2012 Hilly 100 Relay

Given almost two weeks to reflect on the race, one would hope that I'd have developed some deep insight into this year's instalment of one of my favourite events.  Alas, perhaps not....

The day, once again, started oh-so-very-early.  After 2011's fun, we decided that the race is easiest to manage if someone is following the baton, with a small band of dedicated family members and club runners acting as transport for the runners.  As a result, we needed to be at the start before 5:00.  Having made my final substitution of an injured runner the day before, I was a little twitchy when the alarm went off at 3:50.  By 4:30, I'd confirmed that the first 2 runners were in position and headed to the start line with super-crew-chief Nic relieved that I wouldn't have to stand in for the first leg.  My leg wasn't until the afternoon, to give me time to re-jig runners if needed, but I was happy to avoid the need for any last-minute shuffling.

The early birds ready for the start

When I sent in the entry form, I still didn't have a clear picture of the team.  April is marathon season, and people have a tendency to drop out with injuries and insufficient recovery.  With the list of ~15 runners, I knew at least a few wouldn't make it to the start - but I didn't know which ones.  Therefore, I entered the team in the earliest start time to make sure we finished well in advance of the 18:00 target deadline.  By the time the participant list had nearly solidified (3 days before the race), it was clear that we had a chance of a podium finish.

Any event that lasts for 13 hours will have its little incidents.  This year's Hilly was no different.  My leg 3 runner nearly missed the baton change by parking up about half a mile down the wrong road - we recovered her just in time.  The leg 4-5 transition point was perfectly placed to attract the attention (and wrath) of a local farmer who really didn't appreciate a load of runners parking in the drive to his farm.  A change in transition points confused the team captain (me) and resulted in a poor estimation, which had the leg 6 runner handing over to said team captain a bit behind schedule.  Add to that a great run by the leg 6 runner from Kenilworth, and I had my first 1-on-1 race in quite a long time (honours even - after a big effort to close the gap, he struggled to hold on in the final 5km and I regained our buffer).  Finally, 13 hours after the start, we confirmed that EVRC had successfully defended our 2011 B-race 3rd place (as well as defending our title as 1st mixed team).

Amazingly, we had knocked 39 minutes off last year's time.  I think we might just start at 6am next year - I look forward to the extra sleep!

While we were stopped to cheer on our runners, Nic took the opportunity to capture some of the sights that make this race such a joy.

Warming up - it took a long time to get the legs moving after all that "passenger-time".

Local asparagus - you can't beat it in season!

Red Kite Challenge and Ras y Diafol - a foray into proper fell racing

This weekend is a three-day one, due to the national holiday celebrating the first floods of the year (or possibly May Day, if you don't live near a river).  To celebrate the extra recovery time available, it is customary to put on stupidly difficult races.  In 2010, I ran my first trail marathon (Three Forts Challenge).  In 2011, I completed my final Endurancelife Coastal Trail Series marathon of the year at the inaugural Endurancelife Festival.  I can confidently say that the latter was the more difficult course.  I had planned to head back to Sussex to have another go at the Three Forts, but then I saw some of the other races available on the weekend.  Plan A was Malvern Ultra due to the lack of travel required.  However, once Nic was successfully putting away the training miles, we changed plans and set our sights on the Welsh Hills.  For this change of plans, I blame my good friend Roy.

Roy and I have been training together for a few years now.  If ever I want to find a new route, I ask Roy along.  We're a similar pace, like similar trails, and are equally good at finding "scenic" options to the path we're meant to be following.  He has been singing the praises of the Red Kite & Ras y Diafol (Devil's Race) for a year or two, and when Nic suggested that she get to choose a race for once, we decided to give it a shot.  On paper, the weekend shouldn't be too hard: 11 miles on Saturday, 17 miles on Sunday, ~5000ft of ascent combined.  It should be no more difficult than this year's CTS courses, so why not have a nice weekend running in the hills?  Day one takes place from the Red Kite visitor centre (great viewing of these amazing birds), and day two is just a few miles away.  Add to the fun that friends Roy, Chris, Ned, and Sheila were all running both days, and what could be more relaxing?

And then, of course, one pins on the race number and all thoughts of a relaxed and scenic run go out the window.  They are replaced by thoughts like "It's only 11 miles" and "race today and then worry about tomorrow when it comes".  Having tried to race last month's Exmoor ultra and come slightly unstuck, I decided to listen to the speed demon on my shoulder rather than the armchair angel.

Nic's picture from the Red Kite Challenge.

The Red Kite Challenge also happens to be the Welsh trail running championships, so the field is pretty handy.  A couple of local international-class runners turn up to have a wee sprint while the rest of us grind it out in their wake.

The race starts with a gentle run around the lake and then throws in a few modest climbs of between 100ft and 400ft, before giving us an amazing two-mile, 900ft descent.  I'm pretty sure this was the first time I had ever put two sub-6 miles into a race (I haven't even done that in a 5K!), and that was taking the hill with a fair amount of control to save something for the inevitable uphill.  It was an amazing feeling to be moving that quickly for an extended period.

Eventually, the down ended and we went straight back up out of the valley - another 800ft in a little under two miles of fast hiking with occasional runnable bits.  Upon reaching the top, my climbing muscles were in rebellion, but the race was over half-way finished.  The final five miles were gently undulating (little rolling 100-200ft ups and downs), which certainly kept the heart rate high as I tried to keep from losing too many places to the more practised fell runners.  A final sprint got me to the line in a reasonable time, but with not much energy left.  I was even too tired to eat any of the delicious-looking fruitcake on offer at the finish.

Nic finishing strong on Day 1
 (courtesy of Alastair Tye / www.fellrunningpictures.co.uk)

Once everyone had finished, we made for the tea shop and I joined the queue.  They must have run out of tea, because eventually we gave up on the lack of progress and headed back out onto the balcony to watch the kites and wait for the award ceremony.  Chris and Roy showed their experience by bringing a huge Thermos of hot water and sharing out some very warming coffee - saviours!

With prizes for the open race, Welsh race, and age groups, the prize-giving lasted for quite some time.  But, I'm glad we stayed because Nic picked up an age-group silver medal for her sterling effort!  Ned, Sheila, and Chris picked up age-group bronzes, and Roy and I won the opportunity to buy drinks in the pub later in the evening.

Day two was a bit more of a relaxed affair.  Only a fraction of the field come out to do the combined event, and a few people turn out just to do the longer run.  The plan on Saturday morning was to just take this as a recovery run, but once again the number got pinned to the chest and sense got left in the kit bag.  However, I had a pack on this time, so at least had the chance to take a few pictures on the run.

I'm sure that's the only hill we didn't run up!

The course starts fairly gently, with a short downhill and a steady uphill.  We were joined by some enthusiastic horses for a short time (somewhere just out of the picture).  Just before mile three, we began what seemed like a fairly innocuous climb and then turned into mountain-goat territory.  At this point, I started a game of hill leapfrog with Sheila that lasted nearly nine miles.  She would leave me for dust on the ups and I would catch her and try to gain some margin on the downs.

The challenge of the day was the two-mile, 1000ft climb up to nearly half-way.  As I dragged myself up the switchbacks, Roy caught up for a brief chat and Sheila pulled well clear.  I managed not to lose too many places with my relatively slow pace, but it was a huge effort to keep any pace at all.

At last, the long uphill was finished.

The hill finally ended with a short section through a wind farm.  It was amazing to pass so close to the majestic, near-silent drone of the blades as they slowly rotated.  From there, we had nearly three miles of descent broken by the occasional sharp hill during which to "recover".  I eventually caught up to Sheila again, just in time to ruin it all with yet another uphill section.  From 12.5 miles, it's essentially down hill to the finish.  Unfortunately, I slightly missed a step and jarred my right leg on some stairs.  By the time I reached 14 miles and the end of a long steep road, my right calf was objecting to the point of full cramp.  I'd been taking salt tablets to avoid cramp since I was dripping with sweat for much of the race, but obviously the calf didn't enjoy having to take up the slack for the muscles that suffered from the earlier misstep.  So, with a few stops to massage and stretch, I started to lose time properly.

The silly leg did ease up enough to get back up to a reasonable jog, but not before Roy caught me.  I could see the joy on his face from catching me at last, and wished him well (something encouraging like "carry on, because I'm going to try to catch you!").  It was the kick up the backside I needed to get back into a proper run.  It didn't feel great, but it also didn't feel like getting worse.

Although I struggled any time the ground was particularly rough, I could focus on chasing Roy.  I started to see more runners that I'd long-since passed lining up in the distance behind me, and that gave me even more encouragement to "man-up" and move faster.  That, for me, is one of the key differences between racing a run and just running it for the experience.  When I'm racing, finishing position matters.  When I'm running just against myself and the course, then the watch and the view are the arbiters of success.  I knew as we came into the last mile that I couldn't catch Roy (I'm sure he'd have died before letting go of the few hundred metres margin he built up).  But I also knew that I could keep the line of runners where they were - behind me.

As the line approached, I was 2nd in a loose group of three.  The runner behind me sprinted for the line with an energy that I certainly did not possess.  When the man in front didn't respond to his charge, I decided to give it a go and slowly ramped up into an ugly sprint.  This time, he responded - obviously he saw the state of me and decided he just couldn't lose to such a wreck.  We shouted each other to the finish in an epic battle against our rebellious legs.

It's all fun and games at the end of a great run. (courtesy of Alastair Tye)

It's laughable to watch two grown men struggle for the line in the middle of a race that was over so long ago that the winner had already showered, but at the time it seems like a good idea.  We finished in the same time, and I got the position on alphabetic ordering, but the photo shows he may have been a bit ahead.

Roy also had a sprint finish, just a few seconds earlier (courtesy of Alastair Tye)

The double-race weekend was tough, but was also a lot of fun.  It's great to share the race experience with friends, and two-day events double the pleasure.  Chris and Sheila picked up awards for the Ras y Diafol, and all three ladies won their age categories for the combined events.  I won a very fine bar of chocolate for completing both events, which was rather welcome on Monday afternoon when the munchies hit.  There are, as I said, a lot of great events on the May Day holiday weekend.  I think the others may take a back seat for a few years, because I have already pencilled a return to Wales for next year!

Chris and Ras y Diofl running partner Idris receive  Chris's age-group win award.
(courtesy of Alastair Tye)

Sheila and Ned with multiple awards, including Ras y Diafol 2nd lady
(courtesy of Alastair Tye)

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.

Hampton Ferry Charity Race - the pain that is a 5K

Around this time each year, some of our local runners put on a small race along the banks of the Avon in aid of Diabetes UK.  This year, I was actually both home and fit and so had the opportunity to join in the fun.  Nearly 20 EVRC runners took part, so it was a very sociable, if nervy, atmosphere as many muttered about how much it hurts to race a 5K.  My last 5K was in 2010, so I wasn't quite sure how it would go.  Add in the fatigue of last week's ultra, and my race would be a bit of a lottery.

I don't really have space for a 5K in my ultra training, so I decided to put in a nice long warm-up and then top up after the race to at least get 10 in for the day.  At least I started off as loose as my body felt likely to get.  The goal was to start off aiming for sub-19 and find out how long I could hold on.  The start was quite quick as we tried to cross a field and hit the trail in line to avoid a bottleneck.  I finished the first mile dead on pace at 6:06 and knew I wouldn't be holding it much longer.  I managed to keep going at 6:21 pace for the rest of the race, until the obligatory sprint finish.  The brain kept asking for faster, but the body just wasn't moving efficiently enough to increase the speed.  My lungs felt set to burst, and my abs felt like someone was standing on me.  Within a minute or so of finishing, I felt human, but like I'd been beaten.

Only when I'd cooled down a bit after the race did I remember that I still had another four miles to run.  Since home was only a mile and a half away, I added some warm layers and headed off in the opposite direction to begin my long, very slow cool-down.  It wasn't pretty, but it was good training to put in some miles on a very tired body.  In the end, my 19:35 gave me a new PB by 14 seconds, which is pretty satisfying considering that I'd just completed my longest ever run just a week ago.