Montane Lakeland 100 2014

It was hopefully going to be third time lucky. Two entries and two DNFs was the current rap sheet. I was a repeat offender. Was it going to be different this year?

2014 hadn’t been bad so far, I’d lost weight (about a stone down on last year), was running well for an old knacker. My son Paul Navesey, had put together a training plan for me and it was showing pretty decent results. I’d had a good SDW50 and knocked over 2 hours off of last years’ time to come in at 10 hours 8 minutes. Followed by a naff showing at the NDW50 and added those 2 hours back, which was entirely my fault. I learned from the first that I could do a decent 50 and the second I could screw up a decent 50. Ok, pick the bones out of that.

But this isn’t about covering 50 miles on the Downs. This about a 105 mile war of attrition against one’s body over the hostile terrain of the Fells. It’s not hard, it’s beyond hard. Montane’s slogan of ‘Further, faster’ should be ‘Further, than you think’. Because when you approach a crest, a climb, a rock filled path and you think it’s the last one before your next goal; there’s another one you’d forgotten about.

L100 route and aid stations

With that in mind I actually headed up to Coniston just wanting to get going. I was in a better place than the previous two years and the belief was there. If I’m honest with myself, it hadn’t been present before. And that was the end of self-honesty as I fully intended to lie to myself for the next day or so and constantly tell myself I was fine and it’s only a small hump and not a small/medium/large (delete as applicable) mountain I was about to head up.

We always get up to Coniston on the Thursday evening. It gives me plenty of time to register, overcome any last minute issues and I try to get my head down for a few hours before the start. Make sure I’m well fed and watered etc. Plus my wife, Bev gets to have a day chilling out around the area which she loves doing. As a bonus I got to have a quick beer with perennial race marshal Clare Shannon and briefly, chat to race organiser Terry Gilpin and catch up on the Thursday evening. Always good to hook up with the Lakeland ‘family’.

Early Friday morning and I wandered over to the gym at John Ruston Primary School for registration. Which, as always, went like clockwork and the well-oiled machine of the L100 team had me through in minutes. Issued with my new most valuable possession, the SportIdent ‘dibber’ electronic timing tag. used to clock in at the aid stations along the route. Then embarrassingly displayed my weight for all to see in black marker pen on my race number. I spent the whole race noticing that people who were bigger than me were also lighter. Well sod that, I’m still not breaking out the celery and Ryvitas. And yes, I will take two pieces of cake at the aid stations. I do believe I currently have calories to burn. But before that it was into the Endurance Store’s pig heaven of running apparel with my credit card yelling warnings at me about limits and other such mundane affairs. As it was it needn’t have worried as I have a fear of trying anything new at a race. But I did plump for a pair of Montane gaiters. Nice and simple and with the added advantage of spare elastics. To which I instantly thought “running pack repair kit”. Cha ching, and just £18 lighter. Then off for a kip.

Pre-race at Coniston – Photo: Bev Navesey

The pre-race briefing was the standard excellent presentation from race director Marc Laithwaite. Good information and advice as always. Just wait for ‘Nessun Dorma’, the L100 anthem which is performed at the start,  and the hooter now. In the meantime it turned out that many of the ‘Centurion family’ were in town. James Elson the race director of Centurion was attempting a Bob Graham round and my son Paul was supporting on one of the legs. Paul had been down for the L50 but after a stunning 10th in the Celestrial in Andorra a couple of weeks back and CCC in August, the L50 probably wasn’t a good idea just now. James is certifiably insane, on watching the L100 he commented “That looks fun!” Chris Mills was running the L50 and his wife Nikki was teaming up with Bev to provide support and ribald abuse as we went around our separate courses. Drew Sheffield, fresh from the Ronda Del Cims, Clare Shelly and Nici Griffin made up the Centurion posse. The four of them, less Nici, set off up the first climb of Walna Sca promising to try and get some pictures as I went past.

Early running up Walna Sca – Photo: Paul Navesey

Last minute panic pee, followed by another. Was I panicking or really just well hydrated? I decided to start lying early; well hydrated. Adjust the gaiters and laces, Nessun Dorma, countdown, hooter and off through cheering crowds. I was flying already, getting to Bev before she had her camera ready. Past the Bull at a steady jog and then everyone stops (except the truly insane) and walks up to Miner’s Bridge before heading up Walna Sca. 600 metres of climb to start a 100 miler, that’s pleasant. Normally I’d have deployed my poles immediately but this year everything felt fine. So I kept them folded for the first part of the climb and strode out.  Mindful of the warm temperature even in the early evening I had resolved to keep backed off even more than usual at the start of an event and save any work for the relative cool of the late evening and through the night. Paul was at the car park half way up to grab some snaps and give an encouraging thumbs up. About 100 metres down from the peak Chris and Nikki were heading back down and delivered the first pieces of ribaldry. Guys, when you said you were just going up the hill a bit….. Ok, where are Drew and Clare? Predictably, sat on the peak. Both looking as if they had just stepped out of an air conditioned room and not hiked up a 600 metre climb. While I was already a sweating huffing mess and the poles were now in use.

Heading up Walna Sca – Photo: Chris Mills

Down the far side the first issue appeared early. The socks were rubbing! This is where the rule of ‘P’ comes in. Prior planning and preparation prevents piss poor performance. I had a pair of old, tried and tested socks in my pack. I looked for a comfy place to sit and promptly swapped the socks. Twenty or thirty people streamed past but did I care? Nope, not racing them. The first guy I’m racing is changing his socks. And I can’t see the other guy, because he’s back at the start/finish with the clock. And away we go to Seathwaite and my first double helping of cake.

Normally I work on half a litre of water per checkpoint, roughly 5 to 7 miles. I’d gone through a litre by Seathwaite (7 miles). I decided to up the S-cap intake from one per hour to the maximum of two as I was drenched with sweat and it wasn’t really getting any cooler. I also resolved to throw as much water down my neck as was comfortable in the few moments I was in the checkpoint. To me it’s like a pit stop and that’s where you lose valuable time. I’m convinced that too much lost time in checkpoints greatly contributed to my DNF last year. Well if I wasn’t dibbing, filling up bottles or throwing cups of coke/water down my throat, I wasn’t staying. Off down the road cramming cake in my mouth as I went.

The climb up to Grassguards isn’t particularly challenging, this section has 385 metres of climb, a mere bump in Lakes terms, but I was feeling the draining effects of the heat. Time to break the poles out again and cruise up the slope. Through an unusually dry plantation. Normally a good place to sink calf deep in the mud. And an equally, and equally unusual, dry run down towards Boot. All going well. Wrong! As we crossed a fence off of the path on the drop down from Grassguards cramp seared through both thighs. Are you serious? 10 miles in, that shouldn’t have happened for hours. 50 miles on the SDW and not a single cramp. 10 miles on the L100 and it feels like a horse has just narrowly missed kicking me in the nuts. It’s going to be a long night. I later learned I wasn’t the only one to feel the onset at that point in the race.

I wanted to cover the 14 miles to Eskdale before it was properly dark as the path on the far side can be tricky to locate after dark. Hiking up the hill with a cup of tea in one hand and some carry out food in the other, I just about got there. It was dark but I’d located the path and not lost any time doing so. Pausing just long enough to put my crushed Styrofoam tea cup in my rubbish bag I ran down to the next checkpoint, between bouts of cramp, to refuel. 19 miles under the belt.

It was still pretty warm and that was slowing me on the climbs. Of which there are over 700 metres on this seven mile section from Wasdale to Buttermere which takes runners to marathon distance in the race. People were passing me but then I’d passed the majority of them in the checkpoint. After crossing the beck on the way up Mosedale I looked back and was treated to a sight I’d not had on my previous attempts. A line of bright head torches bobbing along in a snaking line back across the fell. That was a morale boost.

Looking back to Blacksail Pass (second notch in from the left) from Scarth Gap

Over Blacksail and Scarth Gap, then the run down to Buttermere. My standard ‘pit stop’ and away with my picnic. The descents had caused me real problems previously but great hill training advice from Paul had turned that around.

Scarth Gap on the sky line. With the path down to Buttermere clearly shown.

Braithwaite saw me sit down for the first time, 33 miles into the event. Just long enough grab pasta, rice pudding and to put my head torches away. Yes, torches. I had a small Petzl on a waist belt with a diffuser that spread a pool of light around my feet. It meant I could see what was underfoot all the way down the rocky descents of Blacksail and Scarth Gap. For my money, it worked.

Now it was the least hard section of the course. The 28 miles from Braithwaite to Dalemain. Time to use the early morning cool temperatures and the flatter terrain to get some steady jogging miles in. This section is traditionally kind to me and this year was no exception. The cramps that had plagued me through the night had eased out with the onset of morning, though the muscle damage had been done; it was manageable. Running comfortable along the side of Glendaterra to the checkpoint at the Blencathra mountain centre. Even the slope up to the Old Coach Road below Clough Head, which is probably better used for bog snorkling, was dry and springy under foot. Into Dockray to the sound of cowbells and cries of encouragement from the crew. To add to the occasion my old mate and verbal sparring partner James John Street is sat there quaffing his morning coffee. “Uh oh, there goes the neighbourhood”.

The next section is long and dry. Water is going to be an issue and I’d noted that the usual streams were mostly little more than muddy puddles. James passed me on the way into Aira Force with a cheery wave and the usual inter service insults. I responded in kind through a mouthful of ham sandwich and soup which I’d liberated from the checkpoint at Dockray. I’d met up with and was having a natter with Tracy Edwards from the Dirty Daps and Muddy Tracks running club. Before she paced away from me on the climb up Garbarrow Fell. An ability that she had which was to be a life saver for me later.

Hot jog into Dalemain Estate – Photo: Bev Navesey

The run into Dalemain was hot. Following my plan of hike when it was uphill and jog when it was down only really worked when there was shade. But there was a boost waiting as Bev and Nikki were there in the courtyard to cheer me through. My second sit down of the event and some admin. Feet ache but in good shape. Shoes battered, too battered. They’ve taken a real hammering over the last 60 miles and look like a possible problem in the making. Out of the drop bag come an identical pair of nicely worn X-Talon 212s. Seven large cups of water and a hot stew later. I’m good for gels, replaced spare batteries for head torch. Nikki douses my head with enough sun block to float the Bismarck. And away. Meeting up with James again on the way out of the checkpoint. A trait we were to repeat at Howtown and Mardale Head. The girls were waiting at Pooley Bridge with more encouragement and instructions to keep my hat on.

Admin at Dalemain, just before the sun block assault – Photo: Bev Navesey

After a steady run to Howtown across rolling, open Fell. Fusedale was everything I’d expected, a long slow drag which gains 765 metres of ascent. The temperature of the day sapping my energy to climb. So I opted for a steady cruise up resolving to use the drop down from High Kop to Low Kop and then down to Haweswater to make up lost time. Stopping briefly to fill up an already empty bottle from the running stream part way up Fusedale. I got to the 75 mile mark at Mardale just as James was leaving. I was knackered. A bit of a purple patch along the side of the lake at Haweswater had come and gone. I needed to sit down. Fortunately for me the midges had different ideas and after 5 minutes of being eaten alive; drove me out of the checkpoint. Off up Gatesgarth Pass with my now ubiquitous soup and ham sandwiches. Though hot soup and a parched throat isn’t something I recommend in normal circumstances.

Looking back from the lower part of Gategarth Pass to Mardale Head, Haweswater

Gatesgarth is a pig. Steep and rocky up. Steep and rocky down, not the biggest climb on the course at around 400 metres, but probably the steepest. And foot problems had started to manifest. The dehydration from the earlier heat of the day was probably not helping that. On the way down I met up with Ian Blakebrough and shortly after that Tracy Edwards and Simon Bennett joined us and we made a four as it got dark making our way to Kentmere passing through 80 miles as the showers started. We stayed as a team out of Kentmere and now the rain was coming down and it was getting cold. The Inov-8 Stormshell jacket proving its worth here. I was able to climb better now the heat had gone but I could feel the fatigue really setting in now. Tracy led us up Garburn Road. It’s steep and loose underfoot, goes up around 400 metres; and I was in bits. I locked onto her heels and just hung on. Just as I was at the point of not being able to keep the pace the gradient mercifully flattened for a moment. The respite didn’t last long though but it was enough to keep me going. Now I was back mentally holding on to the two pairs of feet that Tracy seemed to have developed, swimming blurrily in front of me.

Garburn Road

I just wanted it all to stop so I could lie down and close my eyes. At which point I deployed my pre-race stick it out weapon. I was in a hole, a big one. But I’d told my friends what I was doing. Some of these people had followed me through the DNFs of the previous two years and had sent me good luck messages for this year and I knew they were monitoring the updates. My family who had shared in my disappointments. Well not this time. I wasn’t going back to them with another loss. So with that mental reset it was back to the blurry feet and hang on. By the Time my vision cleared we were in Ambleside and the cheery face of Clare Shannon welcoming me into the checkpoint. 89 miles, we’re on the home straight.

Time for admin. Blister repair, stock up and go. 16 miles to push. We’d lost Ian but gained Nick Sale. I thought Ian had maybe cracked on ahead but I learned later he had dropped at Ambleside. A real shame as I had hoped he was on for a finish. Nick soon proved to be a real bonus as he realised early on we had gone wrong in the dark. As we were cruising close to cut off with our pace his intervention was invaluable. I knew this section pretty well so after our early error pushed on to try and save time with the navigation. Though in the dark and with the lack of sleep I had to stop and think a couple of times, it cost us time but not as much as blindly wandering down the wrong route. We began to use the ground as best we could. Heading along the flat river bank we decided we should try and jog. Off we went, grabbing time where we could.

Just after the Chapel Stile checkpoint on a short but nasty little climb we lost Simon, who had been checking the road book as we went to confirm my navigation. Again Tracy had led the climb and while Nick and I dug in behind her, unfortunately Simon couldn’t hold the pace. We didn’t stop at the Tilberthwaite checkpoint. I told the others as they were better climbers than me and I had enough to get me through to the end, I was going to just dib and go. Knowing they would catch me on the climb. But they both said they were of the same mind and we would all go together. We cracked into Tilberthwaite with over two and a half hours left on the clock and just over three miles and 280 metres of ascent left to go. Our time grabbing from Ambleside had worked. We dibbed in and went straight up the steps on the side of the hill out of the checkpoint. I hate those damn steps! Well, I do now.

I was slowly dropping back from the others and Nick was pulling ahead but in the end we stayed pretty close across the top, about 30 metres between each person. Until I could see Walna Sca through a gap in the hills ahead. The last crest! Wrong! What did I say earlier? There’s always one more than you think. Ok, it’s a small one but at over a hundred miles in, it’s still one last smack in the teeth before you leave. And then it’s downhill all the way. Except downhill on smashed quads and raw feet is not really much fun. But we ran it anyway. At least, it felt like running. I’m not sure that it looked like it. As we got near the Bull pub entering Coniston we caught up with James who gave me a big grin “Thought I’d come back and get you old man”. Cheeky sod.

Passing the BP garage Nick asked “Is this the way? It’s uphill!” There’s always just one more hill, though in this case it’s more of a bump on a normal day. “Yes mate, around the corner and we’re there. C’mon, it’d be embarrassing to get run over in the middle of the road this close to home”. Down towards the school, people by the side of the road cheering even this late into the race. Bev getting out of the car by the side of the road where she’d just parked.

“Morning”.
“You’re early, I wasn’t’ expecting you just yet”.
“Well I’m not stopping”.

And finally, after 105 miles, under the gantry and the final dib. Tracy was suffering and struggling to run downhill so Nick and I had pulled ahead slightly. 38 hours and 50 minutes on our feet. Tracy wobbled into the school hall behind us to the cries of “100 finisher!” I turned to high 5 her (aware I was a bit on the ripe side) and she said “Bollocks to that this deserves a hug, even if it’s a sweaty smelly one”. Bev was there with the massive grin on her face that really just said it all.

Finally, Nick and I at the finish. Tracy just out of shot – Photo: Bev Navesey

And thus ended my Lakeland 100. I had the tee shirt, I had the medal. Most importantly I had the right to own them. And to cap it off I’d met some truly exceptional people. Where else would a complete stranger work their arse off to help you?

As a footnote I checked the results and was heartened to see that Simon had indeed made it. We’d got through the night working as a team but a brutal fact of the L100 is that if you want to finish, other than an emergency, there isn’t much room for compassion.

Will I go back? Yes, I plan to run the 2015 L50 returning in 2017 to knock some time off the 100.

Special thanks to:
Paul Navesey taking the time to put a plan together for me, help, advice and always working on ‘when’ not ‘if’.
Bev Navesey for putting up with my obsession, making sure we always had somewhere to stay and driving me back home when I’m in bits.
Nikki Mills for ensuring I don’t get sun burn for the next 30 years!

Kit list:
Inov-8 X-Talon 212 trail shoes
Inov-8 Stormshell 150 Jacket
Inov-8 (there’s a pattern forming) Hot Peak cap
Asics Trail Short Sleeve Half-Zip T-Shirt
Ron Hill trail cargo shorts
X-socks Sky Run socks (version 1)
Ultimate Direction Scott Jurek running pack
Black Diamond Ultra Distance poles
LED Lenser H7 head torch (Petzl Tikka backup) with energiser lithium batteries
Oakley Radar Path glasses

Edit: since writing this report I have secured an entry for the 2015 L50. Watch this space.