I got into running mainly through having a long history of various kinds of mountain activity from hiking to a little climbing here and there. So I am always keen to take advantage of our little family's annual trip to Scotland for Christmas.
I've two runs planned and I'm hoping a few folk will be able to join me:
22nd December - 18ish mile hilly trail run from Loch Venacher to Aberfoyle over Menteith Hills and back via National Cycle Route 7. Pint afterwards in the Lade Inn.
28th or 29th December - Ben Lawers group (Meall Greigh, Meall Garbh, An Stuc, Ben Lawers, Beinn Ghlas starting from Machuim Farm) - 19km with 1750m ascent. I've been pointed at either YakTrax or Kahoola running crampon devices and am planning to bring an ice axe up with me along with a pair of one or the other. Bring on the ice and snow! Tanking up a mountain ridge with ice axe and crampons will be great fun.
Other than that I'm feeling pretty good. Managed not to make a fool of myself at the running club Christmas do, through only consuming 5 pints of fizzy lager pop stuff. Then even went for an 18 mile run the next day and felt fine, no muscle soreness afterwards either. Not sure I'll be that limited this Friday though with the works night out. The lads at work can drink as much as I used to be able to do, and which I still think I can but plainly can't (as my wife seems to take great delight in informing me). Saturday might not see so sprightly a Brian.
Sunday 13 December 2009
Sunday 6 December 2009
Good old British understatement
I was glad to be out running this weekend. Yesterday I thought about joining together a 6 mile route out and back along the Grand Union Canal (GUC) towards Leighton Buzzard from my house with part of a nice trail run route in Stockbridge Country Park. Not knowing exactly how long it would be it turned to be a nice 12.3 miles with around 600' of ascent and descent plus a lot of flat running along the towpath. I kept a steady 8:30 mins / mile pace and didn't push it throughout the run. I just let my legs work and my mind ease out of the strains of last week. It worked a treat.
I then went out for a just shy of 8 mile run today from my house, along the GUC to Caldecotte Lake then around the Lake and back to my house via Fenny Stratford High Street. As I ran towards the underpass which goes under the A5 between the GUC and Caldecotte I passed an old fella with his dog. 'A bit muddy along there, a bit flooded' he said in a reasonably understated way. I responded in a jolly manner 'that's half the fun' and ran on until I got to the underpass, or part of the River Ouzel as it had now become. A bit muddy? Try a path with water up to your waist and a soft, thick covering of sediment for about 80'. Anyway I hummed and hawed for a minute about the chilly water and my no longer visible feet before plunging forward, enjoying the almost mountain marathon feel of what is a fairly pedestrian running route under normal conditions. :-)
I then went out for a just shy of 8 mile run today from my house, along the GUC to Caldecotte Lake then around the Lake and back to my house via Fenny Stratford High Street. As I ran towards the underpass which goes under the A5 between the GUC and Caldecotte I passed an old fella with his dog. 'A bit muddy along there, a bit flooded' he said in a reasonably understated way. I responded in a jolly manner 'that's half the fun' and ran on until I got to the underpass, or part of the River Ouzel as it had now become. A bit muddy? Try a path with water up to your waist and a soft, thick covering of sediment for about 80'. Anyway I hummed and hawed for a minute about the chilly water and my no longer visible feet before plunging forward, enjoying the almost mountain marathon feel of what is a fairly pedestrian running route under normal conditions. :-)
Thursday 3 December 2009
Out of the woods and on the mend
Great news. The 48 hr culture test results came back and no bacterial meningitis, or indeed bacteria of any form. Hooray! She has been released for hospital alhough still has a canula so that the remainder of her course of antibiotics can be given intravenously as an out patient today and tomorrow. She isn't quite 100% yet, but not far off. It looks to have been an extremely bad viral infection.
We are so relieved. And knackered. :-)
Thank you to everyone who has posted or texted their support. Reading your messages really helped keep my spirits up. Thank you.
We are so relieved. And knackered. :-)
Thank you to everyone who has posted or texted their support. Reading your messages really helped keep my spirits up. Thank you.
Tuesday 1 December 2009
Update on the little lady
Today brought good news and left some significant uncertainties. Little lady E is behaviourally back to herself after a reasonable night of sleep hooked up to a saline drip. Her intravenous fluids were removed this morning and she has eaten pretty well. Most importantly she is playing and doing what most 2 year olds do a lot - saying 'no' and 'mine' a lot (ah the joys). :-)
Her temperature is back from the initial peak of 39.1 to a nice 37.5 and appeared stablilised but started to climb back to 38.1 in the early evening so her body is clearly fighting something. Her white blood cell counts are huge, also indicating an infection and the non-blanching red spots also indicate infection. We won't know definitively whether she has bacterial meningitis or not until tomorrow early evening when the 48 hr culture test results will come back. In the meantime she is being treated as is if it is meningitis.
My mum, the marvellous lady that she is, has arrived from Scotland and is helping out heaps. Kirstin has another night in hospital (what a mum she is) and we (my mum and I) will relieve her at 6 or 7am. Keep your fingers crossed.
Her temperature is back from the initial peak of 39.1 to a nice 37.5 and appeared stablilised but started to climb back to 38.1 in the early evening so her body is clearly fighting something. Her white blood cell counts are huge, also indicating an infection and the non-blanching red spots also indicate infection. We won't know definitively whether she has bacterial meningitis or not until tomorrow early evening when the 48 hr culture test results will come back. In the meantime she is being treated as is if it is meningitis.
My mum, the marvellous lady that she is, has arrived from Scotland and is helping out heaps. Kirstin has another night in hospital (what a mum she is) and we (my mum and I) will relieve her at 6 or 7am. Keep your fingers crossed.
A disease you don't want your child to get
Winter time and yet more ups and downs on the emotional rollercoaster that is being a parent. There are some diseases you know are very bad, and which you really don't want your child to catch. Bacterial meningitis is one of them, with the potential to kill within 4 hours.
Little Eilidh was admitted to A&E today. Bad vomiting, fever and shivering. Diagnosed initially as viral infection with resulting bad dehydration. Non-blanching (i.e. red even when pressed) spots became apparent however so she is being treated as potential bacterial meningitis with intravenous antibiotics and saline drip. Are we worried? Yes. Will we sleep much tonight? Probably not.
She has responded very well to the saline but we are not out of the woods yet. Fingers crossed for the little lady throughout the night.
Tuesday 24 November 2009
Run wheeze cough wheeze
Yes, it is the season for young children (can't really call Eilidh a baby anymore) to catch all manner of cold bugs and pass them with gay abandon to their parents. As a consequence I have been coughing and feeling woolly headed for almost 2 weeks now with the most persistent of chesty colds.
Without as much gay abandon I have opted to continue training in the windy wet of recent evenings. I have reduced my aerobic exertion levels, so no speed sessions, and think I feel the better for it. Never sure however if one should persist and train through colds or just sits down and rest. Cue exercise induced wheezey gasping and phlegmy coughing (mm nice).
It has got to be better than this approach to exercise though ...
Without as much gay abandon I have opted to continue training in the windy wet of recent evenings. I have reduced my aerobic exertion levels, so no speed sessions, and think I feel the better for it. Never sure however if one should persist and train through colds or just sits down and rest. Cue exercise induced wheezey gasping and phlegmy coughing (mm nice).
It has got to be better than this approach to exercise though ...
Tuesday 17 November 2009
A brief, but enjoyable, musical interlude
Normal service shall be resumed momentarily. In the meantime enjoy the cerebral and auditory pleasures of Mister Cutler and the Butthole Surfers.
Monday 16 November 2009
Ultra races for 2010
Right then, my ultra racing plans for 2010 are shaping up well and will be (assuming I have in injury free year next year):
16th January - 45 mile Country to Capital - entered
February - ???
20th March - 55 mile Hardmoors 55 - entered
24th April - 53 mile Highland Fling - entered
29th May - 145 mile Grand Union Canal Race - entered
24th July (?) - 50 mile Lakeland50 - not entered yet
27th August - 103 mile Ultra Trail du Mont Blanc - not entered yet
Then not decided but tempted by the Tooting Bec track 24 hour event, or I might just sit down and go aaah.
I'll try to use the races both as events and as peak week training runs. Any suggestions for a long (ultra or off road marathon) for February would be much appreciated.
I now need to find some time to put together a detailed 4 week periodised training plan. I didn't do anything detailed last year, trying instead to run a rough 4 week periodised plan from memory along. It didn't really work. I didn't know how I was improving really and it was easier to bail out of sessions when they weren't written down.
16th January - 45 mile Country to Capital - entered
February - ???
20th March - 55 mile Hardmoors 55 - entered
24th April - 53 mile Highland Fling - entered
29th May - 145 mile Grand Union Canal Race - entered
24th July (?) - 50 mile Lakeland50 - not entered yet
27th August - 103 mile Ultra Trail du Mont Blanc - not entered yet
Then not decided but tempted by the Tooting Bec track 24 hour event, or I might just sit down and go aaah.
I'll try to use the races both as events and as peak week training runs. Any suggestions for a long (ultra or off road marathon) for February would be much appreciated.
I now need to find some time to put together a detailed 4 week periodised training plan. I didn't do anything detailed last year, trying instead to run a rough 4 week periodised plan from memory along. It didn't really work. I didn't know how I was improving really and it was easier to bail out of sessions when they weren't written down.
Tuesday 10 November 2009
The evils of Debenhams and House of Fraser
I have never been one to purposefully devote leisure time to shopping, much preferring to run up hills, drink beer, watch movies or read a book. However I do upon occasion venture into the shops which populate the centre of Milton Keynes. Some of them are good, and some, namely Debenhams and House of Fraser, are, well c**p.
Debenhams' problem is poor quality stock. They charge double or triple the price of stores like Matalan, but Matalan clothes last for years whilst Debenhams clothes fall apart within weeks or months. My wife is now the proud owner of 3 pairs of bust trousers and 3 bust shirts / tops. Buttons fall off, hems come undone. Not what you want or expect. The response to a complaint from my wife was to say that stores offer a 20% off if you are willing to effect a repair yourself. Not really the point, and having a standard response like this shows they know that their products are of poor quality. Don't shop at Debenhams.
The problem with House of Fraser is just with one member of staff in their Milton Keynes branch. I was standing with our daughter waiting for my wife to look at some tops. My daughter was touching some dresses which were hung up, when a rather stuffy lady full of 'children should be seen and not heard' attitude came over stating that our daughter was pulling on the dresses and that she should stop. My daughter clearly wasn't pulling, she was feeling the fabrics, something that all shoppers do. Her hands were clean so I failed to see the problem. We left promptly and won't be buying anything from there again. I'd advise others to do the same. Why spend money in an unfriendly, unwelcoming, anti-child store?
There. I feel much better now. Catharsis via blog post is great.
Debenhams' problem is poor quality stock. They charge double or triple the price of stores like Matalan, but Matalan clothes last for years whilst Debenhams clothes fall apart within weeks or months. My wife is now the proud owner of 3 pairs of bust trousers and 3 bust shirts / tops. Buttons fall off, hems come undone. Not what you want or expect. The response to a complaint from my wife was to say that stores offer a 20% off if you are willing to effect a repair yourself. Not really the point, and having a standard response like this shows they know that their products are of poor quality. Don't shop at Debenhams.
The problem with House of Fraser is just with one member of staff in their Milton Keynes branch. I was standing with our daughter waiting for my wife to look at some tops. My daughter was touching some dresses which were hung up, when a rather stuffy lady full of 'children should be seen and not heard' attitude came over stating that our daughter was pulling on the dresses and that she should stop. My daughter clearly wasn't pulling, she was feeling the fabrics, something that all shoppers do. Her hands were clean so I failed to see the problem. We left promptly and won't be buying anything from there again. I'd advise others to do the same. Why spend money in an unfriendly, unwelcoming, anti-child store?
There. I feel much better now. Catharsis via blog post is great.
Sunday 8 November 2009
I'm in!!! Grand Union Canal Race 2010
Got the great news today via an hyperlink in an email from the Essex Bling Lord Mike Mason - I've got an unsupported entry for the 145 mile Grand Union Canal Race (GUCR) 2010.
Entry list here - http://www.gucr.co.uk/template.asp?doc=235
The race objectives are fairly straightforward but the distance is long, and the terrain relatively homogeneous which will bring its own challenges. From Birmingham to London in a oner. Woohoo.
Completion will qualify me for the Spartathalon 2011 so my plans are falling nicely into place.
Any tips for the race or training for such a long bit of basically flat running much appreciated.
Entry list here - http://www.gucr.co.uk/template.asp?doc=235
The race objectives are fairly straightforward but the distance is long, and the terrain relatively homogeneous which will bring its own challenges. From Birmingham to London in a oner. Woohoo.
Completion will qualify me for the Spartathalon 2011 so my plans are falling nicely into place.
Any tips for the race or training for such a long bit of basically flat running much appreciated.
Sunday 1 November 2009
28th Ridgeway Run race report, and help my daughter is turning into an aussie!
11th October (yes, this is another tardy blog by the busy bald academic) saw the 28th running of Tring RC's 15km Ridgway run. Tring is a nice Buckinghamshire town nestling at the base of the Chilterns, below the 87 mile long distance path called the Ridgeway. There is an annual race run by the TRA which takes in the whole route but Tring RC's Ridgeway run is a more modest affair distance wise, but much faster.
The undulating (+/- 620') route starts in Marsh Lane and runs along road for a mile before heading up and into the rolling, hilly woodland around Auldbury and the Ashridge Estate, along the lovely forested 'ridge' (remember this is the Chilterns, so no lofty cliff top paths here) towards Ivinghoe Beacon before turning down then up Pitstone Hill along the Ridgeway for a bit then back down along Marsh Lane and into Tring. Nice mixed terrain although perhaps a little too much road.
Ridgeway run profle
My previous fastest time had been 1:10:47 in 2008 so I was very pleased to come in under the 1:10 mark with a time of 1:09:38, in position 38 of 473 finishers. Either the UTMB hadn't knackered my legs in, or they had given me a super boost of strength or as I suspect I hadn't run the 40 Mile High Peak 40 ultra 3 weeks before it for the first time in 4 years (had a friend's wedding you see).
Me grunting my way out of Marsh Lane at just below 6:30 pace
The race itself I found to be the most enjoyable shorter race I've run for a while. The weather was good and I consciously played around with my psychological approach to see what worked best. I don't normally focus on closing down the distance between the heels of the runner in front and me but did during this race and it worked a treat. I didn't lose motivation or slow down unwittingly as can sometimes happen. Rather I remained focussed, was able to not notice the effort of running as much and overtook quite a few folk mid-race. I was so full of UTMB ultra camaraderie I kept encouraging people who were slowing in front of me to keep going etc. that I got a few odd looks. Not the done thing in shorter races.
Me grunting my way up the rise after Pitstone Hill
I caught a white vested runner on the 'ridge' section only for him to catch me up on the descent towards Pitstone Hill. I kept the distance constant with the aim of taking him, but after a while he pulled away gradually, seemingly having kept more in reserve than I. However I caught sight and began to close the distance as we headed along Marsh Lane towards the finish. I knew I could catch him if I timed my sprint right and oh so nearly, very nearly did. I sprinted with 100m to go and he was clearly surprised but noticed me just as I was about to overtake. He had enough notice to get a split second head start that he just maintained to the finish. I could tell though he was slowing as we neared the line so reckon if I'd just started my sprint 50m further back I'd have taken him. Oh well, we live and learn.
My daughter is turning into an Aussie - help!
Clearly I knew I was marrying into good Aussie Queenslander stock but I had no idea that so much of the Aussie habit is apparently genetic. Our daughter Eilidh is about to turn 2 years old on the 17th November and the photo below was taken during the summer when she was about 19 or 20 months old so it is a little dated now. Look at it though. Can't you just imagine her with a stubbie of beer in one hand saying 'jeez' or 'she'll be right' ... ? Help! With no particular input I have given rise to a mini-Paul Hogan! :-)
Little Eilidh looking Australian in her wendyhouse
Friday 2 October 2009
Ultra Tour Du Mont Blanc race report (or the ultra tartan army on tour 2009)
My race report was first drafted on the 20th September so when I published it, it appeared with this date, way down people's blog rolls. Rather than copy and paste the whole thing into a new post (the photos and formatting didn't copy well) this is just a post to get the race report to the top of blog rolls.
Read on below, but make sure you are well hydrated, don't need the toilet and have access to food. It isn't the shortest post in the world, but then again the race took 40 hours ...
Read on below, but make sure you are well hydrated, don't need the toilet and have access to food. It isn't the shortest post in the world, but then again the race took 40 hours ...
Sunday 20 September 2009
Ultra Tour Du Mont Blanc race report (or the ultra tartan army on tour 2009)
The route of the UTMB (anti-clockwise from Chamonix)
After race thoughts
Well, I've been sitting here for about 4 weeks wondering how to relate the experience of the UTMB to others. Sunny Milton Keynes with its climbs ranging from 0' to 130' is rather different from the landscape of Chamonix where a 1000' climb is pretty much the minimum, and 3000' the typical.
Life too is rather different from a week with a bunch of Scottish ultra runners in a bustling alpine town, all s******g it about a particular race they've got themselves into, trying not to drink too much beer, enjoying the mountains and the calm before the storm.
Images still fleet through my mind of running past jagged peaks and tumbling glaciers, but mostly of climbing, climbing, climbing up that b****y hill called Bovine in the dark over jumbled boulders, a torch light at my feet and down, down, down the narrow, twisting, seemingly never ending track to the few twinkling lights of Vallorcine which never got any nearer no matter how much I ran.
40 hours of heaven and hell. Two full nights, 103 miles, more height gain and loss than Everest from sea level. What an event. Here's my attempt to relay the experience ...
Pre-race
Aaagh the view from the start line in Chamonix (photo by Michael O'Connor)
I am sitting in our central Chamonix flat with Drew, George, John Malcolm, Michael O'Connor and Richie Cunningham. John and Richie are doing the TDS but their company is very welcome, particularly the advice of UTMB vet Richie. We are all putting our race packs together. 'You are only taking half a jelly baby?' 'You aren't taking a micro-fleece?' I am beginning to wonder whether I am over prepared with my pile of gels and my weather proof gear. Mike Mason's advice to cut all weight is also going through my mind. 'Stop it Brian, you know your own body, how much you eat and what you need to feel warm in the mountains' I tell myself as preparation anxiety bites deep. I can see the others are also questioning their own packs, gaaah the anticipation as we try to kill the dead time before the race. Will I finish? What happens to me if I don't? Doubts bubbling to the surface from the reputation of the race.
The start to Les Contamines (19.3 miles, +4765', - 4355')
The Vangelis music is playing loud as we (Drew, George, Michael and myself) leave our little bit of Scotland and get together with Davie Bell and meet Tommy Hepburn at the start line which is heaving with thousands of Frenchmen. I've never seen so many well defined male calf muscles in all my life. These guys look seriously professional thought I peering down at my wee hairy scrawny Scottish legs. Maybe I should shave to look slicker?
Our little bit of Scotland in central Chamonix (photo by Michael O'Connor)
We met quite a few other Brits on the start line, including the mightily thighed Jon Steele looking very sunburnt. A bit of banter but everyone was well inside their own thoughts, wondering what the heck will this be like? Will I survive? It did feel a little like we were preparing to charge recklessly to god knows what fate.
The most anxious Scotsmen in the world? (photo from Davie Bell)
The time passed quick enough though and we were off, walking the first few hundred metres before enough space opened up to allow a run. Keeping the pace deliberately slow (10 min miles or so) I ran towards Les Houches with George and Tommy, losing the others in the crowd and the differently timed pee stops we all seemed to take. The running was easy but it was difficult not to belt it with the majority of others. I just kept thinking 'the aim is to finish, don't shoot your quads'.
Les Houches was reached quickly enough after 4 or 5 flattish miles and the first of the support enjoyed. The locals were out with shouts of 'allez allez' and 'bon courage'; calls which I'd grow to appreciate more and more during the race, precious sparks of motivation which kept me going as the body fatigued. The locals were really an inspiration in this race. You run out of the dark up a mountain into a tiny wee hamlet in the middle of the night and the residents are out shouting your name and urging you on. Such a feeling of genuine appreciation for what us daft runners were attempting to do left you with a lump in the throat and a beaming smile on your face. Many thanks to all you folk I'll never know but who helped me finish, your shouts of 'allez Brie-ong' were superb.
The slope sharply steepened as the crowds squashed onto the track leading up the 2560' or so to La Charme. Poles out clacking clacking, head down with Tommy and George we made steady progress through the field to the top. Ha, these sleek French calf muscles don't actually seem to give any performance edge I thought.
We passed by a big Les Houches banner (I thought Les Houches was at the bottom!?) we contoured round in rapidly dimming lights past people putting on layers to cope with the onset of chill in the early night at 5900' altitude. Ignoring the cold we headed down the ever steepening, slippy, grassy track Tommy peeling away with ease from me whilst I gradually moved ahead of George. The 3280m descent was quite a surprise physically, very noticable in my quads which made me anxious about the next 9 such descents I'd need to do en route. Would my quads survive beyond the next such descent? Only one way to find out.
The applause and cheering in Les Houches was nothing on Saint Gervais, with what looked like a reasonably sized town's population all out on the streets behind barriers 'allez allez' 'bon courage'. I caught sight of Tommy at the drink and food station as I grabbed a coke and 4 slices of cake before running straight out and into the darkness of the night.
The 6 mile 1180' climb to Les Contamines was pleasant enough, a mixture of the odd steep switchback climb with lots of forest and agricultural trail running. Tommy caught up with me then we passed through a checkpoint, both of us bleeped in with a bar code scanner (all very hi tech this race). It didn't feel like 6 miles so I was a little confused but carried on regardless. Les Contamines was reached shortly thereafter and I joined the scrum for a water re-fill, some coke, my first bowl of salty noodle soup and some more slices of cake. The stop was beginning to look a little like an army field hospital with a few casualties sprawled around, including one Brit who appeared injury free but suffering from plain old knackeredness. I wished him luck but he looked out already.
Not falling into the pit-stop trap and with Tommy nowhere in sight I pushed on out of Les Contamines 2 hours or so in advance of the first cut-off time and feeling good.
Les Contamines to Les Chapieux (11.8 miles, +4360', -3080')
The stretch to Notre Dame de la Gorge was easy going with Notre Dame itself appearing out of the dark in the form of a seemingly abandoned Marie Celeste like rave. Purple lights, decks and a sound system but only 2 or 3 local kids ambling around and the few runners who were in front and behind me. Quite surreal but soon forgotten as I headed sharply up the steep natural stone slabs and outcrops that marked the 1970' odd ascent to La Balme.
A bouffant haired fella with 70s style trainers and very short shorts, that I decided unconsciously for some reason was Italian, kept jockeying for position with me. I decided to beat him on the ascent and we both kept each other going (I could sense he was thinking something like I'm not going to let that little bald hairy legged guy beat me).
We passed by a randomly located mountain pub at some point where the half cut and some clearly pissed occupants encouraged us. Next in line were a man and a woman manning a tree stump with cups of water and tea. Who are all these people? Are they part of the race? What are they doing in the dark half way up a mountain?
The tree cover was still substantial on either side so it didn't feel fully like we were going up a mountain until the warming bonfire of the La Balme refuge were reached. I lost my bouffant foe as I checked in, refilled water, ate more salty soup then began to feel cold. No bloody wonder really given that it was the middle of the night and I was at almost 6000' altitude. I pulled on my WHWR pirate buff and Montane Oryx microfleece, thinking about the latter that I was glad not to have been influenced by the others into ditching gear for the pursuit of lightness.
Then the proper climbing began. 2460' into cloud up a steep, rocky trail, the water droplets scattering my head torch beam eerily and reducing visibility to less than hundred feet at points. Head down, overtaking when I could, I clack clack clacked away, poles and legs taking the strain. I felt ever so tired however. Rather concerning given that I had most of this night plus a full day another full night and some of a morning left to go! I figured out on the next major climb that this was the effect altitude was exerting on me. No lack of puff, just a serious urge to curl up and go to sleep.
After a long time of head down effort and some more jockeying with the bouffant haired Italian the track levelled out and we seemed to contour a bit, large boulders and cliff like out-crops half seen in the dark, images of a mountain vista beyond tantalising my mind. Checkpoint at Croix Du Bonhomme (8130') passed I began the very steep, technical, slippy mud and rock 900m descent to Les Chapieux (5080'). I lost the bouffant Italian and lots of folk bombed past me but I couldn't go any faster without risking injury and the ability of my quads to go on. I just persisted as fast as I could, becoming aware of a blister on my right heel (nooo! not this early on surely?). Overtaking some people, other people falling over in front and behind me with the tricky ground I reached the Les Chapieux checkpoint, grabbed food (more salty noodle soup), refilled water and drank coke. I decided to re-lube my foot to prevent further blistering so sat down and got to it. A good 15 minutes after I arrived I checked out past a few enthusiastic well wishers (allez allez) still well ahead of schedule into the night and the second serious 3100' climb up to Col de la Seigne (8252').
Les Chapieux to Courmayeur (17.3 miles, +4890', -6068')
The first stage of the climb was up a gradual winding tarmac road to Ville Des Glaciers. Is that some Scottish chatter I can hear behind me after a few minutes? I turned round to see George Reid and Drew Sheffield coming up the road. They must have caught up whilst I was relubing, great! Some conversation! I had been on my own for hours now. We clacked our poles, chatted away and plodded up the road and beyond as it turned into an endless rocky ascent over what seemed like a hill perpetually about to round off to the top but never quite making it. A never ending asymptote. I could feel altitude taking its toll, making me very very sleepy and sapping my will to push on. Oh how I wanted to just curl up and go to sleep ...
Descending down towards Refuge Elisabetta from Col de la Seigne (photo: Davie Bell)
It would soon be light however as the black turned to deep grey and rocky shapes and edges began to appear. Still deep in cloud we crested the Col de la Seigne (8250') in the growing light of dawn. The arctic blast of wind channelled up the valley from Lac Combal hit us, instantly removing all body heat but also acting like a giant slap in the face, countering the soporific effects of altitude which had been increasing their grip on me steadily throughout the climb. George stopped to put on a windproof and Drew headed on. I waited for George but soon pulled away on the descent, catching up with Drew after a bit of serious effort as he'd opened up a fair gap. We then made good progress down, down, down past Refuge Elisabetta to the Lac Combal checkpoint (6460') where more salty noodle soup and coca cola were gratefully consumed, hands slightly numb in the early morning high altitude cold, glaciers and jagged peaks peering down at us.
George came in just as Drew and I were leaving the checkpoint, legs creaking back into motion as we trotted along the high, perched alpine valley on a rough rocky road raised above pools of crystal clear water on either side. The path soon left the road stiffly climbing up to the east. The sun wasn't on us yet so I was glad to generate heat from climbing as we headed up the 1525' climb to Arete Mont Favre, a tiny little tent of a checkpoint perched high above Lac Combal and Courmayeur at 7990' altitude. The views of the Monte Bianco (Mont Blanc) massif were glorious in the early morning sun which hit us as we crested then began the long descent to the mid-way point distance wise - Courmayeur.
Me descending from Arete Mont Favre towards Courmayeur
The tendons on my left knee began emitting some sharp intermittent pains on the way down the 1580' descent to Col Checrouit en route to Chamonix. I ignored it, determined to keep with Drew and not fall behind. Some upbeat jazzy music was playing as we hit the checkpoint, quickly filling up our water packs and drinking down some coke before heading down the bone dry, dusty switchback nightmare of a trail that twisted it's way down between the ski-lifts to Courmayeu which seemed almost close enough to touch. Ha. It took us bloody ages. Dust, beaming sun and narrow, precipitous trails for 2500' of straight down descent. We chatted a bit but I mainly concentrated on jut getting down. Or rather concentrated on not thinking at all as I hoped my knee pain would go away and blisters wouldn't pop or become very very sore.
We hit the bottom and ran through what looked like a swing park before reaching the narrow, ye olde style streets of Courmayeur. What a beautiful town! Reaching the half way point in reasonable shape was a real confidence boost. I'm going to complete this I thought. I am.
Our only non-checkpoint support en route was a single drop bag at Courmayeur which we collected easily from some super efficient Italian girls. Drew headed off to wash his feet whilst I restocked with gels and checked my phone which contained lots and lots of texts to my surprise. Mike, Dave W, Murdo, my wife, parents, brother all urging me on. This really gee'd up my spirits. I texted Mike back and he sagely advised not getting caught up in the relaxing, inviting atmosphere of the checkpoint. I washed my feet, relubed them, made the tactical decision not to pop the 4 serious, bulging and deep heel blisters on my right foot and then ate some pasta with Drew before heading off, legs sore but spirits high.
Courmayeur to La Fouly (19.1 miles, +6865', -5540')
We walked / jogged through Courmayeur town centre then walked up the ever steepening road to the monster 2620' trail ascent to Refuge Bertone in steadily increasing heat. Drew was suffering a little so we slowed down a bit but he soon picked up and we made steady progress up the never ending dusty switchback forest track. The skyline always seemed just above us and one switchback away but it took us a good while to reach it but the refreshing caffeine infusion of coca cola made it all seem a distant memory.
My knee pain had disappeared and my blisters seemed fine but made me anxious. If any of them popped it would make the rest of the race a serious painfest.
We headed out of Bertone to begin the high level (6500') contouring trail run past Refuge Bonatti (6625') then down to Arnuva (5800'). We disturbed a large deer early on the run which bolted from bushes above us but the rest of the run was uneventful. George had clearly been making great time and caught up with us just before Bonatti. It felt good to be re-united as we had agreed that we would run together earlier on, before Lac Combal. It was clear though that we were running at different paces downhill so we had gradually peeled apart from George. He must have been belting up that hill from Courmayeur to make up the distance though!
Drew fell back a bit before we reached Arnuva and I peeled away on the descent, reaching the checkpoint first. I stopped for longer though whilst Drew was in and out. George and I left together after some more salty noodle soup and coca cola, chasing Drew up the hill.
Me ascending out of Arnuva towards Grand Col Ferret
The slope steepened stiffly then eased off for a bit as George and I plugged away before reaching the start of the main bit of the 2520' climb to the Grand Col Ferret, at 8321' the highest point on the race. I could see Drew ahead and decided to catch him. Having agreed to roughly stick together I found it very motivational to make sure I kept up with whoever was in front. I steadily overtook a bunch of folk, George not too far behind me, but got caught behind a big train of runners so didn't catch up with Drew until part way down the long, undulating descent t La Fouly.
My knee pain had gone but the blisters were definitely still there, just on the edge of popping but not quite. Drew and I kept up a serious pace on the 3100' descent, alternating who was in front and who was following. This tactic proved pretty effective and other than when we stopped for a quick lace re tie and refuel we weren't overtaken by anyone. By the time we hit the road we were knackered though, and very tired of going down but over lots and lots of undulations. We walked a fair way down the road before putting on a show of running into the checkpoint heroically.
And guess what? Yes, more salty noodle soup and coca cola. Lots of coca cola.
La Fouly to Trient (18.8 miles, +4300', -5260')
The most dangerous bit of the race came in this section. As we headed out of La Fouly, an hour behind our 40 hour schedule I suggested to Drew that we try 10 minute miling for as long as we could to make up time. He skeptically agreed then proceeded to set a great pace, definitely quicker than 10 min/miles along the gradually descending forest trail. We overtook a bunch of runners and ended up with a few latching onto our pace as the trail became a ledge, perched a good hundred feet or more up a cliff face, sometime sheer, sometimes a steep forested slope. If you tripped and went over at this point you'd not be coming back. Focus I thought, focus, not being the best with heights.
We slowed down just before the beautiful Swiss alpine village of Praz De Fort where we gained the company of one of the Mens Health Magazine team runners, the last standing man in his team. Simon was his name I think. He knew Drew so we chatted away as we reached the start of the 1000' climb up to Champex En Lac and plodded up in fading light. Champex took ages to reach and I began to flag mentally a little. Drew kept up a good pace and we staggered into Champex as darkness properly fell, Drew's cousin Emma shouting hello excitedly and joining us in the runners tent.
Tommy was there with his wife Rhona, but was acting a bit bewildered. He hadn't been eating much and appeared a bit sleep deprived (unlike us of course haha). He headed off saying we'd probably catch him as we began eating bread, salty noodle soup and I had my first couple of cups of coffee. Sharon appeared from nowhere. Together with Emma they really helped us prepare for our second night, insisting that we put on extra clothes, helping refill water bottles and getting cups of coffee. They were superb. Thanks girls. I owe you.
We headed out, walking through Champex with Emma and Sharon, enjoying the slightly delerious sleep deprived silliness of the whole affair. We hooked up with a random Spanish guy just beyond the town boundary where we left Emma and Sharon and headed into the forest leading to the 3rd last climb, up the hill called Bovine. But why were we going down? We wanted to go up. Eventually the trail turned the right direction and we started ascending.
Bovine was quite simply put, hell in the form of a hill. We knew it was our 3rd last big ascent but had no idea how long it would take. It turned out to be hours I think, time was ceasing to have much meaning so it is difficult to say - existence was transforming into never ending forward motion. The trail deteriorated as we passed by the first few folk we'd see hunched at the side of the trail, head in hands either gathering strength or sleeping. Casualties became an increasingly familiar sight from this point.
The trail up Bovine was hardly a trail at all. It was just a jumble of large, awkward boulders which prevented me getting into a rhythm, and required some serious leg lifting effort to get up. Drew was pressing on ahead like a man possessed and I followed in his wake, head down, alone in my torch beam, the dark night and increasing cold with altitude pressing in on me.
Eventually we pulled out of the forest and, relieved, contoured round in the chill of the air to reach the Bovine checkpoint (6520'). A very quick cup of coffee and salty noodle soup and we headed off to tackle our 3rd last big descent - 2250' seemingly straight down a hard rocky path to Trient with hardly any swtichbacking at all. The descent has become a blur in my mind. Drew was ahead and we were making good time. I stopped thinking about anything other than going down, except the bit where we had to navigate round a very very large bull which loomed suddenly out of the darkness in the middle of the trail. This race still had some surprises!
My legs were stiff as we hobbled across the road in Trient to reach the checkpoint and to resume the now familiar salty noodle soup ritual. I was knackered, very sleepy and in need of coffee, which perked me up. A large German sounding man said 'hello Brian' (from my race number) and we talked a bit. He was one of a bunch of locals (I guess) who were stood at what seemed to be a bar section inside the checkpoint tent, next to but separate from the runners benches. It must have been around 2am so what these folk were doing out I don't know. Crazy, but much appreciated support. We said goodbye and headed out, reluctantly leaving warmth for the cold of the night and the beckoning 2580' climb up to Catogne. I kept thinking 'dig deep' (Mike Mason's mantra), nearly at Vallorcine. We had run / hiked from Vallorcine to Chamonix the week before the race so I knew if I made it there I'd make it back to Chamonix for sure. There'd be no more surprises in store.
Trient to Vallorcine (5.9 miles, +2580', -2715')
Shoving a couple of Hammer gels down we joined in with a train of folk heading up the swtichbacking 2580' climb. We stopped a couple of times to get more food inside and passed a few semi-sleeping casualties on the way up. The tree line was tantalisingly close for ages but the trail always seemed to have an extra corner, or an extra little steep climb. There were a set of 3 or 4 lads who kept catching up with us throughout the climb then powering ahead only to be caught by us as they took a breather from their serious pace. This happened several times but we took them just before the crest of the hill and they never caught up with us as we descended towards Vallorcine.
But oh what a descent. Hell. 2460' of what seemed to be randomly curving trail which left me completely confused. What direction was Vallorcine? Where were the lights? Accumulated tiredness was kicking in big time as Drew and I pushed our way down at as fast a pace as we could manage. We gradually caught and past a few folk then joined on the back of a bigger group which we worked our way through at pace until we hit the really steep dusty lower sections of the descent where all thoughts of overtaking disappeared, the mind having to completely focus on the technicalities of the steep, dusty and rocky trail. The lights of Vallorcine popped in and out of sight but never seemed to get any closer. My spirit was slowly being extinguished. Dig deep Brian push on I kept muttering to myself until we finally reached the back of some wooden huts, slipped and slid down a grassy path to the train track and headed over to the field hospital that was Vallorcine.
Tommy was there along with Rhona (what a trooper!) and he waited for Drew and I to quickly down some salty noodle soup and for me to do my business in the portaloo. I timed it perfectly and managed to finish just as my gag response to the awful awful smell became irrestible and I heaved myself out of the loo with a rasping, gasping wretch.
Vallorcine to Chamonix (11.3 miles, +3080', -3817')
Drew headed off slowly as I put on my gloves then Tommy and I followed, catching him up after 5 or 10 minutes. Boy it was freezing as the sun began to poke through and we plodded up to the Col de Montet then began the last big 2850' foot climb to La Tete Aux Vents. Drew wanted to push on for a sub-40 hour time. I wasn't bothered, having long ago set myself into a finish the race mind set rather than a do it as fast as you can mind set. I asked a French runner (in French despite the 2 nights of sleep deprivation) whether sub-40 was possible and he replied that it was. I told Drew and let him know I was happy for him to peel off, which he did with gusto. Tommy and I plodded on for a mile or so then upped the pace to run into La Flegere, the last checkpoint before Chamonix.
After some more coca cola and a gel we headed out and down the first section to Chamonix, which the only way to describe is Kinlochleven on acid. A very very very steep rubbley landrover access track which we ran down the side of before pulling off onto the technical switchbacking trail down down down to Chamonix. Tommy and I ran hard, Tommy in front, overtaking folk and inspirin a few to follow us in our wake. The motivational power of following someone in front running hard is quite amazing, even after 39 hours of running.
Richie Cunningham was waiting at the foot of the hill where is spills you out onto the streets of Chamonix. He gave us the saltire he was carrying and urged us on. Saltire fluttering between us we ran down and round the twisting town centre, calls of 'highlanders' and 'Scotland' heard here and there we ran up the final straight and over the line.
Tommy Hepburn and I crossing the line after 40 hours and 11 minutes
Confused, elated, exhausted and just plain relieved to not have to go forward any more we shook hands with the race organiser and collected our gilets noir. Would I do this race again? No f'ing chance thought I. Chanelled out of the finishing area Tommy met with his wife, and I met up with Drew and Emma. My phone then rang, I fumbled then answered. My wife, daughter, mother and father were on the other end cheering and for a moment I couldn't speak. Emotions welled up and my eyes began to fill before I got it under control. 40 hours of driving myself forward. Mountain scenery like you would not believe. The comradeship of running with Drew, Tommy and George. The support of so many locals around the massif regardless of the time of day. This is an experience of a race that all ultra runners need to sample.
After race thoughts
I can't wait to do this race again. Maybe not next year, but I'll be back for sure. I know where I can gain time by stopping for less, and by pushing on more. I should have pushed on for sub-40 where Drew did as Chamonix wasn't half as far away as I thought at the time I decided not to push on. But how near 35 hours or less could I get? I haven't been able to stop thinking about it all ever since, and probably shan't till I return to the streets of Chamonix. Come on!
Monday 14 September 2009
The longest climb in the history of history - a Sur Les Trace Des Ducs De Savoie (TDS) race report
It is an honour to host some great race report writing by John Malcolm. John is sans blog but spent the week or so with the ultra tartan army in Chamonix. He ran the TDS and this is his report. The TDS is a 106km, 6600 m ascent/descent race run at the same time as the UTMB. It actually goes up a peak (Mont Jolie) and looks a corker. Judge it yourself ...
TDS race profile (elevation in metres)
Never been to Italy before. And I’ve never felt so awful in a race before. I’m walking down to la Thuile and cursing the town for being so bloody far away. I’ve been on my feet for god knows how many hours (22? 23?) and I’m having a stinker of a race. Low on energy. Low on morale. This is the hardest race I’ve ever done. But hey, the town’s only five minutes walk away so when I get there I’ll fuel up, heat up, and be on my way.
One hour later, the town doesn’t seem to be getting any closer and I’m starting to lose a couple of places after working so hard to make them up. But why bother fuelling up now? It can’t be that far away now! I take some solace from looking up at the sky and seeing it filled with stars – more than I’ve ever seen before. My head is severely mashed, there’s no way ever I would normally consider not taking on board some fuel, even if the checkpoint was only a short distance away. It’s all fuel in the tank – doesn’t matter when it gets there. I know this but for some reason I just don’t reach for the jelly babies.
The 800m descent from Col du Petit St. Bernard to la Thuile is not the most pleasant introduction to Italy – not at the moment anyway. The never ending descent, with town in view, crushes my spirits and leaves my race finish hanging by a thread.
I keep crossing a road. Looking back I realise it was one of these Alpine switchbacks but at the time I didn’t know what was going on. When I finally reach la Thuile the checkpoint is at the further possible corner of the town. But it’s indoors so I take the opportunity to have a seat, get some food and some sleep. The sleep isn’t intended, more a consequence of being completely out of it. When I wake up, I realise where I am and lift my head, the marshalls in the room are staring at me – I must look pretty rough. I suspect that they suspect a DNF is on the cards. I must admit, it’s tempting, it would be really easy to throw in the towel and get a lift to Courmayeur, or wherever.
My brain doesn’t work like that though and other than exhaustion, there’s no DNF reason. If I DNF I know it would knock my confidence. There’s no point in quitting so after about 40 pointless minutes in the checkpoint I persuade my body to let me leave. I get up, have a drink of coke and head out of the checkpoint. It’s freezing. I had been coughing loudly in the checkpoint and it’s even worse now. I’m literally unable to breathe, as the altitude and cold hit me all at the same time. Drop my bag, reach for the trusty inhaler and a few short bursts later I’m back on the go, breathing easier. [Just hoping no one saw and that I don’t get wada-tested at the end]
Despite a sub-24 hour time now being well out the window, I congratulated myself for getting up and going again. God knows where that came from.
Rewind 22, 23 or 24 hours earlier and I’d just left Chamonix on what I now realise is the toughest race I’ve ever taken part in.
It started with a gentle run to Les Houches followed by a 600m climb and descent before reaching Mont Joly. I started easily – really easily – and intended to pace myself as evenly as possible as I’d done in the WHW race. Up the 600m climb a few people were starting to catch me and they advised they were the race sweepers and that I was in last place! I couldn’t help but laugh, I’ve never been in last place before! They said something about the person in last place sometimes working their way through the field but I could tell from the look in their eye they didn’t really believe it – I knew however that this was my race plan and that in all likelihood I would make up a few places before the race ended – looking at my splits I constantly moved up the field, had a tiny dip of five-ten places during the lengthy stop at La Thuile then moved up again.
At the top of the hill I left the sweepers and started gaining spaces. I figured I would start to work through the field and that soon I would be overtaking left and right (but not centre). It pretty much worked like this. I kept a steady pace heading up Mont Joly and counted 50 people as being overtaken, which was good as I hadn’t broken sweat and was just marching past them.
The first part of the ascent was on land-rover type tracks and this frustrated me as I was all for wild mountain tracks - I soon got my wish when the path changed to a really rough, rocky mountain top – my favourite. After the top, there’s an amazing ridge along to Col du Joly and in the clouds the steep cliffs looked rather frightening. Wonder how far they actually drop?
It was getting quite lonely only vaguely being able to speak the language of my fellow competitors so I spent large proportions of the early part of the race trying to think of things to say in French. I finally had an opportunity when at a checkpoint one of the marshalls asked if I was cold (only being in my vest) “non, je suis ecossais – ne pas soleil on ecosse!” [No, I’m Scottish – there’s no sun in Scotland!] . The four or five surrounding marshalls started laughing and I left the checkpoint with renewed enthusiasm.
I went through highs and lows over the next stages of the race, as the ascents and descents became more and more punishing. I started to realise how tough the race was. Even so, looking back at some of the amazing places I was, it really made the experience worthwhile – most people will never ever see these amazing hidden valleys.
It was often difficult to see in advance where the route went, so I kept telling myself that the route would always go the most difficult route (visually). Nine times out of ten it did go the tough way but on each of those “one” occasions there was a slight mental boost and I ploughed on a little merrier. The organisers are incredibly sadistic – they had us up practically every hill possible and the climbs and descents just didn’t stop. Every stage had either a tough climb, a tough descent or both. It was quite disheartening knowing you were on a 5km stage and had been for the past 90 minutes.
One climb in particular just about killed me. Passeur de Prolagne (or words to that effect) - it was steep with scree, rocks and mild scrambling. It was a 600m climb and I felt every single metre. All I could think was that if this was killing me, what would the forthcoming 1500m climb do? I had a seat, a rest, a sabbatical from the climb. The first and only rest during the entire race, that wasn’t at a checkpoint. I spent a few minutes with my head in my hands and just focussed my energy on the climb. When I emerged I was behind a train of people who were slowly moving upwards - slower than I normally would but I decided to just go along with it and let them drag me up the hill.
Elation cannot describe how I felt when I reached the col summit. There was another descent and I picked up down here shouting at the top of my voice random “amusing” French phrases – “Je suis le grande fromage!” “je suis la papa!” [I’m the big cheese! I’m the daddy!]. Thankfully no one was around to hear me and no one will ever know…
Another slight uphill (slight – it was probably about 200m) and then the long descent I’d been dreading. 1500m over less than 5 miles. I ran down. My quads were already shot but I figured I still had a slight chance at sub-24 hours. About an hour outside Bourg st Maurice (BSM) I caught another train of people walking downhill. Every part of me said overtake them and then get on with it but for some reason I just sat behind them. And walked down the easily runnable hill. And kept walking. And kept walking. Brain mashed well and truly. I reached the town after a huge amount of time, any race time in tatters and my spirits crushed. I spent about ten minutes looking at the time on my watch and debating whether I’d been running for 16 or 18 hours. I worked it out two ways, both made perfect sense but both provided different answers. I settled on 18 hours and felt dejected and mentally ruined – sub 24 was gone.
[Post-race, looking at my splits, I was running for 16 hours! BSM is pretty much bang-on 2/3rds in to the race, distance and ascent/descent-wise, so this was perfect pacing for a 24 hour race – could it have been different had I known this??? Lesson to take home – always use a stopwatch, don’t just rely on the time!]
Coke at the previous aid stations had mostly run dry (a side effect of Richie’s BIG cup? :-) so I was gagging for Coke. There were loads of open air restaurants and they clapped and cheered as we passed. They seemed friendly enough so I went inside and tried to buy some brown ultra-juice. They initially seemed unwilling to serve the smelly chap with the rucksack and poles, cramping the restaurant’s style, but my prayer hand gestures persuaded them and I left the restaurant to another loud cheer.
The buzz in the town was fantastic – it was like what I’d expect the tour de France to be like. Unfortunately a severe medical issue stops the Brits from putting on similar shows but I hope scientific breakthroughs will in future loosen off those stiff upper lips. The French really know how to put on a show though and it gave me a huge buzz to be there, even if I was feeling cack.
The hit from the food and the coke got me going again and I went for a short jog on a flattish section, through another town to get the 1500m climb to Col du Petit St Bernard underway. It was initially quite tough trail, but I was coping well, making a few places and pulling away. It was pitch black by now and so eventually the land rover type track was welcome. I spoke briefly to an English couple and to-d and fro-d with them for a bit. There are also many more stars in the French/Italian sky than the Scottish one…..
I was scared to put too much effort in on a runnable track as I had no idea how far I was from what I assumed would be a tough final climb. I could have run more of this but the unknown really did affect me psychologically and for some reason I just didn’t get going. I must admit I had given up and was just enduring rather than racing against the clock. Eventually, after what seemed like the longest climb in the history of history, I reached the summit and a nice burning fire.
Walking away from the fire, the cold and altitude made breathing difficult so I went back and added on some layers – I put on the Ron Hill tracksters for only the second time – their last outing being the WHW night time rain in 2008.
Then came the descent to la Thuile. It’s only about 4 and a half miles, with 800m of descent. From scratch, I suspect I could batter down it in 25 minutes but this time it took me at least two hours. After straining in the dark to confirm the tricolore was green, white and red, not blue, white and red, the sight of the Italian flag raised a smile. The constant text messages from Vodafone telling me I was in Italy were extremely frustrating however – I opened my bag to read the text, thinking it was encouragement, only to find information on call rates! Very tough on the old spirit.
I did receive a few updates on some of the other WHW runners though, confirming they were all going well, especially Richie who was tucked up in bed at this point! I briefly considered sending a few encouraging texts but could never be sure if everyone was still going – imagine the scene, you’ve just pulled out with extreme exhaustion / twisted ankle / torn hamstring when muggins-here sends you “keep going buddy you’re doing fantastic!”
Anyway, I ploughed on seeing the lights of the town, deciding not to fuel up and eventually reached a short road section with tour de France style scribbling on the road. Among the writing was “go Lance”, which briefly raised my spirits somewhat, seeing something familiar to me.
The town was stereotypically Italian and I weaved my way through the streets to the checkpoint. It couldn’t come soon enough.
Forty miserable minutes later I was on my way again, through the night. I was slow, it was tough and not particularly pleasant. I didn’t feel as tired after the powernap and just about kept my marbles when they took us away from the road and pointlessly sent us up a hill, only to come back down to see the same road again. Through a couple more unmanned checkpoints, hours of feeling horrible and then the first light the next morning came. What a welcome sight - particularly as the summit of Mont Blanc was clearly illuminated high above me. Makes me wish I could be bothered getting my camera out..
The second last checkpoint saw me leave with renewed vigour. I was told it was an hour to the finish and I was determined to break that hour. I powered up the hills, ran the less steep uphill sections and ran the flats. I made around 5 places before the 1km to go sign so I added a touch of speed through the Courmayeur streets and was quickly on the heels of a female runner. Should I overtake? Shouldn’t I? It wasn’t much of a decision so I shot past her then continued on, overtaking another couple on some horrible downwards stairs and flying past another runner on the short climb up. He tried to keep away from me and I toyed with him a little before shooting off.
The finish line was a beautiful sight – I’ve never been happier to finish a race. I went straight in to the sports centre and fell asleep, unshowered, in race gear on one of the designated beds. I woke up four hours later, having missed the last bus to Chamonix. Ahh well, they got me back in the end, after giving me some free beer :-)
My initial aim for the race was to just get around so I’ve done that however there’s a slight disappointment to have taken so long and placed not so well (385 out of 480ish finishers, 650ish starters). I know I could knock a good few hours off the time should I do the race again. I also suspect that although I struggled, had I been doing the full UTMB race I could have just about got round, which is a big confidence-booster for UTMB 2010.
Looking back at the race I’ve got loads of images in my head that will last with me forever:
Ascending a steep col, coming over the top and seeing the most amazing view of snow-capped Mont Blanc in the distance. Trying in vain to work out how to say “that’s why I’m here” in French, then realising the runner adjacent was Japanese and couldn’t understand anyway.
Descending another col and watching as the view changes then looking back on the seemingly impregnable mountain I’ve just run down. Looking closer, straining my eyes and seeing what look like ants in the distance running down the same route.
Looking up Col du Bonhomme, feeling good, seeing dozens of runners in front and thinking to myself “I’m going to overtake every single one of them”. And I did.
The crowd at Bourg st Maurtice treated me like I was either the race leader, coming in to the finish or Nelson f*cking Mandela on a world tour, when I was just some random Scotsman numerous hours after the race leader, completely knackered and without a well publicised prisoner-to-president background.
The smile on the face of the little French girl just outside Bourg st Maurice as she donged her cow bell.
The talk beforehand about always keeping your race number in view but then the marshall at Col du Petit St Bernard encouraging me to zip my jacket up over the number, to keep warm. I thought she was telling me off for having it partially covered!
The over-friendly Italian chap with the impeccable English, telling me at the finish he thought I was done for in La Thuile. So did I. What an experience. What a race. Where do I sign up for next year?
John Malcolm
TDS race profile (elevation in metres)
Never been to Italy before. And I’ve never felt so awful in a race before. I’m walking down to la Thuile and cursing the town for being so bloody far away. I’ve been on my feet for god knows how many hours (22? 23?) and I’m having a stinker of a race. Low on energy. Low on morale. This is the hardest race I’ve ever done. But hey, the town’s only five minutes walk away so when I get there I’ll fuel up, heat up, and be on my way.
One hour later, the town doesn’t seem to be getting any closer and I’m starting to lose a couple of places after working so hard to make them up. But why bother fuelling up now? It can’t be that far away now! I take some solace from looking up at the sky and seeing it filled with stars – more than I’ve ever seen before. My head is severely mashed, there’s no way ever I would normally consider not taking on board some fuel, even if the checkpoint was only a short distance away. It’s all fuel in the tank – doesn’t matter when it gets there. I know this but for some reason I just don’t reach for the jelly babies.
The 800m descent from Col du Petit St. Bernard to la Thuile is not the most pleasant introduction to Italy – not at the moment anyway. The never ending descent, with town in view, crushes my spirits and leaves my race finish hanging by a thread.
I keep crossing a road. Looking back I realise it was one of these Alpine switchbacks but at the time I didn’t know what was going on. When I finally reach la Thuile the checkpoint is at the further possible corner of the town. But it’s indoors so I take the opportunity to have a seat, get some food and some sleep. The sleep isn’t intended, more a consequence of being completely out of it. When I wake up, I realise where I am and lift my head, the marshalls in the room are staring at me – I must look pretty rough. I suspect that they suspect a DNF is on the cards. I must admit, it’s tempting, it would be really easy to throw in the towel and get a lift to Courmayeur, or wherever.
My brain doesn’t work like that though and other than exhaustion, there’s no DNF reason. If I DNF I know it would knock my confidence. There’s no point in quitting so after about 40 pointless minutes in the checkpoint I persuade my body to let me leave. I get up, have a drink of coke and head out of the checkpoint. It’s freezing. I had been coughing loudly in the checkpoint and it’s even worse now. I’m literally unable to breathe, as the altitude and cold hit me all at the same time. Drop my bag, reach for the trusty inhaler and a few short bursts later I’m back on the go, breathing easier. [Just hoping no one saw and that I don’t get wada-tested at the end]
Despite a sub-24 hour time now being well out the window, I congratulated myself for getting up and going again. God knows where that came from.
Rewind 22, 23 or 24 hours earlier and I’d just left Chamonix on what I now realise is the toughest race I’ve ever taken part in.
It started with a gentle run to Les Houches followed by a 600m climb and descent before reaching Mont Joly. I started easily – really easily – and intended to pace myself as evenly as possible as I’d done in the WHW race. Up the 600m climb a few people were starting to catch me and they advised they were the race sweepers and that I was in last place! I couldn’t help but laugh, I’ve never been in last place before! They said something about the person in last place sometimes working their way through the field but I could tell from the look in their eye they didn’t really believe it – I knew however that this was my race plan and that in all likelihood I would make up a few places before the race ended – looking at my splits I constantly moved up the field, had a tiny dip of five-ten places during the lengthy stop at La Thuile then moved up again.
At the top of the hill I left the sweepers and started gaining spaces. I figured I would start to work through the field and that soon I would be overtaking left and right (but not centre). It pretty much worked like this. I kept a steady pace heading up Mont Joly and counted 50 people as being overtaken, which was good as I hadn’t broken sweat and was just marching past them.
The first part of the ascent was on land-rover type tracks and this frustrated me as I was all for wild mountain tracks - I soon got my wish when the path changed to a really rough, rocky mountain top – my favourite. After the top, there’s an amazing ridge along to Col du Joly and in the clouds the steep cliffs looked rather frightening. Wonder how far they actually drop?
It was getting quite lonely only vaguely being able to speak the language of my fellow competitors so I spent large proportions of the early part of the race trying to think of things to say in French. I finally had an opportunity when at a checkpoint one of the marshalls asked if I was cold (only being in my vest) “non, je suis ecossais – ne pas soleil on ecosse!” [No, I’m Scottish – there’s no sun in Scotland!] . The four or five surrounding marshalls started laughing and I left the checkpoint with renewed enthusiasm.
I went through highs and lows over the next stages of the race, as the ascents and descents became more and more punishing. I started to realise how tough the race was. Even so, looking back at some of the amazing places I was, it really made the experience worthwhile – most people will never ever see these amazing hidden valleys.
It was often difficult to see in advance where the route went, so I kept telling myself that the route would always go the most difficult route (visually). Nine times out of ten it did go the tough way but on each of those “one” occasions there was a slight mental boost and I ploughed on a little merrier. The organisers are incredibly sadistic – they had us up practically every hill possible and the climbs and descents just didn’t stop. Every stage had either a tough climb, a tough descent or both. It was quite disheartening knowing you were on a 5km stage and had been for the past 90 minutes.
One climb in particular just about killed me. Passeur de Prolagne (or words to that effect) - it was steep with scree, rocks and mild scrambling. It was a 600m climb and I felt every single metre. All I could think was that if this was killing me, what would the forthcoming 1500m climb do? I had a seat, a rest, a sabbatical from the climb. The first and only rest during the entire race, that wasn’t at a checkpoint. I spent a few minutes with my head in my hands and just focussed my energy on the climb. When I emerged I was behind a train of people who were slowly moving upwards - slower than I normally would but I decided to just go along with it and let them drag me up the hill.
Elation cannot describe how I felt when I reached the col summit. There was another descent and I picked up down here shouting at the top of my voice random “amusing” French phrases – “Je suis le grande fromage!” “je suis la papa!” [I’m the big cheese! I’m the daddy!]. Thankfully no one was around to hear me and no one will ever know…
Another slight uphill (slight – it was probably about 200m) and then the long descent I’d been dreading. 1500m over less than 5 miles. I ran down. My quads were already shot but I figured I still had a slight chance at sub-24 hours. About an hour outside Bourg st Maurice (BSM) I caught another train of people walking downhill. Every part of me said overtake them and then get on with it but for some reason I just sat behind them. And walked down the easily runnable hill. And kept walking. And kept walking. Brain mashed well and truly. I reached the town after a huge amount of time, any race time in tatters and my spirits crushed. I spent about ten minutes looking at the time on my watch and debating whether I’d been running for 16 or 18 hours. I worked it out two ways, both made perfect sense but both provided different answers. I settled on 18 hours and felt dejected and mentally ruined – sub 24 was gone.
[Post-race, looking at my splits, I was running for 16 hours! BSM is pretty much bang-on 2/3rds in to the race, distance and ascent/descent-wise, so this was perfect pacing for a 24 hour race – could it have been different had I known this??? Lesson to take home – always use a stopwatch, don’t just rely on the time!]
Coke at the previous aid stations had mostly run dry (a side effect of Richie’s BIG cup? :-) so I was gagging for Coke. There were loads of open air restaurants and they clapped and cheered as we passed. They seemed friendly enough so I went inside and tried to buy some brown ultra-juice. They initially seemed unwilling to serve the smelly chap with the rucksack and poles, cramping the restaurant’s style, but my prayer hand gestures persuaded them and I left the restaurant to another loud cheer.
The buzz in the town was fantastic – it was like what I’d expect the tour de France to be like. Unfortunately a severe medical issue stops the Brits from putting on similar shows but I hope scientific breakthroughs will in future loosen off those stiff upper lips. The French really know how to put on a show though and it gave me a huge buzz to be there, even if I was feeling cack.
The hit from the food and the coke got me going again and I went for a short jog on a flattish section, through another town to get the 1500m climb to Col du Petit St Bernard underway. It was initially quite tough trail, but I was coping well, making a few places and pulling away. It was pitch black by now and so eventually the land rover type track was welcome. I spoke briefly to an English couple and to-d and fro-d with them for a bit. There are also many more stars in the French/Italian sky than the Scottish one…..
I was scared to put too much effort in on a runnable track as I had no idea how far I was from what I assumed would be a tough final climb. I could have run more of this but the unknown really did affect me psychologically and for some reason I just didn’t get going. I must admit I had given up and was just enduring rather than racing against the clock. Eventually, after what seemed like the longest climb in the history of history, I reached the summit and a nice burning fire.
Walking away from the fire, the cold and altitude made breathing difficult so I went back and added on some layers – I put on the Ron Hill tracksters for only the second time – their last outing being the WHW night time rain in 2008.
Then came the descent to la Thuile. It’s only about 4 and a half miles, with 800m of descent. From scratch, I suspect I could batter down it in 25 minutes but this time it took me at least two hours. After straining in the dark to confirm the tricolore was green, white and red, not blue, white and red, the sight of the Italian flag raised a smile. The constant text messages from Vodafone telling me I was in Italy were extremely frustrating however – I opened my bag to read the text, thinking it was encouragement, only to find information on call rates! Very tough on the old spirit.
I did receive a few updates on some of the other WHW runners though, confirming they were all going well, especially Richie who was tucked up in bed at this point! I briefly considered sending a few encouraging texts but could never be sure if everyone was still going – imagine the scene, you’ve just pulled out with extreme exhaustion / twisted ankle / torn hamstring when muggins-here sends you “keep going buddy you’re doing fantastic!”
Anyway, I ploughed on seeing the lights of the town, deciding not to fuel up and eventually reached a short road section with tour de France style scribbling on the road. Among the writing was “go Lance”, which briefly raised my spirits somewhat, seeing something familiar to me.
The town was stereotypically Italian and I weaved my way through the streets to the checkpoint. It couldn’t come soon enough.
Forty miserable minutes later I was on my way again, through the night. I was slow, it was tough and not particularly pleasant. I didn’t feel as tired after the powernap and just about kept my marbles when they took us away from the road and pointlessly sent us up a hill, only to come back down to see the same road again. Through a couple more unmanned checkpoints, hours of feeling horrible and then the first light the next morning came. What a welcome sight - particularly as the summit of Mont Blanc was clearly illuminated high above me. Makes me wish I could be bothered getting my camera out..
The second last checkpoint saw me leave with renewed vigour. I was told it was an hour to the finish and I was determined to break that hour. I powered up the hills, ran the less steep uphill sections and ran the flats. I made around 5 places before the 1km to go sign so I added a touch of speed through the Courmayeur streets and was quickly on the heels of a female runner. Should I overtake? Shouldn’t I? It wasn’t much of a decision so I shot past her then continued on, overtaking another couple on some horrible downwards stairs and flying past another runner on the short climb up. He tried to keep away from me and I toyed with him a little before shooting off.
The finish line was a beautiful sight – I’ve never been happier to finish a race. I went straight in to the sports centre and fell asleep, unshowered, in race gear on one of the designated beds. I woke up four hours later, having missed the last bus to Chamonix. Ahh well, they got me back in the end, after giving me some free beer :-)
My initial aim for the race was to just get around so I’ve done that however there’s a slight disappointment to have taken so long and placed not so well (385 out of 480ish finishers, 650ish starters). I know I could knock a good few hours off the time should I do the race again. I also suspect that although I struggled, had I been doing the full UTMB race I could have just about got round, which is a big confidence-booster for UTMB 2010.
Looking back at the race I’ve got loads of images in my head that will last with me forever:
Ascending a steep col, coming over the top and seeing the most amazing view of snow-capped Mont Blanc in the distance. Trying in vain to work out how to say “that’s why I’m here” in French, then realising the runner adjacent was Japanese and couldn’t understand anyway.
Descending another col and watching as the view changes then looking back on the seemingly impregnable mountain I’ve just run down. Looking closer, straining my eyes and seeing what look like ants in the distance running down the same route.
Looking up Col du Bonhomme, feeling good, seeing dozens of runners in front and thinking to myself “I’m going to overtake every single one of them”. And I did.
The crowd at Bourg st Maurtice treated me like I was either the race leader, coming in to the finish or Nelson f*cking Mandela on a world tour, when I was just some random Scotsman numerous hours after the race leader, completely knackered and without a well publicised prisoner-to-president background.
The smile on the face of the little French girl just outside Bourg st Maurice as she donged her cow bell.
The talk beforehand about always keeping your race number in view but then the marshall at Col du Petit St Bernard encouraging me to zip my jacket up over the number, to keep warm. I thought she was telling me off for having it partially covered!
The over-friendly Italian chap with the impeccable English, telling me at the finish he thought I was done for in La Thuile. So did I. What an experience. What a race. Where do I sign up for next year?
John Malcolm
Tuesday 1 September 2009
UTMB 2009 video check this out
Great 10 minute video of the UTMB 2009 (cheers for sending the link George). See if you can spot the saltire flag on the balcony as the race leaders run along one of Chamonix's main streets just after the start. That was our flat and George Reid's flag. :-)
Ultra Tour Du Mont Blanc 2009 - the short version
What a gruelling adventure and magnificent experience. The UTMB 2009, a superbly organised and relentless ultra race over 103 miles of trails which result in more ascent and descent than climbing Everest from sea level, is now over. I came in position 609 with a time of 40:11:13, running over the line, Saltire flag raised high with Tommy Hepburn. A great feeling of achievement.
I'll blog a full report with photos soon but in the meantime the interested can see some video clips of the race to get a sense of the terrain from here - http://www.chamonix-meteo.com/ .
Thanks to all the Family members (both physical and WHWR) who provided messages of support before, during and after the race. Knowing I had some folk watching out for me as I progressed round really helped motivate.
And thanks to all the Family members in Chamonix, both those who ran the race with me (Drew, George R and Tommy), who ran the race separately (Michael, Davie B, Andy C, Jon, Iain R, George C, Jens), who helped make sure we were safely fed and watered before we headed into our second night beyond Champex (Sharon and Emma) and those who ran a different race and helped cheer us in so brilliantly (Richie, John M and Sarah R).
I had such a great week getting some final training in the mountains, getting used to altitude, getting to know you all and having a laugh. Thanks all, I will never forget the experience.
I'll blog a full report with photos soon but in the meantime the interested can see some video clips of the race to get a sense of the terrain from here - http://www.chamonix-meteo.com/ .
Thanks to all the Family members (both physical and WHWR) who provided messages of support before, during and after the race. Knowing I had some folk watching out for me as I progressed round really helped motivate.
And thanks to all the Family members in Chamonix, both those who ran the race with me (Drew, George R and Tommy), who ran the race separately (Michael, Davie B, Andy C, Jon, Iain R, George C, Jens), who helped make sure we were safely fed and watered before we headed into our second night beyond Champex (Sharon and Emma) and those who ran a different race and helped cheer us in so brilliantly (Richie, John M and Sarah R).
I had such a great week getting some final training in the mountains, getting used to altitude, getting to know you all and having a laugh. Thanks all, I will never forget the experience.
Wednesday 26 August 2009
Cham ya bam; UTMB prep, taperitis and spending too much cash
Well here I am sitting in an internet cafe in Chamonix (or Cham) with some overcast skies and a nice 18C or so at 10:45am. Tapering is well in progress and luckily no signs of taperitis (when completely made up pains pop up to worry you). I am also on a beer taper which is helped hugely by the price here (4.5o - 6 euros a pint aaagh!).
Drew Sheffield and I made our 06:30 flight on Saturday despite having to haul ourselves out of bed at 3:30am and the ChamExpress connection from Geneva worked great. We stepped out of the van and I nearly fell over having never been here before. All around are the most unbelievable towering serrated, pointed peaks, sheer rock faces and tumbling glaciers. What a place to be, and what a massif to run around. Excitement set in straight away.
Other than an erratic hot water supply and the Dire Straits played outside at 08:00 on tannoys our flat is great and will only require 200m of walking from the finish, which, after the race will be very very appreciated.
We met up with Richie Cunningham, Andy Cole and his wife and took the free train to Vallorcine on Sunday. Andy and his wife took an easy walk whilst the rest of us took a slow jog / hike up to Col de Montet (puffing due to altitude for sure) then on to Tete aux Tet and Flegere before taking the Kinlochleven on acid descent to La Floria and back to Cham. This is the last 18km + 1000m or s of ascent of the race which we wanted to recce and just enjoy for it affords the most magnificent views of the Mont Blanc massif in all its jagged and glaciated glory. I took a fall on the technical, rooty and rocky trail just before La Floria but other than a skint hand and knee no damage was done (phewft).
Monday was spent at > 2500m with Drew and Richie as we took the cable car up Brevent, the mountain facing Mont Blanc. The first section was in little pod cars to seat 4 or so with a 30' or so drop beneath. The second section was in a 60 person car with a 500' drop beneath as it travelled up the sheer cliffs that lie beneath the summit. I held a pole in the car and looked at the floor, not being the best with heights. Gibber gibber. We basically sat down and let our bodies get used to altitude but also made the time to hike down 500m or so to Lac Brevent to swim in our undies after a few shrieks getting in. We then hiked back up in the glorious sun which shone upon us both Sunday and Monday. I wasn't puffed on the hike back up at all so reckon I should be fine during the race.
Yesterday was a lazier day with a short 4.5 mile walk to Les Houches with Richie along the 'Milngavie to Drymen' section of the UTMB, and last night we cheered on the Petit Trot de Leon (PTL) runners as they left the town at 22:00 fr a 114 hou max. 260km adventure in teams of 3. The music was going, and the race has definitely began to feel imminent. Bring it on! George Reid also arrived in so our flat is now complete.
Today is registration day, tomorrow a lazing around day and Friday the last minute prep day as we will kick off at 18:30 local time. Time to relax, gather strength and prepare. I'm feeling good and focussing on staying that way, particularly psychologically.
My race number is 3570 and this is my planned maximum schedule (40 hours) if anyone wants to follow me on the UTMB website mobile phone text update service. The weather is forecast to be 23C on Saturday, much better than 29C so touch wood it looks good.
Here we go! Waaahooo!
Monday 17 August 2009
A debate about competitiveness and ultra running
I'm glad to see that John Kynaston has taken my comment on his blog in the spirit with which it was meant, and that some interesting debate has taken place since then. John had posted some reflections on his blog about feeling negative during races when he became aware he was behind particular people. I commented this in response:
To be honest, I think you are too competitive John. Although you are chasing times I think you partly measure yourself in terms of whether you beat other folk or not. This is evidenced by the negative thoughts you have when you find out where you are in relation to others.
Run the race to enjoy yourself. If the only way you can truly enjoy or motivate yourself is by knowing that you have beaten other folk I'd take some time to reflect on why you are ultra running in the first place. I mean this with all due respect and with constructive intent.
To my mind there should be joy simply in the process and what you as an individual (without reference to others) achieve at the end.
A variety of responses (here and here) debating the merits of competition in training and racing have appeared in the following posts from John creating quite a good debate. I've nothing extra to add to the debate just now except my last comment, which provides a summary of my views on competition:
Thanks for taking my comment in the spirit with which it was intended. I prefer open honesty as a basic strategy in life.
I think you are making the right decision to back off from organising group runs. You have very specific goals and are training for them. I think this kind of training is best done on one's own, or with someone with very similar goals. Not in a wider social grouping, where the banter and company should be more important than the time.
As for competition I agree with various commenters that it is omnipresent and useful. I fully appreciate and indeed indulge in the use of competition during a race between the person in front of or chasing me. It is an excellent way to motivate one to perform during a race. However beyond a race I do not seek to define myself in terms of beating or being better than others. I feel this side of competition is negative and potentially quite corrupting.
I'm not casting aspersions here (honest guv, I'd say if I was), just articulating my views on competition, which I recognise as something of double edged sword. All the best with your training.
I'd welcome any views on my views if they are more appropriate to post here rather than John's blog where the main debate lies.
Back to blogging about preparation for the UTMB next ...
To be honest, I think you are too competitive John. Although you are chasing times I think you partly measure yourself in terms of whether you beat other folk or not. This is evidenced by the negative thoughts you have when you find out where you are in relation to others.
Run the race to enjoy yourself. If the only way you can truly enjoy or motivate yourself is by knowing that you have beaten other folk I'd take some time to reflect on why you are ultra running in the first place. I mean this with all due respect and with constructive intent.
To my mind there should be joy simply in the process and what you as an individual (without reference to others) achieve at the end.
A variety of responses (here and here) debating the merits of competition in training and racing have appeared in the following posts from John creating quite a good debate. I've nothing extra to add to the debate just now except my last comment, which provides a summary of my views on competition:
Thanks for taking my comment in the spirit with which it was intended. I prefer open honesty as a basic strategy in life.
I think you are making the right decision to back off from organising group runs. You have very specific goals and are training for them. I think this kind of training is best done on one's own, or with someone with very similar goals. Not in a wider social grouping, where the banter and company should be more important than the time.
As for competition I agree with various commenters that it is omnipresent and useful. I fully appreciate and indeed indulge in the use of competition during a race between the person in front of or chasing me. It is an excellent way to motivate one to perform during a race. However beyond a race I do not seek to define myself in terms of beating or being better than others. I feel this side of competition is negative and potentially quite corrupting.
I'm not casting aspersions here (honest guv, I'd say if I was), just articulating my views on competition, which I recognise as something of double edged sword. All the best with your training.
I'd welcome any views on my views if they are more appropriate to post here rather than John's blog where the main debate lies.
Back to blogging about preparation for the UTMB next ...
Thursday 30 July 2009
Rather rubbish run
Sometimes the world conspires against you when you try to train. It was rainy yesterday as I headed out for a 7 mile hilly trail run. Not a problem. However it all went downhill from there.
It took so long to get my Garmin linked to satellites I was about to head off without the damned device (after all its the run that matters) when it decided to play ball. OK I thought and headed off strong. It lost signal twice and on the second time it took about half a mile to regain signal by which time there was little point recording the run.
Then my shoes began to progressively loosen as a I ran up one of the bigger hills on the route. Odd I thought they are becoming very loose. I am used to Salomons loosening a bit on the uphill as they have a fancy tightening system that doesn't work 100% (much better with normal laces I reckon than gimmicky tighteners) but this was getting ridiculous. I stopped at the top, shoe almost flapping to see the supposedly unbreakable lace had snapped. Aagh, no way to tighten the shoe (another feature of gimmicky tightening devices) so I had to walk back to the car.
The rain then decided to turn monsoonal. I sighed slightly and tramped on like a drowned rat, shoe flapping from one foot.
It took so long to get my Garmin linked to satellites I was about to head off without the damned device (after all its the run that matters) when it decided to play ball. OK I thought and headed off strong. It lost signal twice and on the second time it took about half a mile to regain signal by which time there was little point recording the run.
Then my shoes began to progressively loosen as a I ran up one of the bigger hills on the route. Odd I thought they are becoming very loose. I am used to Salomons loosening a bit on the uphill as they have a fancy tightening system that doesn't work 100% (much better with normal laces I reckon than gimmicky tighteners) but this was getting ridiculous. I stopped at the top, shoe almost flapping to see the supposedly unbreakable lace had snapped. Aagh, no way to tighten the shoe (another feature of gimmicky tightening devices) so I had to walk back to the car.
The rain then decided to turn monsoonal. I sighed slightly and tramped on like a drowned rat, shoe flapping from one foot.
Wednesday 29 July 2009
Bobby Gee weekender
Distance: 30.14 miles
Time: 12hrs 45 mins
Ascent: +/- 11,500'
Fun: lots
Weather: great
Beer: some - Coniston Bitter, Jennings Bitter, some other bitter I can't remember the name of
Breakfast: full English complete with fried bread mmmm
The Bobby Gee (term nicked from the erstwhile Mr. Cunningham) or Bob Graham Round as it more formally called is a ~70 mile, 28,000' ascent long distance fell running challenge that is well described by Richard Askwith in his book 'Feet in the Clouds'. It is perhaps the classic long distance fell run in England and must be completed within 24 hours, at any point in the year you so desire. Attempts must be registered and completion is recorded on an honesty basis as attempts are usually solitary and not under typical race conditions. This is a challenge about yourself and the fell, not beating the man in front.
The Bobby Gee has been on my target for some time now and I have a sort of loose agreement with Jon Steele to give it a bash next year so this weekend just past was an opportunity to recce the route and to get some quality time on hills, serious ascent training for the UTMB. Unfortunatly Jon's son James was seriously injured so he couldn't make it (best wishes for a speedy recovery James) but I met up with two other dafties, Davie Bell (also doing UTMB) and John Millen (done the Fling in a cracking time, about to do the Devils and planning on WHWR next year) to do the route over 2 days.
Well having done it I can safely say I need more time to train on the rough ground of the fell and to recce the route to figure out the best lines where no path exists, or even where a path exists. Going from Steel Fell to Calf Raise then on to Sergeant Man was a prime example of rough ground that we took a while to get across in a definitely less than optimal line. I also need to make sure I fill up water bottles whenever I can. We made the school boy error of running out of water (all 3 of us simultaneously) just after Clough Head and so had to cope with beaming sun, sweating inclines and no water for miles until we reached the streams just above Dunmail Raise. If only we'd filled up at the base of Blencathra ...
At the top of Blencathra figuring out where to go next (Skiddaw and Great Calva behind)
Section 1 - Keswick to Threkeld
Anway we managed some sleep despite the snores emanating from the tent of Mr. Bell and set off at 7am on Saturday morning, planning to run to Langdale and sleep over in the Stickle Inn Bunkhouse. There were a few early morning clouds around but basically a fine fell running day. The path out of Keswick rose gradually towards the Skiddaw car park then became steeper as it headed up Skiddaw proper. This was my first long use of the poles which I'll use in the UTMB and they work a treat, really helping to ease the stress of climbing on the legs. I found them less useful going downhill at speed or over very tricky steep rocky ground when they took too much attention to place properly, but they were just as useful when going downhill at moderate to slow speed over moderate to easy ground.
We head through cloud to the top of Skiddaw (brrr chilly) then down the other side before heading off over rough and boggy ground down and back up to Great Calva. Quick stop then off down the rough heather clad slopes to the river crossing before slogging up the grassy slopes of Mungrisdale Common. Banter was good and we were beginning to generate a fair amount of wind between us, something that would continue to gather pace as we proceeded. Over the boggy top then up the ridge to Blencathra summit where we bumped into a 25 mile walking event. I said we weren't part of it before we learned they were serving beer to the competitors. Doh. We literally went straight down the steep, rocky and scrambly Halls Fell Ridge to end up in Threlkeld where we failed to find a shop that could quench our thirst for a nice cold coke. The thought of nice cold cokes stayed with us for the next 7 odd hours till we reached Langdale but aaaah how nice did one taste.
Section 2 - Threlkeld to Dunmail Raise
John and myself at the top of Clough Head with a glorious view
We definitely didn't take the best line from Threlkeld to the summit of Clough Head and ended up slogging through thigh and waist high sedge for about a mile before breaking through to shorter grass. We then all pretty much simultaneously ran out of water after Calfhow Pike nd got progessively more and more dehydrated as we jogged and power hiked our way south along the ridge across the Dodds to Helvellyn and beyond. We really started farting like troopers on this section which may have been related to the lack of water, who knows. The sounds and bracing smells that regailed our senses were quite something. Fart comfortable with each other for sure.
Davie and John heading up the slopes of Great Dodd
We took the strategic decision to miss a few tops and instead contour around the ridge in the interests of finding water more quickly which we eventually did, on the slopes between Nethermost Pike and Dollywagon Pike. Aaah it tasted like nectar. The ground immediately afterwards proved comical with lots of potholes and Davie doing a face plant as he went down one with one leg, unable to let go of his poles on the way down.
John and myself on the steepish descent down to Dunmail Raise (glorious day)
Section 3 - Dunmail Raise to Langdale
The climb straight up Steel Fell was pretty savage with an intermittently defined path dotted with PB stud marks (someone must have been doing the Round proper) but the views at the top ample reward. This section doesn't look far on the map and we could see the Langdale Pikes tantalisingly close but the ground was rough, bumpy and boggy with little in the way of clear paths. I ended up knee deep in muck and we continued farting our way towards the end point which we reached with a steep but pleasant descent from Stickle Tarn to the bunkhouse.
Davie and John just beyond the top of Steel Fell (Skiddaw and Blencathra in far back)
The bunkhouse and day 2
We went straight to the pub for our long desired cold cokes and ordered food right away. A 1/2lb cheeseburger and chips went down a treat for me accompanied by some good lakeland bitter after a shower and freshen up.
We slept in the next day having read the forecast for persistent rain and gusts up to 65mph on the tops (a reminder of the 2008 OMM) and waking up briefly at 6am to confirm the state of play. So day 2 a write off we ate some well earned full englishes then packed up our gear, said goodbye and headed home with some unfinished business to do.
How do I feel about the UTMB after the outing? Bring it on. The poles worked a treat and I'm looking forward to the main event now. Just a few more hill reps to go ... :-)
Time: 12hrs 45 mins
Ascent: +/- 11,500'
Fun: lots
Weather: great
Beer: some - Coniston Bitter, Jennings Bitter, some other bitter I can't remember the name of
Breakfast: full English complete with fried bread mmmm
The Bobby Gee (term nicked from the erstwhile Mr. Cunningham) or Bob Graham Round as it more formally called is a ~70 mile, 28,000' ascent long distance fell running challenge that is well described by Richard Askwith in his book 'Feet in the Clouds'. It is perhaps the classic long distance fell run in England and must be completed within 24 hours, at any point in the year you so desire. Attempts must be registered and completion is recorded on an honesty basis as attempts are usually solitary and not under typical race conditions. This is a challenge about yourself and the fell, not beating the man in front.
The Bobby Gee has been on my target for some time now and I have a sort of loose agreement with Jon Steele to give it a bash next year so this weekend just past was an opportunity to recce the route and to get some quality time on hills, serious ascent training for the UTMB. Unfortunatly Jon's son James was seriously injured so he couldn't make it (best wishes for a speedy recovery James) but I met up with two other dafties, Davie Bell (also doing UTMB) and John Millen (done the Fling in a cracking time, about to do the Devils and planning on WHWR next year) to do the route over 2 days.
Well having done it I can safely say I need more time to train on the rough ground of the fell and to recce the route to figure out the best lines where no path exists, or even where a path exists. Going from Steel Fell to Calf Raise then on to Sergeant Man was a prime example of rough ground that we took a while to get across in a definitely less than optimal line. I also need to make sure I fill up water bottles whenever I can. We made the school boy error of running out of water (all 3 of us simultaneously) just after Clough Head and so had to cope with beaming sun, sweating inclines and no water for miles until we reached the streams just above Dunmail Raise. If only we'd filled up at the base of Blencathra ...
At the top of Blencathra figuring out where to go next (Skiddaw and Great Calva behind)
Section 1 - Keswick to Threkeld
Anway we managed some sleep despite the snores emanating from the tent of Mr. Bell and set off at 7am on Saturday morning, planning to run to Langdale and sleep over in the Stickle Inn Bunkhouse. There were a few early morning clouds around but basically a fine fell running day. The path out of Keswick rose gradually towards the Skiddaw car park then became steeper as it headed up Skiddaw proper. This was my first long use of the poles which I'll use in the UTMB and they work a treat, really helping to ease the stress of climbing on the legs. I found them less useful going downhill at speed or over very tricky steep rocky ground when they took too much attention to place properly, but they were just as useful when going downhill at moderate to slow speed over moderate to easy ground.
We head through cloud to the top of Skiddaw (brrr chilly) then down the other side before heading off over rough and boggy ground down and back up to Great Calva. Quick stop then off down the rough heather clad slopes to the river crossing before slogging up the grassy slopes of Mungrisdale Common. Banter was good and we were beginning to generate a fair amount of wind between us, something that would continue to gather pace as we proceeded. Over the boggy top then up the ridge to Blencathra summit where we bumped into a 25 mile walking event. I said we weren't part of it before we learned they were serving beer to the competitors. Doh. We literally went straight down the steep, rocky and scrambly Halls Fell Ridge to end up in Threlkeld where we failed to find a shop that could quench our thirst for a nice cold coke. The thought of nice cold cokes stayed with us for the next 7 odd hours till we reached Langdale but aaaah how nice did one taste.
Section 2 - Threlkeld to Dunmail Raise
John and myself at the top of Clough Head with a glorious view
We definitely didn't take the best line from Threlkeld to the summit of Clough Head and ended up slogging through thigh and waist high sedge for about a mile before breaking through to shorter grass. We then all pretty much simultaneously ran out of water after Calfhow Pike nd got progessively more and more dehydrated as we jogged and power hiked our way south along the ridge across the Dodds to Helvellyn and beyond. We really started farting like troopers on this section which may have been related to the lack of water, who knows. The sounds and bracing smells that regailed our senses were quite something. Fart comfortable with each other for sure.
Davie and John heading up the slopes of Great Dodd
We took the strategic decision to miss a few tops and instead contour around the ridge in the interests of finding water more quickly which we eventually did, on the slopes between Nethermost Pike and Dollywagon Pike. Aaah it tasted like nectar. The ground immediately afterwards proved comical with lots of potholes and Davie doing a face plant as he went down one with one leg, unable to let go of his poles on the way down.
John and myself on the steepish descent down to Dunmail Raise (glorious day)
Section 3 - Dunmail Raise to Langdale
The climb straight up Steel Fell was pretty savage with an intermittently defined path dotted with PB stud marks (someone must have been doing the Round proper) but the views at the top ample reward. This section doesn't look far on the map and we could see the Langdale Pikes tantalisingly close but the ground was rough, bumpy and boggy with little in the way of clear paths. I ended up knee deep in muck and we continued farting our way towards the end point which we reached with a steep but pleasant descent from Stickle Tarn to the bunkhouse.
Davie and John just beyond the top of Steel Fell (Skiddaw and Blencathra in far back)
The bunkhouse and day 2
We went straight to the pub for our long desired cold cokes and ordered food right away. A 1/2lb cheeseburger and chips went down a treat for me accompanied by some good lakeland bitter after a shower and freshen up.
We slept in the next day having read the forecast for persistent rain and gusts up to 65mph on the tops (a reminder of the 2008 OMM) and waking up briefly at 6am to confirm the state of play. So day 2 a write off we ate some well earned full englishes then packed up our gear, said goodbye and headed home with some unfinished business to do.
How do I feel about the UTMB after the outing? Bring it on. The poles worked a treat and I'm looking forward to the main event now. Just a few more hill reps to go ... :-)
Tuesday 28 July 2009
Manny's Corbett run
Eating lunch with tender quads after the Bobby Gee weekend which I'll blog about later. During the run Davie Bell was talking about a lad called Manny doing an attempt on all the Corbetts (hills above 2500ft but below 3000ft in Scotland) in 70 days without motorised transport so I thought I'd follow the story up. He apparently completed his attempt on 8th July and you can read all about it here http://corbettrun.blogspot.com/.
Hat off to Manny. What an adventure!
Hat off to Manny. What an adventure!
Thursday 23 July 2009
Back from Oz and the loom of the UTMB
Back to reality on Tuesday at 6am in Heathrow after 3 weeks in Australia. The flights back from Oz were good enough, the space on the A380-800s much better than normal and the Singapore airlines service great. Our daughter managed a reasonable amount of sleep on the 13 hour second leg from Singapore to Heathrow after a sleepless but good humoured 7.5 hours from Brisbane to Singapore. Our sleep rhythms are surprisingly back to normal after making ourselves stay awake on Tuesday although my head is pretty woolly. What surprises me most is the fact that our baby daughter took basically no re-adjusting at all. When we went to Australia she woke up at 3am for 2 hours for the first 4 nights which wasn't very pleasant at all.
The 103 mile, 10,000m ascent UTMB race is now looming. Previously it was a relatively distant thing but now that I have the course maps, profile and handbook I am beginning to feel some trepidation. The course involves going up and down and up and down and up and you get the idea. Not so easy to train for in rural Buckinghamshire so I am heading north this weekend to do the 76 mile 28,000' ascent Bob Graham Round in the Lake District over 2 days with Davie Bell, Jon Steele and John Millen. A builder, an ex-paratrooper, a mortgage consultant and an academic to make up a right motley crew on the fells. Should be great fun.
Profile of UTMB (note elevation is in metres, not feet ... erk)
Tuesday 14 July 2009
Running in tropical Cairns
I've now been in the land down under for 2.5 weeks and am thoroughly enjoying myself. I've been based with my in-laws in Nerang on the edge of the Gold Coast Hinterland which is nice and hilly so I've been getting in some great UTMB focussed training. I caught a cold in the 2nd week which put paid to running but I enjoyed myself by drinking lots of beer and wine from the wineries in the granite belt which we were visiting (try the Felsberg Tawny Port if you can get it -mmmm). In fact drinking lots of beer has been a fairly constant theme of the trip but this was to be expected, being married to a Queenslander.
I am now on the bit of the trip which is paying for my flights - a work conference in tropical Cairns where the temperature is a notch higher at 28C, high considering it is mid-winter here! It is fairly humid too so running is hot and sweaty, but good UTMB heat training I figure.
There is a 330m rainforest covered hill, Mount Whitfield, 5km from my hotel that I have been running to and running up and down like a deranged sweaty Scots man. I've spotted one or two other locals also doing reps so I'm not being totally batty.
The stairs on the way up Mount Whitfield
I ran round the 'blue arrow' trail near dusk the other day and began to get the aaaagh spiders are out to get me jitters. Then began to think about snakes and violently territorial cassowaries before reigning myself in with a 'stop it you soft git and carry on regardless eeek what's that in the bushes come on man stiff upper lip'.
Off for a catamaran trip to the outer barrier reef for some snorkelling today under bright blue cloud free 27C skies as it is the 'social' day of the conference. Ah its a hard life. :-))))))
Monday 13 July 2009
A small remembrance for a good man, Dario Melaragni
I was shocked and saddened to learn today that Dario Melaragni had died on the top of Lochnagar from a suspected heart attack. My thoughts go to his wife and to those who tried to help him and were with him through the event.
I'll only say a little here for others knew him better and I shan't pretend to have done so. However he gave me not just one, but three shots at realising my ambition to run the West Highland Way Race. I failed on the first two but his action provided me with a measure of confidence and most importantly the opportunity. I succeeded on the third attempt and feel much bettered as a consequence.
Thank you Dario for organising the race and for providing people like me with the chance to realise their dreams and ambitions. Rest in peace.
I'll only say a little here for others knew him better and I shan't pretend to have done so. However he gave me not just one, but three shots at realising my ambition to run the West Highland Way Race. I failed on the first two but his action provided me with a measure of confidence and most importantly the opportunity. I succeeded on the third attempt and feel much bettered as a consequence.
Thank you Dario for organising the race and for providing people like me with the chance to realise their dreams and ambitions. Rest in peace.
Wednesday 24 June 2009
I've got Leki poles and I'm learning how to use them
I've got all my UTMB equipment in place except a fresh pair of sports pants (you probably don't want to know about my underwear preferences so I'll stop there). They include a pair of ultra light Leki Makalu carbon trekking / running poles as shown below (ooh gasp at their carbon construction and sleek appearance):
I've tried them out once, and despite feeling like a complete prat running repeatedly up and down a hill in rural Buckinghamshire I was very impressed. They cut 10 secs off a hill rep of 4:30 typical with the same effort. Well I never thought I.
Not sure I am using them correctly so any tips much appreciated - I have them at medium height (arms bent a right angles) and am using relatively short thrusts, about half as frequently as my footfalls.
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