Friday
You know you're in for a good weekend, when you get stopped by the police within half an hour of getting off the train on a Friday night...
...with the question, "Don't meant to be nosy, but...." (oh no) "....just out of interest, what are you doing? Are you starting or finishing?"
Wow. We look that good already?
Let me explain (before any rumours start).
It's the middle of March, and it's the annual 100 Recce Weekend! (that's recce, not wrecked, just to re-emphasise). This year was the first time Andrew and I had been along, after being taken under the kind and capable wing of Alan (Hall) on a trail run last year, and we joined recce-pros Tara, Jen, Paris and Fabrice, and Alan (organiser extraordinaire), or, Team Luxury (see later on). Each year the LDWA has a 100 mile event on the end May bank holiday weekend. The recce weekend has been going for a few years now, with the aims of figuring out the 100 route from the route description, and more importantly, to have a good weekend of fun and running.
The time was now almost 9 pm, and already that evening we had all skipped joyfully from our places of work, to Kings Cross for the 5.30 train to Scarborough, where during the journey we carb loaded, and compared maps. I was vexed to discover that instead of spending four entire evenings plotting 100 miles of route on three different maps, I could instead have ordered a custom made map which fitted the whole route on one sheet, and plotted the route for you . The disappointment was intensified by the discovery that the route description I had printed from the website was now several editions out of date, and so the route that I had plotted on the heap of maps I was lugging around for the whole weekend, was now probably wrong anyway.
I had no time to dwell on matters, as once at Scarborough, we had a 2 mile walk to the Youth Hostel we were staying at, and it soon became apparent that what I consider a brisk walk, and what other members of my new team considered a brisk walk, were two vastly different ideas.Once at the hostel (and I had sat down for a bit and recovered), Team Luxury commandeered a large tea pot and the library room, to discuss, amongst other things, the right colour for running socks, Brexit (Brexit woe in general, not the colour of socks required to be for or against), and the main focus of the weekend - the Luxury Item Competition, which was to be held the following evening. Exhausted, we retired to bed (but not before a quick game of table football with some other guests) ready for an early start.
Saturday
Someone appeared to have meddled with my alarm, and set it for a horribly early hour, as a trick. Oh wait no, that's the actual right time to wake up on a Saturday morning if you've chosen to spend your weekend doing trail ultra runs. Galvanised into action by the thought of being left behind, I ran (might as well get started) to the kitchen, and set off the weekend by making a porridge/ cement concoction for breakfast (well, at least it should help to stick my body together later on when I start to fall apart), and then it was a quick jog 2 miles back to station to catch a bus to Thornton-le-Dale. I could quite happily have sat on the bus all day to be honest, it was nice and warm, we got to sit on the top deck at the front, and it was all very easy going. And it took such a bizarre route around the countryside, that I had an inkling that the 100 route was probably quite similar anyway, so we could just do the recce from up here.
We weren't actually starting the 100 from it's proper start,as due to the logistics of travel and finding places to stay, it wasn't possible to (and when I say 'we' from now on in relation to any kind of logistics, I am referring to Alan). Today's run was to be 36 miles from Thornton-le-Dale (check point 15) to Hutton-le-Hole (check point 4), and here we all are at Thornton-le-Dale, looking quite happy at this prospect, and with my new trainers looking conspicuous by their lack of mud.
And off we set...The first couple of stages today were pretty flat, through lots of farm land, which I quite enjoyed, to get warmed up and into the swing of things. And on the real event, this is the last 10 miles, so nothing can ever be flat enough by that point. It even got warm enough to take off jackets - even in Yorkshire, even in March! We'd been going about 8 miles before we had our first navigational mishap, but there you go, that's the point of a recce I suppose. I've never recced a whole route before, and I know that from what I've read about 100's there is a long-standing debate over whether recce-ing the route is some form of cheating, because you've already worked out the route beforehand, so on the event you aren't having to deal as much with that side of things. While everyone is entitled to their own opinions, my opinion is that that's rubbish. It's the equivalent of saying you can't do any training beforehand, or practice what things you can eat or drink, or look at your maps beforehand. The idea of not preparing for something makes no sense to me. Fail to prepare, prepare to fail, and all that. So the recce is staying. End of.
So, after around 11 miles or so, we made it to Malton, which on the real event is the start and finish, and therefore the perfect chance to practice our stylish finishing poses (which we might as well, because if I make it this far on the real thing, I'll be crawling by this point).
Funnily enough, the biggest challenge of all the navigation was leaving the school, which is point 1.1 on the instructions. At some point in the version changing, the instructions got changed from turn left out of gate to turn right out of gate, and due to the varying versions of the instructions we all carried, this created some confusion. We then all somehow managed to miss the turning on the correct instructions, and spent the next 10 minutes wandering up and down the same street (which just so happened to be on a hill), before finally cutting through the hospital car park to get back on the route (if nothing else, I suppose, at least now we know there is a hospital close by to the finish, which gives some comfort).
Back on track, the route started to get more interesting, firstly crossing a race course (alas, there were no horses to commandeer to gallop around the rest of the 100), and then through pretty woodlands, with glimpses of great views through the gaps in the trees.
A bit of a climb to checkpoint 1 at Easthorpe, and then the views of the North York Moors began....moody and contemplative in the distance, the rays of sunshine which would make another place look inviting, instead cast long shadows over the hills. If I was prone to fanciful thinking (which I'm not, of course), I would say they looked angry at our impending arrival, warning us to stay away. But that would be daft. The next couple of miles were pleasing; good views, forests, good chat, and our first proper encounters with the real bogs - cheerio purple trainers!
About 20 miles in, we arrived at Hovingham, our official lunch stop, which arrived in the nick of time, as my batteries had suddenly run out of juice. The village store in Hovingham is a gem. I insist that you go, even if you don't need to go to to Hovingham, or indeed don't even need a village store. Every type of gustatory delight was packed onto it's heaving shelves, and we spent a fine time restocking our bags, before bursting from the door onto a nearby picnic bench which heaved under the weight of our recently acquired sandwiches, pies, quiches, crisps, brightly coloured fruits, cakes...you name it, the shop in Hovingham has it.
Revived, we explored Hovingham somewhat more than instructed, as whilst enraptured with taking photos of a picture-perfect brook, we marched on ahead, missing the instruction to cross the bridge over aforementioned brook. The next bit was a bit confusing, lots of fields, and drainage ditches and gaps in hedges and way-markers to count, but in the end we made to Stonegrave, which despite a bit of ominous name, was a beautiful little place. The next part was a steep uphill. At the top, I turned round to congratulate myself with the reward of a good view (and reassure myself that the reason I was so tired was that the hill was so steep) and saw a wall of dark clouds, rapidly approaching. Sure enough within two minutes it was pouring down, and we all tried to get our waterproofs on in time, with varying degrees of success. As always happens on long runs, once something bad happens it's usually swiftly followed by a further tragedy, just to hit you whilst you're down, Sure enough, that was the moment that we all became utterly lost and the instructions made zero sense to any of us, and the maps were useless. After a conference in the corner of the field in the driving rain and gloom, a consensus was reached, and soon we found our way again. On we trudged though the rain. The next part was a bit of trial to be honest, along a long wet road, wet fields, more wet fields, bogs, some more questionable directions ('soon' - more on that word later). But, finally, we arrived in Wombleton, where we had a break in a little shelter in the sports field, I ate a Bounty, and felt a bit happier.
We set off on the final 10 km stage for the day, recounting an A to Z of swear words. I won't publish this particular A to Z, as to fully appreciate the brilliance of our deep and complete grasp of darker side of the English language, it helps to be 30 miles in to a long, wet run. I will though, save an equally fascinating A to Z for later in the story. The next section is a bit vague in my mind, which is worrying following a recce, but involved a lot of stiles and crossing roads, and some particularity vague instructions 'continue generally ahead through a number of smaller fields', which all of us interpreted differently, just to add some spice, but the discovery of a tennis ball and an impromtu game of football brought us all back together, and heading 'generally' in the same direction...
...where we eventually arrived in a village...alas, it was not the village for which we were headed for the night. Darn and blast it. I was getting bored of this relentless running by now. But, we were on the last few points of instructions, and there was mention of a 'TL and descend road' and a 'descend FP to reach valley bottom' in the parts that were left, so it all looks quite easy going to the end. Hurrah!
Oh wait. No. Way. We're now in the bottom of the valley, and, without any mention at all of the word 'up' the instructions, the route required us quite clearly to climb out of it. Up the steepest hill all day. The A to Z of swear words....let me add in a couple of new ones I've just remembered.......
Finally, finally, out the the darned valley (now I understand why so many things have got 'hole' in their name around here, because they are literally in holes; holes that have steep sides), and then it was downhill all the way to Hutton-le-Hole, and our place of rest for the evening, The Barn B&B, where we got the newly decorated room, the first to stay in it! And the first to try the shower, which hadn't been connected up properly, and didn't work.
My swear word list is super long. In fact, I've even got words on there now beginning with letters that don't exist. Such is the irrational reaction of a tired runner to the discovery of a long anticipated hot and soapy shower being pulled right out from under their nose. The owners were super lovely, and got it fixed quicker than a quick thing in a rush, and even did our washing for us as well, and Team Luxury let us use the showers in their rooms, so all was well. And it really is a lovely room - even better now it has a fully functioning shower.
The final event of the day was dinner at The Crown Pub, which is up there for contention for The Best Pub Meal I have had, and the judging of the eagerly anticipated Luxury Item Competition. Let me explain. Running around for 3 days requires a certain amount of stuff. Which you have to carry. Therefore, space is at a premium, and every item is rigorously considered before deciding if it is truly essential that you should carry it around on your back for 100 miles. It's quite a process. A lot of things I had accepted as essential, suddenly weren't. I've never been anywhere without conditioner before, but 50 ml feels heavy once I added it in to my bag. So it came out again. Good luck hair.
The Luxury Item Competition therefore, is the comparing of the one item which you know very well you could do without, but which makes the cut anyway, because, well, we all need a little luxury in our life. There was a large amount of disagreement over what counts as a luxury item. After an impassioned debate, toothpaste and toothbrush, lip balm, deodorant, and clean underwear were all declared essential items. PJs, eye mask and ear plugs, cashmere sweater, luxury toiletries, and an emergency tooth repair kit, were declared luxury items. No winner was decided upon, as the competition was too great (or, more likely I think we were all too tired), and therefore I have christened us Team Luxury, as we are all luxurious.
I slept well in my pajamas. They were totally worth it.
And off we set...The first couple of stages today were pretty flat, through lots of farm land, which I quite enjoyed, to get warmed up and into the swing of things. And on the real event, this is the last 10 miles, so nothing can ever be flat enough by that point. It even got warm enough to take off jackets - even in Yorkshire, even in March! We'd been going about 8 miles before we had our first navigational mishap, but there you go, that's the point of a recce I suppose. I've never recced a whole route before, and I know that from what I've read about 100's there is a long-standing debate over whether recce-ing the route is some form of cheating, because you've already worked out the route beforehand, so on the event you aren't having to deal as much with that side of things. While everyone is entitled to their own opinions, my opinion is that that's rubbish. It's the equivalent of saying you can't do any training beforehand, or practice what things you can eat or drink, or look at your maps beforehand. The idea of not preparing for something makes no sense to me. Fail to prepare, prepare to fail, and all that. So the recce is staying. End of.
So, after around 11 miles or so, we made it to Malton, which on the real event is the start and finish, and therefore the perfect chance to practice our stylish finishing poses (which we might as well, because if I make it this far on the real thing, I'll be crawling by this point).
Funnily enough, the biggest challenge of all the navigation was leaving the school, which is point 1.1 on the instructions. At some point in the version changing, the instructions got changed from turn left out of gate to turn right out of gate, and due to the varying versions of the instructions we all carried, this created some confusion. We then all somehow managed to miss the turning on the correct instructions, and spent the next 10 minutes wandering up and down the same street (which just so happened to be on a hill), before finally cutting through the hospital car park to get back on the route (if nothing else, I suppose, at least now we know there is a hospital close by to the finish, which gives some comfort).
Back on track, the route started to get more interesting, firstly crossing a race course (alas, there were no horses to commandeer to gallop around the rest of the 100), and then through pretty woodlands, with glimpses of great views through the gaps in the trees.
A bit of a climb to checkpoint 1 at Easthorpe, and then the views of the North York Moors began....moody and contemplative in the distance, the rays of sunshine which would make another place look inviting, instead cast long shadows over the hills. If I was prone to fanciful thinking (which I'm not, of course), I would say they looked angry at our impending arrival, warning us to stay away. But that would be daft. The next couple of miles were pleasing; good views, forests, good chat, and our first proper encounters with the real bogs - cheerio purple trainers!
About 20 miles in, we arrived at Hovingham, our official lunch stop, which arrived in the nick of time, as my batteries had suddenly run out of juice. The village store in Hovingham is a gem. I insist that you go, even if you don't need to go to to Hovingham, or indeed don't even need a village store. Every type of gustatory delight was packed onto it's heaving shelves, and we spent a fine time restocking our bags, before bursting from the door onto a nearby picnic bench which heaved under the weight of our recently acquired sandwiches, pies, quiches, crisps, brightly coloured fruits, cakes...you name it, the shop in Hovingham has it.
Revived, we explored Hovingham somewhat more than instructed, as whilst enraptured with taking photos of a picture-perfect brook, we marched on ahead, missing the instruction to cross the bridge over aforementioned brook. The next bit was a bit confusing, lots of fields, and drainage ditches and gaps in hedges and way-markers to count, but in the end we made to Stonegrave, which despite a bit of ominous name, was a beautiful little place. The next part was a steep uphill. At the top, I turned round to congratulate myself with the reward of a good view (and reassure myself that the reason I was so tired was that the hill was so steep) and saw a wall of dark clouds, rapidly approaching. Sure enough within two minutes it was pouring down, and we all tried to get our waterproofs on in time, with varying degrees of success. As always happens on long runs, once something bad happens it's usually swiftly followed by a further tragedy, just to hit you whilst you're down, Sure enough, that was the moment that we all became utterly lost and the instructions made zero sense to any of us, and the maps were useless. After a conference in the corner of the field in the driving rain and gloom, a consensus was reached, and soon we found our way again. On we trudged though the rain. The next part was a bit of trial to be honest, along a long wet road, wet fields, more wet fields, bogs, some more questionable directions ('soon' - more on that word later). But, finally, we arrived in Wombleton, where we had a break in a little shelter in the sports field, I ate a Bounty, and felt a bit happier.
We set off on the final 10 km stage for the day, recounting an A to Z of swear words. I won't publish this particular A to Z, as to fully appreciate the brilliance of our deep and complete grasp of darker side of the English language, it helps to be 30 miles in to a long, wet run. I will though, save an equally fascinating A to Z for later in the story. The next section is a bit vague in my mind, which is worrying following a recce, but involved a lot of stiles and crossing roads, and some particularity vague instructions 'continue generally ahead through a number of smaller fields', which all of us interpreted differently, just to add some spice, but the discovery of a tennis ball and an impromtu game of football brought us all back together, and heading 'generally' in the same direction...
...where we eventually arrived in a village...alas, it was not the village for which we were headed for the night. Darn and blast it. I was getting bored of this relentless running by now. But, we were on the last few points of instructions, and there was mention of a 'TL and descend road' and a 'descend FP to reach valley bottom' in the parts that were left, so it all looks quite easy going to the end. Hurrah!
Oh wait. No. Way. We're now in the bottom of the valley, and, without any mention at all of the word 'up' the instructions, the route required us quite clearly to climb out of it. Up the steepest hill all day. The A to Z of swear words....let me add in a couple of new ones I've just remembered.......
Finally, finally, out the the darned valley (now I understand why so many things have got 'hole' in their name around here, because they are literally in holes; holes that have steep sides), and then it was downhill all the way to Hutton-le-Hole, and our place of rest for the evening, The Barn B&B, where we got the newly decorated room, the first to stay in it! And the first to try the shower, which hadn't been connected up properly, and didn't work.
My swear word list is super long. In fact, I've even got words on there now beginning with letters that don't exist. Such is the irrational reaction of a tired runner to the discovery of a long anticipated hot and soapy shower being pulled right out from under their nose. The owners were super lovely, and got it fixed quicker than a quick thing in a rush, and even did our washing for us as well, and Team Luxury let us use the showers in their rooms, so all was well. And it really is a lovely room - even better now it has a fully functioning shower.
The final event of the day was dinner at The Crown Pub, which is up there for contention for The Best Pub Meal I have had, and the judging of the eagerly anticipated Luxury Item Competition. Let me explain. Running around for 3 days requires a certain amount of stuff. Which you have to carry. Therefore, space is at a premium, and every item is rigorously considered before deciding if it is truly essential that you should carry it around on your back for 100 miles. It's quite a process. A lot of things I had accepted as essential, suddenly weren't. I've never been anywhere without conditioner before, but 50 ml feels heavy once I added it in to my bag. So it came out again. Good luck hair.
The Luxury Item Competition therefore, is the comparing of the one item which you know very well you could do without, but which makes the cut anyway, because, well, we all need a little luxury in our life. There was a large amount of disagreement over what counts as a luxury item. After an impassioned debate, toothpaste and toothbrush, lip balm, deodorant, and clean underwear were all declared essential items. PJs, eye mask and ear plugs, cashmere sweater, luxury toiletries, and an emergency tooth repair kit, were declared luxury items. No winner was decided upon, as the competition was too great (or, more likely I think we were all too tired), and therefore I have christened us Team Luxury, as we are all luxurious.
I slept well in my pajamas. They were totally worth it.
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