1st July '17: Ultimate Trails 110k, a right beasting.

Off to the Lakes it was for my attempt at running my longest distance so far in the Ultimate Trails 110k. Travelling with me was neighbour Pini who was running the 55k. We arrived in Ambleside to the sounds of Blur on the iPod in time for lunch, pitched-up Pini’s tent and went off for a spot of pasta before registering for the races. Along the way we said hello to running buddy Dora who was also doing the 110 and met her running club-mate Fiona, who I was advised by Dora was a ‘shit hot’ runner and the previous year had won the 55k ladies race so was stepping-up to the 110… After lunch I put my head down for a few hours kip to get myself in the best possible shape for the best part of a day on my feet that I knew was about to come.

Briefing.

Waking as the sun slid down behind the hills I dined on a pre-race meal of champions: fish and chips washed-down with a bottle of beer for some extra carb-loading. As I readied myself for the race, from her tent I heard an expletive laden tirade from Fiona just like the one in the opening of Four Weddings and a Funeral. She had overslept and realised she only had a minutes to ready herself for the race briefing!

Fiona & Dora.

Haring-off at midnight was a totally new experience for me. The park was lined with the awesome spectacle, despite the hour, of a plethora of supporters cheering us all on our merry way. From the hooter we ran through the street light lit badlands of downtown Ambleside, before climbing up out the other side in the direction of Kentmere, leaving the lights of the town and civilisation as we knew it behind and below, only the small matter of a 110k looped route before we returned.

Haring round Rothay Park.

After just a couple of miles it was like we had entered a whole new world, another alternate dimension of reality... Once on the fells in the total darkness devoid of any sign of human life, all we could hear was us being continually mugged-off by invisible sheep. We could hear the chorus of incessant disembodied bleats but could not see anything in the pitch black; a darkness only punctuated by the pin-pricks of light from head torches of those in front.

Midnight mooch through Ambleside.

Following Newton’s laws after all the climbing we soon came to a descent - a cracking steep one on a wide boulder strewn track whose gradient was perfect for running... But how fast dare you go? With the darkness obscuring everything outside of the narrow beam of your head torch it was exhilarating to just let go and dare yourself to run as fast as you could without tripping, falling and doing some serious damage to yourself.

Running a rocky torchlit trail.

Once through the first CP it was a chase to the next big climb of the day, over Gatescarth to Mardale Head and the reservoir at Haweswater… Approaching from a couple of miles you could see the faint trace of lights on the hill in front, but with no light there was no way to judge distance so it seemed forever till we arrived at the foot, the switch-back path seeming to be lit by fireflies from the light of the torches of us nose to tail racers.

Dawn over Haweswater.

The climb was sapping, the muggy night making you sweat buckets. I had no choice but to stop and rest a couple of times for breathers as the relentless ascent was draining me. Eventually we neared the top, where marshals had built a yurt and rang us all across the summit with cow bells.

Coming down the other side it was a scramble over a boulder field as we headed east, seeing the first rays of dawn appear and begin to lighten our way. Once at the foot of the hill at Mardale Head on the shore of the Haweswater Reservoir, the silent dawn was breaking, which had a very unwanted side-effect: midges… millions of the feckers. As you got to the aid station and stopped you were instantly covered in a seething black layer of them on any bare skin and were eaten alive by them. I pitied the folks manning the aid station as they did not have any head nets or protection from them or were wearing any gloves to protect their hands.

 I was dying to see a man about a dog at this point but was more than a little concerned about what would happen to the old fella if I flopped him out for a spot of bladder relief: with any bare skin being instantly covered if I was to stop here how could I explain to LSS when I got back why my twig and berries looked like it had a pox from being attacked by the bitey feckers? Nothing would possibly cut-it as an explanation and saying I was attacked by midges when having a slash hardly sounds like a plausible reason for having a polka-dot penis even if it was true! Holding back I managed to keep it in till above the worst of them and syphon the python once clear of danger.

Continuing along the banks of Haweswater it was noticeably lighter as the sun now began to poke above the horizon. Making steady progress Dora & me bumped into fellow runner Paul who was making his merry way along. As we jogged along chatting I could feel my hammy beginning to cramp. I tried to ignore it but it wasn’t working, so I had to stop and attempt to stretch it out and lard it with Deep Heat - it seemed to work a bit, well, enough to carry on relatively unhindered for the time being. I knew it was only a few k’s till we were off Haweswter and at the next aid station with its bacon sarnies for breakfast, a thought that had spurred me on for many a mile, mind over matter I don’t mind and the bacon sarnie was the only thing that mattered.

Bacon butties!

After the longed-for breakfast it was a long slow climb up on to the hills again to skirt around the cracking views looking over Ullswater moving clockwise round from the east towards Howtown. It may only have been pushing 7 in the morning, but the humidity and the heat was properly rising to the early twenties in the sun when it burned some of the clouds away.

Having wended our way through the Bobbin Mill at Howtown we then had a problem: stolen signage… All course markings and signs had been removed, which left us to attempt to navigate roughly on the schematic map we had been given. Fortunately at one crossroads that really was not obvious we were caught by someone who knew where they were and where to go, giving us all in the assembled group a get-out-of-jail card.

Last time out on the 55 I’d been obsessing over cheese and onion Sangers at the aid stations… But this time round they didn’t really seem to have anything that floated my boat… That was until getting into the hall I saw noodles - not the minging ‘slag of all snacks’ Pot Noodle that you have once every 2 years because you get a craving for one and then remember why you do not eat them when you taste it again, but a great tasting noodle pot by the name of Ko-Lee ‘Go Noodles’ which were truly awesome… I scoffed the warm tasty feast and had a cup of tea, scarfed some peanuts and crisps for salt replenishment and felt restored, properly able to face the next leg. And I had a new foodstuff over which to obsess for the rest of the day!

Back out on the course, amongst the verdant green of the valleys around the bottom of Ullswater the sun was properly burning the clouds away and I was catching the green shirt of Paul again, overtaking him as we were watched from the bracken covered valley side above us by a herd of red deer.

The Red Deer.

The heat was now beginning to build and the climb up to the head of the valley was really biting me on the arse - I kept having to stop to catch breath and composure before pushing-on. I could feel my hammies tightening noticeably, continually I was having to stop and stretch them out. Deep Heat was applied but it just wasn’t cutting through… Then as the descent started, the cracking long descent that normally I would skip down like a gazelle, whilst climbing over a rock my leg locked with cramp.

Cloud still to burn away in full.

I had no choice. I went over like a sniper had shot me and just couldn’t stretch it out straight away… Crippled like an upturned tortoise I had no choice but to try and slowly stretch it out, and then I found myself alone through necessity.

In an act of immense oversight, whilst running through the night Dora had realised that whilst she had packed her drop bag, she had forgotten to put it in the trailer with everyone else’s stuff, and after some hasty phone calls when day had dawned, she was having to rely on her husband to support her to get kit and supplies to certain points on the course with only certain windows of time to make it for either her not to need to wait around, or her family to not get bored hanging around for her. With me now a prone liability, she had to take the entirely understandable decision to leave me to sort myself out whilst she pushed-on.

Paul and his green top.

I watched feeling incredibly stupid as Dora bounded-off down the hill, I drank some electrolyte and had a rummage in my pack and found a couple of salt sachets, which I necked. Washing them down it was a case of stretching out and trying to get moving as the time passed and the salt’s rejuvenative powers kicked-in.

Soon I was able to hobble, then saunter, then eventually jog along… My mistake was not realising how much I had sweated during the night’s efforts. I knew I had been dripping with sweat, but without visually seeing it or feeling the heat of the sun it lulled me into a false sense of security about precisely how I had been sweating like Michael Jackson on Sesame Street the whole time and I had not taken any steps to mitigate salt loss.

Whilst trying to build-up speed again I was caught by Paul and we merrily jogged to the aid station at Patterdale ahead of the 55k runners who would also be passing through here on their run.

The climb up Glenridding was as brutal as ever, but at least this year it was not chucking it down… Instead the sun was hammering down upon us. When I reached the tarn at the top I couldn’t help but marvel at the deep sapphire blue of the water in the light. At this point the 55 & 110 courses split and those of us going longer headed round to the west to descend over an ancient river bed that was still a stream. You had to properly scramble over the boulders on your way down here, proper 3 points of contact action as you slowly picked your way down to the bottom and the main road. We followed a section of tarmac for a couple of miles, which I found jarring after the extended time on the rocky and grassy trails, till I eventually wound-up in a lay-by and the next aid station.

The heat was intense, so finding the aid station was under the cover of trees was a boon. I noticed the number of people hanging round there was far more than I expected then realised why: they had run out of water. People were not continuing their run without replenishing their supply, which was understandable and were waiting for the aid station to be resupplied. Having plenty of my own I carried-on grateful not to be forced to wait through necessity.

Climbing up from the road I found the heat and humidity stifling. It was hitting the high twenties and it was sapping the life out of me. Fortunately the pathway was part stream, so I took the opportunity to sit in it at one point just to cool myself off!

Eventually the path topped-out on a boggy plateau. Emerging from the trees on to it, the temperature was noticeably lower and a cool breeze wafted over us. Unfortunately progress wasn’t as quick as I had hoped as you had to bounce from ‘babies head’ to ‘babies head’, small mounds of grass that were relatively solid. At this point I overtook a fella who was racing using cheat sticks and didn’t have a Scooby Doo how to use them. What he did was to stand still on top of a babies head, prod the ground with a pole to see if it was solid and take a step forward before repeating. Truly bizarre!

The sun was running away to hide as cloud lowered and the wind was definitely picking-up as we bog-trotted along the plateau. At least we were approaching the next aid station and our drop bags once we dropped off the top…

Coming into the aid station I bumped into Dora on her way out and she gave me a conciliatory hug as she seemed very chirpy to be on her way… I found out why when I got inside the aid station: PIZZA! I had a couple of slices and a warm cup of tea and biscuits as I changed my trainers - I was not sure they were going to last the rest of the race, so took the opportunity to switch them over.

Back down Glenridding.

Traipsing out of the aid station and around the corner we took the path towards the final large climb of the day: Stake Pass. We could see it looming from miles off at the head of the valley we were walking up, its summit shrouded in the grey of clag, the wind steadily picking-up as we neared.

Looking up towards Helvellyn

Climbing the switch-backs to the summit the weather deteriorated with the strengthening wind feeling like a gale and the rain now properly coming-in blown on it. I tried to tough-out the conditions figuring-out I’d be fine once over the top and on the descent, but the temperature was now down in to single figure from the mid twenties of an hour or so ago, the wind sucking all the heat out of your body like a Dementor. I sheltered behind a rock and put my waterproof on to try and beat the elements, my hands going numb as I did so. I stomped to the summit as best I could, hitting the top in the very reduced visibility of clag as the rain drove down hard.

On the top the terrain was wet slippery rock, which is anathema for trail shoes and grip. Passing a marshal he shouted it was only 3 miles to the aid station and I tried to make progress off the summit and hopefully to get below the clag as quickly as possible. Trying to pick a path over the solid rocky surface I saw a gully worn as a path and made for that, skipping towards it before nearly stomping fully into the midriff of a freshly dead sheep carcass!.. Narrowly avoiding a messy accident I tried to descend as fast as I could but was slowed to a walk by the slippery rock, all the while being buffeted by the wind and my hands now freezing - I was faced with the choice of stopping in this highly exposed area to find gloves in my pack to put them on, or to try to tough it out and just put my hands up my sleeves and get down under the clag into warmer air asap.

Sapphire water.

All I could do was grumble to myself, mentally force myself onwards… The marshal was way off on his assessment - the aid station was another 7 miles away from the summit, 7 sodden miles of driving wind and rain. My fingers were like blocks of ice and white through poor circulation from the exertions of what I was doing. No matter what I did I could not get warm. I ate. I drank. I clenched my hands into fists inside the sleeves of my waterproof… At least having the waterproof on I was not losing heat to the wind, but I just did not seem able to shake the chill. Running over the slippery rocks was not an option and finally when it bottomed out I forced myself to jog along the ankle deep stream of a path to try and get some heat generated. Anything. Just anything to get through this. It just didn’t work.

Careful now!

Eventually I found myself on the valley floor near Chapel Stile, familiar territory at least, but knowing I still had a good 3 miles till the aid station. 3 miles of wallowing in self pity and misery, 3 miles at the lowest ebb I have ever been where I could happily have thrown it in… Just to compound my misery the course had now combined with the 55k again and I had the ‘delight’ of chirpy happy runners on that laughing and giggling their way past me as I just wanted to shout at them to FUCK OFF… Then there was the photographer: great that’s all I needed a fucking photographer to capture my moment of abject misery for posterity… I focused. I internalised. There’s no point in proving to the world that I’m a complete bell-end, so I tried my best to hide it away. I pulled my hood right over me and the cords as tight as I could so all that could be seen in the darkness within were my eyes, eyes staring at the ground avoiding contact with everyone.

Descending from the tarn.

The closer I got to the aid station the more the weather improved, the rain even lifted and the wind abated in the shelter of the valley floor. There was a problem though, I was shaking uncontrollably with the cold I was feeling right to my core, even though I could feel on my face there was now some muggy warmth after the downpour. I noticed I was visibly trembling to anyone who could see me, properly shivering and shaking, teeth rattling. I realised I was borderline hypothermic and probably in danger of being hooked from the race if there are proper medics visually assessing us as we arrived. I had to hold myself together as best I could, put all my steel and determination into getting this under control and not revealing how bad a shape I was in to anyone… The other side of the aid station was only a 10k blast up and over Loughrigg Fell to the finish. I couldn’t get hooked from the race within the time limit so close to the end: at worst case it was only a two hour slow plod. To now be so close, failure was not an option.

Stepping stone in the last of the sun.

Entering the aid station I did the most British of things and grabbed a steaming hot cup of tea holding it tight in my hands… And another tub of the noodles, a pot of lifesaving warm tasty noodles. The warming combination inside my belly worked wonders. A salve to the soul. Slowly I could feel the chill subside and was able to stop having to fight the shaking and shivering, slowly I could relax. I reckon I rested there in the warmth of the school at Langdale sitting on a chair made for a 7 year old for about 15 minutes before heading back out… The sun was shining now, the weather and my mood were no longer black.

Bog trotting in the murk

I still wasn’t totally out of the woods mentally or physically. I may have been on the way out of the dark place but I couldn’t afford to slip back. Distraction was the order of the day, so I put on my headphones and disappeared into podcasts: an episode of Ear Hustle about life inside San Quentin State Penitentiary was followed by Richard Herring’s Leicester Square Theatre Podcast as he interviewed Jessica Napit. Taking my mind off introspection with the grim reality of life behind bars and onto a good giggle thanks to Richard Herring.

Approaching Stake Pass in the clag.

By the time this ended I was on top of Loughrigg as the sun began to set… I was going to make it back probably a bit earlier in the day than I had the 55k last year. Soon I was on the descent off the fell towards Rothay Park, the gradient forcing me into a proper jog to the finish and the warm claps and cheers of those still ranged around the line cheering us latecomers home.

That photo!

I’d made it. I’d finished. I’d managed to run the furthest distance I’ve ever managed: 110k, 66 miles or thereabouts. Wow. The enormity of this immediately sank in as I had had to battle the hardest I ever had before to finish and in my fragile emotional state I was nearly reduced to tears, overwhelmed with what I had achieved, more so than when I’ve ever pushed through a barrier before.

Trying not to collapse into a jellied emotional wreck, I went and grabbed some food from the finishers food cart and bumped into Dora who was sitting on a camping chair looking very pained… She had trashed her feet on the way to where we had last crossed paths and had been slowed to a shuffle but ground out a finish just one place above and 10 minutes in front of me. I reckon I must have made nearly half an hour on her over the last 15 miles even in my sorry state so she must really have been suffering and in severe pain, which put my travails into perspective.

I was supposed to go for a beer with Pini after the race, but I was facing a rush to make last orders and I really couldn’t face it. All I could muster was to shower, put on all my warm clothes and climb into the van for a kip.

The next morning dawned and soon enough I was up and cooking mahoosive brekkie baguettes of sausage, bacon egg & black pudding for Pini & me… It turns out he had finished in 14th place in the 55k, the first time he had ever entered a race like this and the first time for him running in the lakes. Oh and Fiona had finished 3rd lady in the 110. A pair of awesome running performances!

Pini perusing paperwork for positions.

It had been an amazing day out in the lakes, 66 long miles through darkness and light (mentally as well as in reality) and in all weather conditions, placing 167/203 finishers whilst squeaking home in under 22 hours by 2 minutes! Yes I know it wasn’t fast, to put it in perspective I took just under double the amount of time of the winner, but I made it and that was the goal. My nearest comparison for a course was the Lakeland 50, which to be honest I found easier than this as the climbs were fewer even if they were largely bigger. I learned a helluva lot today about looking after myself and also how far I can dig down without quitting which will hopefully put me in good stead for the future. With the changeable weather and the effect it had on me it also really brought-home why you have the compulsory kit you carry: it really is there to make a difference in case of emergencies. Emotionally the day certainly proved to be as undulating as the course. They say you experience highs and lows whilst out on tough long runs. Today I experienced this to the nth degree and now know and truly appreciate what they mean when they say it.

Anyway, chapeau to Pini & Fiona on their immense performances in the 55 & 110 and not forgetting Dora who managed to really show how tough she was in getting to the finish on feet that could not walk another step.

Will I be back?.. Too effing right!

Eat pies.
Drink beer.
Run far.