Running for the pies

Running for the pies

Saturday, 27 December 2014

18th October: Brutal Woolmer

Mud, mud, glorious mud sang the duo of Flanders & Swan… And when it come to singing a song about running they must have had the Brutals in mind, and the Woolmer 10k was no disappointment with that regard.

Still feeling in good form from the Glencoe Marathon and not too sore from the riding of last weekend I decided to drive down to the race rather than cycle it as in previous times with the event base being moved a mile or so further away and deeper off-road in the midst of the army training ranges down at Longmoor Camp.


Some Canicrossers striking a pose.
All registered I watched the Canicrossers start off on their run before readying myself for the main event and the fun and games of 10k’s of pure unadulterated filth, all good tempo work for the Rivington Trail Marathon I’ve booked in for next weekend.

video

I had looked at the course and compared it to last year’s and in the way that the organisers love to get the best out of the features of the terrain - leading us up some evil hills and through some ‘wades’ it was to pretty much the same as before, although with a twist: With the increasing popularity of the Brutal’s the event base had moved a couple of miles further towards Longmoor and a far larger area for parking of the massed ranks and the logistics of the event. With the start shifting locale, the course loop was to be joined at its southerly tip rather than the westerly extreme.

Warming up.
After the massed warm-up we all gathered for the off before trotting along on the metalled track from the base back to where we had driven on to the site and over the bridge crossing the A3 (I had wondered what the cones blocking some of the road in were for!) and now we hit the course for real!

A fairly solid start.
The initial uphills.
Looking back down the slope.
Underfoot it was fairly easy going, with grass covering the sandy soil with a bit of ankle deep mud and puddle to contend with - letting us in gently, very gently, because soon we turned a corner and started to do some of the climbing, in particular the sharp concrete hill of the vehicle testing track and its constant gradient from bottom to top… Once traversed we had the brief recovery of a downhill before heading back up again and a forestry section of undulations and ‘moguls’ before emerging out the other side on to the heathland; all warmed up quite nicely ready for our first dunking of the day to cool off.

The wait for the dunk.
Feeling brave and jumping in I found my feet disappear from beneath me and my chest hit the water as I struggled to get upright again, nearly swimming to get to the other side… A precursor of things to come as today was not going to be my lucky day crossing the water: It seemed every time I entered water today I found a submerged log or something to trip over on entry leading to me getting proper dunkings.

Second splash.
Scrambling out the other side it was onwards in anticipation of the next dunking… The good thing about the fording of ditches, the wades through them and trying to cross the ponds is that they tend to give you a bit of respite as the entries are bottle-necks, so you can catch your breath for a few seconds before it leaves you again with the shock of the cold water on your body! Aside from the ditch crossings with their scrambles up the slippery muddy banks we had one long wade along a ditch and two crossings of lakes to contend with, all three of them being waist deep.

The trench wade.
A coupla happy chappies behind me.
The first pond crossing.
The second double-pond crossing.
Those still wading.
After a few more hills and the final wades at the end, we found ourselves back by the first turn and the return over the bridge back to the start line.

The last wallow before heading for the finish.
After drying off, changing and calming down I waited around for a couple of the canicrossers I know to finish before heading off myself, having completed the run in a good time I was happy with, some good preparation for Irvington, the next one on the schedule.


Stumbling across the finish line.

Wednesday, 26 November 2014

12th October: Gridiron #6

Up at sparrow’s fart and barrelling down the M3 on the second Sunday in October can mean only one thing… It’s Gridiron day today.

I’ve ridden this round-the-New-Forest cycle route every year since 2008 - and at least this time I was organised enough to get in to the event properly rather than ‘banditing’ it as I did last year through it being over-subscribed.

This year marked a difference as the route had been changed noticeably from that used before. Previously the course had been a circuit around the whole of the New Forest, but this year it was re-routed to take in a more westerly route within the Forest whilst remaining the same distance with the event base for the second year running in the port town of Lymington.

In the weeks before the event the organisers had been in touch with those of us riding about further changes in the planned route due to circumstances beyond their control. The organisers of this event are the local branch of the charity the ‘Cyclists Touring Club’, or CTC and have been staging this ride on the second October Sunday every year for the last 21 years without any fuss or bother, with the popularity of the event increasing over the years mirroring the popularity of cycling in general in Britain.

With the increased interest in cycling, more events have been springing up around the country, and one company in particular ‘UK Cycling Events’ backed by their sponsor - cycling supplies website Wiggle, have become ubiquitous with these cycling ‘sportives’ nationwide.

The Gridiron is run as a 'staged' route, with stops to have your card stamped to stop people from racing around like loons as fast as they can and causing a menace to other road users, with the route being entirely on open roads… This is not necessarily the case with the ‘Wiggle’ rides that have caused a lot of controversy, especially in the New Forest where local residents have been fed-up with the attitude of a minority of riders racing the routes above the speed-limits for the road, disobeying the highway code and being a bit of a pain in the arse towards them, so in turn a minority of the residents have actively been sabotaging the riders by spreading tacks and nails across the route to disrupt them.

All of this has soured relations between the ‘Wiggle’ organisers and the residents of the New Forest and they have not further helped themselves by deciding to stage another event on the same day on part of the same route as the Gridiron.

The Gridiron had been permissively organised months in advance by the CTC with the route approved by the local council and was progressing as expected, when it was discovered that the Wiggle ride was on the same day and on sections of the same route having not been organised in the same manner with the local council. When this clash of the course was pointed out to Wiggle, they said they would amend it… However it turned-out to be mere lip-service and they carried on regardless rather than taking any steps to avoid this - most likely because they are event organisers running paid events for a profit rather than a charitable organisation running an event for the benefit of others, so they have no concern outside of their customers.

To avoid the problems caused by the clash of courses, the Gridiron’s organisers decided a week in advance that they would reverse the direction of their route so as to try and avoid the two event’s riders directly sharing tarmac and the sections in question would hopefully be ridden at different times of day by both events and even in different directions which would hopefully also lessen the impact on the residents of these particular spots.

Anyway, back to the proper cycling, and following the car-train of bikes and riders down to Lymington, I parked-up just down from the leader centre event base and bumped in to the other Hook guys who were down to ride - Walshy, Mike Roff, Stu Charles, Dan Elbro and Alex Narey.

All registered we met-up with another load of riders, friends of Mike Roff, who were on their second long distance road-ride having (along with Mike) ridden the Surrey to Reading 45 mile route earlier this year… En-masse we departed and made our way out into the wilds of Lymington and the start of the 60 mile circuit.


Off in to the morning light.
This first stage took us around in the opposite direction of what had previously been the end section of the route previously ridden - overlooking the narrow western arm of solent as we worked our way along to Bucklers Hard, then turned towards Boldre and the first checkpoint at 25km, the village hall that has previously been the event’s start and finish for many a year.

A pensive Walshy!
Reaching the checkpoint we had been cycling for roughly an hour, so it was just enough time to get our legs warmed-up and a cup of tea whilst getting our cards stamped in anticipation of hitting the road for the longest middle stage of the ride measuring 43km.


When we arrived we noticed we were not at our full complement… We were missing Mike Roff & Dan Elbro. The pace we had ridden this first leg at was a steady 15mph so not too fast that people would be drastically cut adrift over just an hour’s pedalling… We waited, and waited, calls were made to phones, connections dropped and still no sign, all we knew was a garbled message that they were still out on the course!


Part of the party had decided to push-on as a unit already as they were riding on MTB’s and were a bit slower as a consequence whilst the rest of us remained as there was not a great deal of point in everyone hanging around… After 40 minutes of waiting, we were all starting to get cold with the standing around, so the executive decision was made to push-on. With the missing still being out on the course there was a possibility that by chance Mike and Dan had somehow not seen the turn in to the village for the checkpoint and had continued on and rejoined the route beyond it, which would carry them another 43km before the next stop!


Taking this hypothesis and running with it, or rather cycling with it, I set-off at a pace to try and catch them if they were somewhere out on the course. The worst-case was they were 30 minutes ahead of us on the course at a pace between 10-15 mph which could put them around 5-7 miles down the track from where we were.


About 15 minutes in to this notional pursuit I caught-up with the guys on their MTB’s who were cracking-on at a fair pace - they had not seen Mike or Dan whilst keeping an eye-open for them… I sat on the front of the group for a while to give them a tow before I decided to head-off taking Wesley with me in my slipstream.

This never fails to amuse me and my tiny puerile mind :)
This section was mostly unfamiliar for me, taking us from Boldre over to Brockenhurst before heading in to the depths of the forest and the moorland wilderness. The scenery was great, but a right slog at times with this beautiful scenery hiding the fact that it was a long hard climb for the first half. The worst part of it wasn’t the hill but the fact you were riding into a stiff headwind across the exposed moorland that almost gave you the sensation of standing still and had to just grind away on the pedals to chew-up the miles and reach the end. Riding solo I had no help from a peloton and other people taking their turn at the head to afford respite from the relentless wind and hill combo, so I did the only thing I could… Get through it as quickly as I could!

Its amazing what you cycle past!
Eventually the road reached a junction and we turned left by an ice cream van on a lay-by in the middle of open moorland and the fruits of our hard labour became apparent as we hit some long smooth downhills taking us in to the second checkpoint in Hyde, that has been the first checkpoint in previous years, although not before briefly getting caught-up with a load of Wiggle riders who were on the road at the same time.

 Not having seen Mike or Dan on the whole 43k route having got around as fast as I could, I got in touch with Walshy by text and let him know that they certainly were not in front of us!.. After relaxing for around 5 minutes eating some biscuits and drinking tea, Wesley arrived and joined me for a bit of a relax before all the others on their MTB’s.

After we were all fuelled-up we mounted our trusty steeds and headed off on the final blast of 40k back to Leamington. This final leg was in large parts the reverse of the first stage in previous years so it was different seeing it from an alternate perspective. Starting off with a decent downhill stretch I pushed-on once we hit the bottom letting the others carry-on at their own pace with Wesley accompanying me for the first part of the slightly shorter 41k stage.

Touching the edge of Ringwood and crossing the A31 we ended up in the midst of the Wiggle crowd again. This confused those of us on the Gridiron no-end as at this point our field of riders was well spread, so when you caught up with some other riders - and you could not distinguish who was riding what event, it was very tempting just to play follow the leader and disregard the route instructions. Fortunately I had my wits about me and was able to ignore the other riders and carry on with the Gridiron route… Leaving all the other riders behind it transpired the whole lot of them were on the Wiggle, so just as well I paid attention to where I was and what I was doing.


You can't escape cycling hipsters.
Sticking to the open countryside and jinking round Burley we found ourselves back in Brockenhurst, briefly retracing our steps before taking a different route back through Boldre from north to south, and the final stretch down hill into Lymington and one final climb once in the town to the sports centre and the finish back at the start.

Stashing the bike in the van and getting changed I returned to wait the others return with the camera out to record their finishing. As I waited for them to arrive, the support crews of families arrived for the big occasion, and when Mike Roff appeared round the corner he was chased down the road by his eldest lad, which was a touching sight to see.

I can understand the shifting of the event base to the leisure centre in Lymington, as it is certainly able to cope more easily with the bump in numbers that the increase in popularity of the event and cycling in general has brought, plus with it being in a quite picturesque port town it makes it more family friendly for anyone coming along to support those in the event and applaud them across the finish line.

Riding this different route I found it more taxing than the previous one, although still a very pleasant circuit. If anything this one keeps you out in the open countryside for longer and seeing different sights or the same ones from a different perspective are always welcome. I wonder what it will be like next year?


30/11 update: Had a good chat with Mike about what happened on the first stage - it transpires they got to about a mile of the village hall and took a wrong turn, ending up back on the course... But only 3 miles in to the start, so the guys they tagged along with ended up guiding them back round the 20 miles they had just cycled, this time ending at the village hall, which makes the mileage that the pair of them cycled just over 80... and the consequential dinosaur's bottom that this gave them: Mega-Sore-Arse!

I leave you with the photos of our party members as they returned:






Thursday, 13 November 2014

5th October: Glencoe

Glencoe was the setting for marathon #30, and I could not have asked for a better event for the occasion.

Having done the recce a few weeks back, I was pretty sure I was aware about what I was letting myself in for terrain-wise, but the Glencoe Marathon itself, organised by WildFox Events, made me appreciate the difference of covering the route on foot rather than on a bike!

The weekend started with an early Saturday morning awakening and hitting the m-ways up to the highlands of Scotland. The drive itself was uneventful with me crossing the border a shade under 5 hours in to the journey and within 7 I was alongside Loch Lomond. The drive was made a bit better by the fact I’d splashed-out on a DAB radio for the van and fitted it the previous evening, so I had crystal clear receptions for pretty much the whole distance bar a few small patches in the borders.

Driving through Loch Lomond and the weather was such that you had sunshine and showers simultaneously - with rainbows crossing the Loch from one side to the other as a bridge of light, something pretty spectacular to behold.




After around 8 hours I reached Fort William and stopped to pick-up some provisions for the next 24 hours and some headphones as I had lost mine. Realising that the time for registering was upon me, I was just walking out of Morrisons back to the van when I was accosted by an American voice asking if I was running tomorrow.

I answered in the affirmative and turned to see a lady fresh off the bus with her suitcase looking a little bewildered about where things were to be found! She inquired of me where the registration was, so I told her it was about a 2 mile walk to get there, and saw her face sink - so I did the decent thing and offered her a lift to there seeing as that was where I was heading… And in taking a big leap of faith of getting into an unmarked van with a strange gentleman, she accepted the lift!

My passenger was Theresa Majeed, a Colorado native studying for her Doctorate in Management at the University of St. Andrews. Since arriving she has got back in to her distance running whilst based over here and had recently completed the Clyde Stride Ultra.

Signed-in to the race, I dropped Theresa off at her hotel in Fort William an headed in to the town centre for some nose-bag, chowing-down on a freshly ground steak beef burger with cheese and bacon all washed down with a pint of local ale in the Grog & Gruel. Hunger sated I drove back to the event base of the Ben Nevis Visitor Centre and parked-up for the night, having a read of a mag and another ale before hitting the sack... Does beer and chips count as pre-race carb-loading?

Up at sparrow's fart the next morn, I changed and prepared myself as much as I could for the race before climbing aboard the bus for the journey to the start of the Red Squirrel Campsite just outside Glencoe Village and from here it is a linear run back to the finish back at Fort William.

Sitting next to me for the journey was a lady called Katharine, a very outdoorsy A&E doctor who had been entered in to the race by her friends, and most importantly (or should that be surprisingly?) they were still her friends, although I reckon judgement was reserved on this till after the finish! In her spare time amongst the kayaking and rock climbing she is involved with mountain rescue and has been on the medical staff for the Edinburgh marathon amongst other sporting events. Naturally I told her about my fall off Ben Nevis and I was chastised for not getting my cheek-bone checked-out, especially as it is still sore, as if it needed it could have been operated on to strengthen it with a plate to help it heal as it should do… I’m kind of glad I just left it to heal naturally as that sounds all a bit drastic!

Naturally we spoke about the weather predictions for the day and Katharine said that some of her friends who were out in the Cairngorms have been texting her regaling of the snow, sleet and hail they had experienced over the last 24 hours - more to wind her up than anything else though!


The view from the campsite... Now to me that sign looks like a challenge!
Disembarking at the campsite we found piping hot tea, coffee & cocoa awaiting us as we awaited the start, and there was even a piper there to play for us, psyching us up for what was to come.

Not bad scenery to look at as you wait.
Looking around me at all those who were gathering for the start I noticed a group of runners from the Marseille Trail Club laughing and joking amongst themselves, which is one hell of a journey for anyone to go for a run!

After the safety briefing we were split in to our waves which had been assigned when we registered based on predicted finish times, this was done so as to take the strain off the marshals manning the road crossings so a steady stream of people will need to cross rather than everyone at the same time!.. The waves were given name: Gazelle, Antelope, Wildebeest and Hippo. I was in the 3rd wave with the other Wildebeest - which was a fair assessment seeing as I tend to finish in the 3rd quarter of races.

After watching the first two waves hare-off at 10 minute intervals soon it was our turn. I lumbered out towards the back of the herd of wildebeest as the piper decided to send us off with a tune whilst standing under the start banner… The poor lad was standing right in the way of everyone and was nearly stampeded by this herd of rampaging Wildebeest!

Climbing the short sharp hill out of the campsite we hit the road, this initial climb and the other short sharp hills on the road were a biatch and I found myself moving back through the pack on the ups and moving forward on the downs whilst breathing out of my arse in recovery. As the road levelled off I found my rhythm just as we found ourselves at the first road crossing… With it being so early in the morning the road was clear so I did not have to wait for traffic and once over the road we were on the trail, winding our way through the Glen of Coe proper.


Let the fun begin!
The trail underfoot was a fairly firm one with the occasional puddle. It required a lot of concentration for this section as the field was still pretty compact with the race still being not far from the start and we were all running nose-to-tail with very little opportunity to overtake. Initially running parallel to the road after about a mile we diverged from it, with the trail changing to a much muddier, watery and rockier one with plenty of undulations, before turning to the north and crossing the road once more. The path so far had been on a slight incline, but once the road was traversed it was far more obvious that you were running up hill… Crossing the road I noticed lying on the verge the leg bones from what must have been a sheep as well as seeing plenty of wrecked parts of car trim, mirrors and body work which made me realise that the road here can be a pretty treacherous one when the weather closes in for man, machine and beast.

Single file running on single track.
This section on the north of the road was a lot boggier, your feet disappearing to the ankle in the watery mud on a regular basis. The field of runners was now spreading out quite noticeably and the trail was certainly wider so allowed passing on a far easier basis, although it was always done at your own risk as you never knew what the next step was going to bring.


After 5 miles we reached the first checkpoint where I grabbed a Tunnocks Caramel Log from the very well stocked aid-station… I used to love these when I was growing up, so it was a real boost to see some and being able to savour the delights of it as I carried-on away from the aid station.


From here to the Devil’s Staircase where we join the West Highland Way it was more of the same underfoot, plenty of heathery boggy nastiness that made me lose my trainer 3 times over the two miles it took to reach the end of this first part and the climb up the staircase and I watched at one point as a runner alongside me disappeared up to her knees with a squeal of surprise!

God I hate hills, I find them a right slog, and at least this time I knew what was in store for me as I started to climb the ‘Staircase. Realising it was drizzling, and whilst slowed to a mere walk from the incline I took the judgement call to stop and put on my rain jacket to keep me dry and to protect from the wind - progress up would be slow and getting all the more exposed and with the rain bound to be heavier the higher you go, my core temperature was bound to lower significantly if I did not cover up.


Looking up from half way.
All waterproofed I continued the trudge and watched as other people followed my lead in donning their tops to protect themselves as well - if a lot of people were doing it then it was certainly the sensible thing to be doing.

Head down and resisting as hard as I could the urge to look up and see how far was still to climb, I power-walked up the mountainside, every so often taking time to turn and enjoy the views around me. At around half way up we were serenaded by a piper - I’m not sure if he was out there to practice where the neighbours don’t complain, or to encourage us to run away from him all the faster, but it was a welcome sight and sound nonetheless!


Cat strangling along the route.
At the top of the ‘Staircase I took my chance to catch my breath and prepare myself for the bit of the run I had been most looking forward to: The descent to Kinlochleven. Knowing I had a good 5 miler ahead of me to the checkpoint I took off the waterproof, took a selfie for someone as they posed upon the top whilst getting his breath back, and cracked-on.

Looking down the 'Staircase.
Looking back down along Glencoe from where we had come.
All of a sudden, the many people who had passed my slow sorry arse on the way up found themselves being passed by me as I rampaged down the mountain, as when the belly gains momentum there’s no stopping it (its the dragging the belly up in the first place is the problem). If anything the running down was more pleasurable than the riding of it a few weeks before, as I was more certain of planting my feet on something solid rather than my wheel bouncing off the side of a rock and throwing me sideways.

This running to me is like crack, the kind of running I live for on one of these marathons - a fast flowing chewing of the terrain - all the slight up hills are well absorbed by momentum as the 5 miles of descent just seemed to sail past. It was amusing seeing people carefully picking their way over rocks and side-stepping down parts as I galloped by them as they stared at me in disbelief, in much the same way I look at them when they steam by me when it comes to going up hill!

By the time I reached the bottom of the hill at Kinlochleven, my knees were screaming at me for a rest from the pounding I had just given them, especially over the last mile of very steep drop on the forestry path from the start of the tree-line to the hydro plant, so in a way the change of terrain was a welcome respite as all of a sudden it seemed you transitioned from a 45 degree descent to total flat.


Nearly at the bottom.
Around the corner from the Hydro plant here was the halfway and the second aid station - spoilt for choice again I grabbed a couple of cups of electrolyte and a Mars bar and carried on moving, knowing full-well what was next-up - and I was not looking forward to it… My shirt was getting smiles and favourable comments from those manning the aid station and the spectators gathered there, with me being told there’s pies to be had at the end of the race!

Crossing to the north side of Kinlochleven and rejoining the West Highland Way brought the dubious pleasure of the climb-up the mountainside to the plateau of the Mamores. Trying as hard as I could to keep going forwards and not stop, countless people passed me but it did not faze me, as at least this time round I was not pushing the dead-weight of the bike up the hill before me and there was a damned-site less humidity under the trees than in August. I took the time to eat and take on more liquid as it took my mind off the ascent… As the switch-backs on the path began I knew I was approaching the top and soon after being passed by a group of around 10 runners I hit the clearing just under the summit and the cooling breeze. The entire group that had overtaken me not long before were all in a state of near collapse on the rocks there, using the spot as an impromptu aid-station, with others of us fellow runners stopping as well to catch our breath and admire the view and marvel about how far (and high up and down) we had come to get here as jelly babies and crisps were passed around!


I think the body language speaks volumes!
Looking back where we had come from... Over them little hills.
Shortly after this the plateau and the path was reached, the continual ascent now levelling-off to a point where you felt able to start running again. I tried to keep up with the group in front of me as they made a better fist of the final ‘ups’ but I could not keep the pace and had to let them go ahead… It was just me and the beautiful scenery, which I was able to soak-up. Soon the trail began to level and slightly drop. After chomping an Energy Bar I suddenly felt the boost of it kick-in and my legs just decided they were going to have a good fast run again, and off I went over the loose rocks and stones of the path, soon overhauling the group in front as I chewed-up the terrain, splashing through the streams that covered the path, and all of a sudden I saw the abandoned croft around the halfway mark of the plateau hove into view, and the aid-station set beside it.

I didn’t stop for long here, just enough to shotgun a couple of glasses of electrolyte, but it was long enough to see something that reminded me to respect where I was and what I was doing: Lying down in the back of the aid-station’s tent in a survival bivvy-bag was a runner who had not been lucky today… Those manning the aid station were trying to keep him warm no doubt as they waited for outside help in getting him off the mountain pass, and I hoped it was nothing too serious for the fella on the floor looking sorry for himself all huddled-up in the bag, hopefully he was just caught-out with a twisted ankle on one of the loose rocks rather than getting himself in trouble with hypothermia, after all this was the most remote part of the course and with the chill on the wind and some rain it could easily catch-out the unwary and ill-prepared as fatigue grips the body and slows you down. It brought-home to me that going out and doing this kind of running does carry an inherent risk and the compulsory kit lists are certainly there for your benefit in case of anything like this happening… You just do the best to ensure that it doesn’t happen to you and always check on someone who has stopped by the side of the trail just in case!

Feeling good from the run to the aid station I set-off again at a similar pace to before, trying to hold the people in front of me at a constant distance as I got in to my groove, then slowly reeled them in one at a time. Soon I spotted high on the slope to my right the first tree I had seen since Kinlochleven, which was signalling the beginning of the end of the plateau, the trail beginning to take a more noticeable downturn and before long we went through the corral for the sheep when they are herded on and off the mountainside, and ran down through a strip of woodland.


That first tree for a long time.
Now into the tree-line the path changed to a fairly treacherous one strewn with rocks the size of your feet, so you had to run looking a few paces in front of you picking your spot to plant your feet to avoid turning your ankle… It was around here that the 4x4 ambulance drove slowly along the path in the direction I had come, no doubt to assist with the casualty at the aid station by the croft.



Speaking of aid stations, the final one was upon us with the option of a cheese board amongst other edible delights! Now I love my cheese, but unfortunately it wasn’t the time nor place for me today, so I had a quick drink and was told that whilst they had no pies they’re waiting at the finish!

This last quarter of the run is characterised by plenty of short sharp climbs and descents mostly through long grassed gaps between strips of managed forestry land, as well as a run through a mature pine forest where you descend to cross a stream before heading onwards once more… This sequence comes to an end at mile 24 when you hit the forestry path and the trail winds sharply down along the access road to the bottom of the mountain and the end of the race, so you rationalise that the hard running finishes when you hit that path… So only 4 miles of suffering to endure.

As I ploughed-on through the section, truly doing mind over matter as I was struggling with these sharp steep hills even if they were mercifully short I managed to catch and pass some of the runners in the half-marathon. This really raised my spirits, however from seeing their pace I knew they were the slowest ones at the back of the field, so got back to concentrating on my own run.

I found myself in with another couple of runners as we made our way through the last couple of miles of the undulations, the three of us keeping our spirits up, talking of the forestry road as if it was some magical path paved with gold leading us all to the promised land… Eventually we found ourselves on it, and in a state of collective disbelief!.. We had come 24 miles, all that lay before us was a continual descent of just shy of 1,000 ft over 2 miles to the marquee we could just about see on the horizon way below… It felt like the end of the run was now, well I suppose in fact it was as all we needed to do was coast all the way down to the finish line, which is exactly what the 3 of us did at our own speed, catching and passing some more runners of the half and full in the process.


The way down to the finish, which was the white block just above the path.
Running through the tall spruces, the runner in front gives a sense of scale.
The trees behind.
All too soon the descent was nearly over, admittedly not quite as smooth or as fun as flying down it on a bike at around 40mph, but I was beaming from ear to ear from having got through the run and loved pretty much every step. As the path took us parallel to the Ben Nevis visitor centre we took our last turn and ran down through some woods and in to the field where the event base was and the end of the race… And there it was as you emerged from the path through the woods and on to the edge of the field, just this short strip of green, the first stretch of flat terrain we had seen since leaving Kinlochleven some 13 miles before!

As I approached the finish line to the claps of those assembled and the music over the tannoy, the PA announced my name and number and the comment that “he must be sponsored by a pie company wearing a shirt like that”… Smiling to myself I crossed the line, was presented with the pretty funky wooden finishers medal and staggered in to the marquee in front of me to be greeted with the sight of the post-race catering in full swing serving pie and beans with coconut water to wash it down. The marquee was full of the exhausted and the smiling, all of those who had finished the full and half distances with friends and family in attendance as a bit of a party atmosphere was happening.


What I'm running for ;)
As I chowed-down on my pie and coconut water, Theresa appeared over my shoulder - I had not seen her at all the entire race day - which I suppose was not too surprising as she set-off in the second wave and crossed the line in the sterling time of 5:02:40 and even managed to sink up to her knees in the bog before the Devil’s Staircase and had to be dragged out by fellow runners!

I had a quick freezing cold shower to try and feel a bit more human, changed and made my way off to grab something substantial to eat… I say substantial, I ended up grabbing a MaccyD’s and dear god it was minging… I had to fight my way through every mouthful of the Big Mac, forcing myself to eat it… I think it was because of the proper burger I had the night before, the wonderful taste of that still on my mind making me realise how inferior the mass-produced crap served-up by that fecking clown really is - don’t get me wrong, their sausage & egg McMuffin is awesome, but I can now see myself never eating another thing off their daytime menu!

Extremely unsatisfied I decided to head-off sharpish to get to Loch Lomond. The previous day I saw there was a sign stating the road would be closed from 7pm till the morning due to the ongoing roadworks improving the A road that runs along the loch, so I needed to leave immediately or I would be trapped north of Loch Lomond for another 12 hours!

Once through the roadworks I pulled-up in a lay by and lay down for a few hour’s kip to recover before continuing the drive home, a drive that was pretty uneventful… That was until I got off the motorway 10 miles from home at 3:30 in the morning, when the clutch on the van gave-out, leaving me stranded there on the roundabout over J11 of the M4, and waiting for a recovery truck to take the stricken van off to my garage for repair.

I was dropped-off there by the recovery truck at 4:30 in the morning, so I thought better of calling LSS at this time, so had a couple of hours kip in the back before waking at the time I knew she would be getting-up, so she could come and rescue me… At least the clutch held-on till nearly home, rather than giving-out in Renton, just north of Glasgow, when I noticed there was a bit of difficulty moving through the gears!

This marathon has been my favourite one so far, the atmosphere was unbelievably friendly, he event was very well organised, the aid stations bountiful in choice and quantity of food, even if I could not quite bring myself to indulge in the cheese-board 3/4 of the way through the run, however the undoubted star of the run was the scenery - where you are able to run up and down and between mountains, and at times look back and truly see the distance, ascent and descent you have traversed. Something that a point-to-point run affords a greater chance of you being able to do, rather than a lot of the looped or circuitous courses that marathons tend to be.

Time wise, I had set myself a target of 6 hours and was very happy to cross the line in 5:41 to place 244/417. Incidentally, the time it took me to cycle the same distance took 4:56, so when it comes to the extreme terrain, its not too much slower to run it than ride it… And I’d recommend anyone give the Glencoe Marathon a go… Yes its a tough one, but this means its one you can feel proud in conquering and be pretty secure in the knowledge that there won’t be many harder ones out there.