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

The Rant of a Pained Consumer

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Today I went to Tesco. I hate shopping and avoid it wherever possible, but unfortunately I need to eat and don’t have time to spend all day hunter-gathering.

Having spent my adult life as a poor student, I’ve been in the habit of buying food based entirely on price. My shelves are over-familiar with the Value, Basics and Essentials ranges. However, now I’ve finished my studies I’d like to pay more attention to where my food comes from, how it is treated and how it is packaged. This decision comes from my growing interest in top athletes who swear by veganism, recent dabbling in yoga and self-awareness, and a lifelong passion for the environment (not to mention animal welfare). Never thought I’d become one of “those” people.

I aim to make a conscious effort to follow a healthier, more vegan-oriented diet by cutting back on processed foods and animal products, particularly dairy and red meat. I want to minimise my impact on the environment by choosing local and sustainably/ethically sourced produce where possible, being aware of the processes, by-products and emissions involved in food production and actively seeking products without plastic packaging.

Anyway, back to Tesco. I’ve been disgusted by the amount of plastic for a while, particularly in the fruit and veg section. Admittedly loose produce is available, but the irony is that everyone I saw picking up unpackaged apples, carrots and so on put them in the bags that Tesco so thoughtfully placed there for the very purpose of containing loose items. The plastic bags.

I’m also disgusted that loose fruit and veg is more expensive than the “Suntrail/Redmere Farms” (the tarted-up names for the value range) fruit and veg. Which is swathed in plastic. You’d think that loose produce would be cheaper – packaging costs money?! Unfathomable.

I had to go for packaged kale, spinach, kiwis and satsumas, but otherwise chose loose fruit and veg. I put it in the basket unbagged and *shock horror* suffered no catastrophic consequences. PLEASE don’t use these stupid little bags, and if you must use bags take your own paper or re-used ones.

Having internalised my fruit and veg rant, I made it through the rest of the shopping ordeal relatively unscathed. I chose glass roll-on deodorant rather than plastic (something I’d never thought about before), boxes of tea without unnecessary plastic wrapping, almond milk, sustainably sourced (reduced price) tuna and mackerel and no meat.

They’re baby steps but I think it’s about changing habits sustainably rather than suddenly. Eventually I want to abandon the supermarket and source food from greengrocers, butchers, bakers and so on. Organic, free range, fairtrade, sustainably sourced, humanely treated, unpackaged etc – you get the idea.

I just can’t believe that plastic packaging in particular is still so pervasive (in every aisle, not just fruit and veg) – surely everyone has seen David Attenborough (bless his divine heart and soul) lament the impact of plastics on marine life, or videos of seas choked with rubbish? Turning a blind eye is almost criminal. If the government want something else to tax, I hope for the sake of our environment and my sanity that they make it single-use plastics.  Biodegradable and recyclable packaging exists; as do local producers, humane farmers and sustainable fisheries. It’s time (and has been for years) for the monster corporations to take positive action and put the planet ahead of profits or be held culpable, otherwise there’ll be no planet left to profit from. Such action can be consumer-led if we make two things: 1) conscious choices, and 2) a hell of a fuss. As Che Guevara said, “revolution is not an apple that falls when it is ripe. You have to make it fall”. Enough fuss will get noticed, and getting noticed will facilitate change.

I have a lot to learn and I’d like to help others learn too, for the sake of health, welfare (individual, animal and farmer/producer) and the environment. I’d love to hear from anyone who has thoughts on what I’ve wittered on about today, or any related ethical/sustainable/health advice or experience.

The Norfolk Broads for Adventure-Seekers: 10-point summary

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This year’s family holiday took us to the Norfolk Broads for a week. I didn’t know what to expect  as I’ve never explored that part of England before; family holidays usually took us West to Wales or Devon/Cornwall, and I was a bit apprehensive at the lack of sea, hills and mountains.

Despite this we managed to fit in plenty of activities and do a fair bit of exploring. We travelled around on a boat and moored at a different place each night, so saw plenty of the National Park – I’ll write a brief journal in a separate post.

Here are some highlights and key observations from my Broads trip:

1. Flatness

It’s SO flat. I knew this before we left but didn’t appreciate just how un-flat everywhere else must be – previously I considered the New Forest the flattest place in the UK. It probably didn’t help that I was in the Lake District a few weeks ago.

The landscape and the skies are vast and open, which makes you feel really small in a similar-but-different way to hills and mountain ranges. The nights are dark (not much light pollution), quiet and still.

2. City, towns and villages

Norwich is great – it has a lively buzz, a cathedral, a castle, a nice bit of river, plenty of history and a good indoor climbing/bouldering place called Highball.

Wroxham is apparently seen as “the capital of the Broads” by some, but I wasn’t that impressed. Too many big shops, more zimmerframes and dentures than I’ve ever seen in one place before and a bit tired and scruffy.

Other towns and villages were okay but I wouldn’t say they were picture-postcard, although apparently Beccles in the South Broads is lovely. Ludham and Coltishall were probably the prettiest we stopped at.

The thing I didn’t expect was the “water streets” on the outskirts of towns and villages. Pretty houses of all shapes, sizes and styles were fronted by boats instead of cars, boathouses instead of garages and water instead of tarmac.

3. Wildlife

There are loads of birds – the more “exotic” (coming from a Hampshire girl) ones I saw include the great crested grebe, curlew and marsh harrier. Masses of reeds and foliage of every shade of green line the waterways, so it’s not surprising that it’s such a haven. I wish I’d looked out for more wildlife but I spent lots of time reading, painting and planning.

There are also lots of insects – dragonflies, damselflies, thunderbugs and funny little red things. Oh and midges and mosquitos, expect to be bitten – particularly around stagnant water. Luckily I don’t seem to taste as good as the rest of my family.

4. Wild swimming

90% of my research told me not to swim in the Broads because of a) toxic blue-green algae, b) human waste and c) 42lb pike (big teeth, bitey). I took heed of the other 10%.

Swimming probably won’t kill you, although I’d judge it on how the water looks. The blue-green algae can be irritant and toxic if ingested; it’s really thick in some places, particularly up creeks where the water is stagnant – there were parts of Barton Broad I definitely wouldn’t swim in. I wouldn’t worry about pike as it’s pretty unlikely you’ll get bitten, and re: human waste – avoid swimming where there are loads of boats and don’t swallow anything (particularly solids…). Around Salhouse Broad was a nice spot for a dip.

The thing you should be really aware of is boats, as it’s easy to miss swimmers. Bright colours, paying attention and avoiding busy areas should help you stay safe. A support boat is ideal.

5. Cycling

Don’t expect to go mountain biking – Rocky (my lovely old hardtail) had the gentlest ride of his life on the cycle path between Wroxham and Aylsham. The Broads offers easy, relaxing cycling which will give you a different perspective of the National Park.

6. Kayaking

As a National Park by virtue of its waterways, the Broads is perfect to explore by paddle. You can access creeks beyond the reach of boats, see loads of wildlife and get some exercise – see On Kayaking. I was surprised by how few other kayaks there were and couldn’t believe that I couldn’t hire a SUP anywhere!

I should probably say be careful of blue-green algae, which can be irritating to skin if flicked onto it by a paddle. However, I’ve been in contact with it several times and never suffered any ill-effects, so it’s your call.

7. On foot: running/walking

Plenty of footpaths allowed me to run or walk alongside the water when I got restless. I particularly enjoyed a 12k run between Stokesby and the edge of Great Yarmouth along the Weaver’s Way (and only passed one person), although it was a difficult surface to run on as it was soft, thick, dry grass. I also enjoyed a 5k at Norwich and Coltishall on more forgiving ground.

The terrain is so easy underfoot that it’s more gentle rambler’s territory than thrill seeker’s, and it doesn’t offer breathtaking views in the same way as hiking up mountains. However, I think it’s worth seeing for the novelty. The landscape is attractive, with pretty windmills dotted among swathes of reedbeds and golden fields. I enjoyed the bizarre sight of boat sails gliding across the fields, hulls just out of sight!

8. Fishing

I enjoy fishing but my catch rate is abysmal and wasn’t improved upon here. Apparently there’s plenty of freshwater species such as bream, perch, roach, tench, dace, rudd, trout and pike, but our maggots and sweetcorn failed to entice anything during the evenings. We saw other people haul in decent sized fish (annoyingly!).

You’ll need a rod licence to fish in the Broads (I paid £12 for an 8-day one, which covered two rods) and in a few areas you need extra permission.

9. History

The waterways were made by peat digging between the 12th and 14th centuries, until the ditches flooded and became used for commerce and communication. The landscape is dotted with pretty windmills, which were used to grind corn and drain excess water from the fields into the river system.

There are also lots of lovely churches, thatched rooves, the remote ruin of St Benet’s Abbey and a cute little museum at How Hill.

I could get geekier but basically the history is interesting, not least because this apparently natural landscape is actually man-made.

10. Pubs

Last but never, ever least, there are loads of pubs along the Broads. Most have free mooring and I found that (in comparison with Hampshire) drinks were cheap and portions were generous. Need I say more?

Norfolk Broads trip map

Green line shows our route, with each number corresponding to our overnight spots

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.

How to Impulse trip: Lake District, June ’18

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The weather has been incredibly un-British for the past few weeks and the week before last I (practically) finished my LPC, Masters and a legal work placement. Naturally I was desperate to run away somewhere wild, so on Monday my adventure partner booked the rest of the week off work and that evening we decided to hit the Lake District. After previous stunningly beautiful but grey trips, I couldn’t resist the chance to see the mountains in the sun.

 

Tuesday 26 June

Late-night packing complete, we set off about 5.30am and arrived about midday after a Morrisons breakfast at Newcastle-under-Lyme. We found a basic National Trust campsite, Hoathwaite, by Coniston Water, and were pitched and raring to explore shortly afterwards.

I’d recommend the campsite any day: with direct access via a footpath down to a lakeside beach, it’s perfect to take your own kayak or SUP. It has toilets, showers, washing up basins and water taps – basic but clean and an absolute luxury for us, having got used to wild camping. The Old Man of Coniston cradles one side of the campsite, and there are lovely views over other mountains, trees and the glistening lake. It’s on a hill, but there are plenty of flat spots to camp, no marked pitches and plenty of space.

We walked the half-hour footpath to Coniston, along the lake and across big fields, to explore and recce the pubs. It’s a really pretty town with dark stone buildings and a lively centre, with about four pubs, three small supermarkets and a couple of outdoorsey and gift shops, cafes, a bakery and a butcher. We walked around, got some shopping and went back to the campsite.

We cooked early, semi-planned the next few days and went for a gentle 5k run (I’m still recovering from injury) back towards Coniston, stopping on the way back to skim stones on the water. Tired from late packing and early rising, we went to bed early and slept like sloths.

 

Wednesday 27 June

On Wednesday we drove to Ambleside to get a map of Helvellyn. I’ve always used Ordnance Survey but a helpful man in Blacks told me that Harveys maps are sometimes more practical, so I welcome any input on this. There are four OS maps of the Lake District and we only had the Southern two, so we invested in the others and briefly walked around the town. I remember liking Ambleside before; it has a really lively atmosphere, plenty to see and an abundance of outdoorsey shops which make it seem like a hub for adventurous, active people – more so than tourist-saturated Windermere.

We’d never been Stand Up Paddleboarding before and I’ve been desperate to try for ages, so we hired a couple of SUPs for three hours from Derwent Water Marina near Keswick. We chose to explore Derwentwater over Windermere as it’s quieter and wilder, and had an amazing time surrounded by clear water and blue mountains, stopping at a beach for lunch and a swim. I’ll write about this separately as I definitely have more to say.

After SUPing we drove to Glenridding to climb Helvellyn via Striding Edge, setting off about 4.30pm in 30 degree heat. There’s a tourist path straight up the Western side but I wasn’t interested – I’d read about approaching from the East in The Great Outdoors magazine and insisted on the more picturesque, lengthy and difficult route.

Although sketchy at times, I loved scrambling up Striding Edge (much more so than Bertie) and reaching the clear, sunny summit of the tabletop mountain (third highest in England) at about 7pm – I couldn’t find words to do the clear blue and lilac, layered mountain panorama justice. I’ll write separately on the route we took. We got back to the car about 10pm and made it to Wetherspoons in Keswick with 10mins to spare, thanking heaven that they serve food until 11.

 

Thursday 28 June

We got up with the sun and walked down to Coniston Water to have breakfast by the lake and read books. We’d planned to hire bikes for the day and explore as far as we could get, but drove an hour through tiny country roads to Eskdale to find the place closed. Although a lovely drive, we’d seen that area before and I was cross at the wasted morning. I’d wanted to call to book but Bertie just wanted to get there, and he took about ten years searching the car for his lost wallet (because he left it in a stupid place) so he secured a place in my bad books.

We had a drink at the Woolpack pub and used the Wifi to find an alternative bike place. It was between hiring from Keswick and cycling the roads/bridleways, or from Whinlatter forest and doing proper mountain bike trails. I wasn’t aware of Whinlatter until then but had loved Grizedale previously, so it was a no-brainer for me.

After another hour-long drive, we picked up a couple of nice Cube hardtails for three hours and did the North loop of the Altura Trail (graded red / “difficult”, 9.5km) in 1-1.5 hours followed by the Quercus trail (blue / “moderate”, 7.5km) in less than an hour. I would have loved to have done the Altura South loop too but we didn’t have time, and I think Bertie – being less keen and confident than me (but probably equally skilled) – had had enough of expecting to die at any second. He was back in my good books as I loved it so much – long, fast, swooping sections of singletrack, tricky technical sections and berms to die for. That’ll be another post too, and I’ve sworn to return to the South loop.

That evening we walked to the Yewdale Inn at Coniston, ate pizza (which I highly recommend, generous amount of cheese) and drank cider while England lost to Belgium.

 

Friday 29 June

On Friday morning we packed up, got some barbecue food for lunch and took the kayak out on Coniston Water. Once again, the sun was blaring down and it was so peaceful; there was barely anyone else on the water. We stopped at Peel Island, which could have been straight out of a holiday brochure; leafy, rocky and surrounded by clear water. I swam around, not thinking of the Coniston pike I’d google imaged that morning.

We left and paddled back under a clear blue sky, surrounded by forests and mountains. It was surprisingly hard work against the breeze and we were starving. Eventually we got back to the beach, barbecued sausages and burgers, read for a while and went for a swim around the clear water. It was warm in the still shallows, but it was such a hot day that the cooler, deeper water was a relief. It shelved steeply and I came across a few small perch. The algae-covered stones were really slippery, and being naturally un-graceful I fell over and cut my leg. Dignity shattered, I dragged myself away from the water and packed up sadly.

The drive home was uneventful; we left about 5.30pm, had a meal deal at Preston and otherwise only stopped at Warwick Services, arriving home in Winchester just before 1am (thanks to loads of 50mph limits and a partially closed A34). We were up quite early on Saturday and spent the day enjoying our annual charity golf competition but already missing the North. We’d been blessed with mid-twenties to early-thirty degree heat the whole time, did loads of activities (the only disappointment was that I ran out of time for bouldering) and saw a lot of the Lake District under clear blue skies. I can’t wait to return.

 

 

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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.

 

Brecon Beacons: 3 Days, 4 Waterfalls, 5 Mountains — Day 2

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I was up with the sun and raring to hit the mountains, but the weather had other ideas. It would  have been do-able in the wet, but I was interested in visibility more than anything and my Met Office app told me it was due to clear in the afternoon. I’ve been up Pen y Fan in the fog before and done enough beautiful mountains in poor conditions to barely differentiate between them, so I fancied taking the chance to appreciate the scenery.

I’d found out that Brecon had a cathedral and I’m interested in historic buildings (don’t tell my cool friends) so we killed some time wandering round there, then found a pretty, wooded walk by the river. I’d expected (and half-remembered) Brecon to be a bustling, outdoorsy hub like the Fort William of the Highlands or the Betwys-y-Coed of Snowdonia, but it was fairly quiet on Saturday night and totally dead on Sunday morning.

Given the saving we made on dinner the previous evening (see Day 1’s post), we returned to Wetherspoons for breakfast and route-planning. I picked a circular route based very roughly on one described in an outdoorsey magazine that started at one of the car parks in Taf Fechan forest and encompassed the “Big Four” peaks: Fan y Big (719m), Cribyn (795m), Pen y Fan (886m) and Corn Du (873m). It’s an interesting area, geographically speaking: a big, semi-circular ridge linked to six smaller, semi-circular ridges, each with sweeping, sloped sides and long, smooth spines. If anyone ever wants to talk about maps and landforms I’m just a geeky message away.

On the way there it p***** it down and I thought of all the waterproof clothing I didn’t want to wear, but as we drove uphill and into the forest it eased and we were enveloped in thick, blinding fog. We set off in waterproofs but didn’t need them. The first part of the walk took us up a cycle path and along a bit of road. We turned up a steep, rocky footpath past some misty waterfalls, which plateaued onto a foggy, steep-sided ridge. Although we were on the Beacons Way, the route turned off the path and (according to the map) across an open area of land with just “pile of stones” and “stones” marked to prevent us wandering into the middle of nowhere.

Fortunately it was quite easy to follow and we ended up along Craig Cwmoergwm, headed towards peak number one – Fan y Big (behave). Unfortunately we missed the path that led straight there and ended up skirting along the side. After realising we were heading downhill when we should be going up, a quick map check revealed we’d taken a parallel path that took us past the peak; a few paths converged at Bwlch ar y Fan, so we decided to carry on and take a different path up from the other side.

We had jam sandwiches and salad (pre-prepared and super pretentious: quinoa, avocado, beetroot – you get the idea, but mega-nutritious) where the paths met, just as the sun was breaking through. Turning back on ourselves we took the short, steep path up Fan y Big, past a sluggish DofE/cadet group, and only recognised the summit by a distinctive, diving board-esque ledge we’d seen in a photo and a small, easily-missable metal plaque engraved with a picture of some hikers. We admired the smooth U-shaped valley, the river nestled between its shoulders and the long, sweeping sides of Bryn Teg ridge opposite, then realised we were being eaten by nasty black flies and turned back down the steep path.

When we were halfway down, the loud, bleak caw of a couple of ravens reverberated around the valley, so when they landed on the opposite ridge I ran off to take photos. I’d forgotten how large, wild and impressive these fairytale-villain birds are; they cruised and swooped around the valley like majestic, jet-black rangers who didn’t want to be photographed.

Next up (and I mean very up) was Cribyn. Standing opposite Fan y Big, this sharp ascent was the toughest of the route. We powered up earthy footholds that had been toe-punted into the steep side, taking short, aggressive steps and settling into steady, silent rhythms. At the top there was sadly no trig point, and we were sadly attacked once again by hundreds of bitey little f***flies so we didn’t hang about. We didn’t miss the view as we’d wandered into cloud almost as soon as we left the trough of the valley.

We headed to the left and downhill, along the long, steep path between Cribyn and Pen y Fan that follows the curve of another horseshoe ridge. No navigation was necessary, so as soon as we descended below the cloud we could enjoy the sun and the rich, springtime green of the surrounding landscape. What seemed like the “main” valley was to our left, broad, long and shouldered by the horseshoe ridges of Fan y Big & co on one side and a long, straight ridge – Craig Gwaun Taf – on the other.  The glassy water of Lower Neuadd Reservoir was nestled in the valley’s wide, smooth trough, and the black pines of Taf Fechan forest seemed to mark the distant end of the long basin. In contrast, the valley to our right was shrouded in cloud, which crept towards us but was driven upwards in a towering, misty wall by the protective sides of Cribyn.

The adjoining sides of Cribyn and Pen y Fan are like a giant’s half pipe skate ramp, smooth and gently curved. The path is rocky and (in my opinion) easier to climb up than down. Approaching Pen y Fan from the Cribyn path, the last section is a half-scramble up some steep rocks before popping up onto the plateaued summit to surprise the mass of “tourists” who had ambled up from the Storey Arms car park via the heavily-trodden, straight-up-straight-back-down route.

Once again, the summit was swarming with f***flies. I don’t know why but they only seemed to hang about right at the very tops of the mountains. They’re jet black, chunkier than mosquitos and live on a diet of human. A couple of obligatory summit photos later we were keen to get away from flies and people, so headed along the busy ridge at the “head”  of the valley to Corn Du. The section between Pen y Fan and Corn Du is so short and relatively flat that it seems like cheating to count it as the fourth summit, but it’s marked on the OS map so I’ll take it. Again, too many flies/people meant we didn’t hang about for long, so we hit the long, straight ridge of Craig Gwaun Taf (or Rhiw yr Ysgyfarnog?) that lies on the opposite side of the valley to Fan y Big & co.

This was one of my favourite parts of the walk. We came across four people in about an hour (a fell runner, a photographer and a hiking couple with a dog – more my kind of people), ate more jam sandwiches, the sun broke through, we’d escaped the day’s fog and the views were magnificent. The path runs along the top edge of the ridge so I could really enjoy the panorama; the long U-shaped valley that I’ve waffled on about was on the left, cradling its reservoir, opening out onto swathes of dark green-black forest and sided by the foggily elusive horseshoe peaks. A meandering, river-veined valley was on the right, the gracefully sweeping sides of the ridge were ahead and brothers Pen y Fan and Corn Du watched over the valley from behind. All around, the distance was filled with gentler hills, blacker forests and grassy, green-yellow plains.

We eventually came to the steep “footpath” that cut left down the side of the ridge and back towards the car park. From a distance it looked more like a steep rockfall than a path, but we made it down and into the belly of the valley. We walked past the half-drained Lower Neuadd Reservoir, which was surreal as it was bordered with bright pink rhododendrons and some unknown shrub with vibrant yellow flowers. The air was as still as anything, not a soul was in sight and a derelict dark stone building on the edge gave the place a Call of Duty-esque eeriness, but it was equally serene and beautiful. The late afternoon sun highlighted the tall pines against the distinctive blue silhouette of Pen y Fan, the bushes were every shade of green and the water remaining in the reservoir was black and as smooth as glass. The only sound we’d heard all afternoon – beyond our own voices, the scuffing of walking boots and the click of my camera – was birdsong; not one road or aeroplane.

The track back to the car park was lined by trees and rugged sheep fields. Sitting down and de-booting after a day’s hiking was (as always) wonderful. It was about 7pm and my head was swimming with the thought of pub grub and a pint, so after a brief and picturesque goose chase (we accidentally found ourselves in a Thai restaurant disguised a pub, still in hiking gear – we realised we made a mistake when the waitress lit a candle) we ended up at the Three Horseshoes near the campsite. The steak and ale pie and cider went down way better than the bar karaoke, and I slept like a log. Little did I know that the following day I’d play around in waterfalls and get lost on Lord Hereford’s Knob… Day 3 to follow!

Mapmywalk reckons we did 19.4km in 4 hours 18 minutes, if anyone is interested. Google / walking forums said that similar routes take about 6 hours, but we do maintain a decent steady pace so I wouldn’t say they’re necessarily wrong. Generally we walk briskly but were by no means rushing – I often faffed around taking photos, having a snack or admiring some bit of nature. I have a feeling the app might take that into account, as it felt like we were out longer. Fitbit reckons I did 35,773 steps.35151289_10216632388587715_7897664822563569664_n

Parkrun #1 (and why you should try it)

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I thought I was relatively fit until this morning. I haven’t ran for 5-6 weeks due to injury (see Too Much Too Soon) and my leg was okay tramping round the Brecon Beacons last weekend, so I figured it’s time to get back to Ultramarathon training. I headed down to Winchester Parkrun for 9am, expecting a casual 5k bimble alongside gentle, chatting joggers enjoying a spot of exercise before coffee and brunch.

That was a misconception. There were easily 400ish people milling around in parkrun t-shirts, running club vests and colourful sports kit, talking, grinning and looking (almost uncannily) delighted to be there. I asked a marshall how it works and he explained that everyone will set off together, run around the fields a couple of times and collect a token at the finish line that gets scanned with the barcode I’d printed out at home. A nice, straightforward setup.

After a speech and a few rounds of applause (John’s 100th parkrun, welcome Bruce from Sydney etc) a whistle went and the colourful mass swarmed off. There were pacers in orange high vis vests; on my own I’d usually do 5k in about 25mins, so I thought I’d push it and stick as close to the 23min pacer as possible.

Having not run for a while, I felt so good at first that I sped off like a gazelle (or so I thought), overtaking lots of people – including Mr 23mins. I had a lovely time for about a mile, then I realised I’d been way too optimistic. My legs started feeling heavy, I started getting overtaken and couldn’t settle my breathing into a steady rhythm. Exactly what I deserved for flying off at an unprecedented pace on my first run back from injury, and as usual I knew I only had myself to blame. I felt less gazelle, more moose.

Mr 23mins glided past me as I sweated and puffed away, wondering why on earth I ever thought taking up running was a good idea. The next mile dragged, and it only started getting easier as I turned the final corner towards the finish line. Annoyingly I’ve often found that it takes a few miles before I can get into a rhythm, so the run was practically over by the time my breathing started to settle. I crossed the finish line, collected my token and stretched my leg (which barely twinged!) among the still-grinning, sweaty, colourful finishers.

My Nike Run app says I did 5.5k in 23:55, averaging a pace of 4:21 per km. That’s 5k in 21:52, which I’m pleased with, and it would explain why I struggled, given that I usually stick to a fairly relaxed 5min/km. That made me feel better. Parkrun’s results say I was the 11th female out of 153 and 1st in my age group, which gave me another boost. But given the tens of people ahead of me I’m still not quite happy, so I’ll be squeezing some training in alongside exams and assignments (which I should be doing instead of writing this) – and I’ll definitely be back!

It was extremely well organised and the volunteer support was incredible. The marshalls were really positive and helpful, the token system ran smoothly despite the huge volume of runners and I was e-mailed and texted with my results within a couple of hours. It made me realise just how fortunate I am to be able to take part in such a community-led, efficiently organised and fitness-oriented… event? thing? phenomenon?… for free.

What struck me most was that despite the incredible diversity – small children, grandparents, teenagers, pram-pushers, dog-draggers, lean, muscly, round, tall, tiny, black, white, two-legged, one-legged, no-legged – everyone wore huge, ear-to-ear, idiot grins (including me, I realised at the end). I heard countless words of encouragement, cheers from onlookers and just a little bit of friendly competition – not a hint of hostility.

It was a lovely feeling, being amidst this huge, supportive community. Having experienced my first taste of parkrun, I’d urge anyone – and I mean literally anyone, no matter how unfit you think you are – to get up on Saturday morning and give it a go. I get the feeling that running is just a part of it.