Drowning in the lakes - Lakeland 100 leg 1 recce

Back in September, I was successful in the Lakeland 100 ballot. At the end of July, I will once again set off from Coniston, and attempt to run 105 miles around the Lake District. When I entered the ballot for this years race, I knew there were 3 key areas I needed to address. Areas that will help me avoid a repeat of my 2023 DNF (did not finish).

These areas are:

Little did I know, this would be the last time I’d see the sun

1. Complete a 100 mile race, prove to myself I’m capable of going the distance. I did this in October, at Centurions Autumn 100.

2. Increase my strength training - the Lakeland fells eat weak legs for breakfast! This has been ongoing for the last few months.

3. Take every possible opportunity, to gain experience running on mountainous terrain. Again, this is ongoing.

This blog will cover a marathon distance run I did back in November. Following the Lakeland 100 route, from Coniston to Buttermere. As it’s now almost 2 months later, this won’t be a long blog. Many of my memories of the day have been buried very deep, for good reason!

On the plus side, my INOV8 Stormshell didn’t let a drop of rain in

I will quickly note, this was a recce organised by the team behind the Lakeland 100. Everyone parked,in Buttermere, and there were busses taking runners from there to Coniston.

Going into this run, a combination of illness and A100 recovery, had restricted me to 3 runs in 3 weeks. Short runs too! I started the day still feeling under the weather, and not feeling remotely fit. I’d learn as the day went on, just how far from fitness I actually was!

There was no fan fare leaving Coniston, this wasn’t race day after all. Runners simply hop off the bus and head off in their own time. There was a bitter, icy chill in the air, as we quickly gained elevation. The first few miles are steep, but pretty straightforward. We reach roughly 600m. Before a sharp, but not particularly technical descent into Seathwaite. It was in the approach to this descent that we saw the sun for the last time of the day. The cloud was coming in, and conditions were only going one way..

The section from Seathwaite to Boot doesn’t have the climbing of the first leg, but it’s where you get your first glimpse of really shitty underfoot conditions! Being November I expected the bogs to be bad. As it happens, I was pleasantly surprised. I actually think they were worse in July! The mud was slick though, and I found myself in my bum a couple of times. This is a section I find really frustrating. There are no major inclines to slow you down, but the ground is far more technical than I’m used to. That really slows me down. This was also the section where I felt the first few spots of rain, these would prove to be the first of many!

As I trudged up the climb out of Boot and made my way towards Wasdale Head, I questioned whether I should turn back and pull myself out. This was a section of the course I thought I’d be able to claw back some time on. Instead I was walking very runnable trails, as the cold I thought I was at the end of, made its presence very much known. I was coughing and spluttering, as the icy wind and rain numbed my face. A few more slips and heading into Wasdale, I’d made the decision to call it a day. The weather was awful, I felt awful, and the upcoming section was the hardest of the lot!

Having reached Wasdale Head, with the intent to stop. Seeing the volunteers rushing around and struggling to keep up with demand, made me rethink. I didn’t want to be another burden upon them. So, I made my way towards Black Sail Pass. This is one of the toughest climbs of the whole 105 course. The descent on the other side is far from easy too! The only reprieve is the way the climb winds, this does afford you some shelter from the worst of the weather. The whole section from Wasdale Head to Buttemere, is only about 11km. But it took me over 2 hours! Don’t get me wrong, this is a slow section at the best of times! But the ferocious weather, combined with my failing lungs, made it a huge struggle. Making my way through these final few miles, I just wanted to be done. My gloved hands were numb from the cold, the rest of me felt like Mike Tyson’s punchbag!

It was a wet, gloomy day in Wasdale

One blessing that day, was the rain stopping when I reached the car. I could put in fresh, warm clothes. And not have them soaked through before I’d had a chance to savour them! Still, it took me upwards of an hour, with heated seats and car heaters in full blast, to stop shivering! I’ll hope for better when I take on the Buttermere to Dalemain leg in March..

Check out this run on Strava: https://strava.app.link/88fi3X2tfGb

Running 100 miles - Centurion Autumn 100

Goring village hall acts as HQ for the duration of the race.

Arriving in the twinned villages of Goring and Streatley, it would have been obvious to all, something unusual was going on. Cars line the streets, from all directions men and women were walking with duffel bags. People were stopping in the bridge, which separated the two villages, to take scenic photos and selfies. Most of these people had nervous, even awe struck looks on their faces. This is because, we were only about an hour from the start, of Centurions annual Autumn 100. Men and women had travelled from across the country, further in some cases. So they could attempt to run 100 miles!

James Elson delivers his race briefing. (Official race photo from https://www.centurionrunning.com)

Registration is always an efficient process at Centurion races. Walk in, get your number, get your GPS tracker, hand in your drop bag, walk out. From there, there was time to grab as coffee and croissant, on a leisurely stroll to the starting area. Here, around 250 competitors, along with supporting friends and family, waited anxiously for the race briefing. This came at around 8.40, when James Elson - Centurions big boss and a highly respected ultra runner himself, climbed high and grabbed a megaphone to make himself heard. Shoutouts to some of the most inspirational members of the field, accompanied jokes, anecdotes, important information, words of wisdom and well wishes followed. Then, at 9am sharp, we were set in our way!

A visual representation of the four legs, or spurs. (Image from centurionrunning.com)

Sort of… what followed was a huge traffic jam, as runners were met by an immediate bottleneck. An 8.55 opening kilometre wasn’t what I’d planned, but it doesn’t really matter when you’ve still got 162 more to go! If anything it was a good thing, it stopped me getting carried away and flying out too fast. That’s the kind of mistake you know you shouldn’t make, but nerves can make us do daft things sometimes! At this point, it’d be worth me mentioning the unique nature of this course. The route is split into four different, 25 mile (ish) out and back legs. You run 12.5 miles (ish), then turn around and run back. You then repeat three more times, in different trails. It sounds so easy when you put it like that!

Much of leg one was spent running alongside the Thames.

Crossing the bridge between Streatley and Goring

The first leg follows the Thames Path, so it’s flat as a pancake! The morning was perfect in terms of weather. However, it had rained heavily in the days leading up to the race. This, combined with the heavy foot traffic this section receives, meant the ground had gotten very muddy and slippery. In parts, I had to walk, just to ensure I kept my balance! As with the start though, being forced to slow down occasionally, isn’t a bad thing. Aside from the annoying road diversion, around a closed section of the path, this was a very pretty leg. The river weaves through rural farmland and sleepy hamlets. Rowers we’re training in the water as birds sung in the trees. Dog walkers, whom I imagine were shocked to find 250 runners invading their usual route. Were largely supportive, offering words of encouragement as they cleared space for us to pass (I can only imagine how annoying this was for them!) At the third aid station, I was called for a random kit check. I’d never known one of these carried out in course before, and thought they were a bit of a myth. It’s a bit annoying having to open your bag up, partway through a race, although not as annoying as when I had to do it again in leg two! Personally I much prefer the process of a full kit check at registration, rather than being asked for random items in course. It is what it is though, I passed and was on my way. I’d eventually finish the first leg with around 4 hours 20 mins in the clock.

Woodland trails are where I’m most at home (photo from centurionrunning.com)

At some point towards the end of leg one, I had a revelation.. 100 miles is a really long way! (Duhhh!) A strange thing happens when you start to run longer distances. Shorter distances, which are still long, become short in your head. When I trained for my first marathon, 10 miles ceased to be a distance I considered to be long. I guess it’s all relative in your mind. In the build up to this race, I started to think of it as being just 25 miles, four times. I’m running 100 miles, which is long. 25 miles is only a quarter of ling, so it must be short! At some point towards the end of that first leg I though, “25 miles is almost a marathon, a marathon is a fucking long way!” The brain (maybe it’s just my brain?) is a strange thing!

Daylight would soon be a thing of the past

Following a longer than planned stop at the Goring changeover point, it was onto leg two, and into the Ridgeway. Described as “Britains oldest road”, the Ridgeway is an 86 mile national trail. It stretches from Avebury, to Ivinghoe Beacon. These are the types of trails I’m at home on, undulating chalk tracks. I thought I’d enjoy this leg, I was wrong! I started well, but as I reached 30-35 miles, I started to struggle. I could feel blisters flaring on my feet, and my legs were aching. Feeling this, and knowing I was only around a third of the way round, wasn’t what I needed flooding my brain. This was the point I reached for my headphones, That Peter Crouch Podcast could keep me company as I trudged uphill. This helped, but what I really needed was the turnaround point. The end of the podcast, thankfully coincided with running alongside people who were happy to chat. At this point I just needed something to think about, that wasn’t running! Lucky for me, the turnaround point arrived. And with it, another highly unwelcome kit check. Digging through my big to find the same kit I’d had cracked earlier, wasn’t what I needed at this point. Not just because it took time. Mainly because it meant leaving the aid station after the people I’d been chatting too, leaving my alone with my thoughts, once again. The first few miles of my return, weren’t much better than the last few of the journey out.

I hit halfway in just under 10 hours

After a few miles though, as if by magic, I snapped out of it! The bluster pain was still real, but I was able to block it out, and gather some momentum. I’d got my groove back! Skipping along the trails, regaining lost time, I was feeling good. After a quick water top up at the North Stoke aid station, I knew I was on the final stretch to the halfway point. Now it was a race against the sun! As light faded fast, I wasn’t sure I’d make it back without having to stop and retrieve my head torch from my bag. Fortunately though, as I got closer to Goring. There were street lights and security lights, to guide me to the village hall, and the halfway mark. I hit halfway with just under 10 hours on the clock.

Hitting halfway is always a boost in an ultra. No matter how much that first half hurt, you know you only have to repeat something you’ve already proved you can do. So I was in good spirits in the aid station, as I prepared to head out it into the darkness. Goring village hall was a huge of activity. The temperature outside was plummeting, and it was going to be dark for the next 13 hours. Everyone knew a simple mistake, like not layering up enough, could end their race. fully stocked, I hit the road. After a brief holdup, due to a minor wrong turn, I quickly found my stride. This leg was back on the Ridgeway, and the first 5k was almost entirely uphill. This didn’t stop me though. I was in a good place, I had very much found a second wind. These trails were super runnable, I felt like I was flying as I skipped past people I’d lost touch with on leg 2. The first 10k of this leg went by in a flash, but things would get tough after the aid station.

Pictures don’t begin to do justice to how beautiful the nights sky was.

I was atop the ridge by this point, so the climbing was at an end. The trails however, turned from runnable, to highly frustrating! Narrow channels, like deep tyre tracks in the chalk, guided the way. Just too narrow to place your feet side by side. So run between/beside them.. then the ground is uneven and just as hard to find a rhythm on, especially in the dark. It doesn’t take long, on this ground, in tired legs, in the dark, for moral to start to drop. I’m a much faster runner, than I am a walker. When I find myself walking in races, I always lose ground on others walking around me. This race was no different. As my moral dropped and my drive to run went with it. I quickly started losing places I’d gained during my cheetah spell. By the time I’d trudged to the turnaround point, I needed a break. By this point, I was 100k into the race, further than I’d ever run before. It crossed my mind that this was something to celebrate, that each step was breaking new ground. It didn’t matter tough, in reality, I still had almost 40 miles left to run. An impressive distance in its own right. After taking some time to collect my thoughts, and drink some coffee. I was off again, retracing my steps towards Goring. The return leg picked up where I’d left off. I was having to work now, staring up at the stars to distract from the pain. I knew though, once I reached the next aid station, it was all downhill to the end of leg 3. Downhill on tired legs hurts, much more than flats and uphills. I made it work though, trying to focus on letting gravity do the work, I made it back to Goring in one piece. Walking into HQ at some time after 1am, I was exhausted. My instincts me to go to sleep, why go out and run in the middle of the night? AGAIN?! I was focused now though, my goal was in site. 75miles down, 25miles to go!

By the time I’d had some hot food and coffee, then spent some time contemplating my life’s choices. I spent too long sitting in Goring. My legs made no secret of this when I tried to start running again!

The most misleading sign in the world. At this point, the Reading aid station was still about 5 miles away!

This final leg would take me back on the Thames path, I’d follow it to Reading and back. It would feel like I’d follow it to Runcorn and back! My legs were stiff, they were happy to stop at 75 miles! I pushed on though, and after a couple of miles, started to find some kind of rhythm. This section of the Thames path has a few hills, and stairs.. what kind of sadist puts stairs at this point in a 100 mile race! The climbs hurts, but like leg 3, the descents hurt more! Soon I found myself at the first aid station (and I need to climb stairs to get in!). This is where I got things VERY wrong! I’ll preface my cock up, by letting you know something about my mind when I do long runs. I do maths in my head, constantly. Converting miles to kilometres and vice versa, working out my pace and the pace I need to achieve to reach certain milestones. Endless maths keeps my brain occupied. Leaving this aid station I got my maths wrong, and I’d pay for it later on. I convinced myself I was about halfway to the Reading turnaround, in reality I was closer to a third. This meant, when I thought I was about 3 miles from the turning point, I was actually about 5-6 miles from it, when I thought I was a mile away, it was more like 3-4. This may not seem like a huge deal, but when you’ve been running for 18, 29, 20 hours. Every centimetre counts! Those last few miles dragged on like nothing I’ve ever experienced!

A fresh day, a fresh start?

By the time I turned around, I’d all but given up on reaching my sub 24hour target. My legs and brain were done, and id resigned myself to walking the rest of the way. My, now not so trustworthy maths, told me id finish somewhere between 25 and 26 hours. I walked on. Hobbled would be a more accurate description. I had blisters on my feet, which had consumed my mind. My quads screamed and pleaded with me to stop. To lay down on a bench, or the floor, and just let it end. After what felt like years. Walking through the darkness, powerless to stop the people overtaking me. The sun began to rise. At first, this did nothing to boost my spirits. It’s amazing how powerful something like a sunrise can be though. As the sky brightened, so did my belief. I realised the aid station, which had felt like light years from Reading, wasn’t too far away. Then I realised my maths had been wrong earlier. This leg wasn’t extra long, the aid station had just come earlier than I’d realised. That meant.. I was closer to the end than I thought! Just like that, I was back from the dead! Sub 24 was back on! I just needed to stop walking, to will myself to run. That’s exactly what I did! When I got to the aid station, I checked with the Marshalls outside, and ran straight past. I didn’t need anymore food or water now, I was almost done. And I had a cloak to beat! I wasn’t flying like I was at the start of leg 3. But I’d found something inside me, to just keep pushing. I had in my head, I could get my sub 24, if I could just run 50% of the remaining miles. I think I ran closer to 90%! I could say the pain disappeared for these final miles, but I’d be lying. These miles hurt, but knowing how close I was pushed me along. The had risen and a crisp morning had awoken. The scenery was beautiful, and I knew I only had to push for a few more minutes.

Crisp trails lead my way to the finish line.

This final stretch of Thames was a chance to reflect, how many times had I been down and out? How many times had I bounced back? I never would have entered this race, had I not fallen short at Lakeland. This wasn’t the ending I’d dreamt of, but maybe it was the ending I needed. Going into the Lakeland 100, I’d imagined the rapturous applause, the festival finish in Coniston. I’d focused on the triumph, but failed to complete the journey. In Goring, there were a few people clapping on the bridge, a handful at the finish line, and another handful handing out medals and taking photos inside. There was very little external glory, this was all about the internal journey. This was a journey which lasted 23 hours and 42 minutes, that’s after the 13 months of training. It was a journey which took me to hell and back, one which would take weeks to recover from (maybe more if my knee doesn’t sort itself out!) it’s also a journey I’ll remember forever, a journey I miss with every atom of my being, I journey I’d do again in a heartbeat.

Physically, mentally and emotionally exhausted. But a 100 mile finisher

Ridgeway Run

Tring running clubs “Ridgeway Run” is a race that’s been on my list for a number of years. Every time I’ve looked at entering, it’s either been full, or I’ve already booked the date up. This year was different! I was still undecided whether to run or not though, I’m tapering for a big race next weekend. I decided to get signed up, take it easy and just enjoy being outside in gorgeous surroundings.

So at around 9.30 on Sunday morning, I was all registered and ready to go. The start of this race is an unusual format. Runners park and register at Tring Cricket Club, then it’s about a 10-15 minute walk to the start line. Of course, I was the person who managed to go the wrong way, before the race had even begun! This is a popular race, there were a few hundred people crammed into the starting area on Marshcroft Lane. At 10am the 10 second countdown began and we were let loose.. sort of.. It was quite a timid start to a race, there were just a lot of people squeezed into quite a small area. There wasn’t much room for overtaking early on, forcing people to zig zag through the crowds, in search of space. This didn’t worry me much personally, if anything it helped me hold back. You could sense some runners growing frustrated though, particularly when we were funnelled into single file, for a short climb. As with most races though, the traffic cleared after a couple of miles. It was never quiet in the trails, but you had enough room to run your own race.

I don’t remember much about the early stages of the race. The first mile of so was on tarmac, we ran through a farm yard, around stocks golf club. And had the first notable bit of incline heading up towards Ashridge monument. From here, we followed the main walking trail towards Ivinghoe beacon. I know this path well, I used to use it for interval training regularly. It’s wide, the footing is easy, and it undulates without ever becoming difficult. Here, it was difficult to keep my competitive nature in check. I could see people ahead and knew I could catch them. Fortunately I was disciplined enough to allow myself to run people down, without ever putting in too much effort. Crossing the cattle grid, towards the end of the track, we swung a left. Running through thin wood line, with quick glimpses of what lay ahead appearing through the trees. Then things opened up. We were greeted by a stunning panoramic view of the chilterns, bright in the morning sun.

I began my descent, following the winding chalk path around the edge of the inchcombe hole. For those well practiced on this type of descent, it’s fantastic fun. You just let gravity take you and skip to the bottom. For those less experienced runners, this has the potential to be terrifying. It’s a fairly steep, narrow, slalom of a downhill. Being a sunny Sunday morning, there were no shortage of dog walkers, along with the hundreds of runners, to avoid crashing into. The descent is short though, you’re quickly into flatter ground. Then it’s across a road and through a carpark to the second and final water stop.

By this point, we’re nearing the end of the course. One final climb, up Pitstone hill, and it’s downhill for most of what’s left. Another fun descent through the woods. I was leaping down stairs, skipping over tree roots and badger sets. All while trying to remain aware of the less confident, tired legs, taking their time around me. Exiting the woods and crossing another road, we were informed there were 2 miles to go. We raced through the same farmyard we’d crossed at the near the start, and back to Marshcroft lane. It was road to the finish line now, a bit of an anti climax for me personally. I understand why they use this format though. They could make the route shorter, and all on trails. But it would end up being one 10km long traffic jam!

After running the roads I’d gotten lost in earlier, the finish is in Tring Cricket Club. After being pleasantly surprised by the number of supporters at the finish, I crossed the line in around 1hr 16mins. A quick perusal of the post run cakes and snack stand, and I was back in the car, and onto the next one.

Overall, a really enjoyable race. One I’d recommend, and one I’ll run again in the future.

Summit bagging

Looking down in Coniston water, as I gradually gain elevation

I arrived in Coniston at around 1130 on Friday morning, my aim was to summit the Old Man, bagging as many summits as possible along the way. Starting the run bathed in sun, I could see angry clouds lurking around the summit. Weather in the mountains isn’t something to take lightly, I knew I’d likely have a decision to make, at some point during the run.

The early stages of the run consisted of following a stream uphill, crossing boggy moreland and trying not to aggravate the rams - who were eyeing up my balls for ramming practice.

The higher I climbed, the closer I got to the clouds.

The higher I climbed, the stronger the wind became, the clouds were drawing in and there was an increasing volume of moisture in the air. Knowing I’d be away from any super technical terrain for a while, I made the decision to push on.

I passed Buck Pike and started climbing Dow Crag. This is when conditions worsened.

The final climb to Brown Pike (summit #1) was steep, with a little scrambling at the top. This was proper mountain terrain now, no man made paths, just looking to see where the ground had been worn by footfall. My head was very much in the clouds by now, and the wind was viscous! Originally I’d planned to film at the summit, but this would have been both pointless, and later dangerous. You’d see nothing but dog and hear nothing but wind. Shortly I’d also need my hands to scramble.

At this point, I knew I could easily turn back and retrace by steps, but conditions weren’t that bad. I could still see 50 meters or so in any direction and had good footing to brace against the wind. So, I decided to follow the ridge line past Buck Pike (summit #2) towards Dow Crag (summit #3). I’d soon start to question, both my decision making, and my (rather novice), ability in the mountains.

In the weeks before this run, I’d spent some time studying maps and planning my route. I’d noticed some very rough ground around Dow Crag, the sort of ground that may require a sustained period of scrambling. It also looked like this could be easily avoided, by following a slightly wider line. Maybe it was the fog, maybe it was my map reading. Either way, when I got to the scramble, there was no option but to scramble.

By this point, there was very little margin for error

By this point I was surrounded by fog, visibility was poor and the temperature had dropped significantly. The wind was now starting to assert its authority, and I found myself wondering whether I should have turned back earlier. I was now past the point of no return, going back would be more dangerous than pushing ahead. Reassurance came in the form of strangers, there were plenty of them hiking that day, and I was skipping past them as I traversed the ridge line. The fast there were people there suggests the conditions weren’t that dangerous. The fact I was moving faster than they were, suggest I’m not that incompetent! Still, I took my time and tried not to take any unnecessary risks. Accidentally running off the side of a cliff has never been in my bucket list!

The only way now, is down

I made it to the end of the scramble and was greeted by a few snowflakes (yes you read that correctly!) i quick check of the map and compass, to make sure I was still heading the right direction, and I was back in runnable ground. A short decent, before the final climb to the Old Mans summit. A moment if tranquility greeted me, as I found myself shielded from the wind for a couple of minutes. This didn’t last long, as I headed back to more exposed ground, Thor was waiting to batter me! The final climb was like running into an All Blacks scrum! Head down and drive towards the summit, and after 5-10 minutes, I’d made it!

No tarmac around here!

When it comes to mountain running, the uphills may be hard, but it’s the downhills where things get really spicy! I followed the main tourist path down from the summit. This path is steep! When I say steep, I mean around 30% gradient for the first KM! This isn’t a tarmac path either, this is a technical trail, where any misplaced foot will be punished. I don’t have the skills to simply let gravity take over in these kinds of descents, but I’ll give it a good go. Skipping around rocks and people, trying to limit my use of the breaks - it’s the breaking that’ll turn your quads to jelly! As I dropped out of the clouds and found the mountain sheltering me from the wind, I really started to find a flow. This run was long enough to be challenging, but not so long I was left broken. I was able to enjoy the views and share quicks words, and jokes, with the strangers I was passing along the way.

Dropping below the clouds, the beauty is breathtaking

After a mile or two, I passed the ruins of the old mining structures, then shortly after things levelled out. For a brief period I was able to give it some gas and push myself along the open trails. Around this time I considered pulling out my GoPro again. Frankly though, I was having too much fun on my own, to wasn’t to share the moment with strangers in the internet! After such a sharp descent, this flat section provides an opportunity to look up, to remind yourself of what you’ve actually just done.

The old mining huts are an iconic landmark, on the tourist track.

After a short blast on flatter ground, I arrived at Walna scar car part, base camp for many of the Old Man’s budding conquerors. As tempting as the awaiting ice cream van was, I had a busy afternoon ahead, and no time to stop. Skipping through the gate, I knew it would be a steep tarmac road, downhill, all the way to the finish. It always amazes me, how quickly you can go from wild mountain terrain, to 21st century civilisation. My descent, physically and mentally demanding as it was. Seemed to be over in a heartbeat. Now I’m surrounded by cars, shops and pubs. People are walking the streets, wearing “normal” clothes, with pristine hair. Completely oblivious to the battles ensuing, right now. Between man and nature, just a few hundred meters above them…