Recovery from the Highland Fling

Posted on May 10, 2013 by redwinerunner

When I ran the 53 mile Hoka Highland Fling Ultramarathon 12 days ago, I did a lot of things for the first time. It was a wondrous day full of achievements but by the time my weary head hit the pillow on the 28th April, the challenge was only partially completed. Running a 53 mile race for the first time does a lot of strange things to your body and recovery has to be taken seriously to avoid suffering injury.

I have experienced the trials of recovery from races of various lengths and in my comparatively short time running long distance, the only useful lesson I’ve learned is that the more you do it, the less it hurts. I remember how much I hurt after my first 10k and half marathon, now with thousands more miles in my legs those types of distance barely register in my muscles.

53 off-road miles and 13 hours of running with nearly 6,000ft of ascent is an entirely different matter!

graphic: Highland Fling Facebook

My body has taken a hammering from this from top to toe, but slowly it is rebuilding itself and despite the pain I finished in, I don’t think I have sustained any actual injuries. From the head down, here’s how I fared after the longest race I’ve ever ran.

- Shoulders: Big, deep chafe marks on both shoulders by my neck from 13 hours of sweaty sports bra rubbing. Severely affected my choice of dress for my work’s Spring Ball on Friday…
- Chest: For six days afterwards my lungs felt absolutely ravaged, as if I was suffering from a terrible chest injection. It hurt to breathe in or out deeply and there was a deep ache across my chest which gradually faded.

- Core muscles: clearly running up and down hills for hours when you don’t want to is the best abdominal workout ever.

- Stomach: from Monday, my poor belly just could not be satiated. After the initial shock and turmoil had worn off and lingering nausea on Sunday had disappeared, there was not enough food available to me to shut my stomach up. I believe this could be filed under “runger”.

- Hips: remarkably fine. After a long flat race I usually suffer from very stiff hip flexors, on this occasion they were fine and I believe this may be because of the hugely varied terrain which kept my hip movements constantly changing in direction, rather than just striding in fixed motion.

- Quads: Horrific. Sore to touch. Sore to the extent that it felt like there should have been bruising visible. My right was worse than my left and this will have been due to over-compensating for my duff right knee, and going downhill sideways/right leg first in the latter stages of the race. It was 7 days before they felt remotely normal.

- Hamstrings: Tighter than an Aberdonian’s wallet.

- Knees: Ok. No worse than before, but thankfully the ITB pain I had in the latter stages was just temporary.

- Calves: Rock hard and stiffer than I could ever imagine possible. That combined with the Horrific Quads and Aberdonian Hamstrings rendered stairs nigh on impossible for a good four days. Kynon damn near ended himself watching me try and step up in through our front door for the first time on Sunday. Apparently it was funny.

- Feet: just dreadfully, dreadfully sore, and are still not right. The bones on the top of my feet have taken a huge punishing from a mix of the descent and my shoes. The joints on my big toes were swollen and tender and moving them/walking was sore for quite a few days. Also, having just read Paula Radcliffe’s autobiography, I recognised the symptoms of Crepitus in the tendons connecting my foot and ankle – they were creaking like an old gate and it is the most unnerving sensation. Not painful, but very not right. I did what Paula did in her book and iced for 15 mins every hour and it seemed to help. It was a week before the uncomfortable creaking went away.

Luckily I had a specialist masseuse on hand to ease my legs back into real life. She did some very targeted work and used some little-known acupuncture techniques to get things moving again. (note recovery compression sleeves and the hooring great blisters on the ball of my left foot!)

I have done a couple of short runs, but tying running shoes on to my feet has been quite painful so I haven’t gone any further than 3 miles. If I have bruised any of the bones in my feet then there is an increased risk of developing a stress fracture so I’m being really careful. Since I’ve worked so hard this year so far I’m not having any qualms about taking some proper time off, but it is a little strange not to be being active every day. I’m having to keep an eye on what I’m eating as well as the habit of eating lots to supplement my miles is quite hard to shake!

For a few days after I was in a state of shock as the reality of what I’d achieved sunk in. I still can’t quite get my head around the fact that I’ve traversed 53 miles on my legs in one go, but every so often it becomes a bit more real and I feel invincible. Before the race I thought that once I completed it I would feel like I had unfinished business with the West Highland Way; I thought that I would feel unresolved and that I had only done half of the challenge until I had completed the full West Highland Way race. The Highland Fling really isn’t half of anything though and after battling my way to the finish in Tyndrum I feel like for me, I’ve achieved something incredible.

My attitude to the West Highland Way and it’s races has changed. This was far tougher than I thought it would be and I am in no hurry to rush to the next level and tackle the full thing. People keep asking me if I’ll do the Fling again… next year is out due to my wedding, but I reckon by the year after I’ll be ready to go back, stronger and quicker, and put in a faster performance.

For now, all I can think of is lying on this beach and swimming in this water; which is where I’ll be in 24 hours…

Hopefully I can get rid of these tan lines as well…

RwR will return in a fortnight after some serious R+R and ready to tackle the next challenge. But what will it be?! Watch this space…

Posted in Life, Running, Scotland, Travel, Ultramarathon | Tagged hoka highland fling, running, Scotland, trail race, Travel, ultramarathon, West Highland Way, West Highland Way Race | Leave a comment

RACE REPORT: Hoka Highland Fling 2013

Posted on May 1, 2013 by redwinerunner

Hoka Highland Fling

27th April 2013

Chip time: 13hr 06min 19s
Finish position: 315th/416 Finishers (47 DNF)
Gender: 53rd /75 Females
Category: 28th/31 Senior Females

So this was it. The big one. My Spring ‘A’ race and the main focus of every one of the 545 miles I had run in 2013 so far. Four months of training, every early night, early start, and late finish was for this day. Every stiff leg, tender blister and physio bill; every blizzard ran through, every patch of ice slipped on and every gale which blew me sideways. The biggest challenge I’d ever set myself and the longest race I’d ever ran; finally, it was here.

We arrive in Milngavie around 7:30pm on Friday and check into the Premiere Inn, where there are signs everywhere. Cars in the car park have ‘OMM‘ stickers on them, back seats are packed with suspicious amounts of neon and bottles of coke, four plastic bags with a number tag on them are inexplicably left on a chair in hotel reception. Walking down the corridors we pass groups of cheerful, wiry looking people wearing buffs around their necks and minimal trail shoes on their feet, who knowingly acknowledge us like old friends. Crossing the car park and we bump into the ever-glamorous Sandra, carrying bags of kit and supplies from the car in vertiginous heels and a trench coat, accompanied by the well-kent figure of Ian Beattie, RD of the West Highland Way Race and Chairman of Scottish Athletics. Oh yes, keep an eye on your trainers and hide the jaffa cakes…the ultra-runners are back in town.

We walk the short distance to the Burnbrae where race registration is being held. Friday night in a pub is not an unusual place to find an ultrarunner or two, but that night in the anonymous looking building by the side of a main road in Milngavie, there must be the highest concentration of endurance athletes on one place since the heady summer days of the London Olympic Village. The place is bursting at the seams and is boiling hot inside, everyone has a beer in one hand and a glass of water in the other, and every other person is wearing a race t-shirt or a running club jacket.

I pick up my registration envelope which contains a timing chip and a carpark pass for Kynon and join Lorna MacMillan and Carol Martin for dinner, who are arguing over who has to finish the wine in case it makes them slower the next day. The food is excellent and I enjoy a vegetable paella with a side of macaroni cheese, washed down with a nerve-steadying pint of lager and some excellent banter with the table of runners and supporters. It’s fun to watch the steady stream of runners come and go and the bemused locals either trying to figure out what’s happening, or their reaction when somebody tells them about the race. Before long we find ourselves reluctantly leaving, but I reassure myself that I will have plenty of time to spend with my ultramarathon pals the next day.

Upon leaving the pub I notice that the huge empty wasteland over the road is now populated with several battered looking camper vans and someone has even pitched a tent. Lights flicker within as people make their final preparations for their race and a further inexplicable sense of calm descends over me. So many people from so many walks of life, descending on this tiny little corner of Scotland to do an amazing thing together.

Drifting off to sleep in my hotel room I feel calm and grateful just to be a part of it. They say in Scottish running that all roads lead to Milngavie, and I am finally here.

—–

My alarm went off at 0345am and pulled me quickly from sleep. Everything I needed was laid out and ready so I went straight into auto-pilot – kettle on, porridge made, banana eaten, water drunk. I got my kit on and nervously peered out of the window…it looked dry and there was no clouds in the sky.

At 5am we had our bags packed and were checking out of the Premiere Inn, alongside the dozens of other focused looking runners and their sleepy support. Milngavie was quiet as we made the short drive to the station. Daylight was just breaking and there was a slow trickle of lycra-clad, buff-wearing, rucksack-toting figures coming in to the car park and the atmosphere was growing.

Kynon was marshaling at Balmaha and had to transport drop-bags, so his car needed to be parked and ready to receive the goods. I stood with him for a moment or two but the stream of runners needing his attention made it clear that if I wanted comfort and chat I was going to have to find it elsewhere so I decided to leave him to it and see who else was about. All the usual faces arrived soon enough and I spoke to as many friends as I could find whilst keeping warm and frequenting the portaloos.

Everyone was in good spirits as day broke and it was obvious we were on for a cracker with the weather; there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. At 5:45am I realised I didn’t have a picture of me ready to go, so I managed to battle my way back to Kynon to say my final goodbyes and have him wish me luck.

The crowd had grown really quickly, and after a swift race briefing we assembled in a rough order of expected finish times at the tunnel under the road. Before I really had much time to think about it I could hear a countdown from up ahead and it would appear that the race had started.

photo – LorraineS (Fetch)

picture – LorraineS (Fetch)

Walking under this sign I thought about the two times I’d been cheering on runners at the start of the West Highland Way Race here and I couldn’t wipe the grin off my face – I couldn’t believe it was my turn to commence a race here and run North on the historic trail. There was cowbells, hooting and cheering and the eery pitched whine of the timing chips activating as we crossed over the mats. We ascended up the high street through a gauntlet of applause, and made the final turn down some steps and on to the muddy trail.

photo – TZruns

The first mile or two were as crowded as I expected, so I made sure to keep an eye on my pace and not get swept away. Lots of people were chatting around me but I didn’t see anyone I knew so I just soaked up the atmosphere and tried to figure out how I felt. I still had absolutely zero nerves and I think it’s something to do with the race being too big to get nervous about – when you think about it as a whole, it’s impossible to get your head around so you have to break it down. There are too many variables which you can do nothing about in a race of this length, so if you’re going to have any hope of enjoying it you just need to take it one step at a time.

I’ve been struggling to start this race report as there’s just so much to write about. Because the race is so long I can’t take my usual mile-by-mile approach as I simply cannot remember the details, especially of the early miles. I do remember the sun first hitting my back and how warm it was though, the first glimpses of the hills towards which we were running, and the pair of Americans swooning at the view. If they liked it here I can’t imagine how they got on 30 miles up the course.

I remember thinking how strange it was that there was no leaves on the trees and that the grass was still scorched brown from a winter’s blanket of snow. In the crisp early morning air with mist hanging above frosty (!) ground, it actually felt more like an Autumn morning.

I needed to go to the loo so I hopped behind a wall. When I re-emerged I saw a figure up ahead who I recognised so I ran a little faster to catch up for a chat. It was Noanie who was also doing her first Fling, and we had a few miles together chatting about nothing in particular. She did her first ultra at the D33 when I did mine in 2012, and turned out to be the ‘swishy pony-tail girl’ who I ran with that day and described in my race report at the end.

This part of the race was mainly flat and going through farmland and on back roads. There were some hills though which I happily walked up as I ate my hula hoops and jaffa cakes. I took my long sleeve top and gloves off about 6 miles in as I was getting far too warm, and enjoyed more scenery as we headed into Drymen and the first timing check point at 12.7 miles.

I was feeling kind of indifferent when I approached Drymen. There seemed nothing to celebrate as there was a further 40 miles of running ahead and I didn’t have a drop bag or anything to look forward to. Noanie had drifted away at about 9 miles and I was once again by myself and just getting on with it. My shoes were starting to feel a bit weird after running on tarmac for a while and my toes were hurting a little. I didn’t like this at all but I was trying not to let the bad thoughts and doubt set in, despite my worries.

Approaching a turn-off, a marshall said “Well done Rhona, I read your blog! You’re looking great!” which was lovely to hear – I didn’t recognise you, so thank you whoever you are… I ran over a field following the runner ahead of me and suddenly realised I had reached Drymen and there was a big crowd of people because there was a relay handover. That meant three of the four guys from the Stonehaven Top Dogs relay team were there and they were all cheering me on – I hadn’t thought that I’d see them at all so that was a great surprise and boost!

DRYMEN – 12.7 miles – 2hr 17m 30s

The route then went into the village of Drymen which again I wasn’t expecting. I hadn’t realised so much of the initial miles of the West Highland Way are on roads. I tried to remember what Drymen looked like from the West Highland Way Race but my memories were fuzzy – after all I’d only ever been there at 2am in the morning. Everyone I passed said well done and smiled which was much appreciated – the field was spread out to about a runner every 100 meters and I was by myself as usual.

Another random memory – there was a woman and her young son sitting outside of their house with big baskets of orange quarters to hand out. After enjoying them so much at Paris I was delighted to take a couple! The wee boy was dressed up as turtle I think (?!) and must have been about 6. He said, in the most serious of voices, “Well done. Keep on going, even though your knee is hurting”. Sage advice, little dude; I’ll do my very best.

After a long hill out of the village we left the road for good and turned into forestry land. It had obviously been recently felled and we got our first look at Loch Lomond across the barren landscape.

We were back on a packed rock and gravel surface, which although felt better underfoot in my trail shoes, was still hurting the soles of my feet. The balls of my feet were feeling hot in a pre-blister kind of way, and the ends of my toes were already hurting when they hit the end of the shoe on a descent. Not great, and this concerned me a lot as I didn’t know what to do. I had the option of grabbing my road shoes from Kynon’s car at Balmaha, but would that even do any good?

There were many miles over this exposed area, heading towards Conic Hill. It was warm and sunny but with just the right amount of cooling breeze to keep me happy. I passed a friend from twitter, Marko, and had a quick chat with him, but he was walking and I was feeling good so I decided to push on at a steady trot.

Here is Conic Hill, and its long approach. The scenery was starting to get big here and it felt like we were finally running into ‘proper’ Scotland.

The West Highland Way carried us all the way down towards those trees in the centre (above) and then the path over Conic reaches back up and around to the right.

It is a steep, steep path which goes on for what feels like forever, but the view at the top makes up for it. I’ve seen many versions of the following pictures in Scottish running blogs, but none really capture the true enormity of the land as it is laid out in front of you in real life. It is breath-taking, in every sense of the word.

…and then you have the perilous descent. Too steep for a mortal like me to run safely, too steep to run if you want to save your quads for later in the race. I picked my way down in a combination of walking, jumping and jogging. This descent killed my sore knee and battered my toes in my shoes. I wanted to feel bad about it but what was the point? I was only 19 miles into the race. Some cracks were appearing; had I done enough hill training? Was I wearing the right shoes? How the fresh hell was I going to find another 34 miles in my legs if they felt like this now? I did my best to push the thoughts from the forefront of my mind and concentrated on seeing Kynon shortly. That would mean hugs, kisses, and rice pudding. All good things.

BALMAHA – 19.3 miles – 3hr 53m 52s

The bottom of the path from Conic Hill spits you out in to the car park, and all of a sudden you go from running under cover of tall, shady pine trees to blinking in harsh daylight. A marshal asked for my number and then hollered it to the drop bag team up ahead who dashed into action, but Kynon had already clocked me and was running up with my little drop-box in hand. I hoovered my rice pudding and re-filled my camelbak with water and snacks and tried to keep moving, whilst catching up with Kynon’s adventures so far. I spent about 7-8 minutes in the check point, which might be a little long but I didn’t want to upset my stomach by eating too quickly. Looking around there weren’t that many drop bags left and I was a little concerned that I was at the far end of the field. I tried not to think about that too much though, and after a farewell hug I trotted out of the car park to continue on my journey.

We had descended right down to the shore of Loch Lomond which was looking beautiful in the sunshine. The route follows the lochside briefly before turning off in to a forest with another big hill. I was needing to use the toilet and kept my eye out for any ideal bushes or walls, but was pleased to pass a Ranger’s Hut which had public toilets open, and a lady ranger outside cheering. What luxury! Feeling a lot lighter, I fell back on to the narrow path as it clung to the lochside.

It really was so beautiful. I just wasn’t feeling that happy though and found it difficult to enjoy. I couldn’t shake the feeling of dread that I had so far to go and so many hours of ‘racing’ ahead of me when I wasn’t feeling very strong. I was so worried about my shoes shredding my feet further and having to pull out; at 4 hours every step was causing pain in my big toe bones and on the soles of my feet alongside my sore knee, and I had at least 8 more hours of it to go. A daunting prospect.

A group of guys from a running club were running together near me and were obviously having a great day out. Listening to their filthy banter was a good distraction and amusing, but I just didn’t have the energy or humor to join in. We were running in single file along the side of the road when I landed on a stone awkwardly and my left (dodgy) knee gave out, causing me to go over my ankle and come perilously close to landing in the path of an oncoming car. The blinding flash of pain in my ankle was excruciating and the shock of falling really shook me up. The guys helped me up and encouraged me to walk it off gently; I tested it and kept moving, it felt sore but not too bad. The pain faded to a dull throb and I knew it would be ok, but with the shock of falling my pride had taken a dent; I realised how fragile I was and how easily the race could be over. I didn’t have to fall down a cliffside to put myself out, apparently I was capable of ending my race by tripping over a pebble as well. I felt vulnerable and weak, which was only compounded by the tears of frustration threatening to spill over my eyes. Where was my toughness? Why was I finding this so hard already?! I was shocked to find myself thinking about how much of a relief it would actually be if I had broken my ankle instead of rolling it, and that would have given me a valid excuse to pull out. Tired minds think bad things…

All I could do was put one foot in front of the other, whether I liked it or not I had to keep moving because I could. The only excuse for stopping was paralysis or death, remember? I thought about how on earth I could justify pulling out if it got that bad, and I could come up with absolutely nothing to tell my friends and family that didn’t sound laughable. Oh, your feet hurt? I bet you weren’t expecting that one, that almost NEVER happens in 50 mile races! There was really tough terrain and hard hills? On the West Highland Way? NEVER…!

The next 8 miles were the darkest of my race; I swore at every ascent, rock, tree root and stream I had to traverse. Seriously, why – WHY did I ever sign up for this stupid race; it’s going to be the death of me, I can’t take this much longer let alone for another 7 hours. Oh look - I’ve just passed marathon point; remember when that was an achievement? When that was actually something to be celebrated? Now it doesn’t even matter because there’s still another f*%king marathon and a bit to go.

I swore I would never set foot on the West Highland Way again, I was an idiot for ever dreaming of completing this race never mind the full 95 mile race. I stomped on under my little thundercloud of rage, cursing myself and every person who ever believed in me for making me think that taking part was a good idea.

I tried to divert myself by making light of it and thinking of silly things. One that came to mind was a particular cat .gif which seemed appropriate; I usually try and keep things PG13 around here but I shall include it for posterity’s sake. Watch this and insert uphills, downhill, stones, tree roots, and ultramarathons where appropriate.

ROWERDENNAN – 5hr 47m 20s – 27.3miles

In all my gurning, I had basically forgotten that I was really quite close to the next check point and Rowerdennan hit me totally out of the blue. I entered to more people cheering my name which was great and completely pulled me out of my funk. I ate my custard and fruit which was gorgeous, and drank lots of plain water which was a nice change from lemon/lime electrolyte water. Caroline Gibson was working here and came over to introduce herself and I spoke to some of the Wilderness Rescue folks as well. It was obvious that spending time by myself on the trail stewing away in a bad mood was doing me no favours at all.

After 7 minutes I was on my way again and really pleased to be running on a packed gravel surface for a change. It was great to give my mind a rest instead of having to think carefully about every step. I was feeling a lot more positive, and even more so when I ran a few miles with Terry Addison (despite it taking us about 2 miles to realise who the other was, after first meeting in the pub in a tipsy post-race haze after the D33 in March). The miles slipped by rather than dragged here, and suddenly my garmin was showing a distance in the 30s. Things were looking up!

I think this is my ‘I don’t want to die any more!‘ face of positivity…

I gave a silent cheer when I passed 33 miles, both for every step now being further than I’d ever run before, and also for the distance remaining being less than 20 miles. It seemed like I was over the mental hill (if not the literal one) and my fighting spirit was back.

I really enjoyed the technical sections on the cliffside by the loch, but I was aware that it was going to get even more challenging after Inversnaid. I would really like to go back and do these sections when I don’t have 30 miles in my legs.

INVERSNAID – 7hr 38m 57s – 34.6 miles

The Inversnaid check point is situated by a hotel right next to the Loch with a tremendous waterfall tumbling next to it. I have earmarked this as an ideal place to stay when I go back to Loch Lomond to play on the technical bits. George and Karen were manning the check point and their friendly faces and cheerful banter was most welcome. They informed me that the Stoney Top Dogs had retained their title as first Relay Team, and had won the race in an incredible 6hrs 37m 45s!

Many runners were relaxing in the sun but I didn’t dare sit down. I ate my bits and pieces but really fancied something savoury so I had a rummage in the left-over fuel pile and found some bread and butter and some baby bel cheese. I love cheese, but these little nuggets were the tastiest things imaginable to me at that point! I ate two and was savouring the flavour when Karen chided me for taking too long; she had a point as I spent 12 minutes at this check point! I was prioritising comfort over time though, and left well fueled and ready for the next 7 miles of mainly walking, scrambling and climbing.

I had been warned about how tough this was going to be, but I had never anticipated how hard the terrain was on the next section. It was like an assault course – climbing up ladders and over boulders, under trees and scrambling down steep rock faces. Again, not a problem on a normal day but with 35 miles in the legs I felt quite scared at how little control I had over my movements. I would attempt to place my foot on a rock but then find I couldn’t lift my leg high enough and over-balance, or I couldn’t quite keep control of my descent down rocky crags and would have to grab on to foliage to stop from tumbling further.

The ‘run’ had turned into a full body workout and I was drinking a lot more than I usually would. It was still comfortably warm and the sun had been out all day, tanning the bits of exposed skin on my legs left uncovered by shorts, calf sleeves and Kinesio tape.

Eventually we reached the end of the Loch and were treated to a beautiful view back along the 30 miles that we had traveled.

For the first time ever I passed Dario’s post, another relic of the West Highland Way which has been documented so many times by others. I understand why this beautiful place was chosen to immortalise his memory

At 40 miles I was just outside Beinglas and the final check point. Even though mentally I was in a much better place, physically I was in bits and suffering from a lot of pain in my feet, knees and quad/calf muscles. Everything below the hips, basically. The sorest bits of my feet were actually the bones in my big toe, and the metatarsal bone over the top – it felt like it had been hit with an axe on both feet. I could feel spongy blisters on both balls of my feet and the ends of my toes felt like they were bloody stumps. I thought about something I read in Born To Run; “If you make friends with pain, you will never be alone”. I tried to rationalise the pain away – it wasn’t going anywhere and I wasn’t stopping so I had to accept it as part of my new existence. I had been running for so long now that real life seemed irrelevant and long-forgotten; I thought about a problem at work that had been bugging me the day before and it felt like it had happened a year ago, to somebody else. My whole purpose on this earth was now to put one foot in front of the other and that’s all I could handle.

I was really looking forward to my can of gin and my final note from Kynon. Since he was unable to meet me at the check points I had asked if he would write some little messages to put in my drop boxes for me to read on the go. So far he had made me laugh and cry so I couldn’t wait to see what he had in store for me next.

BEINGLAS – 9hr 53m 49s – 41.4miles

At Beinglas I had custard and fruit waiting for me and of course, the can of gin+tonic. I mixed it with the fruit juice and drank it from the fruit cup which was very refreshing. As I was eating my snacks I saw Alan for the first time since the start, but he was without Tommy who had dropped out at Rowerdennan after going over his ankle twice. Tommy has the West Highland Way Race coming up in June so he decided to exercise some self-preservation.

There was 12 miles left. It seemed so little but I knew it wouldn’t take my usual time of 1hr 50ish to cover them. The next few miles were rolling hills and with nothing left in my legs at all, I covered the terrain in walking and jogging. I felt that I looked like Donald duck when I ran – my knees were so stiff from tightened ITBs that it was more comfortable to not bend them and waggle my arms and backside for momentum instead. Everyone else was finding their own way to move forward one way or the other and we must have looked a sorry bunch.

picture – Colin Knox

I was thankful to still be able to ‘run’ though, and was finding myself passing others who were only able to walk. I exchanged race chat with those who I passed and shared our aches and pains; one guy asked how I found my shoes and I said “Honestly? Right now I’d like to take them off and chuck them in the burn – I have never been in so much pain” . He was wearing the same ones and was in similar difficulties. I can’t see me racing or running any longer than 10 miles in them in future, at least not without some padded insoles anyway.

It took me an hour to do three miles after Beinglas. When I figured this out my heart sank as I knew there was another big climb to Crianlarich and I was worried in case I wouldn’t make the 15 hour cut off. Aside from that, at the current rate of progress I was looking at another 3 hours of running and I couldn’t fathom being able to speed up. I refused to let myself get negative again though and just kept moving, visualising the flags at the finish line awaiting me. I decided to listen to some music, and put on Big County’s greatest hits because…well, just because. It seemed topical!

Soon enough I was passing Derrydarroch cottage and Cow Poo alley – both place names I’d heard mentioned again and again but had never laid eyes on myself. Cow Poo alley is, well, a river of cow poo. With cows.

The farmer clearly gives not one shit about the West Highland Way, and to traverse his land is to wade shin deep in fresh cow waste and earth. He has dragged feeding troughs across the Way to maximize disruption for all travelers as well, which seems unnecessarily cruel.

I managed to avoid soiling myself for the most past, but unfortunately stood on a rock hidden deep in the muck which squeezed the blister on my right foot so tightly I felt it pop in my shoe. Acidic cow manure water and grit flooded the raw wound which made me see stars from the pain. I didn’t think I’d be able to run another step after that but slowly, like the twisted ankle, the pain faded to the back of my mind and blended in with the rest of my ailments.

I discovered that if I took little fast steps I could move faster, so I tip-toed lightly like a fairy along the edge of the valley. I just wanted the race done, I was so tired and so sore and the miles just weren’t shifting quickly enough.

The climb into the forest above Crianlarich was never-ending. Every time I turned a corner it were was more hill, and I swore at it. At one point when that path was smooth, I turned around and walked up backwards as my legs just couldn’t take it any more. It was instant relief to use my muscles differently!

It was getting to be almost 6pm – had I really been running for nearly 12 hours? It was unfathomable to me. As expected, the steep descent off the Crianlarich hills was horrendously uncomfortable but I pushed on as hard as I could despite my face being contorted in pain. I had never experienced the pain of trying to go down hill with truly trashed quads – it is a unique and agonising experience. I passed several groups of walkers who said well done but I could barely grunt in response.

When I reached the A82 I began to recognise the landscape from West Highland Way Race adventures. My garmin had died after using all 12 hours of its battery life so I was now running painfully blind; I guessed we must have had about 3 miles to go and I asked the marshals who were manning the road crossing who said the same. I hated the fact that only three miles was going to take me so long to travel.

We crossed this bridge and went towards a sheep farm. There were fields of the tiniest, cutest, most brand new lambs I’ve ever seen, making the most adorable noises whilst following their mums around.

The sun was totally gone now and it was getting very cold and windy. I took the time to stop to put my jumper back on and take my last caffeine gel, pleading with it to see me through to the finish.

The last couple of miles dragged as much as you would imagine. It was strange running through a deserted Auchtertyre when I’m familiar with it as a bustling support stop for the West Highland Way race. I was just completely spent now and decided to try John Kynaston’s trick of running for 100 breaths and taking a walking break, then repeating. This seemed to pass some time, but every time there was the slightest bit of incline I had to stop to walk. I passed a runner walking the other way with his bags wearing a medal who reassured me I was going to be OK as I was in the last mile now, a pair of ladies were standing clapping and cheering, I shook my head and rolled my eyes and they offered sympathetic words. I could kind of make out some buildings through the trees – could that be the finish? I hated not knowing how far I had left.

Approaching some gates near the forest, a Dutch-sounding lady said “You’re going to be fine, you’re nearly done – no really, less than 5 minutes and you’ll be done”; the pain must have been written all over my face. I could hear bagpipes off and on in the breeze and I believed her; that was the finish, I really was that close. I gulped and swallowed the urge to cry.

There was a hugely enthusiastic lady and her daughter with their dog sitting another couple of hundred meters up. They told me to “Just go around the corner you’ll see the finish. Make sure you have a little energy left to run in because the finish looks amazing and everyone’s waiting for you – they’re all there to cheer you home!”. Another gulp.

I pass the bagpipers and I can’t keep my shit together any longer as the skirl of the pipes moves me so much. I give them two thumbs up and try to say thank you but it is muffled by a sob. Come on Mitchell, no tears yet; get over the damn line first.

One last little incline and I turn into the caravan park, and it is the most beautiful sight. An avenue of flags flying in the wind leading to a huge yellow finishing gantry; 50 meters lined with friends and well wishers hanging over the barriers who begin screaming and whooping for all their worth when they see that another finisher is coming in.

Under the finishing gantry is a figure, with his arms wide open. It is Kynon, and he’s been working at the finish line for hours to be the one to catch me when I finally cross the line. With my last ounce of strength, I run to him.

picture: Muriel Downie/Highland Fling

I sob in his arms like a baby. Big, heaving, suffocating sobs which consume me and take the last of my breath away. Incomprehensible relief that it is over, disbelief that I’ve done it, and so much love for this amazing man who has supported me every step of the way, right until the literal finish. When I untangle myself from him I see Steve, Neil and Marc from the club are waiting for me too and Steve keeps saying “You did it! You did it!” which sets me off all over again. Kynon and the guys lead me to the nearest chair and sitting down for the first time in 13 hours feels incredible, but not as amazing as taking off my shoes does. They are black and blue and swollen on top but remarkably blister-free in my usual hot spots around my toes. The bones feel like they’ve been pulverised with a hammer though, so I discard my shoes and pull on a pair of hotel slippers I packed for the finish line. A beer is pushed into my hand and Kynon tells me to sit down, but I want to speak to everyone else and find out how we all did.

Shuffling into the marquee I find Julie working hard, who envelopes me in a huge hug and tells me “See I told you you’d be seeing me at the finish line, didn’t I?” and makes me weep all over again. Mike comes over and congratulates me; he’s had a tough day but a fruitful training run which was what he wanted. John got perilously close to Sub-10 hours but had a great race regardless, and Noanie blew it all out of the water with a storming first Fling finish of 11hrs 47m.

I toy with the idea of seeing one of the Doctors about my feet but they have far more pressing casualties to take care of. Instead I have some gorgeous soup and put some warm clothes on, before watching the prize giving with another gin-in-a-tin.

Stonehaven Top Dogs keep their winner’s title!

At about 8pm we decided to get going and head off to our hotel to check in and get fed. I was kind of hungry, but my body was in such turmoil it was giving me mixed signals on everything. I know I did want to sit down, and drink a beer though.

We reached the Falls of Dochart Inn in about 15 minutes and got quickly checked in and changed. It’s a lovely hotel with loads of character which we stayed at in May for a mini-break and the Dunblane 7.5mile race. There was so much to talk about and stories to share of our separate adventures that it took us about an hour to eat our meal as we were both spinning like tops and high as a kite. Even though I had the medal around my neck, I still couldn’t believe I had done it. Was it really me who had been out there all day? Who was that person who borrowed my legs and then returned them in such bad shape?!

By 11pm we were tucked up in the huge four poster bed with our heads resting on soft marshmallow pillows. I fell asleep quickly but it was a restless night; I must have seen every hour on the clock as I woke up in various shades of aches and pain. I finally gave up at 7am and had a look through my pictures of the day before on my phone with a coffee. Again, the medal on the bedside was proof that I had done it, but cliched as it sounds; the whole day felt like it had been just a dream.

After breakfast I took the medal for a walk (hobble) and admired the beautiful falls. My feet were so swollen that I couldn’t get my trainers on properly, and I had to climb the stairs on all fours and come down them on my back-side.

Four days later I am still suffering, but managed a 3 mile “run” last night with Kynon to try out some new shoes I’ve bought myself as a well done treat. It is going to be a long and gentle recovery as I’ve clearly given myself a huge battering, but that’s some chat for another post. I have a lot of thoughts still percolating about this race, and a lot of lessons I can take away from it. Deep down I know that the reason why it feels like a dream is because I am no longer the same person that I was when I started the race. I have seen within myself and I am stronger, tougher and more capable than I ever imagined. I might have lost my nerve for a bit outside Rowerdennan, but I certainly found it again; and then some.

Massive thanks to John and all of the Highland Fling team who worked so hard to create an amazing event and one of the most memorable days in my life so far. May there be many more just like it.

Posted in Race Reports, Races, Running, Scotland, Ultramarathon | Tagged hoka highland fling, injury, medals, Mike Raffan, Personal best, race, race re-cap, race report, races, racing, running, Scotland, stonehaven running club, trail race, training, ultramarathon, West Highland Way, West Highland Way Race | 21 Comments

Hoka Highland Fling 2013 – Preperation

Posted on April 25, 2013 by redwinerunner

Thursday evening. 9pm. Tminus 33 hours ’til the starters’ gun in Milngavie.

I did not need to know that…

…but never mind. The clock is ticking!
This evening I’ve been planning and packing my drop bags for the race and thinking carefully about what I’m going to take in order to fuel my 53 mile journey. I also need to plan what I’m going to be wearing throughout the race and what I’ll need at the start and the finish. As someone who lives to plan and loves a good list I should be in my element here, but since so much of this race is venturing into unknown territory for me (both figuratively and literally) it is proving quite hard to make decisions so far.

What I’m Wearing

This is kind of the easy part, until you look at the ever-changing weather forecast. It seems to vary by the hour and by which website you look at. Currently the BBC is displaying the following for the start at Milngavie:

53 miles up the road and Tyndrum on the other hand, is looking like this:

A heady high of 1C! At least it would appear to be dry throughout the day.

Ideally I would like to be wearing a base layer under my club vest, with a light shell jacket in my bag. Shorts on the bottom and my new Compress Sport calf sleeves that I got at the Paris Marathon expo. I think I will probably need some gloves for the first stages, but they and hopefully my baselayer, can be discarded at the first checkpoint with Kynon. I need to keep myself warm for the whole day however and realistically I could spend a lot of the latter miles of the race walking – a vest and shorts will not cut it if the mercury is struggling to reach beyond zero and I’m not keeping myself warm by moving fast.

Shoes

What will I be putting on my feet? A very hot topic amongst Flingers online just now. I had assumed that the obvious choice would be my trail shoe (Inov8 Flyroc 310, above) but reports are circulating that the course is very dry so road shoes could be equally suitable. My trail shoes are comfortable but nowhere near as smooth a ride as my road shoes (I would wear my Saucony Guide 5′s for this). I am worried that my feet will suffer in the trail shoes as I’ve never worn them for such a length of time, on the other hand in the road shoes I am concerned that the rocks on the West Highland Way may cripple me after 40 miles. I remember how much they hurt me after only 28 with Vicki in June…

Another decision to make on the day I think. Footwear is such a personal thing and I really wish someone could tell me what to do, but I’m on my own on this one.

Timing and Pacing

The way I am approaching this mentally, is that Saturday’s race is a day out in the hills. A journey, and an adventure. I am not capable of ‘racing’ this by any stretch of anyone’s imagination and I don’t have a time to beat, so my one aim is to finish by the cut off time of 15 hours which, all being well, is more than achievable.

That said, I have had to think about how long each stage might take me so that I can plan my food and fuel. I had a play with this calculator tool, but some people were suggesting it wasn’t based on the best information available so the times being produced weren’t reflecting a well-run race. I had some help from Mike who has devised his own calculator which produced the following splits for a 12.5hr race:

With the race starting at 6am, this would have me home at 6:20pm. I think this is realistic, but like everything else…who knows. I don’t think splits as we pass over timing mats are being updated anywhere, but you can follow along on Twitter using the hashtags #flingrace and #highlandfling – there isn’t an official one and people seem to be posting using both. Kynon will also be updating when he can – you can follow user @mr_kynon to get updates from him, but due to the remoteness of the course, 3G signal is very patchy.

Food and Fuel

The most important part of the day! In my months of training I have been eating lots of different things and have discovered that luckily, my stomach is as strong as my legs and can take everything I’ve been throwing at it. I eat a little something every 45 minutes and will restock my pockets at each checkpoint. I’m obviously not going for anything new on race day though, and have created drop “bags” for the check point locations.

Start of Race – Camelbak contents

500ml High5 Electrolyte drink
2 High5 gels, salted hula hoops, Jaffa cake bar, Galaxy Caramel cake bar (approx 500 calories)

Also in there is a space blanket, blister repair kit, paracetamol, immodium, emergency whistle and phone.

Check Point 1 – Balmaha – 19.8 miles

To eat at checkpoint – Strawberry rice pudding and a bottle of lucozade
To take away – Salt n vinegar crisps, cake bars, raisins and gels
Approximately 880 calories

Check Point 2 – Rowardennan – 27.2 miles

To eat at checkpoint – Fruit cup, custard, Dr Pepper
To take away – Salted crisps, cake bars, 2 gels, flapjack
Approximately 825 calories

Checkpoint 3 – Inversnaid – 34.3 miles

To eat at checkpoint – Rice pudding, coke
To take away – Salt n vinegar squares, cake bars, 2 caffeinated gels, flapjack
Approximately 740 calories

Checkpoint 4 – Beinglas Farm – 40.9

To eat at checkpoint – custard and fruit cup, gin (blame Vicki and Sandra for that)!
To take away – salted crisps, caffeinated gels, cake cars, flapjack.
Approximately 698 calories

In total over the day at my usual metabolic rate I will burn 5830 calories, and in total I ‘m replacing that on the run with 3647 if I consume everything (which I doubt I will). I’m sure a lot of people will be quick to say I’ve got far too much stuff and all I need is some water and a pocket full of peanuts, but I have no idea how I’m going to feel or cope during this adventure (which could be 15 hours long…) so I’d rather be presented with the choice than have nothing to look forward to.

So that’s about it. Everything is prepared and I just have a long day at work to go before we can get on the road to Milngavie. I had one last physio appointment today where I got my knee re-taped and some ultrasound treatment, and it is feeling good to go. I am so ready to get out there and run!

I can’t wait to reap the benefits of all the work I’ve put in this year so far. It has been a long slog, but I dearly hope it will be worth it. The hard part is over – all I need to do now is show up at 6am on Saturday morning and start running at the start…and stop running when I get to the finish. Easy.

Before I go, a quick mention and huge vote of thanks to Kynon and the masses of other marshals who are giving up their entire Saturday to be out there in the middle of nowhere so we can run this race. From time to time I’ve moaned about the stuff I’ve had to give up to train for this event, but this weekend Kynon ought to be in Whitby captaining Real Gothic FC for their biannual football match against Athletico Gazette, which is part of the Whitby Goth Weekend. It’s the first time he’s missed a match since 2006 so I am hugely appreciative of what he’s given up to support me in my endeavours this weekend. I hope the Gothic can forgive me for stealing their Captain…I doubt I’ll get away with this more than once, so you can be assured he’ll be back next time…

See you on the other side…

Posted in Races, Running, Scotland, Training, Ultramarathon | Tagged hoka highland fling, hoka highland fling 2013, injury, race, races, real gothic fc, running, Scotland, stonehaven running club, trail race, training, ultramarathon, West Highland Way | 10 Comments

The view from the bench

Posted on April 22, 2013 by redwinerunner

It’s been a funny couple of weeks. Since crossing the finish line at Paris I have ran approximately 8 miles, and I don’t like it one bit. I’ve been under strict physio orders to NOT RUN if I want any chance of getting to the starting line of the Fling in one piece (let alone the finish), so I have been cross training gently and giving my mind an extensive workout in the form of extreme positive thinking.

In 4 days time I’ll be packing up and heading down the road to Milngavie for the start of the 53 mile Highland Fling Ultramarathon and the longest race I have ever ran. How did this come about so soon? I’ve had a countdown on my phone since I signed up back in November and it really wasn’t that long ago it was reading days in triple figures. Back in November I didn’t imagine that I’d be staring down the Fling at this point having only run 4 times this whole month so far; but then again I can’t say I imagined I’d be staring at it having knocked half an hour off my D33 time and coming within a whisker of a 4 hour marathon at Paris. I have to take the rough with the smooth on this occasion, I think!

I’m aware that I haven’t given a huge amount of specific updates on my training for this race, and I guess the reason for that is for the most part due to my ‘one week at a time’ strategy. I wrote a training plan back in January, but after about a month I found things weren’t working so well and ended up planning my running week by week – but that’s a story for another post.

This is how I’m currently rolling, with a distinctive trilogy of red, white and blue holding my knee together as I bounce off the walls in frustration, desperate to be running ‘properly’ again. It feels a long time since my longest run (33 miles, 16th March) and a long time since I had a ‘proper’ long training run with my backpack on and an aching body the next day.

I feel I have to note that I didn’t get a choice in the colours of the tape. I’d much rather it was a Saltire of course, or black…

All jesting aside, here’s an update on what’s up with my knee and how I’m handling it on the approach to the longest race of my running life so far. It’s a heady mix of denial, positivity and pure stubbornness as I refuse to acknowledge that there’s even the slightest chance I will DNS or DNF the Fling. This is the race where it has been known for a runner to carry on for 15 miles whilst having a heart attack, it has been finished by runners with broken bones that they didn’t start off with, and there are people who are desperate to be on the starting line this year as usual who are only not going to be because Doctors have had to practically tie them to a bed to stop them. My knee hurts when I run. No big deal.

The problem I’m experiencing is knee Bursitis, which is a completely typical runners’ injury. It is caused by inflammation of a bursa which are small fluid-filled sacs found in and around the knee cap, but you get them in all joints. The inflammation can be caused by repeated pressure on the joint or repeated movement and in the case of runners with the condition, over-training, running up a lot of hills, or failing to warm-up properly are frequently the culprits. I may or may not be guilty of all three.

I have been treating it with a steady consumption of ibuprofen, icing and rest. Whilst it is getting better I don’t think I’m going to be on the starting line in perfect shape by any stretch of the imagination. Even if I do start pain-free, I doubt that it will last very long. A trail ultra is much kinder to the legs than a road marathon though, so I am hopeful that I will be able to cope with the pain when it comes and manage it until I reach the finish. Like I’ve described before, the pain is on the inside of my left knee and hurts like an annoyance such as a headache does when I run – as in, it’s tolerable and it won’t stop me moving forward, but it’s not exactly pleasant. Given that a trail ultra of 53 miles will give me plenty of opportunities for a walk if required, I think the pain will be easier to deal with on this occasion than trying to hammer out a fast road race for a decent time without breaking pace.

So this taper, if you can even call it that, has been excruciating. Alongside all of the usual joys of taperitis with its pre-race nerves and phantom illnesses, I have genuine injury concern to manage as well which is making drawing the line between the two quite challenging. It has concerned me how unhappy not being able to run has made me, and this enforced time on the bench has made me question how I would cope if I ever were in a prolonged position where I couldn’t run at all. Is there such a thing as putting all ones’ fitness eggs in one hypothetical basket I wonder? All I want to do is run. I know I moan about it sometimes, but being a runner really does make me very happy. Who would I be if I had to stop? It has made me conduct rather a lot of soul-searching, and the answer is I don’t know but I’m going to finish my first 50 miler on Saturday and that’s all that matters for now.

Where do positive thoughts spiral out of control and into delusion? I don’t know that either, but I won’t like to be the person who attempted to explain it to me. What I do know though, is that in ultramarathons after a certain distance it’s all in the mind anyway and it’s not my mind that’s broken. I know I have the training and endurance in me to physically keep going for all 53 miles, but if I let negative thoughts in then that’s my biggest enemy. Mike ran only 120 miles in the two months between the West Highland Way race and the Glenmore 24 last year, and then proceeded to run 121 miles in 24 hours at Glenmore. Vicki sustained an ITB injury at the Fling last year and barely ran again until the West Highland Way race two months later, which she completed in 31 hours.

There’s no rhyme or reason to it, I can’t explain it, but it happens. The endless pursuit of ‘ultra’ is one of the things which makes our sport so mythically amazing; people have written books about it in attempts to explain it and still no-one’s got to the bottom of it. It’s what makes it so hard to explain why we run these races to well-meaning friends, family and randoms who ask us about it in the pub (after they spit their pint all over the floor of course). We are all in pursuit of that extra wave of energy that comes from nowhere and keeps us going in the darkest places and you have to believe that when you need it, it will come.

My biggest weapon against this race and this distance is my belief in myself and my training. I can do this. I CAN DO THIS.

All I need to do is start at the start and keep running until I reach the finish. Simple.

A mutual friend was seen to comment the following in the West Highland Way Race Family facebook group recently, which just about sums it all up: “There are only three reasons for pulling out: 1. You’re dead 2. You’re unconscious 3. You’re paralysed. Everything else is just a minor detail to be ignored”.

The rest of this week will be taken up with planning, shopping and mentally focusing. I’ll do another update on the nitty-gritty of my race and what I’m planning to eat, wear and my general plans for my 53 mile journey. All in all it’s going to be a huge adventure and honestly, I can’t wait to unleash my inner strength on that trail.

Posted in Races, Running, Scotland, Training, Ultramarathon | Tagged hoka highland fling, hoka highland fling 2013, injury, motivation, race, races, racing, running, Scotland, trail race, training, ultramarathon, West Highland Way, West Highland Way Race | 6 Comments

Some thoughts on Boston

Posted on April 15, 2013 by redwinerunner

Like everyone else I knew, around 8pm last night I went from casually browsing the internet whilst cooking my dinner after the gym to standing in front of the television; eyes wide, mouth hanging open, legs trembling and stomach sickened, trying to process the images of the Boston Marathon that I was seeing on the screen. It was a scene too close to home – the finish line of a major marathon lined with marshals in yellow jackets, flags, photographers, cheering crowds and tired yet jubilant runners taking their final steps to personal victory. I was standing wearing my purple Paris Marathon shirt; just 7 days before it had been me taking those final steps which made the scene all the more closer to home. I spent the rest of the evening glued to the coverage in horror, lost for words.

Boston is the everyday runner’s Everest – the holy grail of races for amateurs like us. Many runners will have spent years working towards a qualifying time for this special Blue Riband of races which makes it all the more galling that someone set out to destroy this unique race of prestige and achievement. Our sport is a community, a family which extends across borders; last week I spoke about finishing the Paris marathon surrounded by people from every country in the world – through language barriers we might not have been able to exchange much more than a knowing smile and a nod in greeting, but that’s all we ever needed to do to acknowledge our shared experience. The essence of this is present on every run; with every smile and nod to the strangers that you pass every night after work, with the fellow competitor who’d stop to help you if you tripped in a race, with the stranger who’d share some food on the trail if you’d run out. Violence and harm does not happen in running. That’s not how it works.

I feel as if my own family has been violated. My huge, tight-knit yet wide open to anyone family of support, positivity and love, where I turn to each day to escape the strains of life and work out my stress and my fears. To become a better person, a stronger athlete; the best version of myself I can be. Running is a world away from terrorism, fear, danger. We run to get away from the real world. This is our safe place and I am so angry that someone has destroyed it like this.

A finish line is one of the most amazing places in the world, full of happiness, achievement, hope, warmth, fellowship and support. At the finish line of a race we are supposed to discover that humans are so much stronger than we think they can be, not that they are more evil than we can ever imagine. What will happen to marathons and mass participation events now? Have the days of routes lined 5 deep with support come to an end? Will we look back fondly at event support in a few years in the same way we look back fondly now at being able to take a bottle of water through security in an airport?

Thankfully everyone I know from Fetch or blogs who was in the race or involved in it have reported they are safe and well. Twitter and other social media played a fantastic part in the proceedings yesterday by reporting news live and reuniting families when the phone networks went down, but now they’re a stream of the same images and articles and I can’t read it any more. I don’t know how I feel about so many graphic images of the wounded being broadcast in such a way – I know it is important to get news out but if it were my friends and family being shown in such dreadful states I can’t imagine how I would feel. Those poor people. I slept patchily last night, plagued by the images I saw over and over again; I can’t imagine how those who see these things in real life cope.

I’m sorry if this reads a disjointed and poorly constructed post, but I just wanted to write and get my feelings out of my head. I’m on my lunch break at work and I just I can’t watch the news any more; this could have been any race and any of my friends and family. Reports suggest that most of the badly injured and dead were supporters; our faithful and loyal supporters who come out and support our efforts again and again through wind and shine for hours on end. The people who have our backs without question in our endless, tiresome and sometimes selfish pursuit of excellence.

It has been said in many places this morning, but if terrorists are trying to crush the human spirit – marathon runners were the wrong group to target. They will not scare us, they will not stop us, they will not chase away our Boston dreams. Do your run today with those we lost and those who were harmed yesterday in your thoughts. I am meeting some friends after work for a few miles and we will run to honour them and their families.

Much love,

~RwR

Posted in Life, Running | Tagged boston marathon, boston marathon 2013 | 3 Comments

RACE REPORT: Paris Marathon 2013

Posted on April 11, 2013 by redwinerunner

7th April 2013
2013 Marathon de Paris

Chip time: 4hr 05m 18s (14 minute PB!)
Finish position: 19,003rd/39,967
Gender: 2,011th/7,911
Category: 1,058th/3,678

It was probably about a year ago when my friend Naomi and I started brain storming potential plans to travel to France to run the Paris Marathon in 2013. Naomi’s Mum lives and works in Paris, direct flights from Aberdeen with Air France are relatively cheap…it all seemed far too convenient an opportunity to pass up. Fast forward 6 months and one marathon each later, and on the 17th of October 2012 along with thousands of other eager runners we were parked in front of our computers hammering ctrl+F5, desperate to get the website to load to buy a place.

€80 for entry and £250 for a return flight later, it was a done deal. The 4th – 8th of April was circled in my calendar with P-A-R-I-S written all over it but since it was so far away I ended up giving it little thought over the months to come. The early weeks of 2013 ticked by and my training for the D33 and Highland Fling Ultras was in full swing, week after week of 40 – 50 miles were smashed out and I was rewarded with a storming 30 minute PB at the D33. A season’s best run at the RunGarioch Half Marathon at the end of March only 40 seconds off my my PB in horrific conditions on a hilly course further solidified my belief in my training. This Winter has been the making of me as a runner so far – I am stronger than I’ve ever been and I wanted to hit Paris as hard as I could. What had originally been earmarked as my last long training run for the Fling had turned into a battlefield – I knew I had the potential to go sub-4; all I needed was the balls to go out at the right pace at the start and run like I stole something ’til the finish.

I spent the night before the race visualising how I was going to tackle it. I did this for the D33 and I think it helped greatly with my nerves. I reminded myself of how I was going to feel, what was going to hurt and how I was going to deal with it. My big talk to myself was based around the fact that this race was my pinnacle of training for a 53 mile race; if someone put me outside Milngavie Station the next morning and told me to run to Tyndrum I could do it. That wasn’t going to happen – the distance I had to run in the morning was less than half of that so it was absolutely nothing to worry about at all. I loaded up Spirit Of The Marathon on my laptop and fell asleep dreaming of marathon glory around 1am.

0545 came and I hopped right out of bed to commence the race morning ritual and make some coffee. I always have two strong cups which is usually enough to get my digestive system on the move. This was particularly important for me on this occasion as the previous days of Parisian eating and traveling had, let’s say, disturbed my natural rhythms somewhat; so I was concerned that I might encounter some difficulties.

Breakfast was weetabix with banana and a High5 carb drink. I was wary not to drink too much even though I wanted to as I knew I would be in a situation without easy access to facilities before long. Rachel arrived and the three of us quietly went about our own race morning preparations, there was an air of quiet focus in the apartment as we each stayed well within our own head-space and dealt with our nerves in our own way.

The streets of Paris were deserted and cold. Any self-respecting Parisian would not dream of being up and about at this time on a Sunday; there was not a single sign of the race as we made the 30 minute walk to the start.

When the Arc de Triomphe came into sight however, familiar sights were moving in the shadows. Flashes of neon, knee-high socks on skinny legs, the curious outer attire of a large white plastic sack…

With the sun just rising next to it, the Arc loomed into view. I had forgotten how truly monstrous in size it is.

Thousands of runners and their supporters were scattered around like excitable ants, dwarfed by the huge monument. Only in France would they keep a major intersection like this open during a mass-participation event, and the drivers of the cars could clearly not care less about the happy runners as they swerved dangerously around them without reducing their speed at all.

Our first stop was the portaloos for one last attempt to empty the bladder. We shivered in line for 10 minutes before finally reaching the front of a queue, and then took some final pictures before departing for the corrals.

It really was dreadfully cold, but we were encouraged by the sun gradually warming things up and could tell that it was going to be a beautiful day for running. The previous day we had purchased some cheap long sleeve t-shirts to wear as a throwaway layer at the start – in the pictures above we had wriggled out of them quickly to get nice pictures and wasted no time getting them straight back on afterwards.

It was a short walk down the Champs Elysees to reach the corrals, and in our case the 4hr15 one where we had seeded ourselves when we registered all those months ago. For me this was a bit slow for my planned pace so I needed to get right to the front, Rachel and Naomi had decided to stick to the rear and start off at more like 4hr30 pace. We took a last photo or two, wished each other good luck and went our separate ways.

I was able to get right to the front where an extendable barrier was in place as a division. It was about 0815 and the corral seemed about half full. The main race was due to start at 0845 but I didn’t expect to get moving until at least 0915.

The corral slowly filled up as the sun rose and I welcomed its warmth on my shivering skin. There was music pumping and exercise leaders encouraging runners to follow their routines to keep warm, but the hard-nosed right at the front of the corral stayed still so I followed suit.

Looking around me there were people from all over the world. Within a five meter circumference around me I could be listening to 10 different languages being spoken, a theme which remained for the entire race. I spoke briefly to the man next to me who was of Indian descent but raised in California, but was now based in the Philippines. He was very cold and had never run in temperatures so low! Amongst others I can remember there were a group of excitable South Africans taking pictures, a large group of Japanese pensioners diligently following the warm-up routine en masse with not one smile cracked between them, and groups of young Brits wearing vests bearing familiar charity names.

The sense of shared experience was already remarkable. When you take one person’s months of preparation and nerves and excitement for a marathon and multiply that by 40,000, you might imagine how it felt to stand in that corral alongside my fellow runners from around the world. United by a love of an event which you don’t really get until you do it, with helicopters flying overhead and cameras beaming images of us on to TV screens all over the planet. About to commence a 26.2 mile journey in the footsteps of some of the greatest runners in the world who would be paving the way ahead of us. Supported by thousands of screaming fans lining the route through one of the most remarkable cities in the world. Welcomed into the finish line some time later by a long straight of cheering crowds. How did I ever think this wouldn’t be a big deal?

Some time later, they finally removed the barrier and contained us only by tape. The corral in front of us moved forward 100m and then stopped. People started slipping under the tape and running forward to join the 4hr group; should I join them? Would that be a bad thing to do? I decided against it, until the crowd behind me started surging and pushing. I felt a wave of panic and immediately slipped under the tape and trotted forward before I knew what I was doing – I really didn’t want to be in a situation with 20,000 people pushing out of control behind me.

So suddenly I was with the 4hr group and the start was in sight! I should have known better however – I would stand for a further 15 minutes before moving again.

The ground underneath our feet was littered with hazards. This was partly why we were being moved so slowly – as soon as a group moved forward 20 meters, stewards leaped out and gathered up the discarded ponchos and other clothing to make it as safe as possible. The closer you got to the finish, the corral became divided once more, this time down the middle so that the runners were released in two separate streams on to the course.

Closer and closer still…until finally…

ONWARDS!

It felt amazing to finally be moving. My skin was chilly but in the sunlight Paris was warming up quickly. The first mile was on a wide open avenue down to Place de la Concorde where the crowds began and the first bands were playing. I was just riding along with the pack around me and cruising at around 9:00 pace. I knew I needed to maintain sub-9 miles throughout to hit a sub-4 finish but I also assumed I would be able to do my usual negative split and finish strong and fast. I had picked up a pace band at the expo which had the 5k split times I needed to hit – this was to be a very handy thing to have on my wrist as my brain went to mulch as the miles wore on.

The first 5k was probably the worst of the race for me. I was needing to pee just a bit more than was comfortable and there was no options to go at all. My knee started hurting by the first kilometer sign as well and my initial thoughts were along the lines of “Well this is going to suck. Looks like I’m in for a long day at the office today”.

5k: 28:40 – 5k Split: 28:40 – Position: 25,693

The food/water station at 5k was when the first crowds really appeared. Holy crap! All these people are here for us! It was overwhelming an a huge smile crept across my face as I soaked up the atmosphere. I didn’t take water or food at 5k as I didn’t feel like I needed anything at all but noted the utter chaos that ensued at the station. The road was covered in orange slices and banana peels – definitely something to watch out for.

Turning a corner I heard “GO RHONA, GO!!!” and turned my head to see Naomi’s Mum and Aunt waving excitedly to my right – I couldn’t believe they’d spotted me as the crowds were so thick. A few meters later I heard a Scottish voice exclaim “Oh my God! Stonehaven! Look; that girl’s from Stonehaven!!” and I grinned even more – this was amazing!

I passed over the 5k sensor mat and thought about the text message hopefully arriving with Kynon and all the other friends back home following me on the marathon tracker app. Hitting 5k in 28:40 meant I was 10 seconds faster than I needed to be so I was well on target so far. I had been keeping the 4hr Pacer in my sights but the narrowing of the course around here let him get further ahead of me and closer to being out of sight on the twisty streets.

By 10k we were in a park and the crowds had thinned out a little but there were still bands every half kilometer – samba, jazz, flute choirs, rock – every type of music was on offer. I took a little water to freshen up with but I didn’t want to drink any as I was still needing the toilet quite badly. I had thought it would go away after I got going but I could feel that I would need to make a stop at some point as the discomfort was going to affect my pace. Since we were in a park I was looking out for a good bush or tree, but every one had people peeing in/on them! I held on a little longer…

10k: 57:58 – 5k Split: 29:50 – Position: 25,855 (+162)

The best thing so far about the race was the on course support. Many people complain about lack of support but for someone who is used to running races with no support whatsoever I was finding it wonderful. I had already come across several Scottish people running – the outfit I was wearing was rather patriotic so it attracted the attention of my fellow Scottish runners, especially since I was wearing my club vest. I spoke to runners from Aberdeen, Aboyne, Banchory, Elgin and Arbroath – all towns in the North East of Scotland where I’m from. There were plenty of vocal Scots supporting as well and hearing a thick accent braying ” C’Moooaaaaannnn SCOAT’LANNNNNNN!!!!” at me every so often was such a lift. They would cheer at me and I would cheer back – same with the Welsh and Irish supporters. Poor show from many of the English though; frequently I’d cheer and smile seeing a Union Jack or St George’s Cross as I passed and the bearer of said flag would sort of smile thinly and awkwardly like I was the drunk Aunt at a wedding trying to get their attention from the dancefloor.

15k: 1hr 26. 28 – 5k Split: 28:50 – Position: 25,748 (+107)

At the 15k water and food station I passed some port-a-loos and decided now was the chance to void my bladder. I pulled open a cubicle and was greeted with the kind of shartocalypse you hear about on day five of Glastonbury, not 15k into a race. There was diarrhea EVERYWHERE. All over the floor, seat and walls. Who are these people and what the HELL are they eating that is doing this to their guts?! It was too late; I was in the cubicle and had to go, so I just prayed to the porcelain gods that my quad muscles would allow me to complete a perfect hovering squat over the soiled facility until I was done. Mouth-breathing like my life depended on it (it probably did), I finished up and exploded out of that cubicle like a bat out of hell and tried desperately to repress the memory of what I’d just seen. Sometimes what has been seen, cannot be unseen…

Another thing I had been thinking about was my knee. It was really starting to hurt, and I really didn’t want to slow my pace or for it to get any sorer. I decided to take some painkillers and hope for the best.

Closing in on 20k and we had left the park and were running through an area of nondescript suburbia. It was starting to get really warm for me now with the sun blazing from a cloudless sky; it was probably only about 8C but given I’ve been training for months in sub-zero wind chill and snow it was a bit of a shock to the system.

The route was as busy as ever and I had realised it was not going to get any less crowded. I was constantly having to think about my ‘racing line’ and where I was going to put my feet next. I had lost the 4 hour pacer completely and many of the people around me were running slightly slower than I’d like which was frustrating. The support crowds were building again and I tried to remember the shape of the route. We had doubled back on ourselves by now and were heading back to the city centre.

At 20k the crowds became riotous – they had obviously had a good warm up and a decent cup of coffee and were really giving it laldy. My favourite were the group of Kiwis who I saw on a couple of occasions who had a couple of huge flags and a loudspeaker. They alternated playing music through it with broadcasting encouraging friendly abuse, as only a crowd of antipodeans drinking lager at 10am on a Sunday morning can. They really liked my kilt!

20k: 1hr 55m 20s – 5k split: 28:50 – Position: 25,490 (+258)

There was a powerade station at half way which a drank from hungrily. Blue powerade remains one of my favourite things to drink when I’m working hard and it tasted like heaven. I passed half way in 2:01 easily – a time which this time last year would have been a big PB and unfathomable at this point in a marathon.

This picture really shows how busy the race was; it was like this from start to finish. But that’s not the point of the picture! The route went by several fire stations who had stationed their trucks over the course and bedecked the extended ladders with firefighters. One of them had a banner declaring “Good luck! The Firemen are with you!” which I thought was adorable. Like most women, I have a large soft spot for firemen so this lovely addition to the course was highly relevant to my interests.

Other notable sights were a disabled girl being pushed along the course in a kart by a team of people taking turns. they had a website on their shirts which I wish I could remember, but I think they were doing some kind of charity around the world marathon tour. There was also a man in an Eiffel Tower costume, naturally.

picture: Ian Sharp

There were very few costumed runners actually; a drastic contrast to London where you are quite likely to be beaten by someone dressed as a combine harvester or something equally bizarre.

At about 14.5 miles the course goes down to the Banks of the Seine and follows it for miles. This is when my memories start to fade into one blurry mess. I was hot and tired, and there were people in my way. I couldn’t just switch off – I had to think about every step I was taking and bob and weave around people slowing down. At 16 miles there is a the first of a few long tunnels – long, dark, hot and loud. People were shrieking, singing, blowing whistles etc and this was all magnified by the echoing mile-long tunnel. I was quite glad to get out of it as I began to feel quite claustrophic towards the end.

picture: Ian Sharp

These were my tough miles when I had to give myself a good talking to. I was still completely on pace for a 4 hour-ish finish and I was refusing to let go of it. Thankfully my knee seemed to be responding to the painkillers and had calmed down, but maybe that was because everything else was starting to hurt as well? I was pleased that my dodgy back muscle was not giving me any trouble, nor was I getting anything from my ITB. I could feel my feet swelling in the heat however and they were becoming quite uncomfortable. With under 10 miles to go the end was very firmly in sight however so it was time to keep the foot on the gas despite any discomfort.

25k: 2hr 24m 30s – 5k Split: 29:10 – Position: 24,740 (+444)

After what seemed like forever (actually: 5 miles) we moved away from the Seine. I’m struggling to recall much other than the course narrowing ridiculously at places due to supporters encroaching past the barriers on the route. This made my pace drop a little which was incredibly frustrating. So were all the people stopping to walk in the middle of the route which you had to rapidly dodge around. My garmin signal had been disturbed by the underpasses and I was reading about half a mile long at 20 miles, but from the amount of bobbing and weaving I had had to do it could have easily been legitimate distance logged. Examining the garmin trace on my computer reveals some very squiggling lines on the map where I ought to have been running straight up a street.

The crowd were really doing their job well and shouts for Scotland and Stonehaven were keeping me going every time I felt like I was flagging. Crossing the timing mats became something I looked forward to as thinking about the messages going out to my loved ones made them feel closer to me. It sounds daft and sentimental, but it’s silly little things like that which keep your head in the right place in a marathon.

I was grabbing orange slices at every food station – these must be the nectar of the running gods. I have never experienced such delights whilst running before and am seriously considering putting some in my drop bags for the Fling. I had been taking my usual gels every 45 minutes which were tiding me over but the extra refreshing oranges were heaven. I read that 20 tonnes of oranges were out on the course, alongside 2.2 tonnes of dried fruit, 6 tonnes of apples and 2.5 tonnes of sugar cubes.

35k: 3hr 23m 42s – 10k Split: 59:13 – Position 21,265 (+3475!!!)

Despite having some tough miles, the statistics show that I was killing it. I climbed 3,475 places between 25k and 35k and was fighting hard to maintain my pace. Whilst I couldn’t lock into a pace like I did at the D33, I was able to access the ‘run fast and get it over with’ mentality which has been so helpful in tough races lately. I ducked and weaved around the walkers and the stumblers and ran as hard as I could. With under 10k to go I knew I’d finish but in what time? Could I scrape enough time back to get under 4 hours?

22.5 miles saw us enter the Bois de Bologne and the last quiet section of the course. There was no sign of the mythical cheese and wine station I’d heard so much about, but even if I’d seen it I wouldn’t have stopped for anything. 3.7 miles seemed such a short distance and I could almost taste the finish but I couldn’t get my legs to move any faster. My hips were stiffening, my calfs were cramping and running over the cobbles was absolute agony for my feet but I was still running faster than everyone around me. I sneaked a look at their bibs and all I could see was 3hr 45 on them which pleased me greatly.

The support was patchy at best through the park and the avenue went on forever. I took my last gel and it boosted me for about 4 minutes before the dead-legged feeling returned – there was just nothing left. My pace felt like it was slipping and I kept seeing 10:XX on my watch. At 25 miles on my watch I pulled out my flag ready to carry, but forgot my watch was measuring long so I still had two miles until I would cross the line and I felt a bit daft in my moment of pre-emptive celebration. Two miles is a very long way at that point of a marathon…

40k – 3:52.56 – 5k spilt: 29.13 – Position: 19,443 (+1822)

The tree-lined avenue went on forever – where was this damn finish line?! I couldn’t hear it or see it but I knew it had to be soon. I was desperately looking out for landmarks that I’d seen the day before at the Breakfast run that would let me know it was close. I remembered a big roundabout – as soon as I reached that it was time to put on the flag and fly home.

I took a wide line around the slow crowd of people hugging the tangent and overtook them all, reveling in the crowd’s cheers and unashamedly milking every moment. I saw the finish arch and used my last ounce of energy to push as fast as I could; stomach churning and vision blurring, screaming at myself to keep going for just a few seconds more…

“Here comes Scotland The Brave!” declared the finish announcer “Allez Ecossaise! Scotland The Brave is finishing today, look at the kilt!” .

42k – 4:05:18 – Position: 19,003 (+440)

I stamped my foot down on the timing mat and stopped my watch. I hadn’t looked at it for a little while as I knew sub-4 was gone – I was watching it like a hawk til it passed 26.2 miles which I did at 4:01:23… so close. But still! 4:05! I shook my head in belief and then took a sharp right to stagger to hold on to a barrier and retch loudly as my body complained at the final push. Unlike several of my fellow runners who were doing the same thing, my stomach was completely empty so I just made a lot of noise…not a lot of mess.

When the gagging and retching ceased I stood up and fell into staggering pace with those around me; shuffling forward on stiffened legs like a team of extras from The Walking Dead. I had a bit of a sniffle to myself as I was in shock and awe at what I’d just achieved, but simultaneously so glad it was over.

We were issued with our green finisher’s t-shirt (in women’s sizes!), a blue poncho to keep warm in and our glorious medal. I felt so light-headed and sick and really needed some sugar so I collected some sugar cubes, banana, orange and pretzels from the feed station and found a kerb to put myself on whilst balancing my haul. I inhaled everything I had and went back for more and a bottle of powerade too. It didn’t take long to get back to normal and regain some brain function so I decided to try and call Kynon, but there was no phone signal. I managed to locate an exit and remove myself from the melee of the finishing area and spotted an available chunk of grass in the sun with my name on it. Just before I got there I heard someone calling my name and it was Rachel! She had finished in 4:18 and was in equal need of a sit down. We collapsed in the sun and decided to wait for the others to come to us.

It wasn’t long until we clocked Naomi in front of us having an emotional reunion with her family, after destroying her Moray Marathon time and coming in at 4:39.

picture: Ian Sharp

Three perfectly executed races, three new PBs and three proud runners.

picture: Ian Sharp

Rachel – 4:18:40 - Race Report here

picture: Ian Sharp

Naomi – 4:39:20 – Race Report here.

Before long we were enjoying champagne back in the apartment and getting ready for a lovely celebratory meal. I might not have hit the elusive sub-4, but with no specific training for that time, coming so close is to be considered a victory.

My legs were terribly stiff the next day, and my knee pain which must have been quietened by adrenaline or painkillers during the race, was back with a vengeance. Despite this I now feel 100% ready for the Fling both mentally and physically. I am receiving treatment for my knee (the problem has been diagnosed as bursitis) and I am confident that with the right recovery and proper rest, I will be there on the starting line on the 27th of April.

Merci beaucoup, Paris… you were wonderful.

Posted in Life, Marathon Training, Race Reports, Races, Running, Travel | Tagged france, marathon, marathon de paris, marathon de paris 2013, paris, paris marathon, paris marathon 2013, race report, schneider electric paris marathon 2013, Travel | 18 Comments

Paris Marathon: International Breakfast Run 5k

Posted on April 6, 2013 by redwinerunner

This morning we had the pleasure of joining a couple of thousand of our International running compatriots in the Paris Marathon International Breakfast Run 5k. It started at Ecole Militaire before winding through the streets past the Eiffel Tower, over the Seine, and around to Avenue Foch, when in just a little over 24 hours we will hopefully all be finishing with another marathon under our belts.
We arrived around 0830 and joined the crowd at the start to pick up a souvenir bib numbered ’2013′ to put on. There were people there representing every country imaginable in the most creative of ways, and in the typical ‘small world’ style we ended up standing next to a family from Aboyne (which is about 30 miles from Aberdeen). There were a smattering of other British people visibly dressed up or wearing flags and I was amused and not surprised at all when draped in my Salitre I smiled and said Hi to an English guy with a Union Jack flag, and he looked at me like I was something he’d stepped in. British people abroad; never less than 100% awkward at all times. Cheer up, chaps!
The atmosphere was insane. If tomorrow is even half as electric as this morning was then I’ll be delighted. Running through the streets of Paris in the sun, following a truck full of rodeo clowns and cheerleaders pumping out Gangnam Style? Is this real life?! Here are some pictures from the run.

How will I feel the next time I cross that finish line? Honestly, I don’t know. Full disclosure; physically I’m in the best shape of my life right now and I know I’m capable of a great PB, but my left knee is in bits. This morning was the first time I’ve ran all week as after my 16.5 mile run last Saturday it hurt for days. It’s not my ITB, it’s the other side of my kneecap and deep inside the patella. I’ve been icing and taking ibuprofen, but neither make much of a difference. It’s the kind of pain that whilst it’s very acute and sore, it won’t physically stop me running like ITB pain can. I could compare it to running with a headache; it’s really sore and a giant nag but you can still run, albeit compromised. How much I can still run after putting up with it for 4 hours I don’t know, but I’ll let future Rhona deal with that. I will start and I will finish tomorrow, but at what cost? Another thing for future Rhona to worry about. There is a race to be ran tomorrow and the world is here to run it with me – one way or the other, marathon #3 is happening in a few hours.

You can watch the Paris Marathon on Eurosport at 0730 in the UK tomorrow (race starts at 0745 GMT), or you can track me by downloading the Schneider Electric Paris Marathon App – my bib number is 51810 and using the app you can track my progress live around a map of Paris!

Posted in Marathon Training, Races, Running, Travel | Tagged marathon de paris, paris marathon, paris marathon 2013, schneider electric paris marathon 2013 | 6 Comments

Paris Marathon: Travel and Running Expo

Posted on April 5, 2013 by redwinerunner

For the first time this Spring, the sun was shining brightly in Aberdeen and the temperatures had climbed to almost 10C. It must have been time to leave the country…

The Aberdeen contingent were on the move and it was time to start our Paris Marathon journey!
Our travel went delightfully smoothly and our flight was a pleasant 2 hours with AirFrance. I enjoyed a glass of red wine whilst sitting in the sunshine at 33,000ft and reading Chrissie Wellington’s autobiography. I was even lucky enough to have a spare seat next to me so my long legs had some room to stretch out.

The magic of air travel is still not lost on me. I’ve never been 100% comfortable with flying but these days it stresses me out less. I still half dread/half relish the split second when the plane leaves the crust of the earth and your brain realises what’s going on but you can’t do anything about it. Within moments of climbing, as you watch your world shrink beneath you, it all becomes unfathomable to the human eye and I never tire of it.

Farewell, snowy Cairngorms! We leave your trails behind to pound the pavements of Paris!

Upon arrival we mysteriously seemed to bypass passport control and after collecting our luggage found ourselves outside in the real world having not been checked into the country. After extensive discussion we concluded that our plane may have been parked at a domestic stand…
We had a 45 minute train journey into the centre of Paris and then a brief metro trip, and we alighted at Passe to make the short walk to Naomi’s mum’s apartment, which is just out of sight of the Eiffel Tower…
A quick dinner of bread and cheese awaited us before we all retired to bed, ready for an early start the next day.

The Paris Marathon requires all runners to pick up their numbers at the Running Expo, held at a big conference facility at Port De Versaillies. We decided to arrive as early as possible to dodge the queues, but still had a short wait to enter when we arrived 15 minutes before doors open. With 50,000 runners to process, the Expo is open for 3 days!

This part was the bit that I’ve been most nervous about in the last few weeks. As required I got a medical certificate from my Doctor’s surgery, stating that I was in fit health to run the race, and had copies of it along with all the other paperwork and bits and pieces. Even though I knew I had everything in order, I wouldn’t truly relax until I had my race number in my hand.

We had no issues at all however, and were soon on our way in to the fun part of the expo, precious bib numbers and goody bags clutched in hand.

The expo itself was quite the assault on the senses. Every running, triathlon or fitness company one could think of had booths bedecked with their latest and brightest running kit which attracted us towards them like magpies and silver. I had given myself a strict talking to before entering – I really do not need any more running kit and under no circumstances was I to buy something just because I liked the look of it.

On Running had a stall, where I was able to meet one of the founders of the company whose crazy shoes I trialled recently and am still in love with. Rachel tried a pair on to see what the fuss was about and quickly found herself reaching for the credit card for a pair of the latest Cloudrunners. I admired the new collection from a far, but was able to resist. I did purchase a pair of CompressSport compression sleeves in a dazzling shade of blue, and a souvenir long sleeve Paris Marathon top in a gorgeous shade of purple.

After spending a couple of hours on our feet, we signed our names on the ‘Good Luck’ wall and headed out to lunch.

“Scottish runners last longer!”

“‘Murica! F Yeah!!”

On our way home we may have stopped at a patisserie and MAY have bought one or two cakes. Maybe.

What? We’re athletes don’t you know? We have a marathon to run on Sunday…

I’ve written this on the WordPress mobile app, so I apologies if the pictures are a bit small (or massive) or if the formatting is a bit weird. I’ll fix it when I’m back.
Tomorrow brings another day of carb-loading, the 5km International Breakfast Run, and a boat ride on the Seine. Au Revoir!

Posted in Marathon Training, Races, Running, Travel | Tagged fetcheveryone, france, marathon, on running, paris marathon | 4 Comments

Preparing for Paris

Posted on March 28, 2013 by redwinerunner

In my efforts to keep things in perspective this Spring, I have been concentrating on my Highland Fling training one week at a time. There was a time not so long ago in January when I was looking at my schedule and I could not comprehend how it was going to be possible for me to fit my massive training runs in around my life, or even complete them in the first place. To stop myself from freaking out I made a promise to myself that I’d consider each training week one by one, and that those 7 days and 5 runs ahead was all that mattered.

In fairness this has worked really well. There have been some ups and downs and missed runs here and there, but I finished off March having ran my 500th mile of the year and today, the 1st of April, means it’s time to look ahead a further 7 days.

Monday - Yoga
Tuesday – 6 miles
Wednesday – 8 miles
Thursday – 4 miles
Friday – Rest
Saturday – 3 miles
Sunday – PARIS MARATHON!!!!!

Yes; somehow, somewhere along the line, it has failed to properly sink in that on the 7th of April I will be setting out with Rachel, Naomi and 49,997 other running chums to complete the 3rd largest marathon in the world. It’s one of the world marathon majors, it’s ran in one of the most beautiful cities in the world, the route takes in pretty much all the sights in Paris – it’s a big damn deal. I am so excited!!

This is going to be a slightly different experience compared to any race which we’ve done before. We’ve all ran marathons and plenty of other races, but nothing on this scale. I can’t wait to experience the atmosphere of the start, the continuous crowd support on the course, and soak up the collective excitement of thousands of runners from all over the world coming together to take on the classic distance challenge. Also: PARIS!

pictures from paris-touristguide.com/

We’re flying out on Thursday after work, so will have Friday and Saturday to do a little sightseeing and visit the Running Expo. I am staying with Naomi in her Mum’s apartment and Rachel is close by in a hotel, and both locations are very close to the race village which ought to make for a calm start to race morning.

The weather outlook is good – different websites have different forecasts but it would appear to be going to be dry and sunny with a high of around 8C. This is very acceptable to me, but to be honest after this winter I’m happy with anything over 0C these days. I have picked out a suitably Scottish outfit to wear, and unless there’s some truly apocalyptic weather I will be wearing the following:

(Naturally Saskia had to get involved)

Stonehaven vest, lightweight kilted skirt with compression shorts underneath, 2XU compression sleeves and my cloudsurfer shoes. In my waist pack will be a Saltire tucked away, ready for celebratory waving when completing the victory mile down Avenue Foch to the finish line.

In terms of time goals; I had made some murmurs about an attempt at sub-4 after my encouraging performance at the D33, but I have some reservations about that. I know I’ve got a PB in me but I’m not sure whether Paris is the place to attempt the big 3:XX:XX. I really want to enjoy this race and soak up the whole experience, so labouring under a big goal maybe isn’t the best thing to do. I have my usual concerns about keeping myself injury-free for the Highland Fling so pushing past the point of pain to hit a target in this race is probably not a sensible choice.

When I ran Moray last year, my garmin died a couple of miles into the race so I was far less aware of my pace than I should have been. Never-the-less I managed to keep on track and despite running the race ‘blind’ I came in at 4:19 which was only 7 minutes slower than my goal (4:12 – or an hour off of my previous PB). I know if I’d been wearing a garmin I would have gone faster at certain points and would have come in much closer to, or faster than 4:12. To crack 4 hours I need to maintain under 9 min/mile pace throughout, which may or may not be possible for me on Sunday; I’m not sure. I haven’t done marathon specific training at that pace, but I do know that I can maintain 9:30 min/mile for that distance (as evidenced at D33) so to me this seems like the best plan to take. Starting at 9:30 min/mile with a fast finish would see me finish somewhere in the region on 4:05 – 4:10 which I would be very happy with.

Because I haven’t been thinking about it too much, the whole idea of going to Paris to run a marathon seems totally abstract to me at the moment. I don’t think it’s going to sink in until I actually get off the plane on Thursday night, or maybe not until I’m lining up at the start. Given the state I was in before Moray last year I am really surprised that this race hasn’t ruffled my feathers more. Ultra-marathoning does strange things to your head!

I’m going to take my tablet computer with me, so hopefully I’ll be able to squeeze in a quick update on Saturday night after a couple of days of adventures with the girls, including the International Breakfast run on Saturday morning.

Until then – wish us luck!

Posted in Marathon Training, Races, Running, The Cats, Travel | Tagged marathon de paris, paris, paris marathon, paris marathon 2013, stonehaven running club, Travel | 6 Comments

RACE REPORT: RunGarioch Half Marathon 2013

Posted on March 24, 2013 by redwinerunner

24th March 2013
RunGarioch Half Marathon

Time: 1hr 56m 52s

(from my watch; the chip timing system was not used, for an unknown reason.)

After four straight days of howling gales and relentless snow, I had really, really hoped that the weather system threatening to ruin today’s race would have moved on. Predictably enough, when my alarm went off at 0630 this morning there was no change at all in the weather and the wind was still raging in off the North Sea. Stonehaven bay looked like a washing machine and the gales were providing great challenge to any human who wished to remain standing vertical, let alone move forward. This was interspersed with blasts of icy hail and swirling snowflakes coming from every direction. Less than perfect conditions for running let alone racing, but the race wasn’t going to run itself so it was time to man up, layer up, and get on the bus to Inverurie.

I was car-sharing with Ronnie, Rachel and a couple of other runners leaving from Aberdeen so I hopped on the bus up. I’d like to take this opportunity to thank Scotrail and Stagecoach for making life so difficult for those living outside of what passes for civilisation in Aberdeen – the first train on a Sunday isn’t until 1010, and the first direct bus isn’t until 0930. At 0740 I ended up on a slow-poke bus tour of every commuter town South of Aberdeen on a journey which took over an hour, all in the name of making my travel more GREEN and SUSTAINABLE. If the Council/Government/Men In Black are truly dedicated to getting more of us out of our cars and on to public transportation, then it needs to be made far more frequent and accessible. People need to get places on every day of the week – why is Sunday even considered anything other than a normal day for timetabling these days?

Anyway; I digress. So five runners piled into Ronnie’s Astra and made our way North towards the Garioch. Normally this would be a journey of jokes and hilarity but it was obvious the weather was weighing heavily on us and nobody was showing any outward enthusiasm at all.

I had decided that layers were the only way forward and dressed in the following: 2 pairs of running tights, Under Armour coldgear base layer, t-shirt, merino wool long sleeve, cotton long sleeve, and club vest with a soft shell windbreaker on top. Two buffs, two pairs of gloves, and a hardy grimace against the wind. I’m not usually one to make much of a fuss about the cold, after all I certainly don’t run well in the heat, but today was particularly vicious so I wasn’t taking any chances.

After arriving and parking at Morrison’s we made our way to the Sports Centre to get registered which for me was no problem. Unfortunately Rachel found herself victim of the first of a catalogue of errors experienced throughout the day and despite having paid for her entry months ago, was not on the start list. I’ll let Jon, sorry I mean Rachel, explain the rest of the situation HERE.

The Sports Hall was mobbed – there were several junior races happening and of course if Child A is running a race, Mum, Dad, Grunny and Granda, all four bairns and the babby in a buggy need to attend as well; so you can imagine the chaos that ensued. No-one wanted to be out in the Siberian weather any longer than they had to so the whole Sports Centre was a seething mass of humanity. It was around about then that we found out that there had been some kind of problem with the chip timing system as well so the race would not be officially timed. I think at this point we were all ready to pack it in and go home…

Note the snow falling. This is late March. MARCH!

Thankfully 10:30am and the start of the Half Marathon came quickly and we were soon lined up outside. I became separated from the rest of the gang but it was OK as we had different goals – I just wanted it over as quickly as possible and was planning on running like I stole something, the others were going to be more sedate.

The gun went off and we headed off out into a housing estate. I recognised it from running the 10k two years ago although it was hard to see anything with the blizzard of hail firing into my face. I did not regret a single layer I was wearing. Heading out into the country and seeing the thick snow I couldn’t believe this was the end of March! After we got out of Inverurie it was quite scenic and I was enjoying my surroundings, but the road was very undulating and there were icy patches to look out for as well.

In terms of time, I knew I wanted to come in under 2 hours but I wasn’t aiming for anything in particular. I knew if I kept under 9 minute miles the frozen horror would be over as soon as possible without doing much damage, and I figured I would do my usual move of making slow progress up the hills and blasting down the other side to make up time.

8:19, 8:30, 8:57, 8:47, 9:18

On the rare occasions we were sheltered from the wind I became a little uncomfortably warm, but there was always a quick draft to freeze me up again. I ended up taking my gloves off which made regulating my temperature easy, but meant I had to carry them. There was supposed to be a water station at mile 4.5, but all there was was an empty table and a box of cups. I’m glad I wasn’t relying on that for refreshment… I took my usual gel at 5 miles and continued, albeit grumpily. “Run faster, woman; get this over with!!”

9:21, 9:24, 9:47, 8:25, 8:47

The middle miles got a bit hilly and my pace slowed to match, but it felt good to fly down the other sides where I was able to make up some places. Around mile 8 we seemed to turn a corner and all shelter just disappeared and the wind hit us full pelt – hours later my skin is still glowing from the assault. Much like last week at the D33 I just locked down my senses and powered on, I don’t really remember anything much after this other than thinking the course would be short, but in the end it was bang on 13.1 miles.

9:09, 9:14, 8:13.

There were some hardy spectators awaiting their runner at the finish and I saw my friends Scott and Fiona who were waiting on Niall to finish his first half. I got my medal and t-shirt (or tent, really – they only had Large left after the 5 and 10k finished earlier. I’m sure Kynon will look great in it…) and grabbed a banana and some water and waited for the rest of the gang whilst catching up with Scott and Fiona. Rachel was next in, followed by Teri and then Ronnie a little later on in about 2:15 I think. Niall finished his first half in 2:25ish I think and was very pleased. Once everyone was in we got straight back to the car to warm up, but not before nipping into Morrison’s to demolish the Bakery aisle.

I was actually really pleased with my performance in this race. It’s another finish comfortably under 2 hours, but this time with a 33 mile race fresh in my legs. It’s a good sign that there is much more to come off my half marathon time – especially as the days HOPEFULLY get warmer soon. I’m beginning to realise that the next few months after the Fling is out of the way, are going to be all about pushing myself a bit further out of my comfort zone. What today and last week have taught me is that I’m perfectly capable of holding a somewhat uncomfortably fast pace for an extended period of time without too much bother, which means getting faster is well within my grasp. Training with the club will really help with this.

In the past I’ve always been quite pleased with the fact that I always negative split half marathons, but what this really means is that I’m starting my races off too slowly. I need to stop starting steadily and just shove myself off into the deep end and get a move on!

As for RunGarioch… it’s frustrating because I really want to love these races but the multiple things that went wrong make it really hard. The issue with the chip timing is huge – I pay money to enter a race because I want to be chip timed and have an official UKA recognised time for this distance. If I just wanted to go for a 13.1 mile run and check the time on my watch I wouldn’t be paying £22 for the privilege. Since I don’t now have an official time, I can’t use this race for our club standards (info here) which is disappointing as it would have qualified as part of a Bronze award.

There wasn’t enough water on the course two years ago and again the same problem cropped up with the missing water station at 4.5 miles (there was water at 7 and 10.5ish though). This isn’t a problem for me, but for many people it will have disrupted their race. If you promise something then the runners have a right to expect it! I’m irritated by the sizing of the t-shirt as well, because if they’d kept seperate t-shirts aside for each race then the half marathoners wouldn’t have been stuck with the giant ones after the 5k and 10k finished. Of course I’m sure there are a few gentlemen that will fit them perfectly, but for the rest of us they’re like dresses.

They might be little gurns, but when there’s multiple little gurns it really brings down the effectiveness of the whole event. They do a LOT at this event and I wonder if it needs to be spread out a bit – managing 100s of kids is a nightmare at the best of times, so why not do those races on the Saturday and keep the mess away from the 5k, 10k and Half events? The timing and entry system failure appears to be the work of Race Timing Systems again, who have featured in several local event problems including Baker Hughes 10k last year. That’s clearly out of the organisers hands, but it is becoming obvious the more races I do that the Race Timing System D-tags that they use are pretty temperamental and the company themselves are not reliable. I hope that there are other options out there as they are bringing down the reputations of decent, well organised races.

Posted in Half Marathon, Race Reports, Races, Running, Scotland, Training | Tagged half marathon, medals, race report, RunGarioch, rungarioch 2013 | 13 Comments

Red Wine Runner

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24th March 2013
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Time: 1hr 56m 52s

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Time: 1hr 56m 52s

Hello! I’m Rhona!

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7th April 2013
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24th March 2013
RunGarioch Half Marathon