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 :)