10th April: CTS Exmoor

I'd been looking forward to getting down to Exmoor for a second run at one of the tougher Endurance life Coastal Trail Series marathons.

I say 'tougher' and that is by Endurancelife’s standards: In just over the standard marathon distance it gives you a vertical mile of ascent, so this course in effect offers you the same challenge-wise as the 'junior' of the Skyrunner series in the British Isles, the Peak Skyrunner, which comes-in at a near identical ascent over 29 miles… It's certainly not a course for the faint-hearted!

This year there had been a slight tweak to the course in that the start and event base was not to be at the Hunter's Lodge pub as before but up on the top of the cliffs just along to the east on the edge of Martinhoe, with the figure of 8 course run in the reverse of my previous time, with the easterly loop the first of the two to be conquered before the shorter but more exposed westerly loop.

What its all about, waking to sight like this!

Following my normal ploy of arriving at midnight I had parked-up and enjoyed a night's kip in the back of the van and when dawn broke and registration opened I went off to undergo the quick and painless process that Endurancelife have managed to make work well for them.

Somewhere under the rainbow...

Walking across the field to the marquee there were some rain clouds hanging ominously behind it with the beginnings of a rainbow arcing across the sky.

First ascent of the day.

The start was a mercifully benign one for a a CTS race: normally you are straight in to a climb, but today from our elevated position it was a good long downhill blast heading eastward to the valley bottom, however with hitting the bottom comes the inevitability of a big climb looming.

God-botherers a go-go.

Ascending to the valley of the rocks it was mercifully nowhere near as windy as it had been on my previous visit and I managed to crack-on making good time through the wooded surrounds as we hit the ’Tarka Trail’. Soon we were hitting the first of the lung-bursting climbs (the kind that makes your Garmin pause as it detects no lateral movement; you just seem to move vertically), as we wound our way up the steep sloping cliff as we overlooked the god-botherers of Lee Abbey below us with their large hill-top crucifix standing-out defiantly against the sea and the wind.

Heading East.

Once atop it was a blast through the ‘Valley of the Rocks’ with its short grassy track well manicured by the wild goats of the area, before we entered the village of Lynton and the descent to the river, following the contours of it round to CP1 after 7 miles at Hillsford Bridge and the short jog on to the idyll of ‘Watersmeet’.

Meeting the water.

From the river at Watersmeet it was another climb back up on to the cliff-top path where I came across a fellow runner who looked like he was on his knees in prayer whilst he was attempting to solve an issue with his kit. I offered a helping hand, but without something like a screwdriver to re-attach an unyielding clip onto a plastic tube, a losing battle was being fought so I wished him the best of luck and carried along my merry way, which was a beautiful slight descent of over a mile in length overlooking the cliffs towards Lynmouth and Lynton before the drop to the sea front.

Praying to the god of kit-repair.

The weather that had threatened to pour with rain had not materialised with the sun now fighting its way out and warming us up noticeably when we were sheltered from the wind, making the climbs all the harder for this.

Off we go chasing the horizon.

Goat.

Soon after passing some bemused goats on the steep cliffs, we crossed through the grounds of the abbey with some freshly born lambs in the field beside the route and we were through to the halfway mark at CP2 and the end of the easterly loop.

Waterfall en-route.

Nearly back on the top!

On the western half the first challenge is to climb back up to the cliff-tops once more. In the past this has been shortly after the start and the entire field has been stretched-out Indian file along the switch-back path as we all sped-walked up the lung-burster! This year there was no queue and in the heat, the first strong sun of the year, with a half marathon already under my belt it was an effort to keep-going. Fortunately I was on this section with another runner, so we were able to grouse about this section as well as talk the common talk of the trail runner. It seemed that in the valleys just behind the cliffs they experience their own micro-climate. Sheltered from the wind, with the heat beating down it brought out all the moisture in the undergrowth and made it uncomfortably humid.

On the cliff-tops and Westward-ho we go.

Once back on top of the cliffs it was a lot easier to get moving consistently under the bruising sky as an ominous-looking cloud moved towards us threatening rain. As we wound our way along the coastal path with its undulations till we reached the furthest westerly point and we tabbed inland across the moor through CP3, passing the cairn on Trentishoe Down and the silent woody descent where you feel that there is not another soul for miles around.

Crossing the moor.

Turning left at the cairn.

Following the trail we wound our way across to the Hunter’s Lodge and a final sun-drenched climb up to the coastal path for the last mile and change taking-in the sumptuous views across to the distant Gower peninsula in Wales, where the CTS has a November race. Looking down in to the coves as I ran I spotted a seal calmly swimming around on the hunt for some fish, the first time in many a year that I have spotted one in the wild.

Always bittersweet seeing these signs... One more mile of pain but only one more mile of views like this!

On a high from this I crossed the finish in the spring sun, cream-crackered but happy to have finished the race in one piece… Last time out I suffered equipment failure with my Vango hydration pack failing to any longer hold-on to the 'mandatory equipment' pouch that I carry the items in, which led me to get a Camelbak (which I still run in) and with shredded feet - which were doused in the stream by the Hunter's Lodge in the fresh freezing water to clean them and numb the pain. This time round it was down to the Hunter's Lodge with fellow runner Luke for a post-run pint before heading home for a welcome shower and some burgers!

Eat pies.
Drink beer.
Run far.

20th March: Hampton Court Half

I forgot… I’d forgotten that at the last minute I’d agreed to run the Hampton Court Palace Half Marathon. In mitigation, I had never intended to run this, in fact I have (believe it or not) never run a half marathon before in my life, but due to work issues, one of our old neighbours who had been due to run this with his wife, had to drop-out and in knowing that LSS was running the race, offered his spot to me.

Gathering for the start round the front of the palace.

Driving the 30 miles towards London to the palace and parking in the field next to it on the edge of Bushy Park (at a £5 extra on-the-day charge to the organisers) we met with our neighbour’s wife who was still running and collected his details off of her and I prepared to accompany LSS around the course for her second ever half marathon - and my first… Yep LSS has run more of them than I have!

I did not want to let LSS down by bailing after my gammy hammy episode the previous day in Sussex, but (and I mean this with no offence) I felt I would be unlikely to strain myself further with the combination of the pancake flat course and acting as a pacer for LSS.

Hampton Court Palace is a stunning building built for Henry VIII (although Cardinal Wolsey began the work) as his official residence and since then it has remained one of the ‘Royal Palaces’ and one of the major tourist attractions in London.

Off downriver along the Thames Path.

The runner’s village and the finish line was situated on the green opposite the rear of the palace. Here there was the longest line of portaloos I have ever seen at an event, which meant the unusual experience of no real queuing for a trip to the trotter - a rare luxury!

As the time for our starting wave approached we made our way across the road and in to the palace grounds for the start and before long we were all corralled together and sent on our merry way.

The field was quite compact as we managed to shuffle our way along straight out of the palace grounds on to the Thames Path. As we slowly picked our way through the crowd I counted around a dozen unopened gels that had been unwittingly shed by runners before us, but with all us runners so tightly packed together I could not stoop to grab any to save the littering - and benefit myself & LSS!

Crossing the river.

Along the riverside path for just under 3 miles downriver it was a bit of a metronomic slog, punctuated by a water-stop just towards the end where we immediately climbed up on to the bridge and crossed over the Thames. From here we followed a couple of miles more along the riverside path upriver, before leaving this and heading off into the suburban streets of Thames Ditton - with another water-stop at the furthest south part of the course.

Taking it at LSS’s pace we hit the 8 mile marker and the bridge that took us back over the Thames to the Thames Path in front of the palace and a repetition of the first three miles… Rather than crossing the bridge at the end of this stretch we turned left and headed along the edge of Bushy Park and the final 1.5 of the 2 miles… The final half mile being saved as an extra special treat for LSS.

Looking at the palace from the 'tradesman's entrance'.

Running with me, LSS had pushed herself continually at a pace marginally faster than she would have herself and combined with not as much training as she would have liked, she was really suffering and bordering on a sense of humour failure as we closed-in on what we thought was the finish line: The course leads you straight towards the finish gantry, but just short of it as you reach the green you find you are shepherded away and have to do a lap around the outside of the green in which it rests, before being allowed through the barrier on to the green to re-trace your way back on the other side before finally crossing the finish line… And not a moment too soon from the effing and jeffing of LSS at this evil final half mile! - needless to say she refused my entreaties for a sprint finish ;)

Crossing the line we walked-over to the marquee where they were handing out bananas, water and the bag of finisher’s bling. The finishers tee was an amusing caricature of Henry VIII doing the ‘mobot’ and the medal was big golden effort - something you could inflict serious damage with on someone!

Considering this race is billed as the ‘Hampton Court Palace’ half marathon, you spend about 0.1% of your time there. Instead you are pounding the Thames Path and the local suburban streets, so outside of the physical start line and first 100m you spend no time in the palace grounds, although you do view it twice more as you run past on the Thames Path and the building is a gorgeous spectacle.

Approaching the palace again.

The course is flat and fast, so if you are looking for a PB or for an easy introductory half marathon then this could be a good one for you. The course whilst almost entirely tarmacced - even on the Thames Path, it only has 5 miles on roads over its length, so it is a safe one that allows you to not have to worry about the traffic too much… Would I do it again?.. In short: No. It offers nothing to me over a jog along the canal on my doorstep. If the route were to change to take-in more of the grounds rather than the streets of Thames Ditton then maybe I would soften my stance and come back for a second helping.

What I did enjoy was supporting LSS in her endeavour and successful completion of her second ever half marathon, although her face was almost the same colour as her top by the end of it!

A cheerful LSS resplendent with her medal and bag o' bling!

Eat pies.
Drink beer.
Run far.

19th March: Coastal Trail Series Sussex

Ok, a few weeks back I strained my hamstring and it hasn’t really got worse, but at the same time it has not improved, so I went in to the Endurancelife CTS Sussex Trail Marathon with a healthy dose of trepidation and a very strong pair of neoprene support shorts to compress and hold my gammy hammy together as much as possible in the hope of making it around!

'Man at C&A' posing in registration.

Every time I run this race it seems to be different for me. Last time out I had the pleasure of traversing Beachy Head with LSS and Spud as they ran the 10k course and our paths converged. Previously I’ve had to brave gale-force winds, sleet and freezing rain… Today it was just muscle knack and the weather was looking pretty conducive for trail running - which was a bit frustrating as I knew I would not be able to push hard and do myself justice.

I followed my normal plan of driving-down to the event base for midnight and hunkered-down in the van over at Birling Gap listening to the howl of the wind as it occasionally rocked the van and to the patter of the rain on the roof as I settled-down to my slumber.

Waking the next morning I walked the mile to the registration marquee, passing the single file snake of ultra runners as they set-off on their adventure.

Ultra conga!

All registered and laden with my complimentary Endurancelife tech tee given to all competitors (I now have a sizeable collection of these!) and a Cliff bar I went back to change for the race.

Straight from the off and it was up the hill overlooking Birling Gap itself and on to the undulations of the ’Seven Sisters’ until they peter-out in the course’s low-point at the salt-marsh nature reserve. From this low the slow steady climb to the highest part of the course commences, punctuated by the first aid station at Littlington.

Just past Littlington we run across a causeway in a water-meadow that had been totally flooded over the winter with the torrential rains the area experienced, but thanks to nature’s ability to rejuvenate itself you couldn’t see any sign of what had happened.

Over the Seven Sisters.

From here we turned west and began our climb proper on to the exposed South Downs Way skirting along the feet of the ‘Long Man’ carved out of the grass covered chalk to stand watch over the valley, summitting shortly thereafter and enjoying the leisurely descent over the next few miles to the halfway checkpoint.

It was on the way down I could start to feel my hammy biting and at this point I had to drop my pace noticeably, letting CTS stalwart Luke with whom I had been running for a while and a few guys who were out on their final serious race practice before the Marathon des Sables - running in their full kit for that, disappear off in front of me.

Climbing.

The aid station is at the bottom of the hill, which meant a climb out from it to head back to the coastal path… It was on this climb I started to descend in to a dark place and consider quitting as I knew I would be passing the van and shortly thereafter the finish line. Quitting would break my consecutive streak of finishes. I know that every race completed brings you closer to the first you will start but not finish, but I managed to persuade myself to stay in the game and at least get back to the van, as here I could spend some time assessing how I really was.

It may only have been a matter of a couple of miles or so, but they were not fun in the slightest as I clenched my teeth and struck-out at the fastest walking hobble I could muster to get to the car-park… Once here I opened the van, took off my back-pack and had a few deep breaths.

I had a can of Red Bull lying around so I took my time to drink that and to give my hammy a good hard massage, really pushing deep in to where it felt tightest, then well and truly larded it with ‘Deep Heat’. Ten minutes had passed and already it no longer felt as bad as it had been - I was around 16 miles in to the race, so a matter of 10 to go, so I felt I might as well just crack-on but take it easy as I know the course and that the terrain underfoot was not going to prove tricky in any way… So off I climbed out of Birling Gap and made the ascent of Beachy Head.

View from the 'top' of the course.

Before I knew it I was at the climb in to the western edge of Eastbourne feeling no more the worse for wear from when I left the van, and the turn for home at the final checkpoint was upon me, so I just carried-on through it on a concerted charge ascending on to the path to the farm track along the ridge overlooking the channel, safe in the knowledge that the end was rapidly approaching.

It was along here that I caught-up with and passed fellow marathoner Cecilia, who as I passed let-out a sob… It was one of those moments when you know the person is not in a good state, and seeing her face, eyes reddened, I knew she was in a definite low, so I slowed to walk and talk to her.

Back along Beachy Head

She was really suffering but was determined to reach the end - which was only about 3 miles at this point, so I decided to just keep her talking to take her mind off the pain and get her to the finish line in one piece - it turned-out she was from Reading, one of the nearest towns to me and she was running the event with her fella who was in the Ultra. I think she was just struck by the pain and the demoralising sensation of watching all sorts of runners pass her and the ‘loneliness of the long-distance runner’ in moments such as these as you watch yourself moving backwards through the field… So the pair of us crocks just spoke of running, injuries and our philosophies on running, foodstuffs and the like - the easy common-ground for all us people on these silly adventures, and before you knew it we were both able to manage a jog at times, taking us both in to the finish in a not too disrespectful time considering we were both falling apart at the seams!

Beachy Head lighthouse.

This race was certainly a frustrating run for me in not being able to push myself, but also valuable in learning that sometimes you just need to take a break and a rest to assess things, manage a muscle and to then push-on to the finish. I know I have been through similar with tearing my calf muscle, but that was far more serious than this as it is just a ’strain’ so it was certainly a case of figuring out the limits of it and to work around it so it would not be worsened… Time for a bit of a rest till the next event and hope it heals as I’m really looking forward to my second visit to Exmoor and one of the tougher CTS courses down there.

Oh and hopefully I’ll remember my camera for the next run so I won’t be relying on my phone!

Eat pies.
Drink beer.
Run far.

6th March: Steyning

I ran the Steyning Stinger a couple of years ago and thoroughly enjoyed the muddy fun that the race provided, so I was looking forward to getting-out on the course again with the good views from atop the ridges of the South Downs Way - that and the fried breakfast they give you at the finish!

With the Stinger being a relatively local race I woke as dawn cracked and drove down to the grammar school in the middle of the village of Steyning where the event organised by Steyning Athletic Club has its base, registered and changed for the off in plenty of time.

It seemed a bit busier than the previous time here with everyone milling-around through registration, although when I crossed the road in to the field ready for the official start, I could see a crowd of runners already heading-off in to the distance who formed the early start of the race for the slower runners.

All calm before the storm.

Attempting to keep warm in the crisp clear winter morning air us runners began to huddle a bit closer together before the countdown and we were unleashed onto the chocolate-pudding like mud of the field that formed the first part of the course.

Climbing up to the top of the downs.

Last time I ran it I lost a trainer in the mud 3 times within the first mile, but this time I managed to keep it down to just the one, although slipping your cold wet mud-soaked sock back in to your trainer straight after losing it is never a fun experience!

Sheep no doubt thinking we're baa-rmy.

Just beyond the first half mile as we came off the field and on to some tarmac I passed the first person to drop-out, pulling-up lame with what looked like a hamstring strain - I felt sorry for the guy as he’d probably trained hard to get to the start-line only to have every bit of preparation undone within the first five minutes of the race, something I have been mercifully spared from so far on this running odyssey of mine.

I understood what the guy was going through as the previous day I had set my parkrun PB running with Spud only to feel my hamstring tighten-up in the process within the first hundred metres of the mad dash off the start line… So here this morning I was acutely aware of managing the strain and not letting it develop in to a proper pull and seeing the poor chap was a cautionary tale for me about taking it easy.

On to the tarmac for a short while, we plodded along uphill until we hit the turn on to the trails and the mud with the trek and climb up on to the South Downs and the fabulous views from on top.

North to Surrey...

... and south to the sea.

The course was not as muddy as before, bar on the forested paths which were full of plenty of the grey cloying claggy clay-based mud, and once through the trees and on to the fields that form the top of the downs the running was good firm grassy pasture under foot and with the clear crisp air we could see for several miles from on top of the ridge north through Sussex towards Surrey and south out in to the channel.

It didn’t seem too long until I was running past Chanctonbury Ring, mercifully not as cold as before where the wind and an overcast sky really bit in to you back then, before heading south to Cissbury Ring and doing the loop passing the golf course overlooking Wareham before the lonely drag of the next loop of Steep Down.

Sauntering up to the ring.

North from the ring.

Mercifully once you have completed this final loop you know you are on the home stretch and heading back to Steyning and the finish… With the fun steep descent through the woods off of the downs before hitting the tease of the final few fields that divert you here and there whilst in sight of the finish but never seeming to approach it until the final drag including one last quagmire before the finishing line… And the fry-up.

Last views of the channel before turning for home.

Today was one of those runs where everything passed without trouble, but with my position in the field of runners, I was alone for long chunks of time with just the company of my podcasts to amuse me along the route.

With my gammy hammy I had to reign myself in at times when I felt I could have pushed harder - which did me another favour in preventing me from ‘blowing-up’ by going too hard or too fast so hopefully led to a better more even pace throughout my escapade that brought me home 8 minutes faster than before in 106/192 finishers…

What we run this race for!

A pretty good day out for me I felt, and then there was the fried brekkie and the uneventful drive home. The next time I’ll be in Steyning will be the halfway point of my planned 2 day MTB traverse of the South Downs Way in August with Dean, Rob & Stu - at least it should be warmer then, if not as bright and sunny!

Eat pies.
Drink beer.
Run far.

21st February: Meon Valley Plodding

Through an unfortunate injury, Neil, a former colleague of mine and fellow entrant at this year’s UT55 and Lakeland 50 got in touch with me to offer me his place in the ‘Meon Valley Plod’.

This race is a tough 21 or so mile jaunt up and down hills on the South Downs centering on the Meon Valley not too far from Portsmouth.

With it being just 20 miles from my gaff, and the opportunity for a good training run not too far from the location of the Steyning Stinger that I am running in a few weeks it would have been churlish to decline the offer.

It is quite a low-key affair with a deliberately small field run by local running club ‘Portsmouth Joggers’ and because of it operating within its limitations of numbers it is never advertised and fills-up on word of mouth almost as soon as it is announced.

I drove down to the event base of the village hall early in the morning and gathered my thoughts and senses over my granola and coffee whilst we were all safety briefed on the route. Standing in the hall as we were briefed, looking around there were plenty of Portsmouth Marathon shirts and buffs to be spotted, along with loads of ‘Brutal’ ones as well so it seems the entry crowd is drawn from the same local events that I run as well.

Briefing... With a band to entertain before and after!

Once briefed we were all herded towards the nearby start in the village at a cross-roads and huddled-together against the cold we counted-down to the start and the headed-off along the road and up the hills on to the downs past bemused sheep as we hit the cloud-line.

The bemused sheep as we invaded their space and the cloud-line.

This lung-bursting initial climb mercifully plateaued and we made our way across the top of the hill over and through styles and gates before descending on the muddy slope the other side… Which was pretty-much a  template of the whole day.

Crossing the plateau.

Broadly you could describe the course as a figure of 8 on its side, with you heading off on to the westerly loop first before the slightly longer easterly loop. The race is in effect a series of 6 big hills all linked together, so you know every 4 miles you will be climbing a steep hard slope before getting some respite, then a good downhill and a flattish section to the next hill.

A welcome downhill track, even if a bit slippery!

Terrain underfoot for the most part was field/ farmland, some forestry road and some country lanes linking the various hills, so you were continually changing surface as well as attitude from climb to descent.

Downy view.

The aid stations were at regular points, with one of them being run by the guys responsible for the Portsmouth Coastal Marathon and included some shots of their beer that they gave to all the finishers back in December’s race!

Plenty of rolling countryside to be seen!

Signage and marshaling on the course was very good, and at the bottom of one particularly slippery field upon hitting the road at the bottom I was greeted by the cheery face of Claire, long-time friend and Pompey-based runner who was wrapped-up well against the elements marshaling for the day. I stopped for a bit to have a chat with her before pushing-on with the run searching for the next hill to conquer.

A cheery Claire marshaling away.

With the recent foul weather that has been the signature of this winter to date, the areas where water could gather had turned large sections in to complete quagmires - be they downhill tracks, or in the most amusing of fashions, a stretch of about a mile, the only really extended flat section we had, which was a sea of shin-deep mud punctuated by streams.

Which way now?

Attempting to run through this was highly amusing. You could not judge how deep the mud was with any step or be able to pick a natural path through it, so you kept weaving left and right through the mire, staggering along like a drunk kicked-out of the pub at closing time.

The start of the muddy fun!

The deepest mud though was saved to the very last section as you approached the finish line back at the village hall. Running around the top of the hill overlooking the village, the path was knee-deep at times with thick clay mud that sucked your feet in to it and I think pretty much everybody lost a trainer at some point and had to dig it out by hand before carrying on with the last few hundred metres down to the finish line!

One of the final views before descending.

Crossing the line I was knackered - it may have been around 21 miles, but the race was harder than a fair few marathons I have run.

Claire was waiting for me at the finish with her marshaling duties long since over so it was good to have a chat over a cuppa as I managed to wash the worst of the mud off of my legs.

Having been blocked-in by double parking I had to wait a while for other runners to clear-off before I could make my escape but a short drive home and I was ready to get the rest of the mud off me in a very welcome warm shower and warm-up for the evening.

This run I suppose was about as close as the south can offer to a ‘fell race’ and the atmosphere was very convivial. With its low-key nature and promotion only through word-of-mouth amongst local runners, most of the entrants already knew each other from their various clubs so it was quite cliquey in that regard, but everyone was still very friendly and willing to chat along the route between gasps for breath.

Lastly, I must say a big thanks for Neil in passing his entry on to me for this as it was a great training run ready for Steyning in a few weeks. I definitely owe him a beer or two if I get a chance to buy him one up in the Lake District later this year!

Eat pies.
Drink beer.
Run far.

7th February: CTS South Devon

So far this winter you can pretty-much sum it up as going from one storm to another. It has been surprisingly mild temperature wise, but instead of a winter’s chill we have had wind, wind and more wind blowing in off of the Atlantic along with the accompanying downpours of rain.

The forecast for race day was for more of the same and the drive down to Beesands for the Endurancelife Coastal Trail Series South Devon Marathon had me arriving at midnight parked-up on the sea-front as the waves crashed against the rocks protecting the shore below, with a lovely howl to the gusting wind.

Beautiful clear sunny skies of the morning!

Waking as dawn broke under a light shower I stepped on to the Endurancelife conveyor-belt that is registration where you are fed in one end and spat out the other with supreme organisation and efficiency. Emerging with time to kill I had a leisurely breakfast of my customary slab of granola (LSS’s special recipe) washed down with a couple of mugs of black coffee with 2 sugars and changed into my gear before the briefing.

Registration at first light.

At previous runnings of this event, through storm damage and severe weather warnings, the course has been forced to change for the safety of us runners. As such I was eager to find if this year’s route was going to be the traditional one, or if there would be any tweaks because of the aforementioned… Fortunately it was to be the expected route this time with the predicted foul weather not posing such a risk as to warrant any diversions.

I knew from the weather forecast even before leaving for the race, that today would not be about chasing times… It was promising to be more challenging with the wind and rain than it was during the Gower CTS in November, with the wind predicted to be far stronger and the temperature certainly colder!

Underway with the massed start a half hour after the field of ultra runners, it was already very slippery underfoot. The grass was almost slick with the mud below the surface and as we hit the first field at its tricky angle slope down and to the left, I watched as 4 people went arse-over-tit as their grip failed. Rather than follow the herd and risk the same by blindly trailing over the churning-up path I took a higher line over fresh grass rather than the muddy tracks of the ultras and the race leaders, which took me out of harm’s way and allowed me to get down and over the beach crossing at Hallsands without incident or a muddy stripe down my backside.

Off in to the wind rain and murk.

Climbing up from Hallsands we headed for the lighthouse at Start Point in to the strong gusting headwind… One of the runners in front was caught unawares by it and his hat was blown clean-off his head. Fortunately I was able to catch it as it bounced towards me along the path and gave me an impetus to catch him and hand it back.

Looking back.

Rounding Start Point and descending on the rocky trail, the white foaming sea was revealed below us; the roar of it hitting the reef making an impressive sound as we kept it well to our left, making our way over the next couple of slippery cliff-top fields on paths that resembled streams at times. Heading under a set of cliffs towering over the ones we were running over, the fields began to give-way to the beginning of the rocky technical trail that makes this part of the race my favourite stretches of running on all the courses I have run.

Today was not going to be a good day for photos of decent trail-porn, so I thought I’d do something different and film what it is like to run on this stretch; continually changing elevation, rocky stepped outcrops on the path and a little scramble to get over some of the cliff boulders.

Following a sharp right on another headland I saw something I had not encountered thus far… The wind was so strong that a waterfall was being blown back up over the cliff in the teeth of the wind. I couldn’t help but stop to photograph and film the spectacle whilst chuckling at my fellow runners going through an uphill waterfall, before following suite and running through it myself.

The uphill waterfall!

Having to brace yourself against the wind the whole time you were running just added to the pleasure of it, but after the turn off the coast up the estuary inland, and the shelter the trees afforded you from the wind and rain, it really was welcome respite as you no longer had to concentrate at the level you were till now. The trees seeming to be silent around you, making you aware of the roar of the wind high above you.

Through the first checkpoint it was the long slow trudge uphill back round and on to the top of the cliffs we were just running along, exposed to the elements again but at least this time the wind was mercifully at our backs.

Looping around on to the out and back section, where passing people coming towards you on the single-track boulder strewn path is always fun (as a marathoner on your way out you pass the returning leading ultras), I passed a couple of stragglers on the marathon course who must have been late starters, one lady seemed to be taking everything in her stride, the other was a younger guy in his early 20’s… He looked like the walking dead. He had no waterproof or windproof jacket, just black clinging lycra-based running gear without much layering - admittedly covering his arms and legs entirely, but he was soaked to the skin and with the wind ripping in to him, it looked like he had all the heat taken out of him and he was really suffering, with his face and hands almost white. He was only managing a shuffle at this stage - only around the 10k mark, so I was hoping for his sake that he would be timed-out at the first checkpoint or hooked from the race on safety grounds!

Off the out and back and we headed inland over the fields, the boggy quagmire of fields, that lead us back to the top of the hill overlooking the start at Beesands. With the rain of the day on top of the last week, we were confronted by ‘slippery hill’ - a grassy very steep downhill slope of a field that you normally have to side-step down even when grip is good underfoot, but today was a different story. Precariously picking my way down the hill I could see long muddy stripes on the grass where people had slipped, fallen & carried on going to the bottom.

Watching someone stumble, fall and toboggan down on their arse I did the only sensible thing open to me: grabbed the camera & started filming!.. No sooner had I started than I too came a cropper and landed on my backside, sliding to the foot of the hill, but at least I had been recording the event to capture the moment!

Terrific fun, I dusted myself down and grinning like a loon carried on running.

The next inland section towards the edge of Slapton is pretty uneventful, with more fields and country lanes before we descend in to the nature reserve and the duck-board walkway that at times was more stream and quagmire than anything resembling a path. Most of this section from the slide onwards I ran with fellow CTS marathon junkie Luke, and we were joined on the way in to the nature reserve by a lady running her first trail marathon. At one point she decided to attempt avoiding the muddy puddles by clambering around them on a bit of a bund only to be confronted around the corner with no other option than to embrace the cold wet mud and run straight through it!

This section to the final aid station gave us some welcome shelter from the battering of the elements that we had been experiencing all day, but the final leg of the run from the checkpoint at 25 miles threw us back in to the mouth of the storm. Running along Slapton Sands the head-on blast of the wind made progress tough, with walking leaning in to it with your arms streamlined behind you seeming to be the fastest method of getting in to Torcorss… Up and down the hill and we were on the short straight in to the finish and the chance to dry-off and warm-up in the Cricketers over a pint of ale.

Another marathon done, and whilst this is the fourth time I have run this course, it has been different every time and very enjoyable. Looking at the time I put-down this year compared to last, I was in reality far faster once you factored-in the conditions, which was a good confidence booster for further runs to come.

Eat pies.
Drink beer.
Run far.