2nd August: Peak Skyrace

Different gravy... That's the phrase I'll use to describe the Peak Skyrace: Different gravy!
 
I'd seen this race a while back and wanted to do it in my attempt at pushing myself towards harder runs. My long-term aim is to be taking part in some properly hard mountain marathons and ultras and you need to start somewhere! As such this race in the globally renowned Skyrunner series (well, renowned amongst us trail runners) offered a decent step-up in to what to expect in the type of races the global stars of trail runners lock horns against one another... The global stars of trail running and the 'Leeky Ladies': Kirsty, Lucinda and Sarah, whom I met at the Pendine ultra and have been ribbing me on Facebook and Strava over the last few months about how I would not be able to cope when I came to play in their backyard of the Peak District!

LSS and Spud our faithful sprollie had accompanied me to this race, with us all camping a short distance from the event base of Buxton high-school. Come the hour in the morning and I assembled on the road outside with about half the other runners. None of us had any idea of where to go as the school looked closed and there was no signage or indication as to where to go, so with just 30 mins left to the race briefing we all began to sweat nervously about what to do... Until someone pointed out where to go and half the field descended on the registration desk and the toilets at the same time!

Briefed, registered, lubed and numbered we all filed across to the playing fields on the opposite side of road. As we lined-up to start, I said hello to ‘Leeky Ladies’ Sarah & Kirsty (Lucinda had to drop-out through illness) and I had a good chance to survey the field of my fellow runners... I have to say I was disappointed at the paucity of ultra-beards lined-up in front of me! As a Skyrunner race you know its supposed to be a toughie, even if this is the ‘easiest’ of the British ones, but perhaps it was not hard enough to attract those sporting the face-fungus of men who live their life outdoors in nothing more than a pair of shorts and a running vest with a thousand yard stare deep in their eyes... I figured they must all have remained at home nailing their scrotums to planks of wood which for them would be marginally more painful than running here today!

Nary a beard to be seen!

I waited near the rear of the group (starting how I figured things would pan out by the end) with the grey clouds hanging overhead threatening a soaking upon us. After the countdown we were off on half a lap of the field before climbing in to the woods at the side, the race grinding to a halt as we ascended 'Indian file' onto the woodland path.

So fast we were all a blur!

Under the canopy we climbed and descended on the sometimes slick trail in a good warm-up to get the blood pumping and emerged out the far side with a short but lung-busting climb up to Solomon’s Temple whilst serenaded by a piper... The definition of a gentleman is 'somebody who knows how to play the bagpipes but chooses not to’, so this chap certainly wasn’t one... Either that or the missus has banned him from practicing in the house on a Sunday morning!

The congregation off to 'Temple' on a Sunday morning.

Rounding the temple and breathing out of my arse it was down the other side and a cut across a couple of residential roads with a long drawn-out climb to hit the wilderness of the Peak District moorland.

Syonara to civilization for a few hours.

Soon it was just the sound of your own breath and the occasional gust of wind as all civilisation was left behind with Burbage at the bottom of the hill. So far, so enjoyable and my times were up on what I had anticipated they would be at this point. I had hoped to average 15 minute miles over the course and I had posted an average of about 11 so far. Over this first moor and we passed a very picturesque gorge with the stream burbling away in the bottom, running above it on the rocky and sandy path before crossing over it about a quarter mile later and in no time hit CP1 on a hairpin bend through a gate.

The checkpoints on this race were a mix of manned aid stations and self-clip orienteering style points.

An aid station with a view.

Whilst registering we were all handed our brevet cards and to finish the race we were to collect 6 individual clips from the various points on the run with a further 3 checkpoints being manned aid stations.

From the well-stocked aid station we hit more moorland and farmland, including a few climbs of particularly fiendish gradients that at least were mercifully brief in their duration. It was on this section I bumped in to a chap by the name of Jason, a teacher by profession, who was out on his first ultra and ran for a while with him, with us and others losing our way on part of the course and having to clamber over a low barbed-wire topped fence to get on to the road we were all sure we were supposed to be running along, before we yo-yo’d and he disappeared-off in to the distance.

Across...

Through...

...And down.

One of the highlights for me was running over the ‘Ramshaw Rocks’ where at times we had to scramble over the outcrops of the gritstone monoliths. It was up here that I saw a familiar face perched on a rock above the trail cheering us runners on: Lucinda the last of the trio of 'Leeky Ladies' was there with her spotty-dog Lily, so I paused briefly to chat with her and wished her a speedy recovery to get back out running these stupidly long distances that she loves (and is very good at as well).

Off the high point, down and round before ‘Hen Cloud’ was conquered… Next-up ‘The Roaches’. At this point I was suffering from overheating as the clouds had now burnt away and the sun was shining, raising the humidity level, and with being on track for time and nearing the halfway point I decided to rest under the watching eye of some rock-climbers beginning their ascent of the vertical face behind me. Eating a breakfast bar whilst perched on a handy rock I had to fight-off the plethora of flies that plagued anything that was not moving and would dog us runners for the rest of the race now the sun was out. Once back up and running along the trail we skirted some centuries-old woodland on the downward slopes which were beautifully verdant with age.

As I descended off the Roaches I could see by the road in front of me was parked an ice cream van… Dear god I was tempted for a 99, unfortunately I was not carrying cash so it just teased me as I passed it and the gathered throng of weekend walkers all enjoying something cold to cool-off. As I passed them by, one group asked if it ‘was me who graffiti’d the M6 bridge?’ - this was the first of 2 asks today, combined with recent asks at Fort William and the North Devon AONB marathons!.. What has happened is earlier this year someone has painted ‘Vote Pies’ on a bridge over the motorway, and with my ‘Eat Pies’ shirt it seems there’s a bunch of people putting 2 and 2 together and coming up with 5!

Make mine a 99!

Back up on to the next ridge for some more spectacular running amongst the wilderness, another self-clip point then through some woodland and the second aid station was there with sweet sugary goodness to be had.

Passing out the other side of the aid station I bumped in to Jason again who was struggling his way up the hill getting a bit of gip from his leg - I offered him some Deep Heat, which after he’d massaged in coupled with a bit of a stretch he was fine to continue… With us chatting about the coaching standard of football in Britain as opposed to the US and in Europe and how they get things right over there with infrastructure as opposed to the way it is done in Britain, especially from his experiences of training as a coach and working over in the States before coming back to Britain to become a teacher. Talking at length over this and football in general and what has got us to the lunacy of where we are now certainly managed to while-away the miles and forget about the heat beating down on us from the sun… When with a sigh we saw our next challenge: Shutlingsloe - a spiky brute of a hill that seems to rise vertically out of nowhere and returns just as quickly. Watching from below we could see the slow progress of those on their way up, picking a path and using their hands to help in some places near the top as it was that steep.

Up Shutlingsloe.

Dear god, it was as tough as it looked trying to get up it, and all the words of encouragement of those passing us on the way down could not lift my spirits. Finally, absolutely rinsed with the effort we were at the summit, clipped-in at the CP and were able to cool down in the gentle breeze blowing across us. From our vantage point you could see stunning views for miles, including in the distance our next target in the form of the Cat & Fiddle pub and the aid station beside it. Surveying the landscape you could figure-out where our path would cut its way through the landscape to get there.

As you can see the view was worth the struggle!

What went up must come down, so we descended from the ‘Matterhorn of the Peak District’ and as those who had done to us before we bade all those we passed the best of British. We found our way through some forest and climbed-up along a babbling brook, which I took the opportunity to sit down in to cool off, dousing my cap with water as well before continuing refreshed.

The view from in the babbling brook!

One of the course markers!

Across the moors we reached the pub and its aid station. When we arrived the medic chatted to the two of us, ascertaining in his mind if we were in a fit-enough state to continue as-is or were suffering from dehydration or anything else. We seemed to pass muster and a quick query about cut-offs by me to see if we had definitely made it - I estimated us to be about 15 minutes inside of it at this point - and we were told as far as they were concerned we were good to go, so loaded-up with food and drink the two of us headed out of the aid station towards the last self-clip at CP9 on Shining Tor.

Towards the Tor.

We made a good pace now fortified with a blast of sugars and salts, making the next mile in good time and in not too long a time we had completed the out-and-back leg to Shining Tor and mentally we were now on the home straight. At this point Jason crossed beyond the furthest distance he had ever run (marathon distance) and we edged closer to the bottom of Goyt Valley.

Descending in to the valley we were now out of the breeze, the heat & rising humidity now became an issue for me and progress was slow. Jason was sharing the suffer-load with me, almost as a tag team: me on the ascents and him on the descents. Our mile times at this point seemed to drop off a cliff as the buzz from the aid station fodder had worn-off and we were now both in a bit of sense of humour failure; our sole focus now to get to the end of the race, no matter what, where or how. Everything was now just plain hurting!

It seemed an eternity, but we finally emerged on the other side of the valley and from the view of Burbage below and Buxton beyond it we realised that we were closing-in on the end, with mostly just descent to go as we re-traced our steps from this morning under cloudy skies, that now seemed an eternity ago.

Eventually the two of us reached the school and crossed the finish line to the accompaniment of an air-horn and the remaining runners/ spectators still yet to clear-off home. We crossed the line 20 minutes down on the 8 hour suggested finish time… That said we were not quite last (but nearly) finishing 6th & 7th place away from the wooden spoon although there were a few runners who were hooked from the course at the Cat & Fiddle for being too slow as well as a few casualties en-route.

An understandably chuffed Jason!

LSS & Spud had been waiting for me for around 2 hours at this point and typically, LSS kept up her ‘not quite there’ record at these events and was away from the line as I finished thanks to Spud needing a wee at precisely the wrong moment, so again there was no finishers photo of me!

Sarah was chilling out by the finish line with her faithful lurcher Willow. She had become one of the casualties of the race having to drop around the 10th mile and the disappointment was writ large on her normally cheerful face. Kirsty however was all smiles, and finishing 6th lady was a terrific outcome for her!

I’m now the proud owner of a ‘Skyrunner’ medal and the finishers tech-tee is a very classy simple black affair with a white outline print.

In the school’s canteen there was plenty of left over food from the checkpoints for us to indulge in should we want to, although I was more interested in drinking than eating with the heat… For the last 2 hours I had been craving a chilled can of Red Bull or 2, fixating on this and using it as a motivation to get across the line, but I settled for a load of squash instead as it was sitting there nice and cool in a jug ready to be drunk! All the leftover food was to be donated to local homeless shelters, which I thought was a lovely touch and very classy of the organisers and an incentive not to eat anything!

Speaking of the organisers, they have put on a very challenging race and worthy of sitting under the Skyrunner banner - you don’t have to be running up and down mountains in the back-end of beyond for the course to be challenging, as there’s certainly plenty of ascending to be done here in the Peak District. The race clocks 2km of vertical ascent - yep, more than a vertical mile over the course of the race!

This was by far the hardest of all the 43 marathons and further that I have run. As I stated at the start I found it to be ‘different gravy’ so I’d better explain what I mean… From looking upon a trail marathon as a pie, on paper this marathon seems to be just the same as your ’standard’ trail marathon meat pie, but as soon as you sink your teeth in to it you soon find there’s a different taste going on here… You still have your normal filling of hills, mud and puddles etc… But boy the way they are all mixed-up together combining the ever changing terrain underfoot, vista after sweeping vista, ridge running and even a small scramble, it is a different gravy poured over the filling that makes it taste a whole lotta different, and it tastes GOOD! I will certainly be back for a second helping and I have a burning desire already to finish my next sitting in under the 8 hours.

Having slept like a baby from when darkness fell (no, not waking up screaming at 2am having shat the bed), the next morning LSS and I stopped-off in the village of Hadfield. The reason for stopping was two-fold: Hadfield is LSS’s maiden name and it is also the location for one of my favourite comedies: The League of Gentlemen. 

The iconic Hadfield war memorial.

I was able to park-up and walk in to Hilary Briss & Sons butcher’s (Mettricks in real life) and come out with a pack of the ‘special stuff’, or sausages in this case!

Got my 'special stuff'!

Eat pies.
Drink beer.
Run far.