Great Whernside Fell Race: 25/10/14

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Many thanks to Debi Nicholson and Woodentops for the photos in this blog

Be warned- this blog will contain scathing comments about these "fell running" trainers. (Sorry about the hairy legs)

A Strangled analogy

If the whole of the sport of amateur running were a cake, the icing would be races like the London Marathon and the Great North Run. But not nice icing like your granny would make; cheap nasty icing on a cake manufactured in a soulless, windowless factory on an industrial estate and sold in the budget section of a major supermarket, albeit cheered on by an enthusiastic and wonderful crowd. The sponge would be local charity races that are now the norm in most major city centres; nice and fun if you like that sort of thing. The filling, however, well the filling would be fell racing. Buried deep and hidden in the other layers it would surprise you with its sudden, sharp, amazing flavours. Then it would immediately glue your teeth together and deposit seeds in places that are impossible to reach. And one of the jammiest, sweetest and seediest of these races, is the Great Whernside Fell Race.

Breaking with tradition I actually had a bit of a nosy of what this race entailed before I set off for it and discovered it involved running from a farmer's field in Kettlewell, straight up Great Whernside, then back down again. And that's it. 1500ish feet and 4ish miles. It was then that the fatal thought entered my head................."That's not too bad"..............Ingleborough was 2800ft and 7 miles and that was ok, so this should be...............Easy...................

F.A.T.A.L. T.H.O.U.G.H.T.

The route really was that simple

So now on to the side story that goes with this race; the story of the shoes. So briefly, my ridiculously generous friend Debi took me off to the excellent Complete Runner in Ilkley to buy me a pair of very much needed fell running trainers for my 40th birthday last month. (You might have read about the terrible experience I had at the Sedbergh fell race with a pair of Adidas Kanadias) After a lot of time fannying around and trying on lots of trainers amusing everyone by attempting to run around the tiny shop, I decided on a pair of Salomon "fellraisers" despite the fact they look like they were made by Tescos for their value range.
A couple of weeks later I was coming down St Sunday Crag during the Ian Hodgson mountain relay when the insoles of these "fell trainers" came adrift and ended up wadded up in the toe of my shoe. Imagine my annoyance that a pair of extreme trainers had failed me on their first major outing on a potentially very dangerous path. I had experienced the same thing the year before when wearing a pair of Salomon XA 3D ultra 2 but had put that down to the fact they weren't really fell trainers.
I posted on the Fell Running Association's (FRA) facebook group and asked if anyone else had experienced detaching Salomon insoles. Within an hour a good 30 people had confirmed that they had. One poster said he was on his 8th pair of speed cross and they had all done the same. Some posters said they had superglued the innersoles in (Not acceptable to me in what are very expensive trainers). Most scarily more than one mentioned they had emailed Salomon and had not received replies or had got denials that they'd ever received complaints before.
I took the shoes back to the shop and they were very sympathetic and offered me a few options including a refund, but I wanted to know what Salomon would say so I agreed the shop could send them back to Salomon.

(B)Race (Yourself) Day

Fast forward a week and and it's Saturday morning before the Great Whernside fell race and I've arranged to pick up the shoes from the shop. Salomon have told us that they have sent new insoles and that they have "Solved the problem" The insoles looked identical to the original ones and I expressed this to one of the shop assistants. He suggested we compare them to a pair they had. They looked absolutely no different. I decided not to take Salomon for the apparently total set of bullsh***ing a*******s they were appearing to be, give them the benefit of the doubt and try the new "improved" insoles at the race.......

3/5 of the Fellandale turnout in one epic photo; we're just missing Mike and Carl

We drove through the beautiful village of Kettlewell and out to the farmer's field to park, hoping that my car would be able to pull back out of it at the end (It did).

All was reassuringly low-key as ever with a fell race, even though this particular one was part of this year's Yorkshire championship and had attracted an even more high-class field than usual. I paid my £5 to the lovely ladies managing the awning attached to the camper van and received my race number.

I chatted to another runner wearing fellraisers and he confirmed that he too had experienced the detaching insoles. There followed quite a bit of milling-around combined with a little bit of warming up before we funnelled through the finishing, erm, funnel so we could be counted by the organisers (It incurs quite a lot of paperwork when fell runners go missing) and we were ready for the off.

That's us, milling

Steepness is all Relative (A crazy relative that's in that home, the one you never talk about)

As you can see from the photo above, the start of this race is especially steep. As ever my tactics were vague, but I decided that with "only" 1500ft of ascent I should be able to run/power walk all of the ascent, after all, I had done that at Sedbergh for the first hill which was a similar height.
I soon discovered how wrong I was.
Just before the start Carl had shouted to me, "Stick with him" whilst pointing at Adrian. "No chance" I had replied. Last year Adrian and I had been neck-and-neck, but since then I have spent a year trying to return to my previous fitness following an "epic face-plant" as the kids would say. I have been getting closer to Adrian all year, but am still not challenging him just yet, and up a hill, I have never been able to stick with him.
My memory has blocked out how far I got before I began to walk, but I know it was a disappointingly short distance and people began to over-take me, something that would continue for the whole ascent.

Early in the ascent, whilst I was still running, with my thumbs up, of course

Mercifully the first hill wasn't too long and it flattened out for a little while. When I say "flattened" of course, this is a relative term in comparison to the slopes of the mountains of Hades.
Picking a suitable path is a real trick in this race that I really didn't get right. Trying to be clever I strayed off the path several times and each time regretted it. I simply don't have the local knowledge to pull it off and at the first really boggy section, I came, as we say in Yorkshire, a "cropper".
I veered right off the path to try to avoid what appeared to be a bad section. The runner in front had done the same and had landed in a fairly soggy patch so I veered even further to avoid it.
Total disaster. My left leg plunged deep in to a bog and I sank up to my waist. For a second I was genuinely scared; this bog was deep and very wet. I flung my body forward praying that the ground in front would hold my weight while I army-crawled out. It did, just.

Just in case you were wondering, this picture illustrates that fell running ain't easy

Now we entered the meat of the race. The relentless uphill trudge to reach the fun bit where you get to fling yourself down the hill in less than half the time it took you to get up. By half way up I was blowing hard. With a third of the ascent left I was gone. My power hike had turned in to a limp.
I always get my excuses in early, but I think a couple of hard training sessions during the week had left me still tired and not quite at my best. I definitely should have been doing better than this! That said, I had Adrian in my sights for most of the ascent, but eventually lost him.
Now I was beginning to look for the leaders. I knew I would be no-where near the top until I saw them coming down but they were taking an achingly long time to appear. I am sure more than one runner was fooled by the large cairn halfway up the ascent but I was still quite lucid at that point and knew that it couldn't be the summit as this is a classic "up-and-down" fell race- same path both ways and we would need to see people coming down first. Also, I knew that we had done nothing like 1500ft of climbing.
Eventually we entered the mist near the top and the leaders came flying past. I always love seeing them coming down, it gives you an idea of what's possible! I really thought I must have a lot further to go when I saw them, but actually, it wasn't that bad. By now we were climbing steps and entering the clag near the top. When the top came, it surprised me, I thought we still had a fair way to go. The runner in front was extremely cautious going around the craggy top and I began to itch to get past him.
The minute I started to descend I flew past the cautious runner and the insoles in my shoes detached and began to make their way to the front of the toe box. Salomon had lied to me and it hadn't come as a surprise. They had taken me for a total **** and thought I wouldn't notice when they replaced the useless insoles with identical useless insoles.

Don't Keep off the Grass

The wonderful thing about this race is the grippy, grassy slopes by the side of the path on the way down. It was time for "Brakes off, brains off" and man, did I turn my brain and brakes off. I felt like I was flying. I was really picking up speed and the runner behind me soon disappeared. At first there were no runners in front of me and I could see a long way in front. I was amazed when I saw runners begin to appear in my sight and I was catching them. I was descending much quicker than the people around me and I was picking them off. With each one I passed I eyed the next in front of me.

A lot of the mud had actually come off when this was taken

Around 3/4 of the way down I veered to the right of the path again to try to avoid yet another wet stretch. Again, it was a mistake. This time my right foot plunged in to a bog. I was grateful it was only mid-shin this time and I yanked at my leg to pull it out. It didn't budge. I yanked again.Still stuck. On the 4th huge yank, it eventually popped out. At least salomon's quick release laces are good (Inov-8 take note)

There are a couple of flattish sections at the bottom and across those I lost time as I was beginning to tire, but the field that Debi had ensconced herself in was perfect for more running sans brains and brakes which meant I was moving so fast she could barely keep me in the frame........

Just kidding, she got loads of shots of me in the frame before this last one

The end of the race was back down the very steep field and at the very last few feet there is a steep drop. Like the idiot I am, I decided to show-off and take a huge leap off this slope.

I utterly failed to land the jump and in front of 70 odd fell runners, I army-rolled through the finish line to a chorus of "Ooooooos" I bounced back up, unhurt for once and laughed to try to save face. When I stood up I wasn't quite sure if I had finished or if I needed to go down the whole finishing funnel, so I sheepishly trotted down it.

Afterwards I join the other runners washing themselves in the stream. At least I had won the bog-mud-transporting prize by managing to carry a whole wheelbarrow-full down to the bottom in my shoes and clothing.

Adrian had, of course, finished in front of me in 54th position a shade under 40 minutes. I came in 75th in 42:18 out of a field of 157. I was reasonably pleased to have finished just in the top 3rd of a Yorkshire champ race even if I was disappointed that I had ascended much slower then I was capable of.

On the way home I went straight back to Complete Runner. With their usual wonderful customer service they sympathised with me and offered a refund. I told them that was very nice of them, but I needed fell shoes and wouldn't leave the shop until I found a pair I liked. And here they are:

You probably recognise x-talons when you see them

Run Review: The Great North Run 15/9/2013

Here's one I prepared earlier. I took this shot a few years ago in Hull, but the Red Arrows fly over the start of the GNR each year

It's a big race, you might have heard of it

Sunday the 15th of September 2013 brought with it Britain's largest race and the second largest half marathon in the world; The Great North Run. Starting in Newcastle Upon Tyne and finishing in South Shields, the iconic GNR is now in its 33rd year since the inaugural event in 1981 when 12,000 runners took part. This year, close to 41,000 people crossed the finishing line after David Weir won the wheelchair event for the 5th time, Mo Farah had been out-sprinted by Kenenisa Bekele down the final straight and Priscah Jeptoo had lolloped through the tape with her painful looking gait. In a wonderful performance, Haile Gebreselassie broke the world record for the over 40s.

Sometime later, I crossed the line too. Mo Farah, was not looking over his shoulder worrying about me.

Last year the GNR was my first ever half marathon and, at the time, represented the furthest I had ever run by 2 clear miles. Before the event I had been very worried that I might not make it to the end still running, the only thing that allayed my fears was knowing that I had walked much further than 13 miles on many occasions, so if the worst happened I could get there. In the actual event, the amazing north east crowd carried me along so well I surpassed all my expectations and finished in a shade under 1 hour 35. Since then I have only completed one other half marathon in a much slower time as it was my first event after a major face-planting injury. I was forced to not start the other two halves I entered due to injury and illness. I was beginning to think my half marathons were cursed. Thus the GNR this year would be only my third ever half marathon.

Dear Runner, go f**k yourself, yours unfaithfully, the GNR

This year's GNR didn't start well for me when I discovered that they had managed to send my number to the wrong address. Apparently, there is a ten week cut off before the race to tell them of a change of details. This seems a phenomenally long time. A decent printers would be able to knock out 54,000 race numbers in a day or two. But anyway, this was irrelevant as I had told them way before the cut off. When they sent out an email asking entrants to check that their details were correct as the numbers were being printed soon, I went on line to check that I had already changed my address; I had. Informing the GNR via email of this did no good at all. In each intervening 3 day period it took them to answer my emails a different person would answer and would not accept their mistake, telling me I would need to pick up a new number on the day. Considering this is their mistake, not mine, I consider this particularly poor customer service. I told them to "intercourse away" in no uncertain terms.

Further North

Last year I had stumbled on a pretty good way of dealing with the logistical problems of the GNR. The route is linear, so if you go alone you need transport to or from the finish, so I organised a lift instead. I was dropped off just south of the Tyne, out of nose-shot of the bacardi breezers and avoiding all the traffic. I walked across the rail bridge and through the centre to the start of the race. This was about a 20 minute walk, a nice little warm up. I decided to do this again as it worked well last year. The only problem with this is you are left, at least an hour before the race, with only what you will carry on the run and I don't carry anything when I run. Should anything go wrong, I would have to mug someone for a mobile phone. As I walked across the highly exposed bridge, the north-east wind attempted to slice my legs in three and I began to wonder about the wisdom of my choice, so I decided to run for a little bit to warm up!

The Regular Toilet Section

Just because the GNR is the biggest race in the UK doesn't, of course, mean they will provide adequate toilets. The main toilets are in a car park close to the start line. The queue for these toilets starts somewhere near the Guatemalan village of Panajachel in South America. If I had entered the queue where it passed my house in Leeds I would reach the front around Christmas 2042. Luckily, I had found something slightly better last year. At an intersection of roads, where the crowds of people seem to meet from every direction there is a small bank of 12 or so toilets. For some reason the queues here are shorter. Last year it had taken about 20 minutes to use one and this year was similar. Result! Hundreds and hundreds of other people didn't know this and queued up at the main toilets, some dying of old age while they waited.
As usual, I got chatting to someone in the queue. Turns out he was running his 14th and last GNR. Travelling from Coventry(!) and staying in a hotel was costing £500 each time. Something must have kept him coming back each year, but he had now decided the expense was enough. I knew the feeling.

The Start: High-Five A Celebrity (If you spot one)

At the start of the race the runners are cordoned off according to expected race time and this is enforced completely. Unfortunately, each runner puts in their own expected time when signing up, so there is nothing to stop you lying like a  politician filling in his expenses sheet to gain a spot further forward than your real time would allow. 

As I made my way towards the front of my cordon I passed a row of- sorry about this- not very fit looking women pushing a row of wheelchairs, lined up side by side. IN THE FASTEST CORDON.

I honestly couldn't believe this. 40000 finishers and even if I am being generous....20000 of them would need to get past this rolling road block. The danger this represents to the runners passing them was pretty substantial, not to mention the people in the wheelchairs! Major pile ups have been caused at large races before by people picking up dropped MP3 players etc; I am VERY glad I moved past this potential disaster. 

I got as far to the front as I could until the crowd was too dense. Judging by the amount of people in front of me, I was probably in the right place. Last year I had missed out on high-fiving Mo Farah, so this year I was keeping a look out for the celebrity hand-slappers, Graham Swann (A favourite cricketer of mine) and Christine Ohuruogu.

I missed them again.Turns out they were on the left side of the dual carriageway.

Heavy rain had been forecast for days before the race, so standing waiting to start wearing a £3.50 charity shop fleece, I was really hoping the rain would hold off, so I didn't have to find out exactly how much water it would hold. Thankfully it would be around mile 8 before the rain set in.

A couple of minutes before the off and we were walked forward towards the starting line. I took off the fleece and attempted to throw it in to the central reservation. In a totally girly moment my throw went horribly awry; the fleece opened up like a parachute and hit another runner in the face like the alien on John Hurt.
Sorry!

Last year the GNR had been my first experience of a really big, well supported race and I think this had tinged my memories somewhat as I had remembered that there were lots of supporters along the whole course or perhaps what had happened is that the promise of heavy rain this year quelled the crowds a little, but  I noticed plenty of blank spots. That said, as we got further into the city centre the crowds appeared thick and loud. Every possible vantage point was taken. People hung off the bridges and the slip roads making a fantastic noise. I defy anyone not to have goose pimples when you experience this for the first time. A smile spread across my face and I felt like a real athlete, like an Olympian. What a feeling!

Into the famous tunnel and the cries of "Oggy, oggy, oggy... OY, OY, OY" rang out.

I saw the 2 mile marker about 3 minutes after we set off. Not really, but that's what it felt like. The start had seemed much more of a scrum than last year and I found myself jumping around many, many selfish, ignorant runners who were clearly a lot further forward than their running speed suggested they should be. I really cannot understand why people don't notice just what *rseholes they're being when they push to the front of a race when they are slow runners. To lose a potential PB after months of training because some arsehole lied to get close to the front must be hugely frustrating. But anyway, the crowd carried me and the first 2 miles were gone in a flash.

Marathon photos have put their prices up so here's a picture of a birthday card I got instead

The first part of the course is downhill, so as ever, I took advantage of some free speed, covering the first 3k in 3:55, 3:48 and 3:49, the crowd helping immensely as we crossed the famous Tyne bridge. After the bridge the course itself is, well...very, very boring. I'd like to cover the highlights, but there really aren't any. It's a long, straightish road through, what seems like, endless industrial areas, until you hit South Shields seafront 10 or so miles later.
Of course, this is where the amazing north east crowd comes into its own. Constant cheers, small children holding out their hands for a low five, the kindness of strangers holding out orange segments and jelly babies and of course, the bands!!!! The bands are truly fantastic. Each time I came upon one my chest swelled and I suddenly found myself running much faster. It's amazing just how much a steel band playing pop songs can affect me.
The charity buses are also good for a laugh and a boost too. I was lucky enough to pass the Oxfam bus as someone in an Oxfam shirt passed it and let me tell you.....They went BAT-CRAP CRAZY. Serious kudos to the people on board as they were making a brilliant effort! The runner in the Oxfam shirt was visibly moved and pleased.

But back to my race, said the narcissist. 

I had settled down in to a good and comfortable pace which, to my total amazement was under 4 minutes per k- sub 40 minute 10k pace (My brain always converts everything into 10k pace as that's the distance I do most and was the first races I took part in) I worried for a second that this was too fast, that I would blow up before the end, but I listened to my body and it was uncomplaining. Well, best not give it reason to complain then! Carry on McDuff...

As ever, the race now became a mental and physical challenge to maintain my pace. Even though the race was still young, I resolved to keep the pace under 4 minutes a kilometre and as the course gently climbed and descended the hills, the bands passed by, time ticked away and each time I looked at my watch, it showed a 3:59 average. I wiled away the miles trying to calculate what a 3:59 average would mean as a finishing time.

And then the rain

It started slowly, but before long it became a downpour and within seconds I was drenched. It was at that moment a funny train of thought got on my track and blew its horn.
At mile 8 my pace hadn't dropped and I felt good, but the God of the GNR was trying to stop me, He was throwing rain and wind at me, but it wasn't going to be enough. I began to smile. I rounded yet another roundabout and really began to enjoy it.
I put my face up to the sky, closed my eyes and held my hands down and out to the side, breathing in the awful weather and loving every minute. I must have looked ridiculous but it drew a cheer from the crowd.
The God of the GNR changed tack....One of the bands was playing "Everybody wants to run the world" I decided to sing it in my head as a motivational aid. I tried in vain to think of the first line, but the GNR God kept putting the first line of Go West's "Don't look down" into my head. A great song and perfect for distraction. In your face GNR God!!

At about 10 miles I glanced at my watch and I had dropped to 4 minutes per k. Oh HELL NO!! I put down the hammer and speeded up. (Re- the hammer- for these purposes, you need to remember Andy Dufresne's rock hammer in the Shawshank redemption- tiny and worn down to the nub) For the first time ever mid-race, I found that I was able to accelerate and the next time I looked, I saw 3:58. I tried not to think about it too much, because if I did, I felt I would break the spell and suddenly I would see the reality, that in fact, I was running 5 minutes per k...

Last year I had hungrily grabbed a slice of orange from a stranger as I had reached about 11 miles, and it was one of the most delicious things I have ever eaten, such is the my mind works entering the final stages of a race. But this year, as I ate up the miles, I daren't slow down. I was desperately trying to do race-maths as I ran. My brain told me I could break 1:20. This wasn't true. It was never true, but as I got closer to South Shields, I managed to work out that I was close to 1:25, although my brain informed me that I would break that easily. Stupid brain.

Just before you reach the final straight along the front, there is a steep downhill section of tarmac. Once again my brain was fooling me; last year I had been terrified as I flew down it, worried that at any minute my trainers would lose purchase and I'd land heavily, shattering my coccyx. In reality, the section really wasn't that steep and there was absolutely no danger of slipping. At the top of this slope a group of guys that had been running close to me began to gee each other up with some shouts. "Come on!! we're flying!!"
Sad as it is to admit it, I love this sort of thing at the end of a race. I joined in, "COME ONNNNNN!!!" The crowd responded through the falling rain with a huge cheer. I felt spurred on again.

I bit the bullet and bought the photos

The last mile is a sprint along the flat seafront to the finish: expend any remaining energy you have. The rain was falling, but the crowd was thick along the course, cheering us on.
"COME OOOOOOON!!!" Once again there was a big cheer from the crowd. I glanced at my watch: 1:23. That sub 1:25 was definitely on.
By now everyone around me was hitting it as hard as they could. At this point the crowd is crucial and they don't come better than at the GNR.
The countdown signs seemed to take forever. 800m......600m......400m.......
At 200m I looked at my watch, it said 1:24. SH*T.  Before the race I would have been happy with anything under my 1:34 PB, but it had all changed during the race. I was amazed with the pace I had run; but sub 1:25 was on and I wanted it bad.

I gave it everything I could in those last two hundred metres and crossed the line. I stopped my watch and looked down. 1:25 had passed.

"B*LLOCKS!!"

This drew a loud laugh from the various marshalls and people around and it was made even funnier by the runner next to me celebrating wildly having achieved pretty much exactly the same time as me. Such is the different perspectives of individual runners. He turned to me, "Were you the guy doing the war cries?" I had to sheepishly admit I was. He looked at me, "Mate, those were amazing! Every time you shouted my chest swelled and I powered on. You got me that 1:25 time" I have to admit, that was my favourite bit of the race. To know I had helped another runner to a time he was really pleased with was brilliant.

I walked through the giant finishing area, telling myself that I HAD to be happy with that time, that if you'd offered me it before the race I would have snatched your arm off. Now time has gone by, I am really very pleased. Incredibly, I finished 403rd out of 40721 finishers, a result beyond my wildest dreams!

The Summary:

Personally, I knocked 9 and a half minutes from my half marathon PB. I had only ever run 2 sub- 40 minute 10K's before, but on this day, I ran two of them, back-to-back. Nothing suggested that I would be able to do this. In retrospect, I'm ecstatic.
But from an objective point of view, the GNR is the most expensive road race, mile for mile, that I know of. I don't think there are any more expensive in the UK. The customer service is pretty much zero, because let's face it, they don't have to try too hard at all. Sad really. The course is very boring apart from the first and last miles, the only thing that makes this race worth doing is the amazing north east crowd. And they shouldn't be underestimated. Other than being an elite athlete or the London Marathon (So I am told) this is as close as you are going to feel, in the UK, to being a professional.
The t-shirt is cheap and cotton and very annoyingly, it has a major manufacturers name on the front, but is anything but one of their products. For £56 I expect a tech material shirt from a name manufacturer. The medal is cheap looking and a bit tinny in my opinion. It really isn't good enough. The GNR is now feted as being all about charity, which of course, it isn't. People raise millions for charity doing the race, but a large corporation makes a lot of money from this race,  and I am thoroughly disappointed that the race's original organiser has sold it out in this way whilst still remaining involved.
As races go, I would say this is terrible value for money. It's worth doing once, for the crowds and nothing else, but don't be gullible enough to go back for a second time as I did, stick to just the once.