December. Before I know it, it was December. It has come around quickly. This would be my last race of the year. The final event in my race calendar. 1st December would mark the date I’d complete my challenge. Originally persuaded by Jack and Alex (that dude who went blue in the face Brighton) to come to their neck of the woods and hit the trails. I couldn’t resist and went for the longest option (the Ultra ‘plus’). After booking earlier in the year, a group of the Wild Trail Runners then also signed up to some of the various distances on offer so I tagged along for the journey. This is great as I’ve come to love running such events with others. Not just the run itself but the lead up, day before and things you do post run which are all better celebrated together.
The Jurassic Coast. Dorset
I’m going to keep this one pretty short and as a straight forward review of the race. Partly because I’m tired. My mind is still wired and my body aching. Secondly, as you’ll soon read, the day was pretty grim and there’s probably not a lot to say about the course and hours that went past!
Leading up to the event I was on the back of two previous ultras (Brecon and TBU). This was number 3 in 15 days. I was heading into the run tired and a little complacent. My mind wasn’t focused (and truthfully hasn’t been since Berlin). Evident in the amount of fathing I did packing my bag the night before – Rocking up at the race I didn’t use the bag drop but left some stuff in Maggie’s car. Later realising I’d brought bugger all else and not even spare shorts or trousers for afterwards!
Arriving at the start in the morning it was indeed pretty grim. We’d seen the weather forecasts and event updates in the days preceding the start and they didn’t disappoint. It was cold. It was very windy and it was hammering down with rain. We registered and huddled in the tent and listened to the race briefing. Shivering. The would be a diverted route today due to the high winds and a part of the coastal path would be avoided. We didn’t realise at the time that this would lead to a slight increase in the distance. First out where the Ultra and Ultra plus (yep, it’s a thing for Endurance Life) Runners.
Along with Kirsty, Tamas and Weronica I was doing the Ultra plus. The route would be a figure of 8 along the coast, then repeating the first half of the figure of 8 and then repeating a smaller loop of the first half of the figure of 8. Got it? Yeah, as a route that sounds as boring as it was. As the race director acknowledged, we’d see the ‘one mile to go’ sign 3 times before it applied to us. Great. Tagging in to the start/finish each time would be a test of our will power to continue!
Cold, wet but upbeat!
We huddled for a group picture and were then sent off, out to do battle with nature. The route first took us up the steps towards Durdle Door. These were some long steps. Everyone was walking. No one was talking. We were all hiding inside our waterproofs. Hoods on, heads buried into our chests. The rain and wind was relentless. Visibility was close to non-existent. Durdle Door was there somewhere. You just couldn’t see it.
View from the Outside
View from the inside (this was a few hours into the race when it started to clear up!)
After this section was the diversion. We carried on climbing the second incline and found ourselves running through some very muddy fields. There was plenty of space but runners sliding all over the place. Again maybe just a few metres visible ahead. We were soaked through. Wet feet was going to be a stand out memory of the day! It wouldn’t make a difference that I wore my S-LAB ultras that had a hole in them!
The good thing about the lack of visibility was that you couldn’t see what was coming up or how far you’d come. You’d just plod on. That might make the second lap easier!! We passed a few checkpoints, a nice section through a woodland and were back running through the muddy fields in the opposite direction. I hadn’t realised how much of the course we’d run back along. It was only after passing Maggie, Daniel and Matt who were starting out on their Marathon journey (they’d complete the initial figure of 8 route).
First loop done, now came the really big climbs. A few hours had passed and the morning had started to brighten up a little. As we climbed, the cliffs were visible. The white chalk glistening in the gloomy day. The climbs came thick and fast. And they were big. Lunging up steps and, at times, using your hands to grab at the land in front of your face. Each summit presenting new views to savour.
Along the coast I was amused as we ran along side a military training facility. The constant warnings to ‘keep out’ and ‘danger’ were a reminder of the area we were in. But soon the route would take us to the other side of the fence and it felt we were now running in the danger zone.
Looping back at the tip of the ‘8’ the route took us onto one of the hardest parts of the course. A field of mud. Really really muddy soft ground. On an incline. The snake of runners immediate slowed. We weren’t walking. We were sludging and sliding our way through. Eventually emerging the other side to more of the same. A cabbage field. Equally muddy and even steeper. This whole section was a drain on the energy. At the top runners were pulling each other up the final inclines. It was all quite amusing, but tiring and I was glad we wouldn’t be coming back here later!
Sometime later we were back at the coastal paths and joined by the half marathoners and 10km runners. I didn’t realise we’d run those cliffs again and sure they felt steeper this time around. One in particular was really tough and took quite some time to over come. As I powered up we passed a guy being slid down the hill by some helpers. He looked in a bad place. Adam, one of the Wild TR coaches was one of those helping.
We arrived back at the starting point to complete the first figure of 8. I was ready for a rest. With the diversion we’d just done a little over a marathon distance. I knew Kirsty wasn’t far behind me as we’d been passing each other over the last few hours. As I sipped back coke and some (many) and jelly babies she arrived. We were both so glad to see each other and agreed to keep each other company for the next half of the race. The wind and rain made the day quite miserable so far and the lift from company was needed.
It had stopped raining at least and I decided I needed to re-jig my kit. I no longer wanted to run in my waterproof jacket so removed it to go with the t-shirt and arm warmer combo. I was soaked through from sweat as well as rain. I feared I’d be instantly cold but hoped the wind would sort of dry me out (it did). As I was changing Amy (Alex’s wife appeared). Alex was on the half and expected quite soon into the finish. Then as we were talking, Paul appeared. I’d been speaking to Paul for quite some time but we hadn’t yet met. I didn’t expect to see him as he was contemplating not doing the half as he was running the Hurtwood50 the next day.
It was visible on the second passing only. Durdle Door.
Time was up. Time to head back out and climb those hills again. First off those steps! Immediately I felt better having Kirsty about. The afternoon also cleared up as we reached Durdle door so we had some views to absorb. We stopped to take some pictures and make those memories before carrying on. Unlike the first loop, there was a lot more walking this time round. But still enjoyable. The volunteers and the checkpoints were full of energy and encouragement and we joked our way through. Passing all the muddy fields before the brief stint along the paved roads and the forest paths (which were stunning now the mist had moved on). Emerging into a field we could see the steep decline down to the second checkpoint at the bottom. We set off but could see a very muddy section half way down which we joked about. As I hit it I immediately slid and did my best ice skating impression as my arms waved about and I spun 180 degree to look back up at the top of the hill and a runner behind me laughing. A good save. Or so I thought. As I continued behind the runner I stacked it. My legs slid forward out from under me and I sat straight down into the mud. Squishy. We all laughed. At least I picked the softest place to fall!! I wiped mud on my face to mark the occasion. The ladies at the check point laughed and greeted me as I arrived, they’d seen the whole thing.
Moments later the darkness descended
We ploughed on, retracing the route towards the start again. Darkness descended upon us quickly in the overcast sky and we needed to stop to get the torches out. As frustrating as this was, it was certainly the right decision. It was hard enough to see and stay stable in the light! The quick reshuffle of kit though did unbalance my packed kit. I planned to fix this when we reached the start – about 2 miles to go.
As we arrived back at the start, I took time to change my clothes, putting on a long sleeved layer and using my windproof jacket as padding in the bag. It all worked well. It took me far to long to do though, I’d kept Kirsty waiting for what felt like an eternity! But I was eventually ready. Back out we went. Time for those steps and inclines yet again.
Finisher. Fresh with Warpaint
No surprise, this final 10km was tough. Obviously we knew now we’d finish now as we’d left the comfort of the start. But we were exhausted and walked/run our way around. No sights to see this anymore. Just the few metres lit up by our head torches. Pretty uneventful this time round, we just persevered. Getting over those hills and through the mud. That sign ‘one mile to go’ came into view and our mood picked up. We would’t have to pass it again. This time it was for us! We ran. We kept running. We could hear the hustle of the camp not too far away and plodded down the final stretch into the finish line. Medals and pictures received. We were done.
Shortly after finishing, Maggie and Yvette arrived in the car to collect us and soon after that Weronica arrived too. Time to head home to shower and eat!!
I’ve been nominated for the personal blog category with the Running Awards. I’d love your support and votes. If you like what you read and you’d like to vote for me you can click this link and find “RunWithDai” in the nominees. Thanks!
Help me out a little here – Imagine reading this one in a David Attenborough-esque narrative, with a Welsh twang of course…
Since life began on this nature-rich planet we call home, a sub-group of the human species have sought out the endorphin rush of adventure, exploring their habitat on foot. These humans, known as ‘Runners’ have been seen exploring the concrete jungles of their city homes and often, now in increasing numbers, are seen venturing further a field into the wilderness of the countryside.
In this episode we follow one particular pack of (trail) runners and recount their journey as they seek their thrills in the Countryside of the Brecon Beacons.
Pre-dawn and the runners are rising. Rubbing their eyes whilst eating porridge, the morning rituals begin. Caffeine is consumed and hydration tabs passed among each other as survival kits are checked and race numbers attached.
In the quiet community of Talybont-on-Usk the runners, in numbers reaching 250 convene in the village hall. An annual pilgrimage will soon begin where these runners set off on a journey of self-discovery and adventure in the National Park. A race director inducts the runners into today’s challenge before the runners start gathering in the nearby field to begin their journey – one which will take them over and around the Brecon Beacons National Park. This epic adventure will see the runners climb to exquisite viewpoints, traverse through forested woodlands and cross streams before returning to the sanctuary of the village hall basecamp. Whilst alone this presents a significant challenge to push these runners to the limits of their physical and mental boundaries, on this occasion they will venture back out to complete the 23 mile loop for a second time. An adventure of ultra proportions and one bestrewed with dangers and obstacles to be overcome.
The ‘Pack’ ready to be released
As dawn breaks, the runners are released from the safety of the basecamp and they begin their journey, their quest for adventure and ultimate safe return to the camp before succumbing to the challenges ahead. The initial route takes the runners, in their large numbers, along the Monmouthshire & Brecon canal towards Llangynidr. Passing the Llangynidr Locks, the atmosphere is jovial as the collective mass of runners form into single line formations as they jostle for space. Their legs heavy from sleep they shuffle in line, greeting each other with pleasantries and enthusiasm for the trail.
Within a short time the collective begins to disperse and spread out. Packs and teams of runners compete among themselves and the others around them. Some runners decide to ‘go it alone’. Typically The faster, stronger runners. They might be fearful of the rumored challenges laying await in the night, or seeking personal dominance in a show physical supremacy. Either way, they risk it all to finish earlier than those around them. Such runners standout in the collective through their professionalism and determination strewn faces. Built like gazelles they are seen briefly in the very early parts of an adventure before vanishing into the wild. Later on they are recognisable by the often gaunt look of exhaustion that accompanies their remarkable achievements.
Other runners in the collective opt for the tactic of strength in numbers. They Form ‘packs’ with other like-minded runners where they will show solidarity and support each other through the obstacles of the journey. Often heard before seen, these runners are most visible at viewpoints and aid stations and recognisable from their readily accessible phones and abundance of selfie poses stuck.
‘Pack’ mentality, cameras at the ready
The runners turn off the canal path just before Llangynidr and the journey up to Tor Y Foel – the highest point on the loop at ~1,700ft – begins. The runners enter the lush green fields and are greeted by the docile stares from herds of sheep and cows. No particular concern for most of the runners as long as the stares remain just that. If undisturbed, the runners can cross the fields unobstructed. Fear however can cause a stampede of livestock and the pack hope that the runner Gif will get through the fields unaffected. As the path starts to incline, the runners choose their survival tactic. Some jogging on at pace, others embracing the ‘walk the hills’ approach. Our pack take the later and the cameras are soon out snapping pictures of the morning mist.
Up ahead their view is obstructed. Visibility is low, wind is howling, covering the pack with a fine spray of the morning rain. The runners soon become damp with the fast-moving mist. They trudge onward into the unknown. Uncovering just a few meters of the trail at a time. One minute warm and the next minute cold, they struggle to adapt to the changing climate as the effort levels increase. Ensuring their body temperatures remain comfortable is critical to their survival.
Early in the morning, visibility was poor
The climb is an opportunity for further interaction between the pack and with other runners around them. Jokes are traded and stories exchanged. Before they know it they have reached the summit and can begin the descent towards the reservoir. One runner known simply as ‘Ged’ comments on the beautiful Welsh scenery, comparing it to the steamy view he can achieve in the shower back in his man-made shelter.
Later in the afternoon the Reservoir was revealed in all its glory
Atop the summit, the down hill begins and the runners break out into a run. This is the prime characteristic of runners – a faster, flowing synchronised movement of the feet which differentiates them from other human forms. The collective disperse further as runners bound over the wet boggy land at different speeds. The pack stay together, finding a communal pace they can all enjoy. Off in the distance to their right they can vaguely see the vast storage of water that is the Talybont Reservoir, shrouded in the mist. Alongside the reservoir, the pack will embark on the journey along the long path of the ‘Fire Track’. Before the trek begins, one runner – Dai – sneaks to relieve themselves against a man-made stone structure known as a wall. Returning to the pack he moans of wet feet incurred through stepping in a bog. A natural obstacle so often catching out runners in need of relief. With wet feet he continues alongside his pack, conscious not to stray far from the safety of the pack again.
The long, lonely path of the ‘Fire Track’
The fire track is a long gravel road gently climbing alongside the reservoir. It is a mental challenge for runners who endure it. Wide, lonely and everlasting into the horizon the runners have to continue exposed to the elements and unsure as to what lays ahead. A decision faces them as they contemplate whether they should run whilst they can or preserve energy for the challenges further on? Our pack decide to run whilst they can. A classic runners tact to focus on the ‘now’ rather than the ‘later’ and to “bank some miles” whilst they feel good.
The fire track comes to an end near Blaen Y Glyn, like much of the first loop, Organisers and marshals are present along the course to help ensure runners are steered in the right direction, preparing them for their challenges ahead with a fighting chance of survival. They direct the runners towards the next section where the will follow the route along side the water station near the Lower Neuadd Reservoir. From here the runners could venture left and up to to the peaks of Corn Du and Pen Y Fan. On this adventure though it is straight. Straight up towards ‘The Gap’ between the peaks of Cribyn and Fan Y Big.
Up ahead the runners encounter a hoard of the ‘hiker’. Another human variant, the hiker is similar to the runner in many ways. They are however often found in groups of large, slow moving numbers. To the runner this can cause a blockade that needs navigating. The Pack need to be swift footed to find a route through these friendly hoards, being careful not to cause them trouble or disruption as they pass.
The path is again long and straight and the pack can see runners dotted ahead rising into the distance. The negative mental effect this could have is combated by the morning mist leaving the ground and the sky clearing. With optimistic smiles the pack continue onward, putting distance between themselves and the hikers, all is not safe though as the track is formed of loose rocks waiting to trip and injured the runners. The pact decide it best to walk the incline, recuperating some energy as they go.
Here, at the second summit, the pack are rewarded with unfiltered sunshine raining down on the sacred land around them. Before their eyes lies ‘The Gap’. A vast valley formed deep between the peaks of Cribyn and Fan Y Big. Paths winding off into the distance beyond the sun’s reach. For a moment they stop, breathing in the fresh valley air and assessing the land in front of them. They begin their decent – down along the Gap on to the trails to the towards the villages of Cantref and Llanfrynach.
The Gap
As the terrain continues, rocky underfoot, the pack pick up the pace. The gravity induced run raises the energy levels of the runners and whoops and cheers can be heard echoing around them as the bound onward. Fleet-footed they choose their path wisely and leap the streams of water washing over the well trodden track. There’s no avoiding the cool wet mountain chill on their feet as they splash their way through. A short mile or so ahead lays one of the great wonders of the running community – an aid station.
‘Dabbing’ in at the checkpoint the runners confirm their safe arrival. Tracked by the organisers, their safety is not taken lightly. Water and refreshments are served and the pack joke with the race ‘volunteers’ – an incredibly supportive form of runner, donating their time as a gift to support and encouragement runners on their journeys. “See you later Butt!” Lingers in the air as the runners set off on they next installment of the adventure. The next time they stop will be in the sanctuary of the basecamp…
First though, more treacherous challenges are thrust before the runners and which the pack must overcome. Upon leaving the aid station the runners are thrown straight back into a single line formation as they navigate the overgrown, rocky ground that might form a natural stream under adverse weather conditions. The runner by the name of ‘Jon’ takes the lead, guiding the pack through the seemingly never ending track. Legs are stretched as they straddle the banks and hop from rock to rock, their limbs scratched at by thorny foliage. Before they can reach the end they are tested once more when a cry of “Bike!!” is heard from behind.
A more dominant, faster sub-group of humans is racing down the track in the direction of the pack. The pack speed up with the end of the path looming in sight. But it is too late. As the bikers, on their mechanical contraptions are hurtling towards them, the pack have no choice but to move to the side and throw themselves deep into the foliage to avoid a near-fatal collision. In this desolate land, assistance and recovery would not come quickly. Passing the pack safely the bikers continue. But ahead of them, Jon is still chasing that glimmer of freedom and light at the end of the overgrown tunnel. With moments to spare he makes it unscathed and the bikers continue off out of sight.
Freedom from the rocky paths and escaping the hoard of bikers
Pleased with their escape the runners continue but are then greeted with a short run along a trail runners nemesis – a paved road. Vast man-made formations, roads litter the natural landscape like tribalistic markings. Designed for speed and mass transportation they can cause all manner of injuries to runners. Navigating the roads, the tarmac bends through the village of Llanfrynach, where a sole local-supporter offers another restbite for runners with fuel and support. Shortly after which the paved road once again gives way to a welcomed return to the lush green fields of Brecon.
This is not the end of the runner’s dilemmas though when, after overcoming many other man made torture devices – the sty – the runners follow a course marking in the wrong direction. The sense of urgency on a trail is heighten. More so that, if it wasn’t for the eagle-eyed Reka spotting the path into the fields, the runners might already be lost to the endless pain of the paved road. The risk of going wrong, getting lost and expending unnecessary energy is too great so Jon calls the pack to a halt. A moment of democratic discussion sees the pack retrace their steps a few meters to inspect the signage and opt for a different path out of the fields. The right path. Runners know only to well to trust their gut feeling.
Crossing a river stream the runners again emerge onto another paved road leading to the next village of Pencelli. They slow to a walk and swear with other runners as they pass. Soon, the road should again join the Monmouthshire & Brecon Canal path, the final stretch into the basecamp. Eventually in the distance a hi-vis yellow arrow directs the runners over a bridge. The canal has been reached. The end of the lap is within their grasp.
Familiar sight of the canal path
Dai, spurred on by the sense of familiarity (he has traveled this path before – Brecon trail), breaks into a run. He knows where he is going and just how long it is. His confidence is high. He sees lone runners scattered in the distance and picks them off one by one with greetings of support to each he passes. Soon he sees the turn into camp but he grinds to a halt as a familiar voice calls out “there he is!”. Up-ahead two bobble-headed supporters wave and cheer. Kelly and Fudgie are supporting one of their own and cheering the other runners into camp. The greatest strength of a runner is the support from within the community and other runners bringing energy and joy to them. It works. They stop for a chat and wait a few moments whilst the rest of the pack fall in. Goodbyes are said and the pack head into the base camp sanctuary. Just under 5 hours elapsed. Time for sausage rolls and coke.
Rejuvenated with fresh supplies the pack head back out with their kit adapted for the second passing. Alas they emerge not empty handed. They take with them offerings to pay back the supporters for their sacrifices and giving up their time to be on a cold and lonely path all day. Sweets and brownies deposited to Kelly and Fudgie. The pack start the journey all over again.
A cow watching the adventure unfold
Second time out the conditions have changed. The path is the same and the runners have boosted confidence in knowing what is in store. Now they also have light on their side. As Jon proclaims “daylight is underestimated”. They are not alone though and more wildlife is also enjoying the sun’s rays. Dai takes time to interact with some cows watching the adventure unfold before he hastily returning to the pack. They run the canal back to the beginning of the climb to Pen Y Foel. A climb this time they can see in all is magnificence.
The glory of the mountains in the afternoon sunshine
What nature gives with one hand though, it slaps the runners with the other. With the clear visibility of the the afternoon, comes the torment of seeing the monumental challenge of the mountain ahead. Whilst they’ve summited once before, now they are tired and aching. They can see Pen Y Foel in the distance. Way off in the distance. As they hike it once more, this time it drains them. The runner Ged is prepared. He has brought poles. Like a modern day archer he unleashes them from his back and hikes on. Or at least that was the intention. He has all the poise of a clumsy Star Wars AT-AT wobbling from side to side. His frustrations grow. But to the enjoyment of the pack. The summit is overcome through laughter and piss-taking. A runner’s secret weapon.
AT-AT
A moment up top this time offers another chance for the runners to rest. Unlike the early misty morning, the clear panoramic views are there to be absorbed. The pack take it all in. The cameras are out and they dance around the (quite possibly least impressive) summit stone. The enjoyment continues down towards the Talybont Reservoir where it is this time revealed in all its glory.
A few rarely seen Locals line the entrance to the fire track offering support to the runners. No doubt veterans of these paths themselves, they laugh with the pack and send them on. This time the pack walk-run the length of the fire track, stopping momentarily to interact with other runners and some more of the hikers they encounter. Unseen in the morning, the colours of the trees and woodlands below them flicker in the sunshine and light reflects of the reservoir behind them. The track is overcome with no casualties and they progress back onto the rocky climb to the next summit. Already half way through the second loop they are optimistic about the final quarter of the challenge.
But they are not ill-prepared. They know their greatest challenge is yet to come. A danger they cannot avoid nor out run. One which they must endure and be at their most alert for it will test them to their limits. The darkness.
The shadows beginning to take hold of the gap
The runners had been aware of this danger since before they left camp in the morning. But now, as the hours pass by, it has quickly become a reality as the sun begins to set behind the Welsh mountains. Soon the pack will be entering the The Gap where the sun’s reach will diminish to nothing. They have less than an hour of daylight remaining before the darkness will come. Whilst the trail runner is adapt at running in the dark, they are vulnerable to its energy. More than ever before on the run they are aware of their surroundings which soon they will no longer be able to see. Led by Jon the pack treks up to the summit. Unlike the first passing it seems to take far longer this time around but they persevere. They have made it to The Gap in time and can once again begin their descent. This time their descent is impeded as the rocky terrain is wetter than before and the danger of slipping has increased. A fall here could end the adventure and leave the runners exposed to the elements of the night. They descend with less haste than earlier in the day before picking up their pace as they hit the grassy stretch just before the final aid station.
Cautiously descending the rocky, wet path
Inside the recognisable volunteer faces greet the pack and help them with water and cakes. A cookie dough brownie is a favourite which the pack feast on before being released back out onto the track with their head torches accessible. The darkness setting upon them is imminent and they are conscious of the single narrow track of the river bed to which they now need to navigate. Whilst there are no bikers this time, the pack once again find themselves in a race through the foliage tunnel as they try to emerge injury free before the darkness completely devours them. They narrowly achieve their goal and emerge onto the road into pitch black of the night. Darkness is here.
The lap has felt longer this time around and is taking its toll on the pack. They are drained of energy and longing for the safe arrival at the basecamp. With darkness now here to stay, they walk on into their next challenge. As darkness lingers around them, the dangers change. The course has become quieter and runners are now at their loneliest. The marshals had, but for a few, all retreated to the safety of their homes or the sanctuary of the basecamp and very few locals are seen outside. Along with the humans the animals have also sought safe shelter from the elements. Darkness would bring exquisite views to follow a beautiful sunset. But with the orange burn of last rays of light succumbing to the night, new dangers await. Dangers that are are more psychological and which will toil with the runner’s tiring mental strength. In these parts the runners are aware of the nocturnal predator that is the Talybont Nun.
The Sun sets over the Brecon Beacons
Rumours from the villagers report of the mythical Talybont Nun who feeds off the fear and depleting energy of runners. The stories tell of runners who go missing at night and the uncertain implications of being “touched by the Talybont Nun”. No runner is certain. No runner can escape the clutches of the Talybont Nun. No runner is safe at night.
In these isolated villages a network of locals provide warning signs to support each other through times of darkness. Visible signs are there to warn those out at night. The runners know how to recognise and interpret these signs, the most prominent of which is the dim orange glow which signifies a reported sighting of the Nun – an orange light in their window warns that the Nun has been seen in the area and to take extra care, to seek safe refuge before it is too late.
The pack continue. Aware of the rumours. Aware of the occasional orange light shinning out at them. They are together. They are strong. they huddle closer as they run to improve their chances of survival. No runner wants to be alone at the back, likely to be the one touched by the Talybont Nun.
Head torches at the ready
The runners need to see in the darkness and their head torches are out, bobbing away and brightly lighting up the paths ahead. A necessity to their safety, but a contradiction all the same. The light will alert the Talybont Nun and guide it to their location. They have to keep moving. Keep on their feet and hope they can reach the goal before the Nun makes a showing. They are tired now, exhausted from hours on their feet. The risks are increasing and chances of survival balance on a knife edge. Now is not the time to slow.
The pack rely on their kit. Technical advances in fabrication have enabled them to increase their chances of survival through carefully selected attire. But each garment comes at a cost, like the torches, the reflective materials used on the kit can act like a flare in the night when caught by the glow of a head lamp, a risk they must take, hoping that the reflective material does not alert the nun to their location.
Beware the Talybont Nun
Up ahead the pack spot reflections coming back to them from the kit of other lone runners. They head after them, chasing them down one by one. An ideal addition to their pack, not always as a friend but sometimes as a sacrificial runner that can be offered to the Talybont Nun to increase the pack’s chance of survival. If it shows, the Nun can be distracted with its ‘fear-harvesting’ from the sacrificial runner, offering a chance for the pack to flee ahead to safety. This ruthless instinct for survival pushes them on as, with runners behind them, for a moment the tension reaches critical levels – the runners pass a sign for the Village of Pencelli, and Llanfeigan Church, the known origin of the Talybont Nun, if ever a sighting was likely it was now.
Pure darkness on the canal path
Leaving the other runners behind them the pack reach the Canal path once again. The greatest risk of all is the isolated loneliness of the canal path at night. 2 miles of darkness and no where to escape. A single direction onward to safety. No turning back. To one side a canal that would consume them if they were to fall, behind them, somewhere the Talybont Nun lurks. This is an all or nothing moment as the runners pick up the pace and start racing off after their medals. The pack break into a sprint as they sense the end is near. In the distance the cowbells of safety ring out to mark the safe return of another runner, welcomed to the warmth and sanctuary of the finish.
Safety of the finish
The Pack’s time has come. The bells ring out. On this adventure our pack have not been taken by the Talybont Nun. They dab into the finish line where warm flames flicker from a fire and they are awarded with hot food, clothing and a medal of protection. The runners retreat to a pub. For this group they survive, to run another day. Many other runners and packs remain out on the dark course, a DNF looming, their fate as yet unknown….
Sanctuary
* Note. The myth of the Talybont Nun is just that. A myth. Orange glows from cottage windows are most likely coming from families enjoying a bit of Ant & Dec on a Saturday night. No nuns were touched in the making of this adventure and the race organisers have confirmed the safety of each runner.
I’ve been nominated for the personal blog category with the Running Awards. I’d love your support and votes. If you like what you read and you’d like to vote for me you can click this link and find “RunWithDai” in the nominees. Thanks!
Ever get that feeling of deja vu? You’ve been here before. You’ve felt this way before. You’ve seen this somewhere. You meet the same faces, visit the same places, run the same races… With the onslaught of social media, the mass popularity of running, social groups and the sudden accessibility of running it’s easy to feel that you have to stand out from the inevitable comparisons. More than ever before there is pressure that you have to be different. That originality, and even being extreme in someway, is necessary. It’s not. I don’t think so anyway. It’s OK to travel a path that’s been travelled before, to do the same thing and experience the same feelings. It’s OK not to be unique.
Running is running. The motion is the same. The mentality is often the same. The people we share it with are usually the same. The places we go are also similar… We go there be cause they are EPIC. We should feel inspired by the experiences of other’s to go and visit and run these places, these races. No matter how far or how close they are. We should also want to experience it.
The feelings you will feel are the same. The runners ‘high’. The comedowns after the achievements. Those moments where you want to stop, give it all up, never run again. Those times when you don’t feel you are progressing as you think you should. It’s all OK. We all all experience that. You’re not alone. None of us are ‘super human’, despite our achievements.
The goals and motivations we set ourselves are likely to be similar too. Personal bests, furthest distance, run a certain event, get fit, get fitter, lose the weight, improve your mental state etc. All in someway a goal of achievement and possibly self-validation, proving that you can, sticking the middle finger up to the doubters. Taking yourself on a journey and transformation be it visible or not. These aren’t unique. They are however specific to each of us and personal. We shouldn’t be afraid nor need to justify our goals to other people or feel worried that other people are running for the same reasons and therefore we ‘can’t’.
No matter which direction you take, your goals are your own
The memories and recollections will be shared. We meet up with others. We take pictures. We all share them. We’ve all your own perspective on what it means to us individually, what it represents and how it made us feel. But it’s the same specific memory. You can’t change that. It’s OK that social media is inundated with the same picture for everyone who was involved in creating it. Moments shared are the best kind!
Many of us runners write too. So what about writing? Same thing. Race reviews, they’ll be similar. It’s the same race. Perspectives won’t vary that greatly unless there is an incident. The route, the conditions. They aren’t unique to you. Your experience is though. Mind you, those experiences and feelings over multiple events might well be similar (again unless there is an incident?). What makes one 5km race different from the next? What makes one’s attitude and motivations during one marathon different from the next? Not a lot. I don’t think so anyway. I write about my participation in endurance races. It’s easy for me to recap over a short period of time. My memory is sharp and there will be a finite number of things to recall. When Running long distances though your thoughts wander. You are distracted. I find I hit an almost hypnotic trance-like state where I’m just moving. Trying to remember the specifics over say a 12 hour period is tough. I recall the same thing I’ve felt many times before – ” I felt good”, “I felt tired”, “the hill was a bastard”, “ooh nice tree”, “I’m hungry”, “I spoke to someone about running”. Very little makes such a written review different than what’s been written before. But again, it’s specific to you. And that’s important. It’s you and your experience. Your enjoyment.
This sign has nothing to do with anything. But I am hungry.
For me that is why it’s OK to not be unique. We are not, and should not be, in competition. Certainly not a popularity contest. It’s OK to just enjoy and revel in the process you go through, whatever that process is. Let’s not add more pressure to what is already a very demanding pastime. Running isn’t easy. Let’s not make it harder by sucking the fun out of it!
Be you, you don’t have to go hunting for something unique to stand out. IT IS OK to travel a path that’s been travelled before, to do the same thing and experience the same feelings. It really is OK not to be unique.
I’ve been nominated for the personal blog category with the Running Awards. I’d love your support and votes. If you like what you read and you’d like to vote for me you can click this link and find “RunWithDai” in the nominees. Thanks!
The Lemkowyna Ultra Trail (LUT) is a Polish running event set in and around the Beskid mountain range of South East Poland. Lemkowyna is in its 5th year and has a series of events with races at 30km, 48km, 70km, 100km and 150km. The 150km race being a ‘discovery’ race on the prestigious Ultra-Trail World Tour UTWT.
Through her various trail running contacts Jana ran the 30km Lemko trail in 2017 and dragged (far too easily) a few of us out to Poland for the weekend to run the 48km ‘marathon’ this year. One of the biggest selling points for me to join the adventure (other than filling my October ‘event’ and running with friends of course!) was the race tagline “enjoy the mudness”. Apparently it would be a very, very muddy event. Awesome. Let’s kick start the winter running season with some grotty fun!
After months of waiting, it was time. Myself, Jana, Yvette, Daisy and Clair were heading out to Poland for the weekend. Logistically it was a flight into Rzeszow and a taxi transfer to the town of Krosno. From here we’d be able to get the organised LUT buses to the start of the race in Iwonicz-Zdroj and also back from the finish line at Komancza.
Team Cool Cats go shopping
Leading up to the weekend I was relaxed. Far too relaxed. There are probably numerous reasons for this. Firstly it was convenient to leave all the worries to Jana as the only fluent Polish speaker in the group (sorry and thanks Jana!! – Jana did try to teach us all the necessary pleasantries, however I was only able to grasp a single word “Ziemniaki”). Secondly, I’ve achieved everything I wanted to this year. I’ve come through my biggest challenges unscathed and smiling. I’ve 3 events left to tackle and had already switched to planning 2019. These races are now about enjoyment, experience and maintenance ready for what 2019 can bring. On top of that I am carrying a bit of an injury. I don’t know what exactly but I’m aware of some discomfort. I thought it was my calf. Now I think it’s my hamstring. Either way I still wanted to run but not too push it.
Unfortunately Clair was also injured so had to switch to cheer squad duties for the weekend. Yvette was a little apprehensive about the run (there is a tight 8 hour time limit on the course) so I imposed myself and insisted I’d run with her throughout so that she wasn’t alone.
TDS winner Marcin Sweirc
An amazing breakfast spread
After settling in at the accommodation and having a good nights sleep, we were up early to make it to the ‘shakeout run’ before registration. The shakeout run was led by Marcin Swierc who won the TDS this year in a gripping finale. Very impressive! A brief jog along some local trails before he put us through a series of challenging stretches and body exercises before we returned for a complimentary breakfast. The breakfast spread put on by the organisers was full of local made sausages, breads, cheeses and jams. We were in heaven. After which we had an impromptu interview with the media channel supporting the race. I’m still not completely sure what was asked and what we responded despite Jana’s translations!
After the morning’s activities we met up with Michal (who stayed with us in Chamonix during the CCC and whom recently finished 6th at Ultra Tour Monte Rosa!!). Michal was here with Team Vindberg (or “team Hot Tub” as I liked to call them) after claiming a podium finish at the 48km LUT last year. We went off for some ice cream and a walk around Krosno whilst we waited for race registration to open.
Pre Race fueling
Team Hot Tub representing
Race registration was straightforward and efficient with a check of all the mandatory kit list in exchange for the bib number and tracker. Oddly, despite a cut off time of 6pm the mandatory kit list includes equipment like head torches and back lights but no waterproofs or layered clothing. Odd, but rules are rules and there is no doubt a logic behind it. It did feel odd having such a lightweight kit bag! All checked in we posed for some pre-race pictures and made our way to a restaurant for some pierogis. I do love Polish dumplings!! We followed this up with a chilled evening drinking 2% Radler beers like the crazies we are. We know how to party!
The next morning was a breeze as the race wouldn’t start till 10am. So no early wake up call in Poland. Awesome. Fed and packed we eased through the bus ride, checked our drop bags in and were in the race pen ready and waiting. The 150km, 100km and 70km runners were already well underway and many 70k participants were at the aid station where we were starting in Iwonicz-Zdroj. It was good to cheer them through but I felt anxiety for them knowing any minute we’d be stampeding after them, surrounding them with our fresh energy.
Krzysztof, the race director (Jana’s friend at Lemkowyna), pulled us forward (with Jana’s help) to the front to get people focused and ready. He gave the mandatory race briefing at the countdown began. 10am. Race underway. Within seconds Jana vanished from sight and disappeared into the distance!
The initial part of the course ran through the town as we sought out the beginning of the trail. Within just a few kilometres we were climbing the first of what I’d describe as the 3 “small” inclines of the route. Besides this there would be one big-bastard climb and plenty of rolling hills along the way. As we climbed we were greeted with loud voices from a group of men positioned halfway up the hill. Music pumping and bottles(!) of something no doubt alcoholic being drunk, they were in for a good time!
Now what I haven’t already alluded to was the weather this weekend. In fact, as to how much we were sweating! We came in the search of mud. We were ready to ‘enjoy the mudness’. However, we were presented with a 20+ degrees (C) beautiful summer’s weekend. There would be very little mud. The layers had been swapped the night before for short shorts and a vest! As we climbed the sweat only increased. But what goes up must come down and soon we did.
when the sun comes out…
the mud dries up
Here came my first surprise of the day. The terrain. The ground was very uneven and rocky. The climbs were tough and the downs were harder. Much concentration was needed to ensure a strong footing in the jagged stones and dusty trails. So much so I removed my sunglasses to help focus. This was going to be quite a painful run for the feet I decided. The second surprise followed soon after with a delightful warning of bears in the woods. hhhmmm.
Don’t look, keep running!
Throughout the day we were never alone. Plenty of runners from our event and also the 70km event mixing and running together. At one point the route took us onto a road that was still in the process of being re-surfaced. The ground was sticky with tar and you could feel the heat coming from the ground. This was a new experience!! I stuck with, or near, Yvette for the first 10 miles and we soon came across the first aid station at around 18km. Here we met Sarah from team ‘hot tub’ who was readying herself for an assault on the 30km race which would soon be starting.
We filled our bottles and bellies (chocolate and biscuits for me!!) and set off again. I checked my watch (I still only run with current and average pace showing – this gives a huge sense of being free from pressure and not thinking about distance nor time!). We’d covered the 10 miles or so in just under the two hours. This was great progress. I told Yvette how well she was doing, to not worry nor thinking about the 8 hour cut off but instead make her realise a sub 6 hour was a real possibility!!
Onwards we went. Upwards. The big-bastard was immediately after the aid station and was about 800m or so of climbing steadily over several kilometres. I lost sight of Yvette somewhere over this climb but carried on knowing she wouldn’t be far behind. I was in my own bubble at this point. I was a little concerned as I could feel my leg (this is were I became conscious that it was more likely my hamstring and not my calf) but I was Smiling. Enjoying. The hills were stunning. All around us the trees were turning red and brown but the sun was shinning brightly. As you climbed higher and higher the unobstructed views into the distance became more and more impressive. This was a side to Poland I’ve not seen before. It really is beautiful out there. I plodded along with a smile on my face, absorbing it all and cheering the runners who’d pass me along the way. After about 15 or 16 miles Sarah cane zooming passed with a huge smile and cheered me on. She was third lady in the 30km LUT and looking very strong. She was gone before I knew it.
Exceptional views from the LUT
There was a long section on top of the hills which was very pleasant, out in the open sunshine. I was a little worried I’d get sun burnt now! I had a brief moment of distraction talking to a Polish lady (Agata) who lives in Devon. She too powered off into the distance as I walked the little hills happily. I met her again at the finish and found she finished 4th lady in the 30km LUT, narrowly missing the podium by under a minute! I hope this wasn’t down to talking to me!!
Get ready for the descent!
Next up was the down that inevitably follows the up – Over a very short distance we’d descend the 800m or so back down. This was rapid with gravity taking you probably faster than you’d like. I was again very conscious of my footing as, although the ground was softy and grassy it was riddled with lumps and cambers. Immediately at the bottom the next aid station awaited.
I briefly checked the time, 2pm. We were still on for that sub 6 if we wanted it. I just had to wait for Yvette to show. I filled the ten mins or so eating. Lots of orange slices, biscuits and chocolate and a load of flat coke. It was so flat. Perfect. The volunteers here were excellent and incredibly helpful and I joked around with one lady who was drenching people with cold water whilst I waited. The volunteers throughout were absolutely fantastic and help make this a special event! After about 10 mins or so Yvette showed up and it was her turn to stock up and refresh.
Going Strong
As we walked up the last of the “little hills” Yvette confirmed she was in a good place mentally and physically. The steep rocky down hills were taking its toll on her ankles (she’s had previous injuries there) but she was good. The last third of the race went by in a blur. We wondered if Clair had been able to find a way to get to the finish (it’s in the middle of nowhere with limited transport and she had no confirmed way of getting back either!) and if Daisy and Jana would have finished by now. For a while we interchanged places with a mixed group of other runners from our race, the 70km and the 30km. But we were consistent and comfortable. So comfortable that I inadvertently found some of the mud. Despite the weather, pockets of the course were still very muddy. I can see how, with a little rain, the whole course would become so much more difficult to run. But, throughout the course you were easily able to navigate around or jump the muddy patches. Lost in my own thoughts though I was no longer thinking or focusing and I ran straight through a muddy seduction. I was immersed to my ankles and almost lost my trainers as I pulled through! I cheered myself and laughed. No harm. A pain to clean at some point but I had come for the mud after all!! As a result, I ran through all the mud I could for what remained of the trail. Why not huh?!
I found the mud!!
I was deep in enjoyment now and amused myself with a little game as we ran through some forested areas. As the seasons were changing, the trees were ripe with autumnal colours and leaves were falling. All around us in the tranquillity of the forest there was not a sound other than the foot strikes on the ground and the leaves rustling through the trees branches as they fell and floated to the ground. You could see them falling all around and the shadows they’d make. I made it my game to catch them as I passed. I managed it just once.
Scenes from the forest trails
As we neared the end of the trail we knew there would be a few km on the road to run to the finish. We soon hit this and it was an ever so gradual incline. Yvette was stitching but carried on. I figured we had maybe two miles at most left to cover. I was a few hundred yards ahead of here and kept stopping to see if she was coming. But then, out of nowhere a sign saying ‘finish 350m’ appeared. What? This was too soon. I looked back. Yvette was there. So I legged it. I ran in to finish the race. Rounding the corner where the cheers from Daisy, Clair and Jana could be heard. I screamed “ziemniaki” (that one word I could remember) and passed the line. Moments later Yvette skipped in past me to finish too. We finished around 6 hrs and 4 mins. Amazing. If I’d known the finish was so close I would have pushed us to break that hour mark! Still, it proves Yvette is a far stronger runner than she gives herself confidence for, smashing the cut off she was concerned by with 2 hours to spare!
Team Ziemniaki
Race done we were treated with our favourite 2% Radler beer and snacks from Clair (who’d clearly made it!) and admired our amazing ‘cowbell’ medals. The organisers had arranged food (great food!!) for runners and we sat and chatted about our races and experience.
How good is this medal and mug!!
As the night started to draw in we had a brief ‘wet wipe wash’ in the river (the showers were cold and the changing area was a bit chaotic) and made our way into the main tent ready for awards and live music. We’d planned to stay for the entertainment and get the 9pm bus back to Krosno anyway, but we had even more reason too now – Daisy had finished 3rd lady in the 48km and Sarah second lady in the 30km. We gave them a great reception as they collected their incredible awards and huge amount of sponsored gifts for the podium finishers. In an amazingly thoughtful touch, Krzysztof (the race director) invited Jana onto the stage to thank her and give her the honour of presenting Daisy (and the 48km lady podium finishers) with their awards in recognition of her support to the Lemkoywna. After all the awards there was also a chance to recognise and applaud some of the many volunteers whom received a very well deserved standing ovation.
It was an amazing finish to an amazing weekend that was all about the support and camaraderie of each other! Something tells me this won’t be the last time I go to this event!! The people, the organisation, the food, everything we encountered during our time in Poland was special!
I’ve been nominated for the personal blog category with the Running Awards. I’d love your support and votes. If you like what you read and you’d like to vote for me you can click this link and find “RunWithDai” in the nominees. Thanks!
The year isn’t even through and, like many, I’m reflecting. So many achievements and memories. But so much more to come. So much more planning to do. And I’m stuck. I’m confused. I’m stressing. I shouldn’t be. But I am…
Without wanting to sound ungrateful for the opportunities and adventures. The achievements have led to a sense of being unfulfilled. I want more. Is that normal? Am I alone?
The question I keep asking myself in relation to my running is “where do I go from here?”. Do I run further? Do I run higher? Should I try to run faster? What do I really want? Where does one look for and find the next challenge? Is it in the races and events or through my own personal aspirations and ideas? What are the other challenges that I seek? I simply do not know!
I need help. I need your views. I’d love to hear from you… Does anyone have the same questions and a method for answering them? What do you do, how do you decide?
How do you choose one event/race over another?
How do you balance the applications and ballots (which provide no guarantee of a place) with those events readily accessible? How do you weigh up the flexibility vs the certainty?
If you are looking at ballots, how far ahead do you plan to maximise the coefficient and lottery bonuses? Do I apply this year knowing I don’t want to/can’t run the event next year and hope I’m unsuccessful?
How do you balance the races/events you want to do now vs the events and races you need to use to qualify for other ones?
How do you blend in the desire to see new countries and visit new places. Mixing the glamour of the “big” races but avoiding the tedium of visiting the same places and the repetition of the same areas?
Can you be bothered with all the travel and logistics of different events? The stresses and costs involved need considering too right.
What about who you do the events and challenges with? I’ve certainly found more enjoyment sharing them with others, but not everyone will have the same aspirations or freedom?
What about the risk of over doing it? This year I’ve challenged myself each month. I feel good. But does my body need a rest? but If I rest, will I be as perpetually trained and ready for the challenges ahead?
What about going back? There’s been some great events I’ve done. Do I attempt to recreate them, do I have unfinished business there?
What about those ideas I have that are non-running related or don’t involve running. Where do they fit in?
How? What? Why? Where? When? Who? Decisions. I fucking hate decisions…
I’ve been nominated for the personal blog category with the Running Awards. I’d love your support and votes. If you like what you read and you’d like to vote for me you can click this link and find “RunWithDai” in the nominees. Thanks!
An adventure in Northumberland, the home of Montane…
So there is a back story here. The short version is that, after purchasing some of their products, I won a competition earlier in the year with Montane. We kept in touch and I promised a run sometime. This has led to some involvement with Montane in an Ambassador capacity, which is great because I’ve loved all of the kit I’ve used (I was pretty much kitted head to toe in it for the CCC!) and they produce some really great items! The idea for a weekend adventure was that we’d combine a ‘Run With Dai’ with a chance to test out some of the new winter range from Montane’s trail running series ‘Via’.
It’s a long ol’ journey from London!
The weekend started with the long journey north on Friday evening to Berwick-upon-Tweed (and a subsequent bus south from the station). The local bus from Berwick-upon-Tweed to Bamburgh is amazing. It has a built in tour guide so you are educated on the history of sites like Haggerston Castle, Holy Island, Lindisfarne, Belford, Budle Bay and Bamburgh Castle along the way! Fantastic. All buses should do this!
Wim met me at Bamburgh Castle and we headed straight off for a pint to make acquaintances. Over the last 8 months or so we’d only ever talked over email. It was surreal and amazing to, after so many months, finally meet someone who I’d solely communicated with digitally. He didn’t quite have the Scottish twang I expected but in no time at all we were finding out more about each other beyond our common interest in running. The whole weekend Wim and his wife (Rosie) made me feel so welcome and spoiled me rotten with home cooking and delights!
The vague plan for the weekend was to run into the Cheviot hills. We’d start by driving to Ingram where we’d meet Ross, a fellow ambassador (and local farmer!) who knew the land inside out. He’d pretty much be the guide for the day, physically running with us for 3 hours and guiding us in absence with the directions he’d pointed out of where we needed to go after he would leave us.
Ross ended up staying the whole day with us. His directions and knowledge were priceless!
We packed our bags and, along with Margot (Mags, the energetic four-legged companion), headed off to Ingram, the gateway to the Cheviots. Wim had sourced us some tops to test on the run – The via Dragon and the Fireball Verso.
Spoiler alert, the gist of my reviews are:
The Dragon is a great mid-layer. It has a Zipped front for fit and breathability but also unique double cuffs which provide emergency mitts when the weather turns. . These were super handy when running in the wind.
The Verso. Same as the old one but some tweaked designs – New colour variants, Different (improved) cuffs and an upgraded insulation material. Again great when running in windy conditions. I loved both these items and was reluctant to return them afterwards!
Anyway, off running we went. First we headed up the field paths towards Dunmoor Hill. It quickly became apparent that the ‘trails’ would be few and far between. The land was mostly subtle in its path and direction and not as mainstream as many other trails and national parks you will find. Our first challenge was to navigate a livestock field full of cows and a warning from Ross – The livestock here was a little volatile and he’d recently been chased out of the field! We tentatively rounded the ‘crazy’ cows and continued up. From Dunmoor Hill we had views of what lay ahead. The next peak and the second highest in the area (I think that’s right) – Hedgehope Hill. The run down was brisk and boggy and our feet were soon soaked through.
Temperamental Cows
Up Hedgehope Hill we went. A slow bimble as we climbed. The Dragon top was great here as my fingers felt the wind and I was able to quickly warm them without stopping to unpack my gloves. It was so easy to fold the cuffs over into the mitts! As we reached the top we surveyed the land. It was what I’d describe as lumpy. Rolling hills as far as you could see. Very little ‘flats’ between the hills. I love this. We layered up as the wind increased. I put on the Fireball Verso. The bright red outer Featherlite windshield making me standout in the gloomy grey summit. I was instantly warm.
From here we had some options as to how we’d get to The Cheviot, the highest point clearly visible and standing 815m up ahead. Running the ridge line from Hedgehope we soon veered right and off the beaten track. We opted for the shorter but arguably harder “straight down and up approach”.
We were soon bounding and leaping through the waists high ferns and lavender, but not leaping as high as Mags who was like a rabbit vanishing into the soft underground between each leap. I don’t know how many times I laughed at the sight of her leaping through the foliage or thinking she could catch the birds she disturbed!
As we crossed the stream we looked up at the Cheviot in front of us. All 815m of it in its glory. Up we would go. Sometime later, after several rests and many wine gums we made the top. Crossing a field we made our way into the slab path (leading to the Pennine Way) and ran left (towards the English/Scottish border). We soon came across the summit’s Trig stone and chatted to the holiday hikers already there taking a rest.
We continued back the way we’d came. Along the top of the Cheviot before heading down to Langleeford. The run down was great. Mostly soft ground and not too rocky along with great views of Hedgehope, Dunmoor and beyond. This was one of the main tourist paths walkers would take to summit The Cheviot. Several large bogs needed jumping, one leaving me with fear and pain as I landed awkwardly. But before we knew it we were at the Langleeford car park and crossing the stream at Hearthope burn. This was so idyllic.
It was time to climb again as we decided on our route back toward Dunmoor and Ingram. We’d go via Housey Crags / Langlee Crags and once again were soon winging it cross country. The terrain here was blind and again often at waist height so a walk was in order. In the distance the burning at a farm could be seen and acted partly as a guide as we navigated towards the tree line of Threestoneburn Wood.
Housey Crags
By now the sun was out. We’d hoped for some ‘proper grotty’ winter weather to really put the gear to the test but had instead treated with glorious sunshine as the afternoon came. More of this and we might have ended up with a sun tan from the day!
There was a huge area of deforestation and commercial timber harvesting which we crossed at Threestoneburn Woods. A completely different type of terrain and views. The burnt crops were hard, pointy and sharp so we carried little Mags across. We were soon on the tractor paths for the machinery to access the forests and ran onward for a while, passing some walkers we’d seen earlier in the day.
Again the path soon changed as we walked through the remains of a harvested woodland. The wood once again dead and uneven. Reaching the other side we were back on the incline we’d started out on when we climbed to Dunmoor Hill. This meant it was time to head black down and pass the crazy cows once more. As we neared, they separated. 3 stood guard on the perimeter of the herd and eyeballed us intently as we passed. From here it was a gentle stroll back to the car. 20 miles of adventures covered. This turned out to be the furthest run Ross had covered. Amazing.
The route of the day’s adventure
Throughout the day Wim and Ross talked about some of the local races in the hills. They sound like they would be pretty brutal, that and the excellent calibre of local runners who live and breathe these hills would make for an interesting challenge!
As we arrived back to base with achy feet and moans a plenty, Rosie greeted us with an incredible home cooked cheese and leek lasagna. This was exactly what we needed (along with the warm bath!) to replenish after the hard graft of the day.
Despite all the running, Mags wasn’t done. She is fascinated by balls and wanted more running as she kept fetching her ball and demanding it was thrown for her to chase. I couldn’t keep up with the demands!!
The next morning we forced our tired legs out of bed for another little run. We drove into Bamburgh and off to the beach for an ‘easy’, flat 5km down the coast. It was brisk and cold as the wind blew. Another great chance to put the Verso to the test!
The beach views were stunning as, on one side you had the sand dunes and vast land of Bamburgh Castle and, on the other the cost and the Farne islands (apparently a great place for diving and seal spotting!). As we were looking out across the cost we caught a glimpse of a porpoise bobbing close to the shore line doing its morning ‘thing’.
Mags loved the run and it was the first time I heard her make a sound all weekend as she barked and played with the other dogs out on the beach. I loved the run so much less when we finished and waded into the ice cold sea. I got waist high before I couldn’t handle it any longer and ran out back to the beach. Probably the quickest I moved all weekend!
Soon it was time to go and start my long journey back to London and the reality that is Monday to Friday, until the next adventure that is!
So it turns out that I’ve been nominated for the personal blog category with the Running Awards. I’d love your support and votes. If you like what you read and you’d like to vote for me you can click this link and find “RunWithDai” in the nominees. Thanks!
Sporting History was made on the 16th September 2018. You don’t need me to tell you what happened. On such an incredible day I wrote my own piece of history. I ran a sub 3 the marathon. Something that was never a dream or goal. But something that became a ‘thing’ for me. A monkey on my back in 2018.
Let’s rewind a little. 7 months ago. February. I’d just ran a 3:07 marathon in Muscat and a 3:03 in Malta. My mind went into overdrive. Out of nowhere I suddenly thought I can. I believed. I wasn’t patient though and pushed it. Limassol was the the spectacular climax and crash and burn affect of my naivety and disrespect.
It created this monkey. He isn’t cute. In truth he’s a little mouthy Pratt. He’s loomed over me like a shadow. A shadow that filled me with doubts and fears. What if it happens again, but with more severe consequences? What if I keep trying and keep failing? What if I can’t do it? What ifs. So I did what I do best and blocked it out. Shut it down. I succumbed to the fear. If I don’t try, I can’t fail. And that’s how the next two marathons went.
I found a comfort zone. A safe place. I ran at a pace I could enjoy and where no harm could come to me. Whilst it was great that I could enjoy the marathons in such a way, I wasn’t challenging myself or confronting my fears. A manifestation that I’m almost cheating myself. That has been my norm since. I just accepted it. Maybe one day I’d try again.
There’s been a gap of 5 months since my last marathon as I’ve explored the trails over the summer. September though brought about My next marathon. Berlin. One of the Abbott World Major Marathons. Originally this was going to be my main race of 2018. After obtaining a place I thought I was going to train and go for a GFA (London) time (which annoyingly I’d achieved in Malta until they changed the criteria!!) I then found the trails. This all changed. Two weeks before Berlin I’d now be tackling the biggest physical challenge of my life – The CCC. I had no plans for Berlin once again. It was an afterthought. A secondary race in the shadows cast by the mountains.
Berlin would be special in a different way though. I was in a ‘group’ of 20+ other runners that had formed together through various connections. It was going to be a very social and enjoyable weekend. I was looking forward to that.
Berlin Squad
Berlin Squad
As the race approached, my mind only turned to Berlin after I finished the CCC. Two weeks to go. What was my plan? My legs still ached. I hadn’t ‘trained’ for roads or speed. I wasn’t in a training nor taper period. I was in a period of recovery. I didn’t know how long this feeling would last. So I reverted back to the shadows and found a safe option. I decided that 3:15 to 3:30 would be my safe zone. I’d be happy with a time like that. 3:30 was more than comfortable at Helsinki and a time of 3:15 would provide some challenge. Deep down I was scared I’d leg it. You always get caught up in the stampede at the start of a race. So a secondary goal was not to run faster than an average pace of 7:10 mins per mile. That would be a 3:10 marathon pace. Contain yourself was my message!
That’s it. Plan formed. Now to enjoy the weekend…Arriving Saturday AM I bullied my way through the mayhem of what is the biggest race expo I’d ever experienced. I was in and out. Nice and easy. I met up with various members of the group to watch the football and later again for pasta. Spirits were high. Everyone was ready to attack their race. By this point though I’d already made my one ‘mistake’. As I’d run a faster time since I obtained a place at the marathon, I’d had my starting block moved up a place. I’d now be running with 1,000s of other runners capable of a 3:00-3:15 marathon.
Pasta eaten, it was time for bed. Bobby and I were staying on the 6th floor of the Wombats hostel. There is a roof top party every night till 3am. Great. This was our concern. Turned out it wouldn’t be a problem at all. The sudden awakening we got at 4am to the incredibly loud sound of “Achtung!!” Would be our problem. What’s this? What the fuck?! After listening to the German message, we eventually received the English translation. Something along the lines of “Attention. This is the hotel manager. Due to an emergency in the building we request that all guests make their way outside of the building immediately”. A fire alarm. Oh bollocks. We got up and started compiling our race kit. Who knew how long this could go on for! As we were doing so the hotel manager entered our room and started questioning us. Apparently it was our room that had sounded the alarm! “We’ve been sleeping!!” we told him.
race ready far too early!
Seriously?!
After about 30 mins of standing around outside I had to laugh as a couple belatedly came out of the lift, with all their luggage and even their bed sheets?! Err OK. Talk about a sense of urgency! We were finally then let back into our rooms. False alarm. Time to try and get some more sleep before we really have to wake up!
Eventually we really did have too wake up. I was ready for the morning. I knew what was needed. One lingering thought from Limassol was that I hadn’t fueled sufficiently. So I’d planned to get 1500kcals into me before I left the flat. That was mostly done trough 4 Quaker porridge oat bars. I’ve recently found these and they are far easier to consume than the equivalent amount in bowls of porridge. I wasn’t going to be caught out this time!
What then felt like way too soon after being woken in the night we were at the event village. Holy smoke this place was massive. It felt like I’d walked for an eternity trying to find my bag drop and subsequent starting block. Penned in, the block started to fill up, it was a busy one! In front of us the ‘elites’ and pros were warming up and the wheelchair racers were setting off. The atmosphere was electric and we were whipped into a frenzy as the front runners were introduced and the count down begun.
The starting blocks filling up
getting ready
In a flash we were off. The heavy footsteps of 1,000s of runners pounding the tarmac. The thumping built as the crowd gained momentum. Within a minute we were over the line, split into two masses either side of the road, we were off!
The effect of my ‘mistake’ became immediately apparent. Everyone here was fast. We accelerate and were at a sub 7 Min per mile pace in no time. Weaving around the bends and roundabouts the mass of runners stuck together. We wouldn’t be splitting and spreading out anytime soon if at all. This was it. I was in this. I was overtaking people. People were over taking me. I kept checking my watch as the pace fluctuated between 6:40 and 6:55 Min Miles. Over the first 2-3 miles I kept telling myself “run your race”. “Don’t worry about the others”. Despite it all, I felt good. My legs were lethargic, but my body felt strong. My breathing was easy and my heart felt calm. Sod this. Sod my ‘aims’. I’m going for it. My plan was out the window. Sub 3 hours was the goal. If I didn’t get it, it didn’t matter. No pressure. But if I could maintain a 6:50 average pace then I’d do it. If I didn’t then hell, there might be a new PB involved or at any point I could slow it meet my original aims. It was all good. Absolutely zero pressure.
I went for consistency. This was a big difference to my last attempt where I heavily overloaded the first 10 and then second 10 miles with an unsustainable pace. There would be no letting up today. No room to slow. Just keep going. One thing I’ve learnt from the trails is consistency. Over a long duration your current pace doesn’t matter. The average pace over the distance is what defines your time. So for 26.2 miles I would try to be as consistent as I possibly could.
The downside of my change in approach was that I was focused. Ok, yes that’s a positive. But it meant I cannot recall much of the run. I was constantly checking my watch and monitoring my pace. Constantly processing my thoughts to step up or slow down. Maintenance was critical. Going too fast would burn me out. Going to slow could mean I would struggle to recover the time as the fatigue kicks in later on.
I still manage to enjoy
The main disruption to my focus was the water stations. I knew they’d be cups. However, I didn’t want to wear a hydration pack trough out the race. Despite being so far forward in the progression of runners though, each station was an apocalyptic scene. Plastic everywhere. The water areas were flooded with puddles. People crashing into each other and spilling water all over the place. None of that compared to the sound – The noise as thousands of plastic cups were dropped and trampled. Cracking and splitting. It was a horrific sound. It also highlighted the shitty-ness of runners. Come on people, have some tact. It’s not hard to put your empties in the bin or move to the side of the road to drop/throw them. Multiple times this day I was hit by flying cups of water or nearly covered in a persons spit. People really are selfish dicks. My challenge at each water station was to drink enough (without choking myself as I threw the water down my throat) and get back up to target pace as soon as possible. Each stop would be a repetition of this challenge. Some harder than others as the crowds and fatigue varied.
The miles counted down. Things I saw (or remember seeing) were few. Eventually the halfway point was passed. Half a marathon to go. 1hr 29mins elapsed. Same again. It felt like an age for that first half. My thoughts were dominated by nothing else. Rarely did my mind wander from the constant calculations and visitations of that sub 3. I recall thinking back to Vallorcine during the CCC. At that point there was also about a half marathon to go. A mammoth half. This would be nothing by comparison. I could do this. The mental challenge of the CCC was different. Here I could rest in the knowledge of it being over in another hour and a half. That was a real boost.
Passing the sites
The second half went by so much quicker. The atmosphere was incredible. The crowd was constant. The noise high and the music amazing. So many jazz and sax bands entertaining the runners and crowds, really lifting the runner’s morale. Berlin nailed it.
I was using all the usual tricks in my head to keep it going, keep maintaining. Counting down the kms. Converting the miles. Planning what I’d drink and when. I took a pack of Cliff shot blocks and took one every 5km from 22kms. I presume they helped. The flavour certainly did. I had a gel on hand (which I never ended up using) and 250ml of High 5 isotonic drink in a soft flask. I was saving the isontonic for the last 10km and to save me from the carnage of the water stations. My mind was focused and planned. 20 miles done. 6 miles to go. Just a morning run commute to work left.
There were two mental boosts for me at mile 20. Firstly an announcement that the world record had been broken. The crowd and the runners went mad. That’s insane! Everyone wanted to know the time. What a day this was. Secondly, another runner started shouting. “Who’s doing this?! Who’s breaking sub 3 today?!”. No one responded. Inside me though I started to believe even more. I wasn’t alone. I realised I was surrounded by other determined people chasing their goals, chasing their sub 3 dreams. I had a brief chat with the guy. We were doing this. We spurred each other on. I kept him in my sights for the rest of the run. He seemed determined enough that he’d make it.
Focused
I kept going. Kept adjusting and maintaining the pace. The miles passed by. I knew Louise and Becca would be at 38km waiting with the loudest of cheers. I was ready to look out for them. But first came the Adidas runners cheer zone at 37km. Wow. Just wow. There were hundreds of them. It’s a huge community but amplified at an Adidas sponsored world major marathon. The noise was insane. The roar as runners ran through was so uplifting. I’d now caught up with the 3 hour pacers too. They’d set off before me and I thought that, if I get in front of them and finish, then sub 3 will be certain. So I did. I slipped by and settled back into the rhythm. By the time I reached the girls I was in a strong mental place. I saw them and yelled. They went wild. Lou later told me that, on the trackers they’d been saying “Dai is going too fast. He’s going to fast” before realising “Dai is going for sub 3. He’s not going too fast, he’s on target'”. This made me chuckle. Setting myself some goals and changing them mid-run was clearly misleading for others!
That moment ‘you know’
After seeing the girls I powered on. Last 5km. Three miles. Don’t drop it now. But, here came my biggest challenge. I couldn’t tell myself this was happening. I couldn’t rest up. I’d been this close before. 1 mile from the finish it all went wrong in Limassol. Mile 25. I had to get passed mile 25. I had to feel strong at mile 24 (my last memory at Limassol!). I did. Keep at it. Keep believing. Keep focused. My watch ticked over, 25 miles done.
Go on, get nice and close up!
Now. Now is the time! My mind went into some sort of automatic self-diagnostic mode. My brain was sending signals to every part of my body. I could feel the information flowing back and my brain ticking them off. Check. Check. Check. It felt almost surreal as I acknowledged that my breathing was good. In and out through my nose. Deep and easy breathing. My lungs were good. My legs told me they were good too. Heavy, as they’d been all morning. But good. They wouldn’t let me down. My toe hurt. That was the worst response back. It was telling me there would be a blister at the end. A small price to pay. My heart was good. Not pounding. Just pumping rhythmically. My fingers clenching and relaxing by my side. My abs tight and holding me up right. My form felt good. My stride was consistent. My mind was clear. I was focused. 1 mile and a bit to go. Maybe 10mins max. This was on. I checked my watch and did the maths. Don’t drop the pace. Keep at 6:50ish for one more mile and this was mine. Soon I’d be at the Bradenburg Gate. Soon I’d be on the home stretch. That small insignificant bit of distance at the end of a 26 mile run. I told myself it’s nothing. It’s just that ‘extra’ bit runners do in training to round up to an even number. Go. Go.
Smiling through the gate
Under the gate I went. The crowds lined both sides of the road. Huge numbers. Huge cheers. Runners everywhere either powering on or succumbing to the moment and stopping. Cramping. Walking. I felt for them. But this was me and my time. I crossed the line. Stopped the watch. It was under 3 hours (2:59:27. Officially). It was close. I’d done it. Everything I’d said to myself to keep going was right. So close. One bad mile, One prolonged period of not focusing and those 30 seconds would have evaporated away. But it was done. And that was it. I went into some kind of blurred, subdued state immediately. Inside I was so happy. But I don’t recall much or the emotions. I don’t know if I screamed or jumped or anything as I crossed the line. I do know I was chuffed to bits though.
Looks like I was pretty pleased!
It was a long walk to the medals, to the water. I savoured it all. I saw the Runner who’d powered us on and we hugged it out. The long walk continued and I found Jordan ahead. I thought she must have also done it also as she was ahead of me. She’d come so close at 3:01 but had smashed her target and Pb. She was calling Chris. He was coming in just behind us at 3:07. He’d finished. He’d stopped at the medical tent to steady his legs. We walked back and met him after he’d collected his medals. Big hugs All round. He’d smashed his 3:10 target. We said we’d sign up to Boston in 2020. Here we go again…
Something tells me we were all very happy!
Over the next few hours the rest of the group finished one by one. We regrouped and celebrated each other’s achievements. Before going our separate ways until later.
I met and saw so many other friends and familiar faces out there that day (and weekend). PBs were shattered all over the place. What a day to be a part of. We celebrated that night. We laughed a lot.
Pbs
Pbs
Pbs
more Pbs
I might seem subdued to those I’ve spoken to since the race. Truth is, I don’t think the realisation has set in yet. I’ve played the sub 3 down so much this year that it probably hasn’t fully registered in my mind just how big of an achievement it is. I am though absolutely ecstatic with the outcome. Not just because of the time and achievement. But happy with the relief that the demons of the past have been put to the sword. The shadow lifted and the mouthy pratt of a monkey no longer is on my back trying to fill me with doubts.
Yes!!
I don’t feel that roads are my place anymore. I’ve nothing to achieve from them. I don’t need, nor want, to improve that time. It won’t provide me with any greater satisfaction. I’ll run road races again for the reasons of it being a world major (one day I’ll do the 6), for covering a marathon on each continent (although that doesn’t mean it has to be a road!) or if I get a place somehow. I won’t be looking for them.
My heart and feet belong in the trails. They’ve consumed me now. I enjoy the challenge more. The freedom and experience more. The camaraderie and more relaxed nature of them. I can go back to the trails now knowing that I’ve redeemed myself. Limassol has well and truly been assigned to the history books and a time of learning and self realisation.
I will take pride in opening my copy of the Berliner Morgenpost and seeing my name written in the newspaper. The time etched as part of my own history on this very historical day for sport.
I’m in the German news, sort of!
So it turns out that I’ve been nominated for the personal blog category with the Running Awards. I’d love your support and votes. If you like what you read and you’d like to vote for me you can click this link and find “RunWithDai” in the nominees. Thanks!
A brutal race deserves a brutal review…The CCC is indeed a brutal race.
Pre-race cheese
What follows might come across as yet another moan about yet another race I willingly signed up to. So let me firstly caveat it with the confirmations that I did enjoy myself, I did have a great race, I’m proud of my achievements and I’m happy I did it. Would I recommend the race to someone contemplating signing up, no. No I would not. If you get anxious, as I do, it would also be a definitive no!!
To save reading on (what follows will be ramblings about my trip to the alps as well as the race itself!) the shortest way I can think of summarising why I wouldn’t recommend the race is that it just doesn’t live up to the hype. Whether that’s caused by my false expectations and that my preconceptions were way off the mark I don’t know. But for me it just didn’t stand up to the prestige that surrounds the event. Let me also caveat that the recap that follows is going to be littered with contradictions. I know that. The good things were the bad things. The bad things were often the good things. It is a little hard to separate them.
The UTMB is like the Mecca of the trail running world. A Hollywood blockbuster of an event. I’m generally ignorant of the running world, the elites, events and challenges. But I knew of the UTMB week. 10,000 or so runners, the top trail runners in the world, rigorous qualification criteria, years of training and days of festivities. It’s hard not to know a little about this particular event.
The confirmation that led to many sleepless nights!
Since I obtained a place back in December, besides being a nervous wreck, I’ve met numerous runners who had, and who soon would also be taking part. I received so much advice and insight (for which I am grateful) and so knew a little about what lay in waiting for me. Everyone spoke of the same difficulties (e.g. congested single tracks) but spoke so positively about the races. However my experience and feelings soon went off on a different tangent.
Let me begin with the lead up to the ‘race’ from when I arrived in Chamonix. I was staying in a chalet with 6 others. Some I knew well (like Yvette who would be crewing me), some I’d met occasionally before and some where complete strangers to me. All shared a passion for running and exploring and each was here for a different reason, be it running one of the events, crewing a Runner, supporting friends, photographing the events or generally absorbing the vibes. This was a fantastic atmosphere to be a part of.
The morning after arriving, myself and Yvette headed out for a run with Alan. He’s a mighty strong and experienced runner. I was nervous of running so far the day before such a big run, but his experience and knowledge shone through when my heavy travel legs started to loosen up. It was also a great way to get some last minute advice from a guy who knows what he is talking about (Alan went on to smash the UTMB course this weekend!).
Heading off to register
Post run, feeling refreshed, I headed off to the event village to register. If ever there was an example of the scale of organisation involved in events, it is the UTMB registration process. The application, the website and the pre-race communications are rigorous and meticulous. Constant deadlines for submitting mandatory requirements (think qualifying evidence, medical certificates, contact information, transport services etc.) are the norm and the in-person registration is no different. It starts with a dedicated registration slot. After a short queue your chosen form of identification is used to confirm you as a registered runner and grant access to the registration hall. You are handed a personalised, random generated, mandatory kit checklist and join the snaking queues of checks that lay ahead.
Kit checks in progress
Phew, I passed!
The mandatory kit list is extensive and demonstrates the enormity of the challenge you are embarking on as you are left to fend for yourself, in some cases over multiple nights, in the mountains of the alps. It highlights the seriousness that the organisers place on health and safety, which is clearly a good thing. Thankfully for the CCC this year there wasn’t a need to implement either of the additional “Hot”/”Cold” weather kits! After placing the required items in a tray, they are checked. Thoroughly. It’s not sufficient to show just your phone, but that it works and has roaming for networks across the 3 countries the race spans. Any old waterproof is not sufficient, the seams are meticulously checked and you sweat nervously whilst your expensive equipment is deemed sufficient enough to progress through the checks. Once you receive the thumbs up you continue on your journey and trade your stamped kit checklist for your bib number and tracker. See, if you fail the kit check, you won’t be allowed anywhere near the race itself! Bib number received you are instructed on how it should be worn and passed on to the wristband and ‘pack’ check. Here you receive a wrist band according to your race and your race pack/backpack of choice is tagged with the race tracker. You cannot change the bag now! Next up you receive your dropbag and and advised on the route navigation, markings and signs you’ll see along the way that need your attention (warnings of danger, wildlife, delicate paths and when to stick to the track and when not to use poles). There really is no excuse at this point for not understanding what you’ll see. Finally, checks, tags and information complete, you secure your bus passes and assistance tickets (to admit your crew to the dedicated assistance checkpoints). There’s also a cheesy photo opportunity (free! Nice touch) and you are done. It really is a military operation but one of the smoothest, if most nerve racking, registration experiences I’ve had.
Post registration we met backup with Alan at the finish line and waited for Hanna (one of Alan’s teammates) to arrive at the end of here race – the TDS. Almost bang on her estimated finish time she arrived with a huge smile beaming across her face and waltzed across the finish line. It was near 11:00am and a decent crowd had formed at the finish line, cheering and whooping the finishers across the line to the chorus of “Allez, Allez, Allez”. More than ever I was ready for my turn now.
The weeks leading up to this weekend were repetitive. The same questions. The same answers. The same feelings. I was ready. I was excited. There was nervous anticipation mixed with self-confidence. I was fed up of waiting. I wanted it now. I wanted to run. One more sleep stood in my way. One more afternoon of overthinking every possibility that lay in wait.
After some lunch we headed off to meet Jana and Maggie. Jana and I planned to start the race together and Yvette and Maggie to crew us together. Some chat about plans and lots of laughter later we said our goodbyes until the morning.
The morning wait
05:00. The alarms are going, coffee is being drunk. The prep was complete. It was time to go. Finally. The morning started nervously as my watch had somehow drained of battery over night. It read 27% and it annoyed me. We met met up with Jana and Maggie in Les Bossons and hopped on the shuttle bus to the start In Courmayeur (Italy). The next time we’d see Yvette and Maggie would be over 12 hours later in Switzerland! The bus pulled up in Courmayeur, and then continued onward to a car park that felt an eternity away from the start. A rushed toilet start and more eating (fuel fuel fuel!!) filled the time as we made our way to the starting pens.
We wouldn’t be starting together after all. A staggered start meant I’d set off at 9:15, 15 mins before Jana. I was sure she’d make up 15 mins on the trails. The first few hours would be all walking and I knew she was eager to get ahead of the pack ready for the single track congestion. I text her to say my phone would be on flight mode (to preserve battery) and to look out for me. National anthems, talks from the mayor(?) and some crowd-hyping later it was time to go. There were photographers and drones everywhere. But also a helicopter cameraman. If ever you needed to know the scale of an event then needing a helicopter to get around kind of tells you how massive it is!!
A sweaty wait
Helicopters
The beginning of The CCC involves a climb out of the town towards Tete de la Tronche. When I did this on the recce run it took nearly 5 hours. It’s pretty much all up hill as you climb to 2584 m along single file tracks. Everyone had spoken about the single file, to try and get ahead of the crowds to avoid being too slow, but the reality is it just isn’t possible. There are over 2,100 runners. Over 2,100 strong runners (they’ve all had to qualify remember!!) and they all have the same idea. Immediately you fall inline. Immediately I experience some of the motions that will become a recurring theme of the race. The tapping of trekking poles as they strike the ground. The stench of sweat from the runners (myself included), the huffing and puffing of heavy breathers and the complete lack of spatial awareness humans have. You almost need to be a trained fencer to avoid being stabbed from trekking poles coming at you from all angles!
A glimpse of the Human Centipede off into the distance
As the climb begins to steepen the reality of the congested single tracks became clear. For long sections it is stop and start. So much so that my watch wouldn’t even registered we were moving it was that slow! Your personal space is invaded, continuously. Your view is not that of the scenic mountain views, but of the arse or the runner in front of you. It was one sadistic race director away from being a sporting version of the Human Centipede. It’s basically disgusting. Jana thought the bus smelt bad. The mountains smelt worse as your breathing space contained almost toxic combinations of runner’s sweat, muscle rubs, food reserves and farts (yep, that one was definitely me!). I wanted nothing more to escape the centipede and power on. But I knew the pace was consistent and good for preserving my energy for later in the race.
As you carry on upwards you are repeatedly impaled by trekking poles from the front and rear. You are rear-ended by the person behind you who isn’t watching where they are going and you are shoved by the runners who have a disrespect for everyone and everything around them by barging past. There was anger in me that should not exist in such a beautiful place. The bottlenecks are a real pain. But they have two causes I could see. Not just those runners climbing at a slower pace than the others around them (difficult I know, but it is possible to occasionally step aside to let people past, over such a distance it won’t affect your ability to finish or secure a set time. I was able to do this!) but also those more impatient runners who take any opportunity to barge past, cutting corners, going off track etc. They are the ones who create the funnel effect and cause the sudden stops to the forward motion of the centipede.
Reaching the first summit at Tete De La Tronche, the shackles are broken and freedom is sensed. The pack breaks up and a stampede begins. It was almost like a scene from the Lion King and I was slightly concerned I’d be caught up in a mass tumble as we all started hurtling down the mountain. We didn’t thankfully and the freedom of the trail was a welcome relief. I was running far faster than I probably should, but it felt good. It was just a few kms to the first checkpoint. Running into Refuge Bertone is a very steep and rocky down hill section. I was nervous of falling but far to occupied with my breathing. It dawned on me that, with so many runners stampeding down the mountain, the tracks were dusty and my mouth and eyes were being bombarded with dirt in the air. I was so ready for the relief of the checkpoint.
The was no relief at the checkpoint though. After being ‘tagged in’ (the race had excellent tracking of runners!) it was like being in a war movie as runners scrambled over each other to reach the rations. The fruit and savory offerings on the tables were grabbed in fist loads and water poured everywhere as volunteers frantically tried to please the thirsty hordes. I had to leave there quickly before I started windmilling to maintain my personal space. I was gone. I was outta there!
Robin representing the flag!
The next section lead to Arnouvaz via Bonatti (which offered a water refueling stop). Both sections were very runnable and ever so slightly less congested. When actually running, I found you often fell into groups that you were at a comparable pace to yourself and the paths on these sections were slightly more forgiving for overtaking – with the exception of the section where one runner got angry with the woman slowing everyone down as she persistently stopped to take photos! It was on this section I met Robin from Cardiff who I started talking to after noticing the welsh flag draped on his pack. We chatted on and off as we continued into Bonatti. It was great to finally talk to someone as the centipede was not only a slow moving beast but a soulless one. Being such an international event, there is far less camaraderie than I’ve come to enjoy on ultras. It simply isn’t as easy to have a conversation when everyone speaks different languages!! Sadly it does suck the life out of the journey and creates the Soulless Centipede.
The brief chat with Robin was also a relief for my brain as I’d realised how much my right foot was hurting. It felt like I had a blister or hot spot on the sole of my foot. Occasionally the impact of striking the floor would burn through my foot and make me grimace. I suspect that bounding over the rocky descent to Bertone was the cause. I made a not to stop at Bonatti and empty dust and dirt from my shoe as a precaution to further agitations. I’d have fresh socks and medical supplies waiting me a few hours away in Champex-Lac to look forward too.
As Bonatti came into sight there was a a steep incline to overcome. I was barely a third of the way up when I was hit with some pretty bad cramping to my left quad. I suffer a lot from cramps. My coping strategy is a stubborn one. I always try to just carry on through it. And so I did. Albeit painfully and slowly I managed to reach the top. Mountain water into my bottles, coke in my belly I was almost ready to go. I decided I needed a toilet stop and was disheartened to find the WC was downstairs in the refuge and also that there was a queue. I don’t know how long I waited but it was some kms later when I was overtaking runners I recognised before like (Robin!) that it must have been quite a few minutes – looking back at the ‘stats’ I lost 35 places at this point!
Not long after leaving the checkpoint the centipede was attacked by bikers. Whilst many hikers and walkers are out on the paths, it was generally quieter due to the event. These bikers didn’t care though and insisted on playing a game of chicken with the centipede and jostling for ownership of the path. It was a bad choice by the cyclists. They wouldn’t be winning this day. On the way down to Arnouvaz I was conscious of my fueling. I’d taken enough food with me and had plenty prepped with Yvette for each assisted aid station, but I knew the climb awaiting me to Grand Col Ferret would be draining. So I forced some more food down as we snaked through the mountain paths, crossing streams and rivers flowing with the energy of the mountains. Arnouvaz was one of the liveliest checkpoints. Supporters lined the entrance and exits and the atmosphere was buzzing. Inside the tent the now familiar scrambles were taking place as you bounced around like a pinball, fisting at the fruit and snacks. To watch me you’d assumed I’d not eaten in days as I squished oranges and smashed bananas into my face, juices smothering my beard. I don’t like bananas but I was eating as much as I could stomach to combat the cramps.
Outside the centipede reformed as we made our way towards Grand Col Ferret. Initially movement was slow up the single tracks as the usual mumbles of ‘pardon’ followed pole stabbing and the invasion of space. We came across signs indicating fragile land and to stick to the track. Signs ignored by many runners who jumped the tapes and ran amok to get ahead of the congestion. Unnecessary and disrespectful. I just don’t see what they achieved with this. Respect the environment! There was a brief widening of the path and I made my move. I hiked onward in space. Happy to breath the fresh air into my lungs.
I was aware it was now mid afternoon. I’d been out here a long time. The forecast was predicting rain and the clouds were starting to form. The climb to Grand Col Ferret would be a long one and I knew, if nothing else, it would be cold and windy up top. I made a decision to stop before starting the climb (up to 2537 m) and layer up. I took out the Allez Micro fleece and switched my cap for a buff. Whilst it was still dusty, it was also time to say good bye to the sunglasses. I regained the places I’d lost through layering up as I powered through the climb. My decision was a wise one. With the turns on the mountain the centipede was attached by the wind and the first droplets of rain. Runners stopped all around me to start layering up and putting their waterproofs on. I carried on and before I knew it I was at the top. I almost missed the tagging of the bib number as I immediately started hurtling towards the downhill. The overcast sky meant it would be dark sooner than I’d like and I wanted to cover as much ground as I could before the light was lost. It was just minutes later that I came to a stop when the heavens opened and I knew I had to get the waterproof out. I’d be soaked through if I didn’t. Minimus Stretch Ultra applied I was off again…vrooom…
When I did a recce run, I loved this section and it was the same feeling here. Gravity and momentum throwing you forward on a forgiving track. For a moment at least I was free again. On my mind, a few miles away, would be the descent into La Fouly. And soon enough I was there, the point where we had cow-gate on the recce and had to go off track, no such issues this time as the cows were nowhere to be seen. As I rounded the cow shed though I immediately encountered another danger. Mud! I wasn’t ready for this. As I raced passed a few more cautious runners I felt my soul jump out of my body as I skidded and slid around the bend. Oh oh. Up ahead there were runners sliding all over the place, like a mass spin-out on Mario kart following a few banana skins being dropped. I tried to run. I was sliding everywhere. A runner, Juan from Mexico, let me passed and was in hysterics as I slid 180 degrees and started sliding down backwards like Bambi on ice, waving my arms comically overhead. How I didn’t fall I’ll never know. We laughed at each other as we slid our way down the mountain. I won’t lie, I was terrified. The gravity and momentum was not a great pairing with the mud! At the bottom the gravel tracks into La Fouly were a welcome relief. Onward we ran to the checkpoint, almost a marathon covered.
Inside La Fouly was the mayhem continued. I joked with the volunteers as I chowed down on the banana, oranges and watermelon before discovering the joys of biscuits and dark chocolate. My taste buds were thankful. I occupied my mind watching a conversation between the medics and a topless runner. He was insistent that he didn’t need the layers. Weird. It really was quite cold, even for me. I was expecting to see Maggie and Yvette here supporting Jana. But they weren’t. I didn’t know why but assumed it was a timing issue. I think I arrived far earlier than expected and Champex-Lac wasn’t too far away. I cleaned my shoes of mud, topped up my fluids and headed back out into the rain, hands and cheeks bulging with chocolate and biscuits. I walked on, danced with the lady from the CompressSport tent who was giving out sweat bands, and munched my way back to the trails.
Once again I knew there would be some decent running on this section and I quickly covered the ground to the ‘tree-lined’ path I loved so much on the recce. As I set off down it a runner went by and some confusion entailed as he looked back and talked. I thought that he had thought I’d said something. Turns out he recognised me from Instagram (As Ron Burgundy would say “I’m kind of a big deal”. I’m not!) and Wild Trail Runners. I chatted with Marc shortly before stopping for a brief walk, letting him carry on. I could sense the evening sky becoming greyer and greyer so stepped back up to run through the scenic Swiss villages of Praz-de-Fort, Les Arlaches and Issert and to the start of the Sentier De Champignons. I knew this path well. I recalled the wood carvings and knew it wasn’t much of an incline into Champex-Lac. I stopped to remove my waterproof again and lighten up so I didn’t overheat as I ran the last bit to the road at which point I packed away the poles ready for entering the first assistance zone. I was welcomed to cheers and clapping and the sight of Maggie and Yvette with cameras in my face. A little trail-jig and Yvette directed me into the aid station.
Maggie and Yvette ‘bringing me in’ at Champex-Lac
This is where Yvette delivered her crewing A-game. She tended to all my needs and made me feel at ease with confident wording and assessment of my performance. I was flying. Well ahead of my ETA and explained why they weren’t at La Fouly. We’d managed to find a place by Marc(!) and we chatted some more as Yvette fetched me pasta and coke. I started charging my watch and set out re-organising my kit and wiping my face with refreshing wipes (Tip, Nivea ones are the way forward, my skin loved it!). It was nice to sit down for a moment. Now the time has come which I was dreading – it was time to clean my feet, inspect the hot spot damage, do some general maintenance and get some fresh socks and a clean t shirt. It was revitalising. I felt good! Yvette checked my foot. No visible damage of concern. Some wet wrinkled skin seemed to be the cause of pain. Blister plaster applied I was happy knowing it was nothing to cause concern. I took a moment to record a voice memo to myself (recording the thoughts you are reading now) fixed my charging watch to my wrist (using the new sweat band to hold the charger and cables in place!) and set back out.
Getting that Watch charged…
connected…
and the belly filled up!
I’d spent just under 40 mins recovering and needed to get going again. First stop, mandatory kit check. Aaarrgh! I’d just packed it all away neatly! Waterproof trousers, jacket and phone checked and I was allowed back out on my journey. Second stop…toilet. The stomach needed some “free-ing” (I had more eating to do!!). Job done. Third stop…the lovely lady from Bristol who cheered me on. I joked for her to come with me as she cheered and she did! We walked and talked. I think she was concerned when I joked I’d rather be somewhere else. Turns out she has family and friends in Swansea. We hugged as we reached the lake and acknowledged I needed to run again. Faith in humanity restored, a lovely gesture from a stranger and a huge boost. Onward…
Waiting for the mid-race kit check
Soon after, I had to stop for a forth time. The night had indeed darkened quicker than I hoped and the post-lake path led into the forest trails. I needed my head torch out. Damn. I walked on as I fiddled with the power. It wouldn’t come on. I thought I’d screwed up the locking mechanism, and perhaps I had as the battery was dead. Bollocks. More time wasted searching in the back pack, but soon there was light! Today was being dominated by tech mishaps!
I was wearing the Petzl Reactik torch and it was awesome. As it adapted to the changing light conditions I was occupied and entertained. So much so I can’t recall reaching the next incline! But here I was. Hiking up again. Up indeed, off in the distance I could see the flickering lights of the centipede climbing the towering mountain. It was a long way to look! Head down, sticks out, that’s the way we like to climb. I was looking for distractions again. I liked this climb compared to some of the others, but this would be my first experience of such a climb in the darkness, and I knew it was a long and winding one. The distraction came in the form of watching the rain. A gentle but relentless flow of water coming from the darkness, visible for mere seconds as the head torch lit it up as it fell. It was oddly satisfying and mesmeric. I was disturbed briefly from my trance when I misplaced a footing crossing a stream. Damn, fresh socks were now soggy socks. Oh well.
I’d left Champex-Lac fairly light in terms of fluids. I’d (or rather, Yvette) filled my two 500ml soft flasks but I’d kept the bladder as it was part filled from La Fouly. The checkpoints were fairly evenly spaced over the remainder of the course and I knew up at Bovine there was a water fountain if I needed it. I wanted it! I loved the ice cold mountain water available throughout the route and this one was very much welcomed. A hose had made the fountain more accessible and I refilled, gulping back the icy-goodness. A little further to the summit and it was another fairly runnable downhill into Trient again. But wait, what was this…I hear Queen? Was that “We Will Rock You”? Yes it was. Someone was having a party in the distance. How nice for them. The volume increased as I closed in on the venue and I recalled the same song being played at Arnouvaz during my recce. And then, to my delight, I entered La Giete where the music was originating. Another unexpected checkpoint with water on the go. Brilliant. I took a moment, filled my bottles again, ate some more food, removed my waterproof yet again as the rain had gone and enjoyed Rag N Bones Man “Human” before carrying on. Lets Do This!
Switching up the kit!
I was expecting the checkpoint in Trient to be near the campsite, but it wasn’t. Before I knew it I was being welcomed in by Yvette and Maggie and their cameras. Thank God they were there because the entrance was so confusing. There were runners coming and going in all directions and it really wasn’t clear which way you needed to go. We found some space in the corner and Yvette set about working her magic. She absolutely nailed the crewing. The atmosphere was surprisingly upbeat in Trient, probably because of the weed Alpine techno music pumping out above us. We danced and laughed, taking a moment to enjoy ourselves. I think we’d been fairly organised in what we needed to do at each checkpoint. It was mainly fill my bottles, give me food and make sure I don’t get too comfortable! But here I needed a slight change. I’d noticed, I was hot. Too hot. Not just when running, but when hiking too. I’d brought an extra layer, thicker than the Allez Micro I was wearing so decided to swap the t-shirt and Allez Micro for the Spider hoody. It was the right call. Taking off the Allez Micro I realised how wet (with sweat) it was. If I’d continued into the night with this I would have become very cold I’m sure.
As I was finishing up and re-packing, Jana arrived! The predatory mountain goat had done it, she had made up the time deficit and caught me. Amazing perseverance. She welcomed me with two middle fingers. Lovely. Maggie forced her to eat something before we both set out together, about 30km left to go. Knowing the next checkpoint was “just” 11km away was a great boost. So off we went.
Reunited on the trails!
Climbing up to Les Tseppes was tough. It’s a steep old climb. Most of it we covered in silence. Silence that was only broken up as I muttered profanities at the lady in front of me who had absolutely no control of her poles whatsoever. She was a complete liability, huffing and puffing and groaning away and 4 times nearly decapitating or piercing me with her poles. I couldn’t understand it. Neither could the runner who’d paused on the side of the track and was almost impaled as she passed. Soon the path gave me and Jana the chance to overtake and we gladly put the effort in to get away.
I was ready for the top, ready for my favorite view point from the recce, although knowing it would be darkness and I’d see nothing! We joked about the head torches up ahead and questioned if the stars were more glimpses of the centipede sparkling up high?! The summit came, I knew the path well again and assured Jana there were some good running opportunities up ahead. We paused for a moment as I once again removed my waterproof. We were off. Feet to the ground, let’s make some dust. Down we ran as Jana shouted out from behind me “Pardon, Passe?!” to help free our way. She was eager to run it all, but I knew some steep and rocky parts lay in wait so held us back slightly before the path into Vallorcine opened into a wider stony way. Hard underfoot, but free for movement and overtaking. Down into the green forest we could begin to hear the cars, the river, the trains below us. We kept going. Crossing the bridge into Vallorcine I felt good. I felt strong, I continued running all the way, zipping into the checkpoint as Maggie and Yvette were checking in. Perfect.
Last assistance point. More Food. More pep talks. From here I entered the unknown, the part of the course I’d not recce’d. Everyone talks of La Flegere. How tough it is. All I knew is that I had about 19km left to run. I could begin to rationalise it. A half marathon. Sure, a mountain one, but a half marathon. It hit home when the girls told us it was about 4 and a half hours to go. Oh, Ok then. A big half marathon! But from here, no turning back. Other than a water station up at La Flegere, this was the last checkpoint. Given the pace we’d been running, I could walk to the finish line from here within the cut-off times. Confidence was high. Praying for no incidents or injuries, this was the first time I really believed I could complete the route. We set back out in good spirits. We power hiked most of the first part of the route as it was fairly flat. At this point a strong hike with intent was faster than our average pace over the day and not far off running speed. Within minutes of leaving Vallorcine though I had head torch “issues” again. After trying for a while to turn it back on, I’d realised I was wearing it upside down. Idiot. Then, shortly after, the light was weak and flickering. I needed a battery change! New power source applied the hike could be resumed.
She’s not even laughing at the upside down torch!
Then, the mountains came for us. The incline began, and it was a steep one. Back into the familiar centipede routine. Head down, poles out, finding any way I could to block out the heavy breathing from those around me. The day before the race the course was changed. Due to a rock fall, the climb to La Flegere was adapted and a route variation was activated. Now we’d need to climb, descend then climb again rather than a continuous climb to the summit. Whilst not the highest point we would climb, it certainly felt like one of the steepest inclines (looking back at the stats now, it is no surprise that my slowest pace coincided with the second of these climbs!).
I hit my low point here. The intensity of the crowd of runners and head torches around me brought me down. My anxiety levels were rising and I was grumpy with the invasion of my space. Once again I had my head in someone’s arse the whole way and someone breathing heavily behind me. I swear I could even smell red bull on their breadth. It was disgusting. I wanted out. The darkness pulled me down further and, as we started the decline (before the final climb), I could sense all the pains I’d been blocking out. The walking at this point was more like lunging as we made our way down. Then I bashed my knee. It hurt like hell. Lunging down I bent my knee into a rock in front. The blunt pain shot through me. It felt like an eternity of agony as we continued down and then began repeating the whole process back up. In my mind I was trying to understand the size of the climb. To visualise the 500m or so of vertical required. It doesn’t sound far, but that’s probably something like 250-300 people (I’ve not done the actual math!) standing on top of each other. That is a lot. I had to adapt my mindset. I needed to to embrace the demons now. To come out stronger, to overcome them, I find you either have to shut them out (like I do with pain), or let them surround you. Let them consume you on your terms. This was my tactic now. I was hyper-aware of them all. The pain, the irritants, the noises, the false summits, the size of the climb, the unknown that lay ahead, the uncertainty of the finish. I focused on them all. I wouldn’t let them beat me. I recalled some advice Alan gave me the previous day. He told me to create a false finish. La Flegere. He told me that the race ends there. Get to La Flegere and you can get to the finish. I did just that. I focused on the summit. I knew it must be close now. I knew Jana was somewhere close by in the centipede too. I couldn’t see or hear her though. I knew I had to carry on alone from here. That my pains couldn’t rub off on here. I kept going. The path widened and I took the chance to break ahead for some space as the climb continued up. False summit after false Summit, I kept sensing I saw the checkpoint, lights in the distance, music, something, anything. Each time I was let down until Finally the tent flickered up ahead.
It was the worst checkpoint of them all. It felt like a place were people go to sacrifice themselves to the mountain or something. The silence was deathly. Chairs lined the tent with deflated runners sitting in them heads held in their hands. The volunteers looked like they had enough too. I wanted out no sooner than I entered. Fill my water I thought. Get fluids because you need to run from here before the mountains claim you too. I was ready to go until another run stopped me. He needed help with his pack. I didn’t want to. But I had too. I gathered his stuff and helped him adjust it as quickly as I could and I was out. It was time to go home. False finish complete. This was happening. I was finishing this race. 8kms or so, mostly downhill. I need to run. Off I went. Running.
I don’t know what happened here. But I won my battle. My mind had been fighting for I don’t know how many hours climbing to a Flegere, and now my body took over. It’s as if my legs said “Don’t worry Dai, we’ve got this. Leave it to us”. I just kept on running. The decline zig-zagged down. The path was stony but smooth at the same time. The drop off the mountain face was terrifying! I’ve not done much running in the dark. Never mind running down a mountain in the dark but I was flying down (don’t get me wrong, there were people flying even faster than I!). I was amazed. My body and mind were awake to the challenge. My mind matching my legs for effort. I was inspired by the power of the brain. My own body. That it can, and was, reacting so quickly. In the darkness you have an incredibly short period of time to pick a spot to place your foot. To choose wisely. To calculate your path, to execute your choice. To plan ahead maybe just one meter at a time. It was incredible how the body does this. The reaction time and processing power to keep you moving. It really fascinated me. Made me smile even. The enjoyment was coming back. That was until I rolled my ankle, resulting in a hop-hop-hop motion and a complete stop as the air completely left my body along with the profanities. It hurt like hell. Don’t go into shock I told myself. Get back on it and let the adrenaline power you through and deal with the consequences later (thankfully there were none!). I flew past runners with a smile on my face again. I sensed the finish. I must have now been a few miles at most as I dashed past Chalet de La Floria. I just kept going. Again I could rationalise this. A few miles. 20-30 minutes at most. Go go go.
Final push…
Sprinting to the finish…First Mountain ultra – CCC 2018
There were people up ahead, noise, spectators and supporters in the darkness whistling the runners through. We hit the streets. The temporary bridges (?!!) crossing over the roads. I recognised the path. We were near the race village now. This was it. I’m doing it. I was alive. I was smiling. I turned the head torch off. Run Dai Run. Over the final bridge crossing (seriously why?!). The glow of light from the town centre hit me. I was running through the streets now, people cheering. I smiled, I clapped back, I stuck my thumbs up. Yvette’s screams hit me. She egged me on as I ran. I ran on… and on… and on. The street went quiet and I stopped. What the fuck? I put my arms out in a gesture of “where am I going?” to a guy standing outside a shop. He just looked at me. I heard screaming behind me. A family were shouting at me. I turned and looked at them with the same gesture. They shouted more. I wish I knew the language. I pointed in the direction I was going and they shouted louder. I started running again. They shouted even louder still. I turned back and they gestured me toward them. Bloody hell! As I approached, they pointed up another street so on I went. Then they shouted loud again, wrong way, AGAIN! There was a lorry, coming out from the street where I needed to go. Blocking the fucking path. Seriously?! This was ridiculous. I squeezed past and ran. The small crowd that had formed (it was 06:00 in the morning!) clapped and cheered and I ran toward the UTMB finishers arch. I saw Yvette and Maggie. I was done. I crossed the line. At that was it.
My turn under the UTMB Arch
Gillet!
Literally, that was it. The end. Just like that. The most anti-climax and deflated finish to any event I’d ever done. I crossed the line and stopped, turned around in circles not knowing what to do. No one said a word. No one approached me. No instructions. No “well done”. No “this way”. No anything. I just sat down and waited for Yvette to find me. She came. We took pictures and she took me off to get my finishers. Gillet. I put it on. We went back, Jana had just arrived. Her friends were there. We talked, we laughed. We got cold. Ali gave us a lift back in his van (Thanks Ali!). And that was it. Over 21 hours of torture. The most subdued and depressing finish that was absolutely not worth what had gone before it. The buzz I had built up running down from La Flegere had been sucked out of me like an elephant drinking through a straw. I was spent.
Confused at the finish!
Over the next few days I spent a lot of time talking to people about these feelings. Some felt the same. Some didn’t. It was hard to process. I was grumpy. I was probably even angry to some degree. And that is why I wouldn’t recommend the race. It just wasn’t worth it. All the negatives clouded my memories. Over 21 hours of suffocation through congested single tracks dominated my memories. I still wouldn’t recommend it. Although I’d give this honest account to people who want to know what it is really like. Prepare yourself, don’t get consumed by the hype. Don’t get me wrong, it’s an incredible experience. But one you can recreate yourself. You don’t need to run it in one go, through the darkness and rain surrounded by strangers. Do it on your terms. In your own time. Stay over night along the way, enjoy the views, make it an experience. So what, you don’t get a gillet? You don’t get to say you’ve “raced it”. So what? I didn’t compete. I came 615th place. It is meaningless. The void I had on finishing left me so empty. For the first time ever in a race I wanted a medal! I never cherish medals. I want functional t-shirts. Here I got that AND a gillet. But I wanted something, some acknowledgement at the finish to say “you did that!”. So no, go do it on your terms and enjoy it. Don’t do it with your head up someone’s arse the whole way. I immediately felt no desires to do it again, nor any of the other races. Yes this is the generic “post run feeling”, but it has lasted longer than ever before this time!
Fresh faced Alan
How was the rest of the trip? well, the next morning we woke early to go follow Alan and see him cross the line of the UTMB. He absolutely smashed it and looked so fresh crossing through that arch. I might even have come close to feeling a little emotion inside watching him ‘aeroplane’ toward the line. Later that morning I went for a short “recovery hike” with the group from the chalet. I think they tricked me though as it turned out to be a 6 and a half hour, 15 mile hike up to La Jonction and back. Bastards. That hurt like hell, but sure was worth it for the views. The evening was for the after party and free socks (thanks Stance!) and pizza. It was nice meeting other runners and friends and swapping stories and experiences. Then, sadly it was time to head back to the reality of the city that is London.
Now, here comes the biggest contradiction of them all. Remember I said I wouldn’t recommend it? Remember I said I wouldn’t go back? Well, I still wouldn’t recommend it but writing all that you’ve just read through has made me realise how much I bloody loved it. Shit! As I joked with Hannah – it is a good thing that I don’t have enough points to apply for the UTMB next year…perhaps though, maybe, just maybe I’ll see you there in 2020…..
You’d thought I’d finished writing didn’t you? This is like the UTMB equivalent of a blog… I can’t finish without thanking everyone. Everyone I’ve spoken to about the race in someway. All those friends, family, connections and strangers. To the runners I met along the route, to those who sent me messages of support, the advice and insight I received leading up to the race. To all those that asked me how I was feeling, if I was ready. To all those who congratulated me, to those who asked how the recovery is going. To the other inspirational runners and photographers out in Chamonix last week. Thanks to Jana and Maggie for all the support and company over the weekend. But most of all, thanks to Yvette. She gave up her time to support me. To have my back. She slept less than I did, possibly stressed more than I did. Travelled for hours on end on buses, spent a fortune, cooked me food, eased my pains and made me believe. She never moaned. She never asked for anything. She just wanted to help. I didn’t, and probably still don’t, understand the tolls of crewing, but she owned it. She sacrificed so much for me and I’m so grateful. This wasn’t a journey or achievement of my own, but one shared! Thank You!
Crew buddies
Immense support from these two!
One of us nailed it, the other absolutely nailed it! Thank you!
I like to think that I’m a simple man – I’m not referring to the figurative “who am I?” or “where is my running journey taking me?” but to the literal interpretation of actually knowing where you are going. Sure there is now an abundance of route plans, maps, compasses, GPS gizmos and smart phones to navigate your way, but none are really a substitute for that first hand experience and having traveled a particular path before….
The path in this story is that of The CCC trial, part of the UTMB weekend and an event that crosses the mountainous borders of Italy, Switzerland and France. For me a path into the unknown. One of self discovery and exploration. One which would, literally, elevate me to heights I’ve not been to before, and there lay my concern. A fear I would struggle to admit openly – the unknown frightens me! But more on that another time.
Whilst I am confident in my abilities to ‘just get things done’, and am becoming accustomed to the need to just ‘keep going’ and the challenges (both physical and mental) encountered during an ultra, I recognised that, for me, running The CCC will be different. I was uncertain as to how and when those challenges might manifest in the unfamiliar terrain of the Alps, how I’d react to the environment and how I’d cope with the demanding cutoff times. I’d go as far as to say I was fearful that, on seeing and experiencing it, I wouldn’t want to face it again! The urge to say “enough” might come before I even start out! Hence the need to ‘Know where I am going‘!
A recce run
I was coaxed into planing a weekend on the CCC route to gain some experience of running the technical trails that I’d face in September. I am so glad I did. Besides more refinement of my kit and approach, I discovered the benefits of that first hand experience which I will so heavily rely on during the event.
I’ve written separately about the weekend, the journey and run itself here – CCC Recce, and now I want to reflect on those learnings I took away when I left the mountains and how I came to recognise the importance of a ‘recce’ run in the preparation for a race. With this in mind, looking back I can only say the experience was a valuable one. I learnt so much about myself, particularly my ability to prepare and adapt. Four themes in particular have stuck with me: ‘Familiarity of the route and understanding the terrain’, ‘Refining your kit and equipment’, ‘Planning an approach’ and ‘Building Confidence’. Summarising the benefits of these I’d say that….
Familiarity of the route and understanding the terrain:
A recce run develops a sense of familiarity with a route, and that leads to a feeling of comfort. I associate comfort as a good thing! You’ll feel confident in the route, knowing what lies ahead. These feelings will set your mind at ease and the route will be one less thing to worry about on the day.
Familiarity, I’ll be looking out for the wood carvings again!
Knowing the route should mean you’ll be less likely to get lost(!), minimising the time-pressures you’ll face through not adding unnecessary miles to your run.
You’ll identify exactly where checkpoints will be located and how you will arrive at and depart them, helping you to efficiently navigate through and spot your support crew!
Get to know the route!
The terrain is incredibly important. Having first hand experience of the elevation and type of ground you will be running will prepare you for the race. I fell on my recce run, through my own naivety when crossing a glacier. Better that I fall in training than during the actual race because I wasn’t assessing the risks clearly!
Don’t fall!
Know the terrain
Whilst you get insight as to when you will be able to run and when it won’t be advisable too, race day will be different. I’ve now seen and experienced terrain I’ll be traversing at night with nothing but my head torch to guide the way. What I think I can run will be different to what is actually safe to run on the day.
Refining your kit and equipment:
Most of the kit I tested on my recce was by Montane. Exceptional kit I love using. Preparing it is time consuming as you check and double check you’ve everything needed. Sorting my kit into my Montane Via series packs is now second nature to me. Dry sacks for race kit, nutrition, tech, med kits, recovery kit etc. all have their place and are packed in a way to make them accessible as needed. My prep’ has definitely been made easier through having top quality, lightweight and pack-able Montane gear!
How I used to pack
How I now pack
Knowing how your kit reacts – you might have worn it all numerous times before, but where it might be perfect over hours of continual use, it might not be until you’ve worn it 10-20hrs (or beyond!) that you notice different irritants! Test, test and test again! I intimately know my Montane Zip Fang, Montane Minimus Stretch Ultra and Montane Allex Micro kit now!
Adapting and adjusting your kit on the move is vital. Knowing when to start thinking about taking that extra layer out, swapping garments or re-shuffling your pack as you run. Putting this to practice is the best way to see how your kit reacts – your pack will sit differently with different items in it! Simulating race conditions will give you the experience to adapt it efficiently. The Montane Via series packs are great for making such adjustments – the adjustable bungee system is incredibly flexible to be able to compress the bag (quickly!) to meet your different needs.
Montane Via Series Pack
Montane Via Series Pack
I run with flexi straws on my bottles, on my recce run I found they moved about a lot as I ran. I’ve now refined the art of packing these in a way that doesn’t result in a constant jaw bashing!
No more jaw bashing – Securing those straws!
Planning an approach:
Until you know for certain where, and under what conditions, you’ll be running, any plans for how you’ll run, your pace, eating and refueling etc, will be an estimation.
Recce runs will give you the insight needed to know where you can make effective plans – I now know the hills (mountains!) and the terrain. I know where I can (and should) stop, where I should push on, were I should refuel as I move and where I can take a moment to recuperate and absorb my surroundings. My plans are more than just estimates now.
Run when you can
Push it when you can
Connect with your run when you can
It is too easy to look at an elevation chart and say “I can run this section”. As I mentioned, knowing what the terrain, the visibility (or lack of) and isolation of the route will impact your plans. Being able to adapt to the conditions as you go will be essential to maintaining momentum.
Eating at checkpoints is inevitable. Eating enough along the way to get to the checkpoints is critical! Power Hiking up 600m+ of elevation takes energy, reaching a summit and immediately running takes more energy. I’ve experienced the inclines, I now know where I need to fuel (and how much!) to make sure I’m ready for these challenges.
A recce isn’t a race, the race pressures are removed and you can spend time connecting with your surroundings. Make the effort to look up and absorb the environment, take some pictures and hard memories along the way. On race day this won’t be a priority and you’ll be preoccupied with competing or fighting the emotional stresses and fatigue to be able to enjoy it the same way.
Enjoy where you are
Have some fun
Absorb the surroundings
Build your confidence:
Familiarity breeds certainty. Certainty breeds confidence. You’ve been here before, you know where you are, you don’t need to worry. You’re starting the mental battle with an advantage!
When you are confident, you engage and rely on other sensations and feelings to assess your progress. Recognising past feelings at certain points of the route, how the upcoming section made you feel, you can draw comparisons from your experience and this time you know what was previously unknown. There’s no longer anything to be fearful of!
However, as easily as confidence can be built, it can be shattered quicker. The unknown can lead to ignorance and naivety. I’ve thrived off this many times with the “just do it” attitude. But, those moments of realisation (like recognising the enormity of your challenge), can be frightening. Be sure not to dwell on these thoughts and prevent them building into something more. Don’t get too comfortable!
During my recce I covered 80% of the route I’ll be running. I now have the confidence that the other 20% is achievable. I can rationalise it. It’s another 20km, I can do that. Its one more “incline”, I can do that. The finish is far closer than the start, I can do this!
“Fail to prepare, prepare to fail”
Would I encourage others to undertake such a ‘recce’ before a big run? Absolutely. For me the benefits are clear and ultimately the experience is vital and very worthwhile. Whilst we all react differently though, a recce run isn’t a complete solution. It may raise more questions that you’ll need to work through. Adjustments you’ll need to figure out for yourself some other way. And some things are more difficult to prepare for – like running for extended periods of time without sleep. As a “9-5” worker this is more difficult to plan. As a “5-9” adventurer you can push yourself so far but there will remain challenges to be faced on the day.
There are many sayings about being prepared. One of my favourites being “Fail to prepare, prepare to fail“. Do what you can to give yourself the best chance of success, know where you are going!
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