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?"

CTS Sussex Marathon - Stage 6 of 8

The preparation for the latest Endurancelife event was pretty straightforward:  recover from the last one enough to make it to the starting line.  With only two weeks between Pembrokeshire and Sussex, I focussed on rest and rehab for the first week, rebuilding the little tweaks and tears that any race will cause.  I did a bit of light running in the second week, more for relaxation than for physical training.  My body wasn’t really in the mood to run, but we were due a sunny week and I was looking forward to some excellent scenery.

As anticipated, the morning dawned calm and hazy.  It wasn’t warm, but we were due to start at around 10 degrees and climb up to around 14 with some extra warmth if the sun broke through the mist.  Morning preparations went well, and I felt fully fuelled by the time we arrived for registration.  The only worry was that my legs felt like lead and I wanted a few more hours of sleep!  So, while I waited in the milky light for the race briefing, I found a nice patch of grass and stretched out for a cat nap.  Nic evidently found this amusing and kindly captured the moment for posterity.

Pre-race preparations

After what seemed like only a few seconds, but was probably a good few minutes of snoozing, it was time to get up and get warmed up.  My intention was to take it very easy in the first few minutes and then just take the day as it came.  I had no idea how my aching bones would cope with another day in the hills.

No need to hurry, the hills aren't going anywhere.

The course started at Birling Gap, in the middle of the “Seven Sisters.” The Seven Sisters are a series of short, steep hills on the English Channel coast, associated with the famous Beachy Head.  We headed west, taking in just over half of the Sisters on our first coastal section.  I’ve seen this iconic coastline on television many times – the stark white chalk offset by the blue sea, blue sky, and green grass.  It was invigorating to not just see it in person, but to be a part of it – to take on the challenge of the terrain and to appreciate its rugged beauty.

Looking back over Birling Gap towards Belle Tout Lighthouse

The course heading off across the Seven Sisters

The ascents were short and steep, and I hiked up most of them to conserve energy for later in the day.  The descents were built for speed – steep, generally soft under foot, and not too technical.  So, in typical fashion, I flew down the hills with arms and legs flailing and then slowed to a fast stomp once the momentum ran out on the uphill.  I was having so much fun, I even tried to get a few snaps on the way.  And, yes, I did actually exclaim “Wheeee!” on one of the more exciting drops.

This is what happens when you point the camera to the side on a fast downhill.

Steeply down followed by steeply up!

Plenty of hills to come

Only the leaders can run up all of these!

Green rolling hills just keep coming

Only a few Sisters left to go!

Wheeeee!!

Finally, the chalky Sisters are behind us

By the time we turned inland at around 5k, the field was completely spread.  All of the people I chatted with as we leapfrogged our ways up and down the Sisters were strung along the countryside.  I could see pairs of runners, but there were no more large groups.  I settled into a rhythm with the expectation of 24-25 miles of solitude broken only occasionally by the short exchange of running tales while passing or being passed.

Our trip through West Dean and the surrounding hills was fairly uneventful.  I reached the first check point at 5.5 miles feeling slightly better than I had at the start, but in generally high spirits.   The sun was occasionally shining, the wind was very light, and I was running comfortably enough in spite of the little aches and pains left over from my trip to Wales.  There was even a mile of flat running between Litlington and Alfriston (well, almost a mile).

Approaching Alfriston

From Folkington, the course turned south and back towards Birling Gap.  To get back to the coast, we had to climb back over a few miles of the South Downs.  As the coast neared, the wind speed increased.  The promised stiff breeze out of the Northeast was cool, but not overly unpleasant.  I donned my windproof vest that had been tucked away for the previous eight miles.  Happily, it never got cold enough to need a hat or gloves for the first time in months.

The long climb out of Folkington

Mist burning away on the South Downs.

The highest point in the race.

At about 11 miles, I started to figure out how far I would finish behind Nic.  She was running the half, which started an hour and a half after the marathon.  It’s funny how useful I now find all those irksome math problems from school that start “if a train starts from point A at 9AM, and another train starts from point B at…”.  Anyway, I guessed that I would finish 30-45 minutes after her.  Playing with the mental math and a few different scenarios kept my brain occupied through the final stretch of woodlands – there’s not much to see when you’re surrounded by trees.  It also confirmed that unless she was having a shocker, I wouldn’t catch her, so there was no point in trying to recover that amount of time just for the fun of passing her on the line.


At Birling Gap, I ran into (almost literally) the back half of the 10k as they started their race.  There was a small pinch point where we were going in opposite directions.  Thanks to those courteous 10k participants who let a fairly ragged and confused looking runner through! 

Next came the climb up to Belle Tout lighthouse, which had been shifted away from the eroding cliffs edge a few years ago.  This was a nice, gentle reminder that the remaining Sisters were still here and still steep.  On the way down from the lighthouse, the course turned directly into the ever-increasing breeze.  The remaining coastline became a trial against the wind, the hills, and general fatigue.

It was a long, slow climb up Beachy Head!

Beachy Head itself was a long, slow drag followed by a 1:2 descent.  I normally avoid leaning back on a downhill, but to lean forward wouldhave resulted in a very long and uncomfortable series of somersaults.  I ran / hopped my way down, barely in control.  By the time the gradient eased to a 1:3, I was still going too fast to open into a normal running stride.  It was easily the steepest descent I had ever successfully navigated, and was exhilarating.  It was also slightly exhausting, and I returned to a jog for the next mile or so while I recovered.  I was moving along easily enough, and sent Nic a message to say I’d finish somewhere between five hours and 5:15.

It wasn’t long before I left the coast again at Eastbourne, heading back up into the Downs.  For a while, the wind was again from behind and the sun gently shone.  The course led across the hills towards Birling Gap for a little over a mile.  Then we turned south towards the coast, and then again east back towards Eastbourne.  This little inland loop existed to make up the mileage, but the open downland provided some pleasant surroundings. 

There weren’t any flat sections, just up and down, into and out of the wind.  At 20 miles, I started to feel light-headed.  I realized that I was fast-approaching The Wall.  I had planned to take my final gel at around 21 miles anyway, so I downed it with plenty of water and slowed to an easy walk for about 5 minutes to give my body a chance to process some of the sugars floating around my bloodstream.  The south-bound segment started with a nice steady downhill, so I eased back into a run while I had gravity on my side.  I started to feel better, and was able to keep a reasonable pace until the turn back into the wind at 23 miles.  The wind pushed me to a slow trudge, and then a long, exposed drag broke me.  I dropped back to a walk and sent Nic an update that I was going to be an extra half hour, given how things were going. 

My experience of these races has led me to plan for a 28 mile run, regardless of the official distance.  At Pembrokeshire, I felt like rubbish for the last four miles, always thinking that it wasn’t too far to the finish, so I might as well just push on.  In the end, I lost quite a lot of time in those four miles, and finished completely wiped out.  With that in mind, I opened my “emergency” pack for the reserve gel and took it.  Gels normally take about 15 minutes to have an effect.  At the pace I was moving, that would give me some benefit at 24 miles.  With luck, I would also be moving from the simple sugars of the previous gel to making use of the complex sugars at about the same time – a double boost.

Just before the 24-mile checkpoint, Nic sent me back a message to say that she’d finished the half, and the final 5k was basically flat.  So, as I climbed to the checkpoint and watched the paragliders launching themselves off the cliffs, I held out hope that I was nearly over the worst.  The marshals confirmed that only a little over 3 miles remained (only 27 miles this time!), and I started to feel human again.  We headed down towards the road, and I saw the earlier treacherous drop from the top of Beach Head off to my left.  At that point, I realised that we would not re-climb that monstrosity, and cracked a grin.  Obviously, the sugars were also starting to work, because my improved mood coincided with improved pace.

The course carried on along the lower portions of the cliffs, and my legs started to feel strong.  I eased down the last steady hill at a good run, texting Nic as I picked my way among the gorse, to let her know I was running again and would finish soon.  The bad patch well and truly behind me, I pushed the pace for the last two miles, knowing I would have three weeks to recover.  With the stiff wind now at my back, plenty of gentle downhill, and refuelled legs, the finish came quickly. 

Speeding to the finish!

Looking back, those last two miles were two of the three fastest of my race.  The tailwind made an enormous difference.  And, with the help of a little sugar and water, I managed to recover the 5:30-5:45 I’d anticipated when everything was falling apart and finish in under five hours.  Mentally, the race was as difficult as any I’ve done.  It was made a little easier by also being one of the most scenic courses I’ve experienced for any distance.  And completing it in a good time gives me confidence that I might just manage the stupidly hard Exmoor (5/5 on the difficulty scale) in a sub-6 time.  Bring on the recovery, and bring on the next race!

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.

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.

It's a long way to Prawle Point, but the sun makes it all good!

It's still a long way to Prawle Point...

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! 

Some hills don't look like much until you turn left...

Looking back to Start Point.  It seems so flat.

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.

Looking back to Prawle Point

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!

Just a couple of small hills on the way to Mill Bay

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.

Kingsbridge Estuary and Mill Bay are just over the hill and around the bend...

Looking over to Salcombe

Even the seas were relaxed.

A final look back along the coast before heading inland.

Doh, if you take your eye off the trail, it throws another climb in as punishment!

I still can't get enough of these cliffs!

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.

Heading away from the sea.

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. 

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.

Looking back to Slapton Sands from Torcross Point

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.

Just enough energy left for a smile and 2 thumbs up.

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!

What a race!

What a race?!

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?