The Recce Weekend- the Artic one

As is now tradition, a group of us (this year, Alan, Tara, and myself) go out for a weekend in March to recce the LDWA 100 route. Although this year none of us are actually running the event itself ( The Cinque Ports 100 ) the recce is as much of a fixture for us as the proper event, and so last weekend, along with an extra participant - the Beast from the East (more on him later) - we set out.…

Well, it's not much later, but there's an opportunity here to complain about the weather, so I'm immediately going to take this up, and begin with a good long section about the Beast from the East (hereby known as the BFTE). There had been at least a week of mild weather in London leading up to the weekend. I'd vaguely noticed on the news some references that the BFTE was briefly going to return over the weekend, but the weather felt so mild that I didn't really believe it. As the weekend got closer and more people started talking about the return of the 'cold snap' I started to become more observant to the weather forecast, gradually checking it ever more frequently, working up to obsessively, spending Friday alternately glued to BBC Weather and the Met Office, switching allegiance depending upon which looked less bad. They both looked pretty terrible. But it was still so mild, I could hardly believe the BFTE would be back by the morning. It all seemed like a great deal of fuss about nothing.

I got up at 06:00 on Saturday, and peeked around the corner of the curtain. There it was! The Beast! In all it's blizzardy greatness! I spent a lot of time spent faffing around, looking at the snow, at the weather forecast, and changing outfit a few times. Too many clothes? Not enough? Waterproof, or extra warmth? I eventually decided on wearing pretty much all of my running kit at once, to cover all options, and by this time was late setting off, so ended up running the 3 miles to St Pancras so as not to miss the train.

On the train, with a nice hot cup of coffee, sat quite still (my movement hampered somewhat by the several jackets I was wearing), and looking out the window at the pretty snowy fields, it didn’t seem so bad. How pretty the snow looks! At Ashford, I met up with Alan and Tara, and the recce team was complete. At Appledore, we hopped off the train, and started wistfully at it as it headed off into the distance, abandoning us in midst of the BFTE and the middle of nowhere. That was that - nothing for it now, the recce had begun! The plan was 33 miles today (sections 6 - 10 of the route), and 38 miles tomorrow (section 11 to the end).

We ran the first mile into Appledore village and picked up the route, which went right past a perfect little tea shop, with a waft of perfect homemade cake, and perfectly happy people sat behind the perfect chequered curtains in the warm. There was the murmur of some dissension in the ranks, with certain members of the group (definitely not me) suggesting that perhaps a tea shop (and this tea shop in particular) may be more genteel way to spend the morning, rather than battling the snow which at almost the same moment we stepped off the train, had started to blow horizontally. Route Master Alan was having none of this nonsense, and off we ploughed (keep tuned for more on ploughing), head first into the blizzard….

...and the longest section of the route. My parents are doing the actual event, and so I have promised to give them a true and accurate feedback of the route, and so to make things logical I shall refer to the sections as they appear on the actual route description for the event. This was Section 6 – 10 miles from Appledore to Lydd. It was pretty monotonous – the snow coming sideways, over what seemed like field after field, after field, after field..... I genuinely had no idea there were so many fields that looked the same down here. The route description kept mentioning 'sewers’ which I initially found quite alarming, but soon happily realised this is just a quaint Kent word to describe ditches. The 10 miles passed with field, blizzard, sewer, foot bridge over sewer into next field, a few minutes of complaining about four previous points, and then repeat over and over, for a couple of hours, with a few sheep thrown in for good measure. I'm sure sheep are becoming more assertive. I remember they used to run off as they saw you coming, now they march right over at look at you with an accusing stare:

Towards the end of the section, we came across a cow trough in a field which the route description confidently stated had a tap with mains water. Hurrah! I had noticed on the train that my water bottle had leaked. Inside my bag. Fabulous. So as well as damp things, I had also been running low on water, and as always when low on water, had been feeling thirsty, and here was a solution! We turned on the tap and some thick brown liquid came out. Cow poo water. Abruptly, my thirst subsided.

I promised to talk some more about ploughing, and soon we came upon a different variation of field, a ploughed field!

Threats were made to repeats last years ‘A-Z of route description words’ but this time for fields, but we were soon saved by arriving in Lydd, the end of the first section.

An impromtu checkpoint was created, sheltered behind a hedge in a cemetery, where we tried quickly to eat some high energy snacks, which was a challenge, as they were partly frozen.

Partly re-fuelled, but now chilled from stopping, we continued on through section 7, which was a quick 5km from Lydd to New Romney, and things continued in much the same vein, but with an airport and golf course thrown in for good measure. New Romney was a delightful little town, and excitingly had some public toilets, which were exciting because 1) I needed a wee from the cold, and 2) they had a hand dryer, which blew out air which although not hot, was not as cold as the actual air.

So on to section 8, which I shall never forget as long as I live. A quick scan of the route description, and 4.5 miles from New Romney to Dymchurch seemed like it would be a breeze (an unfortunate choice of word, as it turns out). The first couple of miles were inland, mostly road running, until we arrived at the sea. The sea! The 100 route has been designed around the Cinque Ports (a historic series of coastal towns in Kent and Sussex, formed for military and trade purposes) and so I figured a lot of it would be along the coast. I love coast running, so was looking forward to this, and finally, after miles and miles of fields, we were at the sea! It wasn’t quite as I imagined. We ran up to join the promenade at the exact point that a giant dog poo bin was situated, and turned left. And then did not move any further. The BFTE was blowing a howling gale from the eastwards direction, which I suppose is logical, given it’s name. The only trouble being, the next point of the route description instructed to “continue 2.6 miles on concrete promenade to Dymchurch” in a due east direction. The sea was crashing around, the BFTE was doing its utmost to blow us backwards, the sand was covered in snow.... 

                           

...I reached my low point of the weekend, and stayed there for 2.6 miles.

After what felt like an age, we arrived in Dymchurch, where we dived into the local Tesco to procure some sustenance. A picnic followed, sheltered beneath the porch of a rather sorry looking beach shop with a couple of forlorn looking buckets and spades swaying about in the winds. Following the picnic, another toilet/ shelter inside under hand dryer stop was scheduled, before we all manned up and faced the fact we had to go back into the storm, for section 9 - 8.9 miles from Dymchurch to Hythe.

But lo! After a short section crossing the Romney Hythe and Dymchurch steam railway (with a train right on cue), the route description began harking back to talking about fields and footbridges. After stating just a few short hours ago that I never wished to run over a field again, I had never been so glad to get away from the coast and see a field in all its flat and boring glory. The fields carried on for a few miles, then two exciting things happened at once. One: a vertical bog. Two: hyenas. Yes, you read that right. Hyenas in Kent! Happily, they were behind some fairly sturdy looking fences, securely enclosed within the bounds of Port Lympne Wildlife Park. Although on a closer look, the fences didn’t look that sturdy. At over 50 miles in to the proper event, I could imagine the hyenas gradually becoming aware of the increased foot traffic passing their enclosure. Tired feet slowly slipping and sliding up the vertical bog just a few inches away from the hyenas noses… well, if ever there was an incentive to get up a hill quickly, a hungry hyena eying you up has got to be it.

Elated for making it to the top 1) without sliding back down the bog to the bottom, and 2) escaping he hyenas hungry, slobbery, and downright unpleasant stares, we were rewarded by the first real view for the day, and spent a few minutes taking it all in. It was really quite pretty up here. Beautiful in fact in the snow. A camera moment was declared:

 

From there on in the route became more interesting. We passed a castle (Lympne Castle), woods covered in a sprinkling of snow...

and then into Hythe, a charming town, where we upgraded our checkpoint facilities to a bench underneath the upper story of the Town Hall. 

Restored, we set out on out final leg for the day, 5.9 miles from Hythe to Folkstone. We were even on schedule, a statement not usually uttered on a recce weekend, and on track for a finish before sunset. This section included a (very) short bit along the Royal Military Canal...

...a hill, a house called Pickle Lodge (should have brought some cheese), woods....

...more hills, Martello Towers, and alarmingly, no less than three danger alerts “Care – flying gold balls”, “ MoD Danger” (yikes), and “Dangerous site, keep out”. We hurried through so as to avoid potential disasters, we soon arrived at Sandgate, where we returned to the seafront where the wind was still howling a gale and seemed just as determined as it had earlier to blow us backwards right back to where we started. But bouyed by the thought of a hot shower, lashings of hot tea, and a large and fulfilling meal being now just a few short miles away, the wind was no match for us, and we powered along the promenade. We passed another castle, and then wound our way through a delightful park on the cliffs, zig-zagging upwards to the top, and our stop for the night – Folkstone - just in time for nightfall!

We headed to the excellent Wycliffe Guest House, where we met up with Sarah and David who were joining us on tomorrow’s run, had very hot showers to defrost, plenty of hot tea and then headed out to equally excellent Chambers pub for food. The luxury item competition was held, which this year had no clear winner, as the weather was so bad that items usually considered a luxury (too many spare clean clothes, for example) had pretty much all been declared essential. The spare pair of shoes I had brought as my luxury item I had long ago downgraded to utterly essential, bearing in mind the state of my trainers. My other luxury item, a mini Molten Brown shower gel had disappeared, as I had spent so long in the shower trying to warm up I had used it all up (and I don't consider shower gel a luxury item anyway, but this a contentious issue in the luxury item rules).

Suitably refuelled and restored, we pulled the curtains against the howling wind, cranked the heating up, and rested up ready for the adventures of tomorrow...

The New Forest Challenge

Challenge. One of those useful words used in interviews to make a nightmarish experience sound more like a constructive one. "Whilst I certainly found the relentless focus on targets a challenge (or, silently replace with "a complete nightmare"), I used this as an opportunity to develop my time management skills by finding more effective ways of working, to enable me to rise to the challenge and succeed in meeting those targets, for example by..... etc etc, ya di ya di yah. 

Although not being interviewed during my 65th marathon, I did have plenty of time to think that the word was fitting for this event for much the same reasons, making number 65 a challenge I certainly won't forget in a hurry.

The New Forest is one of my favourite places. Many happy runs and days out took place there when I was at uni in Southampton. I love standing at the top of a hill, and the the feeling of freedom looking out over the wide open spaces and taking in the glorious colours. We'd made a weekend of it visiting friends and family, and everything was lovely, and I was completely sure that the event was going to be a straightforward marathon. Navigation = tick, I know the area (well, sort of). Distance = tick, I felt confident in the 26 miles. Mental state = tick, I was looking forward to it and feeling good. Nutrition = tick, lots of checkpoints and refuelling opportunities. Kit = tick, all packed. Weather = tick, cold for sure, but sunny weather forecast. Hurrah - it was going to be fine!

But in a blog which I am conscious is becoming almost repetitive for things not going fine....guess what's going to happen......

To begin with, Andrew is still injured, so I was missing my running partner. Thanks though for hanging around all day. It must have been a drag....

And thanks for the lift to the start! I checked in, collected my check-in card, had a few minutes of 'kit faff' where I like to pointlessly rearrange everything in my bag a few times, and then bumped in to Kasia, a friend I met on the Winter Tanners...

We set off - it felt exhilarating to run in the cold air in the sunshine, and an added bonus of the cold was that the bogs were all frozen. The first checkpoint was only about 1.5 miles into the run, and was an unmanned checkpoint, which according to the instructions should be a sign with a random number on it, which you had to write down on your checking-in card. According to my carefully marked up map, it should be in a car park. Me, plus a bunch of other runners all arrived at the grid reference, but couldn't find the sign. Not anywhere. A few frantic minutes sped by running up and down, checking posts, signs, fences, but nothing. Bowing to peer pressure from my more confident fellow competitors, who all said it wouldn't matter, I tentatively carried on with them, but with a niggling feeling that I would already be disqualified for missing my first checkpoint. Soon after, I got chatting to a bloke who had found it (it was in the car park after all!) - and he kindly told me the number was 38! We found the second checkpoint and I proudly wrote down it's number with my free Ikea pencil - excellent. Soon after checkpoint 3 was found - things were going swimmingly! But as a wrote down it's number, the lead in my Ikea pencil snapped and fell somewhere into the mud below, leaving just a small, yet gaping, hole where the lead should be. Great. Now I had no way of writing down the numbers, of the next 8 checkpoints - EIGHT! How was I going to remember that many random numbers?

Cursing myself for bringing a pencil and not a pen (I mean, who uses a pencil, anyway?) I became aware that the niggling feeling of being disqualified for missing a number had quickly been replaced by a different but just as niggling feeling that despite obsessive checking of my carefully marked up map, and just as careful attention to my surroundings, I was struggling to figure out where on the map I was. Which is a long winded was of saying, I kept getting lost. I'd forgotten quite how many paths and tracks the New Forest has, snaking about all over the place; but only the main ones are marked on the OS maps, making it difficult to follow a route marked on a map, because what looks like crossing over say three cross tracks on the map could be any number of actual tracks on the ground. And with it being so big and open, there often isn't much else to reference against to guide a decision as to if this is actually the junction where you should turn left, or if it's an extra one.....I was getting increasingly frustrated at what felt like my total and overwhelming inability to work things out, and having to repeatedly stop and figure it out, usually incorrectly, only to see some brightly coloured dots running off ahead in a different direction....

Then I fell over. The first time. But this was expected, as I was wearing a new running outfit and I'm convinced that any time I have ever bought any new running clothes, I have fallen over on the first outing and either immediately got a hole in them, or made them muddy. At least today it was just mud.

Then I reached checkpoint 4, the first manned checkpoint. "Which are you!" asked the first of the two gentlemen recording people coming in. "26!" I replied. "Thanks!" the second gentleman exclaimed and wrote it down. A few others came in behind me, and I heard them all shouting out different numbers. Weird, I thought there were only two distances: 18 and 26. Oh. Of course, we should be giving the number on our check-in card. Obviously. I'm such a buffoon. I went back and sheepishly corrected my number to 21, my actual number. I beat a hasty retreat before anyone could pay to much attention to me....

I ate a kit-kat and realised I was ravenous. I had been stuffed as a gug with delicious food by Andrew's sister-in-law the night before, but thinking back I'd had a few days at the end of the week of being quite stressed and not eating as well as usual, and predictably had only really paid any attention to this fact at the moment when it was becoming apparent that I was not adequately fuelled for a hilly marathon in freezing weather. I became angry with myself again. Will I never learn the importance of good nutrition prior to a run? What with being a dietitian, and having been a runner for over 20 years? No, apparently not. 

I plodded on, waiting for the kit-kat to kick in, and soon made my first major navigational error. This was a costly mistake, adding on 1.5 miles to the distance. But aside from that sad fact, I met fellow runner Dave on the detour, who I ended up running the rest of the race with, and who as a veteran of 86 marathons was an entertaining and motivational running buddy - thank you Dave! I was glad to have someone else to consult as to the route as well, and although we continued to get lost for the rest of the run, it's not nearly so bad when you're with someone else to discuss how it was you went wrong and get back on track. He also kindly lent me his pen, so the pencil crisis was averted. 

At the next manned checkpoint I discovered in fact how great a buffoon I really was, when I noticed that my number was 210 and not 21. Following a short panic where I feared a search and rescue party might by now have been deployed from the last checkpoint to look for number 210 who by all accounts didn't seem to have turned up there yet, the marshals reassured me they would radio over to let them know. Good Lord. This event is turning into some kind of maths challenge. (Challenge! See!)

It took a few minutes to regain my stride after that. But soon the beauty of the forest seeped back into my consciousness. It was truly stunning out there. The sun shining and the air hazy, and all around that blue colour that penetrates everything on bright winter days. And the ponies, of course, the ponies!

A good few pleasant miles passed, taking in the views and the air, chatting, and the odd debate about the route. 

Then two things happened quickly.

First, I fell over again. A proper fall over this time, over a log and into a bog and all. Interestingly, I landed on my shoulder, and gained my first, maybe anyone's first, shoulder injury from running.

Then, at the final check-point, I realised my check-in card was missing. I assumed I'd pretty much covered all possible mistakes with this flipping check-in card by this point, but apparently the greatest was saved for the end. I had no idea where it had gone, and the only thing I could think was that it was somehow fallen out during my nose-dive into the bog. I had a complete melt down at this point, but Dave calmly stated that as we'd run most of the race together he would vouch for me at the end, and it was no problem. I was grateful for his kindness and coolness under pressure, but spent the last 3 miles in a complete panic and dreading the finish when I would have to explain myself.

But it in the end it was all fine. After a brief explanation and apology for my absentmindedness, the marshals registered my number (which fortunately I could remember by now) and it was made official (thank you Dave and the marshals at the end for your understanding!)

I even set a PeBeDe - a personal best detour - for the furthest extra distance run over the actual distance of an event- 29 miles instead of 26. Three extra miles for free!

A delicious plate of vegetarian lasagne, some bread and butter, a hot cup of tea and a nice chat to some fellow runners, and everything was well again, and the nightmares of all the maths challenges faded away. It was a brilliant event and I loved it despite the challenges (which were mostly my own making anyway). I recommend it, and hope to be back (maybe I'll find my check-in card next year). Thank you to the organisers (the Wessex LDWA) and fellow entrants for a great day. 

I hurried off home to wash the mud out of my new running clothes, and sharpen my pencil.....

It's Pancake Day... I'll Be Back....

....don't worry, the ominous sounding nature of this title will all become clear in due course.

First of all, pancake day, just before Valentines Day! How flippin awesome! Pancake day always crepes up on me; I spend a whole day each year exclaiming how much I love pancakes and eating far too many, and then don't touch another one for a whole year before the same realisation dawns on the next Pancake Day. So this year, what batter way to express the Valentine's Day love than in the form of a pancake! 

Ahem. Let us toss aside these silly jokes, before they fall flat, and focus. After a short rest period, where I will recover from the pancake extravaganza, we shall move on to the next topic.....

....I'll Be Back....

A couple of weeks ago I did the Pic N Mix Sci-Fi marathon. Well, it sounded sweet, so I had to do it. And it had an intriguing name, which on closer examination turned out to mean it was a 'space versus time' themed run. Oooh. Does that mean I'll do a PB? All these years of running, and all I really needed was to crack time travel and I'd easily knock an hour or so off my marathon time, leaving more time for cake stops. In fact, cake and tea stops could potentially be unlimited, if you could traverse the boundaries of time.

Anyway, all that thought and no actual breakthrough in the time travel part, means I've just wasted a lot of everyone's time with this drivel. Let us return to the scene of the crime. Essex, no less. And the Whoosh Canoe Club in Sawbridgeworth to be accurate. What a name! We will whoosh our way around the course!

Or not, as I realised a quarter of the way through the first lap, once two things became clear. One, there were a lot of laps, and two, half of each lap was a mud-fest. I admit to having approached this marathon with a rather gung-ho attitude. After the Winter Tanners bog fest I had become rather deconditioned to normal mud, feeling that everything was really quite tame in comparison. So when I read the race description that it was along a tow path and river path which 'could be muddy at times' I dismissed this with barely a thought, laced up my road shoes, and set forth.

To be fair, the first 1/2 mile was lovely along a well formed and mud free path. What a treat, after all this winter mud! But treats only come in moderation, and soon enough, as we crossed over the river to run back along the other side, the path disappeared into a sea of mud. Only ankle-deep this time, I'll admit, but mud none the less. This lasted for the whole of that side of the lap (about a mile and a half), before crossing back over the river to the nice path again, back to the tuck-shop (AKA checkpoint) to complete one 5 km lap, pick up a cheeky jelly bean or two, and head back out to complete as many laps as you liked. Maybe 'liked' is the wrong word, as after lap one it started to rain, perhaps 'chose' is a better choice. I chose 8, to hit a marathon distance bang on the head. The laps passed quite quickly to be honest, and it was good fun despite the rubbish and uninspiring day. I always enjoy the Phoenix events - friendly, a good laugh, chance to have a good chat to people, and of course a nice tuck-shop. And 5km laps are my favourite distance for a lap - long enough so there aren't too many, but short enough so you can bang one out relatively quick. There was a brief anxious moment where I lost one of my hairbands (you collect one after each lap, to keep count) when I took off my gloves carelessly and threw them into the kit tent, accidentally pinging off a hairband without noticing. But it was soon rectified and the panic I had at having to do an extra lap subsided. Phew.

Well, I suppose you must still be wondering, as after all that I still haven't got to the point, why is it called the Pic N Mix Sci-Fi marathon? And what's "I'll Be Back" all about? Well! Phoenix Running have many events every year, all with a theme, with fancy dress encouraged (hurrah!) - several of the events are of a sci-fi nature like the "Timelord on the Thames" run, and the "I'll Be Back" run...hence the "Sci-Fi" part. They also have awesome medals. An accumulation of said awesome medals have built up and needed to be used, and so upon finishing your chosen distance, you picked a card out of a hat (the Pic N Mix part), which had a name on...and that was the medal you got! I got the I'll Be Back medal, which I've taken as a sign that my running form will return, at around the same that maybe some spring weather and some firm running ground will also back. Triple hurrah!

On that note, Happy Pancake Day one and all, and may the pancakes be back before this time next year....

# 63 - The Winter Tanners 30 miles, 21.01.18

"Lie-ins are so over-rated" was a thought I didn't think as my alarm went off at 4.30 am on the morning of the Winter Tanners. Due to a last moment change of circumstance, I had decided to catch public transport to the start of the event in Leatherhead, which looking at a map, didn't really look that far away. But the golden age of the British railways passed many moons ago, and at this time on a Sunday morning, one bus, two trains, a rail replacement bus and two hours and 20 minutes of precious (lie-in) time, was the best National Rail could offer me. I briefly toyed with the idea of walking, it was only 21 miles away and quite frankly sounded like a lot less faff, but then I remembered once I got there that I was supposed to run 40 miles, so changed my mind back. 

The first bus turned up, which I took as a sure sign the rest of the day was going to be just grand. I made it to Waterloo, found the only place open serving some form of coffee at that time was McDonalds, but felt a bit self-consciously sober and really quite old, queued up next to all the young people coming back from Saturday night. Although most of them looked quite rough, which cheered me up a bit. I hopped on the train, which sat there, and then sat there a bit longer. Then the guard announced he was sorry for the delay, but the driver hadn't turned up yet. So we waited a bit longer, during which time I obsessively checked Google maps every 20 seconds to check I was still going to make my next connection. A while later, the driver decided that now was a good time to turn up, and we set off. I got off at Wimbledon, crossed to the platform for the next train, and then noticed the small fact that the train that I was supposed to catch wasn't showing on any of the departure screens. A few minutes of frantic searching, and it turned out the train didn't exist. Who knows why, or where it had gone. It's a mystery. Anyway, I was now going to miss everything else, and the small niggling feeling which I had so far managed to suppress, the one about missing the start, was now a full blown panic. Still, panic was no use here, and I took a few deep (and cold) breaths, and devised a plan B. I would get there a lot later than I had planned, wouldn't be able to run with my running buddy Tara, and I would have to drop down from 40 miles to the 30 route so I would finish in daylight if running by myself, which were all a bit rubbish. But on the plus side, I would still just about make the start and hopefully the cut off time for checkpoint 1, and I would still get an ultra distance run in. I got on the next train feeling a bit better. I hopped off at Effingham Junction, in order to catch the rail replacement bus.....

...and as I stood in the cold, and now the rain which had just started, I thought what an apt name this was for a station. The bus arrived. I jumped off it at Leatherhead, sprinted down the road, spent a few minutes walking around a business park looking for the registration building, found this helpful sign...

...and then the start. I registered, threw my bag into the baggage room, and then myself across the start line at 8.48 am. 12 minutes to spare - heaps of time!

The rain, which was by now quite heavy, turned into snow. Apart from the obvious point that snow is cold, I realised it is really quite a bit drier than rain, and very much more pretty. There were some quite lovely views to be had over the countryside, sprinkled in an other-worldly, powdery dust. After a few hours, it turned back to rain again, but you must make the most of these magical moments whilst they last.

There will be four main things I will remember about this race. One, the terrible weather (see above). Two, the mud. THE MUD! My word, I have never seen mud like it. I believe I may have said that the Gatliff was the muddiest run I've ever done and could possibly ever do, but that was nothing, NOTHING compared to this! The most impressive thing about it, was not how deep it was (although, I went in up to my knees in the Surrey Slurry more than once), but how consistent it was. In 30 miles, there was barely a break in it, only varying degrees of how far you would sink. Even concrete roads were covered, and barely discernible from the fields. I had a moment, where knee deep in slurry, I tried to lift my leg up, only to find that it wouldn't budge, but instead started sinking deeper. I had a panic where I wondered, "is slurry like quicksand?" and started thrashing around in panic, now submerging both hands and my route description in the mud bath as well. With superhuman force, I yanked my leg upwards, only to feel my shoe come away from my foot, and my shoe fill with the horrid, freezing sludge. YIKES!!!! If I loose my shoe....how am I going to  finish the run! I pushed my foot back down, feeling the cold, wet mud make horrible squishing noises. I instructed myself to calm down, and using my map case as leverage, eventually managed to pull myself out of the slurry. I continued up the field, repeating a roughly similar routine every few steps, until I made it to the top of the field, sat on the stile for a moment to recover, and looked over at the next field, which looked suspiciously similar.....

Third memory: a lovely route and a genuinely fabulous route description. I imagine in the summer, minus all the mud and rain (so, on those few summer days when conditions are favourable), this would be a splendidly picturesque route, all rolling countryside and rivers and big country houses. Plenty of stops for a picnic with a view. As I trotted along, thinking about things, I ran through a gate, called 'Alan's Gate' and I suddenly wondered, was this Alan Blatchford's gate? Some history....

The Tanners Marathon (originally held in the summer) is a cornerstone of LDWA folklore. It was the first proper 'challenge' event (it was open to anyone, had a pre-designed route, a time limit, checkpoints etc), and first held in July 1960. Around this time long distance walking was really kicking off in a big way in the UK, thanks to a bit of a character called Dr Barbara Moore, who walked from John O'Groats to Lands End, and caused quite a stir whilst doing it, because people didn't really do things like that then. Anyway, the Epsom and Ewell YHA group at Tanners Hatch Youth Hostel realised that a long distance walk was something a lot of people would like to have a go at, so they organised and put on 'The Marathon Walk' (actually 30 miles) in Surrey, which was supposed to be a one-off, but proved so popular that it ran every year (renamed The Tanners Marathon in 1964), until 2010, it's 50th anniversary, which was it's last. Alan Blatchford was one of the founding members of the event, and indeed the LDWA itself (he met Chris Steer, another founding member of the LDWA, on the Tanners Marathon in 1968), and is a true LDWA legend. He sadly died in 1980, so I wondered if maybe this was his gate. Since 1976 there has also been a Winters Tanners, which started as a warm up for the summer one, and the route of which is different each year and designed by John Westcott, who took over organising it after Alan Blatchford died. There have been 3 years when the Winter Tanners hasn't run for various reasons, and so 2018 is the 40th event. I must to sing the praises of the route description loudly (this year designed by John Westcott and written by Mary Dee) - it was spot on. I only got lost one (which was my mistake), such was it's attention to detail and accuracy. Every few sentences there was a description thrown in, which was remarkably similar to some of the thoughts which I have when doing long runs, some of my favourite quotes including:

"Continue ahead, determinedly, ignoring all turns, to go through car park.  (2.9M)"

"Keep on relentlessly, ignoring all turns, to bear right & cross tarmac track."

"Cross field (210º) & foot bridge, round forlorn field gate & through hook gate."

And my absolute favourite part of any route description ever:

"Keep unwaveringly on & on.  At last, a track joins from right & 100Y later turn left on concrete track."

And so at last, my fourth memory, as so often at these events, were the fabulous people there. Including the lovely Kasia who I ran about the last 10 miles with, amongst other chat swapping stories about marathons, what we were both going to have for tea afterwards, and what on earth we were going to do to save our shoes and clothes which had been marinated in the Surrey Slurry all day. I was in the process of "continuing determinedly and unwavering on and on and on along the side of 7 fields" (seven!!) when I literally ran into her and was feeling a bit forlorn, so thank you for cheering me up, and for saving me from sliding all of the way down Box Hill. 

Also thank to all the other great troopers out there who I was lucky enough to talk to/ run/ walk with, and all the lovely marshals. It was a pretty tough challenge out there, but you all made the Winter Tanners truely terrific!

Here is a link to the official race report - Happy 40th Winter Tanners (thank you for the birthday paperweight)!

A New Year...Another Medal on the Wall

There comes a time, about one week into the new year, when you sit down and stare your new year's resolution right in the eye, and have a frank discussion about how you came to be acquainted. And whether or not either you or it have got what it takes to stick out a whole year together. 

My new years resolution this year I think would technically be disqualified from counting as a new years resolution. It is: to stop procrastinating and crack on with working towards 100 marathons, which as I'm some way to doing already, has nothing really new about it at all.

But anyway, disqualified or not, it was still a resolution. One which at 5.30 am on a dark cold Sunday morning at the beginning January (the morning of Another Medal on the Wall), as I sipped a strong coffee and nibbled thoughtfully on a piece of toast, caused a few doubts to creep to the front of my mind.

But I quickly pushed them back. The main reason being that Another Medal on the Wall is a 6 hour timed event around a 1.88 mile lap in the Hillingdon Cycle Circuit in Minet Country Park in Hayes. Therefore, a nimble bit of maths later, and it became apparent that to do a marathon, you would need to do at least 14 laps. Or, if you look at it another way, there are at least 14 opportunities to stop. And that is not the sort of race where there is any room at all to have any doubts floating around in your head, or I would be back in the club house with a hot cup of tea, feet up in a comfortable chair and snuggled by a radiator after 1.88 miles. And listening to some tunes, because Hayes is famous (well, it is to me now, since I read about it in the race instructions) for it's former record factory, which makes the name of the race make more sense. 

I tried to calm my doubts by reminding myself that my first trail half marathon training run in the Surrey hills the day before had gone well, and I had also done a bit extra by running to the train station, so 18 miles in all. I'd felt strong, and this morning I felt well recovered and even a bit confident in my ability. Ha! The thought immediately made me anxious; confidence is not my natural state, and whenever I feel confident something usually goes wrong, which makes me anxious about feeling confident, which defeats the object of being confident, I think. Anyway, other than making me feel very twitchy, writing confident so many times in one sentence has revealed that spell check changes confident to condiment, which is something that I am much more comfortable with talking about. "Don't wait, I'll ketchup with you soon!" or,  "let me mustard up the strength to climb this hill " or, "we must relish this good section of path before the bog, where we'll find ourselves in a right pickle".

Etc....

Anyway, my confidence in condiments buoyed significantly, I headed purposefully from Southall train station in the early morning gloom through an industrial estate peppered with patches of ice towards the Cycle Circuit. As I walked further, it quickly became obvious that my confident interpretation of the weather forecast as it being a warm sunny day had been an optimistic way of looking at things (point proved). By the time I made it to the registration  building, I was as chilli as a frozen margarita with extra ice and more ice on top. I pulled on the extra clothes I had brought to change into afterwards, ignored that fact that that meant that afterwards I was going to be even chilli-er (what a jam I would be in then, but it's no big dill really), had a hot cup of coffee, and it was thyme to head for the start line. 

And what a grate event it turned out to be. Ahem. We must put oil these puns behind us now, and lettuce focus on the task at hand.  

Until I got to half way I refused to think about how many laps had happened, and I found I was enjoying it enough not to be thinking about it anyway. I've had a long break from these type of events since last May, and I have missed the camaraderie about them, so it was great to see some familiar faces and make new friends, like back being a part of the big running family. The laps were out and back, so all of the time you pass people going the other way, exchange smiles and nods and banter about the course/ state of each other, so although the scenery may not be that interesting, I love these type of runs. There was an excellent checkpoint each lap, where your bar-code got scanned, one of the race directors shouted your lap number and something encouraging at you, you could grab a quick drink (alas, no margaritas), and a snack (see, ample opportunity for puns here, but I've restrained), and it was off for the next lap. 

Soon after the 7 lap point, my dodgy hip started playing up, which gave me something to think about for the next couple of laps, but after a few miles it settled down again. After lap 9 it was feeling fine and I felt good, so reached 14 laps with no problems. I was planning on going for the full 6 hours at that point, and was having a great time chatting to others about races etc, before a headache which had been brewing finally exploded and so I stopped at 5.33 hours, 33.7 miles and called it a day. I was pretty pleased with it, I enjoyed it, felt good (apart from my head) and it was even a slightly faster pace than I used to run before I started having problems last year, which is a combination of words that I haven't been able to say together in a long time. Hurrah! 

All in all, it's just another medal on the wall. But it's a good one, and from a great event. I hope to be back to some more of Running Miles events in the future.

And on that note, mayo you all have a wonderful day!

Happy New Year Folks!

It's slightly late, but have just about pulled myself of the December bogs, and defrosted my fingers, in time to pen a quick new year note. 

Happy New Year!!! 🎉🎉🎉

It's been nice to come back and see everyone after the Down Under Trip, but I haven't enjoyed the readjustment to the UK weather. Not at all. Although I'll say one thing for a UK winter, as compared to an Australian summer, and that's that there's been no need to wake up at 5am in order to get a run in before it gets too hot. Although, in hindsight, that doesn't seem really like it was actually such a big deal. 

Head out for a run here at 5am, or anytime before mid-day really, in December and you'll be lucky to see anything, such is the gloom of it all. All of my December and January runs have been either a) dark, or (if between the hours of 12-3 pm), b) grey. Take this morning for example. I was in Aberdeen, and thought I would go to the parks to explore. I hadn't even got to the park, but already had slipped on a treacherous corner of ice, dunked my foot in a freezing puddle of water, had buckets of hail dumped over my head, and had almost been engulfed by the greyness of the granite houses against the stormy skies. The parks were a particularly devious mixture of mud and ice, created perfectly to foil progress at every step. Even the trees stared moodily down from the greyness, plopping great drops of icey water down my neck as I ran underneath. And then it hailed again. This isn't a slight on Aberdeen, that's just that's where I happened to be, but pretty much everywhere I've run in the last month has looked remarkably similar. A bit grey. 

The only run I can think of that's been nice and bright was a run around Ord Hill in Inverness just before new year. It was beautiful; soft white snow blanketing the pine trees, while the sun shone on the ice crystals and sent shimmering shards of light sparkling against the clear blue sky. Photos of it would have won prizes if it had been warm enough to take off two pairs of gloves, to find my phone hidden beneath somewhere in a pocket inside my inner jacket, sandwiched between a thermal layer, and a extra warm outer jacket. It was so cold that the icicles shivered, and the snowflakes huddled together for warmth. 

Anyway, that's enough of all that. I could go on, but it's January the 4th, and that is my annual rant about the winter weather and mud out of the way for a whole another year. Well, probably not, but at least for the time being.

And on to more important things! Including.... my Mum, who this time last year was just getting over her breast cancer surgery, has got the all clear at her 12 month check up and is doing great. Thank you to you all for your support this year, both with your generous sponsorship, and kind words of support. It has all been amazing. We even made the news in the Rosemere magazine! 

As soon as all her results came back clear, my Mum pressed 'enter' on her 100 entry form, and along with my Dad will be lining up at the start of this year's 100! I will be trying to do as good a job of supporting them around it as they have for me many a time. 

Meanwhile, the longest run I've done for a few weeks has been an hour or so, so it seemed a good idea to enter a 6 hour event this Sunday, and then agree to do a half marathon training run the day before. So not to worry then, that all sounds fine.....

First marathon back in UK! The Gatliff Marathon 50 km - Number 61

In hindsight, choosing the notorious Gatliff Marathon for my first event back in the UK, while still jet lagged wasn't my greatest idea. But it was an idea, none the less. There are two things of note about its name. Firstly, Gatliff isn't a place, it's a person; Herbert Gatliff, who in 1934 was one of the founding members of the Croydon YHA group (the Gatliff marathon is actually held in Edenbridge). 50 years later in 1984, the Gatliff marathon was held as part of the 50th anniversary celebrations, hence the name and distance. Which brings me to the second point, it isn't a marathon, it's 50 km (or the alternative 20 km or 35 km routes, which aren't marathons either). But as we shall see, that wasn't the only point in the route description which could be described as 'misleading'...

I woke at 3.30 am thanks to jet lag, so got up, repacked my bag and faffed for a while, and convinced myself that I did want to go. Really. A walk and a bus journey later I was at Waterloo at 5.45 am, and let me tell you, Waterloo at 5.45 am is quite the place to be if you haven't yet been home from the night before. Three train journeys later, I finally arrived in Edenbridge, where along with two other runners hailing from our fair capitol, we rose to our first navigational challenge of the day - finding the start.

The Gatliff is a self-navigated event, and has somewhat of a reputation for having an 'interesting' route description. The route changes each year, I suppose to prevent people from learning it, and thus taking the fun out of getting lost. I was wise to this, and in an attempt to outwit the Gatliff, had carefully plotted the grid references on some nice newly purchased maps the night before.

Turns out this was a wholey useless waste of an hour or two, as the 11 page route description focused mostly on things such as gates, 'indistinct tracts', and golf tees, which aren't marked on maps, and may or may not be marked in real life, either. I spent a good proportion of the day standing about in mud, and looking for 'indistinct and unmarked tracks', which were made all the more indistinct and tricky to find due to the fact it was autumn, and a forest full of leaves was now lying upon them. Having become separated from all of my new fellow navigational voyagers, I found myself running alone through another wood along a 'small muddy path that soon bears left to join a wider path, follow this for 500 m until you pass a house'. Having found neither a left bend nor a wider path, after several minutes I was beginning to face up to the fact that I was lost, again. But lo, I smelled woodsmoke! A house, surely! Or another runner, making a small fire, after finally having had enough of the route description? No, it was the house! A thousand hurrahs! I moved on to the next point 'go diagonally left through a parking space, and up a faint track uphill, crossing a further faint path...etc etc....' I returned to my usual state of standing in a wood, looking for a path, but seeing only leaves in all directions. Ignoring the fact the I didn't have a clue to go on, I pushed ahead up the hill, only the become ever more lost and frustrated, finally throwing my new map and myself down in the mud, scowling at the forest, and deciding that that was enough, and that I wanted to go home. A few moments passed in silence. No one appeared to rescue me. I reluctantly realised that in order to get home, I would first have to get myself out of this forest. I stood up, picked up the (now not so new looking) map, and got over myself. Some time later, I finally made it out of the forest (somewhere I hope never to return to again), and made it to the next check point.....     

Still, I knew all this before I got there, and in a quirky kind of way, that's part of what makes the Gatliff I suppose. If you don't get horrendously lost, cold, and very muddy, then I'm afraid that you haven't been fully Gatliff'ed, and it's really rather fun. Getting back before dark fall is basically the common aim of everyone, whichever distance you are doing, or whatever speed you go, and it's fun trying to beat the darkness. Speaking of night fall, I was cutting it rather fine....

I left the last checkpoint at about 3.15 pm and headed out for the last 7 km in the gathering gloom. I was really hoping I wouldn't need my head torch as it was somewhere at the bottom of my bag, and I would have to get everything out and find it, and then put the batteries in it, and then put everything back in again, and quite frankly I could't be bothered with any of that right now. As I was berating myself for ending up in this situation in the first place, I was happy to run into my friend Neil and run the last few miles with him, catching up on several months running news, and running plans for the New Year. Two heads are always better then one when navigating, and we got around the last section largely without any detours, which meant we managed to get back before it got dark.

Hurrah! And now for my favourite part of any race, relaxing at the end. Back in the sports club, in the bright lights and warmth, I quickly forgot about the mud and the maps, and tucked into fish finger sandwiches and home made butternut squash soup, whist catching up with old friends, and new ones made today. I love seeing everyone back at the end! This is what I love most about running, and even despite the shock of coming back to the cold weather, it's good to be back on the UK trails and catching up with old chums. It was a great event, a mostly nice route with parts of the North Downs Way and lots of hills, a friendly crowd. A challenge, but a good one, and I'm pleased to finally have moved on and have done my first event since The NYM 100 back in May, and my 61st official marathon/ultra. Job done.