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 Vallée 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 done 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.

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.

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.

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

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.

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.

Chevin Shenanigans

Went to Otley last night to take part in the inaugural Chevin Chiller, an off-road, hallowe'en fun run that ended up being taken rather seriously by a good proportion of the local fell runners .  It was all a bit of a drama getting there, Helen was working late so I picked her up on the dot of 7.00pm and we bombed over there, mate Carol had collected our numbers for us already and we had time for a bit of headtorch/shoe adjustment, pee in the undergrowth etc before the start of the race. I charged off way too fast, for some reason I'd got it in my head that the course was less hilly than it was and I struggled accordingly. Actually no, that's not right - I recovered and paced the later part of the race better, but towards the end I knew the damage had already been done and 4 or 5 runners annoyingly passed me on the climb to the finish. Still good fun though, my watch said 36.41 and I don't think that's too bad for an off-road event event on top of a big chuffing hill on a dark and dampish night.  Must do a few more fast training reps though, my leg turnover is as slow as hell nowadays. There were quite a few decent off-roaders present there and I am curious to know the winning time, am sure it will be way under 30 minutes .... also interesting was the way the field seperated, fell-runners are by the nature of the sport inclined to run in the dark and there was a significant gap between these erstwhile folks and the runners who had come along for the fun of it and perhaps weren't as used to running by headtorch or throwing themselves down slippy descents in pitch darkness.  Good result for Carol (2nd lady I think), don't know where I finished - will be disappointed if it's not in the top half of the field though.

It was late by the time I finally got to bed and of course it's a swim day today ... up at 0530 to go and crash out some distance, actually I had a surprisingly nice swim. Emma wasn't there today, so I did my own thing in a nearly deserted pool .... ended up doing about 54 lengths, in a 30m pool that's just over 1600m, so far enough. It was actually good to have the leisure to focus on some technique, I have several flaws in my stroke that I'm struggling to iron out, however it did occur to me this morning that I'm much better in the water when I really focus on my breathing. I try and swim all my reps bilaterally nowadays (breathing both sides - not as easy as you'd think) and am convinced that I don't exhale properly, what I mean by this is that 1) I don't make best use of the oxygen I've drawn into my body and b) I'm not getting enough CO2 out in order to get a decent lungful in its place. Really did work on this during the session and was surprised by how much stronger I felt per interval rep (120m). A few more sessions like that would do me the world of good.

 

Helen out tonight with the girls, so I am an independed soul for a few hours:

Thoughts for the day:

- Spear the fish and put it in your pocket

- Pull, bite, suck

 

Something to consider eh?

Robbed With a Smile

Had to take my car in for its second service yesterday, I knew that would mean expensive and braced accordingly.

I have to say, the team at Harrogate Audi are robbing b*****s of the very highest order but by golly they do it in a nice way. I bumped up there at 0800 and was met in the Service Reception by a whole flock of heavily made-up and mini-skirted girlies, all [apparently] desperate to make me a cuppa and escort my weary legs to a comfy seat. A brisk, professional exchange of keys took place - lots of lipstick and teeth going on here - and very shortly my appointed bimbette whisked me outside to my courtesy car, her high heels beating an impressive stacatto on the showroom flow. And what a nice car it was - a brand new Audi A6, less than 600 on the clock and enough buttons inside to baffle a fighter pilot. Naturally, I stood no chance and nearly caused a major pile-up in Knaresborough town centre due to my inability to operate the push-button handbrake.

Returning at 5.30pm, the smiles and lipstick had faded a tad, and I daresay the poor lasses were entertaining thoughts of comfy bunny-rabbit slippers, but it was still slick as you like and I had a couple of posh oatmeal cookies to accompany my gourment cuppa. My account was recited to me with a beaming smile and having parted with the best part of 300 quid, I was invited to rate my service. Naturally, I was "exceptionally satisfied". Anything less, I felt, would have been greeted with consternation and goings-on, but not resulted in a reduction in my bill and in reality kept everyone from their slippers.

Reading the service schedule, I've just parted with all that brass for what was effectively an oil change and a good look round the car - no remedial work was required. Of course, what I DID get was the service stamp in the logbook and maintained the integrity of the warranty, Audi know this and that's why they get away with it.

A licence to print money? I should say.

Old Enemy

So, last night I headed up to the gym to renew my acquaintance with the Jacob's Ladder machine, aka hill-climber or stepper. I used this device extensively during my BGR training last year and hate the thing with a passion, however it's effectiveness is indisputable and it helped me build the leg strength required to even stand a chance at a successful round. Anyhow, my usual session on this is 30 minutes broken down into 3 x 10m segments, at the end of every segment I coast down to the ground and towel off, quick drink and stretch, then back on - so maybe 20 seconds of recovery. When I first started I maintained around 80 feet of climb per minute, however as time went on and I matched it to aerobic heart rates I upped that to 90 feet per min and that was my target yesterday, the goal being to climb 2,700ft minimum. All went well to start off with, heart rate was nicely below my threshold and I felt like I was moving well, however by the third segment I was starting to feel it and was struggling to keep the 90ft cadence going while maintaining a sub-143 HR (or 75% WHR). It crept up inexorably and so I decided to just to hold the cadence and see how I finished .... it was ugly. Sweat was dripping off my face in torrents and my legs were crying for mercy, I just held on to the end before collapsing in a snotty heap on the floor. Final figure was 2,835ft in 30m, but I allowed my HR to get up to lactate threshold in the final segment and that won't do at all. I intend to work at this and get some leg strength back, I could do with rebuilding my "guns" a bit anyhow! It's all a far cry from last year when I clobbered the gym record with 3,000ft in 29.17m, that's an average cadence of 102ft/m. I won't be troubling that again methinks.

Good swim session this morning. My swim partner Emma has been selfishly absent for the past few weeks (away on courses and recovering from a couple of 50-mile ultras. Pffft), so it was nice to have some focus today. A good hour in the water and some very telling drills, I think I've identified some significant weaknesses in my stroke and we'll be working on that. A few more like that and I'll be well happy.

Surprise PB

Helen and I headed up to the Lakes early on Saturday morning, it was going to be a big day: Not only was it the Langdale Horseshoe fell race (one of our favourites) but it was also the bi-annual BGR dinner and I daresay wild horses wouldn't have stopped me going.

Anyhow, despite fairly poor weather in Yorkshire, things brightened up a great deal as we got closer to the west coast and it was clear that conditions were going to be pretty good. As we drove up Langdale, I could see just a little bit of cloud hanging over Crinkle Crags and although the summit of Bowfell was pretty much obscured, I knew I could navigate up and over it without too much of a problem. Well, we had a cracking race: It was the usual mad dash from the start as things start to bottleneck when you begin the long slog up to Stickle Tarn and everyone wants to get as far up the field as they can, but I honestly enjoyed every minute, it was one of those moments where I knew exactly where I was going and what I had to do, things unfolded much as I wanted. Yes, the traverse under Esk Pike was as horrible as it always is and I made a couple of minor navigational faux paus, but nothing worth writing home about.

My goal - based on a previous PB of around 3.37 - was to finish under 3.30, but as I reached the CP on the summit of Pike O'Blisco I realised that I was comfortably under three hours and that I was going to destroy that time. I belted across the summit plateau like a fool and soon picked up the runner's trod for the descent to Langdale. A mate from Horsforth Fell and Dale was on my heels all the way down and I believe we pushed each other to an entirely unexpected PB of 3.14.44, that's 23 minutes up on last year!

I'm over the moon with this. I don't expect PBs nowadays and run on the fells for the joy of it, not to chase rainbows .... however this result tells me I'm doing something right and all the work I've done this year on my descending technique must have paid off to some degree. Bobs wasn't too far behind me, she lopped 17 minutes off her PB for this race too so all in all we did pretty good. It's a curious thing though, you'd have expected me to do my best at this race off the back of all that BG training I did last year, but apparently not!

A quick cheer for the winners at the awards presentation (along with a few of the famous Langdale Horseshoe pasties) and we off to Shap for the BGR dinner, lots of mud to scrub off. Well, I did anyhow; I believe several people mistook a good layer of Langdale grime for Helen having a nice suntan from our recent holiday. 

I'm going to be writing a close-out BGR blog shortly, so details of the dinner will have to wait I'm afraid. Suffice it to say that it was a proper good 'un.

Getting Stuck Up Brenda .....

Today finds me in Playa Blanca, Lanzarote and coming to the end of a two-week sojourn out here. It came just in time, Helen and I were completely frazzled by Life and everything that goes with it, so we made a very deliberate decision to chill and not feel obliged to do anything. In this, I think we've been pretty successful - I can't recall a holiday when I lazed around quite so much, the weather has been fantastic and we have taken full advantage of it. We're in the same villa as last year, a cracking place with a superb outlook over Playa Blanca and Montana de La Brena Chica ("Brenda") and of course I have had to renew my acquaintance with its rocky slopes, just as I have with the extinct volcano just down the road. It's been ace, I've ran, swam, read Mike Cudahy's "Wild Trails To Far Horizons" and drank a lot of beer and rioja.

Am mildly surprised it's been such a while since I last blogged - such a lot has happened over the past few months ..... our friend Emma didn't get round her BGR, a few things went wrong and while we're not 100% sure of the reason as to why she ran out of steam, the good news is that she will be going back and I'm confident that she will nail it. We've taken a bunch of clubmates out on BGR leg 2 for a bit of a Lakeland Fells experience, We've also ran the Yorkshireman Off-Road marathon, coming a creditable 4th mixed pair and just before flying out here supported our friend Stolly on leg 1 of on his successful BGR, so all in all we've had some quality time out in the hills.

On a completely different tack, my brother (who lives in Australia) decided to come and visit, taking us all by surprise.  He had originally come to Finland to visit his son/my nephew, so I suppose it was as convenient as it ever would be to hop over to England. I knew it was going to be stressful, despite my best efforts he and I don't really see eye to eye and as my mum wanted to come along and visit us in Harrogate - bringing him with her of course - I had to be on my best behaviour. It was very hard work indeed, he is clearly uncomfortable when not on home turf and sadly couldn't bring himself to indulge an old lady - that's my mum - and bury the hatchet for the day.  He blames me for a lot - some of it is justified I guess - amongst other things I joined the navy when he was just 14 and he therefore had to go through all the crap associated with my parents' divorce by himself ..... we haven't had much contact since he emigrated, much to my regret. I hope that one day we can be friends, because I believe that blood IS thicker than water, but right now it doesn't look like time has been much of a healer.

See what I mean by a lot going on? That's why we were frazzled and I don't mean by the sun. Slightly compounding this, we had to pack both boys off to University and that made long journeys with a car full of gear to opposite ends of the country. I tell, you it's not easy.  Helen will be pleased to have her house back though and I suspect that next week we'll be detoxing the place. They're a pair of proper grubs and I'm expecting the worse, particularly in brat #1's bedroom.

So my holiday has come to an end. It hasn't all been lazing around the pool though, as usual the most interesting part of any holiday is people-watching and we both do it, albeit looking for different traits. We Brits are crap out of are own country aren't we? I have been deeply distressed by the sight, sound and behaviour of a lot of my countrymen (and women) over the past two weeks and really, it's no surprise that we've got such a bad reputation. We're so easy to spot .... young blokes with grotesque beer bellies and a rolled-up copy of "The Sun", girls hobbling along with plasters on their feet because the holiday sandals were more show than go, overweight, middle-aged men with unintelligible (if you're not English) northern accents, belligerantly and loudly pontificating about how fuckin' shite the beer is, acres and acres of burnt, wobbly flesh, mostly adorned with faded and stretched tattoos .... I could go on.  It does strike me that perhaps it's just me that finds the behaviour of Brits abroad distasteful, so it's a good thing I could hide in our villa and only venture out when the need for food and/or exercise demanded it.

Helen is probably right, I really AM a grumpy old bastard.

A Day In The Lakes Triathlon

I did this triathlon a couple of weekends ago, my first at half-ironman distance. I suppose you'd expect me to come out with all sorts of superlatives when trying to describe such an event in the heart of the Lake District, however I think I'll have to sum it up thus: fooking tough.  I did quite a bit of training in prep, certainly I don't think I could have done much more without affecting other facets of life and on the day I suppose it served me well, but this wasn't quite the shining performance I'd hoped for. Silly really, if I wanted to do a good time I'd have chosen a race with a more benign course, however you can't blame me for wishing!
Swim - Helen told me that everyone left the water looking ashen-faced and I can believe it. In training the week before I swam jetty-to-jetty in Ripon lake (1.1 miles, half-IM distance is 1.2) in 31 minutes, so thought 36 minutes would be reasonable on the day. Wrong. There was a hell of a Southerly wind and we went straight into it on the outbound leg, it made for a lot of chop and was literally like swimming uphill. I got out of the water after around 42 minutes and was easily in the top third of my wave.  There followed a long run up to timing point where transition began, overall about 44 minutes - a bit disappointing really.

T1 - Severe faffage. Put on cycle top, armwarmers and socks. Messed up badly with the socks, having two with "R" on them. Momentary confusion until I realised that they weren't paired (I'll get her for this later), this came back to haunt me on the run with a poor-fitting sock. Anyhow, just over 4 minutes. Fairly crap, really.

Bike - Went off feeling strong and tried to keep a steady pace until Kirkstone. That same Southerly wind was straight in our faces and made for an interesting climb, lots of expletives and rude words employed. Fast descent. Things went OK, climbed Shap Fell reasonably well, a hell of a fast descent from there and I surprised myself by being flat over the handlebars with the speedo indicating 45 - 48mph, this is quick for me. New Mavic wheels make a difference.

 I faded in the last 5 miles, should have had a gel or something to push me along, I have no idea why I didn't do this! Into transition in 3.48.

T2 - much better. On with trail shoes (yes, and two right-footed socks), off with armwarmers, grab bumbag and away. About 2 minutes.  Am not sure that a cycling top is a good idea for running, but there you go - live and learn.

Run - Felt dreadful to start with, the climb out of Pooley Bridge was agony. I know this piece of the Lakes well, having ran it on L50 recces and also on the Tour de Helvellyn, but it made no difference. Legs took at least 5 miles to wake up, I wasn't being passed but also wasn't making any ground up. Finally got going towards the top of the climb up Wether Hill and bombed down the fell into Martindale, overtaking loads.

You could easily spot the non-fellrunners, there was lots of fannying around going on on the descents. The last three miles were on road and it was pretty painful, I did what I could and caught my last target (guy with Soreen cycling top) and sprinted the last few hundred yards. I knew it would be close ..... my target was sub-seven hours ....... final time 7.01.25.   I was annoyed at the time, but it's all part of the experience I guess.

I've got a better idea of what it takes to do one of these races now and despite some disappointment with the final time, I really did enjoy it. After a quick cuppa we headed back to our rather nice B&B in Pooley Bridge, then it was over to the neighbouring pub for some celebratory beer.  I feel I will be back to give "A Day In The Lakes" another go, I can do better.

Murky Depths

So, I went to Ripon Lake last night for my last training session prior to my dubious participation in the Day In The Lakes Triathlon (a half-ironman) this forthcoming Sunday. Swimming isn't my weakest discipline (cycling is) but paradoxically it's the one I've put most work into this year. I was determined to become a better swimmer, so since January/February I have been doing three solid sessions a week and taught myself to breathe bilaterally i.e. on both sides - harder than you might think - dramatically improving my front crawl stroke into the process.

However, for one reason or another, predominantly weather I suppose, I've been slow to get into Open Water and in fact only ventured back to Ripon Lake a couple of weeks ago, however since then I've been about 6 - 7 times and I'm glad, because to be honest OWS is a completely different matter to swimming in a pool. It's hard to swim bilaterally in the lake, your sighting goes all to pot and now I understand why so many elites breathe unilaterally, also you can get a lot more air in that way and believe me, you need it. Soooo, last night was a try-out for the big day .... Ripon lake is in the middle of the racecourse and the NYP Triathlon club (NYP = North Yorkshire Police) have the rights there. Starting from the landing jetty and swimming around both islands, it's about 1.1 miles so, given that my swim target is 35 - 36 minutes I thought it would be good if I could get back in around 32 minutes. As it turned out, I had a belting swim, my sighting was much better than in recent swims, and I got back in a touch over 31 minutes. If I can swim like this or better on the day, I will be very happy.

I have to be philosophical about it though. Ullswater will be much, much colder than Ripon Lake and there will be a lot more bodies splashing around and trying to punch/kick and swim over you. Realistically, if I do it anywhere under 38 I suppose I should be grateful. Also, there are diminishing returns here .... I will really have to up my stroke rate to get in a fast time and this is a LONG race. I should really save my best shot for the bike, that's where the real time savings are.

On the subject of bike, I have fitted my new wheels (Mavic Ksyrium Elite) and the difference they make is astounding. I went out for my last long ride over the weekend, getting totally soaked into the process. The bike seems to leap forward much more eagerly, I suppose they ARE considerably lighter. I've still got to face up to Helen's wrath when she sees the credit card bill, but hey-ho. I've weathered that storm before. I may buy flowers and chocolate in advance.

The run route is pretty familiar, as it forms part of the both the Tour de Helvellyn and Lakeland 50/100. Basically, you start in Pooley Bridge and head out to the Eastern shore of Ullswater then follow the trail down to Howtown and Fusedale. It does part of the climb up Wether Hill before turning around, through Martindale and then back along the road to the finish. By fell-running standards, this is pretty benign. Of course, I will be knackered by the time I come to it so am not expecting any miracles. My last off-road race of any consequence was the Wharfedale Half and I had a terrific run, so hope springs eternal.

I can still smell neoprene on my skin. I obviously didn't spend enough time in the shower. Perhaps I should have used soap.

From Grassington to Chamonix

It's been rather a relaxing weekend by recent standards and a good thing too - I endured last week in a kind of sonambulistic haze (look it up) and only started coming to life around Friday lunchtime. This was entirely due to my participation in the previous weekend's Fellsman. This is a 61-mile slog across most of the high ground in Yorkshire and designed to make grown men cry. Full marks to the designers then, but to merely call this event a Fell Race or an Ultra is not really telling the story.
So yes, the weekend: Friday night I took Helen to a rather posh Chinese restaurant in town (Harrogate). The surroundings are not exactly oriental, in fact they're nothing like it if I'm honest, the establishment is housed in part of the old Royal Baths building, presumably that's why it's so bloody expensive. The fabric of the building was extensively restored at some cost a few years back and since the chogie restaurant took up residence, people have spoken with bated breath about the fine grub on offer. Totally overrated if you ask me, way too expensive for what you got and I won't be going back. Here, have a look: http://www.royalbathschineserestaurant.com/
 
Anyhow. The rest of the weekend was consumed by loads of sadly-neglected DIY tasks that have built up into a fairly formidable list and an easy run Saturday (which wasn't easy), a nice bike ride on Sunday and a very good pool session on Monday evening. I think I'm just about bouncing back from the Fellsman now, I don't suppose it's any surprise that I've been knackered - just thinking about it makes me tired.  The race itself started at 0900 on Saturday 27th and you have until around 1600 the following day (ie. about 33 hours) to complete it, though most will be aiming for under 24 hours at the very least. Just over 400 of us started the race, I was told that the average attrition rate is about 1 in 4 and that proved to very accurate as there were 95 withdrawals.  It was cold to start with, bitterly so on top of Ingleborough and I did fear the worst for a while, however the day warmed up and by the time we were running the ridge between Gragareth and Great Coum the sun was shining and all traces of snow and ice had disappeared. Before I forget, I must mention the incident I saw when descending Ingleborough via the Swine Tail: It was very icy/slippy and while everyone was being careful, the whole situation was exacerbated by a group of walkers coming UP the path. Some silly tw*t decided he couldn't wait and tried to cut a corner, the result - predictably - was that he lost his footing on the icy ground and flew down the slope, colliding with one of the walkers who was slowly picking his way upwards, He smashed into the (quite elderly) gentleman with both feet, all I can say is that it was a miracle that nobody was badly hurt. It's this sort of stuff that gets fell runners a bad name .... the least he could have done was apologise, but he didn't even do that! Sigh.
Anyhow, apart from Helen falling into a deep bog on the aforementioned ridge leading to Great Comb, it went pretty well, we reached Dent for the first big checkpoint (there are 24 in total) and I was surprised to see so many ashen-faced runners waiting for transport to ship them back to the start. I suppose there will have been a multitude of reasons for the various withdrawals, but from what I hear a lot of them were from runners with no background in fell running or mountaineering and I guess they just underestimated the severity of the terrain. We pushed on, making good time up the Craven Way to Blea Moor and onwards to Stonehouse before climbing Arten Gill and Great Knoutberry. This is where it starts getting serious, it's late afternoon and everyone wants to push on as far as they can before being grouped. This is a safety measure, basically you are required to spend the dark hours as group of 4 people minimum and there are different time deadlines for this. Bobs, my mate Mark and myself were aiming to finish somewhere around the 18-hour marks and I was pretty sure we were going to get grouped at the Fleet Moss checkpoint and so it turned out. This was a bit of a worry, as navigationally the part of the Fellsman from Fleet Moss through to the Middle Tongue checkpoint and onwards to Hell Gap is possibly the most difficult part of the course and we didn't want to be grouped with anyone who was at odds with our proposed route. As it turns out, we needn't have worried and we were grouped with a decent bloke (Pete from Retford) who was quite happy to let us take the lead.
It was now getting dark and the temperature fell accordingly, I can think of few places in England that are lonelier that Fleet Moss at nightfall .... however, we pushed on and found Middle Tongue easily, we were still moving well and started to overtake other runners as headed off towards Hell Gap. A good push onwards to Cray and we were suddenly within 10 miles of the finish - just the small matter of a lot of rough ground and, worryingly, Buckden Pike and Great Whernside to get over. Buckden Pike came and went with no problem, it felt like familiar territory, so all the recce work paid off. It was pitch dark and I knew I was enjoying myself, we pulled into the Park Rash checkpoint and after fuelling up, set off on the last major climb of the Fellsman. A few weeks previously I had climbed Great Whernside in deep snow, but today there wasn't a trace. As we climbed, it got steadily colder and I could feel the ground beneath my feet crunching as the ice began to form. It was a cloudless night and the moon burned a magnificent orange to illuminate our way, I felt truly privileged to be able to do this. I know I've waxed lyrical about mountains at night before, but there is something truly special about running in the hills at night. I don't know what it is, whether it's the freedom or simply the insanity of it all, whatever, I was in my happy place and will always remember how brilliant it was. All too soon we were down at the Capplestone Gate checkpoint and there wasn't much more to go. Down the muddy trail to Yarnbury and the final, quad-crushing descent down into Grassington before a sharp right turn to Threshfield and the finish. My final figures were 61.5 miles, 11,550ft of climb in 18hrs 31, though this doesn't take into account any time rebate for grouping at Fleet Moss. I can't say I'm unhappy with that, though I am convinced we could have easily taken 30 minutes off the overall time. Perhaps next year eh?
Next on the list is the Day in the Lakes triathlon, followed by the Lakeland 50. Never a dull moment round here
I was considering what's coming up when I realised with a start that with the Fellsman over I must be close to 2014 UTMB (Ultra Trail de Mont Blanc) qualifying criteria. A quick check reveals that I actually have 8 points right now from 3 qualifying events (Bob Graham Round, Tour de Helvellyn, Fellsman) and if I successfully complete the Lakeland 50 will have 10 overall. You need 7 to enter the UTMB ballot.
Dare I?

Postscript:  I dared!

Getting The Miles In ....

My training log tells me that last week we covered 72 miles over a six-day period, all of it on fairly tough off-road terrain. That might not be a great deal for some of the mile-munchers out there, but it's quite a lot for us. I think the fact that we (ie. Helen and myself) survived and are feeling okey-dokey is testimony to the recent training regime and I think we're looking forward to the Fellsman with a bit more optimism.

We got a good chunk of those miles during a Fellsman recce on Tuesday - and I have to say I picked the right day to have off, the weather was glorious - we parked at Ribblehead then took the 3Ps route up Whernside, from there it was down to Kingsdale, up Gragereth (steep!) and along a very nice ridgeline to Great Coum and then down to Dent. From here, it was a bit of a slog up to and across Blea Moor and then we called it quits and took part of the Dalesway back to Gearstones and then Ribblehead, around 25 miles and 5,000ft of climb in total..

On Saturday we did the Haworth Hobble (aka "Wuthering Hike"), this is a 32-mile off-road event that takes in a big chunk of the Bronte Moors and is pretty tough. It was my first time at this race and although I knew some of the route, we were on our own for a good part of it and so navigation was required here and there, this was exacerbated by snow showers on the higher ground .... not one for the faint-hearted, you definitely need to pull up your big boy/girl pants to get round this with your faculties intact.   Saying that, I hugely enjoyed it, this was one of our planned steps towards the Fellsman and it was a good exercise in pacing and taking on food/water at regular intervals, this is something that Helen doesn't do so well and I think the penny is beginning to drop. We carried far too much food with us of course, I wish I'd listened to a pal's advice in this respect because the various checkpoints had plenty of food - you were even offered a shot of whisky at the Mankinholes CP! It was great to see so many friends at the finish, lots of Dallam runners showed up and I am seriously impressed at some of the finishing times. My friends Emma and Carol (running as a pair) finished as first ladies in 5.44, a terrific performance and one to be proud of. DT and Stef had a good run too and looked relaxed and happy at the finish, all looking good for Stef's BGR attempt in May I think.

A Truly Romantic Ideal .....

Is it wrong to repost one of you own blogs?  I was reading this entry from 2011 in my "other" blog forum.  At the time, the Bob Graham Round was just a fanciful notion .... it's worth reproducing here, if only to make me realise how much water has gone under the bridge since then.  It also gives me a lot of satisfaction of course!

 

I don't suppose my preoccupation with The Bob Graham Round is much of a secret to those who know me, however I've tried to keep it low-key and deliberately not blogged much about it, or indeed, said much about it outside my immediate circle of friends or to family. Of course, this has been nothing more than a protection mechanism against the realities of the enormous challenge that is the BGR; those who know about it - and if you don't, please Google it now - will be aware of the difficulties and dangers, the physical effort required and the inevitable blood, sweat and tears that are part of the package. Since my interest was first kindled I have not wanted to publicly commit to any kind of firm involvement, just in case it turns out I don't have the desire, nerve and commitment needed to embark on a regime that would ultimately see me attempting to cover the best part of 66 miles over 42 Lakeland summits with a culmulative ascent/descent of around 28,000ft, all within a 24-hour window. Sounds hard doesn't it? It is, pardon me, unbelievably fucking hard.

With all that said, the truth of the matter is that I don't think I can keep stumm much longer and it's time to come clean. Several weeks back I was I was fortunate enough to be part of Dave Almond's support team for his successful BGR attempt and this weekend just gone I did the same for my friend Neil and this, coupled with a signicant amount of time spent up in the Lakes lately has turned a wavering desire into a firm objective, a life-goal that I desperately want to achive. Believe me when I tell you that not a single day goes by without my dreaming, scheming or thinking about the Bob Graham Round in some way or another and it's all wonderful.

I first heard of the BGR a few years ago, when I heard that one of our club members - a good runner - was taking a season off from competing in local races because he was training for something odd called a "Bob Graham Round". I was curious and eventually (like so many others) read Richard Askwith's "Feet in The Clouds" where everything was explained in very graphic detail. The seed was planted and it came at a time when I was getting thoroughly bored with road running and moving to more off-road stuff, even dabbling with the odd fell-race. You see, I've reached the point where the road has totally lost its appeal, I'm tired of constantly chasing rainbows and the repetitive impact has caused me all sorts of injuries, because biomechanically I am not that good. Off-road I seem to cope much better. Also, it's just like the Inov-8 advert says - once it gets in your blood, off-road running is a very powerful narcotic. If that's true, then fell-running in The Lakes is the most addictive of them all ....

I'm the sort of bloke who has to have a goal to aim for and as a result tend to jump feet-first into things that interest me. I've indulged in various obsessions over the years, but I've stayed passionate about a couple of things since I was very young. One is [soul] music, the other is The Outdoors and by that I mean camping, mountains, orienteering, backpacking. It's always fascinated me, but as a young lad I could never really afford all the bits and pieces I needed. School holidays would come round and we'd pack all our stuff up into some tatty old rucksacks and my dad would dump us somewhere up in the Peak District, we'd walk for miles, camp without permission, wonder if we'd ever dare to do the Pennine Way and wonder who the hell this Wainwright bloke was. So, fell-running and the BGR fits that particular passion very well, the difference this time is that nowadays I am a) considerably older and much more breakable and b) Have more common sense.

Alright, b) is debatable.

So I have committed to the cause and am truly loving the time I spend up in The Lakes, but must confess that until the last few years I hardly knew the area at all, most of my outdoor experience was gained in Snowdonia and The Peak District or wherever the military establishment chose to send me. I've spent a lot of time up there this year, almost to the point where Keswick seems to be a second home and I'm on nodding terms with the lady who runs the Kingfisher fish and chip shop. It has been fantastic, I look forward to every dash up to the Lakes and feel a thrill of excitement when I see those mountains. My life has a new focus and I consider myself fortunate to have met some truly wonderful people into the process. This is not just me, of course. My infinitely better half (Helen) loves the outdoors as much as me, so a lot of the BGR recce stuff we've done has been a joint effort and she has began to accumulate a lot of the BGR lore that is vital to a true understanding of the Round's mystique. It also makes it much easier if your wife is quite willing to spend all weekend in a rain-soaked tent and get up at 2.00am to convey her insane husband and his mates to a pre-arranged rendezvous point.

We were very fortunate to be up there during that spell of nice weather in May and it was probably the most enjoyable time I've spent with my clothes on in recent years, armed with a handful of OS maps and a dubious sense of direction, we got some serious miles under our belt, covering hefty chunks of the BGR at a time. It was glorious ..... I remember we were on a leg 3 recce (Dunmail to Wasdale) and we'd done an out-and-back thing, parking at Dunmail for the day. It was getting towards evening and we were on our way back to Steel Fell and the steep drop back down the fell, so we stopped for a breather and watched the distant horizon bathed in the early evening sunlight. It was incredibly peaceful, I felt like we were the only souls around, the summits of Bow Fell and Esk Pike soared high above the rugged scenery and I knew I was in the right place. It seemed a quintessentially British place, somewhere unique and worth fighting for. I knew I was in a privileged position to even be there and all of a sudden it seemed very important to quantify that, to earn my right to walk these fells and stand shoulder-to-shoulder with men and women with whom I would be proud to be mentioned in the same breath. The BGR would be my rite of passage.

Of course, it's not all glorious weather and inspiring scenery, but I never expected it to be. A couple of weeks back Helen and I went up to Wasdale for what was meant to be a week of relaxed camping and multiple BGR recces, however in typical fashion we got monsoon conditions. We endured, however, and still managed to cram about 70 miles and 20,000ft of climbing into the week, including that bloody awful climb from the back of the Wasdale Head Inn up to the summit of Kirk Fell. The point I'm making is that I know it's going to be hard and I'm prepared for that. 2012 will see me attempt the Bob Graham Round and it will be in the wake of a lot of training and planning. If I fail - and a lot off attempts do - then I will try again, but in the end it won't matter because the BGR has already given me more than I've put in and for that I will be eternally grateful.


Footnote:  for those who don't know, I succesfully got round the BGR in August 2012

A Lovely Morning .....

It seems a bit paradoxical to use such a title when outside it's snowing heavily, however it absolutely was one of my better mornings. I was up early for pre-work swim training and 0630 saw me ploughing up and down the pool at one of Harrogate Tri's coached sessions and it didn't go at all badly: my bilateral breathing is definitely getting better and I'm feeling stronger generally. Had no problem keeping up with swimming mate Emma, although she definitely has the edge when it comes to drill work - I sort of make up for the difference with brute-force and ignorance.  A swift change and off to work, it had snowed overnight and the roads were just clearing and the skies were blue and all around was that crystalline, winter clarity that makes you glad to be alive. I always find the view down into Nidderdale inspiring, if conditions are good you can see Great Whernside in the distance and Barden Fell and Rocking Hall are usually there, tempting me to go and run over them. Maybe it's the endorphins that result from a concerted hour of swimming, but I was seriously full of beans and happy to be alive, even though the next thing on the agenda was work! There are other reasons for this actually: i) I was back under my fighting weight this morning (10st 9lb) and that makes me happy, a bit more of that and I know my run performances will improve. Also, last night I got back on my gym hill-climb regime for the first time since August (ie. since my final session prior to BGR) and all in all, it wasn't bad. I didn't expect miracles, but managed the best part of 2700ft in 30 mins and the very fact that I stayed on the thing for 30 mins is proof that all is not yet lost. Training on this machine is VERY hard ..... I once did 3000ft in 29.17 so have a way to go, but this is a good start. Home for a quick change then off to pilates, I do believe that things are on the up in this regard too - I still struggle with some of the core strength routines, but given that I'd just done that hill climb session I thought that things went pretty well.

Reading the above, that might sound like a lot of training in less than 24 hours (true) - particularly if you consider that I intend to go interval training with the club tonight .... I have no doubt that I will find this very hard, but it will take me forward and that's what I need. The truth is, I had a bit of a wake-up call on Saturday at the Rombalds Stride, I had an absolutely f***ing TERRIBLE run, finishing 15 mins slower than last year. I can't explain it, conditions were great for running and all things being equal I should have been looking at a sub-4 finish (one of the guys I beat at the Tour de Helvellyn in Dec did exactly that), so what went wrong? I really don't know - I had no energy, my hip flexors hurt and the cold air was rasping in my chest. Doesn't sound good does it? I was running with Helen and mates Em and Carol, but just told them to leave me as we started the climb on the final section, I wanted to be grumpy in solitude. Ironically, I started feeling better on the steep climb up The Chevin, but the final run down into Guiseley was still painful. Common sense dictates that I shouldn't be too harsh on myself, I had only finished a course of antibiotics on the previous day and the preceding few weeks had seen me in a pretty poorly state - but that's not human nature of course and particularly mine. I was very pissed-off and it came as some surprise that I felt so good the following day - I certainly didn't feel like I'd done a tough 22-mile fell race.

Anyhow, this has all been a convoluted way of me explaining why I've been training so hard over the last 24 hrs. The time has come to stop fannying around, I have goals for 2013 and I'm not going to achieve them sitting on my backside.

Back In The Groove Again

We returned from our sojourn in Lanzarote little more than a week ago and I have to say it's depressing that all that nice sun and lazing about is now just a distant memory.  We hit the ground running upon our return, landing at 0230 on the Monday morning, home at about 0400 then work at 0830. The rest of the week passed in a blur, it's little wonder I felt knackered by the end of it.

We didn't have much opportunity to get our breath back, on Saturday morning we were off to the Lakes to do the Langdale Horseshoe, this is the last of the Lakeland Classics and is a tough race over a terrific course. I was really looking forward to it and it didn't disappoint. Weather was a bit iffy to start with and as we toiled up Stickle Ghyll and the side of Pavey Ark, there was not much of a view and there was a good layer of cloud above us. However, as we crossed Thunacar Knott and Martcrag Moor the clag lifted and blue sky was visible, before long we had a magnificent, sun-dappled panorama around us with thin wisps of cloud floating in front of the crags, quite magical. Helen and I ran pretty much together and I suppose we pushed each other along a bit. The climbs weren't too bad, but the ground was very wet - much more so than last year - and the traverse under Esk Pike was truly horrible, slipping and sliding all the bloody place. We got a good line up to Bowfell (where there was snow!), but conversely what felt like a rotten descent off the summit and down to Crinkle Crags, however I think that's just because it was so wet and slippery. I'm sorry to say that we messed up the Crinkles, this was our first return to them since last year's race and we allowed ourself to do the Sheep Thing and be led astray. And we knew better. We took a wide line to the West and over the little col rather than directly over the tops, this would have been OK if we'd immediately traversed East and not lost too much height .... but we didn't and the result was a very steep climb up to the summit of Long Top and we missed it even then, having to double back about 50 metres to the checkpoint. Thankfully, there was no dramas at the Bad Step and we scooted around the side with no problem, followed by a very hard stomp down to the foot of Pike O' Blisco and an equally hard climb up it.  The descent down Wrynose Fell to Langdale was necessarily cautious - everyone was really sliding around - but we made up several places and in the end finished a few minutes faster than last year, so I don't think we can complain.

Up to Keswick afterwards to our B & B, a quick mud-removal exercise and then out to the pub to meet DT & Stef who had been having several restorative drinks since finishing the Four Lakeland Passes LDWA event that day. A swift couple of beers were followed by an excellent curry in the Lakeland Spice, truly delicious and I enjoyed the evening hugely.

Next day saw the four of us head down to Ambleside and up onto the Fairfield Horseshoe. Must admit that I wasn't in the finest of fettles, I do believe I had a bit of a baggy head going on.  In any event, we weren't rushing and we made easy progress up to the area of Hart Crag where, very sadly, Darren Holloway from Pennine Fell Runners died last weekend. DT and Stef knew Darren and we helped build up the little cairn that his family and friends had started there. Stef had some white roses to place in the centre and by the time we left it was looking more substantial. It's a good place for a memorial to a terrific fell runner, right at the head of the Horseshoe with commanding views all over the Lake District.

Down to Rydal Hall afterwards in some glorious autumnal sunshine for a cuppa and a pretty enormous slice of carrot cake, it was a cracking end to a great day out, even if it was tinged with sadness. It's weekends like this that make me glad to be alive and doing what I do.