Okay, all back to plan (for today at least). The sun was out, the sky was bright blue and the autumn colours looked stunning. Off to the Pentlands for a nice morning run and this time managed to 'persuade'(drag)Kipper with me (cue concerned looks from passersby as I pulled an unwilling spaniel up hill). Managed to stay ahead of a keen looking mountain biker going up a rocky/muddy hill and he was kind enough to say 'well done' as he hammered past me on the other side. A handshake across the great divide of runners/MTBs...
Great run, no rain, good fast bit of tarmac to finish and home for a hearty lunch. Maybe yesterday was just an off day :)
Sunday, 15 November 2009
Saturday, 14 November 2009
Losing my religion
Today was one of those days when I couldn't find the 'fun' in my run. Almost entirely attributable to SAD (fantastically accurate acronym) - a typical Scottish November day i.e. grey, dreich and generally soul-sapping. If they say the sun shines on the righteous I've obviously been very bad...
It was billed as the 'Glee Club' run - a band of hardy, relentlessly cheery West Highland Way runners who often get together to run sections of the route. In my usuaul non-committal way I'd decided to make my own way there but also to rope in Richie to keep me company (this proved to be both a plus and a minus: the plus was that he actually made me get out of the car at Tyndrum and start running, when I could quite happily have diverted straight to the Real Food Cafe to read the papers, given that the rain was teeming down and showed no signs of abating. The minus was that Richie is so much fitter than me that I ended up telling him to run on ahead, thus compounding a sense of despair).
The plan was to run from Tyndrum to Kingshouse and back. I made it to within about 3-4 miles of Kingshouse but, having mentally set myself 4.5 hours as a maximum running time, couldn't muster the enthusiasm to go the extra distance and ended up peremptorily turning back exactly when my watch showed half way. The incessant rain and general greyness, coupled with a sore calf muscle and generally aching legs weren't quite what I had in mind when I'd been persuaded by the perkily titled Glee Club. I struggled to find much glee in the run and was asking myself why I was out there at all, especially as Kipper had quite clearly taken the sensible decision to stay put in the car.
On reflection, it appears that Kipper and I are slowly metamorphosing into one another: he is lazier and less ambitious these days, choosing to run only when a) the weather is clement and b) there will be some degree of excitement involved - a nice route, interesting wildlife etc. He seems more than happy to rest and relax more, take a brief spin along the beach and concentrate on the important business of food. I'm hard pressed to tell the difference between us.
So, 4.5 hours later I was in the warmth and comfort of the Real Food Cafe, wearing dry clothes again and nurturing a cup of tea whilst waiting for Richie (who had slogged it out until Black Cottage). Met up with some of the other runners, who at least had the good grace to say they had also found it a challenging day to be out on the WHW, and it was as ever lovely to spend time with friends. But in the absence of any imminent race goal I found it hard to justify why, on a miserable Saturday, I was slogging my way through puddles and mud just so that I could write in my race diary that I'd managed to last for 30 miles. Perhaps the shine is wearing off. Either that or the Bowmore hasn't kicked in yet...
It was billed as the 'Glee Club' run - a band of hardy, relentlessly cheery West Highland Way runners who often get together to run sections of the route. In my usuaul non-committal way I'd decided to make my own way there but also to rope in Richie to keep me company (this proved to be both a plus and a minus: the plus was that he actually made me get out of the car at Tyndrum and start running, when I could quite happily have diverted straight to the Real Food Cafe to read the papers, given that the rain was teeming down and showed no signs of abating. The minus was that Richie is so much fitter than me that I ended up telling him to run on ahead, thus compounding a sense of despair).
The plan was to run from Tyndrum to Kingshouse and back. I made it to within about 3-4 miles of Kingshouse but, having mentally set myself 4.5 hours as a maximum running time, couldn't muster the enthusiasm to go the extra distance and ended up peremptorily turning back exactly when my watch showed half way. The incessant rain and general greyness, coupled with a sore calf muscle and generally aching legs weren't quite what I had in mind when I'd been persuaded by the perkily titled Glee Club. I struggled to find much glee in the run and was asking myself why I was out there at all, especially as Kipper had quite clearly taken the sensible decision to stay put in the car.
On reflection, it appears that Kipper and I are slowly metamorphosing into one another: he is lazier and less ambitious these days, choosing to run only when a) the weather is clement and b) there will be some degree of excitement involved - a nice route, interesting wildlife etc. He seems more than happy to rest and relax more, take a brief spin along the beach and concentrate on the important business of food. I'm hard pressed to tell the difference between us.
So, 4.5 hours later I was in the warmth and comfort of the Real Food Cafe, wearing dry clothes again and nurturing a cup of tea whilst waiting for Richie (who had slogged it out until Black Cottage). Met up with some of the other runners, who at least had the good grace to say they had also found it a challenging day to be out on the WHW, and it was as ever lovely to spend time with friends. But in the absence of any imminent race goal I found it hard to justify why, on a miserable Saturday, I was slogging my way through puddles and mud just so that I could write in my race diary that I'd managed to last for 30 miles. Perhaps the shine is wearing off. Either that or the Bowmore hasn't kicked in yet...
Tuesday, 27 October 2009
Eine kleine nachtrunning
So tonight was the first night run in over a year (yes, I know, what have I been doing when all those hardy folk were preparing for WHW?). Just a modest run in the Pentlands, sans chien unfortunately, but it reminded me what fun it is to take yourself off to what feels like the middle of nowhere with only a headtorch. No-one else was around to join in but that added to the sense of isolation and occasional spookiness when I'd see sheeps' - or, at one point, frog's - eyes peering at me. A mere 90 minutes but a perfect way to end a humdrum day at work.
Jedburgh half marathon on Sunday was the first 'speed' work I've done in months - a very blustery day and challenging course but good fun, especially the brass band at the half-way point.
So, it's back to some sort of regular training at last after too much procrastination. Bring it on.
Jedburgh half marathon on Sunday was the first 'speed' work I've done in months - a very blustery day and challenging course but good fun, especially the brass band at the half-way point.
So, it's back to some sort of regular training at last after too much procrastination. Bring it on.
Saturday, 3 October 2009
Mighty Marmite saves the day!
Having had a very patchy season since injury in April and general laziness/disinterest for the following months, I went to Keswick in a very different frame of mind from most other competitors whom I spoke to. Having hummed and ha-ed as to whether to take part, given that I was not feeling remotely prepared to do it justice, I decided to go in with a relaxed attitude, treat it as a ‘fun’ long day out and just try to get round and not stop. Being surrounded by a room full of buzzing, tapered (i.e. hyperactive) athletes on the Thursday night was definitely not what I needed as it only served to highlight the difference in mind set between me and them. But on Friday, going to watch friends take part in the 24 hour race and meeting up with fellow runners who I hadn’t seen for ages, I found myself gradually getting pulled in to the excitement of the event. I did still manage to find enough quiet time to step away from the whole thing and have space to gather my thoughts.
So, the race in brief: perfect conditions (slightly chilly, not much wind, a little drizzle but generally fair) and a course which was far less daunting than the Chinese whispers had led me to believe (I hadn’t recced the route and had no idea what was coming). By the time enough people had talked about the steep climbs I was beginning to imagine gargantuan ascents spreading on and on for miles, but luckily what climbs there were were short-lived. For the first 15k I was running in second place, some way behind the leading lady who, right from the starter’s gun, went blazing off into the distance. Emma Gooderham (who finished second) caught up with me and we ran together until the loop started, when Emma showed that her training had paid off as she powered on and maintained her speed to gain a great result. I was not in the least surprised, and was constantly downgrading the race and my own expectations along the usual lines (e.g. “well, if I get under 9 hours I’ll be really pleased”; “just treat it as training” etc.). It was good to deliberately not have any pressure and just run my own race, knowing the preparation I had (or in this case hadn’t) done. A low-ish point was being overtaken again, putting me in fourth place, and I started to imagine every other female runner coming past me. I think that lasted for 5k or so (not really sure), before I managed to come back to 3rd.
Not much drama or excitement to relate. For me, the race was about steady running, taking my time and trying to enjoy it (I kept repeating “PMA: positive mental attitude” to remind myself – in between the bursts of some random hymn which had crept into my subconscious and played on continual loop). I enjoyed eating and drinking at the aid stations rather than rushing through: as well as tea in a Thermos - which turned out to be a great idea - I had the usual mighty Marmite to power me on and replace the lost salt. Not content with the usual small sachets, I opted for the whole jar, positioned at the second aid station. On each loop I would squeeze a generous amount into my mouth, to a collective groan of disgust from the marshalls. It beats sports gels any day. The time passed relatively quickly as I enjoyed the beautiful scenery and also enjoyed seeing all the runners passing me on the other side of the road. I got to make some friends just through the repeated smiling and words of encouragement - exchange with a Canadian girl: Me: “You must be the happiest girl in the race” (lap 2) Her “No, YOU must be the happiest girl in the race” (lap 5).
As usual, and as I’m sure happens to most people at some point in long races, I thought about stopping. Between about 30 – 70k I was bored and the repetitiveness of the loop was getting to me. But I realised even if I pulled out it was still a long drive back to Keswick and probably a long wait until I got a lift, so on balance it made more sense to keep running. From 70k the end was in sight, if not literally, and it was just a case of bashing out the 5ks. The last 15k were quite enjoyable as it felt like the home straight and was a welcome change from the looped course. The sun was out, I had the road to myself (apart from Richie, who kept popping up to offer words of encouragement) and I knew I’d finish it. I think I looked at my watch twice in the whole race – again, I didn’t care about times, splits or anything – it was just good to run how I wanted and preferably not to do too bad a time.
The last 5 k were great fun – a great downhill section along the dual carriageway, then the flat finish in the park, heading towards the music and seeing Saltires appearing.
To finish 3rd was a very big surprise and, although slower than my time last year, was a much-needed sign that I can still do that kind of race. It definitely gave me back my enthusiasm for racing and, more than anything, reminded me how special all the ultra-running fraternity are. I love spending time with people who are infectiously enthusiastic, grittily determined, humble and humorous and generally great to be with. Having had more than my allotted time of doubts, lethargy and self-pity I now hope I’ll be back to being as positive as everybody else I had the pleasure to meet and spend time with at the weekend. Thanks to all involved.
Sunday, 23 August 2009
Doing time on tarmac
The last two weekends have involved long(ish) road runs to get some mileage in and accustom myself ready for Keswick 100k in three weeks' time. Last weekend I was up in Aberfeldy and followed a road recommended by a friend, who described it as 'a bit steep at the start but all cycle-able'. The first 5 miles were thigh-burningly steep, climbing up onto an open moorland, and in heavy drizzle. I was beginning to curse the 'friend' but in actual fact the route, from Kenmore to Amulree, turned out to be beautiful - a very deserted road following a moor then a quiet valley, and I pretty much had it all to myself (apart from some birds of prey and lots of sheep). I added on an out and back for an hour then returned to Aberfeldy then to Kenmore - the last 6 miles seemed interminable and I stopped to ditch my rucksack in some bushes to get rid of the weight and try to afford myself every advantage possible. Total time was 4.40 - doesn't sound much but it was a tough day out.
Today was the Strathaven 50 miler, a very friendly and small (12 starters!) road race on undulating, quiet country roads. This was the first time I'd done it and it's a great little event - not sure why more people don't take part but no doubt it will grow in time. Having driven under leaden skies from Edinburgh and seen the heavy flood warnings everywhere, it was with much trepidation that I lined up at 8 am. Bang on cue the rain started again, and soon became very heavy, accompanied by strong winds - not much fun. But it brightened up and later on we were even treated to blue skies and sunshine. I had been advised only to run 30-40 miles, given Keswick's imminence, so stopped at Chapelton, approx.35 miles. Bit disappointing and strange not to finish a race, and I'm curious what time I would have done, but I'll definitely be back to do it properly. 4h20 on the clock but my legs feel as if they've done a lot more. Maybe I'm getting soft in my old age. The prospect of a long race like UTMB seems unthinkable at times like this - I'm just glad it's not me this year.
p.s. I got to meet another cycling legend today - none other than Graeme Obree, who was in the registration tent at the end, having been involved in the 50 mile cycle race also today. What a nice man!
Today was the Strathaven 50 miler, a very friendly and small (12 starters!) road race on undulating, quiet country roads. This was the first time I'd done it and it's a great little event - not sure why more people don't take part but no doubt it will grow in time. Having driven under leaden skies from Edinburgh and seen the heavy flood warnings everywhere, it was with much trepidation that I lined up at 8 am. Bang on cue the rain started again, and soon became very heavy, accompanied by strong winds - not much fun. But it brightened up and later on we were even treated to blue skies and sunshine. I had been advised only to run 30-40 miles, given Keswick's imminence, so stopped at Chapelton, approx.35 miles. Bit disappointing and strange not to finish a race, and I'm curious what time I would have done, but I'll definitely be back to do it properly. 4h20 on the clock but my legs feel as if they've done a lot more. Maybe I'm getting soft in my old age. The prospect of a long race like UTMB seems unthinkable at times like this - I'm just glad it's not me this year.
p.s. I got to meet another cycling legend today - none other than Graeme Obree, who was in the registration tent at the end, having been involved in the 50 mile cycle race also today. What a nice man!
Sunday, 2 August 2009
Lakeland 50 - a race of two halves
Over the ten hours it took me (well, 9.54 I think) to do this race my faith in the ultra-running community and my love of racing see-sawed from near zero to a reassuring high.
This is only the second year the Lakeland 100 and 50 races have run, and the field has grown exponentially, from 70 last year to about 300 this year. In my trademark approach to these things I entered last minute, about ten days ago, and knew nothing about what it involved, where it was or what it was like. In an impressive feature of the race organisation they had laid on several recce weekends, which would of course have been very helpful for someone who can't navigate to work and back without getting lost, but of course by the time I entered these were all long past. So it was the usual gamble - hope I could run with somebody and/or that the route would be easy to follow.
Arriving at Coniston social club on Friday night it was raining lightly. By the time we'd put up tents and had something to eat it was distinctly heavier, and in the middle of the night it became torrential. Those running the 100m had set off at 7 pm and experienced 14 HOURS of heavy rain. It doesn't even bear thinking about. Under canvas at 2 am it sounded dreadful, and I kept thinking of those poor souls in the night getting soaked to the skin. Cue all the usual excuses to talk myself out of the race: 'It's not a target race... I don't have to do it...I can always just drive home and go for a long run myself'. But, miraculously, the storm blew over and by the time the coach pulled into Dalemain House, the start of the 50m, the sun was out and blue skies were overhead.
Now, about the race: it's modelled loosely on UTMB (and indeed the logo is UTLD)so I suppose this should have been a clue as to the terrain. But I can honestly say I think there are more runnable sections in the CCC than there were yesterday. It's certainly a great course in lovely scenery - for those who like rock, mud, narrow sheep tracks, more rock... But I was looking forward to actually running as opposed to spending large parts of the race feeling like a rambler. But that's just me - I know I'm most comfortable on trails i.e. the closest you can come to road running but in the countryside.
Not knowing the route is always a distinct handicap, and because we were running through a national park the organisers had not been permitted to put up any waymarkers whatsoever. They did, though, have a very well written 'road book' describing the route (and of course a map, for those competent to use one...). So although I could sometimes see people ahead or run near people, I also spent a significant amount of time stopping, retracing my steps, reading the description and asking passing walkers 'have you seen any runners up ahead?'. Not a strategy I advise.
Cue my mini rant: there must have been about ten of us reasonably close together behind the leaders but there was absolutely no camaraderie, mutual help or general courtesy. I experienced the usual competitive male response to being overtaken, then despite efforts to engage in conversation was met with blank response. At one point, having all reached the brow of a hill more or less together I waited to see which way to go (as the 3 behind all knew the route) but they didn't give any indication, and tore off downhill. I know no-one is responsible for others and that I should have known the route but the race organiser had specifically advised people to buddy up if in doubt. Also I wouldn't have held them up (I passed one shortly afterwards) but they clearly didn't want to run with me. Undeterred, I was still trying to enjoy the race and greeting passing walkers as I would in any training run. With the exception of about three people they were all miserable, mute or both. It was all beginning to feel very unfriendly. About 5 hours in I reached one of the checkpoints (and was the only runner there) and was met with five men standing around, none of whom said anything, let alone anything encouraging. I asked how far to go - they didn't know. I asked whether the second half was similar to the first in terms of terrain - they didn't know. Anything further from the atmosphere of the UTMB is hard to imagine.
So, I decided I would cut my losses and pull out at Ambleside, drive home and get back to places where people actually talk to you. But then things took a turn for the better: approaching Lakeland Runner there were several people outside, who started clapping and cheering - now THAT's more like it. It got better - inside it was like being at a friend's house party - someone perched on the counter was strumming a guitar and singing 'the lion sleeps tonight', while three blokes all offered me food and drink, filled up my bottle, stuffed bananas into my rucksack and generally looked after me. Best of all, though, was the man who selflessly offered me his chips!!! Swallowed down with a couple of ibuprofen it was a heady combination and one for which I am eternally grateful - whoever you are, thank you.
So, buoyed up by the first friendly, cheerful faces in 5 hours, I set off again and soon saw a runner ahead so had a target to catch. It turned out he had bad cramp, and we got chatting. I offered him Marmite and for a while it seemed to do the trick. We ran together for while, then I carried on but only to go the wrong way and have to wait for him. This happened a few times, when I realised it was silly - we were going at roughly the same pace, he was friendly so the company would be good plus he knew the route perfectly. So, he struck a deal: 'I'll do navigation, you do motivation'. It worked. Because he was still cramping frequently (incidentally, the aforementioned runners had actually stepped over him when he was prostrate on the path with cramp, and didn't stop - nice), we did a mixture of walking and running and adjusted our approach - rather than going hell for leather we would enjoy it, have some good company and just treat it as a fun experience to be out in the countryside. It was definitely the right thing to do and we both ran in to Coniston in very positive spirits. We ended up being joint 8th in a time of 9.54 I think. Pretty impressive for a 21 year old (the youngest in the race) doing his first ever ultra! Killian Jornet watch out...
That's the way running should be, and the spirit of ultras. So, more like him please and fewer of the unfriendly,chauvinist wannabes.
This is only the second year the Lakeland 100 and 50 races have run, and the field has grown exponentially, from 70 last year to about 300 this year. In my trademark approach to these things I entered last minute, about ten days ago, and knew nothing about what it involved, where it was or what it was like. In an impressive feature of the race organisation they had laid on several recce weekends, which would of course have been very helpful for someone who can't navigate to work and back without getting lost, but of course by the time I entered these were all long past. So it was the usual gamble - hope I could run with somebody and/or that the route would be easy to follow.
Arriving at Coniston social club on Friday night it was raining lightly. By the time we'd put up tents and had something to eat it was distinctly heavier, and in the middle of the night it became torrential. Those running the 100m had set off at 7 pm and experienced 14 HOURS of heavy rain. It doesn't even bear thinking about. Under canvas at 2 am it sounded dreadful, and I kept thinking of those poor souls in the night getting soaked to the skin. Cue all the usual excuses to talk myself out of the race: 'It's not a target race... I don't have to do it...I can always just drive home and go for a long run myself'. But, miraculously, the storm blew over and by the time the coach pulled into Dalemain House, the start of the 50m, the sun was out and blue skies were overhead.
Now, about the race: it's modelled loosely on UTMB (and indeed the logo is UTLD)so I suppose this should have been a clue as to the terrain. But I can honestly say I think there are more runnable sections in the CCC than there were yesterday. It's certainly a great course in lovely scenery - for those who like rock, mud, narrow sheep tracks, more rock... But I was looking forward to actually running as opposed to spending large parts of the race feeling like a rambler. But that's just me - I know I'm most comfortable on trails i.e. the closest you can come to road running but in the countryside.
Not knowing the route is always a distinct handicap, and because we were running through a national park the organisers had not been permitted to put up any waymarkers whatsoever. They did, though, have a very well written 'road book' describing the route (and of course a map, for those competent to use one...). So although I could sometimes see people ahead or run near people, I also spent a significant amount of time stopping, retracing my steps, reading the description and asking passing walkers 'have you seen any runners up ahead?'. Not a strategy I advise.
Cue my mini rant: there must have been about ten of us reasonably close together behind the leaders but there was absolutely no camaraderie, mutual help or general courtesy. I experienced the usual competitive male response to being overtaken, then despite efforts to engage in conversation was met with blank response. At one point, having all reached the brow of a hill more or less together I waited to see which way to go (as the 3 behind all knew the route) but they didn't give any indication, and tore off downhill. I know no-one is responsible for others and that I should have known the route but the race organiser had specifically advised people to buddy up if in doubt. Also I wouldn't have held them up (I passed one shortly afterwards) but they clearly didn't want to run with me. Undeterred, I was still trying to enjoy the race and greeting passing walkers as I would in any training run. With the exception of about three people they were all miserable, mute or both. It was all beginning to feel very unfriendly. About 5 hours in I reached one of the checkpoints (and was the only runner there) and was met with five men standing around, none of whom said anything, let alone anything encouraging. I asked how far to go - they didn't know. I asked whether the second half was similar to the first in terms of terrain - they didn't know. Anything further from the atmosphere of the UTMB is hard to imagine.
So, I decided I would cut my losses and pull out at Ambleside, drive home and get back to places where people actually talk to you. But then things took a turn for the better: approaching Lakeland Runner there were several people outside, who started clapping and cheering - now THAT's more like it. It got better - inside it was like being at a friend's house party - someone perched on the counter was strumming a guitar and singing 'the lion sleeps tonight', while three blokes all offered me food and drink, filled up my bottle, stuffed bananas into my rucksack and generally looked after me. Best of all, though, was the man who selflessly offered me his chips!!! Swallowed down with a couple of ibuprofen it was a heady combination and one for which I am eternally grateful - whoever you are, thank you.
So, buoyed up by the first friendly, cheerful faces in 5 hours, I set off again and soon saw a runner ahead so had a target to catch. It turned out he had bad cramp, and we got chatting. I offered him Marmite and for a while it seemed to do the trick. We ran together for while, then I carried on but only to go the wrong way and have to wait for him. This happened a few times, when I realised it was silly - we were going at roughly the same pace, he was friendly so the company would be good plus he knew the route perfectly. So, he struck a deal: 'I'll do navigation, you do motivation'. It worked. Because he was still cramping frequently (incidentally, the aforementioned runners had actually stepped over him when he was prostrate on the path with cramp, and didn't stop - nice), we did a mixture of walking and running and adjusted our approach - rather than going hell for leather we would enjoy it, have some good company and just treat it as a fun experience to be out in the countryside. It was definitely the right thing to do and we both ran in to Coniston in very positive spirits. We ended up being joint 8th in a time of 9.54 I think. Pretty impressive for a 21 year old (the youngest in the race) doing his first ever ultra! Killian Jornet watch out...
That's the way running should be, and the spirit of ultras. So, more like him please and fewer of the unfriendly,chauvinist wannabes.
Sunday, 26 July 2009
Round Arran with a blister
Skimming the Scottish Athletics fixtures list mid-week, trying to find something to do at the weekend (my customary lastminute.com approach to races) my curiosity was pricked by the 'Round Arran relay'. Unsurprisingly, when I contacted the secretary of Irvine Athletics Club I was told entries had closed. But I liked the idea of doing it nonetheless, though as a solo runner. There followed a telephone conversation with said secretary, Andy, who helpfully explained how the race worked -teams of six were divided so that three ran legs round the north of the island and three the south, with legs 1 and 4 starting simultaneously. The times are then aggregated to give the total team time.
As luck would have it family friends with a cottage on Arran just so happened to be going over the same day and kindly offered me a bed for the night, plus dog-sitting. So, I got the early bird ferry, arriving at 8 am (surrounded by dozens of club cyclists), left my luggage at the ferry terminal (very handy arrangement) and set off on my 56 mile trip. I didn't know whether I would at some point meet up with any of the runners in the race but I needed to start early rather than wait for midday.
I decided to run the southern part first, having been told by my friends it was much hillier - they weren't wrong. Lots of long climbs, undulations and generally tiring gradients but nothing compared with last week's Alpine adventures and at least it was all on road rather than scrambles over boulders, tree roots and scree. The weather was very kind to me - in fact, similar conditions to our trip to Chamonix, so I was able to top up the suntan, complete with ridiculous compression sock tideline.
Reaching Blackwaterfoot in three hours dead, I imagined I had another 2/3 of the route to go (needless to say I had no stats or measurements whatsoever, and my map was torn out of the Arran bus timetable the night before). After the initial climb out of Blackwaterfoot the road levelled off and provided some lovely flatter, faster running. Then the blisters started. I know it's nothing dramatic but as I don't usually have any problems with my feet this was an unwelcome novelty. Then as I came into Pirnmill and stopped for much needed supplies I was pleasantly surprised to see lots of people milling around in running vests: my timing was perfect and the second leg was just about to set off. So I had company for part of the route to Lochranza, though had to stop twice to tape up my feet, but it was good to feel a part of the race, albeit in an unusual way. I contemplated bailing out at this point as my toes were so sore - and I knew the race bus was en route to pick up the runners - and I thought I still had about 25 miles to go. So when I asked another runner how far to Brodick and was told 14 miles I was delighted - it was the home straight. I reckoned without the nasty climb out of Lochranza (the 'Boglie'- not sure if that's how you spell it), a long slog which is probably challenging enough on fresh legs, let alone after 42 miles. But whilst the runners had to finish at the top to change over, I got the pleasure of at least 2 miles of great descent heading back to the coast. From there it was a case of knocking off the miles and wondering what I was going to eat and drink to reward myself. I finished in 7.29 on the clock, excluding just under an hour for stops. Looking at the relay results this would have put me 19th out of the 27 finishing teams. Not bad for an impromptu day out.
As luck would have it family friends with a cottage on Arran just so happened to be going over the same day and kindly offered me a bed for the night, plus dog-sitting. So, I got the early bird ferry, arriving at 8 am (surrounded by dozens of club cyclists), left my luggage at the ferry terminal (very handy arrangement) and set off on my 56 mile trip. I didn't know whether I would at some point meet up with any of the runners in the race but I needed to start early rather than wait for midday.
I decided to run the southern part first, having been told by my friends it was much hillier - they weren't wrong. Lots of long climbs, undulations and generally tiring gradients but nothing compared with last week's Alpine adventures and at least it was all on road rather than scrambles over boulders, tree roots and scree. The weather was very kind to me - in fact, similar conditions to our trip to Chamonix, so I was able to top up the suntan, complete with ridiculous compression sock tideline.
Reaching Blackwaterfoot in three hours dead, I imagined I had another 2/3 of the route to go (needless to say I had no stats or measurements whatsoever, and my map was torn out of the Arran bus timetable the night before). After the initial climb out of Blackwaterfoot the road levelled off and provided some lovely flatter, faster running. Then the blisters started. I know it's nothing dramatic but as I don't usually have any problems with my feet this was an unwelcome novelty. Then as I came into Pirnmill and stopped for much needed supplies I was pleasantly surprised to see lots of people milling around in running vests: my timing was perfect and the second leg was just about to set off. So I had company for part of the route to Lochranza, though had to stop twice to tape up my feet, but it was good to feel a part of the race, albeit in an unusual way. I contemplated bailing out at this point as my toes were so sore - and I knew the race bus was en route to pick up the runners - and I thought I still had about 25 miles to go. So when I asked another runner how far to Brodick and was told 14 miles I was delighted - it was the home straight. I reckoned without the nasty climb out of Lochranza (the 'Boglie'- not sure if that's how you spell it), a long slog which is probably challenging enough on fresh legs, let alone after 42 miles. But whilst the runners had to finish at the top to change over, I got the pleasure of at least 2 miles of great descent heading back to the coast. From there it was a case of knocking off the miles and wondering what I was going to eat and drink to reward myself. I finished in 7.29 on the clock, excluding just under an hour for stops. Looking at the relay results this would have put me 19th out of the 27 finishing teams. Not bad for an impromptu day out.
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