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| The number that barely saw the light of day |
Feeling Peaky
Number 2 on this year's list of "races with whom I had a score to settle" was the 3 Peaks race. Relatively speaking, this is one of the biggest fell races of the year. I say relatively, because whilst 35-odd-thousand people would be plodding the streets of London the same weekend, a mere 802 runners (out of 1016 people that entered) would start the 3 peaks race. Last year I had entered but had failed to make it to the start line due to injury and the organisers had kindly ensured that I received my pre-paid for t shirt. Pride meant that I had worn it once or twice, but couldn't really face wearing it any more, at least not until I had actually completed the race. |
| The map didn't really survive entirely intact on a miserable day weather-wise |
The iconic 3 peaks race has set off from Horton-in-Ribblesdale since 1975 and the race organisation is now a well-oiled machine. Sponsored by Saloman , the race "village" is set up in the field off Station road and the marshals did a remarkable job in keeping the cars moving to park in said field without letting a queue build up and bringing the tiny village to grid-lock, although I am sure that the occasional flock of sheep causes traffic chaos with build-ups of up to 8 cars on a bad day.
I had the frustrating experience of looking around the Pete Bland stall (frustrating because I didn't have money to buy anything apart from a map of the race (thought it might be a good idea rather than carry around a huge walkers map!)) before milling about in the marquee and picking up my race pack, complete with Saloman socks and a comprehensive booklet that even listed every single runner who had foolishly signed up.
The three peaks is a real runners' race and to that end, when entering you need to justify your entry by listing your previous fell running experience or "fast" road marathon time. I just had to hope that they didn't read my Sedbergh blog. They strictly enforce the cut-offs at certain check points and there are many jokes about avoiding the "Bus of shame" which transports you back to the start should you fail to meet the required times. Although I am a fiercely average fell runner, I wasn't worried about the cut-offs and felt very confident I would make them easily. The 2 hours 10 minute cut-off at Ribblehead was burned in to my mind, but in the event I was right not to worry and beat it and the other cut-offs by over half an hour.
Often, before the race, I was asked what time I was aiming for and I truly didn't know. I had not done anything quite like this race before. Sedbergh had more elevation (6000ft) but was shorter by 10 miles and the other long races I had done had nowhere near the same amount of ascent. Optimistically, my brain decided I would try to go under 4 hours. My brain is really stupid sometimes.
Rain? In Yorkshire? Never!
In true Yorkshire style, the weather was forecast to be changeable with a possibility of rain and it had rained heavily the night before the race. Not long after I arrived at the race a steady stream of drizzle started, which is excellent, because who likes these races to be easy with perfect weather? No, us fell runners far prefer to have something absolutely miserable to run in so we can suitably recall the tale for many years afterwards on stormy nights, sitting by a fire in a remote pub, dramatising the story of how we survived the great 3 Peaks storm of 2015. And in that respect, the 61st running of this race really lived up to all expectations........Eventually we were herded in to the starting area and I was already wearing my waterproof jacket, because frankly, it was bloody freezing. Although I am a true-blood Yorkshireman, a year of living in Australia turned my innards cold and I now have to sunbathe on a rock to keep my body temperature up so I often find I am wearing far more than anyone else at a race. I decided on my Montane race vest to carry the mandatory kit (Full waterproof body kit, map, whistle, emergency food, St Bernard, chloroform and a hacksaw) with a little bit of water in the bladder and had made the tough decision to wear a long sleeved top under my Fellandale vest. I was certainly glad of the extra clothing even if it didn't keep the cold out throughout the full race.
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| This is my girlfriend's picture of the start of the race. I can't find a better one! |
I have walked the 3 peaks on 3 previous occasions, one time going round in 7.5 hours with a little bit of running. The fell race route is around 23 miles and the ascent tops 5000ft (Or 1609m which makes it almost exactly a mile of "up") So I knew this was going to be tough. The common phrase used about this race is "It doesn't start until Whernside" I only wished I knew that before I started. Someone else said "You need to show utter restraint until you have climbed Whernside" I wish I'd known that too.......
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| The 3 peaks of the apocalypse |
The 3 peaks itself is an odd race as there is the long 10 miles between the summits of Pen Y Ghent and Whernside that is flatish and runnable in the main, with steep ascents at either end. It's not hard to get carried away on the "easy" runnable section and end up not having enough left for the much harder second half of the race. Knowing the route well, I wasn't stupid enough to race between those first 2 summits, but neither did I take it easy.
As we climbed the first mountain the rain began to fall and the clag was down. I was glad that I was wearing my jacket and had gloves to hand (pun intended) as it was getting even colder.
To put my fell running in to perspective, Ricky Lightfoot (Winner for the last two years and a Saloman sponsored athlete) reached the top of Pen Y Ghent in 28 minutes, I took 41 minutes. Then it's a blast off the summit and settle in for the long stretch to mountain number two.
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| In the pack near high Birkwith (I'm 2nd from right, all in black) |
The long stretch to Whernside is a real war of attrition. Keep calm. eat up the miles, nothing silly, no racing (I'm sure Ricky Lightfoot and the other men at the front of the race approach it a little differently!). By the time I arrived at the Ribblehead viaduct after the short road section I felt pretty good having cruised along not pushing it at all. It just goes to show how quickly it can all go wrong.
Two down, one to go
Then it started to get tough. Too tough. First, it started to rain properly, persistently. Then I came across the first surprise of the route. I knew that the race route up Whernside doesn't go up the walkers route which is a long meandering and not-very-steep path and I also knew that it went straight up the side of the mountain, but I didn't know exactly where. A short way after the main structure of the Ribblehead viaduct you head under a tunnel and are confronted with the vertiginous face of Whernside. Or at least we would have been, had we been able to see it through the curtain of rain and fog. |
| Looking back at the Ribblehead viaduct in perfect weather only a few days before the race |
And straight through a freaking river.
I'd like to call it a stream, but y'know, it had had a lot of water deposited in it very recently and now it started to rain much harder. So with very soggy feet we headed towards the largest mountain of the 3. If our feet hadn't been soggy from the river, they certainly would have been as we waded through the freshly-watered bog to get to the climb. Now my legs started to feel heavy. Sinking in to the marshland again and again sapped my strength badly. The climb up Whernside is horrible, even without swirling wind blowing rain in to your face. As the climb gets higher, it gets steeper and by the time you are near the top it is close to vertical and everyone is climbing with hands and feet. Sweat was dripping off me despite the awful weather and I began to get particularly cold, but when I reached the top, I felt ok. Not brilliant, but ok. I concentrated hard: if I could get to the summit of Ingleborough in a good state then a reasonable time was on. The two hour mark ticked by somewhere on the way up Whernside. So half way in, with half the climb done, I was on for 4 hours. It didn't last.
Along the top of Whernside we passed a lot of very bemused looking walkers who were swathed in full-on waterproofs. The majority of the field around me were in shorts and short-sleeved tops, and some mad buggers were still in vests; those people must have really confused the walkers.
We plunged down the side of Whernside and headed towards the next check point at Hill Inn. As I headed down the hard-packed path I felt a jabbing in the sole of my foot. I tried to ignore it, often these things work their way out. A couple of minutes later the stabbing pain was still there and I realised I would have to take my shoe off or risk something nasty happening to the sole of my foot.. As I bent my leg to get at my shoe my calf cramped painfully. Not good. I gave the innersole and my soggy foot a good rub and couldn't feel any likely culprit for the pain. I put my shoe back on and set off, only to find the stabbing was still there. I repeated the previous procedure only to get the same result. The third time I took my shoe off I felt inside my sock and found that a small, sharp thorn had worked its way well inside. This time on replacing my shoe, I was good to go, but I had lost a fair bit of time.
Carl (another Fellandaler) greeted me at the check point with his usual reminders to eat and drink. I supped down a cup of water and set off. Other runners had taken advantage of the drinks service whereby the organisers transport your bottle from the start to a table at the checkpoint.
As soon as I hit the flag stones going toward the final ascent up Ingleborough, I began to erm.....flag.
I was over taken by the first of many runners. As I hit the slope to begin the climb, I feared the worst. I knew this was going to be a long, hard slog.
When it began to snow three quarters of the way up, the gallows humour of fell runners came out. Jokes were being made all around me. A decidedly un-Yorkshire accent popped up, "The cold doesn't bother me as I am Scandinavian, I am a Wiking" (My brother's Norwegian in-laws always pronounce it "Wiking" too.)
"Oh really?" I said, "I can always drink my Norwegian friends under the table"
"I bet they are from southern Norway"
I had to laugh, because they are! Turns out he lived in the Arctic circle. It's amazing how many times I have run in to Norwegians or found Norwegian references since my brother married a girl from Larvik.
The conversation with several runners carried on for a while and it was fantastic to have a distraction from the pain. It was so successful in fact, that the summit came much quicker than I expected. So in the teeth of a biting wind and a snow storm, I began the final run in to Horton. The path back to Horton can seem like a very long way when you're finishing the 3 peaks, but I knew that it was very runnable. Looking at my watch, however, I knew that the possibility of a sub-4 hour time had disappeared as I had crossed the valley to Ingleborough. Now my aim was just to finish in a reasonable state.
It didn't end well
Not long after arriving at the bottom of Ingleborough, the only other Fellandaler running that day caught me and over took as I was walking. Alison has completed the 3 peaks race something like 16 times and was looking very, very strong. She was so focussed she passed me without recognising me. We had run the last leg of the Ian Hodgson mountain relay together last year and I know she is a very strong runner and is a fast descender. She is also a member of the Bob Graham club. Her only downside is a fairly average top speed on the flat. I started running again and caught her quickly, "Hello" I said, "Looks like you'll be retaining the Fellandale 3 Peaks trophy again" She was surprised to see me as Carl had told her I was at least 5 minutes ahead at the Hill Inn check point and had expected me to finish way in front of her. "5 minutes isn't much when you're dying", I said.
It wasn't long before I was walking again. I gave myself a talking to. "You can't walk these flat sections- look at this path, you should be flying"
26 miles in to the Haworth Hobble I had suddenly had a huge burst of energy and had finished the final 6 miles at quite a pace. I had been hoping that it would happen again today, but it wasn't to be. That said, the talking to worked for a little while and I set off running again. I soon caught Alison and over took her, then opened up a small lead, but I knew I wouldn't be able to keep this up with around 3 miles to go. I was hoping I would open up enough of a lead that I might still finish in front of her, but it wasn't long before I was forced to walk again and saw Alison was not far behind me and she passed me for the final time.
I plodded on towards the finish just trying to keep running. The walkers' route in to Horton takes you via the train station. I knew this would involve an extra loop around station road to the finish, so I was really hoping the fell route took a short-cut somewhere. To my relief, we ducked into a short tunnel then straight through someone's back garden- literally, I am not joking! Right across their lawn! And the finish field was in sight.
I was finishing in a small pack of runners and for some odd reason I decided I didn't want to lose any more places considering just how many people had over taken me on the run in from Ingleborough to the finish so I managed a "sprint" of sorts through the line.
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| Note to self: Remove ridiculous buff-twat-hat BEFORE entering the finishing straight |
I congratulated Alison on another 3 peaks finish and for retaining the club trophy. Her husband, Ian asked me what happened. I could give no more explanation than I had hit the wall after Ingleborough.
The most disappointing part of the race was looking at the stats, above. I had lost 111 places between Ribblehead and the finish which gives you an idea of how badly I faded. Alison eventually took 6 minutes off me over the last 3 miles.
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| The official stickyfoot |
I knew I should be happy with my "2nd class" time on my first attempt at the race (A 1st class time is under 2 hours 40) but it felt like a failure, mainly because of my atrocious finish. Still, over 1000 runners had entered the race, 802 had started, 701 had finished and I had made it through the line in 450th position. Not great, but not terrible.
As my legs and hands came back to life a little, I headed off to the changing area to peel off the soaking wet clothes that were stuck to me- always an interesting experience under a towel in a tent.
As an amusing aside; Sophia bought me the t shirt of the race on the day as it's not included in the race entry. A couple of weeks later, the one I had forgotten that I had ordered when I entered the race arrived in the post.....
