Anglo-Celtic Plate – Watching the dream unfold

North Inch Park, Perth

My son, Paul, in his usual understated way, had informed us that he’d been selected to represent England at the 2016 Anglo-Celtic plate; the British 100km road racing championships to be held in Scotland at Perth’s North Inch Park on the banks of the river Tay. But we couldn’t say anything until the whole team had been announced. What his brief message did was unleash a frenzy of activity as wife Bev went into planning and logistics mode. Booking flights, hotels, transport etc. It seems I was going to Scotland for the weekend of the 26th and 27th of March. Daughter Emma was not to be denied a trip and duly tagged along.

I then sat back and watched things unfold and generally stayed out of the way. Other than the mandatory telling of friends that Paul had been selected, my input wasn’t going to be required until a chauffeur was required from Edinburgh airport to Perth. Bev on the other hand, was in up to her armpits. Frequently jumping on her bike to peddle the back roads around Chailey in pursuit of Paul on his ever increasing training runs. Constantly coming in looking like a drowned rat as a result of the marvellous weather we’ve enjoyed thus far in 2016. He was putting in a terrific amount of effort, guided by his coach Alison Benton. I’m not sure who was most relieved when taper time came, Bev or Paul.

More good news arrived when we learned that friend, and Centurion team mate to Paul, Edwina “Eddie” Sutton had also been selected for the ladies team.

The ACP 2016 Circuit

The day arrived and we piled on to the train at Haywards Heath for the journey North. After a remarkably uneventful trip we were in Avis at Edinburgh airport to pick up the car. The agent spotted my HelpForHeroes and ParaCharity wristbands. “What were you in?” “ParaSigs mate, do you do defence discount?”….”No”….crap. “I was gunners myself, [pause] I think we can upgrade you” Ha! Blood is thicker than water. Maybe lady luck is smiling on our weekend?

A comfortable drive to Perth, straight to the hotel, no dramas so far. Paul had spotted a Pizza Express close to the hotel and was was possibly the happiest man in Scotland as a result. No prizes for guessing that night’s dinner venue.

James Elson and Drew Sheffield. You want these guys on your side.

Saturday was pretty mundane. Other than Emma was doing the local park run that morning at North Inch Park, Sunday’s race venue. Paul and I wandered over to find them, he’d already had an early morning recce and a quick run around so apparently knew where we were going. We met Anthony Clark, one of Paul’s team mates, on the way while he was out for a quick run of his own. But we’d not seen sight nor sound of Emma and the park run. Though on the other side of the park we saw some bright tops. Err, we’re in the wrong place. A quick trot across the width of the park and we managed to turn up just in time for Emma to storm to a finish….somewhere in the field. But; she did win the sprint to the line that was being hotly contested by one of the local runners for that place.

Emma holds off the local challenge

Brutal stuff this park run lark. So with the main event over, we didn’t have anything to do until the side show started on the Sunday.

Paul headed over to the team hotel during the day. Emma and I wandered over to join him after dinner that evening. Taking the opportunity to meet up with Eddie. Who nine months after giving birth to her third child had got herself into contention for the British 100km championships and an England vest. Don’t let the sweet smile fool you; Eddie is as tough as they come. It was a bit of Centurion get together as Centurion race director James Elson, along with usual suspects Drew Sheffield and Claire Shelly joined us while the athletes all went off to get an early night. James somewhat tentatively asked me what my intentions were for the following day with regards to Paul.

Park run; it’s brutal!

He was somewhat relieved when I replied that I was going to sit back and watch him crew Paul through the race. I know what I’m good at and I know what James is good at; he’s very good at running races (in both senses) and supporting runners in races. I’m good at designing IT networks; pretty obvious what abilities would be required the following day.

Race day: 7am start, followed by 42 laps of the 2.381 (IAAF measured doncha know?) circuit of Perth’s North Inch park. To be completed in 13 hours. Which Paul was planning to only use 7. He’d trained for 7 and was going to pace for 7. James was determined that he’d pace it properly. We all congregated just past the start/finish gantry at what was the team aid station /crew area. Meeting up with another good friend, Centurion team, GB 24 hour runner and all round star; Debbie Martin-Consani. Husband Marco was racing for Scotland and had his race face on, but Debbie was all hugs and wide grins as usual.

Start of the 100k

With very little fanfare the race got under way. Straight from the gun Paul hit the lead and led the field past the crew area and out onto the first lap. Just under 10 minutes later (9.45 if you want to be pedantic) he reappeared, still in the lead. Marco chasing just under 20 seconds behind him. Which in an endurance race is absolutely nothing to get excited about. In ultra distance terms that’s neck and neck. So with the race under way endurance spectating begins. The first order of the day was to get the coffee orders and head back to the hotel to get breakfast. I’m going to support, but I’m not going to starve doing it!

Paul leads the field out onto the first lap

When we returned laden with take away coffees for everyone Eddie was just coming around the circuit with a big grin plastered on her face and shouted out “Paul’s storming it!” We delivered coffee and James quickly updated us in somewhat more clinical terms as to what was going on. Which was basically, everything’s going to plan. Paul was extending his lead lap by lap. James had slowed him a fraction as he was running too hard early on. Paul is very good at gauging pace, James simply told him what pace to run and monitored it.

James, Marco and Rob with England’s Chris Singleton in close attendance

After about an hour Marco had been joined by Scotland team mates Rob Turner and James Stewart. England’s Anthony Clark, Chris Singleton and Nathan Montague, and Wales’ Daniel Weston all in close attendance. Paul was just over 2 minutes ahead. Again, not a massive margin in a race of this distance. Eddie was a close second to Scotland’s Sophie Mullins in the ladies race with England team mate Melissa Venables a couple of minutes back from them. This set the scene for the next few hours with Paul running through getting instructions from James and grabbing drink and food from Drew, he would later move to the other side of the park keeping an eye on things from there.

Unsung hero Claire with Emma

Claire taking over feeding duties, promoted from reserving one of the portaloos for Paul when he had warned of an impending requirement for the following lap. Can’t waste time in a queue!

Nathan, focussed

Nathan was winning the gentleman of the race award by thanking everyone for their encouragement and also his crew on every lap. Chris was putting in a quiet workmanlike performance. As was Anthony, shadowing Chris just a few minutes back at this point. The England men were plugging away steadily.

James instructing Paul

The ladies race was running similarly with Eddie taking the lead from Sophie and giving instructions to husband Bryn who was crewing her. Mel and Katie Samuelson calling out instructions for each following lap for everything from food to sunglasses.

Sadly, at just over 3 hours in to the race England’s Gemma Carter had to withdraw due to injury. By which time Paul had built up a 7 minute lead and was running strongly, maintaining his focus. Behind him the men’s field was still fairly close with just a few minutes covering the majority of the national team members. Eddie had pulled out a 4 minute lead on Sophie, a 10 minute lead on Mel and Katie was a minute further behind Mel.

England Girls Gemma, Katie and Mel

At 5 hours and 30 laps in the men’s race was continuing in the same vein. Paul was building his lead lap on lap and had now lapped the entire field. Looking comfortable and assured. He looked like he was doing an extended track session. He had a 12 minute lead and had just dipped into 10 minutes per lap. Up to this point he was running mid to high 9 minute laps. Places were changing behind him Rob Turner was holding second with Marco and then Dan and Chris covered by just 3 minutes. Anthony and Nathan running 4 and 9 minutes back from Chris respectively. As the race was progressing into the later stages, the attrition common to such an event was beginning to make itself known. Chris having to stop briefly to ease some cramp out. While we were treated to the sight of Marco, at 6 foot plus, being hoisted up and down to relieve tight quads by Debbie, barely topping 5 feet.

Debbie, James and Drew

In the ladies race Eddie was holding her lead at around 5 minutes but Mel was closing down Sophie, chipping away at the gap. But not just Sophie, she was beginning to eat into Eddie’s lead too. Katie was riding shotgun a few minutes back, keeping herself between Sophie and her Scotland team mates Charlotte Black and Fionna Ross.

Eddie and Sophie mid race

Nine laps from home Anthony passed Chris to take 5th place and set about closing in on Marco. Paul was maintaining his 12 minute lead over Rob who was now being hunted by Dan who had in turn closed the gap to a minute.Meanwhile Mel had passed Sophie and was now only 4 minutes behind Eddie and taking chunks out of her lead. Eddie was feeling the pace and her more recent return to fitness was showing as she took the opportunity to slow down through the crew area while Mel was trotting through at the same, almost metronomic, pace. Eddie was hurting and battling whilst Mel was looking comfortable.

Katie Samuelson

Another two laps and Dan had pushed past Rob. Paul’s pace had dropped off towards high tens but he began to reel that back to mid 10 minutes per lap over the last 8 laps and maintained his lead as he began to get the closing lap countdown from the organisers. Until at last he got the final lap bell. James hadn’t stopped monitoring, talking and advising Paul through the whole of the race and now he ran down the track with an England flag to wait for Paul.

James on flag duty

He didn’t have to wait long, Paul must have wanted to see the gantry as he dropped the hammer to run the last lap in 9 minutes 46 (have a look at his first lap time). At last, he grabbed the flag from James and waving it jubilantly over his head ran it in to cross the line in 6 hours 58 minutes and 52 seconds. At which point his focus dropped and he went from poetry in motion to car wreck in about 20 seconds. Collapsing into a chair to try and take it in. He was the British 100km champion.

Paul wins the 2016 100km Championship

But the race didn’t end there. Dan extended his lead out over Rob to take second for Wales in 7 hours 11 minutes and 47 seconds, Rob secured third for Scotland in 7 hours 17 minutes and 11 seconds. Anthony crossed the line to start his last lap just three seconds behind Marco, taking 4th place and racing around to finish in 7 hours 17 minutes and 43 seconds. Marco held on to 5th in 7 hours 18 minutes and 31 seconds. All five inside the GB team standard qualifying time of 7 hours 28. Chris cemented England’s team win finishing 6th, just 47 seconds out of the team standard time. with Nathan making absolutely sure of the team win by securing 7th in 7:37:27.

Anthony 4th, yeah, he’ll take that

Mel Wins the Ladies Race

With just 6 laps to go in the ladies race Mel passed a very tired and slowing Eddie to win in 8 hours 15 minutes and 54 seconds. Eddie hung on for second in 8 hours 24 minutes and 5 seconds. Beating Sophie by just over 6 minutes. Katie closed out the top four for England in 8:43:35.

That Hurt

England had secured both the individual winning places and also both the team wins. It was the fastest individual 100km time outside of a track in Scotland. Not a Scottish record though because Paul isn’t Scots! But pretty impressive all the same. It had been a hard day for all the runners and they had given their all for their respective teams.

Tired but happy, Eddie finishes

This sport has an incredible community but outside of that community it is virtually unknown. The local paper in his home town hasn’t even reported the fact that a British champion lives less than a mile from their office (yes, they have been informed). The first 5 men and the two England girls all achieved GB team standard, in Paul’s case individual standard. They qualify for GB team places at the world championships this year. They could do very well there, but in an era in which how many likes one gets on social media takes primacy over actual achievement, I doubt anyone will notice. It won’t stop them giving their all and having immense pride in wearing those colours though.

Two of Scotlands finest.

Last year the GB men’s and ladies 24 hour team returned with men’s World and European team gold and World and European individual bronze, the ladies with European bronze medals. The Independent is the only media outlet that reported it, and that was only because one of the team members wrote an article for them.

Yes, you are the British Champion

So the next time you hear someone running Britain down and saying Britons never win anything, you can tell them that actually Britons are pretty good at stuff. It’s the British media that isn’t. And on that note I’m going to look forward to seeing some of those exceptional Britons performing at world level in Spain at the end of the year. Many of them I hope are named in this blog post. Can’t wait to see them all again. If the media won’t recognise them, well, we’ll just have to damn well do it without them.

CCC – Winning a lottery by accident.

CCC Route

What had I let myself in for? Well, I knew what I’d let myself in for; half a lap of the Mont Blanc massif. Yes, the big pointy one in the Alps with snow on the roof all year round, is what I’d let myself in for! Or 101km of stupidly big hills (6100m of ascent. 20000ft in old money). Either way you look at it, it wasn’t going to be pretty. Scenic, yes. Pretty? No. I’d been way too successful for my own good.

Let me explain how I got onto this particular runaway train. The UTMB (Ultra tour de Mont Blanc) is, simply put, a 170km lap of Mont Blanc. Starting and finishing in Chamonix. It is the bucket list ultra marathon. In fact it is so hugely popular that a string of other races has spawned so as to take the pressure off and also reduce the disappointment of those failing to secure a place. These races (all held over the same week) have gained huge popularity in their own right. The CCC (Courmayeur – Champex – Chamonix) being one of the most popular. The entry process is; firstly one must qualify by completing races that carry UTMB qualifying points. That gets you into the lottery. You then simply see if you come out of the hat. If not, you have the choice of another race if there are places available, or qualifying again and entering the following year but with two entries into the lottery. If you still fail to get an entry then provided you qualify again, the third year you are in by right.

Look for this symbol on Ultra Marathons

Well last year I qualified! So…….I had a bright idea! Thinking that I probably wouldn’t get in first time, when the lottery opened in January, I’d enter. With a view to getting the double entry for 2016, when I felt I’d be more ready to tackle the Alps.  The result of this ‘bright idea’ was that I promptly came straight out of the lottery with a place in the 2015 race. I was one of the lucky 1900 with an entry. No, that’s not a typo. There are 1900 starters at CCC.

You did what?

Those of you who have read my last post will know that I was a bit beaten up at the L50. The niggling ankle injury hadn’t gone away and had picked up some friends for company. But this time I’d taken my own advice and trained around it. Not long runs in the hills (well, not very long), a decent track session with the club. I do love the track sessions! Definitely making that  big part of my training through next year. And after phoning around, managed to find a physio who wasn’t booked up or on holiday. So while I wasn’t in racing snake mode, I hadn’t sat on my butt in the interim between the races either. Though I did pull out of a 5 mile club race on the morning of the race as it definitely wasn’t feeling like a good idea. But the bottom line was that I’d kept moving and had someone more knowledgeable than Dr Google have a look at my ailments. They were not ailments come race day.

August 25th, Tuesday night saw Bev and I on the Newhaven-Dieppe ferry on leg 1 of the journey to Chamonix to meet up with our son Paul, who had been out in Chamonix training for around 4 months. He’d been just outside the top 20 when he pulled out with injury last year. He wanted to be ready for this one. So a bit of a family reunion took place when we finally arrived early afternoon on Wednesday. And Chamonix was already in full swing. The TDS (Sur les Traces des Ducs de Savoie), 119km the ‘other’ way around Mt Blanc, had started that day. OCC (Orsières – Champex – Chamonix), starting 53km out from Chamonix, started the following day CCC and UTMB on Friday. They all finish in the same place so runners are streaming through the town all hours from Thursday onwards. A small village of wooden huts springs up selling the wares of all the promoters. Not many deals to be had though. But plenty of goodies all the same.

Passed kit check

At around 7pm Paul and I grabbed our kit and wandered over to check in. We joined the long queue and chatted as it rapidly wound down and into the sausage mill of UTMB/CCC check in we went. We saw Paul’s flatmate Robbie Britton undergoing his blood test (elite entries to UTMB undergo this). Also Rich Ashton, who’d withdrawn from last year’s UTMB. He’d come into an aid station crying for his mum. Unfortunately his mum was there with the car; so he got in. He too was back to set things straight. We had a chat and joked about the races in general after getting everything from race numbers to bus passes in a remarkably short space of time, then went our separate ways for dinner and early nights.

Thursday evening hailed the arrival of friends Chris and Nikki Mills, so we met up at one of the many cafes. Chris was another back for revenge on a course that had kicked his arse for him last year. He’d been working hard in the interim. We discussed the early tactics over coffee amid the intermittent cheers and clapping as runners finished TDS and OCC. Then it was another early night for all. The clapping and cheering continues through the night. This is one of the few places you can safely ring cow bells at night without getting thumped by the residents.

CCC course profile

6am came around and Bev and I got our kit together, leaving for the 7am bus. A fleet of buses take the runners to the start in Courmayeur via the Mt Blanc tunnel every 15 minutes. Accompanying family members can also make use of the buses provided you reserve a space. These same buses then carry supporters around to the various check points that are accessible by road. Chris and Nikki were on the same bus and were waiting for us with coffee and croissants. Superstars! Paul was already in Courmayeur as he’d gone through to spend the evening with James Elson, the Centurion running race director, who was running UTMB. We all met up in Courmayeur at James’ rented apartment then wandered up to the start. Paul going straight to his pen, Chris and I to ours and the friends and supporters spread out along the route through the town.

Chris (left) and I in the pen

The field is segregated into three pens based on each runner’s I-TRA (International Trail Running Association) ranking. Paul was in pen 1 with the elites. Chris and I in pen 3. Chris could have gone in 2 but preferred to take a slow start. The race rushes through the town and we didn’t want to be caught up in a mad rush at the start of a 101km race. To ease congestion as the trail narrows each pen sets off 10 minutes apart. Race time goes on pen time. The strains of the UTMB anthem, Vangelis’ Conquest of Paradise, floated through the air and the first wave was released. Chris and I had 20 minutes to wait so we relaxed and chatted until our turn came. Pen 2 went. Then 10 minutes later “….Trois, deux, un…Aller!” The remaining runners surged forwards and began to flow through the narrow winding streets. We

Courmayeur

spotted Bev and Nikki getting the photo’s and mobile video (breathe in chaps), further along was James his wife Lisa and son Louis, with Drew Sheffield and Clare Shelley, the latter two would be acting as crew for Paul. The road steepened and we began to hike up into the forest and out of town.

Leaving Courmayeur and entering the forest for that first ascent.

The weather reports had been unsettling. Up to 35C at 1000 metres. But under the canopy of pines it was cool and we strode comfortably along the road, which soon became dirt track and started to narrow. It also got noticeably steeper. It seemed our early tactic of staying back and taking the first climb slowly but steadily was paying off. I kept losing sight of Chris as people meandered around the trail and cut each other up, but he wasn’t going to be far and sure enough I caught a glimpse of him just a few metres ahead. Concentrating on the dirt trail amongst the pines I occasionally caught glimpses of the stark, imposing wall of Mt Blanc through the trees. But for the most part it was head down and hike. All the time avoiding flailing poles. If you have a real pole aversion I suggest you stick to the Thames Path or Grand Union Canal. The vast majority of competitors have poles, and not all (ok, most don’t) seem to care where they wave them.

We entered a clearing and everything had stopped. There was a bottleneck as over a thousand runners had attempted to filter into a single file. We’d been stop/starting all the way to this point. A look at the watch told me that our pace was well within what we had planned. But still we weren’t moving. After a time people stopped coming out of the forest behind and we were still stationary, but right at the back of the field now! We were well over our time and pace target and I was getting frustrated. When finally we began to move again. Now we knew why people run like mad through Courmayeur at the start!

More stop/start as we cleared the narrow ledge that had caused the hold up. Finally clearing the forest, stepping out on to open mountainside. And into the sun for the first time. But there was a cool breeze so it wasn’t uncomfortable. I was right on Chris’ heels now and we settled into a strong rhythm to get us to the top. Already people were beginning to fall to the side. Could have bloody well done that before adding to that damn blockage! We began passing more and more other competitors. At this point a young donkey decided to join us. As it tried to nudge in ahead of me I wasn’t’ having any of it. I didn’t wan to hike up a mountain with a donkeys arse in my face, it was bad enough having to follow Chris’ derrière! But Chris wasn’t likely to kick, drop a large turd or take a leak like a fountain without at least warning me first. Plus Nikki wasn’t there to tell him to suddenly turn round and come back, the donkey’s mum was. So it wasn’t getting in front, and we tussled for the place for a while. A contest I ultimately won and the donkey joined the conga line a few places back and settled in and travelled along with the race. Until as I’d predicted, with a sound like a stack slates being sawn through, mum called and junior promptly turned and headed back down the trail without an ounce of trail etiquette; I was vindicated.

Mt Blanc from Tete de la Tronche. Courmayeur in the bottom left corner

Having have to endure Chris’ poor donkey jokes, as well as the real thing, he finally called out something useful “Checkpoint’s just over that near crest”. And suddenly we were there atTete de la Tronche. We’d been climbing constantly for 6 miles and gained 1400 metres (4400ft) of altitude, it had taken us 3 hours and 28 minutes, we were 45 minutes over schedule thanks in large part to the enforced stops. My heart rate was going like a jack-hammer, which I put down to the altitude as we were over 2500 metres (8400ft) and I figured that my heart was clocking up some overtime trying to deliver oxygen to the bits that needed it. But I felt pretty good. The check point here was just that, an electronic timing point. We were checked through and began the descent down to Refuge Bertone and the first actual aid station. A group of people were on the top supporting, they read the name on my race number and called out an enthusiastic “Venga, venga Steve!” as I jogged past with a breathless “Grazie mille” in return, we’re still in Italy don’t forget. I love the idea of competitor’s names on their numbers. Even though these people didn’t know me, probably couldn’t even speak the same language, it still made the experience more personal and uplifting. This was repeated at stages along the trail, never failing to raise a smile from me.

Refuge Bertone

Chris was gone, he’d pointed his nose downhill and vanished, I let him go and concentrated on my own race. The run down to Bertone is sandy, rutted track and actually not bad to run at all. Steep in a few places but nothing drastic. My quads were still working after the first climb and I felt pretty good. Not to worry, that would soon pass. Bertone came up and it was a mad house. A mass of people milling, trying to get water bottles filled. Joining the throng to top up water, grabbed some cake from a table and downed it. It dried my mouth out so I got more water. Now I’d stopped I realised how hot it had become. Not only that I was suddenly feeling very tired. This was concerning, I was less than 10 miles in! A few moments to clear the grit from my shoes and back on the trail

Setting off along the side of Val Ferret towards Refuge Bonatti I really began to feel the heat, later learning that at this point on the trail it was hitting 32C. The trail undulated and I tried to keep to a steady jog, but I was feeling intermittently dizzy and mildly nauseous. Getting through my water and topping up at a stream as I passed. Dipping my hat in streams at every opportunity gave a few minutes of relief. The jog had become a hike every time the trail turned up. And cramps had begun to bother me. The muscles in my quads used most for climbing, also the ones hardest to stretch out, were most affected. It wasn’t salt deficiency as my calves were fine, it was a conditioning lack. This was going bad, fast. My vision closed in to the trail in front of me, spinning my hat round to protect my neck with the peak, flipping my sunglasses up each time I went into shadow so as to be able to pick out the roots and other trip hazards. Idly wondering how long I would remain disciplined to do that. Only dimly aware of the grey slab of Mt Blanc sliding by on the other side of the valley.

Refuge Bonatti

Stopping to take 5 and try and stretch the more persistent cramps out, another British runner passed and told me that the check point was just over the rise above us. I’d never have stopped if I’d known it was so close! Course knowledge is key. I hiked up, checked in and set to filling bottles. A sign said Arnuva 5km. Brilliant! It also said that the cut off time was 16:30. No problem, until I looked at my watch. Are you kidding me?! It’s 15:40. I’ve got 50 minutes to do a 5k in boiling heat with cramps. It’s taken a geological age to get this far. Crap! Another British runner I’d spoken to earlier in the race came over to speak to me. He was relaxed and chatty, not understanding my urgency to get going. “But we’re at Arnuva” was his response to my explanation. “No we’re not, this is Bonatti and Arnuva is 5km away” His face fell and I turned and headed back out on the trail. Yep, course knowledge.

The run down to Arnuva in the bottom of Val Ferret. Gran Col Ferret is far right on the far ridge

The last stretch down to Arnuva

Still trying to beat the cut into Arnuva

The path down to Arnuva is mostly descent so I started to jog again. Keeping an eye on the watch and looking out for the aid station. The minutes were ticking by and I didn’t think I had enough of them. Bollocks, might as well get a souvenir, so I took a photo. Then continued what I now imagined to be my fruitless task of reaching Arnuva before the cut off. Passing other runners now, all palpably with the same sense of impending failure. Then I saw the checkpoint in the valley below. But it was a steep winding route down, not direct by any means, I was going to go for it anyway. Through the trees and round the seemingly endless switchbacks. Until it flattened and I was channelled into the aid station, over the timing mat, expecting the hand on the shoulder and  the sad shake of the head. But no. My watch said 16:31, the race start had been 9:01. It seems I’d scraped in. Either that or it went on pen time and I was actually 20 minutes inside, that’s how the finish works. Either way I frantically grabbed some bananas and water then cleared the check point before anyone could change their minds.

Just outside the checkpoint was flat, next to a river made grey by snow melt. I was utterly drained and sat in the shade of some trees to try and cool down and get myself together. Whilst doing so some French guys, members of the organisation came past and told me, quite nicely, that I couldn’t stay there. Or was I stopping? I realised that these were the sweepers. I’m back to the back of the course! This day is going from bad to worse. I shrugged on my pack and got going over the bridge and started the climb to Gran Col Ferret. Only I didn’t. As soon as I got out into the sun again my momentary feel good feeling of cooling in the shade evaporated and after only a short distance I ground to a halt. As I turned and faced the sweepers one of them asked “It’s not possible?” “Not today, not for me”. He nodded sympathetically and indicated that one of his colleagues would take me back to the Arnuva check point. I looked at the distance on my watch. 17 miles, I couldn’t believe it. My race was over after such a paltry distance, a distance it had taken most of the day to cover. Ok, that 17 miles had comprised 1900m of ascent and I had been climbing for over half the day, but that was no consolation. However, other races were still going on, so it’s not over, not by a long chalk. I wasn’t going to mope for long.

The incredible organisation that is the UTMB had those of us who had withdrawn on a bus back to Courmayer in very short order. It was a shock as to how short the road journey was! A few minutes after arriving I was sat on another bus back to Chamonix. Texting Bev to give her the bad news. The response was that Paul was in 15th and flying! I punched the air and shouted, sitting bolt upright in the seat, which set off cramp in both thighs. Ever tried to ease out cramp sat on a bus? Not advised.

Paul leaving Trient under the watchful eye of Clare (centre) and Drew (right)

But it wasn’t going to last. Paul had trapped his foot between some rocks whilst running and damaged tendons. Physios at Trient had strapped him up and he was back on the trail, but we didn’t know what the damage really was. He got to Vallorcine, just 20km to go and I got the text I’d been dreading. The injury had forced him out. This was not going to plan.

Bev, Paul, Clare and Drew got back to the hotel. Paul wasn’t too despondent. It was just one of those things. So we decided to go out and grab a beer and feel sorry for ourselves. But before we left, more bad news, James was out of the UTMB, a hip injury he’d picked up at Lakeland 100 had reared up. Robbie and Rich were still in, Chris was still in CCC. We went to a bar and James joined us straight from the course shortly after. We had the background of intermittent applause as the top of the CCC field were making their way through the town. Each sharp report stung. Clare, James and Drew left for Courmayeur, we three left for the hotel.

Sat eating breakfast at the Cafe l’Atelier the following morning the three of us were trying to figure out where Chris was. Paul thought he’d finished but there was no update, he was through the last checkpoint at La Flegere. “Ah, there he is”. Looking out of the window I saw him run past the cafe going towards the finish with two other runners, Anna Buckingham and Doug Brailswood.

Chris, Anna and Doug cross the line

Oh well, some good news at last, he’s unlikely to drop in the last 200 metres. Robbie and Rich were still in UTMB too. Come three in the afternoon that all changed. Robbie was out at Trient after 140km, skinned toes had become too much for him. It would have become too much for anyone. he’d made a poor shoe choice and had stripped the skin from the tops of his toes. Changing shoes had kept him in, but not far enough. Just Rich still going, and he was going strong. In fact at 9.45 that evening he was still going strong when Paul, Bev and I were stood by the river as he went past into town, ringing our cow bells, whistling and shouting encouragement to him.

The last checkpoint on the ridge behind the pine. The final run in along the far bank of the river.

And that was it. A packed few days had come to their conclusion. Far less success than had been hoped for, or even anticipated. I had lined up with the full expectation of completing a hard course. I’d had my worst finish since 2012. So what went wrong? Well, not a lot really. But then, not a lot needs to go wrong.

The kit I had worked well. The Compressport trail shirt was excellent, the Inov-8 RaceUltas worked a treat. I had been given a Salomon Sense Ultra 3 pack which was an absolute dream. My kit was as good as it could have ever been. I was capable of the distance, I was capable of the climbing, I was capable of operating in the heat levels. Historically I’d ticked those boxes. But on the day; I wasn’t. The combination of the intense climbs allied with the heat simply made it too tough for me that day. Added to that, I lost the mental battle, when I didn’t know where I was or what was coming up, because I hadn’t been out to recce the course (it’s marked, so it’s not technically necessary). Finally when I saw the sweepers the negative voice in my head gained superiority and wouldn’t be silenced. I can blame a lot of things and those that were outside of my control number precisely zero. The stand out one being inconsistent training.

So what next? Well a full club cross country season beckons through the winter. Along with other local races up to half marathon. Speed training and conditioning. My ultra season is over until January 2016 and the Spine Challenger in the Pennines. Then there is a busy year ahead of four 50s and a 100 after that. I foresee lots of race pace runs over appropriate terrain in my future. I also see consistency in training becoming paramount. Will I go back? Would you walk away from such a dismal result with your head held high……? That said I don’t look upon it as a total failure, a steep learning curve, yes. It’s only a failure if you stop trying……In fact, I have more than enough points to qualify for 2016……What if I drop a couple of those 50s……………?

 

 

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.