Gear Review: Event Clips

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.

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.

Sun and clouds over Lundy in the distance.

The next 20 miles were more or less the same.  We hiked up steep hills and then picked our way down them.  Again, and again and again.  We would climb up steeply for 500ft, then plunge right back to sea level, then straight back up again.  There were also some woods and some fields, but mostly there were lovely sea views and tricky paths.

New hill, new view!

Fruit cake! Score! (Picture by Roy)

Chris and I stuck together.  I’m sure she had to wait for me a bit on the flat, but we were pretty evenly matched on the hills.

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.

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!

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.

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.

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.

Hiking up the hill as fast as it will let us.

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).

Finishing at last!

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.

Endurancelife CTS Sussex Ultra - Fun in the Sun

The Endurancelife sun-god mojo is back, and the weekend it was back with a vengeance!  Sun, sea, and trails make for an amazing combination, and Saturday's CTS Sussex ultra had it all.  I had been approaching the race with regular alternation between a nervous tick and smug calmness.  As the weather report continued to show sunshine and warmth, I couldn't wait to tackle the hills without needing to worry about staying warm.

Being me, though, I took three choices of top and two choices of long-sleeve windproof (mandatory kit), and mentally changed between short-sleeves and vest repeatedly in the pre-race lounging period.  In the end, Nic (in her 2nd marathon) and I both opted for to replace sleeves with sunscreen as the temperatures edged into the teens (>50F).  Thankfully, I was in the early start, so I didn't have time to vacillate further.  Unfortunately, I was still a bit vacant and neglected a few pre-race plans that would come back to get me a little later.

I lined up with the other ultra runners for the first time with a bit of trepidation and a clear race plan.  I'd only run over 30 miles once before, in last summer's Trailblaze on the Cotswold Way.  Then, it was a rather lonely start line.  This time, there were a few familiar faces from other CTS events, so it didn't feel too much like a new experience.  The only difference between this and the other races would be that, upon reaching the finish line of the marathon, I would keep going and take in the "10K" route (more like 8 miles than 6.2).  With an extra 7 miles and around 2000ft of extra ascent compared to last month's effort in Devon, I'd already decided to run the ultra at around 40 seconds per mile slower than I had the marathon.  I figured that would see me comfortably through the first 26 and leave me a fairly manageable task to get around again to the finish line.

Don't look back, those hills are for much later! (Pics by Nic)

We set off, dibbing in at the start rather than as a bunch.  This meant that we would be ranked in chip-time order. With a staggered start, there were no pinchpoints on the path and I started off fairly steadily, easing along the flattish start before the attack on the Seven Sisters.  As usual, my plan was to speed-hike the steep ascents (or slowly walk, depending on the distance into the race).  This tactic resulted in a fairly rhythmless first 10K as the course took us up and down the hills like some sort of demented fairground ride.  The highlight of this first section, aside from the excellent views, was when I cracked open the larder for my first bite of the run - a yummy, garlicky hummous (hummus to the North Americans) wrap.  I've grown tired of only sweet foods, and have been playing about with savouries for a little while.  It was quite pleasant to hike up a hill in the sunshine eating food that reminded me of the beaches of Zakynthos.

See hills, run hills.

With all the ups and downs, I managed to keep an average of around 10:40min/mi until we hit the largest climb of the day, starting just after 7 miles and climbing a mere 680 feet over the next three miles.  It wasn't the hardest climb, but it took us to the highest point.  It also provided me with a chance to open my first aid kit and get out some micropore to tape my nipples.  I generally do this as a matter of routine before the race, but somehow forgot.  Wearing a vest meant that I had a bit more flapping fabric on my chest than normal, and so I noticed at about 10K that I would have a problem in a few hours if I didn't protect myself.  That's the great thing about uphill hiking - your hands can work on running repairs if necessary.

The bad thing about going up hills is that your feet move slightly differently in your shoes to when you are running.  In my case, this exposed that I'd also forgotten to put a blister plaster on my heel.  I'd planned the prophylactic plaster to avoid any issues with the hole I'd put into the shoe liner a few weeks previously.  Oops.  It's not particularly efficient to make running repairs to your feet.  So, upon reaching the top of the hill I promptly sat on the grass to tape the vulnerable heel and just as promptly lost about eight places.  A couple of runners kindly offered help if needed, which eased the annoyance of dropping so many places.  Normally, I don't bother too much with placings in the early part of a race.  However, when you've been keeping people at bay for miles, only to see them trotting off in the distance ahead of you, it's pretty galling.

Over the next eight miles, which were mostly down even though they included five short, steep hills, I concentrated on keeping my pace up and trying not to get lost.  A few near misses where signs had kindly been "adjusted" by passers-by only added a few hundred yards. There were a couple of handy water stops that slowed me down as I re-filled but meant I never had to struggle to stay hydrated.  By now, it was lunch time and there were plenty of hikers and picnickers offering support as we passed.  Then came "the hard part".

The eighteen-mile point in a marathon is traditionally where things start to get properly hard.  At this stage, you've worked through the excitement of the start, the "easy" 2nd 10K where your body is flowing well and you (hopefully) feel like there's plenty in the tank to get you through.  The 3rd 10K is where you realize you are actually running quite a distance.  Typically, from around 18 miles, you're into the realms of your longer training runs and your mind and body are subconsciously preparing to wind down for a meal and celebratory beer.

Tired legs love this sort of stuff!

So, how better to celebrate reaching 19 miles than to climb some hills?  It's only 500 feet, and it's only half a mile.  What's the problem?  To be honest, not much.  The run down to the foot of Beachy Head was not unduly uncomfortable.  Then comes the 350ft climb over a mile up Beachy Head.  Again, it's not that bad. The half-marathoners were running up full of huff and puff.  But, with 19 miles in the legs and at least 15 to go, I just watched them speed away into the distance.  As I found last year in the marathon, this section just draws the life out of the legs.  Steeply up, steeply down.  Repeat.

Running in a rhythm didn't really happen again until around mile 22, when a nice long downhill gave me a chance to get the legs moving for a while in a normal running motion.  I carried on merrily towards the finish line, knowing that I had less than a half marathon left to go.  As I neared the finish line (first pass), I noticed I was still in the 11 minute/mile range I'd set myself as a target, and that I was also faster than when I only had the 26 to do the previous year.  I stopped to refill my water again, and then carried on past the finishers heading towards their cars.  The extra 10K loop was looking pretty lonely, with only 2 runners in view.

Once more into the breach!

Back onto the Sisters I went, struggling to gather myself into a good rhythm.  I kept the nearest runner in my sights, but couldn't seem to reel him in fast enough.  He provided a good target, but with the penultimate check point at 28 miles, I lost more time as I refilled again. In hindsight, I'm not entirely sure why I stopped here.  I'm pretty sure I had plenty of water.  I can only think that the closer I got to running further than I ever had before, the less sure I was about my decisions.  However, from this point, I was back into the course I'd already run, and immediately felt more confident about what lay ahead.  I started to get it back together and tried to steadily get back some time.

By now, I knew it really was only around 10K left to go, and all I had to do was get through it.  The downhills didn't feel great, but I was able to run them.  I pushed hard again to hike up the hills (only a few left now), and turned around quite happy at the final check point near the top of Beachy Head (again!).  From here it was basically down hill and with the breeze.  I also noted that my target had made one last bio break, which had him within catching distance.  So, I sped up to catch him.  After about a minute, my head went quite light and fuzzy and I realized that a full-speed 800 to finish and catch up would be more likely to result in a spectacular fall than gaining a place (due to the chip-timed placing system).  So, I eased back just enough to not feel like I would pass out and carried on to finish about 100 yards behind  him (1:37 in chip times, though) in a solid 17th place.

Oh, so very happy to get to stop at the finish line this time!

All told, it was a pretty good experience for my first time over 33 miles.  Certainly there were some good learning points for next month's Exmoor race.  Who knows, I might even keep it together long enough to do some racing after 18 miles.

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?"

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:

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. 

The intrepid campers prepare for a peaceful night at Halse Farm Campsite.

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?!"

This may be The Blue Ball Inn near the start.  It'ss hard to say, as I was a full 30 feet away...

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.

Where's the sea view?

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 rather large pebbles at Portlock

The pebble beach looked much worse than it felt, but I wouldn't have wanted to run it in a hurry!

The long, slow, hot, slow climb (slow) up Selworthy Beacon

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?