting for me along with our new addition to the ‘family’: Spud the Springer Spaniel/ Border Collie cross we have recently re-homed. This is the first time that LSS has been there to see me off and back for one of these runs… I suspect it may be the first and last time she does the ‘double’ with how early they tend to start!

With the calm lake being right next to the finish line it seemed churlish not to utilise the body to cool off mine, so like countless others I walked in to the wonderfully chilly water and stood in there up to my waste as I recovered, with Spud swimming out to me as LSS waited patiently on the shore for me to cool-down and emerge from the lake dripping wet, but at least not dripping with sweat as I was before.

Once cooled I took the chance to sample a Bambi-burger being served by one of the food stalls that were around the start/ finish line, and whilst sitting and eating we were entertained by a local musician as he sang and strummed for the benefit of those of us there. The tee they gave to all finishers is a lovely one and already its a favourite without even wearing it: a pale blue background with the outline of the lake picked-out in yellow.

Once recovered it was time to change and dismantle the tent ready for the trip back to LSS's parents. It was a shame we did not have more time, but at least we saw some of the sights that nature had to offer us around Coniston.

The run itself was not too taxing terrain-wise, which was more of a relief than anything else as when the sun was unfettered by clouds, the heat quickly rose - so the ample areas of shaded running were a boon, and if I was not nursing my calf injury I would have been around at least 15 minutes quicker; but these runs aren't so much about times as about what you see around you, which was certainly plentiful in grace and splendour. Combining the race with almost a festival feel with the music and the food stalls and having a campsite next door made it a great relaxing time for both LSS and Spud as well as me, and we both have decided that I should definitely go back in the future to give it another run.