Marshaling the Hardmoors 110/160

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When the industrious proprietor of the Hardmoors series of races, Jon Steele, put out a plea for marshals for his 110/160 mile events on facebook, I realised the date clashed with the 3 peaks. Then very late in the day when I knew I had to drop out of the 3 peaks, I offered Jon my services. Unsurprisingly with such a late offer of support, I was given a graveyard shift of 4am-9am Sunday morning shift at the check point at Lord Stones, a point 131 miles in to the 160 and 83 miles in to the 110. My mind boggled at the sights I may see!

I don't have a picture from Lordstones, so here's me dancing with Usain Bolt

I got out of bed at around 2:15am Sunday morning. "I'm off to a car park in the middle of nowhere!" I said to Sophia, in what my have been one of the dodgiest sentences of all time. Luckily, she knows me well. I downed a large cup of fresh-ground coffee and an hour and a half later I realised my sat nav was NOT taking me to Lord stones. Crap. Cue frenzied googling and hoping that I would get enough signal for it to direct me. 

I arrived at the check point at about 04:02 when I realised I had been stupid enough to forget my head torch.

The checkpoint was a tiny road crossing where Peter had parked his campervan and Karsten had set up a chair and a table filled with jelly babies, pork pies (which proved VERY popular) sausage rolls, flat coke and of course, water. 

Around 40 people started the 160 and about 150 started the 110. All told around 80 people reached the Lord Stones check point and it was remarkable what good spirits the majority of them were in, though almost all looked completely exhausted. As the runners made their way up the next hill, the gaits of some of the competitors was interesting to say the least, especially considering they had nigh on 30 miles to go. Some looked like they couldn't take another step, never mind cover more than a marathon, but each one shuffled off up the pretty sizeable hill with grim determination abundant. 

The most hilarious thing is that in true ultra runner style, often the runners showed concern for us, seeming to think that WE had a hard job! "So what time did you get here?" I answered 4am and the other 2, answered 2am. "Wow!" the runners said, "That's tough"

Everything is relative of course, but being a little bit cold as you stand around pouring out the odd drink and handing out the pork pie is not really hard work in anyone's book and especially not compared to people who had been in this race from 8am the previous morning in the case of the 110ers and 5pm 2 days previous for the 160ers!!!!!

Our shift was due to finish at 9am, but Jon Steele is nothing if not a vague bugger and we were still waiting for the tail runners at 10am.  We continued to chat about running between ourselves and Peter told me about many races but not least his Bob Graham round back in 1984. Karsten had done a few of the Hardmoors marathons and told me about his favourites. 

Eventually the last runner came in accompanied by the trail runners and the rain that had held off began to fall as we cleared away the detritus. 

It's impossible not to be inspired by these superheroes dressed in the guise of normal human beings, armed mostly with nothing more than pure determination to finish a truly herculean race. Yes, you think they are crazy, yes, you think they look total wrecks and yes, I wished I was them.

Driving home I was amazed to see the view that it had been too dark to see the night before. It was spectacular. The thought helped to keep me awake on the A1M motorway until I arrived back.

I still don't have a picture so here's a stormtrooper beating Usain Bolt

At home, I watched the Hardmoors facebook feed as the runners came home and a remarkable story unfolded. One guy, Frank Murphy, had arrived at a checkpoint with 15 minutes to spare before the cut off of the 160. He decided that rather than rushing himself to beat the cut off, he would have a sleep instead, knowing that it would disqualify him from the race. Not that he was dropping out, he was going to carry on, but with no check points open and no race support other than his own support team. He grimly carried on getting further and further behind the cut offs. The cut off for the entire race was 50 hours, he eventually came through in 71.5 hours! By that time he landed he had dozens of people cheering him on on facebook and a crowd had gathered to welcome him home (Think Simon Pegg in "Run fat boy run") including Jon and Shirley Steele, who, despite his official disqualification from the race, presented Frank with his finishers tshirt and medal. And that is the true Hardmoors spirit.  Do yourself a favour, and sign up for a hardmoors race today!

The Hardmoors 30 1/1/16

Hardmoors 30

Hands up those who are fed up of me banging on about me, myself and I in my races!?


1...2..3....4...5.. Ok, I get the hint......


So instead of talking all about me, I am going to tell you all about the people I met during the Hardmoors 30 on New Year's Day

Inov8 raceshell 220 Bloke

I trotted alongside a tallish, slim gent with a neat beard for a mile or two on the cinder track heading towards Whitby at the start of the race. Eventually we spoke.

"Do you come here often?"

This is the question that is asked many, many times during each Hardmoors race I imagine, although it's generally worded "You done many Hardmoors races then?" which is what I said, but it amounts to the same thing.
He was from Teesside and in a lovely, soothing, lilting, North East accent he told me he'd done a few and he returned the question. I confessed it was my first. He asked if I had anymore planned this year. I sheepishly admitted I hadn't as I had other plans which, or course, elicited the question, "What plans are those?"
I didn't really want to admit to an ultra runner that my main aim for the year was a road marathon PB, but that's what he asked.
As it turns out it was ok though, as he told me that he had done the same a few months ago in Edinburgh and that it had left him injured for a few months, but he managed to beat his friend's PB as well as his own, so he was happy. Over the course of the race we bumped in to each other a few times before he pulled away from me as I took a long time at a checkpoint trying to massage my feet into life and away from stabbing pain.

Paul from Glasgow

Coming out of Whitby the coast path was extremely muddy and I began to overtake people in trail shoes as my mudclaws afforded me far more grip. I caught and started to pass a stocky guy in a pair of full-on, heavy duty, combat pants in a camouflage pattern.

"How you getting on?" He asked in a thick Scottish accent.

"Terrible", I said. "How are you doing?"

"Not bad. What's up?"

I told him I was having trouble with stabbing pains through my feet. He said something in such a thick Glaswegian brogue that I couldn't catch it and asked him to repeat it. He tried again and I still missed it. I took off my running beanie to uncover my ears, "Sorry, go again"

"They gi'ing ye some jip, pal?"
Yes, they bloody well were.
Turns out Paul had been a marine a while ago and he had decided he needed a challenge again. He had travelled all the way from Glasgow for the race and had stayed in the Boggle Hole youth hostel, which, he said, "Was a f****** nightmare" as drunken new year's eve revellers falling about, making noise and turning on lights at 3am had prevented a full night's sleep. He told me it was his first ultra. "But you must have done long stuff for the marines though", I said. His last challenge to become a marine was a thirty miler with full pack in army boots. As he walked the uphill inclines I pulled away from him.

Barefoot Guy

The cinder path to the Hayburn Wyke pub was a neverending incline. I was in a whole world of pain with my feet. Running was agony, walking was worse.
I was rapidly catching a tall man dressed in a blue waterproof jacket in front of me. As I caught him I realised he was in some sort of barefoot trainer. They turned out to be vibram 5 fingers. "Nice vibrams" I said. "Oh yes, I love them." he replied.
I like a chat about minimalist running as much as anyone and I desperately needed a distraction so I walked along with him and had a chat.
He told me that it hadn't taken long for him to transition to barefoot trainers and he had been using them for about 5 years
At first he had alternated each run with vibrams and normal road trainers. He said the difference in impact was huge- it was far less when he ran barefoot. His running gait was incredibly light and it looked like he wouldn't break egg shells if he landed on them. He had done plenty of ultras in his vibrams too.
Our chat ended prematurely when bizarrely I ran into.....

3 people I know!

Mark, Kelly and Dave were walkers from the group I was a member of before I returned to running. I know Mark often cycles the cinder track because I see his traces on strava and he lives in Scarborough. He nearly managed to throw himself off his bike by attempting to give me a flying hug and stop his bike at the same time.
"What you up to?" he said.
"Killing myself"
I told them about the race and moaned about the red hot pokers that were stabbing through my feet. "Well you're doing brilliant" they said. The walking group they are members of is not exactly hardcore. 6-8 miles over the course of 10 hours is kind of the norm, so impressing them is not really too hard. That said, Mark and Kelly have attempted the 100km Trail trekker Oxfam event as walkers, but neither managed to finish. Kelly is a runner but stops at the half marathon distance.
"Where you heading?" They asked.
"Erm, wherever the markers take me"
"You turning around at the pub?"
"I think so"

The course description and maps didn't come out of my bag the entire day.
I bade farewell to the group and set off after the barefoot guy.

The marshalls at The Hayburn Wyke pub.

I caught the end of a conversation between 2 marshalls. "Jon needs to start disqualifying a few of them"
(Jon is Jon Steele, the organiser of the Hardmoors series of races)
"Wait", I said. "What is it I need to do to get disqualified??"
"Ha! you're not getting out of it that easily!"
"Oh come on, surely I can do summat!? I know, Jon said abuse of the marshalls is automatic disqualification!"
"Nah, we've got really thick skins around here"
A sign was leaning against the car. "If you give up now, you can be relaxing in the pub pretty soon", it said.
Tempting, extremely tempting. A marshall came out with a pint in his hand, taunting us all.
"I say we we gang up and pour that pint over his head" I said to the large crowd of runners milling around. There was general agreement. (And laughing!)

The rugby union player

As I headed away from the pub, I was behind a runner wearing a pair of shorts and a top from his rugby union club.
"I've got a story for you that you'll like" I said.
Rather than him recoiling at this rather strange thing to say to a stranger he said, "Oh yes, go on" in a friendly tone.
During ultra marathons talking to strangers to distract yourself or pass the time is what you do, so it wasn't as strange as it sounds.
I told him a true story that had happened a couple of weeks ago......
For the 2nd time in a short period, I returned to a 94 year-old lady with dementia to dress a second skinned knee. After a while she asked, "Am I alright then?"
"Yes", I said, "But you're going to have to give up playing rugby league"
She looked at me with horror.
"Well I am not switching to union" she said.
My new friend laughed heartily and said, "Fair play!" He told me he actually thought league was a much better game to watch and he had full respect for anyone playing it. I asked why he played rugby union then? "I'm not hard enough to play league!", he laughed. He told me had tried it but got too battered.
I soon lost him as the first of many, many steps started as we headed back to Robin Hood's bay.

The RAF lass

A stocky girl with short-cropped hair appeared on the horizon and I caught her up. I needed more distraction so I said hello and asked how she was going.
Turns out she was another military type, albeit one that had just joined and was still in her training. She was doing "logistics movement" I thought logistics WAS movement, but what do I know?
She was a regular to Hardmoors events and lived close by so knew the paths very well. Which turned out to be a very lucky thing as I would definitely have gone the wrong and added a fair bit to the distance. As it was we still slightly over-ran the Cleveland way and had to turn back, but it was only about 30 yards.
She told me that she had completed the Hardmoors 110 and obviously, that commands huge respect! She said she hadn't done much since then and hadn't trained for this race so was actually finding it a little tough. Her hoka's lack of grip in mud wasn't helping either. We started to catch people along the very muddy coastal path as everyone skidded around. I seemed to be more sure footed than most, though, and despite my very slow pace and the trail shoes I was now wearing, I over took quite a lot of people. I stuck with the RAF lass for a bit, chatting away, but at the climb down and out of Boggle hole I left her behind.

The rugby league legend

Running through the shoppers in Robin Hood's bay was an odd experience and probably as much for them as it was for us.
Then suddenly, I spotted a big, familiar man amongst the shoppers.
"Andy Dannatt!!" I exclaimed. He looked at me with no recognition, as he wouldn't, seeing as how I had watched him play at the Boulevard from the terraces in the 1980's and 90's when he was a tough-as-nails prop for'ard for Hull FC and Great Britain.
I held out my hand and he shook it. I then realised I had my gloves on. The incredibly sweaty gloves I had worn for 30 miles.......
Whooops. Ah well, having played professional rugby league he was used to worse I am sure. He seemed pleased to be recognised and also when I told him I had loved watching him play.

Adam from Kirkstall Harriers

Sophia offered to pay for a massage for me back at Flyingdales village hall when I'd finished, probably less out of the goodness of her heart and more out of not wanting to do it herself, but still, I was very grateful. As I waited a familiar face asked if there was a queue, "There is now" I smiled.
The familiar face that I couldn't quite place asked if I was going to do PECO on Sunday. "Ah, is that where I know you from?" He said yes, and introduced himself as Adam, a Kirkstall Harrier. I recognised the name from their facebook page. He recognised me from the ridiculous Phillip Bland picture of me at the last PECO where I jumped and pulled a silly face (See below). Adam had been carrying a gopro camera during the race. I said I had run past him when he had the camera on a selfie stick early on, "Not sure I got you on it", he said. "You want to be on it?" At this point I was lying topless on the massage table, but I am always up for a laugh, so I feigned being in terrible pain. "Umm, how about a thumbs up?" he said and I obliged.

"Thanks" to Phillip Bland for this photo.

Jon Steele

Before I left the hall for the drive home that was peppered with long queues in bank-holiday traffic and road works, I went over to thank Jon for the race. I shook his hand, "Great race Jon, thanks a lot", I said, "I think......"