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......"

The Washburn Valley Relay 18/7/14

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All pictures reproduced by kind permission of Debi Nicholson

Simon, me and Mike; the Fellandale team

As is my usual trick, when I was asked if I'd like to take part in the Washburn valley relay, I immediately said yes, then promptly forgot all about it. Normally that isn't really a problem, but it fell the evening before the Ingleborough fell race. No worries, I thought, I'll just do 'em both. I've never claimed to be sensible.

Under Starters orders

The relay is over three legs, and here they are:

After a quick discussion, we decided that Simon, as the fastest runner, would do the longest leg (the middle one) Mike would start us off and I would do the final leg.

Just after the start as the field makes its way across the causeway

The relay was carried out in a great atmosphere with everyone cheering their team mates on loudly. The abilities of the teams varied greatly from racing snake to snail.

Each of the 3 legs ends cruelly up a short, sharp hill and pride cut in time and again with the runners as they did their best to make a good showing for their team mates.

Here's Mike on the first leg

Great fun was had watching the first leg runners coming in up the hill and handing over. Mike came steaming in, clearly giving it his all before handing over to Simon.

Here's Simon floating on air as he finished the second leg, ready to hand over to me.

So off I went for my leg around Swinsty reservoir. It started on a flat and well maintained path and I was making good time. To my amazement, when I looked down at my garmin it told me I was running at less than 4 mins/k. I have not run anywhere like that fast this year, so I actually assumed that something odd was going on with the GPS. The path continued to meander through the woods and around the reservoir and soon I heard the familiar sound of a runner catching me from behind and all the while I was catching the runner in front. I was soon passed by a flash of blue and there was no point in me giving chase, his pace was so much quicker than mine.
As I reached the causeway at the end of the reservoir I over took my first runner and I was given a long view of the next part of the route and I could see a number of runners in front of me, which gave me some targets to chase.
As the race went on we cruised around the far side of the reservoir and I slowly picked off more runners before I could see a lady in Skipton's hi-viz yellow top. I was catching her, but only very slowly. My hope was that I would catch her on any hilly sections, or perhaps the final hill.
To get back up to the final causeway between the reservoirs to take us to the finish line, there was a reasonably substantial climb. I expected the Skipton runner to slow on the way up, but she seemed strong and the gap only closed slightly. Along the causeway she still seemed strong and I decided the effort required to catch her would probably be beyond me and I also had half an eye on the Ingleborough fell race the next day.

Me, on the way up to the finish

Of course, up the final hill, being cheered on by my team mates and a couple of people in the crowd that knew me, I couldn't help but put in a bit of a sprint.
I had actually run the leg around 45 seconds quicker than the Skipton lady, but it hadn't been enough to catch her. However, I felt reasonably pleased by my tally of picking off 4 runners in front of me and only being over-taken by one.

In the final reckoning our team came in a very respectable 21st out of 56 teams. A fine evening's work

Race review: Belper Rugby Rover 30k trail race

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2 weeks ago I was planning on embarking on a long run. It was going to end up being a relatively boring street-pounder from my front door, until I heard about the Belper Rugby Rover; a race organised by the Belper Rugby Union club. 30km (18.5m) entirely off-road around Derbyshire and a 1.5 hours drive from me. It seemed perfect. Why not?! Oh yeah, maybe because the furthest trail run I've ever done is 6 miles and the furthest I've run recently is 13.5 miles. Ah well, what could possibly go wrong? Storm, plague and death knowing my luck.

If you haven't worked out that this is the route, then stop reading my blog and go away

I contacted Dom to see if he would be up for this at very short notice. To my surprise, he was. Plans were made for me to stay at his in Hull on Saturday, then travel from there to Belper the following morning.

On Saturday night, after a too-speedy 8km around Hull (it's impossible to get Dom to do our "warm up" runs slowly), we popped in to the Rugby Tavern for a couple of pints. Wonderfully it's a Samuel Smith's pub, which is some of my favourite beer. And it was in the pub, whilst playing pool that I had my oddest injury ever.
Suddenly, with no warning, my left knee began to hurt. A lot. A small spot on the inner aspect of my knee, just above the knee cap began to hurt. I hadn't twisted it or walked in to anything. It just started hurting, apropos of nothing. I did a deep squat to try to stretch it out thinking it might just be an odd muscle spasm, but that just made it hurt even more. 5 minutes later it began to ease off. I could put full weight through it without any problems but the actually site of it was very, very tender to the touch. I have suffered no knee pain since my chronic (2 decade-old) knee pain disappeared 2 years ago when I received some decent physio.

That night in bed the knee pain woke me up at about 3am. I began to wonder if I would actually be able to run.

In the morning the tenderness was still there. I decided not to think about it and set off. The drive went smoothly, (Although pressing the clutch was interesting) until we arrived at Belper. We had looked up the postcode of the rugby club where the run finished and started. Somehow, however, we had managed to get the post code for the address for postal entries and arrived at someone's house. Cue quick googling whilst Dom's stress levels began to rise rapidly. Luckily we were close to the rugby club as Belper is pretty small and arrived in good time whereupon we parked next door in a hospital car park where we were directed.

We quickly sussed out our "competition" also known as, "checking out what everyone else is carrying and wearing"
Most people seemed not to be carrying water or wearing too much. A lot of people wore road trainers.
I selected a vest, my Salomon trail shoes and my shades from the pile of "everything-from-Arctic-to-tropical wear". I reasoned that my trainers were good on the road too, so they should be fine. It was a mistake, but more of that later.

 The race director gave us a pre-race briefing and the police escorted us around to the road where the race was due to start. I spotted Dom on the line after losing him between signing up and getting my race number and listening to the briefing.

Off we went and the field set off at a sprint. I wondered why? Did they know something we didn't? The answer was a resounding yes. During the first mile there are lots of bottle necks, mainly in the form of stiles.
Dom and I ended up queueing on more than one occasion. The sprinters had avoided most of the queueing.

You can just see me looking down starting the GPS watch

The usual discussion had taken between Dom and I about race pacing the night before and continued on the drive there. It went as it always does. I talk about taking it easy because of the previously mentioned reasons. Dom agrees. Then over the next few hours Dom talks himself from taking it easy, to running it fairly hard, to naming a very tough time that he would like to beat and finishes off by wanting to beat everyone.
I reiterate that I will be taking it easy.

After a few fields and queuing at the stiles the race took a dramatic turn up an extremely steep hill section, which turned out to be the steepest of the day. At this point my recent fell running experience took over and I passed Dom for the 1st time, who squeaked, "I thought we were taking it easy?!?!"
"This is easy Dom..."
I had heard genuine terror in Dom's voice. He was obviously worrying that my fell running and his doing all his training in entirely flat Hull,  might mean that I would beat him for the first time ever, bearing in mind his 10k PB is 3 minutes faster than mine, and his marathon PB 22 minutes faster.
He needn't have worried.

As soon as the track levelled out again, Dom passed me with ease. At about 5k the track began to descend and I sped up. I find that I can descend a fair bit quicker than the majority of people who finish races around me.

I passed Dom again. I didn't see his face, but I bet it was a picture. But of course, when the track flattened out again, Dom cruised back in front of me with consummate ease.

Not long before the first water stop at about 7k I heard two people catching me. They were busy chatting and one voice was a woman's. I was going to be chicked... At the water stop I paused and drank 2 full cups of water; it was a hot day and I had decided not to carry any water. I grabbed 2 of the proffered jelly babies and ate them as the couple passed me. I saw them many times throughout the run as they caught me each time I paused to drink and eat jelly babies at the water stations. The lady was in her mid 40s I would say, the guy around 30 in a Kirkstall Harriers vest, and he seemed to be pacing her.

Dom had now long disappeared and I was thoroughly the meandering route through beautiful countryside.
My GPS watched bleeped off the kilometres and the sun shone away with few clouds in the sky. The field had spread out and I saw few people.
At the third water stop, another couple caught me, this time a pair who were probably late 20s. There was something like 10k to go, but don't quote me on that because as usual, my post-race memory is pretty poor.
The soles of my feet had now started to get pretty sore and I was regretting my choice of footwear. This new couple passed me with jelly babies stuffed in my mouth. I trotted behind them on one of the few sections of road and started to catch them with the help of the jelly baby-buzz.

We followed another large red arrow in to a field which was steeply down hill and I rapidly caught and over took the couple, a de-chicking! I then realised the couple had been heading in to the wrong corner of the field, the tell-tale red and white striped tape was in the other corner. I quickly changed direction and called out, "I blame you!" at the couple.
"I blame me too!" the female half said.
"Who let the woman navigate?" I said.
"Just for that I am going to beat you!" she announced.
I should point out that this exchange was all in good humour!
In to the next field and the descent continued with me pulling away with each step. By the time we entered a forest section I was flying and sore feet aside, felt great. Thankfully, I didn't see the couple again so she was unable to make good on her promise to beat me.

This was taken earlier in the race, but I thought I'd best break up all this waffle

As the last 10k wore on my feet were starting to be a real problem. I had to face it, there were almost certainly blisters in there. With about 5k to go, I could feel warm liquid in my left shoe and I really wondered what I would find in there at the end...

Now I was really ready for the end, if not ready to stop "racing". I pushed on harder. Despite this I was passed by a man at least 10 years my senior, "Is there anyone else to catch?" he asked.
"Don't think so, the guy in front of me was moving pretty quickly"
I was wrong, 5 minutes later I went past a runner who was clearly examining grout.

With 3k to go, I was amazed to hear the Kirkstall harrier and his friend catching me. Something awoke in me.....

"Oh hell, No!"

I put down the hammer (ok, I put down the mini screw driver) If I was to keep in front of Kirkstall harrier's mate and avoid a late chicking, I would have to work hard.
I recognised the trail we were on as being back on the start of the route. I paused at a bridge to contemplate the route and Kirkstall Harrier and I decided we needed to go over the bridge, thankfully, we were right. Now I knew exactly how far I had to go. A quick run through an industrial estate, along the main road, down the drive to the club house and in to the field to finish.
The pause at the bridge had given my nemesis the chance to catch me up again but I found enough energy to speed up down the main road with her following close behind me. The drive appeared and I started to sprint, such as I could manage anyway, and I heard her fall away. Triumph! (which is exactly the same as disaster, Mr Kipling) I rounded the corner in to the field and crossed the line. As always, I was way happier than I should have been to finish in 73rd place out of close to 300 runners, one place in front of a woman probably 10 years my senior, but hey ho, I'd won another tiny, tiny, insignificant battle.
My legs which had felt ok(ish) suddenly announced that they had actually just been keeping quiet and uncomplaining (which is very unlike them) and quickly deposited me on to the floor, refusing to pick me up again without a struggle.
The orange segments provided by the rugby club were extremely welcome and the outside taps provided tasty cold water.
I found Dom who had finished around 9 minutes in front of me, a phenomenal performance for someone who has never run off-road and rarely on hills. Predictably, he had crippled himself and was walking much worse than me. Good job he doesn't drive really!

The race had been great fun. Really relaxed and friendly with a beautiful, fun route. It was anything but flat of course, but that was part of the challenge and one of the reasons I wanted to do it.
When I eased off my shoes to check the damage to my feet, I was amazed to find there was none. There was only reddened sore sections and none of them too bad. I had been convinced there would be blood and blisters in there!

The pint in the club afterwards was incredibly cheap of course, as was the burger and huge portion of chips, all of which tasted brilliant after 18.5 miles.

All in all the Belper rugby Rover turned out to be perfect training for both my upcoming Oslo marathon in September and my desire to run ultras which are usually off road. A highly recommended race.

Run review: The classic Malham round with an extra twist

The stunning Malham Cove.

A Friday off work and with the world my running lobster, I decided to set off for Malham, a truly beautiful corner of the world. I have walked the classic Malham round on many occasions and the appeal of running in "the wilds" without navigating was very appealing. The classic round is not much more than 6 miles however, so I decided to extend it somewhat. A trip round the back of the tarn seemed to fit the bill.

Usually, the round is thus: From Malham to the cove. Up the 300+ steps to the top. Along one of the valleys to the tarn. Lunch at the waterside, then down through Gordale scar, along past Janet's Foss and back to Malham. I didn't feel that 6 miles would justify an hour's drive so I decided to add on a little "getting lost" session behind the tarn to extend the run to about 10 miles. I know my way around part of the back of the tarn (It's only one path, it'd be tough to get lost) but didn't know exactly how to keep going right around the back then join up with the path back to the cove. Still, it didn't look that hard. I decided to do the route in the opposite direction to usual, that way I would be able to take the path I knew around the back of the tarn and then find my way from there. What could possibly go wrong?

I could forget my map.

But I would never be stupid enough to do that, would I? Hmmmmm, good job I committed it to my photographic memory before I set off *cough*

Malham: Yorkshire cliche No5.

 Having avoided the wooly "traffic" in Malham, I set off for the Janet's Foss. This involved a run down a track that follows the side of a lovely stream and through a forest. Even though I wasn't running fast and the way was easy and flat, I was already blowing quite hard soon in to the run. It had to be due to there being some actual heat for once!  I started to receive the first of many odd looks I got from the walkers that day. It wasn't that long ago I was one of those walkers looking with incredulity at the runners. I didn't pass a single other runner the whole day.

On my way to Janet's Foss. The wild garlic was out in force

It's not far to Janet's Foss but by the time I got there I already needed a rest, so I stopped and took some photos and had a drink.

Janet's Foss is a little waterfall if you didn't know. Faeries live here. Yes they do.

The next stop was Gordale scar, also, not very far away. I have never climbed up the scar, only down, so it would be a new experience. The scar is very dry at the moment, so I knew that it wouldn't be too difficult.

Shame there is nothing in this pic for scale; to give you an idea, the bottom waterfall is probably about a 30ft drop

The climb proved quite easy with the lack of water and was great fun as always. 

The view from the second, higher waterfall looking down through the scar.

On reaching the second waterfall there is a long set of rough-hewn steps to negotiate before running along a valley to the tarn. The climb up the scar and the steps isn't for the faint-hearted and I have scared the life out of several people with it, but in reality, it's really not very hard; if you've ever climbed at all, you wouldn't struggle and I have got several people down through it who have never climbed before.

The run continued through the gorgeous countryside in glorious sunshine and it wasn't very long before I arrived at the tarn.

It wasn't actually dull, but I can't be arsed to correct the light in photoshop

As I got around the "back" of the tarn, I stopped at a beautiful viewing point and had a bite to eat and a drink. The clif bar went down especially well. The deuter waist pack is just large enough to carry the things I need on a warm day.

Nom, nom, as they say, nom

Now it was time for the adventure to start; find my way around the back of the tarn with only the magnets in my head and a vague recollection of a map to go by. I basically navigated by heading in the direction I thought the cove was. Amazingly, it worked and I soon found the road I needed and headed down the valley towards the cove.

The valley isn't very long and I soon hit the famous limestone pavement.

The limestone walk is slippery as the Devil's banana skin in winter, but this day it was dry and easy to run on. The cove itself is, essentially, a giant cliff. Once upon a time it was a waterfall bigger than Niagara, but that was a few thousand years ago, so I missed it.

The view from the top of the cove is stunning.

The looks of incredulity increased tenfold as I ran down the steps of the cove but everyone was very kind in making sure they gave me enough room to get by.  

 Looking back up from the bottom of the cove steps. These are just the first few....

 Always nice to linger at the bottom of the cove.

A quick trot across the ancient stone bridge and I was on the path back to Malham, which was getting a bit over grown.

I was happy to provide a moving buffet for a variety of flying insects as I moved along the path and they certainly dined out. Hope I was tasty.

The run back to Malham flew by and I settled down in one of the local cafes after discovering it wasn't possible to buy a newspaper in Malham!

The moist carrot cake was absolutely delicious and even better, the waitress decided the last 2 pieces of it were too small so gave me both to make one giant slice. Maybe I looked like I need it after 10 miles.

The local wildlife is very friendly/cheeky.

Malham is a truly beautiful place to run and navigation is pretty easy, which is always a bonus to me! I picked a lovely, if rather hot, day. Bonus! If you haven't been to Malham yet, why not?

Here's the run wot I did, as seen in google earth.

My Garmin had a strange freak-out and decided that I had also run back to Leeds afterwards and drew it on the map, yet didn't add the distance. Odd. But here's the run on Garmin connect

Race review: The Pain Barrier, Frickley. 13/4/13

Say hello in the comments or tweet me: @scott_leach

The very brief period at the start when I was clean

I really ought to be a little more careful to check out the crazy races I do before I sign up for them. In the high of finishing the Men's Health "Survival of the fittest" last year, I signed up for this 10k "mud run". The obstacle course in Manchester had been fantastic fun and I searched on line for something else a bit mad to do. This one sounded like a good idea at the time....

Fast forward a few months and the day of this one loomed very large, in a very inconvenient spot as the end of my marathon training was coming up. I seriously considered not doing it as I still needed to fit in my final long run before the marathon and I had almost no idea of the effect a mud run would have on me. And little did I know.

The first conundrum was what to wear for such a race. Gok Wan really ought to do a program on this kind of thing, although perhaps practicality might not be his first concern.
A lot would depend on the weather of course. As usual I set off with a variety of options in my bag so I could change if I needed to when I got there. In the event, the weather was pretty warm. I decided on a pair of above-knee lycra shorts, a long sleeve compression shirt and a dri-fit t-shirt over the top. The t-shirt turned out to be a mistake as it soon became very heavy and wasn't necessary, however, I didn't really want to inflict the sight of me in a compression shirt on the general public without a t-shirt to hide some of the man-boobage. I also needed to decide on whether to wear my GPS watch. I really wanted to be able to tell how far in to the race I was, but didn't want to break a pretty expensive piece of kit. I checked out the specs and found it had an IPx7 rating. Having been an engineer I knew this to be a high ingress protection score, so I decided to wear it. Half way through the race as my hand and arm sank fully in to the mud for the umpteenth time, I wondered if I had made a mistake. There was so much mud on the watch that it was impossible to read at times and wiping it with my muddy hands didn't have a lot of effect, I was spreading the mud more evenly instead of wiping it off. I did manage to just about wipe off the bit with the distance on it though, so it proved useful. Thankfully, it still seems to be working and I have used it since.

My unrealistic expectation of the race was that there'd be a bit of mud, maybe a couple of water crossings and I'd probably go round in 45-50 minutes. Talk about naivety! As the race unfolded, I found I had seriously underestimated just how tough this was going to be.

Looks like a baby crawling on the ground, which is exactly what I felt like.

As I lined up at the start I looked around, eyeing up my "competition". I certainly wasn't deluded enough to think I could win it but no one seemed confident to take a place at the front, and in fact, the people at the front were a few metres from the start line, no one wanting to toe the line. It seemed only a few people were actually keen to try to set a fast pace. The general consensus behind me was of simply "getting round".
Suddenly a little voice spoke up in my head and said "We could finish in the top 10 here". I replied with "What's with the "we", pale face?".

We set off after a few minutes of comic relief when the inflatable Saucony arch collapsed at the start line. Oddly, the same thing had happened when I did the Wetherby 10k last year. And no, I am not going around puncturing them. A few people went off  hard, and I set off at a fairly quick pace of around 4 mins/k. For the first couple of k the course was a dry and reasonable trail and I thought I had better crack on while the going was easy. It really didn't last......

After leaping a couple of ditches, the hills started. Let me get this straight, the people who set this event up are evil, evil I tell you! Not content with running a race on a 4x4 track liberally spackled with man-deep holes filled with mud and water, they had set the course to run up and down the nastiest hill for probably miles around, not once, but at least 2.8 billion times. Well ok, it was something like 4 or 5 times, but it felt like a lot more. The hill was so steep it was impossible to run up, in fact, it was pretty much a scramble. As I said, evil! The effect it had on sapping the strength from my legs was pretty impressive.

As my brain is now trying to block out the memories of the race, trying to recall the exact order of the things we did, even while looking at the map, is tough, so forgive me if I get slightly mixed up. As we came down the massive hill for the 7000th time we entered the biggest water obstacle, so large that a rope was needed to pull yourself through it.

I enter the pool at about 1:08 in the yellow shirt. What the video in the link below doesn't show is that there was a couple of feet of mud underneath the water. Half way across I heard someone in the crowd shout, "Swim, it's easier" It sounded like good advice so I set off.

Nearing the end of the biggest pool

Swimming past the guy in front of me put me in 5th place at that point. Another thing that wouldn't last.

The course continued through huge deep ruts in the land, in the main filled full of muddy water. At times the mud was thigh-deep. Having already lost most of the strength in my legs from the hills, dragging my legs out of the mud time and again was beginning to seriously take its toll. I have no idea where it was on the course, but at one point we entered yet another swamp. This one was nipple-deep and mostly mud. It had to be 30 metres long. Time and again my right leg jammed solid in the the mud. Eventually it became so difficult to keep lifting my legs out that I decided an army-crawl would be a better tactic. It was, but it came with the price of utterly covering me in mud and saturating my already heavy shirt. Worse than that, as we neared the end a splash of muddy water hit me square in the face from a competitor in front of me. I was wearing contact lenses, which helpfully decided to hold some of the mud underneath them and cause me a lot of pain and also meant that I was running through a fog of mud for the next couple of k. I was just beginning to think I might have to pull out and seek help, when suddenly they cleared and I was ok, just about.

This could have been pretty much anywhere on the course

At 6k in to the race I was blowing harder than I ever have in my life. I was beginning to find religion and was praying to any deity that would listen for this torture to end. My shoes AND socks were full of mud, gravel, rocks and god knows what else. Then mercifully there was a section that was on dry land. It was a heavy track, but still, no mud and water at least. I cruised along trying to recover on the hoof, and managed it to some extent. At some point I stopped and emptied out my right shoe. It didn't help much.

More mud, swamps and water and my feet were becoming a real problem. I could feel the rocks and gravel digging in to them from all angles. My arches were beginning to bruise and feel painful. I had no choice but to stop and empty out my shoes properly. I really wanted to carry on rather than stop as I was pretty far up the field and was on course to make my goal of a top ten finish, but my sensible voice spoke up and reminded me of my marathon training and that I couldn't afford to damage my feet. Emptying out my shoes and socks was a much more difficult task than I had anticipated. I need to squeeze them off and the socks needed to be flicked inside out as well as cleaning off the outside, so much debris had worked their way in to them. I probably should have just discarded the socks in hindsight. I had trouble getting my soaking wet feet back in the shoes and by the time I started running again at least 3 minutes had elapsed and annoyingly at least 10 guys had passed me. However, my feet now felt comfortable again and I set off to try to chase down the people who had passed me. I managed to catch a couple before the end of the race, but I was so shattered at this point that it was as much as I could manage.

Full on monkey-gurn mode

Then it started to finally become fun. We entered a tunnel that I think passed under an old railway line. It would have been stupid to run through it as it was too dark to see my footing and the roof got lower and lower as I neared the end. A lot of spectators, including children, had positioned themselves at the end of the tunnel and I could hear them screaming as soon as I entered the tunnel. It was a great feeling being cheered though the tunnel then bursting out in to the forest with the kids going wild and lots of shouts of encouragement. I got a small cheer for springing up on to the bank and off I went again.

The course zig-zagged through the forest and then spat us out in to the biggest mud patch of the lot. It was just about shallow enough that I was able to force my legs through it instead of having to army-crawl. The presence of children was the only thing stopping me screaming out a constant commentary of foul and disgusting language.
I had no idea how far I had still to go. My GPS watch had lost signal on a couple of occasions (Something it has never done before) and was telling me I had at least a kilometre left. So imagine my relief when I rounded the final corner and found myself staring down the finishing straight. "This one is shattered" I heard someone comment in the crowd. Not having that, I thought. I summoned up my last reserves of strength, put on my war face, and sprinted to the finish.

Doing my best to sprint impressively through the finishing line

I crossed the line in 1:05:14, 19th position. Only 3 people out of about 340 went under an hour- that's how hard it was. In the last pain barrier they'd run in Parkwood, the winner had done 43:06, the Frickley course was at least 5 points higher on the evil-psychopathic- genius scale. I was gutted to have finished outside the top 10, which is, of course, a ridiculous emotion for my first (and probably only) mud run. Having to empty my shoes cost me, but then, everyone else was dealing with the same problems, maybe they just ran on with shoes full of gravel?

The leader board.

Stig of the dump, or possibly me, not entirely sure.

After I crossed the line the MC pushed a microphone in my face. It took a minute for me to catch my breath and indulge in some "witty" banter. I waffled something about having sunbathed for 20 minutes half way round and regrettably cracked the obvious and almost certainly oft-repeated mud-being-good-for-the-skin-"joke" . Afterwards I was sorry I hadn't thought to accuse the organisers of breaking the Geneva convention.

The mud pack at the spa I had booked left a little to be desired

Lessons I learned from this race:

1) Check out what I have let myself into BEFORE I turn up.
2) Train for the race. Road running does not prepare you for this kind of insanity.
3) Football socks, tied at the top would have been a much better idea than the shoes liners I was wearing
4) Sod vanity, next time, a short-sleeved and unflattering compression top is favourite!
5) It's amazing how much you want to punch people when they shout things like "It's not called the pain barrier for nothing" 6k into the run when you are totally shattered. Luckily enough, even if I were so inclined, I wouldn't have had the strength to commit the ABH I would have liked to at that point.
6) £100 pairs of Saloman goretex trail trainers are not much help in these situations. That said, they stayed on in the face of extreme provocation and never felt like they were about to be lost in the mud.
7) Running wicking athletic gear such as lyrca shorts and compressions tops under a shower whilst constantly squeezing and massaging them for half an hour will not remove this sort of mud, in fact, it didn't seem to help much at all, the water coming out of them was still dark brown.

After the race I spent quite a lot of time saying how I would never enter another event like this, that it was too much and I would rather do pure obstacle races in between my road and trail races. But predictably, I now feel like having a crack at another and trying to get in to the top 10 with some more specific training.

The event on the whole was very well organised. There was no queuing when I registered around an hour before kick-off. The car parking was well organised and very close to the start. I felt a few more port-a-loos could have been provided, but it didn't take long to get in one. The MC did a good job and kept up the energy well before the race. I was a little disappointed that there was no beer tent, but I did leave fairly quickly after the run so I am not sure if the registration tent started serving later. The medal and tech t-shirt are very nice designs and felt like suitable winnings at the end.

Damage report:

Thighs quite sore for about 3 days afterwards. Ankles felt like they had been battered with a cricket bat. Cuts to the back of both ankles. I am still picking splinters out of my hand 5 days later. Thankfully, little else!

All in all a well run and enjoyable (in a sort of masochistic way) race. This was a very serious challenge and the name "The Pain Barrier" is very well deserved. Would I recommend it? Hell, yes, if you're as big a nutter as I am.