7th December: The Dorset CTS

I was looking forward to this run… I say looking forward but it was with a healthy dose of trepidation and respect for the route having run this last year. The course in question, the Endurancelife Coastal Trail Series Dorset marathon, is the one I have found hardest of all of them so far… It may be beautiful with its scenery but dear god does it have some hills and the first of which when climbing up it last year caused me to strain my right calf muscle, which I then pulled a couple of weeks later playing footy. 6 months on with the calf not healing it led me to seeing a physio for the first time in my life in an attempt to cure the problem. To be brutally honest it is still not 100%, and as a means of protecting it these days I am wearing compression sleeves on my calves for trail marathons, something I resolved to do whilst thinking about the strain as I made my way around this particular ‘madathon’ this time last year.

A few weeks ago my uni friend Claire had put me in touch with her running buddy Jamie, who was also in the marathon field today and was chasing after some advice from someone who had been, seen and survived this marathon before about what to expect. Having previously completed the Three Forts Challenge he was well aware of what a hilly trail marathon has in store underfoot and I was looking forward to running at least part of the course with him.

Following my normal pattern I drove down to the event base at Lulworth Cove to arrive at the witching hour in the midst of a freezing cold snap. Parking the van as level as I could in the sloped car-park, with the thermometer dipping well below freezing outside I caterpillared into my sleeping bag under a duvet in the back to get in 40 winks in before the ultra-runners would arrive at sparrow’s fart a few hours later.

A chilly dark registration.

Waking as the sky began to lighten to the symphony of slamming car doors and excited voices I registered in the marquee illuminated by lanterns. The winter solstice will be upon us in a matter of a few days, so daylight is limited meaning that some of the ultra runners will be on the hoof for all hours of today’s light as their route will be the marathon course, followed by the half then 10k courses one after the other as they cover some 45 miles of hilly hell!

The sun rises over the parked cars.

I watched the ultra runners depart on their merry way as dawn broke behind us, before meeting up with Claire and Jamie in the car park, sharing some coffee and flap jacks before getting changed for the briefing and the pending start.

Claire & Jamie.

The departure of the ultras.

Awaiting the off at the bottom of the first hill, everyone huddled together like penguins to try and keep warm but at the same time being peculiarly British in trying hard not to invade one another’s personal space too much. The weather could not be better with nary a cloud to be seen in the sky, the visibility perfect and no real wind to speak of, so it would be sunny and chilly all day long… If it were not for everyone being wrapped-up in winter running gear to keep the cold at bay, you’d think from the photos we were in the middle of summer!

Packed like penguins grouped for the get-go.

My target for the day was merely a finish following on from my disappointment on the Gower and knowing that I still really was not back to anywhere near my fitness lost to flu after Glencoe… It would be a case of hit the trail, see what happens and enjoy every step. At least I was fully aware of the number and nature of the hills and what lay in store so they would not be demoralising me… after all I’ve conquered them all once before, so no problem a second time.

Lining up for the countdown I introduced Jamie to fellow 7X Challenge marathon holder Luke (going for it again this year after last year’s injury affected season), who pretty much reiterated what I had said about the course to Jamie and wished him all the best… In a way I felt sorry for Jamie hearing an identical tale of woe from Luke and myself about how tough the course is, but I felt it was better to put him under no illusions about what was to come rather than tell him ‘don’t worry, you’ll be fine’ perhaps only to find it was not so, and I think Luke was of the same mind.

In no time we were off on what I find to be the most amusing of starts for a marathon, about 20 metres of flatish ground before we hit the climb of the first hill and watching the entire field essentially being cheered-off to a brisk walk… The path here was flat cobbles, but with the temperature they were very treacherous underfoot coated with ice from the night’s frost, with grip consequently at a premium, so we were all slowed to a pace even slower than we would have liked.

One of the 7 natural wonders of the world.

After the first three miles of hills and passing the unique sight of Durdle Dor the field was beginning to stretch out as people began to find their level and position within the pack.

Glimpsing what lies in front.

Closing in on the climb.

Looking up at the steep ascent from the foot.

The scenery was beautiful, something that was enhanced the whole way in the early morning sunshine - pretty much the last throes of the ’golden hour’ with the sun still behind us as we ran from East to West.

The field stretching out in front of me.

Mind the drop!

This stretch to the initial checkpoint at the furthest point westward was essentially 6 miles of continual climb and descent… Hill reps from hell you could say. Even when we hit the last long descent to the shoreline (where I missed a turn and ended up on a pebbled beach before retracing my steps), we still had to turn inland and endure another climb to the checkpoint and the aid station. Those around me who were also confused about directions, due to around 20 of us either missing the sign or it having been moved, were asking if anyone knew if we were back on track… From memory I said I was pretty sure we were and there should be a very picturesque avenue festooned with golden leaves along in a short while and I was very relieved when we found it, as no doubt was everyone close by, so we could all carry on safe in the knowledge that we would soon hit the aid station.

The final descent of this leg.

The gold leafed avenue.

As normal I dibbed-in my timing chip and pretty much just strode on through having grabbed a handful of jelly beans, munching on them as I traipsed up on to the top of the hill where we re-traced our steps over lush green farmers pasture back to Lulworth Cove along the top of the ridge, the land dropping off to our right towards the coastal path we had just run along and cliffs to its side with the becalmed blue sea below them.

Across the fields

Midway along the return to the cove, you could hear the sound of stampeding hooves - well the sound of the leading half marathoners catching up on us and overtaking as they went on their merry way chasing the win. Shortly before the appearance of Lulworth down below us in the distance, I saw a familiar figure walking along the route towards me in the form of Claire who was looking out for Jamie and me. As I polished-off a cereal bar I stopped to chat and she said that Jamie was definitely behind me, which I was surprised at as I had been steadily working my way backwards down the field!

Lulworth below.

Soon we were dropping down off the hill and in to Lulworth where it was extremely tempting to stop off for a cup of hot coffee in the van as I passed, but that would not really achieve anything, so through the streets I went and down on the beach of the cove proper.

Across the cove.

The route had been changed around the cove from last year, so rather than climbing the stairway to hell and going up around the cove, this time we were to run across the pebbled beach, with the uniquely turquoise water beside us, to the other side of the horseshoe of this natural harbour. We were then to scramble up the muddy and rocky bank on the side of the cove and back on to the coastal path… And for me the sense of foreboding over what was to face us shortly.

Here be danger!

Entering on to the live firing ranges for the tank battalion stationed at Lulworth Camp just outside Lulworth (which are closed for business and open to the public at weekends in case you were wondering), it was a gentle wend up and down along the coastal path until the final slight downhill revealed around the headland the sight I was not looking forward to (and from the sound of the gasps of disbelief from those around me I was not alone in this)… the monster hill that needs to be climbed. Photographs do not do justice to the size and scale of this beast. It is mountainous with a gradient that leaves you using your arms to help get up it as well. Several times I had to stop through overheating and general knackeredness, taking my jacket off to help cool myself down. Finally I reached the top and turned to look at my fellow runners as they too summitted as I put my jacket back on and the looks on their faces of near total defeat and exhaustion spoke volumes despite the fact they had made it to the top.

Rounding the cove before...

...the behemoth.

When a picture paints a thousand words.

Still, as the saying goes: What goes up must come down, and soon enough we were making our way down the other side of the behemoth, which was also painfully slow through your toes getting squeezed tight into the toe boxes of your trainers whilst trying to negotiate the extremely steep gradient, before hitting the next climb in a matter of a handful of metres once you hit the base.

Down then up again.

Halfway up this next ascent was a sight I had noticed last year and had promised myself at some point in the future I would take my time to investigate further: The tank graveyard.

The rusting hulk.

With me not chasing a time today and the weather unbelievably crisp and clear, I made-good on my promise and stopped for a good look around. I’ve never been this close to a tank outside of a museum, where you certainly are not allowed to clamber all over the exhibits! The old tank here (I think it is a Chieftan) seems to have been parked for gunnery practice as a target at a known distance. The gun barrel has been cut-down and spiked so as to be completely useless and over the years it has certainly been rusting away. I suspect most of the useable parts had been stripped from it before it was left here, but you could still climb into the turret and experience how cramped everything was inside for its crew of 4.

Inside the turret.

When I jogged over to the tank I certainly got plenty of funny looks from my fellow runners, most of them I suspect wondering why I had diverted over here from the route and wondering what on earth I was doing, although anyone seeing me clambering over the tank would certainly have realised I was having a bit if a ‘boy’s own’ time exploring it. It was certainly a chance of a lifetime to have a good nose around, and the view from the tank down the hillside and across inland was pretty spectacular in the bright sunshine.

Yet another hill.

This diversion was merely something to avoid the obvious fact that I was halfway up a hill that still remained to be conquered, so I rejoined the line of walking runners as it filed slowly past climbing the hill. At least this was the last big climb of the eastward leg, so once over things would not be too bad, plus the checkpoint was not too far away.

The descent to the aid station.

Looking back from whence we came at the aid station.

Once through the checkpoint it was a matter of a couple of miles along the coastal path to the turn inland just past the nodding donkey pumping the oil at Kimmeridge Bay. From here we made our way across a farmers field that was planted with a crop rather than being fallow this year, so we were under strict instructions to keep to the marked path which follows the footpath route on the OS map so as to minimise any potential damage to the farmer’s livelihood. Judging by the track across it, everyone had been true to the instructions, so hopefully there will be no issues next or any other year.

The lush fields towards Kimmeridge.

Over the other side of the field and we climbed up on to the ridge-top path and passed a field of what I thought were black llamas, although I was corrected in my identification to alpacas by a fellow runner who has been on a training course in the animal husbandry of them through his wife deciding they were to get a small-holding and raise their own - so he had stopped to look at them out of professional curiosity! It just goes to show you never know who you will meet on one of these runs!

Retracing our steps westward.

As we continued along the path I found myself alongside a couple of fellow runners in the form of Emmeline and Gerard, with the three of us pretty much running with each other for the remainder of the last 6 or 7 miles, chatting about other races we had done and cursing how tricky this one is with its pesky hills.

The ruins of Tyneham.

The three of us made our way through the abandoned village of Tyneham to the final checkpoint of the day at the top of the hill on the way out. Onto the last leg we were back on the top of the ridge and re-tracing our way to a certain extent back towards the path we had run eastwards earlier on from Lulworth, and covering the evil hills in reverse of before, all bar the most evil of them which we wisely do not have to make our way downwards.

The day was now drawing to a close and the sun was starting to set in front of us, so I took the chance of taking a photo in the golden hour of the evening when I was temporarily dropped by the other two going up a hill. I found Emmeline and Gerard to be very genial company. Normally when you run with people, it is because at that time your pace’s briefly synch with each other before you end up splitting apart again as in the long term people will always tend to be faster or slower, so you find yourself in a dilemma of pushing on at a pace you know you can muster which will be faster than those with you, or to ease-off if you have been pushed beyond your normal pace for too long, or in this case just ignore either urge and just carry on at a pace comfortable for all to remain with your companions, which was certainly a great morale booster and made the last quarter of the race fly past.

A parting shot in the golden hour.

As the sun had disappeared and the shadows had followed as the day began to slip away we made our descent on to the beach at Lulworth Cove and across it before with one final effort we jogged up the slipway, past the pubs and in to the finish, exhausted with the efforts of the day.

As I tried to recover my senses I sent Claire a message to establish if she was still around and if there was any sign of Jamie, as I knew I was pretty near the back of the marathon field so he could not be too far behind, if not already finished by overtaking me whilst I was twatting around on the tank. Soon I received a reply telling me of Jamie’s enforced withdrawal through calf cramps at the halfway mark when he got in to Lulworth. He made the decision not to fight-on and risk an injury, especially with plenty more hills on the agenda. Making such a decision is never easy when you have been training and building-up to the race, but if you are unsure of any potential damage and a risk of a longer term injury and its associated lay-off for recovery, then it is certainly the right decision to make and Jamie made a very wise move and one I should take heed of!

As hard as this run may be, I certainly enjoyed it, and more so with no pressure being placed by me on me to chase down a time through still not being back up to speed after the lurgy. I crossed the finish line an hour slower than the previous year and safely towards the rear of the marathon field, but hey, this included the time messing around clambering over a derelict tank on the firing range which I certainly would not have normally done if I was seriously racing. That said, I really want to run this HARD and see how much time I can knock-off from last year’s effort.

One thing this run has done was to give me more thinking time about what to do with the hills, and the solutions seems to be a pretty simple one: drop some weight. This can be achieved by upping my training time between races and not only will it mean less of a bulk for my arse to haul up them hills, but it should also lower the strain on my troublesome calf and every other muscle as well. As simple a solution as it is obvious, and most likely an accurate assessment… We’ll see as only time will tell.

One disappointing note from today though, I lost my Garmin Forerunner 405 somewhere between the finish and the car park - most likely it fell out the slider of the van as I got in and out of the side, which is a real bummer to say the least and has turned what was a very enjoyable day in to an expensive one as well… Shit happens :(

Eat pies. Drink beer. Run far.