A bit of bling.....#82, #83, #84

A great three races over the last couple of weeks, courtesy of the fabulous Phoenix Running....

First up, my first attempt at two marathons in a day. Each marathon was 8 x 5 km laps along the River Thames from Elmbridge Leisure Centre just outside of Walton-on-Thames to Walton Bridge. I was a bit worried about it. I know that I've done races that are the equivalent of two marathons in length, but for some reason I'd got it into my head that doing two times a shorter run was harder than doing one longer run, which makes no sense at all, but there you go. 

My nerves all a-jitter, the first marathon (The Running Man, #82) set off at 09:00. The first few laps were busy by the river, with rowing clubs out training, and a cycle event going on. In addition to the super friendly Phoenix marshals, there were an extra two friendly marshals from the cycling race, thoughtfully placed either side of The Blue Bridge of Botheration (as I came to call it, by the end of going up and down it twice on each lap x 16 laps). I managed to do the whole run without a hitch, which is not something I've said often of late. So, hurrah! I did 4:27, which left an hour and a half before the next one started, which was time for a few snacks, some coffee, and a catch up with Andrew and fellow runners, and a shower. Seriously, I've never had a shower mid run before, but blimey I felt better for it! I got distracted admiring my new bit of bling momentarily...

....then realised I was late for the next race brief, and assumed the poise of Running Man to head to the start of the next race (The Night Phoenix, #83)....

...for 15:00 and off! I felt good for the first 3 laps, then had a bit of blip for laps 4-5. I think my energy dropped a bit low and the shakes came on, but I adopted what turned out to be a very effective strategy (I have noted this for future disasters) of a chocolate Freddo and a fistful of assorted sweets from the delectable Tuck Shop aid station at the end of the next three laps, and by lap 6 I felt back on form. The last 3 laps I felt good again, plus dusk was gathering, and that meant....it was time to try out my new head torch! (see the last blog for the calamity that had lead to this latest purchase). It was magical running along the river in the dark, the water glittering in the torch light (which, by the way, is a thousand times better than my old one, not least because it actually stays switched on), and lots of tiny dots of light bobbing up and down along the side of the river from the other runners torches. I don't know what it is about running in the dark, but it's just different to running in the light. It's more absorbing. Even though you see less, you feel more, hear more, smell more. I was so absorbed in it, I could have kept going all night (well, OK, maybe not ALL night), but Andrew, legend that he is, was waiting to drive home, so I called it a night at a marathon. I did 4:48 so was pretty pleased with that, but not nearly as pleased as I was with the second addition of bling for the day:

I was pleased as punch with the day's medal haul, but it was not over yet! Rik presented me with a third and unexpected bling...my bronze Phoenix Wings, for completing 10 events with Phoenix:

I shall wear them on my trainers with pride (and hope that they do, actually, give me wings), on my way hopefully to silver wings in 15 races time...

Which I thought I'd crack on with ASAP, and so wings attached, two weeks later flew down to the River for The Leviathon 50 Miles (#84). This had the same start, but different direction; a 3.3 mile leg out to Hampton Court, then back, x 7.6 times. I was a bag a nerves again about the laps. They just seemed like very long laps, and a lot of them. But, as always, there was nothing to worry about, as it was a splendid race, and probably my favourite Phoenix run so far, beating off some stiff competition. 

The weather forecast was a devil. Monday = sun, Tuesday = sun, Wednesday = sun, Thursday = sun, Friday = sun, Saturday (9am, race start) = heavy rain, Sunday = sun, Monday = sun, etc etc. The only inaccuracy in the forecast was that the rain was a little late in starting, so we got in one lap before it started bucketing it down. And then, no exaggeration, it poured, and poured, and poured all day long, with not a moment's break. The fish in the river were looking at us in pity. I have never been so wet. And with the wet it was cold. So cold! I, being a fool, had failed to bring anything sensible, like gloves, but fear not! A handy toilet block at the end of the lap had hot water and a hot hand-dryer, and for my last 5 laps I made a short detour each lap to defrost my digits. Note to self: winter is here. Bring clothing, lots of it.

The laps passed by with unexpected ease and, other than being accidentally bitten by a dog who was trying to steal my 4th lap cheese scone but instead ended up with my hand, passed without injury or drama. As always at Phoenix, I spent the day with a crowd of awesome people, and big thanks to everyone, runners and marshalls, for making the day such fun. I ran 9:02:31 which is a 50 mile PB for me by 44 minutes. I was so surprised by myself that I almost fell over, and the final straw was being given the event medal, which was so enormous, it pretty much floored me into a nearby puddle, but I was already so wet it made not a scrap of difference:

 

Well done to everyone who ran today, conditions were not favourable! And also to Rik and the marshalls - I can't imagine standing around looking after us all in that weather was any nicer than running in it.

A short break has ensued since the Leviathon, as I had laser surgery on my eyes. Turns out my right eye is a bit naff, and didn't do what it was supposed to post laser, so has taken a bit longer to be sorted. But thanks to my excellent consultant at Moorfields, it is now fixed, and for the first time since I was 4 years old, I now have 20:20 vision, which is just magic. Now I can see, the path towards #100 is becoming clearer....

The Red Rose 50

A big run in Lancashire had been on my to do list for some time, but my previous attempts had been thwarted by various obstacles. But finally things worked out for the The Red Rose 50! The route had been revamped from the previous year, and through looking at the route description, seemed by all accounts to be 50 splendid miles of running (but I’m from there, so I’m biased).

It was a family affair! My Mum and Dad were walking it, And so the night before was great fun, spent reviewing the route description, which was going well, until reaching the last section, which I realised I had left on my printer back in London. Helpful. Disaster averted by my Mum, who had a spare copy with a hand drawn map of a tricky bit, which was to be useful later…...

The start was at Jumbles sailing Club, which isn’t just the best name for a sailing club ever? Although in reality the start was anything but a jumble, and the organisation from East Lancs LDWA was ship shape. My parents set off at 08:00, and then I scuttled back inside to relax for a while, watching the rain beat off the window and bounce off the reservoir, to wait for the 09:00 running start. I got chatting to a guy called Patrick, who it turns out had run the last few miles of the NYM 100 last year with Andrew! As more runners checked in, bread was spread with jam, tea was brewed, and the sky got darker as the rain beat harder. The 08:00 starters…..what a start they must be having!

Turns out 09:00 wasn’t much better, but we are in Lancashire, and rain is the name of the game I guess. The first section sounded quite long really - Jumbles to San Marino. But on perusal of the map, San Marino turned out to be a pub near Belmont, not in northern Italy. The start was an uphill to Turton Tower, and then up to the trig point and across the moor. Then it was off the moor, down a gully, which the rain had turned into more of a stream, and I began to seriously regret my choice of shoe (I am fed up of getting blisters and was experimenting with a different pair of trainers, which is a stupid idea to try on a 50 miler). But I was distracted over the first few miles, as people were settling into their paces, and I met some fellow runners, and got chatting. CP1 in the San Marino pub car park was filled with friendly marshals, and a large bowl filled with liquorice all-sorts, which surprised me, as my Dad (aka the Liquorice King) had already passed through here.

The next section was a beast, mainly due to Winter Hill and Rivington Pike being between here and the next check point. The weather really was bobbins today, and it got worse the further up Winter Hill we went. But, I’ve been a regular on Winter Hill since the age of about 3, and I think I’ve been able to see a view from the top once, so this is no surprise, and I should stop harping on about it, and put the energy into getting to the top, wherever that was. An indistinct shadow of the mast was vaguely visible somewhere in the cloud, but it was so bad even the lights on the mast were shrouded. I had a moment of total clarity up there, the rain my face, the cold on my skin, the air in my lungs, the mud on, well, everywhere. The energy of the hill and my energy seemed to meet, and I felt totally as part of the earth. Blimey. It was probably the cold got to my head, or I’d had too many allsorts at the last checkpoint. Either way, extra energy of any type was useful for the next part, as the route came off Winter Hill across the moor, which was a never ending bog, down off the hill to a self clip (put there to avoid what would have been a cracking short cut) and then back up to Rivington Pike for another self clip (avoiding an even better short cut), and then running down off the Pike I spotted my parents ahead. Greetings and flapjack were exchanged, then it was on in an uncontrollable dash down through Rivington Gardens (I love flying down the winding paths and steep slopes of Rivington) and the Pinetum, and then along the flat to CP2 at Rivington Village Hall.

I was looking forward to the next 10 km section, from Rivington to Brinscall, as it was 1) part of my regular running route at home, and 2) a straight line and therefore difficult to get lost. Lots of nice long straight sections along the reservoirs and up the Nab (and along a footpath I had never been down, in all my years of running here), where it was safe to turn back and admire at the ominous looking Winter Hill from a distance...

....and views back along Anglezarke...

....then along the Goit past White Coppice and to Brinscall. I caught up with Patrick and we ran together to Brinscall, where cheesey crumpets were on the menu.

Fuelled up, I set off on the next section with Jim, who I ran the next few sections of the route with. A bit of a flatter section came next, with more downhill than up. Hurrah! Initially though fields, and then down to the canal, under the M65, then up back on to the road for a while, then fields and woods, headed towards Houghton Tower. I succeeded to take the worst picture of Houghton Tower ever.  

This is what it looks like, from it’s website…..

I shall stick to running, not photography. The CP4 at Houghton was filled with bananas and custard, and I ran into a chap who I’d met at the Herts Stroller (member number 21 of the LDWA), who has done an incredible number of 100s, and has an infectious way of talking you into saying that “yes, of course I’m going to do next years, what a splendid idea”.… but before we get ahead of ourselves, we must first tackle the next 29 miles… and thus Patrick, Jim and I set off towards the next checkpoint at Mellor Brook. If I wasn’t mistaken, it was definitely brightening up, the rain had eased off, and there were even views. Lancashire!!! I have missed you!

CP5 at Mellor Brook was a gem. We filled our pieholes with rice pudding and fruit salad, which was needed, as the next section was an even bigger beast than the earlier beast and was long, 8 and a half miles to the next CP at Tockholes, and 1361 feet of ascent. I’ll be jiggered. The first few miles started off quite gently, through fields and farms, then the up started. Initially though a bog (an over-the-top-of-the-trainers type of bog, which was mostly composed of cow poo), and past a farm with the two smallest, loudest and most affronted looking dogs I have ever met. Then, on past my old sixth form college; Westholme, which jogged (ha!) memories of cross country laps of the field, and I had another moment of realization that, erm, well, quite a lot of years later, and I was still running laps of fields (usually in the wrong direction). Nothing changes, eh (including my photography skills - another great photo of a gateway rather than the actual building)...

....then up into Witton Country Park for a good downhill section through woods and paths, out onto the playing fields (more memories of school cross country) and then a bit of urban running, and back on to the canal for a mile and a half stretch. Back under and along the M65, through fields and then the last few hundred metres up a steep road, and up to Tockholes CP6. I was sad to have been separated from Patrick on the last section, and Jim at CP6, but I was confident they would both be back in no time.

I set off on leg 7, another belter, just over 7 miles to Entwistle, starting off with a long downhill from Tockholes to Earnsdale Reservoir, before a long haul up to Darwin Tower....

I shall not dwell on the next section, as I did not enjoy it (despite the instruction)...

....but I do not wish to complain about the route, as it really is an excellent 50 miles and I highly recommend it. It’s just I don’t particularly like moors, and I don’t like this path across Darwin Moor in particular, and this is where the route went. I slipped and twisted, landed bum first in the bog, all the way across, cursing the moor first quietly, but becoming less quiet as the time went on. The next instruction on the route description “do not descend into gorge” which had seemed blindingly obvious reading it on the sofa the previous evening, suddenly seemed quite helpful, as I careered along the edge of it the gorge, trying not to make any sudden descents towards it’s boggy bottom. After what seemed like an age, I made it to the other side of the moor, and gratefully headed down to Entwistle Reservoir for a glorious 1 mile run along the waters edge, to CP 7, which was a fine CP if ever there was one.

Leg 8 was 5 miles to Hawkshaw, and the biggest question was, would I get there before dark. Being an idiot, I decided to try to race the sunset, and as an added incentive, left my headtorch deeply buried within my pack. Soon after setting off on my foolish quest, the route passed the Strawbury Duck Pub in Entwistle, which is a name so intriguing I had to try to find out what it means. I failed, but got as far as that Entwistle comes from the English ‘ened’ and ‘twisla’ which means a river fork frequented by ducks. So I guess that’s where the duck comes from, but Strawbury…no idea. Pondering on the idea, some road running followed, then it was back up to the moors...

...but this time on tracks. Phew. But just a temporary phew, as I hadn’t got lost yet, and this couldn’t last, and sure enough, I soon became temporarily (-ish) unsure of my position, and went downhill down the wrong track for a few minutes before realising my error and getting back on track, where things were starting to look decidely dusky....

.....I made it to about 1 mile from the next checkpoint, running through fields looking for small signposts, when I conceded that it was now too dark to see the signs. So I pulled off my pack in the middle of a field, put in a new set of batteries, and switched it on. Nothing! I switched to my spare pair of batteries, dropping the first set in the grass, and then faffed around as I couldn’t see them, as the torch was STILL not working! PANIC!!! I finally got it sort of working, by keeping hold of the batteries and keeping them in a certain position. After much scrambling around in the wet grass and flickering on and off of the headtorch, I located the fallen batteries, and set off through the fields towards the village of Hawkshaw where the checkpoint was. Coming into the village, I opened the pocket in my bag to get my tally card ready, forgetting the I’d put the spare batteries in there, and all three of them fell out, and rolled off in different directions underneath a car parked on the kerb. Crawling around under the car, with a flickering light, looking for black batteries on black tarmac was a low point, let me tell you.

Moving on, only the final section (just over 5 km from Hawkshaw to Jumbles) left to do now without messing anything else up. Right after leaving the checkpoint, I found myself in a wood which, referring back to my previous experiences of running in the dark, would have had me all in a tizz. But tonight, I don’t know why, I didn’t care as much. Maybe it was I really thought that by my age, I really shouldn’t be scared of the dark. Or maybe I had too much other things to be thinking about. Was my headtorch going to conk out? And where was I?? Deep in a wood! Too many paths! Which one?! But, section 9….the spare set of instructions….the hand-drawn map! Hallelujah! (and I owe you one, parents!!) I located the right path and climbed up out of the wood, a pond glittering to the right, in the flickering head torch. A Roman Cross appeared out of the darkness, but still I refused to think of ghosts. I followed some powerlines downhill for ¾ of a mile, where I had a little wobble when I thought the red glittering eyes of the devil were staring at me out of the darkness, but then I realised it was just a cow. Quite a lot of them actually. Yikes! But they seemed more disturbed by the encounter than I was, and I could hear them all mooing and tramping off in the darkness. A final wood, just to test my nerve, but no ghostly encounters tonight, just a detestable set of steps up and out of the trees. Steps! At 49.5 miles!!! I checked my phone for a time check, and had a message from my Mum to say my Dad had been unwell and they had retired and were on their way back to base. As it turns out, we made it back to the end at the same time (them having been given a lift back by LDWA number 21 – small world!). I could tell my Dad wasn’t right, as he refused food, Lancashire Hot Pot at that, which is most unusual. But he is now recovered, and he and my Mum completed 35 miles, which is excellent, I am super proud of them, and the most important thing is, they are both OK. Phew!

Good to catch up with fellow runners at the end, and pleased as punch to see Jim, Patrick, and Imtiaz make it back soon after. Big thanks to East Lancs LDWA for an absolutely top notch event, and for planning an excellent route to show off my local area to it's best! Great to meet and run with some great people out there; thanks for a great day and good company. And as always huge thanks to all the volunteers who give up their time to let us all have a good day out on the hills, and make it even better by being so lovely all of the time (and especially thanks to the lady doing first aid at the end, who made sure my Dad was alright, and was so kind to us all - and if you ever see this.... I promise I will be keeping  up with the Pilates and the yoga after hearing your inspiring story!)

50:50

A couple more 50 milers...

First up, the annual summer overnight 50 at the end of July, organised by my friend Alan. Alan dislikes the heat, and so in the warmest months, organises an overnight run to get some miles in while it's cooler. Whilst not adverse to the heat myself, indeed being quite partial to it usually, the last few weeks had been a little toasty even for a summer lover, and the anticipation of some cooler running came as a relief. The weather had been heating up all week, and had been dry as a bone for weeks before that, but thunderstorms were forecast overnight for Friday, plus an eclipse, so it look set to be a tempestuous night.

Victoria station was also quite tempestuous at 7.30 on Friday evening, and catching the train down to the start of the run felt like escaping from the rat race, to a secret adventure. Hopping off at Amberley, the mid point of the South Downs Way, we set off into the gathering dusk. The clouds scuppered any chance of seeing the eclipse, but added an extra layer of atmosphere to the darkening landscape, the hills in the distance already looming like shadows. Despite the obvious drawback of getting no sleep, I love running through the night. It feels like a blanket of stillness descends on the world when the light fades, the world shrinks to the circle of a head torch beam, the other things going on outside it suddenly unimportant.

After a few hours chugging along the trails, we were permitted a rare treat - 10 minutes for a snooze! Never having slept on a run before, I followed the lead of my team mates, pulled on a jacket, picked a soft grassy spot on the path, and rested my head on a fluffy pillow/ lumpy bag. It was a revelation! I've never stopped and stayed completely still on a run before - it was amazing how much was going on, right in the middle of nowhere, in the pitch black of night. The stillness I mentioned before was absolute rubbish - there was all sorts going on out here! A chorus of sounds, and lights and movements in the air. After a few minutes tuning in, I started to drift off. Suddenly it seemed lighter. Really rather lighter. Had we slept through the night? Was it dawn! I opened my eyes and stared into the light, which was getting bigger by the second. 

!!!!!!!!!!!!!

BIKE!!!!!!!!!!!!

We scattered either side of the path as two mountain bikes came tearing through the grassy patch, which seconds before had been our bed. 

Blimey. That was close. Note to self: don't be caught napping. At least, not in the middle of a national trail. Who would have thought it though, it was 2am, who would have thought anyone would be out here at this time!

Come to think of it, it was really quite busy up here in the night. After that we saw a few more mountain bikers, a group of men doing a charity walk, and several people all out eclipse hunting.

We successfully avoided needing any more naps, and made it without further ado to the end at Winchester, conveniently in time for breakfast.

Fresh from the overnight training, The Herts Stroller (54 miles) was up a couple of weeks later, for #80. Put on by the Essex and Herts LDWA, it was a most excellent event, a well organized and a pretty route along countryside trails. The start went off well, and it soon became clear that the route descrption was bang on the money, and navigation wasn’t going to be an issue, which was lucky, as I had a deadline to get back for the last train, and getting lost was not factored in to this plan. 

The first few miles ambled through pretty villages, and up the first couple of long gentle climbs, along some lanes, and the first checkpoint was reached at 8 miles in. Then it was on along idyllic hedgerows and through woods, and through a village called Hexton which had a quite beautiful church. Up and over Barton Hill....

....to checkpoint 2, where we picked up the Chiltern Way, and soon, I after met up with my cousin Sammy and had a good chat. By the by, he is now currently walking his way back to uni. Not just up the road, but from his home in Sussex back to Lancaster. Yes! What a legend! If you see him along the way, please offer him a brew, as loves tea. And, on that subject, we soon happened upon Tea Green....

I slowed my pace, as instructed (ha!) and trotted along to checkpoint 3, 22 miles in. I was feeling sick, which is a boring and repetitive theme in my recent blogs, so we'll skip over it for now, and focus on the positives - that now there were only a further 32 miles left, and apart from feeling sick I was feeling otherwise strong. Some more undulations followed in the next part of the route, and the route description kept mentioning things such as 'high tension wires' and 'power poles'. I amused myself for a while, imagining the wooden poles dressed in power suits and heels, and tottering into meetings where everyone/everypole was under high tension. Fortunately, my mind was saved from these ramblings when we went through Peter’s Green, and then Chiltern Green, and I instead became distracted by the abudnace of greens all around, when in fact, how everything was really quite yellow at the moment...

...... I realise my thoughts were becoming delerious, and fortunately I soon came back into civilisation in Wheathampstead, and CP4 at 30.6 miles, where a delicious pasta and red sauce was being served. My appetite having returned, I lost all control and ate two bowls, and felt momentarily better, until I tried to run again.

Although the next section was very beautiful, along a river, up a hill, and through a field with sunflowers, I now had a really really bad stitch and was feeling like rolling back down the hill into the checkpoint and sleeping there (I would have gone for a snooze in the sunflower field, but was mindful of my last outdoor sleeping experience)....

Anyway, I got over this nonsense and tackled the next section -  a long section on a dis-used railway. Soon we came to Ayot St Lawrence, which had a magnificent neo-classical style church, St Lawrence Church, which I was so struck by, I neglected to take a photo. CP5 followed soon after at 37.4 miles, at Kimpton, which I will always remember as the checkpoint with the poshest loos I have ever seen on an event.

I left the luxury loos and headed past another beautiful church, hills and an increasing number of woods, which I couldn't help noticing were becoming concerningly dark inside as the evening marched on. Anyway, CP6 was up next, where it was nice and cosy and bright inside, and only 11 miles left.

The next field included a large number of menacing looking cows. I walked past them, so as not to startle them, but out of the corner of my eye could see them following me, forcing me ever closer to the woods, which were becoming more frequent on the route description, and were definitely getting dark inside, now dusk was setting in. I was momentarily distracted by the next instruction, which stated, simply, “TimmedL”. I started looking for a timid left turn, but couldn't see one. Maybe it was so timid, it was hiding itself. Ah ha - of couse! Turn immediately left! I must be out of practice at cracking LDWA code. It was starting to rain now, and a very long uphill challenge ensued, through long wet grass, to, oh, another wood.

The last checkpoint, CP7 came and went, where I relented, got out my head torch and resigned myself to the fact I was going to have to run 6 miles on my own in the dark. I had neglected to realise this was going to happen, what with the later start time, longer route, and fading summer. Dang and blast it. It was dark. Still, the next bit seemed to be on a road, and it was only a few miles to the end now, so it was all going to be just fine. No problemo! 

I kept up the pretence for a whole 5 minutes, even when leaving the road, until I came to an avenue of trees on a desolated farm track, where a car had been hovering with it's lights on, which now started crawling slowly towards me down the track. A bolt of fright, matched only by the biking incident two weeks previously, shot through my core. I switched off my head torch, and switfly exited the avenue of trees, where I tried to make my way across the next field on the route descritpion, towards Welby Buisness Park, which apparently is the place to be on a Saturday night. It's biazzare. I remember this from the Three Forests Way (in a similar area). It would be pitch black and dead as night, and suddenly you would happen upon an isolated house or warehouse where there was a right old booze up going down, with spot lights circling the sky and beats shaking the ground and drunken screeches piercing the air. And then you'd run on a little bit further, and leave it all behind, in the middle of no where.

After being followed by another two cars out of the party park, I picked up the pace, and dived into the next field. Here I met a dilemma. Backwards, and into the hands of the people I was now convinced were following me, or forwards into the looming Shadow Of The Woods where, well, who knows what was in there.

I chose the woods and took my chances.

I guess it's clear by now that my bravado about running in the dark on the South Downs extends only to if I am surrounded by a group of people whom I trust, and when thrust into the countryside alone in the dead of night, I am  pathetic. I spent the last 5 miles of the run, which were entirely through wooded areas and remote footpaths, staring fixedly at the centre of my headtorch beam and thinking about ghosts. The fact that everything, ghosts included, would take one look at me 50 miles into a run, and walk (or float, I suppose, if it was a ghost) in the opposite direction failed to occur to me until later, when I arrived at the end, exhausted more from the mental draining of the last hour of ghost stories than anything else.

Safey ensconced within Hitchin Rugby Club's solid and reassuring walls, surrounded by friendly and familiar faces, the ghosts faded fast. I did 11.54 for 54 miles, which was an improvement on my recent times and I was happy with it, and also enjoyed it hugely, which was the main thing. Plus, although I made it in plenty of time for the train, Andrew came to pick me up (cheers!). Thanks to Essex and Herts LDWA for a splendid event - top notch!

Marathons #77, #78 and #79

It’s remarkable the gems of insight you find just wandering around. And it’s just as well. My inspiration for writing has waned somewhat of late, and so random guidance from accommodating signposts is always helpful the effort to get over writers block. So lo! A sign! I don’t mind admitting I have been floundering and worrying a lot lately about what the point of running 100 marathons is, in fact, what the point of me is. So much so, that I had neglected to notice the fact that whilst I’d been running around in circles in my head, I had actually been running round in an ever increasing number of physical circles as well, and hadn’t written a single word of a single race report about a single one of them. And soon, I ran across another sign, which although not altogether encouraging…

...reminded me that even if it seems a long way to your goal, you shouldn't mind, as that just means that there's still lots of good times to be had on the way. And so for my latest three race reports…..

#77 - Star Runners, 24^th June 2018, 32.8 miles

I was equally excited and full of trepidation for today’s run. Excited because it was my second run with Saturn Running, a new race organiser on the block which put on just fabulous events, and also full of trepidation because it started at the same place (Wraysbury Skiff and Punting Club, should you wish to go) as the Magna Carta Marathon I did a couple of months ago, where such was the depths of despair that my body sank to, that I thought my running career, if not my whole existence, was about to extinguish.

By a stroke of luck, the first feeling was accurate, and it was a wonderful day. I ran (literally, ha! – you must excuse the recycling of some old and dreadful jokes whilst I regain my writing mojo) into Gemma at the start and ran the marathon with her. The time flew past really rather fast with someone to talk to. And Gemma is really so lovely. It was genuinely quite an experience to run for 4 and a half hours with someone who was constantly nice to me and checking in that everything was OK every few minutes. Afterwards, I wondered why that was, and the revelation struck that if I ran a marathon by myself in 4 and a half hours, I spend about 4 of those hours being deplorable to myself, berating myself for not being quicker, or as good as the person who just passed me, for not doing this right, for doing that wrong, for just being useless. Sounds stupid, but I think you get so used to things sometimes you don't even notice that you're doing them. Anyway, it was food for thought for me.

And (it wasn’t going to be long before arriving on to the subject) on to actual food! And watermelon! This has long been my favourite food, and lo here we were at a lapped event, and there was watermelon every 5 km! Dreams do come true. 

It’s the first time, I think, that I’ve run a race whilst England (football) have been playing. And it’s definitely the first time I’ve run a race whilst they’ve won. George had set it up on his phone at the aid station, and what a hoot it was checking in every 35 ish minutes on the score! And they even scored whilst I was watching! Such is the time it’s taken to write this, that we all by now know the fate which eventually befell our beloved side, but fair play to them, good effort all round!

I completed the marathon distance with Gemma, and was feeling alright, so carried on for a couple more laps to do 32.8 miles. After that, it was too hot, I’d got a headache, and the watermelon had run out, so I called it a day. Thanks again Saturn Running for a top event.

#78 - Afoot In Two Dales, 7^th July 2018, 50 miles

Ow do! It’s a new Yorkshire 50! This was a re-invented event which hadn’t been run for a good number of years, but was back on the event calendar, and filling a gap left by the Woldsman 50 (my favourite 50), which alas was no longer in existence.

I was feeling full of excitement and tredipation again for today. I hadn’t done a run this far since the 100 last year, and the ghosts of that are still floating back into my conscious every so often. But I was excited as 50’s had always been my favourite distance to run, so maybe I would return to some semblance of my former self and manage to do it well. The run was up in the Yorkshire Dales, a fine place to be if ever there was one. Preparations in the 24 hours leading up the start didn’t follow conventional advice. I spent all day walking around the “Allergy and Free From Show” (for work), and trying a great array of new “free-from” foods for “research” purposes. Thus disregarding in an offhanded fashion that well known gem of running wisdom of not to try anything new in the lead up to a race. We then headed up north on a packed train with broken air-con, which usually in Britain wouldn’t make a scrap of difference, but today in the 28oC heat, after three hours of roasting like little pigs in blankets all squashed together in an oven, we emerged from the carriage red as lobsters, gasping in the fresh cool Yorkshire air. Which wasn't that cool, come to think of it. Heck, it was hot.

I did still feel a bit peaky the next morning. Maybe the combination of free-from foods didn’t agree with me as a pre ultra diet. I managed ½ a bread muffin and some fruit and yoghurt, and a little coffee. I was also feeling decidedly nervous about the day, not a feeling I often have or relish. I felt momentarily better on arriving, as there were heaps of familiar friendly faces loitering around at the start. But oh! It was 50 miles! Who was I kidding, I hadn't done this in over a year! 

We congregated as a great mass outside the hall, and I surreptitiously inched towards the back of the crowd as the race briefing was underway. If I was really, really quiet maybe no one would notice if I hid in the toilets for a bit and then bailed it, and spent the day eating Wensleydale cheese and ice cream sat under a nice cool tree. Mmmmm, ice cream. The shrill peel of the starting whistle interrupted my daydream, and a sea of faces covered in interesting patterns of suncream and a variety of hats, all belonging to several hundred people suddenly turned and stampeded towards me. That will teach me to read the route description and check the direction for the first point. I was now accidentally right at the front, and faced with the option of being trampled by a crowd of people all about to traverse 50 miles on foot (and therefore as mad as a box of frogs), I started running. I was completely useless. I couldn’t even not start a race properly. Ee cudna stop a pig in a ginnel, to coin a popular Yorkshire phrase. I realised that within approximately 5 seconds of starting I was already being negative towards myself, and that following my recent reflections, this must not do. Fortunately, I soon got chatting to Julie who I ran the rest of the way with, joined by Kim a bit later, and Jesse for the last few miles, and I was extremely lucky to meet them, and picked up a huge amount of tips from their extensive running experiences along the way.

The heat was just too much for me today, and I really struggled in it. I felt sick all day and couldn’t eat much, and also got a great number of new blisters, which was devastating as I was wearing new shoes (i.e. had just spent a lot of money on new shoes). Other than that, which I kind of got used to after a while, it was a wonderful day. The scenery was out of this world. 

I’ve got to say, there’s nowt quite like the Yorkshire Dales on a sunny day. The route took in Wensleydale and Swaledale, and the scenery was literally so stunning it was difficult to look enough to take it all in. My eyes hurt from it all. The only part of the route that I’d had any apprehension about was the section over Great Shunner Fell (which are three words that I don’t like, altogether at once, to describe a hill). It was fairly tough, a long 4 mile uphill, but not as bad as I’d feared. 

The descent was actually worse – as we came down the other side into the valley the slight breeze that had been blowing on the top suddenly ceased, and it felt like the heat from the valley was pushing back up, whilst the sun shone on the bright white rocky path and reflected back up to the blue sky. It was literally like running in an oven. Eh by gum. 

But we were rewarded at the bottom – England were playing again, and by the time we reached the next checkpoint were winning! I also sourced some more watermelon, and thus fortified we set off again for the second half.

I can honestly say I have never drunk so much, or sweated so much in my life. It was like a reservoir passed through my body, and I still felt thirsty. In a lack of organisation prior to the run I hadn’t managed to get any electrolyte tablets, so was experimenting with dioralyte instead, which usually makes me heave at the thought, but I was so thirsty that even that was going down a treat. It worked quite well actually, and it's cheap, and as I've now got loads of the stuff, I shall use it again.

We made it back before dark. Although it was tough, I had a brilliant day, met some wonderful people, and learnt more about running ultras than I have in a long time. Thanks to Julie, Kim and Jesse who helped me through! And to my Mum and Dad and Andrew for the support along the way. And of course to the Irregulars LDWA for a brilliant event, I hope it stays a firm fixture in the event calendar. 

I soon recovered from the heat, and was able to fully enjoy Wensleydale by partaking in a bit of cheese tasting. More cheese, Gromit?

And celebrate my Mum's birthday with cream tea (thanks - and Dad - for your support this weekend, and all the time!): 

Refuelling. An essential part of any recovery.

#79 - Shark Run Grey Reef, 14^th July 2018, marathon

And from a Yorkshire twang, to the dulcet tones of Essex. Bee-ayve! Yes. My Jaws medal from last years Jaw Dropper marathon was looking hungry:

No cake would pacify it: 

Nor a small deer:

And not even some Royals:

And so I decided it was time for another shark medal to join it, and dueley headed to Essex for the Grey Reef Shark Run, in search of a fellow shark medal. 

Phwoar, it was another scorcher. I celebrated by putting out two different bottles of suncream, and promptly forgetting to take either. Fortunately the awesome Rik and Phoenix Team let me borrow some, and so I was spared a red face (and other parts). Phwoar it was hot. Yes, I’ve said it again, but it’s worth emphasising. This was a 5 km lapped run, and I managed about one lap before the engine overheated and began a gradual decline in performance, before settling on spluttering along in that irritating bit where you can’t quite make it from neutral to first gear, that makes a horrid screeching noise. Fortunately, I ran into George from Saturn running around about the third lap, and he kindly distracted me for a while with a lot of entertaining running tales on route to his 52 in 52 (that’s 52 marathons in 52 weeks). As always at lapped events there's plenty of people to talk to on the way around, so I always love them, and today was no exception. Despite these distractions, my engine had now stopped trying even to make first gear, and my last couple of laps were spent in an unpleasant place, my head feeling very light, and my legs feeling very heavy (which I suppose if you take an average, means I was about right). There must be some sort of physics phenomena to describe this. I made it to the end, where such was my patheticness that I was knocked over when Rik gave me my medal.

Aside from my physical failings, it was a lovely run. Beautiful route along the River Stort, and great to come back to a route I did in the winter, and see how the changing seasons completely change it. 

Not even a drop of mud today. Not one! A great friendly event, amazing aid station, and good fun to be had as always at Phoenix events - thanks Phoenix! And Jaws finally is satisfied with his new partner, and has stopped trying to eat the other medals: