Right, please grab a cuppa and something to eat, you may be here for a while. I intended to do this some while back and I do apologise, it’s easy to keep on putting things off and that’s what I’ve done I’m afraid. It’s bad of me, particularly as what I’m about to waffle on about has pretty much monopolised my time over the past year and I know I’d regret not getting it all down while it’s (reasonably) fresh in my mind, so, here we go – the story of my Frog Graham Round.
Not heard of it? It’s obviously owes it’s title to the more famous 42-peak circuit of the Lake District (the Bob Graham Round), but is nowhere near as well-known, despite being around since 2005. The guy who came up with it is Peter Hayes, a university lecturer from up Durham way; he authored a book called “Swim Hiking in The English Lake District” and this is where the Frog Graham Round – or FGR – is defined. It’s a circular route of the NW Lakeland fells covering about 40 miles and 15,800ft of vertical ascent, the tricky bit is that there are four lakes to swim across enroute to the finish in Keswick. I’d heard it being talked about a few years back, but really didn’t give it too much attention until some fell-running/triathlete friends stated their intention to give it a go and I investigated further. I was surprised to find that less than 10 people had successfully done it since Peter’s inaugural round in 2005, perhaps indicative of the severity of the task but possibly simply because the fact of its existence isn’t widely known. I was immediately hooked and thought that this was something I could do, my goal there and then was to be one of the first ten people to get round.
Details on the FGR are scarce. Peter’s book is quite hard to get hold of, although you can download it from Amazon for your Kindle. A chap named Richard Walsh maintains a website that details the basics of the round and the list of successful completers, but there’s not much more. I then looked at the people who had got round thus far and the most notable was Tim Mosedale, whose name is well known in the outdoor world. Tim is a four-times Everest summiter (that’s fairly hard isn’t it?), he’s also the bloke who in 2015 decided to raise some money for charity by doing the big Lakes triple – in this case that meant swimming the length of Windermere, cycling the Fred Whitton route (112 miles) and following that with a Bob Graham Round. Once I’d found Tim’s blog, I had some hard details of the FGR to go on.
I could spend a long time writing about my preparation for this, way too long. Those who know me will have no doubts that I recce’d the route thoroughly – a good part of which I knew pretty intimately in any case – and had a great time doing it, clocking up some serious mileage and making some appalling navigational decisions in the process, well, you have to explore all options don’t you? From the very outset I felt that the key to success was making it so that the four swims – across Bassenthwaite, Crummock Water, Buttermere and Derwentwater – were just incidental obstacles along the way because, truth be told, there’s actually more feet per miles ascent in the FGR than the BGR and way more than horrendously tough fell races like the Old County Tops, so survival on the fell was going to be main thing. If I couldn’t complete each swim and follow it with a hard fell section, then it was clearly going to be a non-starter. But how to make it so that swims were just “incidental obstacles?” Tricky.
|Carol Morgan and Myself on an FGR Recce (High Stile)|
|Contemplating the FGR post-OCT|
Things didn’t go smoothly on the lead-up to my projected date at the end of June. For starters, I took a nasty fall while descending the back of Fleetwith Pike, this did some serious damage to my left knee and shin, moreover I managed to bruise my ribs into the bargain and as anyone who’s suffered this will tell you, it hurts like hell, particularly when you try to run. This little faux paus resulted in a visit to the minor injuries unit in Keswick where the very efficient nurse there patched me up. I think they’re very used to dealing with broken fell runners and I was seen and shoved out with commendable speed.
As if all this wasn’t bad enough, pretty much the following week I was back in the Lakes training and following a leg 2 run did my first training swim across Bassenthwaite in horrendous conditions. It took a lot out of me (probably more than I had to give at the time) and I can remember just sitting on the ground at Beck Wythop, too tired to get my wetsuit off and feeling that it was all too much. My companions had retired to the warmth of their car and I felt totally alone and exhausted. I didn’t know at the time, but I was coming down with some filthy cold virus and I guess that final effort across Bassenthwaite lowered my resistance to the point where it was All Systems Go for Mr Virus. It was horrible, I felt absolutely crap and it was clear that one way or another, my attempt was looking shaky. As it was, the weather came along and saved me because the week leading up to my projected date was absolutely awful and it was with some relief that I cancelled. The problem now was that I had had a load of friends booked in to run with me on the fell, however it looked very much like hardly any of them would be available in the short term. Whatever happened, I was going to have to do it with a skeleton crew.
The diary was beginning to look very full. I’d promised to help my friend Elise on her BGR attempt on the 29th July, moreover we had the dark shadow of the UTMB looming over us in late August. There really weren’t many options, so I was more or less forced into an attempt on Saturday 23rd July and this is what transpired. I put out the call for volunteers and just came up with enough bods to do it (five people), although it meant that most of them would be running two legs with me on the fell. This was important to me, from the very outset I’d decided that I wanted it to be a social occasion, something that I could share with some friends. Yes, I could have done it solo but I’m a sociable kind of bloke and it wouldn’t have been half as much fun without some company and not at all what I wanted. I would be carrying my own wetsuit on the fell and using an inflatable swim bag (a “ChillSwim“) to tow my kit behind me when in the water.
The timings on the FGR are critical. You don’t have to be a genius to work out that you want to be doing the swims in daylight, moreover I wanted to finish at a decent time in the evening so that we could have a beer and celebrate afterwards. I’d also worked out – based on my recces of the route – that all things being equal, I should come very close to or in front of of Craig Dring’s existing record of 14hrs 58m, the only “sub-15” round thus far. A lot of it was guesswork, but I went out there with a schedule of 14hrs 30min and fingers firmly crossed. Perhaps that’s an understatement, because I was crossing everything that would cross, throwing salt into corners, muttering incantations and praying to my forefathers that this was going to go well. It was too late to sacrifice my first-born, he’s appreciably bigger than me and would have objected. In all seriousness though, I knew only too well how easy it would be for disaster to strike, I would be swimming alone and knew that later on in the round it was going to be a real effort. Well, I never did have any common sense, it’s sobering to think that in my advancing years things haven’t changed much.
We met Emma, Chris and Paul at Keswick’s Moot Hall at 0345 (the FGR shares the start/finish with the BGR, it also has the same first summit) and after some nervous kit faffage we were off at 0400 on the dot. Emma and Chris had headtorches, but I hadn’t packed one, banking on dawn arriving before I really needed one. That’s pretty much as it worked out, by the time we were halfway up Latrigg the first twinklings of light were breaking up the darkness and I felt relaxed and in good company. I’ve done this climb up Skiddaw any number of times and knew exactly what to do, although care was needed: I was carrying a wetsuit and heavy pack, the last thing I needed was to charge up there at BGR pace and overcook it, I needed to arrive at Bassenthwaite relaxed and in good order. Skiddaw was shrouded in cloud and I knew that it was likely to burn off later in the day, however a jacket was needed to keep the chill at bay. Everyone with me knew the ground intimately and we had no problems hitting the summit and then swiftly finding the trod off down to Carlside. Chris had very kindly recce’d this bit for me and after Carlside and the tarn he had worked out some fast lines through the bracken that took us down to White Stones and then the track at the top of Dodd Wood, from here it was a long descent down to the visitors car park, across the road then down to Bassenthwaite Church, this is the second mandatory CP on the round. No messing about here and it was straight into my wetsuit, although I have to say that this is not as easy as you might think when you’re a bit hot and sticky after a long run down one of England’s highest mountains.
|Bassenthwaite at Dawn|
There was a bit of faffage getting my kit and rucksack into the swimbag (forgot to take out goggles and they were at the bottom), but once sorted I was into the lake and very fortunately, it was calm and still. The others ran back to the Dodd Wood car park where Chris had his car, they would drive round to Beck Wythop on the other side of the lake (seven miles by road) and meet me there. It was an easy swim, I relaxed and deliberately took it easy, breathing every 4th stroke. Every now and then I swapped sides for no other reason than to the left you have a marvellous view of Dodd and several other Lakeland fells, it felt like I was massively fortunate to be able to do this, it was a beautiful morning (around 0630 I guess) and my spirits were high.
|The Frog Emerges|
I might have been a bit too relaxed going across there, because I was a minute or two slower than projected, but hey, in the grand scheme of things that wasn’t going to make any difference and I was sticking to my plan that the swims had to be “mere incidentals” otherwise the scope for disaster was huge. I crossed the A66 to the layby at Beck Wythop and Chris, Emma and Paul had just beaten me to it, Helen was there along with my clubmate Simon, both of them were going to be running on Leg 2 with me while Emma took over road transport duties. I had a bit of trouble getting my wetsuit off, the problem was that like many others I was struggling with the physiological effects of swimming with minimal leg movement, I don’t know the real reason for this but I do know that as soon as I went from a horizontal to vertical position, cramp in my lower legs (calves, feet, adductors) struck immediately, therefore it was difficult to get the bloody wetsuit off. I don’t think this is the sort of cramp associated with electrolyte depletion, this is something else entirely – I just don’t know how to combat it. Of course you can kick more when swimming and that sort of mitigates it, but the swimbag makes that much more difficult, it trails from your waist you see, so it’s the classic triathlete’s taildrag or nothing.
I eventually got sorted and on my way, the cramp stopped as soon as I began running. Wierd eh? From Beck Wythop you cut through the woods and then come out on the Thornthwaite Road, then it’s a bit of a slog until you reach the foot of Barf, the first summit of Leg 2. I’ve stopped thinking that Barf is a funny name for a mountain, there’s nowt funny about it at all. It might be small, but by God it makes up for that in severity, it’s a properly steep climb to the top. Good potential for getting it all wrong too, the first time I recce’d this I went up via Slape Crag, this is – unbeknownst to me at the time – a Mountain Rescue black spot and I totally understand why, but that’s another story! It was getting warm and as we laboured upwards, the cold water of Bassenthwaite became a distant memory. We reached the summit 10 minutes ahead of schedule and I stopped to take in the marvelous panorama; it’s a cracking view from Barf and if you haven’t been up there, please accept my recommendation, winter or summer it just delivers. It was turning into a lovely day, just a few clouds in the sky and I felt like I had the upper hand, I was loving it.
|Myself and Simon on Grisedale Pike|
|On Hopegill Head|
|Crummock Water and Low Ling Crag|
Running down to Rannerdale I was greeted by Emma and made up my mind: I was now 8 minutes up on schedule and wanted to maintain my advantage, it was only a shortish swim across to Low Ling Crag, how hard could it be? Now, I have to tell you that this was a very foolish decision and could have cost me my life. Open water swimming is an inherently risky business if you don’t take proper precautions, one of those is acclimatising your body to cold water and I hadn’t, not even a bit. I jammed my rucksack and the rest of my kit and rucksack into the swim bag (it was a bit of a squeeze), on with goggles and swimcap, then away I went to worried looks from Helen, Simon and Emma. There was a diving club getting ready at the side of the water, they were all in full immersion suits and looked at me like I was mad. In retrospect, they were absolutely right.
|Not One of My Better Decisions ....|
Once the initial shock was over, it didn’t feel too bad. I forced my face and chest down into the water to compensate for the lack of wetsuit buoyancy and tried to focus on my breathing. It was bitterly cold though and straight away I could feel a peculiar numbness creeping across my face. Focus. I wanted to kick, but the swimbag behind me made it difficult, the damned thing was getting in the way. Up the stroke rate, get the blood flowing …. got to get out of here quickly, I started to realise that this might not have been a smart idea, my body had definitely come to the same conclusion and had started to divert all bloodflow to vital organs and I was beginning to lock up from the waist down, heck, I knew this really wasn’t good and I was in trouble. If that wasn’t enough, I was worried that the swim bag was going to burst open, it really was packed tight and even though it was buoyant, the thing was heavy enough to be an obstruction in the water. Looking back, I have no idea how I safely reached Low Ling Crag, it would have been easy enough to panic but I had enough about me to focus on survival and just crashing out the strokes, long strokes with a high elbow and strong pull, just aiming for the other side on auto-pilot.
|Rannerdale Knotts - the View From Low Ling Crag|
I could see Chris and Nick waiting for me, both looked worried. My plan to swim around the right hand side of the crag was abandoned and I just hit the crag on the nose and clung to it, my legs immediately locking solid and the pain caused me to bite my lip hard, it was awful. Eventually I scrambled out of the water and Nick draped his jacket around my shoulders, I was shaking violently and not in a good place, I guess it’s fair to say that any advantage I’d gained in not wearing a wetsuit was completely lost, massive mistake. The weather was still OK, so I warmed up quickly enough and I was keen to get going, so I dragged my fell shoes and manky socks out and wrestled them on, to be honest it was a relief to be getting back to running mode and we set off up the side of the next FGR obstacle: Mellbreak.
If you know the Lakeland Fells, you’ll know Mellbreak. It’s the steep-sided monster to the North of Crummock Water, quite a plateau on top and it has in fact got two summits, the South being the “proper” one. I’d recce’d this twice before and knew it was going to be emotional, it’s terribly steep and there are no trods or walkers routes – you go up there the best way you can and hang on for dear life. I knew from Tim’s account that there was going to be a big problem with bracken, but I didn’t really appreciate just HOW bad it was going to be, I felt like Dr Livingstone hacking through the jungle. It was difficult enough going up something this steep without a bracken wall to hack through. It was murder, the swim across Crummock had done me in a bit and every upwards step felt like torture, I was totally knackered. Eventually we got through all that crap, but things then went a bit amiss when Chris announced he wasn’t feeling too good, was turning back and would see us over at the bottom of High Stile. He didn’t say it, but it transpired that he’d turned an ankle – that swelled up like a balloon – and I guess he just didn’t want to worry anyone. My hero.
Nick and I carried on, finding the Mellbreak summit without difficulty and then charging on to the long descent that takes you down to Scale Beck, surprise, bracken has grown to head-height here too. We bashed our way through and it was only by luck that we found the indistinct trod that leads down to the beck, from here it’s a climb – a long climb – up to the summit of Red Pike (the Ennerdale version) before going across the rocky ridge to High Stile. This is one of the big ones that looks so forbidding when you stare down the valley and from Buttermere, you would be forgiven for thinking it would be impossible to come down the nose via Grey Crags, however this really is the FGR route. It’s actually faintly cairned, but it’s far from an easy descent and you really need your wits about you or you could end up getting to the bottom a bit faster than you’d want to. In training I did this a few times as it’s by some margin the worst descent on the round and I estimated that a reasonable split on the day would be 28 minutes, it actually took me 37, sadly. This is partly because I was getting a bit tired by now, partly because I was being very careful, but also because the lower slopes were – surprise – covered with bracken and it was a proper pain hacking through it to Horse Close. Bracken is definitely the curse of the FGR, the lines are too seldom trodden for them to become permanent paths, so you have to take the route as it comes.
|Horse Close with Buttermere behind|
As we approached Horse Close (this is the little wood on the shore of Buttermere), Nick peeled off to run around the lake and there was Chris as promised. He looked OK, much to my relief. Buttermere is much shallower than Crummock Water and it’s the shortest swim on the round, so I didn’t have any qualms about swimming it without a wetsuit, despite my earlier experience. I ripped off my shirt and fellshoes, jammed all the kit back into the swimbag, googles off and I was away. I did this swim in 6 minutes in training, today it took me a little over 7, however it was with a real sense of relief that I reached the other side and was met by Helen and Em, I was 75% of the way in and still up on schedule – I was in with a real chance of getting round, the only question now was whether leg 4 would break me before the final and longest swim across Derwentwater?
|Frog Inbound - the end of the Buttermere swim.|
|Climbing High Spy|
High Spy came quickly and we had no problem picking out the Anniversary Waltz racing lines back to Catbells. This was one part of the round that I hadn’t recce’d under “exam conditions”, I’d intended to do it but events had sort of conspired against me, the result being was that I’d had a guess at the splits, a bit optimistic as it turned out. We were all running well, but I still lost a bit of time enroute Catbells, my own fault I guess. My advantage was all but lost at this point and I was about where I’d predicted, but this was, of course, on a 14:30 schedule so I had no reason to be unduly worried. Lots of tourists on the summit, but we sneaked round them and bombed down the grassy line that takes you to the col where you drop off to the road and Old Brandelhow, the fell section was all but over.
|On Catbells, all OK. Note Islands Below|
While all this was going on I’d been keeping an eye on Derwentwater below me, because the final and potentially biggest obstacle was looming and I had to get my head in the right place. The wind had got up over the past few hours and I could see that there was quite a chop on the water now, not at all what I wanted to see and I was privately cursing. Anyhow, we moved quickly downwards and very soon found ourselves at Otterbield Bay, the end was nearly in sight. There’s a nice grassy bank to lean on there, so it was quickly on with wetsuit and kit packed, I told the others to get round to the Catbells carpark and not wait for me – Nick had his car there and it was their job to get to the other side in time to run in with me, it’s quite a distance by road and you have to go through Keswick you see.
I should point out that the swim across Derwentwater is not as straightforward as you might think. For starters, it’s the longest (just over a mile) but the real twist is that you to visit three islands enroute, Otterbield, St Herbert’s and Rampsholme in that order, exiting at Calf Close Bay which is more or less parallel with the Great Wood on the Borrowdale Road. The rules say you have to have your entire body out of the water at each island, this isn’t as easy, because the ground shoals very gradually to St Herbert’s and Rampsholme, meaning you have to snake-belly in (slowly!) and then stand up with great care, the rocks are as slimy as hell and it would be very easy and very bad to fall over here.
|The Final Swim|
I committed my soul to the waters once again and dived in. Fate wasn’t kind to me from the outset, the bloody Derwentwater passenger steamer chose that precise moment to come across the bay and of course its wash threw me all over the place. If I’d known what was coming I don’t think I’d have been quite so peed-off, perspective is everything: I reached the tiny Otterbield Island very quickly and, just as I did in my recce swim the previous week, shimmied up the slimy rock and got my body out of the water. Straight back in, around the side and I reached out for St Herbert’s, I really wanted to do this final swim justice.
I was dead tired, that last slog over the fells of leg 4 had taken the wind out of my sails and I knew it wasn’t going to be easy, I’d prepared for that though. St Herberts was right ahead and as I cleared the bay, my problems really began: My suspicions about the surface state turned out to be entirely justified and beyond the shelter of the bay, the stiff SW wind was really pushing at the swell, creating a hell of a chop that both contrived to crash over my head and blow me off course. It was coming from my “good” side too, which made things much worse, I can breathe bilaterally of course, but like most swimmers have a side I prefer to breath to, in my case it’s the right. I was now being force to breath uniquely to the left and all things told, I was having a bit of a bad time. Sighting was a major problem, the surface chop meant I only got a second here and there to really assimilate what was in front of me and I have to say that St Herbert’s, with its dense woodland, just blended into the treeline behind it. It was very hard to stay on course. This was more a fight than a swim.
Eventually, St Herberts became close enough for me to easily distinguish the shoreline. I was having to swim well to the right of my intended destination because of the bloody wind, it was incredibly draining and being unable to breath evenly took its toll. Eventually the ground began to shoal and as I snake-bellied in, I remembered in the nick of time that there were some big submerged rocks thereabouts and it would be easy to head-butt one, that wouldn’t have been good, although I suppose it might have knocked some sense into me. As planned, I went wide and landed on a little bit of shoreline …. I don’t think I have the words to describe how difficult it is to stand up on those slimy rocks when your body is just running on fumes and legs threating to lock solid at a moments notice. It’s a good thing that I really wanted to do this, otherwise I might have had a bit of a Sense of Humour Failure.
Back in the water, clear the rocks, get deep enough to swim properly, strike out hard for Rampsholme. Attack the water. Breathe. Breathe. Argh, waves, need air, need energy. As I’ve said before, I love swimming but I wasn’t loving this. As expected, at about that point I soon heard the squealing of some horrible gull above me, there is some kind of colony of them on Rampsholme and as you get close to the island they get a bit pissed-off and start dive-bombing you – I had learned this the previous week. It might not seem like a big deal, but it’s a bit unnerving thinking that you’re going to have some big smelly bird bury its beak in the back of your head.
There comes a point in situations like this when you stop attacking and are forced to start defending, I think I was very close to that here. I’m only flesh and blood and what I’d been through so far was enough to drain my batteries to more or less zero, I just didn’t have the energy for much more. I tried to glide out to the front of the stroke and pull through the water, over-rotating to my left to try and get as much air into my lungs as possible. Eventually, I could see the ground in front of me begin to shoal and soon I was skimming over the rocks of Rampsholme, pulling myself in with my hands. My landing spot on the South shore was OK, but I still had to stand up on the slimy rocks, I was getting very fed-up with it all now. No point in hanging around and the final stretch of water to Calf Close Bay was in front of me, I knew my friends would be waiting there for me and I was eager to get this over with. Back into the water, clear the shallows, swim Martyn, for God’s sake just focus! The conditions were no better on this side of the island, but I caught a glimpse of Helen waving a towel from the shoreline and knew that I was heading in the right direction, this nightmare swim was nearly over.
|Chris Doing a Bit of Frog-Watching|
I pushed my chest into the water and tried to concentrate on the job in hand: rotate, high elbows, clean hand entry, push to the front of the stroke, catch …. that was the theory, but the reality was that my arms felt like useless lead weights and weirdly, I couldn’t close my fingers together properly, meaning a much reduced hold on the water. My swimming efficiency at this point was rubbish and it was costing me, I was angry and tired. I would have like nothing more than to simply roll over and take a rest, but in those conditions it might not have been the smartest thing to do and I was worried about being hit by cramp again, something that could have been catastrophic.
It took what felt like an eternity to swim those last few hundred yards, I didn’t have enough energy left to combat the water conditions and was forced to do exaggerated rolls so that I could suck enough air into my body, more often than not a wave would crash over me making this a pretty miserable situation. Eventually I saw the lake bottom and the ground began to shoal, it was nearly over – thank God. Everyone had gone to Calf Close Bay so that we could run in together and I could see Chris and Nick standing on a rock by the waterside, both looked concerned …. I guess in retrospect they were right to be. Hey, I might not have been moving very fast at that point, but I WAS moving! I did my final snake-belly in and tried to stand, immediately the most agonising spasms coursed through my legs, not at all what you want when you’re trying to balance on slimy, slippy rocks. It was as dodgy as hell and really didn’t want a smashed kneecap at this stage in the game.
|Glad That's Over!|
It took an eternity to get properly out of the water, wriggle out of my wetsuit and jam my running shoes on. I bundled my wetsuit and kit into my rucksack and we scrambled up the dirt bank to the path that leads round to the Borrowdale Road. Of course, the bloody cramp disappeared as soon as I got moving, don’t ask me how or why, I’ve given up trying to work it out. The crap conditions had meant that I took much longer than envisaged getting across Derwentwater and my schedule was blown to pieces, however I was still on for a sub-15hr round and if I got a wiggle on stood a chance of beating the existing record. There was no messing about and Helen and Emma set a strong pace from the outset, it was just two miles to Keswick but the way I felt at that point it may as well have been twenty.
The girls knew what the score was, both have been involved in plenty of Bob Graham Rounds and the final push for the Moot Hall. I was dead on my feet, the weight of the rucksack felt like it was going to drag me to my knees and water was slowly draining from the wetsuit and trickling down the back of my legs. I felt cold and was ready for all this to stop, but you know, it doesn’t take much to turn your emotions around and I was being pushed and encouraged to run, not allowed to slow down and told to move my lazy arse. I hated it to start with, it’s always hard transitioning from one medium to another and I remember well how terrible the run to Keswick had been on my own Bob Graham, however this was a bit different and as the town’s rooftops came into view I could smell the scent of success and my spirits lifted. Adrenaline coursed through me and it didn’t feel like such a big deal to run anymore, we ran straight across the roundabout and into the streets, past George Fisher’s and I was dodging around bemused pedestrians, past the Dog & Gun, I was berating and yelling at myself; "run you lazy bastard, run like you never have before, push, PUSH!" I gave those last few yards everything and practically bounced up the steps of the Moot Hall to hit the door and complete the Frog Graham Round in 14hours, 48 minutes and 37 seconds, taking 10 minutes off the existing record.
|One Very Happy Harrogate Harrier!|
It’s difficult to describe the euphoria of situations like this. I can remember once feeling sad because I thought I’d never again experience the joy of completing something like the BGR or UTMB. I feel massively privileged to have been able to stand on these famous steps for a second time, it’s something very special and I was overwhelmed; the Frog Graham Round had consumed me for most of the preceding months and I was literally beaming from ear to ear, I’d never been sure I could get round this monster – how could anyone? – because it drains you in a way that other big physical challenges cannot, but success lifted a huge weight off my shoulders. Helen and my incredible friends Emma, Chris, Simon and Nick stood under the steps and gave me a cheer, correcting passers-by who thought they were witnessing the end of a successful BGR. “What’s he done? A Frog Graham Round? Really? What’s that? Insane”!
Insane. They were right.
Since I did the Frog Graham Round, the record has been lowered on two further occasions, the first by Mike Vogler of Black Coombe Fell Runners and most recently by Tom Phillips of Dallam/City of Lancaster Triathlon. Tom did the first sub-14 hour round to finish in 13:57. Outstanding.
Since I did the Frog Graham Round, the record has been lowered on two further occasions, the first by Mike Vogler of Black Coombe Fell Runners and most recently by Tom Phillips of Dallam/City of Lancaster Triathlon. Tom did the first sub-14 hour round to finish in 13:57. Outstanding.