Lakeland Fails #2

I’ve got a massive monkey on my back now, not a monkey like one of them lovely cuddly marmoset mofos, I’m talking its the size of an effing gorilla; a big fuck-off hairy silver back doing a can-can on my shoulders.

This year I WILL finally nail the Lakeland 100, I’d better fucking do as this failure malarkey is getting a bit boring now… 3rd time lucky and all that!



When you fail at something, you look at it and try to figure-out where you made your mistakes and change-up on your approach as the definition of futility, of sheer foolishness, is to repeat the same process whilst expecting a different result.

Yeah, I lost my Garmin between registration and the start of the race the first time, which meant I did not know my pace and timed-out by a mere minute after 30 miles, but that is not a ‘mistake’, that was unfortunate… The fact remains that I was still too slow leading to me timing-out.

I took a hard look at the condition I was in at the start and simply put, I’d probably put too many miles in my legs… I’d attempted to beast myself into shape for the race over the previous couple of weeks, a beasting that took place in the sapping heat that I had continually struggled in.

Climbing the first climb with the rest of the pack.

In the June I’d run 30 miles overnight on one weekend, followed by 2 marathons in 2 days the next weekend, a 50 miler 2 weeks after that and a week later for good measure in the first week of July I’d run a 35 miler in the lakes! All told I’d racked up 170 miles of running in the 6 weeks prior to the Lakeland and had only 2 weeks rest before the event… So yeah, I suspect I overdid-it leading in to the big day: when most people had been tapering or doing sweet f-a I’d been racing and racing hard like a complete eejit.

Arriving tired, slow and cream-crackered meant I was hardly in great shakes: I started slow and got slower. I kept having to stop on the large climbs as I was hanging out my own arse, chasing my own tail just to make the cut-offs whilst demoralised through my own stupidity in losing my Garmin.

I also took wrong turns - again something as an excuse I could put down to tiredness and not being mentally with-it. I could use the excuse of still lacking fitness through suffering from plantar fasciitis for nearly 18 months, something that robbed me of my mojo till March, but ultimately when you remove these excuses by my own actions I had effectively sabotaged my own chances of success in the race!

Looking out to the Irish Sea shimmering on the horizon.

So yeah, as Alanis Morissette sang: ‘you learn’… You also evolve and you change your approach. As a consequence in prep for the 100 this year, in the June I ran a 44 mile ultra - with significantly less climbing than the races the previous year, did a 20 mile night run the week after - this time at a tempo pace rather than a plod and finally a month before the Lakeland I did a 100k race in the lakes… I was feeling good, really good that I was in a proper shape to complete the 100 miles. In fact I was feeling good all the way until in the Lake District, just after the last aid station in the Ultimate Trails 100k with a mere 4 miles to go in the race, when I was up on time and pace from my previous outing there and looking forward to tucking in to the post race chilli meal, when walking along a road there was an almighty audible crack from my lower leg/ ankle. Every step was now agony, a proper involuntary shout of ‘ow’, ‘ow’, ‘ow’ each time my right foot went to the floor… I just speed hobbled my way to the finish whilst cursing my misfortune.

Next morning everything seemed fine, I was able to walk around with no pain at all, but it turned-out it wasn’t hunky-dory in the slightest. The following weekend I had to bail on a Sunday morning group run when the pain kicked-in after a mile and the intensity increased as I went to the level of agony. I realised I’d one of 2 problems: Either a stress fracture or a fucked ligament: both injuries I know require 6-8 weeks of rest before easing back in to running. However I had just shy of 4 weeks to the start of the Lakeland!

Light starting to wane.

Outside of my work, total rest was taken and a large dose of hope was consumed ready for the start of the Lakeland. In the back of my mind I knew I wouldn’t last the distance, that I would definitely break down. The question was when and where it would happen, so the plan was just to just push as hard as I could for as long as I could before the wheels fell off. I also purposely didn’t see a doctor as I knew I would get a proper diagnosis, and be told in no uncertain terms NOT to race - so I deliberately put my hands over my ears before burying my head in the sand to emerge on the start line in Coniston.

I started, it wasn’t as hot as the previous year so I did not suffer quite as badly from the get-go and I went well, really well!.. Ok I tripped and fell in exactly the same spot as the previous year on the backside of the Old Man of Coniston, but aside from that everything went swimmingly… I worked hard to hit the checkpoints, which I managed without much fuss and got through the aid station where I had timed-out with plenty of time in hand whilst in the company of other runners who had finished the race before and were confident on their pacing being bang-on for a finish.

Chasing the sunset.

Before the start of the race I had dosed myself on cocodamol - now I don’t normally do painkillers in real life, but I felt the best chance I had would be to mask anything before I started so as not to start demoralised if I began to feel pain straight away - it seemed to work, however after about 10 hours I could feel the pain in my leg… I necked another couple of cocodamol but they had no effect whatsoever, didn’t even round the edges off the continual aching pain. Leaving the site of my previous failure determined my race would not end here again, I at least knew I could get the next leg done at a hobble before bailing from the race, so at least I had the chance to in effect recce the leg.

In amongst a strung-out group of runners I shuffled my way along as best as I could, trying to persuade myself to ‘suck it up buttercup’ but I knew my day was over. I knew I was doing fine for time which was an almighty frustration, although not as frustrating as after bailing waiting for transfer back to the start after your race was over!

Midnight refreshments.

Out on the trail I had found the running an awful lot easier than on my previous failure as the weather was an awful lot cooler and with a fraction of the humidity. Knowing the route now and the terrain was also a boon as well as I knew where I was, so did not get lost… I even found the climbs not quite as bad! Up on time I made a conscious effort to push myself harder on the climbs, including the evil that is Black Sail Pass. I had made myself a promise that I would only stop the once at the waterfall around halfway. I looked at my watch as I arrived there and it said midnight, so sweating like Michael Jackson on Sesame Street I sat in the waterfall cooling off, drinking the fresh water out of it as I watched the stream of pin-pricks of light from head torches of those behind me coming up the pass towards my resting body.

Head torches approaching me from below.

The big test for me was always going to be at what point dawn would break. It was a relief when I became conscious that I was moving along a stretch in darkness where before it had been light. At that point I was proper gasping for a drink of cool fresh water and knowing there were plenty of streams coming up I resolved to get in and have a drink at the next one… Soon I could hear the beckoning siren-like sound of gently tumbling water. I took my cup off my pack ready for action, I rounded the corner looking for the best way to cross the stream and get to the water and at first glance saw what I thought was a stepping stone in the middle of it… All ready to jump on to it with all my considerable weight I took another look with the head torch and realised it wasn’t a stone at all, but a sheep carcass! That put the mockers on my cunning plan, so I had to get to the next stream before carefully surveying for deceased livestock and taking a cool crisp drink of the waters.

Not quite a stepping stone :(

I ran through the dawn and on into the still morning light before realising there was zero chance of getting beyond Blencathra. Yes it smarted mentally as well as paining me physically, but I knew I could not carry-on without the risk of serious damage. My body was telling me it was broken and I had no choice this time but to listen, even if the next leg of the race was teasingly flat!

Having bailed I had to wait with everyone else in the same boat for our transfers back to Coniston… This was the worst aspect, the waiting around not knowing what was going to happen or when and the distinct feeling that everything was a bit of a busked afterthought. The priority of the organisers will always be those people on the course, however when you’re no longer in the race you feel that you have been forgotten about to an extent, that you are an inconvenience to everyone and are swept to the side and largely ignored. After waiting a couple of hours we had a transfer by minibus to the halfway aid station at Dalemain where the 50 mile race starts. During this time the weather had changed to rain with its accompanying chill. It seemed the aid station was not prepared for a group of us to arrive and occupy valuable floorspace in the marquee. Eventually we were allocated a small area to congregate out of the way of the other racers where we could stretch-out and snooze whilst trying to stay warm. It was almost as if we were quarantined, that our running ‘leprosy’ would somehow contaminate those people still in the race!

Approaching Blencathra

Eventually after a few hours we were back on the same minibus to Coniston - however there was not enough space on it for all of us, our group having picked-up some more bodies to journey with us.

I was the last one to get on and realised I had nowhere to sit, however I was determined I was not going to be stranded here at the furthest point away from where I needed to be until god knows when, so I went to the very back of the minibus and sat on the step in the aisle in front of the back bench of seats and hoped the driver would not realise… Fortunately he didn’t and I managed to survive a supremely uncomfortable bum-numbing journey back to the event base wedged between both rows of seats for my safety rather than any form of comfort. At least when I got back there were no queue for a shower, and I was able to grab something to eat and crawl in to bed in the back of my van for a well-earned kip.

Morning mist still whispy.

On the Monday whilst back at LSS’s parents I went to get myself checked-out at Chorley A&E (the triage nurse and the doctor who saw me had friends who had been up there racing in the 50) and I was given a kind of diagnosis based on good news from the x-rays that there were no clear indications of a fracture, however without more specific investigation they could not rule-out a stress fracture of the talus bone, either that or ligament damage both triggered through ‘overuse’. I was pointed-out that the two have an identical recovery time and are non-invasive: 4 weeks rest from running! That was it, better listen to the quacks and do as I’m told for the next few weeks. At least they said I could do a bit of cycling from 2 weeks but nothing too strenuous.

So my second stab at the 100 miles of the Lakeland race ended in failure again. Whilst it was inevitable before I had even started, it was still really frustrating as I felt confident that I had a finish in me barring the injury. I know that my change in approach leading-in to the race worked and worked well to give me a decent chance at that finish. What I need to do now over the next few months is to Alanis Morissette the hell out of two years worth of failures to make it third time lucky this year.

Eat pies.
Drink beer.
Run far.

28th December: Winter Crossed.

Ah, what to do when you’re sitting around turning your liver into foi-gras over the week between Christmas and new year? I hear everyone ask.

Go for a 45 mile run comes the reply from precisely no-one, and to be perfectly honest I could probably have done without the last 13 miles of that myself... Yeah but that’s still 33 miles you utter masochist! Regrets? No, but yeah, but no.

Over most previous Christmas weekends I’ve entered races, including a double-header of trail races dressed as an ostrich, and last year a league XC race for my club the day after a 20k mud run, so doing something kind of like this isn’t entirely out of the ordinary.

I’d entered Second Wind Running's Winter Cross ultra for a few reasons: it’s local, I don’t have a race booked for January and it’s near as dammit in January, plus a healthy dose of FOMO as running buddy Luke had said he was entering the ‘fun run’ - they do a 50k race at the same time - along with Richard and Trevor in my running club Hook Runners... I had a blank week, what more could a boy possibly do?

Entering and talking about it persuaded neighbour Pini and Moose to come along for some shits and giggles as well, Moose for the fun run and Pini joining me in the full monty... I say shits and giggles but these two are properly focused runners very much at the top end of the field who would have a steely-eyed focus on placing at the sharp end of the races!

The course

Arising in darkness I drove the 45 minutes to get to the race base in the Meon Valley in the heart of Hampshire. Unsurprisingly from the race’s name, the course is in the shape of a cross, where you run the north leg first: 10k out and back on an old railway bed, before heading east for a 20k out and back on the South Downs, then West for another 20k leg on the Downs. At this point the 50k ‘fun runners’ get to call it a day, with those of us attempting to monster the full Monty heading south for another 20k leg on the former railway track.

Both races start at the same time: 7:30 and you are supposed to finish the 45 mile distance by 4:30, the basis of the timing is to race the daylight: you have from sun-up to sun-down to complete the course.

The event base of the village hall in Corhampton was the same place where I’d been for the Meon Valley Plod a few years back so I knew what I was in for on the course. The briefing was short and sweet and away we went into the unseasonably warm dawn air for a proper day out on your feet.

Smiles before the suffering! Hookers from LtoR in front: Pini, Moose, Trevor & Richard

This first northerly leg saw a mahoosive puddle after about half a mile, so following the principal of ‘you only get wet feet once’ I steamed straight through whilst others faffed and bottlenecked trying to pick a non-existent dry line. To this point I had been running with Luke merrily chatting away, but it seemed he left his big boy pants at home and tried to keep his feet dry... I was feeling good in my pace so I just kept on at the same rate once through the puddle, sure that Luke would catch me sooner rather than later, but unfortunately that time spent queuing put paid to any more running together.

I had walked to the start with Moose and had seen him make his way to the very front of the race, so knew he would be among the leaders from the off and sure enough, just after I’d gone through 2 miles the leaders came back towards us with him sitting in about 10th place... There was no sign of Pini though when I’d normally expect him to be coming the other way, then shortly before the turn a diminutive streak of silver fox shifted past at speed on the right: tactics. I figured that rather than getting caught in the race at the front among the 50k runners, Pini had decided to deliberately start at the back rather than go off too hot getting sucked in to racing someone else’s race rather than his own and suffer later on as a consequence.

At the turn I passed Luke, Trevor & Richard all pretty close together and not far behind me so I figured I’d be caught and passed by them some time just in to the second leg.

On the 10k return leg I spied a ‘Run 1,000 Miles’ buff - a Facebook group of which I’m a member so I had a chat with the lady wearing it who had clocked-up 1600 miles this year even with losing 8 weeks to injury and was rounding off the year in style today. Truly an awesome effort!

After the flat blast of the 10k on the railway bed, the Eastern leg was the one that promised views, including a climb up ‘Old Winchester Hill’ with its Iron Age fort and settlement on the top. Unfortunately for the chance of any panoramic vistas, the low cloud that was accompanying the balmy temperatures for the time of year obscured most of them in murk.

Down the other side of Old Winchester Hill and we were on to the second climb ready for the turning point. On here Pini came hurtling down the slick chalky mud path towards me and warned of plenty of mud on top... He was not wrong: progress was slow as grip was at a premium in the ankle deep-slop: skid marks from those who had fallen were all over the place so it was a case of ‘carefully does it’ till we topped-out and a jog to the aid station.

I’d been needing to ‘hail the prophet’ for some time so at the turn I took the chance to commune with ‘Mustapha Leak’ around the corner behind the aid station - unfortunately as I blundered around the undergrowth my right foot snagged on a root nearly felling me, but with other more pressing things on my mind I carried on about my business, grabbed a handful of Jaffa Cakes and was off once more.

On the way back I passed Luke, Trevor & Richard once more - all a similar distance behind as before and carried on trying to maintain a decent steady pace. Reaching the aid station it was difficult not to think I was halfway through the race having completed 2 legs, with the first being that much shorter than the others, although I knew that marker would come soon enough, but my focus was solely on this final out and back on the Downs.

To qualify for the last leg and complete the 45 mile race, you had to have finished this third leg by 2pm which is an average of around 12 minute miles, or 6h30m total time for the 50k (31 mile) course. This was my challenge, but I was confident of reaching it having worked-out that my average so far was between 10-11 minute miles.

Grabbing a half banana, more Jaffa cakes and the traditional seasonal fare of a Creme Egg, like the Pet Shop Boys and the Village People before them I went to ‘go west’.

Through the centre of the village with its chalk bedded trout river swollen to bursting point by the recent rains, the climbing began. We were warned the climb on the out leg would seem to go on forever and it seemed pretty accurate. Also there was far more tarmac on this leg than before!

Early on into the climb the leaders of the 50k came hurtling towards me and Moose was sat in a comfortable 3rd place. Congratulating him he yelled back as he passed that he’d trashed his legs though and they were killing him!

20 miles in and a familiar red-clad sight began to appear in the corner of my eye as I was finally caught by Trevor. We ran together for a few miles chatting merrily away and wary of the pace discrepancy with Trevor now having caught up, I put it on front street to him not to compromise his race by hanging around with me if I was dragging him back! He replied that he’d been slowly reeling me in for the last 6 or 7 miles - in effect using me as his ‘rabbit’ and he was now just content to make it to the finish as he’d knackered himself-out bridging the gap!

Both Trevor and Richard had entered the race last year and both had had to pull-out with injury shortly before. In their training they had recced the route last year in prep before their deferrals and this year they had trained much the same... As a consequence it seemed Trevor knew half the field from people he had gone on group recces of the different legs organised from on the race’s Facebook page!

Something else Trevor has done that has made a positive impact has been to have some personal coaching. The power of a good coach and also being a willing coachee has been evident to those of us around him as Trevor has increased his speed all round in distances over the latter half of the year and went and ran his first marathon in prep for today, not to mention that following a training plan has made him lighter and stronger physically. I asked him what the main difference has been in doing this and he said it was the focus and accountability that the coaching had given him: you had to go out and do things in a structured plan, when otherwise you would not bother and if you are paying for something you are less like to waste it!

This out leg seemed to drag on interminably but eventually after a steady descent we were at the turn in a farm yard, where some, crisps, a creme egg and more Jaffa cakes was consumed before the last 10k of the 50.

In a bizarre twist, the return leg seemed to pass far quicker than the out. We picked-up another runner, Darren from Lansing along the way and the 3 of us chatted like fish-wives all the way to the finish (for them) and the last leg for me!

Making through the aid station marking the end of the leg for me (and the race for Trevor and Darren), I grabbed another creme egg, Jaffa cakes and half a banana and off I went again on to the old railway bed for the 20k of out and back along it.

I had eaten whilst in the aid station and had a chat with the Marshalls for about 5 minutes, rather than on the move, which meant my body had had a chance to cool-down whilst doing so before getting started again. Whilst feeling relatively fresh on a physical performance perspective, I just could not get going as I was aware that my right ankle was giving me a lot of gip to the point of preventing me to run properly or with any rhythm.

When I snagged my right foot on the root earlier in the race I suspect I had jarred my ankle and strained the ligaments as the pain was not a skeletal ache or anything internal, it was tied-up with the flexing of the ankle itself. This reduced me to essentially a speed hobble for the next 20k!

Come the turn I could not wait to get to the finish. This leg was absolute tedium, absolutely soul destroying as there was literally nothing to see besides dodging other trail users as you were in a railway cutting the entire time. All there seemed to be were the two banks either side, the trees growing on them and the occasional bridge to travel under… It was a chore trying to remain awake and not doze-off from the boredom!.. Thank heavens for podcasts is all I can say; something to distract the mind on this soul destroying section and give a focus on this last leg.

After what seemed like forever and a day I crossed the finish line - not being aware of the exact time as my Garmin had died on the final leg (stupidly I’d forgotten to charge it the night before), so I went over the mat in the frustrating time of 9:00:34… Needless to say if I had been aware I would no-doubt have been able to find 35 seconds over the previous 10k back section to cross the line squeaking UNDER the 9 hour marker!

Fading light!

When the results were published it was interesting to see how things shook-out… Whilst Moose finished an awesome 3rd in the 50k and Pini finished in an amazing 9th in the 45 miler, I finished in  55th place… But this is where the stats get interesting.

I placed 55th out of 59 in the race, however this doesn’t quite paint a full picture: 98 people started the 45 mile race. Of those 98 however, only 59 of us made the cut-off for the final leg, with all of those 39 other runners being credited instead as finishers in the 50k race! This meant in reality I finished 55 out of 98: such a lofty position is unheard of for me!

Back print on the Tee.

Having crossed the line with Darren at the end of the 50k race, it meant that I was fast enough to place at 61/164 in the 50k race, which again for me is immense: top 38% in a race! It also means that I managed a bizarre feat that when you just look at numbers without a context, I managed to place very well in one race and incredibly badly in another! Although at least I can say that there was the caveat of those in the 45 mile race had to be able to hit a tight cut-off to finish it… Incidentally the last person to finish the 45 miler would have placed 91st in the 50k, so not far below the 50th percentile, so I can at least kid myself that what I did was a little ‘elitest’ when compared to those on the ‘fun run’!

Medal on the hanger!

If anyone was to consider doing this race I would say it is a great run-out at this time of year. The event is well organised, marshalled, the course offers a challenge without being stupidly fiendish and the aid stations are well stocked. However this really applies to the 50k course rather than the 45 mile course: the extra leg for that is just mind numbingly tedious. Both Pini and I were questioning ourselves as we ran that last leg exactly why we had done so and what was the point, as all it equated to were ‘junk miles’: miles for miles’ sake, lacking in quality, substance or challenge. Moose had run the same organiser’s Meon Valley Marathon which included that southerly section and he had the same opinion of that leg in that race, which put him off from doing the 45 miler in favour of the 50k… So if I do ever return it will be for the ‘fun run’ rather than the ‘full monty. Very nice medal and shirt though!

Eat pies
Drink beer
Run far.