A change in status

I wrote this post two months ago, to get my thoughts down as I came to terms with my new status. I'll keep on blogging,  from the running/adventuring whilst with child angle. I'll try to keep it suitable for squeamish ears.

So you're a fellrunner and you discover you're pregnant. To be completely honest, my first feeling was one of disappointment that I wouldn't be able to continue to dash about the fells on ever more hair-raising escapades,  but I quickly had a word with myself and reminded myself that life is long and this was an exciting new adventure. For the last month or so I've been waiting for the hammer to drop whilst I've been out running. A few big events in the weeks where it was a bit "am I...really?" went well. I ran a road half marathon and got a new PB, and then the following weekend was proud to be part of Glossopdale's first ever mixed team at the Hodgson Brothers relays.  I kept up with my partner, the formidable Caity Rice, to boot.

The plucky Glossopdalers at the Hogdson Brothers Relays 4 October 2015

 Then two weeks later came the FRA relays, I was running on a leg which seemed made for me. I enjoyed every minute whilst feeling glad I was up to it as by then I knew the baby was definitely on board. Thankfully I've not committed to anything major towards the end of this year and I'm currently just coasting along, telling my clubmates that I'm letting up a bit on the running to spend more time with mates and family. And hoping that they don't catch me wincing a little as I tighten the chest strap on my backpack..
 That's the hardest thing, the not telling my clubmates . I'm expected to be up for pretty extreme and long stuff. That's what I've spent my summer doing; big, tough memorable events, and yet now I have a secret which I just want to share, so they can understand why I'm easing up a bit. I'm not so sure on the convention of keeping a pregnancy secret until you're past a certain stage, there's something about opening up the conversation about why that tradition exists but that's not for this blog. My line in the sand is, once I've seen it, then it's real. Then I'll tell. So a few weeks time and I will.
So for now I'm doing as much running as I feel like doing,  and trying to avoid conversations about the High Peak Marathon and the Trigger because there are limits to what I think I'll be able to do. Short events I'll manage, I'm sure. Just don't expect me to push to the red line. Whatever kind of running I do as time goes along, I'll be taking advice from professionals who know how I can best look after myself and my passenger. I'm buoyed up to see that the NHS advice online and in leaflets strongly advocates keeping an active lifestyle whilst expecting.

A sunny October day with GDH mates 

I'm honestly worried about how easy or hard it will be to get back into it again next year after the big event but if you know me, you'll know I'm not one to fade at a challenge.  I've some excellent friends and clubmates who I hope can tolerate me being a bit flaky. I'm well up for doing a good few stints marshalling and road support as otherwise I fear I will miss the  community I love being a part of.
I could be deluded. One promise I will try and keep is not to lose my fellrunner identity in parenthood. I'll keep blogging and you can see me either perform a complete about face, or not. Whatever happens it's going to be totally new to me. 

Five girls, two cyclists, a van, a dog and some ultra ticks

The supporting cast

Before I begin to witter on at length about feats of adventuring to make you gasp and stretch one's eyes, a mention for the persons not appearing in this post. I've done it all this year,  pretty much. I've ticked a few big, bold boxes and I'm very happy with that.  But it's a selfish mindset and a time-eating schedule which enable these things. Alan has spent many a weekend alone with his music, games and bike.  My parents, sisters , brother, nieces and nephew have heard stories but caught only exhausted glimpses of me. Friends in Glossop and Manchester have had babies, moved houses, suffered bereavement of loved ones, and celebrated milestone birthdays without me there to support them.  I want them to know that even in absence, they are all there clear as day in my mind, telling me I'm crazy/keep going/don't forget to wash your socks. My supporting cast. Take a bow.  Now I can't claim I've got a really important run/adventure to do I will be a better friend. I'm sorry I've not been around. 

The challenge

Viv organises meetups outdoors,  at which people can have a great experience for a donation to charity. Freedom from Torture support the victims of torture both physically and mentally.  It's one of many charities that can go under the radar and they deserve every penny they can get. Last year she contacted me,  and a few other tough-ass runners she knows, to try to organise a trip up the West Highland Way ( to be referred to henceforth as the WHW) to raise funds and have an adventure as we did so.

https://www.justgiving.com/whw-run

It didn't come off last year, and after a few dates were dropped,  the August Bank holiday was fixed.  

The organisation was probably a nervy time for Viv, who did her best to make sure as many who wanted to come would be able to. She shared details of trains, hotels and hostels and one by one the runners dropped into the group. Females to a man, though the intention was never to exclude men, indeed we gained two cycling participants (co-ed) and a van-travelling husband. Viv had been generating donations handsomely in the week leading up, with a well timed push on social media. Whilst I am the sprite of the group, Viv is the wise mage, thoughtful, worldly and solemn as she reminds us all that "there are more important things going on" in today's world. 

Anyway, to the point. We met at Milngavie on Friday morning,  after a false start involving a cancelled train. It's pronounced mullgeye to rhyme with aye. 

Day one

We nervously said hello and introduced one another. Viv, the instigator. Sue, fresh from winning fastest female veteran at the Glencoe Skyline race. Carmen, the ultra fast ultra runner of the adventure declaration blog. Julie, the last to sign up having initially planned a solo version of the same. Me, with a lot to live up to since my BGR.  Sharon and Paul on the first bike touring holiday of their lives,  Carl in the camper with his and Carmens dog. Each one of us strongly believed that she was the slowest or least well equipped.

L-R Carmen, Viv, Me, Sue. Julie's taking the photo

Our route was to cover 34 miles (maybe 36? ) to Inversnaid. Companionable chatter about racing, travelling and eating cake soon put the nerves at rest and we ate up miles on the comparatively  dull part of the route, through farm gates and muddy trails. On arriving in Drymen I was glad to see everyone heartily assenting to a tea room stop.
The real Highlands began to appear from behind the forest trails thereafter. We overtook walkers and approached a hill I pronounced eminently runnable,  a small heather -clad ridge. Conich Hill was loads of fun to run down- it transpired that it's the only part of the WHW you'll really need clawed shoes for.

Movie of the approach to Conich Hill showing the fien weather we had 

 Another cafe stop for chips at pretty Balmaha and we were off beside Loch Lomond,  an accompanying feature for most of that day and the next. The miles into the overnight stop at Inversnaid were forest trailled,  gently undulating.  We spilt,  as Sue's legs were protesting; Julie and I had been steady at the front all day so we accepted Carmen's offer to get back in time for Carl to get his own run in before dark. Soon we were broken by Carmen's strong pace, so we freed her and slowed from a trot to the usual 5-6mph jog. The end of the day was calling,  and each incline was greeted with a "hill declaration " - ultra runners walk up all climbs, to conserve energy. As the miles ticked by, inclines were also greeted by a torrent of foul cursing. We were eager to rest and eat, and it was past 7pm before we saw the hotel at Inversnaid,  beside a hugely roaring sepia-toned waterfall. "bunkhouse just up the road from here " said the sign which also offered pickup services.  We are Runners,  and we don't need a...oh...Up there. The tarmac steep road. Oh. Well let's go. Twenty minutes later we cheered as the old church building came into view,  and stumbled through midge clouds to Carls van to collect bags,  then into a humid room smelling sweet with food and beer. Sharon and Paul helped us with the practicality of checking in, ate a fine meal with us and we retired after a shower to our cramped bunk rooms. Sleep came late due to the other hostellers inability to close doors gently,  not lock themselves out and speak below a screech. I know, earplugs.  Didn't help.

Miles covered: 34.5. Hours 9 or so. Cafe stops: 2. Sore toe stops play : 1

Viv running up hill on Day 1  - enthusiasm! 

Day two

We shuffled around the corridor of the hostel, dodging midges and feeling the impending Longest Day and Drizzle feelings.  We had about 38 miles to cover, and we were all sure that once that had been done, the last day with only 26 miles would feel easy. 7.40 and we stowed bags with Sherpa Carl,  bidding a fond farewell to Carmen, whose toe injury had forced her to quit so that she'd recover in time for the Cumbria Way race in a few weeks. Sharon and Paul would catch the ferry and then the hope was to all meet up in Tyndrum. Sue the early bird had left, at a walk so as to loosen her still-race-tired legs. We planned to catch her up. The first few miles of our 38 mile day are described in the books as "the rough bit" which we all took with a pinch of salt, being hardened off roaders. Actually,  it's pretty hard to make fast progress over many rocky outcrops wet from streams and quite thick in the woods. It's made a lot more fun by the feral goats,  beautiful animals with a classy odour. My road shoes held up very well on wet rocks to my delight. I'd decided that much as l love my mudclaws, cushioning was needed. Once goat land was passed, we made a detour following a trod around a flooded pasture, only to end up a bit navigationally perplexed.  Map stop, and Ultra Tick made his or her first appearance. I didn't know ticks could have wings til then. It dropped into our map, then my finger, I flicked it away then luckily caught it trying to latch into my upper arm, it took a good pull to send it on its ticky way. Here ends the tale of zoes first live tick encounter. We had toast and tea at the well-equipped Beinglas Farm campsite and briefly said hello to Sue, who'd just finished her breakfast stop.

We made better speed after that, on hard surface tracks and finally said bye bye to Loch Lomond.  at the spur of the route toward Crianlarich,  we spied our quarry at the top of a climb "soooooo soooooo soooooo" we all yelled, like some demented damp birds of the Highlands... 

The rolling trails towards Tyndrum were fun, although a fair but of up and down so Sue kept back a bit. We passed a not very salubrious sign proclaiming the halfway point (sponsored by Tennants and Guinness it seemed)  and jogged into civilisation.  The Real Food Cafe was our meetup point in Tyndrum, just after the halfway point of the WHW and the stars aligned so that by the time Viv, Julie and my meals had arrived, so had Sue and Sharon and Paul. Bedraggled and quite anxious from their ride on the busy a82, though looking in fine fettle and ready to join us later in the Glencoe mountain centre about 18 miles hence.. 

Fuelled up on fish, chips, vegi pakoras and tea, we prepared to leave. Viv would stay back with Sue to keep her company, Julie and I would run a little ahead, keen to keep moving in the rain which now persisted.  We set off at a nice pace on the now ever present hard trail. We gave ourselves a few early hill declarations to ensure our full tummies wouldn't rebel. After maybe ten minutes I heard a squeal,  and saw orange-clad Viv running behind shouting and waving. My heart sank, my thoughts were that Sue had injured herself so I ran back towards Viv, preparing my sensible head. The actual situation was that Sue had decided to go only a short way on and end her day early, sending  Viv to catch us up. Glad we had those walk breaks.

 Very soon after this, I entered a period of what Julie politely calls "gastrointestinal distress " upon which I had to dash to a hollow a couple of times and reacquainted myself with lovely sphagnum moss. The pain and general wobbliness worried me that I'd caught a bug and I started to plan my own exit strategy.  On we ran through the driving rain with me occasionally having to declare hills early, to try to ease the cramps.  Viv was also fairly green about the gills but Julie was strong and cheery which helped immensely. We had promised ourselves a tea stop at Bridge of Orchy,  so we carried on til after passing a group of Labrador enthusiasts and their canine friends, it came into sight. The only place with tea is the hotel, so we dripped in, and ordered peppermint tea for our bellies and Tunnocks teacakes for our souls.  Viv also stocked up on nurofen as her hip was giving her grief. Suffice it to say we were all feeling the effects of the distance we'd covered and the weather was making it less pleasant. The friendly chaps we met on the pub warned us of "a big climb " (more salt) and Sue said Rannoch Moor was very bleak. The landscape actually kept me going that afternoon.  Proper wild, proper lonely, rolling tussocks and heather and streams and lochans. Nonetheless we had to make the mountain centre before the cafe closed at 1930. Some of the best scenery of the WHW gave into the best sight of the day, ski tow pylons... Nearly there! Sharon waited on the cafe porch with phone in hand..we stumble ran to the door. Our little micro lodges were cosy and comfy,  the showers were hot and the cafe had beer. I retreated to my sleeping bag and wet-wiped my feet, sulky and cold. Chatting and drinking tea with Sharon and Paul brought me round and I sunk into sleep.

Miles covered: 38. Hours: 11 ish. Cafe stops: 3
Quote of the day: if I vom, get the go pro out and film it (Viv)

Day three

Despite the lovely accommodation and shattering previous day. I slept fitfully,  waking to scoff oatcakes and Babybel and stuff paper in the road shoes. Sorry Sharon for the nocturnal rustling and blathering.  We set to leave at eight, after a quick porridge in our huts. Another silly place which doesn't serve brekky when outdoorsy folks need it. 

These things were indispensable on this trip. #properkit

Bags into Carls van, and farewell to him and Carmen after checking that the final destination hostel could accept them from our "Sherpa ".  Sharon and Paul prepared to leave at the same time, to try and avoid heavy traffic through Glencoe. Sue had set off ahead once more. As we jogged and faffed with jackets and gear down the lane, we spied Sharon and Paul riding, but they didn't hear our shouts over the wind and rain. It was wet but the sun shone from behind us and we were treated to rainbows aplenty.

My favourite picture of the Scottish weather

The Devil's staircase was our first tick off point. Not too bad a climb though made tougher by weather and tired legs and feet. We experienced a weird compass polarisation near the summit,  both Julies decent and "cracker" compass showing south where north should be. Nice descent but there was a long and hard-packed down to the last waypoint before the end, Kinlochleven.  Julie and I ran on to scout for breakfast.  With no success whatsoever.  Another place missing out on a market, we saw at least ten other hikers around who'd have appreciated a brew and a butty.  The owner of a hotel took pity on us, she hadn't even realised we'd ran 13 or so miles already, and made us tea. Viv and I shopped in Co op for cheese, fruit and oatcakes.  Time for the final leg 

 We all started to smile as the rain cleared and we reached a pretty Glen whose name I don't think we know yet, jogging along gently not minding about the speed, cos this one's in the bag! we started to play "taunt the walkers.. "well done. Nearly there, how many days did it take" oh..US? Three.

Down a never ending forest trails with the flanks of Ben Nevis opposite. And then the road which was greeted with elation..nearly at the end!! Sue really was hurting, we walked then ambled a bit, trying to encourage her to overtake hikers. Then we reached town, and we had no idea where to expect the end!  A torturous jog to the station (not here) then the high street (not here)  then a man outside a pub.. "it's down there" oh heaven. All the way to the far end of the high street and then it was done. Sue removed her shoes in the pub and we saw what had been hurting,  her toes were all battered and cut. We tried around the many outdoors shops to buy sandals.. Nothing fit so after a tasty meal and a few toasts, she walked to the taxi rank in her socks. The best hostel of the route "Chase the Wild Goose" was at the end. A warm room,  a lounging area and breakfast any time. Perfect!

Miles covered : 26. Hours: 8.  Cafe stops: 0.5 Beers consumed : at least 3. 

Quote of the day: and then we all ran down the hill in our knickers (not saying who, to protect the innocent)

lounging in the hostel

I'll add Day Four soon, but I was alone on that day and it doesn't really relate to this tale. What did I learn? I learned that ultra running is similar but not the same pace at a Bob Graham, I learned that cushioned shoes are a must on 'trails' . I learned that refined 'white' food is more easily digested, and to stay away from anything which you don't normally eat on the run. I should have known this but I got giddy and no longer will I pack pork pies or eat pakoras. I learned that eeryone has their low points but not everyone yells about it , and groups need to be prepared to split and re-group, or alter the plan slightly. I learned that my companions are all very tough, fit , resolute and have some great stories. I learned that whatever you think is tough, someone else has experienced something even more awful and they deserve our support.

Witness the Fitness

Here I am laid in bed, unable to sleep due to the jangling nervous system,  twitching leg and weird delirium brought on by completing a Bob Graham Round. I need to get this all recorded now from my surprised noggin. It may not make much sense.
I began at 1900 on Friday 7th August from Keswick.

"a cup of tea and three nervous uses of your toilets pleas bartender "

 Alasdair and Andy F saw Andy and I off. You'll notice a theme with the initial letter of my supporters first names. Patrick B from pennine happened to be in Keswick too and I wished him all the best with his attempt starting at eleven that night.
Leg 1 and 2 with Andy Oliver:
Beautiful night sights. Yellow crescent moon reflected in Ullswater.  Town lights. Stars. We kept on schedule barring a little "getting used to the dark" nav blip finding Doddick. Andy effortlessly kept us on track over the Dodds and the Helvellyn range and down. When I reached Fairfield it was the start of the big dip. My mood shot downwards and the legs followed.
Leg 3
Dunmail Road crossing at 0335 was Simon B from work, a true man of the mountains. My mood was bad and I knew morning would bring better times, I was at least ten minutes behind schedule as we pressed on to the Stickles. But I dragged.  We were overtaken by a walking man recceing his own round. Tim yelling at me from ahead, shooting withering looks in his effort to keep me moving. Food would not go down, nothing I tried seemed to work (not Even Babybel!) and with nausea and cramps blurring me, I began to behave like a temperamental kid, blaming my shoes, the mud, yelling and screaming at stubbed toes and making Tim and Andys morning quite unpleasant.
I trudged on, not believing I would complete and planning exit strategies whilst same time invoking Lins, the toughest race partner I ever had, and the seventeen year old completer, from Dark Peak,  whose is the story which sealed my attempt. Hannah, I have never met you, but you made me sure I could do it.
I stropped along to scafell pike.  But, the challenge of having to ascend Lords Rake- me, a rock and climb-o phobe, woke me up. I actually enjoyed the loose scramble. The use of hands, the worry of knocking out a supporter.  I rallied. Over the top though my legs left me again. The long descent to wasdale was too much and the joy had gone. My road crew led by the Holts,  Alison and Rod,  and joined by my boyfriend Alan,  had done a perfect job.  Even feeling so negative I strode off up Yewbarrow thinking maybe I'd complete in 24.20. No bad thing.

Leaving Wasdale Head with new support member Alasdair,  and Andy Ford continuing from Leg 3

The next thing of any import was magically being able to run, actually run again, by Gable.  Finding my downhill mojo and beginning to think that if I could keep the pace up, I'd maybe do 24.10. A sunny afternoon and plenty of folk were out enjoying the Gables,  bemused as I huffed up the trigs without stopping for a picnic.

Ticking off Great Gable 


 Andy and Al started counting off the tops. Thirty four, thirty five.  My mind was set ; reach Honister by four pm and I'd do it. I hared down to the car park at 1600, with the lads ahead shouting 'no stopping,  no chair, we're off ' and linked up with Alice,  my sole female running supporter who stuck to my side and fed me sweets and water selflessly, to my demands.

Bouncing off the cairn at Dalehead

My legs just stomped out the last few climbs in a gathering breeze, I thanked my stars that my favourite part of all races is the uphill, hands-on-knees climbing.  Then the road, and the burn on my feet, along with my Alan who isn't a runner but certainly looks like on these days,  all the way into Keswick. It was quite agonising progress but made lighter by a group of people on the road who asked if I was a BG contender, and gave me a round of applause.  Special mention must go to Mr Ford who refused to leave me at the end of his leg, leg 4, because,  in his words, he's not had one fail on him yet and he wasn't about to let it happen. I hate to think what he'd have done to me if I'd have slowed. I sprinted from the traffic lights after the hustle through the town centre, and touched the Moot Hall door. Andy then told me I'd come from forty minutes down on schedule at Kirk Fell to three minutes ahead of my planned 23.38 finish at 1835 on Saturday 8th August. Just in shock and awe, I stumbled to the car of Ali and Rod who'd been supporting all day and back for steak at the King's Head at Thirlspot.

 I was ably supported in my Round by the following great friends who I am now forever indebted to:

Andy Oliver over the night time legs 1 and 2
Andy Ford with a monster legs 3,4 and 5 and record keeping all along
Tim Culshaw who was mean to me all through leg 3, ensuring my losses were limited when my tummy and legs wouldn't play 
Alasdair Cowell keeping my pace and spirits up on legs 4 and 5
Alice Willson helping me home on leg 5
Alan Scholefield who met me at the road section back to Keswick
Simon Barnard the invaluable Road support at 330 am at Dunmail
Rod Holt and Alison Holt with outstanding Road support during Saturday
I'm not the first or the last person to succeed on this route. I am a thread in the fabric which binds those who love the British fells together, and I look forward to weaving others in with us. 

The life of a grown-up

So here I am, sat in the year 2015, a grown-up.  When I was about eight, I had a vision of what I'd look like as a grown woman. I was getting out of a car, beside a semi detached house, I was wearing a buff-coloured suit and I had short hair. Today, I'm sat on a plane, sporting a navy suit jacket with print pants,  a short haircut. I don't own a car though I do have a cute house I describe as a "workers terrace built of stone ". As an eight year old, I didn't envisage kids and I'm not even sure I desired a husband - read into that what you will.
I feel the most adult when I'm travelling for business. Maybe it's because someone thought my presence in a far off land important enough to pay for it, maybe it's because films and TV teach us that business travellers are wise, or worthy. Maybe it's because it's just one way to play at being grown-up.

Grown-ups get to drink on rooftop bars

I've learned a few things travelling overseas with work
- Colloquialisms and humour don't travel. I have a different way of speaking when I'm in an international scenario and it seems to work. It was telling,  at the end if a few days in Delhi, once I'd finished the project meetings and I sat at dinner with my UK colleagues. I could hear my voice and my language change. I had taken off the verbal suit and was in my jeans after a long wait.
-On airlines,  you pay more by increments to have your feet closer to 180 degrees and eat from a china plate.
- Business class hotel rooms are worth it for long trips. The strain of being away from your comfort zone, your loved ones and familiarity, is well ameliorated by plush furnishings,  willing staff and free fizzy wine. I hope whoever you work for appreciates this.
- A firm handshake and a warm smile is always a good starting point
- Put a belt on any outfit and it'll look more formal. Believe it or not, it took me til this year to learn this one!
- If people believe in you, you can wing it. I used to say this to young waiting staff in my employ,  when they were nervous about serving high -stakes customers.  "you're the one dressed as a waiter,  they will belive in you ".  That holds true for radiologists, pilots, gardeners, whatever. Confirmation bias at its most reassuring.
- you work harder then you want to, and sacrifice things you don't want to. You make up for this by chucking your earnings at hobbies and holidays, which make you smile wider than you thought you would, and bring you close to people you needed to meet.

Grown-ups spend a fair bit of time sat on transport 

Fellrunner in dreadmill enjoyment shocker

Trapped indoors, like a hawk in a cage. Working in Beijing and staying at a nice hotel with a well equipped gym. I promised myself to exercise daily on this trip, if not only to mitigate the intake of roast duck, biscuits and meaty buns. 

The dreadmill beckoned and I shuddered, thinking about the last time I was here, staring at the metres on the clock, willing them up to 5k…is this only 2k…?? Hell. pure hell, thinking only about how long there still was to stay on the machine, and constantly checking my form, my footstrike, my posture....spiral of madness . As I packed for the trip, inspiration struck and I dug my dusty iPod mini out of the drawer. Since I took to the hills, listening to music as I run has become anathema but now it’s saved me.

My workouts have been song-driven. Two days ago it was a song pyramid. Start at marathon pace and dial up the numbers on the dreaded dial a few each time a new song comes on, until top gear was reached, then dialling down with each song. Today it was song intervals, starting steady and then up to 5k pace every other song. Indie-rock and electro-bubble have made the dreadmill less dreadful. Royksopp and Depeche Mode and Kavinsky and Foals keep me running, relax my shoulders and my face. Every time I start to hate it, the jetlag creeping up in my chest, I remind myself , Askwith-like, that if I can’t do this, how am I supposed to complete an English Champs A Long next weekend with jetlag.

It’s so warm here though. Drenching with sweat in a most unbecoming manner. I think I sweated a part of my soul out today, the part which likes warm showers. I’m sure I’ll find some lovely salty food later on. 

The Glamour of Fellrunning

The glamour of Fellrunning, a bullet point list by me. Written from a female point of view though some points are co-ed. Many of these could well apply to road running, or any running..

• Cutting about 3 toenails. Wresting the remaining excuses for nails into some kind of shape which either looks like a nail, can be painted to look like a nail, and doesn't rip neighbouring bits of flesh to shreds whilst using feet for racing. 

• Wondering exactly how much of your recent piss is soaking into your sock/shoe/ leggings after being blown haphazardly about in a surprise breeze 

• Scrubbing valiantly at the fingers and fingernails on a Sunday night so as not to turn up to the office with the hands of a potato farmer at harvest time. 

• Giving up on above task and using nail polish as peat concealer

• When racing as a pair, quickly discovering why not to run behind certain partners after feed stops, due to the 'music' emanating from them 

• Buffs cover a multitude of hair sins. Praise be to the makers of Buffs. 

• NEVER being able to wear anything with bare legs to a party or family occasion, unless wishing to be subjected to multiple 'you've been in the wars dear haven't you' s 

The Highlander Mountain Marathon - lessons in toughness

Having improved my long/steep fell race experience and my navigation over 2014 I decided that I was ready to try a Mountain Marathon. I'd heard from John Hewitt that the Highlander offered a good experience, with a friendly overnight camp complete with catering and ceilidh dancing. I asked around for partners and found one perfect for me - Viv. She's an all-round high achieving athlete who loves wild adventures, and she's also around the 5 foot 50 kg mark (important for tent space!) 

Three other pairs from Glossopdale (and extended family) travelled to the far flung North Highlands location of Elphin. I am lucky to have friends like  Lins who offer to drive non-vehicle-owners as myself to these events. We stayed at the Aultguish Inn on Friday evening after the 8 hour drive from Glossop. Very nice bunk room with good facilites. 

Day One

We'd faffed and repacked at the hostel and arrived raring to go at the event HQ. We'd read weather forecasts which would have been more at home in Norway so I stuffed all my waterproof and warm kit plus handwarmers, Babybel and my brand new Montane Minimus mitts into my pack. We were given maps, a 'clue sheet' to tell us where the checkpoints were and off we set. The first big task was to mark up our maps, which I wan't expecting as a novice but got on with fine. We headed off on a course with seven checkpoints to reach. The weather looked clear and breezy. As the day went on, a theme of clear..hail,..clear.. hail emerged. We enjoyed the first few hours, especially the big herds of deer roaming about the tops and the antler we found lying in a valley.

My big find!

A big climb brought us up to the snow line, hail in our faces, we made our major error and visited a checkpoint which wasn't the right one. It took us about 40 minutes to regain our course and then the Hell of Rocks was underway. On the map, a lovely open ridge to run. On the ground , as in the picture - at least 3km of broken rocks to try and make quick progress along. I was astonished how fast some of the other pairs passed us and with a sore ankle from training, i wasn't going to take risks. So with the hail sweeping over us in waves we struggled onwards...

My Hell of the North - photo by Viv

Viv up the first big hill

After some low moments on this ridge and beyond, we made it down through blessed heather and bogs, to a very tricky checkpoint to find, at which point we were met by Rob and John - we fanned out to search for the devilishly hidden flag which Rob located, then sprinted back downhill to the overnight camp. It was better even than I expected. A big, warm marquee full of lovely fellrunners , food to eat, beer to drink and stories to swop. We found that we were lying last place in our class with a time of 8 hours 11 minutes, which we suspected would be the case due to our bad error and slow progress. I found out about a new sport at the marquee - competitive camp food mashups. Alex McVey, a fast mountain marathon competitor from Edinburgh started the bidding at couscous mixed with cup-a-soup with a side of smoked salmon. Andy Oliver could only manage cous-cous. John Hewitt raised him super noodles, cup-a-soup, sun-dried tomatoes and pepperami pieces. I think Alex and John tied. We did a quick 'strip th willow' dance to the excellent four piece band in the warm, muggy, slightly smelly marquee and then off to the tiny yellow tent to sleep.

Viv and Andy ceilidh dancing 

sock drying on the heater pipe 

Things I learned on Day1 : You need two carrier bags to put your dry-socked feet into your wet shoes when you do a 2 day event. Hail hurts. Think harder about navigation. 

Day Two

At 2am I woke up with a throbbing foot. The pain was enough to wake me and I lay worrying in my sleeping bag, also realising I had gone to bed wearing my club vest and compass (cute hey?). I then realised that the Rocktape which Tim has expertly applied to ease my twisted ankle had got wet all day, then dried as my feet warmed up and shrunk, constricting my foot. Cue hilarious silent sleeping-bag acrobatics to get the tape off. Back to sleep.

I'd heard snowfall in the night and we woke to this, with little piles of half-melted snow around the tents. My watch alarm went off. 5.28 whilst I in the portaloo (another welcome luxury of this event) before 6 to beat the queues . 

the camp at Inchnadamph lodge, snowy mountains in the background

Our aim for day 2 was to think better about our route and to make faster progress. We hoped we'd go up a few places in the standings if we could do this although both of us were very comfortable with just getting round, having realised how hard C class was from the Saturday course. Starting off by wading through a river should've warned us about the day ahead though clear skies and crisp new snow drew us up a slope in search of our first checkpoint of the day. We found it with minimal fuss and set a course for the next one, always following our compass bearing and being careful not to be drawn away by the footprints of other competitors who may have been on a different route. There were 5 classes all out on this event: A, B , C, D and score. The going was good and we sang and chatted in the wintry wonderland. We skirted over the shoulder of a hug mountain, Canisp, knowing that we had a long trek to our next checkpoint. On the way down it became clear it was a Very Long Trek Indeed, involving going over to another very big pointy mountain, Suilven and up the steep side over its shoulder to find a small loch. As we went, we both began to chill off and supporting one another got really vital - noticing Viv was very quiet I asked her to use some handwarmers and eat some food, she stopped and put on an extra jacket and began to improve. I too went through the onset of hypothermia and was saved by Viv helping me with my too-frozen hands to dress myself more warmly. We had been out for more than 4 hours and the snow still fell....

We realised that we would not get back to the HQ before the cut-off time of 3pm and so looked at the map for the fastest route back. Being right in the mid-point of the course, we had no choice but to follow the return route roughly, without detouring to the checkpoints. The loch-side landscape was rough. That is the only way I can describe it. Lots of little rocky outcrops, interspersed with bogs and many many little lochans which all looked the same. navigation wasn't a problem, we knew exactly where we had to go but a long trudge lay ahead. A long trudge during which the beauty of racing in pairs came good, companionable chatter about life, racing, how cold we'd been and how lucky we were to be headed towards a hot tea and a sit down and later a hug from the men in our lives. We arrived back roughly 8 hours after starting and accepted our pasta, tea, shortbread and commiserations. Disqualified due to missing 2 checkpoints and timed out. Very glad to be safe. here is our Day 1 map and printout of results. you can laugh at the massive silly detour we made!

This map made lots of our fellow MM-ers hoot with laughter! 

What did I learn? (bullet point alert)

• Never underestimate Scottish terrain and weather
• Hail is better than snow because it bounces off of you
• Always double confirm compass bearings 
• Getting back safe and warm and sane is more important than racing

Kit recommendations, for folks who like that kind of thing

• Montane Minimus waterproof mitts. You need warm hands for navigating and they're worth every penny
• The Inov-8 race 32 backpack is roomy but fits small pixies very well
• Inov- 8 race-elite 140 jacket, I've loved it all winter and it stood up to the Highland spring
• An extension of the backpack to carry antlers in would be really good

the experience 

will always stay with me, I feel like I had a surreal dream now I am back in sunny Glossop in a warm house full of dry items, Thank you Viv for pulling me up on bad navigation ideas, keeping up the pace, keeping me company and from getting hypothermic. I'll do it again with you but let's do the D class next time :) 

Recce Reporter

I've been guest blogging for my club blog site about recceing for races, and the recent trip to Edale which turned out to be a classic recce.

Have a read 

More carrot less stick

This weekend about ten members of my running club travelled to Shropshire to attend two fell races over a weekend, a journey of around 3 hours. One short, steep and fast race on the Saturday and a long, arduous one on the Sunday. We did the same last year and I enjoyed it a lot despite the fact racing in early February can be a bit on the 'fresh' side. I'm a middle of the pack club runner, not the fastest and not the slowest. Last year I finished third female in the short race and was chuffed to receive a box of Roses chocs. I also was given a commemorative mug for finishing both races. This year I finished second female in the short race, and tenth in the long. I didn't get any chocs or a mug. I enjoyed both races, they were well organised and marshalled, took place in beautiful hills in good weather for the time of year, and are good value for money. I did however feel a bit miffed.
Selfish? Materialistic? I don't run for material gain, though if the race organiser cared to know how I felt, I'd say this: I'm a female, which puts me firmly in the minority in fellrunning. Whatever anyone thinks of it, a bit of positive discrimination goes a long way to bringing more women into sport.
The effects of a prize, however nominal, on the mindset of a runner is not to be underestimated. Even getting called up in front of your peers and recognised has worth. It makes hard training worth it, spurs you on to train more and race more, making you more likely to enter more races and contribute to participation in a growing sport.  It's the 'bottom up' or 'grassroots' support which forms the base of a pyramid atop which sit the Brownlee brothers, Jo Pavey et al.

I hope to return to beautiful Shropshire next year. I heard that a clubmate chatted to the organiser who is hoping to reintroduce a mug or other souvenir for the weekends racing. Good call, and I hope he's also open to giving a few nods to some of the also-rans :)