A Fling with a Difference

Saturday morning, Milngavie; there is the sound of high-pitched beeping in the air.  I walk slowly from a courtyard of Portaloos, worried that this is a mistake.  The crowded car-park is now strangely deserted as 500 distinctly-clad ultrarunners have recently vacated it to begin a strange ritual migration to distant Tyndrum, some 53 miles to the north.  I move slowly through the darkness of the now empty underpass, trying not to do more than walk, but start to run slowly in spite of myself.  There is a beep as I pass over the starting mat and the journey begins.

Four Flings

So what made me change my strategy for this year’s Highland Fling, apart from the Tesco toilets not being open quite so early this year?  For my last few races, I’ve tried the other end of the spectrum, heading off fast and then gritting my teeth later on to keep moving as fast as possible: this has worked pretty well, but I needed to find that balance point: just what is the right pace to get the best result for the day?



For those in a hurry, I’ll cut to the chase.  For a PB time where I squeeze every possible second out of my race, starting at the front and running in a relaxed yet still pretty fast manner is the answer.  For me that means seven minute miles until Drymen, with a gradual fall-off over the more undulating and technical stuff later.  Maybe if I’d done this I’d have had a quicker time in the race.  But maybe not. Perhaps the pacing I followed was almost perfect for me on that day, but I just don’t realise it yet.  It’s all part of the game we play.

Here’s my reasoning for a slower start for the 2013 Fling:

·    Four weeks earlier I’d beaten myself up at the Perth 100k.  Flat, tarmac and 42 laps.  Not my cup of tea.  But I’d wanted to have a go at something different and had convinced myself that it would be good psychological training.  It’s the only ultra I’ve raced where I’ve ended up clear in my mind that it’s not my idea of fun.  I had a happy 50k in 4 hours and then an horrific time for the second half, struggling to run properly and wondering what damage I’d done to myself – but I had toughed it out to the bitter end;

·   Ten days after that I’d had my ever DNF with a sprained ankle during a hill race.  A nasty experience that didn’t do much for my confidence and meant a week of zero running before careful steps to recovery afterwards;

·   Compared to a year earlier I’m maybe half a stone heavier, at 13½ stone and 20% body fat (yeah, really!).  If someone knows how I can run fast ultras with numbers like those, please let me know.  I do subscribe to some study that once found that each pound of excess weight equated to about two seconds per mile difference in pace.  That’s just over twelve minutes for me compared to last year if you were wondering.  Oh, and this year’s route was 0.4 miles longer, so that’s almost four minutes extra at my expected pace for that section.

·   Longest training run of 2013 so far was 20 miles; no back-to-backs managed.  That doesn’t look too good does it?

So my confidence wasn’t high going into the race and I had given some serious thought to the DNF situation on account of the ankle.  Once that sort of thing happens to you once, you start to appreciate being able to finish a race that little bit more than you used to.  I was genuinely worried that I might not make it to Tyndrum today.

Back to Saturday morning and the butterflies in the stomach excitement that I still felt for this race, undiminished by the previous times I had run it.  With hindsight, I’ll admit that starting at the back was a mistake.  Admittedly, half of the field went off too fast, but I should have started halfway down the field so as to avoid the crowding and congestion of the first mile.  If I went past you during that mile I do apologise: I’m wondering how many runners watched me head past and thought I was some rookie making a huge mistake by going too fast too soon.

Even so, that first mile passed in a little over nine minutes and I did enjoy the chance to speak to so many friends and wish them well for the day, adding that I was trying an alternative pacing strategy when they raised their eyebrows in surprise that I wasn’t up at the front, where the Ferraris were speeding away.  After three miles of this, there were some gaps in the field and I soon found myself running with Bob Steel, Ross Lawrie and Norry Mcneill for the fabulous Dumgoyne downhill section.  The views were stunning and there was a tangible excitement about what lay ahead.  I was careful with the pace since I wanted to preserve my legs for when it really mattered – it’s all too easy to fly down this bit and cause early damage to the quads.

Once we hit the flat section of the old railway line, I pushed on and ran as relaxed as I could manage past the Beech Tree Inn and all those gates.  Memories include encouraging words (as ever) from Adrian Stott, chatting to a minimalist-shoe, ultra-bearded-dude from Bolton, pushing a little to catch up with two groups of 4 and 5 runners in front in order to make the gate opening a bit easier, but as I caught up, three of them has a simultaneous ‘just watching the view’ stop and I ended up just going past the others – did they slow or did I not?  So I found myself on my own for the first mile on the road to Drymen, one of the few parts of the day without company.

A mile before Drymen, I was met by Marinos who had agreed to come out for the day and throw food and water at me.  I’d made up drop bags anyway, but had given them to him so he could hand me things on the move at each checkpoint rather than add to the huge number of drop-bags the marshals had to organise. M had been a bit worried about whether things were going wrong for me, but seemed pleased when I told him everything was just fine and I was taking it easy today.  He also told me I was in 42^nd place which surprised me since I hadn’t thought I’d passed quite so many runners.  In any case, that sort of thing is pretty irrelevant so early in the race.

 

Heading out of Drymen, after 13 miles (photo: tzruns.com)



And so to Drymen, with an extra detour to the right around the evil bog in that field just before the checkpoint – it claimed a few victims on Saturday – over the road, bleep over the mat and then the diversion through the village.  Impressive support indeed, and I was fresh enough to appreciate it.  Heading up the hill I finished my banana and fell in with Jude Boulton and Matt Moroz, who proved to be great company for many miles.

Fast-forward through the woods, the amazing views over Loch Lomond and the great new path over Conic Hill.  Again, my focus was to run relaxed and not push at all.  Sometimes we walked the steep bits, mostly we ran and I tried to not worry about times and just enjoy the day.  As we climbed Conic Hill I looked at the runners spread out ahead and could already see who had gone off too fast and who looked comfortable with their pace – there was quite a mixture.  The piper at the high point was brilliant (thank you, whoever you were) and the descent was much easier than previously, with careful, light steps all the way down.  M had wanted to climb to the top of the hill (he’s a hill runner by trade) and gave a report about the leaders coming through.



Balmaha ahead - with Marinos (photo: Ronnie Cairns)

Balmaha had the same awesome buzz as ever, since everyone goes there.  A three minute pit-stop at the toilets was not as fast as the red-bull team manage these days, but was essential.  It also meant that at the end of Balmaha I came across Matt swapping notes about the imminent 24-hour World Championships with Antonia who was directing runners up Craigie Fort (no sneaking around the bottom and missing the view). This was a great stroke of luck since it meant we ran together all the way to Rowardennan – thanks for the company Matt.  He was stopping there since this was a short training run for him, what with a GB vest to carry at the World Champs in Holland in a fortnight.

The Balmaha to Rowardennan section really isn’t very flat is it?  But it certainly was beautiful.  My aim was still to keep things moving steadily but not overcooking the pace, and I was targeting the long climb up from the University Research Centre at 25 miles as a place to not run too much (as I had last year).  The chip-timing mat was 0.2 miles early this year – wisely placed so as not to miss runners who might take varying routes through the Rowardennan car-park – but the earlier detour meant that it was 0.2 miles of extra running into the race.  So a direct comparison of split times with previous years should be taken with a pinch of salt.

Floating through Rowardenan after 27 miles (photo: tzruns.com)



Speaking of which, I was now 13 minutes slower than last year (hey, only 30 seconds a mile) but feeling good because of this easier pace.  Well, not perfect – since I ended up walking a bit next to the Youth Hostel as I finished off a pot of custard and said goodbye to M as he headed off for the long drive round Loch Lomond.  I had told him that I reckoned my finish time was now in the 8:50 to 9:30 region, depending on how things went.  There’s always a real sense of entering the next chapter of the race here, of leaving behind the excited hustle and bustle of friendly marshals, relay runners and supporters and heading off into the wilds for a LONG journey up the wild side of the loch.

As I reached the start of the long, long uphill climb, a relay runner came flying by.  Or maybe not – it was Ryan Mackenzie who was putting on a burst of speed.  We ran together for a bit and although my steady running proved a little faster than his walking uphill, he vanished on the later downhill and ended up finishing in a great time of 8:54.

Towards the top of the climb I ran with Gerry Craig who not only claimed Scottish Championship medals at the Perth 50k four weeks earlier, but had run an impressive 2:51 just six days earlier at some other race in London – inevitably he was starting to feel this in his legs.  I pushed on and ended up with Fraser Scott, who had generously handed me 4^th place at last Octobers’ Jedburgh 38 mile mud-bath race by virtue of getting lost near the end of the race.  I couldn’t hang onto him on the downhill either and he had a blinder along the lochside to finish in 8:46.  We also ran with Tracy Dean, who was suffering badly with a leg injury, yet still able to move forwards with an impressive turn of speed.  She had a great Inversnaid moment where she never broke stride at the check-point and just grabbed a bag from her support crew, who had driven all the way round to meet her: by such margins are UK Championship races won or lost.

Beyond Inversnaid it was time to push, although my three 15 minute miles that followed seemed to drag on a bit.  I do like this section and certainly had the legs to move over the terrain. I’d have liked to be able to push a little harder here, like Dave Troman who came steaming past towards the end of the section, but the limited training mileage meant that there were signs of fatigue in my legs and the wriggling maggots of cramp threatening just below the surface.  Eventually the top of the loch was reached, which always seems to happen twice – once when the technical section finishes and there’s a lovely bit of flat grass, and then again just after Doune bothy.  I know what’s going on really, but the sense of relief at finishing the tricky section fools my brain into thinking that Beinglas is closer than it really is.  Much of this was run with Kevin du Plessis until I paused behind a rock for a minute (to “enjoy the view”), and it took me until Dario’s post to catch up with him and Tracy.



Beinglas Check-point and still feeling good, 41 miles (photo: John Pickard)



Is it me, or do the mile or two to Beinglas always take longer than anticipated?  I felt good and was running comfortably still.  M had come back down the trail here and was a very welcome sight, so I didn’t have to stop at all at the checkpoint, but did take a walk break just afterwards on the climb so I could eat another pot of custard which, along with a few gels later on, I hoped would get me to the end.  It didn’t, but more on that later.

I felt so much better on the climb up Glen Falloch than during previous years.  However, I had come through the Beinglas checkpoint at 6:50 compared to 6:35 last year, so would need a massively improved final section for a PB this year.  Although I’m a natural optimist and was feeling good, I was also realistic about my chances of hitting 10 minute miles for the next two hours.  Still, no point in holding back now, might as well go for it.

M headed off to the car near the Falloch falls and I ran with Kevin until some way beyond Carmyle Cottage.  On the uphills I would drift away, but he would then reel me in.  I apologised at one point to say that I wasn’t trying to drop him or anything like that – I was simply running whenever I could – I hoped the target of running together was helping to spur him on.

Trying to catch a PB in Glen Falloch after 45 miles (photo: tzruns.com)

We closed on a runner ahead and at the last minute I realised that it was Peter Buchanan.  He asked me how I was and I gave an honest reply of feeling great – to which he gave a most appropriate response, indicating that he wasn’t quite 100%.  My arrival seemed to flick a switch in his head and he raced off with me on his heels, until the steep climb after the cattle creep and road tunnel where cramp slowed him down momentarily.

 

Time to Focus - race face on after 45 miles (photo: tzruns)



Again, unlike last year, my legs felt much stronger, in spite of those bullet points you read way back at the top of this tale.  I ran everything from here to the big gate, with Peter working hard to stay in touch and then push the pace even more towards the end.  We ran the whole of the section to the road crossing together and it was fantastic.  He had a little more running on the uphills, but I could just about keep up with some quick walking, and we seemed to fly the downhills of the roller-coaster – it was everything I could have hoped for. 

M had taken the car to Tyndrum and then headed back to the road crossing to meet up with us and was full of encouragement.  We rushed along the path next to the road at what seemed like a great pace, although it was only ten minute miles.  Alas, it wasn’t to last.  We crossed the bridge approaching Auchtertyre farm and somehow I just couldn’t stay with Peter – he eased ahead and my legs wouldn’t respond, even with a manual override from my brain telling me not to lose contact.  It wasn’t a disaster, but it was annoying not to be able to run together, which I’d expected we would do.

 

Having to dig deep and not appreciating the scenery at 50 miles (photo: Mary Hunter)



Now I was pushing hard, giving it 100%, trying everything I knew to keep on moving, but the legs weren’t having it.  The last three miles were slower than comparable times for my last two Flings and it was so frustrating.  The nine hour target had looked very achievable, but suddenly that was starting drift away and I just couldn’t get it back no matter how hard I tried. 

That final mile wasn’t good.  I struggled to run up that nasty incline at Dalrigh, and then had an intense spasm of cramp in my left quad over the final rough section.  And to add insult to injury, I was passed just before the woods by a relay runner from our club (great run – they came 6^th overall and took the 2^nd mixed team prize).  By now I knew that the sub-nine hours target was gone and eased off so I’d have something for the finish straight, which didn’t disappoint.

(photo: Thomas Leondorf)

Thank the pipers, turn the corner, reeeelaaxxxxxx into a bit of a sprint, soak up the atmosphere and hit the line, with a cheeky heel kick to finish (although I was relieved to land it without the cramp coming back).  That feeling of stopping running at the end of an ultra is a pretty unique thing and should always be savoured.



Hurdling the timing mat, but it still went beep (photo: Christine Myerscough)





 

The Eagle has landed (photo: Muriel Downie/HF Race)



Massage, soup, beer, shower, more soup, another beer, all mixed with lots of chat with the awesome ultra family at the finish line.  That atmosphere for the next five hours was as good as it gets.  As a side-note, I found out that I’d finished 24^th in a chip-time of 9:02:22 and the back-of-the-grid start had only put me two minutes behind the leaders from the starting gun.

And would I race it this way again? Starting so much slower than I might have?  Well, yes and no.  The slower start made the whole day a far more memorable experience, but my hopes of a faster time, 8:50 or 8:45 (or quicker) will only come if I have a bit more pace early on.  If everything goes well next year, maybe I’ll shoot for a lifetime best time, not have such an enjoyable race, but be over the moon with a faster time.  But only if all the other factors pull together and I’m ready for it.  As for my 2013 Fling, I see it as a much more mature race in terms of how I approached it – the scenery, terrain and people were much more of a focus this year and the memories I’m left with will stay with me for a very long time.

Scottish Athletics Bling with Adrian Stott (photo: Muriel Downie/Highland Fling Race)

And for an unexpected bonus Adrian told me that I was in line for 3rd Veteran medal in the Scottish Athletics Ultra Trail Championships - which really put the icing on the cake, since it was quite unexpected.  I'll take that over being a few minutes quicker any day. 

I couldn’t really finish this without a wee roll-call for so many people who made the race happen, but to save you time, I’ll wrap it up quickly, since you’ve spent a while reading this far down and probably have something else you should be doing right now.  Hats off to John Duncan for making the race so totally epic.  There were just so many detailed touches in the organisation of the day that I could write a couple of pages on that alone.  The team of 80 marshals were fantastic. Marinos was an inspirational support: thanks for agreeing to come along again and thanks so much for not crashing my car this year.  That was a real bonus.

When do entries open for 2014?

RAW SUMS in AYR

River Ayr Way Ultra - September 2012

 

That title is a cryptic anagram. Bonus marks for solving it before the end of this blog

How quickly a week sails by. Actually, it's beena fortnight since I ran the River Ayr Way Challenge - 40 and a bit miles of trails and XC, with dollops of mud thrown in for good measure, dozens and dozens of those kissing gates (I stopped counting after four miles) and more ups and downs than you would think are possible for a path that is meant to 'follow' a river.

And so many steps all over the place too. Still, it's a great race, and the course is good too, being a source to sea sort of route, so there's plenty of variety.

The race went really well in many ways. Since running the West Highland Way Race back in June my legs have taken over two months to get back to normal. I was warned about this taking some time and to all those wise people who said it would take time, I say, "yes, you were completely right". Admittedly, I did run a couple of ultras in July and August (40 and 37 miles) but wasn't able to go as well as I might have hoped (Hey idiot! What do you expect after running 95 miles!)
 

Gavin and me check for a pulse

 

Back to Ayrshire, the weekend before last. I was lucky enough to have been offered a lift to the race by a clubmate, and since her husband was driving, that meant we could go direct to the start of the race instead of getting up at 5am (as I did last year) and going to the end of the race in Ayr and getting a coach back to the start. Lots of the usual chatting and meeting friends - the Scottish ultra community is great for its friendliness - and then a wander down to the race start.

After all the waiting, it's always good to get moving

 

With a couple of seriously fast runners (Marco and Gareth) on the start list not starting the race, I reckoned there were three or four others (that I knew of) who would be at the sharp end of the race. I had no real plan, which meant I had convinced myself that it would be fine to run at a 'relaxed and comfortable' pace for the first third (a half-marathon), then try to push on at a steady pace for the middle HM, and then see what was left for the final HM (and a bit).

100m into the race and enjoying the downhill start

 

The result of this careful planning was that I sprinted off from the rest of the field during the first half mile, with Robert Soutar for company. Nothing wrong with a seven minute mile at the start of a 40 mile trail race is there? Or for the first ten miles?

 

Robert tries hiding behind a signpost, but it doesn't work

But it all felt very comfortable and I was enjoying myself, so I just went along and enjoyed it. After 4.5 miles Robert pushed the pace and since I reckoned that 6.5 min/miles really was beyond that 'comfortable' zone for me, I didn't try to stick with him.

Ayrshire - land of strimmered grass

Along I trundled and was suddenly caught up after 16 miles by Craig Reid, the only other runner who had stayed close to us at the start. We ran together for over a mile before he sped up to chase down first place. It was all very amiable, we were just running our own strategies. In my head I was now settled in for third place and waiting for Gavin Harvie to overtake me (and he runs a 2:44 marathon, so I was fully expecting that to happen pretty soon).

 

Running with Craig through SORN, the village where the none of the cars have tax-discs

Having run the race a year ago was a huge advantage. not just in terms of navigation, but just knowing where the climbs and descents were going to be, and what the terrain would be like ahead.

At 25 miles, everything changed.

I rounded a corner in a wooded section and there were the two leaders, heading up a steep climb (there were steps, so that means it was pretty steep in my book). I was feeling good, so bounced up towards them and saw that they were both going much slower than I'd have expected. Of course they were - I'd not have seen them until the end otherwise.

So I headed past them, with a bit of a wee surge if the truth be told, 'cos that's what you do in this sort of situation, and shot past without a backward glance. I never looked behind for the next two miles. And only then because the route headed off up a steep muddy field, filled with cows, ankle deep mud (and other stuff, just ask the cows), to see them maybe 3 minutes below me as I ran the entire way up that hill, before pushing hard down the (steep) downhill side to make sure I stayed ahead.

Really, I didn't take this position seriously. I was quite sure that I had simply 'borrowed' the lead of the race for a wee while before someone would tap me on the shoulder and ask for it back. But I was still feeling good (yes, even beyond 30 miles), and still able to run properly. Actually running 'properly' was a big, big race focus for me. I had been thinking about 'being in the moment' and keeping good running form for much of the race - inspired by Stuart Mills' blogs - http://ultrastu.blogspot.co.uk/2011/10/beachy-head-marathon-illustration-of.html and http://ultrastu.blogspot.co.uk/2011/08/training-for-ultras-whats-it-all-about.html will keep you reading for hours and hours if that's your cup of tea.
 

Mile 35 and it's all feeling good.

 

"Mum, why's that man covered in mud...?"

And it worked. Despite running for the rest of the race looking back along all the long straights for the 'thin and fast' chasing runners to come bearing down on me at top speed, that just didn't happen. Maybe me running quite fast played a factor in that, but my brain wouldn't accept that the race win would be mine until crossing over the final bridge in the centre of Ayr, where I could see that no-one was within three minutes of me along the river bank, with only a half mile to go.

Blimey, this really was going to happen! I dodged past the Saturday shoppers, looked for a gap between the traffic before just lifting my hand firmly to an oncoming car at the final road crossing (and it worked too - in that it didn't run me over - there must have been a pretty determined look on my face) and then relaxed to enjoy the final section to the finish, where there was enough space so that no more weekend shoppers had to be dodged around.
 

The finishing straight, after dodging the shoppers in Ayr

 

Almost there.

 

Milking the moment.

 

Still milking it

 

Phew. And breathe.

 I waited for a few minutes as what had happened did its best to sink in (and failed) before realising that my kit-bag wasn't at the finish since I'd left it in my clubmate's car. Not wanting to get too cold, I went for a wee run (!) It was partly an aesthetic thing in that I quite wanted to complete the RAW to the very end of the river, which meant down to the beach and to the end of the pier, and also because I wanted a moment to let things soak in. I also texted MikeR, since he had asked me to his wedding that day and after a bit of serious thinking, I had declined for a bunch of (family) reasons. But I had wanted to wish him well and let him know the news.

A couple of miles out to the end of the pier and then back to the finish and I found that the second and third placed runners had come in. Despite my fears of being caught, there were over 17 minutes back to second place. Wow. I wondered what would have been the effect of knowing that if someone had told me during the last five miles. Would I have slowed down a bit? Probably not - I think I would have been in denial and just got on with running.

If you'd like some numbers, the time was just under 5 hours 35 minutes, with HM splits of 1:40 (much easier flatter terrain), 1:50 and 1:55 (plus an extra 10 minutes for the final mile and a bit). The terrain and ups and downs make it tricky to compare those times to flat tarmac races.

With Richard Cronin, whose race blog is like poetry.  You should read it.

So there it was, my first race win - never saw that coming - I'd been hoping for 4th or 5th, but just had a race where it all went well. Actually, that's not quite true. Halfway through I had a stabbing pain on the inside of my lower right leg during a long and steep downhill section, which echoed a tendon issue that I'd had back in August. That alone could have ended my race. I had cramp problems, which included a couple of painful episodes which stopped me for a moment each time, but walking, then running seemed to get rid of. My drop-bag at mile 11 simply wasn't there (I think the crate of drop bags was still in someone's car - maybe what you get for arriving too early) but I luckily had enough spare stuff to keep me going. On four or five occasions, the water at the checkpoints was in six large bottles, tightly bound with plastic - and I repeatedly had to rip these open and then struggle to open a bottle in order to glug the water into my drinks bottle.

As for some other numbers and stats and such like, since I know some people like this sort of things, here's a picture of how this year's race went compared to last year.  Not an entirly fair comparison since this year the route was a mile longer with *that* muddy/boggy/hilly diversion, which counts for well over a mile of extra racing.



Spiky race-graph thing, inspired by Stu Mills and Thomas Loendorf

 

So nothing is ever perfect, but today was pretty close to it, and worth all the more since it was genuinely unexpected. As an added bonus, this secured me 3rd pace in the Scottish Ultramarathon Series for 2012, and first Male Vet to boot - Link (roll over me to see where I go) - which is a bit bloody good and something that I'm pretty pleased with. Don't take this the wrong way, there are many other runners in Scotland who are way, way better than me at this sort of thing. But they didn't target the race series, or had DNFs, or ran with a Scotland vest at other races. I've been told it's the classic "in it to win it" thing.



Wow, well worth the effort.

SUMS prize (with thanks to John Duncan for making this happen)


It turns out that I ran 7 of the 9 SUMS races this year, which was more than anyone else, along with Jonathan Mackintosh - and only a couple of folks ran even 6 of them. Maybe that's why I kept feeling tired then.

In the evening, the SUMS prizes were presented.  I'd known that I was in with a shout of something this year.  Again, it all depended on who else turned up for the RAW - anything from 3rd to 6th could have been up to grabs.  I'd never really contemplated that I might actually hang to third place.  There was a bit of a dilemma when it turned out that there were lots of shiny prizes, which Tim Downie and John Duncan had magically produced, and since I was offered a choice of a wee glass for third place or a nice, shiny decanter for first Male Vet, I obviously went for the what would look best on the mantelpiece at home.  All presentations starred the lovely Lee MacLean.
 

SUMS 3rd place - 1st MV

 

And tonight's raffle winner is...

And as if this wasn't enough, my clubmate Judith had finished off her season with another great run to finish in 3rd place on the day, 3rd place in the SUMS championship, and 1st FSV - for which she got a shiny decanter too.  Not bad for a club called Kinross Road Runners, which has a good hill-running section too these days. 

Kinross Road Runners' Judith Dobson takes 1st FSV (and 3rd overall)

  

So what next? Where do I take things from here? Now that's BIG and difficult question, with lots and lots of answers. Once I have some sort of idea, I'll let you know.

P.S. I lied about the anagram, but well done if you got "u rainy swarms" which describes the Scottish summer for 2012.

Speyside Way Ultra 2012

Rain, Pain and Ben Aigan

 

Speyside Way Ultramarathon - 25^th August 2012

 

I’m sitting with a group of runners in the school hall in the town of Buckie, up in the North East of Scotland.  We’ve all just run 36.5 miles along the Speyside Way, a race that involved a lot of ankle deep splashing along trails, with a hill of almost 1,000 feet thrown in for good measure.  We all look a bit tired, but at least I’ve managed to get a shower and something to eat.

 

“Did you see those guys at the start?” asks one of the other runners.  “They just sprinted off like gazelles and disappeared out of sight as soon as the race begun.” I like the imagery of gazelles, although I’m not convinced it’s completely right on this occasion. I raise my hand a little and give a guilty sort of nod. “Hmm, yeah.  That was me.  I needed to warm up at the start…”

 

I’ve led a race before, but never beyond about 100 metres at the very most.  But this time I was feeling like enjoying myself so just let the legs go and ended up leading until over 12 miles into the race.  It was fun. Then we reached the long, long climb up the hill.

 

Rewind back a couple of months to the hardest race I’ve yet done.  The West Highland Way Race was the main goal for me in 2012.  It was epic.  Maybe it didn’t quite go according to plan, when I couldn’t manage more than a walk after 50 miles, but I picked it up later and finished in a decent enough time. And was soon thinking about recovery until my ankles swelled up for a week, not helped by the fact that I was straight back at work for the following week (no choice there) so that didn’t help.  And the following week I managed to run just 7 miles, so it was going to take a while.  Since I’d got used to heading out for a five mile (slow) run the day after any of my previous ultras, this was bad news.

 

Others had told me that I should expect a good three months to get back to how I felt before the race – that’s quite a while for post-race recovery.  I didn’t want to be twiddling my thumbs for that long so had entered the Cyldestride 40 just four weeks afterwards, not expecting to be racing at top speed, but just wanting something else in the diary to work towards.  After a couple of weeks of recovery I was having to think about tapering already and started worrying about a lack of training miles.

 

The Clydestride turned out to be great fun – 40 miles of exploring trails that were new to me (and the centre of Glasgow).  My legs did feel deeply tired though and I felt bad around miles 22 to 27, but things picked up towards the end and I picked up a few places to finish in 5:42 and 7^th place.  I was more than happy with that, all things considered.

 

That was followed by three weeks of travelling with a car-full of kids and suitcases, covering a big triangle down the East side of England, followed by a week and a half in Devon.  Last year on holiday I did the typical running ‘Dad’ thing and set the alarm for 6am each morning to get out for 1½ to 2 hours before everyone else was up.  This year was completely different, since trying some new shoes while in Yorkshire left me having to walk the final half a mile of that run back to the in-laws’, something that’s never happened to me before.  I ended up deciding it was plantaris tendonitis and the stabbing pain down the inside of my lower leg, coupled with a bit of swelling around the ankle fitted with a self-diagnosis via Google.  The only cure seemed to be to not run for a while.

 

That was bad news, but I guess it could have been worse.  Instead of building up some really good mileage and getting race fit again, I ended having a summer off-season with next to no running at all.  Added to that, all the friends and family we were visiting, combined with holiday eating and drinking meant I quickly put on half a stone (and a bit more) and I had been more hippo than gazelle to begin with anyway. 

 

So I stood in the pouring rain in Ballindalloch on Saturday 25^th August, just before 9am, with very well rested legs.  Just 48 miles of running in all of August had followed after tearing (?) my calf muscle at the end of the previous week, so I’d had another week with no miles in my legs at all.  The reasonable and calculated thing to do here would be to react and adapt to the circumstances, to have a sensible plan like starting the race gently and seeing how the legs would cope.




Rain, rain and more rain

 

But that would hardly be much fun would it?

 

The rain wasn’t the light showers that had been promised.  It maybe wasn’t quite the apocalyptic conditions of two months earlier, but it was hammering down, and I was questioning my decision to just wear my club vest and a very thin jacket, which has almost zero waterproofness.  The emergency buff was called into play but I was still very cold and starting to shiver as I strained to hear the race briefing above the falling rain.




Splashing straight through the puddles as the race started

 

A short wander down to the nearby pond, which doubled as a disused railway line and in fact was the start line for the race, with RD Sarah simply saying, “ok, off you go” and we started moving.  I was now feeling cold, wanting to move, so I went off at a good pace, with not much of a plan apart from getting myself warmed up.  Being right at the front was actually a big help in deciding which puddles were best for splashing through.  Before long I was with (doc) Andrew Murray and Donnie Campbell and we chatted away, catching up on how things had been since we’d last seen each other on training runs and races. 

 

It’s said that being able to hold a steady conversation is a good way to regulate your speed, but we still averaged seven minute miles to the first check point.  Gareth Mayze soon joined the group and I ended up having a great time chatting to these guys, who I have so much respect for (all race winners in 2012) – thanks for your company (if you’re reading this), it was a pleasure running with you.

 

Having no real plan for any race strategy was probably a good thing.  I was just enjoying being in the moment, pushing the pace a bit, but never over-extending myself, and always being in control of the pace.  I’d looked at last year’s results and had felt that five hours was a pretty good target to aim for, partly because my friend Mike had run 5:01 last year and I reckoned it might annoy him a bit if I could be quicker.  But that averaged out at just over eight minute miles which felt pretty daunting. 

 

At one point as we ran passed the distinctive smell of distilleries I was running with Donnie at the front and he picked up the pace, but I was comfortable to go with him, not realising that he’d only sped up because he was about to head behind a tree for a wee break.  So I enjoyed a short time completely on my own before things came back together after we reached the car-park in Craggelachie, forcing the marshal from their car to hurriedly put her hi-vis vest on and direct us towards the riverside path.



Check point one at 12 miles and the rain is getting serious

 



Wading into the first checkpoint - Gareth tries to avoid getting splashed

I came into the first check point with Gareth and had to hunt for my drop-bag.  Found it, nope that was another identical one with the wrong number, then looked again and got the right one.  I grabbed it, unopened, and headed off with Jim Robertson helpfully directing my in the right direction, through the biggest “puddle” of the day.  Across the road bridge and starting to climb the hill before Ben Aigan – to find that I was all on my own again for a short while.  But it wasn’t long before Andrew caught up, with the true gazelles soon bringing the group back together and we ran four abreast for a while, sharing thoughts on the world.  Happy days.

 

I sorted the drop-bag on the run – a couple of gels stowed away, a cereal bar into another pocket.  Drink bottle into main pocket of the bumbag, and banana eaten last of all.  Then we hit the main climb and the group splintered.

 

I’d had Donnie and Gareth down as my picks for the top two places and, true to form, they headed up that hill at a blistering pace.  After the “comfortable” pace up to this point, there was no way I was going to try and climb the hill like that, so I “let them go” (!) with Andrew trying to stick with them, but with a gap opening up.  The race was on and I now had to think about getting to the end without the company of those early miles.

 

I’m used to climbing hills.  It’s what I did before getting into running, and it’s where I do much of my training.  But throw in over 700ft of ascent halfway through a big race like this and it fells quite different.  I concentrated on relaxed running with a good turnover and was mightily relieved when the Garmin said I was up to 960ft and the trail headed downhill for good.  It was a steep downhill at that, and the pounding soon had me looking about uncomfortably for the right tree to pause behind.



Note the steep bit in the middle

 

With only a couple of minutes wasted in the undergrowth, I watched a couple of runners zipping past, making the most of the downhill.  So what was that? 4^th and 5^th now gone, putting me in 6^th place. Once I know what the number is I can’t forget it, even though it was still much too early to worry about such things.

 

Hitting the tarmac at 19 miles there was a mile long section along the road and I could see the two runners just in front of me.  But I also glanced behind me as I turned onto the road and could see three more runners, one after the other, closing down on me.  The mile along the road went on for longer that I was expecting it, with a bit of a climb in the middle, and the first two runners headed past me with some good, fast road-running.  I had a few words with Craig Stewart, who I’d been expecting to see at some point and followed him down the trail towards the river, enjoying the downhill and a good bit of pace again.

 

But I didn’t enjoy the steep hairpin just beyond, with a sharp pull at the top of it.  Again, I lost another place, and even found myself thinking that this might be a day to be pleased with a top ten finish – no shame in that with so many strong runners and my list of excuses.  The next corner brought a strange sight: the road was completely straight for a little over half a mile and there in front of me were spread no fewer than the next six runners.  I glanced at the watch for a time check and found that we were all covered by just four minutes, so there was still plenty that could happen before the end of the race.  But would I slow down or would I pick it up later on? Had my crazy (but fun) early miles been too foolhardy?  And a glance behind me on that long bit of road showed the tenth place runner just a couple of minutes behind.  Time to suck it up and get on with some running.



Targets ahead

 

After 24 miles was the second drop-bag station.  Just before here I had my only walk of the day – for less than a minute, but it was a steep climb and I’d have saved little by running it – and it was good to use different muscles, even briefly.   I called out my number to the waiting marshal ahead and was then distraught to find that the marshals, in an attempt to be helpful, had opened my bag and laid the contents out on the table. Noooo! So I had to grab things and stuff them into the relevant pockets rather than just grabbing the bag and shooting straight off.  Oh well, no real harm done, just half a minute lost.

 

I headed towards the delightfully named town of Fochabers eating my pot of custard (I’d remembered to put a spoon into the bag too), and then looking for a bin to dump the pot, along with the empty bottle of flat coke that I’d washed down the yogurt with.  Gotta love this ultra-food!

And that’s when I saw Craig ahead, walking - and limping.  He’d damaged his knee and soon had to call it a day.  The next two runners were a little closer now, so I tried to pick up the pace a bit, knowing that 7^th and 6^th places were within a minute of me again.

 

One of the great things about the race was the excellent signs, markings and marshals.  We were well guided through the town, and I was soon running with, and then past, the next runner, who had to stretch out some cramp for a few seconds at one point but told me he had to keep going since he was from Buckie so had to get back home.  26.2 miles came and went with 3:29 on the clock.

 

I really enjoyed the trail heading north from Fochabers to Spey Bay.  This was a very runnable part of the trail, flat and a good surface, without the giant puddles and ponds we’d had earlier.  Except for one section of farm track between tall hedges, where there were lots of cut-back gorse (?) stumps sticking out of the ground.  This was just as I came round a corner, still tracking the 6^th place runner in front of me to find we were closing in on 5^th place – maybe I got distracted for half a moment.  Before I knew it my foot had caught a wee stump and I was heading rapidly down to the floor, perilously close to impaling myself on another two inch bit of wood sticking out of the ground. My left hamstring tightened with the force and shock of the impact and I was suddenly looking along the track towards the two runners ahead, now moving quickly away.

 

“Get up!” my brain screamed. And I did, immediately starting running again, not too fast at first – that’s cramp for you, balancing out the adrenaline burst – but gradually picking the pace up to what it had been before. And as the next couple of miles clocked up, 28 miles – tick, 29 miles – tick, I gained another couple of places, as the 5^th placed runner started to walk with cramp and then, just before Spey Bay, we passed Andrew Murray, who was having a bad time of it, despite putting a positive face on as we passed.

 

So what was that now? Back up to fifth place, and fourth was the same runner who had been slightly ahead since the previous drop-bag station.  We were very well matched for pace, keeping a steady gap of about 20 seconds for mile after mile.  That changed at the water station when he stopped briefly to meet a support crew and I glugged a cup of water and headed straight off.  Wow! Fourth place – again, but instead of this being after 14 miles, we’d now covered 32, so only 4½ to go.

 

Time to get moving now as the trail rolled over and round and through a very pleasant bit of woodland where getting any sort of decent rhythm proved tricky.  But it wasn’t just the terrain that was difficult now – all that early speed, and the lack of miles in the legs… and maybe the deep weariness from two months earlier… it all combined to make those last few miles very tough.  I wanted to run smoothly and efficiently but my legs were not having it.  The earlier fall which had started the cramp in my hamstring hadn’t helped, and despite taking plenty of regular energy gels and keeping the fluid intake steady, I was finding the pace hard going.  As might be expected after 32 miles and more.

 

And the bad news was that the previous runner was there just behind me after what must have been a very short stop at Spey Bay.  At 33 miles we came out of the woods and along another old railway line path – one where there is no hiding and you can see what is ahead and behind for a long way.  I wanted to hang on to fourth place and was used to finishing pretty strongly, but today I just couldn’t do so.  In fact, by the time we hit the road at mile 34, he was right behind me and very quickly moved ahead.  I’d never been racing like this so close to the end of an ultra and we both knew that fourth place, and probably the 1^st MV trophy was up for grabs.  But he had closed easily on me and was now moving away so my head was telling that I was beaten.

 

Time for another “dig deep, and then a bit deeper still” moment.  I wasn’t about to give this one up without giving it 100%.  I’d do all I could and then hang on until the end – even after 36.5 miles I’d still back myself in a sprint (it’s what I’m built for really).  So I dug that bit deeper and tucked in, focusing on every step, every swing of each arm, counting to 100 a few times to try to keep some sort of rhythm.  This was proper, serious racing now.  There was no conversation, apart from a moment where the official route was signed onto the beach and I said the race instructions were to stick with the pavement.  For two miles, I clung on, never with a thought of running alongside or trying to get ahead, just giving every fibre of my being over to not letting go.

 

And it hurt. As we came into Buckie, with just half a mile to go, I could feel tingling in my arms and legs – not a good sign.  And then my right leg started to threaten to cramp, all along the inside of the quads, the last thing I needed for a good finish.  Looking at the splits it was pretty desperate racing – those last three miles were only just under nine minute miles, so it was way off the easy pace earlier that day.  And then the bungee between us stretched and stretched and the gap in front of me opened.  And the bungee snapped.  I kept pushing, since you never know what might happen in these situations, but through the pain that must have been showing on my grimacing face there must have been some sort of realisation that this battle wasn’t going to end my way today.  I’d dug deeper than I thought I could but had been properly beaten by a runner who had the edge on the day.

 

Still, it wasn’t all bad, since that top-ten finish was looking pretty secure now and that final effort looked to have made the five hour target come true.  Another corner and a steep pull up the final short and sharp hill and then I could see the finish line, with the first three runners chatting and waiting.  A look at the watch and I knew that five hours was looking good so I relaxed and finished things off, trying to look like I was in control and not fearing that my legs would cramp up, leaving my crawling over the line, like you might have seen happen in that Ironman video on youtube.



Vital rehydration strategy

 

I’d have bitten your hand off for that time and place earlier in the day – 4:58:46 and 5^th place – so was pretty pleased that things had worked out.  I’d had my cake and eaten it (but no icing on the cake today).  Donnie turned out to have won in 4:31, about ten minutes ahead of Gareth (I’d predicted 4:25 for a winning time, so not too far away), and the a guy with a crazy Mohawk had run a great race to finish in third.

 

Now is as good a time as any to say a big thank you to Sarah and all the other marshals for making the race such a success – I made a point of thanking every marshal I passed since the race can only happen if they’re willing to stand about in the rain and give up their time so we can do these crazy things.

 

Next up is the River Ayr Way Race in just under three weeks.  I reckon that gives me a week to recover followed by a fortnight for a taper.