After a long period of inactivity caused by my foot deciding that it needed a rest, I have been popping out for a canter in the evening. A headtorch is needed now that the Autumn has well and truly displaced the Summer - I have a very nice Silva one that seems to run for ages even when the batteries are low and a small Petzl in my pocket as a backup.
Anyway, I went out last week for an hour or so in Ashton Court, looping across the fields and alongside the deer enclosure. There is an odd isolated feeling of running in dark that is accentuated when running in a place that is usually quite busy in the day; it seems as if you are in a silent alternative reality - same place, different light, animals instead of humans. The moon shone through the dampness and my torch picked out features that were insignificant in the day . Grasses were given haloes that made them resemble lamp posts and tiny shreds of foil from dropped sweet wrappers glowed like pin-prick lamps. I was startled by something that shone up at me from the ground and when I picked it up I was surprised to find a Nike tick - presumably it had peeled off a running shoe or jacket. Testament to the value of reflective elements on sports clothing.
I ran alongside the deer park and climbed steadily toward Clarken Combe. The mist and darkness conspired to close in on me in a welcoming shroud so that my world shrunk down to the ten foot circle around me. I was lolloping quite gently, scarcely out of breath, and enjoying the movement of my body.
My torch picked out a pair of eyes in the undergrowth, just through the railings of the fence, and I found myself a few feet from a couple of deer. For some reason they were either unaware or unconcerned about my presence. I was shining a bright light in their direction and not more than six feet away but they continued grazing around the edges of a fallen tree trunk. One had a good set of antlers and up behind us in the woods a crashing indicated battles for supremacy were taking place.
After a good couple of minutes I drifted off and continued my run - a memorable encounter that suffused the run. I regretted not taking my phone as I could have taken some pictures - maybe next time.
Saturday, 26 October 2013
Saturday, 10 August 2013
It's difficult to run while fighting off tears
Sometimes things don't go to plan, but instead they offer a new way of thinking. I was due to go out for at least 6 hours today, but Karin has been knocked down hard by her chemo and I was very reluctant to leave her. She has been unable to even get up out of bed even for something small like getting a drink of water and the thought of her laying there for 6 hours without being able to get what she needs put me off running at all. I then came up with a plan; I would run for about 2 hours then go back and make sure she is OK. As soon as possible I would go out and have another run, and so on. This was quite exciting - she would be looked after and I wouldn't need to carry a days worth of supplies.
I hadn't reckoned on the difficulty of leaving the house again and again - it was so tempting to give up. However, I managed 30 miles in 3 legs, and actually I think that stop-start approach was good training: I certainly have tired legs. I also managed to make sure Karin was OK throughout the day and even prepared her a very quick lunch.
As I ran I pondered the natural extension of this type of running - how long could you sustain running for 2 hours, returning for 30 mins, then repeating? I reckon I had one more slow run in me, although each run was getting shorter. I must do some research on this as a training method. I know back to back runs are popular for developing stamina - either two runs on the same day or one late one day followed by the other early next day - but does it compare with continuous running, which after all is what I do when racing.
Going back to the title, I also took my phone, some headphones, and a load of radio 4 podcasts. I got used to listening as I went along; something I have avoided over the years. Having speech was loads better than music as I could still hear environmental sounds through the words.
As I ran towards Failand on leg 3 I put on a podcast about Robert Wyatt singing Shipbuilding. That song catches me every time, but hearing how it was written with some passionate analyses from a variety of people really pulled me up. What a beautiful and profound song. Elvis Costello said that when he finished the lyrics he knew it was the best song he had ever written. So, I ran, sniffing to myself, and occasionally warbling to the snippets of the song they played. Good job no-one was around.
Just to lighten things up I listened to Desert Island Discs with Stephen Pinker and some excellent debates about social policy - I do lead an exciting life! My first day of running using podcasts was great - if I am in terrain that I don't know or in company I won't need any entertainment, but when on my own on familiar trails it was very welcome.
I am still a bit cautious about the 10 Peaks 40 mile race in 4 weeks, mainly due to not knowing how things will be at home, but I have had a good days running, and there is nothing wrong with that!
I hadn't reckoned on the difficulty of leaving the house again and again - it was so tempting to give up. However, I managed 30 miles in 3 legs, and actually I think that stop-start approach was good training: I certainly have tired legs. I also managed to make sure Karin was OK throughout the day and even prepared her a very quick lunch.
As I ran I pondered the natural extension of this type of running - how long could you sustain running for 2 hours, returning for 30 mins, then repeating? I reckon I had one more slow run in me, although each run was getting shorter. I must do some research on this as a training method. I know back to back runs are popular for developing stamina - either two runs on the same day or one late one day followed by the other early next day - but does it compare with continuous running, which after all is what I do when racing.
Going back to the title, I also took my phone, some headphones, and a load of radio 4 podcasts. I got used to listening as I went along; something I have avoided over the years. Having speech was loads better than music as I could still hear environmental sounds through the words.
As I ran towards Failand on leg 3 I put on a podcast about Robert Wyatt singing Shipbuilding. That song catches me every time, but hearing how it was written with some passionate analyses from a variety of people really pulled me up. What a beautiful and profound song. Elvis Costello said that when he finished the lyrics he knew it was the best song he had ever written. So, I ran, sniffing to myself, and occasionally warbling to the snippets of the song they played. Good job no-one was around.
Just to lighten things up I listened to Desert Island Discs with Stephen Pinker and some excellent debates about social policy - I do lead an exciting life! My first day of running using podcasts was great - if I am in terrain that I don't know or in company I won't need any entertainment, but when on my own on familiar trails it was very welcome.
I am still a bit cautious about the 10 Peaks 40 mile race in 4 weeks, mainly due to not knowing how things will be at home, but I have had a good days running, and there is nothing wrong with that!
Monday, 29 July 2013
Running in the sun
As part of our planning for the 10 peaks in September, four intrepid TACHers met in Talybont a few weeks ago for a 20 mile run on the route. As we climbed out of our cars it was obvious that the day would be a hot one - it had been sunny all week. Now, this is the weird thing- how do you plan for a run up in the Brecons? No matter what the conditions are like at the car, there is no knowing what it will be like up in the hills. I found that out during the Brecon 40m when I stood on the start line in my shorts, looked at what everyone else was wearing and quickly popped my tights on. Very glad I was too; the horizontal rain was freezing.
Anyway, as we climbed it was clear that the day was a scorcher. I was very glad of the 2 litres of water I took, as well as the fact that we would be stopping at the Storey Arms mid point to refuel. Chris and Graham decided to cut their run a little shorter, leaving David and I to sweat away on the full route as planned. We noticed a lot of soldiers on the hills - mostly solo and carrying massive bergens as well as a rifle. We said hello to quite a few but very rarely got a reply. David said that they didn't look the ideal types to be up there in full uniform; they looked young and not as craggy as you might hope. We advised one to get into a stream as he seemed rather bewildered.
A surge of testosterone on the first big hill established me as the fittest, but also the one with the most sore legs for the rest of the run - do I never learn? David was stronger than me on the second half - although his recent return from Hong Kong hinted at acclimatisation to the heat. At Storey Arms I took my shirt and shoes off and sat in the stream - bliss.
A horrible crawl back up to Corn Dhu and we were well on route back to the car. I was very happy at this stage to walk anything that veered from horizontal but unfortunately my plans for strolling were scuppered by a chance meeting with the race organiser for the September race. He had run the whole 58km in that weather! He was very pleased to run and chat with us, which of course meant that I had to pretend I wasn't falling apart. Luckily I am a demon descender and made good use of gravity to pretend I could still run at a decent lick.
Back at the car I was finding breathing difficult; very odd. David suggested exercise-induced asthma as a cause. I found it easier to breath through my nose - maybe something to do with controlled breathing - so with me remaining uncharacteristically silent we headed to The Star for refreshments. One pint of coke and ice and I was restored to my usual voluble self. So, either the cold drink relaxed my pipes or I was suffering low blood sugar I don't know, but it was a relief.
The following day we found out that two of the soldiers on the exercise had died, with another in intensive care. It seems they weren't prepared for the weather up there, and the Army's response was that the process needs to be tough to select the best soldiers. I don't know how to respond to that, other than to remind myself of the importance of careful planning.
So, a great run that was very challenging due to the conditions, with a chilling reminder of how easy it is to get it wrong up there.
Anyway, as we climbed it was clear that the day was a scorcher. I was very glad of the 2 litres of water I took, as well as the fact that we would be stopping at the Storey Arms mid point to refuel. Chris and Graham decided to cut their run a little shorter, leaving David and I to sweat away on the full route as planned. We noticed a lot of soldiers on the hills - mostly solo and carrying massive bergens as well as a rifle. We said hello to quite a few but very rarely got a reply. David said that they didn't look the ideal types to be up there in full uniform; they looked young and not as craggy as you might hope. We advised one to get into a stream as he seemed rather bewildered.
A surge of testosterone on the first big hill established me as the fittest, but also the one with the most sore legs for the rest of the run - do I never learn? David was stronger than me on the second half - although his recent return from Hong Kong hinted at acclimatisation to the heat. At Storey Arms I took my shirt and shoes off and sat in the stream - bliss.
A horrible crawl back up to Corn Dhu and we were well on route back to the car. I was very happy at this stage to walk anything that veered from horizontal but unfortunately my plans for strolling were scuppered by a chance meeting with the race organiser for the September race. He had run the whole 58km in that weather! He was very pleased to run and chat with us, which of course meant that I had to pretend I wasn't falling apart. Luckily I am a demon descender and made good use of gravity to pretend I could still run at a decent lick.
Back at the car I was finding breathing difficult; very odd. David suggested exercise-induced asthma as a cause. I found it easier to breath through my nose - maybe something to do with controlled breathing - so with me remaining uncharacteristically silent we headed to The Star for refreshments. One pint of coke and ice and I was restored to my usual voluble self. So, either the cold drink relaxed my pipes or I was suffering low blood sugar I don't know, but it was a relief.
The following day we found out that two of the soldiers on the exercise had died, with another in intensive care. It seems they weren't prepared for the weather up there, and the Army's response was that the process needs to be tough to select the best soldiers. I don't know how to respond to that, other than to remind myself of the importance of careful planning.
So, a great run that was very challenging due to the conditions, with a chilling reminder of how easy it is to get it wrong up there.
Saturday, 15 June 2013
Why we run
When I went to see the running philosopher Mark Rowlands about a month ago, the interviewer started by asking ' so, why do you run?'. I sat there, wanting to make a response; but even when the microphone was handed round for people to make a response to the talk I declined to ask the question that was rolling around in my brain - ' why don't you run?'.
OK, so you could read Born to Run, with the argument that we evolved to hunt down prey by chasing them until they collapse, but this doesn't explain why most people don't run. The biological urge just doesn't seem very strong in most people. No, the decision to run or not run is a social one - have each of us been influenced in such a way that leads us to this activity?
This is my parents in 1963. No, this is my mum and dad; more familiar. Inside that bike trailer was me at the tender age of one and I presume we used to go on weekend bike rides. My parents met in a cycle club and cycling was a way of life, so when I was born the outdoor existence just continued.
As I grew up, on and out of the family epicentre, Mum and Dad turned away from cycling, to orienteering and then on to walking. Not just weekend strolling down to the park, but big stuff. When I phoned up Mum last month to crow about my successful completion of the Welsh Ultra 40 mile race she reminded me that when Dad was my age he was completing the LDWA 100 miles. Walking rather than running, but still. Put me in my place, rightfully.
So, the connection is clear. Dad always said that when he got to the top of a mountain he wanted to run like a dog and I feel the same pulling at me. Mum was on the phone this week worried that despite being in her seventies, her knees hurt when she walks more than 15 miles. Rather than writing herself off due to age she has paid for a private consultant to sort things out so she can get back to 25+ miles.
So, why do we run? Is there an alternative? Not for me.
When Dad died all sorts of stories surfaced about his life, including the fact that when he was 13 he lived in a tent in the garden in the middle of London, and at 15 he forged his age to join the YHA and cycled off for a week on his own. Now, I am not like that, but seeds get sown and lodge deep in the heart. That engagement with the countryside and a throwing off of constructed matter is a thread that travels through him to me. And Mum's need to push on rather as a dog gnaws a bone, provides a foot on the accelerator pedal.
I owe my parents such an enormous amount. I owe them the yearning to get up and out. I owe them the limbic joy of working hard up a hill. I also owe them for all the phone calls on a Sunday night inquiring about how I have got on in this race or that, when I suspect that my figurative eyes glazed over when they they told me about what they had done, despite that fact that it was probably 2, 5 or 10 times longer than I had run.
OK, so you could read Born to Run, with the argument that we evolved to hunt down prey by chasing them until they collapse, but this doesn't explain why most people don't run. The biological urge just doesn't seem very strong in most people. No, the decision to run or not run is a social one - have each of us been influenced in such a way that leads us to this activity?
This is my parents in 1963. No, this is my mum and dad; more familiar. Inside that bike trailer was me at the tender age of one and I presume we used to go on weekend bike rides. My parents met in a cycle club and cycling was a way of life, so when I was born the outdoor existence just continued.
As I grew up, on and out of the family epicentre, Mum and Dad turned away from cycling, to orienteering and then on to walking. Not just weekend strolling down to the park, but big stuff. When I phoned up Mum last month to crow about my successful completion of the Welsh Ultra 40 mile race she reminded me that when Dad was my age he was completing the LDWA 100 miles. Walking rather than running, but still. Put me in my place, rightfully.
So, the connection is clear. Dad always said that when he got to the top of a mountain he wanted to run like a dog and I feel the same pulling at me. Mum was on the phone this week worried that despite being in her seventies, her knees hurt when she walks more than 15 miles. Rather than writing herself off due to age she has paid for a private consultant to sort things out so she can get back to 25+ miles.
So, why do we run? Is there an alternative? Not for me.
When Dad died all sorts of stories surfaced about his life, including the fact that when he was 13 he lived in a tent in the garden in the middle of London, and at 15 he forged his age to join the YHA and cycled off for a week on his own. Now, I am not like that, but seeds get sown and lodge deep in the heart. That engagement with the countryside and a throwing off of constructed matter is a thread that travels through him to me. And Mum's need to push on rather as a dog gnaws a bone, provides a foot on the accelerator pedal.
I owe my parents such an enormous amount. I owe them the yearning to get up and out. I owe them the limbic joy of working hard up a hill. I also owe them for all the phone calls on a Sunday night inquiring about how I have got on in this race or that, when I suspect that my figurative eyes glazed over when they they told me about what they had done, despite that fact that it was probably 2, 5 or 10 times longer than I had run.
Feel every inch, note every movement, smell all. Warm, cool, sink into the soil, sense the space. That's why I run
Monday, 27 May 2013
Weather
Now, I do like to run in the winter; dressed up cosily and pushing up some hill against the wind. But, it is so nice to experience an early British summer after a long period of poor weather.
My desk at work has best view, ever. There is no doubt that sitting at the computer while admiring the expanse of the Bristol Channel enhances my working day - yards from the beach, and six floors up so I have an uninterrupted view of the sea, the Welsh hills and the Quantocks. Go to the other side of the building and I get the Mendips. I can see the weather as it changes; the colour and choppiness of the waves sending messages about how my ride home is going to be, and I can often see rain storms as they travel across the estuary like mobile showers.
I went out with Alex on Saturday - 30 miles through some unspoiled countryside. We left pretty early but it was worth it as the air had that bell-like clarity; our only company was a good amount of birds and some deer leaving it a bit late to disappear for the rest of the day. I felt a release of pleasure as we cruised down fields of buttercups from Dundry, the sun gently warming us and the wind still reluctant to make its presence known.
Through villages I did know and little hamlets and areas unknown to me; sometimes startling the residents of isolated cottages who were having an outdoor breakfast or getting ready to cut the hedge. Quite a culture shock to reach the turn point at West Harptree - cars pulling in to buy the Daily Mail, and a lady buying eggs presumably for the family breakfast. We lingered just long enough to top up with water and handfuls of dried fruit and nuts and then curved round Chew Valley lake to return. It was quite warm by now but not unpleasantly so.
In the depths of winter when I am pining for a bit of heat I forget that running in hot weather is actually quite unpleasant; you get thirsty and sticky and sometimes get a headache from the heat. I also forget that the summer brings stinging nettles that cluster round stiles and gates and push at you as you try to pick through without getting stung. Sunglasses become useful, not to keep sun out of your eyes but insects, as they unerringly crash into the only soft moist part of your outside skin. But it didn't matter on this run - bugs and nettles were overwhelmed by the pleasure of travelling through the pillowy countryside with every rise coyly showing a view of the lake. The hedgerows - surely no other country can offer a habitat so extraordinary as an ancient British hedgerow - were soft and shaded with a green that seemed to glow in its verdure. The soil hasn't baked hard yet and provided a perfect firm running surface.
As we walked (yes, it is allowed on long runs...) up the hill to East Dundry we entered a farmyard which, much to my great pleasure, had a galvanised trough full of water in which lived a healthy population of goldfish. They too were lazily drifting around in comfortable appreciation. It is my regret that I am struggling to work my new phone otherwise there would be a picture at this point. Next time...
A long lollop down to the A38 to do battle with the traffic and through Colliter's Brook to finally part company at the bottom of Ashton Court. I pride myself on my knowledge of the local area, and how curious to find someone who has built up a similar repertoire - some parts we both knew, others just one of us. It was definitely a superb route that Alex had designed and I have recorded it for future runs.
With such an early start the rest of the day was still to come and we sat in the garden and basked. It wasn't long before the cider came out and shamefully I undid all of the good of the run by drinking rather too much. A friend came round later in the evening and it was only then that I realised all my exposed skin was crimson and my hair was standing on end - a result of sitting in a windy garden. Combined with my new bright red thermal running top, style was clearly having the day off.
A legacy the following day of a surprisingly clear head but some sore leg joints reminded me to tell everyone I met of my excellent run. Smug.
My desk at work has best view, ever. There is no doubt that sitting at the computer while admiring the expanse of the Bristol Channel enhances my working day - yards from the beach, and six floors up so I have an uninterrupted view of the sea, the Welsh hills and the Quantocks. Go to the other side of the building and I get the Mendips. I can see the weather as it changes; the colour and choppiness of the waves sending messages about how my ride home is going to be, and I can often see rain storms as they travel across the estuary like mobile showers.
I went out with Alex on Saturday - 30 miles through some unspoiled countryside. We left pretty early but it was worth it as the air had that bell-like clarity; our only company was a good amount of birds and some deer leaving it a bit late to disappear for the rest of the day. I felt a release of pleasure as we cruised down fields of buttercups from Dundry, the sun gently warming us and the wind still reluctant to make its presence known.
Through villages I did know and little hamlets and areas unknown to me; sometimes startling the residents of isolated cottages who were having an outdoor breakfast or getting ready to cut the hedge. Quite a culture shock to reach the turn point at West Harptree - cars pulling in to buy the Daily Mail, and a lady buying eggs presumably for the family breakfast. We lingered just long enough to top up with water and handfuls of dried fruit and nuts and then curved round Chew Valley lake to return. It was quite warm by now but not unpleasantly so.
In the depths of winter when I am pining for a bit of heat I forget that running in hot weather is actually quite unpleasant; you get thirsty and sticky and sometimes get a headache from the heat. I also forget that the summer brings stinging nettles that cluster round stiles and gates and push at you as you try to pick through without getting stung. Sunglasses become useful, not to keep sun out of your eyes but insects, as they unerringly crash into the only soft moist part of your outside skin. But it didn't matter on this run - bugs and nettles were overwhelmed by the pleasure of travelling through the pillowy countryside with every rise coyly showing a view of the lake. The hedgerows - surely no other country can offer a habitat so extraordinary as an ancient British hedgerow - were soft and shaded with a green that seemed to glow in its verdure. The soil hasn't baked hard yet and provided a perfect firm running surface.
As we walked (yes, it is allowed on long runs...) up the hill to East Dundry we entered a farmyard which, much to my great pleasure, had a galvanised trough full of water in which lived a healthy population of goldfish. They too were lazily drifting around in comfortable appreciation. It is my regret that I am struggling to work my new phone otherwise there would be a picture at this point. Next time...
A long lollop down to the A38 to do battle with the traffic and through Colliter's Brook to finally part company at the bottom of Ashton Court. I pride myself on my knowledge of the local area, and how curious to find someone who has built up a similar repertoire - some parts we both knew, others just one of us. It was definitely a superb route that Alex had designed and I have recorded it for future runs.
With such an early start the rest of the day was still to come and we sat in the garden and basked. It wasn't long before the cider came out and shamefully I undid all of the good of the run by drinking rather too much. A friend came round later in the evening and it was only then that I realised all my exposed skin was crimson and my hair was standing on end - a result of sitting in a windy garden. Combined with my new bright red thermal running top, style was clearly having the day off.
A legacy the following day of a surprisingly clear head but some sore leg joints reminded me to tell everyone I met of my excellent run. Smug.
Tuesday, 14 May 2013
Running with the Devil
I went to the Watershed the day after the Welsh Ultra to see Mark Rowlands, the philosopher who runs and keeps wolves as pets.
Here's a thing - if you know you are going somewhere you know will be full of runners, don't wear a running shirt and poncy barefoot trainers. I looked like a geeky groupie.
In the same way, when attending a cycling film in a bike shop (as Malin and I did the other week), don't wear old-skool wool cycling tops as if they are fashionable cardigans. No, on second thoughts, do: when else can you get away with it?
Anyway, an interesting man - I enjoyed his first book 'The Philosopher and the Wolf', and so look forward to reading his new one; 'Running with the Pack'.
I would run if I had that monster coming along behind me. Very fast.
Here's a thing - if you know you are going somewhere you know will be full of runners, don't wear a running shirt and poncy barefoot trainers. I looked like a geeky groupie.
In the same way, when attending a cycling film in a bike shop (as Malin and I did the other week), don't wear old-skool wool cycling tops as if they are fashionable cardigans. No, on second thoughts, do: when else can you get away with it?
Anyway, an interesting man - I enjoyed his first book 'The Philosopher and the Wolf', and so look forward to reading his new one; 'Running with the Pack'.
I would run if I had that monster coming along behind me. Very fast.
Welsh Ultra, 40miles
I dedicate this entry to Karin. It is a lucky person who receives encouraging texts in the middle of a race, and I feel privileged to be supported in the ridiculous hobbies I engage with. Whatever the future brings for us, it will be good.
Photos courtesy of Gary Doherty, Kris Duffy, who also ran; I have shamelessly plundered their photo contributions.
I have spent the last three weeks fretting about this race - not prepared effectively; confusion over food choices; what shoes to wear; am I going to be exhausted by the preceding week and so on. I have never made such a big deal over a race before, ever. And quite frankly, I don't know why, as my target was only to finish anyway. Possibly, as we have had a horrible two weeks, the race become something to distract me.
Anyway, I drove over to Talybont on Friday, found a bunk in the outward bound centre that would be my base for the weekend.
Endless faffing on the morning with a last minute change of shorts into tights - a good move as it turned out. You can see me on the far right of this picture - looking as if another trip to the toilet might be a good idea.
Off along the canal in calm pleasant weather - in no way a forecast of the conditions to come. We then headed for the hills with some vague attempt at controlling my pace. As the race spread out we moved through forestry, layering up as we gained enough height to enter the clouds; this was the end of any dryness to the day and my jacket stayed on until the finish.
This was one of my favourite bits - we ran along a rocky path that cut through some misty woods. it wasn't long after that (I think) that a whole bunch of us headed down the wrong track and lost possibly 30 mins. Mental note for another race - check the route carefully beforehand, and concentrate rather than just chatting. Retracing our steps we were literally back on track, picking off the runners that had been behind us.
Through the first checkpoint and onto the bit I knew from two weeks ago - see my previous blog. The conditions really started to get serious here.
This was a grind - leaping from tussock to tussock in the vague hope that one might provide some sort of firm pathway. I remembered that there was a path that hugged the fence so headed for that and saved quite a bit of futile sploshing around. Up onto the plateau and then the ridge that leads up to Pen y Fan - oh my God it was windy up there! Driving rain felt like it was exfoliating my face, but that was nothing compared to the hailstones that followed on.
This isn't me, but it gives you some sense of the 'technical running' we endured. Mountain bikers would call this 'a bit squirrelly'.
Teeth gritted we shuffled - no way was it running - until the drop down to Storey Arms followed by a sadistic climb right the way back up.
This is me at Storey Arms - unbelievably given the climate I felt quite dehydrated. Luckily there was plenty of water at all stations.
At this point sadly my source of photographs dries up, and so therefore I will have to fall back on my memory.
Over and around Pen y Fan with a long excellent swoop off, only to curve around and start the feared climb of Cribyn. I love hills and was relishing this one but the steep grassy slope that led up to the peak itself coincided with a general crap-ness and I plodded along, never really making contact with the people ahead. However, this changed when we hit Cribyn itself, as with some strength restored I clambered up and past four runners.
I, like most other people, figured that after the last check point, with 'only' eight miles to go and most of it downhill, the race was all but finished. However, there were about four miles along a ridge that was barely runnable and I struggled to get past a group of walkers. One last peak after this, and then a long swoop down to Talybont reservoir. A female runner had been quietly approaching me, and as we began the descent she took off the handbrake in a way that suggested her legs sensed home. I have been struggling with descending recently due to the old hamstrings pulling up, but remarkably I relaxed into the run and cruised past. A tiny flash of my old ability was visible as I dropped off the hill, not only leaving her behind but also catching two others.
On the reservoir, down the track, I was really motoring now (bit late I know), onto the canal towpath, and then onto one of those awful dog legs they put in races where you can see the finish but it never gets any closer. One last clamber into the grounds of the centre, and home!
I had run out of water with about four miles to go, so that was my first need followed by tinned peaches and a cup of tea. I was starving but my stomach was so shrunken I couldn't eat. A shower and an unplanned kip on the bed, I then creaked down to the kitchen for some quite fantastic chick pea and sweet potato curry.
So, what did I learn? You can't swallow stale sandwiches so they make poor race food. My waterproof gloves are rubbish because if you try to put them on with damp hands you can't get your fingers in the holes. I need a rucksack with side pockets, I am stronger than I thought I was, especially up hills; and a well placed text from a lovely wife provides a 30 minute boost.
Photos courtesy of Gary Doherty, Kris Duffy, who also ran; I have shamelessly plundered their photo contributions.
I have spent the last three weeks fretting about this race - not prepared effectively; confusion over food choices; what shoes to wear; am I going to be exhausted by the preceding week and so on. I have never made such a big deal over a race before, ever. And quite frankly, I don't know why, as my target was only to finish anyway. Possibly, as we have had a horrible two weeks, the race become something to distract me.
Anyway, I drove over to Talybont on Friday, found a bunk in the outward bound centre that would be my base for the weekend.
Endless faffing on the morning with a last minute change of shorts into tights - a good move as it turned out. You can see me on the far right of this picture - looking as if another trip to the toilet might be a good idea.
Off along the canal in calm pleasant weather - in no way a forecast of the conditions to come. We then headed for the hills with some vague attempt at controlling my pace. As the race spread out we moved through forestry, layering up as we gained enough height to enter the clouds; this was the end of any dryness to the day and my jacket stayed on until the finish.
This was one of my favourite bits - we ran along a rocky path that cut through some misty woods. it wasn't long after that (I think) that a whole bunch of us headed down the wrong track and lost possibly 30 mins. Mental note for another race - check the route carefully beforehand, and concentrate rather than just chatting. Retracing our steps we were literally back on track, picking off the runners that had been behind us.
Through the first checkpoint and onto the bit I knew from two weeks ago - see my previous blog. The conditions really started to get serious here.
This was a grind - leaping from tussock to tussock in the vague hope that one might provide some sort of firm pathway. I remembered that there was a path that hugged the fence so headed for that and saved quite a bit of futile sploshing around. Up onto the plateau and then the ridge that leads up to Pen y Fan - oh my God it was windy up there! Driving rain felt like it was exfoliating my face, but that was nothing compared to the hailstones that followed on.
This isn't me, but it gives you some sense of the 'technical running' we endured. Mountain bikers would call this 'a bit squirrelly'.
Teeth gritted we shuffled - no way was it running - until the drop down to Storey Arms followed by a sadistic climb right the way back up.
This is me at Storey Arms - unbelievably given the climate I felt quite dehydrated. Luckily there was plenty of water at all stations.
At this point sadly my source of photographs dries up, and so therefore I will have to fall back on my memory.
Over and around Pen y Fan with a long excellent swoop off, only to curve around and start the feared climb of Cribyn. I love hills and was relishing this one but the steep grassy slope that led up to the peak itself coincided with a general crap-ness and I plodded along, never really making contact with the people ahead. However, this changed when we hit Cribyn itself, as with some strength restored I clambered up and past four runners.
I, like most other people, figured that after the last check point, with 'only' eight miles to go and most of it downhill, the race was all but finished. However, there were about four miles along a ridge that was barely runnable and I struggled to get past a group of walkers. One last peak after this, and then a long swoop down to Talybont reservoir. A female runner had been quietly approaching me, and as we began the descent she took off the handbrake in a way that suggested her legs sensed home. I have been struggling with descending recently due to the old hamstrings pulling up, but remarkably I relaxed into the run and cruised past. A tiny flash of my old ability was visible as I dropped off the hill, not only leaving her behind but also catching two others.
On the reservoir, down the track, I was really motoring now (bit late I know), onto the canal towpath, and then onto one of those awful dog legs they put in races where you can see the finish but it never gets any closer. One last clamber into the grounds of the centre, and home!
I had run out of water with about four miles to go, so that was my first need followed by tinned peaches and a cup of tea. I was starving but my stomach was so shrunken I couldn't eat. A shower and an unplanned kip on the bed, I then creaked down to the kitchen for some quite fantastic chick pea and sweet potato curry.
So, what did I learn? You can't swallow stale sandwiches so they make poor race food. My waterproof gloves are rubbish because if you try to put them on with damp hands you can't get your fingers in the holes. I need a rucksack with side pockets, I am stronger than I thought I was, especially up hills; and a well placed text from a lovely wife provides a 30 minute boost.
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