Every so often, someone contacts me out of the blue to review a product. I like the randomness of it, and enjoy trying new stuff. Rarely, though, has something come through the post with such perfect timing for a properly hard trial. When Mike from EventClips sent me a set through, it was just before my return to the North Devon/Somerset coast for the Seaview 17. Ordinarily, I'd have attached my number to my race belt, but with some fancy new clips to try, I clipped the number to my shorts and set out to see how well they would hold up to some tough race conditions.
Showing posts with label Devon. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Devon. Show all posts
Thursday, 13 August 2015
Thursday, 24 October 2013
Bideford Bay 50K - Putting Demons to Bed
Nic's report on the BB50K
Not finishing the Hardmoors marathon in Saltburn this August was a huge blow for me. I spent lots of time trying to figure out why things went so wrong, and concluded that lack of preparation was the biggest issue. I didn’t spend enough time thinking about the race profile and my nutrition strategy. I was, in short, a bit too relaxed! My friend Roy said I should enter another race as soon as possible, that I should ‘get back on the horse’. So when I heard about the Bideford Bay 50K in North Devon, I didn’t think too hard about entering it. I love coastal trail running and North Devon is one of my favourite places. It was an ideal opportunity to heal some wounds.
I hadn’t left myself much time to train properly in terms of running great distances, but fortunately I had some annual leave after our Cotswold Way Century, so I focussed on back to back runs, a strategy that has worked for me before both my other ultras. I clocked up over 60 trail miles, mostly running with a little hiking, over 8 days on my holiday, in the Cotswolds, Peak District and Northumberland, then had a good week of rest. I thought long and hard about my pacing strategy. I’d had a chat with Adrian Colwill, the BB50K RD at our race and he’d briefed me about the course – 20 miles of hills then 10ish miles of flat as the course followed the river estuary. I decided to abandon any kind of pacing strategy and just treat it as a nice day out, running where I could and hiking the hills. I even decided not to wear my Garmin, so I could run on feel and not worry about keeping any kind of average pace. At the Hardmoors, I ate too much sugar too soon and probably crashed. This time I buried the sweet stuff at the bottom of my pack where I couldn’t reach it! I planned to eat nuts, a cheese sandwich, fruit malt loaf (buttered), and some salty potato wedges, only reaching for the gels and shot bloks after 20 miles. About a week before the race, my friend Chris suggested that we run together for moral support. I wasn’t sure – I normally like to run alone. And she is quicker than me on the flat – I didn’t want to be over-doing it trying to keep up, but I thought we could start together and see how it went.
Race week was a busy one, after a 9-hour drive home from our holiday in Scotland, and jumping straight into a manic week at work. Friday evening came and we headed down to Devon. We had booked a cheap hotel near Barnstaple so we had only a short drive to the start in the morning. We were sad to find there was no nearby pub for a relaxing beer. However, Kurt went on a beer run to the convenience store and found some Doom Bar – one of my favourite ales. Unfortunately, we hadn’t thought to bring a bottle opener…. Some creative use of a teaspoon and a bath towel and we managed to prise open the tops and enjoy a nice beer. Perfect race prep!
After an ok sleep, we made our way to the start at Hartland, via Bideford to pick up Mitch, who was also running. Kurt was planning to spend the day helping out at the finish. The facilities at the start were great, and there were even lovely ladies selling tea and coffee for those who wanted it at 7am! I felt very relaxed and happy and enjoyed the pre-race buzz, thinking how lovely it was to be just a runner rather than having the pressure of being a race-organiser. Chris arrived, somewhat harassed, having thought it was an 8.30 start, not 8.00 – oops! She just had time to get her number on and we were lining up for the start – no chance to get nervous anyway!
The first mile or so was on the road, heading to Hartland Point. It felt like it was going to be a beautiful day, milder and less windy than forecast. The crowd around us all felt very amiable and Chris and I enjoyed a nice catch up. It wasn’t long before we reached a sign for the coast path – and here was the first sticking point. The route was not marked, and some people thought we had to run all the way down to the quay before coming back up the hill and then joining the coast path. I was pretty sure I hadn’t read this instruction, and I’d been in the loo for the first part of the race briefing. There was lots of confusion – some people hopped onto the coast past, some headed down the hill, some people were coming back up the hill in the opposite direction! A little arrow here would have been very nice indeed. We followed some people down the hill, wondering if there was another way onto the coast path. It turned out there wasn’t and we came back up the hill and joined the path. It all seemed a bit pointless and confusing. There were a few p***ed off runners, but it didn’t really matter – I felt pretty happy just to be off the road and on the trails. We were having a good chat with each other and those around us. The views across to Lundy in the pink early morning light were stunning and my mood was very light-hearted indeed.
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| Sun and clouds over Lundy in the distance. |
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| New hill, new view! |
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| Fruit cake! Score! (Picture by Roy) |
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| Sea level? Yeah, it's back there where the last downhill finished. (Picture by Roy) |
Kurt asked me later what my favourite part of the race was. My answer was the point about around 16 miles where we reached a checkpoint and found Chris’ partner Roy and his son Alex (and Idris the dog) there. Roy said how good we were both looking, we tucked into some lovely fruitcake and agreed that yes, we were feeling good and having a lovely time. It was my favourite part because it was at that point I knew that barring injury, I was going to finish this race. I felt strong, had only another 5ish miles of hills to go and was full of positivity.
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| Always nice to be met by Idris the ultra-dog. (Picture by Roy) |
Well, that good feeling didn’t last long. We climbed out of the village checkpoint up a very, very steep ascent, with lots of steps. It really took the wind out of our sails and every hill after that was hard. We got slower and slower, and the downhills became harder and harder too, with too many steps to be able to run them. In this race, the downhills were just as hard as the uphills, affording us no recovery whatsoever, we were concentrating so hard on not going head over heels. After about 20 miles, we knew we should be almost done with the hills, but still they kept on appearing in front of us!
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| Looks like an estuary. Does that mean the hills are finally over? |
The view to the south of the coastline we’d conquered was stunning, but we were so desperate to see the river estuary to the north! Seeing Roy, Alex and Idris again just before Westward Ho! was a lovely blessing as they were able to reassure us that all the hills were done. In actual fact though, for me this was where the hard part of the race began. I thought some flat would be welcome, but it really wasn’t. I struggled far more than Chris to keep grinding out the miles. But somehow, we kept ticking along.
My biggest down point in the race (quite literally) came about about 31 miles in, when we had to make a decision whether to follow the coastal trail along the low tide or high tide route. As we had a few miles earlier taken the low tide route along the lovely, firm sandy beach at Appledore, and the tide was clearly out, we opted for the low tide route. What a mistake! The mud was ankle deep and properly squelchy. I slipped on an uneven camber and fell onto my side, bruising my hand, shoulder and hip, and getting very muddy. I wanted to cry, and I’m sure if I hadn’t been with Chris, I would have wallowed in my misery! After trudging through the mud, we had to do an about turn as we reached an impassable channel – grrrrrrrr! We really didn’t need that so close to the end when we were so tired. But never mind, we were almost at the end and I was bound to fall down at some point – at least I didn’t do it on a steep, rocky downhill! After another 10 minutes or so, we finally had the end in sight. Dodging the locals during their Saturday afternoon stroll, we crossed the line hand in hand, all smiles. It took 8 hours and 40 minutes, was around 5,000ft of ascent, and we were almost last, but it didn’t matter. For me, I had well and truly put my demons to bed, with a pretty hard race. Running with Chris worked well, as we helped each other – I dragged her up the last few hills and she dragged me the last few miles on the flat. I discovered that it is also much harder to have a proper low patch when running with someone else – I don’t like to lose face by showing too much negative emotion so I had to keep my positive face on all the time. The old adage of ‘fake it till you make it’ worked for me in this race!
So I had a few issues with this race, in terms of its sometimes vague markings and instructions, but I would do it again, and I have total confidence in Adrian to fix these issues for next year. It was properly hard, but I think with some solid hill-training, and a couple more ultras under my belt, I would be able to do a bit quicker. And the main thing is, I feel positive and confident about my running again.
Saturday, 21 April 2012
Endurancelife Exmoor Ultra - brutal from start to finish
You may have gathered from my past postings that I enjoy the challenging courses provided by Endurancelife. They offer fantastic scenery, plenty of miles (sometimes even a few extra "value" miles), and geological/geographical variety. The Exmoor race rounds the series off nicely, with narrow cliff paths, steep hills, and an abundance of toe-catching, ankle-turning rocky paths. It's rated as the toughest of the Coastal Trail Series courses. So, naturally, I chose to put myself to the test and race the ultra.
The key part of this challenge really was not the course, or my fitness to run it, but the plan to "race". I make a habit of running to a conservative plan for this kind of event, with the option of racing during the closing stages if I'm feeling good. It's a good plan, and generally results in thorough enjoyment of the run. The plan doesn't, though, give me too much feedback about what I can actually do. So, being inherently curious, I figured that my third ever run over 50K was an ideal time to find some of my limits. Being inherently stupid, I forgot just how tough the Exmoor course is. After all, I remembered having had an awesome race in 2011, so the course couldn't be that bad...
The setting at The Hunters Inn is picture-postcard stuff, so we decided after the 2011 race that we would come back and stay at the Inn for this year's race. Logistically, it was great. Roll out of bed, have breakfast, register, have breakfast again, go to the start, run. What could be better? We had the benefit of our own toilet facilities (not to be undervalued on race mornings!), didn't have to wait around in the cold, got extra sleep, and were only a short walk from the shower and clean clothes before heading to the hotel bar at the end. Strangely, though, it really broke the pre-race routine and meant that I hadn't had much of a warm-up before the race started.
Why warm up before an ultra? The general advice is to start slow and get slower. That's all well and good, except that at 0.5 miles, we start a half mile, 500 foot climb that runs between 15% and 30% gradient. Without much warm-up, the calves were burning from the outset.
At the start, I met up again with my friend Rueben. He was doing his first long race for a while where he wasn't shepherding someone, so decided to stick with me for a while since we often run the first half in similar times. It was nice to have someone to chat with, although we were moving at an effort level that didn't invite long, philosophical discussions. We burned our way up the first hills (all 3.7 miles) before having the chance to scream back down to the start.
Both Rueben and I enjoy a fast descent, and the drop from Holdstone Hill to the Hunters Inn is fast, occasionally quite tricky, and pretty unforgiving. I managed to lose my footing over some roots and narrowly avoided causing a pile-up when I went down. Rueben was more artistic and decorated the front of his white t-shirt with the local dirt when a rock failed to give way to his big toe. Such minor incidents aside, we had a ball on that three mile section. I also knew that the next time I would do that little loop, I would be moving much slower both up and down.
From the start, the course took us back out of the valley onto the cliffs heading towards Lynton. The climb was pretty sociable, with small groups forming and reshaping as we moved along the coast. I've usually run these events essentially on my own, but found that the pace I was aiming for (~6:15-6:30 finish) put me into a part of the field that I would normally never see by being more conservative. At around 12 miles, Rueben and I caught up with the Shannon brothers to form a little international pack (1 American, 1 Kiwi, and 2 Irish). We held a good, steady effort level until we passed through the worst of the hills at 19 miles. The racing was good fun. With people around to share out the pacing, gate opening/closing, and good camaraderie, I felt strong as we climbed up to the top of another of these 20% beasts to Countisbury. From there, I remembered there was some hard work to do, but nothing too unpleasant until the second round of the initial 10K.
It turns out that marathons really are a lot like giving birth (I've often heard it said, but have no experience upon which to judge). The climb out of Lynmouth is quite steep, and more than just a little painful at pace. I had totally forgotten about it from the previous year. Looking back at the 2011 race report, I'd even forgotten about it by the time I had finished. The hill doesn't show up as much on the chart - just another 500ft climb over a bit more than half a mile. It happens, though, to come after the hill up to Countisbury and the long descent along vertiginous goat tracks where I kept having to remind myself to breathe while I tried to both run quickly and keep to the 10-inch wide path. The result is that this little hill hits you when you're feeling fast but have in no way recovered from the battering you've just received over the previous few miles.
By the time we got to the top at 21 miles, I was feeling pretty rough. I also felt like a short comfort break was in order. I chose to stick to our little foreign crew for as long as I could, hoping that I'd get some energy back within a mile or so. By mile 23, though, I had to wave them farewell. My guts were grumbling, my bladder was screaming (that, at least, was easily solved), and I was teetering on the brink of a bonk. I was still in my "perfect-day" target zone, so eased back and tried to take on more calories and water and to just keep going for the next few miles. The trick to trail racing, compared to road racing, is that a few miles can take nearly an hour when you're feeling below par. So, I just kept pushing gels and the like in the hope that I'd feel less bad in 30-40 minutes.
The Exmoor ultra course has one very nice attribute, compared with other Endurancelife ultras - you don't actually pass the finish line before heading on the "ultra" part of the course. About a mile before the finish, the ultra course drops onto a different path to get back to the bottom of Holdstone Hill. Still feeling pretty rubbish, I was happy not to have to actively decide not to call it a day. About half a mile up the hill, though, I had to stop for a bout of retching at the bushes. Oddly, I found this unpleasant break to be quite uplifting. For one, I didn't bring anything up - so, I figured that adding one last gel would work. Even better, I realized that my abs still had a lot of strength left in them! Most importantly, though, whatever unsettled feeling I had just went away. Feeling a bit wrung out, I looked down the hill to the finish, told myself to stop being such a wimp, and carried on up the path.
I won't pretend that the next couple of miles up to the top of the hill were easy. They weren't. I was starting to get passed by guys I hadn't seen for over 10 miles, which really pissed me off. But, I kept putting one foot in front of the other, running where I could and walking the rest. I picked up a bit of speed on the final 5K descent, but nothing like what I had managed at the start. My feet couldn't move fast enough to handle the terrain safely, so I was plodding (relative to the first lap, anyway) down the trail to the finish, where I crossed the line looking pretty wiped out, but happy (it's always great to cross the finish line).
Had I remembered the extra climb, I might have taken a slightly more conservative approach from 17 to 19 miles, but otherwise I would probably have approached the race with the same goal of finding out what I am actually capable of. I also learned that I probably should ditch my waist pack in favour of a backpack for anything over 4 hours to keep from adding extra pressure to my digestive system and that I prefer gels over solids if I'm going to keep the pedal down. In the end, I ran the marathon distance about 15 minutes faster than 2011, and survived the extra 6.5 miles in around 90 minutes - not too dissimilar from last month's trip to Sussex. I can live with that for the first time I've "raced" an ultra.
The key part of this challenge really was not the course, or my fitness to run it, but the plan to "race". I make a habit of running to a conservative plan for this kind of event, with the option of racing during the closing stages if I'm feeling good. It's a good plan, and generally results in thorough enjoyment of the run. The plan doesn't, though, give me too much feedback about what I can actually do. So, being inherently curious, I figured that my third ever run over 50K was an ideal time to find some of my limits. Being inherently stupid, I forgot just how tough the Exmoor course is. After all, I remembered having had an awesome race in 2011, so the course couldn't be that bad...
The setting at The Hunters Inn is picture-postcard stuff, so we decided after the 2011 race that we would come back and stay at the Inn for this year's race. Logistically, it was great. Roll out of bed, have breakfast, register, have breakfast again, go to the start, run. What could be better? We had the benefit of our own toilet facilities (not to be undervalued on race mornings!), didn't have to wait around in the cold, got extra sleep, and were only a short walk from the shower and clean clothes before heading to the hotel bar at the end. Strangely, though, it really broke the pre-race routine and meant that I hadn't had much of a warm-up before the race started.
Why warm up before an ultra? The general advice is to start slow and get slower. That's all well and good, except that at 0.5 miles, we start a half mile, 500 foot climb that runs between 15% and 30% gradient. Without much warm-up, the calves were burning from the outset.
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| Part One of the 4-mile opening climb (Nic's pic from the next day) |
At the start, I met up again with my friend Rueben. He was doing his first long race for a while where he wasn't shepherding someone, so decided to stick with me for a while since we often run the first half in similar times. It was nice to have someone to chat with, although we were moving at an effort level that didn't invite long, philosophical discussions. We burned our way up the first hills (all 3.7 miles) before having the chance to scream back down to the start.
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| Hiking up the hill as fast as it will let us. |
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| The highest point of the race - Holdstone Hill |
Both Rueben and I enjoy a fast descent, and the drop from Holdstone Hill to the Hunters Inn is fast, occasionally quite tricky, and pretty unforgiving. I managed to lose my footing over some roots and narrowly avoided causing a pile-up when I went down. Rueben was more artistic and decorated the front of his white t-shirt with the local dirt when a rock failed to give way to his big toe. Such minor incidents aside, we had a ball on that three mile section. I also knew that the next time I would do that little loop, I would be moving much slower both up and down.
From the start, the course took us back out of the valley onto the cliffs heading towards Lynton. The climb was pretty sociable, with small groups forming and reshaping as we moved along the coast. I've usually run these events essentially on my own, but found that the pace I was aiming for (~6:15-6:30 finish) put me into a part of the field that I would normally never see by being more conservative. At around 12 miles, Rueben and I caught up with the Shannon brothers to form a little international pack (1 American, 1 Kiwi, and 2 Irish). We held a good, steady effort level until we passed through the worst of the hills at 19 miles. The racing was good fun. With people around to share out the pacing, gate opening/closing, and good camaraderie, I felt strong as we climbed up to the top of another of these 20% beasts to Countisbury. From there, I remembered there was some hard work to do, but nothing too unpleasant until the second round of the initial 10K.
It turns out that marathons really are a lot like giving birth (I've often heard it said, but have no experience upon which to judge). The climb out of Lynmouth is quite steep, and more than just a little painful at pace. I had totally forgotten about it from the previous year. Looking back at the 2011 race report, I'd even forgotten about it by the time I had finished. The hill doesn't show up as much on the chart - just another 500ft climb over a bit more than half a mile. It happens, though, to come after the hill up to Countisbury and the long descent along vertiginous goat tracks where I kept having to remind myself to breathe while I tried to both run quickly and keep to the 10-inch wide path. The result is that this little hill hits you when you're feeling fast but have in no way recovered from the battering you've just received over the previous few miles.
By the time we got to the top at 21 miles, I was feeling pretty rough. I also felt like a short comfort break was in order. I chose to stick to our little foreign crew for as long as I could, hoping that I'd get some energy back within a mile or so. By mile 23, though, I had to wave them farewell. My guts were grumbling, my bladder was screaming (that, at least, was easily solved), and I was teetering on the brink of a bonk. I was still in my "perfect-day" target zone, so eased back and tried to take on more calories and water and to just keep going for the next few miles. The trick to trail racing, compared to road racing, is that a few miles can take nearly an hour when you're feeling below par. So, I just kept pushing gels and the like in the hope that I'd feel less bad in 30-40 minutes.
The Exmoor ultra course has one very nice attribute, compared with other Endurancelife ultras - you don't actually pass the finish line before heading on the "ultra" part of the course. About a mile before the finish, the ultra course drops onto a different path to get back to the bottom of Holdstone Hill. Still feeling pretty rubbish, I was happy not to have to actively decide not to call it a day. About half a mile up the hill, though, I had to stop for a bout of retching at the bushes. Oddly, I found this unpleasant break to be quite uplifting. For one, I didn't bring anything up - so, I figured that adding one last gel would work. Even better, I realized that my abs still had a lot of strength left in them! Most importantly, though, whatever unsettled feeling I had just went away. Feeling a bit wrung out, I looked down the hill to the finish, told myself to stop being such a wimp, and carried on up the path.
I won't pretend that the next couple of miles up to the top of the hill were easy. They weren't. I was starting to get passed by guys I hadn't seen for over 10 miles, which really pissed me off. But, I kept putting one foot in front of the other, running where I could and walking the rest. I picked up a bit of speed on the final 5K descent, but nothing like what I had managed at the start. My feet couldn't move fast enough to handle the terrain safely, so I was plodding (relative to the first lap, anyway) down the trail to the finish, where I crossed the line looking pretty wiped out, but happy (it's always great to cross the finish line).
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| Finishing at last! |
Monday, 20 February 2012
CTS South Devon Marathon 2012
Before this week, I've never done a marathon course for a second time. It didn't occur to me when I entered, but upon reflection, it brought a an unexpected significance to this latest foray onto the trails. Why, you may ask, did I enter in the first place, given such an apparent wanderlust? Yes, I loved my CTS series last year, but that wasn't the main draw. The main reason is that I needed something to do on the day. Crew-chief Nicola had decided that she enjoyed the location so much during last year that she wanted to make it her first marathon. So, rather than sit on my backside and wait for her to finish, I decided that I might as well run it. The Endurancelife team encourage the marathon runners who will be at or above 6 hours to start with the ultra runners, about 45 minutes ahead of the main marathon start. This gives them a chance to run with people who, for the most part, aren't really in any hurry. It also gave me a chance to cheer Nic on her way, hopefully pass her en route to offer some encouragement, and finish in time to cheer her into the finish.
For last year's race, the weather was unbelievably warm and sunny. Although it was unlikely to be such amazing picnic weather again, I had hopes of a fair day for the run. As the time came near, though, it was clear that Race Director Gary's sun-god mojo had clearly gone AWOL for 2012. The week running into the race was sunny and fine. The day after the race was due to be cold and sunny. Saturday, from the 15-day forecast to all the way up to the Friday night was due to be wet and windy. Not wanting to believe the forecast, I still packed a selection of gear that would work from below freezing to unseasonably toasty. Nic packed one outfit. So much for stereotypes. As a result of my extreme flexibility, I changed kit selections three or four times on Friday night and another couple of times on Saturday morning. The final selection became a light, long-sleeve Helly top, 2XU shorts, the usual shoes, socks, and calf guards, Montane Slipstream gilet for the windy start, light gloves and my usual red Buff and my OMM jacket in the pack for if/when the weather turned nasty.
The first bright start to the day was catching up with EL's James Heraty as we approached race HQ. During the series last year, James seemed to be everywhere with a smile and cheery word or two. The camaraderie of the CTS team and participants is one of the reasons we all keep coming back. These folks had been up in the wee small hours after a late night and yet were all smiles (or was it just chattering teeth!?).
By the time we got to check-in the sun was up, but the clouds were keeping its warming rays at bay. We were playing a fine game of keeping warm enough not to waste energy, but cool enough not to feel too much of a shock when peeling off for the race. Luckily, the marquee was full of runners and offered enough shelter to see out the requisite worry-pee-fret-pee pre-race period.
Finally, the briefing for the early start happened, Nic peeled off her final layer of extra warmth, and I made a complete mess of taking pre-race pictures. Normally, I take pretty bad people pictures, but I was combining my poor skill with some technology issues to do a spectacularly (and humorously) rubbish job of it. Due to a little mix-up caused by a last-minute trip to the vet's on Friday, we'd had to re-arrange our weekend plans. So, Nic put away the good camera that we would take on our Sunday recovery hike. Unfortunately, we keep the little camera I normally use in the same bag. A little fraught over the sickly cat, I forgot, so was left using the camera on my phone. I like my phone, but the camera function is pretty useless, and every time I tried to take a picture of Nic running off, something else popped up to get in the way of my hitting the "take the bloody picture already" button. So, I sprinted forward, stopped, and took a bad picture about four times before I had to give up. Nic started her first ever marathon laughing. At me.
I went back into the marquee, stowed the offending phone, did my warm-up, etc. While sorting out my kit (for the final time), I ran into Ian Corless of TalkUltra. The new podcast has informed and entertained on my recent commutes. I also noticed in passing several participants that I remembered from last year's series (good with faces, mostly bad with names). Everyone looked much more trim and chiselled than I remembered - must be the compression gear!
Finally, if somewhat reluctantly, we headed back out into the strengthening wind and the race started. The first time I ran this course, my goal was to enjoy it and survive for the next one. The next one isn't for a few weeks, and survival wasn't really in question, barring an unfortunate incident. This time, I wanted to drop one minute per mile (~28 minutes) from the 2011 time. With that in mind, I set out a at a reasonable effort level, to avoid getting caught too far back at the first uphill track. To say I carried on that way for the next 20-odd miles seems a bit strange, but that's basically the way it worked out.
The climb up to Start Point (~ 2 miles) was tough but somewhat sheltered by the hill, so the wind wasn't too bad. Then we turned to the southwest, and the shelter was gone. The wind whipped up the cliffs and the technical terrain that would dominate the next few miles became that little bit trickier. When there are little sharp rocks everywhere, it's often easier to launch over them than to pick through them. But, when the wind is fierce, it's not always wise to get too far off the ground - who knows where one might land!
At around four miles in, I joined up with my friend Rueben from the 2011 series. The last time I'd seen Rueben as at the Endurancelife Festival last May. Aside from whipping me in the marathon, he also helped to save a damsel in tent-building distressed and was a great drinking partner in that evening's Live More Lectures. We had the chance over the next mile or so to exchange stories of the past few months and the coming races (he's got his 100 miler booked for June). I often find myself running long stretches of these races alone, so it was nice to have a bit of a chat. Eventually, though, I felt I had a bit more oomph to give, and eased away. By now, the sun was shining bright and I was peeling off the various accessories.
I could definitely tell I was moving well, especially when at 10km, I looked off into the (far) distance and could see the leader approaching Prawle Point lighthouse. It was the last time I saw the leaders, but it felt good to still be within a mile or so of them. When it was my turn to clear the point, I turned directly into the wind. The early layers came back on and I pushed on knowing that I was only a couple of miles from a tailwind.
At this stage, my goal was to hit the 11mi checkpoint in 1:50 or better. I came through on target and alternated between hiking and jogging to climb back to the top of the hills. Once up, I was on the road with a nice tailwind to speed my way through the third 10km section. At around 13 miles, I caught up with Noel who is doing all of the CTS ultras this year. We had a short chat about the MdS he was training for during last year's series, and then I carried on. He was in no great hurry, with a plan to get to the finish area just before the cutoff. It was really nice to see another familiar face, even if only briefly. Next month, we may have a bit more time to chat, since I'll be doing the ultra as well.
Not more than half a mile later, I spotted the most familiar runner of all. Nic was powering along the last coastal view for a while. I caught her up, had a wee chat, checked that she was well, congratulated her for being exactly on target for 13-minute miles, gave her a kiss, and shot off with a big smile. It was great to see her running so comfortably, and even better to know that we were both having a good race. Most of the past six months has been a case of one happy runner and one grumpy runner, so the change was most welcome.
I was, by then, well into the "fast" part of the course, with flattish roads and tracks. Until the approach to 18mi, where there is a 20-30% gradient. On a steep camber. Going down. I remembered it from last year as I ran, thinking of the pain in my toes. I'm pretty sure it was a bit more muddy then, and therefore more forgiving. It certainly hurt this time!
The fourth 10km section begins with the fresh pain of the steep descent, and contains four steep rollers - approximately 300 feet of climb over half to three-quarters of a mile, then roughly the same back down again. My uphill speed must have improved in the last 12 months, because I managed to only slow to an average of 11min/mi for this segment, balancing off the 9:30 pace I'd averaged through the fast segment. When I reached the marathon distance at Torcross (only one nasty hill to come!) at just under 4:30, I was pretty happy - not just because I was still on schedule for my 4:45, but because I had spent the past mile and a half battling a stiff headwind that was actually strong enough to later pick Nic off the ground!
The climb up through Torcross is sheltered, and even though I would have to walk up the steps, I was glad of the respite. The stairs back down were slippery and tricky while running, but I didn't care - it was nearly over. Then, it was a short and brutal quarter mile of headwind and I was through the finish. By then, the wind and rain were so foul I actually kept jogging the extra 50 yards to get back into the warmth of the marquee!
After around 20 minutes of putting on warm clothes, chatting with a few other wet and worn runners, stretching out (I'd had to sit on the floor to put on dry shoes anyway), and getting some recovery drink down my neck, I started to realize that I was actually getting quite cold. The tea queue was still growing, so I joined in before the shivering got too bad. While waiting, I got another chance to talk to Ian about some of the technical aspects of putting together a podcast. As we waited for our tea by the rack of giant pasties also on offer, and started to talk about mid-race nutrition, I saw a pink and purple flash out in the rain. Nic was about 20 minutes ahead of schedule! She had managed to hold on to her 13min/mi pace through the second half and was nearing the finish tape.
Normally, I would be outside shouting Nic through the last few hundred yards, but I hadn't dared yet to go out in the foul weather without getting something warm into me. I quickly asked the tea maker to hold my cuppa and "sprinted" (well, it felt like it) to the finish line calling out encouragement. Nic hit the "Stop" button a few seconds under six hours, and we both had wide grins at her great achievement. As it turns out, her timing was impeccable, because when we got back into the tent, the tea was ready for her to share. I couldn't very well make her wait 10 minutes while I was drinking it, now could I? She changed into a warm top and we walked the mile back to our B&B in animated and elated conversation.
So many people have asked me why I run these stupidly hard races in whatever weather, and it's because of days like this. Every person I encountered, whether organizers, volunteers, supportive families, runners, or local residents, was incredibly positive. Even those hobbling to their cars encouraged the runners still on the course. So, I have to ask in return, "Why on Earth would I not want to be part of it?"
For last year's race, the weather was unbelievably warm and sunny. Although it was unlikely to be such amazing picnic weather again, I had hopes of a fair day for the run. As the time came near, though, it was clear that Race Director Gary's sun-god mojo had clearly gone AWOL for 2012. The week running into the race was sunny and fine. The day after the race was due to be cold and sunny. Saturday, from the 15-day forecast to all the way up to the Friday night was due to be wet and windy. Not wanting to believe the forecast, I still packed a selection of gear that would work from below freezing to unseasonably toasty. Nic packed one outfit. So much for stereotypes. As a result of my extreme flexibility, I changed kit selections three or four times on Friday night and another couple of times on Saturday morning. The final selection became a light, long-sleeve Helly top, 2XU shorts, the usual shoes, socks, and calf guards, Montane Slipstream gilet for the windy start, light gloves and my usual red Buff and my OMM jacket in the pack for if/when the weather turned nasty.
The first bright start to the day was catching up with EL's James Heraty as we approached race HQ. During the series last year, James seemed to be everywhere with a smile and cheery word or two. The camaraderie of the CTS team and participants is one of the reasons we all keep coming back. These folks had been up in the wee small hours after a late night and yet were all smiles (or was it just chattering teeth!?).
By the time we got to check-in the sun was up, but the clouds were keeping its warming rays at bay. We were playing a fine game of keeping warm enough not to waste energy, but cool enough not to feel too much of a shock when peeling off for the race. Luckily, the marquee was full of runners and offered enough shelter to see out the requisite worry-pee-fret-pee pre-race period.
Finally, the briefing for the early start happened, Nic peeled off her final layer of extra warmth, and I made a complete mess of taking pre-race pictures. Normally, I take pretty bad people pictures, but I was combining my poor skill with some technology issues to do a spectacularly (and humorously) rubbish job of it. Due to a little mix-up caused by a last-minute trip to the vet's on Friday, we'd had to re-arrange our weekend plans. So, Nic put away the good camera that we would take on our Sunday recovery hike. Unfortunately, we keep the little camera I normally use in the same bag. A little fraught over the sickly cat, I forgot, so was left using the camera on my phone. I like my phone, but the camera function is pretty useless, and every time I tried to take a picture of Nic running off, something else popped up to get in the way of my hitting the "take the bloody picture already" button. So, I sprinted forward, stopped, and took a bad picture about four times before I had to give up. Nic started her first ever marathon laughing. At me.
I went back into the marquee, stowed the offending phone, did my warm-up, etc. While sorting out my kit (for the final time), I ran into Ian Corless of TalkUltra. The new podcast has informed and entertained on my recent commutes. I also noticed in passing several participants that I remembered from last year's series (good with faces, mostly bad with names). Everyone looked much more trim and chiselled than I remembered - must be the compression gear!
Finally, if somewhat reluctantly, we headed back out into the strengthening wind and the race started. The first time I ran this course, my goal was to enjoy it and survive for the next one. The next one isn't for a few weeks, and survival wasn't really in question, barring an unfortunate incident. This time, I wanted to drop one minute per mile (~28 minutes) from the 2011 time. With that in mind, I set out a at a reasonable effort level, to avoid getting caught too far back at the first uphill track. To say I carried on that way for the next 20-odd miles seems a bit strange, but that's basically the way it worked out.
The climb up to Start Point (~ 2 miles) was tough but somewhat sheltered by the hill, so the wind wasn't too bad. Then we turned to the southwest, and the shelter was gone. The wind whipped up the cliffs and the technical terrain that would dominate the next few miles became that little bit trickier. When there are little sharp rocks everywhere, it's often easier to launch over them than to pick through them. But, when the wind is fierce, it's not always wise to get too far off the ground - who knows where one might land!
At around four miles in, I joined up with my friend Rueben from the 2011 series. The last time I'd seen Rueben as at the Endurancelife Festival last May. Aside from whipping me in the marathon, he also helped to save a damsel in tent-building distressed and was a great drinking partner in that evening's Live More Lectures. We had the chance over the next mile or so to exchange stories of the past few months and the coming races (he's got his 100 miler booked for June). I often find myself running long stretches of these races alone, so it was nice to have a bit of a chat. Eventually, though, I felt I had a bit more oomph to give, and eased away. By now, the sun was shining bright and I was peeling off the various accessories.
I could definitely tell I was moving well, especially when at 10km, I looked off into the (far) distance and could see the leader approaching Prawle Point lighthouse. It was the last time I saw the leaders, but it felt good to still be within a mile or so of them. When it was my turn to clear the point, I turned directly into the wind. The early layers came back on and I pushed on knowing that I was only a couple of miles from a tailwind.
At this stage, my goal was to hit the 11mi checkpoint in 1:50 or better. I came through on target and alternated between hiking and jogging to climb back to the top of the hills. Once up, I was on the road with a nice tailwind to speed my way through the third 10km section. At around 13 miles, I caught up with Noel who is doing all of the CTS ultras this year. We had a short chat about the MdS he was training for during last year's series, and then I carried on. He was in no great hurry, with a plan to get to the finish area just before the cutoff. It was really nice to see another familiar face, even if only briefly. Next month, we may have a bit more time to chat, since I'll be doing the ultra as well.
Not more than half a mile later, I spotted the most familiar runner of all. Nic was powering along the last coastal view for a while. I caught her up, had a wee chat, checked that she was well, congratulated her for being exactly on target for 13-minute miles, gave her a kiss, and shot off with a big smile. It was great to see her running so comfortably, and even better to know that we were both having a good race. Most of the past six months has been a case of one happy runner and one grumpy runner, so the change was most welcome.
I was, by then, well into the "fast" part of the course, with flattish roads and tracks. Until the approach to 18mi, where there is a 20-30% gradient. On a steep camber. Going down. I remembered it from last year as I ran, thinking of the pain in my toes. I'm pretty sure it was a bit more muddy then, and therefore more forgiving. It certainly hurt this time!
The fourth 10km section begins with the fresh pain of the steep descent, and contains four steep rollers - approximately 300 feet of climb over half to three-quarters of a mile, then roughly the same back down again. My uphill speed must have improved in the last 12 months, because I managed to only slow to an average of 11min/mi for this segment, balancing off the 9:30 pace I'd averaged through the fast segment. When I reached the marathon distance at Torcross (only one nasty hill to come!) at just under 4:30, I was pretty happy - not just because I was still on schedule for my 4:45, but because I had spent the past mile and a half battling a stiff headwind that was actually strong enough to later pick Nic off the ground!
The climb up through Torcross is sheltered, and even though I would have to walk up the steps, I was glad of the respite. The stairs back down were slippery and tricky while running, but I didn't care - it was nearly over. Then, it was a short and brutal quarter mile of headwind and I was through the finish. By then, the wind and rain were so foul I actually kept jogging the extra 50 yards to get back into the warmth of the marquee!
After around 20 minutes of putting on warm clothes, chatting with a few other wet and worn runners, stretching out (I'd had to sit on the floor to put on dry shoes anyway), and getting some recovery drink down my neck, I started to realize that I was actually getting quite cold. The tea queue was still growing, so I joined in before the shivering got too bad. While waiting, I got another chance to talk to Ian about some of the technical aspects of putting together a podcast. As we waited for our tea by the rack of giant pasties also on offer, and started to talk about mid-race nutrition, I saw a pink and purple flash out in the rain. Nic was about 20 minutes ahead of schedule! She had managed to hold on to her 13min/mi pace through the second half and was nearing the finish tape.
Normally, I would be outside shouting Nic through the last few hundred yards, but I hadn't dared yet to go out in the foul weather without getting something warm into me. I quickly asked the tea maker to hold my cuppa and "sprinted" (well, it felt like it) to the finish line calling out encouragement. Nic hit the "Stop" button a few seconds under six hours, and we both had wide grins at her great achievement. As it turns out, her timing was impeccable, because when we got back into the tent, the tea was ready for her to share. I couldn't very well make her wait 10 minutes while I was drinking it, now could I? She changed into a warm top and we walked the mile back to our B&B in animated and elated conversation.
So many people have asked me why I run these stupidly hard races in whatever weather, and it's because of days like this. Every person I encountered, whether organizers, volunteers, supportive families, runners, or local residents, was incredibly positive. Even those hobbling to their cars encouraged the runners still on the course. So, I have to ask in return, "Why on Earth would I not want to be part of it?"
Saturday, 26 February 2011
CTS South Devon Marathon - a perfect day?
The challenge continues, and this month's installment was a 27.5 mile jaunt through the Devon countryside. I'd never been to the southern coast of Devon, and had been looking forward to this trip as a way to appreciate the reputed beauty of a new coastline. A few weeks before, I double-checked the course details and saw nothing short of a tortuous second half. The early hills led to gently rolling coastal paths, with the real steep stuff coming on the inland trip back to the start. The final stretch along Slapton Sands was a big worry. I'm still a bit reticent about beaches after the Gower and Portland races. I could quite happily wait for a few years before another big-beach race. The course is rated by Endurancelife as 4 out of 5 for difficulty (5 being stupidly hard). I checked the 2009 finish times to get an idea of what to expect. In the previous three races, I'd finished about 2/3 down the field. For South Devon, that equated to around six hours. So, I set my race plan for survival: start as slowly as I could manage, have fun on the steep descents, and just get through the beach section. With that plan in place, we once again took the opportunity to enjoy a day off and headed for Dartmouth on Friday morning - stopping by Sara's for some protective tape work on my weak calf.
Dartmouth, as a place to dine, is the opposite of Holyhead. The small harbour area has an abundance of good restaurants and smells great at lunchtime. We enjoyed a fabulous lunch at Taylor's (penne with a mushroom & white truffle oil sauce) and a gorgeous dinner at the Royal Castle Hotel lounge bar (sea bass with a crab risotto). Plenty of good nutrition, not too much richness, and all done by 8, so I had enough time to digest while we enjoyed some World Cup track cycling on the TV.
On race day, I once again took the strategy of early (6:30) and late (7:30) breakfasts. Lately, I've been able to eat less during my long runs, so I didn't worry about any food between second breakfast and the race start at 9. We headed off to the start, a short 11 miles away, planning to arrive just in time to register and catch the race briefing. I'd forgotten that Devon roads have their own variations on the words "main" and "minor". Main roads have sections wide enough for two cars, minor roads have occasional places to stop or back into if you have opposing traffic. In Devon, wide enough is only just, and occasional can be very occasional indeed. As a result, we arrived a little later than anticipated and were sent into the overflow car park and asked to catch the bus (it was about 8:20 at this point). After securing the car (i.e. parking it in the field deeply enough to be concerned about getting it out), we headed for the bus, which had disappeared and been replaced by a horse box.
A few more marathoners (and one ultra runner, who should have started at 8!) arrived, and the Endurancelife team realized the bus wasn't coming back any time soon. Inexplicably, there was a bit more space near the start, so we were sent on our way to park there instead - 20 minutes of prep time lost. I can't really blame anyone but myself for being late, but it would have been nice to avoid the hassle of nearly losing the car in the mud and missing the start while waiting for a missing bus. But, true to form, Gary delayed the race briefing a few minutes to allow us all to get there and pushed back the start by a few minutes to give everyone a chance for the last-minute pit-stops.
All pre-race checks completed, it was time to start. Because we were heading for narrow trails early on, we had a staggered start. Each runner's chip was registered on the way across the start line, so the quick runners headed out first and the rest of us started in our turn. I lined up about 2/3 back in the field, with a few people I recognized from previous races. We headed out of Beesands and then straight into the first hills. These were only a few hundred feet each, and gave me a chance to watch the leaders stream away.
Further back, I took these early climbs pretty easy, saving energy for the steep rollers in the second half. We had a couple of nice slippery sections to give us some entertainment watching the few runners in road shoes. Every bend, hill, and hedge brought another fantastic view.
As we passed near the Start Point lighthouse, we turned to the West and were confronted with some astounding scenery. The rocky path was tricky and slippery, so I didn't get as much of an opportunity to appreciate the sunshine playing on the sea and the hillside as I would have liked.
The day was fast becoming perfect for running. The sun had broken through the morning haze and was making everything lovely and warm. It was also proving useful to pick out the jagged stones poking just far enough out of the mud to potentially cause a nasty fall. So, I picked my way through the technical bits and eased along the more secure paths.
In an effort to keep an easy heart rate and remind myself to keep things steady, I stopped to take the odd picture instead of snapping on the run. Given the fairly steady pace, it wasn't much of a time loss, and stopping to "smell the roses" now and then boosted my mood. I kept feeling happy, which definitely wasn't expected in the first 10 miles of a long day's running.
While I enjoyed the sunshine and warm Southwesterly (head-on) breeze, I kept a steady rhythm and a manageable heart rate of around 150bpm (~80%). Every once in a while I would meet up with other runners and have a short chat. I wasn't the only cheery face in the crowd, but I was probably one of the most comfortable. Quite a few runners were dressed for the previous day's weather - windy, wet, and miserable. As a result, my short snap stops paled into insignificance compared to the delays some had in removing their spare layers - it's just not easy to take off a long-sleeve compression top while one is running!
After what seemed like an age, but was only about four miles, we crossed over Prawle Point and headed gently Northwest. The head wind became a cross wind, the sun shone strong, and the going was good-to-firm with occasional tricky rocky bits. I was running strong, comfortable with my pace, and feeling generally on top of the world. It's hard to explain why things all come together, and in the early stages of a marathon I typically expect them to start falling apart at some point. This time, though, I had a nagging optimism that it would be OK as long as I didn't get in a hurry.
This final stretch of coastline before the inland trip back towards Beesands had some nice little rollers to keep things interesting. Over the three miles, we climbed past the Saturday hikers on the odd sharp ascent and sped away down to find another little gully or hillock waiting. By the time I'd reached nine miles, I was starting to reel in runners. For once, my poor wee brain wasn't too frazzled, and I realized that these were mostly the slower Ultra runners and marathoners who had started at 8-8:15. They were in for a very long day, but seemed cheery enough at the prospect. It's amazing what the lack of wind and rain can do for one's mood!
The final bend towards Mill Bay was the highlight of the weekend. By then, I was running confidently, the temperature was up to around 13C, and every time I looked up I was blown away by the views. I decided that Sunday's recovery walk, weather permitting, would be here so Nic could enjoy it.
With all of the great views, and the occasional swearing at the camera phone switching to video mode as I went back to snapping on the move, it felt like no time at all before I was ready to head away from the sea and into the rolling hills. By this time, I'd covered eleven of the most stunning miles I've ever experienced.
I hoped for continued strength into the properly hilly inland section. Looking back over my recent marathons, I knew I'd started to crack far too early. So, I decided to keep relaxed and save something for the dreaded beach and final hill. I took advantage of our check point at 11 miles to stop for a few seconds to down some water and compliment the marshalls on the weather they'd organized for us before heading up onto the first stretch of road. Some of the road was nearly as claggy as the trails, due to the vast quantities of mud from a rainy week and a lot of farm traffic. One short section looked like someone had tried to take a street cleaner along it - and failed. The remains of brushes and the metal rings that hold them onto something rotating littered the muddy ruts.
As I neared the highest point on the course at half way, I remembered that the next couple of miles would be fairly flat, with a fair bit of road. With the sun shining and the wind quartering from behind, I checked my pace, changed my mind, and decided to push a little harder until I returned to the mud and standing water. On a different day, in different terrain, and not in the middle of a multi-marathon sequence, pushing a little harder would mean hitting a 7:15 pace. In the context of this race, I was happy to move from trail-plod to anything starting with an 8!
I began to catch more of the early starters, as the course turned into some adventurous farm tracks. The torrential rain of the previous few days had left a lot of standing water in the wheel ruts. Where the raised centre was firm, we could run easily enough. Where it got slushy, I had to choose between two of my basic rules of wet running: 1) avoid stepping into anything whose depth you can't judge, 2) tractor ruts usually bottom out at something firm. I opted for door number two and shipped some very cold water - very soothing on the feet.
The farm tracks opened onto a fabulous downhill. At first glance, I exclaimed, "Wow!" to nobody in particular. I briefly thought about taking a picture at the dramatic drop into a narrow valley. But, I decided to avoid testing my balance and coordination as I stormed down the 1:4 grade. Even though the grass was reasonably forgiving, my feet were pushing hard into the front of my shoes. Halfway down, my toes were shouting obscenities and I expected to have to pick the nails out of my socks later.
With 18 of the 27+ miles finished, I was looking forward to six miles of short, steep hills and dreading the final slog along the shingle beach. I assumed that Nic had finished her relaxing run along that same beach - she needed to do something to pass the time while I played - and sent her a text from the next short uphill hike to let her know how I was doing. Her response was more than I could have hoped for: the course didn't cross the seafront road onto the beach, but stayed on the firmer path. For once, I was happy about the world of risk assessments and "health & safety" overload that probably kept us from dodging the traffic to get to the beach.
Knowing I didn't have two miles of slippery pebbles to navigate boosted my confidence. I still expected to totally crack and lose half an hour to just being unable to move any faster. But, I also knew that even blowing up at a 30 minute cost would have me finish in 5:45 - still 10 minutes below my expected finish time. I kept to my strategy of fast plodding up the hills, free-flowing running down, and covered the next five miles of rollers in an hour.
I had company from a couple of first-time marathon runners through this stage. They were in good spirits, but weren't used to the idea that it's OK to walk up a hill. As a result, they had beaten themselves up and were struggling to keep forward momentum. I enjoyed having someone to talk to along the minor roads heading to the beach, and I'm sure they were happy to have the reassurance that walking up a steep hill is OK - especially if you've long since lost the strength to run it.
By the time we bottomed out at the wetland nature preserve, I was again on my own. I passed the occasional runner as bodies began to lose the battle. With only four miles left, and only one small hill to come, I was bemused to note that none of us was able to run with more than a hint of the freedom we had felt just a few hours before. Tight hips, sore knees, tired feet - each runner I saw was afflicted by something that made 10-step stair cases feel like mountains. My stride was now laughably short, but the sight of runners ahead helped me to keep going. For the first race in what felt like a long time, I was passing in the final half rather than being passed. In fact, looking back at the results, I had picked up nearly 30 places between miles 11 and 25. Previously, I was only catching one or two. So, I kept targetting the nearest runner as a way of moving forward.
At Torcross, one and a half miles from the finish, I still felt reasonably strong but very slow. The beach-front cottages and pubs were crowded with onlookers, enjoying the sunshine and cheering the tired, crazy people covered in mud and sweat. It was a huge boost. The final climb over Torcross point provided a few more nice views, and my very slow hiking provided the time for some pictures.
The descent into Beesands left me with a flat half mile with the cheers of the crowd to push me along. I could see Nic in the distance taking pictures, and tried my best to look energetic for the camera.
I'd had an amazing race, still didn't quite know how long I'd taken (having forgotten to start my watch until nearly 2 miles in), and was actively thinking about the beer at the Royal Castle. I finally crossed the line in 5:15:50, my fastest CTS time yet, exhausted, exuberant, and buzzing with amazement at a day when everything came together. As an added bonus, I finished with all toenails still intact!
Days like that don't come along very often. When the weather, the body, the mind, and the course are in sync, there really is no better feeling in running. I may spend years chasing another day like it - but that's all part of the fun, isn't it?
Dartmouth, as a place to dine, is the opposite of Holyhead. The small harbour area has an abundance of good restaurants and smells great at lunchtime. We enjoyed a fabulous lunch at Taylor's (penne with a mushroom & white truffle oil sauce) and a gorgeous dinner at the Royal Castle Hotel lounge bar (sea bass with a crab risotto). Plenty of good nutrition, not too much richness, and all done by 8, so I had enough time to digest while we enjoyed some World Cup track cycling on the TV.
On race day, I once again took the strategy of early (6:30) and late (7:30) breakfasts. Lately, I've been able to eat less during my long runs, so I didn't worry about any food between second breakfast and the race start at 9. We headed off to the start, a short 11 miles away, planning to arrive just in time to register and catch the race briefing. I'd forgotten that Devon roads have their own variations on the words "main" and "minor". Main roads have sections wide enough for two cars, minor roads have occasional places to stop or back into if you have opposing traffic. In Devon, wide enough is only just, and occasional can be very occasional indeed. As a result, we arrived a little later than anticipated and were sent into the overflow car park and asked to catch the bus (it was about 8:20 at this point). After securing the car (i.e. parking it in the field deeply enough to be concerned about getting it out), we headed for the bus, which had disappeared and been replaced by a horse box.
 |
| It was clean before I parked in the other field... |
A few more marathoners (and one ultra runner, who should have started at 8!) arrived, and the Endurancelife team realized the bus wasn't coming back any time soon. Inexplicably, there was a bit more space near the start, so we were sent on our way to park there instead - 20 minutes of prep time lost. I can't really blame anyone but myself for being late, but it would have been nice to avoid the hassle of nearly losing the car in the mud and missing the start while waiting for a missing bus. But, true to form, Gary delayed the race briefing a few minutes to allow us all to get there and pushed back the start by a few minutes to give everyone a chance for the last-minute pit-stops.
 |
| Just enough time for the "before" picture - much more upright than the "after" shot! |
All pre-race checks completed, it was time to start. Because we were heading for narrow trails early on, we had a staggered start. Each runner's chip was registered on the way across the start line, so the quick runners headed out first and the rest of us started in our turn. I lined up about 2/3 back in the field, with a few people I recognized from previous races. We headed out of Beesands and then straight into the first hills. These were only a few hundred feet each, and gave me a chance to watch the leaders stream away.
 |
| Looking from hill 1 to hill 2. |
Further back, I took these early climbs pretty easy, saving energy for the steep rollers in the second half. We had a couple of nice slippery sections to give us some entertainment watching the few runners in road shoes. Every bend, hill, and hedge brought another fantastic view.
 |
| Right about here, I realized I hadn't started my watch! |
As we passed near the Start Point lighthouse, we turned to the West and were confronted with some astounding scenery. The rocky path was tricky and slippery, so I didn't get as much of an opportunity to appreciate the sunshine playing on the sea and the hillside as I would have liked.
The day was fast becoming perfect for running. The sun had broken through the morning haze and was making everything lovely and warm. It was also proving useful to pick out the jagged stones poking just far enough out of the mud to potentially cause a nasty fall. So, I picked my way through the technical bits and eased along the more secure paths.
 |
| The sun poked through to help me avoid those pesky trip hazards. |
In an effort to keep an easy heart rate and remind myself to keep things steady, I stopped to take the odd picture instead of snapping on the run. Given the fairly steady pace, it wasn't much of a time loss, and stopping to "smell the roses" now and then boosted my mood. I kept feeling happy, which definitely wasn't expected in the first 10 miles of a long day's running.
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| It's a long way to Prawle Point, but the sun makes it all good! |
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| It's still a long way to Prawle Point... |
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| Some hills don't look like much until you turn left... |
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| Looking back to Start Point. It seems so flat. |
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| Looking back to Prawle Point |
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| Just a couple of small hills on the way to Mill Bay |
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| Kingsbridge Estuary and Mill Bay are just over the hill and around the bend... |
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| Looking over to Salcombe |
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| Even the seas were relaxed. |
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| A final look back along the coast before heading inland. |
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| Doh, if you take your eye off the trail, it throws another climb in as punishment! |
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| I still can't get enough of these cliffs! |
I hoped for continued strength into the properly hilly inland section. Looking back over my recent marathons, I knew I'd started to crack far too early. So, I decided to keep relaxed and save something for the dreaded beach and final hill. I took advantage of our check point at 11 miles to stop for a few seconds to down some water and compliment the marshalls on the weather they'd organized for us before heading up onto the first stretch of road. Some of the road was nearly as claggy as the trails, due to the vast quantities of mud from a rainy week and a lot of farm traffic. One short section looked like someone had tried to take a street cleaner along it - and failed. The remains of brushes and the metal rings that hold them onto something rotating littered the muddy ruts.
 |
| Heading away from the sea. |
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| The last picture opportunity for a few miles. |
As I neared the highest point on the course at half way, I remembered that the next couple of miles would be fairly flat, with a fair bit of road. With the sun shining and the wind quartering from behind, I checked my pace, changed my mind, and decided to push a little harder until I returned to the mud and standing water. On a different day, in different terrain, and not in the middle of a multi-marathon sequence, pushing a little harder would mean hitting a 7:15 pace. In the context of this race, I was happy to move from trail-plod to anything starting with an 8!
I began to catch more of the early starters, as the course turned into some adventurous farm tracks. The torrential rain of the previous few days had left a lot of standing water in the wheel ruts. Where the raised centre was firm, we could run easily enough. Where it got slushy, I had to choose between two of my basic rules of wet running: 1) avoid stepping into anything whose depth you can't judge, 2) tractor ruts usually bottom out at something firm. I opted for door number two and shipped some very cold water - very soothing on the feet.
The farm tracks opened onto a fabulous downhill. At first glance, I exclaimed, "Wow!" to nobody in particular. I briefly thought about taking a picture at the dramatic drop into a narrow valley. But, I decided to avoid testing my balance and coordination as I stormed down the 1:4 grade. Even though the grass was reasonably forgiving, my feet were pushing hard into the front of my shoes. Halfway down, my toes were shouting obscenities and I expected to have to pick the nails out of my socks later.
With 18 of the 27+ miles finished, I was looking forward to six miles of short, steep hills and dreading the final slog along the shingle beach. I assumed that Nic had finished her relaxing run along that same beach - she needed to do something to pass the time while I played - and sent her a text from the next short uphill hike to let her know how I was doing. Her response was more than I could have hoped for: the course didn't cross the seafront road onto the beach, but stayed on the firmer path. For once, I was happy about the world of risk assessments and "health & safety" overload that probably kept us from dodging the traffic to get to the beach.
Knowing I didn't have two miles of slippery pebbles to navigate boosted my confidence. I still expected to totally crack and lose half an hour to just being unable to move any faster. But, I also knew that even blowing up at a 30 minute cost would have me finish in 5:45 - still 10 minutes below my expected finish time. I kept to my strategy of fast plodding up the hills, free-flowing running down, and covered the next five miles of rollers in an hour.
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| Fast starters were now paying dearly, but at least they had some nice views to ease the pain. |
I had company from a couple of first-time marathon runners through this stage. They were in good spirits, but weren't used to the idea that it's OK to walk up a hill. As a result, they had beaten themselves up and were struggling to keep forward momentum. I enjoyed having someone to talk to along the minor roads heading to the beach, and I'm sure they were happy to have the reassurance that walking up a steep hill is OK - especially if you've long since lost the strength to run it.
By the time we bottomed out at the wetland nature preserve, I was again on my own. I passed the occasional runner as bodies began to lose the battle. With only four miles left, and only one small hill to come, I was bemused to note that none of us was able to run with more than a hint of the freedom we had felt just a few hours before. Tight hips, sore knees, tired feet - each runner I saw was afflicted by something that made 10-step stair cases feel like mountains. My stride was now laughably short, but the sight of runners ahead helped me to keep going. For the first race in what felt like a long time, I was passing in the final half rather than being passed. In fact, looking back at the results, I had picked up nearly 30 places between miles 11 and 25. Previously, I was only catching one or two. So, I kept targetting the nearest runner as a way of moving forward.
At Torcross, one and a half miles from the finish, I still felt reasonably strong but very slow. The beach-front cottages and pubs were crowded with onlookers, enjoying the sunshine and cheering the tired, crazy people covered in mud and sweat. It was a huge boost. The final climb over Torcross point provided a few more nice views, and my very slow hiking provided the time for some pictures.
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| Looking back to Slapton Sands from Torcross Point |
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| Just enough energy left for a smile and 2 thumbs up. |
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| What a race! |
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| What a race?! |
Tuesday, 27 July 2010
The Seaview 17
My friend Dave posted an announcement on our club discussion board describing a great trail race in Devon - the Seaview 17 - 17 miles if you can fly, 20.5 if you're on foot. The race description included helpful tips like:
After a little more thought, I declined the offer and continued to plan my race-pace training run. But, the best laid plans of mice and men are often over-ruled by our nearest and dearest. I had forgotten to close web page, and Nic saw the race description. Nic loves the North Devon coastline, and we haven't been down there for a few years. So, with only a little effort, she convinced me to go and enjoy the trail, taking a fairly relaxed pace, and move my race-pace run to the next weekend.
We found a nice campground in Exmoor National Park, about 30 minutes from the race HQ for Saturday night. Since I've never been camping before (shocking! I blame the parents...), it was a bit of an adventure. After joining the queues on the motorway (first weekend of the school holidays), we enjoyed a tranquil evening and a fabulous meal at The Royal Oak in Winsford.
On Sunday, we got up, packed up the dewey tent, and headed to Minehead - just in time for me to collect my race number and jump on the bus to the starting point, near Lynton. As we headed into the hills, low, concerned voices began to ask, "how will we see the trail, much less the markers?!"
You see, it can be a bit misty on Exmoor. So, although it wasn't too cold, it was touch-and-go whether the cloud we were in would burn off or turn to rain. Having nearly frozen on the South Coast, I decided to be cautious and chose the short sleeves instead of the vest. After all, this would be a nice easy run.
At the horn, we quickly trotted 10 metres and then waited for everyone to join the single-file track. Those with ambition, like Dave, sprinted off down the trail. The rest of us filtered in and went at whatever pace the person in front could manage. So, I had a slow and easy 3 miles of warm-up, passing where there was space and jogging along where there wasn't. I didn't feel any need to hurry, since I hadn't run 20 miles since the 3 Forts in May. I knew there would be time and space to tire myself out later on. During much of this time, I was actually happy to have a mist to keep me from enjoying the views. At times the track was quite technical, so a glance at a stunning sea view might have quickly turned into a snail's-eye view of the trail-side bushes (some of them a fair way below the trail).
At about 5 miles, the mist rose just enough to confirm that I did have the sea on the correct side. The course rose and fell enjoyably, with a nice steep track down to Portlock, the lowest point on the race. We joined the pebble beach/sea-wall for a short distance and then passed through the fields to the foot of Selworthy Beacon.
The pebble beach looked much worse than it felt, but I wouldn't have wanted to run it in a hurry!
I'd spent a bit of race-prep time looking at the big climb on the topographic map, so I knew it would be evil. Preparation is one thing, but execution is another... I kept my heart rate down as I hiked up the hill, so I wasn't exhausted at the top. Unfortunately, my calves were in rebellion - they didn't get much of a break even though the heart and lungs did. So, with 5-6 miles left to go, I shuffled along the top of the ridge until the legs started to relax enough to break back into a run. Any pretence of speed was killed by the hill, but I still hoped to pick up some pace on the descent into Minehead.
As I headed down the final hill, I realized the switch-backs would be too short to allow any good running and eased down to the beachfront. I checked my Garmin and was relieved to note that I only had a mile or so left. As I approached the finish, I heard Dave cheering me on. I checked his result (8th!). He had done well, but added a little extra with a wrong turn. I misunderstood, and thought the course was longer than expected, and my heart sank. I only had enough oomph left for another few hundred yards, not another mile! I struggled through the chewed-up ground near the cricket club, rounded the fence, and ran in the final 200 yards to the finish. I was spent!
A shower, followed by fish & chips on the seafront, helped revive me enough to decide that, on balance, this was a good race. The organization was great. The route was a mental and physical challenge, and the finish in the cricket club featured some nice tea and cakes. What more could a runner want for a nice day out at the seaside?
Take some sustenance and a deep breath here as looming above you is the long climb to Selworthy Beacon which will take every ache in your body and double it.So, what's not to like? Normally, I would jump at a chance to test myself against a tough course in a beautiful part of the country. But, right now I'm deep in training for a fast run in the Amsterdam Marathon, so I've got to spend a few Sunday mornings on the roads, getting used to maintaining a steady pace. So, I left the web page open to return to after a little more thought.
After a little more thought, I declined the offer and continued to plan my race-pace training run. But, the best laid plans of mice and men are often over-ruled by our nearest and dearest. I had forgotten to close web page, and Nic saw the race description. Nic loves the North Devon coastline, and we haven't been down there for a few years. So, with only a little effort, she convinced me to go and enjoy the trail, taking a fairly relaxed pace, and move my race-pace run to the next weekend.
We found a nice campground in Exmoor National Park, about 30 minutes from the race HQ for Saturday night. Since I've never been camping before (shocking! I blame the parents...), it was a bit of an adventure. After joining the queues on the motorway (first weekend of the school holidays), we enjoyed a tranquil evening and a fabulous meal at The Royal Oak in Winsford.
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| The intrepid campers prepare for a peaceful night at Halse Farm Campsite. |
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| This may be The Blue Ball Inn near the start. It'ss hard to say, as I was a full 30 feet away... |
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| Where's the sea view? |
At about 5 miles, the mist rose just enough to confirm that I did have the sea on the correct side. The course rose and fell enjoyably, with a nice steep track down to Portlock, the lowest point on the race. We joined the pebble beach/sea-wall for a short distance and then passed through the fields to the foot of Selworthy Beacon.
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| The rather large pebbles at Portlock |
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| The long, slow, hot, slow climb (slow) up Selworthy Beacon |
As I headed down the final hill, I realized the switch-backs would be too short to allow any good running and eased down to the beachfront. I checked my Garmin and was relieved to note that I only had a mile or so left. As I approached the finish, I heard Dave cheering me on. I checked his result (8th!). He had done well, but added a little extra with a wrong turn. I misunderstood, and thought the course was longer than expected, and my heart sank. I only had enough oomph left for another few hundred yards, not another mile! I struggled through the chewed-up ground near the cricket club, rounded the fence, and ran in the final 200 yards to the finish. I was spent!
A shower, followed by fish & chips on the seafront, helped revive me enough to decide that, on balance, this was a good race. The organization was great. The route was a mental and physical challenge, and the finish in the cricket club featured some nice tea and cakes. What more could a runner want for a nice day out at the seaside?
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