The Chevin Fell race June 2018

If you enjoy the blog, leave me a message or you can tweet me @scott_leach

This was the first time I took part in the race in 2013

The Chevin scowls down on Otley from a height of 925ft. Why anyone would think it would be a good idea to run up it from station road in Otley then immediately plummet back down, is anyone's guess, although I heavily suspect excessive beer consumption was involved. 

Amazingly, given my injury record, I lined up to compete in this race for the 6th year in succession on an overcast, yet warm Wednesday evening. Last year I had been the first Fellandaler home in 22:42 finishing in 34th position out of 136, this year I was in much better shape and had been doing some specific short hill sprints to try to improve the speed of my climbing. that said, I decided I had no chance of beating Paul, the current leader in our club's championship as I haven't beaten him in quite a while and he has been much better than me at climbing for probably a year. Because of this I hadn't bothered to taper and had done a fairly hard week of training figuring that I wouldn't beat Paul but would probably finish second Fellandaler and pick up the points to keep me second in the club champs.

For this one I chose to wear my Altra trainers (Zero-drop, foot-shaped, reasonably flexible, heavily cushioned). Every year the steep descent and especially the tarmac section, is very hard on the feet as you slam down hard and fast towards the end of the race. Most years I have ended up with soft tissue injuries to my plantar fascia. I thought that the Altra's huge cushioning might prevent this. 

As ever, lots of people chose to wear fell shoes, which is huge over kill on the very dry paths that this race is run on.

I'm on the extreme left performing the classic nursery rhyme "I'm a little teapot" Also- fair play to Hyde park Harriers for some excellent photobombing

A slightly disappointing 8 Fellandalers turned out. I say disappointing as there were 14 last year and we've had at least 10 for the last few years.

In 2017 a few of my team mates had set off fast and some over took me going up the hill, but as the climb went on I over took them all, only Patrick, a second claimer finished in front of me (By over a minute!)

An air horn signalled the start of the race and off we went up the steepish cobbles. A sharp left at the top, then 2 sharp rights and we were at Johnny Lane, a steep and painful section of tarmac where the suffering starts. I settled in to a reasonable running pace and began to over take the people that had clearly gone off too fast. I've learned that if I go off too fast at the start of races that start with tarmac and/or flat sections, I blow up as soon as I hit the climb, so I am careful to take it a little easy.

At the top of the tarmac the path sweeps right on to a rough path, then left and up past the White house and all the while I was overtaking people.

I hit the steps in good form still and continued to power past other runners. I was actually running up the steps rather than doing a jaunty walk which would be my norm in the past.
Around 3/4 of the way up, to my surprise, I caught Paul, who was walking at that time. I was doing ok so I kept going, and moved a few metres in front before walking for a short break. The top of steps soon loomed over me though and I had enough to sprint up to the top.
A quick right at the top of the steps and the surprising undulation along the track until the final climb is always difficult to deal with. You've just expended a lot of energy to get up the steps but you feel that you should be able to get up some speed along what seems like a flat piece of path, but it's deceptive and most people trudge along. I couldn't seem to get a great rhythm going, but I was going along quickly enough.
I soon came to the left turn to go up through the short, sharp, climb up through the bushes where there is usually a bottle neck and it can be frustrating if people are walking as there is no way to pass. This time I arrived with no one else around so I bounded up the path. At the top Martin was taking a video.
"Where's Paul?" I asked him. he didn't respond, so you can audibly hear my slightly manic second shout  of "WHERE'S PAUL?" on the video. "Can't see him" Martin answered. he wouldn't have been able to see too far through the bushes but I was satisfied that Paul wasn't right up behind me.
A little trot along a rocky path to where Debi had positioned herself at the bottom of the short, rocky final climb up to surprise view with her camera:

Along the summit at surprise view, then plunge the 900ft back to station road.

Thanks to Anne Akers for this excellent picture

Now it was time to see if my plan of wearing the hugely cushioned Altras would help on the descent.
A quick sprint across the top of surprise view, a sharp left-hand bend and soon on to the rocky path.
The altras were were doing a fine job, I came down quick and hard. I still had enough left to push all the way down. Last year I had been holding off at least 3 other Fellandalers, but this year with no one else in sight I probably didn't push quite as hard.
The blessed relief of station road appeared and in the absence of rivals to race, I ran in hard without really sprinting as I've done in the past whilst trying to beat other runners.
And now the good news: My fastest time in the 6 years of doing this race and by far my best climb.

The Tour o' Pendle. 18/11/17

Tweet me up @scott_leach

I knew this one was going to hurt and it didn't disappoint...

 Which Witch?

The classic Tour of Pendle fell race is generally acknowledged to be one of the hardest on the calendar at about 17 miles and nearly 5000ft of ascent with many boggy sections, very steep climbs and descents and the infamous drop that is "Geronimo" I knew this was going to be a very, very tough race.

Recently I've been running well, the last two weeks I've done 2 fell races and my climbing is the best it's ever been; finally I can run up hill for a good distance without wanting to vomit or finding religion, but unfortunately, 2 weeks ago I started with an achy left knee. After a decade of knee pain, I hadn't had any in about 5 years since I got some excellent physio treatment that corrected my mis-tracking knees, so to start suffering again came as a surprise.
   I had done the Shepherd's Skyline race with no real issues on the Saturday and on the Sunday I popped out for 10 miles on the road. Sure, my quads were a little sore, but nothing else. But later that evening my knee started to get achy. Nothing too dramatic, but enough to be a pain. I didn't do much running during the week then I headed out for the Burley Moor fell race last Saturday and I did pretty well. However, afterwards the ache turned painful, like a toothache, so I stopped running, trying to save myself for Pendle. By Saturday it felt ok, providing I didn't want to completely bend my knee or do any deep squats. I spend a lot of time at work on my knees (Bandaging patient's legs, get your mind out of the gutter) which didn't help. I considered pulling out of Pendle, but I'm nothing if not stupid and stubborn and I really wanted to do the race to make sure I had a qualifier in for the 3 peaks. Also, I desperately need to improve my climbing over 3000ft. As soon as I hit that magical 3k foot mark in a race, I tend to deflate like a football kicked in to a garden owned by the neighbourhood grumpy old man with a hunting knife.

My moob. I know you were dying to see it

Anyways, Sophia and I arrived in Barley about 45 minutes before the race, thinking we would be very early, but in fact the cars were already parking along the road probably a mile out of the village. Pendle attracts 500 runners in a sell-out making it one of the most popular fell races of the year.

A Bit of Shopping

I made my way to the Pete Bland stall and was relieved to find that they had a healthy supply of the waterproof race map. I really didn't fancy carrying around my laminated copy of the low-resolution map printed from the website and an OS map with the check points pencilled in. If the clag came down and I got separated from other runners it could be very, very easy to go entirely the wrong way and end up in a shopping park in Burnley (a fate worse than death) I also grabbed some shot blocs as my emergency food to make sure I adhered to FRA rules along with the full body cover, hat, gloves, whistle, compass, sherpa, donkey and a helicopter.

In the village hall there was no wait to pick up my number and I went about the laborious task of getting all my kit in my bag and on my person, stuffing flap jack in to various crevices. I spotted Paul and Simon from Fellandale as well as Amanda in her valley striders vest and Mike in his Kirkstall one. Unusually, we picked up our race tshirts at this point. Again, I briefly considered going home. "No, I've no idea why I'm not on the results, I definitely did it though- look at my tshirt"

My knee was feeling decidedly average, but my aim for today was just to get around, there would be no racing involved and I figured there would be a fair amount of walking and I wasn't wrong on that front.

 Like all fell races the start was low-key. We trotted along a mile or so of tarmac, then on to a hard packed trail before hitting the hills. Paul went off a little quicker than me and as my race tactic was all about preserving energy and getting round, I let him go and didn't see him again. Patrick was up front somewhere and I never did see him.

Off we went up the first hill, I settled in somewhere in between "power-hike" and "fast plod"
And then to the first descent. I deliberately took it easy, the last thing I needed was to burn out my brakes early in the race as I would definitely regret it come the last couple of descents if I did. (By "brakes" I mean my quads) Throughout the race I kept repeating to myself, "Don't burn out your brakes! Long way to go!"

Occasionally I caught up with Simon and each time he gave me helpful tips on what was coming up. The one that stuck was "The race doesn't start until Geronimo" So I needed to get there in good shape.

This was my phone recording on strava after my Garmin died. I have been unable to resuscitate it. Sad face 

Early in the race I began to get some odd feelings of discomfort in my thighs which really didn't bode well. My knee seemed to be holding up ok though, with only a mild discomfort on the way down.
Then total disaster- my garmin watch alarmed low battery. Still- never mind, it's generally got a couple of hours before low battery becomes watch shutting down...but not this time, a few minutes later it turned off, dead to the world. Then I remembered that I had my phone on me. People looked concerned as I walked for a bit starting strava on my phone and even asked if I was ok. "If it's not on strava, it didn't happen!" I replied

Geronimo!

Maybe because I'd heard all the horror stories but Geronimo didn't look half as bad as I'd been expecting when I stood at the top looking down. I snapped off a couple of photos before heading down.

Looking back at Geronimo. If you squint you can see the runners making their way down

I trotted down Geronimo not really going hard, but still over taking a lot of other people. It's important to point your toes downwards rather than turning your foot sideways, which was the mistake a lot of people around me were making. You have to trust the grip on your fell shoes and my mudclaws were coping well, despite the lugs being quite warn down on them.

At some point between there and the next climb I landed heavily in bog mud. My left leg disappeared straight down to the knee. I went to pull myself out and - Uh oh!- the shoes didn't want to come out with my foot. I curled my toes upwards and pulled again. On the third attempt it came out, but it had had the effect of pulling my heel out of the shoe which inevitably filled full of thick, smelly mud. I stopped to scrape the mud out, then stopped again to retie the shoe lace as dragging myself out had loosened it.

I was moving well up the next climb and then we hit a long, grippy, grassy downhill. I was feeling strong so I decided to take it a little quicker. I over took probably around 20 people, who were, admittedly moving pretty slowly as I was towards the back of the field. But then my knee started to hurt. The dull ache turned in to a stabbing pain on the outside of my knee. I tried to change my gait, the way I was landing, but to no avail. By the time I hit the bottom, I knew I was in serious trouble.
I spotted Amanda with a marshall, and she was standing still. "You ok?"
"No, hurt my foot"  Later I found out she'd had to go to A&E after her first ever DNF. No stress fracture showed up on the scans, but it's suspected. Hope it turns out to be something lesser and she gets well soon!

Pain

The quick descent meant I had caught up with Simon and we had a quick chat. "3 or 4 more hills from here" He said, "I can never remember how many"  I was really hoping it was 3 (it was) To my relief I found that I could go upwards without pain and I was actually moving fairly quickly and overtaking quite a lot of people. Simon was slowly moving away from me in front.

Going down the next hill was agonising. More than once a very sharp pain stopped me in my tracks and I came to a halt. At the next check point I seriously considering, dropping out. But like an idiot I carried on up the next hill. I began to over take all the people who had passed me coming down the hill, but now my knee was beginning to hurt even going up. How the hell was I going to finish this race?!

Queuing to go over a stile early in the race

After the last climb I had the incredible frustration of not being able to run on the last long, long downhill to the finish. I tried again and again to run but each time I was met with stabbing pain.
I was passed again and again by dozens of runners.

Lots of people asked if I was ok, most thinking that I was having a spectacular blow-up, so I just answered "Nope, knee's gone" Most annoying is I still had plenty of energy, without the pain I would have been charging along to the finish.

I managed to find a way to move a little faster- I just needed to keep my knee fairly straight as I bimbled along. The path down the reservoirs seemed absolutely endless. I ran (walked) in to Ted Mason. "Alright Ted, don't tell me you've already finished and are now walking it backwards"
"Nah, just off to find the missus. You bonked then?"
"I wish, my knee's gone"
Gone where though? Off to Painsville to the House of Agony, that's where.

The Pendle Hobble

I discovered that I could do a sort of double hop on my right, good leg as long as I landed with a straight leg on my left, so I managed to go a little faster in places. Eventually, mercifully, the finish line approached. By now my thighs and hips were beginning to cramp. I'm not sure whether this was due to the long slow trudge in the cold (I was now freezing, especially my hands in the wet gloves) or if it was invetible due to a lack of suitable training.

I was in a world of my own, hopping along, so much that I nearly ran straight past Sophia until she said "I thought you must be injured"
"Yep, knee's gone"
Then I hopped through the finish line.

In the village hall, I chatted to JP and gave him the thrill of his life when I slowly stripped off the layers of wet clothing whilst scoffing the bag of midget gems, dolly mixtures, cola bottles and milk bottles that I hadn't touched during the race.
Mike came through the finish not long after me. His ankle had held up about as well as my knee but he was just pleased to have got round.

Mmmmm, Betty

Man at C&A

Later I undressed in the shower to prevent me from dropping mud all over the place. Taking off the socks that had stuck to the mud, that was stuck to my leg hairs was an interesting experience. Then I scrubbed like a man possessed to remove the rest of the mud that was not in my socks and settled in to a long bath with a bottle of Desperado (Don't judge me)

Addit: I managed to retrieve the first part of the race from my garmin before giving it a burial!!

Burley Moor Fell Race 11/11/2017

For once a bright sunny day greeted us for the last event of the Burley “summer” festival; to wit- the fell race up t’moor and the runners congregated around the cordoned-off cricket pitch under the strange glow of a bright ball in the sky. A pig was quickly sacrificed to appease the Gods to make sure the ball didn’t destroy us and 14 Fellandalers (I’m including the pesky second-claimers) signed the sheet to promise not to sue anyone if they died with their leg in the air as they were fully aware that fell running is a bloody silly pastime.

The race director gave us all a chat and warned us that the gates on the lower part of the course that were usually opened for the race were this year padlocked, meaning that we would have to vault the gates or use the stiles if we didn’t get there first.

For the start, there was, of course, no to-do and off we went around the pitches for a quick right turn out of the car park, through the cars and down the track.

Paul Heely raced in to an unexpected lead followed by Patrick and myself a little way behind. We weaved down the thin farm tracks, across the fields and skidded down the final path to the road crossing before beginning the leg-burning climb up the moor.

Whereas I have traditionally been a terrible climber, I have recently seemed to have found my  hill legs and can now finally run up hills (at least for a while) and about ¾ of the way up the first climb, I over took Paul. I kept catching the odd glimpse of Patrick up in front through a curtain of sweat, but never with any hope of catching him.

This was the third time I have done this race and by far the driest conditions, but that didn’t mean that it wasn’t still pretty muddy. I tried to keep moving as smoothly as I could, but despite that, I was caught by Monica from Wharfdale not long before reaching the top. She immediately became my target for the race. I went straight back past her and we hit the dry, fast track along the top that has a gentle downhill. I could hear her on my tail the whole way and each time she caught me and pulled level I put in a spurt and moved away. I put in a 3:40 kilometre to try to keep my position.

As we hit the turn at Burley gate I could see Patrick. He had already turned back and was a way up the track, probably a good minute in front. I turned the bend and tried to power up the hill but the fast downhill had taken its toll and I was struggling to keep the speed up. We passed the Mountain rescue Land Rover which is there every year and always makes me chuckle; it doesn’t really fill you full of confidence but I’m certainly glad it was there.

At the very bottom corner of the race with the last turn around point, I could see Patrick again and he was powering away up the hill, a long way in front.

Going up the hill I was now moving slowly and knew that at any time today’s nemesis (Monica) would pass me being much better at climbing than me and sure enough she did. I was then surprised to be over taken by another lady running for Ilkley that was powering up the hill and at a guess I would have said she was a V50.

I was doing my best to hold on knowing that the rest of the route was very up and down and that I would be able to put in a very good spurt down the steep final descent and would probably catch up some time on the technical rocky sections

To my surprise I over took the Ilkley lady not long before the descent and as soon as we started to go down, I shot past Monica and another couple of runners.

Now it was all about getting down the muddy slope and unlike last week at Shepherd’s Skyline, I seemed to have something left and was able to keep up some speed. I could hear Monica right up behind me all the time and my mind was screaming at me to slow down or give up, but I just didn’t want to give up my position.

Each time we hit the hard packed paths I knew I had to go hard as everyone else would be and I was holding my place, not catching the runners in front, but those behind didn’t seem to be gaining.

At one fence I decided that going through the kissing gate would cost me too much time so I awkwardly threw myself over the gate. At the final stile I tried to bound over it in a quick movement and I slipped badly as I went up it, then slipped again as I came down, but managed to keep my feet.

Eventually we hit the last bit of track to the cricket pitch. I was still fully expecting someone to put in a quick sprint and pass me before the end so I put in a sprint of my own down the field and was extremely relieved when I crossed the line with no one passing me. I had managed 2 final kilometres of 3:44.

I turned around after finishing expecting to see Monica right behind me, but actually it was the Ilkley lady that had been right behind me and in fact Monica didn’t finish for another couple of minutes. “I can’t run downhill to save my life” she explained afterwards.

I had finished in 53:35 (Second lady) an improvement on my previous effort by 1 minute 23 seconds which was obviously pretty pleasing, especially given the closed gates.  Patrick had finished in 51:56 and Paul came through a couple of minutes behind me in 57:07 (Times taken from strava, not the official times yet as they aren’t out!) *My official time: 53:38 for 39th place out of 222 finishers.

Jed came through about a minute after Paul with his patented “Massive sprint finish to overtake at least one person whilst wildly out of control and very nearly demolishing the finishing funnel” move

Next was Phil Steel then in no particular order, Carl, Stephen Carter, Tanya, Laura, Kat, Simon and Sarah Glover.

We stood around for some pictures for social media and a hot beverage included in the price (Bargain!) before heading home to hot baths, muscles rubs and crazy pugs (at least in Tanya’s case) no doubt contemplating Pendle hill next weekend.

Race review:The 3 Peaks 25/4/15

Leave a comment at the end or tweet me @scott_leach

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.

This is my girlfriend's picture of the start of the race. I can't find a better one!

Out of the race village the race heads through the centre of  Horton-in-Ribblesdale through reasonably thick crowds before you head off up a track for the first climb of the day to the summit of Pen Y Ghent. When walking up Pen Y Ghent you take a longer route and up the treacherous stairs, the fell race route is different, however, and new to me.

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.......

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.

In the pack near high Birkwith (I'm 2nd from right, all in black)

In the above photo wearing number 439 is Shane Ewen. Although at this point, which is maybe 3-4 miles in to the race after the first climb, we were together, he went on to finish over 42 minutes in front of me. You should be able to work out why if you continue to read......

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.

Note to self: Remove ridiculous buff-twat-hat BEFORE entering the finishing straight

Afterwards I was exhausted, soaking, freezing and weirdly emotional. I was glad to lean on Sophia in the marquee. For a brief second I felt tears rising up. Then I remembered I am a fell runner and pulled myself together. My hands were so cold I had lost a lot of the ability to grip. I managed to plod off for my complimentary food included in the entry price and was extremely disappointed to find out that the only hot-food option was a chilli con carne. Why do people not understand that there are a lot of us who can't stand chillies? I was about to refuse it when I realised that I could give it to Sophia, it also did a very good job of warming up my hands. I begged extra cheese so I could make a sandwich out of that and the bap we were given. Grabbing a cup of tea I landed back at a picnic table and chatted with other runners, all of whom looked in much better condition than me. Often during a long race I fantasise about a beer at the end of the race, but find when I finish that it is the last thing I want. Today though, I chugged happily on a beer after the cup of tea.
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.

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.....

Great Whernside Fell Race: 25/10/14

Leave a message at the end or tweet me @scott_leach
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

Race Review: The Sedbergh fell race: 17/8/14

You read-a-da-blog? then you leave-a-da message at the end. Or twit me up @scott_leach

There were at least 194 reasons why me doing this race was stupid

At least I'm committed. And almost certainly, I should be 

When will I learn? Seriously; WHEN. WILL. I. LEARN?

"You doing Sedbergh Scott?"
"Yeah, sure" I replied, casually. Of course, I hadn't actually looked at what it entailed as per usual. It's on my club's Runner of the Year (ROTY) list, so I planned to do it. I had meant to recce it a couple of weeks beforehand and it's a bloody good job I didn't, for 2 reasons: 1) I wouldn't have been able to navigate the bloody thing and 2) I would never have done it had I known what it involved.

So for those of you who don't know me (Basically I am talking to spam bots here because only 5 people read this blog and one is my mother and at least one of the others is in my running club) I am a fiercely mediocre runner. In any given fell race I tend to finish just inside the top 3rd. Due to an only recently resolved injury, I am currently around 80% of the fitness I was last year when I set all my road race PBs.  At the Great North Run last year I finished in the top 1% of a field of 40000 runners, but of course, the fun runners that do the GNR cannot be compared to the cross-between-mountain-goat-and-mountain-lion that fell runners tend to be and all of them seemed to have turned up to the Sedbergh fell race to run around the Howgills. In addition, this year Sedbergh was an English championship race so the field was even more competitive than it might normally have been.

Okay, enough of the preamble. Brace yourself, I am going to break with my tradition and show you the profile of this race early in the blog post to give you an idea of exactly why I am about to tell you a story of a very bad day for me, running-wise.

Take note of the elevation on the Y-axis; that's the bit that kills you!

So yeah; 14 miles and 6000ft feet. Bear in mind that the big Welsh mountains are the 3000s- so basically, twice the height of one of those. Why did I not take this as a red flag? Why, why?!

We set off from Leeds in lovely bright sunshine, but I had seen the weather forecast and knew it wouldn't last and sure enough, it didn't. Before long we were all taking part in our own personal ice bucket challenges courtesy of mother nature. A long walk in the pouring rain from the car parking, way out side the village, to the People's hall in the centre meant I arrived with soaking wet tracky bottoms for registration, looking like I'd got lost on the way to my community service.. I was given number 194 and had a "dibber" attached to my wrist. A dibber is a small electronic thing-a-me-bob that you "dib" in at each check point enabling the computer to clock you. At fell races like this, it's important to keep a careful count of the runners, y'know, in case you lose one down a huge slope or in an abandoned mine shaft with Scooby Doo.
We all lined up on the unassuming road next to the hall for the start with most of us already clad in waterproof jackets. Each of us carried the standard kit, mostly in bum bags, consisting of full waterproof kit, map, compass, whistle, emergency food, hat and gloves. In addition I also had an empty collapsible water bottle, food to get me through the run and my mobile in a waterproof bag. I probably should have brought flares too.

I'm in there somewhere, edging my way towards the back

As per usual the race was started with a bare minimum of "to-do" and after a short safety speech, the race director said, "Off you go" in such a casual way that for a second none of us were quite sure if that was the start or not.

Standing around at the start on the brief section of road through the village that the route took gave me a chance to chat to Simon. We looked up at the hill towering above us and we considered the route we would take down it at the end of the race. I discovered that as little fun as that hill looked from the bottom, by the end of the race and over 3 hours and 6000ft later, it would look a whole lot less fun from the top.

Very soon we were staring up at the first ascent, which is actually the toughest of the race as you can see on the profile: from 150m up to 600m. So around 1300ft. I took this slope well, bouncing away, feeling good and powering-hiking; thrusting my feet downwards and putting my hands on my knees for help. This confidence and relatively swift movement did not last....

That's me on the right, looking almost happy. That's only because I had no idea......

Down we looked from the first summit; a mere drop of 1200ft down a grassy slope. I had asked Simon a few days beforehand what he did in long races with big slopes, take it easy or go for it? "Go for it", he had replied. I reasoned that if I went cautiously down this slope it would take so much braking from my thighs that they would burn out pretty quickly, so I decided to take Simon's advice and for a brief moment during this race I was flying. I over-took probably a dozen people and was down the hill before I knew it, but it had cost me. I was already very tired and my thighs were already complaining. This didn't bode well.......

Oh the humanity!

Over the next 10 or 12 miles the ascents and descents began to merge in to one blur of pain and despair. My memories are already fuzzy, so they may well be very mixed up and tumble out in a way that is in no way the correct order, but here goes anyway.......

The thing about this race is the elevation, obviously, but it's also that so much of the elevation is not gentle, in fact, I'd go as far as saying none of it is, but that could just be my mind playing tricks with me. I do remember looking at the last two slopes and being very glad that they weren't all that steep when on a normal day they would have looked fairly scary.

The Kanadias that I wore (HUGE mistake!) with a number from another race. I remember this as I had to shout out 194!! numerous times

My first clear memory is of going up the second hill and beginning to tire badly, it seemed absolutely relentless and endless. The first of the runners that over took me on the day went past, I would get very used to being over-taken by the end.

Before the race I had been panicking about navigation. Much of the race was not on clear paths, to navigate it without help would almost certainly require compass bearings. Luckily at no point did I lose view of the runner in front (The runner in front changed frequently as more and more people over-took me) At one point, the clag (A fell runners word for mist and fog) had come down, cutting visibility and I could only see one runner in front of me. I felt slight panic and began to push on as he was about to disappear over the crest of a hill. When I got to the crest and looked down, the mist was clear and I could probably see at least 20 runners and I had to laugh at myself for having put in a huge effort to keep the runner in view. I think it was around this point I saw the runner in front take a bite of an energy bar and I decided this was a good idea, however, eating a very sticky energy flap-jacky thing through gasps isn't easy. I know I also stopped at the second stream we crossed and filled my bottle for a drink. I idly wondered if I would incubate something over the next few days and end up with the world falling out of my bottom. (I didn't- but wouldn't that have been the icing on the cake?)

Never do a fell race without proper fell shoes. Duh!

At some point we began to run on a very muddy track that was "Contouring" i.e. we were running around the side of a hill. The adidas kanadias I was wearing revealed themselves as hopelessly, hopelessly inadequate for the terrain. And did I say very muddy? I mean extremely muddy, I mean stupidly muddy, I mean Mud Street in Mud central in the Mud district of Mud city, Mudland. And this was no mere mortal mud, this was the slipperiest mud man had ever seen *this may be slight exaggeration for comic effect; but only very slight* And also at a very steep angle. It wasn't very long before my ankles began to complain about being turned at 45 degrees for step after step after step (45 degrees may also be a slight exaggeration) The path became so treacherous that I could barely stay upright and I slowed to walking pace. The hill to my right dropped away several hundred feet, one slip and I wouldn't stop until I hit the bottom, a broken rag doll. Not for the first or the last time during the race, I moved the feeling of terror to the back of my mind and carried on regardless.
I think it was along this path that Simon passed me in far more appropriate shoes. I knew there was no way I would finish ahead of Simon in a race with over 6000ft of climb, but I had moved in front of him on the first slope and I believe it was around half way that he over-took me. He gave me some words of encouragement that I can't remember now; I'm fairly sure that my mind is trying to block out the whole experience to protect me, but to be honest, I was reasonably pleased to get to half way and still be in front of Simon.

These are my race splits....if you hadn't guessed. And if you hadn't guessed, get off my blog, you're drunk

After what seemed like days the contouring finally finished and I filled the bottle again at the stream in the bottom of the valley, before I looked up at the next horrific slope. My mind began to rebel "OH HELL NO! YOU HAVE GOT TO BE CRAZY!!"I looked around me. There had to be a way out. Where was the nearest road? Maybe I could flag down a truck driver?
As I trudged up this slope my thighs screamed and screamed. Several times I sat down and looked back on the field. I could see 20 or so runners. So many had passed me at this point that I began to wonder if I was looking at the back of the field. There was still at least 6 miles to go and I was utterly exhausted. I could only climb so many steps before needing to stop. I resorted to moments of walking on all fours, more than once I dropped to my knees and shuffled along for a few "steps" People were now starting to ask if I was alright, such was my obvious distress. "Yeah, just dying"
I decided I would drag out my packet of clif shot bloks. I far prefer them to energy gels as clif bloks taste like wine gums as opposed to liquid sugar. One lady of, let's say, advancing years, passed me looking like she was on a nice pleasant day out in the countryside rather than the middle of Hades as we clearly were. I decided to offer her a clif blok which she gratefully accepted and I felt good for a brief moment. But I knew I had to carry on at some point.
I managed to have a chat to a guy next to me who had given me some words of encouragement. Turns out he had done the lakeland 50 only a couple of weeks before and it heartened me to think I had kept up with him for a long way in this race.

As is traditional in fell racing, the route is in the shape of a noose.....

I haven't yet mentioned how wet we all were at this point. It's all very well wearing fancy, expensive raceshell running jackets, but nothing stops rain like that getting in and "breathable" material, isn't breathable, not really. Sweat soaks the inside and a lot of the time I was moving so slowly that I was getting cold.

Three times during the race I had to stop and empty an entire bog full of mud out of my shoes as well as enough gravel to cover a decent sized driveway. Each time I sat down I got soggier and soggier to the point my mind invented a new condition- Trench-bottom- and I wondered if you could die from it. It certainly felt like I was well on the way anyway.

Mummy, Mummy, please make it stop

With a mile or two to go it was taking all my, determination, all my stubbornness, all my strength, all my pig-headedness not to just give up and sit on the ground crying and rocking backwards and forwards. As it was, I was spending some time at the side of the track, bent double with my hands on my knees reflecting on my poor life choices. Very early in the race the young men had over taken me, then not long after the men my age had over taken me, then the women started to over take me, then the older men started to over take me followed by the really old men. Then finally, as I willed my legs to carry on whilst still bent-double, the old women started to pass me. I saw one such lady catching me up. My competitive spirit had long since deserted me; I couldn't have given a monkey's nuts who finished in front of me at this point, just as long as I could stop running/stumbling along in this ridiculous race. The lady was a veteran 65 (I know this as I looked her up after the race) and as she passed she gave me a look of sympathy and said "You alright, love?" before mountain-goating away after I mumbled a "Yes, fine". My humiliation was complete.

I had to laugh at a very dark moment late on in the race. I looked down at my watch and saw it was showing 21km- the half marathon point, and the time was showing as 3 hours 11 minutes- which is my road marathon PB. I was literally completing this race at half the pace of my best marathon. This should have been an encouraging thought considering 6000ft of ascent but it really wasn't.

Now my watch ticked over to the 14 mile mark- where the race should have ended, but somehow I was still on the course. At the very least I considered that it meant that it couldn't last much longer and lo and behold, the final descent down into Sedbergh appeared and it looked HORRIFIC. A massive 1000-odd-foot down a very steep grassy hill. Few people, if any, made it to the bottom without spending a large amount of time on their bottom. With my thighs screaming I knew this was going to be painful. So I sat down on the hill and stared at this thing from my nightmares, wondering why I had done this thing to myself. Then I made a large mistake, I tried to bring my knees up to my chest. Every muscle in my legs cramped painfully, so I quickly straightened them again. I tried to bend my legs again with the same painful result. Ok, so my legs no longer wanted to bend. Fair enough.
I tried to decide on the least painful method of getting down. First off, walking. Nope, too much thigh-braking; very painful. Running? Nope, also too painful. I "settled" in to a sort of weird, half walking, half bouncing, half running, erm, thing. It was still painful but there was no way of getting down that wouldn't be. Debi and Naomi were lurking halfway down this hill with Debi's camera. Vanity took over and I tried running to look athletic and like I still had something in the tank.......... I failed

The expression on my face in these shots tells the story

Debi was not supposed to take this shot of me having a rest immediately after I had passed her...

The painful ending

After what seemed like another million years I reached the bottom of the hill for a short road section back to the finish which I was soon mercifully able to see. Most runners at this point had finished and were milling around the hall and I entered the little gazebo that was the finish line to absolutely no fanfare, not that I expected any. It took all my concentration to get my waving, shaking arm to drop the dibber attached to my wrist in to the machine to record my final time, which all-told was 3 hours 27 minutes, the longest run I had ever done in my life, a full ten minutes slower than my slowest road marathon. I limped painfully to where my bag was in the hall and collapsed on the floor wondering if I would ever be pain-free again. I made the mistake again of trying to bend my legs and was greeted by the same crippling cramp. Changing out of my sopping wet clothes was another painful challenge and soon I just laid full length on the floor. I think I remember eating some food, high sugar stuff, probably Kendall mint cake, basically anything I could stuff in my mouth before I came over all Yorkshire and desperately wanted a cup of tea, but there was no way I was likely to wait in the long queue. Luckily it didn't take Debi and Naomi long to get down to the hall and Debi queued for me.
A while later, in to my hand was placed an amazing shining, golden chalice. It contained an elixir of wondrous liquid that swirled like a whirlpool in my eyes. It had the restoring powers of 20 hours sleep, a belly-fully of roast dinner and a pacman power-up pill, to-wit, a polystyrene cup of tea. A tiny percentage of myself began to turn human again.

This was on the toilet door. It even managed to raise a laugh from me

I dragged the girls off to the nearest pub so I could have a pint and tell them all about my terrible experience which they seemed to enjoy far too much and for some very odd reason they appeared surprised when I answered the question, "So, you going to do it next year?" with a very resounding, "F**k, no!"

The soreness in my legs took 10 days to pass. My spirit has never healed.