Some Stuff About Me ......

My photo
I live in Harrogate, North Yorkshire with my wonderful wife and soul-mate Helen. I have two incredible sons - Evan and Matthew - who are occasionally show up at home, usually when they're hungry or need money. The three of them are the best thing that ever happened to me and I love them all. I spent over 24 years in the Royal Navy, but since I packed it all in and got a proper job my life has gone from strength to strength and I've never looked back. I am a die-hard soul music fan and this remains a serious passion, but in recent years my life has been dedicated to running on the fells and trails of Northern England, it's what I was made for. Please read about my adventures and experiences ...

Thursday, 4 December 2014

Out of Sorts

I'm finding it difficult to be upbeat and positive about things at the moment, this is a bit of a shame because people need me to be just that at the moment and I'd rather not. At least I'm realistic enough to understand that this is almost entirely due to ongoing injury issues and I'm half-berating myself for not taking the time out to let my body heal when it had a chance ..... it's tough, it really is - the call of the hills is hard to ignore

Things aren't entirely bad: my knackered ankle is slowly improving and I haven't gone over on it since the Fell Relays, I have been strapping it up for runs on any severe terrain and so far that's been a good policy. My ITB/knee issues have also calmed down a lot and I have had no discomfort for the last few runs, so all good there too .... the problem is this pelvis/glute/whateveritis and it's been dragging me down. I went for an easy 15 miler on Sunday over what I would consider to be pretty benign terrain, but by the end I was in some pain, moreover I don't WANT to be taking painkillers every time I lace up my shoes.

Anyhow, I went to the osteopath on Tuesday and he loosened off my spine, ribs and pelvis, then last night Helen applied the deep-tissue treatment and I genuinely think we're getting somewhere. It seems that my back/QLs have been inordinately tight and this has exacerbated a ligament deep in my pelvis (underneath the gluteal muscles), so what's been happening is that we've been treating the effect and not the cause. This morning it feels a lot easier, however I am creaking a lot around the lumbar/pelvis region, so probably just need to be realigned. As it happens, I am going to physio tonight so that should address that! Am I spending all my pocket money on physiotherapy and osteopathy? Yes, but I get the sports massage for free - a bar of chocolate and that's it!

The question is, am I fit to do the Frostbite 30 on Saturday?? I don't know, but haven't withdrawn yet. It's my local Nidderdale race and Bobs and I run in that area all the time, I had to miss it last year so will be gutted if I have to do so again. A lot of mates are going to be doing it though, so I might simply have to man-up and do it. If I have to stop running for a while afterwards, so be it. I have the gym, pool and there's always the bike.

Talking of bike, I am going to give mine a bit of an overhaul: In my man cave I have 2 x new Conti GP4000S II to replace the Mavic Yksion tyres that the wheels came with (I don't like them), new brakes, new Ultegra chain, new bar tape and rather lovely Look Keo Classic pedals in red to match the bike. I'll throw all this lot on and give it a good lube and polish, it's good for the soul. And my soul DOES need restoring.

Count your blessings. That's what my mum always said.

Monday, 17 November 2014

Tour of Pendle

I don't like the idea of DNF'ing a race, I've never done it (unless you count my abortive BGR attempt #1) and so seriously considered pulling out of Saturday's Tour of Pendle fell race, preferring the DNS option. I suspect that most people have already heard me whining about it, but I really have been struggling with injury lately and suppose that in typical fashion, I haven't been giving my body chance to repair. Anyhow, I had a last-chance physio session on Thursday where my lovely Aussie fizzikal therapist decided to shove needles into my bum, exciting eh? I'm normally fine with acupunture and am a great believer in it, however on this occasion the horrible little lump of scar tissue that's causing me all the problems decided to hold on to the needles and only released with some persuasion, so it was pretty painful. Once home, Helen pummelled and massaged the offending body part to the point where I was begging for forgiveness, I could only hope the whole thing was going to loosen up and let me run on Saturday ..... as it turns out, it did

It still wasn't great, but for the first time in a couple of weeks it felt like I could thrust off my left leg. It still hurt (quite a lot) deep in my glute and I was struggling to fully lift my knee, but I reckoned that a double-dose of ibuprofen and bit of teeth-gritting might see round. I have to be honest and concede that the Tour of Pendle is not really the place to exercise unwarranted bravado; it's the last AL race of the season and is properly tough, it slowly grinds you down like few other races and there are three monster climbs in the last six miles that makes most runners shed a tear or two. Of course, it's also late in the year, meaning the weather is frequently crap. The eagle-eyed among you will be recalling the heavy rain that we had on Friday night, yes? Oh yes

Saturday dawned and the mist was low over Pendle. We got there early and having registered (just seven quid for a race of this calibre - and that included a technical T shirt!!) Bobs brewed up in the van while I went through a pretty emotional stretching and warm-up routine. There was a record attendance from our club - I think there were six of us - and of course all the usual suspects were in attendance, so lots of pre-race gossip and banter going on.
 
Off we went and I tried desperately to keep things in check, it's WAY too easy to overcook the ToP at the start. As it turned out, I was absolutely fine going up hill, but it started to get a bit painful on the admittedly few bits of level ground and the downhills were just agony, I suppose it must have been the jarring impact that did it. I knew Helen was going for a PB and based on recent form she had every right, therefore I wasn't surprised when she scooted past me just before CP1. Physical discomfort notwithstanding, I was feeling OK and very strong on the climbs, so all in all I wasn't having at all a bad race and it occurred to me sometime after CP6 that my PB for this race, admittedly "soft" at 3:40-ish, could be beaten today. All was going well and I even had a good effort up Big End from CP9 (this is a mean climb, trust me), but things started going a bit wrong as I topped out on Pendle summit/trig point and CP10. I've ran this route loads of times and know the importance of getting a good line down to CP11 and the kissing gate, but in the thick clag and poor visibility I really buggered it up and strayed quite a distance to the West. A smart fellrunner would have had his compass primed and ready to go with a bearing of 185, but I'm not a smart fellrunner and chose to rely on my internal gyro compass and memory, in retrospect a colossal mistake and fail. Big Fat Hairy Fail actually.   I reckon I drifted about 200 - 300 metres in the wrong direction and it was only when I got below the cloud line that I reallised what a balls-up I'd made of it and immediately cut across the fell to get back on the proper line, it was very rough ground and time was ticking away. Back on the correct trod, I bombed down to CP11 and then legged it for the finish, but the sub 3:30 I'd been hoping for was a forlorn hope and I crossed the line in 3:33:05.

I shouldn't be too disappointed, this was a 7-minute PB on one of the hardest fell races around, however I know I could have done it so much better if I hadn't been restrained by my stupid sore glute/hamstring/whateveritfuckingis. My bad navigation coming off CP10 probably cost me at least 3 - 4 minutes, so the sub 3:30 was there for the taking and it's my own fault that I didn't take the opportunity. And I damn well KNEW it was wrong, you can just tell that some things aren't right and this was the case here. On a good day I reckon I could get closer to 3:20, so it's back to the drawing board and hope that I can do better in 2015. 

Helen had a terrific race, staying in front of me all the way and rather annoyingly getting the line correct down to CP11, finishing in 3:24:37 and 5th LV40 overall, that's pretty good at this level. My clubmates all did well, but one did take a minor fall early on it the race, meaning scraped hands and a sore knee - it didn't seem to slow her up much though, so 10/10 for bravery and cracking on to finish the race in a good time. I know a lot who would have pulled out at the first sight of blood!

We had a nice cuppa back in the van afterwards, before crossing the road to the Pendle Inn and a post-race pint. Great to catch up with mates, one of the very best things about fell running is the social aspect and it was with some regret that we tore ourselves away: The Tour of Pendle, it's brutal, but a fantastic experience - I wouldn't miss it for the world.

Friday, 7 November 2014

Self-Flagellation

Last weekend Helen and I went for a little run around the head of Nidderdale and I'm sorry to say that it hurt, at 15 miles my left glute was sending deep stabbing pains down my leg, so I've had to succumb to the inevitable - my various niggles are not getting any better, so I'm on an injury-induced period of no running. Truth be told, I haven't been in good shape since doing the UTMB, I definitely didn't get enough decent rest afterwards so I suppose I've only got myself to blame. It's hard to stop though isn't it?
A friend told me to focus on swimming for the time being and that's what I've done, I'm doing 3 x 1hr sessions a week and things are coming together a bit, I hope to be back up to last year's standard before too long and I'm already looking at some potential 2015 triathlons.  But, it's not enough to keep mind and body going so I have again resorted to the gym and renewed my acquaintance with the hill climb machine. If you've ever dipped into the dubious annals of my blog, you'll know I've used this machine extensively over the last few years and it's undoubtedly done wonders for my leg strength, but I hate it with a burning passion. In fact, "burning" is a great word to use in this context because that's exactly what it does to your legs: I do 3 x 10m intervals on it with about 20secs break between each in order to wipe the sweat off and let the lactate drain from my legs, it is truly agonising if done at the correct tempo. I usually set a minimum threshold of 90ft/minute, meaning I come away with 2700ft in the bag at the very least. I've been trying to push this a bit though, and last night managed 2906ft, nearly killing myself in the process. Jesus, it was hard .... those first five minutes are probably the worst and it's hard to push through the pain as your legs get accustomed to it. Looking back over my training log, 2906ft is my best effort this year so I suppose I should be pleased, however it doesn't come close to the 3000ft in 28.17 I managed pre-BGR in 2012 (still the gym record). I can't see me getting close to that any time soon if I'm honest, it would take some severe work. Anyhow, I finished off the session with 10 minutes on the elliptical trainer to gently let my legs recover and then into the weight room for some strength work. It might sound odd, but I have got one quad that's bigger than the other so I'm trying to even things up a bit - single leg presses are the order of the day.

Tough swim sesh this morning with Em, the pool was busy and the resultant chop on the water's surface made things tough. We cracked the set as planned, but both of us were tired. Em led the last interval of the session and it was our slowest, just within our self-induced limit. I suppose it's been a hard week, notwithstanding the fact that I'm not running at the moment. I wonder if I'll be fit for the Tour of Pendle next Saturday? I'm guessing not.

It's my birthday this weekend, so I intend to take things easy. I was hoping for a bit of nice weather so I could get out on the bike, but it's very wet and bleak here in Yorkshire right now. It might be a weekend to sit in front of the telly with a decent bottlle of red.

Thursday, 16 October 2014

A Langdale Odyssey

I did the Langdale Horseshoe fell race on Saturday and things didn't go quite to plan.  I'm saying this with my tongue firmly stuck in my cheek, because I got round the race in a half-respectable time and in retrospect, I couldn't have hoped for much more as on Friday I was actually on the verge of pulling out; I'd felt like crap for most of the week (some kind of virus going round) and this had really pissed me off as Langdale is one of my favourite races, I had an absolute belter there last year and was hoping that this year's training tally was going to help me to another PB. I'm ever the optimist.
 
Saturday morning arrived and I woke up feeling a bit better, not quite 100% you understand, but well enough to drag my sorry arse around the course.  We set off for the Lakes and the weather didn't look good, early rain gave way to some heavy mist and as we drove up the valley from Ambleside the mountain tops were obscured by some ugly looking black clouds.  Not good, but the weather forecast did say it should brighten later.  Anyhow, following the usual kerfuffle, kit checks and gossip the race got underway and it was clear from the outset that it was going to be emotional.  The rocks were very slippy and the ground was absolutely sodden .... I've been in these parts many times and I genuinely can't remember seeing it this wet.  Of course, there were bound to be accidents and very soon I saw the first, a girl had slipped on a rock close to Angle Tarn and really smashed her knee, there was a lot of blood and gore on display.  Poor lass, it was really mangled and I daresay she won't be wearing mini skirts for a while :-(  There were similar accidents on the horrible traverse under Esk Pike and on Bowfell summit and I'm not surprised, for some reason the rocks coming down off Bowfell felt really greasy and everyone was being cautious.

Things started to brighten up as we dropped down to Three Tarns and began to negotiate Crinkle Crags, I was on a mission here to get the correct line and very soon noticed that several other runners were clearly following me - I felt like the Pied Piper of Hamelin.   Long Top came easily and we swiftly nipped around the Bad Step bypass and very soon I was on that long descent down to the foot of Pike O'Blisco and Red Tarn.  I usually enjoy this a great deal, but today I just wasn't running well and Helen easily managed to stay in front of me.  My legs hurt, they had no boing in them at all and to be honest I was happy just to stay with her.  We slogged up up the final climb together and then across the POB summit plateau, from there on it's one of the best descents in fell running and I'd really been looking forward to it ..... today I was stiff and unwieldy and not running like I wanted to.  Helen had been chasing the girl who beat her to second place at the Grand Tour of Skiddaw and had the bit firmly between her teeth, I was just holding on for dear life and doing my best to stay upright and I didn't manage it.  My right hamstring cramped up badly, I slipped and did a 20ft powerside down the fell, hitting something hard as I did it.  I waved Helen on, but it took a few minutes to shake the fuzz from my head and get back to a decent running pace.  By then any thoughts about my finishing time had gone out of the window and so I slogged down to the cattle grid at the top of the zigzags, charged down through the campsite and then to the finish line in about 3hr20m, so about six  minutes slower than last year and one or two minutes behind my chirpy and speedy wife.
It looked like a warzone at the finish, it seemed that everyone had blood trickling from at least one limb and the rumour was that Mountain Rescue had been deployed to bring three casualties off the course.  The Search & Rescue helicopter had arrived and was in the process of bringing them to safety, all very dramatic but not really what you want to hear - this was a sporting event and while fell running is inherently dangerous, nobody wants to hear about these things.  Other injuries were much in evidence and I was only mildly surprised to see blood streaming down my own right leg; it transpires that my powerslide contributed to a deep gash in the back of my thigh and I hadn't been aware of quite how bad it was.  Nothing compared to what had happened to some others of course.
In total there were seven of us from my club (a record for this race) and we managed to land two prizes :-)  First home was 65-year old Ben Grant who is the current FRA MV65 English champion, he finished in a frankly unbelievable 2:52 and all I can say to that is I hope I can run half as well as him when I'm 65!!  Helen also landed a prize for 3rd LV40, she was actually first LV40  but two LV45s came in front of her if that makes sense.  One of these ladies was Nicky Spinks, so nothing to be ashamed of there.  Don't know who Nicky Spinks is?  I suppose you have to be into fell running .....

As I said, given the circumstances I was pleased to finish in a half-decent time and I suspect that I finished further up the order than I did last year irrespective of my finishing time.  Quite apart from not feeling 100%, I'm wondering if my poor(ish) performance could have been explained by a touch of dehydration?  Without wanting to get too gruesome, I didn't go for a pee until late on Saturday night and the more I think about it, the more I'm convinced that dehydration sneaked up on me and degraded my ability to run well.  Certainly I didn't drink anything on the way round the course and I was working very hard on the climbs.

Reflecting on the race, it makes for a dramatic story but the truth of the matter is that it nobody sets out with the intention of getting hurt do they?  Mountain Rescue?  Helicopters?  A & E units packed with fell runners?  It's not good, really.  A few people we know - who are all good ultra distance runners - were doing Langdale for the first time and complaining bitterly about the lack of runnability and dangerous conditions.  I sympathise, but have to say that this highlights what I've been saying for some time - that there is a world of difference between fell running proper and those who pound the trails on marked and defined courses.  We have a number of runners in my own club who have never been near any kind of fell race, let alone one as severe as Langdale and yet like to style themselves as fell runners and I have to wonder why?  It's not like the sport is sexy or even remotely in vogue.  You get cold, wet and dispirited, ocassionaly scared to death, your body frequently hurts and it can cost a fortune in corrective physiotherapy.  If you don't do it fulfill and challenge yourself, there's not much point.

Friday, 19 September 2014

The Road To Chamonix Is Long ......

Are you sitting comfortably?

I must apologise to those who have been patiently waiting for me to put finger to keyboard and tell my story of this epic race, things have been a bit hectic since I came back from France and I just haven't had the slack to give it the attention it deserved. I've cleared all the crap off my desk, hurled abuse at my tormentors and have a packet of hobnobs and a vat of coffee at my elbow. So yes, the UTMB - where the heck to start?

I will confess to a bit of trepidation before I flew out to Chamonix and that's putting it mildly. You see, I never actually expected to get a place in the UTMB, I put my name into the ballot because I had nine qualifying points (you needed seven for the 2014 race) and was honest enough to realise that I'd probably never have them again. It would have been a travesty not to try and get into the biggest and baddest race in Europe .... believe me when I tell you that I was more than a *little* shocked when I got the notification that I was in. Panic? Let me tell you, I was flapping like a hyperventilating parrot.

I did what I could in terms of training and preparation, targetting a series of races that would give me the kind of long-distance endurance I envisaged would be necessary. In retrospect, I'm not quite sure I got this right but more on that later. I enlisted help from previous entrants into the race and also training support and guidance from a highly respected and very talented off-road runner who was invaluable in helping to keep me on track and my head in the right place. I did a whole lot more core and strength work, hammering the dratted hill climb machine at the gym to the point where it whimpered and tried to hide in the corner when I walked in. You know something? I hate that machine with a passion, but there's no denying its effectiveness; its use resulted in proper Bob Graham-style quads with which to do battle and they were going to be needed. There's 31,800 feet of climb in the UTMB - and of course a commensurate amount of descent - so weedy little sparrow legs weren't going to be much use!

As the day of my departure steadily approached, I was locked firmly in the throes of taper madness, convincing myself that every vestige of fitness had left my body and that the UTMB was going to be an unmitigated disaster. It was all I could do was hold on and resist the temptation to go for a long run over the nearest set of hills. I have to say that things weren't helped by my going to support Helen on the Grand Tour of Skiddaw the weekend before I left, she stomped round the 44-mile course in an alarmingly quick time and came home in 2nd place. I had sat in my van for most of the day drinking tea and idly munching the odd sticky bun. You'd never have guessed that in less than a week's time I would be pitting heart and soul against some of the biggest hills that Europe has to offer.

So, it was up early on the Tuesday morning before the race and off down the M62 to Manchester Airport. It was a dreary, drizzly morning and things got off to a nervous start when I missed what appeared to have been a nasty pile-up right across the central reservation, I must have avoided it only by seconds. Fortunately, nobody seemed to be hurt but it didn't half get the old ticker going. I was nervous, the logistics of the my UTMB assault had been planned with what I fondly imagined to be military precision and I couldn't afford for anything to go wrong or delay me. I reached the airport without further incident, dumped the car at JetParks (very efficient) and quickly got the transfer to the airport. A minor kerfuffle at baggage check-in (who would have thought that two boxes of Torq gels would weigh so much?), but in no time at all I had comfortably parked my lazy backside in one of EasyJet's finest and was enroute Geneva.

Can I just say that getting to Chamonix is an absolute piece of wee? When we were here in May we did it the hard way by hiring a car, struggling through the madness of Geneva and then onwards to my friend's apartment near Morzine. This time, I'd booked Mountain transfers and all you have to do is wobble through to the French sector (Geneva spans Switzerland and France obv.) and be met by the very efficient transfer folks. In no time at all you're in a mini bus and bombing onwards to Chamonix, the whole journey takes maybe 75 minutes.  Positives aside, the weather wasn't filling me with much confidence as it was absolutely chucking it down with rain and this was the last thing I wanted. Still, the forecast for the weekend was good, so I had to trust in that.

I was met in Chamonix and taken to the apartment I'd rented for the week, somewhat unbelievably I was in, done and dusted before 1.00pm. Very efficient.  The apartmental rental was pretty expensive, but couldn't have been better situated - it was right in the middle of town in the Le Mummery building, maybe 200 yards from the race start and in immediate proximity to the Sports Platz and every outdoor shop you can imagine. The UTMB office itself was immediately opposite and I had a grand view of the mountain side and a little balcony of my own to watch the world go by. My plan was to spend as much as possible of the next three days resting (preferably asleep), so seeing as Helen wasn't flying out until Thursday, I decided to hit the Ultra Trail Salon (= Trade Fair) and bash the credit card while I was unsupervised.
View from our apartment in Chamonix
The UTMB Trail Salon is a wonderful place. Organisers of the the world's big off-road races come here to advertise their event and tout for business, moreover all the big kit manufacturers were present and I was easily seduced. In the end, I bought a very cool WAA UTMB ultra top, a pair of outrageously expensive BVM calf-guards and helped myself to several freebie buffs from the Inov8 stand. While I was there (ie. at the Inov8 stand), I tried on a pair of their new Ultra 290 shoe and was told that if I was to return at 5.30pm I could take them for a test, as Team Inov8 were going for a run! I wasn't going to miss that kind of opportunity, so showed up on the dot, clad in my new WAA top  It was here that I met fellow Brit and ace ultra runner Mike Raffan, a lovely guy and someone who gave me the SP on who we were running with, because I only recognised Robbie Britton. Turns out that I went on my little jog up the river with Joe Grant and Nick Hollon, both exceptional U.S. ultra runners. Nick is the guy who won the 2013 Barkley Marathons and recently placed 2nd at the Tour des Geants (TdG). He looked really normal, it was only when he turned around and I noticed the 'Badwater" logo on his camp that I realised I might be in the presence of someone Not Quite Human. If you haven't heard of the Barkley Marathons, I urge you to have a quick Google around and get the full story. It is (seriously) one of the toughest races in the world and to win it - or rather, to be one of the only two survivors - tells you a lot about a man. I felt completely out of my league. Nick is wearing the red top on my left.
Some of the best off-road runners you'll ever meet - and me!
The next few days passed in a bit of a snoozy blur and I didn't socialise much, barring a few visits from my mate Dave and his partner Sarah, he was also doing the UTMB and looked as nervous as I did. I'd bought a large volume of Hornblower with me, pretty much guaranteeing that I would lie in bed and fall asleep while reading it. Tactics, you see.  I went down to the finish to watch the TDS winner come in (the same guy who won the UTMB last year), but other than that about all I did was eat, sleep. In case you're wondering what the hell the TDS is, there are actually five races that take place during the week, all of varying distance, but the UTMB is the biggie and the one that everyone wants to enter. The others are of varying degrees of lunacy, but as I recall the TDS is about 75 miles and 23,500ft of climb. It's basically a week-long festival of off-road running that culminates in the UTMB. On the Thursday afternoon (Helen was due to arrive) Thursday eve) I went down to the Sports Platz to sign on for the race and went through the impressive kit-check and registration process. As you go through the nine different areas, your UTMB wristband is attached and you are given the UTMB technical T-shirt, quite a nice North Face one that's going to be a contender in the "Hard T-Shirt" category. Everyone gets one of these, it's the highly-prized finisher's gilet that you don't get until the end, so it's a serious incentive to finish the race!

Race day arrived. Helen had arrived late on the previous evening and brought a bit of sanity and calm with her, God knows I needed it. I was in total faff mode, I'd packed, re-packed and packed my race pack again and again, I knew exactly what and where everything was and could recite the precise contents of my drop bag. You can receive outside assistance at 5 seperate places on the course and Helen planned to be at all of them, I'd bought a UTMB bus pass for her (30 euros) that would take her through the Mont Blanc tunnel to Courmayeur in Italy and it was here that I would find my drop bag. A good place for it too, it's the logical half-way point (sort of). In theory, she would know exactly where and how close to schedule I was. I'd worked out a sub-40 and sub-42 hour schedule based on figures from previous years, but had no idea how this would pan out in reality. I'd signed up for a text service (10 euros) that would let her know every time I went through a checkpoint, but of course that depended on there being cellular coverage - something that's a bit difficult to guarantee in mountain ranges! I forced myself to lie down and rest but it was hard and I was as nervous as hell - way more nervous that I was before my successful BGR - and at around 2.00pm I was force-fed a large plate of pasta by an irritated Helen. Eventually, there was nowt for it but to get my kit on, lubricate every possible moving bit of body and make my way to the start.

Did I mention that it was raining when I arrived in Chamonix? The next few days brought blue skies and perfect weather, just what was needed. The forecast for the weekend was good too, unfortunately there was a narrow but nasty band of wet weather sweeping down to the South-East and it was going to go straight over Chamonix and the Southern tip of the course. Bollocks, talk about the fickle finger of fate!  Although I had all the wet weather kit you could desire, like everyone I was hoping for a straight run of decent conditions as it would make survival much easier. Talking of survival, the stats for the UTMB make for sober reading: Since the race was first ran (I think 2003) it's averaged out that 67% of runners finish within the final time cut-off. And bear in mind that it's a screened and selected field (you have to do some fairly significant races to get the necessary points for the UTMB), so in theory anyone who toes the starting line is experienced enough to look after him/herself and cover the whole distance without major organ failure. That's the theory, but the reality is somewhat different and that 67% average proved to be damn nearly spot-on for 2014. I desperately didn't want to be part of the 33% that failed.

The town square in Chamonix was packed solid, a seething mass of humanity who were all focussed on getting round this behemoth of a race. The weather front was coming in fast and dark, menacing clouds gathered right above us. Helen was doing her absolute best to keep me calm and my friend Hanno from Pennine Fell Runners had found us and looked just as nervous. Who wouldn't be? The rain started, accompanied by some appropriately sombre music from the humungous sound system that was filling the entire town with noise. I put on my lightweight pertex jacket, hoping that this was just a light shower (it wasn't) and took my place in the crowd. This was it: Months of anticipation and planning, it was now me versus the mountain and as the rain started to come down in torrents I had no idea who was going to be the victor. This video gives a good perspective.

UTMB Start 2014
I'd heard from several former UTMB-finishers that the race starts way too fast and it's important to reign things in, so started off at what I hoped was a sensible pace and took care not to get caught up in the emotion of the moment. It's a pretty easy and level start, but I checked my watch as as we arrived at the Les Houches CP (4.9m) and I was already way inside my "best case" 40-hour schedule. In all honesty, it was just not realistic to run quite so slowly, I'd have ended up way too far back and I knew it was important to get up the field a bit, because it wouldn't be possible to pass other people once we started the first really serious climb up the Col du Bonhomme.

The rain continued to pour from the sky and as we passed Le Delevret (CP2/8.6m) I spotted a guy I knew from Wharfedale Harriers, we'd ran part of the Calderdale Hike together earlier in the year and it was a very fortuitous meeting, we ended up sticking together for a good part of the race, a bit of mutual support is a wonderful thing and I'm sure he was as pleased as I was for some company. We came off the muddy trail into Saint-Gervais (CP3/13.1m) and were well inside the time cut-off, but the rain was beginning to bounce off the pavements and getting worse. The little pertex jacket I'd been wearing just wasn't up to the job, so although I hated doing it (the air temperature remained quite high), I had to get my proper waterproof out - and of course, I was completely soaked by not wearing it earlier. Bad move Martyn.  We pushed onwards, wanting to make a few places up before the big climb we both knew was coming and thank God, the rain started to ease, but of course the conditions underfoot were pretty hideous. CP4 at Les Contamines (19.2m) was the first "assisted" stop and I was overjoyed to see Helen yelling my name as we emerged from the darkness, what a girl  Once we'd been through the food and drink bit, she was right there with a dry top and extra gels to shove in my rucksack, I wouldn't see her now until the next assistance point at Courmayeur. I had to make sure I had everything I needed .... a quick kiss and I was off again into the night.

Darkness wrapped around us like a cloak, but at least it had stopped raining. We quickly dropped down to Notre Dame de La Gorge (CP5/21.6m) and began the long, interminable climb to La Balme (CP6/24.2m) and onwards to the Col du Bonhomme. The track had already been churned into glutunous, slimy mud and making meaningful process was bloody hard work. We were now firmly "locked" in position and it would have taken a completely disproportionate amount of effort to overtake anyone. Trail shoes are definitely the order of the day for the UTMB (I was wearing Brooks Cascadias), but right then I would have sold my unworthy soul for a pair of Mudclaws. Looking at my final time splits, I realise that I lost loads of time here, but what could I do? Until the track widened and conditions improved, everyone was stuck in their relative positions. What I will say is that it was an incredibly spectacular sight, as far as the visible horizon there was along line of headtorches, climbing inexorably upwards. It was some comfort to look behind me and realise that a good proportion of the field was behind me, I wish I could describe it .... it was like some illuminated caterpillar, writhing in the darkness. We finally reached the Col (CP7/26.4m) but we were't finished here yet and there was a further climb across some pretty rocky ground up to the Refuge at Croix du Bonhomme (CP8/27.6m) and the highest point of the race so far at 7,940ft. It was around here that I started to feel a bit tired and the full enormity of the situation hit me like a ton of bricks; I was only a quarter of the way through and beginning to fade! What on earth did I think I was doing?
View from Croix du Bonhomme - impressive eh?
 A long descent came and saved me. We went from 7,940ft to 5,000ft in the space of about 3 miles (the descents are LONG) and I believe I started to feel better as we came into Les Chapieux (CP9/30.9m), by now it was about 3.15am and we were roughly 10 minutes outside my 40-hour schedule, but easily inside the 4.45am cut-off. This was the first designated sleep station (not mandatory of course) and I was amazed to see people slumped on the tables and dragging themselves off to grab a quick nap. It was WAY too early in the game for that and I was relieved to get out of there and be on our way. It was still dark and I'll admit my morale suffered a bit when I saw the distant headtorches climbing high into the distance, but the knowledge that dawn was just around the corner made me feel much better. It's a long, long climb from Les Chapeiux up to the Col de La Seigne (CP10/37.3m) at 8177ft, but the improved weather and first glimmer of dawn brought some views that were breathtaking .... we dropped through the Ville des Glaciers and past the famous Mer de Glace, then as we crested the Col were treated to a truly stunning panorama of jagged mountain peaks silhouetted against the dawn sky. It was bloody marvellous and as so often happens in these situations I had to ask myself what I'd done to deserve this life-enhancing moment. I won't forget it.
Col De La Seigne
We dropped down to Lac Combal (CP11/40.1m) and I suppose by then we had crossed into Italy and the VallĂ©e d'Aoste. My partner (Mike) was fading a bit and I must admit I wasn't feeling 100%, so we made the most of this CP, tidied our kit up and jammed as much food in as we could. Nick Ham had warned me in advance about the food and he was absolutely correct. The staples appeared to be soft cheese, salami, french bread and the French OverStim energy bars. I don't know about you, but in my opinion this isn't the most nutritious and energy-giving combination.  The OverStim energy bars are like cardboard and difficult to get down when you're feeling a bit low. That said, the other "staple" at nearly every checkpoint was chicken noodle soup, it was invariably hot and very salty, I don't suppose it had much real nutritional value, but by God it warmed the cockles of your heart and (very important) gave you something to dip your french bread into.

There was a bit of a climb up to Arete Mont Favre (CP12/42.7m) and then on to Col Checrouit (CP13/45.8) where I had one of the strongest cups of coffee in my lifetime, I can recall this very vividly ..... we sat there as the morning sun began to warm our chilled bodies and we contemplated the descent down to Courmayeur and the caffeine coursed through my body like a lightening bolt. I was awake! We set off, keen on getting to our drop bags and some proper hot food, I was also beginning to feel the effects of running in wet, muddy socks for the best part of 50 miles and my back and hips were also suffering due to the constant rubbing of wet and clammy kit. It actually got a bit competitive as we dropped further down the valley, there were some French guys leading the way and every time they hit an even slightly rocky bit slowed massively. I made the effort to get past them, but don't think they appreciated this cheeky Brit scooting past and gave chase  I reached Courmayeur (CP14/48.2m) way in front of the Frenchies, but if I'm honest it had probably taken a bit more out of me than was wise.
Running into Courmayeur ....
Anyhow, there was my lovely wife, looking happy and cheering us in. Apparently getting to Courmayeur via the Mont Blanc tunnel was the easiest of all the support points, but was actually the one she was most worried about. She went out there with Sarah and as far as I can tell the whole process was easy-peasy. I was really glad to see her and we got to work straight away on fixing my battered body. My back and hips were in a mess and I looked like I'd been locked in a death-match with a pissed-off panther. Helen had a full first aid kit with her and did what she could, this amounted to putting layers of Myofix on the affected areas and then as much Bodyglide as would stick around the edges. It was bloody sore  Taking my shoes off revealed a similar mess, I'd been running in Smartwool merino socks, but I'd stupidly opted NOT to wear gaiters - and I had a new pair of those cool "Dirty Girl" ones on standby as well  - the result being that mud had got in and literally worn holes through my socks. The wet weather earlier on had caused my feet to swell and there were some significant hot-spots under on the balls of my feet and heels, moreover the majority of my toes were throbbing - probably a consequence of the swelling. We did what we could, dry socks and much Bodyglide/vaseline was applied before I said goodbye and went up to join Mike and stuff my face with some pretty mediocre pasta. It was crap, but I needed real food and there weren't many options.

We spent too long at Courmayeur, but it's hard to lever your arse out your chair, particularly when what's in front of you is likely to cause pain and physical distress. Nonetheless, off we went and you have to trek your way through the town centre before reaching the trail that takes you upwards ..... It's my observation that Courmayeur is a lovely place and I would like to go back there one day, preferably under less trying circumstances. A couple of things that gave me a real boost here were some British folks (presumably on holiday) who saw the Union flags on our race numbers and gave us some tremendous cheers, but even better was the middle-aged American lady who [apparently] studied my lycra-clad backside as I passed her on the mountainside, en-route Refugio Bertone. "Nice ass" she said, then after a moment "good legs too". I turned her round to thank her and jokingly said that I would send her a Christmas Card for her kindness. She looked me in the eye and said "Honey, if you have the time I would LOVE to give you my address". So that cheered me up  Hey, you have to take the plaudits where you can!
View above Courmayeur
I knew that the next few hours were going to be tough, this section heading North would lead to the highest point on the course, moreover it was starting to get a bit warm. We didn't hang around at Refugio Bertone (CP 15/51.2m) and pushed straight on to Refugio Bonatti (CP 16/55.8m) which apparently is one of the best mountain refuges in the Alps. I have to say, it's in a beautiful location and I as I looked around me at the stunning scenery I realised that I was pretty knackered, the long climbs were beginning to wear me down and would have liked nothing more than to stop right there and forget this UTMB madness. That's dangerous thinking and my guide and mentor H. had warned me to have a mental strategy to deal with such things. Basically, the trick is to bring to mind consequences that would be worse than giving in and I did just that. I won't bore you with the details, but I quickly dispelled the negativity from my head and got moving. I still had some fight in me, although I was definitely on a bit of a downer and to my chagrin Mike was having a good patch and definitely needed to push on ahead. He didn't want to, but we'd agreed that we'd run together as long as it made sense to do so and in this case I insisted - he had to get moving. I pushed on alone and dropped down from Bonatti to Arnuva (CP 17/59.1), where Mike was fuelling up. The reason for this is that the next "proper" food stop was some way off at La Fouly and there was some serious terrain to get over and I did the same. We left Arnuva together, but he was definitely stronger than me at this point and again we seperated. The next climb takes you up to Grand Col Ferret (CP18/61.9m), at 8245ft it's the highest point on the course and I immediately recognised the setting, as it's the scene of many UTMB publicity photos. I was relieved in the extreme to be here, although I was by now slightly outside my 42-hour schedule but reassuringly at least three hours in front of the cut-off.

It's a long, long descent from the Grand Col Ferret, taking you into Switzerland and through La Peule (CP19/64.1), then down to the big checkpoint at La Fouly (CP20/67.7m). The field had really thinned out by now and I realised that I must have made up quite a few places from earlier in the race, because I'd stomped down this descent at a decent pace. It transpired that I was now back inside my 42-hour schedule, but worryingly my feet were really beginning to hurt and I suspected that things were going to get worse (much) before they got better. I probably spent longer than I needed to at La Fouly, it was here that I noticed that other competitors were beginning to look the worse for wear and I had a lot of sympathy for an Australian guy who just collapsed on the deck, saying that he needed sleep before he could run another inch. I never saw him again, I do hope he made it. I ran onwards, out into the countryside and Praz de Fort (CP21/73 miles), it was about here that I began to recognise parts of the course from our recce earlier in May. From here, it's a bit of slog to Champex Lac and the sun was beginning to set. I was heading into my second night on the UTMB and from what I'd heard, if you had made it this far, then it was where things really began to get tough. Jesus, could they get any tougher? Really?

Helen was going to be at Champex (CP22/76.5m) and I was looking forward to seeing her. Although we'd been there on our recce, I had no idea where the actual checkpoint was, so as I neared the top of the climb I was a bit surprised to see her step out of the darkness and welcome me  The checkpoints were much less frenetic this much further into the race and she immediately led me to a bench and got fresh and dry kit out. I could see that she was tired too, but bless her, she was doing her absolute best to get me fuelled and back out into the race. It transpired that I was much closer to Mike than I thought, he'd come into Champex only minutes before me and was having a proper long stop and refuel, I suppose it was a bit more difficult for those that didn't have support at all the assisted checkpoints and I realised I was lucky. In any event, I left the CP before him but had little doubt that he would catch me up before long. I stomped out of the neat little town by myself, it was all a little bit surreal and as I went round the lakeside I found myself hoping that the long climbs that I knew were coming would pass quickly. As is so often the case, my hopes were quickly dashed before the wind.

I had enough about me to recall the tricky section through the woods out of Champex, then joined a few other competitors for the slog up to Bovine via Plan de L'Au. It had seemed a bit of a trek back in May, tonight it was immeasurably worse and my chin was down. I knew I had to get myself together and managed to down a couple of caffinated gel shots, these things had worked wonders for my friend Carol during leg 4 of her Paddy Buckley Round earlier in the year, and I'd been holding off using them until it was an emergency. Now was the time. I'd like to say that they completely re-energised me, but that really wasn't the case. Rather, they gave me enough focus to get down to the job in hand and concentrate on the Relentless Forward Progress that's necessary in situations like this. And it's funny how little things can seem like a crisis ..... I'd started off the first night with fresh lithium batteries in my headtorch, I was convinced they would last for two nights without the need to replace them. Wrong. The headtorch flashed to indicate the batteries were going and turned onto its lowest setting, I could have cried. The diminished light output made things seem much harder and I knew that on the darkened mountain side, changing the batteries was going to be a major effort. The rules state that you must carry two headtorches (or torches) and so I rummaged in my pack and found my emergency light, a lightweight Silva LED thingy, and held it in my teeth while my clumsy fingers changed the batteries. It was clear that I wasn't firing on all cylinders, so made a mental note that I should take care. This was no place to bugger things up or have an accident ..... anyhow, after what seemed like an eternity I crested the col, having passed Alpage du Bovine (normally a UTMB checkpoint - don't know why it wasn't this year) and made my way down to the next checkpoint at La Giete (CP23/83.7m). It was dark so I couldn't quite work out what this place was, but I think it was just farm buildings. I haven't really mentioned the passion of the local people for the UTMB, but here was a very good example of it: I reckon it must have been around midnight but there were two elderly and frail-looking ladies there, each holding out a tray of sliced fruit to me. It would have been rude not to accept, so I took a piece from each and then got down to sorting my feet out, that last section from Bovine over Portalo had been really painful and I needed to do something. The poor old dears clucked with alarm when they saw my battered feet, and helped me peel the backing off the Compeed plasters I was now attempting to stick under my toes. My command of the French language is non-existent, but they made me understand that medical care was available at Trient and I would be OK there. I left with a warm and fuzzy glow, these people really love the UTMB and were grateful that you had come to try and get round it.

I pushed onwards, the pain was very real now and I was not a happy bunny. I still had my faculties about me and knew that I was heading towards the Col de Forclaz and from there I would be able to drop down to Trient without too much difficulty, however it was about then that the much-vaunted hallucinations kicked in and I was initially confused. I kept seeing rooms - illuminated rooms - where there couldn't possibly be any and to add fuel to the fire little black cats were running around by my feet. I'm not easily given to this sort of thing, so it was a bit of a surprise that this was happening and seeing as it wasn't in the slightest bit scary I didn't worry too much about it. I was still glad to get to the Col de Forclaz though, the route intersects a road here and I'm sorry to say that it felt much further down to Trient (CP24/86.8m) than I remembered.
Col de Forclaz
Helen was there to welcome me - she looked worried when she saw how painful it was for me to move - and rather than going in for food and refill, we went straight into the medical centre. It was about 1.30am and I was about 15 minutes inside that 42-hour schedule and miles in front of the cut-off (7.00am I think), so I reasoned I had the time to spare, my whole UTMB effort depended on it. I was seen very quickly and the efficient nurse got down to the fairly gruesome job of draining the multiple blisters under my feet and getting some pretty heavy dressings onto them. It transpired that the reason I was in so much pain was that the tough skin on the balls of my feet hadn't burst while I was moving, but the liquid in the blisters had forced its way up between my toes and split the softer skin there. Trust me on this, it's bloody excruciating. I reckon I must have been at Trient for around 30 - 40 minutes, but it was time well spent and as I went down the steps and left the checkpoint I felt much better.
This was as painful as it looks!
For a while all was good and with the pain in my feet much diminished, I steeled myself and went through the mental "How Are We Doing?" checklist: All systems were green, I was sure that I could do this .... just two or three little lumps to get over first.  On paper, the climb out of Trient doesn't seem too bad and looks to be around 3,000ft and just three miles, but in my diminished state it seemed to go on for ever and I'm not exaggerating. It's possible that the pain in my feet had done me a favour insomuch as it kept me awake thus far, but now I was literally falling asleep on my feet and there came a point - shortly after we crested the col - that I woke up with a jolt and my muddled senses couldn't work out what the hell was going on. I guess I lost cognitive reasoning for a while, and although I understood that I was in a race and trying to reach the end, the fact that it was dark puzzled me and I really didn't understand the headtorches in the distance and what their relationship was to me. Eventually, I put the pieces together, but it was a salutory lesson: there wasn't much fuel left in the tank and I really had to grit my teeth and get on with it.

Maybe that little "upright sleep" had done me some good, because I recognised the trail leading down to the checkpoint at Catogne (CP25/89.9m) and was glad to see it, a bit of familiarity always inspires confidence. This CP is not much more than a small hut and you go straight through it, it's so remote that it's not realistic to replenish water/food here. The guys manning it had built a fire outside and a couple of them were curled up in sleeping bags next to it - it must have been around 3.45am - and I would dearly have liked to join them.  Not much chance of that though, from here you're back in France and it's a hellish descent down to Vallorcine, losing about 2,500ft in one hit. The route takes you behind and along some ski slopes before joining a pretty tortuous path, quite rocky and strewn with tree roots. I'd thought it would be a tough 'un on our recce and I wasn't wrong ..... in darkness, on sore feet and exhausted legs it wasn't funny at all.  Mike had rejoined me by now, but was starting to fade and wobble a bit, moreover he'd reached the point with his feet that I had in Trient and was in real distress - he was going to have to sort that in Vallorcine.

The final stretch of descent down to Vallorcine (CP 26/93.2m) is a steep, quad-crushing grassy slope and you know all about it, it's a massive relief to reach the bottom. Helen was there with a big smile, this was the last assisted CP and from here she would go back to Chamonix and wait for me to finish. To finish!!! This was really on, in practical terms I was in no worse a state than the majority of other competitors around me and a lot better than many. I sat down for a moment as I needed to get some warm liquid into me and and reflect on the God-awful transit over from Trient, I wouldn't have thought it possible to drop into the sonambulistic haze that I did, this was plumbing new depths. Helen tells me that she was worried about me at Vallorcine, as I was a bit quiet and normally you can't shut me up  I gulped down what food I could, changed my top for the last time and got out into the first glimmers of dawn .... I had survived another night.
Pensive at Vallorcine
From here you follow a small river up the valley to Col des Montets (CP27/95.6m), crossing the road at the building that marks the boundary of the Aiguilles Rouges Nature Reserve and the beginning of the final big climb up to La Tete Aux Vents. This was the first part of the UTMB that I recce'd and I have to say it's probably the rockiest and most technical. It's also a bit cruel, because Chamonix is only about 4 miles away by road and the organisers make you go over the top of this God-awful mountain! It was a hell of a slog, Mike tells me that he could see me higher up on the climb and I was pulling away from him and looking strong, all I can say is that you could have fooled me, it was strength-sapping in a way that I haven't experienced before. It eventually levels out to a bit of a plateau, but it's still very rocky and much more like the English Lake District than any other part of the course.
Col de Montets
On the positive side, the sun had fully risen and we were treated to the spectacle of a full cloud inversion below Mont Blanc with crystalline blue skies above; it was staggeringly beautiful and I wish that I had had more time to gaze at it. I didn't obviously. After what seemed like an eternity I reached La Tete Aux Vents (CP28/98.1m) at 7,000ft and from here knew it was pretty much all downhill. Not quite as easy as it sounds though, the terrain was still very rough, lots of rock to get over and of course it was a bit slimy from several hundred muddy feet already having gone across it. This was the "Sting in the Tail" that I'd heard about and I wasn't moving well or enjoying it. I was really getting pissed off, this sort of terrain constituted classic British fell-running territory and whatever anyone else thinks about me, I do consider myself a fellrunner and under normal circumstances would have loved the challenge. Also, up until now I'd steadily progressed through the field and somewhat unbelievably had made up around 800 places, I think at Vallorcine I was in 790th position (i.e. the top half of the field), but my slow progress here meant that a few runners were beginning to pass me, which didn't exactly fill me joy.
That be Mont Blanc yonder ....
 I won't forget that descent from La Tete Aux Vents, it was an absolute bastard. My feet were beginning to hurt again and the climb up from Col de Montets had used up what little strength I had left. I could almost smell Chamonix though, so pushed on until I reached the final CP at the La Flegere ski lift (CP29/99.9m), I think there was a kind of desperation about everyone at this point and I just wanted to get it over and done with .... I'm sure Kilian Journet or Francois d'Haene are just upping their pace hereabouts, but by now this brutal race will have torn most normal mortals apart. I left La Flegere with a sense of surreality and I hope you can understand that, I was never totally confident that could I nail the UTMB - it's spat out much better runners than me - so to be leaving the final CP with over six hours left on the clock (I got there in 39h46m) was about as good as I could have hoped for. It felt a long, long way down that rocky trail to Chamonix. I was in more or less constant pain, but forcing myself to maintain something more than an agonised jog and playing every mind game I knew to try and distract myself. I've rehearsed this lots of times, but in my mentally exhausted state found that I could manage about 10 running paces before my subconcious mind screamed at me that I was kidding nobody and that actually, this f**king hurt and I should stop. Not much chance of that though.

Chamonix was bathed in the morning sunlight and I could hear the church bells ringing. I was seeing lots more local people out for a morning stroll and every one of them stopped to applaud me and cheer, I lost count of the amount of "bravo monsieur" and "tres bon monsieur, formidable" cheers that I received, it's hard not to be buoyed up by this  A couple of Brits saw the Union Jack on my number and were shouting my name, all of a sudden I was feeling a lot better .... Chalet Floria came and went, the beauty of its setting lifting my heart for the final stretch down to the finish. The ground levelled out and I turned into the town and within a few yards was running down the side of the river, past the Sports Platz where I'd registered for the race what, a year ago? I heard a familar voice shout my name and there was Helen running towards me, she must have seen my grimaced expression and realised that I was firing the silver bullet, this was the final stretch of the Ultra Trail du Mont Blanc and she ran alongside me until we reached the main street in Chamonix and I was being cheered and applauded like I never have been before.

I'd timed it perfectly - it was somewhere around 10.45am and all the locals had woken up to a lovely morning, had breakfast and thought they'd just wobble down to the UTMB finish to see the bulk of the runners finish. I had them all to myself and as I entered the finishing tunnel the noise became deafening, all the children lining the finish wanted to touch my hand and I upped my pace, my arms aloft and bodily pain totally forgotten.

Crossing that finish line (104.8m, 31,894ft in 41hrs 19mins) was one of the my best moments ever, arguably on a par with when I reached the Moot Hall after my successful Bob Graham Round. Normal, untalented runners like me will never stand on a podium or have their names recorded in Athletics Weekly or The Fellrunner, so things like this are very important and I felt like I was going to burst. The photographers on the finish line were all pointing there cameras at ME, there was Helen shouting and cheering, how can your heart not sing after something this wonderful? I think the picture below tells the story much better than I can describe it.
Finished!
I heard another voice from behind the barrier and there was my friend Raj, he's a massive UTMB fan and had earlier on in the week did the OCC (Orsieres - Champex - Chamonix). He thrust a large bottle of Cobra beer into my hand, his face wreathed with smiles. I was overjoyed to see him, what a guy. Helen had fought her way through the barriers to watch me get the coveted UTMB finishers gilet and all of a sudden it was a bit much, I was close to tears. I might have said this before, but how did I, unworthy git that I am, deserve to have such wonderful people in my life? I just don't know. Once all the obligatory photos had been taken, it was time to sit in the sunshine, drink Raj's life-saving beer and survey all that was happening about me.
The end of a LONG road .....
Physically, I was in a mess. My left foot and ankle had mysteriously began to swell up (and I mean really swell up), my feet were on fire and my toes felt like they'd been individually hammered by a mallet. My knees, hips and pelvis were aching like I've never known, plus my back felt like it had been flayed with barbed wire. My face was swollen and peripheral vision kept fading in and out .... God knows, I was in a bit of a state after my BGR but not quite as bad as this. I suppose it didn't matter much, the job was done so I just sat there, soaking it all up and swapping stories with Mike who finished about 20 minutes after me. Helen wanted to get me back to the apartment and related that it was actually a bloody miracle that she'd made it to see me finish at all: Turns out that when she'd got back from Vallorcine she'd set the alarm clock on her iPhone, but of course it was set to UK time and that was one hour behind French time. She'd got up, had a leisurely shower and breakfast and was just considering whether or not to wobble outside when she realised what was going on. I understand she made it to the river with two minutes to spare. I'm overwhelmingly glad she made it. It was, in every sense, a Team Effort.

Tuesday, 8 July 2014

I Couldn't Do Much More .....

My legs are tired. I clocked 61.4 miles last week and while this might not be much to some, it was definitely enough for me - and I should add that a lot of those miles were on fairly rough terrain. It was a bit of a double whammy insomuch as Le Tour was here (in case you hadn't noticed) and of course that had to be visited, partaken of, and then I had to shift my lazy arse out for the necessary miles.

Le Tour was absolutely superb and I am so proud (even as a non-native) that Yorkshire took it to its benevolent heart and embraced. Saturday afternoon we had a superb vantage spot about 500 metres from the finish and could see all the way up Parliament Street, the atmosphere was incredible. I'd post pictures, but haven't got round to uploading them yet .... On Sunday the race passed within 1/2 mile of our house, so we just wobbled out to the roundabout marking the climb out of Harrogate and cheered there for a bit, then it was back home and into running kit.

I felt pretty rough yesterday morning, but forced myself out for an easy 40min swim session and this, followed by pilates last night has loosened things up a bit and I'm ready for more. It's the Stirton Fell Race tomoz and normally I would try and rest my legs in preparation, but things being as they are I don't think I can afford the luxury so will go to Harriers training tonight, swimming again tomorrow morning and just trot round at Stirton. Races can't be more than an entry in my training plan at the moment ..... that said, Saturday's race is really a bit more than just a training run: We're doing the Osmotherley Phoenix, this is a 33-mile ultra over a good portion of the Cleveland Way and I think it will be a useful marker as to how I'm doing. I had an absolutely dreadful race here last hear, running pretty badly .... largely my own fault, I did the Day In The Lakes half-ironman just 6 days prior to it and suppose I can't have expected to run well, but all the same it was a bad day at the office and Helen clobbered me by about 30 minutes

Anyhow, we'll see. Two weeks later it will be the Lakeland 50 and I'm hoping that I'll have sufficient recovery time to do it justice. Things didn't go to plan last year here and I'm determined to turn things around, I'd like to take an hour off last year's time. I think I can, in fact I would very much like to finish this race under 12 hours, but that might be a big ask, everything would have to go just right. It may be "just the 50", but it's no small beans and I know that finishing in that time might be a stretch. All part of the UTMB build-up though and it needs to be taken in my stride, otherwise I might as well not bother getting on that plane.

Tuesday, 17 June 2014

Return To The Scene Of The Crime

I finished work early last Friday and hoofed it back up to the Lakes in order to support a friend from Lonsdale Fell Runners on his BGR, he'd chosen to do a 5.00pm start so I couldn't mess about. I'll confess I was a bit ulterior here, I've barely done any night running this year and sorely needed to get some training in ..... I elected to do legs 1 and 2 with him, possibly against my better judgement following the previous weekends 4 and 5 support and a week of training in between, but I've got to do this - the UTMB looms ever closer on the horizon and one thing I do know is that I will not be carried round.

As it was, I had quite a good run out. The weather was a bit iffy to start with, but as we slogged up Skiddaw it cleared from the West and looked very promising, eventually the skies cleared and conditions were about perfect. Skiddaw came and went in about 83 minutes, then a fast descent down to Hare Crag and Great Calva came in 38 minutes which is fairly brisk on a 23.15 schedule. Things calmed down a bit now and we did a very good climb up the back of Mungrisdale Common/Blencathra and came out bang on the summit in 71 minutes, followed by my first daylight hours descent of Halls Fell. This was the conventional "straight off the top" descent in dry conditions and I now have no doubt that it's faster if everything is in your favour. If wet and dark, well, much more difficult and I stick to my opinion that Doddick Fell is the way to go. As for the Parachute? Not worth it unless you are a mountain goat and can absorb the punishment it will mete out to your quads. Threlkeld in 3:42, so nicely ahead on schedule.

Off we went onto leg 2, I was making sure that the fuel levels were high (strawberry jam butties, lovely) and I'd had a cracking mug of strong coffee courtesy of the support team. A bit of a shock when we reached the coach road off Threlkeld Common, it's been re-fenced and as far as I can tell there's no bloody stile for BGers to clamber over. I can sense one irate farmer when that fences starts getting damaged (as it inevitably will). Geoff selected the White Pike ascent of Clough Head and I concur with this choice, it's a bit easier on your legs. Not that everyone will agree, Dave A charged up the "steep" race ascent on his BG and I can remember Stuart L and myself looking at each other and wondering what the hell we were in for! Once on top of Clough Head we were treated to a gorgeous sunset of burning oranges and reds and there followed a cracking run across the Helvellyn range, we didn't need to put headtorches on until Raise and navigation was really easy. It started to get a bit chilly (I was just wearing a Helly), so I bunged on my Litespeed jacket, this is a fairly new purchase and probably one of my best. It's just micro Pertex, but is the perfect running jacket for someone like me, it keeps the chill and wind off you, but doesn't make you sweat like a stuck pig and dehydrate accordingly. Well worth the space it takes up in a rucksack, of course you need to carry a "real" waterproof as well, but this does the job, no doubt about it - and it has a hood and a pocket!

A quick refill of water bottles at Grizedale Tarn spring and we were off up Fairfield - all I can say is that it doesn't get any easier :-)  Seat Sandal came and went in a flash and in no time at all we were back at Dunmail Raise, up on schedule and 26.5 miles and 11,300ft of climb in the bag. Lonsdale Fell Runners are an experienced bunch and their support team were brilliant: a hot cuppa and bacon buttie were thrust into my hand as they went through the process of getting their man fed, watered and ready for the rigours of leg 3. Back to my van afterwards for a quick sleep, then it was back home for the delights of the annual Knaresborough Bed Race (www.bedrace.co.uk) where I'm pleased to say that Harrogate Harriers annhilated the opposition and retained their undisputed crown as Bed Race champions, also the Ladies Team (of which Helen was a member) hugely improved on last year's awful run finished 11 places up from their starting position, so all good.

There's a sad end to this blog: Geoff didn't complete his BGR, he lost time on leg 3 and despite carrying on to leg 4 and digging very deep, he knew that he wasn't going to make it and sensibly made Pillar his last summit and cut under Kirk Fell and Great Gable to pick up the Moses Trod back to Honister. A familiar story, one that I know painfully well. I hope he tries again, but of course that's a very personal decision and he might not be ready to put either himself or his family through all that again. I think he owes it to himself to seriously consider it, he's passionate about the BGR - not some box-ticker - and deserves the chance.

Monday, 3 February 2014

Flogging a Dead Horse

We did Rombalds Stride on Saturday, this is a 22-mile* LDWA-like offroad event that starts and finishes in Guiseley (near Leeds) and describes a big circular route, taking in Baildon, Ilkley and Rombalds moors. Have packed in some reasonable training in lately, so was hoping to beat my course PB for this race as the time target was pretty soft, moreover I couldn't do much worse than last year when I wobbled home in 4:26, having just barely recovered from a nasty bout of 'flu. My "unspoken" target was to get under 4 hours .....

Anyhow, the torrential rains we had on Friday suggested it would be a quagmire, but the reality was somewhat different. The rain had stopped overnight and at the outset it was a bright, clear and cold morning with little wind - lovely weather for it really. So we stomped off and I could tell right away that we had moved up a gear, early on I was moving well but as the race progressed it did become a bit of a slog and I never really felt like I was giving it my best shot - not sure why, however I was sort of experimenting with a different fuelling strategy and that might have had something to do with it.

Had all gone to plan, I have no doubt that we ("we" being Helen and I) would have nailed that sub-4 time, however the icy slabs on Ilkley moor definitely slowed us down .... my footwear of choice was an old pair of Mudclaws, I knew this would be painful on the various road/path sections, but the amount of rain we'd had made it a sensible choice for the bulk of the course. Those bloody slabs - literally - were like a sheet of wet glass in places and very, very difficult to traverse in studs. Also, Bobs was having one of her Clumsy Days and took a couple of falls, the first just after Whetsone Gate (minor), however the second, not far beyond Rocky Valley, knocked the wind out of her good and proper.   Our running mate Emma scooted off here, but of course I stayed with her until she was firing on all cylinders again, much to my regret actually, because when we reached the bottom of the Chevin - the traditional Bonk Point in this event - she scooted off and left me! I was working hard, but I have to say she was climbing like a demon, I don't know if her new Fellraisers were anything to do with that, but my knackered old Mudclaws just weren't doing the job and I was not climbing as fast as I would like, despite passing several others. By the time we reached the top, she'd opened up a sizeable lead and from here it's downhill all the way. A mad dash down into Guiseley followed, I reckon I was making up a bit of time on her but the magic 4-hr barrier just ticked by me .... final result was 4:00:31 for her, 4:00:59 for me.

I shouldn't complain - this was a PB by about 12 minutes, it's just that I'm sick of not getting under "Hour Barriers" for races, something very similar happened last year at the Day In The Lakes triathlon and Lakeland 50. C 'est la vie, I suppose and it's a great race (controversial term, it's meant to be a "challenge" rather than a race), I enjoyed the day a lot. Pie and peas afterwards (I had two pies) and gossip with mates, it was pretty good.

Home to early PJs and settee/wine/fire, it makes it all seem worthwhile.


* allegedly 23 but I know different

Wednesday, 22 January 2014

Maxed-Out

Harriers interval training last night and there were loads of us, we have had so many new members of late that I wonder how we're going to cope with the increased volume at training sessions. I suppose it's a nice problem to have!   Anyhow, a fairly short session which suited me, my legs still feel a bit tired from the Hebden on Saturday. High intensity though, I was chasing a clubmate back up the hill at the end of the session and see from my Garmin log that I damn nearly maxed out my HR, that's not good is it? I don't know why I succumb to such temptations. Max HR that I saw in 2013 was 183, so 181 last night is not big or clever and will do absolutely no good.

Full hour training with swim partner Emma this morning, we're just building back up to the sort of sessions we were knocking out late last year and it hurts. Warm-up, breathing pyramid (3-4-5-4-3) then 3 sets of 3 x 4 off 2m45s (it's a 30m pool). By the time we were into the third set, pretty much all form had disappeared and I was hanging on to her heels for dear life. Bloody hard work.

On a positive note, I have tomorrow afternoon off and rain or shine Helen and I are going to head over to the loveliness of Calderdale and do a bit of Wadsworth Trog recce, probably followed by tea in a local boozer. Also - and changing subject somewhat - we had some very positive news last night insomuch as my youngest son received a hefty sum via the CICA (Criminal Injuries Compensation Authority) following the little fracas back in 2012 when his jaw was broken in four places during a night out in Leeds. The scum-sucking ars*wipe who was responsible for this is still doing time in one of popular prisons by the way, I do hope he's enjoying it.

Monday, 20 January 2014

Mudfest & Pies

Myself and Helen did the Hebden 22 LDWA event on Saturday along with some friends from Nidd Valley Runners and Calderdale Fell Runners. These LDWA events (hereabouts at least) are very popular with off-road runners and as long as nobody gets too competitive or wears a club vest, the organisers are happy - and I should think so too, it must boost their funds no end! Anyhow, I hadn't done the Hebden before but I knew it was a tough one with tricky navigation and so it proved: Lots of very muddy terrain and a series of sharp climbs, it certainly woke me out of my reverie.

I made a bit of a schoolboy error and started off wearing my heavy waterproof jacket when it just wasn't justified, of course within 15 minutes I was bathed in sweat and didn't dare take the blasted jacket off in case the windchill got me.The result was that I got quite dehydrated and on the final climb was struggling with cramp in both adductors, very annoying and entirely my fault. Once we topped out I saw that the group I was running with had managed to increase their lead on me by about 200yds, so once my legs had loosened up it was a balls-out effort down the descent and run back into Mytholmroyd to catch up. I really threw myself down that final descent, probably giving it a bit more than was justified given the conditions, however I'm pleased to say I caught 'em, though I think on a good day I might have managed to sneak past in the final sprint home. As it was, Helen and I reached the village hall together in 4:29:27, honour satisfied.

Quite a few people from outside the area had travelled to do the Hebden and it was nice to catch up with some people I hadn't seen for a while. Actually, something that made me smile was that while we were waiting for the off, a guy with a strong Wirral accent was proclaiming his expertise and that he'd ran in Yorkshire before and it wasn't that bad. I think he must still be eating his words, because I saw him come in around a couple of hours after us, white-faced and complaining bitterly about the terrain. Poor guy.

All in all a superbly organised event and the BEST way to spend a Saturday I can think of. Due to the early start (0900), there was lots of time to loll around the hall afterwards and chat with other runners. There were some damned good ones present too. The food was ace and after a delicious helping of pie and peas, followed by apple crumble and custard, all washed down with a couple of mugs of tea, well, I was feeling at my most convivial. You wouldn't get this at your local 10K, that's for sure.