Recing the mud (aka Viking) way
1) The training doesn’t work if you don’t do it
I deliberately do much running during the Autumn, to let the car-seat induced hip niggle I’d been nursing all Summer heal. The plan was cycling (indoors on my turbo trainer) with the occasional weekend foray into the Peak District for mini mountain marathons would keep me fit-ish and then I’d start ramping the running back up in December. Come the end of November my legs were feeling fine and I was looking forwards to getting back running properly. However the aftermath of the wonky-finger incident led to the hip niggle flaring up again, and I was back where I was at the beginning of the Autumn. But minus any fitness.
The plan from the outset was to walk the whole way over 2 days, carrying sleeping kit. The first 10 miles, where the route meandered along the sides of fields through various villages, were OK. But then everything started hurting (back, legs, feet, the lot...) and didn’t stop.
2) It should really be called the Mud Way rather than the Viking Way
I’d read various blogs which mentioned the mud. However I’d convinced myself that this was Southerners moaning about a couple of inches of mud. And then I hit mile after mile of the 2nd worst mud I’ve ever come across. The worst mud I’ve ever experienced is the infamous ‘Mud road’, just South of Bellingham on the Pennine Way. But that at least is fairly short, and due to forestry vehicles working. This went on for miles and is caused by wankers in four by fours deliberately destroying the countryside for fun (‘greenlaning’ my arse). Having grown up on a farm, I just can’t get my head around the concept of Landrovers as a toy rather than a tool.
If it wasn’t just that the mud was deep, but that the vehicles had carved deep ruts in it. So you have the choice between paddling through deep, uneven puddles you can’t see the bottom of, or tottering along on the muddy ridges between them. At one point the track crossed a river. I didn’t fancy either wading through the puddles or balancing on a ridge with a 2 metre drop to one side. So I ended up scrambling down the bank and paddling through the river instead!
All in all this was a bit of a rude awakening. Maybe the ground will dry up a bit before April, but there are huge stretches of the route that are never going to be smooth and easily runnable. And even if my legs are feeling relatively good at this point I’m going to struggle to move at any more than 3mph.
Mini mountain marathons: things went wonky
I’ve done a handful of mini mountain marathons over the past 2 years. They’re way too short, and the terrain’s far too gnarly, for me to do well at them. But I’ve done OK (as in mid-field overall) at the RAB ones, where it’s possible to navigate mostly using paths and trails. The Peak Raid 3 series on the hand need proper ‘off-piste’ navigation, and at my one attempt last year I finished almost last (thanks to choosing a route which maximised the amount of time I spent on the Pennine Way). So my goal was to be a bit a braver with my route choice.
Peak Raid 3 round 1: Edale
Things got off to a fairly good start on familiar terrain. As usual I picked a route which started on the Pennine Way, but followed it up with some proper navigation (compass bearings, aiming off etc.). Despite the clag being down I found the controls OK, and extended my initial route to take in a couple more. My one mistake was heading back up onto the Kinder Scout plateau (to avoid traversing a bog), but not even thinking about adding a quick out and back to an extra control which I had enough time for.
These events have tough late penalties (50 points deducted for each minute late), which reinforce my natural aversion to being late. Overall I finished mid-field (and 3rd LV40 out of 8), but the bottom end of the table was propped up by a significant number people who lost most, or all of, their points and a handful who somehow didn’t manage to bag a single control. (I tried to convince the OH that he should enter one, on the grounds that he could have a gentle stroll out to one of the nearby, easy to find controls, and not finish last.)
Peak Raid 3 round 2: Old Glossop
Thinking I’d got to grips with proper orienteering events, I reverted to form, picking an overly conservative route which avoided the high scoring controls in the bogs and stuck to the part of the moor which I knew. I got ‘overly clever’ with my navigation to the first control and had to back-track. But otherwise my navigation was OK, the problem was my route choice. With an hour to go I only had one more control and a mile and a bit left of my planned route. I spotted an alternative, longer and slightly higher scoring, route back and started off on it. But I (justifiably I think) got worried about finding the controls and decided to play it safe and head back as originally planned.
Even with the time-wasting detour I was back with nearly 30 minutes to spare, and towards the bottom of the leader board. Looking at the map afterwards I’d have been better off reversing my route, the extra 2 controls would have been easier to find in the opposite direction. But the main problem was not being brave enough to go for the hard to find high-value controls.
Peak Raid 3 round 3: Grindleford
After the Old Glossop debacle my plan was to be more brave, and in particular to spend a couple of more minutes planing an extendable route taking in a couple of high-value controls before starting running. The first 2.5 hours went pretty well. After an hour I’d bagged a 50 point and a 60 point (both of which were fairly straight-forward to find) plus a couple of other controls. With time to burn I planned a much more ambitious route back, traversing the moor across featureless terrain to take in a tricky 70 pointer. I went a bit astray, but managed to relocate myself and (partly thanks to spotting other runners) found it.
At this point I had far more points then ever before, and an hour to get back along a route with 1 control on it and 2 potential deviations. Feeling bold I went for the 1st deviation. The control was down a gully which made it easy to find, but slow. Getting back on time was going to be a bit tight, so I decided to give the 2nd deviation (closer to the path, but potentially harder to find) a miss. Running along a familiar path I was thinking that, due to the lack of training, I was a bit more tired than I’d usually be after 2.5 hours of running but at least the annoying longstanding hip-leg-ITB niggle was finally gone and hopefully I was going to make it back on time.
And then I kicked a rock and went flying. I nearly managed to ‘save-it’ and stay upright, but failed and crashed flat out. I thought I’d not done any major damage until I put my hands onto the ground to push myself upright, and spotted that the first 2 sections of the middle finger of my left hand were pointing in the wrong direction. Some random walkers passed and (in shock I guess) I waved my hand at them, announced I’d dislocated my finger and wondered whether or not I should try and put it straight myself. Sensibly I decided not. Another runner stopped and offered to help, but I was feeling fine to walk myself into the finish. After a few minutes I decided to phone the organisers to let them know that I was going to be late. The finger wasn’t hurting but it was beginning to sink in that a trip to A&E was going to be necessary, and driving myself probably wasn’t a good idea. So I phoned the other-half and asked him to come and rescue me. I took a longer route back, sticking to paths that I knew to avoid having to navigate.
In the end I was 20 minutes late (and all my points were long since gone) and the organisers were waiting to help me out of my muddy shoes and sit me down with a cup of tea. The OH arrived soon after and took me to Chesterfield A&E who were fantastic and (after plying me with lots of painkillers, local anaesthetic and gas) got the finger back pointing in the right direction.
The next few days (which involved a flying work trip to Madrid) were ‘fun’ with only one fully functioning hand. But remarkably the finger, despite being swollen and out of shape, never really hurt at all. In the words of the orthopaedic consultant I ‘got away with it’ and somehow didn’t do significant damage to the ligaments. I’ll never know whether or not I would have got back on time and keep my massive (by my standards) points haul.
RAB Mini Mountain Marathon: Saddleworth Moor
Getting to the other end of the Peak District at the end of a busy week always going to be a tall order. Throw in ‘the finger’ and a re-niggling hip (thanks to the OH having to change my car seat set-up when he came to rescue me) and a weekend snoozing on the sofa was more appealing.
Peak Raid 3 round 4: Crowden
I was a bit nervous about getting back running off-road and any controls which involved scrambling would be off-limits to me. However I really wanted to go back to Crowden and improve on last year’s miserable performance. I spent several hours pouring over last year’s map and thinking about potential control locations and route choices. The finger was getting better but still too swollen for gloves, so I bought some Prism mitts especially. I dragged myself out of bed early, got my gear on and headed out the door only to find that the temperature had plummeted overnight and my car doors were frozen solidly shut. I then tried the OH’s car. I managed to get in, but the windscreen de-icer froze on the windscreen and the petrol tank was almost empty. Plus I was getting paranoid about running and driving on the ice, in particular falling and landing on the injured hand again. So I heading back indoors and back to bed, and then spent the day sulking.
So all in all, the Autumn didn’t go to plan. But (apart from the last 30 minutes...) I did enjoy the three events I managed to do. And round 3 showed that if I’m brave with my route choice I can potentially do OK even at short events which require proper navigation. Provided I stay on my feet...
Leed Liverpool Canal Race 130
I recovered from the Thames Ring fairly quickly, but (thanks to a holiday, a family get-together and a migraine) I only had a couple of weeks to prepare for LLC. And I spent that time focussing on not coming last at the (not very long, but very hilly) Long Tour of Bradwell. Not ideal preparation for 130 flat canal miles. It should at least have meant I was going in fresh. But no, I tend to suffer from under-use injuries. The car head-rest induced niggle I got in the Spring came back, and my right achilles randomly start playing up. I could feel it niggle on short runs on the Mon and Tues beforehand, and then it ramped up to down-right sore on Thu’s short run and all day Fri. I’d never felt less ‘up’ for a race. But the other-half was off to South Korea for work, so I might as well give it a go, and if I had to drop I could help out on one of the checkpoints (something I don’t do often enough).
I headed over to Liverpool by train on Friday night and stayed in a former prison. The room was a bit small (even for me) but the thick walls did a good job of keeping out the noise of the nightlife. The race started at 6am, so I set my alarm for 4.30 and downed 2 caffeine tablets for breakfast before heading to the start.
photo: Ross Langton
We headed off just after dawn and through what looked to be some slightly down-at-heel parts of Liverpool. There was a bit of back-and-forthing, but I settled down into a 25:5 run:walk routine and my customary early position, close to the back. The caffeine tablet breakfast turned out to be a bad idea. My bowels grumbled lots, but I managed to hold it in until I was far enough out of the city for there to be a suitable bush.
shuffling, photo: Ross Langton
The first checkpoint came into view, sooner than I expected, as I rounded a bend in the midst of a walk break. I broke into a ‘run’ again and was complemented on my shuffle. 100 miles in that would be a good thing. 13 miles is too soon to be shuffling, but that’s what I was doing. My achilles had eased off, but I was having difficulty lifting my feet off the ground and they kept catching on things. I had plenty of snacks so apart from refilling my water bottles I went straight through the CP.
Not long after CP1 the route got rural, and the path very narrow and rocky. I overtook a handful of people though and arrived at CP2 in 28th place (out of 34 starters). I stopped here and restocked my snacks and nibbled on some of Gill’s excellent cakes. The next stage through Wigan felt like a long haul, and I was still dragging my feet (literally). Plus my stomach was being fussy earlier than usual and I regurgitated a Mule bar into a bush. I began to seriously consider dropping out at CP4 at ~50 miles (before a 20 mile stage) if I didn’t feel better. The highlight of this stage was passing Wigan Pier. [Embarrassing confession: as a teenager I thought Wigan was on the coast. Because it had a pier (I’d tried and failed to read ‘The Road to Wigan Pier’, after enjoying ‘1984’), and you only get piers at the seaside...]
By CP3 I was feeling sufficiently better that I only stopped to refill my bottles. The next 10 mile stage went smoothly, and the route reminded me of the Chesterfield canal, one of my staple long flat training runs. I had a longer stop at CP4, ate some of my cold pizza, drank some coffee, changed my socks & relubed my feet and got my gear ready for the night.
The run through Blackburn and Burnley went fine, despite it being Saturday evening. The worst thing that happened was a bunch of middle-aged men slapping me on the back good-heartedly when they discovered what I was doing. I did get a bit fed-up of being told I ‘didn’t have far to go’ though. A gorgeous sun-set was followed by a full moon and the temperature didn’t plummet like it usually does at night by water. CP5 was busy (with several people looking the worst for wear) and I managed to do some over-taking by only stopping for a coffee and some fruit. (I was offered all sorts of other foods, but none of it appealed, and I felt embarrassingly princess-y turning it all down.)
I’d managed to stick to my 25:5 run:walk routine (with occasional variations to make the most of nice even sections of path). But my running pace on the narrow, rocky paths had become glacial, so I decided to switch down to 10:5, and focus on trying to run at a decent pace during the run sections. A couple of miles before CP6 there was a deviation away from the canal and I caught up with Pete J. He initially thought I was Roz and apologised profusely. But I was happy to be mistaken for somebody far taller and more runner-shaped (even if it was dark). We overshot the turn back onto the canal, but quickly realised we shouldn’t be running uphill to get back on it.
I had another coffee at CP6, but my stomach was (as usual) becoming a bit unhappy. During the next stage the route overlapped with the Pennine Way for a little while, which was a bit weird. As was seeing a head-torch going in the opposite a field away. At this point the canal was very wiggly, but in the dark the wiggles weren’t obvious. I eventually caught the head-torch on another deviation away from the canal. It was Roz who was struggling with badly blistered feet. We chatted for a bit before I pressed on, making the most of the nice smooth tarmac. I got a bit carried away though and missed the turn back onto the canal and ended up taking a detour through Gargrave (which triggered some Spine Race reminiscences).
At CP7 they were cooking bacon and egg sandwiches, which didn’t make my temperamental (veggie) stomach feel any better. Again I was offered all sorts of food, and again I felt embarrassed turning it all down. So I said yes to a chicken flavoured (but veggie...) pot noodle, and slowly ate most of it, which was a mistake. I felt sick for the next few miles and my stomach got even more fussy. Crisps were too greasy, Hula Hoops too dry and a blackberry gel made me gag (it took a whole hour to get it down). So the only things I had left I could eat were espressos gels and (surprisingly) Mars bars.
The Sun came up soon after and I passed Peter F settling down on a bench for a nap. I didn’t feel tired then, but not long after it hit me (the power of suggestion maybe?). I took a couple of caffeine tablets and an espresso gel, and resolved to gut-out the 45 minutes it would take them to kick in. However I couldn’t resit the lure of a bench and set my alarm for a 5 min nap. I’m not sure whether I nodded off or not, but I got cold and had to get up and start moving again before the alarm went off. Eventually the caffeine kicked in, but I was still a bit sluggish. First Peter F charged past me as if he was out for a short morning run and then I suffered the ignominy of being overtaken by a power walking little old lady.
Water taps are far less common on the LLC than on the Southern canals, so topping up where there was water was crucial. Up till now I’d managed to find the taps which were marked on the maps OK, but I messed up at the Bingley Five Rise locks. Just beforehand there were several cafes, but I thought it would be easier to just use the tap. There was no sign of it at the top so I crossed the canal and went down the 5 steep sets of steps, assuming it would be attached to the stone hut at the bottom. But it wasn’t, and I couldn’t face climbing back up to the cafes. I tried to eke out the rest of my water, but I couldn’t eat without water, and without my drip-feed of calories I’d grind to a halt. I contemplated going off route to look for a shop, or even asking random people for water, when I came across a teenage boy who’d set up a stall selling water and other stuff. I was extremely happy, and relieved, to buy some water and he seemed happy to have a customer.
I caught up with Peter F, and another runner who looked to be in a bit of a state, at CP8. I ate a couple of nectarines (which were heavenly) and a mint, which did a fantastic job of settling my stomach (in future I’ll put a packet in my rucksack). The path into Leeds was pretty good, but busy. The walkers and cyclists were better than on the Oxford canal and the GUCR into London. But I had a couple of ‘encounters’ with dog walkers. One of whom told me their big red dogs wouldn’t hurt me as they jumped around me, head-butted my bum, and stopped me running. And another who stood on one side of the path while his ‘status’ dog on an extendable lead stood on the other side. I don’t know if he expected me to hurdle the lead!?
Eventually I came to the final set of bridges. One of the ‘joys’ of canal running is the bridge numbers. The next landmark (a crossing or a CP) is bridge x. You’ve passed bridge x-1 and a bridge comes into view ahead. Is it bridge x? No. It’s bridge x-1 A. And then comes bridge x-1 B, and so on. Sometimes the letters go up to H. Over the course of the race I got good at guessing from a distance whether a bridge was old (and hence would have a number of its own) or new (and likely to have a suffix). The final set of bridges were close together however, and pretty soon the finish came into view where I was (to my surprise) presented with a shiny purple trophy for first female by Dick:
purple loving person receiving purple trophy, photo: Gill Elomari
When I entered I came up with 32 hours as a rough goal (by working backwards from my GUCR time and forwards from a flat 100 time). I actually finished in 32.22, which I’m satisfied with given that I didn’t really do any proper training after the Thames Ring and I never felt good on the day. Finishing 1st female was mainly luck, or more precisely other people’s bad luck (Roz’s blistered feet and Sharon’s injury). Overall I was 9th, but that placing is rather flattering. 8th was 2 hours in front of me, but 6 people (including Roz) came in in the hour and a half after me.
The most surprising thing is that over the past couple of years I’ve grown to enjoy canal running. I entered GUCR in 2013 simply because it was a box to be ticked. Running in the hills was my first love. Part of the change of heart is because it turns out I’m better at plodding on the flat. But the canal runs are far more interesting and enjoyable than I expected: the contrast between the urban and rural bits, the satisfaction of travelling on foot from one city to another, the engineering and (especially on LLC) a glimpse back into the 18th century. [Apologies for the pretentious twaddle...]
The long tour of Bradwell, take 3
My track record at the Long Tour of Bradwell (a 33 mile trail/fell race in the Peak District) is a bit crap to say the least. In 2009, in the buildup to CCC, I finished last in 9.25. And then in 2011, in the run up to a failed attempt at UTMB I finished last again in 9.32, having officially missed the mid-way cut-off by 2 minutes (the marshals waved me through with the words ‘we know you, you’ll just keep plodding on’). And I haven’t been back since, even though it’s right on my door-step.
I didn’t ever consciously decided not to run it again, but finishing last (and in particular having marshals waiting for you at every checkpoint) isn’t much fun. While I love running in the hills, I’ve realised over the last few years that I’m much better at plodding away on the flat, and that’s what I’ve been doing mostly. This year I’ve been so focussed on Thames Ring 250 (TR) training that I’ve only been out into the Peak District to run a couple of times. But one of the ‘crazy future plans’ I came up with on a post Thames Ring high was going back to the LToB and not finishing last.
It was initially a joke but over the next couple of days it crystallised into a plan. How on Earth did I think I could run faster in the hills after a year of flat plodding than I did after months of focussed hill-training? By running (slowly) up the gentler, less-technical ascents. When I first starting running ultras I fell into the trap of walking all the hills. Which on hilly races like LToB meant I wasn’t actually doing much running. My plan was to transfer my flat 100+ mile shuffle into an up-hill shuffle.
A week after the TR we went on (a non-running friendly) holiday, leaving me with two and a bit weeks to prepare. The weekend before I did the first ~16 miles of the course, partly to make sure I could move at cut-off pace and partly to check out a fiddly bit of navigation. This went fairly well. I managed to shuffle up hills I’d always walked before. However I was also still in TR eating mode, and bought and ate a cheese & onion pasty which repeated badly. Nonetheless I was inside cut-off pace, so it was game on.
At the start of the race I was reassured to see a handful of other runners who didn’t look like fell running racing snakes. My first goal was to make the 5 hour cut-off at 17-ish miles. At the start the organisers said this would be strictly enforced, and with more slower looking runners entered I’d already realised they couldn’t wave it for just me this time. I was fairly confident that if I made the cut-off I could deploy my new found plodding skills on the flatter 2nd half of the route and not finish last.
I reached the 1st dibber, a mile and a bit in, just behind a group of 3 men, and looking quickly over my shoulder there was at least one person behind me. A good start. In 2011 the rest of the field were already out of sight by this point. Next came the 1st climb. I walked the initial steep rocky bits, but then started running, easing my way past half a dozen people who were walking and breathing heavily. I felt a bit silly. I expect they thought I was a clueless numpty who was going to crash and burn, but no-one said anything.
The slippy, rocky decent into Castleton is one of my least favourite parts of the route and as I inched my way down several people overtook me. I over-hauled them again on the flat through Castelton though.
Just before the climb to the Mam Tor ridge I caught a couple of blokes and an amusing conversation ensued:
Them: ‘How’s it going?’
Me: ‘This is a bit short & hilly for me.’
T: ’What sort of distances to you like to do?’
M: ‘Anything over a hundred miles’. ‘
T: You sound like my friend Kate’.
M: ‘Do you mean Kate Hayden?’
T: ‘Yes’.
They then started talking about a race in which they’d run sub 7 min miles with Kate. I’ve never run a single sub 7 min mile in my life. But I managed to pull away from them on the climb up to the Mam Tor ridge.
At the top I could see the next 2 runners in the distance, however they pulled away as I minced my way down the rocky decent. I finally caught another pair on the top of the Kinder Scout plateau faffing around with a GPS. Not only a sub-optimal way of navigating this route, but also against the race rules... I led the way to the dibber at the Druid’s stone and then they charged past me on the steep, grassy decent. I caught them again at the farm at the beginning of the climb back onto the Mam Tor ridge, stopped for water and looking a bit the worst for wear. It was one of the few hot sunny days this Summer. But the Thames Ring (and our holiday in Laos) had left me fairly well acclimatised.
I managed to shuffle some of the shallower parts of the ridge before heading down towards Hope. I spotted the photographers from Sport Sunday and attempted to speed up a bit and suck in my tummy. Judging by the photo I wasn’t particularly successful on either front...
Heading through Hope and up onto the flank of Win Hill I realised I was going to be inside the cut-off. My focus then was to keep pushing on the next runnable section to see how much inside I could get. 22 mins, significantly better than 2011 and similar to 2009 (when I’d pushed hard to make it and then died on my arse). The marshals asked how I was. I said I was just getting warmed up. They weren’t amused. Or at least if they were, they concealed it well.
I overtook another runner at the checkpoint and headed through Bamford and along a detour (which I think lengthened the route slightly) towards Stanage Edge. For the first time I managed to run the shallower bits of the climb, and all of the rocky edge. I finally caught up with the two runners I’d spotted from the 1st climb of the Mam Tor ridge at the next checkpoint. In a rush to get out not too far behind them, I first spilt water all over a plate of sliced bananas (‘sorry I’m flooding your bananas’). Then, instead of going along the road, for some unfathomable reason I took the shorter but slower rocky route across the river and slipped and fell. It was pointless anyway. They pulled away again as they ran the path down towards Padley Gorge significantly faster than I could.
Padley George was (unsurprisingly given the weather) packed with people picnicking and having barbecues. But this year I wasn’t jealous of them. I was feeling good and I wasn’t last. After inching my way down the last technical descent, through the disused mines, I breathed a sigh of relief. And promptly tripped over a small stone...
I ran all the way into the next checkpoint, passing the pair just before sat having a snack. They repassed me and pulled away again though. I’d been wondering if I could sneak in inside 9 hours. However this last section was longer and not as flat as I’d remembered. I did manage to keep running the gentler ups though, driven on by voices I thought I heard behind me. I even managed to run almost all of the final steep track and the pair came into sight again.
I followed them down the steep decent to Bradwell. At a point where I expected to turn left the tape went right instead. I initially wondered whether it had been moved, but further pieces of tape appeared, so I assumed this bit of the route had been changed. I began to get suspicious as we steadily climbed back up, and past the finish. My suspicions were confirmed when a pack of disgruntled blokes appeared coming in the opposite direction. The path, and tape, apparently continued back onto the top of the hill.
We headed back down, and I stepped aside to let two guys who were moving faster on the off-road descent past me. Once we hit the road in Bradwell I was back on my terrain though. I repassed one of them straight away. A small boy told me I was doing really well. I said `thank you’, rather than ‘but I’m nearly last’. I ran with, and chatted to, the other bloke for a bit and then we gradually upped the pace (to nearly 10 minute miling!) through Bradwell. I’d been thinking that I’d let him dib in first, since he’d saved me from wasting even more time. But hitherto undiscovered competitive tendencies kicked in and (I’m ashamed to say) I just beat him to the line.
I wasn’t last. By the end there were a whole 18 (count them!) people behind me. This was largely because a lot more slower runners did the race this time. But I did also manage to run a bit faster/better. I finished in 9.15, 10 minutes faster than before on a longer course (with an added detour) with no real hill training. Realistically I’m unlikely to ever be anything other than ‘back of the pack’ at ‘short’, hilly races, but not being off the back of the pack is an improvement. And hopefully I can employ my plodding uphill tactic to finally (at the 9th time of asking) dip under 7 hours at Wuthering Hike next year.
Thames Ring 250
"Don't worry I'm not racing! I'm just in 5th place accidentally... As soon as I stop being able to run I'll start sliding backward rapidly"
Text from me to the OH, ~27.5 hours and 106 miles in.
Preparation
In the past two years, the Thames Ring has slowly moved from 'that's batshit insane' to ‘I quite fancy a go'. And when entries opened I was one of the first to throw my hat in the ring.
Training went OK, not great, but not too awful. I started the year by having a go at the 'Run until you drop' (RUYD) challenge in February. The main challenge was fitting 4-5 hours a day of (very slow) running around work and commuting. I thought I had it nailed, when out of the blue injury struck on day 26 and I had to drop. Thankfully the injury cleared up after a couple of days and I got back to 'normal' training. At the time I thought RUYD wasn't great training. I'm already very good at running long distances very slowly. But in retrospect I think running lots of slow miles on tired legs might have helped.
In April I ran the Taby 100 in Stockholm. I never felt great, and the course was more technical than I was expecting. However I kept running the runable bits until the end and was fairly satisfied to finish in 24h 41. Time to ramp up the training. However we bought a 'new' car, with a headrest at a very silly angle which screwed up my right leg/hip. The headrest position was sorted out with a mallet but it took a while for my leg to recover.
In general I was getting the miles in, but they were a bit slow and more effort than I would have liked. About 3 weeks out I came down with some sort of lurgy, which had me in bed for 24 hours and feeling crap for the next week. Time for an early taper, during which I continued to feel sluggish. And then work started kicking my arse. The last few weeks of term are like a wac-a-mole game. Every time I put my mallet down another bunch of grinning rodents would pop up. Come race-day I was glad to escape and not have to think about anything other than putting one foot in front of the other, sleeping and eating. However I was worried that I wouldn't have the mental or physical strength to push through the bad patches I'd inevitably encounter.
Goals
i) Finish
ii) Finish without getting as bloody miserable as I did at T184.
iii) (if I get to 200 miles feeling fairly comfortable)
a) get as close as I can to 90 hours
b) finish 2nd woman
After the Spine last year I got cocky and went into T184 with some over-ambitious goals: sub 60 hours and in the first 5 women. The time goal was always unrealistic. However I gave up on running for no good reason, got really miserable and walked it in far slower than I could have done. It turned out to meet the position goal all I had to do was finish, but I wasted a lot of energy obsessing about where the other women were.
So my main aim for the TR was to avoid a repeat performance. I'm a slow runner and an even slower walker. But I can usually keep up a decent run-walk for longer than the rest of the back of the pack. What typically happens is that I'm right at the back up to 20-30 miles, work my way forward while I'm still run-walking and then slip back again once I stop running (usually somewhere between 80 and 125 miles). So when and where I'd finish at TR would depend hugely on how long I could keep the run-walk going. I was hoping to push it out beyond 125 miles.
Position in the women's field is a bit of a silly thing to focus on; it depends hugely on who's entered. However having finished 2nd woman at both the Spine and T184 I quite fancied adding TR to the collection. It wouldn't necessarily be easy, or even possible. In the 3 previous editions of the race only 2 women, in total, had finished. However this year there were 5 of us entered. Karen Hathaway was one of the favourites for the overall win, and the other 4 of us all had decent prospects of finishing.
Stage 1: Goring to Hurley (27 miles)
photo: Paul Ali
I took up my usual place at the start: at the back. Despite running ~11 min miles, the bulk of the field disappeared into the distance, and the other back markers passed me when I took my first walk-food break 30 minutes in. I'm not sure if I was ever DFL, but if I wasn't, I wasn't far off. I kept repeating the mantra '5mph is quite fast enough at this point'.
Somewhere during the first stage I teamed up with Henrik, one of the Swedish runners. I'm pretty anti-social (under-statement of the decade...) and usually prefer to run on my own. But, having spent two years living in Stockholm, I'm also a big fan of all things Swedish. Henrik was happy to go along with my 25:5 run walk routine and we chatted intermittently about various things. Including the Taby Extreme Challenge, a 100 mile race in Stockholm which we'd both run and also the very different approaches of Brits and Swedes to pacing in ultras.
It was pretty hot and even 5mph was a bit of an effort. Although I was at least (unsurprisingly) moving faster than when I'd done this bit on the T184. I was rattling through my water supplies faster than I'd have liked and was very grateful for the water station that Paul Ali had set up in Reading, ~11 miles in. Definitely preferable to topping up from the toilets at Sonning lock.
Over the next few miles we began hauling runners in. People were clearly suffering in the heat. I was desperately looking forward to getting to Henley and finding a shop to get cold water and ice-cream. However several miles before, we came across the oasis of the village shop in Shiplake. I bought a Calippo and ran on with it in my hand until it was warmed up enough to eat/drink. It was so good I got another just before CP1 at Hurley. The field was pretty bunched up at this point and there were quite a few people at the CP. I restocked my rucksack with food from my drop-bag, grabbed some fruit from the CP and was off again pretty quickly.
Stage 2: Hurley to Chertsey (55 miles)
The next stage was again familiar from T184 and also the 2013 Thames Path 100 (the flood year when it got rerouted onto an out and back route). I had an unscheduled walk break through Marlow when I caught up with Javed (who was on his 2nd loop of the course...) and we shared Spine Race war stories. After passing the scene of one of my multiple failed naps at T184 (the porch of the church at Cookham) I detoured to a garage to buy more water. I had some left from the CP, but it tasted funny. In retrospect this seems a bit princessy, later on in the race I'd be happy with anything vaguely wet. At Eton I stopped and bought more water. Other people were buying food, but my stomach wasn't up for anything more substantial than the snacks I was carrying.
On the run in to Windsor I went back-and-forth with various people, and moved forward a bit through the field. Some people seemed to be walking more than me, but walking much faster than I can. From Windsor to CP2 at Chertsey I was on my own, arriving there just as it got dark at ~10pm. There were a handful of fast-looking blokes there and I had a bit of a 'wowh' moment. What was I doing up with them? Had I gone out too fast?
Stage 3: Chertsey to Yiewsley (82 miles)
I'd been planning to keep up a 25:5 run-walk routine for as long as it felt comfortable, hopefully 70 or 80 miles. But given the hot day, and my worry that I'd gone out too fast, I decided to switch down to 10:5. Over the next few miles I first caught up with Spenser (who'd passed through CP2 while I was there) and then Marcus. We chatted about how we were surprised to be so far up the field, and he broke the news that we were in 7th and 8th place. Wtf!? We went back-and-forth a couple of times as I switched between running and walking, and eventually I pulled away.
I was trying to keep at least one full bottle of water at all times, but during the night was struggling to find taps to fill up from. In desperation I filled up from a pipe provided for canal boats owners to clean stuff with. It wasn't 100% clear what the stuff was (washing up? toilets??) and even though I replaced the water soon after I got a bit paranoid that I'd contaminated my bottle with sewage.
Just after Teddington the route passed through some woods, which felt a bit odd in the midst of London, and not an entirely comfortable experience (especially when I passed a car load of teenagers parked at the end of a road). The route through Isleworth, and off of the Thames Path and onto the Grand Union Canal, was a bit fiddly. So I slowed to a walk to make sure I got the navigation right.
The beginning of the GUC was a bit grim and I struggled to get back into my 10:5 run-walk. I eventually got to CP3 at ~6am, feeling pretty crap. There were a handful of people here, several of whom had, or would, drop out.
I'd been vaguely planning to get through to night two (and hopefully Milton Keynes) before sleeping. However a quick nap now seemed like a good idea. I'd done a bit of reading about the science of sleep and, also following advice from Joe Falconer, had decided to sleep in 45 min blocks. I found a space on the small, sloping, patch of grass and crawled into my sleeping bag.
I didn't sleep properly, but did at least managed to doze a bit, before one of the CP helpers came to tell me my 45 min was up. In the shade it was pretty cold, and I sat in my sleeping bag shivering while I tried to eat, drink coffee and restock my rucksack.
Cold dominos pizza is usually one of my favourite running foods. However I hadn't touched the two slices I'd been carrying since the start and they were smelling pretty rank. So I decided to ditch the lot rather than risk food poisoning, but this left me a bit short of savoury calories.
Stage 4: Yiewsley to Berkhamsted (106 miles)
I set off with my insulated jacket on, but soon warmed up as I settled back into my 10:5 run-walk. This section, which I knew from GUCR, went pretty smoothly. Apart from a deviation off route to go to a toilet, for no good reason other than I fancied having a wee somewhere other than a bush.
Part way through I passed another runner asleep on a bench. He seemed fine so I kept going (the last thing I'd have wanted if I was him was someone waking me up to ask me if I was OK). It put the idea of a snooze into my head though, and shortly after I found a comfy looking piece of grass and set my alarm for a 5 min nap.
I arrived at CP4 a bit over 27 hours into the race. This was an hour or two faster than I'd vaguely planned, but I was feeling fine so wasn't particularly worried that I'd gone off too fast. However I was shocked to find I was now in 5th place. And worried that the OH would be following the tracker and wondering what the hell was going on. So I sent him a text message, telling him not to worry: it was an accident and normal service would be resumed later, when I stopped running and the faster walkers behind marched back past me. [It later transpired that he’d checked the online tracker for the 1st time that morning. And (based on my position relative to the rest of the field) had initially assumed that the route went in the opposite direction, and was a bit concerned that I appeared to be a long way behind the main pack...]
My usual CP foot routine (remove socks, air feet & relube) revealed one small blister on one of my toes, which I drained. I was surprised (and happy) that my feet were holding up so well.
Stage 5: Berkhamsted to Milton Keynes (130 miles)
photo: Dan Connors
This stage started well, apart from a brief stop to tape the blister which was sore. Things then got tougher. I had another 5 min nap at Grand Junction Arms and then wasted time trying to find an ice lolly. The grass was harder to run on than the previous gravel paths. However I was spurred on by various people on canal boats telling me that I looked better than the two blokes in front.
It was initially a relief to hit the better path at Leighton Buzzard, but this also meant more people and therefore more badly behaved dogs and impatient cyclists (stopping or changing direction quickly is hard when you've got 100+ miles in your legs). On this part of GUCR I'd been running quite well and I'd forgotten quite how long the run-in to Milton Keynes is. The Sun was low-ish in the sky, straight ahead and I was broiling. I stopped running, had several 'sit-breaks' and generally felt a bit sorry for myself.
Eventually I was relieved to see someone in a green TR hoody waiting on the tow-path. He'd walked out to see what I wanted getting ready food-wise. What I wanted first was another sleep. The guys at the checkpoint set my sleeping gear up in the tent and I settled down for another 45 min snooze. It was a bit noisy (the CP was under a road-bridge) but with ear plugs in, I did actually manage to sleep OK-ish. They told me that the run-away leader had dropped out, so I was now in 4th place. Que more 'wtf, I'm just happy to have a cushion on the cut-offs' on my part.
Stage 6: Milton Keynes to Nether Heyford (156 miles)
After a pasta-pot, coffee, yogurt and fruit I set off into night two, feeling a bit better. This didn't last long. I got back into my run-walk, making use of the cycle path that runs mostly parallel, but close, to the tow-path. At one point I had a minor panic when I realised that the canal wasn't on my left, where it should be, any more. But clearly the solution was to bear left until I found it again. Which I did a few minutes later, but after that I played it safe and stuck to the tow-path.
Just outside Wolverton I decided I needed a quick nap, but actually I wasn't that sleepy (just lazy...) and couldn't get to sleep. My next bright run-avoidance idea was a trip to the 24 hour Tesco at Wolverton. Thanks to a closed bridge it took a while to find it. Then I wandered around the aisles aimlessly, failing to find anything which appealed to my slightly unhappy stomach and that I could also carry. Eventually I settled on 3 (why 3, I don't know...) yogurt pouches. At the self-service check-outs there was a minor kerfuffle. Security had stopped someone on suspicion of shop-lifting. He claimed he'd paid for his shopping and started trying to find the receipt in the midst of my shopping. This made me a bit uncomfortable. Especially since I was holding a zip-lock bag with my cash and cards in. I escaped to the toilets, which were at least a nice place to do a poo.
The next challenge was to get back onto the canal. I'd identified 2 bridges which crossed the canal, but forgot that just because 2 objects intersect in 2d projection it doesn't mean they do in 3d (i.e. there weren't any stairs down onto the tow path). After a circuit of the Tesco car park I ended up retracing my steps. I've no idea how long this escapade took. Quite possibly a large fraction of an hour.
The rest of this stage was a bit of a struggle, with lots of unnecessary sit-breaks and not a lot of running. I was expecting people to start streaming past me, but to my amazement no-one appeared. By the climb over Blisworth tunnel I was really sleepy and desperately looking for somewhere for a nap. None of the hedges looked particularly appealing, especially since it was now light and there were a surprising number of cars on the road. I had a ten min nap once I got back onto the canal. This perked me up for a bit, but it was still a long haul in to the checkpoint along uneven paths. And I wasted even more time putting on and taking off my waterproof jacket when it briefly started raining.
Hitting the road into the CP perked me up and I started running again, until I met the person who'd come out to guide me in at least. The village hall was the one indoor check-point, so it was a good place for a much needed sleep. I decided to try for 2.25 hours (i.e. 3 times 45 min). There were two blokes sleeping in the back room of the hall (one drop out and one of the two blokes I'd been trailing). At this point I'd long since lost any sort of modesty/self-consciousness and stripped my damp running gear off and crawled into my sleeping bag in my underwear.
I managed 2 hours of fitful sleep before being woken up by music from what was supposed to be a pilates class taking place in the village hall. By then my earlier sleeping companions had been replaced by Javed. Having been over-taken by Mimi Anderson on her double GUCR two years ago, I was fully expecting Javed to pass me at some point.
With the class in the hall the CP was temporarily relocated in the alley-way outside. I sorted my gear and ate lots of beans and sausages, and yogurt (there's possibly a mis-placed comma in that sentence..). This was the biggest ‘meal’ I'd managed so far. While I was doing this the massed hordes behind me began arriving at the check-point. I was expecting people to catch me, but it was a surprise how many of them were close behind, given that I'd essentially been on my own for the past 24 hours.
The final job before leaving was to drain the 2nd blister (which had appeared between my toes) and relube various sore parts. After watching me smear Sudocrem across random bits of my back one of the blokes manning the CP offered to do it for me. Normally I don't let anyone within touching distance of me unless I've known them for years, but I didn't think twice before saying yes. He then walked me back onto the canal. Which I was very grateful for, it was a surprisingly long way and on my own I'd have turned back, thinking I'd gone wrong. On the way we chatted about various races. Including why I was doing the TR and not the Dragon's Back (I'd have got timed out on day one). I also broke my 'no thinking about position until 200 miles' rule and asked about the whereabouts of the other women and revealed my half-goal of adding to my collection of '2nd place woman' finishes in long races.
Stage 7: Nether Heyford to Fenny Compton (183 miles)
photo: Jools Gala
I managed to get back into my run-walk routine. And, probably thanks to the food, sleep and chat, was feeling better than I had done at any point in the race. In fact running felt better than walking. But I decided to play it safe and keep taking the walk breaks.
I made good progress up to and through Braunston, with several ice-cream and crisps breaks along the way. Braunston was busy, with a canal boat festival. This wasn't a problem though. The boat people were typically good at sharing the tow-path and friendly and encouraging. Apart from the bloke who asked me if I'd had a head-start on everyone else... Which I interpreted as 'what's someone who looks like you doing not far behind the fast looking blokes'. But maybe I was projecting...
A couple of miles before Napton the path got narrow and uneven (which I don't remember from GUCR) and I decided that walking was better than running and falling in the canal. It also started raining. I hummed and hawed about whether to put on my rain coat. The rain was actually nice and cooling, but I didn't want to get too cold. I put it on. The rain stopped.
At some point I dug out my iPod, ignored my carefully constructed playlists for different mind-sets, and set it on shuffle. A random mix of late-80s indie, 90s riotgrrl, metal and cheesy chart & dance music eased the passing of time.
I stopped briefly at a pub for coffee and crisps and it started raining again and the wind got up. I'd read that the Oxford canal was hard going so I was expecting the narrow uneven path to continue to CP7 at Fenny Compton. However in fact it was wide and grassy. The only down-side was the grass was now wet. On this section I encountered a couple from a canal boat who appeared to be doing an interval session. The first time I met them I moved to the side of the path. But they didn't say thank you so after that I stood my ground.
One of the blokes who was at Milton Keynes walked out from the CP to meet me and we discussed how I was still managing to run-walk. He parroted back at me what I'd told him, in bumpkin-ese, back at CP5: 'Oi've neverrrr managed to keep running beyond 125 miles beforrrrre'. Other people start hallucinating when sleep deprived. I morph into a member of the Wurzels...
The trick to keeping run-walking seemed to be i) accepting that the first minute of running is going to feel uncomfortable and ii) not worrying about speed. Even though I was 'running' for up to 2/3rds of the time I was only averaging 3mph. But this was significantly faster than I'd have been moving at this point if I was just walking.
It was early evening and I was feeling quite perky. However given that I'd struggled through the previous night, and the next CP apparently wasn't great for sleeping, I thought I should try and sleep. I settled down in a tent, but couldn't nod off. Partly because I was too alert, and part because of the noise. I initially thought it was the worst snoring I'd ever heard, but eventually I realised there were pigs in the adjacent field.
After 30 mins I gave up. I was a little bit frustrated at wasting that time, but the rest probably did me good anyway. I'd rattled through all of my pasta pots so I dug out the big gun: an 800 calorie expedition meal. I wish I'd brought a few more of these. The food at the CPs was good, great even given that they were all but one outdoors and often under bridges. But my stomach is a bit fussy when running, and I'm not good at making decisions when faced with too much choice. While I was eating and sorting myself out, Steve, one of the peleton from CP6, arrived at the CP.
Along the way I'd had various aches and minor pains come and go. So I'd hadn't worried much about my left ankle/lower shin being a bit sore. On closer inspection the sock/gaiter had been irritating it. It was a bit swollen and when I put my shoes back on the tongue felt uncomfy. So I ditched the gaitor and laced my shoe underneath the tongue.
Would the ankle hold up for the remaining ~70 miles? There was no point worrying about it. I just had to keep putting one foot in front of the other.
Stage 8: Fenny Compton to Lower Heyford (206 miles)
photo: Brian Finlay
The first section through Cropredy to Banbury flew by. My ankle was a bit sore, but I was still happily run-walking. As I'd been warned, the path got a bit sketchy around Cropredy. The edges were crumbling, and sometimes there were holes down to the canal. Coming through here in the middle of the night while sleep deprived would not be fun.
Banbury night-life was in full swing. I switched my head-torch off and slowed to a walk to avoid drawing attention to myself. I tried and failed to find some water at a strange circular toilet block. Once I was back on the other side of the canal, I spotted that the tap was on the one section I didn't look at.
Not far out of Banbury the temperature plummeted and mist started rolling off the canal. This section should have been runnable but I was struggling to see my feet, and the canal. And then it got worse. Miles of windy path and wet over-grown plants which literally had to be fought through. It was unpleasant. But the challenge made the night easier to get through mentally than the previous one. I sat down once to eat. But otherwise I told myself `Your sleeping bag is waiting at the next CP. Will sitting down get you there faster? No. So lets keep pressing on'.
Kathy walked out from the CP to meet me, and I was happy to discover there was actually a sleeping tent. I settled down for (I think, my memory's a bit fuzzy) 90 min of restless sleep. When I surfaced someone else had arrived at the CP. I initially assumed it was Javed, however it was actually Ellen, who I hadn't seen since the afternoon of day 1. We chatted and moaned about cyclists and dogs. It looked like 2nd place woman might be slipping away from me, but I was genuinely happy that we were both so far up the field. One of the baggage guys told us that Karen had finished, smashing the women's course record and winning overall (by a huge margin, 2nd and 3rd were only a few hours further down the tow-path).
Stage 9: Lower Heyford to Abingdon (230 miles)
photo: Lindley Chambers
I left the CP at ~7am and it was already scorching. I kept run-walking, but with regular stops at taps to soak my wrists and buff in water. As Oxford approached the tow-path got busy, and the impatient 'ting-ting-ing' of cyclists started again. Even though I was moving to the side as much as I could and there were big signs saying that pedestrians had right of way!
I'd been looking forward to stopping at Oxford station for some food for hours, however it was hell on Earth. Heaving with posh people who acted like I was pond scum. Yes I look (and smell...) like death, but I'm still a person. The lowlight was the 'gentleman' who thought saying 'excuse me' entitled him to push me out of the way so he could exit the M&S till queue the wrong way. [It possibly wasn't that bad. My reaction was probably triggered by the memory of how I felt, aged 18, when I arrived at one of the Sloanier Oxford colleges to study physics, with very short bright orange hair, multi coloured hippy clothes and a broad Somerset accent.]
I sat on the floor outside the station to eat my food. There was an unpleasant, meaty smell. I'd sat down next to the mobile bacon sandwich cart (I'm veg...). I couldn't be bothered to move though.
I got back moving, and my irritation with the population of Oxford continued. Looking on the bright-side it inspired me to keep moving, to get the hell out of there. [Later on, at home, when I was telling the OH about this bit his response was: 'You didn't really like Oxford, did you?'. Which sums things up pretty effectively.]
I, slightly cheekily, filled up my water bottles in a pub toilet and kept plodding my way past Lower Radley towards Abingdon. The woods before Abingdon had seemed like a labyrinth on the T184 (at one point I even thought I'd got turned back on myself), so I was very glad to come across Ian who'd come out to run me in to the CP. We chatted about various races, including Spartathlon. Which he's doing this year, and I would love to do. If it wasn't for the fact that I'd get timed out early on, as the early cut-offs are inside my PBs.
I spent about half an hour at the CP, eating (including some of the cookies which were intended for the finish...) and relubing body-parts. I'd asked the OH to text me at this point with the whereabouts of the other women. 'Karen won, you're 4th, maybe no. 13 could catch you... Great progress :)' was what he'd sent. OK, but who is no. 13? Without me asking, Lindley shed some light on the situation: Rich Cranswick was on a bit of a mission a few miles back. And I broke my 'don't obsess about position' rule and asked about Ellen's whereabouts, but didn't really register the answer.
Stage 10: Abingdon to Goring (248 miles)
I plodded off on the final section. The end was close, but there was still a long way (18 miles...) to go and the long sweeping bends really dragged. My undercarriage was a bit sore (I hadn't tested the pants I was wearing in hot weather and they didn't do a good job of wicking sweat), but there were too many 'normal people' around to whip out my mini Sudocrem pot.
Just before Shillingford I made my one significant navigation error, which unfortunately involved crossing a busy road unnecessarily (twice) and briefly going back along the path in the wrong direction. Through Benson I was really struggling and sat down and ate a Mars bars and a couple of gels, which got me back run-walking again. I was trying to do finishing time estimates. Sub 84 hours (i.e. 3.5 days) was in the bag provided the wheels didn't fall off completely and even sub 83 might be on.
While I'd been expecting to be overtaken by people for several days, I hadn't actively worried about it. Just after Wallingford I looked back, I don't know why, and saw a figure with a number on closing on me rapidly. It was Rich. We had a very brief chat, before he charged off in pursuit of the 2 guys in front.
I had a very brief 'wah, but I've been in 4th for nearly 2 days' moment, before remembering that things were in fact going far better than I could ever have dreamed. [Rich in fact had 2 hours of time credit from stopping to help several runners, so even if he hadn't physically over-taken me, he would still have finished in front on time.]
Rich was moving fast and there was no question of me trying to hang with him, but I did misguidedly think that maybe I could drop my walk breaks and just run. 20 minutes later I felt like crap, and switched back to the tried and tested routine.
Just after Moulseford my 'car head-rest induced' hip injury twinged but, since I thought it was touch-and-go whether I could break 83 hours, I kept pushing. A mile or so out from the finish I met one of the guys from way back at CP1 and was very grateful for a water top-up. He then kept on running back along the course, which made me paranoid that Ellen and/or Javed were close behind. Losing 4th wasn't a big deal, but slipping back to 7th at this point would have been gutting. I kept `running', the Swan Inn came into sight and I rounded the corner to the finish line. Where I pulled silly faces, and announced that my finishing time (82h 38 min) and position (5th out of 40 starters and 19 finishers) were beyond my wildest dreams.
photo: Gill Elomari
After
Gill had put on a fantastic spread of hot food and cakes. I declined Glyns' offer of a beer (he'd dropped out a long way into the race, but had come back to support) and ate multiple jacket potatoes and lots of cake. I phoned the OH and burbled over-excitedly.
One of the Thames Ring traditions is a white board with a list of finishers. I'd imagined my name appearing towards the bottom of the board, so couldn't quite believe seeing it there with lots of space below.
I hadn't expected to finish on Saturday night but fortunately there was sleeping space at the finish (all the hotels in Streatley were fully booked, and I was probably too manky for a hotel anyway). I interspersed bouts of sleeping with more eating (and unfortunately managed to sleep through Ellen and Javed finishing). The pack who were tailing me in the middle of the race came in just outside 90 hours and the leader board filled up.
Come 9am, apart from a sore swollen ankle, I wasn't feeling too bad and got my stuff together and walked to the station for a fun journey home. 3 trains, 2 of which were standing (or in my case, sitting on my North Face holdall) room only, and a 'sprint' to make a connection.
At home the OH fed me even more food, and we watched the Spine race DVD, which had arrived while I was away. And I got some over-ambitious ideas for future races. 'Perhaps I could have a go at JOGLE?' 'Or go back to the Spine and sleep less, and move faster?' I could even try not finishing last at the (not very...) Long Tour of Bradwell.
A week later I'm still in shock. I'm obviously not in the same league (or even on the same planet) as Karen Hathaway. But I didn't think a plodder like me (with a 4.18 marathon PB, and a close relationship with sweepers and time cut-offs) could finish in 5th place with a time in the low 80 hours.
So how does it compare with the Spine and T184?
The Spine is still far and away the hardest thing I've ever done. It sounds melodramatic, but if you screw up on the Spine you could die. Post-Spine I had a week of disturbed sleep and eating everything in sight before I felt half-way human. Post TR (and also T184) I was back to more or less normal in a couple of days. TR is possibly mentally harder though. On the Spine you're so focussed on navigating through peat bogs and over hills (and not dying...) that hours can slip by without you noticing. On TR I was painfully aware of every canal bridge, and every hour.
The comparison with T184 is trickier: 65ish extra miles versus not having to carry all your kit. I definitely found the TR easier, but that was largely because it went much better for me.
Nordisk Oskar sleeping bag
I’ve been after a lightweight, 3-season, synthetic sleeping bag for a while. More precisely, since the night I spent shivering in a puddle in a soaking wet down bag (thanks to a leaky bivvy bag). Everyone knows that down looses its insulating properties, but you don’t truly know-know until you spend a night in a wet down bag, which the warmth of tissue paper.
‘Lightweight, 3-season, synthetic’ is a classic ‘pick any 2’ dilemma. OMM makes some lightweight
down bags. However without temperature ratings they’re clearly aimed at racing snakes, willing to suffer a bit of discomfort. Similarly Haglofs have a 372g synthetic bag, but the +10 deg rating means it’d probably not be warm enough for me outside of Summer.
This year Nordisk brought out the Oscar bag (named after Oscar II former King of both Sweden and Norway). At 500g, +5 deg and a RRP of £190 (although I managed to get it for £155) it looked to be just what I was after. I was initially a bit concerned about the sizing. It comes in two: L and XL. At 5’3’’ I was imaging having several feet of empty, wasted space. However L really isn’t too big, and you probably don’t have to be super-tall to want/need XL.
My first reaction was ‘euuurgh’ at the yellow-beige colour, but otherwise it’s a great bit of kit with some near, and very Nordic, features. For instance little pockets to tuck the hood tightening cords into. Racing snakes wouldn’t be happy with the added grams, but they’d probably go for one of the OMM or Haglofs bags anyway.
The stuff sac is built in to the bottom (so you can’t lose it...) and then compression straps squeeze it down further:
I’ve used it twice and it does exactly the job I got it for. First I took it on an early Spring bank holiday overnight trip to the Peak District. The weather was horrendous and (again...) I ended up lying in a puddle. [Lesson finally learnt: the lightweight Terra Nova discovery lite bivvy bag really isn’t a good choice for bad weather.] However this time I was at least comfortably warm. The 2nd trip was a late Spring bank holiday multi-day plod from Kirkby Stephen to Robin Hood’s Bay. It kept me plenty warm enough even when damp and packed back into the stuff sack fairly easily each morning.
Kirkby Stephen to Robin Hood's Bay
I got the train up to Kirkby Stephen after work on the Friday evening, and had fun playing ‘spot bits of the Fellsman and Spine routes’. I jogged down into Kirkby Stephen from the station and walked up to Nine Standards Rigg just in time for sunset. The subsequent bogs lived up to their legendary reputation, even though the surrounding ground was pretty dry. I did OK with staying on route across the bog, but then got lured in the wrong direction by a downhill farm track. Slightly later, on a track I was supposed to be on, I got paranoid when I though I saw some vehicle headlights closing in on me (‘what are they doing up here at this time of night?’). In retrospect it was probably just a car on the nearby, but invisible, minor road. I stopped for the night in a stoney, sheep-poo ridden field just outside Keld.
The next morning, just after the fantastically named Crackpot Hall, I ended up on a narrow path which led across a very steep drop. This made me feel a bit nervous. And very pathetic, given that hundreds of walkers do the Coast-to-Coast every year. That evening I was relieved to read in the guidebook that I’d made a common mistake and the path was in fact slightly further up the hill.
The next few miles, through the remains of lead mining, were my favourite part of the route: ruined buildings, fun climbs and rusting machinery spread across a lunar-esque plateau. And best of all, apart from one other runner, I had it all to myself. Wanting to try and keep a decent pace up, I jogged down into Reeth and stopped briefly for elevenses (a large bag of crisps...).
The next section to Richmond undulated through farmland, and I kept encountering walkers who wouldn’t believe where I’d started from (or where I was planning to go to). I’d had a mental picture of Richmond as a quiet, market town where I could have a pleasant stop for food. In fact (unsurprisingly in retrospect) it was crawling with bank holiday tourists and the best ‘quick’ food option was doughnuts and more crisps from the Coop.
I’d been vaguely planning to try and get to Ingleby Cross, and the edge of the North York moors, before stopping. However the never-ending flat, overgrown, poorly marked, and sometimes even obstructed, paths through fields destroyed my will to run-walk. I ground to a halt in Danby Wiske, with the justification that there wouldn’t be anywhere suitable for wild-camping for miles. The campsite there was in fact a small pub garden and, not long after I’d snoozed off, I got woken up by the contents of the pub, discharging to their tents. [I really don’t get why anyone would drive to small village in the middle of a boring piece of flat empty countryside, spend the evening drinking heavily and then sleep in a tent on a not very pleasant small patch of grass.]
When my alarm went off at 6 am it was raining fairly heavily, which was a good excuse for another hours sleep. Followed by several hours of dragging arse through even more fields. One farm had a selection of snacks out for sale, however on the whole the locals weren’t very welcoming. In the space of a couple of miles I encountered: plastic rats and skulls nailed onto a style, barking dogs let out as I walked (on a footpath...) through a farmyard and a field full of rowdy cattle. My back was also aching, making me wonder if the UD Fastback was a mistake. But I discovered that tightening the straps got rid of the ache (and by the end of the weekend I was a big fan of the pack).
By the time I reached the A19 I was thoroughly miserable and, thanks to not stopping to eat properly the previous day, running on fumes. I bought an armful of junk food from a petrol station and stuffed my face at a picnic table in the adjoining lorry park (much to the bemusement of the lorry drivers).
The next section following the Cleveland way (and the route of the Osmotherley Phoenix and Hardmoors races) across the North York moors was much more fun. And, having resolved to slow down a bit and enjoy myself, I had a nice lunch at the, rather poncey, Lordstones cafe. After Bloworth Crossing I was on new territory: a never-ending gently curving former railway track. In the end I decided to start running to get it over and done with quicker. At the end was the Lion Inn. It was packed with people, but I found a space at the end of the bar and had a huge veg lasagne and chips. A couple more hours run-walking took me to the edge of the moors and a sensible place to stop for the night.
The first few hours of the next day were a pleasant mix of villages, woods and moors, and the steepest road I’ve ever seen out of Richmond. But then things got frustrating. I could see the sea. But the route didn’t go straight there, instead it meandered pointlessly (as far as I could tell at least) before hitting the coast at a caravan park several miles North of Robin Hood’s Bay. Finally I fought my way through the crowds and down to the sea for a paddle.
Taby Extreme Challenge 100
I wanted to run a 100-ish mile race around Easter time as preparation for the Thames Ring 250 in June. But I couldn’t find anything suitable in the UK. Which was a good excuse for a trip to my favourite place (Stockholm) for the Taby Extreme Challenge 100. An (aypically Swedish) over-hyped name. The route would turn out to be harder than I anticipated, but definitely not Extreme in anyway.
Jonas Budd ran a trail 100 world best of 12.32 at the race a few years ago. The route has changed since then, but is still in the same forest, so I was hoping to run a ‘decent for me’ time: somewhere around (hopefully inside) 24 hours. And secretly I was hoping to do some damage to my PB (22:52, as a split in a 24 hour track race where I walked all of the last 20 miles).
The race takes place on a looped course (14 times ~7 miles) in Taby just North of Stockholm. It reminded me a lot of GUCR: friendly and extremely well organised, but no OTT razzmattaz. Apart from the slightly random race memento: a very high quality fleece blanket.
It was a gorgeous Sunny day. The sort of day where in the UK everyone else would be wearing shorts and vests. But the Swedes, like me, mostly wore tights, long-sleeved tops and hat & gloves. The first part of the loop climbed steeply, and then undulated, on wide gravel tracks. Not ideal for running fast, but a good opportunity to eat after the one aid-station/drop-bag access point. The next mile or so was on concrete or good flat track. I looked over my shoulder and was surprised to see dozens of runners behind me. Normally at this point I’m more or less last.
The route then undulated along a lake side, with a few short, sharp climbs which would need walking later on, before turning into a road where the residents had set up impromptu aid-stations. Then we were back into the forest. A short section of single track, and then back onto a gravel path, phew. But no, somebody shouted me and the guys in front back. We’d missed a marker and in fact the route headed on a barely visible trod into the thick of the forest, and over roots and fallen trees. Hmm, maybe sub-24 hours was going to be a bit ambitious. The next few miles looped back and forth through the forest, alternating between gravel paths and narrow, gnarly single track. It would have been really easy to cut the course. But (this being Sweden) I guess the thought never crossed anyone else’s mind. There was a mile or so of cycle/foot path, before the route cut back into the forest and round to the start finish.
I’d initially planned to try and get to half-way within 10.5 hours to give me a chance of a PB. And for the first couple of loops I ran at the sort of pace needed to do this. But I was working far too hard. I told myself I had to run at the speed my body wanted to go at, not the speed me head thought I should be going at. So I eased off, and a stream of runners passed me. Not something I’m used to at this stage in a race, usually I’m beginning to start working my way forwards. And my kit was annoying me. The ankles zips on my usually trusty tights were flapping around and I’d attached the timing chip to my shoes too tightly (with cable ties, so no return). Another minor frustration was constantly having to stop and step off the narrow paths to let faster runners past. I felt miserable, and it was mainly the fact I didn’t have anywhere to stay that night which kept me going.
I kept grinding out the laps as best I could. I spent most of one lap running with the world’s perkiest, and most talkative Swede. He told me all about his Maffetone heart rate training and I told him about the Thames Ring 250. The locals also perked me up with their enthusiasm. Several groups set up parties on the route, and I even managed some short conversations in my very basic Swedish: “Du ser stark ut” (you look strong) “tack sa mycket” (thank you very much). At the top of one small hill a bloke and a small boy jumped up and down enthusiastically waving glow-sticks. I spent most of a lap with another talkative Swede, who’d evidently been talking to talkative Swede number 1. A couple of minutes into our conversation he said ‘So you must be the English woman who’s doing this as training for a 250 mile race”.
Eventually dawn came, and I had a handful of laps left to do. I sat down by my drop-bag, to rearrange my kit and restock my snacks for the last time. One of the helpers came and gave me a pep talk, telling me I should aim to do the next lap in less than 2 hours. Normally this would have really irritated me, but he was so nice about it I agreed to try. And I did get my lap times back under 2 hours, overtook/lapped a handful of people and eventually finished in 24:41. Somewhat slower than I’d hoped, but not too bad given that the route was more technical than I’d expected, and I did at least kept running the runnable bits the whole way.
I ran until I dropped...
The Run Until You Drop Challenge (RUYD) was to run/walk a minimum of 1 mile on Feb 1st, 2 miles on Feb until the end of the month. (Or, in mathematical terms, to run an arithmetic progress with a=d=1 and n=28...). A total of 406 miles.
When I first heard about RUYD back in the Autumn, I though it sounded fun and do-able. A motivation to get some milage in through the tail end of Winter. So I decided that I’d give it a shot.
Come the end of January it was seeming less do-able and even less appealing. Thanks to a cold and miscellaneous life stuff I’d ran a grand total of 65 miles that month. And as February got closer, it was dawning on me that squeezing 4 or 5 hours a day of running in around work and commuting was going to be the biggest challenge.
Week 1
Given my low recent milage I decided to just run the minimum amount of miles each day. On Sun 1st I was flying to Helsinki for a meeting. So I headed out and got my first mile in just after mid-night and stuffed Winter running gear into my hand-luggage for a 2 mile run through slush the next day. The rest of the week passed off fairly smoothly, although the 7 and 8 mile back-to-back runs on Sat and Sun felt harder than they should have done.
Week 2
This is where the fun and games of fitting running around work began. On Monday I had to get the train to work and got the miles in by running to and from the station at both ends of both journeys. I did Tuesday’s miles in one go before driving home. But after that I broke the weekday milage in two, either a lunchtime run & a pre-drive home run or a pre-drive home run
& a pre-bed run.
Come the weekend my legs were beginning to feel decidedly achey so I decided to give them a ‘rest’ (or a change at least) and walk. Unfortunately on Saturday the change of gait (and a cushioned insole which changed the fit of my running shoes) led to the dead-skin from an old blister on my heel rubbing and creating a huge blood blister. And I didn’t have my blister repair kit with me because I didn’t think I’d need it for a 14 mile walk... I managed to patch it up sufficiently for Sunday’s walk though. In a bid to combine RUYD with normal life we had lunch in the Peak District and then the OH drove home while I walked. The bit through the Peak District was nice enough, but I’ve never found a good off-road route back from Baslow to Chesterfield. So I ended up walking along the rubbish strewn, pot-holed grass verge along-side a busy road. The low-light was tripping over a hidden cable and knee-planting. My route plotting hadn’t been particularly accurate and when I clocked up the required 15 miles I was still a couple of miles from home. So I called the other half and he kindly came and got me.
Week 3
Perversely this felt easier than week 2. I had various niggles but they came and went on a day to day (or even run to run) basis. On Monday I ran to and from the station as in week 2, but got off the train half way through the return journey and ran the rest of the way. The other runs I split into either two (lunchtime and pre-drive home) or three (lunchtime, pre-drive home and pre-bed). This took a bit of willpower, but was easier than I was expecting. After work, running and eating (including doughnuts and crisps in the bath...) I didn’t have much time for anything else this week. I was spending a large fraction of every day in lycra pre or post run (thankfully I’ve got a job where eccentricity is tolerated...) and lugging a huge rucksack full of running gear and food to work.
I walked the weekend miles again, with the idea that it would give my legs a change. However in retrospect I think I’d have been better sticking with my usual weekend long runs with regular walk breaks. The main downside of walking is that it’s slow. Saturday and Sunday’s 21 and 22 miles took six and six & a half hours respectively. And the Sunday was grim. The weather was horrific and the battery on my iPod ran out half-way through. Half-way through the return journey (I did most of my run/walks as out-and-backs to avoid doing any excess milage) I HTFU. I told myself I’d finished the Spine Race, so surely I could manage a short walk through Derbyshire fields.
Week 4
I added a lunchtime run to last Monday’s ‘to and from the station + half way home’ runs. A total of 5 runs, which was insane, but the best way of combining the milage with getting to and from work without a car. Tuesday & Wednesday’s milage was divided (fairly evenly and very slowly) into lunchtime, pre-drive home and pre-bed runs.
Come mid-week I thought I had it in the bag. I’d managed to arrange to work from home on Thursday, which would make getting in the milage easy, or easier at least. Friday would be a squeeze, but it then just left a ‘normal’ Saturday long run. Thursday lunchtime I set out aiming to bag the bulk of the days 26 miles. My achilles tendon/calf was sore and tight. Previously niggles like this had come and go. But this one got worse and I went from running, through run-walking to walking before heading home with 14 and a bit miles done. I spend the afternoon icing it, hoping that I could grind out the remaining miles later. I headed out in the evening, hobbled a mile painfully and slowly, and pulled the plug. I’m not sure that I could have hobbled out the remaining miles even if I’d wanted to. And I certainly didn’t want to screw up the rest of the year, and in particular the Thames Ring 250.
Lessons learnt
It’s possible to squeeze far more miles in around work than I would have thought possible (although I did push the boundaries of acceptable lycra wearing on occasions...). I also discovered some good new routes. However come week 4 those miles were ridiculously slow, (11-11.30 min miling, rather than my usual 9.30-10) and probably not particularly good training.
Am I going to try again next year?
Never say never, but probably not. It was tough and probably not particularly good training. I’m already good at running long distances very slowly. For me the hardest thing was the logistics, and I’ve convinced myself that if it wasn’t for the random injury (which cleared up within a couple of days) I could have done it. Plus I was lucky with work. Usually there’s a couple of days a month where fitting in 4 or 5 hours of running would be completely impossible (unless I ditched sleeping...)
Spine blogs: 2015
link to main Spine race blog index
Spine Race
Ian Bowles: 1, 2
Alzabeta Benn
Frances Britain
(about) Joao Colaco
Joe Faulkner, kit etc
Michael Frenz
Iain Harper
Sean Hernon
Tim Laney
Dave Lee
Richard Lendon: 1, 2
Paul Orton: 1, 2, 3
Pavel Paloncy
Mark Rawlinson
Alan Rumbles
(about) Andreas Siebert
Jim Tinnion
Paul Wilson
Spine Challenger
Andrew Ferguson
Sarah Fuller
Janson Heath
Daniel Hendriksen
Clare Holdcraft, kit
Maxine Lock: 1, 2
Phil Owen
Robert Jones
Alan Pepper
Marcus Scotney
Support crew
Jim Imber
Stu Westfield
Previous years
2014
2012 and 2013
2015 and beyond
The only race I’ve entered so far for 2015 is the Thames Ring 250 in June. Having finished the Spine and T184 in 2014, I’d like to add to my collection of ‘longest single stage races in the UK’ finishes. I’m not yet sure what my goals for it are. Obviously to finish. But beyond that I’m wary, after over-ambitious goals for T184 left me feeling ‘meh’ about what was actually a decent finish. The main thing I need to do is work out how to do a better job of sleeping. I’ve just ordered a pile of books on the science of sleeping from Amazon...
I’d been hoping to do the Rovaniemi 150 in February, as a step towards one of the long Arctic races. But the timing-tabling gods didn’t look favourably upon me. I’ve got two lectures on Fridays this semester, which makes taking a Friday off to travel to Finland impossible. I’ll carry on buying Winter kit when it’s cheap, and hopefully the timing will work out next year. It’s not the end of the world though, in particular since I haven’t yet worked out how I’m going to manage to take a couple of weeks off in Feb/March for one of the longer races...
Another idea was the Viking Way ultra (which has a cut-off which would seriously test my limits). However it looks like it’s not happening year, so instead I’m thinking about doing the DB24 24 hour trail race as a warm up for the Thames Ring.
Post Thames Ring, it depends how I recover. But I’m pondering the 48 hour race at the British ultrafest in August.