Category: Pursuits

Surf Perranporth: Like Newquay but Better

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For many people (“townies”, as my mum would say), Newquay is the only place that exists west of Plymouth and THE place to go surfing. While the surf on the North Cornwall coast is arguably the best in England, Newquay beaches included, due to the town’s reputation it can be logistical nightmare.

Go down on a sunny day, peak season, and parking is impossible and/or bank-breaking. The roads are full of kids, wannabe surfers and other things you shouldn’t run over. Drinks are too expensive, there’s litter everywhere, the sea is full of idiots and the evenings are full of late-teens throwing up alcopops.

That said, it depends what you’re after – I sound like an ancient woman but I’m guilty of throwing up alcopops on occasion, and Newquay is Cornwall’s [slightly trashy] tourist party central. With regards to surfing, arrive early enough and you should be okay to park and grab a small slice of beach space, although be aware that the masses will descend.

When I took a few friends on a spontaneous trip in August we went for the primary purpose of surfing  (drinking just kind of happened). Having surfed in Newquay before, I wanted to avoid the carnage and try somewhere new so we went to Perranporth, about 8 miles southwest of Newquay.

Perranporth beach is long, wide, sandy and edged by highly explorable rockpools, caves, dunes and grassy areas.  The surf is good and there are surf-only, lifeguarded areas, as well as swim/bodyboard areas. When we went the surf was decent, with 4-5ft waves spaced fairly nicely and breaking a fair way out.

The colourful little town has a lively (if touristy) buzz to it and there are plenty of shops, surf hire places, cafes and pubs/bars, although understandably not as many as Newquay (and they aren’t as trashy). We hired decent foam surf boards from Piran Surf for just £6/day, which is way cheaper than anywhere I’d been in Newquay, and food and drinks were priced fairly – use Tripadvisor to find the sort of thing you’re after. There are public loos at the Watering Hole bar/restaurant at the back of the beach and in the town. We arrived early and parked for just £5.50/day (free overnight) in Droskyn car park, which overlooks the beach and is a pleasant 10min walk from the town centre.

Overall, Perranporth is a buzzing little town with equal surf, more reasonable prices and fewer people than Newquay. It does get busy on a sunny day so get there early to ensure you get a parking spot and a bit of space on the beach (although people tend to stick to the town end – there’ll be loads of space if you’re willing to walk a little way). The flagged surfing areas are popular, although much less so than Newquay, and not so much so that you can’t surf. You can get away from surfing outside of the flags if you go to the left of the big  “Chapel Rock Pool” Island-type rock at the South end of the beach.

So my overall advice – if surfing is your priority, pick Perranporth over Newquay. If you’re out to get messy-drunk, regret getting laid or be a general public nuisance, go partay in Newquay. And please be nice to the locals, they dislike us enough as it is.

Read about my trip here – Spontaneous Surf Trip, Perranporth, August ’18

Our debut album cover

Endnote: I write this following on from my recent trip – don’t rule out other beaches!

Spontaneous Surf Trip, Perranporth, August ’18

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Bored of being home for five days straight, I roped some friends into a spontaneous surfing trip. We left Winchester on Friday evening and stopped for dinner on the way, not arriving in Perranporth on the North Cornwall coast until the early hours of Saturday. We were fortunate enough to discover Droskyn car park, which had plenty of space and grassy areas where my friends could (naughtily) pitch their tents.

 

First light on Saturday morning revealed how lucky we were to have found that car park. I looked out of the van window over the long, wide expanse of sand, backed by picturesque cliffs and flanked by the open sea on one side and the colourful little town on the other. There were public loos by the car park (which were unlocked shortly after we got up) and it only cost £5.50 to park all day – much cheaper than elsewhere. A quick tip if you go – get there early as although there were just a handful of cars/vans there overnight (no charge), it got busy during the day.

 

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The view from Droskyn car park

 

We walked down the hill into the town (about 10mins), had breakfast at a little café and found surf boards to hire for £6/day at Piran Surf – much cheaper than anywhere I’d been in Newquay. A 10-min walk to the water and we were splashing around in no time, attempting to surf like the bunch of idiots we always have been and always will be.

 

Bertie brought his own board, although it had been neglected for a long time – I liked its small size but it needed a clean and a sex-wax-up as it was frustratingly slippery. The 8ft foam boards we’d hired were really good (for beginners!) as they were buoyant, grippy and stable, if cumbersome. I reluctantly followed everyone’s advice and wore a wetsuit, which with hindsight I definitely don’t regret.

 

The waves were 4-5ft and spaced fairly nicely, although sometimes they all came at once and then not at all. We all improved as the day went on; I just regret not having a board mount for the GoPro (the adhesive takes 24hrs or so to stick), as the footage from my wrist strap isn’t the best. I did plenty of standing up and surfing around (not into) people – promise!

 

After a full day surfing (except a short break for an obligatory pasty) we hit the pub for dinner and ended up playing pool and making friends in The Deck, an “interesting” bar (I later found out we probably should have gone to the Watering Hole, but that can happen next time). A few too many ciders later and I was “assisted” up the hill to bed.

 

We woke on Sunday to heavy heads and a beach shrouded in sea fog. We met our Cornish friend for breakfast and hired boards again, then messed around on the beach waiting for the fog to clear. Just as Simon, Matt and Bruce were about to give up and go home, the veil lifted and the lifeguards opened the sea. We surfed at the North then the South end of the beach, eventually and reluctantly deciding that we should head home.

 

Our debut album cover
Waiting for the fog to clear

 

I’d recommend Perranporth over Newquay any day, so much so that I wrote a blog post on it – read it here. Overall, I had a great weekend in a lovely place with decent company. Note to self for next time : swallow less a) seawater, and b) cider.

 

A (very) Brief Post-Ultra Update

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Having neglected my blog for a couple of weeks, I’ll give a very quick post-ultra update.  From the point of view of a restless, sport-loving, thrill-seeking person, injury is the most frustrating thing in the world. The inability to do the things you love is agonising and the thought that your performance will nosedive is unbearable.

I’m not supposed to run. Since my ultramarathon on 25th August my left knee has been playing up; I felt it about 30 miles in, so ignored it for another 20 miles as it gradually worsened and now I’m suffering. I could barely straighten it or bear weight for about three days afterwards and it’s been improving slowly since – I can walk normally and run for a bit on it now, but it still doesn’t feel quite right.

The doctor thinks I’ve just aggravated the bottom of my hamstring (apparently it’s fairly “normal”) and physio discovered that I may have ruptured a (non-essential) ligament in that knee from a previous injury. So it’s probably just a tiny niggle, but limiting my activity for the past few weeks has been hugely frustrating (especially having to miss rugby matches) as I’ve been told to rest.

In other news, I’ve been keeping very busy – lots of job hunting, trips away, socialising and blog-neglecting. I’ll get back on it this week, and I want to make some more videos too! Time to focus…

12 Things Nobody tells you about your First Ultramarathon

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Having rabbited on about how amazing it was, I’ve decided to write about the not-so-savoury things that I learnt from my first ultra. Without further ado…

1. You’ll be walking like a slug for a while.

Not only because they’re slow, but because slugs don’t walk. You’ll cross the finish line and sit down, basking in the warm glow of glory, until you attempt to travel anywhere on foot. At that point you’ll realise that your leg muscles have relinquished themselves from your control and refuse to do as you ask, having been subjected to long hours of trauma over unforgiving ground. They’ll send you electricity-bolts of pain for trying to force them to move, so cancel your plans for a week and plan toilet trips half an hour in advance.

2. Injury is likely.

Your legs absorb the impact of every step, your feet and ankles twist and balance as you move over uneven ground, and you’ll probably fall over at some point(s). Combine this with the way the silly distance affects your mental focus and the chances of injury are sky-high. I’ve done something to my left knee which has prevented me walking properly for a week, and it wasn’t during a specific moment – the pain built up gradually after about mile 30. (I’m seeing physio tonight, fingers crossed..!)

3. Pain is absolutely inevitable.

Even if you don’t pick up a diagnosable injury, everything will hurt. My muscles, joints, bones and skin were so sore towards the end that I barely noticed individual niggles, which was probably a godsend. If everything hurts, you can’t get hung up about any specific piece of pain; by the time you’ve noticed the ache in your hip, you’ll have got distracted by the blister on your ankle.

4. You might cry.

I mean I didn’t, but I’m a stone-hearted beast and emotions were definitely heightened. About 40 miles in I was nearly overwhelmed at the thought of phoning my parents to tell them I’d completed it, and at the finish I was so full of emotions that perhaps they cancelled each other out, like the pain. Other people cried though, and it was fine.

5. Your toenails can turn a surprising shade of blue (and might fall off).

Miles and miles of descent will probably see your toes hitting the front of your shoes, causing some sciencey thing to mean they can turn anything from lilac to black and possibly fall off. It’s only affected my big toes, but the nails are raised, tender and a delicate “Indigo Grey” (thanks Dulux). I thought they were going to fall off as they initially seemed to have loosened, but they’re a bit better now… I’m observing them with interest. Can give updates on request.

6. Hallucinations are normal.

Well, the concept of hallucinating a long way into a long, horrible run is normal. It’s not normal to see jellyfish in the middle of the Peak District or leeches appear on your skin, as I did. I was lucky – others have seen dead people and imaginary finish lines. Endurance running really does do funny things to your head.

7. You will peak, trough and repeat for the whole race.

Not just in terms of elevation… You’ll feel great for a mile, then you’ll crash and think the end is nigh. Then you’ll power through and feel great again, and so on… Someone told me about this on the day and it was amazingly true – I felt it throughout the entire 50 miles. So all you have to do is push through the troughs.

8. Cramp is debilitating.

Like bolts of hatred sent up through the ground by the devil. It hits you unexpectedly, goes away with a rub and some isotonic drink, then keeps threatening to come back. It’ll show you muscles you didn’t even know you had.

9. Chafing can destroy you (and scar).

I was lucky not to get hit by the notorious thigh-chafe (I don’t know how) but I had a tub of vaseline in my pack just in case. The very same pack I’d bought a couple of days  before – it was absolutely perfect apart from slight chafing on my shoulder, back and collarbone… Which looks like it’ll scar. Battle wounds, right? Also, man-friends – watch your nipples.

10. You’ll hate climbs. Then descents. Then climbs.

The universally accepted strategy behind ultras is to walk uphill (or the worst parts, at least) to conserve energy. After miles of pounding along trails, you kind of look forward to slowing down for the ascents. Once you’ve been going up for a while, or for the entire time up super-steep, rocky ascents (which are absolute killers, by the way – much worse than running), you’ll look forward to just propelling yourself forwards, rather than forwards and upwards. Soon enough you’ll hate descents again, when your knees threaten to buckle and your toes feel ready to fall off. Also, realise that a steep, rocky descent is seriously tough on your body and takes a lot of concentration.

11. It’s so easy to get lost.

Huge distances, samey-looking surroundings and mental fatigue all ramp up your chances of getting lost. Not every turn can be signposted and you may lose sight of other runners, so it’s worth being able to navigate well.

12. “Mentally tough” doesn’t cover it.

You already know it’s a mental game as much as, if not more than, physical. But it’s mental on more than one “plane”; you have to ignore your body screaming at you to stop and remain focused enough to navigate, eat/drink and not break an ankle. Moving quickly over uneven terrain takes a huge amount of concentration. You have milliseconds to decide which rock to land on and have to repeat that decision every. Single. Step. You also have to read a map on the move, and remembering to have a snack or a sip of water can be difficult – after a few hours time gets warped and you forget when you last ate or drank.

Despite all this, you’ll love every minute of it (with hindsight). I’m hooked and I can’t wait to run again, once my knee is better… You can read about my first ultramarathon here. Good luck, if I’ve put you off trying an ultra you probably shouldn’t have entered anyway… 😉

Some chafe marks from my pack… Not pretty
“Indigo grey”
I have a feeling that’ll scar…
Dirty work – these were brand new

Fifty Miles Later

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Disbelief, relief, pain, gratitude, liberation, pride and pure, unbounded elation. I’m not a “crier” but I wasn’t too far off on Saturday as I stumbled across the finish line, too exhausted to resist this flood of emotion . Fortunately I was too tired and/or shocked to do anything but collapse into a chair and babble on about nothing.

Before the ultramarathon I’d never run more than 15.54 miles or climbed more than 259m elevation in one run. It’s not that I’m lazy – having signed up drunk in April I developed shin splints within a week, having run too much too soon (remarkably they didn’t resurface at all during the race, perhaps thanks to compression socks, or the fact that everything hurt anyway). I was also on antibiotics for a mysterious infection and spent most of the previous night being snotty (<4hrs sleep is not ideal). Needless to say I didn’t fancy my chances of completing 25 miles, let alone the full 50, along with 2,600m of the Peak District’s finest elevation – roughly equivalent to two Ben Nevises. I’d never even completed a proper trail run – I was used to pavement-pounding and had never worn off-road running shoes in my life.

So everything seemed to be against me. But a miracle happened and I completed  the 50-mile ultramarathon in a relatively respectable (for a clueless and ridiculously unprepared first timer) time of 11 hours 20 minutes. I came 10th in the race and 4th in my age category. The winner completed it in 10hrs 2mins and the last person finished in 16 hrs 16mins, so if you look at it that way I was towards the front; some runners didn’t finish at all. Considering that I was ecstatic to have even completed the race, the fact that I wasn’t even close to being the last person in absolutely blew my mind.

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Rushing to get to the 0540 brief (I was late)

0-10miles

The run started at 6am. Everything went smoothly for a while; the pace was slow, there were lots of runners so no chance of getting lost, and the golden-blue sky was clear as the sun rose over Sheffield, nestled behind the heather-covered moors of Houndkirk and Burbage. I “made friends” just before checkpoint 1, then took on Stanage Edge – a long, picturesque stretch that would have been harder if I hadn’t been concentrating on hopping from rock to rock without breaking an ankle.

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Burbage South, bright and early

10-20miles

I overtook my new friends briefly on a downhill forest section and rejoined them at checkpoint 5, the first bag dropoff and cutoff time checkpoint. I was amazed to have got there in a couple of hours, despite the cutoff allowing 4hrs 30mins. Next up was more rockhopping at High Neb, then I was lulled into a false sense of security on the descent past Bamford to checkpoint 7. I called Bertie, my support crew, to tell him I was (amazingly) still going and could meet him for a top-up of frogspawn drink (Iskiate) at checkpoint 11.

20-21miles

Then I hit Win Hill. It sounds innocuous enough and means nothing if you’ve never climbed it. We’d recently been joined by the tens of runners doing the 30-mile ultra, and I’d picked up an “Aussie Bite” snack from checkpoint 7 – big mistake. As I entered the woods I found myself in a long, gasping line of people (literally) dragging themselves up a  super-steep, super rocky and often slippery “path” that seemed to go on and on and on. I can’t imagine anyone in the world actually running up a section like that – every step I took felt like I had a lead weight tied to each foot, and I passed several people who had stopped to rest. Then I found out that an Aussie Bite is, while delicious, probably the crumbliest snack that ever existed and totally unsuitable for eating while breathing heavily on an ascent. You can’t chew, swallow and/or breathe through your mouth simultaneously. Nevertheless, a miracle happened and I made it to the trig point without stopping, choking or collapsing in a whimpering heap.

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“Out of the woods”

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Win Hill summit

21-28miles

Running again. Fast forward about two minutes and my calves started cramping. I thought my time had come. I gave them a quick rub and downed an isotonic carb gel that I’d grabbed as a last-minute “experiment” from Go Outdoors. The pain subsided and came back intermittently, but I’d rejoined my previous group and talking to them helped a lot as we ran across the stunning, open moorland of Hope Brink and Crookstone Hill. On any other day I’d marvel at the way the sun warmed the deep  purple, bright green and pale gold hillsides blanketed by heather, ferns and rough grass, but I realised that was not this day as I pounded along narrow, rocky, ankle-breaker paths. My legs felt weak and I really thought I’d have to stop soon. A steep, uneven and knee-jarringly tough descent preceded checkpoint 11 at Edale, which was also bag dropoff 2 with a cutoff time of 9hrs 20mins. Amazingly I’d made it in  around six hours. Bertie was too late to meet me – he arrived a couple of hours later!

28-38miles

Handfuls of pasta, lucozade, crisps, haribo and energy bar later, I paired up with a lovely 50-mile runner  who spurred me on throughout the rest of the race. He waited for me as I dragged my lead-legs up more nasty ascents, ran with me along the flat and downhill sections, stopped me going the wrong way a handful of times and was lovely to talk to. We headed through Castleton (a pretty town which I was too tired to appreciate fully), out to Old Moor and down to Bradwell, where we stopped at checkpoint 15 – which was also bag dropoff 3 with a cutoff time of 14hrs 30mins. Incredibly we’d made it in less than 8 hours; I was amazed – I’d put my headtorch in my dropbag just in case I’d have to carry on in the dark, but it wasn’t yet 2pm! After a 20min rest, a drink of pepsi and handfuls of snacks we felt rejuvenated and carried on.

38-48miles

My knee hurt. Bradwell Hill was horrible. The descent to Brough was horrible. The path to Hathersage was pretty, but long and horrible. Hathersage Moor was stunning but horrible and I would almost certainly have got lost alone. Somehow we mustered the strength to run up, across and down the long, gravelly tracks of Houndkirk Moor, even overtaking another runner (it was horrible). I stuck behind my friend, focusing on his shoes and not looking ahead at where the track met the horizon. Horrible.

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Burbage South again, less perky this time… But still smiling

48-50miles

At the last checkpoint – number 19 – I noticed that my shoelace was undone, but didn’t care enough to do it up. Endurance running does funny things to you – I thought I saw a jellyfish by the side of the path. I thought I had a leech on my leg, only to realise it was a bit of flappy skin from a cut. Despite mutual exhaustion, my friend and I both felt the lure of the finishline less than two miles away and managed what felt like a sprint along a track, through the woods and towards the farm at Whirlow. I barely heard the cheers as I stumbled across the finish line, didn’t see the cameras, and don’t remember who shook my hand or gave me a medal.

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Elation

As delighted as I am that I had the fitness, strength and willpower to finish, I cannot stress how incredibly lucky I was. Everything that could have gone wrong went in my favour:

1. Weather: Perfect – dry, clear and not too warm – mid to late teens, I think. This meant that I didn’t get too hot or cold, wasn’t beaten up by wind or rain and didn’t have slippery, muddy ground to contend with.

2. Equipment: The shoes and hydration pack that arrived on the doorstep two days before (yes, a huge gamble) fit perfectly and performed even better than I could have hoped. My brand new (purchased on the journey) camelback bladder didn’t leak and kept me hydrated.

3. Food and water: I had no idea what to eat or drink, how much or when, but I made it and I wasn’t sick so I must have got something right.

4. People: I’d expected to run alone, listening to music or an audiobook. I thought my luck had failed me early on when I couldn’t get my phone to pair with my Bluetooth headphones, but this meant that instead of being antisocial I ended up talking to – and sticking to the pace of – other runners. This helped hugely, as conversation really took my mind off the exertion of running and the worry of slowing others down motivated me to keep my pace up. Also, the runners I befriended had previously done recce trips so they knew the way – I would almost have certainly got lost if I’d navigated alone. Everyone we saw out on the trails gave way to us, and there were so many kind words of encouragement from walkers and spectators that if I wasn’t so tired I would have been overwhelmed.

I mean it when I say it was horrible, but there’s more to it than that. It’s a “nice” kind of horrible. I can only compare it to “nice” pain – like the ache in your muscles after a good workout, or the pressure of a firm massage. I was drugged by a dizzying mix of exercise-induced endorphins, event-induced adrenaline and trauma-induced pain signals. My left knee had been getting more and more painful for about twenty miles (and I still can’t straighten it or walk properly, five days later) and my legs felt like lead-filled jelly, but I couldn’t wipe the stupid grin off my face. Looking back at the photos, it’s there in all of them.

Before the race I didn’t expect to make half way, but the people I was with were so positive and encouraging. They were surprised at how young I was to be doing an ultra and they seemed to have such (unwarranted) faith in me – even before the 25-mile mark – that even I started to believe that I could finish, despite my legs telling me otherwise. These people had put up with my annoying little voice and inexplicable perma-grin for more miles than I could count and I didn’t want to let them down by pulling out. They’ll probably never read this, but thank you to everyone I ran with – especially Helen, Paul, Danny and Dave. And to everyone who supported me, sent me encouraging texts and told me (affectionately) that I’m an idiot – I appreciated every message. Also well done and thank you to every single runner out there at the weekend, I don’t think I’ve ever seen such positivity, resilience and kindness among a group of so-called “competitors”.

To conclude, of all the things I’ve achieved, this is what I’m most proud of. Twenty years in education, half-decent grades and the occasional academic award seem insignificant compared to jumping from 15 to 50 miles in a day. I’ve never pushed through such acute pain or such a burning desire to stop, and the best thing of all is that I believe I had more in me. In fact I know I had more in me, because I was still running at the end. I entered the race hoping to find out my own limits and see how far I could push myself, but this experience has taught me that they’re much further away than I realised. So I’ll just have to try harder… I’m hooked and I can’t wait till next time, whatever “next time” is.

 

Endnote – I got a new phone last week, discovered an automatic app called Clips and made some videos following my (lack of) preparation, journey to the Peak District, and the ultra itself. These were loads of fun to make so I think I’ll do more in the future – I’ve put them on my brand spanking new Youtube channel CuriousGnome, feel free to laugh at my face… I’m going to write a separate post on tips for a first ultra and some kit reviews, so bear with! Well done for getting through this, I know it’s a long post – you’re pretty much an “endurance reader” now. Love you.

 

 

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Pre-Ultra: Don’t Underestimate how Unprepared I am

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T-minus four days. This time on Saturday I might be a) a few hours into my first ever ultramarathon (least likely), b) dead already (more likely), or c) lost, broken and crying in a ditch (most likely).

If I could run a mile for every time I’ve been told “you’re a f****** idiot”, Saturday would be a walk in the park. I genuinely appreciate these comments because they ease the pressure of expectation: if anyone actually thinks I’m fit enough to run even half an ultra, I’d probably spiral into despair at the hopelessness of attempting to avoid disappointment. The very last thing I want to hear is “you can do it”.

 

Injury

The bottom line is that I’ve never run more than about 15 miles. After drunkenly signing up in April (after reading one book about running and realising I can run a half-marathon) I overtrained and developed shin splints within a week, crushing all hope of building up to 50 miles (80km). The shin splints are much better but not totally healed – I still get the odd twinge, so come Saturday my legs will be held together with KT tape and compression socks.

 

Illness

As if I wasn’t doomed enough, two lymph nodes have decided to swell up under my left arm, making it painful to sleep, get dressed and move my arm away from my body. The same thing happened last December and I recovered, but not without a lot of pain and discomfort. I’ve actually been organised enough to contact my doctor via an online form, so I should know my likely prognosis by the end of today – but unless I die before Saturday I have every intention of at least crossing the starting line, high on painkillers if necessary.

 

Preparation and Equipment (*lack of)

Despite half-decent academic grades and marginally-above-average fitness levels, I’m an extremely useless adult. I make ridiculous decisions, refuse to go back on them, then take a way-too-laid-back approach to resolving the issues I create for myself. For example, last week I ordered my hydration pack for the event. Yesterday I ordered my first ever pair of trail running shoes. I hope they fit. Today I googled “how to prepare for an ultramarathon”. The results of that search suggest that I should have done so about six months ago (before I even signed up… hmm). At some point this week I’ll go shopping for some food, blister plasters and so on. I’ll probably even write a list.

 

Event Requirements

As if 50 miles wasn’t unachievable enough in itself, this 50 miles is in the self-descriptive Peak District. It encompasses 2,600 metres of ascent – that’s the same as two Ben Nevises – along rough terrain. AND it’s not exactly signposted – on top of putting one foot in front of the other and staying fed and watered, I’ll have to navigate. I don’t have a GPS watch so it’ll be a map and compass job, and while I’ve done plenty of navigating in the past I’ve also got lost (a lot). There’s also a list of mandatory kit, which includes full body cover, a headtorch, a whistle, food, water, etc, and electronic checkpoints to eliminate cheating. AND some checkpoints have strict cut-off times, so it’s not like I can plod along and finish the course in October. In all honestly I’ll be thrilled to make the first one – which is four and a half hours in.

 
Attitude

Despite everything, I’m absolutely buzzing. I’m going in with the expectation that I’ll manage a few miles before having to be collected in a whimpering heap, hating the world and renouncing exercise as an unnecessary evil. I expect to be the least fit, least prepared and least experienced entrant, which suits me as I feel no pressure to achieve a certain time or distance. Despite usually being super-competitive, this time I’m happy to be totally self-centred: all I care about is what I can do, regardless of the super-athletes I’ll be surrounded by (at the start, at least), and I don’t care what anyone else thinks. I’m simultaneously playing mad scientist and hapless guinea pig in a cruel experiment – I’ve never really pushed myself mentally or physically, so I’m interested to find out where my breaking point is and if I can reach it on my own.

Apart from the running bit, it sounds like a great weekend. As a “festival [of running]” there’ll be outdoorsey people, stunning scenery, camping, food and shenanigans, and I’ve never done anything like it. I can’t wait; I’ll be the one stumbling in to the party, clueless, uninvited and incapable of keeping up with the others, but keen as muck – probably having forgotten half my mandatory kit, semi-dressed with shoelaces untied and shorts on inside out, grinning like a Cheshire cat. So please keep the “f****** idiot” comments coming, pray for me on Saturday, and definitely don’t expect great things!

SUP Derwentwater

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Although notably less holy (and probably less graceful) than Jesus, I felt privileged to experience my first time standing on water in this beautiful place. Derwentwater is cradled by mountains on all sides, punctuated by explorable islands and delightfully less touristy than other lakes.

A quick bit of Googling that morning narrowed my search for a lake to SUP on to Derwentwater or Windermere. We’d settled on kayaking Coniston Water and hire didn’t appear as readily available at other places – I would have loved to try Wasdale below Scafell Pike but could only finded guided SUP tours. (We were set on hire due to cost, time and a stubborn, “I can do it myself” attitude).

Well aware of Windermere’s popularity, I called Derwentwater Marina with a few preliminary (probably silly) questions (see Beginner’s Advice: Stand Up Paddleboarding) and booked two SUPs for three hours from midday for £22 each. We left Ambleside and arrived 45 minutes later. The marina people were friendly and gave us a quick safety brief and a basic map, but didn’t bog us down with  rules or admin. Getting sized up for paddles and buoyancy aids was quick and easy, and I was pleased to be on (not in!) the water within a few minutes.

I kneeled until we’d left the harbour area as instructed, surprised by how stable the board felt. I was pleased to find it easy to stand up and balance after an initial, slightly wobbly stage. Then I had to figure out how I was supposed to paddle.

Being used to a kayak, I expected to have to change sides every other stroke or so or end up going in circles. I’m not sure how you’re meant to do it but I found that I had a surprising amount of control over my direction of travel paddling on just one side. It might have something to do with the paddle entering at a steeper angle and pushing through the water almost vertically. You can alter your course by tweaking the “shape” of your pull – this means you can turn right even if the paddle is on your right.

Derwentwater is a glorious location. We passed about six other SUPers in total during our three-hour stint and a few more kayakers, but given the size of the lake this was nothing; most were paddling around near the marina, and we went over half an hour without seeing a soul. We travelled south along the west side of the lake, feeling like we’d found heaven under the clear blue sky, between the hazy mountains and above the calm, dark water. The sun was hot so I relished a dip when we stopped for lunch at a secluded, smooth-stoned beach. The shallows were warm and brownish algae made the stones super-slippery but it got deep and cool very quickly. I didn’t drown, get bitten by a pike or poisoned by algae, so I can also recommend swimming in Derwentwater.

From there  we headed off south east, past a tiny, one-tree island and towards a large, forested island with a child-ridden beach. We paddled around its east side and headed back towards the marina. As the last slog usually does, and given that we were pressed for time having enjoyed the water so much, this was quite hard-going. The headwind disturbed the previously flat water and the sun beared down on our sweaty backs. This bit showed me that SUPing is actually quite a  good workout if you maintain a decent pace for a while – it really works your core, back, arms and legs. Google reckons that a 75kg person burns about 500 calories per hour.

We got back on time and reluctantly returned our kit. Reflecting on my experience, it’s not at all what I expected. I had this idea that SUPing was like a slower, boring version of kayaking – why stand when you can sit? Actually I think it’s incomparable. Seeing the water from a few feet higher up gives you a wider vertical field of vision, a totally different perspective. I’d almost say it feels more liberating as you can move your legs, so have greater control over your body position. It’s easier to twist, bend and lean. You’re more likely to fall in, but neither Bertie or I did and if we had it would have provided respite from the relentless sun! I’m sure it would have been different if we hadn’t been so blessed with the weather (with temperatures in the early thirties for most of the day).

So my final verdict is that SUPing is great, I’ll be going again and I’d recommend it to anyone – particularly at Derwentwater. If you’re thinking of trying it for the first time, see my post Beginner’s Advice: Stand Up Paddleboarding…  Enjoy!

Endnote: Derwentwater marina is at the northern tip of the lake, five minutes from Keswick – a bustling town offering plenty of post-SUP beer. Or you could be like us and climb/scramble Helvellyn via Striding Edge immediately after returning the SUPs and have to rush back to Spoons (last place to serve food) to avoid starvation… But that’s another blog post.

Ultra Training Update: Week 15.5

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An addictive personality is like Voldemort, as described by Mr Ollivander: “terrible, but great”. Falling for running, cycling, climbing and so on will make you fitter, healthier and more focused. But falling too hard will leave you injured, frustrated and restless.

I’m blessed and plagued with a tendency to throw myself into things blindfolded and headfirst, without self-control, moderation or any kind of plan. An idea gets into my head and I get tunnel vision: all my energy goes into performing or achieving that idea, at the expense of everything else.

For example, I read a book about running. Got inspired, went for a run and didn’t stop until I’d done a half marathon and was late to an appointment. Got drunk that night and entered an ultramarathon. Sobered up and started training. Ran 40 miles in less than a week and got shin splints. Had to stop running for 2 months. Am still suffering, but finally back running – today I ran my second ever 13.1 mile (21.1k) half-marathon.

I’m interested to find out how far I can push myself because today’s run felt great. I set out intending to do 10k or so (about 6 miles) but felt so good that I just carried on. I’ve been “easing myself back in” for a few weeks, squeezing in a handful of 5-12k runs, and wanted to start running properly. Initially I thought I’d have to cut it short today as my shins started to ache despite copious amounts of KT tape, but (and some physio somewhere will tell me off) it subsided so I didn’t stop.

I actually felt stronger after an hour; my form improved and I got quicker. This is despite my decision to weave my way around, up and down St Catherine’s Hill on the edge of the South Downs, along rocky paths, up mega-steep sections and through walls of brambles (coming out the other side grinning and bloody-kneed).

I stopped at half-marathon distance because my feet started to ache and I didn’t want to get injured again, so maybe I am learning. I did it in 1hr 52mins 48secs, so it wasn’t fast but I’ll have to get even slower. Fitness-wise I felt fresh as a daisy and I actually wanted to keep running, so I think it’ll be my feet/legs that let me down first when it comes to the ultra.

So I’ve never run more than 13.1 miles and in three and a half weeks I’m supposed to run 50. Have I pulled out of the ultra? No way. Do I think I’m going to complete it? No way. I know that I’m not physically capable of running that distance – I’ve barely trained, I’m still recovering from injury and I’ve never done anything even close. But I’ve accepted that and I have nothing to lose, so I’ll run, walk and hobble for as long as I possibly can.

I won’t be disappointed if I make 20 miles, and I’ll be delighted to make 26.2 – marathon distance. I know I’ll look like an idiot next to the seasoned ultramarathoners (at the start, anyway!) but that doesn’t bother me; as far as I’m concerned, I’ll be the only person in the Peak District. This is the beginning – one day I’ll be eating 50-milers for breakfast.

In the meantime, I believe I have a hydration pack, blister plasters, vaseline and some trail shoes to buy…

See also The Accidental Half Marathon, Ultra Training Update: Week 1, Too Much Too Soon, Ultra Training Update: Week 4.5

Beginner’s advice: Stand Up Paddleboarding

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Taking advice from a first-timer is generally not best practice. However, two weeks ago I found myself wishing for some simple answers about SUPing from someone who wasn’t a) highly experienced and convinced I knew what he was talking about, or b) trying to sell me something.

Two weeks later I’m that person who can give simple advice, and I’d like to help anyone who is in the same exasperating situation that I was. This is aimed at those looking to try SUPing for the first time.

Here are some questions I wanted answers to:

Hire or tuition?

I had assumed that hiring a SUP was as commonplace and straightforward as hiring a kayak or canoe. You pay, they give a standard safety brief and kit you out, you paddle off into the sunset. When I looked into  SUPing I was surprised to find that lots of places offer kayak/canoe/boat hire and SUP lessons or tours, but not SUP hire. This made me wonder whether it was much harder, riskier or more complicated than it looks. Having found a place to hire SUPs supervision-free, I tried it and was not enlightened. It requires more balance than kayaking, but I wouldn’t say that it is significantly more difficult or dangerous.

Verdict: Unless you really struggle with balance or coordination, I’d say just hire a board and give it a go. It may help to Youtube the paddle technique and body position beforehand, but it’s pretty easy to pick up as you go along. It’s usually cheaper and you’ll have more freedom to explore where you like. (If you’re rich, feel free to buy all the gear – after taking proper advice – and learn that way and/or lend it to me…)

 

How do you do it?

The hire place will probably go through this, but just in case they don’t:

Place the SUP in shallow water with the front facing outwards, away from the beach/bank/slipway. The front and the back look similar, but the back has fins underneath that help you travel in a straight line. Climb onto the middle of the board and kneel with a wide stance, facing forwards.

Hold the paddle with one hand at the top of the shaft and the other hand about halfway down. Place the paddle into the water on the same side as your lower hand. I found that the best way to learn to paddle was by doing it, experimenting with stroke length, speed and angles. I’m definitely underqualified to give detailed advice on this!

When you’ve got a feel for the board and paddle, try standing up. Use your hands to steady yourself and take it slow. The work isn’t just done by the arms – you actually paddle mainly with your core, using your legs to stay firmly on the board.

 

How easy is it?

An impossible question to answer as it comes down to your balance, coordination, strength and confidence. I was surprised at how easy I found it – most hire boards are very stable (the bigger, the easier) and you can get the feel of it by starting on your knees. Some people will be standing up within ten minutes, but others have just as much fun paddling around kneeling down.

 

What are the risks?

Getting eaten, bitten or lost, drowning, being hit by lightning or crushed by a boat, missing the World Cup final, contracting an exotic disease or ending up on a deserted island with just a beaten up old volleyball for company. Maybe you should stay at home.

No seriously, you’re surrounded by water, exposed to other water-users (many with powerful engines and poor manoeuvrability) and at the mercy of the weather – the risks are self-evident. Just be sensible and listen to safety warnings and you should come out alive.

 

How does it compare to kayaking, canoeing etc?

When I first saw a paddleboard I thought something like “what’s the point of that, why not just get a kayak?” Then I tried it and realised that it’s totally different. You get an entirely different perspective of the water from a standing position, and I had a much greater range of movement which felt really liberating. I’ll write a separate post on my first experience SUPing.

 

Equipment: Do I need…?

Buoyancy aid:

No. However, like most water activities, you should wear one, and some places will require you to do so. Even Olympic swimmers drown if they fall unconscious; a buoyancy aid will ensure your head stays above the water.

Wetsuit:

No. If you’re comfortable enough you can wear whatever you like – I was fortunate enough to enjoy SUPing in 30 degree heat, bikini-clad and sun cream-smothered.

Other fancy gear:

No, unless the hire place says otherwise. You don’t need special shoes or gloves – just yourself, a board and a paddle. Swimwear advisable for legal reasons and drinking water advisable for you-really-don’t-want-to-get-dehydrated reasons.

 

I’d really recommend giving SUPing a go as it gives you a different perspective of the water, a decent workout and an opportunity to explore new places. I’ve covered pretty much everything I wanted to know prior to my first SUP adventure, but feel free to get in touch if you’d like any more amateur advice.

Brecon Beacons: 3 Days, 4 Waterfalls, 5 Mountains – Day 3

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Inside a tent is my second favourite place to wake up, topped only by outside a tent. Welsh weather dictated that this was an “inside” day. The mist cleared by breakfast and the dewy grass cooled my flip-flopped toes. After porridge and packing up (the new netflix n chill), we headed South West to walk the “must-see” four waterfalls trail.

 

We drove along the road that we’d trudged along, semi-lost, two days before, and it was breath-taking. I’ve never seen the Brecons in all their glory – on previous visits they’d been shrouded in thick, grey fog. I suppose the landscape was the same as it had been on the Friday, but we were slightly higher and could appreciate it so much more. We pulled over to take photos and admire the view: golden, grassy plains edged by dark, evergreen forests backed by protective, sweeping ridges. It wasn’t the wet, wind-beaten landscape I’d experienced before; the unfamiliar sun was shocking Wales into calm serenity and I couldn’t get enough.

 

We arrived at the car park near Ystradfellte an hour or so later and were surprised to find it manned by a handful of forest wardens. We knew it was popular but had no idea it would get so busy. We got there early so had no problem parking, checked the route and set off. The beginning and end of the trail is along a gravel track through the forest. It’s lined by tall, dark evergreens which are far enough from the path so as not to block the sun, and the route is well-marked enough so no need for a map.

 

The first waterfall was pretty but inaccessible, the second was wide and entered into a deep, round, inviting pool, and the third was my favourite. From the woody, leafy bank, we de-shoed and crossed the river onto a sunny, flat slab of rock to have lunch. The water here flowed between deep, round pools, all connected by shallow mini-waterfalls, with the main one on our left. A couple of guys in wetsuits joined us, and after lunch I dived into the pool for a swim.

 

It was lovely (after the initial shock!) – cool, deep and refreshing. I swam around and explored up and down river, scrambling over slippery rocks and scaling the jagged walls, nearly injuring myself only once. Apart from the people walking and sitting on the opposite bank, it was idyllic: the sky was clear blue, the water was cold and fresh and we were surrounded by the bright, glowing green of sun-drenched spring leaves.

 

We could have been there minutes or hours for all I knew, but eventually we packed up and headed off. A semi-strenuous uphill section took us back to the main path, and when we got near waterfall four we had to join a queue of slow-moving traffic to take the stairs down to see it. It seemed like the whole world had taken their children, husbands, grandparents and grandparents’ dogs to look at this waterfall; I don’t know where they all appeared from.

 

The waterfall itself was stunning  – the widest and tallest one yet, with lots of space behind it. However, the sheer number of people devalued it almost entirely. There was a crowd of yellow, blue, red, any-colour-you-can-think-of t-shirts and no space to walk around at all. I couldn’t believe that so many people would choose to hang about or have their picnic in a spot so teeming compared to the rest of the trail. One photo later, we turned and trudged painfully slowly back up the steps.

 

The signpost at the top reckoned it was 55mins back to the car park, but we did it in 35. It was an attractive walk back; forest-ey, but not boring. MapMyWalk says the route was 8.4km and we did it in 1hr32mins, not including breaks and stops. I’m dubious.

 

When we left, the car park and the drive up to the car park was rammed with cars and the wardens looked exasperated. We drove back to Brecon for an ice cream before heading to the Black Mountains – the easternmost of the three mountain groups in the Brecon Beacons. Confusingly, the western mountains of the National Park are called the Black Mountain Range.

 

This area is more agricultural than the wild, central Beacons. After driving along several narrower-than-narrow farm roads, we reached the car park of our target fifth mountain: Lord Hereford’s Knob. At only 690m high, it was the smallest peak of the weekend but it won the name competition hands-down. We’d tried to climb it previously but the weather had been against us and we were pushed for time, so we failed. This time the weather was much clearer and we were determined to find the elusive summit.

 

I enjoyed the walk to what we thought was the summit, clad in a knitted grandad jumper and flip flops (until I took them off a hundred yards in and went barefoot). At the top there was a lovely, panoramic view that was semi-cultivated, semi-wild, with rolling farmland shouldered by dramatic ridges. There was a small cairn but surprisingly nothing to announce the mountain’s glorious name, so we broke a rule and pulled our phones out to check sat nav. We hated the thought of thinking we’d done the Knob, only to find out later that we’d missed it. Unfortunately, Google Maps said the actual summit was ahead of us and to the left, so we begrudgingly followed it downhill and towards the next peak (which looked a long way away).

 

The land we walked through was more rugged, and shortly after passing through a herd of super-photogenic wild ponies the path disappeared and sat nav decided that the Knob was actually in roughly the direction we’d come from. Frustrated, hungry and aware of the fog rolling up the valley to our left, we took what looked like a quad-bike track back towards the ridge we’d started on. The terrain was all bracken and bog, and I nearly lost a flip flop more than once. We climbed the steep side and followed sat nav along the top, back to the very cairn we’d been at about 45mins previously. We couldn’t help but laugh.

 

We walked back down the same way we came. We’d done five mountains and four waterfalls in two days, plus spent an extended period being lost on a hike on Friday; needless to say, the Subway we eventually found open at 10pm in Gloucester was the most well-earned “dinner” I’ve had in a long time.

 

Lesson learnt: trust Ordnance Survey (and your navigation skills) more than Google Maps.