Tag Archive: ultramarathon

RACE REPORT: Glenmore 24 Trail Race 2014 – 12 hour event

Glenmore 24 Trail Race: 12 Hour event
6th September 2014

g24header“You’re only given a little spark of madness. You musn’t lose it!”
Robin Williams

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Distance ran: 51.6 miles (TBC)
Placing: TBC

I struggled to write about the Glenmore 24 event last year, when I attended to crew for Vikki’s 100 mile attempt. The whole weekend was a fully-immersive utopia of ultra-running with 300 or so runners, marshals, crewers, supporters and dogs, holed up in a hayfield outside of Aviemore in the Cairngorms and pleasantly cut off from the real world. Upon my return I couldn’t find the words, nor the time to find the words, to do a description of the weekend justice and decided that it might be best for the memories to live on in my head rather than trying to explain about who Ray was, or the thinking behind the Ginsberg disaster. Some things remain best filed under: “You had to be there”.

This year however I attended the event as a competitor, so I have something a little more running-specific to offer in terms of a race report. The Glenmore 24 event consists of two races, a 12 hour and a 24 hour, where competitors strive to cover as many miles around a 4 mile trail as possible in their selected time period. Despite being an endurance junkie I had absolutely no desire to enter the 24 hour event, even though it might have been a natural progression from July’s 72 mile Great Glen Ultra. Knowing my strengths and weaknesses, I thought it would be wise to do the diet version for my first foray into lapped events and see how I got on mentally, which is where I thought I was least prepared.

In terms of training I didn’t do anything specific for the event. In the two months between the Great Glen and Glenmore my only run over 15 miles was the Callanish Stones Marathon. I kept up regular sessions to maintain my fitness but didn’t go over 30 miles a week, and ended up severely dropping my mileage towards the middle and end of August due to work commitments and travel. Frustratingly as well, my employer has closed the changing rooms which allowed me to run at lunchtime so conveniently, meaning that one option which I used to have to allow me to fit training in around life has been taken away. As a result at least I arrived at the start well-rested, but I would have liked to have ran more over the summer. A secondary result of this is that I continue to carry rather a little more weight about my person than I would like, which is frustrating but hopefully temporary.

My goals for the race were to run between 50 and 60 miles. 60 would be the result of the perfect race and what I assumed would be the peak of my ability. I would be happy with anything between 50 and 60, but I would not be satisfied with a result under 50. I also decided to take the unusual (for me) step to run the race completely blind – I put duct tape over my garmin and turned the autolap and ‘bleep’ off. I wanted to run it entirely by feel, without pressure of time or pace or mileage, and would press the lap button each time I crossed the start.

Now that the boring bit is out of the way I can talk about the weekend. It all started with keeping everything crossed that Kynon’s flight back from Milan would land on time to enable us to get up to Aviemore in a timely manner. He had been working in Milan for two weeks prior to the race so I had been charged with doing all the packing and preparation. I should mention at this point the Kynon was doing the 12 hour race as well! He was very trusting to allow me to pack for him but we didn’t really have any other choice. Luckily he landed on schedule and was able to pick up my parents’ campervan, which was to be our home for the weekend. We filled it full of ultragoodies and at 9pm on Friday night, we headed North.

Meanwhile in a field outside of Aviemore, Scotland’s top ultra-distance athletes were preparing for their races…

photo - running gannet

photo – running gannet

The theme for the weekend was Pirates, and whilst we were hurrying up the road these scurvy louts were drinking all the rum and watching the Goonies. Luckily for us the party was still going strong when we arrived around 11.30pm and Mike welcomed us with a swig of 80% ABV rum. It was pretty cold outside, but two swigs and a warm down jacket kept the chill away.

We packed ourselves back in the camper van about 12.30am. The race didn’t start until 12pm so we had plenty of time to sleep in, although I was awoken by rain several times in the night. The forecast was bad but I had tried not to think about it; I knew I was well overdue for an absolute stinker of a race in terms of weather, and I had a feeling that my time was up on this occasion.

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Raceday started with a cafetiere of freshly brewed coffee and toasted bagels, with a side of hugs and reunions. We had a relaxed morning catching up with everyone who we hadn’t seen the night before, and got our food and kit set up for the race ahead.

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Our able crew for the race was Vikki, Geraldine and George from Stonehaven Running Club and we were able to set our food boxes down in the club gazebo. I’d filled a plastic tub with all my usual ultra food – crisps, butteries, custard, cake bars, tinned fruit, cheese, pot noodles, pizza, coffee, chocolate milk, coke, Irn Bru and a selection of gels.

The race briefing was at 11.30, just as the rain decided to come back on.

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r6We took some pictures with Rachel before finally succumbing to the fact that the rain jackets were going to have to come on and the hoods were going up.

v1Iain (left, Vikki’s husband) was doing the 24 hour race whereas Rachel was doing the 12 with us. As the rain got heavier, again I reassured myself that I was definitely making the correct decision in doing the 12 hour race. Thankfully it wasn’t terribly cold or windy, but the rain was wet, heavy and unrelenting.

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At 12pm on the dot the hooter went and we ambled off on our journey. For some reason I had absolutely zero nerves; the open ended distance of the race seemed to lend itself to more flexibility, whereas for a point-to-point race it’s really only about getting from one place to another as quickly as possible.

picture - Sarah Self

picture – Sarah Self

Kynon and I didn’t plan to run our race together, but decided to start together and then just see what happened. His training had been slightly below par so he had no idea what was going to happen after a few hours, but he decided he would deal with that alone when the time came.

In the end I completed 12 laps of the four mile circular loop. There is no sense in detailing every one, nor can I even remember those details, so first I will describe the route as seen by myself twelve times throughout the day:

Campsite as seen from the top of the 'small loop'

Camp site as seen from the top of the ‘small loop’ before entering the forest

After crossing the start line, the route follows the perimeter of the camp site in an anticlockwise U-shape, with your left side flanked by tents and support crews. Later on each tent would have different smells emitting from it, some good and some bad. Underfoot is grassy and muddy, with the ground getting slippier and more waterlogged as the day went on. After following the U around, you reach a short, steep hill which I walked up every time. At the top of the hill is more mud, until you snake through some trees where the ground underfoot is rocky and slippery. The path descends to a short section where both incoming and outgoing runners paths collide, but only for about 5 meters until the outgoing runner pulls off to the right.

The biggest puddles on the course are found in the remainder of this mile. They change in shape and depth throughout the day but remain a large and permanent water obstacle. The path is rocky and narrow in places, with overgrown foliage always ready to keep your upper body soggy as you veer off the path to try and keep your feet dry. When you emerge from the bushes there are intermittent views of Loch Morlich to the right and the sounds of ducks and geese quacking as they go about their daily business. There are rustles in the bushes and birdsong from the trees above. The puddle trail section finishes with a sharp turn up a hill to the left, which spits you out onto a forestry road and into the second mile.

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 The second mile and a half is mainly flat and runnable, with lovely views over the Loch to your right until it pulls deeper into the forest which smells of pine needles, heather, and Scotland. About 100 meters prior to the ‘half-way’ water station at around 2.5 miles, the big hill begins. Marching up provides relief and then you consume your gel or snack at this point so you can hand off the litter to the marshals and drink a cup of water. Depending on the time of day you may be met by a parrot, a pirate, a recent UTMB finisher or a chorus of 80s pop songs. Either way it brightens your mental outlook as you know you’ve cracked the back of yet another lap as you continue on your way.

photo - running gannet

photo – running gannet

The hill is a long drag but lasts just long enough for you to be ready for running again when you reach the top and force yourself to move a little quicker until you finally break into a bona fide ‘run’ when gravity kicks in. The 4th and final mile of the trail turns left to the direction of camp and pushes down through the trees, with a beautiful view over the Loch on your left which I looked forward to every time.

picture - running gannet

picture – running gannet

On each lap the light was different as I passed it; the hills either either glowing in sunshine or were cloaked in rain, sometimes made completely invisible by cloud cover.

picture - running gannet

picture – running gannet

The descent into the camp site is marked by further landmarks – the beautiful red berries on the rowan trees (above), the sound of rushing water and the little bridge which crossed it, and finally the return to the brief section where the incoming and outgoing runners’ paths cross. Incoming runners have one final little climb before descending into the camp site via some stairs and a run across a rocky car park. Upon entering the camp site one must shout one’s number to Ada The Timekeeper and thank her for her efforts. To her side sits a full sized, functional cattle prod, borrowed from Bob Steel, the cattle farming ultrarunner, to keep the adrenaline flowing in runners who may threaten to try and drop out.

The final notable feature of the route is the ice cold muddy water which flows into your nicely warmed shoes as you run under the arch towards your support station. The camp site is a swamp and there’s no way to avoid it. After enjoying a snack and perhaps a toilet stop there’s only one option left – get back out on the trail again to warm those feet up and come back in four miles time to soak them all over again.

photo - glenmore 24

picture – glenmore 24

I loved the route. It was varied enough to keep me interested throughout the day as the light and colours changed. I tried to notice different things on each lap, and pick out markers to spot every time I passed to track my progress. I looked forward to seeing Vikki on each lap who was always cheerfully waiting with what I requested the previous lap, or with suggestions for what to eat next. My favourite snack was the big tub of peaches in syrup which I eat the entirety of throughout the day. I also enjoyed Thorntons chocolate fudge bites, Mr Kipling lemon cake, cashew nuts, little tins of Coke/Irn Bru, baby bel cheeses, and custard. I also had a beef and tomato Pot Noodle around 7pm, a macaroni pie around 10pm and lots of cups of tea when it was wet and cold. Unusually I was not keen on eating butteries, pizza and hula hoops which have long been an ultra staple food for me, but they were hard to eat in pouring rain without getting soggy. Each lap I also took a gel or a cake bar to have at half way and made sure to drink a cup of water.

I definitely did the right thing to hide all information on time/mileage and the time of day as I loved the lack of pressure on myself and really focused on mentally enjoying the race. I knew that the sun would go down about 8pm and when light started to fall I couldn’t believe I had been running for 7+ hours as the time had gone so quickly. Time ceased to exist, much like the real world, for those 12 hours.

My body held up well for the most part with the only exception being unsurprisingly, my feet. I started in my Salomon Speedcross trail shoes which lasted 20 miles (I think) before the balls and toe bones of my feet began their usual horrible aching. I switched to my Asics Gel Nimbus and experienced instant relief from the pain for a few hours. The biggest surprise of all was that I got no blisters whatsoever! Even with sodden feet for 12 hours and no preventative toe compeeds (they came off in my socks due to the water so I took them off after 2 laps). When I took my socks off at the end my feet looked gruesome though – totally white and waterlogged with the socks welded to the thick parts of my skin. The only other thing that caused me difficulty was my lower back and glute muscles and I know exactly what the problem is there, and it’s that they are not strong enough to support my body effectively when I run for so long (especially carrying an extra stone around). I owe the gym some serious time in the coming months as I haven’t done any strength training for some time and I’ve lost a lot of core, glute and leg strength.

As for the weather…well.

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It rained solidly for the first few laps then cleared up for a short period, with even some sunshine peeking through. I regretted wearing my running skirt as despite it being the most comfortable item I own for long, long distances, it hung on to an awful lot of rain water and took a while to dry. When the sun came out briefly I was able to leave my waterproof with my support and try and dry off a little. Upon leaving Vikki the lap after, I wondered whether I ought to take it again as it was looking a bit dark on the horizon. Carrying it with me for 2 miles was a pain so I ditched it at the water point, only for the skies to cloud over soon after and the heaviest rain I’ve ever experienced outside of Texas came thundering out of the sky. Not just rain, but hailstones the size of garden peas.

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Above photos: Glenmore 24

I was out in the above in just a vest and skirt until my return to camp where I was able to procure my second shower-proof jacket. I’ve been drier coming out of a swimming pool to be honest, and those hailstones felt like machine gun fire on bare skin. Still, we’re Scottish runners, and this is our bread and butter – someone else’s ice bucket challenge is our standard Saturday afternoon run. For the full aural experience there’s a cracking video HERE (G24 Facebook page).

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Besides; we’ve got to keep the beer cold somehow.

After the hail calmed down a bit there was tremendous rolls of thunder and lightning as the storm passed over. The rain continued for some time after and just kept on coming. My waterproof jacket had long since ceased to be effective, but as long as I kept running or walking briskly up hill I was able to keep my core temperature up. As soon as I stopped for food I became chilled very quickly so the cups of tea and my gloves from Vikki were a blessing. I could have changed my clothes, but stupidly I only had one full change of clothes with me. I was concerned that I could get soaked again before nightfall which would leave me with nothing dry to wear if I ended up walking in the final dark and cold hours, so I just put up with being wet in the hope that sooner or later it would dry up.

The rain ceased to be quite such a menace as darkness fell and eventually it stopped. Intermittent coloured glow sticks lit the course but for the most part I was in total darkness, with a faster person passing by every so often and a gruff exchange of pleasantries being my only interactions in between support stops. I became fed up of my own company once darkness fell and took my iPod out with me to cheer me up. I hadn’t seen Kynon or Rachel for hours but apparently we were quite near each other – Rachel about 5 minutes ahead of me and Kynon about 10 minutes behind.

r8Soggy runner.

I arrived after my 11th lap around 9.50pm and took my time eating a pie and some sweets. I was in no hurry to get back out as I knew the short lap course would open at 11, so if I timed my final lap correctly I could leave myself about 45 minutes of dizzying circles around the camp. Just as I was putting off leaving as much as possible, a familiar gait crossed the starting line back-lit by floodlight. “Is that my wife?!” the figure shouted! I was very glad to see Kynon for the first time in 10 hours, but he was not feeling great and was a little wobbly so George came over to help him. I suggested we tackled the final lap together but he wasn’t keen. “Rhona you need to f**k off now and get a move on; we’ll look after him” George instructed me in a tone that was not to be questioned, so I squelched off into the darkness once more for my final lap.

I arrived back into camp for the small laps after worrying my way through the last 4 miles. Without anything more productive to do, my brain decided to stress me out about Kynon becoming unwell and that I’d come back and find he’d become another one of these healthy young men who just drop dead doing exercise. Then of course, the ambulance would take forever to get to us and there is no hospital near, and then he’d be dead and I’d have to figure out how on earth to function without him. This is a small insight into the morbidity of my mind when I’m tired and exhausted in the middle of a race. Seeing the bright lights of camp as I limped down the stairs for the last time brought me back down to earth, but George got me worried again when he told me not to worry, Kynon had been put in the van for a lie down, and he was going to be OK so DON’T WORRY. Being told not to worry only made me worry more, but I concentrated on pushing around the small loop course which consisted of the perimeter of the campsite, including a trip up and down the big hill and swamp-like mud underfoot.

picture - Clark Hamilton

picture – Clark Hamilton

As more and more 12 hour runners came in off their final lap the camp site was whipped into a frenzy as the runners flew, jogged or staggered around in circles on the 0.25mi course. I had found plenty of strength to run strongly and fed off the cheers from the crowd at the tent and the support crews of the 24 hour runners still manning their aid stations. Special mention here goes to Sarah, Noanie and Lorna who cheered ever more enthusiastically every time I passed them by at the bottom of the big hill which made me feel like a rock star. Mike was at the top with RD Bill and provided encouragement and the occasional swig of beer as I passed before flying down the other side of the hill. I decided that it hurt more to stagger down it slowly than to throw caution to the wind and just fly down, shouting out my number each time to George in order that my lap be counted.

In the end I did about 14 laps of the small loop to bring my total mileage to 51.6x. When the hooter went I planted my peg with my number on it in the soft ground and was happy to call it a day. For a moment or two I wondered what to do next as I was out on the dark side of the camp site alone, but I ducked under the tape and waded across the swampy ground until I reached the warm lights of the tent which was full of happy friends.

r9We did it! Rachel clocked up 52.XX miles and survived the cold and rain as well. I don’t think either of us have been happier to get into warm, dry clothes.

r10Kynon clocked up a very commendable 44 miles in his longest run ever in both time and mileage. He called it a day after 10.5 hours after having some physio treatment and then getting too cold to go out again. He was fine after a lie down in the van with the heating on, and came out in time to watch my small laps with a bottle of Crabbies to settle his stomach.

After I got wrapped up in warm clothes I returned to the fireside with a bottle of wine, some beers and a bag of snacks. Due to the weather many of the 12 hour runners had retired quickly to bed, but I was far too awake and buzzing for that and kept the party going with a handful of others until after 4am. As it got colder and the wine bottles became empty, we filled them full of warm water and stuck them in our jackets to stay toasty.

Snuggled up in the van overnight we slept pretty well, with our sleep being punctuated by ‘the horn’ sounding at 4.57am for the first 24 hour runner to reach the 100 mile mark and then several more times thereafter. I admired the determination of the runners still out there but agreed with myself again, that the 24 hour race was not for me.

A few hours later we resurfaced and scavenged breakfast from the remains of our race fuel boxes whilst cheering the 24 hour runners through the last of their races. I was honoured to be there to see two friends smash their goals of reaching 100 miles and joined in the collective hysteric cheering when George and Gavin got the horn.

Much like at the conclusion of the 12 hour race, the atmosphere became a frenzy of cheering and delight as runner after runner ground out inspirational performances. Some were just shuffling as quickly as comfort would allow them, and others were like Johnny Fling who flew around the course like a cat on fire, to take the eventual win and set a new course record of 131.22 miles.

The prize giving followed shortly after the finish, where everyone was presented with their medal and race cider regardless of the distance achieved.

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Bill Heirs appears to have shrunk in this picture; I can’t imagine *what* the problem is.

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Whilst many stayed behind for another night of revelry, we had to pack up and set off home after the ceremony to get back for work in the morning. We arrived back home to a house that looked like a bombsite and at least 5 loads of washing to do. Life has been a little topsy turvy lately but it is set to become very interesting in the coming weeks, which is another story for another blog.

Thanks again to BaM racing for another fantastic weekend, and to the Scottish Ultrarunning Community for being…well, for just being. It makes me sad to think that this is the last race of my ‘season’ and that we likely won’t be seeing most folks until next March, but you never know. Now is the time to relax, regenerate and retrain in order to hit the 2015 season harder and stronger than ever before.

Great adventure awaits for those who dare to dream!

The Inaugural Great Glen Ultra Preview

Glreat Glen Ultra logo

I’m about 9 hours out from the start of my biggest challenge yet, the 72 mile Great Glen Ultra. This has been my big goal for the year with all of my races so far being, in theory, training runs. At the moment I’m feeling apprehensive and nervous, but also bubbling over with excitement as I can’t wait to see what happens in the 24 hours after I leave Fort William and head North East up the Great Glen Way.

On the other hand I can honestly say I’ve never started a race feeling so out of shape. I’m a stone heavier than I was in March for the D33, I’ve really struggled to recover from the Cateran 55 and I haven’t actually trained consistently since March. I always knew that this would be a difficult year to fit my training around but I thought I’d get around it one way or the other. It turns out that ‘getting around it’ has meant…not doing very much. However, I put in a tremendous amount of work at the start of the year with a lot of miles going into the bank. I hope that tonight and tomorrow I can make one last big withdrawal and power through the 72 miles on muscle memory and heart, if not my legs.

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Today I’ve had the day off work and spent the time resting, blethering on the internet and packing up my drop bags. There are 6 drop bag stations at roughly 10, 20, 30, 40, 50 and 60 miles, however I’ve seen three different sets of numbers of where the check points are, with the later ones being particularly different from what is listed in the race briefing. I’m trying to be a relaxed and cool ultra runner about this, but the fact I don’t know whether the final check point is at 59, 60 or 64 miles is stressing me out. At that point in the race, 5 miles will be a long, LONG way.

great glen route profileThe Great Glen Ultra route profile

There is a strange sense of calm setting in though as I know that all this is completely out of my control. All I need to do is drive to Fort William safely and show up to the race briefing and start running at 1am. I know I can gut it out through the toughest of times and that I’ll get to the finish eventually. I think a good estimate for a finish for me would be between 18 and 20 hours, but it’s really hard to predict. It’s a brand new race with no previous results to study or performances to compare, so a lot of this is complete guesswork.

The first 30 miles are relatively flat, but as you can see above there are some cruel ascents and descents towards the end of the race which will be rather torturous I think. I’ve got some whiskey in my final drop bag though which will be a good incentive to keep moving.

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If you are interested in following the race, there is a website which will be updated with splits when internet is available. It might not be updated in live race time, but they will do what they can when they get the information – I’m number 18: http://racesplitter.com/races/4A04BEEA5

Well, it’s time to go. Victory is waiting for me out there on the trail and some exciting new horizons await. Onwards!

 

 

 

RACE REPORT: West Highland Way Race 2014

Looking back at my running year so far, it’s amusing to see how the start-of-season shorter ultras which take up the guts of a Saturday, have now morphed in to 4-day long epics. Last weekend was the West Highland Way Race 2014; which saw pretty much everyone in Scottish Ultrarunning, alongside plenty of others from around the world, descend on Milngavie to take on Scotland’s greatest running challenge. If you weren’t running you were crewing, if you weren’t crewing you were marshalling, if you weren’t marshalling you were cheering. If you weren’t any of those, then you were probably hanging out at the back with my gang – the sweep team.

Stonehaven Running Club once more assumed the duties of being the back markers of the race, and this year due to our fearless leader Neil breaking his ankle three weeks ago, I took over as team leader. This was to be my fourth year involved with the race – in 2011 I crewed for Mike Raffan, in 2012 I crewed for Vikki Shanks, and in 2013 I was on the Sweep Team.

DSC023862013 Team Sweep

Sweeping can be a deceptively tough job. In this race it tends to be more walking than running, and never at your own comfortable pace. Whilst tremendously sleep-deprived, at its worst you will be dealing with angry runners who really don’t want to be near you, upset runners who are injured and are having to pull out, grown men in floods of tears and perhaps friends going through their own personal hell. Alternatively you get the satisfaction of seeing people finish after overcoming tremendous difficulty, you see the raw heart and soul that runners put in to this race and the true love and dedication of the crews to their runners. It is a difficult but truly rewarding way to spend a weekend.

Momentumphotos.co.uk

Photo – Graeme Hewitson – Momentumphotos.co.uk

So it was once again that I found myself in a car park in Milngavie at 12:30am on the Summer Solstice, standing amongst a huge crowd listening to Ian Beattie brief the runners of the 2014 West Highland Way Race.

Photo - Graeme Hewitson - Momentumphotos.co.uk

Photo – Graeme Hewitson – Momentumphotos.co.uk

After plenty of good luck hugs to everyone we knew that was running (especially Vikki and Nicola from our club) we took a good position up the High St to watch the start. I’ve never seen Milngavie High St in real life – I’ve only ever been there at either 6am as part of a snake of Highland Fling runners, or at 1am screaming my heart out at the start of this race.

Photo - Graeme Hewitson - Momentumphotos.co.uk

Photo – Graeme Hewitson – Momentumphotos.co.uk

This year I brought a cowbell and rang it as hard as I could whilst hollering and taking pictures for the duration of the 193 runners’ passing. Apparently there are people who live above the shops there… Well, sorry for disturbing you, residents; but if you were in bed you missed out on seeing the remarkable start of the greatest West Highland Way race yet. Paul Giblin had returned to defend his title and 15hr 07m course record from young Englishman Robbie Britton, who had come with a target of running under 15 hours and the two men set upon the course at suicide pace. The record was decimated by Paul in an incredible finish time of 14hr 20m with Robbie finishing in 14hr 47m. You can read more about their race HERE; for this blog is telling the tales from the back of the pack, and the runners who came home nearly 20 hours later.

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The team structure was a bit more splintered than last year. Firstly Mike and Karen would cover the first 18.5 miles from the start to Balmaha, then Mike would head back home and Karen would commence reverse-sweeping from further up the course with George. Myself, Kynon, Ali, Scott and Marc would cover the remaining 76.5 miles North between us in rolling shifts, but Marc and Ali weren’t coming down to join us until lunchtime on Saturday.

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After cheering Mike and Karen on as they trotted up the High Street behind the runners at 1am, Kynon, Scott and I headed for the car to make our way to Balmaha where the last runner would be expected at about 5.30am. Our first challenge was to successfully get some rest in the car park – three of us piled into an Audi A3 full of kit.

Kynon and I were in the front of the car in the upright seats with Scott in the back. Within moments the lads were asleep and breathing heavily, and I sat awake watching the car windows steam up gradually. Pulling my eyemask down over my eyes to block the breaking dawn and clutching a pillow to support my head, I chuckled at my life now. My Friday night fun could not have been more different from what I used to enjoy a few years ago, but I truly could not be happier.

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5am came and my alarm sprung in to life but I’d been awake for 15 minutes prior, listening to the mayhem outside as the race continued in full swing. I would have loved to have opened the car door to step out and join in but even after clearing the condensation off the window I could see how thick the clouds of midgies were outside. I treasured the last minutes of my weekend that would not be nibbled by these carnivorous little bastards until my bladder had other ideas and I was forced to make a run to the boot to find my midgie net. The smarter sweeper would have been prepared with it in her pocket and ready to go, but this East Coaster makes a point of blocking the insect memories every year and always forgets just quite how mercenary these little beasties are. Rummaging around in the boot I woke the sleeping gentlemen with a combination of thumps and swearing as the clouds of midgies swarmed into the hot vehicle. Sorry lads; time to get moving.

Conic Hill at 5am

Conic Hill at 5am

After a quick trip to the Oak Tree Inn for a comfort break, I spoke to the check point control and then ascertained with Mike that they were about 30 minutes out with a drop out. I returned to the car and made sure Scott was awake and alive, and grabbed my pre-prepared kit bag to head back to the Oak Tree to get changed. Scott and I were taking the next shift and would cover from Balmaha to Beinglas – 22 miles and roughly 7 hours – and it was shaping up to be an absolute stunner of a day. Light cloud and blue skies with warm air heralded a potential scorcher which begged the question – Which goes on first; suncream or midgie spray?

Mike came in and updated on us on our last customer, who was running very slowly but walking fast. After checking the rest of the cars left in the car park, Scott and I left for the trail, eating breakfast as we went.

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It was one of those mornings where I could not have been happier to have been alive. The breathtaking beauty of this area never fails to still my heart every single time I run through it and this gorgeous sunny morning was no different.

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I really didn’t like these new path ‘improvements’ up the steeper hills though; endless stairs are not my friend.

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We arrived in Rowardennan and met the check point crew earlier than they were expecting. After swearing blind that we really were the sweepers and that everyone was ahead, our guy who we had swept out of Balmaha appeared behind us. Obviously he had stepped off the trail for a comfort break. We took some refreshments from the piles of abandoned drop bags and headed out after the final runner 10 minutes later.

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A few hours later I enjoyed arriving into Inversnaid and being able to take my time to enjoy the waterfalls without being in a race.

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Again the check point crew were surprised to see us earlier than scheduled, but at this point the whole race was just moving quicker throughout the field than usual. Unfortunately the check point staff from the Trossachs SAR crew were unconvinced that we had everyone in and started quizzing us on names – some people had come through without taking their drop bags, or their time and number hadn’t been recorded. They had no times for about 20 people on their list – which was in fact the start list from a few days before the race, not the actual list of starters from several hours earlier. I knew several runners had DNSd at the last minute, but it was difficult trying to convince them that we had not in fact lost several runners along the way, and that they had missed manually recording the times of a few runners as they went through. It is really hard to keep communications open between these remote check points, but I was able to glean some 3G from somewhere and the Sport iDent Race App helped convince them that we had done our job.

Just as we were about to head out, news came through the radio that there had been a serious accident on the A82 which was blocking the race support crews from heading North from Auchtertyre (the next checkpoint up from Beinglas, at about 50 miles). The road was blocked both ways, which mean that Ali and Marc who were heading South on the A82 to take over from us at Beinglas  would be unable to reach that check point either. As the news sunk in we realised how absolutely terminal this could be for the race – this was peak time at Beinglas checkpoint which would mean the majority of race crews could not get further North without a 300 mile detour around the full circumference of Loch Lomond. Without support, the runners would be very limited in what they could do – they could only go so far on a finite amount of food. Stuck out in the races most remote check point with no phone signal or information my instinct was panic, but experience told me that I was a very, very small piece in a big race and the only thing I could was my own job, which was to bring up the rear of the race and get the runners to the next point safely and race control would take it from there. Scott and I decided to load our packs with as much fuel as we could in case we ended up in a situation with runners with no food, so the Trossachs gang loaded us up until nothing else could be crammed into our bags. Having spent ages at Inversnaid, our back marker was well ahead of us, so Scott and I put our feet on the pedals and for the first time I was able to hit the adventure playground of the Lochside with fresh legs and we  hit as hard as we could…which was for about 15 minutes before we caught up to the final runner.

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Dario Melaragni's memorial post

Dario Melaragni’s memorial post

Time during the West Highland Way Weekend passes in a very odd way. At times hours slip by in seconds, sometimes they take twice as long as they ought to. It didn’t feel like 7 hours that Scott and I were out for, but after leaving at 5.45am we trundled into Beinglas 6hrs and 54 minutes later with our charge. About two hours after leaving Inversnaid we’d hear that the road had been cleared so there had been no real problems and the next pair of sweepers were waiting for us. Kynon and Ali took over and headed out, and I was grateful to get my trail shoes off and slip into some flip flops and a change of kit. It had been a warm morning so I changed everything and tied it up in a sealed bag ready for the washing machine when I made it back to real life on Monday.

with Marc and Scott

with Marc and Scott

Scott, Marc and myself then headed to the Green Welly for some food and spent the next couple of hours sitting outside our cars where the route passes Brodie’s store cheering on runners and catching up with our friends who were crewing. It was at this point we learned that the race had been won and the course record annihilated by Paul Giblin. It almost felt cruel to tell the result to those runners who asked, when they were only just over half way to the finish.

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The sweepers arrived, we swapped out Kynon for Marc and Team Sweep headed further up the course to Bridge Of Orchy. It was still an absolutely gorgeous day and I was enjoying wearing shorts and flip flops whilst sitting in a breeze at the midgie-free check point. This was unheard of – Bridge of Orchy is usually referred to as Midge of Orchy due to the thick clouds of insects the crews usually have to battle. Whilst chatting to the check point team I saw a speck of dirt on my ankle; I absent-mindedly tried to brush it off but it wouldn’t budge. Upon closer inspection it appeared to have legs and was burrowing deeply into my flesh. A tick! Gross!!!

Thankfully Sean the Race medic was at this check point and soon wielded a ‘tick pick’ and got the little bugger out of my foot quickly. I’ve never had a tick before and didn’t want to risk getting another so ran back to the car quickly to change into long tights, only to find a further two bigger and fatter ticks stuck into my calf. Sean worked his magic again and they were gone without any fuss other than Sean granting me the nickname Tick Lady for the rest of the weekend.

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Most of Team Sweep 2014

Most of Team Sweep 2014

Ali was replaced by Scott for the next stage to Glencoe and Marc continued on with him. The rest of us headed to Glencoe to rest up and prepare for the next overnight stint to Kinlochleven which would be covered by myself and Ali.

IMG_0261The majesty of Glencoe can never be underestimated.

Photo - Graeme Hewit - momentumphotos.co.uk

Photo – Graeme Hewitson – momentumphotos.co.uk

I had a coffee and some pizza and chips in the cafe before heading back to the car for a rest. I didn’t sleep but it was good to block everything out for half an hour or so and prepare for one of the more challenging sections of the course.

IMG_0262The Checkpoint, ran by the International Fire and Rescue Association

The last runner into Glencoe had actually been timed out before he reached the checkpoint and was in a very bad way. Whilst Ali and I set off into the darkness, the rest of the crew went back down the route to help get him in as he was almost incapable of movement.

Glencoe – Kinlochleven is only 11 miles, but for slower runners still on the course at the back of the field it is covered in their second night of running. The impact of the darkness can have a lot of negative effects as the body attempts to shut down to go to sleep whilst the runner battles onwards. This section last year was very challenging for all concerned, but this year sadly we had three DNFs at the bottom of the Devil’s Staircase as the runners realised there was no way they’d be able to get up the 1,000ft of climbing to the top of the hill, or the 1,500ft of decent from the top down to Kinlochleven at sea level. This left us with a very lucid and capable runner to look after who was moving well and was mentally fine, and running with his son as support. He was well ahead of us up the Devil’s Staircase so in total contrast to last year I was stomping up the hill with sweat pouring off me – I really didn’t need that second fleece, nor my thermal tracksuit bottoms.

Frog!There were frogs everywhere this year – even up the Devil’s Staircase!

We were out for only 4 hours and 14 minutes this year and came into Kinlochleven feeling happy and positive.

The check point at Kinlochleven was the usual disaster zone however. In the gym hall there were several bodies comatose on gym mats, Dr Chris Ellis was attending to several patients with their feet elevated and iced, an exhausted support crew were arguing with their runner insisting that he was fine and needed to get on his way whilst he wanted to quit, and other sleeping figures were dotted around the area catching some precious rest before the checkpoint closed. I grabbed some snacks from our supplies and let the rest of the team take over. All I needed to do now was get in to the car for some sleep before I completed the journey to Fort William.

As the check point began to close, the sleeping runners were being woken so that they could decide if they could carry on or not. Most of them got on the move eventually, but one sad figure was the last to slowly leave the hall in floods of tears with her face contorted in pain as she could barely move herself forwards. She could hardly breath without coughing as she apologised profusely and needlessly to the checkpoint staff and her crew, it was clear there was absolutely nothing left in her and she had truly reached the end of her race. My heart broke; I’ve seen her at other races and saw on her blog and the facebook group how much this race meant to her, but it just was not to be this year. Ali was crashed out on the ground next to me and shook his head; “Why do we even do this to ourselves?!” he mused quietly. It is so sad to see a race come to an end like that, and so undeserving.

I gave Kynon a kiss goodbye as he and the other lads headed out to cover the last 14 miles. Scott had decided he wanted to go along too as it was obvious all Ali and I were going to do was fall asleep in our cars. I grabbed some ice in a bag for one of my ankles which was creaking, and set to making a nest in the reclined passenger seat of the car. Assisted by pillows and a blanket I could not have been more comfortable and drifted away from the early morning mayhem of the checkpoint into deep, exhausted sleep.

Two hours later a horrendous beeping noise was pulling me from slumber. Pushing my eyemask off my face I slowly took stock of what was going on and deduced that the beeping was coming from my phone. An alarm. How cunning. It was telling me that it was 7am and that it was time to drive to Fort William. Looking out the window I could see no signs of life at all coming from Ali’s car parked across the deserted car park, and the only signs that the race had happened at all was the slowly melting pile of ice chips next to the door which Dr Chris had discarded after he left. After assessing the situation I decided I was in no hurry to get to Fort William and that we could go when Ali wanted to go, and that he could wake me up whenever that was. The front seat of an Audi has never been so comfortable.

It was an hour later that he was chapping on my window as he was keen to find some comfort facilities that weren’t under a bush, so we got our cars back on the road and made the sleepy drive to the finish at Fort William by about 9am. After a shower, a massage and some food, the next few hours were spent catching up with various friends and welcoming our exhausted later finishers home. It was wonderful to see the guys that we had swept at the back at various points of the course arrive at the finish, but it was the final runner who made the greatest impression. Ali and I ran out to meet the sweepers at about 11am to run in as a team, and Fritz from Holland was on his last legs in front of them with his wife by his side cajoling him along the road step by step. There aren’t many hills in Holland and the last time we’d seen him was at Kinlochleven when he was trying to quit; nobody would let him as he still was clearly ok and had hours to crawl it in to the finish. With plenty of comedy false kicks up the back side from his wife and several cigarettes on the way, he’d finally made it to Fort William and crossed the finish line victoriously in a time of 34 hours 19 minutes and 50 seconds.

When everyone was showered and fed we made it across to the Nevis Centre for the Prizegiving at 12.30pm.

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There were standing ovations for both Paul Giblin and his incredible finish, and the very emotional presentation of Fiona Rennie’s 10th Goblet which has been fought and strived for harder than any of us can imagine.

Photo - Graeme Hewitson - momentumphotos.co.uk

Photo – Graeme Hewitson – momentumphotos.co.uk

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Happily, Fritz van der Lubben made it to the presentation and gleefully accepted his goblet from Paul Giblin in a continuation of one of the traditions which makes the West Highland Way Race so special.

Photo - Graeme Hewitson - momentumphotos.co.uk

Photo – Graeme Hewitson – momentumphotos.co.uk

And so another year in the WHW Race cycle has come to a close. Team Sweep definitely got an easier ride this year, but no two races are the same and we were no less tired when it came to crashing out on Sunday afternoon before heading for a curry. I covered nearly 34 miles over the two days which for the most part barely registered in my legs, apart from the aforementioned creaky ankle muscle. This will hopefully take me neatly to the start of the Great Glen Ultra for a good race when I return to Fort William this Friday.

The 1am start and 73 mile length of the Great Glen Ultra makes it an excellent warm up for the West Highland Way race. Since everyone has been asking; yes, it is definitely my intention to run in next years West Highland Way Race, so everything between now and the 20th of June 2015 is a countdown to Milngavie. I’m thinking differently about it all already – it’s no longer a distant dream but a tangible goal on the horizon, and under a year away. There’s a lot of work to do, starting with this weekend…

RACE REPORT: Cateran Trail 55 Ultramarathon 2014

The Cateran Trail 55 Ultramarathon

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17th May 2014
13hrs 32min 11sec
Position: 57th/61 finishers (7 DNF)
Gender: 14th/16 Females

The Cateran Trail Ultramarathon is a 55 mile long race ran by the intrepid partnership of George Reid and Karen Donoghue, also known as Epic Shit Racing. George is the director of the D33, but the Cateran has always been Karen’s baby, and 2014 would see the 5th running of this race in its recent form. Also on offer this year was the Double Cateran, which at 110 miles would be the longest race in Scotland. The Double Cateran runners would commence their race 13 hours before the 55 milers, and run the full route in reverse first before performing an about turn when they returned to the Spittal of Glenshee. They would then retrace their footsteps for another 55 miles until they reached the start/finish area for the 3rd time when they could finally call it a day.

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Of the two races on offer I had selected the easy option and would commence my race at 7am from the Spittal of Glenshee Hotel with 70 or so other runners. In general I was feeling good about the race, but still harboured concerns about how well recovered I was from the Highland Fling three weeks previously. I had ran 35 of the 53 miles in the Fling at a very easy pace and had worked harder towards the end to finish strongly and happily. I’d had no injuries to speak of and got back to training lightly in the interim period so I saw no reason to doubt that I’d have a good race at the Cateran. The only concern at the back of the mind was knowing how long it can take to fully recover from an ultra – we push our bodies to the limit in these races, and for mortals like myself the residual effects can last for weeks…or so I had read. How would my body handle it? The only way I would find out would be to get on the starting line and see.

Kynon and I arrived at the Spittal of Glenshee late on Friday night, having opted to eat at home before the 1hr 30min drive to Glenshee. I’m not incredibly particular about my pre-race nutrition, but the Spittal did not appear to offer much in the way of vegetarian food other than chips with a side of onion rings. We found the hotel bar bursting with running friends and we settled down with a cider for some chat before heading to our room around 11pm. The accommodation at the hotel would be best described as…’rustic’, but in our room we found a clean bed and a functioning toilet which was all we really needed.

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I felt oddly not nervous about the race, so fell asleep quickly and deeply. I had come to the conclusion that the race ahead of me was completely unknown territory (in every sense of the word) so there was no point in stressing or over-thinking anything. All I could do was start running at 7am with everyone else and see what happened…the rest would fall in to place after that.

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I was pleased to awake to a bright morning with patchy cloud and sun. There was a lovely view out of the window which I had missed the night before, and I was able to look straight down the Glen and the first few miles of the course. I had taken my own breakfast, and due to the luxury of the race starting from the hotel my race preparation was very chilled out. At about 6.15am I strolled out of the room with my drop bags and grabbed a mug of coffee from the breakfast room and caught up with the news with friends before the race briefing with Karen at 6.30am.

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She kept things simple, but made a point of reminding us of the 110 mile race runners who were out on the course . As she reminded us to be sympathetic and kind, one of the runners crested the hill and ran in to the start/finish to huge applause. I can’t fathom the mental toughness those guys and girls had to turn around and go back out there, but somehow they did it.

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Just before 7am we were walked from the front of the hotel around the corner and over a bridge to the official starting line.

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The atmosphere  was so chilled it didn’t even feel like a race – more like a large group of friends heading out on a long training run together. I might have had a number pinned to my shorts, but I had none of my usual pre-race nerves.

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There was a final word or two from Karen, and then she announced ‘Right! Off you go!‘ and away we went down the Glen, a neon caterpillar of humans growing in length as the front runners let loose and sped away.

Start – Dalnagair – 6 miles, 1hr 9 mins

I don’t remember much about the first 6 miles, other than feeling very warm very quickly. The weather was forecast to be fine for most of the day but then become wet, but for the first 6 miles I was glad to have my sunglasses and to just be wearing a vest and shorts. As usual I walked the hills and enjoyed taking the time to appreciate the scenery. Glenshee is a wild wilderness and the terrain we were on was a mix of grass, gravel path and boggy moorland peppered with plenty of gates to open and stiles to climb over.

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I passed one 110 runner at about 3 miles, and met Mark and Helen Leggatt who were reverse sweeping the route and taking down all the neon tape and glowsticks which had been used to light the way for the 110ers through the night.

Dalnagair – Kirkton of Glenisla – 15 mi – 2hr 58min

Photo - Jenni Coelho

Photo – Jenni Coelho

Even by the first checkpoint at Glen Isla the field was very stretched out and I could only see a couple of runners far ahead of me. We were on road for a few miles and then they slipped further away and out of sight until we went off-road again and began a long slog up hill. We passed the beautiful Auchintaple Loch  and ran through fresh pine forest and over exposed hillsides before descending through some farms back on to the road which lead to Checkpoint 2 – Kirkton of Glenisla.

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3 hours in and I was feeling quite weary but figured the feeling would pass so wasn’t too worried. I was more unhappy about my right knee which I had unceremoniously thwacked off a stile post at around 9 miles, resulting in a flash of blinding pain as I clattered the patellar tendon off the edge of the post. The ongoing throbbing had not faded and was particularly sharp when I went down hills.

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Kirkton of Glenisla – Den of Alyth – 26 mi – 5hr 30m

At Checkpoint 2 I had my first drop bag, with custard and a buttery to eat and some snacks to refill my pockets. Mrs Mac and Piratical Dave were there as well as Donald and Elaine Sandeman, Lucy Colquhoun and Caroline Gibson. Caroline helped me with my food and got my water bladder topped up as I ploughed custard into my mouth using the buttery as a spoon. I couldn’t help but notice how few drop bags were left, but I decided not to care about it and just get moving again despite how much I wanted to stay and chat.

Not long after Glenisla I passed former West Highland Way race record holder Richie Cunningham who was running part of the route in reverse, and caught up with one runner, Dinah, who is distinctive by the barefoot huaraches that she runs in. We had a brief chat before I pulled away, and little did I know that she would be the last fellow runner that I would see all day.

It was somewhere around 17 or 18 miles that things started to go wrong. Some bastard had filled my legs with cement and suddenly moving forward became far more arduous. The pain that I’d been feeling in both little toes crossed over from ‘tolerable’ to ‘OW’ and stiffness in my hips and glutes became more defined. My knee still hurt too, as well as the bone in my big toe which has never been quite right since I ran the 2013 Highland Fling in those stupid rock-hard inov8 roc-lites. The multitude of increasing niggles quickly wore down my resolve and alone out there on a road in Middle Of Nowhere, Perthshire, I was flailing. I dragged out a couple of 15/16 minute miles as I struggled to pull my tired body up hills and hobbled on my sore feet down hill. I could jog the flats and gentle rolling hills, but only for 5 or so minutes at a time before the giant black dog that was sitting on my chest became too heavy to carry.

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I remember this big stupid, wet grassy hill made me so cross – why on earth were we climbing up the side of a field dodging sheep poo and bloody lamb’s tails when there was a perfectly good road down to the left going exactly where we were headed? Nevertheless I followed the path and hobbled up and down the hill to rejoin the road and found my eyes stinging with anger and frustration. My feet hurt so damn much; what was wrong with those little toes? If someone had given me a Stanley knife I would have cut holes in the side of my shoes to let them out. The Injinji toe-socks and compeeds may have guarded well against toe blisters, but the extra material in the box of my shoes was obviously crushing my littlest toes harshly.

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I was mildly amused by this sign on the gate to Alyth Hill but the distraction didn’t last long as I sank deeper in to the hurt locker. This was really quite serious – to be in such a state at 22 miles with a further 33 more to go was devastating. I didn’t see how I could possibly carry on – I was cloaked in fatigue and felt like I was drowning in it, I just couldn’t make myself move any quicker than a stumbling jog where every step was pain. At 22 miles!! Hidden amongst the vibrant yellow of the broom bushes I let my emotions boil over as I faced up to the realisation that I would probably DNF and big, fat salty tears spilled out of my eyes. I didn’t care that I was bawling  during a race – it wasn’t like anyone was around or had been anywhere near me for hours. I was out there alone and on this day I hadn’t brought enough guts to get myself home again. I was done. My first DNF. More tears.

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I continued to torture myself with the poisonous thoughts of how embarrassing it was going to be to drop out; what would I tell everyone in the pub that night? What would I say at work on Monday? What would I write in the blog? If I was going to DNF I’d have to do it at Den of Alyth because if I got to Blairgowrie at 31 miles, Kynon would be there and he wouldn’t allow me to DNF, and Sandra and Ian wouldn’t let me even think about it either, so I had to find the guts to take the number off at the next Checkpoint. What a failure. What a waste of everyone’s time.

Just as my pity party was really hitting full swing, two figures emerged from around a corner who I quickly recognised as Dave and Carolyn Kiddell. Ah, crap; there’s no hiding here, and he’s got a camera as well – best try and move it a bit and wipe the snot and tears away. “Well done! You’re doing great! How are you feeling?” they called out, but their kind smiles and friendly faces dislodged my thinly veiled cover. Tears spilled again and my voice cracked when I managed to respond “Dreadful! I’m having a terrible day! I’ve got nothing in my legs! Nothing!”. Dave has been there; he knows how bad things can get deep in a race, and Carolyn has seen it all before in her years of supporting him; they calmly told me to take it one mile at a time and just get to the next checkpoint and take it from there.

I nod and stagger on up the hill, as the realisation slowly dawns on me that I’ve just jogged past my friends up a hill whilst simultaneously telling them that I had nothing in my legs…

Den of Alyth – Blairgowrie – 31 miles, 6hrs 54 min

Not long after passing Dave and Carolyn the route took a long slow downhill road into the checkpoint which I was able to jog. Bumping into two friends whilst having a cry gave me a taster of how mortifying I would find it if I made the decision to DNF at Den of Alyth. Did I really want to do that? Was I really all that incapable if I could suddenly start running again on command?! Just as I was contemplating these things I arrived in to the Den of Alyth checkpoint which was at the end of a long field with some signs.

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“Welcome to the Den of Alyth Ceilidh”

Wuh!?

Underneath the gazebo was Johnny Fling in a shirt, tie and kilt, playing ceilidh music through an amplifier, with Lorna and an assortment of others in kilts bouncing around, dancing and cheering. I started laughing hysterically as I came in and asked if I was hallucinating – they didn’t dignify that with an answer as they took my pack from me and filled it up whilst I fed myself from the tremendous array of Scottish snacks.

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Lorna offered me some whisky and I took a hearty nip of Glenfiddich, washed down with a cup of Irn Bru and some tablet. This was amazing! I didn’t want to leave! However I was quickly strapped back in to my bag and hustled out of the check point before I knew what was happening, and seconds later I was tramping through the forest alone once more.

Did that just happen? What was I saying about DNFing again?! And that is the power of a good check point in an ultra. You need people who can lift you up when you’re down, take care of your refuelling needs like a formula 1 pit-stop team, feed you booze and snacks and turn you around and kick you back out again before you know what’s going on.

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So it had been decided. I was going to finish. As previously mentioned, DNFing at a checkpoint manned by Sandra ‘Get a move on or I’ll set you on fire‘ McDougall is not an option, and she was posted at Blairgowrie which was my next stop at 31 miles. After that the next one was at 38 miles and if I could get that far I knew I’d finish. Perhaps it was the whisky, but everything seemed a little sharper – Karen didn’t go to the bother of organising this race so her runners could drop out on her, and besides, I really, really wanted my finisher’s quaich.

I focused on the thought of being presented with my quaich with everyone in the pub later and settled in for the long haul. Once I’d made my peace with the fact that it was going to be a really long day, all my aches and pains seemed to stabilise. It was unfortunate that everything seemed to fall to bits so early on, but after Den of Alyth nothing seemed to get worse. I accepted the pain and just got on with it.

Blairgowrie – Bridge of Cally – 38 miles, 8hr 42min

Ironically after deciding that DNFing wasn’t going to happen, I realised I’d need to get a move on if I was to make the Blairgowrie checkpoint by 2.30pm (7.5 hours). I was taking so much time to cover the miles that if I didn’t shift it then I’d risk cutting it fine. As it happened I made it in at about 2:05pm and was warmly welcomed by dear husband and Sandra and Ian.

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Kynon said he was a little concerned about how long it had taken me; looking at the drop bags I saw there were only 5 or 6 left which was a bit of a shock – I hadn’t realised I was quite that far back in the field! However I was still moving and that was all that mattered.

S_McD_BlairgowriePictures by Sandra McDougall

The journey out of Blairgowrie was very beautiful, with thick, lush greenery surrounding the path and some beautiful houses and gardens. There was a long climb where I passed a couple of walkers who asked about my race number – they nearly fell over when I told them about the race.

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By the time I reached the top of the climb out of Blairgowrie there were some very sinister looking clouds in the distance back towards Glenshee. On the exposed hill I finally conceded to putting a long sleeve top on over my vest, but did my best to ignore the spots of rain for as long as possible. I really didn’t like this bit of the route – it went through plain farmland and along the edges of fields, before climbing up to an expanse of desolate moorland.

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This was where the rain really started pelting and I had to stop to put my rain jacket on. The boggy and muddy moorland track was really hard to run on and it felt like I was on a travelator – no matter how much effort I put into moving along the straight track I never seemed to make any progress as the land all looked the same. Looking at the map it is only 3 miles but it felt double that.

Bridge of Cally – Enochdhu – 49 miles – 11hr 42m

A lovely surprise was waiting for me at Bridge of Cally, which was in the shape of a Kynon who had popped up to say hello having just closed the checkpoint at Blairgowrie. Also waiting were Jane MacAskill and Helen Munro who saw that I was well fed and watered before being turfed back out into the rain. I had pizza in this drop bag which really hit the spot – a definite for all future drop bags.

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Not long after I left I saw Mark and Helen Leggatt again performing reverse sweeping who were full of positive encouragement. After this it was a long stint alone again for 11 miles lay between these two check points. I couldn’t stop thinking about whether I would end up being the last finisher and being caught by the sweeper, Keith Hughes, who was hungry for slow runners. Every so often I thought I heard his antipodean tones calling ‘Haallaow!’ from behind me, but he was never there. I guess I was getting tired.

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There’s not much else to say about this section but that it was wet, boggy and hard to run on. I was concentrating hard on following the route from post to post which kept me alert, as I could have gone wrong quite easily. It rained a lot, but it wasn’t cold. Other than the official route posts there was no race signage unless absolutely necessary. I did have a route map with me but thankfully I didn’t ever have to refer to it.

At one point around 43 miles I took a wrong turning and ended up taking the long route around a field, I got a bit confused but thankfully got back on track quickly without adding too much extra on. However, at around 45 miles I could see a green gazebo and a lot of balloons in the distance next to the road – how on earth had I managed to cut so much out of the route? Was I really at 49 miles already? I felt excitement that I was nearly there but a bit disappointed that I’d obviously made a mistake…however as I got closer I realised it was not a check point, but in fact a backyard birthday celebration for someone’s 45th birthday. Gutted!

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I saw this sign in Kirkmichael and had to stop for a photograph – I was finally within reach of that quaich and the distance left was down to single digits. I made my way into to Enochdhu in the pouring rain and arrived to a lovely warm welcome from Caroline and Neal Gibson again. I had more cake and pizza, washed down with more Irn Bru. I put caffeinated nuun in my camelbak to try and perk me up for the final long haul up hill and got on my way for the last time to earn that quaich.

Enochdhu – Spittal of Glenshee – 55 miles – 13hr 32min 11sec

IMG_0069Heading for the hills in the distance

I knew from here to the finish despite being only 6 miles, it was uphill all the way until the last mile. My poor hips were so sore, my feet continued to be a source of total agony (especially the torn open blister on my arch caused by a stone in my shoe), and everything else just hurt. I allowed myself to reflect happily though – I couldn’t believe I’d actually got this far in a race which I’d all but written off 30 miles previously. Deep down though, I know that this would happen as I’d never have the guts to drop out unless I actually had a lower limb hanging off, and despaired at the unnecessary fuss I made for myself so many hours ago.

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I think I needed the tears though; I needed the release, the time alone, the helplessness, and the stripping back of self to the bare minimum. I needed to know that I could cope in a tough situation, and that I could trust my belief in myself to get through it eventually. There is a sense of renewal that comes from these long races; when you hit rock bottom you can’t get any lower and you know the only person who can get you back out is yourself. I was climbing, and had climbed right from the bottom back to the top again. The race had transported us from the bare loneliness of Glenshee, to the lush and leafy Perthshire hillsides and all the way back again.

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The landscape was stark and powerful and I decided that the perfect accompaniment for the last few miles was an album by Explosions in the Sky: All of a sudden I miss everyone. The music carried me over the beautiful landscape in contentment, back to my friends and ultra family who were waiting just over the last hill after 55 miles.

Spotting a figure in the distance snapped me out of my reverie and as I grew closer I recognised him as my friend Neil Easton from my club, and fellow West Highland Way Race sweeper. He was chumming tired runners up to the brim of the last of the steep hill and making sure that that everyone headed for home in the right direction. I was so pleased to see him and telling him all about my rollercoaster of a day was the perfect distraction from the steep climb. He got me to the top and then told me he’d see me in the bar shortly – there were only four behind me so his hours of hill-reps were nearly over.

IMG_0073Looking down towards the Spittal at the bottom

This was the longest mile of my life – I could see the Spittal, but it just would not get any closer. It disappeared and reappeared as I negotiated dips and rises, with every downhill step making pain coarse through my legs and feet.

With about 400 meters to go I passed Neil Rutherford walking up the course who must have finished hours previously. He gave some applause and a hearty pat on the shoulder assuring me that I was really, almost there. Not long after, the handful of people at the finish line spotted me in my bright blue jacket picking my way down the last of the hill in the fading light and burst into shouts and cheers of encouragement until I reached the final gate to the road.

A short final trot lead me to the finishing gantry and their enthusiastic cheers and applause carried me over the line with a huge smile into Kynon’s arms.

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I think the relief written all over my face says it all.

S_finish4S_finish3Pictures by Sandra McDougall

After I’d caught my breath and hugged everyone in sight, I made my way into the hotel and the bar area which was filled with finishers and supporters having drinks and food. Kynon was behind me and started clapping, then everyone looked up from their pints and broke into loud cheering and applause! Everyone who finished was getting this huge welcome by their fellow finishers when they came in, but it really took me by surprised and my eyes might have leaked a bit again. It was quite over-whelming.

Kynon sat me down and asked what I wanted. It was quite simple – a cold pint of lager and some chips.

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The beer was quickly taken care of, and I was able to trough into the hot buffet to my hearts content before the last finishers arrived in with the sweeper about 50 minutes later. Shortly after there was the presentation, where there were some very warm and kind words from Karen for the 55 mile finishers first of all, before George moved on to the 110 milers.

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It hurt to get up and shuffle over, but it felt just as good as I’d been imagining since 26 miles when I started focusing on receiving the little box from Karen to get me to the finish. For those who don’t know, a quaich is a traditional Scottish two-handed drinking cup of friendship which is often given as a gift, a trophy, or involved in ceremonial drinking.

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Next, the finishers of the 110 mile race received their quaichs. Out of 13 entrants, 12 made the starting line, only 6 finished and 2 ended up in hospital. The winner was my amazing friend Mike Raffan in  22hrs 25 minutes – an incredible two and a half hours clear of 2nd place.

After the presentation I went to the room for a shower but found no hot water. A hobo wash was had by the sink with some soap and wet-wipes, before I quickly returned to the bar for more rehydration and to hear everyone’s tales.

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There was still one man out on the course from the 110 mile race however; he knew he’d be timed out from the check points after a certain point, but asked to continue on with his own support and make it to the finish under his own steam. George was happy with that, so John McLean continued by himself until he made it back to the Spittal of Glenshee. Just before midnight George stuck his head in the door and shouted that the last finisher was due, and then every single person that was able to move (and a lot that probably shouldn’t have as well) poured out of the pub to cheer him down off the hill. We saw the blink of a head torch approach and began shouting as loudly as possible whilst forming a long guard of honour for him to run down to meet George and Karen at the end. The clapping and cheering was deafening as we welcomed him home, and after 29 hours and 57 minutes we had all our finishers back safely.

That was the most most memorable moment of the weekend for me – not the starting, the finishing, anything that happened in between, or even the lovely welcome I was given as I arrived back into the pub at the end. That sparkling display of goodwill and camaraderie is enough to melt the toughest heart and sums up everything I love about this sport. Moments like that make it so easy to forget the agony we go through at times; it is all so very, very worth it.

I learned a lot on Saturday. The lessons were tough but I’m glad I got them, and it underlined what I’ve known for some time about how in an ultra you have to just believe that the lowest of lows are usually temporary and that your race can turn around in an instant. It’s six weeks on Saturday until the Great Glen Ultra where I will line up for a 73 mile journey from Fort William to Inverness at 1am in the morning, so now the most important thing for me to do is rest. On the whole, four days later I’m fine and have retained no lasting injuries than two lost toenails and some nasty sports bra chafing. My knee that I hit on the stile is the sorest bit left, so I’ll need to look after it very carefully in the days to come. The good news is that my Injinji socks and preventative compeeds worked and I had no blisters in between my toes, but I definitely need to review the sizing of my trail shoes if this is the solution to that problem.

For now it’s a week of rest as I figure out what to do with myself for the next 6 weeks and write a training plan to keep myself occupied, but uninjured…

Cateran Countdown

At some point in October last year I decided that it was a good idea to run both the Highland Fling and the Cateran Trail Ultra this Spring. After a bit of dithering I took the advice of some friends and decided to just go for it and really level up my ultra running this year. Neither race in itself is a monster challenge, but the fact that they are only three weeks apart is quite intimidating.

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The last few months have held plenty of distractions as we know, and without a structured training plan for the last two months after the D33 it has been very easy to forget about the larger challenges on the horizons of this year like this double-header. My tactic for sanity, much like last year, was to take each week at a time to stop myself from freaking out over the thought of multiple 50+ mile races (and that big 70+ mile one too), and just do my best to keep uninjured.

Despite having a great Fling, I’ve been desperately trying to put off thinking about the Cateran in the hope that it would make the time in between the two last longer. It made absolutely no difference of course, and now with just over 12 hours to go I must face up to some more race planning and strategising to get the best out of my day tomorrow.

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image from bamff.co.uk

I have 15 hours to run the 55 miles of the Cateran trail after the race starts at 7am. It’s a pretty small race, with 84 registered runners in the 55 mile race and 15 runners in the 110 mile Double Cateran race. The race starts and finishes at the Spittal of Glenshee hotel, which is about an hour and a half drive South West from Stonehaven, and the route follows a circular route on a mix of roads, trails and farm tracks. It appears to have none of the rugged terrain that the Fling/West Highland Way is known for, but it still packs plenty of proper hills including a monster 5 mile long climb at the finish. The total ascent is 5754ft.

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Elevation profile borrowed from Jonathan at pixelscotland.com

The race is unsupported with 6 drop bags at check points at 6, 15, 26, 31, 28, and 49 miles. I’ve packed the following for checkpoints 2 onwards:

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There are quorn sausages and slices of pizza to be added when they are cooked tonight after work.

The weather is looking weird – it’s supposed to be very warm all weekend but the forecast for where we will be is 10 – 12C with rain. Given how wrong the forecast for the Fling was I’ll just pack all my suitable kit and pick it on the morning. I’m hoping for cloudy and warm.

I have taken some advice and will try toe socks on my feet this time and will see if they make any difference to my horrific between-toe blisters. I will wear the same shoes (Salomon speedcross 3’s) and hopefully will see some improvement as I really need to crack this problem before the Great Glen Way in July.

In terms of time, I’m hoping to come in around 12 or 12.5 hours. I’m ready to work really hard and throw everything I’ve got at this race and really test myself. I know what it feels like for me to run for this kind of time and distance now, so it’s time to start trimming the fat off my time and get more efficient at this distance. On the other hand I don’t really know what to expect out there as I don’t know the course, so anything can happen.

I’ve had a challenging couple of days, so at the base of it all I’m really just looking forward to a day out to myself in the hills working hard and running away from the world. Of course the course is a circle so whatever I run away from I will eventually have to return to, but hopefully I’ll have found some peace along the way.

~Rwr

RACE REPORT: Highland Fling 2014

Hoka Highland Fling 53 Mile Ultramarathon
26th April 2014

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Chip time: 13hrs 20m 53s
Finish Position: 447th / 566 finishers (57 DNF)
Gender: 77th / 130 Females
Category: 32nd / 56 Senior Females

This time last year I had a lot of thinking to do. I had only just finished my first 50+ mile Ultramarathon at the Highland Fling and achieved my big goal for the Spring, but everyone wanted to know if I would do it again. Definitely in the future, I had answered, but not next year; after all we were getting married only a month beforehand! As the rest of 2013 slipped by, my thoughts changed however. My memories of the race were some of my very happiest  and I simply could not imagine not being a part of it again. With wedding and honeymoon plans firmly in place by October I was able to decide if a second Highland Fling finish was achievable, and my decision was definitely yes. It might be a bit risky and it certainly wouldn’t be ideal, but I’d be there and I’d give it my best shot.

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Fast forward to the 25th of April and once again we’re all in the Burnbrae pub in Milngavie, picking up our race numbers and catching up with ultra friends. I had run once between the D33 and the wedding as I desperately tried to heal my blisters, and in addition to one club running session I had completed two 10 mile runs after we arrived back from our honeymoon. The one thing that was going in my favour was that I was excellently rested and with not an injury to speak of, but still I had a lot of niggling doubts in my head which got louder as the evening went on. The last time I’d ran for more than 1hr 30mins was six weeks ago – was this really sensible?!

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Photo: Sandra McDougall

After retreating to the Premier Inn we snatched around 4 hours sleep before the alarm sounded at 3.30am and wrenched us out of bed. Kynon was marshalling once more and was required at the start by 4.45am – I won’t mention how jealous I was of my running chums who weren’t even out of bed by then…

My first move was to go straight to the window to look out. Rain was lashing down and the trees were swinging in the wind. My heart sank even further as for once the weather forecast seemed to be correct. This day could turn out to be a tremendous ordeal, I thought. I went through the motions of preparing coffee and forcing down a little breakfast; we ate very late the night before so I really wasn’t hungry, however I managed a rice pudding and a bottle of SiS ReGo carb drink.

I decided to wear shorts and long socks, with a vest, a long sleeved top and club vest on top. After a few more minutes deliberating I decided to put on a second long sleeve top, and put some dry clothes in my Camelbak just in case. After a last minute kit check we made our exit, and along with dozens of other people carrying bags and boxes made a silent departure out to the car park.

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Milngavie Railway Station was going like a fayre already and the car park slowly filling with runners. Kynon got the ultravan parked in the correct space, and I slipped into the back to finish my drop bags by making a couple of sandwiches. Unfortunately some enthusiastic runners kept on trying to give me their drop bags for Balmaha as I tried to sort out my things. My kingdom for a moment’s peace!

By some miracle I managed to bump into Rachel as I was wandering around in the crowd. Together we pottered about and said hello to lots of others including Iona and Jemma who were sweeping the first half. As the light came it seemed to get warmer – I should note here that by now the rain had stopped and the wind had dropped – so I made the executive decision to lose one long-sleeved top and the spare clothes in my bag. Rachel put her bags in the back of our van as we both made outfit changes – I lost a layer, she added a thick hillwalking jacket. And still people kept on trying to give us their drop bags.

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We found the other Stonehaven Runners and posed for a group shot. We were all intending to start at the back and take it easy, nobody was looking for a fast finish time as most of us have bigger challenges on the horizon soon. Before we knew it Johnny Fling was giving the race briefing, and the 5 minute warning was issued.

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Kynon! I realised I hadn’t said goodbye to my husband! I hadn’t seen him since I got out of the van over an hour prior, so I ducked and weaved through the crowds to find him and gave him a big cuddle. I would next see him at Balmaha, which seemed a very long way away.

Photo: Ian Russell

Photo: Ian Russell

The 10 second countdown began, and I scuttled back through the crowd to my friends as everyone burst in to cheers when the klaxon went. Ripples of applause followed the front runners up the High Street, but it took nearly two minutes until our group finally crossed over the starting mat. The eerie whine of the timing chips activating rung in my ears as we charged gently up the stairs, faces lit up with smiles as the crowd cheered us on our way. With the crowd of us in our black and purple club vests and socks, we solicited plenty of shouts of ‘GO STONEHAVEN!’ and ‘GO STONEY GIRLS!’ as we ran up the high street and the support felt so encouraging.

Photo: Ian Russell

Photo: Ian Russell

Photo: Ian Russell

Photo: Ian Russell

Milngavie – Drymen – 12 miles – 2hr 20m

Despite the excitement which comes at the start, I’ve decided that this is my least favourite part of the route. It is mainly flat and on easy path or road, and can be filed as ‘very runnable’. You must be very careful not to shoot off at half or even full marathon pace as energy conservation here is key for the rest of the race.

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Within a mile or so we had all regretted putting on waterproof shell jackets and quickly took them off and packed them away. Whilst the air was very damp it was also humid and warm, so my buff and gloves came off as well. In the end I had decided to leave the dry bag of dry clothes at the start. I had decided I had a feeling that we weren’t going to get wet and that they would be needless extra weight. Looking towards Conic Hill was very sinister though as it was cloaked in mist and cloud – what was hiding up there on top of the hill and beyond?

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We took each hill very gently and chatted our way through the first section. Due to the size of our group there was a natural divide, with Vikki, Kate, Rachel, and Tracey and I moving on a little quicker than the others and quickly opening up a gap. We enjoyed talking to our fellow racers and admiring the kit of our Norwegian visitors from Romerike Ultraloperklubbe – a 30 strong contingent of runners from an Ultra club in Norway, who all wore a fantastic black and yellow running kit.

Approaching Drymen. Photo: Stuart Macfarlane

Approaching Drymen. Photo: Stuart Macfarlane

Enjoying every minute. Photo: Stuart Macfarlane

Enjoying every minute. Photo: Stuart Macfarlane

 

Drymen – Balmaha – 7 miles – 1hr 41, cumulative: 4hr 01m (19 miles)

I was looking forward to Drymen as it meant there would be some hills to walk and we’d get in to the more remote parts of the course. When we arrived there was a huge crowd cheering as it was the first relay handover with lots of familiar faces. The atmosphere really perked me up and I was ready to push on, but some of the girls wanted to wait in the queue for the portaloo. This would have taken the guts of 10 minutes so we managed to convince them that in an ultra, the world is their toilet and they should just embrace it. Off we went into Garabhan forest with just the slightest speckle of sunlight finally breaking through the clouds.

It wasn’t long until a toilet stop was called for again. It was decided that we’d all wait, but after a few minutes I felt myself stiffening and really wanted to get moving. Rachel and I walked on a little and came across a photographer, so of course we had to run! We waited a few more minutes here but when there was still no sign of them we decided just to go, and began the approach to Conic.

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The mist had cleared and we were bathed in sunlight as we climbed higher and higher up the hill. I found it easier this year and my legs and lungs burned less. The views back down the course were spectacular and we saw our friends not far behind us.

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The top of Conic was less impressive than last year, but no less beautiful. The view up the Loch never fails to take my breath away each time I see it.

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On the descent I concentrated on keeping as loose as possible and carefully placing my feet. I would have loved to bomb down the hill as fearlessly as I would in a training run, but leg conservation was key so I took it very easily. I loved knowing that Kynon was at the bottom waiting for me at the check point and couldn’t wait to give him a hug.

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Rachel and I bounced into Balmaha and quickly got stuck into our drop bags. I had a Mullerrice to eat and cake bars and crisps to restock my backpack with. I was very thirsty and had already consumed a litre of electrolyte water, so I filled up with another litre and drank deeply from a bottle of Lucozade sport left on the ‘free’ table. The others arrived as I was ready to go, but we waited until they were ready in the spirit of taking it easy together. I’ve never run a race in this manner before and I was beginning to find that holding myself back was somewhat of a challenge, but I reminded myself that it was all about time on feet and that I’d thank myself for taking it easy at the Cateran 55 three weeks later.

Balmaha – Rowardennan – 8 miles – 1hr 59, cumulative: 6hrs (27.5 miles)

After coming through Balmaha we receiving some playful banter from marshal Sarah who directed us up the next steep hill. After some lumps and bumps we made it back to the beautiful Lochside which would keep us company for the next 20odd miles. There was another toilet stop at Milarrochy and I found myself stationary again with my legs stiffening up. Regardless of how we planned to run the race, it went against my every instinct to be standing still in the middle of a race with fellow participants passing by – I wanted to be moving!

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When we got back on the trail, Rachel and I seemed to be running a slightly quicker pace and a gap began to open up between us and the other three. We chattered away, taking turns to lead, and the time passed quickly on my second least favourite part of the course which lasts until Rowardennan. It was distinctly different underfoot this year as ongoing path ‘improvements’ have been taking place. Tonnes of smashed rock have been packed down on top of the solid earth path which has given it a very sanitised feel. I felt like I was in the grounds of a country estate not running the rugged West Highland Way; I didn’t particularly care for the ‘improvements’, especially as it felt awful underfoot on weary feet.

Photo: Stuart Macfarlane

Photo: Stuart Macfarlane

The Rowardennan checkpoint came out of nowhere sooner than expected just like last year which was a pleasant surprise. Tiredness was beginning to factor a little and I was feeling a bit jaded as Mrs Mac cheered and called out ‘You OK toots?’ to me as I crossed the timing mat. That really cheered me up and brought me back down to earth as I smiled and said hello; it’s little bits of personal support like that which makes these races so special – I love that I know so many people taking part, marshalling and supporting who all just want the best for each other.

Standing in the checkpoint I took stock of myself and figured out what was going on – I felt infinitely better than last year both physically and mentally, nothing in particular was hurting and everything was fine other than being very thirsty. I felt like I could be working a lot harder, but then I might have been suffering more. I nailed another Mullerrice and refilled my pockets and water supplies. Scanning the left-over food table I swatched some cherry sport beans – my favourite flavour – and put them in my pocket. What a coup!

Photo: Ian Russell

Photo: Ian Russell

The other girls came in and whilst they were fuelling up I took the time to chat to a massive floofy Newfoundland who belonged to the Wilderness Medic team. They were providing their usual stellar cheery and humorous service in the remote spots, where if someone fell ill it would take a long time to get an ambulance to them.

Photo: Ian Russell

Photo: Ian Russell

 

Rowardennan – Inversnaid – 7.5 miles: 2 hours, cumulative: 8hrs (35 miles)

Moving out of Rowardennan, Rachel and I took the lead again until we reached the long steady slog upwards, which is just that little bit too steep for your average common-or-garden ultrarunner to actually  run. I pulled off the path to stop for my first pee of the day, but re-emerged to find that this time no-one had stopped, so I had a 10 minute powerjog chase up the hill until I finally caught them up again. The hill went on forever – I didn’t remember this from last year but in hindsight I recall that I spent my time chatting to Terry Addison at this part of last year’s race which clearly distracted me well.

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Eventually the crest of the hill came and some gentle descent relieved the climbing muscles. Rachel and I just let go and let gravity take us down to the Lochside where the trail begins to get a little technical. I was so looking forward to this part and slotted ahead on the single person track with Rachel close behind. The others were making slower progress and we lost sight of them after a while, I really didn’t want to slow down though as I fell my momentum was building and I was ready to work hard just at the right point in the race which needs the extra effort. At 34 miles I called back and reminded Rachel that she was in new distance territory which she was pleased about (I think; at least as pleased as a person who’d run that far could be).

It was nearly 8 hours into the race and we were still dry – I couldn’t believe our luck given the forecasts we’d all been poring over with dread for the last week. It had been supposed to rain all day and night, with some slight respite in the afternoon. The forecast could not have been more wrong and it had remained completely dry, cloudy and humid at about 12C which was perfect running weather.

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Rachel was really needing the Inversnaid checkpoint and was annoyed that her garmin was telling lies and was reading over 35 miles. We’d been out of synch all day, but I knew that 35 miles and the checkpoint was coming soon as I could hear the thunderous waterfalls. We rounded the side of the Inversnaid hotel and were greeted by John, Katrina, Sandra, Ian and team who were quick to furnish us with dropbags, refill camelbaks, and dispense gentle kicks up the backside. John and I had a quick chat as I awaited the others; I was trying to decide how long I would wait for them when they came in, so I then decided to eat some more and make one more attempt to relax and stick with the group.

Inversnaid – Beinglas – 6miles – 2hrs 14, cumulative: 10hr 14 (41 miles)

We left Inversnaid at 8hrs 10m race time, which was over half an hour slower than my time from last year. This had been playing on my mind and I no longer felt like I was running my own race; the others were taking it down a gear for the technical section when I was ready to level-up and really work hard. I was torn; I didn’t want to offend anyone by flying off but then I really didn’t want to walk any more, so I just kept a steady jog in the first mile out. The others slipped further behind but I didn’t slow down this time, I realised that my decision had been made and it was time to go on by myself.

Letting myself loose on the technical terrain felt great. My legs turned to springs as I hopped, bounced and twisted my way around trees, branches and rocks. Last year the section scared me a little as I felt I wasn’t in control of my legs but this year I felt I had laser precision as I gambolled along like a mountain goat. I live for this kind of running and it felt incredible to be able to enjoy it strongly this year!

Everyone else was walking, and as I passed runner after runner, my competitive instinct caught whiff of a challenge. I felt awesome and strong with an easy, slow start to the race – how many places could I climb between check points and the finish? The last timing mat was at Rowardennan so I’d get information from there, Beinglas and the finish. My restrained side reminded me of Raffan’s Rule #1: Don’t Be A Dick, but then the devil on my shoulder asked WWRD: What would Raffan Do? and the answer was run the best race he could. It was time to fly.

I made steady progress towards the end of the loch and just as I emerged from the relative shelter of trees, the rain made its first appearance of the day. It was heavy, wet rain and it didn’t look like it was just a shower so I stopped to put my Montane Minimus jacket on, but 20 minutes later it was off again and that was the last we saw of the rain.

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Beinglas – Finish – 12 miles – 3hrs 06m, cumulative: 13hrs 22m (53 miles)

I was feeling very positive as I came into Beinglas Farm and these feelings were boosted by the marvellous crew there. There were a lot of people who were suffering and they were being well looked after by the team, who were dispensing tea and coffee and helping to refill the backpacks of weary runners. I enjoyed some Quorn sausages and a tub of custard, washed down with a can of gin and tonic whilst chatting to some fellow runners. I didn’t hang around and finished the last of my sausages and gin whilst walking out of the check point, and decided to listen to some music to keep my momentum going.

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I love this part of the route as the scenery is so dramatic. I was joined on the path by some very new lambs and their grumpy Mum, who was quick to shoo them away from me.

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What really helped me from Beinglas to the finish this year is that I feel like I know this section well now, having covered it twice in the last year at the Fling and the West Highland Way race. I knew I had the race in the bag now and it was just a question of ticking off each stage – over the rollercoaster hills, past Derrydarroch cottage, along by the river, through the sheep passage under the A82, along cow poo alley….tick, tick, tick.

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I was still passing runners as I kept a steady jog as much as I possibly could. Whenever I found myself walking I asked myself ‘Is there any good reason for you to be walking right now?’ and usually the answer was no so I could push a little harder. Everyone else was walking this section so I felt like I’d really nailed the pacing of the race – I remember walking so much here last year and each mile taking forever, however the miles slipped by mostly painlessly and I reached the climb into the Crianlarich hills happily. There was another Wilderness Medic chap with his dog at the edge of the forest cheering us on. I stopped to pet the big, cuddly Newfoundland and asked if I could saddle him up and ride him down to the finish. The response was unfortunately no, but the handler said that if I’d fallen in the Loch earlier on he’d have been sent in after to fetch me. Not just a cute fluffy face after all then.

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I trundled up the hill safe in the knowledge that this was the last big climb of the day. The sun was hanging low in the sky, creating beautiful shafts of lights in the forest. Despite some aches and pains and being a bit tired, I could not have been happier. My feet were hurting and I could feel I had some tremendous blisters and battered toenails, but other than that and a nagging pain in my hip my legs were fine. I was able to navigate the decent quite speedily with no quad, knee or ITB bother at all which I found remarkable, although I found yet again that the path ‘improvements’ actually made it harder. The same smashed rocks had been used to fill in crevices and smooth over cracks and boulders, which meant there were no lumps and bumps to bounce off of and absorb speed when descending.

I continued to pass people and slowed to chat with anyone I knew, including a blether with Fiona Rennie who was looking strong. I pulled up about 50 meters behind a pair of girls who were running roughly the same pace as me, and kept them in my peripheral vision as we headed down to the A82. When the path spat me out on the road I realised however that they had taken a wrong turn somewhere and the three of us were no where near the road crossing. Thankfully I knew the area so I turned left and ran up the side of the road knowing that eventually I’d meet the crossing but I was a bit worried that I’d messed up by not paying attention. It wasn’t long until we reached the part where the West Highland Way runs parallel to the road after it crosses the railway so we were able to hop back on to the path. My garmin had died at 12 hours so I had no idea how much extra it added on, but thankfully our diversion didn’t last long.

In remarkable coincidence just as I was crossing the road, I noticed Mike’s car was the first in the queue of traffic held by the marshals! He honked the horn loudly and shouted out of the window at me as I ran over the road which gave me a huge boost and really brought it home that I was nearly done for the day. As I approached Strathfillan Wigwams I took my last two caffeinated gels and texted Kynon to let him know I was about 30 minutes out from the finish.

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The last two miles are naturally the longest in the race. Despite being very close to Tyndrum it feels like you’re in the middle of nowhere until the very last moment when you actually hear the finish before you see it. I kept my thoughts on my silly goal of passing as many runners as possible and reeled them in one by one, wishing them ‘well done’ as I slipped by. Other than that, all I could think of was getting my shoes off and revealing the horror inside my Salomons.

The sound of the pipes came into range and made the sweaty hairs on the back of my neck stick up. I pushed harder into an actual run, determined to sprint into the finish in style. A bunch of people over the river in the campsite recognised me and cheered ‘Go Rhonaaa!!’  but I couldn’t see who they were, and from the other side through the trees came screaming and whooping from a blonde figure who looked a lot like Sandra. The final incline was lined with supporters and I high-fived Ali and Iain who stood awaiting Kate and Vikki, and gave my last push to round the corner to the glorious red carpet finish.

Phot: Stuart Macfarlane

Photo: Stuart Macfarlane

The crowd noticed another finisher coming in and leapt into life which is the most incredible feeling. You’d think I’d have won the entire race from the racket they made for each finisher – I heard my name being shouted, I ran as hard as I could, I high-fived Jemma and Iona, I punched the air in delight and sprinted down that flag-lined red carpet with the biggest smile on my face.

Photo: Staurt Macfarlane

Photo: Stuart Macfarlane

My darling husband awaited me under the gantry and crashing into his arms was heaven. He held me up as my legs gave way from under me and cuddled me tight until I got my breath back. No tears this year, just smiles and laughter.

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There was soup and beer and a cracking goody bag with a beautiful medal as well. Free massages and showers, and endless tales of strength and bravery from finishers and those who were less fortunate, such as the amazing Susan Johnston who fell and broke her jaw in five places on the Lochside, but continued on for 5 miles until the next checkpoint where she reluctantly pulled out in favour of a trip to hospital.

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In the end I finished only 14 minutes slower than last year, but I finished stronger, happier and with greater ease than I could have ever imagined. My challenge to pass as many people as I could resulted in me climbing 43 places from Rowardennan to Beinglas, and a further 45 from Beinglas to the finish – a climb from 546th at Rowardennan to an eventual placing of 447th of 566 finishers.

I had blisters the size of grapes in between the toes of my left foot and I’ll lose a couple more toenails, but other than that I have suffered nothing other than some standard DOMS which were gone by Tuesday. It is remarkable to see and feel the steady improvement in my running over the last year, which gives me confidence to tackle the Cateran 55 miler in only two weeks time, and the confidence to feel like I am going to be well prepared by the start of July for the Great Glen 73 miler.

There’s not a lot left to be said about the Highland Fling that hasn’t already been said all over the internet this week, but I feel I’d be remiss in not including my thanks to Johnny Fling and team, for creating the best and most beautiful running event in Scotland, or perhaps even the UK. The whole day is a lesson in event management and value for money and many others would do well to learn from it. If this race isn’t on your to-do list, get it on there immediately and I’ll see you all in Milngavie next April.

Hoka Highland Fling 2014 Preview

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With 3 days to go until my second attempt at the Hoka Highland Fling, I’m in full on planning mode. Big ultras are superb fun, but they involve such a lot of thought and packing to be prepared for every eventuality. I can benefit from a certain amount of knowledge having done this race before, but it doesn’t detract the actual amount of purchasing and packing required in the next few days. Here are my thoughts so far…

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Pacing and race plan

This race is part of my training for the Great Glen Ultra on the 5th/6th July, so I am running it with my eye on the horizon at all times. I finished last year in 13 hours and 6 minutes and whilst I know I could improve on that, I need to take it easy and not push my pace to hit a randomly defined goal for the sake of it. I also have the Cateran Trail 55 mile race three weeks after the Fling which I need to be just as strong for, so the biggest challenge of Saturday will not be to complete the race or achieve a time, but to finish and not be too gubbed to start another 50+ miler in three weeks.

I will be running with my friends Vikki and Kate from Stonehaven Running Club, and we will also be joined by Rachel. Vikki has done the Fling several times but it is Kate and Rachel’s first go at a 50 miler. I’m confident that as a group we’ll be able to make the experience as enjoyable as possible and pull each other through any dark patches. Last year I was alone for the entirety for the race which was ok, but isolating. I will benefit from having my friends and training partners by my side and hopefully the miles will drift by.

For those of you doing the Fling for the first time I’d like to pass on some advice which my friend Sandra gave to Fling virgins on my favourite running siteDon’t over-analyse it if it’s your first time. Turn up, take what’s thrown at you and deal with it. It’s the only way. You cannot anticipate what’s ahead. You’ll feel crap, but hang in there. You’ll feel good again – you will!

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It is true – you will feel so crap at times, but it is all so worth it.

Shoes

I have elected to go with my Salomon Speedcross 3s. Unfortunately the forecast this week is a little messy and it looks to extend to the weekend, so I think this is the only sensible option.

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Kit

Ideally I would like to wear something very similar to last year – Long socks, shorts, top layers of t-shirt, long sleeve top and club vest, with water-proof in the Camelbak. I’ll start the day off with gloves and buff as well as it’s very cold that early in the morning at this time of year (the race starts at 0600). The only problem is that it’s forecast to rain, which makes me worry a lot. The weather up the West Highland Way can be brutal and very changeable. I may carry an extra layer in a zip-lock bag in my Camelbak.

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Fuel

As last year I am planning to make little drop-boxes for each check point. I will eat every 30 minutes and alternate gels with real food, and save any with caffeine until Beinglas. Much like last year I will eat a mix of cake bars, hula hoops, and dried fruit on the run, with Muller rice or custard to eat at the first two check points. I remember desperately craving salty and savoury snacks at Inversnaid and Beinglas last year, so instead of Muller rice here I will have quorn sausages and tattie scones with marmite.

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For liquids I will be sticking with High-5 electrolyte tabs in my Camelbak, a bottle of lucozade at Balmaha and a gin and tonic and Beinglas.

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I am nervous about the race, but I really can’t complain. Unlike last year I am not nursing an injury, but I do feel a little under-trained. This is probably just in my mind though, but it’s been 6 weeks since my last long run! I would have liked one 20ish mile run in between the honeymoon and Fling, but it didn’t happen so I can just consider myself to be very well rested after a tough D33. I think half the reason the D33 was so tough was due to build up of life-fatigue and lack of sleep. You cannot prepare for a big race by being extremely stressed and sleeping 5 hours a night or less for weeks, as well as training hard. I am coming into this race relaxed and rested, so as long as I show up with the right attitude and don’t give up without a fight I know I can finish this race again.

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Excitingly, at the finish line I will have the newly christened RedWineRunner Ultravan waiting for me! And my husband, obviously, who I hope will forgive me for having a Fling only 5 weeks into our marriage (hahaaaaaar… Sorry). Anyway, this van belongs to my Dad who has kindly agreed for us to borrow it for our running adventures this year. It very easily solved the problem of finding accommodation in Tyndrum on Saturday night, and also will make this year’s West Highland Way Race and Glenmore 12/24 infinitely more comfortable.

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Here’s to lots of adventures in this wagon! There’s something very middle aged about sitting outside a camper van drinking coffee on a Sunday morning in Braemar, but we very much enjoyed our one night test-run last weekend and I’m definitely not middle-aged, so it must be fine.

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After we left Braemar we went for a lovely walk up Linn O Dee and Glen Lui. The weather was gorgeous and I was gagging to be running; this scenery really whet my appetite for running on the magical West Highland Way on Saturday.

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So this is it – here we go again. Kynon is marshaling at Balmaha again so if you see him do say hello. I hope that everyone’s taper and preparation has gone as well as possible and that the traditionally beautiful weather comes out for the Fling once more.

See you in Milgavie!

Weeks and Days

A month ago I was recovering from a disappointing D33, and counting down the days ’til our wedding…

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Three weeks ago I was on a plane somewhere over the Middle East heading for our honeymoon destination.

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Two weeks ago I had lost track of time and was lying in a wine-soaked haze with my feet in the Indian Ocean.

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One week ago I was preparing to return to work…

…and in seven days I’ll be preparing to leave for the Highland Fling, for another ultra adventure. It’s safe to say it’s all been a bit of a whirlwind…

Since the D33 a month ago I’ve ran a grand total of 49 miles, 7 of which were sweated out over three sessions on a treadmill in a resort gym with no air conditioning. My valiant attempts to keep active whilst marooned on a desert island were futile against the tremendous amount of fabulous food and wine available, and the other 23 hours of the day being spent flat out relaxing. After the last few months we surely needed that rest, but I can tell you that I’ve certainly felt better prepared for a race and would not recommend this between-race maintenance strategy to anyone.

I can confirm however, that our wedding was the most delightful success and the honeymoon was utter heaven. All damage done to Winter and Spring training by this slothful hiatus has been extremely worth it and united as one, Mr and Mrs RedWineRunner are ready to tackle the next stage of life’s adventures together.

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I’m currently trying to get my head around the fact that in 10 days time I’ll be embarking on a second attempt at the 53 mile challenge which dominated my Spring last year. With everything else that’s been going on I feel that it’s passed me by somewhat and that I now need to give it serious thought. Pacing, clothes, drop bags? Goals? At least last year as a Fling virgin I could leave a lot of it to chance, but unfortunately this year I know better. I know that I need to make a difficult decision about my footwear, I know that the clothes I pick could make or break my race, and I remember with a sudden clarity exactly how much it hurt at times; memories which I seem to have conveniently pushed right out of my mind until now.

20130427_16575053 miles is still a really, really long way.

It hasn’t helped that I’ve been really struggling with running since I came back – my legs seem to have forgotten everything I’ve taught them, and frankly it feels like I’ve never ran double digits before which is very concerning. But I know this is not true, so I am hopeful that regular short runs under 10 miles will help wake them back up again. I just feel so heavy – like I’m stuck in 2nd gear or like I’m running through water!

Heavy…well, there is that too I suppose. Pre-wedding weight loss had me at my lowest weight since I was a teenager (allow me to note that this was not intentional weight loss at all, but the stress of wedding planning plus ultra training had it falling off me). It doesn’t take too much of an imagination to figure out where this is going, but three all-you-can-eat meals a day, unlimited alcohol and a penchants for Pina Coladas doth not a skinny newlywed make. The weight has piled back on and more, which I don’t particularly care about as it will fall off in time when life gets back to normal, but 53 miles is a reaaallly long way to be carting an extra stone around with you and I could do without that extra burden. I may as well have put a brick in the bottom of my CamelBak.

These things are sent to try us however, and I’m sure it will be alright in the end if I show up at the start with enough fight in me to give the course everything I’ve got. Over the next week I’ll get everything figured out before posting my race plan and my goals for the day. Until then, perhaps you could send some strong words and thoughts to my legs and let them know that they won’t be getting off lightly, so it’s really in their best interests to suck it up and stop complaining…

Here’s one last wedding picture for you – our adorable cake topper with some perhaps some recognisable characters..!

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And finally, just in case any of you out there have yet to sign up for SportPursuit.com yet (online mecca for sporting types, with huge running/tri/cycling/snow/ski/outdoors brands at bargain basement prices) they randomly sent me a 10% off code for family and friends this morning which I thought I’d share with you*. They have a tonne of stock in at the moment so if you decide to buy something, use FWY3GH42 at the check-out to get an extra chunk off. I’ve just ordered myself a swimming costume and some goggles in order to attempt to broaden my skills now that the Aberdeen Aquatics Centre is open and conveniently situated across the road from my office. I haven’t gone swimming in a sporting sense since I was at school, so this could be a bit of an adventure…

*Not an affiliate link or promoted post – I just wanted to share it with you since I love buying kit and know you lot do too. Cheap kit is good kit. If you’re a new customer then as with all referrals I get £5 store credit.

RACE REPORT – D33 Ultramarathon 2014

D33 Ultramarathon

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15th March 2014
5hrs 25 minutes
177th of 306 finishers
35th/83 Females
20th/40 Senior Females.

The morning of my third D33 Ultra dawned calm and grey after a very windy night before. I awoke ages before my alarm as has become customary in the last few weeks – sleep has become surplus to requirements when my brain decides it’s time to awake and start thinking about table plans, thank you cards and how loud the music should be when I walk down the aisle. However, on Saturday morning I was able to look forward to a five hour break from the wedding melee and just enjoy a good long run with friends. My training thus far this year has been the (mostly) non-negotiable foundations around which I have built my week outside of work. However many other things had to be sorted out on a weekend, knowing that I had two periods of rest where I’d get to drop everything and go out and run has really kept me sane. Yes, weddings are important and it means a lot to a lot of people; but the wedding is just one day. It’s the marriage that is for life – just like running. That’s been our views on it anyway, much to the despair of some of our family and friends who don’t exactly share our priorities. I say our, because it should not be forgotten that Kynon was running at the D33 Ultra as well, and it was his first Ultra. Spoiler alert: he finished, and with a smile as well! Perhaps I can entice him to write another guest race report, however for now it is time to tell the tale of a race which didn’t exactly go to plan, but by all accounts should be considered a PB success. I’m marking this one down as a ‘learning experience’ and one of those dreadful runs which make you appreciate the good ones even more.

I woke up with not great deal of desire to eat, but choked down a banana and some coffee to get my system on the go. We had a lift arranged from a club member at 7.30am, and arrived in Duthie Park about 8.00am after a journey spent discussing our race strategies. My plan was to go out at a comfortable pace and average somewhere between 9 and 9.30 minute miles for the first half, and then push harder for the second to finish strongly at around 5 hours with nothing left in the tank. I was going to treat it like a marathon and take a gel every 5 miles, and not stop at check points. Having done the race two times before and completed a sub-4 marathon last Autumn I was confident that this was a realistic and achievable goal…

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Before the race there was the usual hubbub of excitement found at all the Scottish Ultras as old friends are reunited, this time after several months given that the D33 Ultra is the first of the ‘season’. I hadn’t seen anyone since Glenmore 24 in September so there was plenty of chat to be had. I was greeted by Sandra and Julie who were on number pick-up duty and had a special surprise for us, with a pair of personalised bibs for Kynon and I decorated with ‘Bride to be’ and ‘Hen run’. I loved this but was grateful I hadn’t been given a tiara and veil to wear!

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In the hour that followed I ate a Clif bar and some Powerade and tried to decide what to wear. It felt like it was getting colder and colder and rain was beginning to fall. I couldn’t shake the memories of last year where I put on some thermal sleeves at the last minute which probably saved my race as the weather turned wet and windy after a few hours. The forecast for Saturday had been a real mix but it wasn’t expected to be cold – hanging around in a chilly Duthie Park at 8.30am wasn’t convincing me however and I decided to put on the t-shirt I had in my bag for after the race as an extra layer, at least for the beginning.

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After the customary short and blunt briefing from George, there was a few minutes before the final countdown and the off.

001StuartMac1002StuartMac2003StuartMac3004StuartMac4Pictures by Stuart MacFarlane

The huge crowd of 300 were raring to go and streamed out of the park to the railway line with a thunderous sound of feet on concrete. Cyclists, dog walkers and other users of the path were forced to stand to one side as the pack streaked up the narrow path as far as the eye could see.

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I very quickly spotted Graeme from our club near me so moved over for a chat. He and I run at a similar pace at these distance and are both training for the Fling so had similar goals. Soon we were joined by John and Mags from the Club and we ran as a little pack for nearly 8 miles, ticking each split easily off between 8:50 and 9:20 minute miles and chatting happily. My Mum was waiting to cheer at Holburn Station and my Grandad was waiting at Auchinyell Bridge at the bottom of his road; I was really pleased to see him and glad he spotted me amongst the crowd. “4:59!!” He shouted at me from above “Yes, Sir!” I hollered back, offering a salute as I passed under the bridge.

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I was running smoothly and painlessly – I felt exactly how I want to feel at the start of a long road race. I took my 1st gel at 5 miles and by then was already regretting wearing gloves and the extra tshirt as I really didn’t need them, and would need to hold on to them til half way. I made the difficult decision to drop from my little group at 7.5 miles to nip behind a fence for a pee – knowing the route well I knew this was my last chance for a while so didn’t want to miss the opportunity. I stopped for less than 30 seconds but my gang was already gone – I would not see them again until the end of the race.

009annette8mile1010annette8mile2Pictures by Annette Raffan, Craftrocks.

The first check point came shortly after at 8 miles where I had a bottle of juice to drink. I was really looking forward to a drink since I didn’t have my Camelbak on but it tasted far too sickly and thick; at this point I only wanted water. I kept hold of it however and pushed on.

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Running was suddenly becoming a chore. The ease with which I covered the first 8 miles had stopped abruptly and I felt a sick and nauseous feeling spreading throughout my gut. Even cruising the down hills towards Drumoak was not comfortable and maintaining a pace under 9.30 as planned was becoming very hard work. I forced myself to eat and took my sleeves and buff off to cool down as the sun had come out and it was warm. I refused to believe my goals were gone as how you feel in an ultra can be so unpredictable…but not usually after 8 or 9 miles.

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When I got to Drumoak I conceded and walked up the hill and drank some more in an attempt to make myself feel better. Plodding along to Milton of Crathes was tough but I was delighted to see Mike in 2nd place behind Grant Jeans when the leaders began to pass me on their return to Aberdeen. I high-5ed him and shouted ‘Reel him in!’ as we passed, and continued to high-5 all my friends until my hand hurt. There were lots of supporters at Crathes including Kate’s husband Ali and their cheers really lifted me up. The sickness was getting worse and I could only begin to conclude that I was in for a very. long. day.

I reached half way in 2hrs and 33 minutes – only 3 minutes behind schedule. The half way party was in full swing and Sandra announced the arrival of the bride, much to my embarrassment. I was really glad to see my Mum there too – there is nothing like a hug from your Mum when you’re feeling crap.

014halfwaysandra1015halfwaysandra2016halfwaysandra3017halfwaysandra4Pictures by Sandra Macdougall

I got rid of my hot layers and drank some precious water. This time I ditched more than half of my powerade and mixed it with water which was a lot easier to drink.
I filled a sandwich bag with hula hoops and some flapjacks and just got right back out there. I didn’t want to get comfortable as I might never have left.

Kynon was not far behind me and reached half way at 2hr 50 race time so had made excellent progress in his first half. Passing more friends and club-mates certainly gave me a further boost, but as the sun began to beat strongly on my back my expectations began to slip. My guts were in agony – all I wanted to do was vomit but I couldn’t get myself to do it. After only 15 minutes out of half way I slowed to a walk for few minutes and thought about how I could handle the rest of the race. I knew I’d finish, but it would be slow and sore. After 10 more minutes before I had to walk again, I realised my revised plan of run 30/walk 5 was even a bit much. My next tactic was to ram more food in and hope it would pay off – I managed half a flapjack, some hula hoops and a gel and kept my fingers crossed it would either refuel where it was needed, or bounce out of my stomach and take whatever else needed to get out of there with it.

018alirobertsonPicture: Ali Robertson. Smile: a big lie.

For the first time that I can remember in the second half of a race I was being passed, by quite significant amounts of people. Normally this is when I come alive in a race, but in startling contrast to last year I was falling to bits and I was extremely annoyed. I could feel blisters boiling between my toes, my hip flexors were stiffened and waves of fatigue were washing over me. I hit  20 miles at 3hrs 12m and I felt completely rung out – there was no way I could make up the time to hit my goal but if I was able to cruise at a moderate pace there would be no excuse to not get under 5hr 30m.

It was after Drumoak that things began to perk up a little. My stomach no longer felt like I had drunk 10 pints of lager the night before. Perhaps the food had worked? I ran all the way up the long slow hill just before the 3/4 check point and passed at least 20 runners on the way who were walking and had recently passed me. Being somewhat competitive at times this really pleased me and further fuelled my rekindled fire. I refilled my water bottle at 3/4 check point, grumbled a bit with the marshals and set out preparing to work hard again, reeling slower runners in one by one.

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I hit marathon point in 4hrs 18m which was 4 minutes faster than last year but about 18 minutes slower than I had intended. I was pleased that I seemed to have been able to pull some of my race back but waves of nausea were still attacking my stomach every so often which forced me to a walk. My feet had become dreadfully sore and I could feel that monster blisters just like last years  had formed between my big toes and my second toes. This annoyed me most of all as last year they took 3 weeks to heal and made wearing shoes extremely uncomfortable – not what you want 7 days before your wedding.

My Grandad surprised me again by waiting on Auchinyell Bridge. “Where the Devil have you been?!” he shouted; this was at 5hrs 15m race time and he had obviously been waiting for a while. This made me feel guilty and it spurred me on even more to get this last mile to the finish over and done with – I was absolutely spent, my guts were in knots and my feet felt like bloodied stumps.

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Running into Duthie Park is always a pleasure. You are retracing the footsteps you took so many hours earlier and whilst it looks exactly the same you have accomplished so much in the intervening time. I checked my watch and it said 5:2X so I knew I’d shave a PB so I concentrated on running as hard as I could through the Park and enjoying the finish.

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There were plenty of supporters cheering and people calling my name. I flew down the hill to the gantry with a smile and stumbled in to George’s arms for a welcome home hug as he put my medal around my neck.

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I stumbled my way into the tent and tried not to be too negative when asked how my race had gone. The fact that I didn’t even stop my garmin until Sandra asked what my time was shows how little I cared for goals by the end. As it happened, I finished at 5hrs and 25 minutes on the nose; a 1 minute 28 second PB. If I had ran a marathon and shaved that much off my time I would have been delighted, but that was not what I came to do on Saturday so I felt a little underwhelmed by my whole race.

I drank over a litre of water whilst waiting for Kynon to come in, but I still felt really grotty and didn’t feel like eating anything. I caught up with various people and was delighted to hear that Mike came second and Noanie was 4th lady and 1st FV40. A lot of people struggled though and found the moderate rise in temperature tough to adjust to.

At just over 6 hours race time I saw Kynon’s red cap bobbing into the park. I was so excited to see him and was delighted to see that he was still running. He galloped down to the finish and walked over the finish-line in style, bowing deeply to the crowds.

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Just like me, he’d found his first Ultra infinitely easier than his first marathon and finished in great spirits, delighted at his achievement.

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After some hearty refuelling and a couple of beers, we made our way home to recover for the after party that evening. Obviously I was glad to have finished but I was sad and frustrated that I hadn’t got the race I wanted. It just proves once more that you can have the best season of training you’ve ever had in the bank, but if your body doesn’t show up on race day then you’re screwed. I’ve been so lucky with races recently and with only one or two exceptions I was very happy with every performance in the last year. They can’t all be brilliant, so I just have to take my teeny PB and be happy I finished another 33 mile race (mostly) healthy and uninjured, and keep my focus on the next race which is the Hoka Highland Fling in a month.

For now it’s time to focus on the wedding though. In less than 48 hours we’ll be married, and after a huge party we’ll be whisked off on honeymoon to return after a fortnight’s adventures a very long way away…

See you on the other side!

~RwR

 

D33 Ultramarathon 2014 – 14 hours to go

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Once again my blogging schedule has slipped down the khazi. I suppose it was to be expected really; planning a wedding, training for a season of ultras, and balancing a time-intensive day job and community commitments has been just as manic as it sounds, and as usual blogging has slipped to the bottom of the pile.

However; no news is good news, and I have arrived 14 hours from the D33 in great shape and ready to run hard. I did some great 20+ mile long runs in February with the ultra gang from my club, and kept up the back-to-backs with the exception of one Sunday after a monster 7 hour hill run when both Achilles were very tight. This was nothing serious however and I just needed a day off to recover.

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The run was worth it though, and excellent preparation for my longer races later in the year.

I am keen to run a strong race tomorrow and will be aiming to beat my time of 5hr 26m from last year. My goal is to run faster than my first marathon time, which was 5hr 12m, and would require a constant pace of sub-9.30 minute miles to achieve tomorrow. After my sub-4 marathon in September I have every confidence that I can do this tomorrow and plan to run the first half easy at sub-9.30 and then push a little harder on the way back and finish strong.

Bronze goal – A PB
Silver goal – under 5hr 12m
Gold goal – under 5 hours.

If I can pull off a race as steady as last year I’ll be delighted – in my opinion this still remains my strongest long distance race to date. Just look at these steady splits!

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For the first time at this race, I’ll be running without a camelbak and relying on gels and my own bottles at the check-points. I’ll grab some hula hoops at half way, but the goal is to treat this just like a longer marathon where I wouldn’t normally eat actual food. I also plan to be in and out of half-way checkpoint within a minute – no stopping for a chat with my Mum this year.

However – since I will be getting married 7 days later I do need to be sensible – no PB time is worth limping down the aisle for, or wearing flip flops because my blisters are that bad. All in all I’m just delighted that the 2014 ultra season has finally started for me, and for the next 7 months I have a monthly date with the Scottish Ultra crazies and all the associated fun that comes with it.

DSC_9622Finishing last year.

Speaking of which; I’m off to the Station Hotel for some pre-race hydration. Good luck if you’re running tomorrow – especially if it’s your first ultra! I’ll be wearing Stonehaven Running Club kit, including some fantastically rowdy black, purple and gold stripy socks, so do come and say hello if you’re around.