Tag: run

71 Miles Later: Great Glen Ultra

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This was the hardest day of my life. It started at 9pm on Friday on a coach full of ultrarunners.

*After-note: I didn’t intend this to be a long post, but the flashbacks returned as I wrote. At least it reflects the slow-drip torture of a 71-mile run…*

The journey from Inverness to Fort William took nearly three hours and I didn’t get a minute of sleep thanks to conversations about running and Scotland (two things that keep me sane), pre-run excitement and a beautiful sunset over Loch Ness. At FW we bundled into a village hall where I did the registration admin, faffed about and attempted to sleep behind the stage curtain. Again I was unsuccessful, this time due to the unforgivingly cold, hard floor, blasé babble of seasoned runners and absurd consciousness of the strangers laying around me.

During the race brief I noted that the average age of the headtorch and buff-clad runners was probably about 50. After last year’s 50-miler this didn’t fill me with confidence – as far as ultrarunning is concerned, age seems to be a virtue. We shuffled our way into the cool, black Highland air and started the run at 1am.

Mile 0-7: Canal, boredom

I thought that darkness, excitement and running in a big pack would make the first part fly by. I was wrong. This section went along a long stretch of canal, which meant that it was flat, even and monotonous – my worst nightmare. I wasn’t used to running that slowly (about 10-10.5mins/mile), my legs felt heavy, I couldn’t shake off heartburn, my right calf felt tight already and I was conscious of every footstep around me. The only scenery was the heels of the runners in front of me, lit by my headtorch as I chased my own shadow.

Mile 7-11: Trail, the only fun I had that day

The route crossed the canal and thankfully took me along an enjoyable section of rooty forest singletrack. I paced myself on the person in front of me and focused on the twisty, undulating path through trees and ferns, trying not to be too jealous of a group of bemused, beer-drinking, fire-poking lochside campers. The first checkpoint was a bit further on than I expected, and I grabbed my first dropbag without stopping. Jelly snake number one perked me up a little. Heartburn persisted.

Mile 11-20: Gravel, pain

I was acutely aware that I’d already been in pain for a while, mainly in my right calf but also general discomfort everywhere else from padding along the boringly samey surface. This section was a long drag along wide, pine forest-lined gravel tracks which rollercoastered up and down along the north bank of imaginatively named Loch Lochy, whose still, black water crept into view below high braes as the sun made its reluctant way up. Heartburn persisted.

Mile 20-27: Forest, regret

At checkpoint two I grabbed my drop bag and carried on, fuelled by a second jelly snake and a pocketful of nuts and dried fruit. My memory of this section is a bit hazy, I just remember hating everything. I think the path changed from gravel to muddyish dirt to road to hilly forest track. Heartburn was overtaken by general pain.

Mile 27-32: Lochs, hopelessness

I remember the miles before checkpoint three vividly. A flat, straight gravel section that ran along Laggan Lochs and Loch Oich and stretched endlessly into the distance. As a trailrunner who loves uneven terrain and doesn’t want to be able to see more than a few feet in front at a time, I hated every step and every breath. Given how I felt, the thought of making even 40 miles was hopeless. The runners had strung out a long way apart by this point, and I didn’t see another person for a long, long time.

After what felt like forever I reached checkpoint three. I was glad for the company and the snacks, but the midges were relentless, every part of my legs hurt already and I was grumpy.

Mile 32-54: Mountains, under-appreciation

I stopped shortly after checkpoint three to plaster a blister that I’d ignored for way too long, which had all but destroyed a little toe. Blisters became my biggest issue, which was frustrating as they didn’t bother me at all during last year’s 50-miler, and although superficial they’re debilitatingly painful. I checked my distance way too often and tried to block out the pain of every step.

These long miles along “the high road” were unenjoyable and kind of blurry in my memory, so I’m definitely not doing the scenery justice. I think this was the most varied, wild and beautiful bit, but I’ve never appreciated such a stunning place less. The trail became undulating and twisty, through lush green forest, hillside heathland overlooking vast Loch Ness with its mountainous backdroup, more green forest, and past the golden fields of huge, sprawling farms.

I was pleased to make 50 miles, given how much I was struggling, and at checkpoint 6 I thought about how I could throw in the towel satisfied in the knowledge that I’d run further than ever before. But I could still walk, so I knew that I couldn’t live with myself if I gave up, and I limped along a few miles of Drumnadrochit pavement towards what would be the hardest few hours of my life to date.

Miles 54-62: Forest, torture

The road out of the town was long, straight and boring, and even a jelly snake did little to lift my spirits. Then came the woods and the hallucinations. The sun shone patchily through the tall, dark pines and I think the woods were beautiful, but everything was eerily still. Shadows moved around in my peripheral vision, and I saw all kinds of animals. I’ve never properly hallucinated before and I was amazed at how real they were – at one point I was totally convinced there was a baby hare on the path, which turned out to be a bramble, and I saw lions, bears, dogs… etc. I decided that if a forest demon came to snatch me away, I’d be glad for it as I could stop running.

The steep, pine-wooded section turned into a long, undulating few miles of gravel track edged by dense firs and desolate heathland. Painfully conscious that I still had ten miles to go, I tried singing to myself in a desperate attempt to conquer the suffocating feeling of loneliness, futility and despair. I passed a murky, black pond and had to tell myself that the white, bloated face I saw in it (a la Lord of the Rings, Two Towers, the dead marshes) wasn’t real. That was the least “cool” hallucination.

Miles 62-66: More forest, more torture

A lot more agony later and I limped into checkpoint six, grateful (for once) for human interaction, a bag of soggy nuts and my final jelly snake. The midges were out in full force so I didn’t hang around, and I left for the final and most agonisingly painful few miles of my life.

Shortly after the checkpoint the path took me through a dense, low tunnel of trees and past the creepiest café I’ve ever seen. It was tucked away and signposted with eerily bright, scruffy, handmade signs – despite the pain I had to stop and take a picture:

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Then there was a road section that went on and on, surrounded by countryside which seemed very desolate under the dark grey sky. The race organisers had kindly spray-painted “the never-ending forest” on the road to inform distraught runners that the worst was yet to come. Eventually it did, and road turned into heathery moorland, which turned gradually into tall, dark, dense pine forest.

Miles 66-71: Despair

These were the worst few hours of my life, despite passing a red deer and a red squirrel with a blonde tail (I have blurry photo evidence). I slowed to a walk because my hip flexors had become so tight and painful that they rebelled and refused to let me lift my legs, my feet were on fire, my joints felt shot to pieces and every muscle in my legs had all but seized up. For most of the race my pace was okay, until it wasn’t. By this point I probably averaged 18-20 minutes/mile.

My phone died along with my love for life, although I didn’t regret saving my last scrap of battery for a photo of a squirrel over a potentially life-saving phone call. I checked my Garmin obsessively and experienced something entirely new and unexpected – tears of hopelessness, desperation and agony streamed down my face.

The trees thickened and closed in on me in a crushingly dark, straight tunnel. Then came the creepiest hallucination yet: a tall, slim man in a grey suit with a Donnie Darko-esque rabbit’s head at about mile 68, who turned out to be a tree. I’ve never moved so agonisingly slowly in my life, or felt more helpless.

I genuinely considered collapsing and waiting for someone to find me, and thought that if I died first I’d be happy that I put in 100% and the pain would stop. Then I felt light-headed, sick and dizzy, wondered if I was going into shock, and dug around in my bag for my emergency energy gel. I couldn’t find it (later on I found it easily) so stuffed a handful of salted cashews and dried fruit into my mouth and forced myself to carry on.

I don’t know how I got through that forest, but after what felt like a lifetime I dragged myself out and found myself overlooking Inverness. The Proclaimers were playing right next to the stadium at the finish line (where the bus left from the previous night) and I could hear them. Encouraged, I carried on and descended unbelievably slowly to the town, resisting the urge to beg the 70-something year old runner who jogged past me for help.

I’ve never been so relieved to see concrete and tarmac, but was soon devastated by the realisation that the finish was still a mile away. I peeled off shoes, socks and (inadvertently) skin and shuffled into the flipflops I’d been carrying since Drumnadrochit. Garmin died. Another runner caught me up and I could see the pity in his eyes as he stopped and talked to me as I shuffled along the pavement, inch by inch. I dramatically insisted that he leave me, and as he went off a pedestrian actually offered to get his car and drive me to the finish line – that’s how near-death I looked (and felt).

I think some more runners passed me but I can’t really remember, and eventually the last one caught me up, accompanied by the two “sweepers” appointed to run with the last runner. One sweeper stayed with me as I shuffled along pavement, hedge-lined path and along the final, impossibly painful section of straight, flat, boring canal, while the other overtook.

After yet another lifetime we reached the stadium. I was relieved beyond words, in unbearable pain and incredibly embarrassed by all the people waiting to cheer the last runner round the three-quarter lap of the running track – compulsory and something to do with Scottish ultra rules. Somehow I made it round, moving like someone who’d never walked before and fuelled by desperation for the embarrassment and the pain to stop, and stumbled agonisingly over the finish line. In last place.

I’m probably the most competitive person on the planet (thanks to my wind-up merchant of a father) and I didn’t even care. I’d felt such extreme pain, frustration, hopelessness, desperation, loneliness and exhaustion that I was just numb; I felt a vague sense of happiness and relief, but I was too physically, mentally and emotionally tired to really feel anything.

Conclusion

This couldn’t have been more different from last year’s 50-mile Peak District ultra. The terrain was more even, less undulating and less twisty. The weather was overwhelmingly grey, unpleasantly humid and occasionally drizzly. I didn’t really make friends to run with – last year I was convinced that was what got me over the finish line. I’ve never seen so few people over such a long distance or felt such crushing loneliness. There were fewer checkpoints, lots of dark forest, hideously long, straight flat sections and the infamous Scottish midges. I got blisters quite quickly, whereas last year I somehow avoided them. Running always come with peaks and troughs, but the peaks made up 5% of the race and the troughs 95%. Basically, every aspect of the race was shit. Apart from the jelly snakes.

Yet somehow I don’t think it’ll be the last race in my remarkably un-illustrious ultrarunning career.

My Latest Scheme: 5k-a-day

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It’s been two months since my ultramarathon and I’m bored. I haven’t really been running due to injury – first there was the post-ultra knee problem, which seemed to clear itself up (mostly) so I ran a half marathon. Then I’m 99.999% certain I cracked a rib playing rugby – moving/breathing heavily hurt for a couple of weeks, so I returned to wallowing in self pity. So being a bit twitchy and even more restless than usual, today I decided to start a new mini-challenge: I want to run 5k a day, indefinitely.

Having somehow completed the 50mile (80km) ultra, 5k feels like a silly little distance. However, I’m working on convincing myself that it’s a nice distance because it’s so manageable. It only takes 25 minutes (or that’s the target, at least..!) so it’s not really a chore and it fits easily in at any time of day.

Also, it gives my “fitness regime” (sounds WAY more impressive than it is) some kind of structure; I’ve always liked the thought of being a planner, but when it comes to actually planning stuff it turns out I’m naturally more of a “turn up and wing it” kind of person. I go to the gym fairly often, but I’m a bit scrappy – I might go five times one week and not at all the next, and I haven’t followed a plan since doing less weights work and more cardio. Same with running.

So by forcing a set distance within a set timeframe upon myself, I hope to ease myself into some kind of routine. I’d also like to get better at running and by doing 5k regularly I hope to see tangible results in a) the time, and b) the effort that it takes.

I say 5k a day, but if I miss a day (I have been afflicted by the occasional hangover in the past) I won’t beat myself up as long as I make 35k each week, and I’ll definitely accommodate longer runs too. Believe it or not I intend to do more ultramarathons…

The other major motivation behind this idea is that I’d like to get others out running too, and 5k is a good starting distance. Running with other people helps massively with motivation and is a fun (I promise) social activity, plus it helps keep your friends healthy, alive and – in my case – less neglected (there are lots of people I don’t see nearly as often as I’d like!).

So if anyone would like to join me for any 5k excursions I’d be delighted with the company, and I’m happy to travel about to try different routes. If you slow me down I’ll be glad to go at your pace – I get sick of beating myself up, and all that really matters is getting the miles in. If I slow you down please feel free to run off and get a pint in ready for me at the end… a cold cider will rarely go amiss 😉

Today’s run… 5k number one

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

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!

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

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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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.

Time to ditch our running shoes?

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In Christopher McDougall’s Born to Run, a guy called Barefoot Ted swears by running with minimal foot protection and it kind of makes sense. Our feet evolved over millions of years to transport us everywhere, and we’ve have been running the entire time. Da Vinci called the foot “a masterpiece of engineering and a work of art”, and McDougall compares it to a complex, super-strong suspension bridge. It has 26 bones, 33 joints, 107 ligaments, 19 muscles and some tendons (thanks Google). Thousands of nerve endings make the feet mega-sensitive to stimuli (hence they’re ticklish).

 

Such acute responsiveness to pain taught our ancestors to run the way evolution intended, not the way running trainers enable us to. In contrast with the super-long-term evolution of the foot, the cushioned, supportive, “corrective” running shoe has been around less than a century. 80% of trainer-clad runners strike the ground heel first, whereas we naturally run with a forefoot strike – as illustrated by the Tarahumara running people of Mexico and other runners from non-Westernised cultures. Try it; the impact on the uncushioned heel makes it too painful on the foot and the shock shoots up the lower leg, jarring the knee.

 

McDougall is critical of the corporate giants pushing the latest state-of-the-art, mega-cushioned, super-corrective miracle running shoes on unwitting consumers (I’m guilty as charged). He points out that the best tried-and-tested models are often pulled from shelves to encourage runners to stockpile favourite shoes, and that there’s always some brand new “technology” to entice buyers with its promise of easier runs and faster times. Not to mention any names, Nike (again, guilty as charged), but the big names definitely have a vested interest in convincing us success comes from the purse.

 

McDougall describes how a top running coach at some American university experimented on his runners. He bought one group top-of-the-range, big bucks, high-tech running shoes and another group cheap, minimalist trainers. He found that the expensive shoes caused the runners to tire quicker and suffer more injuries than the cheapie ones. Similarly, another running  expert advocated the use of worn out, battered old shoes that  had lost much of their spring over brand new trainers. Hmmm.

 

Born to Run highlights the lack of injuries suffered by native runners with minimal or no footwear. It suggests that joint problems associated with repetitive pavement-pounding are more likely to be caused by the poor technique and unnatural gait which result from the over-compensation and over-protection of modern trainers. Constant support, particularly under the arch of the foot, weakens the soft tissue as it’s no longer needed to do its load-bearing job.

 

Running shoes enable us to run faster and further than our bare feet would, and prevent us feeling the pain that we evolved precisely to respond to. It’s easy to run too much in trainers, particularly when beginning a training programme as I recently have. The cushioning prevents our feet telling us when enough is enough, so our joints, muscles, tendons and ligaments end up absorbing way more shock than they’re accustomed to, resulting in injury.

 

I tried running barefoot on the treadmill and was amazed at the difference. My arches ached very quickly and my feet were much more sensitive to what was underneath them; I trod really lightly and much slower than usual. It’s the sort of thing you’d have to build up really slowly (remember that our ancestors started building up shoeless foot strength and tough soles since they learnt to walk) but I imagine it’s really liberating once you get there.

 

So perhaps trainers weaken our feet and make us run wrong. Perhaps they don’t. I just wanted to write about this because I found it really interesting. All in all, I won’t be ditching my Nike Pegasus Air Zooms just yet but I do plan to invest in some of the funny-looking five-toed running shoes that act as a second skin (once I find some money) to give barefoot running a go. I’m by no means an expert in anything foot, running or anatomy-related, but the barefoot theory seems logical to my keen little brain, and I could do with saving a small fortune on my next pair of shoes.

Too Much Too Soon

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These four words sum up my life. I’ve always had a propensity to jump into things headfirst, blindfolded, at the deep end, hands tied behind my back. In 2008 I went on a bike ride, decided I loved mountain biking and (aged 13) saved up about £550 for my trusty Specialized Rockhopper. Then I spent £60 on a full face helmet. Within 6 months I rode down the steepest side of the steepest hill I could get to, resulting in an irreparably buckled wheel – a further £60.

 

I think I’ve done it again. After my last naively optimistic post, which gushed about how I’d fallen in love with running and run almost 40 miles in 5 days, I semi-rested on Friday, Saturday and Sunday. On Sunday I walked 7.5miles around the New Forest (in flip flops, of course) and noticed a sharp, twanging pain shoot occasionally through the inside of my left shin. I had noticed a slight ache on last Thursday’s 9-mile run but thought nothing of it.

 

Yesterday I went for a gentle run and noticed it hurt about half a mile in; I applied my normal “rugby attitude” and decided to “run it off”. I only intended to do 2-3miles but the pain went away and I felt great so I did 6. Fitness-wise I felt unstoppable but knew I should turn towards home when it started to hurt again at about mile 4.5; I realised I had altered my gait to compensate for the pain.

 

Google helped me self-diagnose shin splints but I’m not 100% sure it’s that. I’m quite surprised as I’m a forefoot runner – the ball of my foot hits the ground first – and from what I’ve read most runners are “heel strikers”, which places more stress on the legs as the foot doesn’t absorb the shock. Also I’ve always done a lot of sport, run roughly every 2-3 weeks, go to the gym three times weekly and play rugby most weeks, so I thought I’d be fit and strong enough to not pick up a silly injury so soon.

 

The pain is bearable at the mo and I’m desperate to run it off, but I’m terrified of making it worse and having to rest properly. I’ve bought compression socks, kinesiology tape and ordered insoles (instead of paying uni fees) and I’m weirdly excited to try them out.

 

I’m concerned for the sake of my ultramarathon training, rugby-playing and general hyperactivity, so if anyone would like to offer help, advice or shin splint-related services please get in touch, Facebook has proved invaluable already. Just one proviso – if you’re going to tell me to rest, do it as last-resort-advice and please break it to me gently. And mention the words “stress fracture” at your own peril. #prayfornay